th my Edward Percy. It does not seem possible that they could be the
same. I had supposed the other Percy to be a man like--like Davlin."

"My dear, did you ever see Davlin?"

"No."

"And you have fancied him a sort of handsome horse jockey, and this
Percy one of the same brotherhood?"

"Perhaps;" smiling a little.

"Claire, Lucian Davlin is an Apollo in person, a courtier in manner,
and a Mephistopheles at heart. And Percy is an abridgement of Davlin."

"I can't see," said Claire, rather frostily, "even if Edward Percy is
the man who was wounded by some unknown person five years ago, why he
must of necessity be a villain and a deceiver. It would be very, very
unpleasant, of course, to find that such were the case. But I could
not hate Edward Percy for that, even if the fact must separate us."

"Claire, Edward Percy is not only the man who helped send your
sister's husband to prison, but he is a villain doubly perjured; a
deceiver, a betrayer. If justice ever gets her due he will end his
days in the penitentiary."

Then, seeing that Claire was about to speak: "Let me finish; now you
shall have your proof."

She recounted all there was to tell, from the day when Claire showed
her the picture and she distrusted the face, to the present moment.

Claire Keith listened in immovable silence; not a muscle quivered. For
many minutes after Madeline had finished her recital, she sat staring
straight before her, like a statue. At length she arose and crossed to
the door, drew back the bolt with a steady hand, put up a warning
finger, and said, in a voice like frozen silver: "Wait;" then
disappeared.

Madeline scarcely had time to wonder what she meant, before Claire was
back, standing before her, calm and cold as an iceberg. She held in
her hand the picture of Edward Percy, with the face turned away, and
this she extended to Madeline.

"It is best that we make no mistakes," she said, quietly; "go show
that to Olive. Don't tell her how it came into your possession; ask
her if it is he. Then come back to me."

"Shall I tell her--" began Madeline.

"Tell her nothing until you have brought me back the picture."

She pushed her toward the door.

Madeline walked down-stairs, sorely puzzled, but thinking fast. "She
fights these facts bravely," she muttered. "Does she doubt, I wonder?"

Olive was sitting before the window, watching the movements of John,
the gardener, when Madeline entered the parlor. Going straight t