Mrs. Ralston had become to Olive Girard as one of the family. There was a strange affinity between the two women, who had known so much of sorrow, so many dark, dark days. As yet, however, there was not entire confidence. Mrs. Ralston knew nothing of the movements then on foot to liberate the husband of her hostess; and Olive knew no more of Mrs. Ralston's past than had been communicated by Claire, which was in reality but very little.

Dr. Vaughan had become an ardent admirer of the grave, sweet, pale lady, who had, in her turn, conceived a very earnest admiration for him.

Always a close student of the human countenance, Mrs. Ralston had not been long in reading in the face of the young man his regard for Claire Keith. Having discovered this, she studied him still more attentively, coming, at last, to the conclusion that he was worthy of her beloved Claire.

But Claire appeared ever under a strange restraint in the presence of Dr. Vaughan. She seemed always to endeavor to keep either her sister or her friend at her side, as if she found herself more at ease while in their proximity. Evidently she was keeping close guard over herself. And just as evidently she was glad to be in the presence of Clarence Vaughan when supported by her sister and friend, and safe from a tÊte-Á-tÊte.

Mrs. Ralston was really troubled by this apparent misunderstanding, or whatever it might be, that rendered Claire less cordial towards Dr. Vaughan than she would have been to one who was only a friend, and far less worthy of friendship. She mentally resolved, when a fitting opportunity should occur, to endeavor to win the confidence of the girl, for she saw that two natures, formed to love each other, were drifting apart, with no prospect of a better understanding. And that opportunity came sooner than she had expected.

One day, a day destined to be always remembered by the chief actors in our strange drama, Mrs. Ralston seated herself at a davenport in Mrs. Girard's pretty library to write a letter to Mr. Lord. The promptness and energy of that good man had completely baffled the acute detective, and the danger which Mrs. Ralston had so much feared, the danger of being discovered by her worthless husband, was now past.

She had entered the library through the drawing-room and, both rooms being untenanted, had left the door of communication between them half open.

Sitting thus, she heard the door of the drawing-room open, and the rustle of feminine garments betokened the entrance of one of her friends. Presently soft ripples of music fell upon her ear, and she knew that it was Claire who was now at the piano, playing dreamily, softly, as if half fearful of awakening some beloved sleeper.

After a few moments, the ripple changed to a plaintive minor accompaniment, that had in it an undertone as of far-off winds and waves. Then the full, clear voice of the girl rang out in that most beautiful of songs, which alone should make famous the genius of Jean Ingelow and Virginie Gabriel:

The singer sang on, all unconscious that two listeners were noting the passion and pain in her voice:

As the last note died away in sorrowful vibrations, Mrs. Ralston, in the library, was conscious of tears trickling down her cheek.

At the same moment there was a discordant crash among the piano keys, and Claire's voice was saying, almost angrily: "Dr. Vaughan! how came you here? How dared you—"

There was a suspicious tremor in her voice, and she stopped speaking, as if too proud to show how very much she had been thrown off her guard.

"Forgive me, Miss Keith," the deep voice of Clarence Vaughan responded. "Believe me, I did not intend my presence as an impertinence. Your servant admitted me, and I thought it not wrong to enter unannounced, although I hardly hoped to find you alone. Surely you do not blame me for my silence while you sang?"

Claire made no reply. She was strongly tempted to fly and let Clarence Vaughan think what he would. But before she could stir, he had moved a step nearer and was looking straight down in her eyes.

"Claire," he said, in tones of reverential tenderness, "I have waited for the time to come when I might say to you what you must let me say now. You have seemed to avoid me of late; I can not guess why. And to-day, as I listened to your song, a new thought, a new fear, has entered my mind. Claire, tell me, have you read the love that has been in my heart since I first saw your face, and have you sought to shun me because you love another?"

While he was uttering this speech, Claire Keith had regained her self-command, and her answer now came low and clear: "Dr. Vaughan, you have not guessed aright. I have not avoided you because I love another."

"Claire, nature did not make you an actress. There was love in your voice when you sang that song!"

"Thank you," coolly; "I have been taught to sing with expression."

"Claire, Claire Keith, I beg you answer me truly; do you really dislike me? You say you do not love another; could you learn to love me?"

No answer.

"Tell me, Claire, do you not know how deeply I love you?"

Silence.

