A TRUE FRIEND.
Liane Lester, late that afternoon, when coming home from her work
with her friend, Lizzie White, saw again the handsome face and dark,
flashing eyes of Jesse Devereaux. He had believed himself unseen, but
he was mistaken.
Some subtle instinct had turned Liane's timid glance straight to the
spot where he was watching, unseen, as he believed.
The quick, passionate throb of her heart sent the blood bounding to her
cheeks and made her hands tremble as they clasped the envelope with her
slender weekly earnings.
But at the same instant Liane dropped the thick, curling fringe of her
lashes quickly over her eyes, for in his alert glance she met no sign
of recognition, and her heart sank heavily again as she remembered his
cold, careless greeting the day she had passed his house with Mrs.
Brinkley.
The good woman was right. He might have amused himself with her in the
country, but he was indifferent to her in town. He would not even take
the trouble to bow when they met by chance, as now.
But Liane had the most loyal heart in the world, and she could never
forget that night by the sea when Devereaux had saved her from the
insulting caresses of the dark-browed stranger, and afterward from
granny's blow, breaking his arm in her defense.
"How brave and noble he was that night! He was so handsome and adorable
that my heart went out to him, never to be recalled, in spite of all
that has happened since," she thought sadly.
With lowered lashes and a heart sinking heavily with its hopeless love
and pain, Liane passed on with her friend, little dreaming that she was
followed to her home by Devereaux, nor what dire consequences would
follow on his learning her address.
She was restless that night, and he haunted her dreams persistently,
and on the morrow she rose tired, and pale, and sad, almost wishing
she had not met him again, to have all the old pain and regret revived
within her breast.
The long day dragged away, and when she went home that evening she
found awaiting her the Philadelphia magazine that had her beautiful
face on the outside cover. Accompanying this was a batch of novels,
together with a basket of fruit and a bunch of roses.
"Hothouse roses and tropical fruit--you must have caught a rich beau,
Liane!" cried Mrs. Brinkley, as she delivered the gifts.
"Oh, no; there must be some mistake," she answered quickly, but her
heart throbbed as she remembered the meeting with Devereaux yesterday,
and she wondered if he could possibly be the donor.
"Impossible!" she sighed to herself, as the woman continued:
"There cannot be any mistake, for there is the card, tied to the
basket, with 'Miss Liane Lester, with kind wishes of a true friend,'
written on it. They came by a neat messenger boy, who would not answer
a single question I asked him."
"A charming mystery! Oh, what magnificent roses for the last of
November!" cried Lizzie, inhaling their fragrance with delight, while
Liane handed around the basket, generously sharing the luscious fruit
with her friends.
She was thinking all the while of the words Jesse Devereaux had said to
her on the beach that never-to-be-forgotten night:
"I will be a true friend to you."
The card on the basket read the same: "A True Friend."
It was enough to send the tremulous color flying to Liane's cheek,
while a new, faint hope throbbed at her heart.
Granny was out somewhere, or she would have got a scolding on suspicion
of knowing the donor of the presents. She wisely kept the truth to
herself, dividing the fruit with her friends, placing the books in her
trunk, and the roses in a vase in Lizzie's room, though she longed very
much to have them in her own.
That night her dreams were sweet and rose-colored.
She went to work with a blithe heart next morning, and, although it
was the first day of December, and a light covering of snow lay on the
roofs and pavements, she did not feel the biting wind pierce through
her thin jacket; her pulse was bounding and her being in a glow because
of the great scarlet rose pinned on her breast, seeming to shed a
summer warmth and sweetness on the icy air--the warmth of hope and love.
All day her visions were rose-colored, and her thoughts hovered about
Devereaux until she almost forgot where she was, and was recalled
unpleasantly to reality by a proud, impatient voice exclaiming:
"I have spoken to you twice, and you have not heard me! Your thoughts
must be very far away. Show me your best kid gloves--five and a half
size!"
At the same moment a small hand had gently pressed her arm, sending an
odd thrill through her whole frame, causing her to start and look up at
a handsome, richly dressed woman, whose dark-blue eyes were fixed on
her in surprise and dislike.
She knew the proud, cold face instantly. It belonged to a woman she had
seen on Edmund Clarke's arm the night of the beauty contest. It was his
wife, the mother of haughty Roma, and Liane comprehended instantly her
glance of anger--it was because she had taken the prize over Roma's
head.
Wounded and abashed by the lady's scorn, Liane attended to her wants
in timid silence, only speaking when necessary, her cheeks flushed,
her soft eyes downcast, her white hands fluttering nervously over the
gloves.
