Aiken’s Fine Dramatic Romance:

“The ‘Wanted’ Woman!”

  

 

 

 

 

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Vol. X.-

Publlcation Office,
98 William St. New York.

 

ELDORADO.

BY EBEN E. REXFOBD.

 

 

The waves, with a passionate murmur,
Break on the silver sand,
And whisper a story of sunshine,
In a far-away Summer land;
They tell of an island lying
Out in a stormless see.
Under a sky whos.» glory
Ne‘er shone for you and me.

They tell us of blossoms blowing
Under the kiss of June,
Where the brooks of the sea are flowing
With the rhythm 0f a dreamy tune.
In a land where is always Summer.
And always a cloudless sky;
There is a land, my darling.
For whose sweets we long and sigh.

Oh, wares. in your whispered story,
There is something strangely sweet,

For We dreamed of a land where Autumn
Ne‘er .ollowed the Summer‘s feet.

We sign for a sky unclouded—
For the shores untouched by care,

And we know from the tale you tell us,
That no sorrow cometh there.

In the suiisct‘s shining glory
A glimpse we can almost see
Of this land of Eldorado
That waits for you and me:

And we hear a faint. sweet mus‘c
From that far-away, unseen shore,
Where our hearts have gone in longing

To come hick, nevermore.

 

“Wanted” Woman;

i

WhoWas the Blacksmith’ s Daughter?

A Story of the Lures and Lights of

the Stage.

 

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

CHAPTER I.
ALONE IN THE WORLD.

THE blacksmith was dead; old Sabban Kuni-
bell had gone to his long home, and his only
child—his only living relative, as far as any of
his neighbors knew—his daughter, the tall, the
queenly, the blonde-haired girl, was all alone in
the world.

The story of the blacksmith’s life, since he had
dwelt in the village, was a plain and uneventful
one, for in these little secluded hamlets, where
one day is but the pattern of the preceding one—
where not once in years does anything startling
happen—what was there in the quiet, humdrum
life of the honest workman worthy to be detailed
at length!

lie had an odd name—one, once heard, not
easily forgotten-Sabban Kunibell; he was a
stranger, a foreigner, apparently, who had come
to this village and set up his smithy some eigh-
teen years befOre the time of which I write.
“'ith him came his wife—a dark-eyed, apparent-
ly passionate woman, but very ladylike—and a
little girl of wonderful beauty.

There wasa mystery about the man; that point
all agreed upon. He was a retty good black-
smith, but a far better scho ar; his household
goods were few, his way of living plain, but he
was evidently educated far above his present
station, and had surely seen better days. His
little librar was the wonder of the village, for
it contain books that some few of them had
heard of, but had never seen.

The man was strangely reSerVed, too, in regard
to his past life, for the gossips of Cold Snake did
not hesitate,when they found he was not inclined
to be communicative, to ask him bluntly who
and what he was, where he came from, for they
surmised that he was an Englishman. although
he never admitted it, nor what were the reasons
why he had selected their village as an abiding-
place. These questions the blacksmith pushed
aside with the greatest ease without satisfying
the eager curiosity which had prompted them in
one single particular, and be accomplished this
task so nicely and in such a gentlemanly way
that even the most persistent gossip could not
take offense.

And the blacksmith’s wife was ually as re-
served as her husband,alth0ugh she adaproud,
imperious way of answering which did not make
friends for her; but, seemingly, she was far bet-
ter pleased to keep away from her neighbors
than to be on friendly terms with them.

Years passed on, and the Village curiosity
finally died away, as the fire dieth that is not
supplied with fresh fuel.

he daughter—who, by the way, was as
strangely named as her father, being called
Halah—grew to girlhood, freely acknowledged
as the belle of the village; but she was, like her
parents, shy and not disposed to make friends.
She was no favorite among the other village
girls, for they declared that she was a stuck-up
thing. seeing that her father was only a common
blacksmith. She was educated at home, and that
tended too to keep her away from the rest, and
so the girl grew up almost without a companion
of her own age. When she was sixteen her
mother died suddenly, and, the cares of the
household falling upon her when other girls were
thinking of beaux and pleasuring, tended to
withdraw her from the life that ordinarily falls
to the lot of the village girl.

