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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Clue
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Clue

Author: Carolyn Wells

Illustrator: Frances Rogers

Release date: June 8, 2017 [eBook #54869]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CLUE ***

 THE CLUE
SECOND EDITION
The Man pointed toward the Table. Page 41.

THE CLUE
 By CAROLYN WELLS

Author of
“A Chain of Evidence,” “The Maxwell Mystery,”
“The Gold Bag,” Etc.

With Frontispiece
By FRANCES ROGERS

A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York

Published by Arrangements with J. B. Lippincott

Company

Copyright, 1909
By J. B. Lippincott Company
 Published September, 1909

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Van Normans 9

II. Miss Morton Arrives 23

III. A Cry in the Night 38

IV. Suicide or ——? 51

V. A Case for the Coroner 65

VI. Fessenden Comes 79

VII. Mr. Benson’s Questions 94

VIII. A Soft Lead Pencil 107

IX. The Will 122

X. Some Testimony 135

 XI. “I Decline to Say” 149

XII. Dorothy Burt 162

XIII. An Interview With Cicely 175

XIV. The Carleton Household 190

XV. Fessenden’s Detective Work 204

XVI. Searching for Clues 218

XVII. Miss Morton’s Statements 232

XVIII. Carleton is Frank 246

XIX. The Truth About Miss Burt 261

XX. Cicely’s Flight 274

XXI. A Successful Pursuit 288

XXII. A Talk With Miss Morton 301

XXIII. Fleming Stone 313

XXIV. A Confession 326

Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.

