Marion Marlowe's Peril, or, A Mystery Unveiled — page 22: what you’re looking at

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20 ged snap my fingers at all these prudes who do not’ approve of my husband’s way of court- ing.” “I think you are being deceived,” was Mar- ion’s sad reply. “I have no faith in a court- ship that is not honest and open.”’ As she entered the young physician's office her heart was heavy with sorrow, but one look at the loyal face of her friend made the downcast features brighten with pleasure. The doctor was not busy, so they sat and chatted for some time, their conversation being principally about the burial of the poor woman. “IT shall wait until after you have seen St. Clair,” he said, sternly. “I want to get this matter into definite shape, then he shall pay the penalty of his dastardly actions.” “And to think that he should dare to make love to Alice Everett,” said Marion, who had - told the doctor all. ‘It seems incredible that a man can-be so unfeeling.” “No doubt he is only making a fool of her,” said the doctor curtly. ‘He is a man and an artist, and a pretty face pleases him; or per- haps in his loneliness he has turned to her for comfort. Some women do not understand the nature of men—to us all, fair women are grateful, but one only is perfect.” Marion rose a little hastily with a faint blush tinging her cheeks. “T guess it is late enough for me to venture now,” she said quickly. “I confess | am most anxious to have this interview over.’ “T will walk over with you,” said the physi- cian; “that is, if you will allow me, Marion.” He paused with his hat in his hand until the young girl smiled her answer. They were soon walking up Fifth avenue toward the artist’s home, the doctor chatting merrily and endeavoring to be as entertain- ing as possible. “There is the you might say,” he said as they reached a cross- | “See, there are the windows of his stu- house—or mansion, ing’. dio in that northern corner.” Marion looked up at the massive pile of brick and stone, which to her country eyes seemed a veritable palace. “St Clair must be rich to live there,” went on her companion, “They tell me he lives with only his mother and some servants.” MY QUEEN. “She brought him the house—Leonie,” whispered Marion. “TI have a clipping in my pocket which tells all: about it. Her father, Mr. Townsend, gave it to her for a wedding present.” “And to think that the poor girl only en- joyed it for a little over.a year,” said the doc- tor as he left Marion at the foot of the brown- stone steps, “Truly, she was not to be en- vied, with all her beauty and riches.” | Marion again glanced up at the gloomy structure, with its heavily draped windows, and to save herself, could not repress a shud- der. “TI dread to go in,” she said, in a half whis- per. “Some way, I feel a premonition about the place. I feel that I shall discover some blood-curdling secret. I suppose it is ner- vousness or superstition.” “It may be instinct,” said Dr. Brookes, frowning. “I feel that way, too, and I can’t account for it.” “Oh, pshaw!” cried Marion, putting her foot on the first step. “How absurd I am to harbor such fancies! If Miss Allyn knew it she’d call me silly, and I fancy that Mr. Hor- ton would dispense with my _ services in- stanter.”’ “But you must remember that you are on the track of no common story,” said Dr. Brookes, gravely. “The death of that poor woman has complicated matters considerably. Why, not one of the newspapers has ever dreamed that Vincent St. Clair was a biga- mist!” “Poor Leonie,” murmured Marion, with tears in her eyes. “The knowledge that I have will kill her poor mother.” She held out her daintily gloved hand and the physician erasped it. “Good-by, and good luck,” he murmured, brightly. “I shall expect you to run around and tell me how you succeeded.” “T will,” said Marion. ‘He will probably not detain me long—in fact, I shall not be surprised if he refuses to see me.” As she ascended another step she looked back again. “Somehow, I feel like saying: ‘Leave hope behind, all ye who enter here,’ ” she said, laughing; “but as that would only prove that I’m a bit seared, I guess I'll not say it. "comichbooks:com