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might not change her face so much, and her ac-
quiremcnts in manly arts would admirably fit
her for the disguise. Ho! yes. I am quite sure
that this same detective is she, and no other,
and that she did not die, as you and I supposed,
on the ni ht that we robbed the house of Dor—
lan Ray ill England. Yes, I am quite sure.
Dorlan Ray, the artist, is now in Paris. _ How
much money, do you think, he Would ive in
his overjoy, to the man who could say: ‘ or an
Ray, be no longer deceived; the Wife of your
heart still lives: I can produce hcr.’ Eh {—how
much, Jacoli?” _

“Pooh, I say! A most unlikely case, And
do you think that (lei-trude Ray havmg es-
caped death—if she did cscagieg at .811 (fl—“'Oum
remain for eighteen years guised 11‘0111 the
man she loved with all her woman‘s soul.
Pooh!”

“By the bones of the catacombs! but on are
a dolt!” squealed and hissed Pierre In no,
working his elbows up and down cxcitct ly.
“Put this and that together. “'e knowthat
Gertrude Ray was poisoned by a man whom we
have never seen since we spied, from the bal—
cony of flowers, upon his deed of poisoning.
The wife of Ray being, by some means, pre-
served from the grave—and having, by some
other means, discovered that there was a plot
to poison her—the fact of her assuming the role
of a detective proves to me that she expects,
soon or or later, to meet with the man or woman
—she not knowing which—who sought her life.
Having settled this, and bringing the guilty one
to justice, she will unmask and ial into the
arms of her husband. Ho! I am sure that Franz
Edouin and Gertrude are one and the same per-
son. Oho! by the bones! yes—"

“ You are filled with nightmare philosophies
to-night," interrupted J acoli, with a snarl.
“But, hark! there is a clatter on the street.”

The sound of galloping liOiselioofs fell upon
their cars. Then there were audible murmur-
ings, mingled with two or three gun-shots ill the
distance, as if some one on horseback was being
pursued and fired at.

“ What madcap race is this?" exclaimed Pierre
Plaque, risinor and wriggling to the door, closer
followed by acoli.

Reaching the threshold, they were in time to
see a swiftly—speeding horse approaching, his
hoofs ringing and thumping loudly and 011 his
back, with arms twined in a frantic hold around
his neck, was a female figure. Directly before
their eyes the animal plunged and fell with a
mad snort of pain, and the rider was thrown
several feet ahead, where she lay as still as a
corpse. _ _

‘ Ha!” sputtered Pierre, sprmgmg out to the
horse, which was evidently dead, “ this beast is
full of bullets and bleeding at every joint. But
this girl—is she dead? and who can she be, I
wonder? Let me have a look at her before this
crowd arrives.”

A large crowd was gathering to the spot, and
Pierre Plaque hastily squatted by the inscnsible
fimre, raising the head of opulent and disorder-
ed hair and peering into the white, cold face.
Then the Death-cart drivcr acted suddenly in a
very strange manncr. Grasping thc limp form
in his skinny but strong arms, he ran back to
his abode, calling to Jacoli to follow and bolt
the door without delay.

“Haste!” he cried, in a cracked, excited
voice. “ Quick! Let us escape from the coming
crowd.”

“ And what, ill Satan’s name, are you going
to do with that maiden!" demanded Jacoli,
while he obeyed the order to fasten the door sc—
curely.

“ 0110! by the bones of the catacombs! if she
be not dead!” jabbered Pierre Plaque, placing
his 'burden on a wooden lounge with his vest
and an old bag for a pillow, and snatching up
the jug from the table to wipe and bathe the
face of the beautiful maiden. Then, as she
showed signs of life:

“Oho! she lives! This is rich. Luck upon
luck. By the bones! another prize! Ha! h-u!“
and he ca cred about like a monkey, swinging
his cone-s aped woolen cap in the air.

“Another prize. Pooh!“ surlily grumbled
J acoli. “ “'e shall have the crowd hammering
down our door presently. In harboring her we
may be interfering with some vengeance of the
rabble. But who is it E”

“Plague upon the rabble! Look 3“ He sprung
to the mantlepiecc, took up the candle and then
waved the flickering flame before the face of
the maiden. “Look at that,” he yelpcd. “ You
will recognize? IVe have seen that face when
its owner was little more than an infant—in
England—about seventeen years ago.“

“Tooth and toe-nail! yes,” snarled Jacoli,
leaning eagerly over the wooden back of the
lounge. “ have seen that face when it was
worn by an infant."

“See!” continued Pierre, in a hystcric jibber,
“the very birth-mark—an ace of dialliOlldS—Oli
the left side of the neck."

