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what that discovery was bound to be; yet be
exhibited a gratifying degree of surprised in-
terest, before asking:

“ You are positive, sir! There was no chance
for a. case of mistaken identity, for instance?”

Mchistie laughed, short and bitterly.

“ Didn’t I tell you, pardner, that the time was
When I fairly Worsliiped every square inch of
that woman? And havmg lived With her for so
many years, loving her that way, am I a man
to mistake another woman for the Mziilaiiie!’

“ Still, after eight. years! Even a woman
must change her looks in that length of time,
sir.”

“ This woman hasn’t, then. I had a fair look
at her proﬁle, and then at her full face as some
thing caused her to turn squarely my way. It
was the Madam ‘. to a dead moral l"

“ And she-why did you i10t join her, then?”

“For a mighty good reason, pardiier: [sim-
ply couldn’t do it.”

“ ll-_l\\' so?"

“I‘m just going to tell you, pal-door. Mai be
I yelpod out in my grunt SUE'lll‘lSi’: I don’t know
how (to! was, but I do know that the Madame
turned my Way, and l heard her give a little
squeal as she recognized my face. Ireckon it
wasn’t. much for liaudsmne, just then!

“ Well, I gave a jump her way, but the jam
lay between. I saw her urge the driver in—I
saw him draw his silk, and the cattls make a
pliinge——tiieii I gave a wild—bull rush right into
the thick of the crush!”

“The worst step you could have taken, man!"
ejaculated Lucksingei'.

“I reckon you’re right, pardner, and I wasn’t
long in finding that out for my own self,” moovl~
ily added Mx-lliistie. “First, I knew, I didn’t
know anything! I was knwcked down and iiSed
as a foobwiper, and I can’t tell you just how I
was pulled out of tint nasty mix.

“That was a week ago this morning. I was
able to hustle in little less than an hour, for no
bones had been broken, but my chance had come
and gone. The Madame was off, and try as I
might I couldn’t strike her trail!”

“ The carriage and livery: surely those clews
ought to be enough for identifying the owner?"

“I reckon they Would, but! couldn‘t call to
mind any one thing plainly enough to set ’em
out, don’t you see? All I took in was the wo-
man: the rest was like a dream-shadow.

“ I tried my level, as you may imagine, pard-
ner, but it wasn’t any use. No person I dared
speak to, seemed able to give me so much as a
hint, and though I’ve kept on the go night and
day, with hardly a stray hour wasted in snooz-
ing, I haven’t been able to ﬁnd what 1 lost in
that one holy minutel”

Cerman Gus thoughtfully ﬁngered the ivory
casket for a minute or two in grave silence, but
then he spoke:

“ Well, this assault ought to furnish you with
a clew. Of course you believe that was insti-
gated by the woman you term the Madame?"

Austin McRustie ﬂushed hotly, then grew pale
again. He seemed at a loss for words, but only
for a few seconds; then he exploded:

“ No, I don’t, won‘t admit that ! She was my
wz' 'e-onceP’

 

CHAPTER XII.
run snoanr HELD BY 'rnn CASKET.

IT was the same old obstacle that German Gus
had ﬂattered himself had been cast aside, never
to obtrude itself more. But he saw that his
ﬁery~tempered client was hardly in a suitable
state for pressing that tender point, just then,
and wisely he let it rest for the moment.

For the ﬁrst time since that interview began,
Gustave Lucksinger assumed an air and manner
which chimed in with the idea generally enter-
tained as to the customs of a genuine detective.

Taking a seat, he produced a small note-book
and pencil, jotting down an occasional item as
he put questions and received answers.

Those queries were mainly concerning the
personal appearance of the Madame and the
missing daughter, all of which Austin McRustie
answered to the best of his ability.

His second wife was a woman of more than
ordinary stature; one whom the term “ queenly ”
best described, though he gave both height and
weight as he remembered them.

Her hair was black; not dull, or coarse, as
such hued hair generally is, but soft and silken,
with a gloss which, under certain lights, gave
forth a dim shimmer of red-tinged blue. There
was a natural wave or ripple in its growth,
which brushing could not subdue.

Her complexion had been marvelously clear,
although the Madame was a pronounced bru-
nette. There was ever a natural ﬂush u on her
cheeks, and only when before the footlig ts did
she make use of powder or paints.

