w-v

Ir

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the tale was altogether l. in tough for their be

lief. He reasoned that the weight of the coffin-
lid, resting square and true upm the box he-
neath, had almost entirely cut off the supply of,
air, and then what air di reach the impi'imned
man mus be full of the foul vapors that were
in the depths of the pit, and whose existence
could be distinctly discerned by any one who
took the trouble to lean over the orulf and sniff
at the air which rose from it. If, the prisoner
had had free- access to the air—all that he could
breathe—iii a very short time, indeed, the me—
phitic vapors must have exerted their on whole-
some influence upon him So the leader of the
\Vhite Band explained to his followers that it
was not strange no Sound amended from the
hole, inasmuch as the man had, in all proba-
bility, been suffocat:d in a very short time af—
ter being lowered into the gloomy depths. . ‘

At the end of fiv.» days the chic , satisfied
that the spy, who had by accident learned the
terrible' secret which had brought him into the

clutches of the masked men, was power‘ess now
for either good or evil, gave orders to have the
coffin hoisted up again.

Once more the golden casket roseto earth and
was deposited in its former position

With eager hands the members of the IHIId
hastened to remOVe the lid, anxious to look
upon their victim.

But when they came to do this work they
made a discovery that greatly alarmed them
at first. The prisoner, whether by aCcidcnt or
design (of course no one could say with an y de-
gree of certainty which it was), had contrived
when the lid was lowered upon the coffin to
thrust the ends of the rope with which his
wrists were tied in between the cover and the
box so that the lid could not come down square
and tight. By this m-ineuver a fair supply of
air was assured.

The chief, ever SllSplclOllR, was alarmed when
he discovered this, which he did before the lid
was removed, but when with great exertions,
the heavy weight was ifted off, there, in the
golden coffin, lay the victim safe enough; cold
and still, and yet his death had not, apparently,
been a painfu one, for his face was not in the
least distorted, as it surely would have been if
he had died in dreadful agony. Indeed, as he
lay in the coffin he did not 100 like one cold in
the embrace of death, but rather like a man en-
joying a pleasant sleep whom a touch would
waken in an instant.

So perfect was the illusion that the chief
reached out his hand and touched his cheek,
but no warm flush of life did he feel; only the
cold clamminess that told of death.

Iron-nerved as he was, the touch made him
shudder, for the sensation he experienced was
entirely unexpected: the bod was as cold as
thou h it had been kept upon 10 3.

“ e’s dead, sure enough, eh, captain?” quoth
one of the band.

“Oh, yes: there isn’t much doubt about it,
although he may be in a trance,” and the
speaker looked at the coffin and its contents
very suspiciously.

For reasons which he could not eXplain the,
man had taken a great dislike to the stranger
whom he had made his victim. Dislike was
hardly the word for it, either, for he not only
experienced aversion but fear; some instinct
seemed to warn him that the doctor‘s star was
destined to exert an evil influence over his own,
and even now that the man lay before him,
motionless in de th’s clutches, powerless for
either good or evil, still the sentiment of fear
Iiuvered in the mind of the executioner. The
lifelike appearance of the victim puzzled him,
and he knew not how to acoouut for it. He
had seen a great many dead men in his time,
but never one that looked like this.

Then to his mind came. the memory of the
drug which he had permitted the man to take,
and he was half-inclined to curse his folly at
yielding to the request. Instead of a poison it
might be that it was a powerful narcotic which
would produce a death—like sleep, and from
which, after a lapse of time, the partaker would
wake to life again, unharmed.

“I have read of such a thing a hundred
times,” he muttered to himself, as he gazed with
doubtful eyes upon the stronglymarked and
resolute-lookinr face of Diamond. 9“But it is
not possible! iI have asked medical men and
they all say that no such drug exists, but it
may, though, for all that, for these far eastern
climes, with all their apparent barbarism, pOs-
scss some secrets that we, with our boasted
knowledge have never succeeded in penetrating.
Shall I take my knife and with one vigorous
blow make sure that he will never waken to life
again?”

For quite a while he pondered over the ques—
tion. To use the knife would be to make sure
of the victim, but then he would lose the sum
which he was to receive for the body, and it
was a pretty large one, too, for he had secured
a first-class customer—an odd, eccentric old
physician, who, for such a “subject” as this
one, had agreed to pay a really extraordinary
price. No respectable hysician would accept
the body of a murclere man.

