. “.- 43 0* 5' . “4.4.: . o w: - ‘5..qu Jews-i .‘ arm" “L 1‘9". "on... ' a." r- .. ‘1. "Vm’tw'x 37.57-1- fl'nll '2 I. . “I J «ava liar-“"3” 3. l‘. i Then he moved off toward tracted his notice. the further corner of the hotel. up the street, running his eyes closely over the face of the buildin . . _ He was standing by the large spout-pipe of convoluted wire. The spout, at short intervals, was secured in the maSSive masonry of the house by means of stout metal clamps. To a daring and active man they could afford ample foot- ld. hoUp only twelve feet from the walk ran the ca cornices of the great windows, and but four feet further the lintel course of the second story windows. Upon both cornice and hntel was good standing-room—just the .rch for outward observation of the rooms wit ._ The shrewd and vicious scoundrel saw all this at aglance, and with scarcely a moment’s hesntation, re- solved to risk an attempt to at least spy in his eDHmyysasperomclllith t d be an the ascent e e u . an g - . He wig cool, worming and sure-footed, and soon reached the cornice, from_ whence he crept slowly onward until he was directly under the window. Cautiously he drew himself erect. and clutch- ing the projecting sill above his_ head, raised himself. pressed his cold face agamst the fihny pane, and peered in. I It was Moses Denby’s sallow—white face which, lued to the cold panes, had met the eyes of ilargoun, the Hindoo. _ And Moses Denby saw the East-Indian’s quick movement; he saw the deadly kreese flashing in his hand. No time was _to be lost; that was certain. So, releasing his hold on the window-sill, he dropped down to the walk below. An instant and he was buried almost out of sight in the snow, which had drifted high against the side of the building. He was not even stunned by the fall, and was about to arise, when he heard the sash above thrown up by a strong hand; so he la perfectly still. Lying as he did upon his bac , he could see above him. He noted that the bright wmdow was darkened; then he plainly made out that two persons were leaning from the wmdow, glancing up and down the deserted street. Then the sharp springing of a pistol-lock echoed from above on the snow-thick air; then a hoarse vcice muttered: . “By heavens, Margoun! if I can get a Sight of the scoundrel, I‘ll send a bullet through him!" Then all was still again. A few moments later the window was lowered, and the inner blinds closed tighgly. Moses Denby sprung to ' feet and fled away. When Moses Denby that night left the house, Abner sat for a long time morose and abstract— ed, as his mother cleared away the things from the second supper which she had cooked. “Make me a bowl of hot, spiced punch, me- ther,” he at length said. " I shall wait up until Moses returns from that wild—goose chase.” “Yes, my son,” and the old woman obedient— ly set about to perform the new task imposed upon her, and in a few moments returned from the kitchen with a steaming bowl. Abner helped himself liberally, and fell to thinking again. Nearly a half-hour sped by and neither spoke. The old mother was again nodding in her chair, while her son gazed gloomily into the red- mouthed stove. But the latter finally broke the silence. “That was a strange affair, mother—wake up!” and he frowned. “ I was saying that was a stran e afiair—that love affair, between Thorle ' anton and Cynthia Summers! Curses upon him and her!” and he ground his teeth fu- riously together. “Very strange, my son," was the meek reply. “And to think that that heartless jade, after engaging herself to you, should fling you off for—’ “I was not referring to that,” he interrupted. “Though if man ever loved woman, I loved Cynthia Summers! But what I meant, was the fact that Cynthia Summers pled ed herself to Thorle Manton, that the wedc 'ng—day was fixed, that bridegroom and bride, pastor and friends, were present, and yet there was no wedding!” “Very strange, Abner; and 1—" “One thing is certain,” he unceremoniously interrupted, “Cynthia Summers disappeared from New York that very day; and she has not been seen here since. I dld hear a vague rumor, which I never could believe, that Cynthia, on the ver afternoon of her expected grand wed- ding, e oped with some bearded foreign army officer, who was traveling in this country. But—’ The door suddenly opened, and Moses Denby strode into the old house. “ Well, Moses?" demanded Abner. “ Thorle Manton is here!” was the re'oinder. “The water flung up its victim; but, y hea- vens, I shall not be cheated out of my revenge! 