"I s'pose you think it's very respectful to pop your saucy head in at an old woman's window, and set her all of a tremble and then tell her, because she is not grinning for her own amusement, that she looks awfully cross, and that you are afraid she will bite you. You are a nice one to talk of being afraid; you, who never showed an atom of fear of anything from your cradle up. If you were a bit afraid, when you were out in the woods, for instance, and meet a long-legged animal with a smooth tongue, and eyes that ought to make you nervous, 'twouldn't be to your discredit, I think. Of course, I don't mean to say that you don't meet him quite by accident; oh, no! And I don't _say_ that he ain't a very nice, respectable sort of chap, whatever I may _think_. You are just like your poor mother, and if this fellow with a name that might as well be Devil, and done with it--"

"There, now, auntie--" Madeline's face flushed, and she put the cat down with sudden emphasis; "I won't let you say bad things of Mr.

Davlin, for I think you would be sorry for it afterward."

She drew a low seat to the side of the old lady, and looking her full in the face, spoke in a voice low, intense, full of purpose.

"Auntie, it is time you told me more about my mother. You have evaded, my step-father has forbidden, my questioning, but if I am ever to know aught of my dead mother's history, I intend to hear it from your lips to-day."

Surprise for a time held the old woman speechless; a look of sorrow and affection drove the querulousness out of her face and voice.

"What ails you, child?" she said, wonderingly. "Do you want to make Mr. Arthur hate me more, and keep you from me entirely? Don't you know, dearie, how he swore that the day I told you these things, he would forbid you to visit me; and if you disobeyed, take you away where I could not even hear of you?"

Tears were in Hagar's eyes, and she held out her wrinkled hands imploringly. "Don't tease your old nurse, dearie; don't. I can't tell you these things now, and they could not make you any happier, child.

Wait a little; the time will come--"

"So will old age, auntie; and death, and all the knowledge we want, I suppose, when it is too late to make it profitable. Well, auntie, I will tell you something in exchange for my mother's story, and to make it easier for you to relate it. But first, will you answer a few questions?--wait, I know what you would say," as the old woman made a deprecating movement, and essayed to speak. "Hear me, now."

Hagar looked at the girl earnestly for a moment, and then said, quietly:

"Go on then, dearie."

"First," pursued Madeline; "my father dislikes me very much; is this the truth?" Hagar nodded assent.

"He dislikes you because you were always good to me." Here she paused, and Hagar again nodded.

"Because you were attached to my mother." Again she paused, and again the old woman bowed assent.

"And because"--the girl fixed the eyes of the old nurse with her own,--"because you were too familiar with my mother's past, and his, and knew too well the secret of his hatred of me!"

Hagar sat silent and motionless, but Madeline, who had read her answer in the troubled face, continued: "Very good; I knew all this before, and I'll tell you what else I know. I know why Mr. John Arthur hates me!"

Hagar opened her mouth, and shut it again quickly.

"He hates me," pursued Madeline, "because my mother left him her fortune so tied up that he can only use it; never dispose of it. And at his death it reverts to me."

Hagar still looked her amazement, and Madeline condensed the remainder of her force into one telling shot.

"If I would be kind enough to die, he would consider it a great favor.

But as I evidently intend to live long, he desires, of course, to see me happy. Therefore he has bargained me in marriage to Amos Adams, for the splendid consideration of a few thousand dollars, and the promise of a few thousand more _if I die young_!"

Still the bewildered look rested upon the old woman's face, and still she gazed at the young girl before her. Suddenly, she leaned forward, and taking the fair head between two trembling hands, gazed long at her. As if satisfied at last with her scrutiny, she drew a deep, sighing breath and leaned back in her chair.

"It's true," groaned Hagar; "it's too true! She has found it out, and my little girl has gone away;--my Baby Madeline is become a woman!

There was never a coward in all the race, and a Payne never forgave!

It has come at last," she wailed, "and now, what will she do?"

Madeline lost not a look nor tone; and when the old woman ceased her rocking and moaning, she suggested, with a half smile:

"Hadn't I better marry old Adams, auntie, worry them both into untimely graves, and be a rich young widow?"

Hagar gazed at her in silence. And Madeline, taking her hand in her own, said: "Shall I tell you how I discovered all this, auntie, dear?"

"Yes, child; go on." And she bent upon the girl a look of attention.

Madeline drew close to her side, and briefly related what had transpired while she sat in her favorite tree; not stating, by the bye, how it occurred that she was in the grove at that very opportune time. Hagar's indignation was unbounded, but she continued to gaze at Madeline in a strange, half fearful, half wondering, wholly expectant way, that the girl could not interpret.

"And now, Aunt Hagar," pursued Madeline, seriously, "I want to understand this matter more fully, and I will not say a word of my plans until you have told me what I came to hear. I shall not come to you again for this information; it is surely my right, and time now is precious."

Madeline half rose, seeing that her nurse still rocked dismally and looked irresolute. "I can bide my time, and fight my battles alone, if need be," she continued, coldly. "I won't trouble you again, nurse,"

turning as if to go.

"Stop, child!" cried Hagar; "let an old woman think. I'll tell you all I can; all I know. Don't turn away from your old nurse, dearie; her only thought is for your good. Yes; you must not be left in the dark now,--sit down child; sit down."

Madeline resumed her seat, and old Hagar, after another season of moaning and rocking, proceeded to relate, with many wanderings from the point, and many interpolations and opinions of her own, the brief, sad story of Mrs. Arthur's married life and early death. Bereft of Hagar's ornamental extras, it was as follows:

Madeline Harcourt, an orphan, and the adopted daughter of a wealthy bachelor uncle, had incurred his displeasure by loving and marrying Lionel Payne, handsome, brave to a fault, with no other wealth than his keen intellect, his unsullied honor, and his loving, manly heart.

