Meantime, Brockton, left to himself, went on perusing the paper more carefully. Suddenly he stopped and looked at his watch.

"What time is it?" inquired Laura.

"After ten."

"Aren't you ever going out?" she demanded crossly.

Deeply engrossed in his paper, the broker made no answer. His eye had just been attracted to an item which particularly interested him. It was a despatch from Chicago, and read as follows:

"A story has reached here of an extraordinary gold find just made in Nevada by two lucky prospectors. The men set out from Goldfield several weeks ago, and got lost in the mountains. After enduring terrible privations, and almost perishing in the blizzard, they were found in last extremity by a party of hunters. They had actually discovered gold, having accidentally stumbled on one of the richest ore deposits in the gold region. A nugget of enormous size was brought in by the rescuing party in support of their well-nigh incredible story. The prospectors quickly recovered from their terrible experience, and one of them, named John Madison, is now on his way East for the purpose of organizing a syndicate which will begin at once large operations in the Nevada gold fields. Rumor has it that Mr. Madison will also bring back a bride."

Brockton caught his breath and looked sharply over at Laura. Did she know about this? Was it the explanation of her petulance and discontented attitude? That fellow Madison was now a man of means. The coincidence of the despatch brought back to the broker's mind the night scene on the terrace in Denver, and later their conversation at the boarding house in New York, and with the subtle intuition of the shrewd man of the world, he at once connected the two. Eyeing his companion keenly and suspiciously, he said:

"I don't suppose, Laura, that you'd be interested now in knowing anything about that young fellow out in Colorado? What was his name—Madison?"

The girl started and changed color.

"Do you know anything?" she said quickly.

"No, nothing particularly," he replied, with affected carelessness. "I've been rather curious to know how he came out. He was a pretty fresh young man, and did an awful lot of talking. I wonder how he's doing and how he's getting along. I don't suppose by any chance you have ever heard from him?"

She shook her head.

"No, no; I've never heard."

"I presume he never replied to that letter you wrote?"

"No."

"It would be rather queer, eh, if this young fellow should happen to come across a lot of money—not that I think he ever could, but it would be funny, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, yes," she said quickly; "it would be unexpected. I hope he does. It might make him happy."

"Think he might take a trip East and see you act? You know you've got quite a part now."

Laura tossed back her head impatiently. Petulantly she said:

"I wish you wouldn't discuss him. Why do you mention it now? Is it because you were drinking last night, and lost your sense of delicacy? You once had some consideration for me. What I've done I've done. I'm giving you all that I can. Please, please, don't hurt me any more than you can help. That's all I ask."

Brockton rose, and, going over to her, placed his hands on her shoulders and his cheek close to the back of her head. He was sorry he had spoken so sharply. In his gruff way he was as fond of her as ever, but he could not help it if he sometimes felt under the weather.

"You know, dearie," he said kindly, "I do a lot for you because you've always been on the level with me. I'm sorry I hurt you, but there was too much wine last night, and I'm all upset. Forgive me."

He tried to kiss her, to make up, but she averted her head. Holding herself aloof, she shuddered. A feeling of repulsion passed through her. Perhaps never so much as now had she realized that this kind of life was becoming more intolerable every hour.

In order to avoid his caresses, Laura had leaned forward. Her hands clasped between her knees, she gazed straight past him, with a cold, impassive expression. Brockton looked at her silently for a moment. The man was really fond of her; he wanted to try and comfort her, but of late a wall seemed to have risen between them. He realized now that she had slipped away from the old environment and conditions. He had brought her back, but he had regained none of her affection. With all his money, their old camaraderie was gone forever. These and other thoughts hurt him as such things always hurt a selfish, egotistical man, inclining him to be brutal and inconsiderate.

As they both remained there in silence, the front door bell rang, first gently and then more violently. Brockton went to open. Before he could reach it there was another ring. The caller, whoever it was, seemed in a good deal of a hurry.

"D——n that bell!" exclaimed the broker.

He opened the parlor door and passed out into the private hall, so he could open the door leading into the public corridor. Laura remained seated where she was, immovable and impassive, with the same cold, hard expression on her face. When, she pondered, would she be able to summon up courage enough to tell Brockton the truth—that she detested him and his set and loathed herself? Why had he mentioned John just now? Could he have read her thoughts and guessed of whom she had been thinking?

Presently the outer door slammed loudly, and Brockton re-entered the room, holding a telegram in his hand.

"A wire," he said briefly.

Laura started forward.

"For me?" she exclaimed.

"Yes."

She looked surprised.

"From whom, I wonder? Perhaps Elfie, with a luncheon engagement."

"I don't know," he said indifferently, handing her the closed yellow envelope.

As she broke it open and hastily read the contents, he watched her face closely. She gasped involuntarily as she caught sight of the signature, but by a great effort managed to control herself. Outwardly calm and self-possessed, she silently read the message, which was dated Buffalo, the night before, and ran as follows:

"MY OWN DARLING:

"I have been through the shadow of the valley, but have won out. To-day I am rich. Isn't it glorious? I am the happiest man on earth. I shall be in New York before noon to-morrow. I am coming to marry you, and I'm coming with a bank-roll. I wanted to keep it secret, and have a big surprise for you, but I can't hold it any longer, because I feel just like a kid with a new top. Don't go out. I'll be with you early.

"JOHN."

She crushed the telegram up in her hand, and crossed the room so he should not see her face. John was coming back—a rich man. He was coming back to claim her. Great God! What could she say to him?

"No bad news, I hope?" said Brockton suspiciously.

"No, no—not bad news," she replied hastily.

"I thought you appeared startled."

"No, not at all," she stammered.

Brockton sat down and picked up the newspaper again. Carelessly he asked:

"From Elfie?"

"No—just a friend."

"Oh!"

He sat down again, making himself comfortable in the armchair. Laura, in an agony of suspense, growing momentarily more nervous, watched him sideways, wondering how she could get rid of him, hoping he would soon go out. It would never do for John to come and find him there. With two men of such violent temper, already jealous to the breaking point, there was no telling what terrible tragedy might happen. Besides, she was anxious to be alone, so she might think out some plan of action. Something must be done at once. It was near eleven already. John would reach New York about noon; he would probably seek her out at once. She could reasonably expect him that very afternoon. A cold chill ran through her at the thought. What would she say to him? Get rid of Brockton she must at all costs. Timidly she asked:

"Won't you be rather late getting down town, Will?"

Without lifting his head, he answered carelessly:

"Doesn't make any difference. I don't feel much like the office now. Thought I might order the car and take a spin through the park. The cold air will do me a lot of good. Like to go?"

"No, not to-day," she replied hastily. A silence followed, and then she went on: "I thought your business was important; you said so last night."

"No hurry," he answered. Suddenly turning and looking up at her, he asked searchingly: "Do you—er—want to get rid of me?"

"Why should I?" she demanded, with pretended surprise.

"Expecting some one?" he demanded.

"No—not exactly," she replied hesitatingly.

Turning her back on him, she went to the window, and stood there, gazing out into the street. Brockton watched her for a moment; then, with a covert smile, he said dryly:

"If you don't mind, I'll stay here."

Laura left the window, and coming back into the room, sat down at the piano.

"Just as you please," she said, realizing that he was watching her, and trying her utmost to appear unconcerned. After playing a few bars, she stopped and said in a more conciliatory tone:

"Will?"

"Yes."

"How long does it take to come from Buffalo?"

"Depends on the train," he answered laconically.

"About how long?" she persisted.

"Between eight and ten hours, I think." Looking up, he asked: "Some one coming?"

Ignoring his question, she asked:

"Do you know anything about the trains?"

"Not much. Why don't you find out for yourself? Have Annie get the timetable."

"I will," she said.

Leaving the piano, she went to the door and called:

"Annie! Annie!"

The negress appeared on the threshold.

"Yassum!"

"Go ask one of the hall-boys to bring me a New York Central timetable."

"Yassum!"

The maid crossed the room, and disappeared through another door. Laura, with forced nonchalance, seated herself on the arm of the sofa, humming a popular air. Brockton turned and faced her.

"Then you do expect some one, eh?" he exclaimed.

Her heart was in her throat, but she remained outwardly calm as she replied carelessly:

"Only one of the girls who used to be in the same company with me. But I'm not sure that she's coming here."

"Then the wire was from her?"

"Yes."

"Did she say what train she was coming on?"

"No."

"Well, there are a lot of trains. About what time did you expect her in?"

"She didn't say."

"Do I know her?"

"I think not. I met her while I worked in 'Frisco."

"Oh!"

He resumed reading his paper, and the next moment Annie re-entered with a timetable.

"Thanks," said Laura, taking it. Then, pointing to the breakfast table, she said: "Now take those things away, Annie."