As a matter of course, being the prettiest girl
for miles around, tall, stately. with a queendike
air, and the most beautiful dark-blue eves and
golden hair imaginable. it wasquite in the course
of nature for every young fellow in the village to
tr for her smiles.

ut, though very polite and ladylike to all,
there was only one who could boast that he was
even received on friendly terms by the black-
smith’s queenly daughter, and this was young
" Jim ” l’lumgate, the lawyer.

The Plumgutes were an old New Jersey fam-
ily, dating ’way back to the Revolution, and it
had always been the boast of old Daniel l’lum-
gate, Jim’s father, when in his cups, that his an-
cestors always had been loyal to the Crown——
Tories, in fact. It seems strange, in our time,
that a man should glory in such a boast, but the
old lawyer did.

The blacksmith was dead, and the blacksmith
was buried; and now, two days after “ earth to
earth ” had been consigned, the young lawyer
made hold to call upon the friendless girl in
order to learn what her plans were for the
future. .

All the gossips in the village had been predict-
inga match between the two, and now in the

 

 

By Beadle

Copyrighted l892,

  

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The. girl looked up and gave a. little scream when she saw a. stranger with the landlady.

dusk of the evening when one of them, in pass-
ing down the street, happened to see the young
lawyer knocking at the door of the blacksmith’s
humble abode, in great glee he hurried off to re-
port the news.

The girl received the young man kindly, as was
her wont, and the lawyer, with the briskness
characteristic of the man, proceeded to the busi-
ness upon which he had come.

“ You will pardon this intrusion, I am sure,
Miss Halah, when I explain what has brought me
here,” he said, as he accepted the proffered chair.
“ Of course, as you are well aware, I takes very
great interest in your welfare, and now that this
great sorrow has fallen upon you, I thought it
was my duty to come and see what you propose
to do in the future.”

“ You are very kind, indeed, and I am really
glad you have come, for I stand in need of ad-
vice,” the girl ans wered.

“ If that is the case, it is very lucky I did call,”
the young lawyer remarked, his face brighten-
ing up; “ but I can assure you it was with fear
and trembling I knocked at the door, for—par-
don the reinnrk—you have such strange fancies
sometimes, that I am always afraid of offending

on.”
y Just a slight shade of color came into the pale
face of the girl, and she hesitated a moment be-
fore she replied.

“ I am not offended at the remark, for I know
it is true. I have discouraged your visits,
although I know you are really and truly a
friend, for I did not wish to give the village gos-
sips a chance to chatter. I am so sick of this
miserable place; a young man and woman can—
not speak to each other here, without the whole
place is alive with reports that they are lovers—
as if there was no other destiny in the world for
a girl but to get married and settle down to a
humdrum life!” ‘

And the proud lip of the girl curled in queenly
contempt.

“ Well, it is generally the aim and end of a
young girl‘s life,” the lawyer observed, not
pleased with the way in which the girl spoke.

“ Yes, but i am not like other girls, and I do
not wish the world to talk of me in such a way.
The world!" she cried, With a sudden burst of
energy. “ “'hat aiii Italking about? This mis-
erable little place is not the world, and what
does it matter what is said here? 'l‘o—morrow I
am going away, and I trust I shall never see
this lace again.”

“ o-morrow .1"

The lawyer was astonished at the abrupt
move.

“ Yes. for good."

“ If it is not a secret, will you tell me where
you are going and what you propose to do?”

“ I will: but I rely upon you not to disclose my
intentions to any one." .

“A lawyer never betrays his clients, you
knOW.” .

“In a measure you are acquainted With my
father’s secret,” the girl said, lowering her vmce,
as if the subject was a solemn and a sacred one.

“ In a measure, yes; when my father died, he
confided it to me,” Plumgate remarked, in the
same guarded tone. .

“ F‘ )r some reason my father lived in constant
fear—” .

“ Yes, fear that his sojourn here would be dis-
covered, and—”

“ And what?” asked the girl, anxiously.

“ That is all I know."

The girl drew a long breath, and a weary look
came over her face. '

“ And that is all I know, too; I fanCied that
perhaps you had come clew.” .

“ No, nothing; I know absolutely nothing but
that he fled to this secluded spot, selecting it,
as being far from a railroad, for a hiding-place,
and that he was in daily dread of being discov-
cred.” I ,

“ And yet I cannot bring myself to think it
was for any crime: my father was too good a
man in every way to ever have wronged a hu.
man being. I have carefullyexamined 8.11.1118
private papers, which he kept in an old-fashion-
ed mahogany box, but there isn’t anything there
to throw any light on the subject; there isn't a
paper in the box which dates back of the time
when he came to this place." .

