yr Frpruary 21, 1874.] AT THE, LAST. BY PERT A. DOROTHY. Come once, just once, dear love, when I am gone, (Ah, God! I would it were this hour to-night!) And look your last upon the marble face That was to you a summer’s brief delight. The silent lips will not entreat you then, Nor the eyes vex you with unwelcome tears; The low, sad voice will utter no complaint, Nor the heart tremble with its restless fears. I shall be still—you will forgive me then, For all that I come been, or failed to be; Say as you look, ‘‘ Poor heart, she loved me well; No other love will be so true to me.” Then bend and kiss the lips that will not speak— Just one kiss for the dear dead days; or once: ‘God rest her soul!’ then go in peace; May no haunting ghost meet you in your ways. (CONTINUED FROM No, 3.) KATE DARLING; OR, THE BELLE OF THE SCHOOL. CHAPTER VII. TWO MYSTERIOUS CUSTOMERS AT THE “‘ HARE AND VULTURE.” MEANWHILE there was another person—nay, two persons, who were not altogether indiffer- ent to the movements of the fustian-coated dog-dealer, alias Cuthbert Deane. He had made their acquaintance in a man- ner that was somewhat singular. The railway that had brought him to Clover- nook had its station at the far end of the vil- lage, Cuthbert was quite a stranger in the place. His position was SOmewhat embar- Yrassing. He was disguised in a picturesque, but de- cidedly low-looking cos- tume, and accompanied by a large and formi- dable-looking mastiff. Being, moreover, as anxious as possible to avoid public observa- tion in that quiet, out- ofthe-way place, he was at a loss of whom to make inquiries as to what part of it Miss Gritty’s establishment might be found in. At last he espied a Wayside ale-house, not Very inviting as to. its interior, and with a ingy sign, “‘The Hare and Vulture,” swinging above the door. Adjusting his cap, and with his mastiff Close at his side, he ventured in. Is was a slack hour foy business at the “Bare and Vulture,” Which might be best scribed as a house of Call for roughs of the loose fish tribe who are -tobe found among the floating population of very rural district. The only individual left to attend the bar Was a dirty, half-idiotic young girl, who seemed to have just sense en- ough to draw a jug of ale, and take the money for it, and nothing be- yond. Cuthbert ordered : j f ale, and inquire if abe could tell ham where Clovernook Acade- my was to be found. ; She could give him no information. “Taint much that I knows about ’cade- mies,” naively acknowledged the young girl. “Py’aps they in there might be able to tell od yu.” lead as she spoke, she pointed to a little room at the side, the door of which stood open. Within sat two men at a table, with a bottle between them, engaged in close and whispered vi tion. ak Beet they were so engaged when Cuth- bert, on his entrance, glanced in their direc- P atliets caps were pulled down over their eyes, and they seemed anxious to escape rather than co servation. : : te aia mentioned, the simple question he had asked of the slipshod girl behind the ae Ca you tell me where there’s a ladies’ school, called Clovernook Academy?” A question least of all, one would _have thought, likely to interest two such individuals as those seated in the tap-room. j Coarsely-clad men both of them, but not of the agricultural class. That was evident ata glance. Men used to severe labor, judging by the appearance of their hands—men habituated to work out of doors and in all weather, if their bronzed and sunburnt faces went for any thing. : Men whose work had been ill requited, and who had toiled thanklessly, if there be any truth in the proverb that ‘sweet is the con- tent that honest labor brings,” THEY WERE HIDD: BHLLES AND BHAUX. There was no content on these men’s faces. They were not ill-looking fellows, nor old. The younger not more than four or five and twenty; the other, maybe, ten years older, and bearing traces of having been once a handsome man. A man who at some period of his life had moved in altogether a different sphere. His hands, though corned and freckled, were curiously small for his bulk, and though the finger-nails were worn down and blunted, there was that in the shape of them that is never to be found in the low-bred hind. His teeth, small, white, and regular as those of a lady; his eyes were bold and keen, and his forehead broad and intelligent, and, despite his rough exterior, there was that in all his move- ments that bespoke a perhaps long ago, but