The maid started in to gather up the dishes, while her mistress became engrossed in a deep study of the timetable. Soon Annie left the room with the loaded tray, and Laura looked up in despair.

"I can't make this out," she cried.

Brockton looked up and held out his hand.

"Give it here; maybe I can help you."

She rose, and, approaching the table, handed him the timetable, a diabolical labyrinth of incomprehensible figures and words specially compiled by railroad managers to puzzle and befog the traveling public. But Brockton, from long practice, seemed familiar with its mysteries.

"Where is she coming from?" he demanded, as he quickly turned over the leaves.

"The West," she answered promptly. "The telegram was from Buffalo. I suppose she was on her way when she sent it."

Brockton had found the right page, and was busy calculating the time made by the different trains.

"There's a train comes in here at nine-thirty—that's the Twentieth Century. That doesn't carry passengers from Buffalo. Then there's one at eleven-forty-one. One at one-forty-nine. Another at three-forty-five. Another at five-forty and another at five-forty-eight. That's the Lake Shore Limited, a fast train; and all pass through Buffalo. Did you think of meeting her?"

"No, she'll come here when she arrives."

"She knows where you live?"

"She has the address."

"Ever been to New York before?"

"I think not."

He passed back the timetable.

"Well, that's the best I can do for you."

"Thank you."

She took the timetable and placed it in the desk. Brockton, who had taken up his paper again, gave an exclamation of surprise.

"By George—this is funny."

"What?" she demanded, looking impatiently at the clock.

"Speak of the devil, you know."

"Who?"

"Your old friend—John Madison."

Laura started involuntarily. She became deathly pale, and put her head on the chair-back to steady herself. Controlling her agitation by a supreme effort, she said:

"What—what about him?"

"He's been in Chicago."

"How do you know?"

Brockton held out the newspaper.

"Here's a dispatch about him."

She came quickly forward and looked over the broker's shoulder. Her voice was trembling with suppressed excitement, as she said:

"What—where—what's it about?"

Brockton chuckled. Holding out the paper so she could see, and watching her face closely, he went on:

"I'm damned if he hasn't done what he said he'd do—see! He's been in Chicago, and is on his way to New York. He's struck it rich in Nevada, and is coming with a pot of money. Queer, isn't it? Did you know anything about it?"

"No, no; nothing at all," she said, laying the paper aside and returning to her former place near the piano. Her face was drawn and white, and there was a hard, metallic note perceptible in her voice.

"Lucky for him, eh?" said the broker.

"Yes, yes; it's very nice."

"Too bad he couldn't get this a little sooner, eh, Laura?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, with a forced laugh. "I don't think it's too bad. What makes you say that?"

"Oh, nothing. I suppose he ought to be here to-day. Are you going to see him if he looks you up?"

"No, no," she replied quickly; "I don't want to see him. You know that, don't you—that I don't want to see him? What makes you ask these questions?"

Brockton shrugged his shoulders.

"Just thought you might meet him, that's all. Don't get sore about it."

"I'm not."

She still held John's telegram crumpled in one hand. Brockton put down his paper, and regarded her curiously. She saw the expression on his face, and, reading its meaning, averted her head in order not to meet his eye.

"What are you looking at me that way for?" she demanded hotly.

"I wasn't conscious that I was looking at you in any particular way. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I guess I'm nervous, too."

"I dare say you are."

"Yes, I am."

Brockton rose slowly from his chair. Crossing over to where she sat, he stood with folded arms, looking her squarely in the face. There was a hard look in his eyes, a determined expression around his mouth. He was in one of his obstinate, ungovernable tempers, and Laura knew at once by his manner that a critical moment was at hand. He began ominously:

"You know I don't want to delve into a lot of past history at this time, but I've got to talk to you for a moment."

She rose quickly, and, going to the other side of the room, pretended to be busy. Nervously, she said:

"Why don't you do it some other time? I don't want to be talked to just now."

He followed her, and, in the same, hard, determined tone, said firmly:

"But I've got to do it, just the same."

Trying to affect an attitude of resigned patience and resignation, Laura shrugged her shoulders and resumed her seat on the sofa.

"Well, what is it?" she said.

He looked at her in silence for a moment, as if not quite sure how to begin. Then, quietly, he said:

"You've always been on the square with me, Laura. That's why I've liked you a lot better than the other women——"

She stirred restlessly on her seat, and began to polish her finger-nails. Peevishly, she said:

"Are you going into all that again this morning. I thought we understood each other."

"So did I," he replied bitterly; "but somehow, I think that we don't quite understand each other."

She looked up, as if surprised.

"In what way?"

Looking steadily at her, he went on:

"That letter I dictated to you the day that you came back to me and left for you to mail—did you mail it?"

For a sixteenth of a second she hesitated. Should she go on lying, or stop right now and confess everything? She dare not. She had not the courage. Positively, decisively, almost indignantly, she answered:

"Yes—of course. Why do you ask?"

He eyed her keenly, trying to penetrate her thoughts.

"You're quite sure?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure." With an effrontery that surprised herself, she added: "I wouldn't say so if I wasn't."

"And you didn't know Madison was coming East until you read about it in that newspaper?"

"No—no—I didn't know."

"Have you heard from him?"

Again an opportunity presented itself to tell the truth, and again her courage failed her.

"No—no—I haven't heard from him." Peevishly, she exclaimed: "Don't talk to me about this thing. Why can't you leave me alone? I'm miserable enough, as it is."

She walked away, with the idea of leaving the room, but quickly he intercepted her. Sternly, he said:

"But I've got to talk to you. Laura, you're lying to me."

"What!"

She made a valiant effort to seem angry, but Brockton was too old a bird to be deceived. Raising his voice in anger he exclaimed:

"You're lying to me, and you've been lying to me all along! Like a fool I've trusted you. Show me that telegram!"

"No," she said defiantly.

She retreated into a far corner. He followed her.

"Show me that telegram!" he commanded.

"You've no right to ask me," she exclaimed hotly.

Before he could prevent it, she had torn the telegram in half and run to the window. Before she could throw the pieces out, he had caught her by the arm. Livid with rage, he almost shouted:

"Are you going to make me take it away from you? I've never laid my hands on you yet."

"It's my business!" she cried in desperation.

"Yes, and it's mine!" he retorted, trying to seize the fragments.

Her face flushed from the struggle, now furiously angry, she fought him with all her strength. They battled all over the room. Finally he backed her against the dresser, and she was powerless to resist further. He put out his hand to seize the torn pieces of the telegram, which she had stuffed inside her waist.

"That telegram's from Madison," he cried hotly. "Give it here!"

"No!" she exclaimed, white as death, and still defiant.

"I'm going to find out where I stand," he cried. "Give me that telegram, or I'll take it away from you."

"No!"

"Come on!" he said savagely, his teeth clenched, his face white from furious jealousy.

The struggle was unequal. He was the stronger. Further resistance was futile.

"All right," she said breathlessly; "I'll give it to you."

Slowly, she drew the pieces out of her bosom, and handed them to him. He took them, and, keeping his eyes fixed on hers, slowly smoothed them out, and pieced them together so that he could read the dispatch. When, at last, he began to read, she staggered back apprehensively.

He read it slowly, deliberately. When he had finished, he looked up. Sternly, he said:

"Then you knew?"

"Yes," she faltered.

"But you didn't know he was coming until he arrived?"

"No."

"And you didn't mail the letter, did you?"

"No——"

His face turned livid with rage. Clenching his fists menacingly, he advanced towards her.

"What did you do with it?" he thundered.

Shrinking from him, afraid of his violence, she replied faintly:

"I—I burned it."

"Why?" he shouted, in a fury.

Dazed, bewildered, almost hysterical, Laura was unable to answer. He advanced until he almost stood over her, his arm raised threateningly, as if about to strike her. She cowered before him.

"Why—why?" he repeated hoarsely.

Almost in tears, she murmured weakly:

"I—I couldn't help it. I simply couldn't help it."

Folding his arms he looked down at her with an expression in which pity was mingled with contempt. A straightforward man himself, he had no patience with lying. He could forgive her lying—it was natural to her—but she had made him appear a liar. With a sweeping gesture of his hand, which took in the whole room, and its luxurious contents, he said:

"And he doesn't know about us?"

"No."

Thoroughly exasperated, he again advanced towards her, his face distorted with rage.

"By God!" he exclaimed. "I never beat a woman in my life, but I feel as though I could wring your neck!"

White-faced, trembling, she stared at him helplessly. Hysterically, she cried:

"Why don't you? You have done everything else. Why don't you?"

"Don't you know," he continued furiously, "that I gave Madison my word that if you came back to me I'd let him know? Don't you know that I like that young fellow, and I wanted to protect him, and did everything I could to help him? And do you know what you've done to me? You've made me out a liar—you've made me lie to a man—a man—you understand! What are you going to do now? Tell me—what are you going to do now? Don't stand there as if you've lost your voice—how are you going to square me?"

