It was then that the beauty of the maiden's nature shone resplendently, showering scintillations of pure native goodness that forever sparkled as sunshine and cheered the rugged path of Phillip Lawson's life!

A crimson flush momentarily suffused Jennie Montgomery's face, then she became pale and agitated.

"Mr. Lawson!" she exclaimed, "I love my cousin dearly, and I grieve for her more than I can tell you."

The young man's face blanched under the effect of the girl's tones, but he made no reply.

"Forgive me if I weary you, but I seem to feel in you a friend--one in whom I find sympathy."

"Trust me fully, Jennie, I will try to be all that you think me."

Phillip Lawson's earnest tones went straight to the girl's heart, and tremulously she continued:

"Mr. Lawson, you have not been a frequent visitor at my Uncle Verne's without seeing much to condemn in my worldly aunt. I know it is wrong to judge, but I cannot help it. I cannot help judging the motive of Aunt Verne--indeed I cannot."

The listener had fixed his eyes upon the huge trunk of a venerable oak tree covered with a luxuriant growth of velvety moss.

"I really cannot feel kindly towards cousin Evelyn, for she has ruled with an iron rod, and she is so wily that Auntie thinks her every action something perfect. Now, Mr. Lawson," said Jennie, with greater earnestness, "Mrs. Arnold is determined that Marguerite shall marry that unprincipled Mr. Tracy, and the thought makes me sick. I loathe him--he is almost as contemptible as Mr. Montague Arnold."

Mr. Lawson knew not what to say. A struggle was going on within.

Would he reveal the plot to the truthful girl and ask her a.s.sistance--or would he let the secret die with himself and perhaps see the lovely Marguerite become a victim to the merciless trio?

The girl knew not what was pa.s.sing in her companion's, mind, and the latter felt sadly puzzled. He durst not meet the gaze of the thoughtful brown eyes, but found words to reply:

"You put me in a strange place, Jennie; but I know it is from a sense of right that you speak."

"Mr. Lawson, I appeal to your manhood to help me. I want to save Marguerite, and _you_ alone can do it."

The girl's manner was vehement. Tears glistened in her eyes, and the pathetic nature of the appeal visibly affected Phillip Lawson.

He stood for a moment as if in a study. Had the girl in any way found out the plot? Could it be possible? What did she mean that he alone could save her?

"Mr. Lawson, I can be a friend when charity demands one; trust me; perhaps I am too bold--but it is my regard for both that forces me.

Mr. Lawson, you love Marguerite Verne. It is in your power to make her happy, and oh!" cried the girl, seizing the hard, strong hand, "Mr. Lawson, promise me that you will do it."

The young lawyer held the girl's hand tenderly, yea, as that of a dear sister, then raised it to his lips--

"G.o.d bless you, Jennie," cried he, fervently, "I only wish it was in my power to do so; but Marguerite Verne is as far above me as the heavens above the earth."

"Believe me, Mr. Lawson, you are the only one towards whom my cousin gives a thought."

"She treats me always as a friend, and at times more as a brother,"

said the young man abstractedly.

"Phillip Lawson, keep this secret as you value your soul," cried Jennie, clutching the lawyer by the wrist in an excited manner, and lowering her voice to a whisper--

"Marguerite loves you as she will never love another. It is sacrilege to watch every movement and steal the secret from every breath she drew, but love prompted me and I did it, and I feel that I am not doing wrong in revealing it."

"G.o.d grant it, my true-hearted girl--yet I dare not trust myself to think of it. I love Marguerite Verne as no other man living can, yet she may never know it. She may one day be wedded to another, and live a life as far from mine as it is possible for circ.u.mstances to make it. Yet her image will always be sacred to my memory, and no other woman will ever hold a place in my heart. The sprig of cedar which one day fell un.o.bserved from her corsage, I shall treasure up as a priceless relic. Yes, truly, I live for thee, my peerless Marguerite."

"If Cousin Marguerite could only hear those words," thought Jennie.

"Why have the winged winds no mercy? why do they not hurl down the great sounding board which separates these two beings and transmit those valued sounds to the ear, where they shall fall as music from the spheres!"

"Jennie, as a friend, I ask you to solemnly promise that what has pa.s.sed between us shall never be unearthed again--let it be buried deep in the grave of lost hopes."

"I shall make no such promise, Phillip Lawson; but I promise that I will never place you in an unworthy position. I will never utter one sentence that will compromise your dignity as a gentleman. Will you trust me?"

"I will trust you in anything, my n.o.ble girl," said Phillip in tones of deep reverence.

"You know that my Uncle Verne's interest in you is real--he is your friend," said Jennie, trying hard to brighten the path of her friend's existence.

"Thank G.o.d for it," said the lawyer. "Indeed I have much to be grateful for. Jennie, some day I may tell you more: at present my lips are sealed."

"Your sense of honor is too high for the nineteenth century, Mr.

Lawson; yet I would not have you otherwise."

The girl was mechanically picking to pieces the white petals of bright-eyed marguerites and strewing the ground beside her.

"You ruthless vandal! look at your work, Miss Montgomery," exclaimed a bright romping miss of fifteen, bursting upon them without regard to ceremony and pointing to the ground where lay the scattered petals.

"But it is romantic, you know; one always reads of some beautiful maiden picking roses to pieces to hide the state of her feelings."

"Thank you, Miss Laura, for your well-timed allusion, for Miss Montgomery and I have been romancing indeed," said Mr. Lawson, bowing to the young miss with an air of deferential homage.

"It will all come right yet," said Jennie, pressing her friend's hand with the tenderness of a sister.

The young man smiled sadly, murmuring: "'It will all come out right.' How those words seem to mock me--'it will all come out right.'"

CHAPTER XX.

SCENES AT THE GREAT METROPOLIS.

Mrs. Montague Arnold sat, or rather reclined, in her handsome breakfast-room. She was awaiting the morning mail, which had been somewhat delayed. A bitter smile played around the daintily curved lips.

"The saucy little minx; I shall teach her better," murmured the beauty in angry tones and gesture.

Montague Arnold paid no attention to the half-spoken words. He looked the veriest picture of dissipation. Late hours, cards, and wine were stamped upon his. .h.i.therto handsome face and left an impress at times anything but flattering.

In private, few courtesies were interchanged between the husband and wife. It would, indeed, be wrong to say that Montague Arnold on his marriage morn did not give to his fascinating bride more adulation than he ever bestowed upon any other woman, and had the haughty beauty given more attention to her husband he might have become a different man; had she shown a true heart, a truthful, honest nature, and a mind adorned with what is lofty and elevating, what a different life those two might have led? But Evelyn Verne was without heart, and we might almost say without soul. She lived for society alone; it was her first duty, and worshipped more zealously than the G.o.ddess Hestia that occupied the first altar in a Grecian home.

Mrs. Arnold was indeed an object of admiration in her superb morning toilet of fawn-colored Lyons silk, with faultless draperies and priceless lace. It was the beauty's ruling pa.s.sion that no toilet was ever neglected; hours were spent in putting the finishing touches to some becoming style that brought out the wearer's charms and set the hearts of her admirers in a flutter.

As the soft white hand was raised to suppress a yawn a solitaire diamond caught the ray of sunshine that found its way into the elegant mansion, and reflected a radiance that was enchanting.