UB SERIES No. 1 137 iOVE ieraldine Hemin POPULAR COPYRIGHTS New Eagle Series PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS Carefully Selected Love Storie? Note the Authors! There is sudh a profusion of good books in this list, that it is an impossibility to urge you to select any particular title or author's work. All that we can say is that any line that contains the complete works of Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Charles Garvice, Mrs. Harriet Lewis, May Agnes Fleming, Wenona Gilman, Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller, and other writers of the same type, is worthy of your attention, especially when the frice has been set at 15 cents the volume. These books range from 256 to 320 pages. They are printed from good type, and are readable from start, to finish. If you are looking for clean-cut, honest value, then we state most emphatically that you will find it in this line. ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT i Queen Bess By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon . 2 Ruby's Reward By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 7 Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon p The Virginia Heiress .By May Agnes Fleming 12 Edrie's Legacy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 17 Leslie's Loyalty By Charles Garvice (His Love So TrueJ 22 Elaine .By Charles Garvice 24 A Wasted Love **....*. ..By Charles Garvice fOn Love's Altar) 41 Her Heart's Desire. .; . . + +, ........ By Charles Garvice (An Innocent Girl) 44 That Dowdy By M^. Georgie Sheldon io Her Ransom By Charles Garvice (Paid For) J5 Thrice Wedded By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 66 Whcb Hazel By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 70 Sydney By Charles Garviee (A Wilful Young Woman) 73 The Marquis V. By Charles Garvice 7 Tina , By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 79 Out of the Past By Charles Garvice " (Marjorie) u mogene By Charles Garvice " Jt)inares held. He uttered a passionate cry of hope and happiness as it was borne in upon his heart that she was silent from acquiescence and shyness. "Viola, my love!" he cried, pressing her to his heart "Do I read your silence aright? May I hope?" Her head fell on his breast, and a low sob broke from her lips. "Oh, I love you," he heard her say; --but how can it ever be? I love you, but we must part." It seemed almost as if he would crush her in the ecstasy of his v joy. He snatched the envious veil away from her beautiful face and rained fervent kisses on her lips. "Part !" he cried. Do you think I will ever let yott go? Never! If you love me, nothing can keep us apart. I will never give you up. Promise me, Viola, that you will never be persuaded to give me up. What higher law than love is there for two hearts? Promise me, Viola!" "Your father ?" she murmured, finding it easy to yield to his loving vehemence. "My father will make a fuss at first/' he replied con- : fidently. "But he only lives to make me happy. I am his infatuation. He hoards his money for me to spend. He will do as I wish, never fear." Law for Two Hearts. 21 / I : . ) . ( '..". t; he is proud and anxious for a lofty marriage for you. He will be disappointed," said Viola. Walter laughed as. men laugh whose happiness has intoxicated them so that all obstacles seem shadowy. ""I will answer for my 'father. Let us go see you? mother/;, CHAPTER III. "COME TO MY ARMS." Peter Harriem, meanwhile, had looked after the fleeing form of the beautiful salesgirl, a scowl of chagrin on his face. It was humiliating to be left in that way, just as he seemed on the point of conquering. He looked for a moment with his head thrust for- ward very much in the manner of a snake that has struck at some creature which has escaped just in time. Then his shoulders drooped, and he slunk across the street to the opposite side, and followed Viola as she sped down the pavement. He seemed fitted by nature for what is known in de- tective parlance as a "shadow," for he seemed to know how to melt his attenuated form into the very railings in front of the houses. He could not have told why he followed her. Probably he was merely doing what was most natural to him. Craft, and guile, and subtlety were his processes al- ways. When he saw Viola joined by Walter he started, and uttered an exclamation of surprise, showing that ha had not really expected to discover anything. "Come to My Arms." 23 In fact, he was not yet near enough to be able to dis- tinguish who it was that had been waiting for the pretty girl he had marked for his own prey. All that was clear to him was that the young man was well dressed, and bore himself like a gentleman. "So that's it, eh?" he muttered to himself. "She has a swell for a lover, already. That is why she spurns my advances. I thought it was odd. And yet she looks so innocent! You never can tell with girls. They can give us men points in deception." It never occurred to his base mind to doubt that Viola had fallen a victim to the greater attractions of some young roue. "Well/ 7 he muttered, as he sneaked after the lovers, "she is too pretty to give up right away. My turn may come yet. I will see his face, and that may help me to an idea. I am not handsome; but I have more wit and cunning than better-looking men." He chuckled as he spoke; for his own words re- called to him the numerous times that he had set out to accomplish something, and had succeeded. Wfiile the lovers stood in the shadow and opened their hearts to each other, he stood on the opposite side of the street, under a stoop, watching them with all his eyes. He saw all that happened, but heard nothing, though 24 "Come to My Arms/* he racked his brains to think of some way of catching only a few words. There was no doubt in his mind, however, that Viola loved the young aristocrat, and he was surprised to dis- cover how angry the thought made him. "Curse the girl!" he muttered. "Why did she want to fail in love with him? It would have been better for her to look on me with favor. I can do more for her, and would not tire of her as soon. But I will find some way of getting between them. Some brainless dude, no doubt;' He cared more for Viola than he had supposed. He had watched her covertly for weeks, and had gloated over her with the thought that when the time was ripe, he would get her into his power. And now that he had decided to take the first step toward winning her, this stranger had stepped in and taken her from him. He ground his teeth as he watched Walter pressing her rosebud lips. He had looked at those perfect lips many a time with silent gloating; dreaming of the time when they would be free to him. He had gazed at her rounded form with delight. And he hated the man whose arm was about her waist now. "I would have married her/' he hissed to himself. /That young aristocrat will ruin her*!" "Come to My Arms/ 5 : ,In truth his iijiativres from the first had been of* the very basest. It was only now that he realized that her wonderful beauty had captured ;wh;at took the place of a heart in his despicable nature. While the two were occupied with their happiness, and 'were oblivious of all that passed about them, he stole from his hiding place and sneaked to the corner, -where he knew they must pass; He drew his hat low, turned his coat collar up, and crouched against the wall like a homeless tramp, wait- ing for them to come by. And at last they did come by, the veil still off the sweet face, now irradiated with joy and fixed with pas* sionate gaze to the face of Walter Hardman. They passed, and Peter Harriem gazed after them with baleful eyes fixed on the young man. " Walter Hardman !" he gasped. "That whelp ! It is something else I owe him for. .He scorns me, and looks down upon me, the white-handed aristocrat! Now. he has stolen her from me. Oh, it will be a very sweet revenge ! How I hate him ! "He has always had all that has been denied to me; he has had ease and luxury from his babyhood; he has been petted and spoiled; he is handsome and talented. "Lwas born virtually in the .gutter, I have had nafch- ing; but hard work. and cold looks. I have been kicked 26 "Come to My Arms." and cuffed from place to place. I am ugly and com- monplace. "But the money he was born to will some day be mine. And money is power. I shall make men bow to me because I hold the wealth to make them. And he will have to work with his white hands, or starve. Curse him ! I hope he will starve. "And now he comes to take my beautiful Viola. But I will tear them apart, and bring her to my feet. I will punish them both, and yet possess her. She shall be mine. "I will work and scheme and plot until he is ruined, and she is forced to come to my arms. Then let her shudder because I touch her dainty arm ! then let her start from me !'' He half crept, half slouched away, his shambling form seeming to move sideways as he progressed. He had a room in a great, lonely building in an out- cf-t he-way quarter of the city, because it was cheaper to rent a small room and buy only what he wanted to eat. He would not let any rapacious landlady get rich at his expense. So he lived in the cheerless little room, cooked his own breakfast and supper, and bought only his dinner in a cheap restaurant, where he could tell just which \vere the cheapest dishes to buy. "Come to My Arms/' 27 He dressed well because Silas Hardman demanded that of everybody connected with Hardman & Son. Now that he was in his cold room, he threw off his good clothes, donned a shabby suit, far too short in the legs and arms for him, and then lighted the fire in the little cookstove. His supper was a simple affair, and did not take long to cook a tiny piece of chuck steak and two slices of stale bread. He had discovered that stale bread could be bought for two cents less a loaf than fresh bread. After his supper he paced the room so that he might think of what he would better do in relation to Viola and Walter. Besides, if he walked he would not need much fire in the stove. CHAPTER IV. "l LOVE THAT SALESGIRL." Silas Hardman, grim and keen-eyed, sat in his pri- vate office on the second floor of the great building in which the enormous business of Hardman & Son was carried on. Excepting for Walter, he cared for no human being. The business of his life was to amass more and mare .wealth, until at last it should be said of him that no one was richer. Walter was to