A VOICE FROM  SEA.

mammals”

 

Roll tubule“ roll! ,
I ne’er shall-lire ofthee;
For oftentimes I seem to hear
. y‘ A voice from the sea.

at break or does of day,
v Where‘er I chance to be,
Still to my ear, distinctly comes
A Voice from the sea.

It‘whl . words of hope :— .
“Swat wofrgstliey at: to me ;I— d
, speaks o in net, apprer an a,
That goice from the sea.

And- how can I be sad '
When feeling that ’tis he,
Who speaks of those bright, happy lands.
' His voice from the sea. '

Then roll! blilows, roll!
And I will merry be, ‘

While waiting here“; my uummons from
‘ His voice from the sea.

 

Blanca;

on, _ _
run scan, ON MY NECK.

BY MARY REED CROWELL.

 

Sun was perfectly lovely that night, in.
her black velvet dress, and its Honiton over-
dress that rivaled vainly the darkness of her
bright eyes and ivory-shining hair. At
her throat she wore the Carruthers solitaire;
and that washer only ornament, unless I
except the trailing, dronping spray of dusky
pink roses in her hair. - _

I was dressed in awhite pique—I usuallv
wear white, summer and" winter—and
know there was a rising anger in my heart
._ as I looked at her, as she adjusted a glove-

button. Why should 'I not feel jealously

angry ? ' ’

I was a Carruthers as well as she; wily—-
ah! that horrid “ only "—she was the rich,
courted Bianca Carruthers, only child and
heiress of her father; while I-_—I was “ no-
body but Fay—pretty, silly, useful little
Fay, you know; Fred’s daughter and that
low French girl’s. Poor, dear Fred, to
think he threw himself away w) l” ‘

That was the way they—I mean myfa—
ther’s folks—generally introduced me. At
first I was indignant that my dear, dead
mother, who loved my father so, and who
was so patient and angel—like, was consider-
ed ‘;low,” because she was a poor girl.

I Then I had learned to wisely refrain from
my outbursts; and by the time I had been
at Corruthers Court six years, and had been
taught by experience. what that red gleam
in my cousin Bianca’s black eyes meant—-
and 1t shone never so luridly as when I at-
tempted to protest against their inhuman
way of speaking of my mother—I held my
tongue; and then they said, “How docile
Fay has become l” But I hated them all;
from the kingly old gentleman who was my
andfather as well as Bianca’s, down to
autiful Bianca herself. I think they all
reciprocated this natural—born antagonism;
for they let me alone, every one of them,
and I went aboutthe old,castle~1ike man--
sion with a fierce pride that I possessed
equal shares in it; with a savage determina-
, tion to stay there so long as I chose, despite
their coldness, their magnificent contempt
of me. -

For was I not a Carruthers? Bianca
went out a great deal, and her lovers num-
bered a score at least: while I, utterly ig-
nored by the ‘“ set ” the Carruthers graced,
used to smile grimly after they had all gone
to some aristocratic reception, and then
console m elf with my books. I
u “Fay,” ianca said, one miserably sleety
mornin , paying me the unwonted compli-
ment 0 a Visit, “ the Emersons receive to-
night, and my violet moire needs attention.
Could youdust arrange the satin a‘triflc ‘2”

So I la' aside my work, and followed
her to her dressingroom. ‘

“ Annie is sickwith one of her headaches,
or I’d not annoy you. Then, you know
your taste is so exquisite, and Chauncey
Delorme will be there. You know what a
critic he is.”

No, I didn’t know any thing about it, and
I told her so; then asked her if she would
have the title and satin arranged berthe or
Pompadmor. ‘

I felt the vexatious frown I would not
look up to see; then directly she spoke:

“Fay Camithers, you know I love him,
and am going to win him.”

I looked up then; until don’t think she
particularly enjoyed my rejoinder.

“ Ya, I think I remember his name now.
The gentleman gout party followed all last
summer from witzerland to Paris. He
must be a paragon.” ,

She flushed a little, but it was in anger.

“Thank you. He 2'3 a paragon.”

“I hate paragons.” .

That was all either of us said about it; I
finished the task, received a most Chilling
“ thank you,” returned an equally heartless

“ not at all,” and went- back to my room.

