My Pretty Maid; or, Liane Lester

In her rage and despair she had forgotten Jesse Devereaux's letter to her father until, in a restless movement, she heard the rustle of paper in her corsage.

An evil gleam lightened in her eyes, and she drew the letter forth, muttering:

"Ah, this will beguile my weary waiting!"

In five minutes she was mistress of the contents.

It was the letter Devereaux had written to acquaint Edmund Clarke with Liane's address—the fateful letter that was to betray the girl into the hands of her bitterest foe.

Ah, the hellish gleam of wicked joy in the cruel red-brown eyes; the stormy heaving of Roma's breast as she realized her great good fortune; all her enemies in her power, at her mercy! The mercy the ravenous wolf shows to the helpless lamb!

She laughed low and long in her glee, and that laughter was an awful thing to hear.

"Oh, how can I wait till to-morrow?" she muttered. "Yet I cannot go to Boston to-night, nor to-morrow, if Edmund Clarke dies to-night. Shall I spare his life till I go to Boston, and have his daughter put out of the way?"

CHAPTER XXIII.

A MURDEROUS FURY

Hours slipped away while the beautiful fiend, so young in years, so old in the conception of crime, crouched in her seat, waiting, musing, pondering on the best schemes for ridding herself of those who stood in her way.

She was eager as a wild beast to strike quickly and finish the awful work she had set herself to do.

It seemed to her that she might never have another such opportunity for ending Edmund Clarke's life as was offered to her by the conditions of the present moment.

It was most important to get rid of him, she knew, and the sooner the better for the safety of her position as heiress of the Clarke millions. Let him die first, and she could attend to the others afterward.

At the dark, gloomy hour of midnight, while the icy winds wailed around the house like a banshee, Roma went groping through the pitch-black corridors toward the room where Mr. Clarke lay sleeping with his gentle, loving wife by his side.

Like a sleek, beautiful panther the girl crept into the unlocked door, knowing the room so well that she could find her way to the bedside in the darkness, and put out her stealthy, murderous hand, with the bottle of poison in it, seeking for the glass that held the sleeping potion Doctor Jay had prescribed.

Her heart beat with evil exultation, for it seemed to her that her errand could scarcely fail of success. Edmund Clarke was sound asleep, she knew by his deep breathing, and she decided that, after pouring the poison into the glass, she would make enough noise in escaping from the room to arouse him fully, so that he would be sure to swallow the second dose ere sleeping again.

It was a clever plan, cleverly conceived, and in another moment it would be executed, and no earthly power could save the victim from untimely death.

But in her haste Roma made one fatal mistake.

In groping for the glass, she held the vial with the arsenic clasped in her hand.

And she was very nervous, her white hands trembling as they fluttered over the little medicine stand by the head of the bed.

That was why, the next moment, there came the sharp clink of glass against glass as her hands came in contact with what she sought, overturning and breaking both, with such a sharp, keen, crystalline tinkle that both the sleepers were aroused suddenly and quickly, and Mr. Clarke flung out his arms, clutching Roma ere she could escape, and demanding bewilderedly:

"What is the matter? Who is this?"

"Edmund! Edmund!" cried his equally startled wife, hastily lighting a night lamp close to her arm, in time to see Roma writhing and struggling in her father's arms.

"Roma!" he panted.

"Roma!" echoed his wife.

It was a situation to strike terror to the girl's guilty heart.

But in her scheming she had not failed to take into account any possible contretemps.

Failing in her efforts to escape before her identity was detected, Roma laughed aloud, hysterically:

"Dear papa, do not squeeze me so hard, please; you take away my breath! Why, you must take me for a burglar!"

Edmund Clarke, releasing her and not yet fully awake, stammered drowsily:

"Yes—I—took—you—for—a—burglar. What do you want, Roma?"

"Yes, what is the matter, my dear?" added Mrs. Clarke wonderingly, while Roma, mistress of the situation still, pressed her hand to her cheek, groaning hysterically:

"Oh, papa, mamma, forgive me for arousing you, but I am suffering so much with a wretched toothache, and I came to ask you for some medicine to ease it!"

"Poor dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Clarke, with immediate maternal sympathy, as she rose quickly from her bed and motioned Roma into her dressing room, searching for remedies within a little medicine case while she plied her with questions.

