CHAPTER XVII.
A CRUEL FORGERY
At the elegant family mansion on Boston's most aristocratic avenue, Jesse Devereaux, watching by the bedside of his sick father, waited with burning impatience for the answer to the letter in which he had poured out the overwhelming tenderness of his soul.
No shadow of doubt clouded his love, he felt so sure of Liane's love in return. Had it not trembled in her voice, gleamed in her eyes, and blushed on her cheeks?
Oh, they would be so happy together, he and his young bride, Liane! He would make up to her for all the poverty and sorrow of her past life. Life should be flower-strewn and love-sweet for her now.
Of course he expected some opposition from Lyde, his proud, fashionable sister, when she learned that he was off with his engagement to the heiress, Miss Clarke, and meant to wed a poor girl, who worked for her living. But he meant to stand firm, and when she saw how sweet and beautiful Liane was, she would be ready to excuse him and accept his darling for a sister.
In these rosy daydreams the hours flew, and on the second day after posting his letter he received a reply.
It gave him something of an unpleasant shock when he held the square blue envelope in his hand and read the ill-written address:
MISTER JESS DEVEROW,
No. – Comonwelt Avnoo,
Bostin,
Mass.
His cheek flushed, and he sighed.
"Poor girl, of course she has had no opportunities of education, but she can have private teachers, and soon remedy all that."
And he opened the letter with the eagerness of a lover, despite the slight damper on his spirits, caused by his love's bad chirography, united to even worse orthography.
His eager eyes traveled quickly over the small sheet with the awkward sentences of one little used to epistolary work.
Stonecliff, the 17 Sept.
Deer Mister Devrow: Deer me, what a s'hpise your letter wuz! I thought you wuz jest flirtin' with me! I had heerd what a flirt you wuz, so I jest tryed my hand on you! They told me you wuz ingage to the beautiful Miss Clarke, and I thought what fun to cut her out!
But I didn't think I could do it. I didn' know as I was so pretty till I tuk the beauty prize that nite. Deer me, how glad I wuz of that money! I'm a grate heiress now, like Miss Clarke, ain't I?
I'm much obleedge fur your offer to marry, but I can't see my way clear to accept, being as I don't love you well enuff. I never did admire these dark men with sassy, black eyes and dark hair. I've heern tell they are as jealous as a turk. I make bold to say, I think Mr. Deen is the style I most admire—deep blue eyes and brown curls. He seems to have took a fancy to me, too, and if he should ast me the question you did, I know I could say yes. Forgive if this pains, but it's best to be frank, so you won't go on loving me in vane.
I'm grateful to you for your vote that helped to git me that hundred dollars! I'm goin' down to Bostin to see the sites, and buy me a red silk gown, I always wuz crazy for one!
Truly yours,Liane Lester.
Devereaux sat like one dazed, going over and over the letter of rejection. He could hardly realize that Liane's little hand had penned those words.
No more cruel blow at a strong man's love and pride had ever been dealt than that letter, showing the writer to be possessed of so shallow a nature as to be incapable of appreciating the treasure of a true heart's love, so ungratefully thrown away.
Jesse Devereaux thrust it away from him at last, and sat staring blankly before him with heavy eyes, like one contemplating the ruins of his dearest hope.
It seemed to him as if he had just laid some dearly loved one in the grave. Hours and days of sorrow seemed to pass over him as he sat there brooding darkly over his fate.
Was it indeed but an hour ago he had felt so hopeful and glad, telling himself he had just found the sweetest joy of life in the dawn of love?
What foolish thoughts, what a misplaced love, what rash confidence in an innocent face and demure, pansy-blue eyes!
She had just been flirting with him because she heard he was a great flirt, and was engaged to Miss Clarke, and she wanted to see if she could "cut her out." It was all heartless vanity that he had taken for shy, bashful love. The ignorant little working girl had proved herself an adept in the art of flirtation.
It was a crushing blow, and his heart was very sore. He had loved her so, ever since the night they had first met, loved her with the passion of his life! Even now the memory of her sweetness would not down. He would be haunted forever by her voice, her glance, her smile, so alluring in their beauty, so false in true womanly worth and grace, will-o'-the-wisp lights, shining but to betray.
