THE HAND OF FRIENDSHIP WIELDS THE SURGEON'S KNIFE.
Returning two hours later, they found Claire impatiently waiting their
arrival, radiantly beautiful, and overflowing with joy at sight of her
beloved Madeline.
"You delightfully horrible girl!" she exclaimed, after greetings had
been exchanged, and they had all seated themselves in the
drawing-room. "To think that you are growing more lovely every day,
and that you go and hide all your beauty under an old fright of a wig,
nasty blue spectacles, and deformities of jackets! I declare, it's too
bad! And then to wait on an old spinster who wears no end of false
hair, and false teeth, and false--"
"Puzzled already. So much for not being a lady's maid; Now, I can
enumerate every 'falsehood' assumed by that lady."
Then Madeline gave a ludicrous description of Miss Arthur and her
peculiarities, causing even grave Olive to laugh heartily, and Claire
to exclaim that she should watch the advertisements, and try playing
ladies' maid herself.
Madeline once more recounted, in brief, the state of affairs now
existing at Oakley, or as much as she had told Olive, during which
recital impulsive Claire kept up a running fire of comments,
indicative of surprise, indignation, disgust, and very one-sided
interest.
"I never heard of such a nest of vultures," she exclaimed, excitedly,
when Madeline had completed her story. "Why, it's worse than a chapter
out of a French drama. Goodness gracious, Madeline Payne, I only wish
I could help you deal out justice to these wretches! Where is my fairy
godmother now, that she don't come and convert me into a six-foot
brother, to take some of this burden out of your little weak hands?"
"Not so weak as you may think, you little warrior. These hands,"
holding them up to view, "have a very strong cause, let me tell
you--and you think you would like to help me?" laughing oddly.
"Wouldn't I!" with a fierce nod that made her two companions laugh
again.
The afternoon was wearing away, and Madeline began to grow restless,
at finding no opportunity for saying a word in private to Claire. At
last fortune favored her. Olive, seeing her gardener digging about a
little summer-house, which was a favorite retreat on a warm afternoon,
bethought herself of a plan for adding to its comfort, by laying down
certain vines, etcetera, for next season's growing. So she bade the
girls note how she should have improved her arbor by another season,
and hurried out to begin an argument, that from previous experience
she knew would be hotly contested.
[Illustration: "You delightfully horrible girl!"--page 191.]
This was Madeline's opportunity. And as soon as Olive was out of
hearing, she turned to Claire saying:
"Claire, I have not told you, nor Olive, all that I have discovered.
For reasons, which you will understand later, I have thought it best
to make them known to you first. We must invent some excuse for
absenting ourselves from the parlor for a while."
Claire looked grave and somewhat startled for an instant, but
recovering her composure she said, simply: "I am at your disposal,
dear."
"I think I had better go to my room and lie down," meaningly. "Tell
Olive, when she comes in, that I feel fatigued, and have gone to my
room to rest. Then you had better plead letters to write, and follow
me. Can you manage it?"
"Easily," smiled Claire. "Why, Bonnie, Aileen, this becomes more and
more mysterious and interesting."
"Wait before you pass judgment; now I am gone."
Madeline quitted the drawing-room and sauntered leisurely up-stairs.
When Olive reappeared, Claire carried out the little programme, as
arranged, and hastened to join Madeline, musing as she went:
"What could have induced that odd darling to confide in stupid little
me, while she leaves wise, thoughtful Olive in the dark?"
Madeline was pacing the floor when Claire entered the room. She
motioned her to a chair, and pushed the bolt in the door, thus
rendering intrusion impossible.
"What _can_ you be thinking of, Madeline, with that gloomy face?"
exclaimed Claire, nestling into an easy chair as she spoke.
"I am thinking, Claire," replied Madeline, gazing down at her sadly,
"of the first time I ever saw your sister, and of the errand on which
she came to me. How full of hope I was that morning! How radiant the
day seemed, and how confident I was of happiness to come; as confident
as you are to-day, Claire, darling."
There was something in Madeline's tone that sounded almost like pity,
as she uttered these last words. Claire started and colored, but still
was silent.
"Olive did a brave, generous deed, but at that time I almost hated her
for it," musingly.
"Oh, no, Madeline," interposed Claire, "you don't mean just that, I am
sure. You never really hated our noble, unhappy Olive."
"I felt very wicked, I assure you," smiling faintly. Then, abruptly:
"How should you have felt, similarly placed?"
"I?" wonderingly; "mercy! I can't tell."
"Claire, think," in a tone almost of entreaty. "I want to know--I must
know."
"You must know? Why, Madeline?"
"Because--because I want to find out what is in you; how strong you
are."
Claire looked more and more mystified. "State your case, then," she
said, quietly. "I will try and analyze myself."