It stormed fearfully that night; great

gusts of rain-fraught wind wont dashing
madly b ' the great old house; but she went
to the mersons, clad in her royal robes, to
see him, Chauncey De Lormewshe and all
the familyuleavmg the Court to me and
the servants.

After the carriage had gone, I went down
to thellbrary, a and oh room, my favor—
ite retreat, antic patin a delightful hour
among the red-and—gol covers. I had kept
on my. white pique, but had unloosened mv
halo—it was my only pride, so like my
mother’s in its thick lengthiness, its waving,
lustrbus goldenness; so, curled up in an
ann-chair~scarlet velvet it was—with my
hair nestling lovingly around me, and the
gas turned on to a dcl' htful radiance, I
took downafavorite out or, and began to
read. I have not the slightest idea how long
it was, but I must have fallen asleep; for,
of. a sudden, I opened my eyes, and in a
frightened sort of an rise, 'I remember, met
the gaze, half amuser , half deprecating, of
a stranger.

“ Pardon me, please; I ‘ust this moment
came in, expecting to flu Miss Garruthers.
I am Chauncey De Lorme.”

He bowed with such courtly grace, and
so Winning a smile, that I ceased to wonder
Ely Blanca. was a) in love with her cava-

r. _
“ M cousin has gone, an hour since, per-
haps, 1‘. De Lorine.” ‘

jud Ttggn you, too, area Miss Carmthers, I

3. exam Fa  ~ .

. Fay! be repeated; and I never knew:
till then how liquidlymelodious my name
was; and a little flush of pleasure rose to

_ my; cheeks.

I am very much ‘ fined to make your
acquaintance, Miss ay. May I hope it
S

"a"
\.

 

 

am b2Hcontinued as delightfully as it has
“ I certainly have not the slightest objec-
tion to it, sir. I have heardso much of
ou— ) ,
I could have bitten my. tongue off for my
thoughtlessness. I saw a comical little smile

' hover a second on his beautiful mouth.

“ From Miss Bianca, I think I may ven-
ture to say. She and I are great friends, I
am proud to assure you.” -

Then I began. to hate him; the idea of
him and her being friends! Something in
the thought made me shiver.

“I will be late at the Emersmie, I fear,
but ‘Fays’ don’t often befinle us poor mor-
tals nowada. Good—nig t!” ,

He was , as suddenly and mysteriously
as he had come. _ 2'

Later, Bianca returned, flushed with a
glorious ,triumph; and I wondered—well,
what did I wonder? _ \ o

The very next day, when Chaun De
Lorme came, he sent cards to both Bianca
and myself. Like a tigress, she caught my

“ Girl! do youknow him 1’”

I was terrified at the lurid glow in her
eyes, but I‘was not to be silenced.

“ I know him.” '

“ Well ?”

email is it yen wish to ask me? if 1am
in love? because if 'yOu do, I might say I
had as good a ri ht to win him as yourself.”
- Shea cached, er fists and shook them in
my face. ' ' ' ‘ ‘ ' ,

“ Don‘t ‘you‘ dare! He is the first, the
only man I ever loved; beware how you
cross my track, you vile French creature,
or you shall repent in ashes every day of
your life i”

I felt her hot breath on my face,’caught
the red gleam ofher eyes, and then she was

no. ' -
I chanced my collar, twisted a geranium
in my hair, and was down in the reception-
room before Bianca, wondering what she
would say. .
' All smiles she entered, with a mockineg
reproving glance at me.

“ Fay, you‘ sprite! always in advance of
slow, sober me i” _

Her audacity struck me speechless for a
s‘econd, then I grew bold. ' ' 7

"Always in advance, my dearest Bianca,
and always intend to be.” '

If she detected the hidden meaning, she
made no sign.

 

sunshine, or among the blooming flowers;

while 1, poor, unworthy I, have had given

to me the best jewel awarded to woman,

the priceless gem of a fond, loving, appre-

ciating heart. H
, Soon to Commence!

The great story of the Wilderness, in the days
when the remorselcss Shawnee;the Tiger of the
Woods—made Kentucky “3 dark and bloody
ground,” is soon to cornmence in these columns. It
is by a writer of wide-spread reputation, and a work
of more than ordinary interest. Look out for

THE AVENGING ANGELS»:

The White Witch:

R,
THE LEAGUE OF THREE.
, A sum: new or mama“ LIFE.

