ge et emer tne h etinee ener == ie £ ae lp _1. {its story WILL Nor BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM.] : The be ( ; iN ‘THE FALSE HEIRESS. - gome definite plan. ~~ heavily. VOL. 42—No. 21. eeaiowenecnin —_—— seein ~ WHEN FIRST THY SMILE. ‘BY TOM GIBBONS. When first thy smile upon me fell— That morning long ago— Within the calm and peaceful dell, Where grew the purple sloe, The flowers that decked the verdant plain Were beautiful, | vow; — But not a flower in all the train Looked half so fair as thou. Thine eyes were like twin meteors bright, Thy cheeks twin roses red, Thy hair like clouds in darkest night In wavy ringlets s: Ld ; Thy glance was like the smile of morn When summer skies are gay ; Thy bosom like the milky thorn That blossomed on our way. The lark, from out the clear blue sky, : Sweet welcome sang to thee ; Ry The linnet on the alder high " Rejoiced thy smile to see ; The usa thy virgin sighs ; On light wings bore along, _.. And at the glory of thine eyes a The woods broke forth in song. a ~~ Tis long since then, and yet to n Thou seem’st as young and fair As when, beneath the shelt’ - I breathed my ardent prayer. Thy glance as then is soft and kind, Thy smiles as sweetly rise ; And now, as then, my love, I find A heaven in thine eyes. ‘ Ot the Palace; OR By LENA T. WEAVER. (“% <6 BELLE OF THE PALACE” was commenced in No. 11. Back nx.ambers can be obtained of all News Agents. ] ‘| He could not, for the life of him, have told whether he CHAPTER XXV. A BOLD STROKE FOR LIBERTY. All nigh, ong the Indians rode like furies, and Vail, securely strapped to his horse, cursed and shouted in vain. His captors seemed to take a savage joy in listening prance - to his oaths, though it is extremely doubtfulif they un- derstood his style of profanity. At daylight they halted, and making a fire, cooked some venison steak, and offered some to Vail, who sul- lenly refused to touch it. They rested two or three hours, and then took horse again, and it seemed to Vail, who was pretty well con- versant with the lay ot the land in that vicinity, that they doubled on their course, and were going back in the direction from which they had come. What object they had in thus doing, Vail gould not di- vine. but during some years’ residence am them, he had no difficulty in believing that they were working out And in spite of their numbers, and in spite of the ap- parent hopelessness of his case, he expected to be able to outwit them yet. It is surprising how much may be brought about by a stern determination not to yield to circumstances; and yf any man doubts the influence of mind over matter, let him set himself, ‘for all he is worth,” firmly against a certain thing, and the chances are that he will succeed | in conquering it. 5 So Vail set himself against fate, as he had aone ae } times before. He did not lose heart; he meant to tri- umph over his captors, and have the story to tell to his ‘The captain and th gineer evidently accepted their gang of desperadoes when he should rejoin them. ng’ ment as a tacif fact, and would edge awesy and | As time drew. on, he was tully satisfied t they were \feave fhe yoting peop alone. Mrs. Courtney did the | returning toward the Jumper tosion where. d Jake was sane, Se 7 coe locaved, Aue XN | 4 e Var tat Wy wasco ve} The On OF lover was forced’ CPoL ehpr delivered into the hands of his enemy, and that his fate | he iiked it or not: i pee , was to be decided by the man he had wronged—only he | knew how deeply. ‘ 5 The thought that Theodore Chester was to sit in judg- | ment over him filled him with fury. He would rather | be roasted alive by the Indians,.for he rememberea how much cause Chester—alias old Jake—had to hate him. As the night shadows fell the party, having reached a sheltered ravine, stopped, tethered their horses, fed them from the of grain they carried strapped to their saddles, and kindling a fire, prepared something to eat. Again they offered food to Vail, and again he refused. “Ugh!” grunted the leader; “starve to death, save ling! Indian have all the more meat!” and he pro- | eeeded to devour Vail’s portion with evident relish. A consultation was held by a half-dozen of the red- | skins, but they spoke in low voices, and Vail. could not | eatch the drift of their deliberations. That it regarded | himself he knew well enough. from the covert glances | ever and anon cast in his direction. After they had finished their talk, two of them exam- | ined the cords by which their prisoner was bound, and | evidently considering him perfectly safe for the night, | they