breath,

"Something she must accomplish first. If she has secured the
medicines, and they are safe not to run away in her absence, then what
is it she means?"

Clarence shook his head, saying: "I have no idea. She speaks as if the
thing, whatever it is, was attended with some risk."

"And this explains Henry's absence," Olive said, tapping the letter in
her lap. "No doubt he was summoned without any previous warning. Of
course, he is a mere tool for his master. They will hardly dare let
him see their game."

"Hardly; but if they were not using him to Madeline's satisfaction,
she would have revealed herself to him."

"True."

"We are approaching a crisis now. If this new movement fails,--but I
hardly think it will."

Olive looked up in alarm. "Oh, don't suggest failure," she exclaimed.
"She _must_ succeed. What will become of poor Philip if she does not?"

Clarence lifted his face reverently. "I believe that the Power above
us, who permits evil to be because only from pain and sorrow comes
purification, has not permitted the life of this beautiful young girl
to be darkened in vain. Out of her wrongs, and her sorrows, and her
humiliation, He will allow her own hands to shape not only a strong,
true, earnest womanhood for herself, but the weapons which shall
deliver the innocent, and bring the guilty to justice."

And Olive felt comforted, and her hope took new wings.

CHAPTER XXXI.

MR. PERCY SHAKES HIMSELF.

It was noontide at Oakley, and a December sun was shining coldly in at
the window of Mrs. Cora Arthur's dressing-room. Within that cozy room,
however, all was warmth and brightness. A cheerful fire was blazing
and crackling in the grate. Sitting before the fire, wrapped in a
becoming dressing-gown of white cashmere, was Cora herself, looking a
trifle annoyed, but remarkably well withal. Wonderfully well,
considering how very ill she had been.

Lounging near her, his feet lazily outstretched toward the fire, was
Lucian Davlin.

"What did you write to Percy?" he inquired, consulting his watch.

"Just what you told me; that I had something of importance to
communicate, and desired him to call to-day at two," replied Cora.

"But--aren't you looking a little too well for a lady who has been so
desperately ill? It won't do to arouse his suspicions, you know."

Cora crossed to her dressing-case, went carefully over her face with a
puff-ball, and did some very artistic tracing in India ink under