by no means limited acquaintance with “ gentle life.” His companion was a man of altogether dif- ferent stamp. A sadder man, and one with much less fire in him, with less desperation, too, and more subdued. It was singular, however, they both seemed to be moved with the same wonder and curiosi- ty when they heard Cuthbert’s inquiry. Simultaneously they uttered a subdued ex- clamation, and when, responding to the girl’s suggestion, the disguised young gentleman turned toward them, he found both with their faces upraised, and regarding him keenly. «‘‘ Did you speak, sir?” inquired the elder man of the pair, fixing his piercing dark eyes on Cuthbert. “T was asking the way to a school here- abouts, called Clovernook Academy,” Cuthbert replied, not particularly liking the looks of the two men, and resolving to have as little as possible to say to them. ‘‘Can you inform me where it is?” ‘Whose school is it?” he asked. Deeming it advisable, under the circum- stances, not to know too much, Cuthbert shook his head, and said he did not know. The elder of the two regarded him curiously, at the same time touching the foot of his com- panion under the table. “Ts that your dog ?” the man asked, after a pause, Cuthbert was about to reply with a remark concerning the stranger’s curiosity, but in good time he recollected the part he was assuming. ‘Yes, it’s mine at present,” he replied. ‘‘He wears a better coat than his master, then, and a better collar, too,” returned the other, rudely. “ All the better for him,” said Cuthbert. “‘ Ay, ay, my lads, dogs are better kept than men in these days.” “Dye think so?” “That’s been my experience, anyhow; but what do you mean, mate, by the dog being yours ‘at present? Won’t he be yours for long? He’s for sale, I suppose?” “Yes; that is, he was for sale.” << But now he is sold, and you are taking him home, eh?” “That's about it.” “Then why couldn’t you say so at fust?” << Because I didn’t see it was any business of yours to ask,” Cuthbert replied, angry with himself for having allowed the fact to be so easily wormed out of him, “Tt is true, then?’ And as he spoke, the man regarded the mas- tiff with anything but a friendly expression of countenance. A compliment that the dog seemed to appre- ciate, judging from the subdued growl. he gave. And then, after a pause, the man asked abruptly: “You are taking it home to the school, you say; who ordered it?” ‘“That’s more than I can tell you,” replied Cuthbert, beginning to feel uncomfortable, lest such a remarkably shrewd person should pre- sently detect his disguise, and tax him with it. “Tt isn’t certain that it’s sold yet. If it suits them they’ll buy it, I suppose,” “How came you to know that they wanted such a dog?” “That’s my master’s business. It’s common enough for people who deal in dogs to have customers for them, I hope.” “So it is, lad; what would you call this one, now?” ‘‘ A watch-dog. He looks as though he was good enough for such work, doesn’t he?’ re- plied Cuthbert, cautiously. ‘It wouldn’t be good for a thief who crossed his path in the dark. But you haven’t answered my question yet as to whereabouts the school is.” “Up tother end of the village—straight ahead,” Glad to get away, Cuthbert hurried out of the house. He had not proceeded far, however, when the fellow who had shown himself so strangely curious overtook him. DEI IR “You won't be staying very long up yon- der?” ““T judge not.” ; “You'll be coming back this way?” said he. “ Yes. ” ‘Well, I should like to know how you get on. I'll stand a quart of ale if you'll just look in as you pass and tell us.” . And to get rid of him, Cuthbert hastily pro- mised that he would, and as much amused as annoyed, went his way to perpetrate his bare- faced imposition on Miss Gritty. The stranger watched him until he was lost in a turn of the road, and then with a lowering brow and muttering to himself, he returned to his companion. “Did you ever hear of anything so infernally odd?” he asked in a low whisper. “Tt does seem strange they should have taken into their heads to have a watch-dog just now.” “Strange; one would think that the devil himself had a hand in it. So he has, for that matter,” he continued, grimly; ‘‘the devil is never far away from her elbow.” The young man shrugged his shoulders in deprecation of the other’s impetuous anger. ‘¢You are not even sure that she is there as yet,” he remarked. “I wouldn’t jump at con- clusions too hastily, if I were you, Savory.” “No