EVERYDAY LIFE LIBRARY No. 5
Published by EVERYDAY LIFE, Chicago
Marion Arleigh's Penance
BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.
Author of "Dora Thorne," "Madolin's Lover," "Lord Elesmere's Wife," "ARose in Thorns," "The Belle of Lynn," Etc.
CHAPTER I.
Three o'clock on a warm June afternoon. The great heat has causedsomething like a purple haze to cloud over the deep blue of the sapphiresky. There is not one breath of wind to stir the leaves or cool theflushed faces of those whose duties call them out on this sultry Juneday. Away in the deep green heart of the broad land broad streams areflowing; in the very heart of the green woods there is cool, silentshade; by the borders of the sea, where the waves break with a low,musical murmur, there is a cooling breeze; but here in London on thisbright June afternoon there is nothing to lessen the white, intenseheat, and even the flowers exposed for sale in the streets are drooping,the crimson roses look thirsting for dew, the white lilies are fading,the bunches of mignonette give forth a fragrance sweet as the "song ofthe swan in dying," and the golden sun pours down its flood of rich,warm light over all.
Three o'clock, and the express leaves Euston Square for Scotland at aquarter past. The heat in the station is very great, the noise almostdeafening; huge engines are pouring out volumes of steam, the shrillwhistle sounds, porters are hurrying to and fro. The quarter-past threetrain is a great favorite—more people travel by that than by anyother—and the platform is crowded by ladies, children, tourists,commercial gentlemen. There are very few of the humbler class. Tenminutes past three. The passengers are taking their places. The goddessof discord and noise reigns supreme, when from one of the smaller doorsthere glides, with soft, almost noiseless step, the figure of a woman.
She wore a long gray cloak that entirely shrouded her figure; a blackveil hid her face so completely that not one feature could be seen. Whenshe entered the station the change from the blinding glare outside tothe shade within seemed to bewilder her. She stood for a few momentsperfectly motionless; then she looked around her in a cautious, furtivemanner, as though she would fain see if there was any one sherecognized.
But in that busy crowd every one was intent on his or her business; noone had any attention to spare for her. She went with the same noiselessstep to the booking office. Most of the passengers had taken theirtickets; she was one of the very last. She looked at the clerk in avague, helpless way.
"Where to, ma'am?" he asked, for she had only said, "I want a ticket."
"Where to?" she repeated. "Where does the train stop?"
"It will stop at Chester and Crewe."
"Then give me a ticket for Crewe," she said, and, with a smile on hisface, the clerk complied. She took the ticket and he gave her thechange. She swept it into her purse with an absent, preoccupied manner,and he turned with a smile to one of his fellow-clerks, touching hisforehead significantly.
"She is evidently on the road for Colney Hatch," he observed. "If I hadsaid the train would stop at Liliput, in my opinion she would have said,'Give me a ticket for there.'"
But the object of his remarks, all unconscious of them, had gone on tothe platform. With the same appearance of not wishing to be seen, shelooked into the carriages.
There was one almost empty; she entered it, took her seat in the corner,drew her