CHAPTER IX.

How strange are the turns of fortune. Yesterday the beautiful queen of the county, the heiress of a millionaire, the betrothed of a handsome, adoring lover; to-day the inmate of a prison, the shadow of a crime hanging over her head, looked upon with horror and suspicion by those who, twenty-four hours ago, were ready to fall down and worship her. So Maud Langton muses drearily.

Out of all the throng of defaulting friends only one remains to her--the girl she hates with cordial good-will, the rival who has spoiled all her hopes, who has married her lover, and who reigns at Langton Villa in her stead. What bitterness to acknowledge that slight, dark-eyed girl she has always despised, as the only human being who clings to her, and is kind to her in this, her dark hour.

But it is true. It is Reine who takes her by the hand when others fail her; it is Reine who stands up bravely by her side and declares her belief in the existence of the mislaid note; it is Reine who almost pledges herself to find it if only they will give her time--hours, or days, or weeks, as the case may be.

And when she has thus declared her purpose, she goes back to Langton Villa to "beard the lion in his den."

"Uncle Langton, I am going to New York after Mr. Charteris," she says to him, coolly.

"Eh? what--after Vane?" he growls, in his curt fashion. "What's up?"

"I have important business with him. I _must_ see him, if only for five minutes."

The old millionaire looks keenly at the dusky, beautiful face. Some of the brightness has gone out of it since yesterday. The large, dark eyes have a strange, intent, far-off look, the lips droop like a grieved child's, the white rose instead of the red, blooms on her cheek.

"Child, you look tired and pale. All this excitement has been too much for you. What is this business with Vane, eh? To scold him for running away?"

"Nothing of the sort," with impatient wrath; "a mere matter of business, as I said to you just now."

He does not believe her, and in his proud old heart there is a secret indignation at Vane for his cavalier flitting. Reine shall not run after him.

"You mustn't go," he says, bluntly. "I won't have you run after him. He'll come to of himself, only give him time and let him have his fling undisturbed. You will only disgust him, going after him. You shall hold your own, and be as stiff as he is."

She stares at him, her white hands locked before her, her sweet lips apart.

"But, uncle----" she begins.

"I know," he interrupts, "but believe me, child, I know men better than you do. You must not seem to care. Remember that you are a bride, unwooed, as yet, married for spite, not for love. In fact, Vane has gone away for a time just to accustom himself to the idea of his strange marriage, and to give you time to--to train yourself for your new position."

"To make myself over into a woman like Maud," she breathes, low and bitterly.

He starts, evidently disconcerted.

"Eh? what? Who told you that, Reine?"

"A little bird in the air whispered it," she retorts, with grim pleasantry.

"No such thing. I wish I knew who had been telling tales to you. I'd wring their necks!" testily. "But you understand, don't you," anxiously, "how premature it would be to follow him? Give him a little time. He'll come to his senses fast enough, and thank fortune for his pretty little wife!"

"Uncle Langton," indignantly, "do give me leave to speak. Do you think I'm a love-sick fool to go running after a man that despises me?"

"I thought you had more sense," he says, beaming upon her; "you give it up, then?"

"No, I am determined to go. Try to understand, sir, that it is on no personal business I wish to see him. It is for--for another. He will understand."

"Write to him, then, Reine."

"It would not do. He is very obstinate, I fancy. I may have to urge him very persistently."

Mr. Langton peers at her curiously beneath his shaggy brows.

"What is this mysterious mission on which you are going, Reine? Explain."

The dark lashes fall, veiling her troubled eyes from his keen scrutiny.

"I cannot tell you; it may turn out a mere chimera; say that I am going on a 'wild-goose chase,' and you will hit the truth."

"Of course you know there is not another train until to-morrow," he observes. "Vane will have had twenty-four hours the start of you."

"I know that. Still I must follow him," she says, persistently.

"Then I must tell you. I didn't mean you should know just yet; it is not likely you will find him in New York when you go. He's off for the other side of the 'herring-pond.'"

"Gone abroad!" She starts, and her tortured face whitens. Into her eyes comes a look of despair.

"You know he was booked for Europe--he and Maud were, I mean. Their passage was taken on the steamer which leaves New York to-morrow. Vane has obstinately chosen to go alone. Never mind, lovey. The young simpleton will be suing your pardon some day."

"Never mind me, uncle, I am not thinking of myself," she says, through white, quivering lips. "Oh, tell me what to do! I must see him for five minutes only--I must, I must, I _must_! if I have to follow him to Europe!"

"Is the case so desperate as that?" he asks; "I will help you, then. Shall I telegraph him to stay in New York until----"

"Not until I come," nervously. "_That_ might make him very angry."

"Until _I_ come, then. For I shall go with you, of course. What could you do all alone by yourself in big New York?"

"You will go--oh, you dear, kind uncle, how thankful I am!" she cries, kissing his withered old cheek in the fervor of her gratitude. "Now, I shall be brave as a lion. Oh, pray telegraph him this hour, if possible!"