And Malcolm Dean was his rival in the heart of the lovely, coquettish working girl! She admired his "deep-blue eyes and brown curls" as much as she disliked "sassy black eyes and dark hair." She would marry him if he asked her, she said. Jesse wondered cynically if Dean had been merely flirting, too, or would his love prompt him to elevate pretty Liane to the proud position of his bride.
Meanwhile, Liane, innocent as an angel, of course, of the letter that Roma had sent in her name, had duly arrived in the city.
Her grandmother had taken her to cheap lodgings that night, and, after they had been shown to a room, the old woman said abruptly:
"Now I'll go and inquire about my daughter."
Liane went to the window and looked out in awe at the lights of the great city, wondering how far away from this spot Jesse Devereaux could be to-night. Her young heart throbbed with joy at the thought of his nearness, for she had no realization of the extent of Boston.
While she was musing and wondering granny returned, saying crossly:
"It seems I made a mistake in the address. She ain't here at all, but I'm tired, and not a step shall I stir from this to-night, so we'll go to bed, Liane, and I'll hunt her in the morning."
"But if she should die before morning, granny?"
"Let her die, then; I can't help it! Go to bed!" snarled the old woman, creeping into bed; so Liane, seeing the uselessness of remonstrance, followed her example.
The next morning, after breakfast, granny announced that she would leave Liane in care of the landlady, while she went out in search of the dying daughter.
"Let me go with you," pleaded the girl, with a vague hope of meeting Devereaux somewhere on the street, all her thought clinging to him with tender persistence.
"No, I won't have you along with me, but I'll come back for you as soon as I find her," snapped granny, so sharply that Liane gave in and watched her depart with keen regret.
"I should have liked to go with her to see some of the sights of the great city," she sighed, so forlornly that the landlady said cheerily:
"Well, come in here and sit a while with my sick sister, and I'll hurry up my morning's work and go out with you myself this afternoon."
Lizzie White was a pretty shop girl, just recovering from a spell of fever, and she took an instant interest in the pretty new boarder.
"Sister Annie can show you all over the city," she said. "But," hesitatingly, "haven't you any other clothes to wear?" her glance falling deprecatingly on Liane's simple dark-blue print gown and summer straw hat. "It's time for fall things, you know," she added.
Liane blushed at the poverty of her attire, but answered gently:
"These are the best clothes I have, but I have a little money of my own, and if I knew where to go, I would buy a blue serge suit."
"Sister Annie can take you to a place this afternoon—the very store where I work when I am well," replied Lizzie encouragingly.
Afternoon came, but no granny yet, and Mrs. Brinkley offered to take Liane out, saying it was such a pity to stay indoors all day when the sun shone so bright and warm.
Liane accepted eagerly, and then her new friend, Lizzie, shyly proffered her a new fall suit of her own to wear.
"Do wear it to please me, and because people will make remarks on your print gown," she said eagerly, and the girl, fearful that Mrs. Brinkley might be ashamed of her shabby attire, accepted gratefully.
Her appearance was indeed quite different when clothed in Lizzie's brown cloth skirt, scarlet silk waist, and jaunty brown jacket, with a brown walking skirt to match.
CHAPTER XVIII.
LIANE'S FLEETING LOVE DREAM
Liane was enchanted with the beautiful city, and Mrs. Brinkley, who felt a proud proprietorship in it, was delighted with her praises.
They went from one grand building to another, but the good woman soon noticed that Liane seemed best pleased walking along the crowded streets, and that instead of observing all that she pointed out, the girl's eyes wandered wistfully from one face to another, as if in search of some one.
"Are you looking for your grandmother?" she asked.
"Oh, no, ma'am," and Liane blushed like a rose.
"Then it must be your beau, you look so bashful. Have you got a beau in Boston?"
Liane shook her pretty head, but she looked so conscious that the woman plied her with curious questions, until the young girl owned that she knew one person in Boston, a young man, who had spent several weeks at Stonecliff. Then the curious matron did not rest until she had learned his name.
"Jesse Devereaux! Was he handsome as a picture, with big, rolling, black eyes? Yes? Why, my pretty dear, you must not set your heart on him. He is one of the young millionaires up on Commonwealth Avenue, the swellest young man in Boston. He would never stoop to a poor working girl."
She saw the beautiful color fade from the girl's rosy cheek, and her bosom heaved with emotion as she faltered:
"He was very kind to me at Stonecliff!"
