The Senator's Favorite

"I shall be better after awhile. It is only the over-fatigue of last night. But I could not endure the ordeal of Madame La Mode this morning. You will have to go alone, Precious," murmured Ethel faintly, and she did indeed look ill and weak. Perhaps the treachery she was planning did not come easy.

"Perhaps we can postpone it till to-morrow," Precious answered.

"No, for madame is so very busy, and would be seriously put out if we do not go to her this morning. Besides, she can finish that waist of yours to-day. If you are afraid to go alone in the carriage, take Norah."

"Norah is quite sick this morning, Ethel, but I am not afraid of anything. I can go alone."

"That is right, for—oh, Precious, I want a little favor from you!"

The maid had retired and closed the door. Ethel beckoned her sister nearer.

"Have you any pin-money left?" she asked eagerly.

"Oh, yes; do you want some?" bringing out a little silk net purse with gold coins gleaming through its violet meshes.

"Not for myself, Precious, though I spent all mine the day after papa gave it to me. But it was for charity, and you know mamma likes us to be kind to the poor."

"I would like to help, too, Ethel. Tell me how to spend this."

"You remember my old maid, Hetty Wilkins, that mamma dismissed so suddenly at Rosemont? Well, her lover deserted her, and she sank into ill-health, and is dying of a broken heart. She is very poor, and lives with an old grandmother that keeps a tobacco shop. She came to see me once since we returned here, and I gave her some money. In fact, I have been to see her twice, and all my pin-money goes on poor Hetty, for I do not like to see her suffer for the necessaries of life after the way she was turned out of her place on an unjust suspicion," and Ethel sighed deeply over poor Hetty's fate.

"And you want me to give the poor girl some money? Oh, I will do it gladly. Tell me her address, and I will send it to her this morning," cried Precious, her sweet blue eyes glowing with sympathy.

"Would you mind taking it to her yourself, Precious? Yesterday she sent me a little note begging me to come to her this morning—that she was so ill she could not live much longer. I promised to go, and would have gone only for this strange fainting spell. But if you would take my place–"

"Oh, I will, I will! Poor, poor Hetty! I think mamma would be very sorry to know she had wronged her. Oh, Ethel, wouldn't it please Hetty for mamma to go with me?"

"Oh, no, no! not for the world! The poor girl would not like it at all. And mamma is peculiar about some things. She would be angry if she knew I had befriended my poor maid; so, if you do this favor for me, it must be in secret."

"But, Ethel, is it right to deceive our dear mamma?"

"Have you never kept any secret from mamma?" demanded Ethel, with her keen eyes searching the lovely young face.

Precious grew pale, then crimson, for though she had always made a confidante of her mother she knew that one page was folded down in her heart on which was written the story of a beautiful, hopeless love that no one must ever read.

"Ah, your blush betrays you!" cried Ethel exultantly, and after a moment Precious answered:

"There is one secret, Ethel, that you bade me keep, you know!"

"Hush!" cried Ethel fearfully, and grew pale as death.

"I did not mean to mention it, Ethel; but now tell me what you wish me to do. You are older than I, and you would not surely bid me do anything wrong!"

"No, dear, only a little deed of charity; only to slip out from madame's and go on foot to this address, see Hetty a few minutes, give her some money, and explain why I failed to come, then return on foot as you went, for it would not do to take the carriage into such a shabby place. The coachman would talk about it, then mamma would find out. After I'm married and gone you can confess it all to her if it lies uneasy on your conscience, little saint," added Ethel, pressing a little note from Hetty into her sister's tiny gloved hand.

"I'll manage it," Precious promised, and stooping, pressed a light and tender kiss on Ethel's Judas lips. "Poor dear, you do look very sick. I'll send Laura back to sit by you while I'm gone. By-by," and Precious glided out, the soft frou-frou of her silk carriage gown sounding in Ethel's ears like a thunder-peal of reproach.

She half-lifted herself on the divan, her face ghastly, her white jeweled hand pressed hard against her heart, that was beating to suffocation.

"Oh, Heaven, what have I done? But it was the price of my safety, the price of my happiness!" she moaned faintly, and when the maid came in presently she found Ethel weeping like one distraught.

"Oh, what is it, dear Miss Winans? Are you worse?" exclaimed the maid anxiously.

"N-n-no, but I'm so sorry I could not go with Precious this morning. Give me a sedative, Laura, for I'm so nervous I shall be in hysterics presently."

"Must I send for the doctor, miss?"

"Oh, no, no! I'll be better presently if I take that medicine. There, that will do. Leave me alone now, and I'll try to sleep."

She shut her eyes and tried to lie still, but now and then she brushed her hand across her pale lips.

"She kissed me good-by, and it burns my lips, it is like fire!" she muttered, almost deliriously. "Ah, Precious, Little Blue Eyes, will it always burn like this, or will Arthur's cold kiss cool the fire of remorse? Will I ever forget last night and to-day?"

She lay still as death a little while, her face death-white, her eyes closed, but all alive within with wild emotion. She felt like a murderess.

The sedative took no effect. She could not sleep. Time passed on and she lay with her brain on fire till the low chime of a French clock striking noon startled her like a clarion tone.

Ethel sprang wildly from the couch and sought her writing-desk. With a shaking hand she wrote a few lines, enveloped and sealed the note, then wrote on the back her sister's name.

Laura entered in answer to the tinkle of the little bell.

"You are better, Miss Winans?"

"Oh, yes, and I want the carriage to come back for me. Go, my good girl, as fast as you can to Madame La Mode's with this note for my sister. Give it into her own hands, and the faster you do my errand, Laura, the richer shall be your reward."

"I'll run every step of the way, miss," promised the girl, taking the letter, and darting out.

Ethel had written only this:

"Dear Precious:—Do not by any means go to Hetty. I have just received a message that she is dead. You can do her no good now. Come back immediately in carriage with Laura. I want you at once.

    Ethel."

When the messenger had gone Ethel fell on her knees beside a chair sobbing wildly:

"Would my mother's God listen if I tried to pray? Dare one so wicked as I am pray that her own cruel plans may miscarry, and that not one hair of that little golden head be harmed by the fiend who tempted me to evil?"

Her bosom rose and fell with choking sobs, the tears poured down her white cheeks, her slender hands clasped each other in convulsive writhings.

"Dear God, have pity on me, a sinner!" she moaned. "Save Precious, save me, from the consequences of my guilty act! Oh! I repent, I repent! have mercy, Heaven!"

Her whole soul was shaken with remorse and grief at thought of the fate to which she had doomed her innocent, loving sister.

"Betrayed into the hands of a fiend who will murder her unless she becomes his unwilling bride! What a horrible fate for that gentle heart that sacrificed its dearest hopes for me!" she thought, and bowed her face on her shaking hands.

And ever on her lips burned like fire that parting kiss, and in her ears rang the loving farewell words. Their memory would not down.

"If she had not kissed me, if only she had not kissed me, I should not have repented; I would have saved myself at her expense; but now, now, let the blow fall on me, and I—and I can die, for there is nothing left in this world but misery and disgrace for poor Ethel!" was her bitter cry.