“She looked like one of them high-toned, blue-
blooded Spanish women, pardner,” was his sum-
ming up. “ Not that I believe she had any
Greaser blood in her, though; her talk was too
white English for that, to my mind, although
she could sling Spanish equal to a printed
book l"

“ Did she speak other foreign languages?"
gently inquired Gustave, smiling blandly, look—
ing more boyish than over, just then. “Italian,
for instance?”

“ If she could, I never found it out, pardner.
Why do you ask that?”

“ For information, merely,” came the easy re-
sponse. “ Now, tell me something more about
your missing daughter, please.”

That proved to be an easier task than the
other, although McRustie made his description
clear enough to satisfy the detective.

Myrtle McRustie was a semi-brunette, with
dark chestnut hair, and eyes of the deepest,
darkest blue. '

When taken from her father, she had been a
little over ten years of age, but remarkably
well-grown, and looking several years older, as
the detective could judge for himself; and with
that, the father produced a photograph from an
inner pocket.

Gustave Lucksinger studied this carefully for
a minute or two, then passed it back, quietly
asking:

“And the Madame: have you no picture of
her, my ood friend?”

“ No, I haven’t,” with a slight frown. “I
tried often enough to get her to pose for one, but
’twas no use. She just wouldn’t, and that set-
tled it!”

“ No doubt she had her reasons, although it’s
been my experience with the fair sex that one

as more trouble to get them to refrain, rather
than to sit! Still-from your description of the
Madame, it ought not to be so difﬁcult a matter,
this ﬁnding her again. Such remarkable women
are apt to attract notice, and—well, Mr.
McRustie?"

The detective broke off abruptly, for his client
was shifting uneasily in his seat, his face be-
traying a growing embarrassment which sat
yvithkvery poor grace upon a visage so naturally

ran .

“ Well, pardner, you only asked me how the
Madame looked when she levanted, didn‘t you?”

“ Certainly; but since you recognized her at a
glance, only one week ago, she could not have
undergone any material change, of course?”

“ Not as to form or features, perhaps, but— I
say, uardner!”

“ Well?”

“ I was hunting for a brunette, and I found a
blonde! Her hair was black as a crow, then,
but now it’s yellow as new corn!”

German Gus laughed aloud. He could not
well help it, that face bore such an expression of
distress, mingled with disgust.

“The Madame was an actress, remember, my
good friend. Orwdid you say she sung in
opera?”

Austin McRustie gave a start at this, but it
was merely because that question came so sharp-
ly, almost sternly.

“ No, I didn’t say that. In fact, the Madame
couldn’t sing for sour apples,” he bluntly de-
clared.

“ You heard her make the attempt, perhaps?”

“ No, but she told me so, often enough. The
little girl was great on a ballad, and we both
tried to coax the Madame to join in as she

 

 

 

played for Myrtle; but ’twas no use. She sim-
ply couldn’t, and so she wouldn’t.” I

Gustave made another minute note, as though
he found that fact of sufﬁcient importance for
record. Then he quietly said:

“ As to the change of color in Madame’s hair,
that is easily accounted for, my friend. Such
things are thoroughly understood in stageland,
and your wife was an actress when you married
her. Still. it is remarkable that you recognized
her so instantly.”

“ You never loved a woman as I once loved
the Madame, pai'dner, or it wouldn’t hit you So
hard,” gravely answered McRiistie. “ Still, I
don’t say I mlghtn‘t have made myself believe
I was off my nut, only for that look she gave
me. That told me, plainer than words, she was
my runawav wife, and that she was none too
well pleased at ﬁnding me still in the land of
the living, either!”

“ Douhtless she bleached her hair as a disguise
against just such a recognition. Pit-y you did
not act as wisely, though!”

“ That’s just it, you see," declared Mi'liustie,
with a little frown. “ The change in hair gave
me such a start that I froze fast in my tracks
until it was too late to act otherwise. Only for
that—but why talk? I didn’t take to cover and
lay low, as I ought to have done, and just be-
cause of my fool’ acting, I’ve lost her again!"

“ Just as the Madame made a fatal mistake in
her turn, when chance, or your cry, cauSed her
eyes to turn in your direction. She lwtrayed by
her face, w! at her altered hair might have con-
Cealed. Is it not so, my friend?"

“There you’ve hit it, pardner!” exclaimed
the minevowner, bringing an open palm forcibly
against his long, muscular thigh. “ If ever a
Woman’s eyes and face gave her away, those of
the Madame did right then and right there!"

“ It was not a love-look, then?” softly insinu—
ated the detective.