Summoning up all her courage, she faced him, calmly, defiantly.

"I'm not thinking about squaring you," she said ironically. "What am I going to do for him?"

"Not what you are going to do for him," he retorted. "What am I going to do for him? Why, I wouldn't have that young fellow think that I tricked him into this thing for you or all the rest of the women of your kind on earth. Good God! I might have known that you, and the others like you, couldn't be square."

She made no answer. The attitude of hostility and defiance had gone. She looked at him silently, pleadingly, like some helpless dumb animal trying to placate its master's wrath. Brockton glanced at his watch, walked over to the window and then came back to where she stood. Shaking his fist at her, he muttered:

"You've made a nice mess of it, haven't you?"

"There isn't any mess," she answered weakly. "Please go away. He'll be here soon. Please let me see him—please do that."

"No," he replied doggedly, "I'll wait. This time I'm going to tell him myself, and I don't care how tough it is."

Frightened at this suggestion, which might be so full of dire consequences, she was instantly galvanized into action. Starting up again, she cried:

"No, you mustn't do that!" Approaching him, she said pleadingly: "Oh, Will, I'm not offering any excuse. I'm not saying anything, but I'm telling you the truth. I couldn't give him up—I couldn't do it. I love him."

Shrugging his shoulders he made an ironical exclamation:

"Huh!"

"Don't you think so?" she went on piteously. "I know you can't see what I see, but I do. And why can't you go away? Why can't you leave me this? It's all I ever had. He doesn't know. No one will ever tell him. I'll take him away. It's the best for him—it's the best for me. Please go."

He laughed, and, going back to the armchair, deliberately reseated himself. Ignoring her tearful pleading, he said scornfully:

"Why—do you think that I'm going to let you trip him the way you tripped me? No. I'm going to stay right here until that man arrives, and I'm going to tell him that it wasn't my fault. You alone were to blame."

She listened blankly, staring at him in a bewildered, dazed sort of way. Her face was white as death, and her hands twisted convulsively. Slowly, with a half-stifled sob, she cried:



"Then you are going to let him know?" she said slowly. "You're not going to give me a single, solitary chance?"

The plaintive tone in her voice touched him. He hated such scenes, and would willingly have overlooked anything to avoid one. But there was a limit to a man's patience. Perhaps, however, he had been a bit brutal. He did not trust himself to look up, but his voice was less harsh as he replied:

"I'll give you every chance that you deserve when he knows. Then he can do as he pleases, but there must be no more deception, that's flat."

Approaching the chair in which he sat, she laid a hand on his shoulder. Gently, she said:

"Then you must let me tell him."

Brockton turned away impatiently. She sank down on her knees beside him.

"Yes—you must," she went on imploringly. "If I didn't tell him before I'll do it now. You must go. If you ever had any regard for me—if you ever had any affection—if you ever had any friendship, please let me do this now. I want you to go—you can come back. Then you'll see—you'll know—only I want to try to make him understand that—that maybe if I'm weak I'm not vicious. I want to let him know that I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't help it. Just give me the chance to be as good as I can be——"

Brockton turned and looked straight at her. She did not flinch under his severe, critical gaze. Impulsively, coaxingly, she went on:

"Oh, I promise you I will tell him, and then—then I don't care what happens—only he must learn everything from me—please—please, let me do this—it's the last favor I shall ever—ever ask of you. Won't you?"

This last appeal, uttered hysterically, was followed by a flood of weeping. She had controlled herself as long as she could, but at last her nerves could not stand the strain, and she broke down completely. Brockton rose, and for a moment stood watching, as if mentally debating himself what was the best thing to do. Finally, he said:

"All right; I won't be unkind. I'll be back early this afternoon, but remember—this time you'll have to go right through to the end." With a significant warning gesture, he added: "Understand?"

Drying her eyes, she said hastily:

"Yes, I'll do it—all of it Won't you please go—now?"

"All right," he replied.

The broker disappeared into the bedroom and almost immediately entered again with overcoat on his arm and hat in hand. He went towards the door without speaking. At the threshold he halted and, looking back at her, said firmly:

"I am sorry for you, Laura, but remember—you've got to tell the truth."

"Please go," she cried almost hysterically.

He went out, closing the door behind him.



CHAPTER XVII.

With a sigh of intense relief, Laura sank utterly exhausted into the armchair which Brockton had vacated.

Everything had come so suddenly that the girl's brain was all awhirl. John might arrive any moment. She must decide at once on what was to be done. What could she say to him? How much did she wish to say; how much would he believe? Was it possible that Providence had relented, and that, after all, she was to be truly happy, marry the only man she had ever truly, unselfishly loved, and still have all those luxuries which she could not live without? John was now a rich man. That made all the difference in the world. It would not make her love him any the more, but, as a rich man's wife, as his wife, she knew she would be truly happy. She might have married him, even if he had been unsuccessful and returned to her penniless, but would their happiness have lasted, could their love have survived all the hardships which poverty brings in its train? Of course, she could not tell him about Brockton. He was not the kind of man she dare tell it to. He would never forgive her; he might even kill her. No, she must go on lying to the end, until she was safely married, and then she would turn over a new leaf altogether. While she sat there, her elbows between her knees, her chin on her hands, engrossed in thought, Annie entered and began to dust the room. Laura watched her in moody silence for a few minutes. Then she said:

"Annie!"

"Yassum."

"Do you remember in the boarding-house—when we finally packed up—what you did with everything?"

"Yassum."

"You remember that I used to keep a pistol?"

"Yo' mean dat one yo' say dat gemman out West gave yuh once?"

"Yes."

"Yassum, Ah 'membuh it."

"Where is it now?"

"Last Ah saw of it was in dis heah draw' in de writin'-desk."

Crossing to the other side of the room, the negress opened the desk and began to fumble among a lot of old papers. Finally she drew out a small, thirty-two calibre revolver, which she held out gingerly.

"Is dis it?"

Laura turned and looked.

"Yes," she said quickly. "Put it back. I thought that perhaps it was lost."

Annie had no sooner replaced the weapon in the drawer when the front door-bell rang. Laura turned pale and started to her feet. Could that be John? Instinctively, she gathered her negligee gown closer to her frail, trembling figure, and, hurrying to the mirror, put those little finishing touches to her hair which no woman, jealous of her personal appearance, would think of neglecting, even though the house was on fire. She was so unstrung and agitated that she could hardly stand; she had to hold the table with one hand to maintain her balance. She could not articulate; her voice stuck in her throat.

"See—who—that is—and let me know," she gasped.

"Yassum."

The maid went out into the private hall and opened the door. Immediately was heard the voice of Elfie St. Clair.

"Hello, Annie. Folks in?"

"Yassum; she's in."

Laura breathed more freely, and ran to greet her friend, who bounced in, smiling and good-natured. Elfie was beautifully gowned in a morning dress, with an over-abundance of trimmings and all the furbelows that generally accompany the extravagant raiment affected by women of her type. Advancing effusively, she exclaimed:

"Hello, dearie!"

"Hello, Elfie!" said Laura, unable to conceal how genuinely glad she was to see her friend.

"It's a bully day out," said Elfie, looking at herself in the mirror. "I've been shopping all morning long; just blew myself until I'm broke, that's all. My goodness, don't you ever get dressed? Listen—talk about cinches! I copped out a gown, all ready made. It fits me like the paper on the wall for thirty-seven and one-half dollars. Looks like it might have cost $200. Anyway, I had them charge $200 on the bill, and I kept the change. There are two or three more down there, and I want you to go down and look them over. Models, you know, being sold out. My—how you look this morning! You've got great black circles round your eyes. I don't blame you for not getting up earlier."

Sitting down at the table without noticing Laura further, she rattled on:

"That was some party last night! I know you didn't drink a great deal, but gee! what an awful tide Will had on! How do you feel?" Stopping short in her prattle, and looking at her friend, she exclaimed with concern: "What's the matter, are you sick? You look all in. What you want to do is this—put on your duds and go out for an hour. It's a perfectly grand day out. My Gaud! How the sun does shine! Clear and cold. Well, much obliged for the conversation. Don't I get a 'Good-morning,' or a 'How-dy-do,' or a something of that sort?"

"I'm tired, Elfie, and blue—terribly blue."

The caller rose, and, going up to her friend, said:

"Well, now, you just brace up and cut out all that emotional stuff. I came down to take you for a drive. You'd like it; just through the park. Will you go?"

"Not this morning, dear; I'm expecting somebody."

"A man?"

In spite of herself, Laura could not restrain a smile.

"No—a gentleman," she corrected.

"Same thing. Do I know him?"

"I think you do."

"Well, don't be so mysterious. Who is he?"

Ignoring the question, Laura asked anxiously:

"What is your time, Elfie?"