 THE CLUE

I
THE VAN NORMANS

The old Van Norman mansion was the finest house in Mapleton.
Well back from the road, it sat proudly among its finely kept lawns
and gardens, as if with a dignified sense of its own importance, and
its white, Colonial columns gleamed through the trees, like sentinels
guarding the entrance to the stately hall.
All Mapleton was proud of the picturesque old place, and it was
shown to visiting strangers with the same pride that the native
villagers pointed out the Memorial Library and the new church.
More than a half-century old, the patrician white house seemed
to glance coldly on the upstart cottages, whose inadequate pillars
supported beetling second stories, and whose spacious, filigreed
verandas left wofully small area for rooms inside the house.
The Van Norman mansion was not like that. It was a long
rectangle, and each of its four stories was a series of commodious,
well-shaped apartments.
And its owner, the beautiful Madeleine Van Norman, was the
most envied as well as the most admired young woman in the town.
Magnificent Madeleine, as she was sometimes called, was of the
haughty, imperious type which inspires admiration and respect rather
than love. An orphan and an heiress, she had lived all of her twenty-
two years of life in the old house, and since the death of her uncle,
two years before, had continued as mistress of the place, ably
assisted by a pleasant, motherly chaperon, a clever social secretary,
and a corps of capable servants.
 The mansion itself and an income amply sufficient to maintain it
were already legally her own, but by the terms of her uncle’s will she
was soon to come into possession of the bulk of the great fortune he
had left.
Madeleine was the only living descendant of old Richard Van
Norman, save for one distant cousin, a young man of a scapegrace
and ne’er-do-weel sort, who of late years had lived abroad.
This young man’s early life had been spent in Mapleton, but, his
fiery temper having brought about a serious quarrel with his uncle,
he had wisely concluded to take himself out of the way.
And yet Tom Willard was not of a quarrelsome disposition. His
bad temper was of the impulsive sort, roused suddenly, and as
quickly suppressed. Nor was it often in evidence. Good-natured,
easy-going Tom would put up with his uncle’s criticism and fault-
finding for weeks at a time, and then, perhaps goaded beyond
endurance, he would fly into a rage and express himself in fluent if
rather vigorous English.
For Richard Van Norman had been by no means an easy man to
live with. And it was Tom’s general amiability that had made him the
usual scapegoat for his uncle’s ill temper. Miss Madeleine would have
none of it. Quite as dictatorial as the old man himself she allowed no
interference with her own plans and no criticism of her own actions.
This had proved the right way to manage Mr. Van Norman, and
he had always acceded to Madeleine’s requests or submitted to her
decrees without objection, though there had never been any
demonstration of affection between the two.
But demonstration was quite foreign to the nature of both uncle
and niece, and in truth they were really fond of each other in their
quiet, reserved way. Tom Willard was different. His affection was of
the honest and outspoken sort, and he made friends easily, though
he often lost them with equal rapidity.
On account, then, of his devotion to Madeleine, and his enmity
toward young Tom Willard, Richard Van Norman had willed the old
place to his niece, and had further directed that the whole of his
large fortune should be unrestrictedly bestowed upon her on her
wedding-day, or on her twenty-third birthday, should she reach that
age unmarried. In event of her death before her marriage, and also
before her twenty-third birthday, the whole estate would go to Tom
Willard.
It was with the greatest reluctance that Richard Van Norman
decreed this, but a provision had to be made in case of Madeleine’s
early death, and Willard was the only other natural heir. And now, at
twenty-two, Madeleine was on the eve of marriage to Schuyler
Carleton, a member of one of the oldest and best families of
Mapleton.
The village gossips were pleased to commend this union, as Mr.
Carleton was a man of irreproachable habits, and handsome enough
to appear well beside the magnificent Madeleine.
He was not a rich man, but, as her marriage would bring her
inheritance, they could rank among the millionaires of the day. Yet
there were those who feared for the future happiness of this
apparently ideal couple.
Mrs. Markham, who was both housekeeper and chaperon to her
young charge, mourned in secret over the attitude of the betrothed
pair.
“He adores her, I’m sure,” she said to herself, “but he is too
courtly and polished in his manner. I’d rather he would impulsively
caress her, or involuntarily call her by some endearing name than to
be always so exquisitely deferential and polite. And Madeleine must
