A CRUEL FORGERY.
At the elegant family mansion on Boston's most aristocratic avenue,
Jesse Devereaux, watching by the bedside of his sick father, waited
with burning impatience for the answer to the letter in which he had
poured out the overwhelming tenderness of his soul.
No shadow of doubt clouded his love, he felt so sure of Liane's love
in return. Had it not trembled in her voice, gleamed in her eyes, and
blushed on her cheeks?
Oh, they would be so happy together, he and his young bride, Liane! He
would make up to her for all the poverty and sorrow of her past life.
Life should be flower-strewn and love-sweet for her now.
Of course he expected some opposition from Lyde, his proud, fashionable
sister, when she learned that he was off with his engagement to the
heiress, Miss Clarke, and meant to wed a poor girl, who worked for her
living. But he meant to stand firm, and when she saw how sweet and
beautiful Liane was, she would be ready to excuse him and accept his
darling for a sister.
In these rosy daydreams the hours flew, and on the second day after
posting his letter he received a reply.
It gave him something of an unpleasant shock when he held the square
blue envelope in his hand and read the ill-written address:
MISTER JESS DEVEROW,
No. -- Comonwelt Avnoo,
Bostin,
Mass.
His cheek flushed, and he sighed.
"Poor girl, of course she has had no opportunities of education, but
she can have private teachers, and soon remedy all that."
And he opened the letter with the eagerness of a lover, despite the
slight damper on his spirits, caused by his love's bad chirography,
united to even worse orthography.
His eager eyes traveled quickly over the small sheet with the awkward
sentences of one little used to epistolary work.
STONECLIFF, the 17 Sept.
DEER MISTER DEVROW: Deer me, what a s'hpise your letter wuz! I
thought you wuz jest flirtin' with me! I had heerd what a flirt you
wuz, so I jest tryed my hand on you! They told me you wuz ingage to
the beautiful Miss Clarke, and I thought what fun to cut her out!
But I didn't think I could do it. I didn' know as I was so pretty
till I tuk the beauty prize that nite. Deer me, how glad I wuz of
that money! I'm a grate heiress now, like Miss Clarke, ain't I?
I'm much obleedge fur your offer to marry, but I can't see my way
clear to accept, being as I don't love you well enuff. I never did
admire these dark men with sassy, black eyes and dark hair. I've
heern tell they are as jealous as a turk. I make bold to say, I think
Mr. Deen is the style I most admire--deep blue eyes and brown curls.
He seems to have took a fancy to me, too, and if he should ast me the
question you did, I know I could say yes. Forgive if this pains, but
it's best to be frank, so you won't go on loving me in vane.
I'm grateful to you for your vote that helped to git me that hundred
dollars! I'm goin' down to Bostin to see the sites, and buy me a red
silk gown, I always wuz crazy for one!
Truly yours,
LIANE LESTER.
Devereaux sat like one dazed, going over and over the letter of
rejection. He could hardly realize that Liane's little hand had penned
those words.
No more cruel blow at a strong man's love and pride had ever been dealt
than that letter, showing the writer to be possessed of so shallow
a nature as to be incapable of appreciating the treasure of a true
heart's love, so ungratefully thrown away.
Jesse Devereaux thrust it away from him at last, and sat staring
blankly before him with heavy eyes, like one contemplating the ruins of
his dearest hope.
It seemed to him as if he had just laid some dearly loved one in the
grave. Hours and days of sorrow seemed to pass over him as he sat there
brooding darkly over his fate.
Was it indeed but an hour ago he had felt so hopeful and glad, telling
himself he had just found the sweetest joy of life in the dawn of love?
What foolish thoughts, what a misplaced love, what rash confidence in
an innocent face and demure, pansy-blue eyes!
She had just been flirting with him because she heard he was a great
flirt, and was engaged to Miss Clarke, and she wanted to see if she
could "cut her out." It was all heartless vanity that he had taken for
shy, bashful love. The ignorant little working girl had proved herself
an adept in the art of flirtation.
It was a crushing blow, and his heart was very sore. He had loved her
so, ever since the night they had first met, loved her with the passion
of his life! Even now the memory of her sweetness would not down. He
would be haunted forever by her voice, her glance, her smile, so
alluring in their beauty, so false in true womanly worth and grace,
will-o'-the-wisp lights, shining but to betray.
And Malcolm Dean was his rival in the heart of the lovely, coquettish
working girl! She admired his "deep-blue eyes and brown curls" as much
as she disliked "sassy black eyes and dark hair." She would marry him
if he asked her, she said. Jesse wondered cynically if Dean had been
merely flirting, too, or would his love prompt him to elevate pretty
Liane to the proud position of his bride.
Meanwhile, Liane, innocent as an angel, of course, of the letter that
Roma had sent in her name, had duly arrived in the city.
Her grandmother had taken her to cheap lodgings that night, and, after
they had been shown to a room, the old woman said abruptly:
"Now I'll go and inquire about my daughter."
Liane went to the window and looked out in awe at the lights of the
great city, wondering how far away from this spot Jesse Devereaux could
be to-night. Her young heart throbbed with joy at the thought of his
nearness, for she had no realization of the extent of Boston.
While she was musing and wondering granny returned, saying crossly:
"It seems I made a mistake in the address. She ain't here at all, but
I'm tired, and not a step shall I stir from this to-night, so we'll go
to bed, Liane, and I'll hunt her in the morning."
"But if she should die before morning, granny?"
"Let her die, then; I can't help it! Go to bed!" snarled the old woman,
creeping into bed; so Liane, seeing the uselessness of remonstrance,
followed her example.
The next morning, after breakfast, granny announced that she would
leave Liane in care of the landlady, while she went out in search of
the dying daughter.
"Let me go with you," pleaded the girl, with a vague hope of meeting
Devereaux somewhere on the street, all her thought clinging to him with
tender persistence.
"No, I won't have you along with me, but I'll come back for you as
soon as I find her," snapped granny, so sharply that Liane gave in and
watched her depart with keen regret.
"I should have liked to go with her to see some of the sights of the
great city," she sighed, so forlornly that the landlady said cheerily:
"Well, come in here and sit a while with my sick sister, and I'll hurry
up my morning's work and go out with you myself this afternoon."
Lizzie White was a pretty shop girl, just recovering from a spell of
fever, and she took an instant interest in the pretty new boarder.
"Sister Annie can show you all over the city," she said. "But,"
hesitatingly, "haven't you any other clothes to wear?" her glance
falling deprecatingly on Liane's simple dark-blue print gown and summer
straw hat. "It's time for fall things, you know," she added.
Liane blushed at the poverty of her attire, but answered gently:
"These are the best clothes I have, but I have a little money of my
own, and if I knew where to go, I would buy a blue serge suit."
"Sister Annie can take you to a place this afternoon--the very store
where I work when I am well," replied Lizzie encouragingly.
Afternoon came, but no granny yet, and Mrs. Brinkley offered to take
Liane out, saying it was such a pity to stay indoors all day when the
sun shone so bright and warm.
Liane accepted eagerly, and then her new friend, Lizzie, shyly
proffered her a new fall suit of her own to wear.
"Do wear it to please me, and because people will make remarks on your
print gown," she said eagerly, and the girl, fearful that Mrs. Brinkley
might be ashamed of her shabby attire, accepted gratefully.
Her appearance was indeed quite different when clothed in Lizzie's
brown cloth skirt, scarlet silk waist, and jaunty brown jacket, with a
brown walking skirt to match.