Mrs. Brinkley knew the world so well that she took instant alarm, exclaiming warningly:
"Don't you set any store by his kindness, child. No good comes of rich young men showing attentions to pretty working girls. If you have followed him here through a fancy for his handsome face, then you had better go home to-night."
Eagerly, blushingly, Liane disclaimed such a purpose, saying granny had brought her to see a relative.
"I—I only thought I might see his face in some of the crowded streets," she faltered.
"It is better for you never to see his face again, for it's plain to be seen he has stolen your heart," chided the widow. "Come, I'll show you his grand home, and then you may understand better how much he is above you, and how useless it is to hope to catch him."
Liane's cheeks burned at the chidings of the good woman, and tears leaped to her eyes, but she did not refuse the proffer of seeing Devereaux's home. She thought eagerly:
"I might see him at the window, or perhaps coming down the steps into the street. Then, if he should come and speak to me joyfully, as he did that night at the beauty contest, I believe even this good, anxious woman could see that he loves me."
She walked along happily by Mrs. Brinkley's side, carrying the jaunty brown jacket on her arm, as Lizzie had advised, for the sun's rays were warm, and she was weary from her sightseeing. The scarlet silk waist looked very gay, but if she had dreamed of the dreadful letter that had told Devereaux she was coming to Boston to buy a red silk gown, she would have torn it off and trampled it beneath her feet.
Her beautiful eyes sparkled with pleasure at sight of the splendid homes of Boston's wealthy class, and she could not help exclaiming:
"I am not envious, but I would like to be rich and live in one of these palaces."
"That you can never do, child, so don't think about it any more, as I tell Lizzie, when she gets to sighing for riches," rejoined the prudent matron. "Look, now, at that grand house we're coming to; Mr. Devereaux lives there with his old father and his young married sister, the proudest beauty in Boston. You see, I read all about them in the society columns, and—oh!"
She paused with a stifled shriek, for the great front door of the grand mansion had indeed opened, as Liane secretly prayed it would, and a man came down the steps—Jesse Devereaux himself!
Leaving Lyde beside his father's bed, he was going out for a walk to try to shake off the benumbing influences of the letter that had shattered his air castles into hopeless ruins.
It seemed to him as if his thoughts had taken bodily shape, as he beheld Liane there in reach of his hand, her timid, eager glance lifted almost appealingly to his face.
He hesitated, he almost stopped to speak to her, so thrilled was he by the sight of her lovely face again, but his eyes fell on the gay red silk waist, and the words of her letter recurred to his mind:
"I'm coming down to Bostin to see the sites, and buy a red silk gown. I've always been crazy for one."
She was here, she had the red silk gown she craved, and idle curiosity had led her to pass his house, perhaps boasting to her companion, meanwhile, that she had flirted with the owner and refused his hand.
A deep crimson rose to his brow, and his heart almost stopped its beating with wounded love and pride. Just glancing at Liane with cold, indifferent eyes, he lifted his hat, bowed stiffly, and passed her by in scorn.
The girl, who had almost stopped to speak to him, gave a sigh that was almost a sob, and dropped her eyes, moving on by Mrs. Brinkley's side with a sinking heart.
"That was he, Jesse Devereaux himself," whispered the latter excitedly. "My, what a cold, haughty stare and bow; enough to freeze you. You see how 'tis, my dear? When city folks visit the country they're mighty gracious, but when country folks come to the city, they don't hardly recognize 'em."
Liane's pale smile at Mrs. Brinkley's observation was sadder than the wildest outburst of tears.
"I see that you are right," she answered, with gentle humility that touched her new friend's heart, and made her exclaim:
"Don't never give him another thought, honey. He ain't worth it. You're sweet enough and pretty enough to marry the proudest in the land, but nothing don't count now but money."
They hurried home to the poor lodgings, so different from the splendid locality they had just left, and found granny just returned from her search and in rather a good humor from the day's outing.
She did not scold Liane for going out, as the girl expected, but said calmly:
"I was too late. I found Cora dead and the funeral just starting, so I went with it, and saw her laid away in her last home. Then I thought I had just as well finish the day looking over the things she left, but I wasn't any better off by it, for the people where she boarded took it all for debt."
