“Poor girl! I imagined I had been too careful to have betrayed any apparent familiarity with Staines,” thought Miss Stratton; “but ‘to the jealous, trifles light as air are proofs as strong as Holy Writ.’ It is well I came here before this poor child’s heart was wounded too sorely. She is a brave girl, I am sure, and her farcical admiration for this scoundrel will turn to disgust as soon as she learns his real character.”
It will be noticed that our heroine spoke of the young widow as if she herself were the senior of the two. But wisdom and self-reliance are not always dependant upon age, and the younger girl’s experience and courage had given her sounder judgment than is possessed by the average woman of forty. Aloud she said:—
“Yes, I flatter myself that I have acted my part well this time. He hates me, fears me, and flees from me as if I were grim death. And yet he is ready to fall in love with me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Phœbe Dollman, with a troubled look in her eyes. “How can he both hate you and love you?”
“That is easily explained. My real name is Annie Cory, and my sole objects in life at present are to bring this scoundrel to book for a series of crimes which he has committed, and to liberate an innocent man from penal servitude. Hugh Stavanger—or shall we call him Gregory Staines for the nonce?—would know me very well if my disguise were not so perfect. But my natural appearance falls very short of what you see now, as I will soon show you, if you will cover that window more securely. I was watching you through it last night, and he might follow my example to-night.”
Annie’s hearers were too astonished and mystified to say much. But they did as she asked them, and attentively watched the transformation wrought in her appearance. By-and-bye they saw the girl as we first knew her—dark-haired, and of brunette complexion.
“You see what a wig can do,” she smiled, “and a little knowledge in the art of making up. Even my figure, gait, and voice have been altered in the service of justice. But you would be most astonished if you saw me conversing in a familiar manner with Mr. Staines in still another character—that of a moderately tall, slim young man, with a lovely dark moustache. Patent cork elevators are a fine aid to height. But I see you are dreadfully mystified, so will tell you everything, feeling sure that I can depend upon you to help me. One word more. I am not an artist, nor ever will be. But I have plenty of money at command, and any plan that you may suggest will not fail through lack of finances.”
For fully half an hour not a sound was heard in the room, except Annie rapidly relating her history, and describing the true character of Gregory Staines, and for fully ten minutes longer the sergeant-major sat with compressed lips and fiercely-knitted brows, intent upon inventing a scheme to circumvent the villain.
“I have it,” he exclaimed, at last, bringing his fist fiercely down upon the table. “You will never succeed in decoying him into Gibraltar. But we won’t waste time over him. If he won’t go willingly into the arms of the English authorities, he must be made to go.”
“And how can that be managed?”