be a gentleman, and to have all that he never had had, or even cared for. Walter should take 'his place in the world of fashion, and be talked of in the papers. Walter might have his yacht and his horses. He must belong to the fashionable clubs, and be a first- nighter at the theaters. There was a box at the opera and a country scat up the Hudson. And Walter was to marry. into the most exclusive hirnily in.New York. He.was to. ally- himself to; beauty, wealth., aip d blood. Eunice Carroll, seemed to have ful- filled Walter's fate by loving/him. Silas Hardman had discovered it by accident, and had h^iktl k as a -.dispensation, of Providence. Waltef "I Love That Salesgirl/" 29 was to marry Eunice. And it never had occurred v to his father that he would object. There was something inflexible' in the love of the elder for his son. ; It almost seemed as if he was trying to live Walter's life for him. Walter wondered sometimes if his father was not vicariously enjoying the youth he had lost Peter Harriem, with his sphinxJike face and reptile mariner, stood in front of Mr. Hardman, reading, in a low, yet distinctly audible tone, .from some papers re- lating to the affairs of the firm. Mr. Hardman listened intently, and made curt com- ments, which the other noted down with a subtle rever- ence of manner which pleased the employer. Any other sort of flattery he would -have resented, but he. liked that. It seemed so unintentional. While they were still thus occupied, ther came a soft tap at the door. Peter looked with humble inquiry ,at Mr. Hardman. "Come in !" said -Mr. Hardman curtly, and with a note of impatience in his tone. The door opened, and with flushed face and hesitat^ ing step, Viola entered, carrying a package, which she handed silently to Peter, who stood quite still, so that she was obliged to cross the room to Jjjirh. Mr. Hardmdn looked at her with cold, inquiring 30 "I Love That Salesgirl." eyes, seeing her exquisite beauty without being af- fected by it. "Lace samples from Merivale, Parker & Co./' said Peter. "Go!" said Mr. Hardman curtly. Viola fled with trepidation, wondering in her quak- ing heart how that man could be the father of her Walter. "Why was she sent?" demanded Mr. Hardman, in his cold way. "Are there no messengers?" "If }^ou please, Mr. Hardman," answered Peter, in his most cringing tone, "1 left word to have her sent up." Mr. Hardman was never angry in the usual sense. It was seldom necessary. He glanced with surprised coldness at his confidential man, and said : "Why?" "Will you pardon me, Mr. Hardman," said Peter humbly, "if I explain in my own way? I assure you it is a matter of importance." "Go on; you know by this time that I do not wish to waste time. What is it you wish to tell me?" He supposed there had been a theft, in which the girl was mixed up. "Did you notice how unusually beautiful the girl was, sir?" Peter asked, his manner apologizing for him for referring to such a matter in business hours. "I Love That Salesgirl/' 31 "I suppose she was beautiful. Yes. Well?" was the curt and somewhat surprised rejoinder. "I hope," Peter went on, effacing himself more and more, "that I do not need to tell you that I am devoted to your interests ?" "I pay you to be," was the curt, cynical response. "Yes, sir, you pay me too liberally, and that's why I try to do my duty. It is a new and painful duty now, sir." "Then waste no time in doing it, Harriem," said the other, as impatiently as he ever permitted himself to speak. "It was quite by accident, sir, but as I went home last night, I saw this girl being embraced and kissed on one of the side streets by a young man." "Discharge her! Why should I be bothered with the shameless story?" "The young man, sir," said Peter, dropping his voice to a sibilant whisper, "was Walter." A dead silence followed. Silas Hardman grew white, and the hand that held the ebony penholder trembled a little. Then the lines around his mouth harlened, and he spoke. "You did well to tell me. You have the honor of my name at heart. You shall not regret it. We ex- pect these things of young men about town. I only wish it had been with some one not in our employ. W 32 "I Love That Salesgirl." will have-to provide for the girl in some way. Waltes must be more careful. He will be here this morning." Peter knew it would be unwise to press the subject, and only said : "I hope, sir, you will not let me incur Mr. Walter's ill will by revealing my part in the matter/' "Certainly not. Go!" And that was how the subject of the working girl's probable ruin was dismissed from the mind of Silas Hardman. It would be demoralizing to discipline to have Walter ruining the salesgirls of Hardman & Son. Walter came in just as Peter was leaving the office. The latter bowed with a cringing humility that dis- gusted Walter, and made him return it with a curt nod. "Gpod morning, father!" he said cheerily, as the door closed on the shambling head clerk. The change in the expression of Silas Hardman was something marvelous. It could be seen that the love and affection which the ordinary man bestows on many was in him all concentrated on Walter. "My boy," he murmured, "what is it this morning? More money for your extravagance, eh, you young do.e?" "No, father," replied Walter: "you never let me have a chance to run short of money. I came to see you about a more important matter than that." "More important than money!" cried his father, ris- "I Love That Salesgirl/ 5 33 and slapping him genially on the shoulder. "Oh, what is that, I would like to know?" He laughed as he spoke. No one but Walter ever heard him laugh. "Love and marriage are more important than money, father, I think." "Oh-o!" said his father; "it has come to this, has it?. Well, my boy, I am rejoiced to hear it. But, Walter, this is a very busy day with me. I shall be home at four o'clock this afternoon. Let us leave the matter till then. Will that suit? I shall be rejoiced to talk' with you about it then." "All right, father, I would not have come here, only I was afraid I would have no other chance to talk with you. You are so busy. I wish you would let me help you." "Tut, tut ! your business is to enjoy yourself, Walter. Oh, by the way I" He lowered his voice and drew Walter toward the window that looked out on Sixth Avenue. Walter stared wonderingly at him. "What is it, father?" he asked. "Walter," said his father, "I know well enough that young men will be young men. I .don't want you to be a saint. I know, too, what a temptation a pretty girl is wherever you find hen I never had time for 34 "I Love That Salesgirl." that sort of thing, myself, but, of course, it is differer with you." Walter flushed and looked uncomfortable, but did not quite comprehend. "Well, father?" he said, looking into the serious face of the other. "Well," Silas Hardman said, with an expression that told how sorry he was to find any fault with his son, "I would not inquire into your little escapades, and I don't mean to say there is any harm in them, only I wish you would not select any of the girls of the establishment. See?" The flush of embarrassment died out of Walter's cheeks, and gave place to a dull white. "Just what do you mean, father?" he asked, in a low tone. "There, now! don't be hurt, Walter/' the other said soothingly. "I happened to hear how you had been kissing her on the street last night. But don't look so worried over it. I don't think anything of it, my boy. I know what young men of fashion are. Now, good-by and this afternoon we will talk over this matter of your marriage. By the way, be careful not to let Eunice get wind of the pretty little salesgirl. Good- by!" "Father!" Walter's face was white, and there was a note :>f vehement in Ion in his voice. "I Love That Salesgirl." 35 ''Well, Walter? I am afraid you are angry with me. I didn't mean to make you angry. I thought I was doing the right thing, my boy.'' "You don't understand," Walter said, in a low tone. "I did not come here to speak of marriage with Eunice Carroll. I " "Well, never mind! I had set my heart on Eunice, but if there is some one else just as good, I shall make no objection. If that is all, why " "But it is not all, father. I came to speak of one a thousand times more good and beautiful than Eunice Carroll." "What a persistent boy!" said his father, in a sort of good-natured impatience. "Why won't you wait until this afternoon?" "Because there is not one moment to lose before I set you right. I could not go away and leave the one I love under an imputation so false and outrageous, so insulting and base. I must tell you now, father, that the woman I love and will make my wife is that sales- girl of whom you have spoken such terrible words." Silas Hardman turned ghastly white and looked at Walter with incredulous, yet horrified eyes. "Walter!" he gasped. "Yes, father, it is true," answered Walter, throw- ing his head back with a gesture of proud nobility; "I love Viola Redmond, and intend to make her my wife!'* CHAPTER V. THE GREATEST DEVOTION. All his life long Walter had been indulged by his father in every whim; it seemed to him that his father could- refuse him nothing. Perhaps the same thought flashed through the mind of Silas tj-ardman as- he turned his white, set face to- ward his son. Never before had there been even a difference be- tween them; for Waiter had never asked for anything that his father had not been more than willing to grant him. The first impulse of the elder man was to break out in furious denial of Walter's right to choose for him- self in this matter. But, as he gazed into the defiant face of his son, it 'Came to him that it might be easier to make a breach than to heal it. With any other person he would have been hard and unyielding. It seemed impossible to b^ so, with Walter; and yet he did not dream of letting; ,his son have his own way. The hard, stern light faded out t>f his eyes as he looked at the handsome face of the boy h^ worshiped, The Greatest Devotion. 