She was lying straight along, but, of course, Liane did not know it, and she tried to feel a little sorrow for the unknown mother laid in her lonely grave to-day, but the emotion was very faint. She could not grieve much for one she had never seen, and of whom granny had given such a frankly bad report.
Her first thought was that now she could go back to Stonecliff, away from the city that had held Jesse Devereaux, whose proud glance and chilling bow had stabbed her heart with such cruel pain.
But on making this request, the old woman scowled in disapproval.
"Back to Stonecliff? No, indeed!" she cried. "I hate the place, and I left it for good when we came away. You can get a place to work in Boston, and we will stay here."
"Yes, it will be easy to get in as a salesgirl at the store where I work. I'll recommend you," said the sick girl kindly.
Liane knew there was no appeal from granny's decision, and, after thanking Lizzie for the loan of her gown and hat, she returned to the shabby little room, longing to seek solitude in her grief.
But granny soon entered, carrying a bundle, and exclaiming:
"Mrs. Brinkley says you bought this dress to-day, and paid for it, too! Now, where'd the money come from, I'd like to know?"
Liane had to confess the truth about the beauty contest, and, as soon as the old woman took it in, she cried furiously:
"And you dared to spend that money for finery, you vain hussy?"
"It was my own, granny," Liane answered.
"Where is the rest of it? Give me every penny that is left, before I beat you black and blue!" raged the old termagant.
"Granny, you promised never to beat me again if I would stay and work for you in your old age," reminded Liane.
"I don't care what I promised! Give me the rest of the money before I kill you!" hissed the savage creature, clutching Liane's arm so tight that she sobbed with pain.
"Let go, or I'll call for help!"
"Dare to do it, and I'll choke you before any one comes!" winding her skinny claws about the fair white throat.
Liane felt as if her last hour had come, and she was so unhappy she did not greatly care, but she struggled with the old harpy, and succeeded in throwing her off, while she said rebelliously:
"I will never give you the money while I live, and if you kill me to get it, it will do you no good. You will be hanged for my murder."
Perhaps granny saw the force of this reasoning, for she desisted from her brutality, whining:
"I'm so poor, so miserably poor, that you ought to give me every penny you get."
"And dress in rags!" cried the girl indignantly. "No, granny, I will never do it again, and if you illtreat me any more, I will run away from you, and then you will starve."
She knew she would never have the heart to carry out her threat, but she had found out that she could intimidate the old woman by the threat of leaving, so she put on a bold air, and continued:
"Here is five dollars for a present, and it is all you will get of that money. I gave away twenty-five dollars in keepsakes to my girl friends before I left Stonecliff, and I have spent thirty dollars for some decent clothes to wear. Now, I have given you five dollars, and I have but forty left, and I shall keep that for myself, in case I have to run away from you and hide myself from your brutality."
Granny snatched eagerly at the money, muttering maledictions on the girl for her extravagance, but Liane, sitting with downcast eyes, pretended not to take any notice of her, until the old woman, glaring at her in wonder at the beauty that could win such a prize, demanded harshly:
"Was Miss Clarke's picture in that contest?"
When Liane answered in the affirmative, she was startled at the woman's anger.
"You dared to take that prize over beautiful Roma's head—you?" she cried furiously.
"I did not take it. The judges gave it to me. The contest was open to any pretty girl, rich or poor," Liane answered gently.
Granny looked as if she could spring upon the girl and rend her limb from limb, so bitter was her rage. She moved about the room, clinching her hands in fury, whispering maledictions to herself, but again Liane forgot to notice her, she was so absorbed in her own troubles.
She had dreamed a fleeting dream of love and bliss, and the awakening was cruel!
"I have been vain, foolish, to dream he loved me because he sent me a few roses and offered to walk home with me that night. He was only amusing himself," she thought, shrinking in pain from the cruel truth.
CHAPTER XIX.
WHAT DOLLY TOLD
Seven weeks slipped uneventfully away.
The bright, cool days of October gave place to dreary, drizzly, bleak November.
Liane had become absorbed into Boston's great army of busy working girls. Lizzie White had secured her a position at a glove counter in the same store with herself, and granny had rented two cheap rooms in Mrs. Brinkley's house, and gone to housekeeping.
Her resentment against Liane continued unabated, and she never gave the girl a kind word, but she refrained from acts of violence, lest her meek slave should rebel and leave her alone, in her old age and poverty, to fight the battle of a useless existence.