Mrs. Clarke selected a box of gloves, paid for them, and said in a
supercilious tone, quite different from her usual gentle manner:
"I will take the gloves with me. You may bring them out to my carriage
on the opposite side of the street."
She was purposely humbling Liane, and the girl felt it intuitively.
Her bosom heaved, and her blue eyes brimmed with dew, but she did not
resent the proud command, only took up the box of gloves and followed
her customer out of the store to the thickly crowded pavement and over
the crossing, where a carriage waited in a throng of vehicles on the
other side.
All at once something terrible happened.
Mrs. Clarke, keeping proudly in front of Liane, and not noticing
closely enough her environment of vehicles and street cars, suddenly
found herself right in the path of an electric car that in another
moment would have crushed out her life had not two small hands reached
out and hurled her swiftly aside.
Hundreds of eyes had seen the lady's imminent peril, and marked with
kindling admiration the girl's heroic deed.
Without a selfish thought, though she was exposing herself to deadly
danger, Liane bounded wildly upon the track and seized the dazed and
immovable woman with frantic hands, dragging her by main force off the
track of the car that, in the succeeding moment, whizzed by at its
highest speed, just as the two, Liane and the rescued woman, fell to
the ground outside the wheels.
Eager, sympathetic men bore them to the pavement, where it was found
that Mrs. Clarke was in a swoon, so deathlike that it frightened Liane,
who sobbed and wrung her hands.
"Oh, she is dead! The terrible shock has killed her! Can no one do
anything to bring back her life? She must not die! She has a loving
husband and a beautiful daughter, who would break their hearts over
their terrible loss!"
"Who is she?" they asked the sobbing girl, and she answered:
"She is Mrs. Clarke, a wealthy lady of Stonecliff, and must be visiting
in the city."
At that moment the lady's eyes fluttered open, she gazed with a dazed
air on the curious faces that surrounded her, and murmured:
"Where am I? What has happened?"
There were not lacking a dozen voices to tell her everything, loud in
praise of the lovely girl who had saved her life at the imminent risk
of her own.
"I--I did no more than my duty!" she sobbed, blushing crimson while
they all gazed on her with the warmest admiration. There are so few who
do their duty even in this cold, hard world, and one man exclaimed:
"It was not your duty to risk your life so nearly. Why, the car fender
brushed your skirt as you fell. It was an act of the purest heroism!"
Mrs. Clarke pressed her hand to her brow bewilderingly, murmuring:
"I remember it all now! I stepped thoughtlessly on the track, and when
I saw the car rushing down on me, I was so dazed with fear and horror
I could not move or speak! No, though my very life depended on it, I
could not move or speak! I could only stand like a statue, a breathing
statue of horror, facing death! My feet were glued to the rail, my
eyes stared before me in mute despair! Horrible anticipations thronged
my mind! Suddenly I was caught by frantic hands and dragged aside! I
realized I was saved, and consciousness fled."
At that moment the carriage driver, who had got down from his box and
was waiting on the curb, advanced, and said anxiously:
"Shall I take you back to the hotel, madam?"
"Yes, yes." She glanced around at Liane, and put out a yearning hand.
"Come with me, dear girl. I--I am too ill to go alone. Let me lean on
your strength."
Somehow Liane could not refuse the request. She felt a strange, sweet
tenderness flooding her heart for the proud lady who, up to the present
time, had used her so cruelly in unfair resentment.
She sent a message explaining her absence across to the store, and led
Mrs. Clarke's faltering steps to the carriage.
"Oh, I dropped the box of gloves in my rush to drag you from the track!
I must go back for them!" she cried, in dismay.
"No, miss, here they are. An honest man picked them up and handed them
up on the box this instant," said the driver, producing the gloves.
"Oh, my dear girl, no need to think of gloves at a moment like this!
How can I ever thank you and bless you enough for your noble heroism
that saved my life!" cried Mrs. Clarke fervently.
She gazed in gratitude and admiration at the exquisite face that owed
none of its charm to extraneous adornment. The wealth of sun-flecked,
chestnut locks rippled back in rich waves from the pure white brow, the
great purplish-blue eyes, the exquisite features, the dainty coloring
of the skin; above all, the expression of innocence and sweetness
pervading all, thrilled Mrs. Clarke's heart with such keen pleasure
that she quite forgot it was this radiant beauty that had rivaled Roma
in the contest for the prize. She said to herself that here was the
loveliest and the bravest girl in the whole world.
The carriage rattled along the busy streets, and Liane timidly
disclaimed any need of praise; she had but tried to do her duty.