[Illustration: "I can bide my time, and fight my battles alone if need be."--page 30]

Lionel Payne had entered upon the study of law, but circumstances threw in his way certain mysteries that had long been puzzling the heads of the foremost detectives, and the young law student discovered in himself not only a marked taste for the study of mysteries, but a talent that was remarkable. So he gave up his law studies to become a detective. He rose rapidly in his new profession, giving all the strength of his splendid ability to the study of intricate and difficult cases, and became known among detectives, and dreaded among criminals, as "Payne, the Expert."

He had lived two happy years with his young wife, and been six months the proud father of baby Madeline, when he fell a victim to his dangerous pursuit, shot dead by a bullet from the hand of a fleeing assassin.

John Arthur had been a fellow law student with Lionel Payne, and he had followed the career of the young expert with curious interest, being, as much as was possible to his selfish nature, a friend and admirer of the rising young detective. And Lionel Payne, open and manly himself, and seeing no trace of the serpent in the seeming disinterestedness of Arthur, introduced him proudly into his happy home. Arthur was struck by the beauty of the young wife, and became a frequent and welcome visitor.

One day, there came to the office where John Arthur earned his bread reluctantly, as a salaried clerk, the uncle of Madeline Payne. He had come to make a will, in which he left all his possessions to his beloved niece, Madeline, and her heirs forever after. This was several months before the sudden death of Lionel Payne.

Ten months after she became a widow, Madeline's uncle died. Left alone with her little child, and with no resources but her own efforts, Madeline's mother struggled on, ever the object of the kind watchfulness and unobtrusive care of John Arthur, who professed to adore the child for the sake of the father, and through the baby Madeline, gradually won his way in the mother's esteem. Mrs. Payne was deeply grateful, and her mother's heart was touched by the devotion of Arthur to her little child. So it came about that, after a time, she gave him her hand, and all of her heart that was not buried with Lionel. A little later she learned that her uncle was dead, and she became mistress of a handsome fortune.

Soon came the knowledge that her husband's heart was not all gold, and the suspicion, as well, that her uncle's will and its purport had long been no secret to him. But, partly from force of habit, and partly because he was not yet quiet hardened, John Arthur kept up his farce of affection for the child. And while his wife awoke to a knowledge of many of his short-comings, she always believed in his love for her little one.

The two elements that were strongest in the nature of John Arthur were selfishness and pride. From his youth up his idols had been gold and self. Born into the world minus that "golden spoon" for which he sighed in youth, and schemed in later years, he had ever felt towards said world a half-fledged enmity. As he reached the age of manhood, his young sister was formally adopted by the only surviving relatives of the two; and becoming in due course of time and nature sole possessor of a very nice little fortune, afterwards held her head very high. Later, in consequence of some little indiscretions of her brother at the time when he was set free in the world--the result of the popular superstition held by him that "the world owed him a living,"--she held herself aloof from and ignored him completely.

By degrees Mrs. Arthur's eyes became opened to the true character of the man she had married. Moments she had of doubting, and then of fearing that she wronged him too deeply, for her nature was a just one. It was in one of these latter moods that she made her will, before she had become aware that even his love for her little girl was only a well acted lie; believing her secure of love and care during his life, she made sure that, at his death, her darling should be supplied with all that money could give. She had long been in the fatal toils of that dread destroyer, heart disease, and suddenly, before she had found opportunity for securing her little daughter further, as she had since begun to realize it was needful to do, she was seized with a paroxysm that snapped the frail cord of life.

A short time before her death, she had given into the keeping of old Hagar, a package, to be delivered to little Madeline when she should become a woman, and with the express wish that, should John Arthur prove a kind guardian meanwhile, she would burn the journal it contained, unread.

Old Hagar now placed in Madeline's hands the package, which was found to contain her mother's most valuable jewels, and the tear-stained journal, which the girl seated herself to peruse, with sorrowful awe.

The last page being turned, and the sad life of her mother fully revealed, Madeline bowed her head and wept bitterly, heedless of the attempt of old Hagar to comfort her, until the name of her step-father upon the old woman's lips brought her suddenly to her feet, the tears still on her cheeks, but her eyes flashing, and on her countenance a look that might have been a revelation to John Arthur, had that gentleman been there to see. Taking the old woman's hand, and holding it tightly in her own, the girl said:

"Thanks, auntie, for recalling me. I have no time for tears now.

Listen, and don't interrupt me. My poor mother died with a heart filled with fears for my future, left to that man's keeping. At the time of her death, he believed himself her unconditional heir. She feared for her life with him, and her sickness was aggravated in every possible manner by him, and I fully believe that, in intent if not in deed, John Arthur is my _mother's murderer_!"

The old woman's face expressed as plainly as words could do, that she shared in this belief. The girl went on, in the same rapid, firm tone:

"He killed the mother for gold, and now he would sell her child. He will fail; and this is but the beginning. As he drove my mother into her grave, I will hunt him into his! He shall suffer all that she suffered, and more! I know where you obtained your independence now, Aunt Hagar; and he hates you doubly because my mother's love provided for you a home, and for her child a haven in time of need. It was well. Keep the old cottage open for me, Aunt Hagar. Keep an eye on John Arthur, for my sake. Never fear for me, whatever happens. Expect to hear from me at any time, to see me at any moment. Don't answer any questions about me. A thousand thanks for all your love and kindness, auntie; good-by."