The Senator's Favorite

Ethel's heart gave a fierce throb of mingled pride and pain.

"And," pursued the loquacious maid, "he is the rich lord that they all say you are going to marry, isn't he, Miss Ethel?"

"Yes," answered Ethel carelessly, then added:

"But I don't think I shall accept him."

She turned away from the maid as she spoke and went from her own apartments toward those of Precious, nearer to her mother.

She opened the door very softly and glided in.

They were all there, her father, mother, brother, and the physician.

Precious lay on her bed, white as a lily, but breathing faintly. She had revived from her swoon, but she had not yet spoken. Her half-open blue eyes seemed to know that they were all there, but she was too exhausted to utter a word.

Ethel bent down and pressed her lips on the wasted little hand, and when she met the gaze of the half-conscious blue eyes she whispered, too low for any one to hear:

"Please don't tell any one I was there with you, Precious, until you get well enough for me to explain."

The little hand she was holding gave hers a weak pressure that showed her that Precious understood and would not speak.

The others, looking on at the little by-play, thought that Ethel was only whispering to Precious of her joy at her return.

A week passed and the sick girl slowly gained strength enough to tell the story of her persecutions at the hands of Lindsey Warwick and his mother, but the pair of plotters had made good their escape and were now beyond the senator's vengeance.

There was one thing that always seemed strange to them, and that was how Kay had found the way to his mistress. The girl always explained it in an embarrassed, halting fashion.

"The old woman just unlocked the door, pushed Kay in, and went away again," she said. "And just a little later the flames burst through the side of the wall. I—I—looked out of the window and saw that I could not escape, then I fainted."

"Lindsey Warwick probably stole Kay and took him there, thinking to please you," said the senator, and his black eyes flashed as he thought of the vengeance he would take on the kidnaper if he ever found him.

They did not dream of the dark secret that lay behind the reluctance of Precious to talk of the mastiff's presence in her prison. They could not guess of the twilight hour when Ethel, sitting alone by her sister for a little while, had knelt down by Precious and begged her not to tell of her presence the day of the fire.

"When I saw you fall back in the smoke, Precious, I thought you were dead, and I ran away in a frenzy of despair and came home, afraid to tell mamma because I believed the awful news would kill her. I thought a merciful silence would be best, so I kept the awful secret. And if you told them now, dear, perhaps they would blame me. They would say I ought to have sent you down the rope first, but you know how that was, dear. I wanted to be at the bottom to catch you if you should fall."

"Yes, I know, dear sister, and I don't think they would blame you if we told them," sighed Precious; but because Ethel insisted on it she gave the promise of silence.

CHAPTER XI.

TO FORGET THE LURING BLUE EYES

"Droop and darken, eyes of blue,
Love hath only tears for you;
Love, begone, and lightly flee,
Since thy smiles are not for me!
Lips of scarlet, quench your fire,
Torches vain of love's desire;
Love, begone, and lightly flee,
Since thy sweets are not for me!"

But Precious improved too slowly to please the careful doctor.

The long fast and the subsequent shock had told severely on her young frame, and it was almost the last of March when she was able to come out of her room. Then she looked too thin, too frail, too lily-like, to please those who loved her best.

"Mrs. Winans, you must take her away from Washington to the country; she needs mountain air," said Doctor Heron.

"Oh, doctor, what an idea! Leave Washington before the season is over! How can you tell mamma that?" pouted Ethel.

The selfish, dark-eyed beauty had resumed all the gayeties of the brilliant Washington season as soon as her sister was declared out of danger, and dragged her gentle, yielding mother day after day from receptions to balls, from dinners to operas. Ethel was a belle, and would not yield her scepter; so Norah nursed the sick girl; and the mother who, because she loved Precious best, indulged Ethel most, followed with a sad heart into scenes of revelry, leaving her tenderest thoughts at home.

So Ethel was almost indignant when the physician ordered Mrs. Winans to the mountains with her ailing daughter.

At the proud beauty's protest Doctor Heron smiled and answered carelessly:

"You can remain in Washington, Miss Winans."

"But mamma—my chaperon! Of course I couldn't go into society without her. Really, I think that Precious can get on here till May, when we will go away for the summer."

The physician looked disgusted at her selfishness, and turned again to her mother.

"I repeat that Miss Precious should be taken to the mountains before the first of April, or her recovery will be very tedious. It is a case of nervous prostration," he said.

"You can send Norah with her, mamma; that will do very well, don't you think so?" Ethel cried airily; but there was a look of pain on the gentle face of Mrs. Winans, and she did not reply.

Earle, who was present at the conclave, broke in:

"How fortunate that your distant relative in Virginia left you her lovely mountain estate when she died last fall, mother. It is the very place to take Precious, doctor, and not more than a hundred miles from here. The kind spinster who left it to us had it elegantly appointed, and nothing has been changed. I think even the old family servants are yet in charge."

"Yes," assented his mother. "You see, I intended going there for a part of this summer. It is a charming mountain country, doctor. The estate is called Rosemont, and there is a pretty country town of the same name near by. The air is fine and pure."

"The very place for your drooping daughter," cried Doctor Heron. "Send her as soon as you can, Mrs. Winans, and if you can't be spared from Washington just now, let the good nurse Norah take your place. She will do excellently well."

"And I will go, too, to take care of the little one. I'm tired of the social whirl," cried Earle Winans, and was rewarded by a beaming smile of gratitude from his adoring mother. He did not care for Ethel's sullen brow, and inwardly characterized her as selfish and unloving.

"To keep mother dancing attendance on her here when she looks so pale and worn and needs a change almost as much as Precious does!" the noble young man thought indignantly.

So the plan was carried out. The delicate, drooping girl was sent to Rosemont with her brother and the good nurse Norah, and Ethel drew a long breath of relief when they were gone.

"Two months of relief from their silly worship at least, for I shall not go to Rosemont any sooner if I can possibly avoid it," she cried angrily.

One thing that pleased her well was that Lord Chester and Precious had not yet met, for the young lord had gone away from the city as soon as it was announced that Precious would recover. Washington had lionized him after his heroic act, and in sheer bashfulness he had run away to travel round a few weeks until his fame blew over, he laughingly explained to his friend Earle.

Perhaps there was more in it than he had confessed.

Lord Chester regretted with a bitter pain that he had given Ethel Winans cause to expect an offer of his hand and heart.

From the day that he had first seen the portrait of Precious his heart had turned away from proud, queenly Ethel to her gentle younger sister. The strange chance by which he had saved her sweet young life only drew her closer to his heart.