“Yes!”

“It is the child of Selissa Gordon. Twcn‘y
years ago, Helen Varcla, now the famous ac-
tress, bore the name of Sclissa Gordon, gaining
it by marriage with a wealthy jeweler of that
name. “'hen the child of Gertrude Bay was
two years old, the child of Sclissa Gordon—my
wife, Catherine Plaque, was its nurse—was sto-
len by a man named Victor Bramont,who stab-
bed my wifc to death, in the cellar 0f Proctor
Gordon’s house. This I learned ill a letter
which my wife wrote to me ere she expired, for
I was then in Paris, and have never been to
En land since, as you know. In this maiden,
we ave found the lost child of Selissa Gordon,
now Helen Varcla, the actress. Gold shall be
ours! Untold money! 0110! whata )rizel" and
again Pierre Plaque commenced a w' d dance of

gagetY- _ .
ut the hght that showed these two rascals
the supposed child of Selissa Gordon, will also
discover to the reader that their rize was Osa-
lind Ray wounded nigh to deat by a terrible
and firiious ride on the horse that now lay full
of bl ets on the pave outside.

(To be contfluted—commenced in No. 441.)

 

Congenial Spirits.
A Story of the Days bemhotographs Abounded.

BY JESSIE CAMERON.

 

PRETTY May Grantley and handsome Charlie
Harmon had walked in parallel paths all their
lives long, and Mrs. Grundy said, would pre—
sently meet at the junction, and thencefort-h
travel side by side, hand in hand, along the
happy high-road of matrimony. Mrs. Grundy,
this time, had solid grounds for her prophecy:
first, in the affectionate companionship between
the two so frankly dis layed: and, second, in
the fact, well known, t at papas Grantley and
Harmon, of the firm “Grantley, Harmon &
Co.," had long ago sealed a friendly contract
that these two, their only children, should, on
coming of age, marry, and together inherit- the
very comfortable fortunes amassed by the firm.
This was a very nice little arrangement indeed,
and would, doubtless, have been successfully
carried out but for one thing: the contracting
parents, with ancient sagacity. had rcckoner
without their host in neglecting to take into
consideration the inclinations of the young peo-
ple themselves.

However, Charlie and May perfectly under-
stood that they were sup to be lovers, and
that another year won (1 probably see them
man and wife. As dutiful children they should
have rejoiced at the prospect of so easily con~
solidating the fortunes and the happiness of
their parents. But, with strange perversity,
and rfectly vicious selfishness, both Charlie
and ay secretly resented this disposition of
their lives, and vowed that the ' had a right to
consult their own feelings in this great matter
of making or marring their whole future exist-
ence.

But, as a strong friendship had united them
long before a breath of this matrimonial
scheme reached their ears, neither now wished
to quarrel with the other before it became ab—

 

solutely necessary. The true fcclings of each
may be inferred from soliloquies in which they
respectively indulged on the evening of May
23(1, when all was l'cady for the celebration on
the next day, of Master Charlie Harmon’s com-
ing of age.

At nine, P. M., Miss May sat in her bedroom,
leisurcl pickin out the pink bows that were to
set off or fresg beauty at the fete. A frown
mckered her pretty forehead, a. pout settled on
her ripe red lips, and her tiny foot came down
on the floor with v little stamp.

“I declare,” she burst out, “ it is just too bad!
I don’t like it, one bit. Here I am to dress
myself up like a fashion-plate, and look my very
best to-niorrow—I know I shall—just to make
poor Charlie feel better while he is proposing to
me. I wish old people would let young lpeople
alone, and let us do our own courting! don’t
want Charlie, and he doesn’t want me. He just
feels bound to propose out of mere politeness,
and because he I: expected to. And if I refuse
him there will be an awful fuss! I’ll be asked
my reasons, and I haven’t any. He is just as
nice as can be, and yet I don’t care a pin for
him. I’Vhy can’t they let us stay friends, I’d
like to know? I Wish 1 was a man—wouldn’t I
roar! I’ll bang the door, anyhow.”

And, having deliberately banged the unoffend-
ing door with a vehemencc that somewhat sooth—
ed her feelings, May went to bed, there to be-
moan her hard fatc, and calculate, between
whiles, how she would, at any rate, have the
satisfaction of outshining all the other girls to-
morrow.

At ten o’clock, Charlie ascended to his bed-
room in a great rage. His father had intimated
to him that, on the coming day he was expected
to make a prop0sal of marriage to his old play-
fcllow, May Grantley.

“But, father,” protested Charlie, when this
cheerful plan was unfolded to him, “I don’t
think May cares anything for me. IVe are just
good friends, and never dreamed of being any-
thing else.”

