"Yes; that's Celey Dunbar," returned her companion; "and I repeat that I want to warn you about her. Celey was Manager Morgan's sweetheart last season. We all thought he was engaged to her at one time, but he soon tired of her. She is as fond of him as ever, though, and she'll make it hot for you if you don't watch out.

"Now, you see the girl in the long gray cloak, going on with her part out there? Well, that's Dovie Davis. Her husband is the handsome, dashing young fellow over yonder, who is to be your lover in the play. She's as jealous as green-gages of him, and while he is making love to you, on the stage, she'll be watching you from some entrance, as a cat would a mouse, and woe be to you if you make your part too real! The other lady over there is keeping company with that good-looking fellow she is talking to; so keep your eyes off him.

"The fellow in the long ulster and silk hat I claim as my especial property. Don't look so dumfounded, goosie; I mean he's my beau. We always manage to get into the same company, and it would be war to the knife with any girl who attempted to flirt with him."

"You need not be afraid of my ever attempting to flirt with him," said Jessie gravely.

"Well, it doesn't come amiss to learn a thing or two in season," returned Mally, with a nod. "All theatrical companies pair off like that.

"The other two young gents who passed by the wing a moment ago, and were watching you so intently, are married. Now, let me repeat the lesson again, so as to impress it upon your mind: Celey Dunbar is Manager Morgan's ex-sweetheart; Mrs. Dovie Davis is married; that gay, jolly girl is Daisy Lee, the soubrette of the company; she'd cut out any one of us if she could; but she's so merry a sprite we don't mind her, especially as none of the fellows take to her particularly."

To Jessie that rehearsal seemed like a bewildering dream. The ladies of the company looked at her coldly, but the gentlemen were wonderfully pleasant to her. They talked to her as freely as though they had known her for years, instead of only an hour. This embarrassed Jessie greatly; she hardly knew how to take this unaccustomed familiarity.

After rehearsal was over, Manager Morgan took her back to her hotel, frowning darkly at Celey Dunbar, who made a bold attempt to walk with them.

"Be ready at seven o'clock sharp," he said, as he left her at the door.

Left to herself when dinner was over, Jessie sat quietly down in her lonely little room to think.

She wondered how such people as she had met that day could play the different parts in the beautiful story whose every incident Manager Morgan had explained to her.

"Certainly it isn't very romantic," she thought, "to have the hero lover of the play a married man."

Night came at last, and feeling more frightened than she had ever felt in her life before, Jessie emerged from her dressing-room. Mally Marsh accompanied her to the wing to see that she went on all right when her cue was given.

"There's a big house out in front," whispered Mally. "Ah! there's your cue now."

Out in the center of the stage stood a young man, exclaiming eagerly, as he looked in their direction:

"Ah, here comes the little society belle now!"

"Go on; walk right out on the stage," whispered Mally, giving Jessie a push.

Jessie never knew how she got there.

The glare of the foot-lights blinded her. The words her companion uttered fell upon dazed ears. She tried to speak the words that she had learned so perfectly, but they seemed to die away in her throat; no sound could she utter. A great numbness was clutching at her heart-strings, and she could move neither hand nor foot.

"Aha! our little beauty is stage-frightened," she heard Celey Dunbar whisper from one of the wings of the stage, in a loud, triumphant voice. "I am just glad of it. That's what Manager Morgan gets by bringing in a novice. Ha! ha! ha!"

Those words stung Jessie into action, and quick as a flash the truant lines recurred to her, and to the great chagrin of her rival in the wings, she went on with her part unfalteringly to the very end.

Her beauty, and her fresh, sweet simplicity and naturalness quite took the audience by storm, and the curtain was rung down at length amid the wildest storm of applause that that theater had ever known.

The manager was delighted with Jessie Bain's success. The ladies of the company were furious, and they gathered together in one of the entrances and watched her.

"Stage life is coming to a pretty how-de-do," cried one, furiously, "when women who have been before the foot-lights for ten years – ay, given the best years of their lives to the stage – have to stand aside, for a novice like that!"

"My husband plays altogether too ardent a lover to her!" cried Dovie Davis, jealously. "I won't stand it! Either she leaves this company at the end of a fortnight, or my husband and I do; that's all there is about it!"

