"Yes, I have seen them all; but--but I am very sorry that so much money should have been spent for me," Edith faltered, a hot flush, which her companion interpreted as one of pleasure and gratified vanity, suffusing her cheeks.

"Oh, the money is of no account, if you are only happy," Mrs. G.o.ddard lightly remarked. "And now," she went on eagerly, "I want you to dress yourself just as nicely as you can, and be ready, when the bell rings, to come down to lunch, as it becomes--my sister. Will you, dear?" she concluded, coaxingly. "Do, Edith, be reasonable; let us bury the hatchet, and all be on good terms."

"I--I do not think I can quite make up my mind to go down to lunch,"

Edith faltered, with averted face.

Madam frowned; she had begun to think her victory was won, and the disappointment nettled her. But she controlled herself and remarked pleasantly:

"Well, then, I will send up your lunch, if you will promise to come down and dine with us, will you?"

Edith hesitated a moment; then, drawing a long breath, she remarked, as if with bashful hesitancy:

"I think, perhaps--I will go down later--by and by."

"Now you are beginning to be sensible, dear," said madam, flashing a covert look of exultation at her, "and Emil will be so happy. Put on this silver-gray silk--it is so lovely, trimmed with white lace--and the pearls; you will be charming in the costume. I am sorry I have to go directly after lunch," she continued, regretfully, "but I have a call to make, and shall not be back for a couple of hours; but Emil will be here; so if you can find it in your heart to be a little kind to him, just put on the gray silk--or anything else you may prefer--and go down to him. May I tell him that you will?"

"I will not promise--at least until after you return," murmured Edith, in a low voice.

Madam could have laughed in triumph, for she believed the victory was hers.

"Well, perhaps you would feel a trifle shy about it," she said, good-naturedly, "it would be pleasanter and easier for you, no doubt, if I were here, so I will come for you when I get back. Good-by, till then."

And with a satisfied little nod and smile, madam left her and went downstairs to tell her brother that his munificence had won the day, and he would have no further trouble with a fractious bride.

CHAPTER XXI.

A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER PAYS EDITH AN UNEXPECTED VISIT.

Edith listened until she heard madam descend the stairs, when she sprang to her feet in a fever of excitement.

"Oh, how I hate myself for practicing even that much of deceit!" she bitterly exclaimed; "to allow her to think for a moment that I have been won over by those baubles. Although I told her no lie, I do intend to go down by and by if I can see an opportunity to get out of the house. But I did so long to stand boldly up and repudiate her proposals and all these costly bribes. Dress myself in those things!"

she continued, with a scornful glance toward the bed; "make myself look 'pretty and nice,' with the price of my self-respect, and then go down to flaunt before the man who has grossly insulted me by a.s.suming that he could bribe me to submission! I would rather be clothed in rags--the very sight of these things makes me sick at heart."

She turned resolutely from them, and, drawing the stiffest and hardest chair in the room to a window, sat down with her back to the allurements around her and gazed out upon the street.

She remained there until her lunch was sent up, when she ate enough to barely satisfy her hunger, after which she went back to her post to watch for the departure of Mrs. G.o.ddard.

The house stood upon a corner, and thus faced upon two streets--the avenue in front, and at the side a cross-street that led through to Beacon street. Thus, Edith's room being upon the front of the mansion, she had a wide outlook in two directions.

Not long after stationing herself at the window, she saw Mrs. G.o.ddard go out, and then she began to wonder how she could manage to make her escape before her return.

She knew that she was only a prisoner in the house, in spite of the fact that her door was not locked; that Emil Correlli had been left below simply to act as her keeper; and, should she make the slightest attempt to escape, he would immediately intercept her.

She could not get out of the house except by the front way, and to do this she would have to pa.s.s down a long flight of stairs and by two or three rooms, in any one of which Emil Correlli might be on the watch in antic.i.p.ation of this very proceeding.

There was a back stairway; but as this led directly up from the area hall, the door at the bottom was always carefully kept locked--the key hanging on a concealed nail for fear of burglars; and Edith, knowing this, did not once think of attempting to go out that way.

While she sat by the window, trying to think of some way out of her difficulties, her attention was attracted by the peculiar movements of a woman on the opposite side of the street--it was the side street leading through to Beacon.

She was of medium height, richly clad in a long seal garment, but heavily veiled, and she was leading a little child, of two or three years, by the hand.

But for her strange behavior, Edith would have simply thought her to be some young mother, who was giving her little one an airing on that pleasant winter afternoon. She appeared very anxious to shun observation, dropping her head whenever any one pa.s.sed her, and sometimes turning abruptly around to avoid the gaze of the curious.

She never entirely pa.s.sed the house, but walked back and forth again and again from the corner to a point opposite the area door near the rear of the dwelling, while she eagerly scanned every window, as if seeking for a glimpse of some one whom she knew. Moreover, from time to time, her eyes appeared to rest curiously upon Edith, whom she could plainly perceive at her post above.

For nearly half an hour she kept this up; then, suddenly crossing the street, disappeared within the area entrance to the house, greatly to the surprise of our fair heroine.

"How very strange!" Edith remarked, in astonishment. "She is certainly too richly clad to be the friend of any of the servants, and if she desires to see Mrs. G.o.ddard, why did she not go to the front entrance and ring?"

While she was pondering the singular incident, she saw the gas-man emerge from the same door, and pa.s.s down the street toward another house; then her mind reverted again to her own precarious situation, and she forgot about the intruder and her child below.

The house was very still--there was not even a servant moving about to disturb the almost uncanny silence that reigned throughout it. It was Thursday, and Edith knew that the housemaid and cook's a.s.sistant were to have that afternoon out, which, doubtless, accounted in a measure for the unusual quiet.

But this very fact she knew would only serve to make any movement on her part all the more noticeable, and while she was wondering how she should manage her escape before the return of Mrs. G.o.ddard, a slight noise behind her suddenly warned her of the presence of another in the room.

She turned quickly, and a low cry of surprise broke from her as she saw standing, just inside the door, the very woman whom, a few moments before she had seen disappear within the area door of the house.

She was now holding her child in her arms and regarding Edith through her veil with a look of fire and hatred that made the girl's flesh creep with a sense of horror.

Putting the little one down on the floor, she braced herself against the door and remarked, with a bitter sneer, but in a rich, musical voice, and with a foreign accent:

"Without doubt I am in the presence of Madam Correlli."

Edith flushed crimson at her words.

"I--I do not understand you," she faltered, filled with surprise and dismay at being thus addressed by the veiled stranger.

"I wish to see Madam Correlli," the woman remarked, in an impatient and bitter tone. "I am sure I am not mistaken addressing you thus."

"Yes, you are mistaken--there is no such person," Edith boldly replied, determined that she would never commit herself by responding to that hated name.

"Are you not the girl whose name was Edith Allen?" demanded her companion, sharply.

"My name is Edith Allen--"

She checked herself suddenly, for she had unwittingly come near uttering the rest of it. She went a step or two nearer the woman, trying to distinguish her features, which were so shadowed by the veil she wore that she could not tell how she looked.

"Ah! so you will admit your ident.i.ty, but you will not confess to the name by which I have addressed you. Why?" demanded the unknown visitor, with a sneer.

"Because I do not choose," said Edith, coldly. "Who are you, and why have you forced yourself upon me thus?"

"And you will also deny this?" cried the stranger, in tones of repressed pa.s.sion, but ignoring the girl's questions, as she pulled a paper from her pocket and thrust under her eyes a notice of the marriage at Wyoming.

Edith grew pale at the sight of it, when the other, quick to observe it, laughed softly but derisively.