1005113, we’ll talk. I have .my plans already a1 “ With all my heart!” ejaculated Abner. The three consulted until the night was nearly spent. When at last they arose to separate, Ab- ner said: “ A famous idea! and I romise that the money shall not be lacking. ut, are you sure _ about getting theL37 “ Yes-sure! Money will do wonders. Then I am certain as to what will happen at the sta- tion; and it is ten miles or more from there to— well you know where. I dare say the snow is thick there!” “ Yes: and the telegram shall be sent to—mor- row ” said Abner. “ Then good—night! and dream of good luck,” said Moses, turnin toward the door. “ Good—night! l 'here on earth are you go- ing, Moses :5” inquired Abner, in astonishment. ‘Going to attend to my work! ‘The early bird,’ you know,” and this hardy man left the ‘ house. (To be continued—connnenced in No. 397.) The Bitter Secret; THE PIEART OF GOLD. BY GRACE MORTIMER. CHAPTER XXIII. A RAT IN THE TRAP. ON the evening of that same day, Geoffrey and Mr. Price were back at Toby’s cottage, telling Monica the details of their fruitless in- vestigations. “They did not go near the railway station at Linnhe,” said Geoffrey. “but were seen on the Kamp Road: at least a close carriage drawn by two thoroughbreds which some peasants swear to belong to my uncle’s stables, was seen at dawn this morning slowly going along the Kamp Road, toward Millverton, a railway station twenty miles south. I tele- graphed, and received the answer that no such party had arrived there. I have come back to do what I should have done at first, only I feared he would deceive us—to wring the truth out of Vulpino.” “ Will he tell it?” shuddered Monica. “He must! He is in my power, at my mercy — he must I” reiterated her cousin, grimly. And he galloped off, attended by the stal~ wart Toby, who had paid one visit already to the ill favored captive, for the purpose of fetching him such coarse food as he thought he deserved. “An’ the devil himself couldn’t ramp an’ tear more vicious,” recorded Toby, with an en- joyable grin, ashe tramped by the bridle of Master Geoffrey’s palfrey: “he had most filed through that there dog-chain on the bricks, an’ would ha' bin off in another hour. Lord! one ’ud think he bed the Bank 0’ England at his fingers’ ends, by his offers.” And the stanch old fellow chuckled at the reminiscence of cer- tain smart transactions of his with the captive, in which he had “done” him rather brown by accepting a handful of sovereigns with the ut- most suavity, and then loftin repudiating the insulting idea that he ought to earn them by betraying his trust; Toby being of that popu- the Philistines.” Arriving at the scene of Monica’s sufferings, they came upon the lank, tawny Italian, asleep in his bonds, from sheer exhaustion. He was clothing torn and dusty, where he had violent- ly rolled himself about the bare floor, and the pale and sweat-glistening features. As the two men stepped into the room, they had time to observe this picture, before Vul- ting on the floor, glared at Geoffrey with far more of menace than entreaty. “ Ebbenc—have you a-comeea to mock me in dese bonds E" be ground out. " On the contrary,” said Geoffrey, “I have and Miss Rivers. It entirely depends on your- self whether you leave this place with us, or are left to endure a half-starved solitude until I have the time to punish you. And I warn you that your pu..ishmeut will be as thorough as your monstrous crime deserves.” face, and a sickly pallor overspread his own. He dropped his head and meditated with him- self for some moments in silence. At last he said: “ Dere is no alternatif; I submit. expect-a of me?” “The truth,” answered Geofl’rey; “and af- ter it, your co-operation in saving the life of my uncle, if he be yet alive. Are you willing to purchase your freedom on these terms?" “Dere is no help; I must,” muttered the poisoner, doggedly; "but w’at dese fools about dat dey do not search-a fore me—rescue mes” “ That doesn’t sound as if they were far off," whispered the keen young lawyer in Geoffrey’s car. “No," said Geoffrey, “if he means the Mar- shalls.” He turned on Vulpino with a threat- ening intensity. “You must assist us to save Mr. Derwent from these conspirators who want to take his life,” he said. “ And first, tell us, where have they taken him ?” Vulpino tossed his chin in the air with an ir- repressible grin of wily triumph. “Und you suspect-a notsing? Ha! ha! ha! Vulpino plans well. Bote — bote—ze time have come-a to speak; dere is no help. Your signore, ze Maestro of Derwent-a Weald, is now in his own castle; he was never taken out of It.” “What!” cried Geoffrey, astonished; “was that coach only a blind?" “Only a. blind!” admitted Vulpino. “Ze signore is at dis moment hidden in ze old tower of ze castle, Wis his three attendants, ze bloodthirsty brothers, and ze beautiful leetle Jezebel, Signorina Godiva. He no more sick dan I, bote dey makes him t'ink be dying; an’ so he weel, vera, vera queek, ’less I am back dere to save-a him.” “ Price, off with you and verify this rogue's statement; it will be the worse for him if he has lied to us. Vulpino, tell him how to