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,

Amen or “HEART on ma,” “WOLF DEMON,"
“ scam BAND," “ her. or staple,” mo.

CHAPTER XIII.
IN THE NET.

“WELL, I’m blest!” mutteredPipgan, as
he watched the carriage drive off. “ If this
’ere ain’t mir‘aculoue—wonderful for to be—
hold! Why, these familiar faces makes me
think that I’m across the water. Shall I fol-
low them ‘2”

A moment he pondered on the question.

“ What’s the use '3” he said, 'refiectively.
“ The girl, evidently, lives in that hotel, so
I know where to find her if I want her; and
as for the dashy nob with the golden hair——
blessed if that hair—dyeing ain t a brilliant
idea !—~I know where to find him if I wants
him. But, do I want him ? That’s a ques-
tion that I can’t answer just now. I shall
have to use the ocean cable to find out. I
might as well inquire a little as towho this
gir is—what tack she's sailing on now, as 9.
nautical man would so. . Just to think of
my coming to this ‘ ' arsted country, you
know,’ for to enjoy myself a bit, and getting
fi ht into business.”

hen Mr. Pipvan' missed his tooth-pick.

“ Another quill gone i” he muttered, as
his eyes found it on the pavement. “ That’s
the 2pecond one that this ’ere party has cost

c:
He supplied himself with a. f esh tooth-

 

l

 

 

 

True, there was nothing absolutely wrong
in Montgomery’s situation, for a third party
—O’Connel———was present. But as the bard
of Avon'wrote, “trifles light as air are to
the jealous, confirmations strong as proofs

‘ of holy writ.” .

The subtle mind of the chief * of the
League of Three had kindled the spark, the

other members of the (brotherhood must-

fan it into a blaze.

Seeing Frances at the winddw about spoilt
all the pleasure of the drivefor Montgom-
ery. Yet there were moments when, amid
the winding roads of the Park, secluded as
it were from'the world, in gazing into the
dark, lustrous eyes of the beautiful stranger
-——eycs which seemed to beam with a softer
light when they looked upon him—he for—
got the memory of Fiancee Chauncy.

The drive over, the party. returned to the
hote .

Montgomery and, O’Connel made their
adieus to the countess. V

Politely, she pressed them to call again.
Montgomery fancied that her request was
addressed more to him than to his compan-
ion, and that her eyes said more than her
words.

But, as a rule, nearly all young men are
vain in the presence of a pretty woman;
perhaps Montgomery was not an exception
to the rule. A
' “ By, the‘way,” said O’Connel, as they de—
scended to the street, “ did you notice that
Miss Chauncy didn’t look as amiable as usu—
al to—day ‘9”

“ Do you think so?” Montgomery an-
swered, evading the question.

"‘ Well, yes. , It struck me that way. I
only gave her a casual glance, though, as
we passed; perhaps Iain wrong.”

“ I never saw her out of sorts,” Montgom-
ery said: “ I don’t ‘ believe that she could
get angry if she tried to ; she is very amia-
ble.’ '

He was vainly fighting against what his
heart told hinfwas truth. He was sure that
Frances was displeased. ‘- I

“What does ‘ Iago ’ in the play say about
‘belles in their parlors, devils in their kitch-
ens ‘3’ ” said O’Connel, shrede .

“ That’s nonsense“; as far as Miss Chauncy
is concerned,” said Montgomery. “ A bet-
ter irl never lived.” ,

“ es; I believe some wise’man once said
that all women are angels until they were
proved to be———the contrary,” O’Connel re-
plied, with latent sarcasm in his tone.

 

-‘ w—«v-u m-....m ... .yu r—«q

es

\\.

1

  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 

    

 

:1 JC?’ \‘ih l l ‘
l I ‘, ., , / k W
3‘ "x J" 5‘! 'fn'éi‘ m.“

DJ

 
 
 

. (.,
.' 

‘\

 

l

l





 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A month after that, there gleamed an
opal stone on my fore-finger; and Chauncey
De Lorine had put it there when I promised
to be his wife.

At first I decided not to tell Bianca; then
I thought how childishly silly I Woe to be

afraid of her; so I went straight to her, ~

and told her all.