37 and it came to him that there was more than one way of having his will. "Is your heart so set -on this girl, Walter?" he said, in a low tone. "I can never love any but her, father," answered Walter, with a secret exultalioii'at seeing how mild his father was. It seemed to him that this was turnmg' out exactly as he had expected. His father could not cross him. "Are- you' sure of it?" the other asked, "tlow long have you known her?" "I have known her for about three months," Walter answered eagerly. "I loved her from the moment T saw her, and I have grown to love her better every day." Silas Hardman bit his lip witE anger. It was not,, as he had hoped, merely the infatuation of a young man for a pretty face. "Are you engaged ?" his father asked. "Yes, I told her of my love last night, and wenfl home with her to ask her mother's consent." And: the mother," sneered Silas Hardmanj "was only too glad to say yes." Walter smiled triumphantly. "You are entirely mistaken, father," he said quickly. "She said she 1 could not consent to the engagement unless you consented first. She wottld not have it 38 The Greatest Devotion. look as if she and her daughter had entrapped the son of a rich man." "And what did you say to that, my boy?" the older man inquired. "I said you had never denied me anything yet, and I did not believe you would begin when my whole hap- piness was dependent on your consent." "Do you mean, then, Walter," said the older man, "that if I say no, it will be final with you?" Walter threw his head back with his proud gesture. "No, sir; I would not like to run counter to your wishes, but this is a matter in which I admit of no interference." "And you would marry her though I refused my consent?" his father asked, eying Walter keenly. "What then becomes of the unwillingness of the mother? Is the daughter ready to defy her parent, too?" "I have not asked her, nor considered it," Walter replied. "I was sure you would consent if you knew that my happiness depended on it. And if you will but see her, father, and speak with her, I am sure you will consent." "I have seen her. What is her nam,e?" "Viola Redmond." "Ah, yes! And you think she will marry you whether I consent or not?" The Greatest Devotion. 39 think she so loves me that she will wait until I have earned the right to go to her and say that I can take care of her by my own efforts," Walter an- swered. "Then, if I refuse, you will cut loose from the father who has given his whole life to you?" queried Silas Hardman, his voice breaking with an emotion that was strange in his breast. Walter went over to his father and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Why do you put it that way, father?" he said. "I would do anything else but give her up. I cannot do that. If I told you I would, I could not keep my prom- ise, for I love her with a passion that would control me in spite of all. Why not consent? She is all that even you could ask. She is poor, it is true, but what of that? We are rich enough. And she has such beauty, purity, and goodness as you could find in no other woman. Eunice Carroll is not to be thought of in comparison with Viola." The old man walked up and down the room, his brain seething with fierce, furious thoughts toward the girl who tried to rob him of his son. But he betrayed nothing in his hard, impassive face. He had schooled his countenance, long ago, never to betray what was in his heart. "And if I consent," he said slowly, stopping and . 4O The Greatest Devotion. facing Walter, "would you be willing to wait the time set by me before your marriage?" 'There is little I would not do to earn your consent, father!" cried Walter, with eager joy. A gleam of triumph lighted up the cold eyes of Silas Hardfiian. "I distrust a love that is so sudden/' he said slowly. Walter smiled confidently. "If that is all," he said, "you need have no fear. I love her truly, and can never love any other/' "But how can you be sure that she loves you equally well?" his father asked., 'If you knew her you would not ask that!" Walter responded, with a lover's confidence. "She is truth " itself." "How can you be sure," his father persisted, "that you will not change? You have seen so little of the world. If you had done as I wished you to, if you had visited all the gay capitals of Europe and met the beauties there if you had gone the rounds of the fashionable summer resorts as I have begged you to '' do, you might have seen some one who would be more 'to you than this pretty salesgirl." "That is impossible, father," answered Walter earnestly. "I love Viola, and it is not possible to love more than one in all the world as L love her. I might have liked some other well enough to &ink I could The Greatest Devotion. 41 i . I . . ' " wed her. But if in the workings of fate I had after- vyard seen Viola, I should have been obliged to love her even as I do now." In his heart Sitais Hardmari cursed the girl ; but on his thin lips there was an incredulous smile, as if he knew his son was only talking the nonsense of youth. "If I thought that," he said, "I would not hesitate a moment; but I cannot believe it, knowing the world as I do." "If you could put me to the test in any way/ 1 Wal- ter said eagerly, "you would find that what I say is true." Again the cold eyes gleamed with furtive triumph It was the point to which, with his icy cunning, he had been leading his son. "A test," he said, as if he had not before thought of such a thing. "How can there be a test? If I could think of any I would gladly accept your suggestion." He thus threw the burden of the idea on Walter, and the latter, in his open honesty, never dreamed that all his father had said before was but to lead him up to this thought. "We can find a test," Walter said quickly, pleased with the thought. "Try us anyhow you please. " His father put out his hand with a smile. "Walter," he ; said, "I was vexed when you told me the truth, but it was the best thing to da I do seek 42 The Greatest Devotion. your happiness above everything else. I had other plans for you, but if you can be happy only in this way, why, we must be reconciled to it." Walter shook his hand with fervent joy. "You are always good to me/' he said. "You do consent, then?" "Consent ! Well, I suppose it amounts to that. You spoke of a test. I do not wish you to take a step you will regret. I must think of some test, if I can. If I cannot, then I must submit and take your word for it." "Thank you, sir! oh, thank you! I have not told you, because it was impossible, how much I love Viola. And you will love her, too." Silas Hardman smiled grimly. "You talk as if you had passed successfully through the test you suggested. Why, I cannot even be sure that you will be willing to apply the test when I have thought of it." "I will, father," cried Walter eagerly. "Do not be afraid of that. I shall be glad to prove to you the depth and strength of my passion for her." "You promise, then, that you will not rebel and say the test is too severe?" "You will not make it an unreasonable one?" queried Walter. His father laughed in his grim way, but Walter saw by his face that he was pleased. The Greatest Devotion. 43 "You may, and no doubt will, think it unreasonable, but I shall endeavor to think of something which shall be fair to you and to her." "Then you need not doubt that I will accept your judgment, father. When will you let me know what it is?" "I shall be home at four this afternoon. By that time I shall have thought of something. Come there/' Walter smiled joyously, and caught up his hat. "I shall be there, father/' he said. "Sorry to have interrupted your morning^ Good-by!" "You will say nothing to the girl until we have talked the matter over and reached a final decision?" his father said. "I shall not be able to see her until to-night," Walter answered. "I am to meet her and take her home to- night when she leaves the store. I would not attract attention to her by talking with her in the store." "That is right," his father said. "Good-by, then, and don't bother a busy man any more, you idle dog!" "I would not be an idle dog if you would only let me work," Walter replied, with a joyous laugh. Silas Hardman stood at his desk in silence for a moment after the door closed; then, with a sudden hardening of the lines about the straight mouth, he pushed the electric bell which he used to call Peter Harriem. CHAPTER VI. "NEVER WED SUCH A GIRL." Peter was sitting at his desk, his long, lean wound about each other, his yellow teeth gnawing uciously at his scanty mustache, when the bell sum- moned him to his employer. He would. have given all the world for the chance to hear all that passed between the father and son, but circumstances were not favorable for listening at the door. -,. . - ; He had rendered it so purposely when he did not dream that anybody but himself would hold confi- dential conversations with Silas Hardman. Walter had passed him without noticing him, and in the furtive glance Peter stole at his handsome facie he saw that it was irradiated with happiness. Thwi, while the bell was still ringing, he rose and gazed after the young man instead of hastening with celerity to his employer. He waited until he saw Walter pass by the counter where Viola was stationed where he had put her, in fact, so that he might surreptitiously feast his eyes on her beauty. He noticed that Waiter did not stop to say any- "Never Wed Such 1 a Girl:*. 45 ' thing, but that he gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, which she seemed to comprehend, for in an in- stau t her fair face was spififtised with a flush of hap- piness. "Has the old fool yielded in this as in everything else?'.' he hissed to himself, j "Will he -consent "to- -let that whelp ruin his salesgirl? Curse him if he has! I will fight him, too. No otle shall take her from me." -,-- Returned and crept iti his stealthy way to the office upstairs, where Silas Hardman was impatiently await- ing him. He glided into the room, casting one furtive glance at the hard face of the old man, >ahd then taking his place in front of the desk with humble attention. . .