But Devereaux's upraised arm received the force of the blow, and that arm fell shattered and helpless by his side, but the other hand violently wrenched the old woman away from her victim, as he demanded:
"You vile beast! What is the meaning of this murderous assault?"
They glared at each other, and the old woman snarled:
"I have a right to beat her! She disobeyed my orders, and she belongs to me. She's my granddaughter."
"Heaven help me, it is true!" moaned Liane, as he looked at her for confirmation.
"Let me get at her! Let me get at her!" shrieked granny, intent on punishing the girl, and writhing in Devereaux's clutch.
But Devereaux, with one arm hanging helpless at his side, held her firmly with the other.
"You shall not touch her!" he said sternly. "You shall go to prison for this outrage."
At that both the old woman and the girl uttered a cry of remonstrance.
Devereaux looked at Liane inquiringly, and she faltered:
"The disgrace would fall on me!"
"Yes, yes, she is my granddaughter," howled granny eagerly, seeing her advantage. Devereaux comprehended, too. He groaned:
"But what can you do? You must not be exposed again to her fury!"
Granny glared malevolently, while Liane bent her eyes to the ground, meditating a moment ere she looked up, and said timidly:
"I think you are right. I cannot live with granny any more, for she would surely kill me some day. Let her go home, and I will go and spend the night with Dolly Dorr, who lives not far from here."
"You hear what Miss Lester says? Will you go home peaceably, while she goes to her friend for safety?" demanded Devereaux, eager to close the scene, for he was faint from the pain of his broken arm.
Granny saw that she was cornered, and cunningly began to feign repentance, whimpering that she was sorry, and would never do so any more if Liane would only come home with her now, for she was afraid to spend the night alone.
"She shall not go with you, you treacherous cat," he answered sternly, releasing her and bidding her angrily to return home at once.
Cowed by his authority, she could not but choose to obey, but as she started, she flung back one shaft:
"Better come with me, Liane, than stay with him, my dear. Remember my warnings about rich young men and pretty, poor girls! A beating is safer than his love!"
Liane's cheeks flamed at the coarse thrust, but Devereaux said earnestly:
"Do not mind her taunt, Miss Lester. I will always be a true friend to you, believe me!"
"You are a true friend already. From what horrors have you saved me to-night?" Liane cried, bursting into tears. "Your poor arm, how helpless it hangs! Oh, I fear it has been broken in my defense," and suddenly sinking on her knees, in an excess of tenderest gratitude, she pressed her warm, rosy lips to the hand that had so bravely defended her from insult and injury.
"Oh, you are a hero, you have saved my life, and I can never forget you!" she sobbed hysterically.
"Yes, my arm is broken; I must hurry back to town and have it set," he answered faintly. "I must let you go on to Miss Dorr's alone, but it is not far, and you are safe now. Good night," he murmured, leaving her abruptly in his pain.
CHAPTER IV.
SECRET LOVE.
Liane gazed after Devereaux's retreating form in bewilderment, her cheeks burning with the thought:
"He was angry because I kissed his hand! Oh, why was I so bold? I did not mean to be, but it made my heart ache to see him suffering so cruelly from his defense of my life! How pale he looked—almost as if he were going to faint. Oh, I love him!" and she wept despairingly, as she hurried to Dolly Dorr's, careless now of the beautiful roses that lay crushed upon the ground where they had fallen.
Dolly was sitting on her little vine-wreathed porch, singing a pretty love song, and she started in surprise as Liane came up the steps.
"Why, Liane, my dear, what is the matter? You are crying; your cheeks are all wet!" she cried, putting her arms about the forlorn girl, who sobbed:
"May I stay with you all night, Dolly? Granny has beaten me again, and I have run away!"
"I don't blame you! You should have done it long ago. Of course you may stay with me as long as you wish!" replied pretty little Dolly, with ready sympathy, that might not have been so warm if she had known all that had transpired between Liane and Devereaux, on whom she had set her vain little heart.
But Liane was too shy and nervous to tell her friend the whole story. She simply explained, when pressed, that granny had beaten her for walking with Devereaux that afternoon, and attempted it again because she was late getting home, after altering Miss Clarke's cape.
"So I ran away to you," she added wearily.
"That was right. We will all make you welcome," said Dolly cordially, sure that her father and mother, and her two little brothers, would all make good her promise.
"You should have seen them all peeping out of the window in amazement this afternoon when I came walking up with the grand Devereaux at my side," she continued consciously. "I asked him in, and he sat on the porch nearly half an hour talking to me. When he was leaving, I asked him to call again, and pinned some pansies in his buttonhole, and what do you think he said, Liane?"
"I could never guess," the girl answered, with a secret pang of the keenest jealousy.
"He said: 'What exquisite pansies! They remind me of Miss Lester's eyes—such a rare, purplish blue, with dark shadings."
Liane caught her breath with stifled rapture, that he had remembered her, but Dolly added wistfully:
"He must have read in my face that I was disappointed at not having a compliment, too, for he went on to say that my eyes were just like bluebells. Liane, which are the prettier flowers, pansies or bluebells?"
"I should say that it is all a matter of taste," Liane replied gently.
So presently they went upstairs to bed, but Dolly was so excited she talked half the night.
"Liane, have you heard of the Beauty Show that is to be held in the town hall next week?" she asked, as she rolled her yellow locks in kid curlers to make them fluffy.
Liane shook her head.
"No? Why, that is strange. Every one is talking about it, and they say that you and I are pretty enough to compete for the prize, although Miss Roma Clarke intends to exhibit her handsomest portrait."
"Is it a portrait show?"
"It is this way, Liane: A Boston artist has a commission to design the outside cover of a magazine for December, and he wants to get a lovely young girl for the central figure—a young girl taken from life. So he has advertised for five hundred pictures of beauties, to be delivered by next week, when they will be exhibited on the walls of the town hall, and judges appointed to decide on the fairest. Of course, the artist himself is to be one of the judges, and they say that Mr. Clarke and Mr. Devereaux will be two of the others, but I don't know the rest. Don't you think it's unfair, Liane, to have Roma Clarke's father and lover for judges? Of course, they will show her some partiality in their votes."
Liane murmured with dry lips in a choking voice:
"Is Mr. Devereaux Miss Clarke's lover?"
"So they say, but I hope it's not true. I'm trying to catch him