The girl looked at her watch. "Five minutes past eleven."

"I'm slow," exclaimed Laura. "I didn't know it was so late. Just excuse me, won't you, while I get some clothes on. He may be here any moment." Going to the end of the room, where the heavy portieres separated the parlor from the sitting-room, she called out: "Annie!"

"Who is it?" insisted Elfie.

"I'll tell you when I get dressed. Make yourself at home, won't you, dear?"

"I'd sooner hear," replied Elfie. "What is the scandal, anyway?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," laughed Laura; "just as soon as Annie gets through with me."

She went out, leaving her visitor alone. Elfie, left to herself, wandered about the room. Finding a candy box on the desk, she helped herself to the sugared contents. Aloud, she said:

"Do you know, Laura, I think I'll go back on the stage?"

"Yes?" came the answer from the inner room.

"Yes," went on Elfie, "I'm afraid I'll have to. I think I need a sort of a boost to my popularity."

"How a boost?"

"I think Jerry is getting cold feet. He's seeing a little too much of me nowadays."

"What makes you think that?"

"I think he is getting a relapse of that front-row habit. There's no use in talking, Laura, it's a great thing for a girl's credit when a man like Jerry can take two or three friends to the theatre, and when you make your entrance delicately point to you with his forefinger, and say: 'The third one from the front on the left belongs to muh.' The old fool's hanging around some of these musical comedies lately, and I'm getting nervous every time rent day comes."

Laura laughed incredulously. She had too high an opinion of her friend's business ability to believe the danger very serious. Pointedly, she said:

"Oh, I guess you'll get along all right."

Elfie rose, and, going to the mirror, gave her hat and hair a few deft little touches, after which she surveyed herself critically. With serene self-satisfaction, she said:

"Oh, that's a cinch! But I like to leave well enough alone, and if I had to make a change right now it would require a whole lot of thought and attention, to say nothing of the inconvenience, and I'm so nicely settled in my flat." Suddenly her eye lighted on the pianola. Going to it, she exclaimed: "Say, dearie, when did you get the piano-player? I got one of them phonographs, but this has got that beat a city block. How does it work? What did it cost?"

"I don't know," laughed Laura.

"Well, Jerry's got to stake me to one of these." Looking over the rolls on top, she mumbled to herself: "Tannhauser, William Tell, Chopin." Louder, she said: "Listen, dear. Ain't you got anything else except all this high-brow stuff?"

"What do you want?"

"Oh, something with a regular tune to it." Looking at the empty box on the pianola, she exclaimed: "Oh, here's one; just watch me tear this off."

The roll was the ragtime tune of "Bon-Bon Buddy—My Chocolate Drop." She started to play. Pushing wide open the tempo lever she worked the pedals with the ingenuous delight and enthusiasm of a child.

"Ain't it grand?" she cried.

"Gracious, Elfie, don't play so loud!" exclaimed Laura, who reentered. "What's the matter?"

Her visitor stopped playing. Smiling, she explained:

"I shoved over that thing marked 'swell.' I sure will have to speak to Jerry about this. I'm stuck on this 'swell' thing. Hurry up!" Noticing Laura's white, anxious-looking face, she exclaimed sympathetically: "Gee! you look pale! I'll just bet you and Will had a fight. He always gets the best of you, doesn't he, dearie? Listen. Don't you think you can ever get him trained? I almost threw Jerry down the stairs the other night, and he came right back with a lot of American beauties and a cheque. I told him if he didn't look out, I'd throw him downstairs every night. He's getting too d——d independent, and it's got me nervous." Sinking into a seat, she exclaimed, with a sigh: "Oh, dear, I s'pose I will have to go back on the stage."

"In the chorus?" inquired Laura quietly.

Elfie looked up in mock indignation.

"Well, I should say not. I'm going to give up my musical career. Charlie Burgess is putting on a new play, and he says he has a part in it for me if I want to go back. It isn't much, but very important—sort of a pantomime part. A lot of people talk about me and just at the right moment I walk across the stage and make an awful hit. I told Jerry that if I went on he'd have to come across with one of those Irish crochet lace gowns. He fell for it. Do you know, dearie, I think he'd sell out his business just to have me back on the stage for a couple of weeks, just to give box parties every night for my entrance and exits."

Laura went over to the sofa, picked up the candy box, placed it on the desk, and took the telegram from the table. Then, taking her friend by the hand, she led her over to the sofa.

"Elfie," she said seriously.

"Yes, dear."

"Come over here and sit down."

"What's up?"

"Do you know what I'm going to ask of you?"

Elfie took a seat opposite. With a wry face, she said:

"If it's a touch, you'll have to wait until next week."

"No," smiled Laura; "just a little advice."

Her friend looked relieved.

"Well, that's cheap," she laughed; "and the Lord knows you need it. What's happened?"

Laura took the crumpled and torn telegram which Brockton had left on the table, and handed it to her companion. Elfie put the two pieces together, and read it very carefully. When she reached the middle of the despatch she gave an exclamation of surprise and looked up quickly at her companion. Then, finishing it, she laid it down.

"Well?" she demanded.

Rather at a loss how to explain, Laura flushed and stammered:

"Will suspected. There was something in the paper about Mr. Madison—the telegram came—then we had a row."

"Serious?"

"Yes. Do you remember what I told you about that letter—the one Will made me write—I mean to John—telling him what I had done?"

"Yes, you burned it."

"I tried to lie to Will—he wouldn't have it that way. He seemed to know. He was furious."

"Did he hit you?"

"No, he made me admit that John didn't know, and then he said he'd stay here and tell him himself that I'd made him lie, and he said something about liking the other man and wanting to save him."

"Save him?" exclaimed Elfie derisively. "Shucks! He's jealous!"

"I told him if he'd only go I'd—tell John myself when he came, and now, you see, I'm waiting—and I've got to tell—and—and I don't know how to begin—and—and I thought you could help me—you seem so sort of resourceful, and it means—it means so much to me. If John turned on me now I couldn't go back to Will, and, Elfie—I don't think I'd care to—stay here any more."

"What!" exclaimed Elfie.

Impulsively, she took Laura in her arms.

"Dearie," she said earnestly, "get that nonsense out of your head and be sensible. I'd just like to see any two men who could make me think about—well—what you seem to have in your mind."

"But I don't know what to do," went on Laura. "Can't you see, Elfie, I don't know what to do. If I don't tell him, Will will come back and he'll tell him. I know John, and maybe——" Fearfully she added: "Do you know, I think John would kill him!"

"Nonsense!" laughed the girl. "Don't waste your time worrying about that. Now, let's get down to cases. We haven't much time. Business is business, and love is love. You're long on love, and I'm long on business, and, between the two of us, we ought to straighten this thing out. Now, evidently John is coming on here to marry you."

"Yes."

"And you love him?"

"Yes."

"And, as far as you know, the moment that he comes in here, it's quick to the justice and a wedding?"

"Yes; but you see how impossible it is——"

"I don't see that anything is impossible. From all you've said to me about this fellow, there is only one thing to do."

"What is that?"

"To get married—quick. You say he has the money, and you have the love. You're sick of Brockton, and you want to switch and do it in the decent, respectable, conventional way, and he's going to take you away. Haven't you got sense enough to know that once you're married to Mr. Madison that Will Brockton wouldn't dare go to him? Even if he did, Madison wouldn't believe him. A man will believe a whole lot about his girl, but nothing about his wife."

Laura turned and looked at her. There was a long pause.

"Elfie—I—I—don't think I could do that to John. I don't think—I could deceive him."

Her companion made a gesture of impatience. Rising, she cried:

"You make me sick! You're only a novice! Lie to all men—they all lie to you. Protect yourself. You seem to think that your happiness depends on this. Now do it. Listen: Don't you realize that you and me, and all the girls that are shoved into this life, are practically the common prey of any man who happens to come along? Don't you know that they've got about as much consideration for us as they have for any pet animal around the house, and the only way that we've got it on the animal is that we've got brains? This is a game, Laura, not a sentiment. Do you suppose that Madison—now don't get sore—hasn't turned these tricks himself before he met you, and I'll gamble he's done it since. A man's natural trade is a heartbreaking business. Don't tell me about women breaking men's hearts. The only thing they can ever break is their bankroll. And, besides, this is not Will's business; he has no right to interfere. You've been decent with him, and he's been nice to you; but I don't think that he's given you any the best of it. Now, if you want to leave, and go your own way, and marry any Tom, Dick or Harry that you want to, it's nobody's affair but yours."

"But you don't understand—it's John. I can't lie to him," cried Laura.

"Well, that's too bad about you. I used to have that truthful habit myself, and the best I ever got was the worst of it. All this talk about love and loyalty and constancy is fine and dandy in a book, but when a girl has to look out for herself, take it from me, whenever you've got that trump card up your sleeve, just play it, and rake in the pot." Taking Laura's hand, she added affectionately: "You know, dearie, you're just about the only one in the world I've left to care for."

