Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THREADS OF THE FABRIC.

  What had become of Madeline Payne?

  The question went the round of the village, as such questions do. Theservants of Oakley fed upon it. They held secret conferences in thekitchen, and grew loud and argumentative when they knew John Arthurwas safely out of hearing. They bore themselves with an air ofsubdued, unobservant melancholy in his presence, and waxed important,mysterious and unsatisfactory, when in converse with the townsfolk--as was quite right and proper, for were they not, in the eyes ofmystery hunters, objects of curiosity secondary only to their masterhimself?

  The somber-faced old housekeeper gave utterance to a doleful croak ortwo, and a more doleful prophecy. But after a summons from JohnArthur, and a brief interview with him in the closely shut sacrednessof his especial den, not even the social intercourse of the kitchenand the inspiration that the prolonged absence of the master alwayslent to things below stairs, could beguile from her anything beyondthe terse statement that "she didn't meddle with her master'saffairs," and she "s'posed Miss Madeline knew where she was."

  The housemaid, who read novels and was rather fond of Miss Payne,grieved for a very little while, but found in this "visitation ofprovidence," as John Arthur piously termed it, food for romanceweaving on her own responsibility. She entertained Peter, the groom,coachman and general factotum, with divers suggestions andsuppositions, each more soul harrowing than the last, making of poorMadeline a lay figure upon which she fitted all the catastrophes thathad ever befallen her yellow-covered "heroinesses."

  The villagers talked. It was all they could do, and their tongues werevery busy for a time until, in fact, a fresher sensation arrived.Nurse Hagar was viewed and interviewed; but beyond sincere expressionof grief at her disappearance, and the unvarying statement that shehad not even the slightest conjecture as to the fate of the lost girl,nothing could be gained from her.

  Hagar was somewhat given to rather bluntly spoken opinions of folk whohappened to run counter to her notions in regard to prying, or, infact, her notions on any subject. In the present emergency she becamea veritable social hedgehog, and was soon left to solitude and her owndevices.

  Whatever were Hagar's opinions on the subject, she kept themdiscreetly locked within her own breast. She had received, at theirlast interview, a revelation of the depth and force of character whichlay dormant in the nature of Madeline; and she believed, even when shegrieved most, that the girl would return, and that when she came shewould make her advent felt.

  John Arthur went to the city "to put the matter in the hands of thedetectives," he said. But as he most fervently hoped and wished thathe had seen the last of his "stumbling--block," and believed that ofher own will she would not return, it is hardly to be supposed thatthe Secret Service was severely taxed.

  Be this as it may, the Summer days passed and he heard nothing ofMadeline.

  * * * * *

  Meantime, the neat little hotel that rejoiced in the name of theBellair House, displayed on a fresh page of its register the signatureof Lucian Davlin once more, and underneath it that of Mrs. C.Torrance.

  Mrs. C. Torrance was a blonde young widow, dressed in weeds of mostelegant quality and latest style, with just the faintest hint of anapproaching season of half mourning.

  Mrs. Torrance had now been an inmate of Bellair House some days, andshe certainly had no reason to complain that her present outlook wasnot all that could be desired. Already she had met the object of herlittle masquerade, and it was charming to see the alacrity with whichJohn Arthur placed himself in the snare set for him by theseplotters, and how gracefully he submitted as the cords tightenedaround him.

  Over and over again Davlin thanked his lucky star for having soordered his goings that, on his previous visit, he had never beenbrought into immediate contact with John Arthur. Over and again hecongratulated himself that his meetings with Madeline had been kepttheir own secret, for he knew nothing of the watchful, jealous eyes ofold Hagar.

  On a fine summer morning, or rather "forenoon," for Mrs. Torrance wasa luxurious widow, and her "brother," Mr. Davlin, not at all enamoredof early rising,--on a fine forenoon, then, the pair sat in the littlehotel parlor, partaking of breakfast. They relished it, too, if onemight judge from the occasional pretty little ejaculations, expressiveof enjoyment and appreciation, that fell from the lips of the widow.

  "More cream, monsieur? Oh, but this fruit is delicious! And I believethere is a grand difference in the qualities of city and countrycream."

  "The difference in the favor of the country living, eh? I say, Co.,don't you think your appetite is rather better than is exactlyexpected, or in order, for a widow in the second stage of her grief?"

  Things were moving just now as Mr. Davlin approved, and he feltinclined to be jocular.

  Cora laughed merrily. Then holding up a pretty, berry-stained hand,she said, with mock solemnity, "That is the last, my greatly shockedbrother. But didn't you inform Mr. Arthur that we should accept of hiskind offer to survey the woods and grounds of Oakley in his company,and isn't this the day, and almost the hour?"

  "So it is; I had forgotten."

  It was not long before the pair were equipped, and sauntering slowlyin the direction of the Oakley estate.

  Their morning's enterprise was more than rewarded, and the cause ofthe widow was in a fair way to victory, when, after having politelyrefused to lunch with Mr. Arthur on that day, and gracefully promisedto dine at Oakley on the next day but one, they bade adieu to thatflattered and fascinated gentleman, and left him at the entrance ofhis grounds.

  Then they sauntered slowly back, keeping to the wooded path. Arrivingat the fallen tree, the scene of so many interviews between Madelineand Lucian, Cora seated herself on the mossy trunk and announced herdetermination to rest.

  Accordingly her escort threw himself upon the soft grass, and betookhimself to his inevitable cigar, while he closed his eyes and allowedthe vision of Madeline to occupy the place now usurped by Cora. Veryabsorbing the vision must have been, for he gave an almost nervousstart as Cora's voice broke the stillness:

  "Lucian, did you ever see this runaway daughter of Mr. Arthur's?"

  Lucian started unmistakably now. Then he employed himself in pullingup tufts of the soft grass, pretending not to have heard.

  "Lucian!" impatiently.

  "Eh, Co., what is it?" affecting a yawn.

  "I ask, did you ever see this Madeline Payne, who ran away recently?"

  "I? Oh, no. Old fellow always kept her shut up too close, I fancy.They say she was pretty, and you are the first pretty woman I haveseen in these parts, Co."

  "More cream, Monsieur?"--page 101.]

  "Well, then, I'm sorry you didn't," quoth Cora, "for from motives ofdelicacy I really don't care to inquire of others, and I have justcuriosity enough to wish to know how she looked."

  "Sorry I can't enlighten you, Co. Get it all out of the old fellowafter the joyful event."

  "Umph! Well, _that_ business prospers, _mon brave_. We shall win, Ithink, as usual."

  "Yes; and never easier, Co."

  "Well, I don't anticipate much trouble in landing our fish. But comealong, Lucian, this romantic dell might make you forget luncheon; itcan't have that effect on me."

  Cora gathered her draperies about her, and prepared to quit the littlegrove, her companion following half reluctantly.