Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter

Cora drew back in some astonishment, pondering as to whether or no the old woman might not be partially insane, when Susan, the maid of the romantic mind, appeared before her, and announced that the object of her thoughts was in the kitchen, and begged that Mrs. Arthur would permit her an interview.

Cora was still more surprised. "What can she possibly want with me?" she asked herself, quite audibly.

"If you please, ma'am," volunteered Susan, "she said that it was something important; and that she never would have put her foot inside this house, begging your pardon, only for you."

Flattering though this statement might be, it did not enlighten her much. So, after a moment's reflection, Mrs. Arthur bade the girl, "show the old person up."

Accordingly, in another moment almost, old Hagar was bowing very humbly before the lady with the silken flounces. Susan retired reluctantly, deeply regretting that she could find no time to stop up the key-hole with her ear, thus rendering it impossible for prying eyes to peep through that orifice.

"Well, old woman," began Cora, rather inelegantly, it must be confessed, "what on earth were you making such a fuss about, down on the terrace? And what do you want with me?"

A close observer of the human countenance divine would never have judged, from the small amount of expression that was manifest in the face of Hagar, that her reply would have been such a very humble one. "I want to serve you, dear lady."

The "dear lady" pursed up her lips in surprise. "You – want – "

"To warn you, madame."

Cora was dumb with astonishment, not unmingled with apprehension. What had broken loose now?

"I am only a poor old woman, lady, and nobody thinks that old Hagar has a heart for the wrongs of others. I said that I would never cross John Arthur's threshold again; but I have seen your pretty face, going to and fro through the village streets, and I knew there was no one to warn you but me."

"Oh, you did," remarked Cora, not knowing whether to be alarmed or amused, at the old woman's earnestness. "Well, old – what's your name?"

"Hagar, lady."

"Well, old Hagar, do you mean to tell me that I am in any particular danger just at present?"

"Is the dove in danger when it is in the nest of the hawk?" said Hagar, closing her eyes tight as she uttered the words, but looking otherwise very tragical.

Cora laughed musically. "Good gracious, old lady!" She was modifying her titles somewhat, probably under the influence of Hagar's flatteries. "You mean to compare me to a dove," laughing afresh, "in – a hawk's nest? Oh, dear! oh, dear!" wiping her eyes. "Now, then, please introduce me to the wicked hawk."

Hagar was getting tired of her part, and she made a direct rush at the point of the business, and with very good dramatic effect. "I mean your husband," she said, vehemently. "I mean John Arthur. He is a bad man. If he has not done it already, he will make you miserable by-and-by."

Cora drew herself up and tried to look severe. "Old lady," she said, with supernatural gravity, "don't you know that it is very improper for you to come and talk to me, like this, about my husband?"

"Just hear her!" sniffed Hagar, rather unnecessarily; "all because I think she is too young, and too pretty, to be sacrificed like the others – "

"Like the others? What others?"

"Like his first wife. She was young, like you, and a lovely lady. His cruelty was her death. And then he must worry and abuse her poor daughter, until she runs away and comes to an untimely end. And now – "

"Now, you fear he will make an end of me?" briskly. "Sit down, old lady," becoming still more affable. "So Mr. Arthur ill-used his first wife, my predecessor?"

"Thank you, dear lady; you are very kind to a poor old woman," seating herself gingerly on the edge of a chair opposite Cora. "Yes, indeed, he did ill-use her. She was my mistress, and I shall always hate him for it."

Cora mused. Here was an old servant who hated the master of Oakley; might she not prove useful, after a time? At any rate, it would be well to sound her.

"You were very much attached to the lady, no doubt?" insinuatingly.

"Yes; and who would not be? She was very sweet and good, was my poor mistress. Oh, he is a bad, bad man, madame, and you surely cannot be very happy with him."

"And he was unkind to his step-daughter, too?" ignoring the last supposition.

"Unkind? He was a wretch. Oh, I could almost murder him for his cruelty to that poor dead lassie!" fiercely.

"Perhaps he was none too kind to you," suggested Cora.

"Oh, he never treated me like a human being. He hated me because I tried to stand between her and harm. But he could not get rid of the sight of me. I have a little home where he can't avoid seeing me sometimes. I believe, if I kept always appearing before him, he would go raving mad, he hates me to that extent."