But, while he was debating this weighty sub-
'ect in his mind, a sudden idea came to him.

‘ven if the man was in a trance, it was so much
like death that the doctor would be pretty cer
tain, in his eagerness to examine the case, to
use his knife, and so death would come, any-

wa .

'Iphis thought decided the chief at once. Two
hundred dollars was the sum which had been
agreed upon, and that, even to the powerful
leader of the W'hite Band, was an acceptable

sum.

“Get the bag ready and dump him in,” he
commanded. “ We will get our ducats for this
one, although we did miss it on the old ‘ stiff ’
that we went to so much trouble about.”

“Yes, curse the luck l” growled one of the
gang, a big, bin-1y fellow, who was pla ing a
most prominent part in the operation 0 stow~
ing the body away in the bag which had been
brought. “Who would have thought that
rich coves like them, with all their millions,
would squeal at forkin over a hundred thou-
sand or so for the ‘sti ’of the old man, and
then they could have stuck it in the gay 01d
tomb that they fixed for him down in the
country.”

“ Yes, it seemed a sure thing. If I hadn’t
thought so, I wouldn’t have run the risk and
gone to the trouble we did. But, these rich
duffers are a set of hogs; all they care for is
their money—bags,” the chief remarked, sourly.
“ If you have noticed, boys, all these big schemes
of ours have turned out badly. There was the
boy business that we calculated would pan out-
ten to twenty thousand dollars, and nary a dime
did we eVer get out of it. The youngster died
on our hands, and the police hounded the men
who did the job so that they couldn’t pick up
a decent livingfidrove them 03 to the country,
and in ‘ cracking ’ that house down on the shore
they got a bellyful of shot instead of plunder,
and so we lost the best two men in our band.
Then there was the scheme to flood Europe with
forged notes: the whole thing goes right to
smash at the very beginning, before our agents
could get a chance to do a stroke of work, and
the result will be that instead of pulling in a
bushel of money our men will be nabbed, and
we shall be obliged to raise five or ten thousand
dollars for their trial, and to get them out of
jail afterward, for they are certain to be con-
victed.”

A general chorus of exclamations of regret
came from the members of the band at this an
nouncement, for all understood that this meant
short commons for them for some time, unless
they happened to strike in on some rich lead,
which did not seem to be very probable just at

present.

From the foregoin remarks the reader will
understand that the bite Band was about as
powerful an association of rufilans as had ever
been banded together. Headed by a man who
really had a wonderful genius for organizing
and directing such a league, and comprising
about all the rascals of note in the country,
most of the great crimes of the past few years
could be tra ed directly to them.

Body-snatching for a ransom; kidnapping

l

 

threatetiiu the latter with a fate worse than
death if their friends did not come down With
the money demanded as the price of their re-
lease. Hence it can be understood why such
men, with so many crimes upon their heads,
should be so eager to take vengeance upon the
man whom they believed to be in possessmn of
the secret of their league, why they should be
determined at any cost to stop his mouth so that
he should not reveal the knowlede which he
had gained to the world. They believed that
their lives depended upon their speedy and de-
CISIVI‘ action.

 

About ten o’clock that night an express
wagon drove up to the door of a pretty little
cottage situated cl0se to the banks of the Har-
lcni river in one of the upper wards of the me-
tropolis.

The plate attached to the door of the house
boi e the name of Daniel Doramus.

The (Irchr of the wagon and his two coni-
llllllIOllS jumped out and dragged a long box
from the wagon, then rung the bell.

The owner appeared.

"C. O. 1). two hundred
driver.

“ All right; carry the box up-stairs so J can
see the contents,” replied the owner of the cot-
tage.

And so the body was delivered.

CHAPTER VII.
THE sxvxxrs.

Dacron DANIEL Doaxucs was about as well-
knowu as any man in New York. In his day he
had had one of the best practices in the city,
had amassed a large fortune, then had retired
from active business to enjoy himself in his in-
vorite pursuits.

The doctor was a remarkable-looking man,
being fully six feet .gh, gaunt in figure, more
bones than flesh, angular in aspect, and having
prominent features, large nose, high cheek-
bones, but small gray eyes, hid underneath
enormously protruding e 'ebrows, and the face
being fringed with an in ependent pair of iron-
gray whiskers, each particular hair of which
seemed to assert its individuality above the
others by detaching itself from its fellows and
sticking straight out, it gave him a close resem-
blance indeed to an enormous gray monkey.