“ “'ell, if you manage to keep good friends,
you will do better than most married people.
Don’t be silly and romantic, now. You under-

stand each other thoroughly, and are every way ~

well matched, and if you are only reasonable
will be happy enough. I would never force you
into a distasteful marriage but you know very
well you have no reasonable objection to make,
and I am sure you would never desert a girl
who has cared for you always.”

“She doesn’t love me, sir, only like a brother,
that’s all.”

“IVell, her mother assured me to—day that
May is sincerely attached to you. She is very
reserved, you know, and is not the sort of girl
to fling herself at your head.”

“ Oh, bitterness,” groancd Charlie, as he went
to his room. “I don’t believe a word of it.
Mrs. Grantley doesn’t know everything, med-
dlesomc old torment! It is a orrid, cold-
blooded piece of work. I do not know how
ever I am to get through with it. \Vish lo
goodness they would let me alone. Much use in
a fellow coming of age to be worricd this way!
Nice thing to celebrate lny majority by draw—
ging that )001‘ girl into an engagement she will
not like. t is just the meanest thing to do."

Herc Charlie pulled off his bocts, flung them
savagely across the room, pulled his hair, and
went to bed.

Next morning he rose with a stern determina—
tion to do his dut . If May truly loved him
no doubt the ‘ wouId be happy, for no one could
deny that Sic was good and sweet—a little
prosaic, perhaps, but truly lovable, for all.
Alid if she did not like hiln—why, she would re—
fuse him!

As to Miss May as she fastened the last pink
rosebud in her glossy hair, and pulled 011 her
dainty high-heeled red morocco slippers, her
pretty face assumed a look of fierce resolve, and
her lips compressed into sweet firmness as she
oracularly uttered, “I’ll do 1! J"

This high re~olve, whatever it was, led to
very singular conduct on May’s part when
handsome Charlie, with many blunders and
blushes, propounded the question.

“ Charlie,” she remarked, “ you’re a dear
soul."

Charlie could only assent in bewildered sur-
prise at her coolness.

“IVell-,‘ you see," she resumed, “you know
very well you don’t really want to marry me,
and 1—1 don't want to marry you. You don‘t
want me more than you do any of the other
girls, do you, now, Charlie :"

“Oh, now," protested Charlie, “that‘s not
fair. I mean all I say, and I’ll stick to it.
And you know, May, our parents wish it."

“ Yes, and that is just what made you ask
me. I know mother has been telling some non—
sense abouf my heart being sct on you—that is
a favorite fiction of hcrs~—and you were afraid
of hurting my feelings if you didn‘t propose.”

“ Thcrc, that is what the governor was trying
to stuff me with last night! I told him you
cared for me only like a brother! Now who‘s
right? I’ll tell him.”

“ No you won’t. If we are not engaged, our
parents will be dreadfully disappointed and
angry, and likely will make things very un-
pleasant for us. Now, 1 have a plan. It is just
to pretend to be engaged, and then, if cither of
us really ( ocs fall in love with somebody else,
we will manage to break the engagement."

After a short resistance, Charlie consented to
this beautiful plan, and led his betrothed to his
father with a look of radiant contentment on
his sunny face.

“There!” triumphantly exclaimed Mr. Har—
mon. “I told you so. I knew it would come
out all right. Kiss me May, pct.”

Did you ever hear of such wickedness? But
this happened yea ‘5 ago, mind you. c young
people of the present day would never do such
a thing, never!

“ Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,

And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice.”

This fraudulent engagement, I regret to say
was successfully sustained. To the world and
their unsuspecting parents they were devoted
lovers: to themselves they were the best of
friends, and nothin more. May never listened
anxiously for Char ie’s step, nor (lid her heart
ever flutter at the sound of his voice, nor a blush
rise to her cheek ashe ap reached her. She con-
sidered him a nice, (1 l, prosaic mortal. and
secretly longed for a congenial spirit, a lover
whose ardent soul should glow with deep love
for her, and whose heart should throb in blissful
unison with her own. As t) the bodily and
mental characteristics of this imaginary hero,
they were of a very superior order, and differed
as faras possible from those possessed by fair.
slim, quiet, loving Charlie.

As to Charlie, he too longed fora congenial
spirit, a sweet, sympathetic little soul. who
should cling to him, aiid confide unresel‘vcdly in
his love. May was quite too independent and
not a bit enthusiastic; such a queer. quiet girl.

So each earl-fully hid from the other their
true, loving, longing hearts. and each fully
believed the other to be the most common-
place of mortals, with never a thought be—
yond daily cares and the latest fashions and
gossip. Both these young fools scorned

" The pure, open, prosperous love.
That, pledged on earth and scaled above,
Grows in the world‘s approvim: eyes
In friendship‘s smile and home‘s caress,
Collecting all the heart's sweet tics
Into one knot of happiness."