"Good; now, Claire Keith, suppose that you love some man very much,
and you trust him without knowing why, for no other reason than that
you love him. When you are happiest, because you have but just parted
from your lover--"
Claire started and colored a little.
"When you are thinking of the time, not far away, when you shall not
part from him any more--suppose that just then I, a friend whom you
have loved, come to you and say: 'This hero of yours is false; he is a
two-faced villain; he has deceived you; he is not honorable; he will
betray you if he can.' What would you answer me?"
Claire lifted her head proudly. "I would make you take back every word
you had uttered, or prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt!"
"And if I proved it?"
"Then I would thank you; and hate myself for having been deceived, and
him for having deceived me."
"Would you grieve for him, Claire?"
Quick as thought came the answer:
"Grieve for him! No; I could no more love a liar and a villain than I
could caress a viper! I tell you, Madeline, I understand your feelings
when you say that you hate Lucian Davlin," shuddering.
"And you would not hate me also for rudely undeceiving you?"
"Hate my best friend; my benefactor? No!"
"I am thankful!"
"But, Madeline, what does all this mean? Is this what you wanted to
say to me? What can my feelings have to do with your case?"
"Claire,"--Madeline's face was very sad again--"this case is _our_
case."
"_Our_ case?"
"Yes, ours; Olive's, yours, mine. And now I am going to test your
strength."
Claire did not look very strong just then.
"You saw Edward Percy to-day."
Claire Keith sprang to her feet. "How do you know that? And what has
he to do with the case?"
"I know it because we, Mr. Percy and myself, came to this city by the
same train, and I could easily surmise that his business here was with
you."
"Well?" haughtily.
"Ah!" sadly; "you are almost angry with me now. But listen, Claire.
Are you perfectly familiar with all the facts connected with poor
Philip Girard's sad disgrace?"
"I think so," coldly.
"You know that he was convicted upon the testimony of Lucian Davlin
and another?"
"Yes."
"Do you recall the name of the man who was wounded, so said the jury,
by Mr. Girard?"
Up sprang Claire, her eyes blazing. "Madeline," she cried, "I see what
you are coming at. You have got into your head the ridiculous idea
that this man Percy and Edward Percy are the same. It is absurd!"
"Why?"
"Because--because it _is_!" Then, as if the matter were
quite settled, "why, he must have been in Europe at the time."
"Claire, you are getting angry with me, and I have a long story to
tell you. But there is an easy way to settle this matter. Are you
willing to let me take the picture you have of Edward Percy, and
accompany me into Olive's presence while I ask her if she ever saw the
original?"
Nothing else could have so effectually quenched Claire's wrath. She
saw that Madeline had some strong reason for her strange words.
Sitting down with paling cheeks and trembling limbs, she thought. Then
looking across at Madeline, she said, wearily:
"I can't understand you at all, Madeline. It never once occurred to
me to connect the man who brought all that trouble upon poor Philip
with my Edward Percy. It does not seem possible that they could be the
same. I had supposed the other Percy to be a man like--like Davlin."
"My dear, did you ever see Davlin?"
"No."
"And you have fancied him a sort of handsome horse jockey, and this
Percy one of the same brotherhood?"
"Perhaps;" smiling a little.
"Claire, Lucian Davlin is an Apollo in person, a courtier in manner,
and a Mephistopheles at heart. And Percy is an abridgement of Davlin."
"I can't see," said Claire, rather frostily, "even if Edward Percy is
the man who was wounded by some unknown person five years ago, why he
must of necessity be a villain and a deceiver. It would be very, very
unpleasant, of course, to find that such were the case. But I could
not hate Edward Percy for that, even if the fact must separate us."
"Claire, Edward Percy is not only the man who helped send your
sister's husband to prison, but he is a villain doubly perjured; a
deceiver, a betrayer. If justice ever gets her due he will end his
days in the penitentiary."
Then, seeing that Claire was about to speak: "Let me finish; now you
shall have your proof."
She recounted all there was to tell, from the day when Claire showed
her the picture and she distrusted the face, to the present moment.
Claire Keith listened in immovable silence; not a muscle quivered. For
many minutes after Madeline had finished her recital, she sat staring
straight before her, like a statue. At length she arose and crossed to
the door, drew back the bolt with a steady hand, put up a warning
finger, and said, in a voice like frozen silver: "Wait;" then
disappeared.
Madeline scarcely had time to wonder what she meant, before Claire was
back, standing before her, calm and cold as an iceberg. She held in
her hand the picture of Edward Percy, with the face turned away, and
this she extended to Madeline.
"It is best that we make no mistakes," she said, quietly; "go show
that to Olive. Don't tell her how it came into your possession; ask
her if it is he. Then come back to me."
