"Antoinette," she said in an unsteady voice, as soon as she had drained the wine the maid had brought, "I am in trouble, and I want you to help me."

"You can rely upon me, my lady," replied the girl. "I will do anything in the world for you, and tell no one."

"You are very good," murmured her young mistress incoherently. "I--I have lost something valuable belonging to my husband. It will take a great deal of money to replace it, and it must be replaced at once, before he misses it. To do this, I am obliged to borrow money until I get my next allowance from him. There are several persons in the hotel who would willingly loan me the money if they but knew of my predicament. I must see one after another in that little private parlor off the reception-room, until I have secured the amount I need. You will bring them to me."

"I understand, my lady," nodded the maid.

Flushed, and trembling with excitement, Sally stepped down to the private parlor, after giving Antoinette a score of names on a slip of paper.

One by one, the clever French maid conducted the persons she had been sent in search of to her mistress.

Each gentleman listened in surprise to the appeal young Mrs. Gardiner made to them--she the bride of a man worth millions.

In most instances, the gentlemen carried large sums of money with them, and their hands flew to their well-filled pockets at once. They would be only too pleased, they declared. How much would she need?

Sally named as large a sum as she thought each of them could stand, and in less than half an hour she had the full amount which Victor Lamont had said he must have.

CHAPTER XLI.

"Now send Mr. Lamont to me here without delay," she said to Antoinette.

The girl did not have to do much searching. Mr. Lamont was in the corridor. He hastened to answer the summons with alacrity.

"There is the money," cried Sally, almost swooning from excitement.

"Thirty thousand dollars, and----"

"By George! you are a trump, my dear!" exclaimed Victor Lamont, restraining himself by the greatest effort from uttering a wild whoop of delight. "That was splendidly done!"

Sally looked the disgust that swept over her.

"I have it all to pay back within three months," she said. "You have forgotten that, it seems, Mr. Lamont, and by that time I shall expect you to have procured the money to reimburse these gentlemen."

Victor Lamont laughed a sarcastic laugh.

"I shall not detain you longer, my dear Mrs. Gardiner," he said. "Your husband will be waiting to take you to the train. I shall not say good-bye, but _au revoir_. I will write you, sending my letters addressed to your maid, Antoinette. She will give them to you."

"No, no!" answered Sally, nervously; "you must never write to me, only send me the money to repay today's indebtedness. Our friendship, which we drifted into unconsciously, was a terrible mistake. It has ended in disaster, and it must stop here and now."

"As the queen wills," murmured Lamont, raising to his lips the little white hand that had given him so much money.

But deep down in his heart he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers a woman who had turned into a veritable gold mine under his subtle tuition. Ah, no! that was only the beginning of the vast sums she must raise for him in the future.

CHAPTER XLII.

As the carriage containing Jay Gardiner and Sally came to a sudden stop, he put his head out of the window to learn the cause, and found they had already reached the station.

"We shall reach home by nightfall," he said in a tone of relief.

But to this remark Sally made no reply. She was wondering how she could ever endure life under the same roof with his prying mother and sister.

While we leave them speeding onward, toward the place which was to be the scene of a pitiful tragedy, we must draw back the curtain which has veiled the past, and learn what has become of beautiful, hapless Bernardine.

After her desertion by the young husband whom she had but just wedded, and the theft of the money which he had placed in her hands, she lay tossing in the ravages of brain fever for many weeks in the home to which the kind-hearted policeman had escorted her.

But her youth, health, and strength at last gained the victory, and one day, in the late summer, the doctor in charge p.r.o.nounced her well, entirely cured, but very weak.

As soon as she was able to leave her bed, Bernardine sent for the matron.

"You have all been very kind to me," she said, tears shining in her dark eyes. "You have saved my life; but perhaps it would have been better if you had let me die."

"No, no, my dear; you must not say that," responded the good woman, quickly. "The Lord intends you to do much good on earth yet. When you are a little stronger, we will talk about your future."

"I am strong enough to talk about it now," replied Bernardine. "You know I am poor, and the only way by which a poor girl can live is by working."

"I antic.i.p.ated what you would say, my dear, and I have been making inquiries. Of course, I did not know exactly what you were fitted for, but I supposed you would like to be a companion to some nice lady, governess to little children, or something like that."

"I should be thankful to take anything that offers itself," said Bernardine.

"It is our princ.i.p.al mission to find work for young girls who seek the shelter of this roof," went on the matron, kindly. "The wealthy ladies who keep this home up are very enthusiastic over that part of it. Every week they send us lists of ladies wanting some one in some capacity. I have now several letters from a wealthy woman residing at Lee, Ma.s.sachusetts. She wants a companion; some one who will be willing to stay in a grand, gloomy old house, content with the duties allotted to her."

Bernardine's face fell; there was a look of disappointment in her dark eyes.

"I had hoped to get something to do in the city," she faltered.

"Work is exceedingly hard to obtain in New York just now, my dear child," replied the good woman. "There are thousands of young girls looking for situations who are actually starving. A chance like this occurs only once in a life-time."

Still, Bernardine looked troubled. How could she leave the city which held the one that was dearer than all in the world to her? Ah, how could she, and live?

"Let me show you the paper containing her advertis.e.m.e.nt," added the matron. "I brought it with me."

As she spoke, she produced a copy of a paper several weeks old, a paragraph of which was marked, and handed it to Bernadine.

"You can read it over and decide. Let me know when I come to you an hour later. I should advise you to try the place."

Left to herself, Bernardine turned to the column indicated, and slowly perused the advertis.e.m.e.nt. It read as follows:

"WANTED--A quiet, modest young lady as companion to an elderly woman living in a grand, gloomy old house in the suburbs of a New England village. Must come well recommended. Address MRS. GARDINER, Lee, Ma.s.s."

"Gardiner!"