fear,” returned the other, bitterly; ‘‘no instinct is so keen as that of vengeance. I feel as sure of her as does the hound who is on the trail of the fox. And this last move, what does it mean?” “Nothing that can affect you, anyhow,” ‘* Why not?” Pish} you don’t know her, man, though, / EN IN A LITTLE BOWER, AND IT WAS THROUGH THE OPEN LATTICE-WORK THAT KATE SAW HIM, by Heaven! you have reason for doing so if ever a poor fellow had. _She’s as cunning as the father of evil himself, and as far-seeing.” “But you don’t suppose that she has kept a reckoning of your time, and when you were likely to return?” said Savory. “Why not?” “Because it would be quite impossible for her to do it. You yourself did not know for cer- tain, It might have been a month ago—it might have. been a month to come.” “Well, well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t see why I should trouble my head,” returned the other, with a short, savage laugh. ‘‘ It will be all the same inthe end, I reckon.” “You are still bent on the old idea, then.” ““What has happened to turn me from it?” ‘“‘T tell you as I told you before, I don’t be- lieve any good will come of it.” “ Pshaw! you think that I cannot control my » temper; besides,” he continued, with an ugly laugh, ‘‘who has a better right to seek an in- terview with her? Doesn’t the law say ‘ until death do us part.’” “Better wait, John, better wait; say till to- morrow.” ‘Bah! because they threaten to have a dog on the premises,” returned the man, with a sneer; ‘‘ you ought to know me better than that, Dick Kavanah, Id fight my way through a pack of bloodhounds to get at her. You would help me, too, if you had the pluck of a man,” “Tf I had the vindictiveness of a fiend, you mean, Savory,” answered the younger man, calmly. ‘‘ Perhaps if my case was as desperate as yours, I should feel as you do.” ‘* But you think that it is not,” sneered the other. “T fervently hope and pray itis not. No, no, it cannot be so bad as that.” “Suppose that it is worse.” The younger man re- garded the other with a sudden start. “What do you mean, Savory?” he asked, with a twitching of white lips that betrayed his emotion, “What do you mean?” he repeated, his dark eyes flashing and his voice tremulous. “Do you imagine it pos- sible that my dear Sue —my—” “T should be sorry to wound your feelings, Dick,” interrupted the other, grasping the young man’s hand; “and as for your wife, I take your word for it —your word a thousand times repeated, I may say, that she is as good as gold; but two years is a long while, Dick Kavanah.” “The Lord knows that I have found it so,” returned the other, with a bitter sigh, “Two years of wait- ing with every worldly comfort surrounding a woman, and there may be nothing to fear, but just.take the reverse of the picture.” The young man shiv- ered and turned away” his head, “Picture to yourself a@ woman young and helpless, and perhaps a little child to incumber ‘ her, a young woman, innocent as her babe, but with her good name darkehed with the shadow of crime, having to face the hard, pitiless world for two long years. “Tell me, Dick Kavanah, what you would think if, under such circumstances, what might happen has happened? “What would then be your feeling toward the fiend incarnate who has plotted and planned and brought about such wreck and ruin?” The young man’s face turned deadly white as the other, with his lips close almost to his ear, in a fierce whisper, drew this terrible picture of what might be. “*T should kill her,” he replied, with his voice so hoarse as to be hardly intelligible. ‘I should have no thought—no reason, Savory. I should feel like a wild beast, and yearn like one to kill her.” “To be sure you would,” returned the other drinking in Dick Kavanah’s words witha te relish. ‘To be sure you would, Dick; you would do as you say, and I should commend you. ‘‘But why should I torture myself by imagin- ing anything so unlikely?” continued the young man, wiping the perspiration from his forehead and striving to speak cheerfully. “It’s as well to be prepared for the worst,” remarked the other, “But why, man? I have made no search for her yet; I have been back to the old place barely four hours, and have not asked a single question respecting her, and here we're talking as though I had made a month’s search for her, es was in ‘despair at not being able to discover rer, “God forbid that T should suspect her if she is alive! My Sue is true to me, if sheis alive!