"When did it begin to ache, dear? Why didn't you send Dolly for the medicine? It will make you worse, coming along the cold corridors!"

"For goodness' sake, don't tease! Give me the medicine quick as you can!" Roma answered crossly, dropping into a chair and hiding her face in her hands, her whole form shaking with fury at the failure of her scheme to kill Edmund Clarke.

A blind, terrible rage possessed her, and she would have liked to spring upon him and clutch his throat with murderous hands.

But she dare not give way to her murderous impulse; she must wait and try her luck again, for die he must, and that very soon.

She could only wreak her pent-up rage by cross answers to the gentle lady she called mother, and Mrs. Clarke, with a patient sigh of wounded feeling, turned to her, replying:

"I did not mean to tease you, Roma, but here is some medicine. Put five drops of it upon this bit of cotton and press it into the cavity of your tooth, and it will give you speedy relief. In the morning you must visit a dentist."

Roma lifted her pale face, and answered:

"Yes, I will visit a dentist, but not one at Stonecliff. I will go to Boston by the early train."

"I will go with you and do some shopping," said her mother, who had a very feminine love of finery.

"Very well," the girl answered, scowling behind her hand, for she preferred to go alone on her mission to Granny Jenks.

But she realized that it would not do to offend the only person who seemed to have any real fondness for her, so, making a wry face behind her hand, she went up to Mrs. Clarke, saying gently:

"I did not mean to be cross to you, dear mamma, but I am in such agony with this pain that I could not help my impatience. I want you to forgive me and try not to love me any less for my faults, please."

Mrs. Clarke could not help wondering what favor Roma was planning to ask for now, but she answered sweetly:

"I forgive you, dear, and, of course, I shall always love my daughter."

"But papa does not love me much. I often meet his glance fixed on me in cold disapproval, and at times he is very stern to me!" complained Roma.

"That must be your fancy, dear. He could not help loving you, his own daughter, dearly and fondly," soothed the lady, though she knew that she had herself noticed and complained of the same thing in her husband.

"You do not love Roma as I do," she had said to him, reproachfully, many times, getting always an evasive, unsatisfactory reply.

So she could not offer her much comfort on this score; she could only put her arm about the form of the arch traitress, murmuring kind, tender words, actually getting in return a loving caress that surprised her very much, it was so unusual.

But Roma for the first time in her life comprehended the necessity of fortifying her position by a staunch ally like her mother.

"I will go back to my room now. I must not keep you up any longer in the cold, dear, patient mamma," she cried gushingly, as she kissed her and left the room.

Mrs. Clarke was grateful for the caress, but she retired to bed with the firm conviction that it would take a very large check indeed to gratify Roma's desires in Boston to-morrow. Her affectionate spells were always very costly to her parents.

"Do you think I had better take the second dose of that sedative? I am very nervous from my sudden awakening, and wish we had locked the door on retiring," her husband said petulantly.

"It would be very unkind to lock the door on our own daughter. Roma was just now lamenting your sternness and lack of love and sympathy," returned the lady.

Edmund Clarke stifled an imprecation between his teeth, then demanded earnestly:

"Have I ever failed in love and sympathy to you, dear Elinor?"

"Never, my darling husband," she answered, fondly clasping his hand.

"And never will my love fail you, dearest; but I cannot say as much for Roma, whose nature is so unlike yours that I confess she repels instead of attracts me," he exclaimed, reaching out for the medicine and exclaiming impatiently on finding the glass broken and the draught lost.

Ah, how nearly it had been a fatal draught, had not Heaven interposed to save his life!

As he set it back on the table, he added:

"Why, here is a broken vial on the table beside the glass. I wonder how it came there!"

"I do not know; but it really does not matter, dear. There, now, shut your eyes, and try to sleep," advised his wife, knowing the importance of sound, healthful sleep to the convalescent.

But to her dismay he arose and turned the key in the lock, saying as he lay down again:

"I'll try to sleep now; but I'll make sure first of not being disturbed again."

CHAPTER XXIV.

A STRAND OF RUDDY HAIR

At early daylight the next morning a servant tapped at Edmund Clarke's door with a message from Doctor Jay.