"Um-m! Is that so?"

"Yes, indeed. Why, lady, if I were without house or home, and you, out of the kindness of your heart, were to take me into your employment as the very humblest of your servants, I believe he would kill us both."

"You think he would?"

Cora actually seemed to encourage the old woman in her garrulity.

"Oh, I know it. It's not much in the way of charity, or kindness, you will be able to do in this house. If he don't imprison you in one of these old closed-up musty rooms, you will be lucky. He is very dangerous. Sometimes I used to think he must be insane."

Cora started. "Well, Hagar," she said, sweetly, "it's very good of you to take so much interest in me. He is very cross sometimes, but, perhaps, it won't be so bad as you fear."

"I hope it won't," rising to go and shaking her head dubiously; "but I am afraid for you."

"Well," laughing, "I'll try and not let him lock me up, at any rate. Now, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Oh, no, lady. You looked so pretty, and so good, that I wanted to warn you; that is all. I should be glad if I could serve you, too, but I could never serve him. I don't want for anything, dear lady. Now the old woman will go."

"I won't forget you, Hagar, if I ever need a friend."

Hagar turned toward her. "If you ever want to make him feel what it is to make others suffer, Hagar will help you."

There was a vindictive light in the old woman's eyes, and she hobbled out of the room, looking as if she meant all she had said.

Cora sat, for a time, pondering over the interview, and trying to trace out some motive for insincerity on the old woman's part. But she could see none. She resolved to investigate a little, and all that evening was the most attentive and agreeable of wives. Abundant and versatile was her conversation. Deftly she led the talk up to the proper point, and then said, carelessly:

"Driving through the village, to-day, I passed that queer old woman – Hagar, do they call her? She glared at me, oh! so savagely."

"She is an old hag!" Mr Arthur answered, with unnecessary fierceness. "I don't see what Satan has been about, all these years, that he's not taken her away to her proper atmosphere."

"Why," in pretty surprise, "I thought she used to be one of your servants?"

"She was a servant to my first wife," moodily. "I got rid of the baggage quick enough, when Mrs. Arthur died. She is an old viper, and put more disobedience into that girl Madeline's head, than I ever could get out."

"What a horrid old wretch she must be!" shuddering.

Then the conversation dropped, and Cora was satisfied.

"The old woman shall be my tool," she thought, triumphantly.

CHAPTER XXII.

TO BE, TO DO, TO SUFFER

On the day that followed the events last related, Madeline Payne returned to Oakley to resume her self-imposed task.

Leaving the train, the girl took the path through the woods. When she had traversed it half way, she came upon old Hagar, who was seated upon a fallen log awaiting her. Looking cautiously about, to assure herself that the interview would have no spectators, Madeline, or Céline, as we must now call her, seated herself to listen to the report of Davlin's visit, and the success of Hagar's interview with Cora.

Expressing herself fully satisfied with what she heard, Céline made the old woman acquainted with the result of her visit to the city, or as much of it as was necessary and expedient. Then, after some words of mutual council, and a promise to visit her that evening, if possible, the girl lost no time in making her way to the manor, and straight into the presence of her mistress.

Considering that her maid was – her maid, Miss Arthur welcomed her with an almost rapturous outburst. Céline had held high place in the affections of Miss Arthur, truth to tell, since her astonishing discovery of Mr. Edward Percy, in the character of young Romeo, promenading within sight of his lady's window.

"Céline," simpered Miss Arthur, while the damsel addressed was brushing out her mistress's hair, preparatory to building it into a French wonder; "Céline, I may be wrong in talking so freely to you about myself and my – my friends, but I observe that you never presume in the least – "

"Oh, mademoiselle, I could never do that!" cooed the girl, with wicked double meaning.

"And," pursued Miss Arthur, graciously, "you are really quite a sagacious and discreet young person."

"Thanks, miladi." Then, as if recollecting herself, "Pardon, mademoiselle, but you are so like her ladyship, Madame Le Baronne De Orun, my very first mistress – "

"Oh, I don't mind it at all, Céline. As I was saying, you seem quite a superior young person, and no doubt I am not the first who has made you a sort of confidante.