love him, or why should she marry him? Yet she is so haughty and
formal, she might be a very duchess instead of a young American
girl. But that’s Madeleine all over. I’ve never seen her exhibit any real
emotion over anything. Ah, well, I’m an old-fashioned fool.
Doubtless, they’re cooing doves when alone together, but their high-
bred notions won’t allow any sentiment shown before other people.
But I almost wish she were going to marry Tom. He has sentiment
and enthusiasm enough for two, and the relationship is so distant it’s
not worth thinking about. Dear old Tom! He’s the only one who ever
stirs Madeleine out of that dignified calm of hers.”
And that was true enough. Madeleine had inherited the Van
Norman traits of dignity and reserve to such an extent that it was
difficult for any one to be a really close friend.
 She had, too, a strange little air of preoccupation, and even when
interested in a conversation would appear to look through or beyond
her companion in a way that was discouraging to the average caller.
So Miss Van Norman was by no means a favorite with the
Mapleton young people in a personal sense, but socially she was
their leader, and to be on her invitation list was the highest
aspiration of the village “climbers.”
And now that she was about to marry Schuyler Carleton, the
event of the wedding was the only thing talked of, thought of, or
dreamed of by Mapleton society.
Madeleine, who always kept in touch with Tom Willard by
correspondence, had written him of her approaching marriage, and
he had responded by coming at once to America to attend the
ceremony.
Relieved from the embarrassment of his uncle’s presence, Tom
was his jovial self, and showed forth all the reprehensible
attractiveness which so often belongs to the scapegrace nature. He
sometimes quarreled with Madeleine over trifles, then, making up
the next minute, he would caress and pet her with the privileged air
of a relative.
He was glad to be back among the familiar scenes of Mapleton,
and he went about the town renewing old acquaintances and
making new ones, and charming all by his winning personality.
In less than a week he had more friends in the village than
Schuyler Carleton had ever made.
Carleton, though handsome and distinguished-looking, was
absolutely without personal magnetism or charm, which traits were
found in abundance in Tom Willard.
The friends of Schuyler Carleton attributed his reserved, almost
repellent demeanor to shyness, and this was partly true. His
acquaintances said it was indifference, and this again, was partly
true. Then his enemies, of whom he had some, vowed that his cold,
curt manner of speech was merely snobbishness, and this was not
true at all.
His manner toward his fiancée was all that the most exacting
could require in the matter of courtesy and punctilious politeness. He
was markedly undemonstrative in public, and if this were true of his
behavior when the two were alone, it was probably because
Madeleine herself neither inspired nor desired terms or acts of
endearment.
Tom’s attitude toward Madeleine angered Carleton extremely, but
when he spoke to her on the subject he was gaily informed that the
matter of cousinly affection was outside the jurisdiction of a fiancée.
Tom, on his part, was desperately in love with Madeleine, and
had been for years. Repeatedly he had begged her to marry him,
and she knew in her heart that his plea was prompted by his love for
herself and not by any consideration of her fortune.
And yet, should she marry another, all hope of his uncle’s money
would be forever lost to Tom Willard.
But prodigal and spendthrift that he was, if Tom felt any regret at
his vanishing fortunes, he showed no sign of it. Save for sudden and
often easily provoked bursts of temper, he was infectiously gay and
merry, and was the life of the house party already gathered under
Madeleine’s roof.
The fact that Tom was staying at the Van Norman house, which
of course Carleton could not do, gave Willard an advantage over the
prospective bridegroom, of which he was by no means unconscious.
Partly to tease the imperturbable but jealous Carleton, and partly
because of his own affection for his cousin, Tom devoted himself
assiduously to Madeleine, especially when Carleton was present.
“You see, Maddy,” Tom would say, “there are only a few days left
of our boy and girl chumminess. I fancy that after you are married,
Schuyler won’t let me speak to you, save in most formal terms, so I
must see all I can of you now.”
Then he would tuck her arm through his own, and take her for a
stroll in the grounds, and Carleton, coming to search for her, would
find them cosily chatting in a secluded arbor, or drifting lazily in a
canoe on the tiny, lily-padded lake.
These things greatly annoyed Schuyler Carleton, but
remonstrance was never an easy task for him, nor did it ever affect
Madeleine pleasantly.
 “I wish, Madeleine,” he had said one day, when he had waited