-.."Finish- the papers !" the old man said curtly. The papers were finished^ and Peter made his usual report. , In fact all the business of the morning was con- cluded, and Peter, ' with ' fierce chagrin, believed he was to be dismissed without hearing a worcf that would enlighten him. He .turned toward the door with reluctant step. The old man let him reach the door and place his hand on the knob ere : he recalled him. : "Stop! there is something else," he said. "You did well to inform me of what you saw." , 46 "Never Wed Such a Girl" "I am glad if I have pleased you/' Peter whined, his shifting gaze telling him that there was more to come. He did not, however, take his hand from the knob, but stood there as if he had no thought of remaining longer than to hear a brief word or two. "Come back here/ 1 said Silas Hardman. "You thought Walter intended the ruin of this girl Viola Something." "Viola Redmond; yes, sir/' assented Peter, his snaky eyes trying to read the old man's thoughts. "Well, you were wrong. He wanted to marry her. To marry her ! Curse the girl !" said the old man, with a quiet vehemence and passion more terrible than a violent outburst. "Im-possible !" ejaculated Peter slowly. "Yes, you may well say impossible, but it is so. My son marry such as she! I do not know by what low cunning she entrapped my boy, but it is certain that he is infatuated with her/' He thumped the desk in anger. Peter stared at him with growing passion. Why had Walter gone out in triumphant happiness ? Had his father consented to the marriage in spite of bis dislike to it? Well, even that should never be. Did they think Peter Harriem could be thrust aside so easily? Let them see! "Never Wed Such a Girl." 47 "And you consented to the marriage?" insinuated the cringing wretch. "Consented!" repeated Silas Hardman, with angry vehemence. "Why do you think that?" "I saw Mr. Walter's face when he passed me. He looked as happy as one does who has gained his will." "Ah !" said the old man briefly. "He thinks I have consented. But we shall see. Do you wish to help me in this affair? It may be worth your while, even though it is not strictly business." "Anything is strictly business that concerns you, sir," answered Peter, in his wheedling tone. "Yes, I know you are faithful, or I would not have thought of you. I did not dare refuse Walter for fear he would do something rash. He is innocent and off his guard; cunning will accomplish the same end better. He must not marry that girl." Peter softly and stealthily rubbed his lean hands to- gether. The game was to be in his hands after all. "It would be a disgrace," he murmured. "I will do anything I can. Have you any idea of a way, sir?" "Yes; and I need you to help me carry it out." "You know you can depend on me, sir." "I shall make it worth your while," the old man said coldly. He intended to pay well for the service. "Walter has consented to submit to a test of his love. I thought to send him away for a year. I could send 4 3 "Never Wed Such a Girl. 57 him to London and Paris to transact sortie trifling busi* ness for the house." "And in the meantime/' murmured Peter, his snaky eyes gleaming, "the girl could be weaned from him, Is that the plan, sir?" The cold eyes of his employer rested on his sallow face. "She weaned from him! That is a foolish thought. Do you think she will ever give him up while there is a ghost of a chance? No. She must be placed in ai position which will render marriage with Walter im- possible. Do you comprehend?" "Not not quite," answered Peter, in a low, husky voice. "I thought you were keener than that," sneered Silas. "Well, you know that my son would never wed a girl whose name has been dragged in the mire of infamy/' "I think I understand now," said Peter slowly. "Would would you expect me to compass that re- sult?" Silas Hardman glanced contemptuously over the gaunt, shambling form of the confidential clerk, and gave vent to a short, scornful laugh. "You don't look much like a lady killer, Harriem; but I will leave the details to you. Will you under- take it?" A flush passed over the ugly face of the younger "Never Wed Sttch a Girl." 49 man. He did not relish being reminded of his lack of attractions. "Let me see if I fully understand my task," he said, as if he had no feeling whatever. "I am to so situate the girl that she cannot marry your son. If I can suc- ceed in wedding her to some one that will do/' "You have stated it exactly/' said Mr. Hardman icily, and with as little compunction as if they had been discussing the life of a chicken. Peter stood quite still, except for a gentle rubbing of his hands together. Mr. Hardman looked at him for a moment, and then smiled. "I see. You are wondering what your reward for all this is to be." "It would seem more businesslike," replied Peter humbly, "if all the details were to be settled now." "You do not care to trust to my generosity?" queried the other, looking keenly at Peter. "Generosity," said Peter, with the utmost humility, "is a word that means so many different things. ' "For example?" queried the other. '"At this moment," answered Peter, with a furtive glance upward, "when you have need of me, it might mean a slight share in the business of Hardman Son. After the affair was accomplished, it might mean no more than a raise of salary." 50 "Never Wed Such a Girl." The face of Silas Hardman flushed with anger. "Do you mean," he said, in a low, incisive tone, "that you have the audacity to dream of being a member of the firm?" Peter had never shrunk together more humbly than at that moment. Yet his response was perfectly clear, though spoken in the most whining tones. "All of us have our mad ambitions," he answered. "And I am sure nothing could be more honorable than the desire to be a member of such a firm as that of Hardman & Son." "A mad ambition, truly," said Silas harshly. "Have you really dreamed of such a thing? And do you make it the price of doing this for me?'' "I know how presumptuous it must seem/' whined Peter; "but it is an honorable ambition." "Is it your price?" demanded Silas Hardman, his brows contracted. "I would not put it quite that way/' responded Peter, cringing and squirming as if with a sense of his own unworthiness. "But is it your price?" persisted the old man. "I don't see how I could undertake the risk except for some adequate recompense/' said Peter. "Very well/' said Silas, in a decisive tone. "I will give you a tenth interest in the firm if you succeed in separating those two." "Never Wed Such a Girl" 51 "Oh, thank you, sir! How can I believe my ears? A member of the great firm of Hardman & Son! Oh, I can hardly believe it !" Silas Hardman eyed him curiously. "You have evidently formed a plan which you be- lieve will be successful/' he said to him. "Is it so?" "I think I can succeed," answered Peter, in the pur- ring tone of a great lean cat. "Under the circumstances I ought not to be trou- bled with any knowledge of the details," said the old man. "All you have to do is to earn your reward. All I have to do is to give it." "That is all," answered Peter, twining his long, bony fingers in and out. "Of course, you will give me a little memorandum, saying that I am to be made a part- ner. It will be such a spur to my activity to have it where I can look at it now and then." Silas bit his lip. Peter was one who thought of everything. The old man had made up his mind, how- ever, and took up a sheet of paper and began to write. .When he had finished, he handed it to Peter, who read : "I, Silas Hardman, do hereby solemnly agree with Peter Harriem that on the day he brings me proof that he has rendered it impossible for my son to marry Viola Redmond, I will give him a one-tenth interest in the business of Hardman & Son. "SILAS HARDMAN/* 5* "Never Wed Such a Girt." "That is all that 'is necessary/' said Peter,, "excepting a witness and an acknowledgment before a notary public/' "You shall have that, too/' said Silas, with an icy smile, "Neither witness nor notary need know the contents of the paper. Anything else ?" "It will cost a great deal of money,; probably/' said Peter, his little eyes glittering greedily. "I will put five thousand dollars to your credit in any bank you designate," said the old man. "Is .that all? 1 * "That is all for myself . But I would have you stipu- late with Mr. Walter that there is to be nothing bind-, ing between him and the girl while he is away." "Wise precaution! I hope you will succeed/' "No man ever had more to. .work for/' answered Peter, unable to subdue his exultation. CHAPTER VII, Walter could not have told how he passed the part' of the day that' intervened between leaving his father at the store and seeing him again in the afternoon. He had won his consent when he had not dared to hope, for it, but had braced, himself/for a -violent scene and a determined denial. And after that he had had ai glimpse of the adorable face of his darling, and had ex- changed with her an ecstatic look of hope and happi- ness. He went about as if walking on air, devouring slow- moving time in all sorts of ways, and ending by going home and waiting there until his father came. "You have determined on a test, father ?" he cried, the moment he entered the library. "Yes. I wonder if you will fight against it?" "Tell it to me let me know what it is. It must needs be a very unreasonable one if I do not hail it with joy," answered Walter. "Well, I have combined business with it," his father replied. "It occurred to me that in the time to come, when you had tasted every pleasure, you might like to know pmething of the business." 54 "She is a Working Girl" "It is my dearest wish, father." "Well, we need a man to represent us in London and Paris," said the old man. Walter's face fell. He suspected in a moment what the test was to be. "You are going to send me away?" he cried. "For a year." "Oh, father!" "Does it seem long, Walter? Yes, of course it does; but a year is only a year, and it is soon gone by. Go there and remain the year, and if, when you return, you find that you still love this girl, I will place no ob- stacle in your way. You shall do as you will." "It is a severe test, father," Walter protested. "If it were only that we could meet occasionally. It is hard to be separated from the one we love." "A year is soon gone, Walter. You said you would agree to the test." "Let me consult with Viola," said Walter. "Consult with her? And what if she says she can- not have it? Will you go back in your promise to me to accept a reasonable test?" "She will not ask me to do that," Walter answered, realizing at once that an appeal to her would make no difference. "Then why, appeal to her?" his father said. "Why "She is a Working Girl." 55 settle this matter between ourselves? Will you go, Walter? It is not much to ask of you." "Yes, I will go. She will understand. I will go, father ; I can trust her, and she can trust me. I know that she would be the first to insist if I were to ask her. But what of her while I am gone?" The wily old man hesitated, then spoke : "That is all that troubles me. If she is what you say, she will be too high-minded to accept pecuniary help from you or me." "That is true," Walter said ; "and yet, to know that she is working so hard all that year. Don't you think, father, that your girls work altogether too hard?" The old man bit his thin lip to keep back the sneer that rose to it. "You shall regulate that when you are managing the business," said he. "In the meantime, as to Viola. The only way I can think of is to give her a better position and more pay. I can do that without letting her know that I am watching over her." "How good and generous you always are when I am concerned !" Walter cried. "On whom else should I lavish my affection, my boy? Then that is settled. By the way, it might be better not to let her have any idea that I am doing anything for her." "I will not speak of it to her!" Walter said eagerly. 