"Shall I tell her--" began Madeline.
"Tell her nothing until you have brought me back the picture."
She pushed her toward the door.
Madeline walked down-stairs, sorely puzzled, but thinking fast. "She
fights these facts bravely," she muttered. "Does she doubt, I wonder?"
Olive was sitting before the window, watching the movements of John,
the gardener, when Madeline entered the parlor. Going straight to her,
she placed the picture in her hand, and said:
"Do you know that face?"
Olive Girard gave a startled cry.
"Madeline, how did you come by this?"
"No matter," calmly; "do you know the picture?"
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"The man who sent my husband to prison--Percy."
Madeline took the picture from her hand. "Are you sure?"
"I could swear to the face after these five years."
"Thank you, Olive. Now be patient; I must go back to my room for a
little while. Don't ask me any questions yet. When I come down I will
tell you how I obtained this, and why I have talked to you so much of
this man."
Madeline walked out of the room, leaving Olive staring after her in
bewilderment.
Claire was sitting in the same attitude as when she left her. "Well?"
she said, raising her eyes.
"She recognized it immediately. She would swear that it is the man who
sent her husband to prison."
"Thank you, dear."
Claire took the picture from her hands, and without once glancing at
it, she bent forward and dropped it into the grate.
Madeline threw herself on her knees at the girl's side. "Oh, Claire,
Claire! I have made you miserable; forgive me."
"What for? You have done me a great service. Do you think I want that
man's love?"
"But Claire--"
"I loved an ideal; that ideal, see;" pointing to the grate. "Do you
think I shall cry after a pinch of ashes?" looking her full in the
face. Then, with a shrug of annoyance. "You have roused poor Olive's
curiosity; she must hear of this miserable discovery of ours, or
yours--bah," stamping her foot angrily, "my pride is hurt more than my
heart!"
"Your pride need not suffer more than it does already, Claire. You
have seen me humbled to the dust; see me so still; and surely it won't
be so very bitter to think that poor Madeline knows that your sunny
life has suffered one little shadow. I will tell Olive all I know of
Edward Percy, save that you have ever seen him. The knowledge that he
has crossed your path can in no way benefit her, or aid us in
unmasking him. Evidently, he does not know that you are in any way
connected with the fortunes of Philip Girard. Let this rest between
us. If this plan suits you, perhaps I had better go and tell my
story to Olive. I have twice postponed a revelation to-day."
[Illustration: "She bent forward, and dropped it into the
grate."--page 200.]
"The plan does suit me. Many, many thanks, dear Madeline," said
Claire, calmly and gently. "And now, as I must, of course, be supposed
to first hear this story after it has been told to Olive, or at that
time, I would prefer being present when you enlighten her. Let us
dress for dinner, go down together, and--I leave the rest to your
tact."
Madeline could readily comprehend that it would be easier for Claire
to sit, with Olive, a listener, than to wait and hear the story from
the lips of her sister. If it were left to Olive to tell, Claire's
face might betray her heart, perhaps. But now, hearing it from
Madeline, and with Olive, whose surprise and dismay at the revelation
would quite effectually cover up any signs of emotion Claire might
manifest, the thing did not appear so difficult.
Madeline signified her approval, and they separated to dress for
dinner.
Claire Keith made her toilet with swift, firm fingers, and all the
while she was thinking fiercely, scornfully. She was not stunned by
the blow that had stricken her love and her pride. Rather, it seemed,
she was quickened into unusual activity and clearness of thought.
After a time, perhaps, she would feel more the sadness, the cruelty,
of the hurt; now she felt the outrage to her pride, and a fierce
self-scorn that she could have ever loved a man so base. She hated
Edward Percy for having deceived her, and equally she despised herself
for having been thus deceived by this specious flatterer.
"You little fool!" she scoffed at her image reflected back from her
mirror. "You are a very idiot among idiots! I wonder where are all
your high notions now. So," giving her hair an angry jerk, "you
perched yourself aloft on a pinnacle, didn't you? You looked down upon
all your sisterhood who were deceived, or betrayed, or sorrowing; and
you wondered how women could be so weak; how they _could_ be deluded
by base men. You looked upon poor dead Kitty, and wondered what was
the flaw in her intellect that made her the slave of a gambler and a
villain. You argued that only an unsophisticated school girl could be
deceived as was poor Madeline. Oh, you have been very proud, and very
high has been your standard of manly worth, Miss Claire Keith! So high
that the man who has occupied it might easily slip from that pedestal
to--Haman's gallows!"
At this point in her tirade, something suspiciously like a sob arose
in her throat, and checked her utterance. But it did not retard her
activity, and in a much shorter time than she usually spent upon an
evening toilet, Miss Keith stood, accoutered and defiantly calm, at
Madeline's door.