My Pretty Maid; or, Liane Lester

"This girl who took the prize this evening won my admiration, darling, because she has a wonderful likeness to you in your young days, Elinor; when we were first married."

"Oh, Edmund, I was never so exquisitely beautiful!" she cried, blushing like a girl.

"Oh, yes, indeed; quite as beautiful as Liane Lester—and very lovely still," he answered, gazing into her eyes with the admiration of a lover, giving her all the tenderness he withheld from Roma, his unloved daughter.

She nestled close to his breast, delighted at his praises, and presently she said:

"It is rather a coincidence, your fancying that Miss Lester looks like me, while I imagine that her grandmother—a dreadful old creature, by the way—resembles Mrs. Jenks, the old woman who nursed me when Roma was born."

Some startled questioning from her husband brought out the whole story of her visit to granny.

"Of course I was mistaken in taking her for Mrs. Jenks, but the old crone needn't have been so vexed over it," she said.

Edmund Clarke was startled, agitated, by what she had told him, but he did not permit her to perceive it.

He thought:

"What if I have stumbled on the solution of a terrible mystery? The likeness of Liane Lester to my wife is most startling, and, coupled with other circumstances surrounding her, might almost point to her being my lost daughter!"

He trembled like a leaf with sudden excitement.

"I must see this old woman—and to-night! I cannot bear the suspense until to-morrow!" he thought, and said to his wife artfully:

"Perhaps I am selfish, keeping you from poor Roma in her distress."

"I will go to her at once, poor child," she said, lifting her fair head from his breast.

"And I will take a walk while I smoke," he replied, leaving her with a tender kiss.

He lighted a cigar, and started eagerly for the cottage of granny, hoping to find her alone ere Liane returned from the hall.

His whole soul was shaken with eager emotion from what his wife had told him about the old woman's identity.

In the cool, clean September moonlight he strode along the beach, eager-hearted as a boy, in the trembling hope of finding his lost child again.

What joy it would be to find her in the person of lovely Liane, who had already touched his heart with a subtle tenderness by the wonderful likeness that brought back so vividly his wife's lost youth in the days when they had first loved with that holy love that crowned their lives with lasting joy. Not one cloud had marred their happiness save the loss of their infant daughter.

He had restored what happiness he could to Elinor by the substitution of a spurious child, but for himself there must ever be an aching void in his heart till the lost was found again.

He stepped along briskly in the moonlight, and to his surprise and joy he found the old woman leaning over the front gate in a dejected attitude, as if loneliness had driven her outdoors to seek companionship with nature.

"Ah, Mrs. Jenks, good evening!" he exclaimed abruptly, pausing in front of her and lifting his hat.

Granny started wildly, and snapped:

"I don't know you!"

"You have a poor memory," laughed Mr. Clarke. "Now, I knew you at once as Mrs. Jenks, who nursed my wife when our daughter Roma was born. My name is Edmund Clarke. We used to live in Brookline. I sold my property there and moved away when Roma was an infant."

"I never heard of Brookline before, nor you, either!" snapped granny.

"Your memory is bad, as I said before, but you won't deny that your name is Jenks?" Mr. Clarke returned.

As the whole town knew her by that name, she felt that denial was useless, but she preserved a stubborn silence, and he continued:

"I came to ask you, granny, how you came by such a beautiful granddaughter."

"Humph! The same way as other people come by grandchildren, I s'pose. My daughter ran away to be an actress, and came back in a year without a wedding ring, and left her baby on my hands, while she disappeared again forever," returned granny, with an air of such apparent truthfulness that he was staggered.

He was silent a moment, then returned to the charge.

"How old is Liane?"

"Only seventeen her next birthday."

"I should have taken her for quite eighteen."

"Then you would have made a mistake."

"Is her mother dead?"

"I don't know. I never heard of her after she ran away and left her baby on my hands."

"Eighteen years ago?"

"No; not quite seventeen, I told you, sir."

"And you do not really remember Mrs. Clarke, whom you nursed at Brookline eighteen years ago? Come, it ought to be fresh in your memory. Do you not recall the distressing facts in the case? The infant was stolen from my wife's breast, and she was dying of the shock when a spurious daughter was imposed on her, and she recovered. You, Mrs. Jenks, were sent to the foundling asylum for the child, and laid it on Mrs. Clarke's breast, restoring her to hope again. You cannot have forgotten!"

Granny Jenks looked at him angrily in the moonlight.

"You must be crazy! I don't know you, and I don't care anything about your family history! Go away!" she exclaimed fiercely.

Mr. Clarke was baffled, but not convinced. He stood his ground, saying firmly:

"You may bluster all you please, Granny Jenks, but you cannot shake my conviction that you are the wretch that stole my daughter, and placed a foundling in her place to deceive and make wretched my poor wife. This girl, Liane Lester, is the image of my wife, and I am almost persuaded she is my own daughter. If I have guessed the truth it will be wiser for you to confess the fraud at once, for denial now will be useless. I believe I am on the right track at last, and I will never stop till I uncover the truth. And—the more trouble you give me, the greater will be your punishment."

His dark eyes flashed menacingly, and the hardened old woman actually shivered with fear for an instant. Then she shook off the feeling, and turned from him angrily, reëntering her house, and snarling from the doorway:

"I know nothing about your child, you crazy fool! Go away!"

CHAPTER XIV.

ROMA FINDS AN ALLY

Dolly Dorr was right. Handsome Malcolm Dean had never quitted Liane's side since the moment he had clasped her hand in congratulating her on her triumph as queen of beauty.

He remained by her side, enraptured with her beauty and her bashful grace, and he lost no time in preferring a request to walk home with her that night, thinking to himself how sweet it would be to walk with her beneath the brilliant moonlight, the little hand resting on his arm, while the low, musical voice answered his remarks with the timidity that showed how unconscious she was of her own enchanting beauty.