He found himself quite ill this morning, and must go home at once. Would Mr. Clarke grant him a few parting words?

Mr. Clarke was up and dressed. He had just said good-by to his wife and Roma, who had taken an early train to Boston.

He went at once to Doctor Jay's room, finding him seated by the window, looking ill and aged from a bad night.

"Good morning, my dear old friend. You look ill, and I fear you have not rested well."

"No; my night was troubled by ghastly dreams. I could scarcely wait till morning to bid you good-by."

"I am very sorry for this, for I had counted on a pleasant day with you. My wife and Roma are gone to Boston for the day, leaving their regrets for you, and kindly wishes to find you here on their return."

The doctor started with surprise, exclaiming:

"It must have been an unexpected trip."

Edmund Clarke then explained about Roma's midnight sufferings from toothache, necessitating a visit to her dentist.

"My wife would not have left me, but she felt sure I should not be lonely, having you for company," he added regretfully.

"My dear friend, I should like to remain with you, and, rather than disappoint you, I will wait until the late afternoon train; but—all my friendship for you could not tempt me to spend another night at Cliffdene!"

"You amaze me, doctor! This is very strange! Why do you look so pale and strange? Why did you spend so uncomfortable a night, when I tried to surround you with every comfort?"

"You did, my dear friend, and every luxury besides—even a key to my door, which I forgot to use," returned Doctor Jay, so significantly that Edmund Clarke reddened, exclaiming:

"It is not possible you have been robbed! I believe that all my servants are honest!"

He thought that the old physician must be losing his senses when he answered, with terrible gravity:

"Nevertheless, I was nearly robbed of my life last night!"

"Great heavens!"

Doctor Jay's brow was beaded with damp as he loosened his cravat and collar, and pointed to his bared neck.

Edmund Clarke leaned forward, and saw on the old man's throat some dark purple discolorations, like finger prints.

"Have you in your household any persons subject to vicious aberrations of mind?" demanded Doctor Jay.

"No one!" answered his startled host, and he was astounded when his guest replied:

"Nevertheless, a fiend in human form entered this room last night under cover of the darkness and attempted to murder me by vicious strangling!"

"Heavens! Is this so?"

"You have the evidence!" exclaimed the physician, pointing to his bared throat with the print of the strangler's fingers.

"This is most mysterious!" ejaculated Edmund Clarke, in wonder and distress, while the physician continued:

"Last night I retired and slept soundly until after midnight, when I was aroused by the horrible sensation of steely fingers gripping my throat with deadly force. Vainly gasping for my failing breath, I struggled with the intruder, who held on with a maniacal strength, panting with fury as I clutched in my arms a form that I immediately knew to be that of a woman, soft, warm, palpitating, though her strength was certainly equal to that of a man. We grappled in a terrible struggle, and I clutched my fingers in her long hair, causing her such pain that, with a stifled moan, she released my throat, struck me in the face, and fled before I could regain my senses, that deserted me at the critical moment."

"This is most mysterious, most shocking! No wonder you are anxious to leave Cliffdene, where you so nearly met your death. But this must be sifted to the bottom at once, and the lunatic identified, for it could be no other than a lunatic. I will have the whole household summoned. We will question every servant closely!" cried Clarke eagerly, turning to ring the bell.

But Doctor Jay stopped him, saying:

"Wait till I question you on the subject. Have you in your employ a woman with red hair?"

"What a question! But, no. My women servants are all gray-haired or black-haired, with one exception. That is Roma's maid, a pretty little blonde, with the palest flaxen curls."

He looked inquiringly at the doctor, who replied:

"After my struggle was over and I was able to light a lamp, I found entangled in my fingers some threads of hair—beautiful long strands of ruddy hair, copperish red in the full light."

He took an envelope from his breast, and drew from it a ruddy strand of long hair, holding it up to the light of the window, where it shone with a rich copper tint.

"My God!" groaned Edmund Clarke.

"You recognize the hair?" cried Doctor Jay.

"It is Roma's hair!" was the anguished answer.

"I thought so!"

"You thought so! Is the girl, then, a lunatic, or a fiend? And what motive could she have to take your life—an old man, who has never harmed her in his blameless life?" cried the host, in consternation.