 

One day May felt particularly sentimental.
Oh, she sighed, for'

“ A heart whereon to lean,

With all these deep affections that o‘ertlow

My aching soul. and find no shore below:

An eye to be my star: 3 voice to bring

Hope o‘er my path, like sounds that breathe of

spring.”

At this interesting juncture. Mr. Grantley
brought in a newspaper containing an adver-
tisement that affected May immensely. The
paper indulged in an absurdity more common
years ago t am it is today, a ” Matrimonial
column," wherein highly desirable mortals who
could not, it appeared. find their “ affinities ” in
the ordinary manner, sought to strike a respon-
sive chord in souls fitted to theirown, if on earth

such might be found.
ments were fraudulent, of course, but now and
then appeared one inserted by some love-stricken
youth whose longing soul could be no longer i'c-
strained.
One of these romantic appeals now mct May
Gruntlcy’s eye. It ran thus:
“ ‘ 'l‘hore‘is a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has
to d,
When two that are linked in one heavenly tie,
With heart never changing and brow never cold,
Love dqn through all ills, and love on till they
6 I

“ A young gentleman of re sscssing appear-
ance, and good fortune and am y, desires to make
the acquaintance of a oung lady of personal worth
and beauty with a v ow to forming a congenial
friendship whichstiine and happy intercourse may
deepen into something happier and stronger.”

This entertaining composition concluded with
an address which May plainly perceived was
false, but the mystery onl increased her inter-
est. As she read she felt t at her fate had come
upon her. Here was a lonely, longing soul call-
ing out to her also companionless. Did not her
heart ache with its solitary yearning after the
love that should meet and unite with hers as twin
streams rush together, and in sweet confluent
embrace flow together to the sea. “'as not this
very love new calling, inurinuring at her side?
Another winding turn and two souls might
mingle. May took the paper to her “sanctum
sanctorum,” and there pictured to herself the
passionate youth who, tired of tame conven—
tional shackles, dared thus call, with a trumpet
note, his own to his arms. (This elegant combi-
nation of ideas was May’s, please understand,
and not mine.) She pictured him sitting in
beautiful sorrow and patience, awaiting the an-
swering voice. She pictured his glowing emo-
tion when the answer should come. Then May
did a very foolish thin , she determined to write
that answer herself. robbing with a foolish
ex )ectancy, flutterin with fear and a sort of
half-shame, May sat Tiersclf down to her little
desk. and there com used a delightful little note
which timidly reve ed to “ Carlos,” the enthu-
siastic advertiser, a heart

“ Filled with all youth‘s sweet desires,
Mingling t meek and vestal fires
Of other rlds with all the bliss,
The fond weak tenderness of this."

Then, appending a false signature and ad-
dress, silly day posted the note herself.

I regret that I cannot transcribe the original
effusion for the benefit of my readers. The
youth who received it, now a gray-headed man,
declares he has lost it, but I do not believe him.
I believe that his wife has forbidden him ever
to let mortal eyes gaze on its sacred foolishness.
This note was the first that reached “ Carlos,”
and after reading its shy, tender confession, and
lingerng over the image of the lovely writer
that the sweet words conjured up, he turned
scornful eyes on the other perfumed dainty
notes that came upon him like a shower of
snowflakes. He refused to look at another; he
put them all away, unopened, determined that
the writer of that first note, and no other, was,
should be, his soul‘s mate. The number of notes
indicated such an uncomfortable number of con-
genial spirits, and ible aspirants for honors
matrimonial, that e clung to May’s note as to
an anchor of hope. Here, sure, was all he
wanted, all he could possibly desire. This
precious billet revealed a heart as fresh as a
child’s, pure as an angel's. yet thrilling with the
first sweet impulses of “Love’s young dream.”
He kissed the note again and again, and longed
to see its writer. Hastily. fervently, he penned
an answer, sent it to its provokingly distant ad-
dress, and feverishly awaited a reply, which
came qiuickly, sweeter even than the first note.
But, 0 , cruelty, the angel refused to give her
true address, and could not therefore, as yet,
ask for his. They would corres nd freely un-
der their present addresses, an when mutual
confidence and affection should be fully estab-
lished, names should be given, and personal ac-
quaintance made. -

This discreet reserve only inflamed “ Carlos ”
the more. Here, he thought, was true maidcnly
dignity, true dclicacv; here, evidently, was the

