commit a crime, but she~could face the, conse-
quences. Presently she came out, walking lei-
surelv about the room: when she reached me
she said:

“ Waiter, I Was so busy attending to the guests,
I forgot my own wants. lVill you give me an
ice, now?” _

I brought her the ice, and handed her a chair.
She sunk into it heavily; her paleness and ha -
gardness had increased, but she did not tremb e

r r nervous.
0 3 mm do you live?” she asked. "I knew of
no such rson in this neighborhood—IVatson,
thev sai your name was?”

.iYes, imp! ._

Glancing around, and finding that no one was
in our vicinity, she continued, in her ordinary
tone:

" Your  is not as perfect as you might
wish, Mr. Meredith. Let me advise you to leave
here immediately, if you would consult your
own safety.” _

“If you recognize me, why do you not raise
the alarm?” I said, quite calmly, after my first
start of surprise. . '

" I have no desire to take an active part in
events; I would rather let them rest, if that
were possible; indeed I would like to see yougo
away before it is too late—I have been fearing
all the evening that you would be recognized,
and—I hate scenes!" . .

" Why are you at Meredith Place?"

“My business brought me here; I came here
in the most legitimate way, but you—~"

" Have never left it.”

“ That is no news to me, Mr. Meredith.
Since the night when I met you in the arbor. I
have had no doubt of your vicinity—I knew
what ghost haunted this place. Are you watch-
ing me alone, or do others share in the honor of
your regards?”

“ Since you are so well advised, you ought to
know.” .

“ You stopwith old Mrs. Hooker.”

“ That is true; pardon me, Miss Miller.”

lVith a movement too sudden for her to anti—
cipate or prevent, I snatched at a Slender gold
chain about her neck, and pulled the charm
which was attached to it from its hiding—place.

“ I have been very curious about this key," I
said, holding it in my hand, with a piece of the
broken chain.

She dared not struggle with me for it, for fear
of drawing the attention of the servants. Her
first thought was to look about to find if my ac—
tion had been noticed.

“ Give it back to mcI—you shall not have it!
How do you dare to rob me of my property?"

" Is it your property .4”

"‘ I found it.“ she answered, without reflec-
tion.

“ Where?”

" No matter—it is mine. It will do you no
a. d 1,
,300 .

I examined the key by the lamp which stood
near. It bore the mark, "Madrid, 1800,” an
ancient affair, of silver, and of unique shape.

“ I remember it now!" I exclaimed, so loud as
to cause some of the servants to look round; " I
remarked it at the time, but had forgotten it.
It is the key to that bar! IVhen my uncle show-
ed us his treasure, I remember that key was in
the lock!"

“ I know it: I found it after the —his death.
If I could find the box, too, you might have
both to restore to their rightful owners. “

“ I believe you were the first to insinuate
that I had the box; that I was the ingrate—thc
serpent which stung the bosom which warmed
inel‘

“ I did—I thought so then; what else could I
think?”

"Then you cannot complain that I entertain-
ed a similar opinion of you. You thought ava—
rice prom ted me; I believed jealousy prompted
you; we ave a right to our opinions, and to
prove their truth if we can. About this key;
what further good can it do you—you have tried
ever where to make it of use?”

“ hat is why I acquit you of knowing where
that in,oney is—-because I have seen you looking
ior ia.‘

"' Oh! but I am sharper than that—m ' suspi-
cious reach fin-ther. I ave seen you looking for
it, apparently, which may be all a pretense, to
cover up your knowledge."

“ Why don't you denounce me, then—I could
scarcely escape from all these people?”

“ I am not ready.”

" I will borrow this key for a time; if I find
it of no use, I will return it to you in a year or
two.”

" In a year or two this tragedy will pass from
the memory of men. One or two lives are blast-
ed, but the world will forget.”

“ I shall never forget, nor rest. Know, that
as long as I live, I am not resting nor forget—
ting!

lplaced the key in my pocket.

“ t is not the key which is of value,” she said,
bitterly.

Just then Arthur, with five or 'six young
gentlemen, came in to look for an extra bottle
or two of champagne; they called upon me to
fuinish it.

“ For shame!” I heard Miss Miller whisper
to her brother; “ you have had more than
enough already”—a fact which I had sus—
pected, when he 5o recklessly aimoyed Mrs.
Meredith.

