LIANE'S FLEETING LOVE DREAM.
Liane was enchanted with the beautiful city, and Mrs. Brinkley, who
felt a proud proprietorship in it, was delighted with her praises.
They went from one grand building to another, but the good woman soon
noticed that Liane seemed best pleased walking along the crowded
streets, and that instead of observing all that she pointed out, the
girl's eyes wandered wistfully from one face to another, as if in
search of some one.
"Are you looking for your grandmother?" she asked.
"Oh, no, ma'am," and Liane blushed like a rose.
"Then it must be your beau, you look so bashful. Have you got a beau in
Boston?"
Liane shook her pretty head, but she looked so conscious that the woman
plied her with curious questions, until the young girl owned that she
knew one person in Boston, a young man, who had spent several weeks at
Stonecliff. Then the curious matron did not rest until she had learned
his name.
"Jesse Devereaux! Was he handsome as a picture, with big, rolling,
black eyes? Yes? Why, my pretty dear, you must not set your heart on
him. He is one of the young millionaires up on Commonwealth Avenue, the
swellest young man in Boston. He would never stoop to a poor working
girl."
She saw the beautiful color fade from the girl's rosy cheek, and her
bosom heaved with emotion as she faltered:
"He was very kind to me at Stonecliff!"
Mrs. Brinkley knew the world so well that she took instant alarm,
exclaiming warningly:
"Don't you set any store by his kindness, child. No good comes of rich
young men showing attentions to pretty working girls. If you have
followed him here through a fancy for his handsome face, then you had
better go home to-night."
Eagerly, blushingly, Liane disclaimed such a purpose, saying granny had
brought her to see a relative.
"I--I only thought I might see his face in some of the crowded
streets," she faltered.
"It is better for you never to see his face again, for it's plain to be
seen he has stolen your heart," chided the widow. "Come, I'll show you
his grand home, and then you may understand better how much he is above
you, and how useless it is to hope to catch him."
Liane's cheeks burned at the chidings of the good woman, and tears
leaped to her eyes, but she did not refuse the proffer of seeing
Devereaux's home. She thought eagerly:
"I might see him at the window, or perhaps coming down the steps into
the street. Then, if he should come and speak to me joyfully, as he did
that night at the beauty contest, I believe even this good, anxious
woman could see that he loves me."
She walked along happily by Mrs. Brinkley's side, carrying the jaunty
brown jacket on her arm, as Lizzie had advised, for the sun's rays were
warm, and she was weary from her sightseeing. The scarlet silk waist
looked very gay, but if she had dreamed of the dreadful letter that had
told Devereaux she was coming to Boston to buy a red silk gown, she
would have torn it off and trampled it beneath her feet.
Her beautiful eyes sparkled with pleasure at sight of the splendid
homes of Boston's wealthy class, and she could not help exclaiming:
"I am not envious, but I would like to be rich and live in one of these
palaces."
"That you can never do, child, so don't think about it any more, as
I tell Lizzie, when she gets to sighing for riches," rejoined the
prudent matron. "Look, now, at that grand house we're coming to; Mr.
Devereaux lives there with his old father and his young married sister,
the proudest beauty in Boston. You see, I read all about them in the
society columns, and--oh!"
She paused with a stifled shriek, for the great front door of the grand
mansion had indeed opened, as Liane secretly prayed it would, and a man
came down the steps--Jesse Devereaux himself!
Leaving Lyde beside his father's bed, he was going out for a walk
to try to shake off the benumbing influences of the letter that had
shattered his air castles into hopeless ruins.
It seemed to him as if his thoughts had taken bodily shape, as he
beheld Liane there in reach of his hand, her timid, eager glance lifted
almost appealingly to his face.
He hesitated, he almost stopped to speak to her, so thrilled was he by
the sight of her lovely face again, but his eyes fell on the gay red
silk waist, and the words of her letter recurred to his mind:
"I'm coming down to Bostin to see the sites, and buy a red silk gown.
I've always been crazy for one."
She was here, she had the red silk gown she craved, and idle curiosity
had led her to pass his house, perhaps boasting to her companion,
meanwhile, that she had flirted with the owner and refused his hand.
A deep crimson rose to his brow, and his heart almost stopped its
beating with wounded love and pride. Just glancing at Liane with cold,
indifferent eyes, he lifted his hat, bowed stiffly, and passed her by
in scorn.
The girl, who had almost stopped to speak to him, gave a sigh that was
almost a sob, and dropped her eyes, moving on by Mrs. Brinkley's side
with a sinking heart.
"That was he, Jesse Devereaux himself," whispered the latter excitedly.
"My, what a cold, haughty stare and bow; enough to freeze you. You see
how 'tis, my dear? When city folks visit the country they're mighty
gracious, but when country folks come to the city, they don't hardly
recognize 'em."