Most of these advertise-

4
l

lwondcred whether, after all, her unknown

could not possibly be any better or any prettier
than May, and, ten to one, not half so nice.
Thus it is our blessings brighten as they take
their flight.
May, as she watched Charlic’s retreatingr
form, longed regretfully for his return, am

knight could possibly be any handsome-r, or any
ulcer or kinder than dear Charlie, her com lan-
ion and protector from childhood, her dear ilid
old Charlie. And he hadlatcl dis laycd deep-
er feelin than she had ever magiiied he pos-
sessed. ell, it was almost over now and with
a regretful and very anxious heart, May went
into the house.-

No sleep for May that night. All through
the weary hours she tossed and turned and
dreamed remorseful dreams. In the morning
she was wretched, but calm. She felt now that
she had done a very foolish thing in riskln her
life’s hap iness in this way. Then she too out
some of er lover’s letters, and, reading them,
grow more cheerful, they were so true, so hon-
est and manly, so deeply affectionate. At an
rate, she thought, she would go through wit
the interview; it might make her happiness; it
could not, if she was discreet and determined,
make her misery). All day long she felt wretch-
edly uncertain, ut at the appointed hour found
resolution to go to Brier lane, there to meet her
fate, her lover. The blue dress was donned with
unusual care, the pretty blue crc hat daintil
set on the glossy curls, the white-bound boo
taken in her trembling hand. Then, accom—
panied by wondering Caroline, foolish May set
out to meet “ Carlos.”

That romantic individual, elaborately attired,
punctual to the moment, advanced upon the
scene. Yes, there was the soft gray hat, with a
noble sprig of heather. The step was eager, the
form was tall and slight, the face, heavens! the
face! ‘It was Charlie Harmon‘s! Alld, as he
advanced, he did—yes, he did lift that hat with
his left hand! .

Charlie—for it was Charlie who had published
the advertisement and played the eager, soul—
yearning lover’s part—felt a curious misgiving
as that familiar little figure in blue approached
holding in a tiny han that well—remembered
edition of Byron, bound in white and old, the
companion of so many evenings when ay was
stupid, or immersed in Mrs. Hemans. In a
moment they met. There was no mistake now.

“ Did you come to meet anybody, May?”
meekly inquired Charlie.

“ Did you come to meet anybody, Charlie?”
fiercely inquired May.

“ I came to meet ‘ Fairy,’ ” meekly replied
Charlie.

“And I came to meet ‘ Carlos,”’ penitently
murmured May.

“ Precious girl, you have him in old Charlie.
Oh, May, here’s a sell. Come, let us go home.
Gill er! but this is rich!”

“ ich? I never felt so ashamed in my life.
Oh, Charlie, it is dreadful.”

“Ashamed! I should think you would be.
I’m the nice, quiet, stu id young gentleman
whom your parents wis1ed you to marry, am

3,

“And I’m the pretty but prosaic little crea-
ture whom your exits wish you to marry, am
I? , Oh, Charlie ut you’re mean!”

“And, oh, May, but you're mean! To give
me the mitten for a fellow you’d never seen.”

“And you’re a nice fellow! to go hunting up
a. congenial guru; when you’re engaged to an—
other girl. h, Charlie! ’

Then Charlie’s tone chan ed. “May,” he re
plied, earnestly, “I felt a1 along that it was
very wrong 'and foolish,but you know I fancied
you didn’t care for me, and I really longed for
some one to love. Last ni ht, dear, I would
have given anything if I h never written to
‘Fairy.’ And, dear May, last ni lit I really
fell in love. Do you know who wit , Fairy?”

Lower and lower drooped May’s head: bright—
er and brighter burned the blushes in her cheeks:
her heart throbbed with new and sweet emo-
tions.

“Oh, Charlie,” she faltercd. “I‘ve been very
foolish to doubt your true heart, and.cxpect to

 

one maid for him. A long correspondence bc~
then these romantic younvlunatics made them
fancy themselves desperatcfly iii love with each
other, and at last May consented to arrange a
meeting with her hero, to whom she sent the
following deceitful. note:

“ DEAREST:

“ The time has come when we may see each other
to speak to each other face to face. On next Thurs-
day. at ten minutes past five precisely. I shall be at
the great willow in Brie lane, attended by my
maid, Caroline. 1. shall be dressed in dark blue
silk, and will hold in my hand a white book. Ishall
expect to see you approach from the north. Please
wear a gray felt he. with a sprig of heather stuckin
the band on the left side, and li't your hat. with
your left hand. I hope you are good and true. I
tremble for fear that I am acting very foolishly in
thus meeting you, not even knowmg your name.
But I know my Carlos is true.“

\Vhile “Carlos " is delighting himself with
prospects of the happy Thursday, let us see how
deceitful May intends to treat Charlie.