This appeared to be the sentiment of every woman in the company, and they did not attempt to conceal their dislike as she passed them by during the evening.

Just before the curtain went down, Manager Morgan received a telegram which called him to Rochester. He had barely time to catch the train, and in his hurry he quite forgot to leave instructions to have some one see Jessie Bain to the hotel.

As Jessie emerged from her dressing-room she looked around for Mr. Morgan. He was nowhere about.

"I thought you'd never come out of your dressing-room, ma'am," said the man who was waiting to turn the lights out. "Every one's gone – you're the last one."

"Has – has Mr. Morgan gone?" echoed Jessie, in great trepidation.

"Every one's gone, I said," was the saucy reply.

And the man turned the light out in her face, and she was obliged to grope her way as best she could along the dark entry. After floundering about the building for almost ten minutes, until the great tears were rolling down her cheeks with fright, she at length called loudly to some one to come to her assistance.

The same man who had turned out the gas on her now came grumblingly to her rescue. At length she found herself out on the street.

Before she had time to turn and ask the man the way to the hotel, he had slammed the door to in her face and turned the key in the lock with a loud, resounding click, and Jessie found herself standing ankle-deep in the snow-drift, with the wind whirling about her and dashing the blinding snow in her face.

Suddenly from out the dark shadows of an adjacent door-way sprung a man in a long ulster.

"Don't be frightened, Miss Bain," he exclaimed. "I have been waiting for you almost an hour, to see you home."

Jessie started back in dismay. At that instant he half turned, and the flickering light from the gas-lamp fell full upon his face, and she recognized him as one of the members of the company – Walter Winans, whom Mally Marsh had said was her beau.

Even had this not been the case, Jessie could never have admired so bold-looking a fellow.

"Excuse me, but I am very sorry that you waited for me, Mr. Winans," said Jessie, coldly. "I can find my way back to the hotel alone."

"Phew! What an independent little piece we are, to be sure!" he cried. "You're not expecting any one else, are you?" he inquired looking hastily around.

"No," said Jessie, simply.

"Come on, then, with me," he said, seizing her arm and fairly dragging her along.

Discretion seemed the better part of valor to Jessie. She thought it would not be wise to offend the young man; and, to tell the truth, she was rather glad to have some one to pilot her along through the terrible snow-drifts.

"Let me tell you something," said Winans, without waiting for her answer. "I have taken quite a liking to you, Jessie Bain – this is between you and me – and I hope very much that the feeling will be reciprocated, little girl. I'll be only too glad to escort you to and from the theater every night, if you like. Don't let any of the girls of this company talk you into the belief that they have any claim on me.

"You must not think it strange that I took an interest in you, little Jessie, from the first moment I saw you," continued Winans, pressing the girl's hand softly, as they pushed on bravely through the terrible snow-drifts. "There was something about you very different from the rest of the girls whom I have met."

"I trust you will not talk so to me, Mr. Winans," said Jessie.

"But I must," he insisted. "I must tell you all that is in my heart. Surely you can not blame a fellow so very much for being unfortunate enough to fall desperately in love with you!"

He had spoken the words eagerly, and it never occurred to him that they had been uttered so loudly that any one passing might have heard them.

Suddenly from out the shadow of an arched door-way sprang a woman, who planted herself directly in the snowy path before them.

"Stop!" she cried. "Don't dare advance a step further!" and quick as a flash she drew a heavy riding-whip from the folds of her cloak. Once, twice, thrice it cut through the snow-laden air, and fell upon Winans' defenseless head.

Smarting with pain, he dropped Jessie's arm and sprang forward, and attempted to wrest the whip from the infuriated young woman's hands.

"Take that! and that! and that!" she cried, again and yet again; and with each word the blows rained down faster and faster upon his face and hands.

There was but one way to escape, and that was in ignominious flight.

"So," cried Mally Marsh, as she turned to Jessie "this is all the heed you paid to my warning, is it? If I gave you your just deserts, I would thrash you within an inch of your life, for attempting to take my lover away from me! Now listen to what I have to say, girl, and take warning: You must leave this company at once. If you do not do so, I will not answer for myself. Do not make it an excuse that you have no money. Here!" and with the word she flung a bill in her face. "The depot is to your right. Go there, and take the first train back to the city whence you came. Go, I say, while yet I can keep my wrath in check."