For some five years—4n fact ever since his re-
tirement, Mr. Doramus had devoted himself to
a number of experiments, for he could not can-
tent himself with a life of idleiiess;.finally he
had concentrated all his efiorts upon one par~
ticular object. Day and night he had studied
and toiled, and now, at last, he fancied that he
was on the eve of success. All he lacked was a
“ subject” to experiment upon. Now, to a med-
ical man who knew the “ropes " as well as the
old duct r, to procure a “subject” was not a
difficult matter, for medical colleges must be
supplied and, although the law is supposed to
be strict upon this matter, yet it is a well known
fact that students of the “ saw-bone trade ” do
not suffer for want of opportunities to experi-
ment "on the human form divine.”

The doctor knew exactly where to go, but to
procure the article he wanted was. difficult, for
no common sub'ect, such as usually gave satis-
faction to the ‘trade,” would do for him; he
wanted an A No. 1 article, and to procure such
he was obliged to pay the rather stiff figure
which the “ghouls ” demanded.

The prize was his at last, though; it was~ safer
deposited on the marble table in his study
strctchel out on its back, ready for the experi—
ment.

The old gentleman had cast only a casual
glance at the body—just enough to assure him-
self that tue “ goods” were up to the mark, and
exactly as had been represented, before he paid
over the money to the “ expressman," and now.
after the men had departed, he hurried up-
stairs, ea er to take a good look at his cadaver.

Everyt ing was in readiness; the glittering
knives, upon which the bright beams of the. gas-
light danced, were upon the marble-tOpped table
by the side of the body, flanked on each side by
large and curiously-shaped bottles filled with
colored quuids. .

The body was covered by a dark cloth; all
that could be distin uished of it was the out-
lines of the mor.al remains that reposed be-
heath.

In a great hurry the old gentleman stripped
off his coat and rolled his shirt sleeves up to the
elbow, baring both arms.

Then, with really feverish impatience, be
stripped the cloth from the body and proceeded
to examine his prize with critical eyes.

“S lendid!” he exclaimed, with true profes-
siona ardor. “ Magnificent! The fellows did
not lie, after all! It is well worth the money
It is really a. shame, though, that I am to have
all this to myself By rights I should have a
colleague here. Let me see! Who is there that I
can get at tonight who would be apt to enjoy
such an opportunity as this?” And the old sur—
geon meditated over the matter, and deliberated
as an epicure would deliberate before sending
out invitations for a feast which promised to be
fit for an emperor’s enjoyment.

“ I can’t think of a single soul I would care to
have. I must go on by myself, then, but it is
really almost as bad as for a man to sit down
and get drunk in solitude.”

Then there came aquick ring at the door-bell.

“ Hallo, hallo!” cried the old gentleman, be-
coming a little alarmed immediately. “I hope
that isn’t the police! It would be awkward if
the scoundrels have, blundered and brought the
Officers down upon me!”

Such a thing had happened once and a deal
of money it had cost the doctor to hush up the
matter.

He stole cautiously to the front room—the
study was a back room on the second floor—and
raising the window cautiously peered out.

The alarm was a groundless one; a single old
gentleman, with snow-white hair, that trailed
down upon his shoulders, and a very long white
heard, with a valise in his hand stood on the
stoop.

There was something about him that seemed
familiar—something in the face and fi re, and
yet the doctor could not place him. e called
out:

“ What is it, sir? What do you require?”

“ Ah, is that you, Daniel?” asked the old
man, looking up so that the doctor could get a
good view of his face.

The voice the doctor recognized immediately,
for voices do not change like faces and figures.
The huge beard and long hair had disguised the
one—an acquired stoutness the other.

But, now that he had spoken, the do'ctor
knew him at once. It was his old chum at
college, his partner when he had first com-
menced to practice, his warm and steadfast
friend of later years. Gayaway Philcard, a
student and a scholar, a man who had both the
theory and the practice of medicine at his fin-
gers’ ends.

“ Bless my soul! is that you, Gayaway?” the
doctor exclaimed in astonishment. For over
ten years the old gentleman had neither met
nor heard of his old friend, but now, at the very
moment when he was wishing fora chum to en-
joy with him the rich professional treat which
was before him, Sp springs the man, above
all men, who WO (I enjoy such a thing. It
reall seemed as if he had come in obedience to
the octor’s wish.

The doctor hurried down-stairs and admitted
his visitor, whom be greeted in the warmest
manner.