threw a blanket over him, and all of them except | one, who was left on guard, lay down tosleep. | They bad clear consciences, if sound sleep be any in- | dication, for in twenty minutes they were all breathing | The sentinel, alert and watchful, paced slowly ) back and forth with noiseless tread. | Vail, under the shelter of the blanket, had been work- | ing on the cords which held his hands, and being some- | thing of an expert at untying knots, he found that with | a slight effort he could get his hands free; and this ac- | complished, it would be short work with the cords that | pound his ankles. But the camp-fire shed too much | light abroad to make it safe for him to disengage him- self as yet; he must wait until the brands burned lower. | Wearily the time passed on. ‘The moon, now inits last quarter, came up from out of the line of forest on the dis- tant hills, and black clouds quickly obscured its light. A storm was brewing. Lower and lower burned the fire, flaring up now in fitful gleams, and then dying away inblackness. At last the sole remaining stick fell down black lifeless, and nothing but the coals and ashes were lett. The sentinel Indian had seated himself on a hummock, and with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, was taking his vigil as comfortably as he could, evidently thinking that all was secure, and thinking it was best for him to get his “beauty sleep” while he could. Vail, with eager, burning eyes, ping from beneath a corner of his blanket, watched the scene and took note of the situation. Very cautiously he released his hands, and drawing a clasp knife from his breast, with one blow he cut the cords around his ankles. He was at liberty. TFuily realizing the risk he ran, he crept out from under the blanket, and crawling closely crouched on the ground like a snail, he worked his way noiselessly to where the Indian sat, half awake and half asleep. Swiftly and silently Vail rose behind him, and his heavy d descended on the coee word ee ia or a groan fell over in a shapeless heap, an to the ground and listened. No sound except the restless stamping of > Lape and the gut- tural breathing of the sleepers. Their last night's vigil had told on them, and they were sleeping it off with a eance. r roughly satisfied, Vail arose to his feet and making his circuit among the horses selected one which he had particularly noticed during his torced journey, and de- cided that he was a beast of great strength and endur- anee. He cast back a longing look at the sleeping savages. “The cursed redskins!” he muttered, ‘1 should like to scalp half a dozen of them to show the survivors how well 1 could do it, and as a slight token of my esteem for em; but time presses and I forbear. Now, then, m beauty,” to the horse, “we will see what we are bot made of.” The animal, a powerful black meee with a vicious eye, anda pair of ears that showed his fiery temper, reared violently as Vail mounted him, but he found that a master’s hand held his bridle, and he was constrained to come uct down to four legs again. Vail pl spurred heels into the animal’s sides, and with a mad leap they were off, followed by the plaintiff whinnying of the dozen other horses left behind. One of the Indians, more wakeful than the others, sed himself on his elbow and looked around. He saw the blanket out of which Vall had crept lying in a heap in the aaa il had been left, and taking it for anted that the prisoner was still there he dropped Back to his slumbers with a grunt of satisfaction. Meanwhile, Vail dashed on steadily toward the east— guided by the faint streak in the sky which showed where the beclouded moon lay—heeding nothing which stood in his way, intent only on placing distance between himself.and the Indians he had left behind. He knew enough of their nature to feel sure that if they pursued him and overtook him he would be shot on sight, and his ‘est chances for safety lay in getting as far away from pursuit as possible. : On and on he rode, the powerful horse he bestrode showing no signs of fatigue, through dell and dingle, over wide tracts of wind-swept country and across | $4 ‘where a man is concerned, and the finer and more patches of brushwood, always toward the east. — By and by the way seemed to grow to Vail strangely familiar, he felt sure that he had been there before. He a back his hat from his brow and peered around m. Surely he knew that ravine—wooded and somber—into which he was descending! Surely, at some time not very far remote, he had passed that lightning riven pine that stood a little apart by