"Elfie!" cried Laura, taking her companion's hand, sympathetically.

Her eyes filled with tears, Elfie put her handkerchief up to her face to conceal her emotion. Under the coarseness and flippancy of the courtesan were glimpses of an unhappy woman, a human being conscious of her own irretrievable degradation. For the first time in years, she was making another the confidant of her life's tragedy, the sad, commonplace story of a woman's ruin. Recovering herself, she went on quickly:

"Since I broke away from the folks up-State, and they've heard things, there ain't any more letters coming to me with an Oswego postmark. Ma's gone, and the rest don't care. You're all I've got in the world, Laura, and I'm making you do this only because I want to see you happy. I was afraid this complication would arise. The thing to do now is to grab your happiness, no matter how you get it, nor where it comes from. There ain't a whole lot of joy in this world for you and me and the others we know, and what little you get you've got to take when you're young, because when those gray hairs begin to show and the make-up isn't going to hide the wrinkles, unless you're well fixed, it's going to be h—ll. You know what a fellow doesn't know doesn't hurt him. He'll love you just the same, and you'll love him. As for Brockton, let him get another girl. There are plenty around. Why, if this chance came to me, I'd tie a can to Jerry so quick that you could hear it rattle all the way down Broadway!"

She rose, and, leaning over the back of Laura's chair, put her arms lovingly around her neck. Tenderly, she said: "Promise me, dearie, that you won't be a d——d fool. Will you promise?"

Laura looked up at her, and smiled faintly: "I promise."

Elfie took her gloves and parasol.

"Well, good-by, dear; I must be going. Ta-ta, dearie. Give my regards to your charmer."

Laura accompanied her to the door.

"Good-by, dear."

Left alone, Laura returned to the parlor. Drawing aside the portieres that shut off the maid's quarters, she called out:

"Annie!"

"Yassum!"

"I'm expecting a gentleman, Annie. When he comes, ask him in."



CHAPTER XVIII.

The New York Central Railroad terminus in Manhattan is not exactly a spot which one would be apt to select for a rest cure, although a famous nerve specialist has expressed the learned opinion that such little disturbances in the atmospheric envelope as the shrieking of steam whistles, the exploding of giant firecrackers, the bursting of pneumatic tires, the blasting with dynamite, the uproar of street traffic, the shouts of men and boys, the screams of women and the wailing of babes are soothing, rather than harmful, to the human nervous system. All these sounds and others even more discordant, greeted the tired passengers of the Buffalo express, as, arriving from the West, they emerged from the train-shed into the deafening turmoil of Forty-second Street.

John Madison, tanned and weather-beaten, suitcase in hand, stood hesitating on the curb, as if dazed. After long months spent amid the loneliness and comparative quiet of the Nevada desert, the rush and bustle of the colossal metropolis was bewildering and confusing. A hackman hailed him.

"Cab, sir?"

"Yes," he answered, throwing his traveling grip on the seat. "Drive to the Waldorf."

As the jehu flourished his whip, and the hack rattled along on its way to the hotel, Madison gazed idly out of the windows, watching with interest the luxurious shops and the crowds of busy people hurrying along the sidewalks. How different it all looked to-day than when he was last in New York! Now, he viewed the scene with different eyes. Then he was a penniless reporter, obliged to stint and count before he ventured to spend a dollar. To-day he was a successful miner, one of those lucky individuals to whom Fortune has been more than kind. He was suddenly possessed of more money than he knew what to do with. He could stop at the best hotels, throw gold around him by the handfuls. For the first time in his life he was tasting the sweets of wealth. Every one treated him with deference, all were eager to render service. People who formerly affected to be ignorant of his very existence, now fawned upon him and asked him to their houses. He was a rich man. It meant not only immediate creature comforts, but freedom from care, independence for life. And what he prized most of all, it meant happiness, both for himself and the girl he loved, the girl who had waited so faithfully and so patiently. He could hardly restrain his impatience to see her. What rapture would it be to clasp her to his heart and cry: "Your long wait is over! I've come to make you happy! Henceforth you won't have to work. You'll leave the stage for good." And in his mind's eye, he saw Laura's joy, and heard her happy, girlish laugh, as he sat down before her and signed a blank cheque, telling her to fill in the rest for any amount she wished to spend. Yes—that was the greatest joy of success and being rich—the power of making happy the girl you loved. Thank God, he had won out! To-day, he was a rich man.

He had entirely forgotten the doubts and morbid fancies which had seized him in the wilderness. When he had recovered from his terrible experiences, he wondered how he could ever have permitted his mind to haunt such strange, unpleasant paths. The suffering and mental torture he went through was doubtless responsible for his unreasoning suspicions. He would never tell Laura; she must never know that he had harbored such thoughts. She would never forgive him. How delighted she would be to see him! Probably she was already anxiously on the lookout. By this time she had certainly received his telegram, which he had sent in care of her manager. He wondered where she was stopping. His last letter to her had been returned by the post office authorities marked "address unknown." She was in New York. He was sure of that, for he had read in the Chicago papers of her success in the new play. He was glad she had made good at last, because it meant more comforts for her. No doubt she had left the boarding-house, of which she wrote him discouraging accounts early in the winter, and was now installed in some fashionable hotel. The best and quickest way to find her would be to telephone the Burgess office. He wondered if she would be willing to throw up at once everything—the theatre, her future contracts and all—to marry him without delay. If he could have his way, he would like to return West with her that same day. They could leave on the Limited and get married in Chicago.

In less than fifteen minutes the Waldorf was reached, a room engaged, and Madison already had the office of Burgess & Co. on the telephone.

"Hello! Can you give me the private address of Miss Laura Murdock?"

"We don't give private addresses," was the curt reply.

This difficulty Madison had not foreseen, but his quick wit came to his aid, and in his most persuasive tone, he said:

"I'm sure you will, when you know the circumstances. I am a personal friend—I might say, relative, of Miss Murdock. I've just got in from Chicago. She expects me, but I've mislaid her address."

"Oh—that's different," said the voice more civilly. "There's so many Johnnies around that we have to be careful. Miss Murdock is at the Pomona, West —— Street."

Madison did not wait to eat or anything else. Jumping into the first taxicab he saw, he said:

"West —— Street."

A few minutes later the cab drew up before the rather imposing entrance of the Pomona Apartments. Dismissing the taxi, he turned to the uniformed attendant, who stood surveying the weather-tanned six-footer with some respect. Judging by his clothes, the new arrival looked as if he had done some traveling.

"Is Miss Murdock in?"

"I'll see, sir. Who shall I say?"

"Mr. Madison." Airily, he added: "Miss Murdock expects me."

A moment later the man returned, and politely ushered him into an elevator lined with mirrors, and luxuriously upholstered in red satin. At the fifth floor, the smooth-running car stopped, and the attendant pointed to an apartment across the corridor. Before Madison could reach the door, it was thrown wide open. There was a wild rush of rustling silks and white lace, a woman's stifled sob, and Laura was in his arms.

"Oh, John!" she cried almost hysterically, as the door closed behind him. "I'm so happy!"

For a moment he held her clasped tightly to him, as if afraid some one else might appear in this strange apartment to rob him of her. This was the supreme moment for which he had toiled and waited all these cruel, weary months. When at last, all red under his kisses, she released herself from his embrace, he took her face in his hands and held it up towards his. Tenderly, he said:

"I'm not much on the love-making business, Laura, but I never thought I'd be as happy as I am now. I've been counting mile-posts ever since I left Chicago, and it seemed like as if I had to go round the world before I got here."

Following close behind, as she went into the sitting room, he gave an exclamation of surprise as he took in the beautiful gilded furniture and rich furnishings. His eye seemed to ask questions he found no words for. She caught the look, and she trembled. Nervously waving him to a seat, she said:

"You never told me about your good fortune. If you hadn't telegraphed, I wouldn't even have known you were coming."

"I didn't want to," he replied, smiling. "I'd made up my mind to sort of drop in here and give you a great big surprise—a happy one, I knew—but the papers made such a fuss in Chicago that I thought you might have read about it—did you?"

"No, tell me," she said eagerly.

He sat down and began the story of his wanderings. He told her of his adventures in the search for gold, of his sufferings, and his narrow escape from death. In those dark hours, he had only had one thought, one hope—that he might be spared to see her once again.

"It's been pretty tough sledding out there in the mining country," he said. "It did look as if I never would make a strike; but your spirit was with me, and I knew if I could only hold out that something would come my way. I had a pal—a fine fellow. We started out to find gold. The first thing we knew we were lost—lost in the howling wilderness. We nearly perished of cold and hunger. It was a close call, little girl. I never thought I should see you again. But one day, when we were about all in, we struck gold—quantities of it, nuggets as big as my fist. We staked our claims in two weeks, and I went to Reno to raise enough money for me to come East. Now, things are all fixed, and it's just a matter of time."