“ Where on earth have you kept yourself for
this age?” he exclaimed, as he conducted the
guest into the sitting-room, and assisted him to
remove his outward wrappings.

“ Well, I have made the tour around the
world, and on my, way, of course, I came
through India, and b the favor of one of the
native rinoes whom succeeded in curing of a
slight illness, I was put in the way of finding
out some things that few Europeans have ever
known.”

“ Well—weIl—welll” exclaimed the old doc-
tor, his professional feelings at once aroused,
and he s ook his head as he looked down with
envious eyes at his old friend.

dollars," said the

 

children and beautiful girls for the same object; I “ Yes, nothing would this prince be satisfied

l
with but for me to go with him as his court '
physician, and as the kingdom ovar which
he ruled was awa ' in the interior, in a district
rarely Visited by ‘nrope'ins—all white men are
Europeans there, you know-I accepted the
post. I was anxious to see this almost unknown
Country with its many wonderful plants p03:
sessing fabulous virtues, after the old story on:
the Peruvian bark you know; and then, too. I
wanted to see the doctors of the region on their
native heaths, and see how they compared with
us outside barbarians, Well, to be brief, i spent
eight years with this prince: Ilearnt the lan-
guage so that I could speak it like a native,
Won- the dress common to the clilne, and passed
for a native with one and all, except a few who
knew my secret.” .

"And you encountered the native doctors—
you learnt all about these marvelous plants, eh?
and did you make any valuable (liscchries?” ex
claimed the old doctor, on the tiptoe of expec-
tation.

“Well, no, nothing to speak of. I have a few
decoctions that will be uSeful in the same line
as the Peruvian bark, for malaria] fevers.
That being a country where malaria rages, of
course. all the native doctors pay more atten-
tion to that than to anything e se."

“But their skill, my dear (layaway, does it
amount to any thing ?”

“In the fever line, yes; outside of that they
are all a set of wrctched botches; but, as a race.
the Hindoos have the most wonderful patience
and a gnu-at knowledge of the virtues of the
many plants their land boasts, but I must say
that, as far as I could discover, and remember,
nearly all their efforts are devoted to discover—
ing subtle poisons and the remedies for the
same. That probably comes from the old state
of affairs when there was almost always a war
going on ‘octwaen some of the native princes,
and in these wars the poison-cup and the assas-
sin’s dagger always play a more prominent part
than the sword and gun.”

“ Ah! then you probably have some rare tales
to tell of these mysterious poisons?"

“ Yes, for want of better Occupation I studied
them thoroughly, and I flatter myself that there
isn‘t a man living to-day, European or native,
who knows more about them, although of
course the knowledge is useless; but I became
interested in the subject, and so I mastered it
thoroughly.”

“ It was like you; I am not surprised. If you
remember, vou and I were the. Scholars if our
class. Well, my dear old friend, I too have
been studying in my old age. At a time when
other mcn are beginning to lay down their bur~
dens, you and I, with young hearts, although
old heads, take up new ones.

The other wagged his head and the cheerful
sparkle that came in his eyes made them look
as bright as the eyes of a boy.

“It is extremely lucky then, my coming at
this opportune time. In what direction have
your researches extended 1” ,

“A preserving fluid!" replied the old doctor,
lowering his voice, as though he feared that
some one might overhear the words.

“ The secret of the Egyptian mummies?”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed the other, disdainl'ully.
“ What object to preserve a body in that dried-
up state? The idea of that secret is mere child’s
p ay compared to what I am after. My object
is to take the body and by injecting a certain
fluid into the veins cause it to retain a life—like
appearance, and at the same time preserve it
from decay.”

“But is there not a process of embalming af—
ter that idea already in use? It occurs to me
that l have heard something in regard to it, in
England?”

“Oh, yes, it was used here during the last
war. Quite a number of our prominent sol-
diers, who fell on the field, were embalmed and
their bodies brought on to the North so that
their funerals might take place here amid their
friends, but that is a very costly process, and
merely a temporary one. It is not expected
nor intended to stand the test of years. There
is where the novelty of my idea comes in. My
process is cheap, a quart of fluid, costin per-
haps five dollars, with a syringe and a knife to
puncture a vein, will be all that is required.
The operation is perfectly sim le—a child, ten
years old, can perform it. t will do away
with all these expensive funerals; undertaken;
and sextons will find their occupations gone;
graveyards will be at a discount, and the tomb-
stone men will cut their throats in despair. A
hundred years hence, if this thing is the succes
which I think it will be, the man of position and
standing when he wants to make a visitor ac-
quainted with his ancestors, instead of taking
him into a picture gallery and showing a lot of
wretched daubs, by courtesy termed portraits.
'not one of which gives you the least idea of the
person for whom' it is intended, will take the
guest info a room where, in glass cases, every
one of his ancestors sits reserved, exactly as
he was in life! “That 0 you think of it?
W'on’t it be a superb thing—a perfect revolu-
tion?”