“ But, did he say anything on his deathbed to
clear 11 them stery’i

“ Nofa word): he died in the night, and abrupt—

 

1y; no one was near; 1 was tired with watching,
and had fallen asleep. When I awoke, the b10w
had fallen.”

“ But the name your father bore: do you think
that it was his right one?”

“ Oh, yes; I am sure of it, for it is inscribed on
the fiy-leaf of all his old books, and some of them
are dated twenty-fl ve years ago.”

“ The mystery, then, whatever it was, evident-
ly has died with him: but now, toreturn to your-
self: what do you propose to do?”

“ I shall take the sta e to Freehold to—morrow,
and then the train to ew York.”

“ But you do not kn0w any one there .”’

“ I do not think I do,” the girl ansWered, just
a little trace of hesitation in her manner.

“ And have you money enough to support you
until you get something to do, for I presume
that you are going to New York to look for a
me ms of earning your Own living.”

” Yes,I have nearly three hundred dollars, be-
sides this house and lot, and I want you to try
and let the house for me, all furnished as it is.
Get what you can for it. it ought to rent for
twelve dollars a month, and that will almost
support me in the city, I think.”

“ Three dollars a week is very little to live on
in New York. But. what do you think of doing
when you get there?”

“ I am going on the stage; I intend to become
an actress.”

The young man was decidedly astonished at
the calm reply.

“ But, good heavens!” he exclaimed, “ have
you any idea of the difficulties that lie before you
in such a life ?”

“ No, but I will conquer them, no matter what
they are. I feel that have genius for a stage-
llka—I have always thought so, ever since I was
a child. 1 want but the opportunity, I am sure,
to win the laurel crown.”

The young lawyer uttered a deep sigh.

“ ()h. Miss Halah, I am certain you will regret
this step; you haven’t any idea of the dangers
which will beiet you.”

“ I must meet and conquer them all: besides,
I have an acquaintance,who has promised to aid
me.”

“ I can guess who that is,” asserted Plumgate,
suddenly remembering a piece of village gossip
which had come to his ears only a few Weeks
before.

Again the faint blush stole into the cheeks of
the girl.

“ Oh, yes, I know; the story was all over the
village. I happened to be in Freehold, and I
went toa dramatic entertainment at the hall,
and, after it was over. I became acquainted with
One of the actors. He took me fora silly girl
and thonghtl wanted to flirt with him; I allowed
him to walk with me; he was a gentleman, as 1
had thought, and he soon saw his error. I told
him of the wish I had to become an actress, and
he, like you, warned me of the dangers and dif-
ficulties which attend such a life; but when he
found that I was resolute, he promised to do
all he could for me. He saw that 1 was no
fiighty girl, but a woman determined in my
purpose."

“ And do you go to him, in New York 3” risked
the lawyer.

“ No, but to a lady whom he has recom-
mended.”

“ Take care, take care! You have no idea of
the many snares that exist to entangle a beauti-
ful girl like yourself in the great city. There
are people there, both male and female, worse
and more merciless than wild beasts.”

“ I cannot bring myself to know what fear is,”
the girl ans wered, looking more queenly than
ever as she spoke.

The young man had come with a certain pur-
pose, and although from what the girl had said
he knew that he stood no chance at all of ac-
complishing what he sought, yet he could not
help speaking.

“ Miss Halah, you are a very strange girl, and
therefore one cannot approach you like other
young ladies; I have something very important
to say, and I came this evening expressly to say
it, but, hang me! if I know how to say it.”

The girl looked at him a moment with her
clear, keen eyes; then she rose and extended her
hand to him.

“ You had better leave it unsaid." she replied,
frankly. “ Let me go forth into the world and
make my struggle; let me be cheered with the

! hope that I have at least one friend who will
i watch my career w ith interest—a friend to whom
I have never given pain.”

“But I may hope—"

“ Without hope what is there to life?”

The decree was given, and Plumgate bowed
his head in submission.

The next day the girl quitted the village, and
in a very few hours New York, the great
metropolis, swallowed her up.

CHAPTER II. V
TWO ON THE SCENT.

THE full, round harvest-moon was high in the
heavens and threw its broad, bright beams down
over the quiet country, and by the aid of its
light a. well—dressed man with a florid face, bushy
side-whiskers, after the English mutton-chop
style, rather stout in build, was making his way
to the little graveyard where the mortal re-
mains of the blacksmith reposed.