ob— tain ingress.” “Dat he cannot; note widout me,” main- tained the Italian, grimly. “Nobody is ex— pected bote Vulpino, and nobody except Vul- pino will enter. Take-a me veeth, und den—’ “And then you will betray us into the hands of your accomplices! No, thank you!” cried Price, shrugging his shoulders. “Come, old chap, you mustn’t take us for idiots; be merciful to your own hide and play fair. Meantime, while you are making up your mind to the unaccustomed agony of telling the truth, I shall amuse myself going through your pockets, hoping to come upon a key or two that may be useful.” Mr. Price was as good as his word, and in spite of the crestfallen Italian‘s guashings of teeth and baleful glares, thrust his nimble hands into every pocket about the captive, producing several of the large brazen keys of the lVeald for his trouble. Vulpino saw that he was helpless, and made up his mind to turn his coat. “ Dere is no use,” he said to Geoffrey, sul- lenly, “I go over on your side. Only you promise me dat I go free venever your uncle be restored to you.” “That I promise solemnly,” said Geoffrey; “ but he must be restored both in body and in health, else I hold you responsible. ” “ Ha! dat makes a deeferent story,” muttered Vulpino, uneasily, “ dey hev ze medicines, und are so—so impatient—mid l haf note been dere —he may be dead.” Geoffrey uttered a cry.— “Bote no," Vulpino went on, anxiously enough, now that his own life was imperiled: “ dey must be waiting for me; dey were afraid to leave traces; gentlemen, I must go to ze lVeald if you wants ze life save, I must go at once. I promise you fidelity, w’at else can 1—! Come weeth me, dat you may do; I swear fair play.” There was no time to be lost, and no other way. Geoffrey agreed to trust the Ital.an, who, indeed, had no interest in betraying them since his accomplices could no longer work in the dark, and certainly dared not work in the light. Relieving him of his weapons, then of his bonds, and refreshing him with a hearty pull at Mr. Price’s capacious pocketflask, the three set off for the V’Veald, which they reached about ten of the night. Cautiously picketing the horse and gig out of hearing, the trio \vent through one of the archways, the gate of which Vulpino unlocked with one of the keys, and then they stole into the inner court, and he showed them a dim light glimmering far up in an ancient round tower, whose ruined walls overtopped the rest of the pile by a hundred feet "Dere lies ze signore," whispered the Ital— ian, his eyes lighting up strangely, “nursed by ze lovely Mees Montacute. By ze secret stair, w‘ich winds like ze corkscrew round und round in ze interior of ze fifteen-feet-thick wall, we s'all mount ze ruined t0wer, und see ze mas- ter unsuspect. Come.” They followed him into the pitch-dark aper- ture, and up the giddy wind of broken and dust—choked steps. Arrived at last on a tiny triangular landing, he arrested them by a touch, and softly drew back a shutter, reveal- ing a narrow slit-window, which, however, commanded a view of the interior instead of the exterior. ' The three were now looking down into a W’at you small, octagonal chamber, whose occupants The evil eyes probed Geoffrey’s inflexibleI ‘ of their villainy, or to suppose that they had lar opinion that it was always right to “spoil '. no pleasant sight in his haggard sleep, his, ugly distortion of pain and rage still on his, pino started up with a snarling cry, and sit-I ’ the woods. I first and natural intention to rush openly to come to offer you freedom, and a chance to " his enemies, but another idea had occurred to expiate the injuries you have done my uncle ’ him since Vulpino’s enforced alliance. were the master of Dornoch-Weald, lying white i and motionless upon a bed, and Godiva Monta- ' cute, fair and 10ve1y, sitting by him, half shrouded by the faded brocade curtain, with her head down on the little table, either asleep or brooding. “Thank God,” whispered Geoffrey involun- tarily, “ he is yet alive;” and he pored over the domestic tableau, scarcely able to realize its sinister reality. “And where may the two men be?” whis- pered Price. “Oh, dey do not shut demselfes up in dis gloomy place-a, except to take turns in ze watch, ‘ returned Vulpino; “dey leef in ze best rooms in ze house, an’ dey drinks ze wines for amusement. Ze pretty signorina, she know notsing bote dat ze oncle must be hid from strangers in his dog-madness.” Vulpino, however, was wrong here, as Geof- frey took care to whisper to Price, whose admir- ing gaze was fastened to that lovely false face with rather a perilous ardor. Godiva Montacute was just as guilty as the brothers, and shared all their secrets. Monica had told him of her interview with Jasper in The three descended to the court- yard to hold counsel. It had been Geoffrey’s the rescue of his