Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter Read online

  CHAPTER VI.

  A WARNING.

  Early morning in the great city, but the buzz and clamor were fairlyunder way, and the streets as full of busy, pushing, elbowing life asif night and silence had never rested above the tall roofs and chimneypots.

  With the rattle of the first cart wheel on the pavement, Madeline hadstarted broad awake. As the din increased, and sleep refused to returnto the startled senses, all unused to these city sounds, she arose,and completing her toilet with some haste, seated herself at herwindow to look out upon the scene so new to her.

  What a world of strange emotions passing and repassing beneath hereye! What hopes and fears; what carelessness and heartache! How theyhurried to and fro, each apparently intent upon his own thoughts andpurposes.

  She gazed down until her vision wearied of the motley, ever-changing,yet ever the same crowd; and then she reclined in the downy depths ofa great easy chair, closed her eyes, and thought of Lucian. After all,what meaning had this restless moving throng for her? Only one;Lucian. What was this surging sea of humanity to her save that,because of its roar and clamor, they two were made more isolated,therefore nearer to each other?

  The morning wore away, and she began to realize how very soon sheshould be with her hero, and then no more of separation. Her heartbounded at this thought.

  Some one tapped softly at her door. She opened it quickly, thinkingonly of Lucian. It was not Lucian, however, but a veiled woman whostepped within the room, closing the door as she came.

  Madeline fell back a pace, and gazed at the intruder with a look ofstartled inquiry which was, however, free from fear. She had notthought of it before, it flashed across her mind now that this factwas odd; but in all her morning's ruminations, she had not oncethought of the mysterious stranger of the railway episode. Yet now thefirst words that took shape in her mind, at the entrance of thisunexpected visitor, were "Clarence Vaughan, M. D." She almost spokethem.

  With a quick, graceful movement, the stranger removed the shroudingveil; and Madeline gazed wonderingly on the loveliest face she hadever seen or dreamed of. It was a pure, pale face, lighted by lustrousdark eyes, crowned by waving masses of dark silky hair; exquisitelymolded features, upon which there rested an expression of mingledweariness and resignation, the look of

  "A soul whose experience Has paralyzed bliss."

  One could imagine such a woman lifting to her lips the full goblet oflife's sparkling elixir, and putting it away with her own hand, lestits intoxicating richness should shut from her senses the fragrance ofSpring violets, and dim her vision of the world beyond.

  They formed a decided contrast, these two, standing face to face.

  One, with the calm that comes only when storm clouds have sweptathwart life's sky, leaving behind marks of their desolating progress,but leaving, too, calm after tempest; after restlessness, repose.

  The other, stretching out her hand like a pleased child to woo thepurple lightning from the distance, buoyant with bright hopes, withnothing on brow or lip to indicate how that proud head would bearitself after it had been bowed before the passing storm.

  "Pardon me," said the lady, in a sweet contralto. "I think I am notmistaken; this is the young lady who arrived last evening, and isregistered,"--she looked full in the girl's eyes--"as Miss Weir?"

  Madeline's eyes drooped before that searching gaze, but she answered,simply: "Yes."

  "I have not yet introduced myself. Here is mycard."--page 68.]

  "You are naturally much astonished to see me here, and my errand is adelicate one. Since I have seen you, however, I have lost every doubtI may have entertained as to the propriety of my visit. Will you trustme so far as to answer a few simple questions?"

  The words of the stranger had put to flight the first idea formed inher mind, namely, that this visit was a mistake. It was intended forher, and now, who had instigated it? She looked up into the face ofher visitor and said, with her characteristic frankness of speech:

  "Who sent you to me?"

  The abruptness of the question caused the stranger to smile.

  "One who is the soul of honor and the friend of all womankind," shesaid, with a soft light in her eyes.

  Madeline's eyes still searched her face. "And his name is that," shesaid, putting the card of Clarence Vaughan upon the table betweenthem.

  "Yes; and this reminds me, I have not yet introduced myself. Here ismy card."

  She placed in the hand of Madeline a delicate bit of cardboard bearingthe name, "Olive Girard."

  Silence fell between them for a moment, and then Olive Girard spoke.

  "Won't you ask me to be seated, and hear what I wish to say, MissWeir?"

