Mrs. Gordon was not sorry that her daughter had preferred to stay
at Eden in preference to accompanying her upon her Southern tour.
It augured well for the success of the trembling hopes which she
entertained in common with Mrs. Le Roy.
She sent down a letter full of affectionate regrets over their
temporary separation, and followed it by a box full of new dresses and
hats over which Clarice went into ecstasies of delight, and Laurel wept.
"I can never wear them--do not ask me, Clarice," she said. "They make
me feel like a traitor. It is enough that I have borrowed Miss Gordon's
name. I cannot take the nice things they sent her, too. I should feel
like a thief."
"La me! my dear, I never saw anybody equal to you for calling a spade
a spade," cried pretty Clarice. "Now, I think you are too hard upon
yourself, really! You will have to wear some of these pretty things
to keep up appearances as Miss Gordon. The things you brought with
you, and the few dresses Miss Beatrix spared you from her wardrobe
are getting shabby, and I'm afraid these proud rich people here think
that your pa dresses you too poorly for your station. Besides, this
is September, and you cannot go on wearing muslins and cambrics and
nuns'-veiling all winter."
"I will wear them as long as I can, at least," sighed Laurel. "Besides,
Clarice, who can tell how soon our little comedy may be played out--how
soon Miss Wentworth may be ready to confess her clever conspiracy?"
The quick-witted maid wondered a little at the note of vague regret in
Laurel's tone. The day came when she understood.
The time to which they looked forward came sooner than they thought.
In a week after the Gordons went South, a letter arrived for Laurel
under cover of an envelope addressed to Clarice Wells. It was from
Cyril Wentworth's fair young bride, who had been hidden away securely
in Brooklyn all this time, her husband pursuing his daily occupation in
New York, and returning in the evening to his sweet stolen bride, no
one ever suspecting that the handsome young bachelor, whom the Gordons
dreaded so much, had become a Benedick.
"My sweet little Laurel," wrote grateful, happy Beatrix--"the time
of your long probation is at last over. My husband has at last been
offered that lucrative business tour abroad, for which my father has
been plotting so cleverly ever since he started me to Eden to hide
me from my darling Cyril. It's a splendid chance for a young man in
Cyril's position. It will insure us a competence, if not a fortune. Oh,
Laurel, my heart is singing pæans of gladness over our happy prospects!
I cannot be grateful enough to you for playing your part so well, until
this happy conclusion! Only think, dear--in three days we sail for
Europe. I shall need Clarice to go with me, and I want you to come,
too, Laurel. Cyril is not rich, but we will care for you, my darling,
and you shall be like my own little sister, until some fortunate man
claims you for his lovely bride. You and Clarice must come at once,
dear, as we have no time to lose, and Cyril has already taken our
passages on the steamer. I sold my diamonds to pay for them, so you
may know by that, little Laurel, how anxious I am to have you come. Do
not delay. Invent some clever excuse for leaving, and come at once to
my address in Brooklyn. You need not own up to our little conspiracy,
dear. I know you would be too frightened. Leave that to me. When we are
on the eve of starting, I will write to the Le Roys, and to papa and
mamma, confessing all and imploring their forgiveness."
Clarice went almost wild over that letter. She was full of joy that
the clever little conspiracy had worked out so successfully, and the
promised tour to Europe was the realization of the dream of her life.
"I do not believe that we can invent any good excuse for leaving Eden,"
she said, thoughtfully. "They would not allow us. Mrs. Gordon's orders
have been too strict. We must steal away to-night, Miss Vane, and we
can telegraph them to-morrow to send our luggage. Do you not think that
will be the better plan to get away?"
She looked at Laurel, who had never spoken one word yet. The girl was
crouching in a low seat, like one overwhelmed with sudden grief. She
lifted a white face full of desperate trouble, and somber, heavy, dark
eyes up to Clarice.
"Oh, Clarice, do not ask me," she wailed. "I do not want to go! I
cannot, I will not leave Eden."
And with that passionate denial, Laurel Vane's little feet turned aside
into that luring path of sin whose roses hide so many cruel thorns.