uncle, and the punishment of As yet the conspirators had not actually done anything which would give him a hold on them; and the closer he looked into their schemes the more monstrous they showed, and the more worthy of a full and terrible expiation. Would it not be possible to manage matters so that he could leave them to execute the full measure done so, he meantime preserving his uncle’s life; and then, catching th'em red-handed, pun— ish them according to their intentions? A very short discussion, into which the wily Italian interjected some of his natural craft and inlrigue, decided Geoffrey to have recourse to stratagem, to trap the conspirators into showing their game in its entirety. Vulpino proposed to disguise Geoffrey so completely that he could brave the closest impaction, and making the excuse that the close of Mr. Der- went‘s illness (which was caused altogether by the poison he had been giving him) would be too painful to be watched by Miss Montacute or the brothers, present him in the character of a nurse fromlLondon, one of his own confi- dential tools who would conduct the final tragedy. : _ The result of these conferences was, that Geoffrey hied himato one of the ancient ar- moires which stood in all its carven splendor in a forgotten gallery, and shortly afterward emerged, clad in an obsolete suit of olive green livery, padded and shaped to represent the form of an awkward, obese old fellow, his well- dyed face almost covered with terrier-like whiskers and beard, and a pair of bristling pepper-and—salt eyebrows shading the youthful flash of his dark eyes.- What with this disguisement, a cleverly acted infirmity of gait, and a high, wheezing voice, Geoffrey might have defied the recog- nition of his own mother had she been alive to gaze at him. Vulpino looked him over sharply, grinned tacit approval, and casting aside all care and caution, boldly clamped with him through the echoing corridors to the luxurious suite of apartments in which the brothers were wiling away the time of waiting for a dead man’s shoes, by the aid of occasional billiards and spirituous consolations unlimited. Upon the Italian’s appearance there rose a cry of inquiry at his protracted absence, and of astonishment at his companion. “It is right—all a-right, signori," declared Vulpino, clapping his bony claw on Geoffrey‘s shoulder as he spoke; “thees is an assistant moche needed; I ’av‘ sent-a to ze London for him, because he was require. Ze end weel be —ah, you weel not want to see it—but he— ’tis notsing to Meester Barber, eh, amico?” and he leered confidentially at his pretended assist- ant, who affected a taciturn habit, and merely nodded, grunting in reply. A few more explanations served to satisfy the brothers that all was right, and then they asked, with lowered tones and uneasily shifting eyes, what of the girl? A quick shrug of the shoulder, a grimace, and a faint smile, convinced them that Vulpino had disposed of Miss Rivers, alias Derwent, the new-found daughter and heiress, according to agreement; they both turned frightfully pale, and fell dead silent for some time. “ Well, what’s done can’t be undone,” mut— tered Rufus at last, as if in answer to some mental compunction; “you’re sure it is well concealed!” “Ze body, you mean? Si, si, w’at else! Ahime! una bella donna—pretty creature she was, too, ahi! ahi!” lamented the Italian. “And him—how long?" faltered Rufus, averting his ghastly face, and vainly trying to clear the nervous huskiness out of his craven tones. ‘ Vera queeck; bote Barber, he must be sole nurse now,” said Vulpino; “as for ze sweet donna Godiva, w‘at she doing in dat fearful presence? Pore cheeild, w’y blast her memory wees such agonies?’ “You were so long gone, we had to let her relieve us,” mumbled Gavaine the burly,whose muscular body represented all the strength and courage he possessed, his soul quaking miserabl y at every danger or painful sight. " Barber weel now relieve her,” announced Vulpino, calmly; “ he has his instructions. He and I weel do all now. As fore you three, I say. go away from zis place, hide you some—a— w’ere, dat you can prove alibi, eh, in case of t’ings onexpect happening!” The craven pair eagerly leaped at this chance for shirking the distressful phases of the crime they were yet cruel enough to consummate; and at once made preparations for running over to Paris, there to go through the farce of nursing a bogus Mr. Derwent, of having him die, and of taking the sealed remains back to Dornoch. To Geoffrey's surprise and displeasure, Vul- pino decreed that Godiva should remain in the castle, pouring forth a voluble list of wherefores, not one of which could hold water when analyzed. “What, in Heaven’s name, can he be at!” uneasily wondered Geoffrey, when he went down to the courtyard in the gray of dawn to report progress to