Edmund Clarke had never been confronted with such a terrible problem of crime in his life. His face paled to an ashen hue, and his eyes almost glared as he stared helplessly at his friend.

"I have a theory!" cried Doctor Jay.

"What is it?"

"The girl must have overheard our conversation last night."

"Impossible!"

"Why?"

Mr. Clarke revolved the matter silently in his mind for a moment, then answered:

"Well, of course, not impossible, but quite improbable."

"Is there not a curtained alcove or anteroom next the library?"

"Yes; but why should the girl have suspected us—why concealed herself there to listen?"

"Heaven only knows, but it is possible that some accident brought her there—perhaps an errand of some kind—maybe to get medicine from me for her aching tooth. She caught a few words that aroused her curiosity, kept silence, and listened, overhearing the truth about herself."

"It must indeed have happened that way!"

"And the shock drove her mad," continued Doctor Jay. "Her resentment flamed against me for knowing so much of her low origin. In her first senseless fury she sought my life."

"It is a terrible situation!" cried his friend, and both were silent for a moment, gazing at the lock of hair as if it had been a writhing serpent; then Clarke continued:

"It is a wonder the fiend incarnate did not seek my life also, thus removing from her path the two who were plotting to oust her from her position and reinstate the real heiress!"

But even as he spoke he remembered last night's accident when he had been aroused by the clink of breaking glass and found Roma in hysterics by his bedside.

He told Doctor Jay the whole story, adding:

"I could not imagine how the bottle came there. It was certainly not on the stand when I retired to bed, and when I read the label this morning, it ran: 'Poison—arsenic.'"

"I should like to see the bottle."

"Come with me," returned Mr. Clarke, leading the way to his room.

Fortunately the chambermaid had not disturbed anything yet, so the fragments of the bottle and glass were found upon the table.

"It is a fearfully strong solution of arsenic, and I fancy she intended to pour it into your sedative, so that in case you drank it you would be silenced forever," affirmed the doctor.

They could only stare aghast at each other, feeling that Providence had surely preserved their lives last night.

"She was nervous in the dark, jostling the bottle against the glass, breaking both, and thus defeating her murderous game! The toothache was probably a clever feint to explain her presence in your room," continued the old doctor, who had a wonderful insight into men and motives, and seemed to read Roma like an open book.

A sudden terror seized on Mr. Clarke.

"She has taken my darling wife away with her! What if she means to murder her, too? I must follow them on the next train and separate them forever!" he cried frantically.

"I believe you are right, my friend."

After further thought and consultation, they decided that, although Roma and Mrs. Clarke must be immediately separated, it would not be prudent to reveal the truth to her yet, for the shock would be sufficient to dethrone her reason. Therefore it would not be prudent to arrest Roma yet for her attempted crimes.

"We have just time enough for a hasty breakfast before catching the next train. Come!" cried Edmund Clarke, leading the way from the room.

In the corridor they encountered Dolly Dorr mincing along, with her yellow head on one side like a pert canary; and her master, stopping her, exclaimed:

"Your mistress had a bad time with the toothache, I fear, last night, Dolly!"

Dolly, dropping a curtsy, answered slyly:

"Indeed she did, sir, and the medicine she got when she went after Doctor Jay didn't help her one bit, for she walked the floor groaning and sobbing all night."

They glared at her in amazement, while she continued, with pretended sympathy:

"She would not let me sit up with her, poor thing, but I was stealing back to her room to see if I could help her any when I met her flying out of Doctor Jay's room, and she said she had gone for a remedy for the toothache, and he burned her gums with iodine and almost set her crazy with the pain. Then she scolded me for being up so late, and sent me back to my room to stay."

She gave Doctor Jay a quizzical glance from her saucy blue eyes, but his face was entirely noncommittal as he replied:

"I am very sorry I burned her so badly with the iodine, but I thought it would give the quickest relief."

"Well, she has gone to a dentist in Boston now, and he may soon help the pain," said Edmund Clarke, passing on, while Dolly Dorr muttered suspiciously:

"There were mysterious carryings on in this house last night, for sure!"

CHAPTER XXV.

