CHAPTER XXVII.

For some moments it seemed to Leonie as though the figure that stood before her could be nothing human.

The very blood seemed to freeze in her veins. A pallor that had the appearance of death crept over her face, and a trembling seized her that seemed to shake her in every limb.

But it was only for a moment.

The veiled woman stepped forward and uncovered her face.

"You!" gasped Leonie. "How came you here at this hour, and what do you want?"

"I came by way of the street-door, and I want to see Liz!" answered Evelyn Chandler, coolly. "Where is she?"

"She was taken to the hospital more than an hour ago."

"And you were here alone?"

"I was until you came!"

With nervous irritation Miss Chandler threw her eye over the apartment.

It rested upon the chair whereon Leonie had left the box with the papers scattered about, some having fallen upon the floor, others lay on the side of the bed where Dick had died.

With a low cry, Miss Chandler sprung toward them.

"And in the absence of the members of the family, you have been plundering the papers!" she exclaimed, her alarm causing a hoarseness that made her voice sound uncanny.

Before she could reach the chair, Leonie had recovered her powers of action and thought. She flung herself between Miss Chandler and the chair, barring her progress.

"Yes," she cried excitedly, "if you choose to put it so, I have been plundering in the absence of the family! Do you know what I have discovered? That you are even a viler woman than I gave you credit for being. That you have lied to me, and that you have rendered further concealment on my part a sacrifice that I decline to make.

"You knew that the words you said to me the night that I discovered you to be a thief, robbing the man who had been a father to you, were utterly false from beginning to end, and yet you tried to break my heart without a revulsion of conscience.

"Now listen to me, Evelyn Chandler, for it is I who dictate terms this time, and you who must abide by them or take the consequences. I have every proof in my possession that makes me mistress of the situation. I want the engagement between you and Lynde Pyne broken without delay. I want him restored to his rights as the heir of Roger Pyne, and I want you to make good the last cent of the money that you took from Leonard Chandler to buy the silence of your own father!"

A smile that was cruel in its irony played over the face of Miss Chandler as she calmly listened to the girl's words.

"Are you mad?" she asked coldly, "or do you think I am an idiot? It seems that you have thrust yourself into the secrets that were never intended for you to know, but since you have done so, it is useless for me to deny that Lynde Pyne is the rightful heir and----"

"No, he is not! That is only part of your scheme to deceive me, but I tell you that I know the story in its entirety. I, Leonie Pyne, am the rightful heir to that fortune which I have no intention of ever claiming. I have my mother's marriage certificate."

"But she was a wife already, and----"

"You are either deceived yourself, or else purposely endeavoring to mislead me. Lena Cuyler's marriage to Ben Mauprat was not legal, as he had a living wife from whom he was not divorced at the time of his mock marriage to my mother. That marriage annulled, perfectly legalizes her subsequent union with Roger Pyne and establishes my birth as legitimate. Therefore I am the rightful heir. Your birth, you see, is the one upon which the unfortunate cloud rests that makes you even possess no right to the name your convict father wears. Now the question is, are you ready to resign Lynde Pyne without publicity being given to these matters, or must Leonard Chandler and the world come in possession of a knowledge that I desire to conceal for my mother's sake? I wish to impress upon you before you answer, that there is no romantic feeling of wishing to spare a sister in my offer to repress the truth or a portion of it; it is only my dead mother. Now, what have you to say?"

For some moments a cold, dull gray had overspread Miss Chandler's face. A wild horror had come into her eyes, but gradually she had controlled it.

To be the daughter of a convict was bad enough surely, but to be his nameless child was a disgrace of which she had really never dreamed.

Still, revulsion at the contemplation of disgrace had never distressed her much, and she recovered from the feeling quickly.

She determined not to lose the position of wealth and luxurious ease that she then held without a desperate struggle, and she was perfectly aware that to lose Lynde Pyne meant more to her than one would readily suppose.

With all her heart she longed to strangle Leonie, but controlling her venom, she said, almost humbly:

"I don't think you can realize how you have surprised me. I cannot think yet that what you have said can be true. Prove it to me and I will do what you say. Let me go over those papers with you. Let me see the truth for myself."

Leonie laughed.

There in the stillness of the night it rung out with a little metallic sound that was chilling. She shivered as it ceased.

"I am afraid I could not trust you so far!" she exclaimed, coldly. "A woman who would dare so much as you have already done will bear watching. You will excuse me and take my word for it. I know!"