"Merci! no; my lady. Madame Le Baronne used to trust me with everything, and often deigned to ask my advice. But French ladies, oui, mademoiselle, always put confidence in their maids. And a maid will die rather than betray a good mistress – "

"Exactly, Céline – are you going to put my hair so high?"

"Very high, miladi."

"Oh, well; will it be becoming?"

"Oui; La mode la Francaise," relapsing into ecstacy and French. "Le coiffeur comme il faut! Chere amie, le-chef-a-œuvre!"

Miss Arthur collapsed, and Céline continued to build up an atrociously unbecoming pile of puffs and curls in triumphant silence.

Céline never indulged in her native tongue, so she assured her mistress, except when carried away by momentary enthusiasm, or unwonted emotion. It was bad taste, she averred, and she desired to cultivate the beautiful American language.

Presently Miss Arthur made another venture, feeling quite justified in following in the footsteps of so august a personage as Madame Le Baronne.

"Did you see Mr. Percy after you left Bellair?"

"No, mademoiselle."

"Did you observe if he returned in the same train with yourself?"

"No, mademoiselle." Then, with a meaning little laugh: "Monsieur will not remain long from Oakley."

Miss Arthur tried to look unconscious, and succeeded in looking idiotic.

"Pardon, mademoiselle, but I can't forget that night. Mademoiselle is surely relieved of one fear."

"What is that?"

"The fear of being wooed because of her wealth."

Miss Arthur started, then said: "There may be something in that, Céline; and it is not impossible that I may inherit more."

"Ah?" inquiringly.

"Yes. Possibly you have learned from the servants that Mr. Arthur lost a young step-daughter not long ago; just before you came, in fact."

"I don't remember. Did she die, mademoiselle?"

"Yes. She was a very wild, unruly child, a regular little heathen – oh!"

"Pardon, oh, pardon, did it hurt?" removing a long, spiky hair pin, with much apparent solicitude.

"A – a little; yes. As I was saying, this ridiculous girl was sent to school and no expense spared to make a lady of her."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; and then she rewards my brother for all his kindness by running away."

"Merci, mademoiselle!" suddenly recalling her French.

"And then she died among strangers, just as provokingly as she had lived. She must even run away to die, to make it seem as if her home was not a happy one."

"What a very wicked young person; how you must have been annoyed."

"We were all deeply grieved."

"And I don't suppose that dead young woman was even grateful for that."

"Oh, there was no gratitude in her."

"Of course not! Now, mademoiselle, let me do your eyebrows," turning her about.

"But," pursued Miss Arthur, "when she died, my brother acquired unconditional control of a large fortune, and you must see that my brother is getting rather old. Well, in case of his death, a part, at least, of this fortune will become mine."

"Yes, madame."

"My brother is too much afraid to face the thought of death and make a new will, and papers are in existence that will give me the larger portion of his fortune. Of course, Mrs. Arthur will get her third."

Céline was now surprised in earnest.

Miss Arthur had spoken the truth. With shrewd foresight, she had made John Arthur sign certain papers two years before, in consideration of sundry loans from her. And of this state of affairs every one, except their two selves and the necessary lawyer, had remained in ignorance.

The girl's eyes gleamed. This was still better. It would make her vengeance more complete.

And now Miss Arthur was thrown into a state of girlish agitation by the appearance of Susan, who announced that Mr. Percy was in the drawing-room, awaiting the pleasure of his inamorata.

She bade Céline make haste with her complexion and, after the lapse of something like half an hour, swept down to welcome her lover, with a great many amber silk flounces following in her wake.

Céline Leroque gazed after her for a moment and then closed the door. Flinging herself down "at ease" in the spinster's luxurious dressing chair, she pulled off the blue glasses and let the malicious triumph dance in her eyes as much as it would.

"Oh, you are a precious pair, you two, brother and sister! The one a knave, the other a fool! It is really pathetic to see how you mourn my loss. I have a great mind to – "

Here something seemed to occur to her that checked her mutterings, and sent her off into a deep meditation. After a long stillness she uttered a low, mocking laugh that had, too, a tinge of mischief in it. Rising slowly from the dressing chair she said, as she nodded significantly to her image reflected back from Miss Arthur's dressing glass:

"I'll put that idea into execution some nice night, and then won't there be a row in the castle? Ah! my charming mistress, if you had spoken one kind or regretful word for poor Madeline, it would have been better for you!"

