A FRESH COMPLICATION.
On leaving so abruptly the companionship of Dr. Vaughan, Claire rushed
straight to her room. Closing and locking the door, she flung herself
down upon a couch and indulged in a hearty cry. She was at once happy
and sorry, angry and pleased. Presently, Claire sat up and began to
review things more calmly.
"What a wretched little dunce I am!" she soliloquized. "And what must
he think of me! Well!" with a little sigh, "the worse his opinion of
me, the better for Madeline. And here I am this minute, in spite of
myself, actually rejoicing in my heart because he has not done the
very thing I have resolved that he should do. But he never will know
it. Neither shall any one else. I won't give him another chance to
talk to me; no, not if I have to take to my heels ten times a day.
It's only right that I should give him up; I, indeed, who fancied
myself in love with a white-handed, yellow-haired villain."
At this point in her meditations, some one rapped softly at her door.
"Claire, dear," said a soft voice, "open your door; I want to come
in."
It was Mrs. Ralston, and Claire advanced slowly and turned the key in
the lock.
"I--I thought it was somebody else," she said, hypocritically. "Come
in, Mrs. Ralston."
Thus invited, the lady entered. Without making a comment on the
disturbed appearance of her young friend, she crossed to the window,
and sitting down in a cosy dressing-chair, said: "Come directly here,
young lady, and sit down on that ottoman."
Looking somewhat surprised, the girl obeyed.
"Claire, my child, I have a confession to make. I was in the library
while you sang: 'When sparrows build.'"
The girl's cheek flushed and then paled; but she made no answer.
"And," pursued Mrs. Ralston, "I heard more than your song."
No reply.
"And more than your words!"
"More than--my--my words?"
"Yes; I heard your heart's secret."
Claire's face drooped. "What do you mean?" she asked, deprecatingly.
"My darling, I mean that your heart spoke through your voice, and it
belied your words. Why did you deny your love for so noble a man?"
Claire raised her head. "I didn't!" she said, suddenly, as if driven
to bay.
"No," smiled Mrs. Ralston. "You were a wily little serpent. But you
deceived him."
"I don't care," doggedly.
"Now you are telling a fib!"
"Well, I am not sorry, then," getting hold of her monitor's hand. "Why
do you turn against poor me, when I am trying to do my duty?"
"Because you are not doing your duty."
"Yes, I am; indeed, I am. You don't know."
"Then tell me, and let me be your friend and adviser."
"But you can't advise," objected Claire, "because you don't know
the--the other one."
"Well, I do know you."
"There it is!" burst forth the champion of the absent. "You know me,
but you don't know what a worthless, unattractive little imp I am
compared to her. You don't know her, but you shall! And when you do,
poor me will have to take a seat lower down in the tabernacle of your
affections."
"I wonder if this 'other' would so readily resign her lover to you?"
she said.
"Would she!" flashed Claire. "Would she _not_? Has she not? Ah, if you
knew her, you would never say that!" Then suddenly capturing the other
hand of the lady, she said, in quieter but very grave tones: "Can you
listen to a long story, Mrs. Ralston; rather to several stories
combined in one? I am going to tell you what I have so much wanted you
to know--the story of Madeline Payne."
Mrs. Ralston expressed her more than willingness to hear all that
Claire had to tell, and the girl settled down comfortably on the
ottoman at the feet of her friend, and began at the beginning. It was
indeed a long story, for Claire omitted nothing. As she told how
Madeline had exposed to her the baseness of Percy, Mrs. Ralston
started up, her face pale as death, and then sank back in her chair.
"Percy!" she cried. "What--what is his other name?"
Claire stared at her in amazement. "What is it, Mrs. Ralston--you are
ill?"
"No," almost gasped the lady; "tell me--his name."
"I did not intend to speak his name," Claire said, slowly. "It is
Edward Percy."
Mrs. Ralston was on her feet in an instant, her face flushing with
excitement. "Come with me!" she almost shrieked. "Quick! to my room."
Wondering vaguely, Claire followed.
