humor.
Finally he threw himself upon a chair, and selecting a cigar proceeded to light it.
Madeline continued to flit from picture to statuette, questioning with much apparent interest. At last, she paused again before the bracket which held the tiny toy that had for her a fascination.
"What a pretty little pistol," she said. "Is it loaded?"
"I don't know," replied he, lazily. "Bring it to me; I will see."
He was inwardly wondering at her cool acceptance of the situation; and felt inclined to congratulate himself. Seeing her look at the little weapon doubtfully, he laughed and strode to her side, taking it in his hand.
"It is not loaded," he said. "Did you ever fire a pistol?"
"No; show me how to hold it."
He placed it in her hand, and showed her how to manipulate the trigger, and to take aim.
"I should like to see it loaded," she said, at last.
"And so you shall."
He smiled, and crossing the room took from a little inlaid box a handful of cartridges. Madeline watched him attentively, as he explained to her the operation of loading. At length expressing herself satisfied, and declining his invitation to try and load it herself, she turned away.
Davlin extracted the cartridge from the pistol, and returned it to its place, saying: "You might wish to practice at aiming, and won't want it loaded."
"I shall not want such practice," she replied.
A rap at the door, and the servant announced that dinner was come.
"I ordered our dinner here, to-day," explained Lucian, "thinking it would be more cosy. You may serve it, Henry," to the servant.
Dinner was accordingly served, and Lucian found occasion to criticise, very severely, the manner of his serving man. More than once, his voice took on an intolerant tone.
Sitting opposite, Madeline saw the man, as he stood behind his master's chair, dart upon him a look of hatred. Her lips framed a smile quite new to them; and, after dessert was placed upon the table and the man dismissed, she said:
"You don't like your servant, I judge?"
"Oh, he's as good as any," replied Lucian, carelessly. "They are pretty much alike, and all need a setting back occasionally;—on general principles, you know."
"I suppose so," assented Madeline, indifferently, as if the subject had lost all interest for her.
Slowly the afternoon wore on, moments seeming hours to the despairing girl. At length Lucian, finding her little inclined to assist him in keeping up a conversation, said:
"I am selfish not to remember that you are very tired. I will leave you to solitude and repose for a little time, shall I?"
"If you wish," she replied, wearily. "I suppose I need the rest."
"Then I will look in upon some of my friends. I have almost lost the run of city doings during my absence. Meantime, ring for anything you may need, won't you?"
"I will ring;" and she looked, not at him, but at the bracket beyond.
"Then good-by, little sweetheart. It is now four; I will be with you at six."
He embraced her tenderly, and went out with that debonnair grace which she had so loved. She looked after him with a hungry, hopeless longing in her eyes.
"Oh, why does God make His foulest things the fairest?" she moaned. "Why did He put love in our hearts if it must turn our lives to ashes? Why must one be so young and yet so miserable? Oh, mother, mother, are all women wronged like us?"
Madeline arose and commenced pacing the floor restlessly, nervously. She had come here with no fixed purpose, nothing beyond the indefinite determination to defy and thwart the man who had entrapped her. She had never for a moment feared for her safety, or doubted her ability to accomplish her object.
A plan was now taking shape in her mind, and as she pondered, she extended her march, quite unthinkingly, on into the adjoining room, the door of which stood invitingly open. The first object to attract her attention was the light traveling coat which Lucian had worn on the previous day; worn when he was pleading his suit under the trees of Oakley; and in a burst of anger, as if it were a part of him she was thinking of so bitterly, she seized and hurled it from her. As it flew across the room, something fell from a pocket, almost at her feet.
She looked down at it; it was a telegram, the one, doubtless, that had called him back to the city the day before. A business matter, he had said. Into her mind flashed the words of Olive Girard, "a professional gambler." She would see what this "business" was. Stooping, she picked up the crumpled envelope, and quickly devoured its contents.
Must see you immediately. Come by first train; am waiting at your quarters.
Cora.
Madeline went back to the lighter, larger room, and seating herself, looked about her. Again the words of Olive rung in her ears.
"Cora!" she ejaculated. "He obeyed her summons, and brought me with him. And she was here only last night—and where has she gone? This must be the 'notorious,' the 'handsome.' Ah, Lucian Davlin, this is well; this nerves me for the worst! I shall not falter now. This is the first link in the chain that shall yet make your life a burden."
She crossed the room and touched the bell.
"Now for the first real step," said Madeline, grimly.
The door opened and the dark face of Henry appeared, bowing on the threshold.
"Come in, Henry, and close the door," said Madeline, pleasantly. "I want you to do me a favor, if you will."
Henry came in, and stood waiting her order.
"Will you carry a note for me, Henry, and bring me back an answer? I want you to take it, because I feel as if I could trust you. You look like one who would be faithful to those who were kind to you."
"Thank you, lady; indeed I would," said the man, in grateful tones.
Madeline was quick to see the advantage to be gained by possessing the regard and confidence of this man, who must, necessarily, know so much that it was desirable to learn of the life and habits of him, between whom and herself must be waged a war to the very death.
She reasoned rapidly, and as rapidly arrived at her conclusions. The first of those was, that Lucian Davlin, by his intolerance and unkindness, had fitted a tool to her hand, and she, therefore, as a preliminary step, must propitiate and win the confidence of this same tool left by his master within her reach.
"And will you carry my letter, Henry, and return with an answer as soon as you can? You will find the person at this hour without any trouble."
"Master ordered me to attend to your wants," replied the man, in a somewhat surly tone.
She understood this somber inflection, and said:
