"There it is!" burst forth the champion of the absent. "You know me, but you don't know what a worthless, unattractive little imp I am compared to her. You don't know her, but you shall! And when you do, poor me will have to take a seat lower down in the tabernacle of your affections."

"I wonder if this 'other' would so readily resign her lover to you?"

she said.

"Would she!" flashed Claire. "Would she _not_? Has she not? Ah, if you knew her, you would never say that!" Then suddenly capturing the other hand of the lady, she said, in quieter but very grave tones: "Can you listen to a long story, Mrs. Ralston; rather to several stories combined in one? I am going to tell you what I have so much wanted you to know--the story of Madeline Payne."

Mrs. Ralston expressed her more than willingness to hear all that Claire had to tell, and the girl settled down comfortably on the ottoman at the feet of her friend, and began at the beginning. It was indeed a long story, for Claire omitted nothing. As she told how Madeline had exposed to her the baseness of Percy, Mrs. Ralston started up, her face pale as death, and then sank back in her chair.

"Percy!" she cried. "What--what is his other name?"

Claire stared at her in amazement. "What is it, Mrs. Ralston--you are ill?"

"No," almost gasped the lady; "tell me--his name."

"I did not intend to speak his name," Claire said, slowly. "It is Edward Percy."

Mrs. Ralston was on her feet in an instant, her face flushing with excitement. "Come with me!" she almost shrieked. "Quick! to my room."

Wondering vaguely, Claire followed.

Mrs. Ralston almost flew to her apartment. She flung open the door, and in an instant was on her knees beside a trunk, opening trays and searching for something eagerly.

"Look!" she cried, suddenly thrusting out something toward Claire; something from which she averted her own face. "Look, did you ever see that face?"

The girl gave one glance and uttered a sharp cry. It was a miniature painted on ivory; painted years ago, but she knew it only too well.

Mrs. Ralston regained her feet, trembling so that she could scarcely stand.

"Where did you get it?" cried Claire. "It is he; Edward Percy!"

Mrs. Ralston started forward and took the picture from her hand. "_It is my husband!_" she whispered.

With the words on her lips, she fell heavily to the floor, in a dead faint.

When Mrs. Ralston awoke to consciousness, she was lying upon her bed, with Dr. Vaughan bending over her, Olive standing near, and Claire a little aloof, looking pale and anxious. Her first thought was of the picture.

"Where is it?" she murmured, addressing Claire, who stepped forward eagerly.

"It is here, dear Mrs. Ralston," said Claire. "I caught it from your hand after you fell. I thought--" And then she hesitated.

"I understand," she said, looking at the girl fixedly. "Drop it from your hand, Claire; drop it _there_," pointing to the grate. "It has done its work; we need never look upon it again."

Claire obeyed her silently. For the second time she had consigned to the flames the pictured face of Edward Percy.

To the surprise of the three who had so lately seen her coming slowly back from the swoon, so like death, Mrs. Ralston raised herself to a sitting posture, and then slowly arose from the bed and stood upright before them, and there was a flush on her cheek, and a light in her eyes that was new to that usually pale, sad face.

"Dear friends," she said, turning toward Clarence and Olive, who had been watching the burning of the picture with surprised and somewhat curious eyes, "I am quite recovered; and I want to think. Will you please leave me alone, quite alone, for a little while?"

Olive, Claire and Clarence went slowly and silently down to the drawing-room, Claire keeping very close to her sister and carefully avoiding the eyes of the young man. Seating herself beside Olive, Claire told, in her own way, all that she knew of the affair.

"I wanted to tell Mrs. Ralston of Madeline," she commenced, "and, not to omit anything, I told her poor Philip's story,--all about the two men, and how the man, Percy, had appeared at Oakley as the lover of Miss Arthur. When I spoke his name, she ran to her room, almost dragging me with her, and--"

Suddenly she paused, horrified at a sudden thought. How could she explain to these two, who knew nothing of her "affair" with Edward Percy--who did not dream that she had ever seen his face--her ability to recognize the picture Mrs. Ralston had shown her?

"And?" interrogated Olive.

Clarence Vaughan saw that there was a reason for her hesitation, and while wondering what it could be, came to her rescue. "And fainted, of course," said he. "Well, she is better now, and perhaps we shall hear the conclusion of the mystery all in good time."

If she had dared, Claire would have given him a glance of gratitude.

As it was, she only averted her face and felt herself a great hypocrite.

Doctor Vaughan was to remain for lunch; and while he talked quietly with Olive, Claire sat considering what they would say if they knew all. Presently her reverie was interrupted by the entrance of a servant, who said:

"Mrs. Ralston wishes Miss Keith to come to her."

Claire started up, and without a word to either her lover or her sister, hurried into the presence of her friend.

Mrs. Ralston advanced to meet the girl as she entered the room, and laying a hand upon her shoulder, said: "I understood you to say that your sister knows nothing of your acquaintance with that man. Am I right?

"Yes."

"And you do not wish her to know?"

Claire hesitated. "I did not then think it was wrong to conceal it from her," she said, finally; "but now, if you think it best, I will try and tell her."

"But I do not think it best, my darling. I should have been convinced of his identity even had I not used the picture as a test. We will say nothing on that subject. And now, let us go down-stairs, for we have work to do!"

So saying, she led the way from the room and Claire followed, wondering how all this was to end.

CHAPTER XLV.

MRS. RALSTON'S STORY.

Mrs. Ralston entered the drawing-room with the light of a new and strong purpose shining in her eyes.

"Dear friends," she said, "sit near me and give me your attention. I have a story to tell, and I must not fatigue myself too much in the telling."

Without a word, Clarence moved forward an easy chair. As she seated herself, they all grouped about her with grave, expectant faces.

"I will make brief mention of myself," said the lady, sinking back in the luxurious chair with a slightly weary smile. "My life has never been a bright one. Married for the first time at the age of sixteen, my childhood was prematurely blighted, and my first real trouble fell upon me. It was not a happy marriage, and during the years of my first husband's life, I became more and more alienated from my relatives.

"When at last my husband died, I was thirty-six years old, and owing to ill-health, looked much older. But--I was wealthy. Then I met a man, younger than myself, and very handsome. I was weak and foolish. I believed in him and--married him. For four years he squandered my money and made my life a burden. At last, when I could endure no longer, and when, because he had inherited a fortune from some relative, I knew he would trouble himself little as to particulars, I caused him to believe me dead and buried.

"In reality I was in better health than usual, and while he was spending his new fortune and fancying me in the grave, I sailed for Europe. Before I departed, however, I saw him once more, myself unseen. It is this part of my story that will make your hearts glad."