What was the girl meditating now? What did she mean?

"Yes, good people at Oakley, I believe I'll take a little private amusement out of you all, while I feel quite in the mood. I won't be too partial."

Then she betook herself to her own room and let her thoughts fly back to Olive and Claire and – Clarence.

Presently, for she was very weary, spite of the previous night's repose, she fell asleep.

Late that evening she flitted through the woods and across the meadow to the cottage of old Hagar. Sleep had refreshed her and she had dreamed pleasant dreams. She felt stout of heart, and firm of nerve.

Old Hagar was overjoyed to see a smile in her nursling's face, and to hear, at times, a laugh, low and sweet, reminding her of olden days. The girl remained with her old nurse for nearly an hour. When they parted there was a perfect understanding between them, in regard to future movements and plans.

No one at Oakley was aware of Lucian Davlin's flying visit; thus much Céline knew. But of the purport and result of that visit, she knew nothing. Nor could she guess. She must bide her time, for there seemed just now little to disturb the monotony of waiting.

One thing was, however, necessary. When the time came for Miss Arthur to leave Oakley, Céline must remain. To that end she must contrive to fall out with the spinster, and "fall in" with Madame Cora. If that lady could not be beguiled into retaining her at Oakley, she must resort to a more hazardous scheme. She had already taken a step toward ingratiating herself with Mrs. Arthur, and with tolerable success. She was maturing her plans and waiting for an opportunity to put them into action.

No doubt but that by the time she had accomplished her object, if it could be accomplished, the opposite forces would come into conflict.

CHAPTER XXIII.

SETTING SOME SNARES

Three days had now passed since Madeline's return from the city. On the morning of the fourth day, she seized the first leisure moment for a visit to the post-office. Instead of the single letter from Olive that she had expected, she found three.

They were enclosed in one wrapper. This she removed on her way back to Oakley, and found the first, as was the wrapper, addressed in Olive's hand. The penmanship of the second was fairy-like and beautiful, and she recognized it as Claire's. At sight of the third, her heart gave a great bound, and then almost stood still. It was superscribed in a firm, manly hand, and was, it must be, from Dr. Vaughan.

Once securely locked in her room, Madeline opened the first of her letters with eager fingers. Yes, Olive's first. The desire to see what he had said was strong in her heart, but she had decided not to humor her heart. She held his letter caressingly for a moment and then putting it beside Claire's opened and read Olive Girard's letter.

It was like Olive's self; sweet, womanly, hopeful, yet sad:

Dear Madeline:

I am only now beginning to realize the new life and hope you have put into my heart. As I think again of what you have done and are doing, I cannot but feel faith in your success. Oh, if I could but work with you; for you and for Philip!

Again and again I implore you to pardon me for ever doubting your wisdom or strength. If at any time I can aid you – such poor aid – my purse is yours, as your cause is mine.

Claire and Doctor Vaughan will speak for themselves. And as I dare make no more suggestions to so wise a woman, I only put in a faint little plea. Do, pray, grant Doctor Vaughan's request, and may God aid you in all that you do.

Olive.

"Doctor Vaughan's request!" repeated the girl. "Would that I could grant him not only all his requests, but all his wishes!"

Then she opened Claire's letter.

My Grand Madeline:

How proud I am to claim you for my friend! I shall never again conduct myself with any degree of meekness toward people who have not the happiness of knowing you. And you should hear Doctor Vaughan extol you! He says you are wiser and braver than any detective. That he would trust you in any emergency. That if any one can lift the cloud that hangs over poor Philip, it is you.

My heart tells me that you will yet prove the good angel of Philip and Olive, as already you have been mine; and soon, I pray, you will become that and more to Doctor Vaughan; you must and shall. I shall have no wish ungratified when I can see your trials at an end; and yourself, surrounded by us who love you, happy at last. Don't let all these other claimants push me out of your heart; always keep one little place for your loving, grateful

Claire.