I do not know what t was betrayed me, but
as I silently brought :he wine, Arthur grew
very quiet to watch me; this disconcertcd me. I
made an awkward movement: before I could
defend myself, he sprung upon me, pulled my
false hair from my head and face—

“ Joe Meredith, as I’m alive!
boys!"

‘ Let him alone, brother Arthur! ~do let him
go!” pleaded Miss Miller, catching him by the
arm, and speaking in an agonized whisper.

“Let him go! No, indeed! Why should I?
The infernal scoundrel! The whole country has
been looking for on, Joe!”

He thought he ad me, backed up as he was by
half a dozen men; but I had no intention of
being taken then. Rot-renting down the room
until I came opposite a door which led into the
kitchen hall, I sprung over the table, knocked
down the half—stupefied waiters, who faintly op-
posed me, and to the music of crashing china
and the shouts and cries of men and women,
dashed down the passage and out into the dark-
ness. By duvlight I could not have escaped; as
it was, I easi y concealed my flight, and looking
back, as I plunged into the forest. saw lights
glimmering hither and thither in the grounds,
and heard excited cries.

Mrs. Chateaubriand’s ball was more of a son-
sation than she had anticipated.

(To be continued—commenccd in N0. 385.)

The Velyet Hand:

THE IRON ‘llll’ 0F INJUN DICK.
A Wild Story of the Cinnabar Mines.

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,

AUTHOR or “iNJUN DICK,” “ovEnLAND KiT,"
“ROCKY MOUNTAIN ROB," “KENTUCK
THE SPORT,” era, ETC.

Secure him,

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVFI.
A LAST STAKE.

OLD Father Time in his eternal flight stays
not, no matter how humbly we pray or how
earnestly we curse; and so, dating from the
night when the strange interview between the
haughty California girl, Blanche del Colma.
and the Velvet Hand had taken place, ten days
had pmed, ten days fraught with much con-
sequence to some of the characters in our
story.

And to no one of them more than to Fer-

The mortgage on the Cinnabar property
came due; Del Colma was unable to raise the
amount necessary to meet it, although he had
worked like a horse to procure the money.
But, in mining parlance, the Cinnabar property
was “a bad egg.” Men shook their heads
when asked to advance the sum and take the
mine for security. _

The story of the lode was too well known in
the town. That lead was presided over by Pr
demon who promised great stores of wealth,
but who invariably ended by devouring the un-
lucky mortals who controlled the property.

“Don’t you believe that there is gold in the
-A 6;»)

(Xl‘Oh, yes,” was the reply, unhesitatingly
given by one and all; “but what’s the use of
the gold being there if it’s going to cost more
than it's worth to get it out?” '
lhe story of Talbot’s bloody adventures in
connection with the mine, was still current in
the town, although not a man who listened to
the legend-like tale even dreamed that bold
and hardy Injun Dick still walked the earth,
and still kept watch and ward over his old~
time treasure-house. _

“Oh, no, sir,” the acute and canny men of
means replied, when asked to put up. a few
thousand dollars on the strike. “ No Cinnabar
lode for me; no, sir, no sugar in mine. That
place has either killed or broke every .man who
ever had anything to do with it. _It is an un-
lucky bit of property; ‘bad medicine,’ 511‘, as
one of the heathen bucks would say. It would
really be a benefit to the town if an earth-
quake should come along and shake five or sxx
thousand tons of earth and rock right down
on top of it; yes, sir, bury the Cinnabar lode
so deep that pick-ax and spade would never be
able to dig it up again.’

With such sentiments common to the solid
men of the town, no wonder that Del
Colma was unable to raise a cent on the secu—
rity of the mine.

Payment being refused, the summary aid of
the law was invoked; so rigidly had the papers
been drawn that there was no chance for a de-
lay. The court put the sheriff in possession of
the property, and a day was set for a sale
almost immediately.

After the legal process was executed and the
strong arm of the law had wrested the prop-
erty from the Californian, sullen and down-
cast Del Colma came in to his supper.

" Well?” Blanche questioned, inquiringly,
although from the look upon his face she easily
guessed that the worst had transpired.

" It is all over," he answered; “the mine is
now in the hands of the sheriff, and will be
sold at public auction the day after to-mor-
row.”

“Then you have lost all that you have in-
vested!”