Liane's pale smile at Mrs. Brinkley's observation was sadder than the
wildest outburst of tears.
"I see that you are right," she answered, with gentle humility that
touched her new friend's heart, and made her exclaim:
"Don't never give him another thought, honey. He ain't worth it. You're
sweet enough and pretty enough to marry the proudest in the land, but
nothing don't count now but money."
They hurried home to the poor lodgings, so different from the splendid
locality they had just left, and found granny just returned from her
search and in rather a good humor from the day's outing.
She did not scold Liane for going out, as the girl expected, but said
calmly:
"I was too late. I found Cora dead and the funeral just starting, so I
went with it, and saw her laid away in her last home. Then I thought I
had just as well finish the day looking over the things she left, but I
wasn't any better off by it, for the people where she boarded took it
all for debt."
She was lying straight along, but, of course, Liane did not know it,
and she tried to feel a little sorrow for the unknown mother laid in
her lonely grave to-day, but the emotion was very faint. She could not
grieve much for one she had never seen, and of whom granny had given
such a frankly bad report.
Her first thought was that now she could go back to Stonecliff, away
from the city that had held Jesse Devereaux, whose proud glance and
chilling bow had stabbed her heart with such cruel pain.
But on making this request, the old woman scowled in disapproval.
"Back to Stonecliff? No, indeed!" she cried. "I hate the place, and
I left it for good when we came away. You can get a place to work in
Boston, and we will stay here."
"Yes, it will be easy to get in as a salesgirl at the store where I
work. I'll recommend you," said the sick girl kindly.
Liane knew there was no appeal from granny's decision, and, after
thanking Lizzie for the loan of her gown and hat, she returned to the
shabby little room, longing to seek solitude in her grief.
But granny soon entered, carrying a bundle, and exclaiming:
"Mrs. Brinkley says you bought this dress to-day, and paid for it,
too! Now, where'd the money come from, I'd like to know?"
Liane had to confess the truth about the beauty contest, and, as soon
as the old woman took it in, she cried furiously:
"And you dared to spend that money for finery, you vain hussy?"
"It was my own, granny," Liane answered.
"Where is the rest of it? Give me every penny that is left, before I
beat you black and blue!" raged the old termagant.
"Granny, you promised never to beat me again if I would stay and work
for you in your old age," reminded Liane.
"I don't care what I promised! Give me the rest of the money before I
kill you!" hissed the savage creature, clutching Liane's arm so tight
that she sobbed with pain.
"Let go, or I'll call for help!"
"Dare to do it, and I'll choke you before any one comes!" winding her
skinny claws about the fair white throat.
Liane felt as if her last hour had come, and she was so unhappy she did
not greatly care, but she struggled with the old harpy, and succeeded
in throwing her off, while she said rebelliously:
"I will never give you the money while I live, and if you kill me to
get it, it will do you no good. You will be hanged for my murder."
Perhaps granny saw the force of this reasoning, for she desisted from
her brutality, whining:
"I'm so poor, so miserably poor, that you ought to give me every penny
you get."
"And dress in rags!" cried the girl indignantly. "No, granny, I will
never do it again, and if you illtreat me any more, I will run away
from you, and then you will starve."
She knew she would never have the heart to carry out her threat, but
she had found out that she could intimidate the old woman by the threat
of leaving, so she put on a bold air, and continued:
"Here is five dollars for a present, and it is all you will get of that
money. I gave away twenty-five dollars in keepsakes to my girl friends
before I left Stonecliff, and I have spent thirty dollars for some
decent clothes to wear. Now, I have given you five dollars, and I have
but forty left, and I shall keep that for myself, in case I have to run
away from you and hide myself from your brutality."
Granny snatched eagerly at the money, muttering maledictions on the
girl for her extravagance, but Liane, sitting with downcast eyes,
pretended not to take any notice of her, until the old woman, glaring
at her in wonder at the beauty that could win such a prize, demanded
harshly:
"Was Miss Clarke's picture in that contest?"
When Liane answered in the affirmative, she was startled at the woman's
anger.
"You dared to take that prize over beautiful Roma's head--you?" she
cried furiously.
"I did not take it. The judges gave it to me. The contest was open to
any pretty girl, rich or poor," Liane answered gently.
Granny looked as if she could spring upon the girl and rend her limb
from limb, so bitter was her rage. She moved about the room, clinching
her hands in fury, whispering maledictions to herself, but again Liane
forgot to notice her, she was so absorbed in her own troubles.
She had dreamed a fleeting dream of love and bliss, and the awakening
was cruel!
"I have been vain, foolish, to dream he loved me because he sent me
a few roses and offered to walk home with me that night. He was only
amusing himself," she thought, shrinking in pain from the cruel truth.