Three months had now elapsed since Charlie
and May had entered upon their fraudulent en«

gagcmcnt. Each daily grew more weary of the
other. Charlie’s Sou was  with the

image of his ideal love, and May was rapt in
fancics of her unknown lover. Many a time had
May resolved to confess all to Charlie, but seine-
thing had always prevented, and soon the even-
ing before her intended meeting with “ Carlos,”
matters were still unexplained. Charlie plainly
saw that May had something on her mind. and
essaycd to give her opportunity to say what she
wished.

“Poor May,” he laughed, pulling her rosy
car, as they strolled together in the garden,
“ you seem dull to—night. “'hat is the matter,
my dear .5”

Tears bubbled to May’s eyes, and her fair
throat swelled wit emotion as she chokingly
responded that he was very very kind, but-—

“Tell you what it is, ay,” seriously con-
tinned Charlie, “I believe this enga ment is
worrying you, and if you wish me to ’11 break
it, and take all the blame.”

To this free and magnanimous proposition,
May chokingly responded that it wouldn’t do
just vet. '/

“ Oh, Charlie,” she cried, quite breaking down,
“I am a bad, deceitful girl, and I’ve been very
foolish."

She wept with great comfort for a minute or
two, and continued:

“Don’t leave me just yet, Charlie, will you!
I must tell you now. There’s another, Charlie,
and I’m afraid things will not go right. Oh,
dear me!"

And May moaned in sweet satisfaction in her
character of the oppressed heroine who is forced
to love in secret.

Charlie comforted her very kindly, and in—
wardly congratulated himself on being so kindly
dismissed. He would not, he thought to him-
self. grieve the poor little soul for the world,
and if she loved another fellow. why, he would !
help and shield her all he could. He tenderly
kissed the piteous, tear-bedewed face, and mur—
murcd words of affection and support. The kiss
touched May’s very heart; she looked up and
met his affectionate. sympathizing glance: a
curious feelin thrilled them both. Foramo—
ment it scenic as if their souls had met. as if,
after all. they were congenial spirits. Then a
little awkwardness fell upon them, and at arm‘s-
length they walked up to the house.

“ Good-night, Charlie dear,” said May, her
heart aching with a queer sense of separation
and loneliness. “You won’t forget your pro—
mise to be good to me?”

“Good—night, dear May,” said Charley lov-
ingly pressing the soft little hand he could no
longer call his own. “I’ve a at mind not to
(rive ‘011 up now, though. ever fret, May;
I’ll stick to you, and be your friend, whatever
ha pens.”

hen Charlie turned and went away with
strong questionings within himself whether, af-
ter all, he was not a most uncommon fool to lose
such a dear sweet girl as May, whom he had
known and half loved all his life, and whom he
knew to be one of a thousand, all for a foolish
idea of meeting some fanciful creature who

 

 

‘new-springing love an

I the Rover, he had been invcigled into a plot by

find in a stranger a deeper love than you could
give. I‘m very sorry, Charlie: will you forgive
me !" And piteous tears rolled down the glowing
cheeks.

“ \I’ill you forgive me. Ma y I’"

No need to record the answers. Friendly
twilight lent her shadow ’ mantle to a scene of
forgiveness. sweet as
ever took place with her kindl ' aid. Heart met
heart, at last, and to this day th bless the ad
vertisement that led to the finding of “ Congenial
Spirits.”

 

THE ONE I LOVE.

BY FREDERIC C. KURZ.

 

 

There is in this wide world but one who is dearer
To me than all others I ever have known;
There are those sincere, and there are those sin-

cercr,
WhOSP hands I have clasped~but I love only
one.
I love her with a love that is born of Heaven:
So tender—ah, surely, it came from above;
So strong and so earnest—Fate‘s grim hand, not
even,
Can c'er make me love less the girl that I love.

There is in this wide world none other as fair as
The girl that I love—the sweet one of my song;
None fairer you can find in land anywhere, as
In vain would you search Heaven’s daughters
amon .
I love her witxh a love that is born of Heaven,
So strong and so earnest, so tender and pure:
In vain would the world try to break it—not even
The grim hand of Fate can this lasting love cure.

 

The Tireile Prince;

Pretty Nelly. the Queen of the Isle.

 

BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM,

AUTHOR or “ CAPTAIN or CAPTAINS,” “TEE RI-
VAL LIECTENANTS,” “THE GIRL GUIDE,”
“THE BOY TERROR,” “ THE SKELETON
CORSAIR,” “ THE BOY CHIEF,” “DIA-
MOND max,” “ THE FLYING YAN-

KEE,” “ WITHOUT A HEART,”

ETc., ETc., ETC.