56 "She is a Working Girl." "And another thing," said his father : "I think there should be no positive engagement. Just tell her that I am willing that you should marry if you continue to love when you return. There must be no engage- ment/ Waiter smiled joyously. "There is no need of an engagement, father. She and I know what our hearts mean. Oh, I am impatient to see her and tell her. I wish you would see her and talk to her. You would love her. I know you would/' "I saw her twice to-day," his father answered. "She is very beautiful. I hope she will be a good subject for promotion, for I shall not be comfortable until -I have .put it in her power to earn more money/' "You are so good," said Walter; and so the arrange- ment was made. That night Walter was waiting near the corner of Sixth. Avenue for her, and had her little hand clasped in his in an instant. Neither saw the prowling, shambling shadow that glided after them on the other side of the way. Peter Harriem had no reason for following and watching them now, but he could not help it. It seemed as if he followed them in order that he might suffer the pain and misery of witnessing their loving talk. Mrs. Redmond was sitting propped up in a chair . "She is a Working Girl." 57 the lovers entered the shabby but exceedingly neat little room where the invalid passed her days. "Oh, mamma !" Viola murmured, "it is all right." The invalid looked almost incredulously at the hand- some face of Walter, as if she would detect there some- thing that would give the lie to the happy words of her child. "Your father has consented?" she asked wonder- ingly. "He has consented in a way/' answered Walter. "I am to go away for a year to attend to the business of the firm. There is to be no set engagement, but if we still love on my return, we are to be married/' "Yes, that is wise/' said the widow slowly. "No set engagement !" laughed Viola. "As if we needed any promise to hold us faithful to each other. But/' she added, with a sigh, "a year is such a long time," Peter Harriem, meanwhile, had turned away from a contemplation of the humble tenement into which Walter and Viola had entered. He sped along the streets as if with a defined pur- pose in his mind, and more than one person stopped to look .jack at him, so weird and uncanny an object did he seem. He stopped in front of a mansion on Madison ft 58 "She is a Working Girl." He looked np and hesitated for a moment, rubbing his hands, and seeming to shrink down between his high shoulders in self-abasement. Then with a sidelong movement he ran up the steps of the stoop and rang the bell. "Is Miss Carroll at home?" he asked of the servant who opened the door and stared at him in a most super- cilious fashion. "Who is it shall I say?" the man demanded inso- lently. Peter looked up from under his eyebrows, and an- swered slowly: "The confidential clerk of Hardman & Son/' The man, like all servants, knew enough of the private affairs of the household to flush with mortifi- cation, and to hasten to invite the unprepossessing clerk into the house, sayhig: "Oh, oh ! I beg pardon ! Walk right in ! I will tell Miss Carroll's maid. In there, please." Peter crept into the reception room, with a sneer on his thin lips, muttering as he rubbed his hands over arid over again : "How they all cringe before wealth and "power! Some day I shall be Hardman & Son, and then how I shall enjoy my power! Then I can make Viola as great a lady as this proud girl whose rustling silks I hear now.'' u She is a Working Girl." . 59 He cringed and bowed as she entered the room with a wondering look on her dark, haughty face. "Did you come with any message?" she asked, when, after a stare of proud inquiry at him, she saw that he was not disposed to speak. "No, I brought no message, if you please, Miss Car- roll. I came on my own account to ask you to do me a service." "I do not understand/' she said coldly. "My maid told me that you were the head clerk, or something of the sort, of Hardman & Son. Is it not so?" "Yes, Miss Carroll, it is so, and I have taken this very great liberty because I wonder if you will forgive me if I speak freely?" "Speak freely," she said, inspired in spite of herself with uneasiness. "You will not betray me to Mr. Walter, I hope," he said, glancing up furtively to see how she took the utterance of that name. A quick, eager flush passed over her face, and then was hidden under a mask of indifference. "Certainly not, if it is anything that does not con- cern him," she answered. "But it does concern him," whined Peter, writhing humbly. "It concerns him and me and the girl I love such a beautiful girl, miss!" The black eyes flamed and then looked cold. 6o "She is a Working Girl/ 5 "I do not comprehend you," she said. "Go onf' "I have your kind permission to go oil?" he queried, "You heard me," she responded. "He says he : is in love with her and wishes to marry her," Peter said abruptly, his snaky eyes never leav- ing the darkly beautiful face, and reading every tremor in it. She started, and flames darted from her eyes. Her cheek 'paled. Then her lips parted as she said coldly ; "Who is the girl?" "She works in the store ^a salesgirl. Oh, so beau- tiful! Mr. Hardman has commissioned me- -May I proceed ?" She stamped her foot angrily. "I tell you 4;o go on. Why -do you keep asking permission. You know you may continue with your story." "I was not sure I would not offehd," Peter said, in a cringing tone. "Thank you. Mr. Hardman wishes you to be his son's wife. Don't be offended with me! And he has commissioned rne to break off the other the entanglement." Eunice Carroll's face was crimson, but her self-con- trol was wonderful, and she only said calmiy : "Why did vou come here?" 'She is a Working 1 Girl/' 61 6 'To see if you would help met* he answered, his beady eyes flashing. "I! How?-' " Walter is going to Europe to remain a year. Sup- pose the girl should become infamous while he was away? Suppose she should marry another? If you would help me, I would answer for the rest/" /'How could I help you?" she asked. /'She could be sent to you to show you some laces. If there were jewels on your table at the time, and if one should be missed, and afterward found in her pocket. Ah! An arrest, imprisonment, thrown out of work, unable to find it anywhere. A sick' mother, too, starving, dying, maybe. Ah!" He had crept up to her as he spoke until he was. close by her side and was pouring his awful picture into her ear. She .shut her teeth hard .together, and whispered huskily: ; "Send her with laces !" CHAPTER VIII. THE BEGINNING OF INFAMY. Walter had taken his departure, and Viola had been promoted to the lace department. The parting had been a grief to her, and she had clung to Walter, sobbing and murmuring words of love and devotion. "Be true to me and our love !" Walter had said. "I will be true through everything/' she had re- sponded. Viola had studied hard to learn her new duties, happy in the increase of pay that had come to her. It seemed to her that the future was very bright. "Miss Redmond," said the head of the department to her the day before Christmas, "here is a package of laces to be taken at once to this address. The young lady is a good customer, and I wish her to be pleased." Viola took the package, knowing that sometimes such things were done for their best customers. She started and flushed as she looked at the address. She had heard of Eunice Carroll from Walter, and had read of her in the fashion notes in the daily papers. Perhaps she was not sorry to see the womai) from The Beginning of Infamy. 63 whom she had taken Walter. She was only human, and she wished to see with her own eyes if Eunice was as beautiful as the papers all said. She took rather more time than usual in the cloak- room before she started. She was naturally not un- willing to appear at her best before Eunice Carroll. It was impossible for her not to feel a little awe when she entered the magnificent mansion on Madison Avenue, and she was ushered into the boudoir of the fashionable beauty. There was a bright glitter in the sloe-black eyes of Eunice Carroll when the salesgirl was brought to her. She stared at her with a cold, hard light growing in the black orbs. Viola cast her eyes down in her embarrassment, and then stated her errand, beginning to untie the package as she spoke. "Von may go, Stella," Eunice said to her maid. "Never mind the jewels! I have no doubt the girl is honest/' Viola turned crimson. What an insolent way to speak of her ! No wonder Walter had not liked the proud cretffeure, in spite of her imperious beauty. In her humility. Viola did not hesitate to decide that Eunice was more beautiful than she; though more c>4 The Beginning of Infamy. than once she had heard herself admiringly called the Belle of the Dry Goods District. She could not help flashing an indignant glance at the jewels that were spread out on the dressing table. The maid noticed the glance as she went from the room. Viola went on untying the package and presently had spread the laces out so that Eunice might see them. Eunice, meanwhile, was staring at the girl, whose beauty had won Walter Hardman. And as she looked, she was forced to admit that such brown eyes and dimpled cheeks must be very winsome to a man. She studied vengefully the lew, white brow, and ;he cherry, pouting lips; the curling chestnut hair, and the snowy throat. Then she saw that the hands were white, dimpled, with tapering fingers, and that the form that was dis- played by the snugly fitting coat was perfect in its pro- portions. She wished to hear the voice that would issue from between the dewy lips and framed a question. "Have you brought samples of all your best laces ?" "No, miss ; I have only a selected few. The manager thought you would not like to see too many." The voice was sweet and flutelike in its clear, musical The Beginning of Infamy. 