two hours for her to return from a drive with Tom, “that you would
have a little regard for appearances, if you have none for my wishes.
It is not seemly for my betrothed wife to be driving all over the
country with another man.”
Magnificent Madeleine looked straight at him, tilting her head
back slightly to look beneath her half-closed lids.
“It is not seemly,” she said, “for my betrothed husband to imply
that I could be at fault in a matter of propriety or punctilio. That is
not possible.”
“You are right,” he said, and his eyes gleamed with admiration of
her glorious beauty and imperious manner. “Forgive me,—you are
indeed right.”
Though Schuyler Carleton may not have been lavish of affection,
he begrudged no admiration to the splendid woman he had won.
And yet, had he but known it, the apparently scornful and
haughty girl was craving a more tender and gentle love, and would
gladly have foregone his admiration to have received more affection.
“But it will come,” Madeleine thought to herself. “I am not of the
‘clinging vine’ type, I know; but after we are married, surely
Schuyler will be less formally polite, and more,—well,—chummy.”
Yet Madeleine herself was chummy with nobody save Tom.
They two were always chatting and laughing together, and
though they differed sometimes, and even quarrelled, it was quickly
made up, and forgotten in a new subject of merry discussion.
But, after all, they rarely quarrelled except regarding Madeleine’s
approaching marriage.
“Don’t throw yourself away on that iceberg, Maddy,” Tom would
plead. “He’s a truly fine man, I know, but he can’t make you happy.”
“How absurd you are, Tom! Give me credit, please, for knowing
my own mind, at least. I love Schuyler Carleton, and I am proud that
he is to be my husband. He is the finest man I have ever known in
every way, and I am a fortunate girl to be chosen by such a man.”
“Oho, Maddy! Don’t do the humble; it doesn’t suit you at all. You
are the type who ought to have ‘kings and crown princes at your
feet.’ And Carleton is princely enough in his effects, but he’s by no
means at your feet.”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed Madeleine angrily.
“Just what I say. Schuyler Carleton admires you greatly, but he
doesn’t love you—at least, not as I do!”
“Don’t be foolish, Tom. Naturally you know nothing about Mr.
Carleton’s affection for me—he does not proclaim it from the
housetops. And I desire you not to speak of it again.”
“Why should I speak of what doesn’t exist? Forgive me, Maddy,
but I love you so myself, it drives me frantic to see that man treating
you so coolly.”
“He doesn’t treat me coolly. Or, if he does, it’s because I don’t
wish for tender demonstrations before other people. I’m fond of you,
Tom, as you know, but I won’t allow even you to criticise the man I
am about to marry.”
“Oh, very well, marry him, then, and a precious unhappy life
you’ll lead with him,—and I know why.”
Madeleine turned on him, her eyes blazing with anger.
“What do you mean? Explain that last remark of yours.”
“Small need! You know why as well as I do;” and Tom pushed his
hands into his pockets and strode away, whistling, well knowing that
he had roused his cousin’s even temper at last.
In addition to some of her Mapleton friends, Madeleine had
invited two girls from New York to be her bridesmaids. Kitty French
and Molly Gardner had already come and were staying at the Van
Norman house the few days that would intervene before the
wedding.
Knowing Madeleine well, as they did, they had not expected
confidence from her, nor did they look forward to cosy, romantic
boudoir chats, such as many girls would enjoy.
But neither had they expected the peculiar constraint that
seemed to hang over all the members of the household.
Mrs. Markham had been so long housekeeper, and even
companion, for Madeleine that she was not looked upon as a
servant, and to her Kitty French put a few discreet questions
regarding the exceeding reserve of Mr. Carleton.
 “I don’t know, Miss French,” said the good woman, looking sadly
disturbed. “I love Madeleine as I would my own child. I know she
adores Mr. Carleton,—and—yes, I know he greatly admires her,—and
yet there is something wrong. I can’t express it—it’s merely a
feeling,—an intuition, but there is something wrong.”
“You know Mr. Willard is in love with Maddy,” suggested Miss
French.
“Oh, it isn’t that. They’ve always had a cousinly affection for each
other, and,—yes, Tom is in love with her,—but what I mean is aside
from all that. The real reason that Madeleine flirts with Tom—for she
does flirt with him—is to pique Mr. Carleton. There! I’ve said more
than I meant to, but you’re too good a friend to let it make any
trouble, and, any way, in a few days they will be married, and then
I’m sure it will be all right,—I’m sure of it.”
Like many people, Mrs. Markham emphasized by repetition a
statement of whose truth she was far from sure.
 II
MISS MORTON ARRIVES

