Marion Arleighs Penance | Page 9

who was dying for love of her, "Stay." She imagined his delight at her condescension, his sister's gratitude for her kindness; and now, behold, nothing of the kind was wanting--the pretty role she had sketched out for herself required no playing.
"I do not think I need make any arrangement for the little interview you promised my brother," said Miss Lyster to the simple girl. "I have had a note from him this morning. He is in better health, but he is in despair, and he cannot hide it. He absolutely refuses to believe that you have consented to see him. Unless you tell him so yourself, he will never believe it."
"But how can I tell him?" asked the girl.
"Write on a piece of paper, 'Come at the hour and place your sister appoints. I wish to see you.' Then he will come. I am writing tonight, and will enclose the note."
It would rather take from her queenlike attitude, she thought; but as she had promised the kindness, it would not be graceful to dispute as to how it should be granted; so, under the guidance of the woman to whom her innocent youth was entrusted, she sealed her fate with her own hands.

CHAPTER V.
"How am I to thank you?" said Adelaide Lyster to the girl she had betrayed. "I have a letter from Allan, and he says the very thought of seeing you has given him a fresh life--fresh energy. I have never read anything so rapturous in my life. Do you wish to see the letter?"
As Marion Arleigh read the passionate, poetical words that had been written expressly for her, her face flushed. How wonderful it was to hold a man's life in her hands--to sway a genius so that her nod meant stay or go, her least words meant happiness or misery! She looked around with something of pity for other girls who had not this new and wonderful sensation.
"A life in her hands!" There came to her, young as she was, a vague idea of woman's power for good or for evil. A cruel or cold word from her, and the artist would go in his misery only to seek death in some far-off land. A kind word, and he would remain--his genius would have its sway, and he would paint pictures that the world should glory in.
"I have arranged it all," said Miss Lyster. "Miss Carleton is going to-day to that grand dinner-party at Macdonald's. She has given orders that the young ladies shall go over to Herrington, and take some refreshments with them--it will be a picnic on a small scale. You can excuse yourself from going. I will volunteer to remain with you, and toward sunset, we will walk through the old orchard. Allan will await us there."
The girl's heart beat; it was a romantic dream after all--that strange, wonderful reality; the interview she had so often imagined was to take place at last.
"I cannot tell an untruth," she said to Miss Lyster; "I could not if I tried. How could I excuse myself from going?"
Adelaide looked slightly shocked.
"I would not ask you to speak untruthfully, not even to save Allan's life, dearly as I love him," she said. "There is no need. Say you are not inclined to go. Miss Carleton will not interfere with the whims of an heiress."
So it was arranged, and everything fell out just as Adelaide Lyster had foreseen. Miss Carleton did not care to interfere with the whims of a great heiress like Marion Arleigh.
"By all means, stay at home, my love, if you wish, and Miss Lyster, too. She is an admirable young person; so prudent, so discreet. I could not leave you in better hands."
Marion Arleigh lived afterward to be presented at Court, but she never again felt the same diffidence, the same trepidation, as when, with her false friend by her side, she went down the steps that led to the orchard. The hedge was high and thick, tall trees formed a complete barrier between the grounds and the high road, no strangers or passersby could be seen. Miss Lyster had chosen her time well. She knew that in the lady superintendent's absence the servants would hold high revels; there was no fear of interruption.
In after life Marion Arleigh remembered every detail of that evening. It was May then, and the hedge was white with hawthorn; there was a gleam of gold from the laburnums, and the scent of the lilacs filled the air; the apple trees were all in blossom, the birds were singing, the sun shining, warmth and fragrance and beauty lay all around her.
Far down the orchard, standing sketching a picturesque old tree, was the artist, Allan Lyster. He looked up as the sound of light footsteps rustled in the grass. When