My Pretty Maid; or, Liane Lester. Alex. McVeigh Miller

pursuer but that her little foot tripped on a stone and threw her prone upon the sands.

      Before she could rise a man's arms closed about her tenderly, lifting her up, while he panted:

      "Elinor, what girlish freak is this? Why wouldn't you wait for me, dear?"

      Liane gasped and looked up at him in terror, but that instant she recognized him, and her fears all fled.

      "Oh, Mr. Clarke, you have made a mistake, sir. You don't know me, although I know what your name is. I am Liane Lester!" she cried breathlessly.

      He dropped her hand and recoiled in surprise, answering:

      "I beg a hundred pardons for my apparent rudeness. I saw you flying along as I smoked my cigar above the hill, and your figure looked so exactly like my wife's that I flew after you. I hope you will find it easy to forgive me, for you do resemble my wife very much, and, although you are young and fair, you may take that as a compliment, for my wife is very beautiful."

      "I thank you, sir, and forgive you freely. I have never seen Mrs. Clarke, but I have just come from your house, and was running home every step of the way because I had to stay till after dark, and I feared my grandmother would be uneasy over me!" faltered Liane, blushing at his intent gaze, for the wind had blown her veil aside, and her lovely features, pure as carven pearl, shone clearly in the moonlight.

      "And I am detaining you yet longer! Excuse me, and—good night," he said abruptly, smiling kindly at her, lifting his hat and turning back toward Cliffdene, while he thought with pleasure:

      "What a lovely girl! She reminded me of Elinor when she was young."

      Liane thought kindly of him, too, as she hurried along.

      "What a noble face and gracious voice! Miss Roma Clarke is blessed in having such a splendid father."

      She had only granny, poor child; coarse, ugly, repulsive, cruel granny. She could not even remember her parents or any other relation. A lonely childhood, whose only bright memories were of its few school days, a toilsome girlhood, robbed of every spark of youthful pleasure; coarse scoldings and brutal beatings. It was all a piteous life—enough, as Sophie, the maid had said, to make the very angels weep in pity.

      Strange, as she hastened on, how Jesse Devereaux's eyes and smile haunted her thoughts with little thrills of pleasure; how she wondered if she should ever see him again.

      "Perhaps Dolly Dorr will make him fall in love with her, she is so pretty, with her fluffy yellow hair and big torquoise-blue eyes," she thought, with a curious sensation of deadly pain, jealous already, though she guessed it not.

      The night was still and calm, and suddenly the dip of oars in the water came to her ears. She looked, and saw a little boat headed for the beach, with a single occupant.

      The keel grated on the shore, the man sprang out, and came directly toward her, pausing with hat in hand—a tall fellow, dark and bewhiskered, with somber, dark eyes.

      "Ah, good evening, my pretty maid. Taking a stroll all alone, eh? Won't you have a moonlight row with me?"

      "No, thank you, sir; I am in a hurry to get home. Please stand aside," for he had placed himself in her way.

      "Not so fast, pretty maid. It is good manners, I trow, to answer a stranger's courteous questions, is it not?" still barring her way. "Well, show me the way to Cliffdene."

      The trembling girl pointed mutely back the way she had come.

      "Thank you—and again: Do you know Miss Roma Clarke?"

      "I have just seen her at Cliffdene," she answered.

      "So she is not married yet?"

      "Oh, no," Liane answered, trying to pass, but he caught her hand, exclaiming mockingly:

      "Not married yet? Well, that is very good news to me. I will give you a kiss, pretty one, for that information."

      "You shall not! Release me at once, you hound!" cried the girl, struggling to free herself.

      But the insolent stranger only clasped her closer and drew her to him, the fumes of his liquor-laden breath floating over her pure brow as he struggled to kiss her shrieking lips.

      And, absorbed in the conflict, neither one noticed a third person coming toward them from the town—an exceedingly handsome young man, who hurried his steps in time to comprehend the meaning of the scene before him, and then shot out an athletic arm, and promptly bowled the wretch over upon the wet sands.

      "Lie there, you cur, till I give you leave to rise!" he thundered, planting his foot on the fellow's chest while he turned toward the young lady.

      "Why, good heavens! Is it you, Miss Lester?" he cried, in wonder.

      "Yes, Mr. Devereaux. I was hurrying home from an errand to Cliffdene when this man jumped out of his boat, and threatened to kiss me."

      "Apologize to the lady on your knees, cur!" cried Jesse Devereaux, helping him with a hand on his coat collar.

      The wretch obeyed in craven fear.

      "Now tell me where you came from in the boat."

      "From the nearest town," sullenly.

      "Then get into that boat and go back to it as fast as you can row, and if you are ever caught in Stonecliff again, I promise to thrash you within an inch of your life."

      The defeated bully obeyed in craven silence, but the gleam of his somber eyes boded no good to the man who had so coolly mastered him.

      Devereaux and Liane stood side by side, watching the little boat shoot away over the dancing billows, leaving ripples of phosphorescent light in the wake of the oars. Then he turned and took her hand.

      "You had quite an adventure," he said. "Why, you are trembling like a leaf, poor child!"

      He felt like drawing her to his breast, and soothing her fears; but that would not be conventional. So he could only regard her with the tenderest pity and admiration, while clasping the trembling little hand as tight as he dared.

      Liane was so nervous she could not speak at first, and he continued gently:

      "It was rather imprudent for a young girl like you to be walking out alone after nightfall. Did you not know it, Miss Lester?"

      She faltered nervously:

      "Oh, yes, I knew it! I was frightened almost to death, but I—I could not help it!"

      "Why?"

      "My employer sent me on an errand to Cliffdene, and I was detained there until after dark."

      "They should have sent some one to see you safely home."

      "Yes," Liane answered, shivering, but not making any explanation. She hated in her simple, girlish pride to have him know how she had been treated by Roma Clarke.

      "I—I must be going now. Thank you ever so much for coming to my rescue," she added, stooping to gather her roses, that lay scattered on the sands.

      Jesse Devereaux helped her, and kept them, saying as he drew her little hand closely within his arm:

      "I will carry them and see you safe home."

      Arm in arm they paced along under the brilliant moonlight, with the solemn voice of the ocean in their ears. But they were heedless. They heard only the beating of their own excited hearts.

      The mere presence of this man, whom she had never met till to-day, filled Liane's innocent heart with ecstasy.

      To be near him like this, with her arm linked in his so close that she felt the quick throbbing of his disturbed heart; to meet the glances of his passionate, dark eyes, to hear the murmuring tones of his musical voice as he talked to her so kindly—oh, it was bliss such as she had never enjoyed before, but that she could have wished might go on now forever!

      He made her tell him all that the stranger had said to her, and Liane felt him give a quick start when Roma's name was mentioned, although he said lightly:

      "He must be some discarded lover of Miss Clarke."

      "Yes," she answered, and, raising her eyes, she saw near