"You may bluster all you please, Granny Jenks, but you cannot shake my conviction that you are the wretch that stole my daughter, and placed a foundling in her place to deceive and make wretched my poor wife. This girl, Liane Lester, is the image of my wife, and I am almost persuaded she is my own daughter. If I have guessed the truth it will be wiser for you to confess the fraud at once, for denial now will be useless. I believe I am on the right track at last, and I will never stop till I uncover the truth. And--the more trouble you give me, the greater will be your punishment." His dark eyes flashed menacingly, and the hardened old woman actually shivered with fear for an instant. Then she shook off the feeling, and turned from him angrily, reëntering her house, and snarling from the doorway: "I know nothing about your child, you crazy fool! Go away!" CHAPTER XIV. ROMA FINDS AN ALLY. Dolly Dorr was right. Handsome Malcolm Dean had never quitted Liane's side since the moment he had clasped her hand in congratulating her on her triumph as queen of beauty. He remained by her side, enraptured with her beauty and her bashful grace, and he lost no time in preferring a request to walk home with her that night, thinking to himself how sweet it would be to walk with her beneath the brilliant moonlight, the little hand resting on his arm, while the low, musical voice answered his remarks with the timidity that showed how unconscious she was of her own enchanting beauty. He could scarcely credit what they had told him this afternoon when examining the portraits: that Liane Lester was only a poor sewing girl, with a cruel grandmother, who beat her upon the slightest pretext, and never permitted her to have a lover. "She looks like a young princess. It is a wonder that some brave young man has not eloped with her before now," he declared. "Every one is afraid of Granny Jenks," they replied; but Jesse Devereaux only remained gravely silent. He had decided to win sweet Liane for his own, in spite of a hundred vixenish grannies. He had sent her the fragrant roses to wear, determining to disclose his identity that night, and to win her sweet promise to be his bride. Now his plans were all spoiled by the artist's sudden infatuation, and he could have cursed Roma for the spiteful manoeuvring that had kept him an unwilling captive, while Liane was drifting beyond his reach. All his pleasure was over for to-night, yet he did not give up hope for the future. His dark eyes had not failed to detect the joy in her glance, and the blush on her cheek at their meeting, and his ears had caught the little regretful ring in her voice, as she whispered that she had already promised Mr. Dean. Presently the people all began to go away, and with keen pain he saw Liane leaving with her new admirer, her little hand resting like a snowflake on his black coat sleeve.