“Yes; there is only one chance to save any-
thing i'rom the wreck,” he observed, thought—
fully. “The mortgage amounts to ten thous-
and dollars; the interest and legal expenses
will be :1 couple of thousand more—about
twelve thousand all told. Already I have iii-
vested double that; in fact, the mine stands me
in over thirty thousand dollars. It is good
property—I don’t care what people say about
it. It is as rich a mine as there is in all north-
ern California, and will pay splendidly just as
soon as it gets in good working order. Now,
to pay off the mortgage would cost twelve
thousand dollars, but at the auction sale the
chances are a hundred to one that the entire
property will not fetch over five or six thous-
and dollars, so great is the feeling against the
lode on the part of the money-men of the
town—the fools believe that it always brings
bad luck to whoever owns it. If I could raise
five or six thousand dollars, I would buy the
property in—buy it in your name, for the law
holds inc answerable for the difference between
the amount the place brings at the sale and the
sum due from me. Of course as long as I
have nothing, my creditors can get nothing,
but with the mine running—and I am certain
that the ore we are getting out now will pay
handsomely—I could soon pay off the debt.”

“ But five or six thousand dollars is a large
sum,” the girl observed. “Can you get the
amount?”

Fernando drummed with his fingers upon
the edge of the table, by the side of which he
had seated himself.

“I can’t borrow it.” he observed, after
quite a long pause. “Nobody will loan on the
unlucky hole.”

“Perhaps there may be some truth in the
superstition; the mine has not brought good
luck to us.”

“One swallow does not make a summer,”
the brother rctorted. “It is my evil fortune;
the mine has had nothing to do with it.”
“Perhaps not; but if you cannot borrow
the money, then it is hopeless to think of still
controlling the property.”

“ l don’t know about that.”

Blanche looked at her brother, inquiringly;
it was plain that he had some plan in view.
“Do you not think that we ought to make
some effort to retain the mine?” he continued.
“It seems a shame to lose so much,” she re-
plied.

“ That ring upon your finger is worth five
hundred dollars at the least,” he said, point-
ing to the diamond, which has already played
so prominent a part in our story.

“This rings" and a burning blush SWept rap-
idly over the beautiful face of the girl; but
the tell-tale blush was gone in a moment, and
Fernando, busy with his own thoughts, gazing
intently upon the precious stone, did not notice
it.

“Yes; if you are willing to risk the loss of
the ring, I may be able to raisa five or six
thousand dollars.”

“ I do not understand," Blanche observed.

“ And I cannot explain,” he replied, a tinge
of hauteur in his voice. “If you are willing
to risk it, well and good; give it to me, and I
will make the trial, but I cannot explain to you
what I am going to do, or how I am going to
do it. I know that there is a chance to raise
the money, if you will give me the ring to
work on. It is not possible that fortune will
forever frown on me; the tide must turn some-
time; it is a long lane that has no turning,
they say. I am desperate now, and must play
a bold game; Fortune is a fickle jade, and now
at the eleventh hour she may Choose to smile
upon me.”

Without a word Blanche took the ring from
her finger, kissed it, passionately—two sweet»,
memories v er.- connected with the charming
bauble—and then handed it to her brother.

 

The dark eyes of the Californian lighted up
as his fingers grasped the ring. -

“ If fortune does not change, why, then, the
sooner I am out of this evil world the better!”
he exclaimed.

“While we live we may hope,” exolaimed
the girl.

“'oman though she was, she was made of
stouter stuff than the Californian.

Fernando rose, putting the ring upon his
finger.

“Before midnight this little sparkler shall

 

nando Del Coll-la, had the flight or time fun.“
ished greater inniter for anxiety:

Already the gray mists of the night were
rapidly descending. The Californian took up
his hat.

“Will you not stay for supper?” Blanche
asked.

“Oh, I have no appetite. Food will be re-
pulsive to me until this suspense is settled.”
And then his eyes fell upon the long-necked
wine-bottles upon the side-board; the sole re-
mains of the famous vintage which had once
reposed so snugly in the ancestral cellars of the
Del Colma. family.

“I am not hungry, but I thirst,” he con-
tinued; and then he filled himself a. generous
glass of the rich wine, tossed it of! at a
draught, kissed the sweet forehead of the girl,
and sallied forth.

Up and down through Cinnabar town went
the Californian, and one man alone he sought
—Velvet Hand!

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A DESPERATE CHANCE.

VELVET HAND was found at last; seated on
a bowlder on the hill—side, he was gazing va-
cantly down upon the Cinnabar mine.