Mrs. Ralston almost flew to her apartment. She flung open the door,
and in an instant was on her knees beside a trunk, opening trays and
searching for something eagerly.
"Look!" she cried, suddenly thrusting out something toward Claire;
something from which she averted her own face. "Look, did you ever see
that face?"
The girl gave one glance and uttered a sharp cry. It was a miniature
painted on ivory; painted years ago, but she knew it only too well.
Mrs. Ralston regained her feet, trembling so that she could scarcely
stand.
"Where did you get it?" cried Claire. "It is he; Edward Percy!"
Mrs. Ralston started forward and took the picture from her hand. "_It
is my husband!_" she whispered.
With the words on her lips, she fell heavily to the floor, in a dead
faint.
When Mrs. Ralston awoke to consciousness, she was lying upon her bed,
with Dr. Vaughan bending over her, Olive standing near, and Claire a
little aloof, looking pale and anxious. Her first thought was of the
picture.
"Where is it?" she murmured, addressing Claire, who stepped forward
eagerly.
"It is here, dear Mrs. Ralston," said Claire. "I caught it from your
hand after you fell. I thought--" And then she hesitated.
"I understand," she said, looking at the girl fixedly. "Drop it from
your hand, Claire; drop it _there_," pointing to the grate. "It has
done its work; we need never look upon it again."
Claire obeyed her silently. For the second time she had consigned to
the flames the pictured face of Edward Percy.
To the surprise of the three who had so lately seen her coming slowly
back from the swoon, so like death, Mrs. Ralston raised herself to a
sitting posture, and then slowly arose from the bed and stood upright
before them, and there was a flush on her cheek, and a light in her
eyes that was new to that usually pale, sad face.
"Dear friends," she said, turning toward Clarence and Olive, who had
been watching the burning of the picture with surprised and somewhat
curious eyes, "I am quite recovered; and I want to think. Will you
please leave me alone, quite alone, for a little while?"
Olive, Claire and Clarence went slowly and silently down to the
drawing-room, Claire keeping very close to her sister and carefully
avoiding the eyes of the young man. Seating herself beside Olive,
Claire told, in her own way, all that she knew of the affair.
"I wanted to tell Mrs. Ralston of Madeline," she commenced, "and, not
to omit anything, I told her poor Philip's story,--all about the two
men, and how the man, Percy, had appeared at Oakley as the lover of
Miss Arthur. When I spoke his name, she ran to her room, almost
dragging me with her, and--"
Suddenly she paused, horrified at a sudden thought. How could she
explain to these two, who knew nothing of her "affair" with Edward
Percy--who did not dream that she had ever seen his face--her ability
to recognize the picture Mrs. Ralston had shown her?
"And?" interrogated Olive.
Clarence Vaughan saw that there was a reason for her hesitation, and
while wondering what it could be, came to her rescue. "And fainted, of
course," said he. "Well, she is better now, and perhaps we shall hear
the conclusion of the mystery all in good time."
If she had dared, Claire would have given him a glance of gratitude.
As it was, she only averted her face and felt herself a great
hypocrite.
Doctor Vaughan was to remain for lunch; and while he talked quietly
with Olive, Claire sat considering what they would say if they knew
all. Presently her reverie was interrupted by the entrance of a
servant, who said:
"Mrs. Ralston wishes Miss Keith to come to her."
Claire started up, and without a word to either her lover or her
sister, hurried into the presence of her friend.
Mrs. Ralston advanced to meet the girl as she entered the room, and
laying a hand upon her shoulder, said: "I understood you to say that
your sister knows nothing of your acquaintance with that man. Am I
right?
"Yes."
"And you do not wish her to know?"
Claire hesitated. "I did not then think it was wrong to conceal it
from her," she said, finally; "but now, if you think it best, I will
try and tell her."
"But I do not think it best, my darling. I should have been convinced
of his identity even had I not used the picture as a test. We will say
nothing on that subject. And now, let us go down-stairs, for we have
work to do!"
So saying, she led the way from the room and Claire followed,
wondering how all this was to end.