McRustie broke into a laugh, harsh and bit-
ter. He made no further attempt to conceal
his real emotions, now, for this plausible-spoken
detective had won his way fairly into his conﬁ-
dence.

The old wound might have scarred over by
the passage of time, but it was still sore beneath
the surface.

“ A love-look?” echoed the mine-owner, after
a brief space. “Don’t you stay awake nights,
pardner, longing for just such another look of
love as that one was!"

“ It was hatred, then, perhaps?"

“ Hatred and fear combined—yes! I reckon
’twas pretty much as thOugh a ghost had sprung
up right in her path, pardner. Maybe she
thought I’d cashed in my checks—no fault of
hers that I didn’t, that time!”

“ Still, a. woman of her caliber would hardly
have failed to learn just how you were progress-
ing, even though she felt forced to ﬂee.

‘ Of course, she’d ﬁnd out, but after so many
years-eight of ’em, and each one longer’n an
ordinary lifetime! during which I never ave
sign nor sound, so far as she could know! ell,
wouldn’t it come natural enough for her to
reason that' I’d really hopped the twig, pard-
nor?"

“And all the more can because her heart
was inclined that way,” coo ly assented German
Gus.

This seemed an unkind cut, particularly when
given by a professed friend, and a slight ﬂush
told how keenly McRustie felt it. But he gave
no other sign of resenting the insinuation, simply
saying:

“That’s about it, I reckon, pardner. Time
was when love-looks came in plenty from those
big eyes, but this one—ugh! It cut to the bone,
and fairly took the bark off!” -

“ Well, you have one faint consolation, sir.
Unless this fair one of the golden locks had
cause for fearing you, she hardly would have
betrayed such hatred as you describe.”

“ ‘Twas the Madame, easy enough. Now,

do you really reckon you can ﬁnd her, pard—
ner?”
“ Unless she has ﬂed from Chicago since that
passing glimpse, I can safely promise you that
much,” came the prompt response. ” A woman
of her description can be found far more
readily than one cast in a commoner, mold.
The main difﬁculty will come after locating
her, though.”

“ How do you mean?”

“ Well, suppose she persistently denies ever
having ﬁgured as your particular Madame.”
slowly suggested Lucksinger, speaking with a
purpose which he kept under cover for the mo-
ment.

McRustie bit at the bait without hesitation,
showing his strong teeth in a half-ﬁerce smile
before saying: -

“ Place the face to face with her, and I’ll an-
5wer for the rest. She might lie me down, only
for one thing: her thumb. ’

German Gus gave a nick start as of sur-
prise, although this was t a very point his ques-
tions were leading up to.

“ Ach-l how omes dot I vorgeds, so mooch?
Vhas I a vooﬁ growing, I vonders me all
oafer?”

It was a neat bit of ﬂattery, and man of the
world though be rather prided himself on be-
in , Austin McRustie was not proof against it.

Be chuckled grimly, then added in more seri-
ous tones:

“A fellow can’t think of everything, pard-
ner, and no doubt you’d have come’round to
that, in time, even if I hadn’t given you a lift.
But, mind you, man, the Madame is a bit of a
tigervcat when her ebenezer rises to the top
notch, and you want to keep both eyes open if
y0u happen to tackle her about that thumb
when I’m not at your elbow.”

German Gus bowed his thanks, then almost
meekly asked:

“Will you allow me to look at that claw
again, Mr. McRustie?”

“ Why not?” and the mine-owner at once
drew forth the velvet case from where he had
st0wed it away. “Mighty slick bit of work,
isn’t it?”

Gustave gave the artiﬁcial thumb a close in-
s ction, keeping silence for a few moments.

hen he said:

“Well, if she of the blonde locks is not the
woman we’re hunting for, all she’ll need do to
prove an alibi, is to show a perfect left hand!”

“ Look out that she don t exhibit her hand
with a knife in her grip. pardner! That’s a
Evpymthe Madame has, as my hide can tes-

1 y.

Gustave Lucksinger abruptly left his seat, to
reach down the ivory casket from the mantel-
piece. As he resumed his chair, he said, with
gyes‘once more inspecting that artiﬁcial mem-

er:

“Yes, ’tis an odd work of art. and made by
a master in his particular line. Still, there’s a
limit which no artiﬁcer can pass, and Dame
Nature can discount art in this respect.”

“I reckon so, but—what’s coming, now?”
bluntly asked McRustie, as the detective passed
that thumb back to his hand.