Meanwhile Judge Devereaux had died and been buried with the pomp and ceremony befitting his wealth and position, and his son and daughter had inherited his millions.
Roma Clarke did not fail to send a letter of the sweetest sympathy to her former lover—a letter that in writing and expression was so far different from Liane's letter that he could not fail to note the difference.
"Poor Liane! What a pity her mind is not as cultured as her lovely face!" he thought, with a bitter pang.
Since the day of their meeting on the avenue, he had not seen Liane, and he supposed she had seen the sights of the city, bought some garish finery, and returned to the wretched hovel she called her home.
He despised her for her shallow coquetry, but he could not help pitying her poverty, and the wretched life with the old hag, from whose brutal violence he had once rescued her at the cost of a broken arm.
"How gladly I would have taken her from her wretched lot to a life of love and luxury, but she preferred Dean. I wonder if he has justified her hopes?" he thought bitterly.
He grew more and more curious on the subject after his father's burial, in the quiet that comes to a house of mourning, and he suddenly resolved to return to Stonecliff and find out for himself.
The little seaside town looked very gloomy in the downpour of a cold November rain, and the boom of the sea, lashed to fury in a storm, was disquieting to his nerves, but he sallied forth to the post office, and stood on the steps, watching to see Liane passing by on her way from work, as on the first day he had seen her lovely face.
How freshly it all came back to him, that day but two months ago, when he had followed her to restore her truant veil, and first looked into the luring blue eyes that had thrilled his heart with passion.
What a mighty passion for the shallow coquette had been born in his heart at that meeting—passion followed by pain! Ah, how he wished now that he had never met her, that he had let the blue veil blow away on the heedless wind! The little acts of kindness had brought him a harvest of pain.
Even now, despite all, he was waiting and watching with painful yearning for another sight of her face.
But the moments waned, and she came not.
He saw the other work people of the town going home through the falling dusk. Four of Miss Bray's girls dropped in at the post office, flashing surprised glances at his handsome, familiar face, wondering at his return; then they went out again, and he thought that presently Liane and Dolly would be passing also.
But he was disappointed, and presently he realized that it was useless waiting longer.
"Dean must have married her and taken her off already, but it must have been a very quiet affair. I have seen nothing of his marriage in the papers," he thought with strange disquiet, as he came down the steps.
A handsome carriage, with prancing gray horses, in a silver-mounted harness, with liveried footman, suddenly drew up at the curbstone, and a brilliant face flushed on him from the window.
"Oh, Jesse, what a surprise! How do you do? Won't you look in our box and bring me out my mail?" cried Roma Clarke gushingly.
There was nothing for it but obedience. Jesse came out to her with two letters and a paper, and as she took them, she threw open the carriage door, urging sweetly:
"Come home with me, do, and see papa and mamma. They will be so glad to see you. Poor papa has been ill of a fever, and is just convalescing."
He was in a reckless mood. He accepted the invitation and went home with her, but she did not find him a very congenial companion. He ignored her coquettish attempts to return to their old footing.
"You hate me yet," she pouted.
"Not at all. I am glad to be your friend, if you will permit me," he replied courteously.
"Friend!" Roma cried, in an indescribable tone.
He ignored the reproach, and said calmly:
"Tell me all that has happened since I went back to Boston. Who are married and who are dead?"
"No one that you know," replied Roma, and she never guessed what a thrill of joy the words sent to his heart.
He was glad. He could not help it, that Malcolm Dean had not married Liane yet. He was yearning for news of her, yet he knew better than to ask Roma for it. He knew it would only make her angry and jealous.
While he was alone in the drawing room, Roma having gone to apprise her parents of his arrival, he was startled to see Dolly Dorr sidle in, dressed in a dark-gray gown, with a maid's white cap and apron.
He arose in surprise.
"Miss Dorr! Is it possible?"
Dolly colored and hung her head, muttering:
"You're surprised to see me here as Miss Clarke's maid."
"Yes," he replied frankly; then a sudden thought came to him, and he added: "And your pretty friend, Miss Lester? Is she at Cliffdene also?"
Dolly tossed her head scornfully.
"No, indeed, she is not here!"
"Where, then?" he asked eagerly, with a painful curiosity.
"Don't you know?" cried Dolly pertly, with her flaxen head on one side, like a bird, and he answered quickly:
"Of course not!"