It was the veteran Joe BOWers who directed
the Californian to the right spot.

“ Pard, methinks l savvey,” he exclaimed.
with all that dignity so peculiar to the bum-
mer. “ Oft in the stilly night, when slumber’s
chain holds the galoots of this hyer wicked
world, hev I see’d that velvet-coated sharp
a—sittin’ on the hill-side, right above the Cinna-
bar strike, a—gazin’, in meditation wrapped,
down into the valley. He’s a. deep cuss, he is.
He goes up thar’ an’ steadies his nerves, so that
he kin flax the boys at poker When the mid-
night hour draws on. He’s jest ole p’ison now,
l tell yer.”

Acting upon this advice, Del Colma climbed
the hill-side, and, sure enough, he then found
the man he sought.

The face of the sharp was clouded; it was
with troubled eyes that he looked down upon
the mining valley.

The sound of footsteps aroused him from his
meditation, and, in some surprise, he looked
up. Few feet ever trod the little trail up the
hill-side.

“ Good—evening,” said the Californian, ad-
vancing.

“ Good—evening,” Velvet Hand replied, dis—
tantly, evidently not pleased at having his pri-
cacy intruded upon.

“ I have been seeking you.”

If Yes?” -

The Californian seated himself close to the
other.

“And not finding you in the town, I was di-
rected here.”

It was quite plain to Del Colma why Velvet
Hand had selected this nook on the hill-side,
sheltered by the spreading pines and the cone
like junipers, as a lounging place.

A short eighth of a mile away was the Cin-
nabar property, and from that spot one could
command a full view of the mine and the
buildings.

“ One can command a fine view of the Cin-
nabar property from this point, I see.”

N Yes. 7)

Velvet Hand was strangely reserved.

“You know, I presume, that the Cinnabar
property is in the hands of the sherifl?”

“ I heard so.”

“I owe about twelve thousand dollars on it
which I am unable to pay.”

“That is bad.”

“And of the twelve thousand which I ought
to have, you have got about six.”

U Yes?”

Velvet Hand was not manifesting the slightest
interest in the matter.

“Lost to you at cards,” Del Colma con—
tinued.

“ If a man will play, he must expect to lose
sometimes,” the sharp replied, in his cool way.

“ I have lost always!" the Californian re~
torted, bitterly. '

“ I wouldn’t play then if I were you.”

“ When I need your advice I will ask it!”
Del Colma. exclaimed, haughtily.

The lip of the sharp curled just a little, but
he d id not reply. _ Possibly he saw that the
Californian was in a desperate mood, and he
forbore to provoke him to a quarrel.

“ There is only one chance for me to save my
property.”

“Your property?” questioned Velvet Hand.

“ Yes—the mine.”

“ Oh, yes, I see. Well, you are not the first
man whom the Cinnabar mine has broke.”

Was the cool and hardy Sharp a believer,
then, in the legend which gave to the golden
lode the character of a destroying demon?

“If I had six thousand dollars I might be
able to buy the mine in at the sheriff’s sale.”

“ Yes; but six thousand dollars don’t grow
on every bush,” Velvet Hand observed, tartly.
“ You have managed to make that much out
of me.”

“ Do you want me to give it back?” the Cin-
nabar man asked, sharply. “ Are we a couple
of boys playing marbles in fun, the winnings
to be returned when the game ends!”

The Californian was nettled by the speech,
and threw his head up proudly.

“ I ask favors from no man!” he cried, “and
least of all from you. I have sought you out
to—night to challenge you to play. Before
morning dawns I intend to win six thousand
dollars from you.”

“ Well, if you do that, I sha’n’t be able to
buy the Cinnabar mine, to—morrow, at the
sheriff’s sale.”

Del Colma started as if he had trodden upon
a snake.

“ You buy the Cinnabar mine!” he cried.

“ Why not? It will be sold to the highest
bidder, won’t it? Why shouldn’t I buy as well
as anyone else? I am getting rather tired of
being a gambler—a card—sharper, that is what
gentlemen like yourself term me, although you
are all eager enough to try to Win the money
that We gamblers risk. \Vhen I become the
owner of the Cinnabar lode. I shall be a gen-
tleman—a man of property; I can play cards,
too, just the same as ever, but I will not be a
gambler any longer. You will observe that
there is a great deal of difference between the
man who plays cards for amusement and the
man who plays that he may live.”

Del Colma winced at the sarcasm.