“ Yes, if it can be done,” replied the other, a
little doubtfully.

“It can! I will show you this very night.
Come up—stairs. I’ve a subject up there all
ready for the experiment now!”

The doctor conducted his visitor into the study
and threw back the cloth from the upper part
of the body—he had been careful to replace it
when the bell run —and, at the same time,
catching up one of t e large knive pointed in
triumph toward the victim of the bite Band’s
fearful plot.

“There!” he cried, “what do you think of
that? Isn‘t it grand?"

(To be continued—commenced in No. 576.)

In Monal Peril;
OR,
A HARVEST OF CURSES.

A Romance of Three Fair Women.

 

 

BY MRS. MARY REED CROWELL,
AUTHOR or “non nonon’s SAKE,” “DRIFTle
T0 RUIN,” ‘* on) sun SIN!" “VIALS
‘or waxrn,” ETC.

CHAPTER XXL—CONTINUED.

OLGA pressed her little handkerchief to her
eyes.

“You are so cruelly, cruelly unjust to me!
Day and night I nursed her, as I would have
done my own, and you blame me for what I
could not any more help than—”

“And just there is where I stop, stagger—
ingly. If I only could be sure—absolutely,
gositively sure you could not have helped it!

ut I doubt on. In spite of all my desire to
believe you doubt you, for her little life was
gull th’ere was between you and an immense for-

no.

“And you think I—I—killed her,
and neglect while her mother In
it is too terrible too terrible! I
young girl myself, I—-”

“ That is true, so far as ears were concerned, .
but, do you know, Olga, cannot conceive you
ever were a girl in single-heartedness and guile—
lessness? I can only realize that you were the
wife of as great a villain as ever lived. And
that, b my little Viva’s death, your interests
were a vanced. I may wrong you—I pray God
I‘may be shown I do wrong you, but there are
times when everything rises up in undeniable
accusation against you."

“And I cannot, will not submit to be accused
of such an awful crime! You know 1 have no
one in the world but you; on know but for
you I am homeless and friendless. and yet
under the only roof where I can lay my head, I
feel I am barely endured! Since your return
in October, I have lived a life of constant
misery on our account. You profess to care
somewhat or me, and et ou rehearse these
cruel scenes. I cannot, WiIl not endure them.
I would rather beg my bread than listen to

 

b cruelty
dying:y ! 0b,
was only a

 

such heart-breaking, falsely cruel charges.”

llcr passionate outburst appealed to his
generosity, and he. listened gravely, already
regretting his outburst.

“ We will have no more such scones, Olga.
for it is only Occasionally that old memories
sweep so relentless! ' over me, only occasionally
that I rrmember am so .early alone in the
work . It is true I enjoy the society of both your-
self and Sibyl Knight, but—frankly, you can
neither fill the place in. my heart that is to be
foiever vacant. But I will spare you the ex-
pressiOn of my feelings, and I tell you again,
Olga, that dearly as I IOVc your cousin Clare
mont. still I would like to see him marry you,
if fol no other reason than to know he was sc-
cure from the machinations of the girl who has
so infatuated him. I would like to see him
take you and makea 00d woman of you, Olga.
Such a marriage wouId turn all my suspicions
of you aside forever, for Clarcmont would
neVer marry a. woman against whom his in-
stincts warned him. I should then be entirely
alone; and, Olga, I would seek out this fair
young girl who has pleased me so, and adopt
her for my daughter, and give her the oppor—
tunit y to adorn the sphere for which nature has
intended her.”

A sudden panic seized Olga, but the next mo-
ment she realized that long before any such step
could be decided, Stella Carizelle would be out
of reach.

