By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 425--A College Widow By Frank H. Howe SAVED FROM HERSELF; OR, ON THE EDGE OF DOOM BY ADELAIDE STIRLING AUTHOR OF “A Forgotten Love,” “Nerine’s Second Choice,” “A Sacrifice to Love,” “Her Evil Genius,” “Above All Things,” “The Girl He Loved,” “Love and Spite,” “When Love Dawns.” All published exclusively in the EAGLE SERIES. [Illustration: S AND S NOVELS, STREET & SMITH, NEW YORK] NEW YORK STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS 79-89 SEVENTH AVENUE Copyright, 1898 and 1899 By STREET & SMITH Saved from Herself All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. SAVED FROM HERSELF CHAPTER I. THE THEATER. “I don’t see,” said Mrs. Trelane discontentedly, “why the woman could not have kept you.” She spoke to her own reflection in the glass with an angry frown. What was the good of an exquisite toilet, of a face that did not look within ten years of its age, when seated on the sofa opposite was a grown-up daughter whose presence in the house might spoil all her own well-laid plans? Just a week ago her only child, aged seventeen, had been returned from her cheap boarding-school with a scathing note from the principal regarding her unpaid bills. It was unbearable, even though she had forbidden the girl to be about the house or meet any of her visitors. To-night, when the table was laid for a party of two, the presence of a third was--impossible! “Ismay,” Mrs. Trelane turned sharply to the tall, slim figure coiled on the sofa, “couldn’t you take a maid and go out somewhere to-night? Oh, no--I can’t spare you! Well, mind you don’t let Abbotsford see you--he doesn’t know you are, you know!” The girl looked with somber impatience at her mother in her satin gown, so great a contrast to her own shabby black serge. “All right,” she said quietly, “but if he keeps coming here every day he is bound to find out my existence.” “It won’t matter--by and by.” Mrs. Trelane gave a little conscious laugh and poured some peach-blossom scent on her handkerchief. Ismay, as the delicate odor reached her, moved her head as if it sickened her. Three years away from a mother who had never loved her had deadened the memory of the regret, the loneliness, that had been her portion always. But to-night she saw very clearly that she was, as always, a stone in the road of Mrs. Trelane’s life. She got up, with a leisurely grace, and looked about her as the door-bell rang and Mrs. Trelane swished softly out of the room. She was used to being unpopular; at school no one had liked her, but yet indifference from her mother cut her. And it was dull, deadly dull! There was nothing to read, nowhere to sit but this disordered bedroom that smelled to nausea of almonds.