65 tones; and Eunice Carrol] hated the innocent girl with a deadly, unreasoning hat re- 1. "Place the box on the dressing table," she said, "and let me have the laces in nry lap." Viola, remembering what Eunice had said of the jewels, placed the box on the table without approach- ing nearer than she could help, and then stepped far away from it. "Tell me the prices/' said Eunice. Viola stepped to her side and looked at the marks on the laces, reading them off as she did so. Her hands were engaged, her eyes busy, she uncon- scious. The hand of Eunice Carroll flashed in the light, and a triumphant glitter filled her black eyes. "I will take these two/' she said sharply, and thrust the others into Viola's hands. Viola gathered up the laces, folded them neatly, and was taking the box from the table when Stella, the maid, entered, having been summoned by the ringing of the bell. "Help her!" Eunice said sharply. The maid assisted Viola as much as she could, and showed her out of the room. "Put the jewels away, now," said Eunice. "I hope they are all right." There was a proloiieeti silence. Stella was carefully 66 The Thinning of Infamy. putting the jewels away: Suddenly the silence was broken by a sharp cry. "Oh, Miss Eunice, the diamond solitaire! I cannot find it! Oh, let me call the girl back." "Search first. Be sure ! I do not suspect you. We must not be foolish about it. Are you sure it was there? Is it not in its place?'' "It was here, Miss Eunice. Let me call her back. It is not in its place. I will call her back, Miss Eunice." "It is too late for that now. I heard the door close. Send James for a detective. He will know what to do. Ah ! that miserable thief !" Stella flew from the room on her errand. Eunice Carroll fell back in her chair with white face and flam- ing eyes. "It is the beginning of her infamy," she murmured, CHAPTER IX. "WHO SAID MARRIAGE?" Viola's nature was sweet and gentle, but it was not weak. She would endure and suffer much from those she loved, but she was too high-spirited not to feel an insult keenly. The manner of Eunice Carroll, more than her words, had stung Viola, and she left the house of the haughty beauty with her heart throbbing with indignation. She had expected to find her cold and haughty, but had not dreamed that she would insult one whose only crime could be her poverty. At least it never occurred to Viola that Eunice could have any reason for hating her and wishing her ill. It was no longer difficult for her to comprehend why Waiter had not loved the one chosen for him by his father. "She is very beautiful/' she murmured, '"and if looks were all, Walter might easily care more for her than for me, but I hope I shall never have her proud, cold spirit." 4 It would have surprised Viola had she known ,hat almost any man would have declared her more beauti- ful t'han Eunice, 68 " Who Said Marriage ?" She was modest, and her modesty did not in the lea detract from her exquisite beauty in the eyes of the men who looked back at her that day as she walked briskly along the crowded streets. Fortunately, she was not one to brood over a wrong, and it was not long before she had forgotten the purse- proud, insolent manner of the wealthy beauty, and was enjoying the crowds of Christmas buyers which crowded the streets. Partly because the . air was keen a,nd sharp, and partly because she did not wish to waste the time of her employers, she stepped briskly along, threading her way with rosy cheeks and dancing eyes through . the throngs. She did not like it when rude men stared,at her, but once she laughed outright when she heard a lady say to a friend : "How strange it is that these shopgirls should be so pretty!" Viola laughed heartily, and wandered why it should be strange that a working girl should be pretty. She was still laughing softly when, she entered the store of Hardman & Son, and made her way through the crowds thai filled it. -5 "Why are ..you laughing?" one of the girls asked her, as she took her place behind the lace counter after tak- ing off her things in the cloakroom. "Who Said ; Marriage ?" : 6 strange to enable him to say from her appearance that she was guiltless/ "Do -you remember seeing some jewels lying on her dressing table?" he asked. A startled look leaped into her brown eyes. She remembered the words Eunice had uttered to her, and the thrill of impending danger shook her. "I I do," she answered, her little hands coming together, and clinging. "There was a diamond ring lost from the table, and its loss was discovered just after your departure/' he said, with slow emphasis, as if he would have every word sink :\ into hei- brain. At the$e words, which were so little short -of accusa- tion, the high spirit which was dormant in her soul was aroused ;^the, queenly little head was thrown back; the brown eyes flamed with indignation. 78 The Burning Eyes. "And does she dare to say that I took her ring?" she cried. "As if I would touch it! How dare she say such a thing?" 4 That is just what I said, Viola," Peter said, with an air of anxious solicitude. "Of course such a charge must be proven." The detective turned from the flushed face of Viola to look at Peter. "There has been no charge," he said dryly. "The jewels were said to be there, and one of them is said to have been lost. This young lady is not accused. But, like the maid, who was also in the room, she is properly under suspicion, and must remain so until she has per- mitted such steps to be taken as will prove her inno- cence. Even if I feel obliged to arrest her, it will prove nothing against her. Innocent persons have been ar- rested." "Arrest me P gasped Viola, quivering with terror at the mere word. "You shall not be arrested if I can save you, Viola, " murmured the oily voice of Peter. "I only spoke of that as an extreme measure/' the detective said. "I suppose you will make no objec- tions to a search." Viola flushed and drew herself up. "Is that necessary?" she asked, "I assure ^ou that The Burning Eyes. 79 I. did not go near enough to the table to touch a thing on it." "I cannot insist upon a search/' he said; "but I have a warrant for your arrest, and when you are in custody you will be forced to submit. If you are innocent it will be better to acquiesce now." Viola tottered. A warrant for her arrest ! It seemed to her as if the disgrace was hers already. "I will call Miss Flynn," Peter said, and was about to go to the door when the detective stopped him by a quiet yet firm touch on the arm. '"One moment; I will tell you when I need your as- sistance. Miss Redmond, will you point out to me the garment among these which is yours? Viola went with uneven steps to where her sack hung on its hook, and took it down. She handed it to the detective, who passed it at once to Peter, saying as he did so : "Please examine the pockets/' "May I?" Peter said, looking at Viola as if to have her comprehend that he was her firm friend. She could only nod her head, afraid to open her lips lest they should betray her and let out the sob of feas which she was trying to suppress. Peter thrust his bony fingers into the pockets, feel- ing a thrill of delight at -he thought that the little 8o The Burning Eyes. hands he would have given so much to hold in his were in the habit of snuggling in these same pockets. His face wore an expression of sorrow and distress, as if the task were not at all to his liking, but sud- denly changed. He stared from her to the detective. "Well?" demanded the latter sharply, as with a stride he had the coat in his grasp. "What have you found? Let me see it/' Reluctantly, and as if he was in the greatest pain in doing so, Peter drew from the pocket a ring set with one large brilliant. "Oh, Viola !" he cried. "Ah!" said the detective, snatching the ring from the bony fingers of the other arid turning to Viola, "how came this in your pocket ? Is it yours ?" Viola stared with wide-open, incredulous eyes; her face became ghastly pale, and a terrible fear smofe her heart. "Had some one played a trick on her?" was the ques- tion that formed in her brain; "It it is not mine," she stammered. "How came it in your pocket?" demanded the de- tective. "I I do not know. Some one must have placed it there," she said. "I know nothing about it. It is some conspiracy against me." The Burning Eyes. 8 1 The detective shrugged his shoulders. He-had heard the same plea so many times. "It may be some accident/' Peter suggested, rub- bing his hands together in a way to make the detective look at him in disgust. "It may be," the detective responded, and cast a look on Viola that made her cry out : "Oh, sir, dor not take me to prison! I am innocent; indeed I am innocent. I knew nothing of the presence of the ring there. I would not have touched it for all the world !" "Must you take her to prison, sir?" Peter asked. "I must. It is hard to believe her guilty; but I have no choice. Come, Miss Redmond, you will be wise to put on your coat and come with me, without disturb- ance. It will be better for you in any case." Viola became so ghastly pale that both the men sprang toward her, but she waved them aside and sank into a chair, murmuring: "I shall be better in a moment. I am innocent, but I will go with you. Oh, if Walter were only here !" Peter bit his lip and turned yellow with anger. "Will you let me have a few words alone with her?" he asked of the detective. "I have good reason for asking. She cannot escape. I will not keep you long." The detective hesitated, and then seemed to make up his mind -quickly. 82 The Burning Eyes. "Yes; but do not keep me long." He retired from the room, and Peter glided to the side of the overwhelmed and prostrated girl. "Viola," he murmured i-n her ear, "I can save you yet, if you will but listen to me." She looked up into his face with burning eyes, seem- ing to search his soul through the mask that hid it. Then she shuddered and turned away with a pitiful moan of anguish. "I know you are innocent," he said, "but no one else will believe it. The evidence is such that all will think you guilty, and your whole life will be ruined. You will be taken to prison, and after the trial you will be sent to the penitentiary." "Why do you torture me?" she wailed, turning from him, and making as if to rise and flee to the door. "I do not say it to torture you," he answered eagerly, in his wheedling voice, "but in order that you may understand. There is one way of escape, however, if you will grasp it." "Escape!" she said. "I do not mean to run away," he answered. "You cannot escape that way. The police would soon hunt you down. I meant that you can keep out of prison, and escape all the infamy of this charge." She looked at him with eyes that should have melted his heart. The Burning Eyes. 83 "Point out the way/' she said miserably. "I love you madly, Viola. Be my wife and I will save you. Give me your promise and you shall never go to prison/' "I cannot be your wife," she wailed. "I love an- other. Ah, Heaven, why is he not here to protect me?" "You love Walter Hardman," Peter said huskily. "I know that, and I know the conditions of his going away. But do you think his father would let you marry Walter with such a charge as this against you? Do you think that even Walter would wed you when you have been sentenced to prison?" "Oh, do not torture me. Let me go to prison and die, for I know I shall die of shame and agony when I am in that awful place." "And your mother," he went on, "do you think she will find anybody to care for her while you are in prison do you think any one will wish to help the mother of one who is a convicted thief?" "Why do you tempt me?" she cried fiercely. "I do not love you and never can. You know it. Let me go to prison." "Think of your future !" he said angrily. "Do you know what it will be? Do you know the fate of the outcast? Do you know that you will never again be 84 The Burning Eyes. able to secure work in this great city? You will have to starve. Will you accept my -offer and be my- wife?" "I cannot," she answered. "Oh, sir, why can you not be generous? Why, if you can save me, do you let me go to prison? Why do you exact a price so ter- rible? Save me and I will give you my -gratitude/' "If -.you will be my wife I will save you, not efse. It will cost me a great deal of money/' "Walter will repay you every penny and more/ Viola cried, grasping him by the arm in her eager en- treaty. . "I know nothing of Waiter Hardman," he- said, with an, angry hiss. "Be my wife and I will save you. Re- fuse, and I will call in the detective/' "I must refuse/' she wailed. "What can I do but refuse?" He glided to the door and placed his hand on the knob, a. malignant expression on his hideous face, "Once more I give you the chance,"' he said. "Will you save yourself by becoming my wife?" "I cannot. Oh, mother, what will become of you?'* He opened the door and -beckoned. the man in. "Take her with you," he said. The detective fixed his eyes on Peter Harriett! foff but a second, then, turned to Viola and said kindly : , "Come, my girl/'. . - '-,. , ; ' CHAPTER XI. A DETECTIVE BY HER SIDE. Like one bereft of all power of will, Viola donned her coat and hat, and- prepared to follow the detec- tive. ; ."Pull -your veil down over your face," 'he said curtly, but not unkindly. "And you may go out ahfead of me. Do not try to escape. I will join you on the sidewalk." ''.. ...... She did ekactly as he bakle her, and was moving away, when once more she heard the voice of Peter whisper in her ear : 'There is yet a chance. Say that you will be my wife." "I cannot;" she wailed. ; "Please leave her alone,' - r the detective said peremp- torily. Peter scowled and let Viola pass him. She went into the crowded store with her head down and her feet dragging,, feeling as if every one there knew that she was going to prison on the charge of stealing. Ah! it is ; not guilt alone that brings horror. The mere touch of the finger of the law seems -to cover a sensitive ^ul with shame. 86 A Detective by Her Side. She stepped into the street like one in a dream. The detective took his place by her side and said, in a low tone: "Walk ahead and turn the first corner. No one need know that you are under arrest. No one knows me. I will join you when there is no one to see." She did as he bade her. It seemed to her that if he had told her to walk to her destruction she would have done it in the same mechanical way. When he joined her he was in the middle of the block, going toward Seventh Avenue. He looked pity- ingly down at her. She did not speak. The horror of her situation robbed her of speech. "Will you tell me all about this matter? 1 ' he said to her. "There is nothing to tell you/' she said, in a low tone of utter misery. "I am sure there must be/' he answered. "If you are guilty, there is that to tell. If you are innocent, there must be something to tell. You spoke of a conspiracy. Who should conspire against you?" She looked up at the immobile, sphinxlike face and shook her head. "I suppose I was mad/' she said. "I do not know who should conspire against me." The very hopelessness betrayed in her sweet voice impressed and touched him. A Detective by Her Side. 87 "Will you tell me what that fellow in the store said to you when you were alone?" he asked. "He said he would save me if I would marry him." "And you refused?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because I love another." The detective gnawed his mustache, and looked down at the bowed head. "Did that man back there say how he would save you?" he asked suddenly. "No, sir." "Who is the man you love? Has this man anything to do with your love story in any way?" "No," answered poor Viola, too miserable to give much heed to her answers. "Tell me the name of the man you love. You know I can find it out by asking that man back there." That was true enough. There was no reason for concealment. But, oh, would it get into the papers? How Mr. Hardman would hate her then! And what would Walter do? Maybe he would not hear of it. "His name must not get into the papers," she pleaded. "His name shall not get in through me," he said, in a tone that made her nave faith in him. "What is his name ?" 88 A- Detective by Her Side. "Walter Hardman," she answered. He looked at her curiously. . "The son of Silas Hardman ?" "Yes, sir." "And does the old man know?" he asked quickly. "Yes, sir. But Walter has gone away to remain for a year. We are not to be married unless we love at the end of a year." The detective pursed up his mouth, as if about to whistle. "Mr. ^Walter is away,, eh?" "Yes, sir; in Europe. Oh, he must not know of this." "And you say -his father approved of your intended marriage?" he queried, without paying any attention to her last remark. "He didn't approve, perhaps, but he was willing, if we continued to love. I know he would have preferred Walter to marry Miss Carroll!" "Miss Carroll !" exclaimed the detective, with a startled look down at the bowed head. "Yes; she who accuses me of stealing her ring/' "Did she know you were to marry Walter Hard* man?" he asked. "No, I don't suppose she did," Viola replied. "Have you ever been sent out with laces before ?" he A Detective by Her Side. 89 "No, sir. Other girls have been. I only went to the lace department a few days , ago. It was a promotion for me." "Promoted, eh?" he said, in a musing way, and then went on in silence. Viola did not note his silence, for she had only an- swered mechanically, and because she had felt that she might as well, since concealment was impossible. The man walked, by her side, telling her when to turn, and guarding her against being run over when they crossed the streets. She did not see where he was leading her, and she did not care. Her thoughts wandered from Walter 'to her mother, and back, again. They were her whole world. Suddenly the detective recalled her to herself by say- ing sharply : "Have you any money in your pocket?" "A little. Three dollars/' "Here are twenty.- I cannot afford to give you any more. I want you to go. out of .the city. Go into the country and hide, I think you are innocent, and there is no need for you to have your name in every paper in the city. You must escape from me. Do you under- stand?". . ,\ Viola stared at hiui. , ' mother ,!" she stammered. 90 A Detective by Her Side. "I will do what I can for her. But you go. Take the cars at the Grand Central, and go somewhere in the country. Or to some other city. Then write to your mother. I think you are innocent, and I intend to clear you. Go quickly now." She seemed dazed for a moment before she could grasp the idea that he really was giving her her free- dom. Then she seized his hand and kissed it. "I am innocent," she sobbed, "and Heaven w r ill bless you for your goodness. Oh, thank you! thank you!" CHAPTER XII. SNATCHING A CHILD. Peter Harriem looked after the detective as he fol- lowed Viola out of the store, and then glided swiftly to where his hat and coat hung, and hurriedly threw them on, muttering ; "I don't like the way that fellow looked at me and at her. I half believe he has fallen in love with her. That wondrous beauty of hers is enough to turn any fellow's head/ 1 He cameJace to face with Mr. Hardman as he was putting his coat on. "I was just looking for you/' the head of the firm said. "I would like " "Do not stop me now," whispered Peter eagerly. "I have just set in motion the little plot of ours. I must go at once. I do not know w r hen I shall return. Everything is so that it will go on without me here/' "Go, then. I will see that everything runs as it should." Peter glided from the store, and the old man, with a cynical curl of his thin lips, murmured : "A useful fellow when well controlled/' Peter, meanwhile, was making his way swiftly through the crowded store, and down the street. 