CHAPTER X.

CLAYTON GRAHAM’S MURDER

When Marion awoke the next morning she saw Alma Allyn standing by her bed-side, her eyes fairly bulging with horror.

“Quick, Marion, look!” she cried, holding out the morning paper. “Clayton Graham is dead. He has been murdered in his own apartments.”

The young girl sat bolt upright in bed and snatched the paper hastily. She could hardly speak for a moment after she finished reading.

“It was Carlotta, no doubt,” said Miss Allyn, slowly, “for they say she is missing and has been since midnight.”

“It is dreadful,” cried Marion, springing out of bed. “Oh, it doesn’t seem possible that she could have done it.”

“Well, they know it was a woman,” said her friend, as she glanced over the paper again, “and who so likely as Carlotta?”

“I knew they had been quarreling frequently of late—every one in the company knew it,” was the thoughtful answer, “but still I can’t think that she would actually murder him, for, in spite of her bad temper, I believe she loved him.”

“It was probably done in a second; she had, no doubt, lost her self-control completely when she shot him,” said Miss Allyn.

Marion dressed herself hastily and ate her breakfast; then, as soon as she could, she started for the theatre.

There was quite a group of girls at the stage door when she reached there and, of course, they had all come on the same errand.

“The notice on the call board says that the treasurer will take charge at once,” said one of the girls just as Marion came up. “He is Graham’s brother and I believe he has money in the enterprise.”

“Well, there’ll be no performance to-night, anyway,” said another girl turning away, “but the new manager has called a rehearsal for to-morrow.”

Marion waited to see for what time the rehearsal was called and then started back uptown to tell Dollie what had happened.

A block from the theatre a carriage was driven closely to the curb and a handsome young man, tall and aristocratic in appearance, leaned out of the window and greeted her eagerly.

“Oh, Mr. Ray!” cried Marion, as she recognized her old friend and champion. “I am so delighted to see you again!”

In an instant Mr. Ray was out on the pavement beside her.

“Do let me drive you wherever you are going,” he said, quickly.

“To Dollie’s, then,” laughed Marion, as she entered the carriage.

Her lovely face was radiant as Mr. Ray smiled down into her eyes, for in a second Marion’s beauty seemed enhanced a hundred fold.

Her cheeks flushed and paled at the unexpected pleasure and little dimples appeared that were not often seen and which made her face for the minute almost as childishly sweet as her twin sister’s.

“And I am delighted to see you also,” murmured Mr. Ray, softly. “Both my sister and I have been striving to meet you, but you have no idea how busy we are, Marion.”

He uttered her name as though it was sacred to him, and the fair girl’s eyelids drooped shyly as she heard him.

“You see we have sold our house and are storing the most of our things,” he continued, rather sadly, “for there are only two of us now, and we intend to travel. I am in wretched health, and I know it is better.”

He spoke a little doubtfully, as if arguing with himself, but Marion understood and hastened to turn the subject.

“I am sure that you must be busy with all that to do,” she added, quickly, “but have you heard that my manager is dead, Mr. Ray? I am to have a vacation perforce—I do not know for how long until I see our new manager to-morrow.”

“I read of the horrible occurrence,” was the answer. “I am glad all women are not like that dreadful Carlotta.”

Once more he gazed down into Marion’s eyes with his tender smile, and the fair girl’s heart throbbed with a sweet emotion.

She knew only too well what he was longing to say, and she knew also why it was that the words could not be uttered.

Archie Ray had loved her almost from the hour they met, and then, poor fellow, he supposed he had a right to love her—but later, before the sweet question had been asked, he discovered that the woman whom he had married when a boy at college, and who he thought had been dead for two years, was still alive, and, more, that she was now a thoroughly dissolute character.

The knowledge had shocked him beyond expression, but he had borne it like a man and Marion had helped him. Only a short time after the discovery the wretched creature died. She had drifted to Blackwell’s Island as a “drunk and disorderly,” her face disfigured by vitriol which had been thrown upon her by another low woman.

It was Marion Marlowe’s lot to round out the fearful tragedy, for at the very last moment, when poor Mary Ray’s body was _en route_ for Potter’s Field, it was she who rescued her remains and gave them back to her husband and to a Christian burial.

Since that time Marion and Mr. Ray had met but once. That was at Dollie’s wedding at the little flat in Harlem.

And now he was thinking of going away, yet she knew that he loved her more deeply than ever—she could read it in his eyes and in his voice when he spoke to her.

But the beautiful girl was not so sure of her own sentiments as she was of his, for the question of love had always been put aside by her—there was too much else to be considered in the fearful struggle for existence. Until Dollie was safely settled she did not dare to think of herself, but now with these tender eyes looking almost into her soul, Marion was forced to, in a measure, analyze her feelings for him.

“You will come and see us, will you not?” she asked earnestly, as she raised her lovely eyes to his face. “Dear Dollie is so happy in her little home. Do promise me that you will come and see us.”

There was something in her voice that thrilled his very soul and in an instant every barrier seemed to melt from between them.

A sudden pallor appeared upon his handsome face at her request, then a flush rose swiftly to his very brow as he answered:

“I will come, Marion, on one condition,” he murmured, eagerly. “Oh, Marion, darling! Don’t you know that I love you? May I not come to you as your lover, dearest?”

He had taken her hands in his as he spoke and his dark eyes were looking into hers as though he would read her heart’s every secret.

But after the first flush of excitement the loyal girl’s lips became firm and she raised her eyes to his face with a tender, anxious expression.

“Oh, Mr. Ray! I am so sorry! But it cannot be! I am too young, too inexperienced! I do not know my own heart! Do, please, please forget that you have asked me that question!”

Archie Ray’s face paled to the lips, but he smiled at her bravely.

“As you will, Marion,” he said, almost sadly. “Forgive me if I have pained you, but, oh, my darling, do not decide too quickly! Give me a month, a year, and I will wait patiently.”

Marion bowed her head. She could not answer. This avowal of love had almost overwhelmed her.