He took the girl's delicate hand in his big brown ones, and looked fondly into her eyes.

"So you're very, very rich, dear?" she murmured.

He released her hand, and leaned back carelessly in his chair.

"Oh, not rich; just heeled. I'm not going down to the Wall Street bargain counter and buy the Union Pacific, or anything like that; but we won't have to take the trip on tourists' tickets, and there's enough money to make us comfortable all the rest of our lives."

"How hard you must have worked and suffered!"

He smiled, and, rising from his chair, stood looking down at her from the other side of the table.

"Nobody else ever accused me of that, but I sure have to plead guilty to you. Why, dear, since the day you came into my life, hell-raising took a sneak out the back door, and God poked His toe in the front, and ever since then I think He's been coming a little closer to me. I used to be a fellow without much faith, and kidded everybody who had it, and I used to say to those who prayed and believed, 'You may be right, but show me a message.' You came along, and brought that little document in your sweet face and your dear love. Laura, you turned the trick for me, and I think I'm almost a regular man now."

She turned her head away, unwilling that he should see her face, afraid that he might read there the whole miserable truth. As he spoke, his words brought to her a full realization of all she was to this man, and she became more and more unnerved. It was more than she could bear. Feebly she murmured:

"Please, John, don't. I'm not worth it."

Rising suddenly from the sofa, she went to the window. The air of the room was hot and stifling. She felt herself growing faint.

"Not worth it?" he exclaimed lightly, going up to her. "Why, you're worth that and a whole lot more. And see how you've got on! Brockton told me you never could get along in your profession, but I knew you could."

He walked around the room, inspecting the furnishings and knickknacks. Finally, he turned, and, with an interrogative note in his voice, said:

"Gee! fixed up kind o' scrumptious, ain't you? I guess you've been almost as prosperous as I have."

She forced a laugh. With affected carelessness, she said:

"You can get a lot of gilt and cushions in New York at half-price, and, besides, I've got a pretty good part now."

"Of course, I know that," he smiled; "but I didn't think it would make you quite so comfortable. Great, ain't it?"

"Yes."

Taking her by the shoulders, and shaking her playfully, he went on:

"I knew what you had in you, and here you are. You succeeded, and I succeeded, but I'm going to take you away; and after a while, when things sort of smooth out, we're going to move back here, and go to Europe, and just have a great time, like a couple of kids."

She turned and looked up at him. Slowly, she said:

"But if I hadn't succeeded, and if things—things weren't just as they seem—would it make any difference to you, John?"

He took her in his arms and kissed her, drawing her onto the sofa beside him.

"Not the least in the world. Now, don't get blue. I should not have surprised you this way. It's taken you off your feet."

Looking at his watch, he jumped up, and, going behind the sofa, he got his overcoat. "But we've not any time to lose. How soon can you get ready?"

Laura knelt on the sofa, leaning over the back.

"You mean to go at once?" she asked.

"Nothing else."

"Take all my things?"

"All your duds," he smiled. "Can't you get ready?"

"Why, my dear, I can get ready most any time."

He came over and stood by her chair, looking down at her affectionately. With a smile, he said:

"Well, are you ready?"

She looked up quickly, a faint flush on her pale face.

"For what, dear?"

"You know what I said in the telegram?"

"Yes."

Her head dropped forward on his shoulder. In a low tone, she murmured:

"Yes."

"Well, I meant it," he said tenderly.

"I know," she whispered.

He took a seat on the other side of the table facing her.

"I've got to get back, Laura, just as soon as ever I can. There's a lot of work to be done out in Nevada, and I stole away to come to New York. I want to take you back. Can you go?"

"Yes—when?"

"This afternoon. We'll take the eighteen-hour train to Chicago, late this afternoon, and connect at Chicago with the Overland, and I'll soon have you in a home." He hesitated a moment; then he said: "And here's another secret."

"What, dear?"

"I've got that home all bought and furnished, and while you wouldn't call it a Fifth Avenue residence, still it has got something on any other one in town."

Looking into the bedroom, he asked: "Is that your maid?"

"Yes—Annie."

"Well, you and she can pack everything you want to take; the rest can follow later." Putting his coat on, he went on: "I planned it all out. There's a couple of boys downtown, one's Glenn Warner—you know him—he introduced me to you that night—the other is a newspaper man. I telephoned them when I got in, and they're waiting for me. I'll just get down there as soon as I can. I won't be gone long."

"How long?" she demanded.

"I don't know just how long, but we'll make that train. I'll get the license. We'll be married, and we'll be off on our honeymoon this afternoon. Can you do it?"

She went up to him, put her hands in his, and they confronted each other.

"Yes, dear," she said. "I could do anything for you."

He took her in his arms and kissed her again. Looking at her fondly, he said:

"That's good. Hurry now. I won't be long. Good-by."

"Hurry back, John."

"Yes. I won't be long."

The next instant the door banged behind him.



CHAPTER XIX.

For several minutes after John's departure, Laura stood motionless. Every vestige of color had left her face; her large lustrous eyes stared blankly into vacancy. She looked as if she had been suddenly petrified into stone. Yet, inert as she seemed, her brain was working hard. Perhaps all was not yet lost! John knew nothing, suspected nothing. She might still be happy. Why should he know what had occurred during his absence? There was no one to enlighten him. A life of happiness with the one man she truly loved, might still be hers. Instantly she was galvanized into action. There was no time to be lost. She must get away from New York and be safely married before Brockton or any one else had a chance to ruin her life. She must pack her things at once, so as to be ready for John when he returned. Feverishly, she began her preparations. Going rapidly over to the dresser, she picked up a large jewel case, and, taking down a doll that was hanging on the dresser, put them on her left arm. With her disengaged hand, she picked up her black cat and carried it over to the center-table. Then, opening the door leading to the kitchen, she called out:

"Annie! Annie! Come here."

The negress entered the room.

"Yassum."

"Annie, I'm going away, and I've got to hurry."

"Going away!" exclaimed the maid in blank astonishment.

Her mistress had already begun to pile things in the center of the room. Hurriedly, Laura said:

"Yes—I want you to bring both my trunks out here—I'll help you—and start to pack. We can't take everything, but bring all the clothes out, and we'll hurry as fast as we can."

They entered the sleeping apartments together, and in a short time reappeared, carrying a large trunk between them. Pushing the sofa back, they laid it down in the center of the room.

"Look out for your feet, Miss Laura!" exclaimed the maid.

"I think I'll take two trunks," said her mistress thoughtfully.



The negress pushed the table out of the way, and, in her flurry, nearly fell over the armchair.

"Golly, such excitement!" she exclaimed. "Wheah yuh goin', Miss Laura?"

"Never mind where I'm going," snapped her mistress. "I haven't any time to waste now talking. I'll tell you later. This is one time, Annie, that you've got to move. Hurry up!"

Giving the maid a push, she hustled her out of the room, and followed closely behind herself. Presently they returned with a smaller trunk.

"Look out fo' yo' dress, Miss Laura," exclaimed the maid.

The trunks were set down, side by side. Laura opened one and commenced to throw the things out, while Annie stood watching her. Soon the actress was down on her knees in front of the trunk, humming "Bon Bon Buddy" packing for dear life, while the maid watched her in amazement.

"Ah nevah see you so happy, Miss Laura."

"I never was so happy!" cried Laura almost hysterically. Giving the girl a push, she exclaimed impatiently: "For Heaven's sake, girl, go get something! Don't stand there looking at me. I want you to hurry."

Thus admonished, Annie ran helter-skelter in the direction of her mistress' room.

"I'll bring out all de fluffy ones first," she cried as she disappeared.

"Yes, everything!" cried Laura, who was on her knees busy laying the things neatly away in the trunk.

Presently the maid returned laden with an armful of dresses and a hat-box. The box she placed on the floor, the dresses on top of the trunk. Going out again for more, she asked:

"Yuh goin' to take dat opera cloak?"

"Yes, everything—everything!" answered Laura, breathless from the speed at which she was working.

Annie reentered with more dresses. There seemed no end to them, each more beautiful and costly than the other. The maid put them on the sofa; then, picking up the opera cloak, she laid it out on top of the dresses in the trunk. Even the humble colored menial was spellbound by the beauty of these adjuncts of feminine loveliness.

"My, but dat's a beauty! I jest love dat crushed rosey one."

Laura looked up impatiently. The girl's chatter made her nervous. Sharply, she said:

"Annie, go and put the best dresses on the foot of the bed. I'll get them myself. You heard what I said?"

The girl ran. She stood in awe of her mistress when she was in ill-humor.

"Yassum!"