" I think you are Quixotic, and I think you
know people would talk," she said, “ but—"

“ But, fortunately, I am in the habit of con-
sulting my own interests and not ‘pecple‘s.’ I
have taken a great interest in this young sew—
ing-girl, and if I could brighten her life, and
she cheer and comfort my old age,l do not
think ' people ’ who know me would dare ‘ talk.’
To change the subject, Olga. I wish to say a
word regarding your very evident embarrass—
ment when I entered the room so suddenly. I
am aware of the cause of it."

Olga drew a long breath.

" Impossible,” she said, a flush spreading over
her face.

“ I repeat I know the cause, and you must
know I disapprove most cordially of the in-
timacy I have observed growing between you
and “elsh. He is all very well in his place,
and I have a certain res t for his judgment
and financial ability. 6 has heretofore main-
tained his proper position, but heis transcend-
ing it when he presumes upon your personal

friendship.”

“ He does not presume upon it. I think you
do him injustice—”

“Perhaps when I tell on that I was openly

asked a. week ago, if erome Welsh was not
your lover, you will understand me. Fancy
such a. question being put to me! I sup 9
peo le think, since you married such a vil in
as ielding Osmond for your first husband, you
are capable of almost any choice the second
time. You must put a stop to it, Olga, at once.
And now, I will take my book and leave you.”

He went out to the carriage that was wait—
ing at the door, and Jerome W elsb returned to
the room immediately, his florid face red with
indi nation.

“ f course dyou heard what he said about
you,” Olga sai sneeringly.

“And he’ll find that in spite of Roy Clare—
mont, himself or the devil, I’ll be your hus-
band,” he answered, angrily. “ I’ll be revenged
upon him at. You answered him well on all
points 1 think.”

Olga walked slowly up and down the room,
her dark eyes flashing. ,

” Was there ever such a complication of af»
fairs? He has taken a fancy to her at sight—it
is as if Fate itself brought them face tofacel
But who could have foreseen the encounter?
Do you know I have a feeling that it is an un-
equal battl'e we are fighting—as if everything
was marshaled in invisible, yet powerful array
against us? I feel as thou rh we were sneeriiig
at Fate itself. Only thin of it—securel as
everything was thought to be arranged, oy
Claremont met her and fell in love with her
and here Mr. Severn is fascinated by her and
wants to adopt her! I am tempted to believe,
that after all, there is a Providence.”

CHAPTER XXII.
A STEP IN THE DARK.

11‘ so happened that the very next day after
Mr. Severn’s meeting with Stella Caiizelle, it
was convenient for him to pay a visit to his
lawyer, whom he informed of his determination
to make a new will, and gave him various
mcmoranda of the schedule he had himself pre-
pared, but without mentioning the name of his
intended heir; instructing Mr. Thomas to leave
the blank for filling until evenin , when he
desired the document brought to him for his
signature.

At the hour designated Mr. Thomas presented
himself, and was at once shown into the library,
where Mr. Severn was waiting to receive him.

"As usual, promptly on time, Thomas,” he
said, as he shook hands. “You find me all
ready for business, you see. I have been look-
ing oyer various papers and documents for an
hour. ‘

Mr. Thomas glanced at the table, strewn with
a formidable array of papers, bundles of deeds,
piles of mortgages, in the center of which an
Argand gas-lamp glowed with mellow bright-
ness. The doors of the large safe stood open,
revealing more papers, the gleam of gold coin,
and piles of bank-notes.

“ on are alone, I see, Mr. Severn, and as you
remark, in readiness for the business of the
evening,” the lawyer said, as he ste pod up be
fore the fire and stood with his ban s crossed at
his back.

“ Yes, alone. My nephew, Knight, is out on
business of his own, and his young wife is en-

aged with Mrs. Osmond entertaining callers in
t e drawing-room. You remember she was a
Miss Vincent, a very handsome girl, and the
heir-em of Vincent Place.”

“I remember very well. Knight did a re-
markably good thing for himself when he mar—
ried her. I understand the young people are
spending the winter with you.”

“ Yes, and I can assure you that Mrs. Knight
is a most charming addition to our family circle.
Already I have learned to regard her almost as
my daughter.”

A faint, scarcely perceptible sound came from
the adjoining room, so faint that neither Mr.
Severn or his lawyer heard it. There was total
darkness in the room—a charming little apart
ment that was devoted to no special purpose,
but which was used for readin , or lounging,
or for little téte-d-h’tes, as was desirable—and,
close beside the door, that was closed, there
crouched a darker shadow among the shadows
-— Sibyl Knight deliberately watching and
waiting to know the exact issue of the interview
of such vital importance to herself.