. “Of course .you are at liberty to buy the
mine if you bid high enough.”

‘ “ I’ll give thirteen thousand dollars for it, if
I can’t get it cheaper.”

The Californian looked astonished; he had
no idea that Velvet Hand possessed such a.
sum.

“ Oh, I mean it!” the sharp exclaimed.

“ Will you play with me to—night?” Fernan-
do asked, abruptly.

H No. 7)

“ You are afraid to give me a chance to win
my money back!"

“I said once that I wouldn’t play with you
again.”

“You owe me my revenge, and you are no
man if you refuse to give it to me!” Del COIma

 

win back the mine. for me!" he announced, with
a glow of triumph on his face.

cried, hotly. “ See this diamond ring, my
sister’s jewel, given by her freely in this last

    
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
   

extremity. It is all I have. It is worth five
himdred dollars at the least, and I challenge
you to put up that sum; take the ring, and
then we will play.”

“ It’s a bargain,” cried Velvet Hand, ab-
ruptly. “I will buy the ring from you and
give you five hundred for it, and you shall
have the privilege of redeeming it at any time
within a. month.”

“And you will play with me?” asked the
Californian, eagerly.

“ Yes; as long as you have a cent of money
left,” Velvet Hand replied, with cool irony.

The two men rose to their feet, and down
the hill-side to the town they went; straight to
the Occidental Hotel they proceeded, secured
a. room, laid in a stock of cards and candles,
and immediately proceeded to Work.

The game proceeded at first with varying
fortunes, but as midnight approached luck de-
serted the Californian, and~with the stroke of
twelve he sat a haggard, penniless man.

The thousand dollars lay in a. heap on Velvet
Hand’s side of the table.

He drew from his pocket two bags, one
marked a thousand and the other five hundred,
and placed them beside the heap of coin.

“ Your sister is a charming girl; when I own
the Cinnabar mine, I shall be a suitable match
for any woman in California. I’ll put up this
twenty-five hundred dollars against your con—
sent iii writing to my wooing her, and take the
chances of a single cut out Of the cards."

In desperation the Californian consented.

He cut the cards and displayed a jack.

Velvet Hand cut and shOWed a queen.

“These women always did favor me,” he
said, laughing.

(To becontinued~commenced in No. 380.)

 

 

WHO?

The birds sing up in the tree-tops
Their heaven—born songs of love;

And a delicious 'sense of calmness
Comes down from the heavens above.

 

All nature seems wrapt in gladness,
For when the heart is full

0f love’s idyl—transcendant—
The world can ne'er seem dull.

A breath of joyous sweetness,
Redolent with perfume of the flowers,
Comes to me—enraptured—
Unconscious of the flying hours.

The cooing of birds in the meadow,
The droning of insects on the wing,
And the ri pling of the rill—soporific—

Fed by t e moss-covered spring.

The babblin of the brook as it rushes
Over pebb es and stones—far away——

Keeps time to my heart‘s joyous beatings
As I think of my darling to-day.

The Bouquet Girl;

HALF A MILLION DOLLARS.

BY AGILE PENNE,

AUTHOR or “ ORPHAN NELL,” “ STRANGE
STORIES or MANY LANDS,” “Tin: DE-
TECTIVE’S WARD,” “WOLF or
ENHOVEN,” ETC., ETC.

 

 

 

CHAPTER VIII.
A MYSTERIOUS GENTLEMAN.

A HALF a million of dollars!

It was quite a striking picture just at that
moment, and any enterprising artist would have
jumped at the chance to transfer the scene
either to canvas 01‘ to the sensitive plate of the
camera.

The young and beautiful queen of burlesque,
arrayed in the shimmering silken robe, the
handsomest carriage dress that the drives of
Central Park had seen for many along day,
with her hand thrown carelessly over the high
back of a luxuriant arm-chair, and gazing
with surprised face at the stranger; her position
a model for the artist!

The jockey-like Englishman, in his checked
suit of tweed, hat in hand, staring at the speaker
in profound surprise; even the scanty side-
whiskers of the acute Tim seemed to share the
wonder and stick out more than usual.

