<=aizxa THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. peKas VOL. 42—No, 30. ~, Yes, it does. instead of me.” “Have [not treated you as well as Oliver?’ “T think you ought to treat me better, considering IT am your own son,” grumbled Roland. “T have good reasons for my conduct,” said Mr. Kenyon, mysteriously. “What are they ?”’ “You are a boy, and it is not fitting I should tell you everything.” “You ain’t afraid of Oliver, are you?’ demanded Roland, bluntly. Mr. Kenyon smiled pleasantly, showing a set of very white teeth as he did so. “Really, that is amusing,’ he answered. “What on earth should make me atraid of Oliver?” “T don’t see what other reason you can have for backing down as you have.” “Listen, Roland. There is more than one way of arriving at a result, but there is always one way that is wiser than any other. Now it would not be wise for me to treat Oliver in such a way as to create unfavorable comment in the village.” _ “What do you care for what peoplein the village | think?’ asked Roland, bluntly. ‘‘Haven’t you got the money ?” i ae es. 2? “And Roland hasn’t a cent?’ hate has nothing except what I choose to give im.’ . Good!” said Roland, with satisfaction. “I hope you don’t mean to give him as much as you do me,” e added. | “Notintheend. Just at present I may.” “T don’t see why you should.” “Then you must be content to take my word for it, and trust tomy judgment. Inthe end you may be assured that I shall look after your interests, and that you will be far better off than Oliver.” With this promise Roland was measurably satis- fied. The thing that troubled him was, that Oliver seemed to have triumphed over him in their recent lit- tle difference. Perhaps, could he have fathomed his step-father’s secret designs respecting Oliver, he would have felt less dissatisfied. Mr. Kenyon was never more to be dreaded than when he professed to _be friendly. I should think Oliver was your son CHAPTER VII. : ROLAND’S DISCOMFITURE. On the way to school. Oliver overtook Frenk Dudley. “Well, Oliver, how’s the weather at home?” asked Frank. “Cloudy, eh?” “No; it’s all clear and serene.” Frank looked astonished. “Didn't Mr. Kenyon blow you up, then 2” he asked. “Not a bit of it. “He gave me a five-dollar bill with- out my asking for it.” “What's come over him?’ asked Frank, in amaze- ‘ment. ‘His mind isn’t getting affected, is it?” Oliver laughed. “Not that I know of,” he said. ‘‘I don’t wonder you ask. I never saw such a change come over a man since yesterday. Then he wanted Roland to flog me. Now he is like an indulgent parent.” “It’s queer, decidedly. I hope for your sake it'll hold out.” “So doTl. Roland doesn’t seem to fancy it, though. He tried hard to revive the quarrel of yesterday, but witheut success.” ““He’s an amiable cub—that Roland.” “Do you speak thus of your future brother-in-law?” “Carrie would sooner be an old maid a dozen times over than give any encouragement to such a fellow.” All which was pleasant for Oliver to hear. Mr. Kenyon was not through with his surprises. Two weeks before Roland had a new suit of clothes. Oliver’s envy had been a little excited, because he needed new clothes more than his step-brother, but he was too proud to give expression to his dissatis- faction, or toask fora similar favor. On the way home from school, in company with Frank Dudley, Oliver met Mr. Kenyon. “Are you just coming home from school, Oliver?” asked his step-father, pleasantly. “Yes, sir.” “T have told Mr. Crimp, the tailor, to measure you ‘for anew suitof clothes. You may as well callin now and be measured.” “Thank you, sir,” said Oliver, in a tone of satisfac- tion. What boy ever was indifferent to new clothes. “Have you selected the cloth, sir?’ he asked. “No; you may make the selection yourself. You need not regard the price. Itis best to get a good article.” Mr. Kenyon waved his hand, and smiling pleasant- ly, walked away. “Look here, Oliver,’ said his friend, Frank, . “I be- gin to think you have misrepresented Mr. Kenyon to me. Such aman as that tyrannical! Why, he looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.” ““T don’t know what to make of it myself, Frank. I never saw such a change inaman. If he’ll keep on treating me like this, I shall really begin to like him. Will you come to the tailor’s with me?’ “Willingly. It’llbe the next thing to ordering a ‘suit for myself.” The tailor’shop was near by, and the boys entered, with their school books in their hands. Oliver, with his friend’s approval, selected a piece of expensive cloth, and was measured for a suit. As they left the shop, they fell in with Roland, who, cane in hand, was walking leisurely down the main street, cherishing the complacent delusion that he was the object of general admiration. “Hello, Frank!” he said, by way of greeting. Oliver he did not vouchsafe a word. Frank Dudley nodded. “Are you out for a walk?” he asked. *¥68,”” “Have you been into Crimps ?”’ ¥en.” “Been ordering new clothes?’ inquired Roland, with interest, for he was rather a dandy, and was as much interested in clothes as a lady. “Thaven’t. Oliver has.” Roland arched his brows in displeasure. To “Have you ordered a suit of clothes?’ he inquired. | “T have,” answered Oliver, coldly. “Who authorized you to do it?” “It is none of your business,” said Oliver, justly provoked at the other’s impertinence. “It is my father’s business,” said Roland. pose you expect him to pay for them.” “The bill won’t be sent to you, at any rate. You ‘may be assured of that. Come on, Frank.” The two boys walked off, leaving Roland in front of the tailor’s shop. “Tll go in and see what he’s ordered,” thought he. “Tf it’s without authority, I'll tell my father, and he’ll soon put a spoke in his wheel.” ““Good-evening, Crimp,” he said, consequentially. Considering the tailor quite beneath him, he dis- pensed with any title. “Good-evening,” returned the tailor. “Oliver has ordered a suit here, hasn’t he ?”” ‘Yes; he jnst ordered it?” “Will you.show me the cloth he selected?” “Tf you wish.” Mr. Crimp displayed the cloth. Roland was enough of a judge to see that it was high priced. 2 *“Tt’s nice cloth. Is it expensive ?” | “Tt’s the best I have in stock.” Roland frowned. ‘Ts it any better than the suit you made me a short -time since 2” “It is a little dearer.” “Why didn’t you show me this, then? the best.” “Because it has come in since,” “Look here, Crimp,’ said Roland, “you’d better wait till you hear from my father before you begin “on this suit.’ i. “Why should I?’ “T don’t believe he will allow Oliver to have such a high-priced suit.” ' Mr. Crimp had had orders from Mr. Kenyon that very afternoon to follow Oliver’s directions im- plicitly, but he did not choose to say this to Roland. The truth was, he was provoked at the liberty the ill-bred boy took in addressing him without a title, and he didn’t see fit to enlighten him on this point. “You must excuse me,’ he said. ‘Oliver has or- dered the suit, and I shall not take such a liberty with him as to question his order.” “Trather think my father will have something to say about that,” said Roland. “I presume you ex- pect him to pay your bill.” “The bill will be paid; I am not afraid of that. Why shouldn’t it be?” “You may have to depend on Oliver to pay it him- “T sup- I wanted “Well, he has money enough, or ought to have,” said the tailor. significantly. ‘His mother left a large property.” Roland did not like the turn the conversation was taking, and stalked out of the shop. “Crimp is getting impudent,” he said, to himself. “Tf there was another good tailor in the village I would patronize him.” " However, Roland had one other resource, and this , consoled him. “T’ll tell my father, and we'll see if he don’t puta stop to it,” he thought. ‘Oliver will find he can’t do just as he likes. I wish Crimp would make the suit, and then father refuse to pay forit. It would teach him a lesson.” Roland selected the supper-table for the revelation of what he supposed to be Oliver’s unauthorized eonduct. ; “IT met Oliver coming out of Crimp’s this after- noon,” he commenced. Oliver did not appear alarmed at this opening. He continued to eat his toast in silence. As no one said anything, Roland continued: “He had just been ordering a new suit of clothes.” “Did you find any cloth to suit you, Oliver?” asked Mr. Kenyon. “Yes, sir, I found a very nice piece.” *“T should think it was nice. It was the dearest in Crimp’s whole stock,” said Roland. “How do you know?’ asked Oliver, quickly. “Crimp told me so.” “Then you went in and inquired,” said Oliver,” his lip curling. Yess i aid.” There are some men who seem to be utterly desti- tute of principle. These are the men who in cold blood show themselves guilty of the most appalling crimes if their interest requires it. They are more detestable than those who, a prey to strong passion, are hurried into the commission of acts which in their cooler moments they deeply regret. To the first class belonged Mr. Kenyon; who, as we have already seen, had committed his wife to the horrible confinement of a mad-house, that he might be free to spend her fortune. Hitherto he had not injured Oliver, though he had made his life uncom- fortable; but the time was coming when our hero would be himself in peril. It was because he foresaw that Oliver might need to be removed that he began to treat him with unusual indulgence. | : “Sqould anything happen,” he said to himself, “this will disarm suspicion.” The time came sooner than he anticipated. Action was precipitated by a most unlooked-for occurrence, which filled the soul of the guilty husband with terror. F One day he stopped at the post-office to inquire for letters. “There is no letter for you, Mr. Kenyon, but here is one for Oliver. Will you take it?” “T am glad you selected a good article, Oliver,” said Mr. Kenyon, quietly. ‘It will wear longer.” Roland stared at his father in open-mouthed amaze- ment. He sofully anticipated getting Oliver into hot water, that his failure quiet disconcerted him. “His suit is going to be better than mine,” he grum- bled, in a tone of vexation. 