young Price, who was his go-between to Monica. “ Don’t ye see?" grinned the omniscient law— yer; “he’s in love with the large, soft—furred, sharp-clawed white cat, and can’t endure the agony of parting from her.” “Nonsense! Why, she shudders at him. I saw her do it once to—night when he asked to feel her pulse, fearing she had watched too long.” “ And that only whets his passion,” returned Price, chuckiing; “and he’ll win her, too, in spite of all her shudderings and shakings of her dainty paws; and yet, there are men who don’t believe in retributive justice!” CHAPTER XXIV. “THE WAY or THE TRANSGRESSOR rs HARD.” RUFUS and Gavaine Marshall supposed them— selves to be murderers, and Vulpino the Italian to be their accomplice and instrument. They believed that the new-found daughter of Otto Derwent had perished of starvation by their command; and that Otto Derwent was dying by their command—their command as execut— ed by Vulpino. The natural consequence was that at present Vulpino was master, and they his slaves; and what he prescribed they perforce must do, be it obvious in its intention, like his ordering them off to Paris during the death-agony of Derwent, that in case of the worst they might be able to prove an alibi or inscrutable and vexatious, like his fiat that Godiva should re- main at the Weald. Rufus, hopelessly in love with her, despite the somber guilt in which they both were wading neck deep, felt the world doubly watchful and glaring when thrust into it With— out her brave, clever front to disarm antago- nism and dissipate suspicion; then again the man had kissed her lovely false mouth as a lover kisses, and the poison of her spell was in his blood. It was more terrible to him to part from her than to contemplate the torturing death of Monica—and this last contemplation sometimes well-nigh overwhelmed him with terror, pity, and remorse. But Vulpino, who knew all—who could bring destruction down about their ears with a whisper—he had ordained that the lovers must part for the present; Rufus dared not disobey. As for Gavaine, his coarse nature, which would have carried him through any scene of brute violence, quailed and cowered in abject fear and foreboding before the half-vailed tra- gedy which was being stealthily worked at the command of himself and his brother; like most brainless colossals, he was superstitions; and during this season of horrible intentions and cautious workings of them out, he never slept but to see strange visions, coarsely shocking as depicted by his beast—imagination; or waked but to 1011 about the ruined chambers, eaten up of peevish discontent and ennui, and nervously afraid of every sound or sight that obtruded upon his miserable moods. Of course he plunged into such comfort as seas of wine and brandy could give him, stupe- fied his already clouded senses, and only wish- ed he could get dead drunk enough to sleep over the climax of the dreadful plot which was to make his fortune, only awaking to find the grass on those two graves green—all the buzz of rumor over, and a soft, silver-lined nest waiting him to step therein. Vulpino received a. maudlin glance of grati- tude from Mr. Gavaine’s moist dull eyes as he issued" his command—Gavaine would haw journeyed cheerfully to Iceland to escape: the grim-vigils he and his brother had been keep- ing over their victim. And then, he was not in 10v; with Godiva Montacute; on the con- trary, he sometimes almost hated her, sus- pecting‘dimly, as dull men will, that she was ridiculing him, yet not quite able to credit such sacrilege, considering what a killing fel- low he was, and how strong of body, and handsome! He never could have comprehended the fierce disgust and disdain of that proud, erring heart, not only at himself, as an animal too foul and bestial to touch save with a long pole ——but at his brother, the wily Rufus, whom Gavaine firmly believed to be the most in- vinciny cunning and talented rogue in the three kingdoms. Godiva, carried away by the whirlwind of passion against Geoffrey, who had refused to do her the homage of offering her his hand and heart —had joined herself with his enemies had pledged herself to reward their crimes by marrying Rufus; and now her heart was sick, and her brain reeled in the near view of her doom. She never heard the cautious footstep of her lover climbing the winding stairway of the ancient tower, to join her by the sick man’s bed, without a dark, dark scowl; his clasping bands, they made her flesh creep out from beneath their loathed touch; his eager eyes that smiled love into her own even over the death-bed of her and his benefactor, whom they two had sworn to do to the death; his burning eyes, that always looked their best when resting upon her—she shrunk from, and snatched hers away from the compliment of meeting them, and her heart would