The day before the wedding the old house was a pleasant scene
of bustle and confusion.
Professional decorators were in charge of the great drawing-
room, building a canopy of green vines and flowers, beneath which
the bridal pair should stand the next day at high noon.
This work was greatly hindered by a bevy of young people who
thought they were helping.
At last, noting a look of dumb exasperation on the face of one of
the florist’s men, Molly Gardner exclaimed, “I don’t believe our help
is needed here; come on, Kitty, let’s go in the library and wait for
tea-time.”
It was nearly five o’clock, and the girls found most of the house
guests already assembled in the library, awaiting the arrival of the
tea-tray.
Several other young people were there also, most of them being
those who were to be of the wedding cortège next day.
Robert Fessenden, who was to be best man, had just come from
New York, and had dropped in to see Miss Van Norman.
Although he was an old friend of Carleton’s, Madeleine did not
know him very well, and though she made him welcome, it was with
that coldly formal air that did not greatly attract the young man, but
he could not fail to be impressed by her great beauty.
“Lucky fellow, Carleton,” he said to Tom Willard. “Why, that
woman would create a sensation in any great city in the world.”
“Yes, she is too handsome to live all her life in a small village,”
agreed Tom. “I think they intend to travel a great deal.”
“An heiress, too, I believe.”
“Yes, she has all the desirable traits a woman can possess.”
“All?” Fessenden’s tone was quizzical.
“What do you mean?” asked Tom sharply.
 “Nothing; only, if I were to marry, I should prefer a little more
softness of nature.”
“Oh, that’s only her manner. My cousin is most sweet and
womanly, I assure you.”
“I’m sure she is,” returned Fessenden, who was a bit ashamed of
his outspokenness; “and she’s getting a sterling good fellow for a
husband.”
“She is so,” said Tom, heartily, which was kind of him, considering
his own opinion of Carleton.
And then both men strolled over to where Madeleine sat at the
tea-table. She was reading a telegram that had just been brought to
her, and she laughingly explained to Tom that it meant a bother for
him.
“Miss Morton has concluded to come to the wedding, after all,”
she said. “She wrote me that she wouldn’t come, but she has
changed her mind, it seems. Now, it does sound ridiculous, I know,
but in this big house there isn’t a room left for her but the one you
have, Tom. You see, one bedroom is used for a ‘present room,’ one
is reserved for Schuyler to-morrow, the bridesmaids have another,
and except for our own rooms, and those already occupied by
guests, there are no more. I hate to ask you, Tom, but could you go
to the Inn?”
“Sure, Maddy dear; anything to oblige. But it does seem too bad
to turn me out of your house the very last day that your hospitality
is all your own to offer. To-morrow the grand Seigneur will be master
here, and my timid little Madeleine can no longer call her soul her
own.”
This reference to the tall and stately mistress of the house raised
a general laugh, but Madeleine did not join in it.
“I’m so sorry, Tom,” she said earnestly, as she looked again at the
telegram she was holding, “but Miss Morton was an old friend of
Uncle Richard’s, and as she wants to come here I can’t turn her
away. And unless you give her your room, there is no other——”
“Nonsense, Madeleine! I’m only joking. Of course I’ll go to the
hotel. Only too glad to accommodate Miss Morton. Forget it, girl; I
assure you I don’t mind a bit. I’ll pack up a few traps after dinner
and skip down to the picturesque, if rather ostentatious, Mapleton
Inn.”
As Tom spoke he put his arm carelessly round Madeleine’s
shoulders, and though scarcely more than a cousinly caress, it was
unfortunate that Schuyler Carleton should enter the room at that
moment. A lightning glance flashed between the two men, and as
Tom moved away from Madeleine with a slightly embarrassed shrug
of his shoulders, Carleton’s face grew so stern that an uncomfortable
silence fell upon the guests.
However, the arrival of the tea-tray saved the situation, and
Madeleine at once busied herself in the pretty occupation of serving
tea to her guests.
With an air of jealous proprietorship, Carleton moved toward her
and, looking handsome, though sulky, stood by Willard with folded
arms, as if on guard.
Urged on by a daredevil spirit of mischief, and perhaps
remembering that Madeleine would soon be beyond his reach as
Carleton’s wife, Tom also moved toward her from the other side.
Endeavoring to treat the situation lightly, Madeleine held up a newly-
filled teacup.
“Who will have this?” she asked gaily.
“I will!” declared Carleton and Tom at the same time, and each
held out a hand.
Madeleine looked at them both smilingly.
Carleton’s face was white and set; he was evidently making a
serious matter of the trifling episode.
Tom, on the contrary, was smiling broadly, and was quite
evidently enjoying his rival’s discomfiture.