The man had arrived in Cold Snake only
about half an hour before, coming in a buggy
drawn by a white horse, which the landlord of
the hotel where he stopped at once recognized
as belonging to one of the Freehold livery
stables.

The stranger had a very smooth, persuasive
sort of way with him. He alighted, remarked
to the landlord that it was quite a chilly night
for the time of year—it was early in September
—-took a glass of apple-jack, at which he made a
wry face, as though he didn’t like it, and then
asked if there was any blacksmith in the neigh-
borhood, as he was afraid one of his horse’s
shoes was loose and he had quitca distance to
drive.

The landlord replied that the only blacksmith
there was in the Village, Kunibell, had unfor-
tunately died a few days ago.

The stranger was at once struck by the name.

“ Kunibell-Kunibell? Bless my soull” he ex-
claimed. “ I used to be very well acquainted
with a man of that name, long years ago.”

The tap-room loungers at once pricked up
their ears at this.

“ Yes, sir; I once knew a man by that name;
not in this country, though, but across the
water. He was not a blacksmith; his first name
wns Sabban.”

Every soul within the room started and stared
at this: was the mystery of the dead man com-
ing out at last?

“ Well, now, sir, this I must say is a wery odd
thing,” the landlord observed.

In Southern Jersey the inhabitants have the
strange fashion in talking of often substituting
w for v, after the Cockney style.

“ What is odd ?” the stranger demanded.

“ Why, that is the name of our blacksmith, or
he that was our smith.”

“ Sabban Kunibel'. i”

“ The wery same!”

“ Good heavensl but it can’t be possible! yet I
haven’t seen him for a great number of years-
in fact had completely lost sight of him for the
last twenty years, and I understood, too, that he
came to this country, so it may be that it was
my old friend, after all. He was rather tall,
with light hair and no beard—”

“ He bad light hair, but a big beard,”inter-
rupted one of the bystanders.

“ Ay, but he had no heard when he first came
here, twenty odd years ago, maybe!” declared
the landlord, in a tone of voice that brooked no
questioning. “ Why, I remember just as if it
was only yesterday: I had just taken possession
of this old house then, and repainted the snake
out yonder on the sign. I remember how he
came into the village just as well, he and his
daughter—~”

“ Ah, yes, his daughter!” interposed the
stranger, in his brisk, bustling wav; “ I remem-
ber her very well indeed, and a fine, strapping
young woman she must be now; let me see: her
name was Hada.”

There was a general chorus of dissent at this.

“ Oh, no,” the landlord hastened to say; “ you
have got the name wrong; it is Halah.”

The stranger looked puzzled ; he appeared to be
much surprised

“ Well, it may be Halah, but I would have
bet twenty to one that it was Hada.”

“ She never was called that here.”

And the rest all chimed in with the landlord
in this, and the host took advantage of the stran-

 

 

ger’s surprise to get in a question.

“ Begging your ardon, sir, what business was
Mr. Kunibell in w en you knew him?”

A well-affected look of surprise the man put
on now, but it didn’t deceive the villagers, for
they were sure it was assumed.

“ What business?”

And then he pretended to think.

“ Bless my soul! it’s very odd; I can’t for the
life of me remember; something in the commer-
cial line in the city, I believe; but, dash my hot-
tons, if I remember. By the by, where is this
young lady now? I should really like to call on
her, just to see if she is the daughter of my old
friend or not.”

“ She‘s gone away—went away this morn-
ing."

“ Where to?”

“ No one knows; she‘s a close-mouthed body,
and never tells her business to nobody. To York
though, I guess.”

“ Gone away for good i"

“ Well, young Jim Plumgate, the lawyer, can
tell you about that, if any one can,” the landlord
believed. “ I understand that she left her house
in his care.”

“ I really feel interested, and I think I should
like to see Mr.’Plnmgate. Where is he to be
found?”

The desired information was volunteered, and
the stranger proceeded to interView the young
lawyer.

