My Pretty Maid; or, Liane Lester

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: