CHAPTER XI.

THE RETURN OF MISS GRAY.

How Marion reached her hotel she could hardly say, but when she opened the door of her room she was astonished to find Miss Gray waiting for her.

“I’ve brought you back your clothing,” she said, with a soft laugh, at the same time pointing to a valise that was standing on the table.

Marion had only time to notice that Miss Gray was attired very simply in black, when her visitor rose and held out her hand to her.

“Oh, Miss Gray, I’m so glad!” cried the young girl. “I felt sure that you would come back, but your action was so strange that I could not help wondering why you did it.”

“And I knew you would not think ill of me,” said the woman, smiling, “and it is your faith in me, Miss Marlowe, that has made me a different woman. Listen,” she said calmly, as she drew Marion down beside her, “I will tell you my story now; but, first, here is your money.”

Marion took the money absently, and held it lightly in her hand.

“Do go on with the story, I am impatient,” she said eagerly.

Miss Gray’s face flushed a little as she started, but the flush soon died away and left her composed and natural.

“I am the daughter of a rich man in this city,” she began, “and I married a man quite out of my own circle of society. At least, I thought I was married to him, but the wretch had deceived me! I found it out when it was too late. I did not dare to admit it. Since then I have lived under an assumed name in this city, although we are supposed to be abroad. That wretch that you saw last night was my ‘make believe’ husband!”

“But your father?” asked Marion in breathless interest. “Would he not take you back and punish the villain?”

“He would, yes, for he is a noble man,” was the sad answer; “but my brother and sister are in society—my sister is engaged to be married I hear—it would injure them terribly should my story be known. For their sakes I have suffered and shall continue to suffer.”

“Oh, that is terrible! terrible!” cried her companion sorrowfully. “But, thank Heaven, you have been strong enough to leave him at last! Your life there must have been dreadful! Oh, how I pity you!”

“A drunken brute is not a very desirable companion,” said the woman scornfully, “and oh, the deeds of that infamous man! And to think that I had to witness them, yes, and even to protect him in them!”

“You were a martyr to your family. Miss Gray,” was the soft answer. “I cannot believe that you did right; still, I must not judge you.”

“Right! I should say not!” cried Miss Gray with a flush of shame. “I was his dupe, his tool! I did not dare to oppose him! Oh, to think that a woman could fall so low—why, Miss Marlowe, women came there and I had to meet them; but, thank God, I came to my senses in time to save the innocent!”

“I shall never forget it,” said Marion, softly. “And now, Miss Gray, I must tell you my day’s experience.”

Miss Gray listened intently as Marion told her what she had learned. When she finished she put her arms around her and held her closely.

“I must leave you now,” she said, after a little, “for I am planning to leave the country forever. But you are wondering why I took your clothes. It was because that I wanted to disguise myself to get back to my room unknown to Emile Vorse and get my few possessions and my money. In your dress I was able to do it, and I needed your money to bribe the servants. I expected to be back before you awoke, but Vorse was there, and I had to wait until he went out.”

“But will he not pursue you,” asked Marion.

“I am afraid so. I don’t know what to do!”

“Come with me,” said Marion. “Let us cast our lots together! Help me to find my sister, Miss Gray, and then, if it is necessary, I’ll change clothes with you forever!”

“You are a brave girl!” cried Miss Gray, laughing at this allusion to her deed. “My clothes certainly are becoming to you, dear, but give me a little time. I will think it over.”

“He does not know where you are?”

Miss Gray shook her head.

“Then you will not see him,” said Marion, decidedly. “You will stay with me, I am sure of it!”

There was a tap on the door, and a bellboy handed Marion a card.

“A young man whom I met this morning on the street,” she said, blushing. “I guess I forgot to tell you that part of my adventures.”

“Ah, a romance, I am sure,” cried the woman, smilingly. “You are blushing, dear, your face is scarlet.”

“Come and see him,” said Marion, taking her friend by the arm.

They walked down the stairs and entered the parlor. As Mr. Ray rose to meet them Miss Gray uttered a shriek of horror.

Instantly the young man sprang forward and caught her in his arms.

“Adele! Oh, Adele! My dear sister!” he cried. “Poor child, I am so glad to find you at last! We have all heard your story and have been nearly crazy about you!”

“You have heard my story?” whispered Adele Ray, faintly.

“Every word of it, dear,” said the young man smiling, “and father is only waiting to get his clutches on that infamous scoundrel, while—well, see here, sis, I’ve got a seven-shooter in my pocket!”

He drew an ugly-looking weapon out of his pocket as he spoke, but as his sister gave a scream he promptly returned it.

“And you all forgive me?” whispered Adele, still unable to believe him.

The young man took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.

“You are as dear to me as ever, sis,” he said, assuringly, “and every member of the family is yearning to embrace you.”

“Then you can go home at once,” cried Marion, delightedly.

Archie Ray gave her a look that set her heart to beating wildly.

“Yes, she can go home at once,” he repeated, gladly, “while you and I, Miss Marlowe, go to rescue Dollie.”

Marion thanked him with a glance from her starry eyes. She appreciated his kindness keenly—he was a friend indeed in her hour of trouble.

“I must give you back your pretty clothes, Miss Gray,” she said, smiling and blushing, “but I confess I almost dread to get back into my poor little frock! I am afraid my brief glimpse of fashion has spoiled me.”

In a very few words Adele Ray explained about them to her brother.

“I shall never wear them again, pray keep them,” she urged, as Marion still hesitated. “They would only remind me of associations which I must try to forget. Do keep them, Miss Marlowe, you look so pretty in them.”

Marion blushed, but she shook her head decidedly.

“I cannot afford to wear them even though you give them to me, Miss Gray,” she said, slowly. “I must dress according to my station in life, and as yet I am only a poor farmer’s daughter.”

“But surely you are not obliged to wear homespun when you have something better! That is false pride, my dear,” said Miss Gray, stubbornly.

“I wish I could think so, but I can’t,” said Marion, sighing; “for I do love pretty clothes. I guess I wouldn’t be a woman if I didn’t.”

“Well, you must keep them, anyway,” said Miss Gray, decidedly. “You’ll get over those notions some day, and then they’ll come in handy.”

“She means that you will not be able to resist putting on the pretty duds,” said Mr. Ray, who was listening “and I hope you won’t try very hard to resist, for all women should dress prettily, it is a part of their duty.”

Marion smiled, but her eyes were growing sadder every minute. She was beginning to wonder if he would like her as well in homespun. Some way she hated the thought that he would ever be ashamed of her.

Then after a moment her good sense returned. “It will be a good test for his friendship,” she thought. “I’ll do it for that reason as well as the other.”

An hour later Mr. Ray had taken his sister home and Marion was alone in her room arrayed in her simple, country garments.

“I’m not so stylish, but I’m much more comfortable,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “How I would look going after the cows in a long, train dress! Why I couldn’t jump a fence to save my life, and as for climbing trees, that would be out of the question.”

The people in the hotel stared at her a little the next time they saw her, but as they were not in the habit of inquiring into the private affairs of their patrons, she was not subjected to any special annoyance.

Even in her plain clothing she was strikingly pretty. There was a grace in her carriage and a flash in her eye that any queen on her throne might well have envied.