While the negress was in the inner room taking the garments from the cupboards, Laura continued busily arranging the contents of the trunk, placing garments here, and some there, sorting them out. While she was thus engaged, with her back to the door, the door leading to the outer corridor opened, and Brockton appeared. He entered quietly, without disturbing Laura, and for a minute or two stood watching her in silence. Then, suddenly, he said:

"Going away?"

Startled, Laura jumped up and confronted him.

"Yes," she said, with some confusion.

"In somewhat of a hurry, I should say," he said dryly.

"Yes."

"What's the plan?" he inquired.

"I'm just going—that's all," she said calmly.

"Madison been here?" he asked in the same even tone.

"He's just left," she answered.

"Of course you are going with him?"

"Yes."

"West?"

"To Nevada."

"Going—er—to get married?" he demanded.

"Yes, this afternoon."

He looked at her keenly, and said significantly:

"So he didn't care then?"

Flushing, she flared up:

"What do you mean, when you say 'He didn't care'?"

"Of course you told him about the letter, and how it was burned up, and all that sort of thing, didn't you?"

"Why, yes," she replied, averting her eyes.

"And he said it didn't make any difference?"

"He—he didn't say anything. We're just going to be married, that's all."

"Did you mention my name, and say that we'd been—rather companionable for the last two months?"

"I told him—you'd been—a very good friend to me."

She spoke with hesitation, at moments with difficulty, as if seeking to gain time, to find answers for his awkward questions. But she did not deceive him. Brockton was too much the man of the world to be easily hoodwinked. He knew she was lying, and his face flushed with anger.

"How soon do you expect him back?" he demanded.

"Quite soon," she replied, with an effort to be calm. "I don't know just exactly how long he'll be."

She turned her back and proceeded with her packing. He came nearer and stood overlooking the trunk.

"And you mean to tell me that you kept your promise and told him the truth?" he persisted.

She stammered confusedly, and then, her patience exhausted, she broke out into open defiance.

"What business have you got to ask me that? What business have you got to interfere, anyway?"

Rising and going to the bed in the alcove, she took the dresses and carried them to the sofa. Brockton followed her, his fists clenched.

"Then you've lied again!" he cried furiously. "You lied to him, and you just tried to lie to me now. You're not particularly clever at it, although I don't doubt but that you've had considerable practice."

With a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders, he walked over to the chair at the table and sat down, still holding his hat in his hand, and without removing his overcoat. Laura came back laden with more things. Seeing Brockton sitting, she stopped, and, turning on him, laid the dresses down.

"What are you going to do?" she demanded.

"Sit down here and rest a few moments; maybe longer," he replied coolly.

She looked at him in dismay.

"You can't do that!" she exclaimed.

"I don't see why not. This is my own place."

"But don't you see that he'll come back here soon and find you here?"

"That's just exactly what I want him to do."

Laura looked at him helplessly. With suppressed emotion, almost on the verge of hysteria, she broke out:

"I want to tell you this. If you do this thing, you'll ruin my life. You've done enough to it already. Now, I want you to go. I don't think you've got any right to come here now, in this way, and take this happiness from me. I've given you everything I've got, and now I want to live right and decently. He wants me to marry him. We love each other. Now, Will Brockton, it's come to this. You've got to leave this place, do you hear? You've got to leave this place. Please get out!"

Brockton was white and determined looking. For the first time in his life, he was really angry. Leaving his chair and advancing towards her, he said menacingly:

"Do you think I'm going to let a woman make a liar out of me? I'm going to stay right here. I like that boy, and I'm not going to let you put him to the bad."

"I want you to go!" she cried.

Shutting the trunk-lid down, she went over to the dresser and opened the drawer, to get more things out.

"And I tell you I won't go," he retorted furiously. "I'm going to show you up. I'm going to tell him the truth. It isn't you I care for—he's got to know."

Slamming the drawer shut, she turned and faced him, almost tiger-like in her anger.

"You don't care for me?" she cried.

"No."

"It isn't me you're thinking of?"

"No."

"Who's the liar now?"

"Liar?"

"Yes, liar. You are! You don't care for this man, and you know it."

"You're foolish."

"Yes, I am foolish, and I've been foolish all my life, but I'm getting a little sense now."

Kneeling in the armchair facing him, her voice shaking with anger, she went on:

"All my life, since the day you first took me away, you've planned and planned and planned to keep me, and to trick me and bring me down with you. When you came to me I was happy. I didn't have much, just a little salary and some hard work."

He shrugged his shoulders, and smiled skeptically. Ironically, he said:

"But, like all the rest, you found that wouldn't keep you, didn't you?"

Ignoring his taunt, she went on:

"You say I'm bad, but who's made me so? Who took me out night after night? Who showed me what these luxuries were? Who put me in the habit of buying something I couldn't afford? You did."

"Well, you liked it, didn't you?"

"Who got me in debt, and then, when I wouldn't do what you wanted me to, who had me discharged from the company, so I had no means of living? Who followed me from one place to another? Who, always entreating, tried to trap me into this life? I didn't know any better."

"Didn't know better?" he echoed derisively.

"I knew it was wrong—yes; but you told me everybody in this business did that sort of thing, and I was just as good as any one else. Finally you got me and you kept me. Then, when I went away to Denver, and for the first time found a gleam of happiness, for the first time in my life——"

"You're crazy," he said contemptuously.

"Yes, I am crazy!" she cried hysterically.

Her patience was at an end. She felt that if he stayed there another minute to taunt and torture her, she would go stark, raving mad. A choking sensation rose in her throat. Seized with a sudden fury, she swept the table cover off the table, and, making one stride to the dresser, knocked all the bottles off. Then she turned on him furiously. Almost screaming, she shouted:

"You've made me crazy! You followed me to Denver, and then when I got back you bribed me again. You pulled me down, and you did the same old thing until this happened. Now, I want you to get out, you understand? I want you to get out!"

He turned to pacify her. More gently, he said:

"Laura, you can't do this."

But she refused to listen. Walking up and down the room, gesticulating wildly, she kept crying:

"Go—do you hear—go!"

He took a seat on a trunk. Instantly she turned on him like an infuriated tigress, attempting to push him off by sheer strength.

"No, you won't," she screamed; "you won't stay here! You're not going to do this thing again. I tell you, I'm going to be happy. I tell you, I'm going to be married. You won't see him! I tell you, you won't tell him! You've got no business to. I hate you! I've hated you for months! I hate the sight of your face! I've wanted to go, and now I'm going. You've got to go, do you hear? You've got to get out—get out!"

Such an exhibition of rage in this usually mild girl was something so strange and uncanny that it suddenly aroused in him a feeling of disgust. After all, why should he care? He ought to be glad to get out and be through with her. As she pushed him again, he rose, and threw her off, causing her to stagger to a chair. With a gesture of impatience, he went towards the door.

"What the hell is the use of fussing with a woman?" he exclaimed.

The door slammed noisily behind him. Sinking down on her knees, Laura started to pack with renewed vigor, crying hysterically:

"I want to be happy! I'm going to be married, I'm going to be happy!"



CHAPTER XX.

Two hours later, Laura, fully dressed for a journey, sat on a trunk, nervously watching the clock, patiently awaiting John's return. Annie was still on her knees, struggling with the key of an obstinate suitcase.

A remarkable transformation had been effected in the apartment. The entire place had been dismantled, and the elegantly appointed sitting room was now littered with trunks, grips, umbrellas and the usual paraphernalia that accompanies a woman when she is making a permanent departure from her place of living.

All the bric a brac had been removed from the sideboard and tables. Some of the dresser drawers were half open, and pieces of tissue paper and ribbons were hanging out. On the armchair was a small alligator bag, containing toilet articles and a bunch of keys. The writing-desk had all its contents removed, and was open, showing scraps of torn-up letters. Lying on the floor, where it had been dropped, was a New York Central timetable. Between the desk and the bay-window stood a milliner's box, inside of which was a huge picture hat. Under the desk were a pair of old slippers, a woman's shabby hat and old ribbons. The picture frames and basket of flowers had been removed from the pianola, while the music-stool was on top of the instrument, turned upside down. Between the legs of this stool was an empty White Rock bottle, with a tumbler turned over it. The big trunk stood in front of the sofa, all packed, and it had a swing-tray, in which lay a fancy evening gown. On top of the lid was an umbrella, a lady's traveling-coat, hat, and gloves. On the sofa was a large Gladstone bag, packed and fastened, and close by a smaller trunk-tray with lid. In the end of the tray was a revolver wrapped in tissue paper. The trunk was closed, and apparently locked. The room had the general appearance of having been stripped of all personal belongings. Old magazines and newspapers were scattered all over the place.

