She never heeded the savage sarcasm of his tone. A tumult of temptation was warring within her.

"And she is young and gentle, and pure and good?" she went on.

"All that and more. A beautiful and gracious lady as ever drew breath."

"And I am not his wife. And you tell me she loves and trusts him. Yes!

it is easy to do that! If she casts him off she will break her own heart. She at least has never wronged me--why should her life be blighted as mine and Lucy West's have been? Mr. Liston, as much as I ever loved Laurence Thorndyke, I think I hate him to-night--" her black eyes flamed up in the dusk. "I want to be revenged upon him--I will be revenged upon him, but not that way."

"Madam, I don't know what you mean."

"I mean this, Mr. Liston--and it is of no use your growing angry--I will not stab Laurence Thorndyke through the innocent girl who loves him. I have fallen very low, but not quite low enough for that. Let her marry him--I shall not lift a finger--speak a word to prevent it. She at least has never wronged me."

"No, she has never wronged you, but do you think you can do her a greater wrong than by letting her become the wife of a heartless scoundrel and libertine? I thought better of you, Miss Bourdon. Laurence Thorndyke is to escape, then, after all?"

Her eyes flashed--literally flashed in the firelight.

"No! So surely as we both live he shall not escape. But not in that way shall he be punished."

"Then, how----"

"Not to-night, Mr. Liston; some other time we will talk of this. When did you say the--the wedding was to take place?"

"The first week of December. They will spend the winter South. She is a Southerner by birth, although at present residing with her guardian, Mr.

Darcy, in New York. I am to understand, then, you will not prevent this marriage?"

"I will not prevent it. I have had my fool's paradise--so no doubt had Lucy West, why should not Helen Holmes?"

"Very well, then, Miss Bourdon." He spoke in his customary cold, monotonous voice. "My business this evening is almost concluded. At what hour to-morrow will it be most convenient for you to leave?"

"To leave?"

"To return to your friends in Maine. Such were Mr. Thorndyke's orders.

As you have no money of your own, I presume you are aware you cannot remain here. Up to the present I am prepared to pay what is due the Misses Waddle--I am to escort you in safety to Portland. After that--'the world is all before you where to choose.' Such are my master's orders."

She rose to her feet, suppressed passion in every line of her white face, in every tone of her voice.

"The coward!" she said, almost in a whisper. "The base, base, base coward! Sir, I will never go home! I will go down to the sea yonder, and make an end of it all, but home again--never!"

"Ah, I thought not!" he said quietly. "Then, Miss Bourdon, may I ask what you mean to do? You cannot stay here."

"No, I cannot stay here," she said bitterly. "I am utterly friendless and homeless to-night. I don't know what to do."

"Let me tell you. Come to New York."

"Sir!"

"Our hatred of Laurence Thorndyke is a bond between us. You shall never be friendless nor homeless while I live. I am old enough to be your father; you may trust me, and never repent it, that I swear. See here!

this is what I mean to do for you. Sit down once more."

She obeyed, looking at him in wonder and doubt.

"Helen Holmes lives with Hugh Darcy. She is as dear as a daughter to him. He is one of those old, world-worn men who love to have youth and beauty about them. She reads for him his newspaper and books of poetry and romance; he is as fond of verse and fiction as a girl in her teens.

She plays the piano and sings for him--he has a passion for music. Now, can you play and sing?"

"Yes."

"Then here is my plan. He is soon to lose Miss Holmes, and some one like her in her place he must have--that he told me himself. A young girl to read aloud his pet books, to play in the long winter evenings his pet music, to sing his favorite songs, to read and write his letters--to brighten the dull old house generally by her presence--to look pretty and fair and sweet always; that is what he wants. Salary is no object with him. You will have a happy home, light and pleasant work, plenty of money. Will you take it?"

"But--"

"You will suit him exactly. You are young enough, in all conscience--pretty enough, if you will pardon my saying so, to brighten even a duller house than that. You play, you sing, you can read aloud.

What more do you want? You need a home. There is a home. And"--a long pause--"who can tell what may come of it?"

She was looking up, he was looking down. Their eyes met. In the darkness they could yet look at each other long and steadily for a moment. Then hers fell.

"How old is Mr. Darcy?" she asked in a subdued voice.

"He is seventy-eight, old, feeble, and easily worked upon. I say again--who knows what may come of it? To be disinherited is the only thing in heaven or earth Laurence Thorndyke is afraid of. And old men of eighty, with stubborn minds and strong resentments, do sometimes make such strange wills."

Again there was a pause. Then Norine Bourdon spoke firmly.

"I will go with you to New York."

He drew a long breath of relief.

"I thought you would. You will not repent it, Mrs. Laurence. By-the-by, would you mind leaving that name behind you?"

She looked at him inquiringly.

"You will accompany me to New York as my niece, Jane Liston. I have a niece of that name, a widow, out in Oregon. As my niece, Mrs. Jane Liston, from the country, looking for work in the city, I will introduce you to my landlady, a most respectable woman. As my niece, Jane Liston, I will present you to Mr. Darcy. We don't want Master Laurence to see our little game. If you went as Mrs. Laurence, or Miss Kent, even, he would. He will be sure to hear the name of Miss Holmes' successor.'

"But--you have forgotten--I may meet him. That"--her lips quivering--"I could not bear."

"No danger at all. You will not go there until they are off on their wedding tour. They do not return until May. In five months, judiciously made use of, great things may happen."

She rose up, with a long, weary-worn sigh.

"I am in your hands, Mr. Liston. Friendless, moneyless, helpless, I suppose I ought to thank you for this, but--I cannot. I know it is not for my sake you are doing it, but for the sake of your revenge. Say what you like of me when we go to New York; I am ready to follow where you lead. Just now I am tired--we will not talk any more. Let us say good-night."

She gave him her hand; it was like ice. He let it fall uneasily.

"And you will not fail me?" he asked.

"I shall not fail you," she answered. In what either said, it was not necessary. They understood--revenge upon Laurence Thorndyke.

"To-morrow at twelve I will call for you here to take the train for New York. You will be ready?"

"I will be ready." The door closed behind the small white figure, and he was alone.