“ Nothing more startling than putting one of
my little curiosities up for your admiration—or
otherwise,” coolly answered the detective, draw-
ing forth a pocketbook, from which he extract-
ed a tiny silver key, attached to a blue ribbon.

“ You praised up that work of art, but this
casket holds a secret which I think is even more

remarkable. Rather oddly, too, it) runs pretty

much in that same line of oddities.

While saying this, German Gus was inserting
the silver key in a corresponding aperture
which was hidden from view until his trained
touch caused an apparently solid leaf to move
aside, exposing the tiny lock.

Turning the key, he lifted the ivory lid, re-
vealing a satin-lined interior, where rested a
small bottle ﬁlled with some colorless liquid.

And something more!

As he held up the vial of alcohol, Austin Mc-
Rustie gave a low cry and an amazed start, for
there he beheld almost an exact counterpart of
the artiﬁcial thumb which he had cherished so
jealously throu h so many long years, as his sole
clew to a faith ess wife!

“ Nature before, art, every time! What is
your opinion, Mr. McRustle?”

(To be continued—commenced in No. 515.)

 

SEPTEMBER.

BY JOHN B. KETC‘EUM.

 

Here on this brink and shoal of time,
“SHAKESPEARE.

Autumnal vespers gather o‘er the moor,
The careworn day is bast’nmg to its close;
Our summer wanders slowly out the door
Looking a‘backward for some ling‘ring rose!
September comes unbarring autumn‘s gate
And frowning on the lately-blooming flow‘rs;
The old man counts the Seasmi‘s less’niug hours,
And pondering life‘s transitory state,
(,‘almly awaits the Coming autumn of his fate.

My early loves! Wreaths of my early days!
Your lasting perfume lingers ’round me yet:
‘Nnile Time restores from out life‘s morning rays
The sweet and long lost image of Allctte.
Her life was gentle as a fairy queen.
And I was happy; but the dream is o‘er,
Those years have faded on the pasr’s dim shore;
And memory only whispers what I’VP been,
While she and lgve are far~an awful gulf between!

()‘i! Time, from off my heart the shadows roll;
(‘all up again my lwyhood‘s gentle strain;
Alas! no note tin-’s echo in my soul.
On earth that song Will llt:Vl‘l‘ wake again!
The halcyon days for which the heart oft sighs,
The gilded halos round my cliildlicod‘s way.
And voices swu-t~ oh! mother. wl‘cre are they?
.\'o welc inie smilc — no fondly beaming eyes
Fall on me now, or light the blackness of the skies.

I linger on. a lone w rack on the wave.
Looking all pleadingly toward the stars;
With age's voice I ask but for a grave
Nor wish for SUCUUI‘ fri in approaching spurs;
I hear the, sound of ml‘Sic as a dime,
And feel a tape of quh'k relief within;
It comes! false hope! ‘tis but a shoal of sin!
Still floating on, 1 near the fatal verge,
Life from the dead beyond the billow and the surge.

 

 

Banker’s Conspiracy;

BLACK PHIL’S GRIP.

The Romance of a Mill-man’s Fight with Fate.

 

BY DR. WM. MASON TURNER,
‘AUTHOR or “ DOUBLY DISGUISID,” ETC.

CHAPTER XXII.
BLACK PHIL'S AVOWAL.

WHEN Black Phil had accompanied Bessie
Raynor home that night, he lingered for a mo-
ment by the door.

The girl had not spoken a word since after
viewing the tableau through the open window
of Arthur Ames’s parlor. She had begged Phil
to carry her home.

He had endeavored to speak with her, but
receiving no reply, he too, ad relapsed into a
gloomy silence.

But he lingered by the door after she had said
a hasty good-night, and after she had entered
the house.

“ Bessie,” he said, in a soft, subdued voice, as
be slightly detained her by holding her shawl,
“ you’ve seen a sight tonight—enough to open
your eyes, and make you look at certain things
in the right light. I have only a word to say,
Bessie—only a word or two; then you can go.”

He paused; his voice was almost a whisper.

In a startled, frightened manner, Bessie turned
toward him. She trembled as she clung to the
bolt for sulpport.

“ Well, hi1, what would you say?” she asked.
“ You ,know I have a wounded brother upstairs,
and—’

“ Yes; I know it, Bessie,”
man, thou b not rudely. He, all at once
seemed to ave grown tame in the presence of
this frail girl, who was scarcely more than a
child.

“ I’ll only be a minute, Bessie; if you get tired
listening, you can go.”