And the stranger—this tall, thin, elderly
man with the hawk-nose, restless black eyes,
glittering like black beads; hair black as jet
and cropped tightly to his head; olive face,
smoothly shaven, but plainly betraying the
dark-blue marks which told of a heavy beard
were nature allowed her way; dressed in a
shabby, thread-bare suit of black, very much
out of style—the pantaloons buggy and loose—
the coat long-skirted and single—breasted, but-
toned up tight in the throat, no sign of linen
being visible—standing by the door, his di-
lapidated slouch-hat in his hand, the other
raised a trifle above his head after the style of
the peculiar races of southern Europe who are
nothing if not theatrical.

“A half-amilh'on of dollars!” he repeated.
“ So speak I and what I speak I know!” The
man had a decided foreign accent. E “ Behold
me, the Count, Phillipe de Castiglione!”

The same thought occurred at the same mo-
ment to both the listeners to this odd speech.

The man was a lunatic.

Avise was as brave as a lion; the girl did
not really know what fear was, and so she
gazed with steady eyes upon the stranger, but
as for Tim he deftly sidled behind a chair and
looked around him for a weapon in case the
man became violent.

“ Mademoiselle, I have had the honor to see
you on the boards of the theater many times,”
the man continued, addressing his conversation
with a graceful bow to Avise. “ Your face so
beautiful—so charming! it is imprinted here,
upon my heart. I see you many times —I do
not recognize you at first, for it is long ago. I
have had many troubles; my mind is not so
good as it used to be; but at last it flashes upon
me! Yes, you are the child; the child that in
my arms I have held so often, but you do not
remember me; no, it is impossible; it is so long
ago!” and here the stranger heaved a deep
sigh and let his head fall down upon his breast.

“ Awfully cracked!” Tim ejaculated in a.
whisper to Avise.

The girl nodded; in her mind there was no
doubt that the man was crazy; but he seemed
a harmless sort of madman, and she was really
curious to find out why he had wandered into
her apartment and What the half-a-million of
dollars was that he was raving- about. I

Another deep sigh came from the lips of the -
stranger, and then he raised his head and sur-
veyed the fair face of the girl for a moment,
in silence, with his glassy, restless eyes.

“ Ah,” he murmured at last, “the first time
I see you, you touch a choi‘d here in my heart.
I my, Phillipe, mon brave, what does this
mean! This English girl is fair—she is lovely—-
she is an angeL—but passion died long since in ,
your heart; now it is stone! thy ~seek you to i
gaze upon this face! I am not rich, Madem- '
oiselle. Italy—dear Italy! for her I am poor.
1 cannot pay one dollair every night; go in the

 

gallery I cannot—the pride of an Italian noble-
man forbids it!" and here the speaker patted ,

his breast, manfully. “ that am I To do,

since I must look upon your face or die .3”
, “Grab checks,” suggested Tim, in a half
‘ undertone, and putting his tongue in his cheek
and winking atthe burlesque queen.
. The man favored the Englishman with a.
l gracious bow.
, “The signor is correct,” he said; “that i:
‘ what I, Le Count do Castigliono, an obliged to
do. I stand in front of the theater; around
me my cloak is wrapped; there is a. free—
masonry among gentlemen; any gentleman
,with half an eye can see that I am of blue-
blood. Between the acts of the play, when
the gentlemen come out, I speak to them—I
beg their pardon, I tell them that it is necessary
to my existence that inside the theater I go.
Some laugh, some jeer, all the same to me; I
am a gentleman; it cannot hurt me; Le Count
dc Costigliono cannot be insulted. Some give
me their checks and I walk in, others give me
money. I say, ‘ I do not beg; an Italian
nobleman cannot beg, but I will accept your
money as a loan; when my property to me Is
restored, I will repay;’ and so, mademoiselle,
without money, without price, I see you every
night, and last night, at one sacred moment,
the truth came to me; it was where you strike
down the. ruffian with your fist, and cry those
lines of beautiful poetry:

‘ My name is Norval, I’m an old vet',
I’m bound to win or die, you bet!’

“In one moment I saw clearly; you are my
child; I am your father!”

The burlesque queen was so much amazed
that she could only stare in silence at this ex-
tremely peculiar speaker, but as for Tim, he
fairly roared.

“Oh, blarst my buttons!” he exclaimed, “if
this ain’t as good as a play!”

The man smiled—the peculiar, hollow, in-
sincere smile which came so readily to him—
shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his hands as
if to protest against the Englishman’s merri~
ment.

“ You do not believe me when I say that you
are my child,” he said, slowly.

“No; I do not—I know better!” Avise an-
answered, quickly. . ,"

She was annoyed at the assumption.