"Why should I do that? Why should I take your word any more than you should mine?"

"Because I have never deceived you in anything. Because I have been perfectly frank and open always. It is utterly useless, Evelyn. You can obtain absolutely nothing from me in that way. I have been deceived too often to allow you to do it again. These papers are in my possession now, and there is no power that could tempt me to part with them. I will not ask you to make your decision to-night, but I shall take the liberty of calling upon you at your own house to-morrow when you can give me your answer. And now I shall be grateful if you will let me alone."

Miss Chandler drew herself up coldly, her arms folded upon her breast.

"You have had your opportunity to speak uninterruptedly, now do me the favor to listen to me," she said, slowly. "I may tell you that I do not in the least doubt the truth of what you have said, but I shall go further. The very fact of not doubting makes me all the more determined that nothing shall prevent me from securing those papers, not even murder! Do you hear me? You know that I did not pause at theft, and I tell you that I shall take the risk for what it promises. There is not a human soul that knows I came here to-night. What proof, therefore, would there be against me? If you will give up those papers willingly, I will divide with you the fortune that I shall receive through being the wife of Lynde Pyne. If you refuse I will have them, cost what they may!"

There was not the slightest doubt in Leonie's mind that Miss Chandler meant what she said.

She threw a quick glance about her to see where the pistol she had dropped was, and also to locate the knife which she knew Liz had.

She saw the revolver immediately. It lay directly behind Miss Chandler upon the floor.

In order to get it she would be forced to leave the papers she was guarding unprotected, and possibly not even then could she reach it.

The knife she saw, with a shiver of terror, was upon a table not a foot from Miss Chandler's hand, and, as though attracted by the direction of Leonie's eye Miss Chandler turned hers in that direction.

She smiled, seeming to comprehend the thought that had flashed through Leonie's brain, put out her hand calmly and grasped it by the handle.

Then she looked at her sister with cold determination.

Seeing that immediate action was imperative, Leonie seized the papers that she had put aside and thrust them into the bosom of the shirt she wore.

Fortunately, in imitating the dress of the poorer classes, she had put on a shirt without a linen bosom, but one that opened down the front.

She buttoned it quickly, then faced her companion resolutely.

"If this is to be a fight for possession," she said, coolly, "it might be fair for me to point out to you my superior advantages. It is true that you have that knife in your hand, but you have nothing like the strength that I have, and my dress will be of the greatest possible benefit to me. I warn you that it will be only with my life that I will resign the papers that are more to me than all the world. Do you still intend to contend for their possession?"

"Your question is not worthy of an answer. You know that in your bosom you hold more than life to me--you hold happiness and honor. For the last time I ask you to give them up! I do not intend to purchase them, but I mean to take them by force if you still refuse. What is your answer? Make it for the last time, and quickly!"

The two women, both desperate, faced each other with a resolve that meant life or death.

There was not the slightest evidence of weakness or fear in either, but a cold determination that was horrible.

There was the undoubted resemblance of sisterhood between them as they stood apparently revolving their plans of action.

Leonie knew full well that there was not the slightest chance for her.

That the moment she made an effort to pass that motionless, rigid form that blocked her passage to the doorway, the long, sharp knife that Liz had bought to protect her child would be plunged to the hilt in her body.

She had no wish to die that way, and still less to place the papers that she held in Miss Chandler's hands.

It was not a pleasant contemplation. She listened for an instant.

There was not a sound in the street.

She knew that she could not hope for assistance from that quarter.

The rope by which she had made her escape before was out the window, and to trust to it without having it tied about her body was a most forlorn hope.

There was but one possible way, and that she seized upon with a suddenness that threw Miss Chandler entirely off her guard.

She turned and blew out the candle.

Miss Chandler knew nothing of the situation of the articles of furniture in the room, and the darkness was intense.

Before her sister's eyes had time to become accustomed to the absence of light, Leonie circled about her and reached the door.

She knew that if she could but succeed in making the street, that her safety would be assured, and having so much the start of her pursuer, she did not doubt her ability to do so.

With a savage cry Miss Chandler started after, but Leonie's advantage was too great to be denied.

Miss Chandler was about to give up in despair, when a sharp, agonized cry from the dark hall almost froze her blood.

She hurried down the steps and groped about in the gloom until her hand came in contact with something, she scarcely knew what.

She shrunk back with a start of terror.