Bessie moved impatiently.

“ I know you are exhausted, Bessie; I know
you have gone through a great deal to-night—
enough to try stronger nerves than yours. But,
now is a good time for me to speak, for you can
compare my conduct with that of another man
you know—one who has'given you some signs
that be loved you.”

Bessie still clinging to the door-knob, bent her
head and listened.

“ I know, Bessie,” resumed the man, speaking
more hurriedly, " that I am a rough~looklng
fellow; that I am old enough to be your father;
that I am ill-favored and forbidding. I know,
too, that I am not rich and cannot offer on the
comforts of a ﬁne home; that I have con at
times, rough to you and Ross; I know that peo—
ple who don’t know any better say I have a
wife already; I know that I am not as comely a
man as Lorin Gray. Yes, Bessie, all this I
know and confess. But listen, and I’ll tell you
something else I know: I know that Nancy
Hurd is not my wife; that I have a good snug
pile of money laid up; that I am strong-armed
and full of spiritto work; that Lorin Gray triﬂes
with you, and is false to you; that his heartbe-
longs to one who, though she spurns him and
lau hs at him, still leads him on, that, in the
en , she may ﬂing him over; that I love you,
Bessie Raynor, more than a man of my rude
speech can tell, and that I would die for you l”

He (paused. His words had grown hot and
impulsive; he spoke sincerely, and his hand
reached out and grasped hers.

Bessie endeavored to draw back; but the
strong band of the man held her as in a vise.

“ Answer me, Bessie,” he urged. “ Whatever
be your reply, I’ll be gone at once.”

Tremblingly the girl raised her eyes and
gazed through the gloom at his face.

“ Your words are so sudden Phil,” she said,
and her voice was very low, “ that I cannot an-
sWer you now. I feel that I am but a child,
Phil, and you know I am surrounded by care
and sorrow. My dead father lies in this room ”
—her voice sunk to a whisper—“ and my wound-
ed brother sleeps above. How can I think of
an thing else? But—”

he paused. Then, summoning her resolution,
she continued:

“You may know this, Phil: whatever I may
have thought of you in the past, I think better
of you now. For your kindness to me this
night, I’ll always pray God to bless you.”

Phil suddenly took her hand more ﬁrmly, et
still tenderly, in his, and pressing his bear ed
lips to it, said:

“ May God, if there is one, bless you, too,
Bessie! Good-night!”

He turned at once and strode away in the
darkness.

Bessie tottered into the room, closing the
door behind her.

“ Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “ what have
I done? Have I given that dark—faced man en-
couragement? Ah!—”

She paused and bent her ear.

“ Bessie! Bessie!” walled a. voice up-stairs.

“ Yes, Ross, darling; I am coming, brother!”
and she bounded upstairs.

A moment, and she was in the sufferer’s
room.

“I am here, Ross!” she exclaimed, panting,
Q she stood by his bedside.

“ Oh, Bessie! I am so glad to see you l” said
the cripple, in a low voice of bodily anguish.
“I am feverish, and when I heard you on the
stairs long ago, I begged you for water, and—”

“ Me, on the stairs? Why, Ross—”

h“Y,es, Bessie; you seemed to be at the 01d
c es .

The girl started at the word chest, and stared
ﬁxedly at her brother. She had, for the time,
forgotten about that chest, about the secret
wealth it contained, about the tale her father
had told her.

“ Oh, Ross, forgive me!” she exclaimed. “ I
was not on the stairway. You have been dream-
ing. I saw that you were asleep, and I went out
for a while. Business of—”

interrupted the

“Not on the stairway! Dreaming!" and the

poor fellow rubbed his eyes in a bewildered
manner.

“ Yes, Ross; you have been dreaming. You
had better take the sleeping-potion left by the
doctor, for—”

“ How do you know, Bessie, that I have been
dreaming?” asked the boy, interrupting her.

1 ‘il know it, Ross, because you talk so singu-
ar y.

He opened his eyes, and looked toward his sis-

tor

“ I was dreaming, Bessie,” he said, calmly—
“dreaming that same dark dream! I saw the
vision again! Ah! I forgot; I did not tell it to
you. It was a black dream, sister. Listen: a
dark winter night—clouds across the sky—great
piles of smoke rushing high in the air—~21 terrible
crackling and roaring noise, sounding far and
wide—only a few stars peeping from the black
sky! A crippled boy and an old man! The boy
ﬂung— I cannot tell it! "He horrible! But
’twdl come, Bessie; all this will come to pass,
when the leaves have fallen, when the snOw has
whitened the lanes and ﬁelds! Will come when
the year is dead 3" ,

“ There, there, Ross! Do not talk so wildly,”
and Bessie laid her hand upon the bare arm of
the boy.