A TRUE FRIEND

Liane Lester, late that afternoon, when coming home from her work with her friend, Lizzie White, saw again the handsome face and dark, flashing eyes of Jesse Devereaux. He had believed himself unseen, but he was mistaken.

Some subtle instinct had turned Liane's timid glance straight to the spot where he was watching, unseen, as he believed.

The quick, passionate throb of her heart sent the blood bounding to her cheeks and made her hands tremble as they clasped the envelope with her slender weekly earnings.

But at the same instant Liane dropped the thick, curling fringe of her lashes quickly over her eyes, for in his alert glance she met no sign of recognition, and her heart sank heavily again as she remembered his cold, careless greeting the day she had passed his house with Mrs. Brinkley.

The good woman was right. He might have amused himself with her in the country, but he was indifferent to her in town. He would not even take the trouble to bow when they met by chance, as now.

But Liane had the most loyal heart in the world, and she could never forget that night by the sea when Devereaux had saved her from the insulting caresses of the dark-browed stranger, and afterward from granny's blow, breaking his arm in her defense.

"How brave and noble he was that night! He was so handsome and adorable that my heart went out to him, never to be recalled, in spite of all that has happened since," she thought sadly.

With lowered lashes and a heart sinking heavily with its hopeless love and pain, Liane passed on with her friend, little dreaming that she was followed to her home by Devereaux, nor what dire consequences would follow on his learning her address.

She was restless that night, and he haunted her dreams persistently, and on the morrow she rose tired, and pale, and sad, almost wishing she had not met him again, to have all the old pain and regret revived within her breast.

The long day dragged away, and when she went home that evening she found awaiting her the Philadelphia magazine that had her beautiful face on the outside cover. Accompanying this was a batch of novels, together with a basket of fruit and a bunch of roses.

"Hothouse roses and tropical fruit—you must have caught a rich beau, Liane!" cried Mrs. Brinkley, as she delivered the gifts.

"Oh, no; there must be some mistake," she answered quickly, but her heart throbbed as she remembered the meeting with Devereaux yesterday, and she wondered if he could possibly be the donor.

"Impossible!" she sighed to herself, as the woman continued:

"There cannot be any mistake, for there is the card, tied to the basket, with 'Miss Liane Lester, with kind wishes of a true friend,' written on it. They came by a neat messenger boy, who would not answer a single question I asked him."

"A charming mystery! Oh, what magnificent roses for the last of November!" cried Lizzie, inhaling their fragrance with delight, while Liane handed around the basket, generously sharing the luscious fruit with her friends.

She was thinking all the while of the words Jesse Devereaux had said to her on the beach that never-to-be-forgotten night:

"I will be a true friend to you."

The card on the basket read the same: "A True Friend."

It was enough to send the tremulous color flying to Liane's cheek, while a new, faint hope throbbed at her heart.

Granny was out somewhere, or she would have got a scolding on suspicion of knowing the donor of the presents. She wisely kept the truth to herself, dividing the fruit with her friends, placing the books in her trunk, and the roses in a vase in Lizzie's room, though she longed very much to have them in her own.

That night her dreams were sweet and rose-colored.

She went to work with a blithe heart next morning, and, although it was the first day of December, and a light covering of snow lay on the roofs and pavements, she did not feel the biting wind pierce through her thin jacket; her pulse was bounding and her being in a glow because of the great scarlet rose pinned on her breast, seeming to shed a summer warmth and sweetness on the icy air—the warmth of hope and love.

All day her visions were rose-colored, and her thoughts hovered about Devereaux until she almost forgot where she was, and was recalled unpleasantly to reality by a proud, impatient voice exclaiming:

"I have spoken to you twice, and you have not heard me! Your thoughts must be very far away. Show me your best kid gloves—five and a half size!"

At the same moment a small hand had gently pressed her arm, sending an odd thrill through her whole frame, causing her to start and look up at a handsome, richly dressed woman, whose dark-blue eyes were fixed on her in surprise and dislike.

She knew the proud, cold face instantly. It belonged to a woman she had seen on Edmund Clarke's arm the night of the beauty contest. It was his wife, the mother of haughty Roma, and Liane comprehended instantly her glance of anger—it was because she had taken the prize over Roma's head.