"Duty!" cried Mrs. Clarke, and somehow her cold, nervous hand stole
into Liane's, and nestled there like a trembling bird, while she
continued with keen self-reproach:
"You have returned good for evil in the most generous fashion. I was
treating you in the most haughty and resentful manner, trying to sting
your girlish pride and make you conscious of your inferiority. Did you
understand my motive?"
"You were naturally a little vexed with me because I had carried off
the prize for which your lovely daughter competed," Liane murmured
bashfully.
"Yes, and I was wickedly unjust. You deserved the prize. Roma, with all
her gifts of birth and fortune, is not one-half so beautiful as you,
Liane Lester, the poor girl," cried Mrs. Clarke warmly. "Do you know
I am quite proud that my husband says you resemble me in my girlhood;
but, to be frank, I am sure I was never half so pretty."
Liane blushed with delight at her kindness, and bashfully told her
of her meeting on the beach with Mr. Clarke, when he had impulsively
called her Elinor.
"He told me then that I greatly resembled his wife!" she added, gazing
admiringly at the still handsome woman, and feeling proud in her heart
to look like her, so strangely was her heart interested.
Mrs. Clarke could not help saying, so greatly were her feelings changed
toward Liane:
"My husband admires you greatly; did you know it? He wishes to befriend
you, making you an honored member of our household. I believe he would
permit me to adopt you as a daughter, so strong will be his gratitude
for your act of to-day."
"Oh, madam!" faltered Liane, in grateful bewilderment, feeling that she
could be very happy with these kind people, only for proud, willful
Roma, and she added:
"Your handsome daughter would not want me as a sister!"
Mrs. Clarke hesitated, then answered reassuringly:
"Oh, yes, yes, when she learns how you saved my life to-day, Roma
cannot help but love you dearly!"
The carriage stopped in front of a grand hotel, and she added:
"I want you to come in and stay all day with me, Liane, dear. I am too
nervous to be left alone, and Roma has gone to a dentist and will not
be back until late afternoon."
Liane went with her new friend into the grand hotel, and they spent a
happy day together, the tie of blood, undreamed of by either, strongly
asserting itself.
Mrs. Clarke found Liane a charming and congenial companion, as
different from selfish, hateful Roma as daylight from darkness.
In spite of her loyalty, she could not help contrasting them in her
mind, so greatly to Roma's disadvantage that she murmured to herself:
"I would give half my fortune if Roma were like this charming girl!"
She lay on the sofa and talked, while Liane stroked her aching temples
with cool, magnetic fingers, so enchanting Mrs. Clarke that she caught
them once and pressed them to her lips.
"I love you, dear, you are so sweet and noble. Bend down your head,
let me kiss you for saving my life!" and Liane's dewy lips gave the
longed-for caress so fervently that it thrilled the lady's heart with
keen pleasure. How cold and reluctant Roma's lips were, even in her
warmest, most deceitful moods.
But ere the day was far advanced Edmund Clarke suddenly burst in upon
them, pale with anxiety lest wicked Roma had already harmed his gentle
wife.
He was astonished when he found her in company with Liane Lester.
Explanations followed, and surprise was succeeded by delight.
He was so sure that Liane was his own daughter that he longed to clasp
her in his arms, kiss her sweet, rosy lips, and claim her for his own.
But he did not dare risk the shock to his delicate, nervous wife.
"I must wait a little, till I can get proof to back up my assertion,"
he decided, so his greeting to Liane, though grateful and friendly, was
repressed in its ardor, while he thought gladly:
"Thank Heaven! She has won her way, unaided, to her mother's heart,
and that makes everything easier. I shall not have to encounter her
opposition in ousting Roma from the place so long wrongfully occupied."
"Do you know what I am thinking of, Edmund, dear?" said his wife. "I
wish to adopt Liane for a daughter."
He started with surprise and pleasure, his fine eyes beaming:
"A happy idea!" he exclaimed; "but do you think Roma would care for a
sister?"
She hesitated a moment, then answered:
"Frankly, I do not, but I have fallen so deeply in love with this dear
girl, and she seems already so necessary to my happiness, that Roma
must yield to my will in the matter."
At this moment Liane arose, saying sweetly:
"I am your debtor for a charming day, Mrs. Clarke, but it is time for
me to go now, or my grandmother will be uneasy about me."
"Then you must promise me to come here again to-morrow morning; for I
shall never let you work for a living again. Edmund, you must send her
home in the carriage," cried Mrs. Clarke, kissing her charming guest
farewell.