She had arran her plans well, from the
beginning. Mr. vers bad notified her of the
result of his conversation with Mr. Severn, so
that when she heard him give an order-at din-
ner that he would not be at home to any one
that evening, except Mr. Thomas, she. sus—
 at once for what object the lawyer was
commg. She had expected to be at home to
chance callers in the evening, but instantly
began preparations for a headache, so that,
shortly after dinner she sent word to Olga to
excuse her for the evening, and gave her maid
orders that she was not-to be disturbed, under
anv consideration.

She  waited and watched her time, and
slipped into the little room adjoining the library,
de 'berately determined to bear all that was
said, to know all that transpired, and her heart
beat loud and fast as the two gentlemen befin
their conversation, and she malted that :-
curiosity was now to be gratified, her anxiety
set at rest.

A flush of gratified pleasure roseto her checks
as she heard Mr. Severn’s allusion to herself
that a rod his good intentions, and she bent
her h intently to listen.

“ I have brought a draft of the will,” Thomas
said, taking from his pocket 3 formidable-look-
ing document, tied with red tape. “I think
you will fi d it all correct in the smallest par-
ticulars. I have followe your instructions to

 

 

the letter, and all that remains to be done is for

the name of your heir to be inserted and your
own attested ii nature added." '

Sibyl heard t ie riwtling of the paper as Mr.
Thomas opened it.

“All right. Now rcud it tome. Be seated
here, Thomas," Mr. SeVern said, as he took his
accustomed seat in a huge revolviug~chulr, and
leaning back, fix his steady, listening atten-
tion upon his solicxtor.

Mr. Thomas read the will, slowly, almost
monotonously, and Sib l’s eyes glistencl with
excitement as she hear the long enumeratio i
of valuable properties and estates, while a feel-
ing of jealous grudgingseized heras she listened
to the legacies and annuities bequeathed to scr-
vants and distant relativos, so greed ' was she
to possess the. entire fortune for wllic she had
cchemed.

“ I have not mentioned L‘laremont’s name for
any special amount, you perceive, Thomas,"
Mr. Severn said, thou htful _v, " because he has
more than enough 0 his own. He‘sagraud
good fellow, a splendid fellow, and if he Were
poor he should be my heir.“

“ Then, I conclude, on have not decided be-
tween your niece rs. Osmond, and your
nephew, Clifford knight."

“I have decided. Clifford Knight is to in—
horit the bqu of my property. Olga will, in all
probability, marry her cousin Roy, and will not.
need anything from me. Besides, Thomas. I
am not exactly comfortable in my mind about
my niece. I cannot get clear of that thunder—
clap of suspicion you unearthed last summer.
But—about the heirsbip. Yes, Clifford Knight
is to be my heir."

'I‘homas‘s face clouded, and he knit his brows
in a thougutful frown.

“There is justice in what on say, Mr. Sev-
ern, but people say that Knig t is not a man of
irreproachable habits. that he is dissipated, and
extravagant beyond expression.”

“I can scarcely credit that, an. I think I
should know. Doubtless, as all young follows
are, more or less, Knight has been wild, but he
has sowed all his wild oats and his successful
marriage will steady him and call out all his
best nature. I do not respect and love him as I
do Claremont, but, he certainly has shown more
deference to my wishes than Roy does. He has
married to please me, while Claiemont persists
in an infatuation very distasteful to us all. I
do not expect that Knight is, or will be a model
of perfection, but I do know he tries to please
me and I believe will worthily wear the great
responsibility his riches will bestow upon him.”

But—despite the words Mr. Severn spoke,
there was to Thomas’s shrewd intuition, the
evidence that Mr. Severn was not as perfectly
suited with his chosen hair as he would have
wished to be. It was evident, that although
Mr. Severn fully intended to abide by his deci-
sion, he was not satisfied: and, comprehending
and sympathizing fully with Mr. Severn's un-
avowed,honcst sentiments, Thomas took advan-
tage of his years of business and, in a measure,
friendly intimacy with him.

“ thy make your will at all, just at present,
Mr. Severn? You are. scarcely past the prime
of life. You are healthy and hearty and
good for twenty, thirty years yet. thy n..t——
pardon me for any seeming intrusivencss—why
not defer this question until you have cou‘
sidered it further?"