 

CHAPTER XXXIX.
Tm: DUELLo.

\VHEN Paul Melville had returned from the
buccaneer island. in the guise of the wounded
fisherman. it had been his intention to report on
board the Sea Hawk after a day or two, to re—
cuperate from all that he had gone through:
but, led away by the hope of capturing Rafael

the good—hearted Martin, who, determined that
the. young buccaneer captain should not be
caught on board the sloop-of—war, had executed
a well-conceived plan to get the lieutenant held
in custody for several days—-0r. at least, until
after the American war—craft had sailed.

The plan worked to a charm. and the keeper
of the pulperia, where Paul Melville was held a
prisoner,carried out his part of the performance
as directed, while Ed Martin, the ex—buccaneer,
sailed from Havana for the United States as
soon as one of the sentinels who guarded the
lieutenant reported that his prisoner had been
gag , bound, and carried outside of the walls
by night and left there.

Whether the worthy Martin continued his re-
formation, married and settled down, is not
known; but it is to be hoped that he did.

As for Paul Melville, left alone in the coun—
try, his mouth still gagged and feet bound, he
could neither cry out nor run after the volantc
that had dropped him so unceremoniously by
the roadside.

But after having, with some difficulty, re-
moved the gag and unbound his feet, he started
on his way back to Havana. arriving in the

early morning, and surprising Pcdro Nunez,
the host, by again appearing after a mysterious
abscnce of several days.

The first care of Paul Melville was to find out
about the Sea Hawk, and he cursed every saint
in the calendar for his ill-luck when ‘he discov-
crcd that the vessel had sailed without him, for
it was throu h striking the buccaneena death-
blow that he oped to gain a distinguished name
and increased rank. '

That they would perhaps charge him with
ha Ving once been a irate he did no doubt; but,
who would believe t em? _‘

No, his comrades fibula,wa that'it was a
plot against him for revenge, and they would
not believe the pirates. _ ‘

Making himself known to the consul in Ha-
vana, he at once entered into a round of gay-
et ', and it was at a ball that he met Inez Re~
vi (11a, and learning of her being of noble family,

an of vast wealth, he set about his
plans'to make her his wife, and his leasant
manners soon won the friendship of th the

maiden and her uncle, who invited him with
them out to the. hacienda of the maiden, some
1e ues , Havana. u
ow thlq friendshi ) abruptly ended, by the
accidental arrival o Bancroft Edmunds, has
been already seen, and bittcrl ' cursing the
oung ofiiccr, Paul Melville mounted his
orse and ridden back to Havana at full speed.

Fearimr that arrest mi ht follow u n the
charge ofpirac ', he made 'nown to  ost his
position, and to d him to give him some secret
filuunbcr, and himself see all that called for

1m.

This Pedro Nunez readily promised—it was
his duty to protect his guests, and the officer
had quite won his heart, besides being presented
to him by a worthy friend, the Spanish cap-
tain. .

Therefore, when the servant, the following
day, said to the host:

“A gentleman to see Senor Melville,” the
host at once went to see who the caller was.

Before him stood a fine-looking young man,
clad as an officer in the American navy.

“ How can I serve on. senor?"

“ I would know if ieutenant Paul Melville is
here?”

“ I think I can obtain his address, senor. Any
messa e left for him?”

“ ell, give him this card, and say, if I do
not have an answer to it by nighttime, I will
look him up with a squad of marines.

“Si, senor,” bowed Pedro Nunez, and as the
officer turned from the door, he muttered:

“That young man is in no amiable mood, and
he1 ldqubtlcss does not. reverence the Senor Mel-
vx c.

“ Here is a card, senor; the gentleman left it
with no pleasant message,” and Pedro present—
ed himself at the secret chamber, where Paul
Melville then was.

Taking the card he lanccd at it and read the
name and address of ancroft Edmunds.

“ “'hat message left he, Pedro?"

It was repeated, word for word, and the ex—
buccanecr‘s face slightly changed color, while
he asked:

“ Is the American sloop-of—war Sea Hawk in
your port, Pedro f"

“ .No, senor; she had not arrived this mom-
lng. '

 

“ Then I shall meet this fellow for he cannot
intend to arrest me, and with him out of the
way there will be no other person to make a
charge against me, unless it be some of the band,
and they will not be believed. Bancroft Ed-
munds evidently has some deeper reason against
me than my having been accuscd of being a buc—
caneer: but how is it he arrives on the coast in
an o n boat, when he sailed in the Sea Hawk!