Pale and perturbed, Laura sat nervously, starting at each little sound she heard from the street. Every now and then she consulted the small traveling clock which she held in her hand. Why didn't John come. She was all ready. Everything was packed. All they had to do now was to call a cab and drive to the railroad station. Thank God, she had got rid of Brockton! That danger, at least, was removed. John knew nothing, could hear nothing now until they were safely married. If afterwards he heard things and demanded an explanation, she would tell him everything and he would forgive her.

"Ain't yuh goin' to let me come to yuh at all, Miss Laura?" asked the maid with a pout.

"I don't know yet, Annie. I don't even know what the place is like that we're going to. Mr. Madison hasn't said much. There hasn't been time."

"Why, Ah've done ma best for yuh, Miss Laura; yes, Ah have. Ah've jest been with yuh ev'ry moment of ma time, an' Ah worked for yuh an Ah loved yuh, an, Ah doan wan' to be left 'ere all alone in dis town er New York."

Laura turned to the door for a moment, and, while her back was turned Annie stooped, grabbed up a ribbon, and hid it behind her back.

"Ah ain't the kind of culled lady knows many people. Can't yuh take me along wid yuh, Miss Laura? Yuh all been so good to me."

Getting up from the trunk, Laura went to the outer door and listened. Hearing nothing, she returned with a gesture of disappointment. With some irritation, she said:

"Why, I told you to stay here and get your things together, and then Mr. Brockton will probably want you to do something. Later I think he'll have you pack up, just as soon as he finds I'm gone. I've got the address that you gave me. I'll let you know if you can come on."

Hiding the ribbon inside her waist, the negress said suddenly:

"Ain't yuh goin' to give me anything at all, jes' to remembuh yuh by? Ah've been so honest——"

"Honest?" echoed her mistress scornfully.

"Honest, Ah have."

"You've been about as honest as most colored girls are who work for women in the position that I am in. You haven't stolen enough to make me discharge you, but I've seen what you've taken."

"Now, Miss Laura!" protested the girl.

"Don't try to fool me!" cried Laura indignantly. "What you've got you're welcome to, but for Heaven's sake don't prate around here about loyalty and honesty. I'm sick of it."

"Ain't yuh goin' to give me no recommendation?"

Laura shrugged her shoulders impatiently.

"What good would my recommendation do? You can always go and get another position with people who've lived the way I've lived, and my recommendation to the other kind wouldn't amount to much."

Overcome by emotion and disappointment, Annie collapsed on a trunk.

"Ah can just see wheah Ah'm goin'!" she cried; "back to dat boa'din-house fo' me."

"Now, shut your noise," cried Laura impatiently. "I don't want to hear any more. I've given you twenty-five dollars for a present. I think that's enough."

"Ah know," replied the negress, putting on a most aggrieved appearance, "but twenty-five dollars ain't a home, and I'm losin' my home. Dat's jest my luck—every time I save enough money to buy my weddin' clothes to get married, I lose my job."

Laura paced nervously from window to door, from door to window, listening for every footstep.

"I wonder why he doesn't come," she murmured anxiously. "We'll never be able to make that train!"

Picking the timetable off the floor, she sat down in a chair and began to study it intently. While thus engaged, she heard the elevator stop on their floor. She jumped to her feet. There he was! After a few seconds' interval, the bell rang. Yes—that was he. Without waiting for Annie, she rushed to open the door, and fell back, visibly disappointed. It was not John, after all.

"How-dy-do, Miss Laura?"

The visitor was her old friend, Jim Weston. The advance agent was neatly dressed in black, and he had about him an appearance of prosperity which she was not accustomed to see. He looked different, more staid and respectable, but his drollness of speech and kindly manner were the same as ever. He held out his hand to Laura, who invited him in. He came at an inopportune time, but she could not forget his kindness to her during those terrible days at Mrs. Farley's.

"I'm mighty glad to see you, Jim," she said cordially.

"Looks as if you were going to move," he grinned, looking around.

"Yes, I am going to move, and a long ways, too. How well you're looking—fit as a fiddle."

"Yes; I am feelin' fine. Where yer goin'? Troupin'?"

"No, indeed."

"Thought not. What's comin' off now?"

"I'm going to be married this afternoon," she said proudly.

"Married?" he exclaimed in astonishment.

"And then I'm going West."

Leaving the trunks, which he had been inspecting, he walked toward her and held out his hands.

"Now, I'm just glad to hear that," he said warmly. "Ye know when I heard how—how things was breakin' for ye—well, I ain't knockin' or anythin' like that, but me and the missis have talked ye over a lot. I never did think this feller was goin' to do the right thing by yer. Brockton never looked to me like a fellow who would marry anybody, but now that he's going through just to make you a nice, respectable wife, I guess everything must have happened for the best."

He looked at her, and paused, as if expecting she would take him more into her confidence, but she made no reply, and averted her eyes. Sitting on the trunk beside her, he went on:

"Ye see, I wanted to thank you for what you did a couple of weeks ago. Burgess wrote me a letter, and told me I could go ahead of one of his big shows if I wanted to come back, and offered me considerable money. He mentioned your name, Miss Laura, and I talked it over with the missis, and—well, I can tell ye now when I couldn't if ye weren't to be hooked up—we decided that I wouldn't take that job, comin' as it did from you, and the way I knew it was framed up."

"Why not?" she asked in surprise.

"Well, ye see," he said with some embarrassment, "there are three kids, and they're all growing up, all of them in school, and the missis, she's just about forgot the show business, and she's playing star part in the kitchen, juggling dishes and doing flip-flaps with pancakes; and we figured that as we'd always gone along kinder clean-like, it wouldn't be good for the kids to take a job comin' from Brockton—because you—you—well—you—you——"

Laura rose hastily, and her face reddened.

"I know. You thought it wasn't decent. Is that it?"

"Oh, not exactly; only—well, you see I'm gettin' along pretty good now. I got a little one-night stand theatre out in Ohio—manager of it, too. The town is called Gallipolis."

"Gallipolis?" she echoed, puzzled.

"Oh, that ain't a disease," he smiled. "It is the name of a town. Maybe you don't know much about Gallipolis, or where it is."

"No."

"Well, it looks just like it sounds. We got a little house, and the old lady is happy, and I feel so good that I can even stand her cookin'. Of course, we ain't makin' much money, but I guess I'm getting a little old-fashioned around theatres, anyway. The fellows from newspapers and colleges have got it on me. Last time I asked a man for a job he asked me what I knew about the Greek drama, and when I told him I didn't know the Greeks had a theatre in New York, he slipped me a laugh and told me to come in again on some rainy Tuesday. Then Gallipolis showed on the map, and I beat it for the West."

Noticing that his words had hurt her, he stopped, and in an embarrassed kind of way went on:

"Sorry if I hurt ye—didn't mean to; and now that yer goin' to be Mrs. Brockton, well, I take back all I said, and while I don't think I want to change my position, I wouldn't turn it down for—for that other reason, that's all."

"But, Mr. Weston, I'm not going to be Mrs. Brockton!" she cried hastily, with a note of defiance in her voice.

"No?" he exclaimed in surprise.

"No."

"Oh—oh——"

"I'm going to marry another man, and a good man."

"The h—ll you are!"

She rose and put her hand on his shoulder. Gently, she said:

"It's going to be altogether different. I know what you meant when you said about the missis and the kids, and that's what I want—just a little home, just a little peace, just a little comfort, and—and the man has come who's going to give it to me. You don't want me to say any more, do you?"

"No, I don't," he said emphatically, in a tone of hearty approval; "and now I'm just going to put my mit out and shake yours and be real glad. I want to tell ye it's the only way to go along. I ain't never been a rival to Rockefeller, nor I ain't never made Morgan jealous, but since the day my old woman took her make-up off for the last time and walked out of that stage door to give me a little help and bring my kids into the world, I knew that was the way to go along; and if you're goin' to take that road, by Jiminy, I'm glad of it, for you sure do deserve it. I wish yer luck."

"Thank you."

"I'm mighty glad you sidestepped Brockton," he went on. "You're young, and you're pretty, and you're sweet, and if you've got the right kind of a feller, there ain't no reason on earth why you shouldn't jest forgit the whole business and see nothin' but laughs and a good time comin' to you, and the sun sort o' shinin' every twenty-four hours in the day. You know the missis feels just as if she knew you, after I told her about them hard times we had at Farley's boarding-house, so I feel that it's paid me to come to New York, even if I didn't book anything but 'East Lynne' and 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'." Rising and moving towards the door, he added: "Now, I'm goin'. Don't forget—Gallipolis's the name, and sometimes the mail does get there. I'd be awful glad if you wrote the missis a little note tellin' us how you're gettin' along, and if you ever have to ride on the Kanawha and Michigan, just look out of the window when the train passes our town, because that is about the best you'll get."

"Why?"

"They only stop there on signal. And make up your mind that the Weston family is with you, forty ways from the Jack, day and night. Good-by, and God bless you!"