Heaven send I may never behold such a
face, Such eyes, such lips as hers looked to
me that moment, as, in the utter despair of
her baffled hopes, her unrequited love, her
mad jealousy, she caught my hair in her
hands, jerking“ me till I almost screamed
with pain. .

“Fay Oarruthers! how dare you? how
dare you, a poor beggar, put yourSelf in 111
place? Answer me, and tell me you wil
give him up, or I’ll kill you l”

I verily thought she was going mad; I
felt her quick, flame-like breath on my fore-
head as she bent over me and hissed the
words in my ears. .

Then, ere I could indi nantly scorn her
overtures, her mood and only changed; so
suddenly that I was more terrified than I
hadbeen by her anger. ‘ .

' “ Fay, it has been too severe a‘blow for
me. I fearl said awful thin s to you, who
are not to blame. Will you or at them?”

She had Walked over to her ressing—bu-
reau as she spoke, and I was wondering
what she meant, when, like a flash of light-
ning, she turned upon me, flirting her gossa-
mer web of a handkerchief in my face;
whileiunder litesheeny folds, I caught one
glimpse of her link«jewele'd penknife. I
never can describe the sensation ; that came
over me; but too well do I remember the
awakenin . '

They said-it had been a fearful blow she
had dealt me with the beautiful toy, and to-
day I can feel the scar on my neck, that the
cicatrice has left in healing. 

What happened all those weeks, when I
lay prostrate and unconscious in a low ner-
vous fever, Chauncey has told me.

Bianca, with her hot passions and un-
governable temper, had, in a fit of tempo-
rary insanity, attempted my life; then,
when I Was expected to dip momentarily,
when the sleepless officers of justice
Were (iota-mined to aven e poor me, remorse
and terror had comple the work; Bianca
was hopelessly crazy. ‘

To—day, while I am preparing for my
wedding, she is a chained prisoner in her

room at the asylum.

Poor Bianca! I never loved her, but my
heart bleeds for her; in all her glorious
beauty, never more «to go out in the glad

 

 

 

pick from his pocket and then crossed the
street to the hotel. He waylaid the colored

gentleman in charge of the door, and within.

fifteen minutes had the full history of the
“ Countess of Epernay.” _

Then he resumed his stroll up Broadway.

The carriage containing the countess,
Montgomer and Lionel drove up the street.

The young New Yorker found a strange
fascination in the face of the beautiful girl.

The few minutes that he passed with her
in conversation in the hotel revealed to him
that she was not. only a beautiful but an ac-
complished woman.

There was a nameless charm‘ about her
that he could not understand; a subtle
witchery in her face and voice that won
upon him.

The countess and Montgomery had enter—
ed the Carriage first, while O’Connel on the
pavement had given some whispered in-
structions to the driver, then had taken his
place beside Montgomery.

The young New Yorker little guessed the
trap that the wily O‘Connel had laid for
him, or the terrible consequences that would
ensue from that simple pleasuré-excursion.

Busy in conversation with Leone, Mont-
gomery did not notice the route that the
carriage had taken until an observation of
O’Connel’s caused him to raise his eyes.

.. “There’s Miss Chaunc r,” O’Connel said.

A slight flush mant ed Montgomery’s
cheek, as he looked up and caught the eyes of
Frances.

She was sitting at a parlor window and a
look of astonishment swept over her fair
face as she beheld her lover in the company
of a young and beautiful girl. A little touch

.of anger was in the soft, blue eyes of the

blonde beauty. v
Mont omery was annoyed at the occur-
rence, ough .he felt sure that Frances
would accept his explanation; yet there‘was
a look upon the face of his betrothed bride
that he did not like. It seemed to him like
the little black clOud that rises in the sum-
mer sky—the warnin of the thunder-storm.
The quick eye 0 O’Connel noted. the
flush of anger—slight as it was—upon the
face of the girl and the look of annoyanco
that clouded Montgomery’s brow. His
scheme had“ succeeded. He had given the
driver of the carri e instructions to drive
up the avenue, an to drive «slowl . I His
idea was, that, in passing the O annoy
mansion, some of the household might see
them and report to Frances that Montgo -
ery had driven past in company with a ady.
Fortune had crowned his hope, for the girl
with her own eyes had beheld the fact.