itself on a slight elevation, And then his horse, with a neigh of satisfaction, leape forward and struck into a path over which horses ha recently passed and logs had been dragged. Vail suppressed a cry of surprise. Yes, there could be no mistake; he was in the path leading to the Sajnts’ Rest—the lumberman’s cabin. : A nameless thrill swept through Vail at this discovery. was glad or sorry. Certainly he had not taken the route woe with this end in view, but fate had led him er. And Vail, like most other great villains, believed to a certain degree in fate. A man must believe in something, and if not in God, then he believes in fate, or chance, or whatever he pleases to call it. “Well,” said Vail to himself, as he drew the pony into a slow walk, ‘‘a few days ago I barely escaped hanging through having been caught fooling around this place ; to-night I have escaped the saints know what, and now I have been led back here agajn. And here's to taking a look at the surroundings. There is nothing like know- ing just how the land lies.’ He dismounted in a little thicket and tethered his horse. He stood a moment with his hot forehead bared to the cold winds, deliberating. What was he to gain by the risk he was taking ? What purpose would it serve him to cross the track of Theodore Chester again? The girl he had called Mary White was probably dead by this time. Dead? and how? He shuddered slightly as the thought crossed him and suggested to his mind the question. Well, it was but another crime added to the Jong score inst him—but a little more to be balanced at the final settlement—and he did not greatly believe in final settlements, either. And yet away down in his black heart there arose a something which spoke to him and told him as plain as words, that the ‘‘wages of sin is death.” i He could not have told where he had heard the ex- pression—he might have read it in some old book, he might have heard it at his mother’s knee in that fair home beyond the sea—but it came back to his memory, and he dashed it away with a smothered curse. “Bah! I am squeamish as any old woman! If it suited my purposes and interests to take this petted heiress from her home and give her a taste of a rougher kind of life untill she came to her senses, well and good. And if she declined to come with me peace- ably, I could only compel her in the best way I could. And that, too, was weil and good. So, my tair Lady Lucia, your trouble was all brought about by your own contumacy. I wash my hands of it.” He stepped cautiously along the snow-covered ground, and following the path, soon came in sight of the lum- bermen’s cabin. A faint light gleamed from the small window, making a golden gleam on the white snow. Vail paused and looked well around him. Everything was quiet. No sound broke on the still night air, save now and then the sharp cracking of the ice wrought upon by the frost, or the falling of a broken twig on the hard crust. : He stepped to the window of the cabin and looked in. For amoment he could not see clearly, the interior ae - dim,.and then he was able to discern things plainly. The doors and windows were tightly shut, for the warm weather of a few days before had given place to a hard freeze, and a great fire burned on the hearth of the cabin. The rude bed stood just where it had been when he saw it last, and stretched out upon it he saw the shape of the motionless form under the coverlet. Rosine, wrapped in a shaw], sat leaning, pale and with closed eyes, against the logs which tormed the walls of the cabin, and by her feet, with his nose against her knee, crouched the great watch-dog, too much absorbed in his mistress’ sorrow to listen for the steps outside which gave forth no echo. And Vail stood and gazed silently into the room, and through his brain there rang the question he had put so many times to himself during the last few days: “Ts she dead ?” CHAPTER XXVI. MRS. COURTNEY IS MADE HAPPY. A day of rest and treedom from excitement quite restored Mrs. Courtney's mental and physical equi-. librium, and Theresa Otis, having behaved like a hero- ine while in danger could not well do otherwise when danger was past. — : The more he saw of Theresa the more Reade Courtney | admired her, and the more he respected the taste and | judgment of his mother. He acknowledged to himself j that he ought to fallin love @ith her, and marry her, and | he wondered a little why the falling in love process did | not come about. He had saved her life, he had been in the water with her, with only a plank to cling to, and | according to all established