“ here is a niyster about this, and I must
solve it. Now to flu a friend, and send him
with a challenge to that im udent young of—
ficer. Ah, I remember; I wilFask that Spanish
naval officer whom I met the other night—Cap-
tain Felipe Valientc. Pedro!"

“ Senor. "

“Send me a messenger, please.”

In a few moments a servant arrived and was
dispatched with a note to Captain Felipe Vali~
ente, a handsome young Spaniard, who coni-
manded an armed cruiser then in port.

Iii an hour’s time the Spaniard arrived at the
room of Paul Melville, who greeted him pleas—
antly and said:
one whom I ow so slightly: but I am a stran-
ger here, com ratively, and having gotten into
a uarrel wit another officer I beg that you
wi I serve me in the affair.”

"‘Vith pleasure, senor: when and how can I
serve you? ’ replied the Spaniard, perfectly will—
ing to be mixed up in a (lucllo.

‘ Here is the address of the gentlemen, and I
beg that you will at once call on him and have
a time and place of meeting, with weapons to be

. arranged."

“The Senor Edmunds? I know him: he is a
great favorite in Havana Society. I thought he
was away in the Sea Hawk?” and the Spaniard
again glanced at the card.

“ He has returned, senor.” ‘

“Then I will go at once,” and the Spanish
captain left the house, to return within the
hour, a pleasant smile upon his face.

“Allis arranged. Senor Melville. I saw the
Senor Edmunds, and he referred me to his sec-
and, Captain Eduard Alfuerfe. an aide to Gene-
ral Sebastian. “’e meet at sunset, beyond the
walls of the city, in a spot I know well, having
once been wounded there, and once killed my
adversary there.”

“And the weapons?” somewhat eagerly asked
Paul Melville.

“ He seemed most indifferent: he must handle
a sword equally well with a pistol, and it was
left to you to decide.”

. “ He certainly is indifferent. It shall be pis-
tols then, and, Captain Valiente, I am a dead-
shot. as vou shall see.”

“I'Vell, senor, at what time do we start? It
is now nearly time.”

“I am at your service, captain. Here are my
weapons.”

A volante was at once called, and the two
men left the tavern together, Paul Melville car—
rying a pair of swords beneath his light cloak,
While Ca tain Valiente had the pistol-case.

A rapidJ drive of 16S than an hour brought
them to the designated spot, just as two horse-
men drew rein.

“ There he is. and his indifference is remark-
able, to come here mounted. Does he not know
that the exercise will do much to destroy his
aim?” said Captain Valiente.

Paul Melville made no re ly. but quietly sa-
luted the two entlemen as t ey approached.

Bancroft munds paid no attention to the
salute, but bowed pleasantly to Felipe Valiente
while his companion, the young officer who had
met Rafael and Inez when the Rover returned
the maiden to her uncle‘s care. saluted each of
the other side with equal respect.

In a few moments the preliminaries were ar—
ranged and the two men took their .itions—
Paul Melville dark. scowling, yet coo , and Ban-
croft Edmunds seeming wholly indifferent.

The pistols were placed in their hands, and
Ca tain Valiente gave the word to fire.

re the word had left his lips Paul Melville
fired. and Bancroft Edmunds stepped back
twice, but instantlycame back to his former po-
sition.

“Great God! have I missed him?” cried Paul
Melville, and he shrunk back several paces.

“ Back to the line, senor!" commanded
Eduard Alfuerte, in ringin tones raisin his
own pistol: and, 00werin , aul Melville o y-
ed, and once more faced t e man before him—a
man who stood cold calm and threatening, his
face pale, his pisto still hanging down in his
hand.

“ Senor, you have your fire now,” continued
the second of Bancroft Edmunds gazing with
some contempt upon Paul Melvi e for having
shrunk from the line.

Calmly did Bancroft Edmunds raise his pistol
until on a level, and then as his eye glanced
along the glittering barrel, he pulled the trig-

r

ge .
“'ith the report Paul Melville fell dead—shot

 

through the brain.

 

 

 

 

 

“Senor capi‘tan, I am sorry to ask a favor of '

     

  

  
   
  

  
    
       
     
     
      
      
     
       
      
    
      
        
         
      
      
       
        
    
 
       
        
        
   
      
        
       
       
       
        
         
        
     
    
      
        
       
       
        
       
  
   
  
  
  
    
    
    
    
   
   
    
    
     
  
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
   
 
  
   
  
 
  
    
     
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
   
   
   
  
    
  
    
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
   
     
   
   
  
 
  
 
   
   
   
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
    
  
 
  
   
    
  
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
       
   
    
   

 

 

    
 
  
  
    
 
   
   
   
   

  
 
   
     

 

 

    
       

  
 
  
  

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