 

“Wise men say very stupid things, some-
times,” Montgomery said, dryl . V

“That’s very true. Well, I or off down-
town; which way are you going i”

“ Up,” Montgomery replied.

“ Allohs, then.” '
~ And so the two parted.

To speak truth, Montgomery felt any
thing but comfortable, as he walked slowly
upithe street. -

“I have been a fool!” he muttered, with
a clouded brow, “ yet I haven’t really done
any thing wrong. Bah! a man can not de-

ceive himself, and why should I attempt the

fruitless task? This girl is beautiful—very
beautiful, and she has cast a charm over me
that I can not account for. I love Frances
Chauncy with all my heart—have given her
all the love that is in my nature; that is, I
think I have; and yet I can not but confess
that I am half in love with this stranger, an
acquaintance of an hour. A man can’t
very well love two women, though I don’t
know why I should come to that conclusion,
when I know that some of my companions
are in love with half a dozen, all at the same
time. But that is not the pure, the genuine
love that sways all the inner life of «a man.
But, do I love Frances Chauncy with such a
love? I believed that I did; but now that
this dark—eyed beauty with her Witching

‘ smile has come across my path, I—I begin

to believe that I do not know my own mind.
I must shake off the strange fascination that
this woman has thrown around me. I’ll see
Frances this afternoon. Give her time to
think over the matter, if she is really angry
with me. In lthe pure light of her eyes this
dan erous glamour of the other will vanish.”

Tie‘se broken sentences came one by one
into the mind of the young man as he
walked slowly up the street.

He felt that he was under the influence of
a spell—~31 fatal charm that seemed to bind
his better nature.

The wild intoxication of passion was
slowly stealing over him. .Desperately, he
fought against the potent power that binds
in iron bonds one-half the world.

As Montgomery went up the street, O’Con-
nel, smiling over the success of his scheme,
went down Broadway.

“‘She has fascinated him, already,” he
mused, as he walked on. “ I could read it in
his eyes. He was struck with her at the
first glance. The star of Frances Chauncy
pales its light before my comet! It Was a
clever device of mine to drive past the
house ofthc fair blonde,” and, a. smile of
triumph lit up his face as he spoke. “ For—
tune, too, aided me. ,_ Frances at the win-

' into,our power.

dew! I couldn’t have wished for any thing
better. She saw her lover drive past the
house with a beautiful girl; one fully as
pretty as she is. She is not thewoman that

takeéher for if she is not 'ealous. .And if
she is jealous, she hersel shall rend the
bond that binds Montgomery to her. Of
course he can easily explain the circum-
stance; but what woman ever listened to
reasonwespeciall, if she was jealous?”

O’Connel pacec onward with hasty steps.
Ideas were thronging, . quickly, upon his
brain, and his stride took. the cue from their
speed. I

“I must find either Stoll or Tulip,” he
muttered. “ One of then1~better Stoll, for
I doubt if Tulip will be in the med after
his repulse—must call upon Miss Chauncy
this afternoon; get there before Montgom—
ery, and in the course of a casual conversa-
tion contrive to tell her that it is all over
town that Montgomery is desperately in
love with this beautiful French girl. Aha!”
and O’Connel laughed a sin. “ Leone plays
her part to perfection.’ Then his mind
came back tohis scheme. «“ With the infor.
mation of her lover’s madness after another
woman in her mind, when Montgomery
calls his reception will be any thing but a
graciousone. I think I «know his nature
pretty well. {His pride is the strong point
in his character. Let Frances offend that
pride—which she will be pretty apt to do,

for women are very free with their words ,

when anger rules them—and every thing
will be at an end between them. If she
casts him off—wounds his pride'mhe will call
her false and fickle—learn to despise her.
Love will be replaced by contempt. A
man can not love a woman that he thinks
is unworthy of him. . Then, desperate—for
all men are desperate to a Certain extent
vwhcn disappointed in these matters of the
i‘heart—where will he seek consolation?”
O’Connel laughed, as he put the question
to himself. ~ '
"‘ Where would I seek it, or any other rea-
sonable man? thy, in the love of the wo-
man who does look kindly On my passion.
Will he not do the same? He ‘- is only hu-
man with‘ all his strength of mind. I’ve
noticed as a fact in this world, the noblcr
the man—the greater his mental power and
talent—the bigger fool he is where a woman
is concerned. All great men have a great
deal of the woman in their natures. Once
he seeks her love, he falls like a. blind fool

He can not fail to be caught by it; and,
once in the net, I’ll warrant that he’ll not
break through the meshes.”