Dolly smoothed down her white apron with her little hands, and, glancing at him sidewise with her bright blue eyes, returned indignantly:
"Then, if you don't know, I can tell you. I used to like Liane, but I despise her now. That beauty prize made a fool of the girl, and turned her so silly no one liked her any more. She spent all that money for gaudy clothes and cheap jewelry, trying to entrap that artist, Mr. Dean. She was crazy about him, and didn't mind everybody knowing it, either. So at last she went chasing off to some city after him, and I don't know what became of her then, and I don't care, for every one says she must have gone straight to the bad."
She studied his paling cheek with keen eyes for a moment, then added:
"But I almost forgot. Mr. Clarke sent me to show you up to his room."
Devereaux rose silently, and followed the pert maid upstairs.
It never occurred to Devereaux to doubt Dolly's story in the least. He believed her a simple, truthful, shallow little maiden devoid of guile.
The little actress had played her part well, and Roma, listening behind a curtain, was delighted with the skill of her pupil, so hastily schooled a moment before in her artful story.
With a heavy heart Devereaux followed the scheming maid upstairs to Mr. Clarke's apartment, where he met a joyful welcome.
"Ah, my boy, I have been ill for many weeks. It seems an age since we parted that night at the Beauty Show," he exclaimed, as he wrung Devereaux's hand, adding sadly: "The strangest thing of all is the disappearance of the successful contestant for the prize. She went away a day or two afterward, and no one has the least knowledge of her whereabouts."
This was confirmation of Dolly's artful story, and Devereaux felt a strange choking in his throat that kept him silent, while Mr. Clarke continued eagerly:
"To tell the truth, I was deeply interested in the beautiful Miss Lester, and felt a hearty sympathy for her troubles. She led a sad existence with that wicked old grandmother, and I was on the point of asking her to come and stay at Cliffdene as my typewriter, just to give her a better home, you know, poor girl, when she disappeared so strangely, going away, some people insinuate, to lead a gayer life," sighing.
Devereaux knew quite well, from the letter he had received from her, that Liane could scarcely have filled the position of Mr. Clarke's typewriter, but he was too generous to say so. He swallowed the lump in his throat as best he could, and answered:
"I hope the insinuations are not true, but I cannot tell. I saw Miss Lester once in Boston. It was a few days after the contest, and she was walking past my home with a respectable-looking, middle-aged woman. I have never seen her since."
"So it was to Boston she went? I wish I could find the poor girl! I would try to interest my wife in her fate," exclaimed Mr. Clarke, but that lady, entering at the moment, overheard the words, and frowned angrily.
"I will have nothing to do with the girl, and the interest you take in her is very displeasing to me," she said curtly.
Roma had worked busily, fostering jealousy in her mind until she almost hated the name of Liane Lester.
She shook hands with Devereaux, welcomed him cordially, and returned to the subject.
"Speaking of that girl," she said, "I feel that sympathy is wasted on such as Liane Lester. At one time Roma and I were both so moved with pity for her poverty that we offered her the position of Roma's maid, with a good salary and a comfortable home, but the old woman and the girl both refused, as if they had actually been insulted, though Dolly Dorr, who worked with Liane, was glad enough to apply for the position Liane refused, and fills it very acceptably to Roma. After that we took no further interest in the girl, and rumor says that her head was quite turned by vanity after getting the beauty prize, so that she and the old granny moved away from Stonecliff."
Mrs. Clarke had pitied and admired Liane until her rivalry with Roma, and the latter's specious tales had turned the scales against her, and made her jealous of her husband's interest in the lovely girl, so she said again, with flashing eyes and heightened color:
"I do not approve of Mr. Clarke's strong interest in the girl, and would certainly never consent to receive her beneath the roof of Cliffdene."
She did not understand the strange glance of blended reproach and pity her husband bent upon her as he thought:
"My poor, deceived love, I cannot be angry with her, for she does not understand the painful interest I take in this Liane Lester, foreboding that she may possibly be our own child, doomed to poverty and woe, while her place in our homes and hearts is usurped by an upstart and an ingrate, without one lovable trait, but whom my poor wife feels compelled to blindly worship, believing her her own child! Ah, how unfortunate this illness that has prevented my tracing Nurse Jenks' history!"