“Kindly counsel, and as disinterested as
yours is, 'l homas, can never be intrusive. But.
there is no need to defer the matter. I havr de<
cided. Give me the will, and I will go over it
myself. And then I will sign, after you have
filled in the blank with Clifford Knight’s name.”

For an hour or more almost complete silence
reigned in the library, broken only by the rustle
of the paper in Mr. Severn’s hands, or an 0008
sional word or two from one or the other of
them. Mr. Severn went slowly, carefully,
scrupulously over the document, clause b '
clause, weighing every word with keen carefuI-
ness, while Sibyl Knight, scarcely breathing.
never stirring, crouched like a beast of prey in
the darkness, waiting, with a patience that was
only equaled b her daring.

But at last t e reading of the will was com-
pleted, and Mr. Severn expressed his entire
satisfaction. Mr. Thomas added the clause that
gave Olga Osmond a generous p ovision, and
ten filled in the blank with Clifford Knight’s
name. Mr. Severn for his housekeeper,
his butler and the book keeper of one of his fac-
tories, who had been in waiting, and in their
presence wrote his signature, to which their
names were appended as witnesses.

“I am glad 'it is over,” Mr. Severn said, re-
lievedly, when the three witnesses had gone.
“ After all, what matters it who has my money .4
I would have given half my life to have left it
to my little child. but, such happiness was not
to be for me. Knight may as well have it as
any one—no one wil give a thought to me after
I am gone, and thev are revelin ——wbat none
sense I am talking," he added, 5 arply inter-
rupting himself in the dpathetic little complaint
his secret unrest ma 9 him utter. "I have
heard making oné’s will made one morbid.
Take it away, Thomas, and kee it in your safe.
It may be years before you will be called upon
to open it.”

“ doubt if I ever open it,” Mr. Thomas said,
cheerfully. “ You will outlive me by many
years, I think. At any rate, one never dies a
dag sooner from being ready for it. ”

e shortly after ba e Mr. Severn good-night
and took his de rture, while Mr. Severn busied
himself. returning his array of papers to their
respective places in pigeon—holes, drawers and

safe.

With a long, ecstatic sigh of relief, Sibyl stole
softly from the place of concealment, and, as
homelesst as a cat, crowed the floor to the door
th t gave egress to the hall, and which was only
a few steps from the private corridor that led
to the more retired flight of stairs, by which she
intended to reach her room.

She opened the door silently, slowly, and
listened. From the drawing-room came sub»
dued sounds of voices in conversation, which,
with the rustle of papers, and occasioual foot-
steps in the library, would effectually cover her
escape from her place of hiding.

After listening a moment, she slowly and
cautious] peered out through the door, to as-
certain i no one was in sight, and—-

Encountered the of Mr. Thomas, whom
she fully believed had left the house several
minutes before, and which he had done, but had
returned for his gloves which he had left on the
hall table. He had just secured them, and in
another second would have been gone again,
when he had been Stu'prised to see a woman's
head protrude slowly, cautiously from the door
of the room adjoining the li .

He paused in the actof drawinng his loves.
He instantly comprehended that she hadieen a
secret listener during his rivate interview with
In. Severn, and the an only frightened look
in her eyes as they returned his gaze, the swift
pallor that spread over her face, the general ex-
presuon of consternation about her, only deep-
ened his belief._

He was a quiet, unassuming man, not given
to cautious, and. icularl ' detastin scenes
of any sort, notWi ding is profession, but
be instantly walked down the hall to the door
of the room where Sibyl stood, utterly discon-
cortad, and trembling in her com leteloss of
presence of mind. He looked past her into the
roomélgd aaw that it was in total darkness,
and ,helookod at ha,hiskeen,aeornful
eyes making her involuntarily shrink before

She was bamboo:er attired in a ink cash—
meroandaatin robe do chambre,&nd)ber hair
was fashionably dreoed, while solitaire din-
moods Iopmedinherearaand on her finger»—
alhdecfanng that she was no curious aervan
ormqmaitive guest, bu a lady,a.nd a lady o
the house; and, since he distinctly seen Mrs.
Osmond as be passed the drawing-room door,
thin was, then. the other lady of the house, the
Wife of the heir, the heiress of Vincent Place.
Although it was a principle with Mr. Thomas
never to be, betrayed into display of astonish-
ment, no matter what happened, yet, as it
flashed upon him who this eavesde was. he
more nearly violated his life-long it than

 

ever before, as he lifted his hat and bowed.

 

 

 

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