"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."