Madeline's eyes were moist when she lifted them from the perusal of this letter.

"Bright, beautiful, brave Claire," she murmured; "who could help loving her?"

Then her eyes fell again upon the letter, and she started:

"'You will become that and more to Doctor Vaughan,'" she read. "What can she mean? Can it be possible that, after all, I have betrayed myself to her?"

She re-read the letter from beginning to end, her face flushing and paling.

"Oh!" she whispered softly, "she has read my heart, and we are playing at cross purposes! What a queer rivalry," the girl actually laughed; "a rivalry of renunciation. Does she yet know how he loves her, I wonder?" Then, her face growing graver, "she won't be long in making that discovery now."

She took up Clarence Vaughan's letter, almost dreading to break the seal.

My Brave Little Sister:

You perceive, I have commenced my tyranny. And instead of being able to grant favors to my new sister, I am reduced to the necessity of begging them at her hands. In a word, I want to come to Bellair. Not to be a meddlesome adviser; I am too firmly a convert to your method of procedure for that. Besides, I should have to declare war upon Miss Keith if I presumed thus far. But I do desire to further your plans, and to this end would make a suggestion that has occurred to me since hearing of your marvelous detective work.

Believe me, I cannot express the admiration I feel for your daring and tact. I have no longer the faintest scruple as to trusting this issue, so important to all of us, in your hands. And I am more than proud of such a sister.

May I come to Bellair, say on Monday next? I will stop at the little station a few miles this side of the village, and walk or drive over, and find my way to the cottage of your old nurse, where you can meet me, unless you have a better place to suggest. I shall anxiously await your answer, and am your brother to command.

C. E. Vaughan.

Madeline's cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining.

"How they all trust me!" she ejaculated; "and they always shall. I will never be false to their friendship; no, not if to serve them my heart's blood must become wormwood and gall."

She re-read all her letters, but would not allow herself to linger too long over that of Clarence Vaughan. She had resolved to have no more weakness, no more outbreaks of passion. She was very stern with herself. Even as a friend and brother, she would not allow her thoughts to dwell too much upon him, until she grew stronger, and more perfect in her renunciation.

Then she sat down at her humble little table, and answered her letters.

To Olive she wrote a sweet, cheery note, telling of her gratitude, her affection, her hope for the future; and then she added a womanlike P. S. as follows:

Please say to Doctor Vaughan that I will be at Hagar's cottage on Monday evening, but can't tell the precise time I may be able to appear. If he follows the main road through the village, until he has passed the grounds of Oakley, he will have no difficulty in finding the cottage. It stands alone, almost in the middle of a field, facing the west, and is the first habitation after Oakley.

"I cannot write to him," she said; "at least not now."

Then she wrote Claire a long, cheery letter, saying little of herself, and much of her friends, – of all save Doctor Vaughan. She would not mention him tenderly, she could not mention him lightly; so she would say of him nothing at all.

But if Madeline was astute, Claire, too, was beginning to develop that quality. So when the latter young lady read this letter, she smiled and said: "The dear little hypocrite! As if she could deceive me by this evidently studied neglect. Oh! you proud, stiff-necked, little detective!"

And their game of cross purposes went on.

Madeline had sealed her letters, and was about to reach for her hat preparatory to hastening with them to the post office, when her attention was arrested by a sound, slight but unusual, and not far away. She stood erect, silent, motionless, listening intently. Presently the sound was repeated, and then a look of intelligence passed over the girl's face.

"Some one is in the deserted rooms," she thought. And she abandoned for the present her purpose of going out.

There was but one way to approach the closed-up rooms, and that way led past the door of Madeline's room.

A few paces beyond her door, the hall connecting the west wing with the more modern portion, made a sharp curve and opened into the main hall of that floor. Céline Leroque opened her door cautiously, having first donned her not very becoming walking attire. Then she took up her position just outside the angle of the western hall, and so close to it that if an approach was made from below, she could easily retire behind the angle.

She had grown heartily tired of her sentinel task when, at last, a soft rustle was heard near at hand. Céline turned so quickly into the narrower hall that she fairly ran upon and stopped – Mrs. John Arthur! who uttered a sharp exclamation expressive of surprise and annoyance.