"Claire, Claire, speak to me. End this suspense. Will you not try to love me?"

She moved away from him, and avoiding his eyes, answered in an odd, hard voice: "No, Dr. Vaughan, I will not try to love you."

His next words were uttered almost tremulously. "Ah! I understand. I have displeased you; tell me how."

"You have never displeased me. You are goodness itself. Let me pass, Doctor Vaughan; I must not listen to you."

"Must not? Then you do avoid me?"

"Yes," almost inaudibly.

"Why?" stepping before her and cutting off her retreat.

"I won't tell you. Yes, I will, too. Oh, how blind you are! How can you love me when—when there is some one better, better a thousand times, and braver, too. Some one whose life needs your love, because it has been so loveless always. I won't love you. I won't listen to you. If you want me to be your friend, make the life that is giving its best to others, as happy as it deserves to be. And—don't ever talk—like this—to me again."

Before he could open his lips, or put out a hand to detain her, she had rushed from the room.

Clarence Vaughan gazed after the flying form in speechless grief and amazement. Then flinging himself into a chair, he bowed his head upon his hands in sorrowful meditation. Sitting thus he did not perceive the approach of some one, who laid a hand lightly upon his bowed head, murmuring: "Blind! blind! blind!"

Starting up, he saw the face of Mrs. Ralston bending toward him and wearing an expression of mingled compassion and amusement.

"Forgive me," she said, her countenance resuming its usual gravity. "I was in the library, and heard all. I listened willfully, too, for I have been observing you and Claire, and I want to help you."

Clarence dropped disconsolately back in his chair. "If you have heard all," he said, "you know that it is useless to try to help me."

Mrs. Ralston laughed outright. "If you were not blind you would not need my help," she said. "As it is, you do."

"Mrs. Ralston, what do you mean?"

"I mean that your battle is half won. If you will explain to me one half her words, I will explain to you the other half."

"You are laughing at me," he said, wearily. "What can you explain?"

"That ridiculous girl commanded you to bestow your love upon some more worthy object; some one who was living for others; or some such words. Whom did she mean, may I ask?"

He started up as if inspired by a new thought. "I see!" he exclaimed; "She must have meant—a very dear friend of hers."

He could not say the name that was in his thought. It would sound like egotism.

"That is sufficient," said the lady. "Now, I am going to betray Claire, as she has betrayed this other one. You foolish fellow, can't you see that the child loves you and is striving to do a Quixotic thing by giving you up to her friend? Think over her words and manner, and don't take her at her bidding. If this other, to whom Claire commands you to turn, is a true woman, she would not thank you for the offer of a preoccupied heart."

"She is a true woman," said Clarence, emphatically. "And as dear to me as a sister could be, but—"

"Then let her be a sister still," said Mrs. Ralston, quietly. "And don't lose any time in persuading Claire that she is wronging herself as well as you; and that you would be wronging still more this friend whom you both love, were you to offer her so pitiful a thing as a hand without a heart. She is a true woman, you say. If so, she would never forgive that. Believe me, Dr. Vaughan, there are even worse depths of sorrow than to have loved worthily—and lost."

Mrs. Ralston turned and went softly from the room.

For a few moments, Clarence Vaughan stood wrapped in thought. Then his face became illuminated as he said, half aloud: "What a fool I have been, that I should have so misunderstood that dear girl! Oh, I can be patient now, and bide my time."

And now his reverie was broken in upon by Olive, who entered hurriedly, saying: "Doctor Vaughan, are you here alone? I thought Claire was with you."

He made no answer to this remark, but said, as he took her proffered hand: "I ran down to tell you that I have taken the detectives off. Jarvis is still in our pay, in case of emergency. He has sent his report to Davlin, and a scant one it was. Of course, Davlin is glad to have him withdraw; that is, if he knows, as he must, that the papers are not in Percy's hands."

"Then all depends upon Madeline now?"

"All depends upon Madeline."

"Poor Philip," sighed Olive, "what would he say if he knew that his fate rests in the hands of a mere girl?"

"If he knew of that 'mere girl' what we know, he would say that his fate could not rest in better hands. No man ever had a more efficient champion, nor one half so brave and beautiful."

They had not dared to tell Philip of the hope that was daily growing stronger in their hearts; if they failed, he should be thrust back into no gulf of black darkness because they had cheated him with a false hope.