92 Snatching a Cl/ilu The detective and Viola were not in sight, but Peter was not long in making up his mind what to do. He ran to the nearest corner and looked up and down the street. They were not there. The next thing was to run back to the other corner, and this he did. He saw the pair walking down the block, and crossed over to the other side in order that he might the better follow them. His experience in following Viola on other occasions was of use to him now, having given him a good idea of the manner in which it should be done to be sue- _',.. : ... -a- : cessful. Moreover, nothing could be more in keeping with his stealthy nature than this sly spying on another. A trained detective "shadow" could not have done better than he- did. He followed them as he went, and noted how they talked together, forming his own conclusions of what their conversation must be about. Then he saw the detective give her something, though he could not tell what it was until he saw her turn away, and leave the man who should have taken her to prison. "He gave her money, so that she could get out of the ity>" sai$ Beter, in a tone of conviction. "It was as I Snatching a Child. ? .' ^' thought, He has fallen in love with her pretty E and is assisting her to escape." A fiendish smile crossed his lean face, as he saw the two separate. "He -little knows/' he muttered, "that he is helping me more than he is her. Now she is a fugitive from justice, and she will fall into my power so much the more easily." The detective followed Viola to the' corner and saw her speeding uptown. He shoqk his head pityingly, murmuring: "Poor girl ! She is the victim of a conspiracy which I will ferret out. It seems quite clear, but it will not he easy to prove my belief." He turned dow,n,the avenue, while Viola was has- tening up it. Peter, with stealthy movement, yet mak- ing himself as inconspicuous as possible, was gliding ;--r Viola. Poor Viola ! her heart was throbbing with the fear of one who has felt the clutch of the law on her arm, and. who does not know when again it will be there. Her one instinct was to get out of the city as quickly as possible;, she , dared not even go to her mother to explain. to her what had happened, and what she in- tended to do. So she sped up the avenue until she came to Forty- 94 Snatching a Child. second Street, where she turned toward the East Side? and kept on until she reached the depot. There was the customary turmoil of moving crowds of passengers, some going away, and others returning to the city. The street was alive with electric cars and automobiles, and trucks, and wagons. Viola saw nothing of it all. She was bent on getting into a train which would carry her away from the awful peril of prison. She turned toward the depot of the Hudson River division, because it seemed the nearest, and was about to enter the first doorway, when she heard a scream of terror. The cry came from the ligs of a girl dressed as a nurse, and as Viola followed the direction in which she was looking, she saw at once the cause of the scream. A pretty little boy, with golden curls hanging down his back, and showing by his costly dress that he was the child of wealthy parents, stood in the middle of the street, apparently paralyzed with terror. A carriage drawn by two frightened horses was dashing down the street from the direction of Forty- third Street. The child would be run over and killed if he were not snatched away from where he stood, and every- body knew it, but somehow each was watching for the other to do it. Snatching a Child. 95 "My boy ! oh, my boy !" fell on the ears of Viola. She turned, and in the flash of an eye saw a noble- looking man of middle age prostrate on the top step of the low stoop leading to the waiting room. A crutch by his side told her the story of what had happened. He had forgotten a wounded foot, and had leaped to the rescue of his threatened child, and had fallen. All this occupied but a second of time. It seemed as if everything here described had happened at the same moment. The excitement which filled the atmosphere about her aroused Viola from the stupor of misery into which she had fallen, and while her mind was mechan- ically taking in all that her eyes had seen, she had pre- pared herself to act. The infuriated horses were almost upon the little boy, whose blue eyes were fixed on them with an awful horror in them, when Viola leaped from where she stood, and snatched the child in her arms from under the very hoofs of the plunging animals. Then something struck her, and she was whirled around and tossed toward the sidewalk, her senses reeling. She was only conscious of clinging to "he child and of giving him up to a white-haired old lady, who snatched him to her bosom with a wild cry of joy. Then she swooned, and knew no more until she 96 Snatching a Child. opened her eyes and became conscious of several things all at once. She was on a railroad train, which was moving, and the face of an old lady, which seemed dimly familiar, was looking down on her. She gazed into the face for a moment with a blank expression in her brown eyes, then came a sudden realization of what had happened to her. The saving of the child was nothing, but her own misery was paramount. He was safe, while she was a prisoner fleeing from the grasp of the law. "Where am I?" she cried, trying to rise. "You are in good hands, my dear," was the soothing answer, as the old lady pressed her gently back. "You were injured a little on the arm, and the only thing to do seemed to bring you right into the car. We could' not leave you to be cared for by strangers when you had saved our darling from a terrible death." "We are leaving the cit}'," murmured Viola, compre- hending that that was exactly what she most wished. "Yes, we had a stateroom in the car, so, you see, you are quite private. And we found a surgeon who at- tended to you at once, and said the injury was so trifling that you would not notice it in a few days." Viola turned and looked inquiringly at her shoulder, Snatching a Child. 97 and saw that her sleeve had been cut away to permit an examination. "I was with you all the lime, my dear," said the lady. "And- we are alone, now. My son and little Rupert are outside in the car/' "I am sure I can get up now/' Viola said, in a low tone. She felt that she must get by herself in order that she might decide what to do. "You must not. Why snould you? Are you wor- ried about what your friends at home will think of your absence?" Viola's eyes answered yes. "I had thought of that," the old lady said, with a pleasant smile. "You may write a telegram here, and it can be sent from the first station. That will reassure your friends, and you may tften go home with us and remain there until you are quite well. Won't that do?" She was going away from the city, where her danger lay, and there was no reason why she should not accept the hospitality of the people for whom she had endan- gered her life. "Thank you," she answered, "that will do. I do not 'like to be a trouble to you, but I suppose I cannot help it now." The old lady smiled sweetly. 98 Snatching a Child. 'That is the way to look at it. And if you only knew how grateful we are to you, you would not have any feeling of discomfort in accepting every attention we can offer. Perhaps I had better write the telegram, at your dictation. I will get a blank/' She left the room to get the telegraph blank, and Viola had a chance to consider her situation. "I must not betray who I am," she said. "It is cer- tain that my name will get into the papers, in spite of what that good detective can do. If I have enemies, they will do all they can to ruin me. I must telegraph to mamma, but I must not put my name to the message. I will sign it Viola. That will tell her everything." "'Now," said the old lady, returning, "what shall I say?" Viola studied out the words for a moment, and the telegram was written at her dictation. "Do not worry about me. I am quite safe, and will write to-night. VIOLA/' "'Viola! What a pretty name/* the old lady said, soothing back the brown curls that clustered around the low, white brow. "But do you not wish to say where you are going?" "I can tell that when I write," Viola said. "And now to whom is this to be sent?" the lady asked. Snatching a Chilti. 99 Viola started in dismay. She must tell her mother's name, after all, or the message would not reach her. It seemed to her that it was useless to hope to escape. Somehow or other it would be sure to leak out that she was accused of theft, and there would be no asylum for her anywhere. The kind old lady sat there waiting patiently, yet wonderingly. She could not comprehend the manifest agitation of the beautiful girl. Viola's thoughts sped quickly. Something must be done. Her mother must know, or she would become ill worrying. Why not take the chances? ''Mrs. Kate Redmond/' she said, in a low tone, and added the address. CHAPTER XIII. IN FRONT OF A MIRROR. The old lady went out to. give the telegram to the conductor, so that he might send it from the first sta- tion. "She knew by the address that we live in a, tenement house," Viola murmured to herself. "'I could see that by the look of her face. I wonder if she will be just as kind to me now? Well, it does not matter. When t get to the end of the journey, I shall be able to go on if she does not seem to want me." But the expression on. the kind face was. the same when the old lady returned, and Viola knew that she had been unjust. , ,_ "Then your name is Viola Redmond?" the lady said. "I suppose now you would like to know what my name is?" "Yes, please," answered Viola. ''My name is Beekman; my sot} is Howard Beekman, and the little boy whose life you saved is my grandson, Rupert Beekman. My son is temporarily lame from aft accident, and we are going up to the old family place to spend Christmas, and be quiet. You < will like Clover Hill" ' In Front of a Mirror. IOI "I shall not trouble you for long," Viola said. "You shall not go until your shoulder is quite well," Mrs. Beekman said* "But: we are not ^oitig to think of that. I am not going to let you go imahl r^iist. Why, I shall be lonely up there unless I have sortie 'pn> with. me. I was g'oing to send down to the city for one of rny young friends to come up to me. I will promise you plenty of sleighing and skating, if you care for such things." Viola thought the lady must still be under 'a misap- prehension concerning her. She said in a quiet, sad tone : "I am only a working girl, Mrs. Beekman. I though you knew that from the address I gave you." Mrs, Beekman smiled sweetly, and stroked the round cheek. "Of course I guessed it, my dear. Did it make any difference to you that Rupert was rich when you saved him?" "No; I only saw that he was in danger," Viola an- swered. "And do you think it makes any difference to us that yon are. poor? The only difference it makes is that it gives .me a chance I would not have had if you had been rich," . , : . Viola looked at her, but did not say anything/ IO2 In Front of a Mirror. "If you have to work for a living," said the old lady f "does it make any difference to you what you do?" "Not much," Viola answered, her brown eyes fixed on the face she was learning to like. *Th