“ Oh, it won‘t work, old gentleman; it is too
thin!" cried Tim, irrevorently.

“ And if out of the wealth which you enjoy,

refuse?" , .

“’Course she would,” the Englishman ex-
claimed. “ I tell you it won’t wash. You
can’t come it, you know.” '

“ Why, sir, I think that you must be crazy!”
Avise cried, not able to account for the stran-
ger‘s actions at all, for there seemed to be a
deal of method in his madness.

“ And does the heart not speak to you?” the
man continued, indifferent, apparently, to the
effect his words had produced. “ When I say,
child, I am your father, is there not a chord in
your heart that is touched?”

“ Oh, gammon! It won’t do, you know; you
can’t play that sort of thing on us!” and the
Englishman began to show anger.

“ No, sir, not at all,” replied the girl.

“ And you would refuse me a. loan—a small
sum—lay a. hundred dollars—if I should ask
it; I, your father—the father whom you have
not seen since you were an infant in the era-
dle?”

“ Yes, sir, I should; I’ll give you a dollar to
get rid of you,” Avise exclaimed, contemp-
tuously, and as she Spoke, she took two half-
dollar pieces from her pocket-book and cast
them upon the floor at the stranger’s feet.

Like a hawk he pounced down upon the sil—
ver pieces and secured them. It was quite
plain that all was fish that came to his net,
and that the smallest favors were thankfully
received.

“From my heart, I thank you, my'child,”
he exclaimed, bowing with great dignity.
“ You give me a dollair now: you do_not know
me; you mistrust me! Ah! great heaven,
what agony it is for a father to be mistrusted
by his own childl”—and ali this spoken in the
most matter-of-fact tone. “ In one week you
will know better; in one week—seven little
days—your eyes will be open; you will come
to me then and say, ‘My honored parent, no-
ble count, here is my purse; take what you
like-a hundred—a thousand dollars if you
will.’ I help myself; I go to my lawyer; I
say to him, here are the proofs that this beau-
tiful lady is my daughter; here are the proofs
that I am my father’s son; here is money to re—
ward your labor; go into the court. of this
great republic, and cry aloud that justice may
be done. He goes; we win; and a half 3 mil-
lion dollairs are ours! Addio.”

And then, in his snaky way, the man bowed
himself out of the room, leaving Avise and
the Englishman staring at each other in intense
amazement. 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX.

A BBACE or RASCALS.

CLOSING the door of the actress’ apart-
ment carefully behind him, the tall, thin
stranger. whose appearance so forcibly sing.
gested the “ Father of All Evil ” as he is gen-
erally represented by the Italian painters—
tall, thin, high cheek~bones,/ glittering, bead-
like eyes, and a smile, sarcasm and melancholy
strangely mixed—proceeded along the entry.

There was something snake-like about the
man. His appearance instinctively produced
aversion.

“ 0h, saints in heaven!” he muttered, as he
walked along the corridor, and as he spoke be
stretched out his thin, brown hand, which
with its long, skinny fingers so clouly resem—
bled the talons of a bird of prey, and sur-
Veyed the two glittering pieces of silver which
reposed therein.

“ One dollair «one miserable dollair to her
own flesh and blood—to her father—to me, the
man who, by turning over his hand, can put

one half-million of dollairs into her pocket!
Bah! Gratitude! it is a fable! Filial love! it
exists not but in the romance or at the opera.
Why did she not throw herself upon my
breast, and cry, ‘ Dear father! here in my
heart find welcome!’ Oh, these Engliaherk
these John Bulls! No souls, all stomach!”

The Italian heaved a deep sigh and pocketed
the half-dollars. He was careful, however, to
place the coins in separate pockets.

Descending the stairs to the office below in
the main corridor, and marching along with
head erect as though he was the moat honored
guest that the stately Fifth Avenue had ever
sheltered, his appearance provoked instant sue-
picion.

It was plain that he had come from the up-
per part of the hotel, and as his garb and man-
ner quickly told that he was not a guest, it was
only natural that the clerk and porter- who had
observed him should instantly come to the con-
clusion that he Was a sneak-thief, who had
been prowling about the hotel intent on plun-
der.

“ Say, what do you want here i” asked the
clerk, quietly but firmly, confronting the
Italian right at the foot of the stairs, while a,
couple of the porters gathered near ready to
cut off the man’s escape if he attempted to fly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I should ask you for a small sum, you would