There was not a more nervous, startled maiden in all New England that night than Liane as she flew along the beach, haunted by a fear of drunken men, of whom Stonecliff had its full quota. And, indeed, she had not gone so very far before her fears took shape. She heard distinctly, above her frightened heartbeats and her own light steps, the sound of a man's tread gaining on her, while his voice called out entreatingly: "Elinor, Elinor! wait for me!" The sea's voice, with the wind, seemed to echo the call. "Elinor, Elinor! wait for me!" But Liane did not wait. She only redoubled her speed, and she might have escaped her pursuer but that her little foot tripped on a stone and threw her prone upon the sands. Before she could rise a man's arms closed about her tenderly, lifting her up, while he panted: "Elinor, what girlish freak is this? Why wouldn't you wait for me, dear?" Liane gasped and looked up at him in terror, but that instant she recognized him, and her fears all fled. "Oh, Mr. Clarke, you have made a mistake, sir. You don't know me, although I know what your name is. I am Liane Lester!" she cried breathlessly. He dropped her hand and recoiled in surprise, answering: "I beg a hundred pardons for my apparent rudeness. I saw you flying along as I smoked my cigar above the hill, and your figure looked so exactly like my wife's that I flew after you. I hope you will find it easy to forgive me, for you do resemble my wife very much, and, although you are young and fair, you may take that as a compliment, for my wife is very beautiful." "I thank you, sir, and forgive you freely. I have never seen Mrs. Clarke, but I have just come from your house, and was running home every step of the way because I had to stay till after dark, and I feared my grandmother would be uneasy over me!" faltered Liane, blushing at his intent gaze, for the wind had blown her veil aside, and her lovely features, pure as carven pearl, shone clearly in the moonlight. "And I am detaining you yet longer! Excuse me, and--good night," he said abruptly, smiling kindly at her, lifting his hat and turning back toward Cliffdene, while he thought with pleasure: "What a lovely girl! She reminded me of Elinor when she was young." Liane thought kindly of him, too, as she hurried along. "What a noble face and gracious voice! Miss Roma Clarke is blessed in having such a splendid father." She had only granny, poor child; coarse, ugly, repulsive, cruel granny. She could not even remember her parents or any other relation. A lonely childhood, whose only bright memories were of its few school days, a toilsome girlhood, robbed of every spark of youthful pleasure; coarse scoldings and brutal beatings. It was all a piteous life--enough, as Sophie, the maid had said, to make the very angels weep in pity. Strange, as she hastened on, how Jesse Devereaux's eyes and smile haunted her thoughts with little thrills of pleasure; how she wondered if she should ever see him again.