“I shall give it to you, because you look so pleasant,” declared
Madeleine, handing the cup to Tom. “Now, Schuyler, smile prettily
and you may have one, too.”
But Carleton would not fall in with her light mood.
Bending a little, he said in a tense voice, “I will leave you to your
cousin now. To-morrow I shall assert my claim.”
Though not rude in themselves, the words were accompanied by
a harsh and disdainful glance that made several of the onlookers
wonder what sort of a life the haughty Madeleine would lead with
such a coldly tyrannical husband.
“The brute!” said Tom, under his breath, as Carleton left the
room. “Never mind, Maddy, the old Turk has left you to me for this
evening, and we’ll take him at his word.”
Suddenly Madeleine’s mood changed to one of utter gaiety. She
smiled impartially on all, she jested with the girls, she bewitched the
young men with her merry banter, and she almost seemed to be
flirting with Tom Willard. But he was her cousin, after all, and much
is forgiven a bride-to-be on her wedding eve.
Robert Fessenden looked at Miss Van Norman with a puzzled air.
He couldn’t seem to understand her, and was glad when by chance
the two were left comparatively alone for a few moments’
conversation.
“A great responsibility devolves on the best man, Miss Van
Norman,” he said, in response to a chaffing remark of hers. “I
suppose that to-morrow I shall be general director-in-chief, and if
anything should go wrong, I shall be blamed.”
“But nothing will go wrong,” said Madeleine, gaily, “and then,
think how you’ll be praised!”
“Ah, but you won’t be here to hear the praise heaped upon me,
so what’s the use?”
“No, I shall be gone forever,” said Madeleine, putting on one of
her faraway looks. “I never want to come back to Mapleton. I hate
it!”
“Why, Miss Van Norman! You want to desert this beautiful old
house? Schuyler can never find you a home so comfortable and
attractive in every way.”
“I don’t care. I want to go far away from Mapleton to live. We’re
going to travel for a year, any way, but when we do settle down, it
will be abroad, I hope.”
“You surprise me. Schuyler didn’t tell me this. We’ve been chums
so long, that I usually know of his plans. But, of course, getting
married changes all that.”
“You’re a very intimate friend of Mr. Carleton’s, aren’t you?” said
Madeleine, with a strange note of wistfulness in her voice.
 “Yes, I am. Why?”
“Oh, nothing; I only thought—I mean, do you think——”
Rob Fessenden was thrilled by the plaintive expression on the
beautiful face, and suddenly felt a great desire to help this girl, who
was seemingly so far above and beyond all need of help, and yet
was surely about to ask his aid, or at least his sympathy.
“Don’t hesitate,” he said gently; “what is it, Miss Van Norman? I
want to be as firm a friend of yours as I am of Schuyler’s, so please
say what you wish to.”
“I can’t—I can’t,” Madeleine whispered, and her voice was almost
a moan.
“Please,” again urged Fessenden.
“Do you know Dorothy Burt?” Madeleine then broke out, as if the
words were fairly forced from her.
“No,” said Fessenden, amazed; “I never heard the name before.
Who is she?”
“Hush! She’s nobody—less than nobody. Don’t mention her to me
ever again—nor to any one else. Ah, here comes Miss Morton.”
As Fessenden watched Madeleine, she changed swiftly from a
perturbed, troubled girl to a courteous, polished hostess.
“My dear Miss Morton,” she said, advancing to meet her newest
guest, “how kind of you to come to me at this time.”
“I didn’t come exactly out of kindness,” said Miss Morton, “but
because I desired to come. I hope you are quite well. Will you give
me some tea?”
Miss Morton was a tall, angular lady, with gray hair and sharp,
black eyes. She seemed to bite off her words at the ends of her
short sentences, and had a brisk, alert manner that was, in a way,
aggressive.
“An eccentric,” Rob Fessenden thought, as he looked at her, and
wondered why she was there at all.
“An old sweetheart of Mr. Richard Van Norman, I believe,” said
Kitty French, when he questioned her. “They were once engaged and
then quarrelled and broke it off, and neither of them lived happily
ever after.”
“As the Carletons will,” said Fessenden, smiling.
 “Yes,” said Kitty slowly, “as the Carletons will—I hope. You know
Mr. Carleton awfully well, don’t you? Are you sure he will make our
Maddy happy, Mr. Fessenden?”
“I think so;” and Fessenden tried to speak casually. “He is not an
emotional man, or one greatly given to sentiment, but I judge she is
not that sort either.”
“Oh, yes, she is! Maddy is apparently cold and cynical, but she
isn’t really so a bit. But she perfectly adores him, and if they’re not
happy, it won’t be her fault.”
“Nor will it be his,” said Fessenden, warmly defending his absent
friend. “Carleton’s an old trump. There’s no finer man in the world,
and any woman ought to be happy with him.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Kitty, with a little sigh of
relief. “Do look at that funny Miss Morton! She seems to be scolding
Madeleine. I’m sorry she came. She doesn’t seem very attractive.