stand still, and her body grow rigid, her veins fill with ice; and dared he kiss her lips, as he had a right to do, she not venturing to withstand him, a fierce blaze would flash out from her whole being, as it were, and she would tremble a little, growing very pale; and at such times, while the purblind lover was gloating over all these maiden manifestations of his power, and accounting for them of course by contraries, her glance would flicker off to the knife glisten- ing on the invalid’s tray, or to the poison vials on the commode, and then she would wrench herself back to the inevitable present, and enact the fiancee. And when Vulpino came to her, announcing the proposed departure of the brothers, and formally requesting her to remain as the host- ess of himself and his man Barber, her beauti— ful, jewel—like eyes flashed up one involuntary gleam of relief, which left the Italian panting and pale, and she sunk deeper into the down- cushioned chair with a great sigh of rest and peace. Barber could not help turning long, sorrow- ful, half-incredulous looks upon the young lady who had developed such fearful qualities. For many of their childish years these two had lived together; and, although Geoffrey had never in the least cherished a romantic affection for Godiva, he had warmly admired her beauty, spirit, and wit; believing, as all true-hearted men do, that his girl comrade was far beyond him in goodness and purity. Of late years he had not seen her often, and upon the occasion of his reocnt meeting with her under the oaks of his uncle‘s “’eald, she had puzzled and offended him; first, by the sickly softness of her manner, which he little sus- pected to be a trap to catch his love; and next, by a something hard and coarsely shrewd in her counsel to him to outwit the new favorites of his uncle for sake of that uncle’s wealth. Monica’s horrible revelations of Godiva’s com- plicity in the brothers" plots, had dashed his old-time comrade forever from her pedestal; but yet, seeing her again in all her rich and flawless beauty, with power seated on her noble forehead, genuine sensil ility shining from her eyes, and all grace and delicacy ex- pressed in attire and attitude, it seemed per- fectly incredible that she could scheme mur- der, and patiently work the lingering tragedy out. I’Vhat! Do women droop over the men they mean to kill, with gentle hands ready to min- ister to their comfort, and listening ear bent to catch the labored breath, as Godiva is do— ing over Mr. Derwent at this very moment? Could she actually sit hour by hour by his pillow, rendering him all the pitiful services which proud man‘s extremity calls for from woman, the ministering angel since the world began? could she hear his faint, delirious bab- ble about all that had gone to make up his life, his friends, his political opinions, his houses, domains, and favorite horses-41y, his loves, too, that long—lost and dead Ada, who had ex— hausted the fountain of his lover—love, and then proved . false as Jezebel;—Geoflrey, gallant, merry Geoffrey, brave Geoffrey, who, of all the world, was the only one worthy to wear the name and own the lands of a Dement;— yes, and even her own name was murmured, wistfully, inquiringly, with sighs at the some- thing inoomprehensible which warned him not to trust her—with low-spoken, shamed blame of her unwomanly boldness in declaring her love for himself unasked—yet always with gen— tle, protecting care for her welfare;—could Go- diva Montacute sit by, hearing all this, and still cherish the hope of his speedy death at the hands of herself and her accomplices? True-hearted Geoffrey felt sick at the mon- strous thought. He told himself that it would be the kindest, most merciful thing a friend of this wretch- ed girl’s could do, to slay her as she sat, ere she had imbrued those white girlish hands in the blood of her benefactor; ere she had steeped her maiden soul in the red murder-tide, which all the fires in hell might not burn clean again. All the night Godiva had not opened her mouth to speak, after her first quiet greeting to the Italian, and a slight bend of the head to his companion upon his introduction. She had listened in silence to the commands of Vulpino concerning a change of drugs, as he gathered up all the horrid paraphernalia of his poisoning system and replaced them with strong anti- dotes and tonics; and she had looked her rc— lief and delight when she heard that the broth— ers were to leave the Weald. But for the most part she kept her head bent over the sick man’s pillow, and her great gloomy eyes fastened on his ghastly face, scarcely Seeming to breathe, and yet so intensely alive to every faint breath of his, or quiver of the relaxed mugcles, that when he suddenly opened his eyes and fixed them solemnly upOn hers, she uttered a gasp, as one suddenly