LITMIR.BIZ

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certainly! Oh, yes, yes," ejaculated old Amos, in a transport of grins.

      "And this will, I trust," – he was growing more stately and polite every moment – "this, of course, is satisfactory to you, Miss Madeline?"

      "Perfectly." She looked him full in the face now, and somehow her glance slightly impaired his feeling of dignity and security.

      "Very good; and now having formally accepted the proffered hand of Mr. Adams – "

      "Pardon me, sir, you are too fast. Mr. Adams has not offered himself."

      "Nonsense," – Mr. Arthur suddenly forgot his politeness – "haven't I just stated his offer?"

      Madeline leaned back in her chair, and looked from one to the other with a tranquil smile.

      "Perhaps; but unfortunately there is a law in existence which prohibits a man from marrying his grandmother, and likewise objects, I believe, to a young woman's espousing her step-papa, however much adored. And as you can't marry me, my dear parent and guardian, why I object to listening to a proposal from your lips."

      John Arthur gazed in angry consternation upon the girl's still smiling face, but before the impatient words that he would have uttered could find voice, old Amos, who had interpreted her smiles as being favorable to himself, came gallantly to the rescue.

      "Right! quite right," he chuckled. "Of course, you know, Arthur – Miss Madeline, ahem – that's what I meant, you know. It's the proper way," he gasped; and the general expression of his countenance did not tend to make his observations the more lucid – "I meant, you know – ah, well – will you honor me Miss Madeline – by – by your hand, you know?"

      This effort of oratory was received with smiling attention by the girl, who now addressed herself entirely to him, without heeding the effect of her words upon her step-father, or his interpolations, as she proceeded.

      "Mr. Adams;" – she spoke in a low, even tone, and gradually permitted the real feelings that were seeking for expression to show themselves in her every feature – "Mr. Adams, I think I appreciate as it deserves the honor you desire to bestow upon me; believe me, too, when I say that I am as grateful as it is proper I should be. But, Mr. Adams, I am only a mere girl, and you might pay too dearly for me."

      "What the deuce does the fool mean?" growled Mr. Arthur.

      "I don't dispute the fact that I am a perfectly marketable commodity, and it is very right and proper that my dear step-papa – who dotes on me, whose idol I have been for long years – should set a high valuation upon my unworthy head. Yet this little Arcadian transaction is really not just the thing for the present century and country. And so, Mr. Adams, I must beg leave to thank you for the honor you proffer, and, thanking you, to decline it!"

      For a moment no one spoke; there was neither sound nor movement in the room. John Arthur was literally speechless with rage, and old Amos was just as speechless from astonishment; while Madeline gazed from one to the other unmoved. As soon as he could articulate, John Arthur confronted her, and taking her roughly by the shoulder, demanded:

      "What do you mean, you ungrateful jade? What are you talking about?"

      "About your contract in flesh and blood, Mr. Arthur. About your very worthy scheme for putting money in your pockets by making me this man's wife. If I am to be sold, sir, I will make my own bargain; be very sure of that; and this is not my bargain!"

      "Don't talk to me of bargains, you little idiot! Do you think to defy me? Do you dare to defy me?"

      His rage passed all bounds. She put the width of the table between them and surveyed him across it, mockingly.

      "Listen, girl, I am your lawful guardian; you shall obey me!"

      "Really, now, don't, step-papa; you are actually purple in the face! You might die, you know; think of your heart, do, and take a glass of water."

      Old Adams collapsed in the remote corner whither he had fled. The miser was not at home in a tempest, and this was already beyond his depth. He gasped in speechless amaze and affright. Was this the girl he had thought to mold as his wife, this fearless, defiant creature? Already he began to congratulate himself upon his lucky escape. "She would murder me some day," he thought, shuddering.

      For the time being, John Arthur was a madman. Defied, mocked, by this girl who had been a burden to his very life! He raged, he raved, he cursed; and so raging and raving, he cursed her, and then in vile, bitter words hurled his anathema at her dead mother's memory.

      Then the mocking smile was gone, the taunting voice changed its tone; and as it changed, old Amos, cowering in his corner, shuddered afresh. Her whole face underwent a transformation. Her form dilated, she sprang before her step-father and the ring of her voice checked the imprecations on his lips.

      "Stop," she cried; "don't add the last drop to your already overfull measure! Don't double the force of the thunderbolt that will strike you some day! Is it not enough that you have hated me all my life through; that you have loaded down my childhood with unkind words, curses, and wishes for my death? Not enough that you follow me with your hatred because my mother's own will be mine at your death? Not enough that you would barter my life – yes, my life– for gold, sell my heart's blood for your own ease and comfort? And now must you pollute the name of my mother, as you polluted her life? Never breathe her name again; never dare to name her! I, her daughter, tell you that for her every tear, every heart pang, every sigh, you shall pay dearly; dearly! I will avenge my mother's wrongs, some day; for you are her murderer!"

      John Arthur gazed in speechless amaze into the space before him – but she was gone! The stern, vengeful, set face was no longer there. The proud, ringing voice was no longer sounding in his ear. The uplifted, warning, threatening hand menaced him only in memory. And before the might of her purpose, and the force of her maledictions, he stood as in a trance.

      When he had so far recovered himself as to think of her sudden disappearance, he went out quickly. The entrance door stood wide open; the dim light flickered on an empty hall and stairway; the sky was black with clouds, and never a star; the wind moaned about the house; and across the meadow came the doleful howl of old Hagar's watch-dog.

      But Madeline was not to be found.

      Always, in the days to come, he remembered her face as it had looked on him that night. Often in dreams he would start and cry out, haunted by the sound of her scornful voice, the spectre of her threatening hand.

      CHAPTER IV.

      THE DIE IS CAST

      Lucian Davlin paced the platform of the Bellair depot, in a very unpleasant frame of mind.

      His companion, – half servant, half confederate, wholly and entirely a rascal, – discerning his mood and, as ever, adapting himself to it, had withdrawn to a respectful distance. Only the shine of his cigar, glowing through the darkness, betokened his proximity, or the fact that the dark platform was not in the sole possession of the sullen man who paced its brief length, and questioned the Fate in which he trusted, and which, for once, had played him a sorry trick.

      He had been deceived by a mere school-girl. She had not even deigned him a farewell word. He had lost a fair prize.

      "Gad!" he muttered, biting viciously at his cigar, "to be baffled like this; to lose that little beauty; to be foiled like a moon-struck idiot and never know how or why! I can't write her, with that cursed old step-father to interfere. I can't return again very soon. And she is such a little beauty!"

      He paused at the end of the darkened platform, and looked down the track; in the direction of the grove where they had met, and of Madeline's home. It was almost time for the train. At the upper end of the platform, the station master flashed his lantern, tumbled the luggage closer to the track and examined the checks critically; while the Man of Tact came out from his retirement and overlooked the proceeding.

      Something was coming down the track, swiftly, silently. He could just discern a shape moving toward him. It came nearer, and he moved up a few paces, and turned again where the lantern's rays fell upon him. It came nearer yet and paused in the shadow. It was a woman's

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