NOW, young Plumgate, being a lawyer, was

used to men of devious and slippery ways, and
mistrusted the stranger from the start, but of
course didn‘t let the other perceive this; on the
contrary, he seemed to be overflmring with a
desire to afford him information, though, un—
luckily, he was not possessed of much. Miss
Halah, not Hada, as he informed the gentleman
in answer to his pointed inquiry on this point,
had gone away, but in regard to her destination
he was ignorant; she had left her property in
his charge and had said that she would write
to him in regard to it.
. “lVell, I should very much like to see her,”
the stranger declared. “ Here is my address in
New York,” and he penciled a few lines on a
card which he took from his pocket. “If you
learn the lady’s address, drop mea line and I will
be pleased tocall u n her."

“ Certainly,” rep ied the other, but at the same
time mentally making up his mind that he
wouldn’t do an thing of the kind.

“ Where is r. Kunibel buried?”

“ In our village graveyard.”

“ If it is near at hand I shouldn’t mind taking
a look at the grave of my old ac uaintance.”

And the stranger put on a me ancholy expres-
sion, but the young lawyer understood the dodge
at once.

“ Thinks that he can get some information
from the tombstone,” Plumgate thought, but he
directed the stranger which way to go, and the
man took his departure.

Straight to the graveyard then the seeker
after information proceeded. Thanks to the
bright light afforded by the moon there was no
difficulty in finding the spot, and the plain slab
which marked the resting-place of the black-
smith was easily discovered.

It was savage in its simplicit , and bore only
the name of the dead man, an the date of his
death. .

“ Sabban Knnibell l" the man muttered.
“ Well. there isn‘t much information to be got
out of that.”

“ Not much,” responded a hoarse voice, and a
medium sized man, dressed in a rather shabby
black suit, and with a decidedly Jewish cast of
features, rose from behind a neighboring tomb-
stone, where he had evidently been concealed,
and leered at the other.

“ Bless my soul l” cried the Englishman, start-
ing in astonishment, “if it isn’t Jerry Kinlan l”

‘ Yes, gov’nor; your humble servant to com-
mand,” and the man ducked his head and grinned
again. “ But i say: who would have thought it?
Who would have thought of a cove like yourself
coming away across the herring-pond on this
’ere Jay!‘ and the man jerked his thumb signifi-
cantly toward the tombstone that marked the
blacksmith’s grave as he spoke. “ No, sir-ee,
you could have knocked me down with a feather
when I see’d you a coming into this ’ere place,
and l sed to myself, sed I, if it ain’t Archibald
Pasilwaite, I’m a son of a gun 1”

For a moment the Englishman seemed per-~
plexed. Had the unexpected appearance of the
other disciincerted his plans?

“ But I say, gov‘nor, the thing has gone up a
tree here.”

“ You are in for this, eh ?” the other asked,
significantly.

“ You had better believe it.”

“ Of course you know the man is dead."

“ Sai‘t’in. At first I reckoned that it was a
‘ plant’ to throw anybody off the track, but
there ain’t any doubt of it. The gal is alive,
though.”

" Named ?—”

And Pasilwaite cast an inquiring glance at the
other.

“ Halah, they say round here, but Hada, as we
knoyy it, and that’s another thing that stumps
me.

“Who are you acting for in this matter?”

I. “ Ax me no questions, and I’ll tell you no
168.

“ Well, good-night to you: I wish you luck, if
you don’t spoil m y game.”

“ Same to you, gov’nor.”

And the two parted — both slotrhounds,
though of diflerent breeds. It was a question
which first should run the game to earth.

 

CHAPTER III.
THE THEATRICAL BOAiimNG~H0UsE.

THE girl went straight to New York. Al-
though she had always been brought up in the
country, and had not been in the city three times
in her life, yet there was nothing about her to
denote the rustic, thanks to the excellent educa-
tion which she had received from her parents,
and the peculiar, though natural dignity which
was so marked a- trait of her nature.

She was, as we have said, a very beautiful girl
——one who would have attracted attention any-
where, clad in almost any garb. The traveling-
dress which she wore could not have been more
plainly made, and yet,with her stately carriage,
she looked like aqueen in it; hardly a man passed
who did not turn to takea second look at the
charming young woman.

She had the direction given her by the young
actOr in her pocketbook, and when she arrived
in New York. after leaving the depbt, she in-
quired of the first policeman she saw in regard
to the street.

The officer directed, and then, as she went on
her way, teak a good look after her.

“ Bleecker street, near Crosby, eh? Blessed if
a gal like that hadn’t ought to go Fifth avenue
way l” he remarked, sagely.

 

 

 

 

    
 
 
  

 

 

 

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