She started as if shot.

The skin of that arm almost burned her.

“You are feverish, Ross,” she said, sympa-
thizingly. “The bandage is too tight. Let me
loosen it,” and she leaned Over him.

1 The boy had sunk into a deep, though troubled
a cop.

“ Poor, poor fellow!” murmured the girl, as
her eyes ﬁlled with tears. “Oh, Father in
heaven, watch over him and preserve him!
Were he to die! And Ralph so far away!”

She sunk devoutly by the bed-ide, and, bow-
ing her tear-bedewed face, prayed to Him who
has promised a. shelter to the shorn for strength
and comfort.

 

This night, in the little cabin, far down on the
banks of the roaring Merrimac, Nancy Hurd sat
silent and motionless. She was in the little
room, with the window looking out across the
waste of sand-ﬂats.

“ He‘s away again!” she muttered. “ He is
away every night after her, a child, and she
with her dead father lying stiff and cold in the
house! Phil is a brute. But I’ll not put up with
this. Pbili Walshe, whatever he may say, is
my husban ; and, yes, I swear it! she shall y
the forfeit! When ? Before the setting cl“;
half-dozen suns! Half-dozen P Then, if Phil
goes traitor on me. I’ll get that pile of gold, and
leave him forever!”

The outside door creaked on its hinges.
Nancy, sinking into a chair, feigned sleep.

Black Phil entered. He paused as he saw
Nancy quiet in the chair, and a half-pitying ex-
pression crept over his dark features.

Walking up to the woman, he laid his hand
gently upon her shoulder.

She started, and rubbed her eyes, in well-
dilseinblcd astonishment.

“ You—you, Phil!” she said.
you’ve come.”

“ You should have been in bed an hour ago,”
he said, unheeding her remark.

“ I waited for on, Phil; I wanted to Dec you.
Where have you can so long?”

“ On my business, which is none of yours.”

“ Phil Walshe!”

“Yes, Nancy Hurd, I’ve been to see Bessie
Raynor, and she says she likes me l”

The woman shook violently; .but, suddenly
rising, she left the room.

“ Her doom is sealed!” she hissed.

CHAPTER XXIII.
SHADOWS AND REALITIES.

THE sun of another day arose upon the world.
It saw a little scene of solemn hurry and bustle
at the humble home of the Raynors.

Bessie, though she had only slept a few hours,
was up early. Then a few neighbors dropped
in

“I am so glad

At nine o’clock a hearse drew up before the
door; then came a carriage—only one. Shortly
after this, atmeek-faced man, in a black suit
and white cravat, entered the lowly abode with
a solemn, kindly ate .

The undertaker, in his methodical way, had
set to work with his assistant, making the last
arrangements. Then he signiﬁed to the minister
and to Bessie that all was ready.

With bursting heart, the poor girl retired to

her room. In a few moments she emerged from
it, clad in a. plain suit of deep black—her pretty.
pale face making a painful. yet halfosweet
ctpntrast to the dark bonnet which surrounded
1 .
“God strengthen me!” she murmured, as if
at last her mind was made up, and turning
abruptly, she entered the room of her invalid
brother.

Ross started as his gaze fell upon Bessie, upon
her sable attire; then he turned his head away.
Large tears forced their way between the lids,
and rolled down his wasted cheeks.

Bessie silently drew near, and placed her band
upon his brow.

“ All is ready, my brother,”she said, in a law,
broken voice. “ The hearse will move in a few
minutes. I must go now. You are again bet-
ter, and can rest quietly until I come back.
God bless you, my brother!” and she stooped
and pressed a kiss upon his bloodless li

“Oh, Bessie! Bessie! can I not locate!) his
face again? Oh! can I not look u my father
again?” and his voice wailed sadly in the room.

A deep sob burst from Bessie Raynor’s bosom.
She could not restrain it. .

“ No, Ross,” she answered; “it would not be
safe to move you. God knows. my brother—”

“ Enough, Bessie; I am resigned. Go.”

“ I’ll kiss his cold, dead lips for you, brother.
Oh Heaven, stand by me!"

She leaned down again and kissed him tender-
ly and as if loth to leave him. Then tearing
herself away, she rushed from the room.