'O’Connel’s lips were compressed firmly
and the evil light was lurking in his eyes, as
he thought of the triumph in the future.

“ Even this mysterious White Witch, who
seems by accident—for it can not be aught
else—to have hit upon my very plans, can
not save him. I’d give a trifle to know who
the White Witch is ! but—bah! it was only
a masquerading joke; by chance she hit
on something that seemed like my ideas.”

Then O’Connel saw Tulip and Stoll stand-
ing in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

 

CHAPTER XIV.
, THE THREE IN COUNCIL.

TULIP and Stoll greeted the chief of the
League with a look of inquiry as he joined
them. ~ -

“ All goes on well,” said O’Connel, in re-
ply to thalook. ‘ r . .

“ ’ou have introduced him to ‘the lady ‘3"
Tulip asked.

“ More than that. He has not only made
the acquaintance of the. fair countess, but
he has rode about the Park by her side for
over an hour,” O’COnnel replied, with a
look of triumph. ,

‘f You have pushed matters, then,” Stoll
said with a coarse laugh.

“The game we are playing is a difficult
one: we can neither afford to lose a trick
nor to hesitate in our play,” replied O’Con-
nel, ravcly. ‘

“ o for you have succeeded,” Tulip said.

“Yes, beyond my hopes.
has not only made the acquaintance of the
siren who is to lure him to min, but he has
been fascinated by her.” ;

“By Jove!” cried Stoll, exultingly, “the
be inning is beautiful.”

ulip showed no signs of joy upon his
thoughtful face. Farther-sighted than his
companion, he knew, full well, that the
first trick does not decide the fate of the
game. v

“ He has been attracted by the beauty of
our siren ?” Tulip said.

“ Yes; but more, I think, by her conver-
sation and manners even than her beauty.
Our siren is not only a beautiful woman,
but an accomplished lady. There is a name—
less grace about her——a subtle charm—that
affects even me, sometimes, and yet I have
known her many years,“ replied O’Connel.

“ She has charmed—fascinated him?”

“Yes ;” and he proceeded to relate the
events of their ride and to explain his fur-
ther plans for alienating Montgomery and
Frances Chauncy.

The other two listened, eagerly. ’ ' .

“ One of you-#01“ both—must call upon
Miss Chauncy this afternoon. In the
course of conversation, continue to speak of
MontgomerPy. Say that you saw him driv-
ing in the ark with this girl; hint that it
is whispered about that he is desperately in
love with her; in fact, that itis a common
rumor that he has offered to marry her, and
that bets have even been made at the clubs
as to whether she will accept or refuse his
offer. '

Tull ’s eyes sparkled as O’Connel devel-
oped t e scheme that was to separate two
loving hearts.

Stoll listened with wonder. His. dull
brain could never have framed so clever a
device; yet he easily perceived how likely
it was to succeed. '

“A glorious idea !" exclaimed Tulip,
warmly. -

“ It will separate them, beyond a doubt,”
Stoll added.

“ I think so, then in anger he will seek
consolation in the smiles of our siren.”

“ B the way, O’Connel, who is this pret-
ty gir ?” asked Stoll, bluntly.

“ Why, the Countess of Epemay—e”

“Yes, yes; I know that’s what she calls
herself; but, who is she, really i" asked Stoll,
interrupting O’Connel.

“ A young French girl, by name Leone
Epcrnay, and the daughter of a French
count who was killed in the fight at Saar-
bruck, in the first, of this Franco-German
war,” said O’Connel, coolly. '

“Why, you don’t mean to say that she is
reall —” ,

“ ' but she represents herself to be?—
exactly,” said O’Connel, breaking in upon
the s eeeh of the other.

“ ell, but I don’t understand,” said Stall,

 

 

in blank amazement. _

 

 

The snare is carefully laid. ’

Montgomery ‘

.r-w-ti.     ,~  ., 

;