  She hesitated over the name, and Madeline, perceiving it, said:

  "You think Weir is not my name?"

  "Frankly, I do," smiled Mrs. Girard; "but just now the name matterslittle. Pardon me, but I am more interested in your face than yourname. I came here because it seemed my duty, and to oblige a friend;now I wish to serve you for your own sake, to be your friend, if youwill let me."

  Still Madeline's brain kept thinking, thinking; and she put herquestions rather as commentaries on her own thoughts than as her sharein a conversation.

  "Why did Mr. Vaughan send you to me?"

  They had seated themselves, at a sign from Madeline, and Mrs. Girarddrew her chair nearer to the girl as she answered:

  "Because he feared for you."

  "Because he _feared for me_!" Madeline's face flushed hotly; "fearedwhat?"

  "He feared," said Olive Girard, turning her face full upon herquestioner, "what I feel assured is the truth, having seen you--simplythat you do not know aright the man in whose company you came to thisplace."

  Madeline turned her eyes upon her guest and the blood went slowly outof her face, but she made no reply, and Mrs. Girard continued:

  "I will ask you once more, before I proceed further, do you object toanswering a few questions? Of course I am willing to be likewiseinterrogated," she added, smiling.

  Over the girl's face a look was creeping that Aunt Hagar, seeing,could readily have interpreted. She nodded her head, and said briefly:"Go on."

  "First, then," said her interrogator, "are you entirely withoutfriends in this city? Except, of course," she added, quickly, "yourescort of last night."

  "Yes." Madeline's countenance never altered, and she kept her eyesfully fixed on her companion's face.

  "Are--are you without parents or guardian?"

  "Yes."

  "As I thought; and now, pardon the seeming impertinence of thisquestion, did you come here as the companion of the man who was yourescort, or did mere accident put you under his charge?"

  "The 'accident' that put me in the charge of Mr. Davlin was--myself,"said the girl, in a full, clear voice. "And he is my only guardian,and will be."

  Olive Girard pushed back her chair, and rising, came and stood beforeher, with outstretched hand and pleading, compassionate eyes.

  "Just as I feared," she sighed; "the very worst. My poor child, do youknow the character and occupation of this man?"

  Madeline sprang to her feet, and putting one nervous little hand uponthe back of the chair she had occupied, moved back a pace, and said,in a low, set tone:

  "If you have come to say aught against Lucian Davlin, you will find nolistener here. I am satisfied with him, and trust him fully. When Idesire to know more of his 'character and occupation,' I can learn itfrom his own lips. What warrant had that man," pointing to ClarenceVaughan's card, "for dogging me here, and then sending you to attemptto poison my mind against my best friend? I tell you, I will notlisten!"

  A bright spot burned on either cheek, and the little hand resting onthe chair back clinched itself tighter.

  Olive Girard drew a step nearer the now angry girl, and searched herface with grave eyes.

  "If I said you were standing on the verge of a horrible precipice,that your life and soul were in danger, would you listen then?" sheasked, sternly.<
br />
  "No," said Madeline, doggedly, drawing farther away as she spoke; "notunless I saw the danger with my own eyes. And in that case I shouldnot need your warning," she added, dryly.

  "And when your own eyes see the danger, it will be too late to avertit," said Olive, bitterly. "I know your feeling at this moment, and Iknow the heartache sure to follow your rashness. _What are you, andwhat do you hope or expect to be, to the man you call Lucian Davlin?_"She spoke his name as if it left the taste of poison in her mouth.

  The girl's head dropped until it rested on the hands clasped upon thechair before her; cold fingers seemed clutched upon her heart. Acrossher memory came trooping all his love words of the past, and amongthem,--she remembered it now for the first time,--among them all, theword _wife_ had never once been uttered. In that moment, a thought newand terrible possessed her soul; a new and baleful light seemedshining upon the pictures of the past, imparting to each a shameful,terrible meaning. She uttered a low moan like that of some woundedanimal, and suddenly uplifting her head, turned upon Olive Girard aface in which passion and a vague terror were strangely mingled.

  "What are you saying? What are you _daring_ to say to me!" sheejaculated, in tones half angry, half terror-stricken, wholly pitiful."What horrible thing are you trying to torture me with?"

  She would have spoken in indignation, but the new thought in her heartfrightened the wrath from her voice. She dared not say "I am to be hiswife," with these forebodings whispering darkly within her.