But perhaps it’s because she was crossed in love and it made her
queer.”
“Or she was queered in love and it made her cross,” laughed
Fessenden. “Well, I must go, now, and look up Carleton. Poor old
boy, he was a little miffed when he went away.”
After tea all the callers departed, and those who were house
guests went to their rooms to dress for dinner.
Tom Willard, with great show of burlesque regret and tearful
farewells, went to the hotel, that Miss Morton might have the room
he had been occupying.
He promised to return for dinner, and gaily blew kisses to
Madeleine as with his traps he was driven down the avenue.
At dinner, Schuyler Carleton’s place was vacant. It had been
arranged next to Madeleine’s, and when fifteen minutes after the
dinner hour he had not arrived, she haughtily accepted Tom Willard’s
arm and led the way to the dining-room.
But having reached the table, she directed Tom to take his
rightful seat, at some distance from her own, and Carleton’s chair
remained empty at Madeleine’s side.
At first this was uncomfortably evident, but Madeleine was in gay
spirits, and soon the whole party followed her lead, and the
conversation was general and in a merry key.
The young hostess had never looked more regally beautiful. Her
dark hair, piled high on her head, was adorned with a dainty
ornament which, though only a twisted ribbon, was shaped like a
crown, and gave her the effect of an imperious queen. Her low-cut
gown of pale yellow satin was severe of line and accented her
stately bearing, while her exquisitely modelled neck and shoulders
were as white and pure as those of a marble statue. Save for a
double row of pearls around her throat, she wore no ornaments, but
on the morrow Carleton’s gift of magnificent diamonds would grace
her bridal costume. The combination of haughty imperial beauty and
a dazzling witchery of mood was irresistible, and the men and girls
alike realized that never before had Madeleine seemed so wonderful.
After the dessert was placed on the table, Willard could stand it
no longer, and, leaving his own place, he calmly appropriated
Carleton’s vacant chair.
Madeleine did not reprove him, and Kitty French took occasion to
whisper to her neighbor:
“‘’Twere better by far to have matched our fair cousin to brave
Lochinvar.’”
Mrs. Markham overheard the quotation, and a look of pain came
into her eyes. But it was all too late now, and to-morrow Madeleine
would be irrevocably Schuyler Carleton’s wife.
After dinner coffee was served in the cozy library. Madeleine
preferred this room to the more elaborately furnished drawing-room,
and to-night her word was law.
But suddenly her mood changed. For no apparent reason her gay
spirits vanished, her smile faded away, and a pathetic droop curved
the corners of her beautiful mouth.
At about ten o’clock she said abruptly, though gently, “I wish
you’d all go to bed. Unless you girls get some beauty sleep, you
won’t look pretty at my wedding to-morrow.”
“I’m quite ready to go,” declared Kitty French with some tact, for
she saw that Madeleine was nervous and strung up to a high
tension.
 “I, too,” exclaimed Molly Gardner, and the two girls said good-
night and went upstairs.
Two or three young men who had been dinner guests also made
their adieux, and Tom Willard said, “Well, I may as well toddle to my
comforts of home, as understood by a country innkeeper.”
Madeleine said good-night to him kindly enough, but without jest
or gaiety. Tom looked at her curiously for a moment, and then,
gently kissing her hand, he went away.
Mrs. Markham, having seen Miss Morton comfortably installed in
what had been Tom’s room, returned to the library to offer her
services to Madeleine.
But the girl only thanked her, saying, “There is nothing you can
do to-night. I want to be alone for an hour or two. I will stay here in
the library for a time, and I’d like to have you send Cicely to me.”
A few moments later Cicely Dupuy came in, bringing some letters
and papers. She was Miss Van Norman’s private secretary, and
admirably did she fill the post. Quick-witted, clever, deft of hand and
brain, she answered notes, kept accounts, and in many ways made
herself invaluable to her employer.
Moreover, Madeleine liked her. Cicely was of a charming
personality. Small, fair, with big, childish blue eyes and a rose-leaf
skin, she was a pretty picture to look at.
“Sit down,” said Madeleine, “and make a little list of some final
matters I want you to attend to to-morrow.”
Cicely sat down, and, taking pencil and tablet from the library
table, made the lists as Madeleine directed. This occupied but a
short time, and then Miss Van Norman said wearily:
“You may go now, Cicely. Go to bed at once, dear. You will have
much to do to-morrow. And please tell Marie I shall not need her
services to-night. She may go to her room. I shall sit here for an
hour or more, and I will answer these notes. I wish to be alone.”
“Very well, Miss Van Norman,” said Cicely, and, taking the lists
she had made, she went softly from the room.
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