At the bottom of the stairs, as she stood in the
midst of the little silent company of ﬁve or six
who, had assembled, her gaze rested upon two
new—comers.

Black Phil, dressed in his best attire, stood
there; near him and to the rear, his face and
and solemn, and his eyel red with team, which,
gespite his manhood, would ﬂow, was Lorin

ray. ‘ ~

Both men simultaneously strode forward.

At that moment the undertaker whispered
softly in Bessie’s ear that the time had come
when she must take her last 100]: at the dead.

Tremblingly she turned to the two men, and,
as Lorin held his hand to her, she wheeled
abruptly from him, and slipped her arm within
Blaick Phil’s, and they moved away toward the
00 DI

Astounded, scarcely believin his senses, Lorin
Gray clutched at a chair. Al eyes were upon
him, and it required his sternest resolution to
recover himself.

Then the last look was taken; and, still lean-
ing on the arm of Black Phil, and preceded by
the minister, Bessie walked out to the carriage.

Recovering from his stupor, Lorin suddenly
strode through the room and out into the
street.

In a moment he stood by Bessie at the car-
riage door.

“ Bessie! Bessie!” he whispered, in a voice of
agony, “ I am your friend. Tell me, what does
all this mean? —"

She turned toward him and held up her hand,
thus interrupting him. But she spoke no word.
Then, with quiet dignity, she ascended to the
carriage, aided by Black Phil and the minister-
The clergyman followod; then Black Phil.

As the latter entered. his face was lit in by a
diabolical sneer of triumph, and his eyes glazed
deﬁantly at Lorin Gray.

The cofﬁn was borne solemnly forth and de-
posited in the hearse. Then the little procession
moved softly off.

Lorin Gray’s bosom heaved; his face poled,
and he strode away at a headlong pace.

The hearse and the single accompanying car-
riage wound their way along Newbur street
gﬁleghey reached Methwen. Into th I they

n .

 

As the carriage reached Appleton street, a
coarsely-clad woman standing on the corner
started and gn zed into it at the occupants.
With a low exclamation of anger, she turned
and strode back to Canal street.

The cemetery was reached. Then, after some
delay, the ccﬁin was lowered into the grave, and
the minister, in solemn tones, committed the
“ dust to dust.” '

Then all was over, and Bessie Raynor felt
that almost all light had gone out from her.

After bavmg seen the carriage and those who
rode in it to Silas Raynor‘s funeral, Nancy
Hurd—for she it was—turned up Canal street,
and, in a few moments, paused by the front
door of the Raynor home. She glanced around
her. Nobody was observing.

She tried the doorknob: it yielded. A mo-
ment, and she was inside. She paused and
listened.

Then a faint voice walled down-stairs from
above:

“ tho’s there?"

Nancy Hnrd did not answer, but turned to
the staircase and strode boldly up. A moment,
and she stood in the room of the cripple.

Ross started, and looked at her with great,
wondering eyes. But then a pleasant ex-
pression settled on his thin, wan face, and he
smiled.

“ Ah! Nancy, is it you? How kind in you!”
and he held his unhurt hand toward her.

The change which came into the woman’s
face was remarkable. A softness—a real yearn—
ing, motherly expression was there, as she
walked to the bed and took his wasted hand in
hers. Then she bent over him, and a tear came
to her eye.

“Poor Ross!” she murmured, “I am sorry
you are hurt. I was coming by, and concluded
to stop in and see you. But is Bessie in her
r00m l”

“ No, Bessie has gone to—to the funeral,” and
the poor fellow broke d0wn.

“Ah! I thought I heard her in the room
there.”

“No, Nancy; and since I’ve been wounded,
she stays in the room here—through this door.
She wants to be near me.”

Nancy started. Ross had told her what she
wanted to know. i

“ 1 simply came, my poor fellow,” she said,
“ to say how d’ye do, and to bring this jelly for

on.”

y She drew from beneath her apron a bowl.

“ Thank you, Nancy. May God bless you for
y0ur kindness to me.”

“ Good-by, Ross,” she said, after a pause, and
she held her hand to him.

He took it. and held it some moments as if
loth to let it go.

The womah noticed this act of affection, and
as tears came into her eyes a in, she leaned
over him and kissed him ton erly. Then she
turned suddenly, wrenchod her hand rather
rudely from his thin ﬁngers, and left the apart-
ment.