plunged into icy waters—and made a strange, passionate movement toward him as if she would embrace him—then drew back, trembling from head to foot, and casting a wild glance of appeal toward the man whom Vulpino had brought to conduct her victim through the last dread stage of his death-jour— ney. Vulpino was absent; he was engaged in hur—V rying the brothers off to France; he dared not trust the love-sick Rufus out of his sight until he had him aboard the morning train for Dover. Geoffrey, alias Barber, stepped at once to the bedside, and anxiously gazed into his un— cle's dim and glaring eyes. lVith what a pang of the true and tender heart did he witness the quick flinching of those once haughty eyes, now strained and blood-shot by the paroxysms of physical agony through which the helpless frame had passed. Derwent evidently knew too well the fate ordained for him, and felt nothing but fresh dismay at the appearance of a stranger, per~ mitted by that cold and cruel woman, whose vengeance he had purchased three years ago, when he rejected her love. Geoffrey’s disguise was too complete for his uncle to penetrate, and after a quiet examining glance over the truculeut—looking head and at the brown hands, he turned his head away with a perceptible shudder, and a faint disdain- ing smile. Here was another executioner added to the quartette—probably the one delegated to give him the coup de grace—why degrade speech by using it to cry for mercy at such hands? Poor Geoffrey, in his pity and anger, forgot everything but that here was his dear, hot- hearted, proud and embittered kinsman lying a-dying through the treachery of those for whose sakes he had cast them off, and turning even now, with scorn and aversion fr im him, who would with cheerfulness have laid down his own gallant young life to save him; he ut- tered a sort of dumb cry of grief and remon- strance, and flung himself on the prostrate form, meaning to clasp him up to his breast, and to assure him in language which he must believe that he could and would rescue him from these wretches who had betrayed him, and that he had never done anything to forfeit his love, and was worthy to serve him now and always. But Derwent, never dreaming of the presence of a. friend in this stranger, supposed the worst; and, enfeebled though he was, all the proud blood of the ancient race he came of boiled up at what be supposed to be a dastardly attack; and, with a shout like a general on the battle- field, he leaped up to his knees in the bed, and, his spectral face flashing princely wrath and contempt, his shriveled hands up in a noble fencing attitude, he held his supposed adver- sary at bay right gallantly. Godiva, believing the end at hand, stood a moment, shrieking and shrieking, mad with fear that her victim’s blood was to flow in her presence; then she darted out at the door, and fled, her hands on her ears, and locked herself into her room—chosen like the rest in the ruined part of the mansion, for better conceal- ment of her presence at the VVeald; and here she dropped on her knees beside her bed, cramming the antique, musk-smelling coverlet of embroidered silk into her mouth to choke her cries of ungovernable horror—yet steeling her wicked heart—yes, in the very midst of its natural anguish - steeling it against the clamorings of her heart to go and save her benefactor even yet—or to die with him. Her cries brought Rufus, whose ear was ever open to hear her voice - brought him running from the mom where he and Gavaine were eating a traveler’s breakfastr‘to hammer ur- gently on her door, imploring her “for God's sake to say what was the matter—was Der~ went —hud the new man—” etc., etc.; nothing but incoherencies coming from his whitening lips, after all. Godiva let him knock, and let him implore, while she fought down her terrible agitation, and rca~oned that if Derwent really was—- gone, now there would be no going away of the brothers, no respite from this hideous love— making nothing but riveted chains hence- forth; also, that if she gave no satisfactory ex- cuse for her cries, Rufus would obstinately stand there at her door until she went to him and calmed his love—sick soul and rewarded his solicitude with an amorous interview; so she swept up her wonderful tawny mane with one fierce clenched hand, skewering it with a long sharp steel arrow which she unconsciously thrust through the delicate skin of her scalp, never feeling the wound in her wild excite- ment; then, seeing in her mirror how hard her face had grown, and how glaring and evil her eyes, she tossed a flossy white illusion scarf over her head, drawing it about her pale hag- gard cheeks, so as to soften their rigid lines; and so unlocked her door, and keeping it so , at him with a faint, reassuring smile. that her lover could not clasp her, peeped out ; r.