  She turned away from the one who had conjured up these spectres, andthrowing herself upon a couch, buried her face in the cushions, andremained in this attitude while Olive answered her and for longmoments after; moments that seemed hours to both.

  Olive's eyes were full of pity, and her tone was very gentle. Herwoman's quick instinct assured her that words of comfort were of noavail in this first moment of bitter awakening. She knew that it werebetter to say all that she deemed it her duty to say, now, while herhearer was passive; and stepping nearer the couch, she said:

  "Dr. Vaughan, who saw you in the company of a man so well known to himthat to see a young girl in his society he knew could mean no good,came to me this morning with a brief account of your meeting of lastnight. He is too good a physiognomist not to have discovered, readily,that you were not such a woman as could receive no contamination fromsuch as Lucian Davlin. He feared for you, believing you to be anothervictim of his treachery. Your coming to this hotel assured him thatyou were safe for the time, at least; and this being a subject sodelicate that he, a stranger, feared to approach you with it, hedesired me to come to you, and, in case his fears were well founded,to save you if I could. My poor, poor child! you have cast yourselfupon the protection of a professional gambler; a man whose name hasbeen associated for years with that of a notorious and handsomeadventuress. If he has any fear or regard for anything, it is for her;and your very life would be worth little could she know you as herrival. Judge if such a man can have intentions that are honorable,where a young, lovely and unsophisticated girl like yourself isconcerned."

  She paused here, but Madeline never stirred.

  "Come with me," continued Olive, drawing a step nearer the motionlessgirl; "accept me as your protector, for the present, at least. Believeme, I know what you are suffering now, and near at hand you will findthat which will aid you to forget this man."

  Madeline slowly raised herself to a sitting posture and turned towardsthe speaker a face colorless as if dead, but with never a trace of atear. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, and her lips were compressed,as if she had made, and was strong to keep, some dark resolve.

  "What is it that I am to find?" she said, in a low, intense tone.

  "A girl, young as you, and once as beautiful," replied Olive, sadly,"who is dying of a broken heart, and her destroyer is Lucian Davlin."

  Madeline gazed at her absently for a moment. "I suppose I had ought tohate you," she said, wearily; "you have made my life very black.Lucian Davlin will soon be here,--will you please go?"

  "Surely you are going with me?" said Olive, in amaze.

  "No."

  "You doubt me? Oh, I have not made you feel your danger! You think Iam an impostor!"

  "No," said the girl, in the same quiet tone; "something here," puttingher hand upon her bosom, "tells me that you are sincere. My own hearthas abandoned me; it will not let me doubt you, much as I wish to. Icannot thank you for making my heart ache,--please go."

  Still with that air of unnatural calm, she arose and walked to thewindow.

  Of the two, Olive Girard was by far the more agitated. "Tell me," shesaid, in eager entreaty; "oh, tell me, you are not going with _him_?"

  Madeline turned sharply around. "I shall not add myself to the list ofhis victims," she said, briefly.

  And then the two gazed at each other in silence for a moment.

  "This is madness," said Olive, at length. "What rash thing do youmeditate? I will not leave you to face this man alone; I dare not doit."

  Madeline came from the window and stood directly before her. "I am notthe weak child you think me. You can do nothing but harm by remaininghere. I will meet Lucian Davlin, and part with him in my own way," shesaid, between her teeth.

  Olive saw, in the set face, and stern eye, that she was indeed dealingwith a character stubborn as death, and devoid of all fear. Shedreaded to leave her thus, but felt assured that she could do nothingelse.

  "Will you come to me afterward?" she asked. "You have no friends here,you tell me, and you need a friend now. Promise me this and I willgo."

  "Thank you," said the girl, wearily; "at least I promise to go to noone else; good-by."

  Turning away, she resumed her position at the window, and never lookedonce at Olive after that.

  "I will write my address on this card," said Olive. She did so; thenturning on the girl a look full of pitying tenderness, said: "I neednot tell you to be brave; I should rather bid you be cautious.Remember, your life is worth more than the love and loss of such aman. Put this behind you, and come to me soon, believing that you arenot friendless."

  She lowered her veil and, casting one more wistful glance at thesilent figure by the window, went out and closed the door softly.