Jessie stood there for a moment like one stupefied. She tried to explain how it had happened, but her companion would not listen and walked away.

As one lost, Jessie wandered to the depot, where a policeman, noticing her distress, drew her story from her. He said he knew of a most respectable old woman who was looking for a companion and wrote her name and address on a piece of paper for Jessie. The policeman readily consented to allow her to remain in the station until morning. It was a long and weary wait and at eight o'clock Jessie went to the house to which the policeman had directed her.

A pompous footman conducted her to a spacious drawing-room, and placed a seat for her.

After a long and dreary wait which seemed hours to Jessie, though in reality it was not over twenty minutes, she heard the rustle of a woman's dress. An instant later, a little white, shrivelled hand, loaded with jewels pushed aside the satin portières, and an old lady appeared on the threshold.

Jessie rose hesitatingly from her seat with a little courtesy.

"You came in answer to my advertisement for a companion?" the little old lady began.

"Yes, madame," returned Jessie.

"Where were you in service last?"

"I have never had a position of the kind before," said Jessie, hesitatingly, "but if you would try me, madame, I would do my very best to suit you."

"Speak a little louder," said the old lady, sharply. "I am a trifle hard of hearing. Mind, just a trifle, I can not quite hear you."

Jessie repeated in a louder tone what she had said.

"Your appearance suits me exactly," returned Mrs. Bassett; "but I could not take a person into my household who is an entire stranger, and who has no references to offer to assure me of her respectability."

Jessie's eyes filled with tears.

"I am so sorry," she faltered; "but as I am a stranger in Albany, there is no one here to whom I could apply for a reference."

"I like your face very much indeed," repeated Mrs. Bassett, more to herself than to the girl; then, turning to her suddenly, she asked: "Where are you from – where's your home?"

"A little village on the St. Lawrence River called Fisher's Landing," returned Jessie. "My uncle, Captain Carr, died a week ago, and I was forced to leave my old home, and go out into the world and earn my own living."

"Did you say you lived at Fisher's Landing?" exclaimed the old lady, "and that Captain Carr of that place was your uncle?"

"Yes, madame," returned Jessie.

Chapter XXIII.
JESSIE BAIN ENTERS THE HOUSE OF SECRETS

The old lady stared at Jessie through her spectacles.

"You need no other recommendation. I once met Captain Carr under thrilling circumstances, my child. I was out in a row-boat one day – some ten years ago – when a steamer almost ran down our little skiff. I would have been capsized, and perhaps drowned, had it not been for the bravery of Captain Carr, of Fisher's Landing. I made him a handsome little present, and from that day to this I have never heard from him. Captain Carr dead, and his niece out in the world looking for a situation! You shall come to me, if you like, reference or no reference, my dear.'

"Oh, madam, you are so very, very kind!" sobbed Jessie.

The little old lady touched a silver bell close at hand, and a tidy, elderly maid appeared.

"Harriet, I have engaged this young woman as companion," she said. "She came in answer to yesterday's advertisement in the Argus. You will take her to her room at once. She is to occupy the little room directly off mine."

The room into which she ushered Jessie was a small, dingy apartment, with draperies so sombre that they seemed almost black. The curtains were closely drawn, and an unmistakable atmosphere of mustiness pervaded the apartment.

"Have you had breakfast, miss?" asked Harriet, looking sharply into the girl's pale face, and adding before she had time to reply: "Even though you have breakfasted, a cup of hot tea will do you good this cold, crisp morning. My lady will be pleased to have you come down to the table. The bell will ring in about ten minutes. You can easily make your way there. Step down the corridor, and turn into the passage-way at the right; the second door."

Jessie bowed her thanks, and murmured that she would be very grateful for a cup of tea. It was not long before she heard the breakfast-bell. Hastily quitting the room, she made her way down the corridor. In her confusion, the girl made the mistake of turning to the left, instead of the right, as she had been directed.

"The second door," she muttered to herself.

As she reached it she paused abruptly. It was slightly ajar. Glancing in hesitatingly, she saw that it looked more like a young lady's boudoir than an ordinary breakfast-room. Before a mirror at the further end of the apartment sat a young girl in the sun-light. A maid was brushing out the wavy masses of her warm-tinted auburn hair.