3 “That is your own fault. Why didn’t you select the same cloth ?”’ asked his fatheer. { “It is some new cloth that has just come in.” “You can make it up next time,” said Mr. Kenyon, “Your suit seems to me to be a very nice one.” This was all the satisfaction Roland got. The next day he met Mr. Crimp in the street. “Well, does your father object to Oliver’s order?’ he asked, with a smile. Roland was too provoked to notice what he regard- ed as an impertinent question. CHAPTER VIII. A DANGEROUS LETTER. Mr. Kenyon was curious to learn with whom his step-son corresponded, and said: “Yes, [ will take it.” ‘ It was putinto his hands. Nosooner did he scan the handwriting and the postmark than he turned actually livid. Ttwasin the handwriting of his wife, whom ail the world supposed to be dead, and it was postmarked Charleston. “Good heavens ! What a narrow escape !” Ife ejacu- lated, the perspiration standing in large drops on his brow. “Suppose Oliver had received this letter, I might have been lynched, I must go home and con- sider what is to be done. How could Dr. Fox be so criminally—idiotically careless as to suffer such a letter to leave his establishment?” Mr. Kenyon hurried home, much perturbed. On the way, he met Roland, who couldn’t help ob- serving his father’s agitation. “What is the matter, father?’ he inquired, care- i for he cared very little for any one but him- self. “T have a sick headache,” said his father, abruptly. “T am going home to lie down.” Roland made no further inquiries, and Mr. Kenyon gained the house without any other encounter. He went up to his own room, and locked himself in. Then he took out his pocket-knife and cut open the envelope. The letter was as follows: “My DEAR OLIVER :—This letteris from your un- happy mother, who is languishing in a private mad- house, the victim of your step-father’s detestable machinations. Oh, Oliver, how can I reveal to you the hypocrisy and the baseness of that man, whom in an evil hour I accepted as the successor of your dear father. It was not because I loved him, but -ather because of his importunity that I yielded my asseut to his proposals. I did not read his character then. I did not know, as I do now, that he only wanted to secure my property. He professed him- self to be wealthy, but I have reason to think that in this, as in other things, he deceived me. “When we came South, he pretended that it was on account of his health, and I unsuspectingly fell into | I need not dwell upon the details of that | lady; she dias come to harm,” the snare. journey. Enough that he lured me here and placed me under the charge of a Dr, Fox, a fitting tool of his, under the plea that I was insane. “T am given to understand that on his return to the North, Mr. Kenyon represented me as dead. § his art that I do not doubt his stery has been be- lieved. Perhaps you, my dearest son, have mourned for me as dead. If this be so, my letter will bea revelation. I have been trying for a long time to get an opportunity to write you, but this is the first time | 4* a xi I do not yet know if I can | tides like the sea. ; I have met with success. get it safely to the mail, but that is my hope. “When you receive this letter, consult with friends whom you can trust, and be guided by their advice. Do what you can to rescue me from this living death. Do not arouse the suspicions of Mr. Kenyon, if you san avoid it. He is capable of anything. “My dear son, my paper is exhausted, and I dare not write more, at any rate, lest [should be inter- rupted and detected. Heaven bless you, and restore you to my longing sight. “Your loving mother, “MARGARET CONRAD.” Mr. Kenyon’s face darkened, especially when his attention was drawn to the signature. “Conrad! So she discards my name!’ he mut- tered. ‘Fortunately the object of this accursed let- ter will not be attained, nor will Oliver have an op- portunity of making mischief by showing it to the neighbors.” “Mr. Kenyon lighted a candle and deliberately held the dangerous letter in the flame tillit was con- sumed. “There,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief, ‘that peril is over. But suppose she should write an- other ?” Again his face wore an expression of nervous ap- prehension. “Timust write to Dr. Fox at once,” he mused, ‘‘and warn him to keep close guard over his patient. Other- wise I may have to dread an explosion at any time.’ He threw himself into an easy-chair and began to think over the situation. The man was alert and watchful. Danger was at hand, and he resolved to head it off at any hazard. Meanwhile Oliver had occasion to pass the post- office on his way home from school. Thinking there might be a letter or paper for his step-father, he en- tered and made inquiry. “Ts‘there anything for us, Mr. Herman?” he said. “No,” said the postmaster, adding jocularly, ‘‘Isn’t one letter a day enough for you 2” “T have received no letter,” answered Oliver, rather surprised. _ “I gave a letter to Mr. Kenyon for you this morn- ing. “Oh, I haven’t been home from school yet,” said Oliver. ‘I suppose it is waiting for me there.” “Very likely. It looked to be in a lady’s hand- writing,” added the postmaster, disposed to banter Oliver, who was a favorite with him. “T can’t think who can have written it, then,” said our hero. At first he thought it might be from an intimate boy-friend of about his own age, but the postmaster’s remark seemed to render that unlikely. We all like to receive letters, however disinclined we may be to answer them. Oliver was no excep- tion to'this remark. His desire of seeing the letter, was increased by his being quite unable to conjec- ture who could have written to him in a feminine handwriting. As soon, therefore, as he reached home, he inquired for Mr. Kenyon. “‘He’s in his room, Mr. Oliver,” said the servant. “Did he leave any letter for me, Maggie ?” “T didn’t hear of any, Mr. Oliver.” — “Then he’s got it up stairs, I suppose.” Oliver went up the stairs and knocked at Mr. Ken- yon’s door. The latter had now recovered his wonted composure, and called out to him to enter. “T heard you had a letter for me, Mr. Kenyon,” said Oliver, abruptly. Again Mr. Kenyon looked disturbed. He had hoped that Oliver would hear nothing of it, and that no inquiry might be made. “Who told you I had a letter for you?’ “The postniaster.” Mr. Kenyon saw that it was useless to deny it. “Yes, I believe there was one,” he said, carelessly. “Where could I have put it ?” He began to search his pockets; then he looked into the drawers of his desk. “T don’t remember laying it down,” he said, slowly. “Tn fact, I don’t remember seeing it since I got home. I may have dropped it in the road.” “Won't you oblige me by looking again, sir?” asked Oliver, disappointed. Mr. Kenyon lookek again, but, of course, in vain. “It may turnup,” he said, atlength. ‘Not that it was of any importance. It looked like a circular.” Mr. Herman told me it was in feminine hand- writing,” said Oliver. “Oho! that accounts for your anxiety!” said Mr. Kenyon, with affected jocularity. ‘Come, I’ll look again.” But the letter was not found, Oliver did not fail to notice something singular in his step-father’s manner, , “Has he suppressed my letter?’ he asked himself, as he slowly retired from the room. ‘*‘What does it all mean?” “He suspects me,” muttered Mr. Kenyon. in my way, and [ must get rid of him.” [TO BE CONTINUED. } ——>- Horsford’s Acid Phosphate, . Important. : Dr..T. C. SmiruH, Charlotte, N. C., says: “I attach to it the highest importance, not only as an agreeable cooling drink, but as a therapeutic agent of well-defined and specine value.” ° “He is } Such is | | her arm. JUDGE NOT, THAT YE BE NOT JUDGED. Perchance the friend who cheered thy early years Has yielded to the tempter’s power ; Yet why shrink back and draw away thy skirt, As though her yery touch would do thee hurt? Wilt thou prove stronger in temptation’s hour? Perchance the one thou trusted more than life Has broken love’s most sacred vow ; Yet judge him not—the victor in life’s strife Is he who beareth best the cares of life, And leaveth God to judge, nor question how. Sing the great song of love to all, and not The wailing anthem of thy woes; So live thy life that thou mayst never feel Afraid to say, as at His throne you kneel, “Forgive me, God, as I forgive my foes.” —_— or oo [THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUPLISHED IN BOOK-FOR®M. | ANOTHER MAN'S WIFE. By BERTHA M. CLAY, Author of ‘‘A Fair Mystery,” ‘‘For Another's Sin,” ‘A Heart’s Bitterness,” etc., etc. (“ANOTHER MAN’S WIFE” was commenced in No. 22. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER XXV. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY POOR LADY?” EARING she knew not what, Fanny searched every part of the house where her mistress ‘ might by any possibility be. Then she tapped at the dress- ing-room where North slept near his master’s chamber. “North, do you know any- | thing of my lady? I cannot find her.” _ “Surely not. Is she not in | the house ?’’ “No,” said Fanny, with a sob. The door of the marquis’ room suddenly opened, and the two servants saw, by the soft glow of the porcelain night-lamp, the marquis in his dressing- gown and slippers standing before them. “What are you saying, Fanny?’ he asked, sharply. “T can’t find my mistress,” faltered Fanny. ‘She is not in the house.”’ y , “The countess not in the house at this time of night, or morning! the marquis, angrily. Fanny promptly turned the tables on him by burst- ing forth in evident anguish : “You sent for her, my lord, and she has not come back. Oh, what have you done with my poor little lady ?’ “I? What have I done?” said the marquis, indig- nantly. ‘No doubt she is sitting with Mrs. Harley.” “Mrs. Harley is asleep. She has no miseries to keep her waking—no enemies to trouble her rest,” retorted Fanny, quite beside herself. “My lord, what has be- come of my poor innocent lady? I’d believe any- thing might happen to her with Mrs. Ranleigh in the house hounding her to the death !” é : “Be silent, idiotic girl!” said the marquis, griping 2 What new freak is this?’ cried | ‘My lord, I can’t,” said Fanny, falling on her knees and clutching his dressing-robe. ‘I’m wild about my The marquis became thoroughly alarmed. He bade North call a footman, and prepare to search the gar- den and terraces. When this was fruitless, more men were roused and the lines extended. Then the Honorable Harley was called, who at once headed | the search. His heat} misgave him. He remem- | bered how mournfuk®eryl’s gentle face often was; how lier sweet eyes would fill with sudden tears, as if her secret heart were a well of sorrow given to “The marquis,’ said Harley to himself, “is all courtesy; but, by Jove, a gentle, tender, winning little girl like that needs more petting and gentle- | ness. I don’t know how Marion would take it if I | were so cold.” The morning sky became tinted with red and gold. The marquis, worn out with sleepless, -agonized search, sat at last in his library. Was it only five hours before that she—little lovely Beryl—had stood | in that room, and turned on him such great, terrified, entreating eyes? What would he not give now to see that graceful form standing there in safety! Mrs. Ranleigh came rushing in, in carefully ar- ranged dishabille. “Beryl gone, Lord Medford! I cannot believe it. Eiloret poor, dear child! Whom could she have gone with?’ “With no one!” thundered the marquis. ‘Mrs. Ranleigh, pardon me, I can bear to see no one to- day.’ But when Mrs. Harley Medford came in, with tears on her kind face, and softly laid her cheek on his shoulder, and clasped his hand, saying, “We shall find our poor darling,” he felt his heart comforted by her nearness. : Lawrence came in, disheveled and miserable. “What are they doing now, Lawrence ? trace ?”’ “None. They are dragging the Lawrence, hoarsely. ‘Shall we notify the police, or send for aid?’ asked Harley Medford, entering at this juncture. “No. Search tirst every place and cottage for four miles around. This one day we will search alone.” * * * It was twelve o’clock on an April night; the night, and an hour after, Beryl had fled from her hus- band’s presence, with that passionate, despairing cry. The moon was more than half way down the sky, and the silver light fell widely through the great branches, faintly fringed with new leaves, or strug- gled more feebly with the masses of evergreens. Owls called to each other from among the mantling | ivies, or their broad wings went by aS a shadow, as they sought their prey in the night. | Winderton village lay four miles from Winderton Castle, and on the outskirts of Winderton village stood apretty little cottage, the home of a newly | made doctor and his young wife. Doctor Marvel had been settled near Winderton a little over a year, and was making his way famously; popular from the ur- banity of his flanners, the bounty of his heart, and the skill and good fortuue that attended his practice. Doctor Marvel had been called out late that par- ticular evening, and was just getting home. A robust young fellow, in all the fine vigor of twenty-seven well-spent years, the lateness of the hour made no difference to him; the beauty of the April night, the soft fragrance of the new-budding world charmed him, and he loitered along his way, humming a little song. Suddenly, as some great white night-bird sweeps soundless by, a figure passed the loitering doctor. The figure came up behind him, unheard, and not seeming to see him, went by him with. a swift, noise- less motion, like a spirit. The doctor fairly started aside in amazement at that quick, quiet shape. A snowy grace, going straight on, on, with an even running pace.