At a later hour, when Bessie Raynor returned
from her and trip to the desolate cemetery, she
started as she allghted from the carriage in
front of her humble home; for, just as she had
thanked Black Phil for his kindness, sh. chanced
to glance taward the adjacent street-corner.

She saw there a form she could not mistake——
a manly form, with a sad, ghastly face. A mo-
ment, however, and it had gone.

Bessie knew it was Lorin Gray, and, do what
she could, as she caught sight of his sad, re-
proaching face, she could not prevent the ﬂutter
in her bosom, and the aching of her heart.

Then, as the carriage rolled away, without
further notice of Black Phil, who also had
alighted. Bessie ran quickly into the house.

And Lorin Gray, who, with bated breath, had
watched the scene—who, untiringly, had wait-
ed for her return, struggled away with a heavy
load weighing him down.

The day passed slowly. A terrible desolation
settled upon Bessie, and, in the silence of the
sick-chamber, which was disturbed by no sound
save the hard, short breathing of the wounded
boy. she bowed her head age and prayed to
God for help.

Ross slept soundly.

Bessie arose, leaned over him, and gently
kissed his brow. Then she withdrew through
the open door to the adjoining room.

In ten minutes she was asleep—sleeping a
deep, but disordered slumber.

 

The night wore on.

Suddenly Ross awoke with a start. A
smothered voice had broken upon his ear and
aroused him.

He slowly turned his head.

The light in the lamp was still burning bright-

yd

Yo
Then the cripple saw a sight which, for a mo-
ment, from his blood and struck him dumb.

CHAPTER XXIV.
MOTHER MOLL.

Ross RAYxoa strove to speak; but he could
not ﬁnd utterance. He held his breath and
looked.

A fearful tableau was revealed to the cripple’s
eyes.

Bessie was lying on her bed, in the room next
her brother’s, while above her towered the
brawny form of a woman. In the hand of that
woman was a long knife.

Ross Raynor uttered a low groan and lild his
face. Then, as with a. giant’s strength, forget-
ful of his weakness, of his broken arm, he
sprung from bed and rushed into the other

room.

With a. how! of rage, the ﬁend turned. She
saw who had stood between her and murder. She
sprung upon him, clutched him by the throat,
and bore him backward into his own room, pull-
ing the door to after her.

“ Spare me, spare me, Nancy! Oh!--”

“ Ha! ’tis you, Ross,” and the woman sudden-
ly released her hold and glared at him.

“ Yes, Nancy‘ ’tis I. Oh, do not murder me!
do not harm my sister ! She has never
harmed—”

“ Never harmed me!” she hissed; “ wh , boy,
she has come between me and my husbamf. She
has stolen his love from me, and, by heavens!
she shall die!”

She suddenly turned and strode back toward
the door. But the same puny hand again held
her back.

“ Nancy, Nancy,” whispered the boy, “ Bessie
has not done what you say! Oh, believe me,
Nancy!” and he stole his unwounded arm softly
around the woman’s neck, and lifted his big,
bright, melancholy eyes to bars. “ Nancy,” he
continued, “I know you love me, and, I know
not why, I do love you. Nancy, though people
say you are wicked. h, Nancy, we are only
two, my sister and I; my brother Ralph is far
away. Sometimes I think he’ll never come back.
Nancy, be kind to me yet, and spare Bessie,”
and he bowed his head on her broad bosom and
wept silently. .

It was a strange light that beamed over that
hardened woman’s face; it was a strange ﬁre
which gleamed in her eyes; it was not a wicked
or a vengeful ﬁre. Then that ﬁre was extin-
guished, for a tear had sprung there and hid the
sparkle.

Silently clasping the frail form of the boy,
who clung to her, she murmured:

“ You have conquered me, Boss! You have
driven back the had blood which was nerving
my hand for a hellish deed! You have crept
into my heart and made me feel that I am a
woman again!”

She softly took away her arms, released his
single one from her neck, and stooping, lifted
him gently to the bed.

1‘ Now, Ross,” she said, “go to sleep again.
Your sister is safe. For your sake, I s are her.
As for me, poor, black-hearted Nancy, ’11 suffer
on in silence. I’ll hear my burden as best I
may. But, Rossnlpromise me that you’ll say
notbin of this. here may be time left for me
yet to 0 better, to do some good. Promise me,
Boss, and I’ll begone.”

She looked at him with her tear-bedewed face,
and her eyes Seemed to plead with him.

“I promise, I promise, Nancy! May God
bless you! And, Nancy, I know you will not