While Jessie was hesitating as to whether she should tap on the door and make her presence known or walk on further through the corridor, a conversation which she could not help overhearing, held her spell-bound, fairly rooted to the spot.

"I assure you it is quite true, Janet," the lovely young girl was saying in a very fretful, angry voice. "The old lady has got a companion in the house at last. But she shall not stay long beneath this roof depend upon that, Janet. She is young and very beautiful.

"I would not care so much, if it were not that the handsome grandson is expected to arrive every day."

"Surely, Miss Rosamond, you, with all your beauty, do not fear a rival in the little humble companion."

"Companions have been known to do a great deal of mischief before now, and, as I have said, the girl is remarkably pretty. I saw her from the library window as she was coming up the front steps, and then, when old Mrs. Bassett came down to the library, I was safely ensconced behind the silken draperies of the bay-window, and I heard all that was said. You may be sure that I was angry enough. She shall not stay here long, if I can help it. I will make it so unpleasant for her that she will be glad to go. I detest the girl already, on general principles."

Jessie Bain cowered back, dazed and bewildered, almost doubting her own senses as to what she had just heard.

Smarting with bitter pain, Jessie turned away and hurried swiftly down the corridor in the opposite direction.

She was quickly retracing her steps back to her own room, when she met Harriet again in the corridor.

"I was just coming for you, miss," she said, "thinking that you might not be able to find your way, after all, there are so many twists and turns hereabouts," and without further ado she quickly retraced her steps, nodding to Jessie to follow.

The breakfast-room into which she was ushered was by far the most commodious room in the house.

A great, square apartment with ceilings and panelings of solid oak, massive side-boards, which contained the family silver for fully a century or more, great, high-backed chairs with heavy carvings, done up in leather, and a polished, inlaid floor, with here and there a velvet rug or tiger's skin.

The old lady was seated at the table as Harriet ushered in the young girl. She smiled, and nodded a welcome. Opposite her sat a little old man with large ears, who peered at her sharply from over a pair of double-barreled, gold-rimmed eyeglasses.

"This is the young person whom I have just engaged as my companion," said Mrs. Bassett, shrilly, turning toward her husband.

"H'm!" ejaculated the old gentleman. "What did you say this young woman's name was?"

"Bain," she replied.

"Hey?" he exclaimed, holding his right hand trumpet fashion, to his ear. "Give me the name a little louder."

"Miss Bain – Jessie Bain!" shouted his wife, in an ear-splitting voice that made every nerve in Jessie's body throb and quiver.

"Ah – h'm – Miss Bain," he repeated; adding, as he cleared out his throat: "I am very anxious to have the papers read while we breakfast. You may as well begin by reading this morning's reports," he said, handing her a paper which lay folded beside his plate. "You may turn to the stock reports first, Miss Bain. Third column on the first page, Miss Bain."

She had scarcely finished the first paragraph ere the old gentleman commanded her to stop.

"Can you understand one word that this young woman is reading?" he inquired, turning sharply to his wife.

"No. Miss Bain must read louder," she said. "I do not quite catch it."

The perspiration stood out in great balls on Jessie's pale face. She had raised her voice to almost a shout already, and her throat was beginning to ache terribly, for the strain upon it was very great. How she ever struggled down to the bottom of that column, she never knew. The appearance of the breakfast tray was a welcome relief to her.

"You read very nicely," complimented the old gentleman. "I enjoy listening to you. I shall give you the privilege of reading all my papers aloud every forenoon."

Jessie looked helplessly at him. The strain had been so great that her throat pained her terribly; but she made no demur. How could she?

At that moment the door swung slowly open, and a tall, beautiful girl entered.

Jessie knew her at the first startled glance. It was the lovely girl whom she had heard talking to her maid about her, but a little while before.

She took the seat at the end of the table without so much as deigning to glance at the new-comer.

"My dear, let me present you to Miss Bain – Miss Bain, my husband's protégée, Rosamond Lee," exclaimed Mrs. Bassett.

Jessie bowed wistfully, shyly; Miss Rosamond barely lifted her eyebrows in acknowledgment of the presentation.

The old gentleman and his wife screamed at each other on the main topics of the day, Miss Rosamond looked exceedingly bored, while Jessie had great difficulty in swallowing, her throat ached so severely.