precedents, he ought to; hasten to offer to make her Mrs. Courtney. One of the boats hag reached a neighboring island, | and a large number @f the steamer’s crew were in it. The loss of life had not ‘been so heavy as had at first ap- peared. * In a day or two a vessel bound for the coast of Florida | would touch at the island for fruit, and it was expected | that she would take those of the wrecked steamer’s | company who wished to go on board. Mrs. Courtney was the most anxious one of the com- | pany. She had had enough of sea voyages, she said, | if she could only set her foot on the solid continent of | America, she would never trust herself on salt water | again. ‘No, not even to cross the ferry !’ she emphati- | cally declared, when Reade laughingly asked her to make that exception. But what about her health ? and the cough which had demanded a sojourn in a warmer climate than Boston ? She was perfectly well, she declared. Her cough had been absorbed and spirited away, while she had floated in the Atlantic, and if it had not, she would rather die in Boston than live anywhere else. And as this is the view ot the average Bostonian, there is nothing particularly strange in Mrs. Courtney’s choice. Reade was always reacy to humor his mother’s whims, and Theresa made no objection to returning. So, when the vessel came, she bore away to the Florida coast our three voyagers, and left the others who had survived sible. There is not another girl in the world like Theresa !” j “Tf will go and smoke now,” said her son, glancing out of the window upon the distant ocean sleeping darkly beneath the murky light of the soft southern skies. ‘so Cr *Good-night, my son. I hope you will think of what I have said.” A “J will think of it,” he answered, quietly, as he stepped out on the piazza, and from thence wandered slowly down to the Shell-stfewnh shore, where the lazy waves lapped the sands as if they had all eternity to do it in, and the sleepy south Windswept up in fitful puffs, and died away in languid repose. Reade Courtney lighted a cigar, and slowly paced back and forth across the sands. The night drew on. The mists rose whitely from the, water ; the Southern Cross got higher in the heavens} .but still he kept up his ramp. eI He was thinking with desperate energy. He was thirty years of age, heir to a large fortune and an old and honorable hame. Half of his life was doubtless gone. eae He owed it to his old family—to his ancestors, if you will—to marry, and leave behind him sons and daugh- ters to keep up the ent name. His mother was right. He had idied away life longjenough. He had _ lived selfishly for himself; it was time now that he began living for others. j And what was to prevént him from pleasing his mother? For surely, it he married, he thought, he was not doing it to please himself. He had been in love—at least he had called it by that-name—many times in the course of his life, but it had in all cases scarcely sur- vived a week’s absence. : 2 His heart, if he had one—and he supposed he had, or his vital machinery would stop-—-was as yet untouched by woman. \ Then, why not marry Theresa Otis, always suppos- ing that she would accept hirn? for Reade Courtney was not vain enough to hnagine, as many young men do, that he could have any woman for the askin He glanced back at Motel. “A sin the second floor was lig fwas hey window. He had seen her leaning. his # ¢, and was she also keeping vigil? ~~ at te ; Did she, indeed, care for hin ? or had the biased judg- ment of aftond mother fancied that necessarily all-wo- men must see Reade Courtney, with his mother’s partial eyes ? ‘2 Sap Then the young man’s mind reverted to his stay in St. Paul, and the attendant qircumstances. Again he saw the glitter of the Ice Palace, again he saw the bright and varied costumes of fhe merry-makers, again he razen instruments as the bands struck up, and again he saw the lovely face and form of Lucia Ashleigh as he Rad seen it then—as he had seen it when she lay. fora moment helpless and wounded in his arms—and the old hot tide of passion swelied up in his heart full, aad strong, and masterful. A something no other woman had ever wakened in him—a something no other 4 f gle window on : woman would ever again waken. “T did not come here to do so to his feet, “I came here to Ask ; eae I came here to * my wife? ae She also started to her feet, and regarded him with a look of surprise. “Your wife, Mr. Courtney ? Laid not kiiow that you “Why, no, of course you ote he said, warmly, Le fas ng? .” he said, starting something, Miss yyou if you will had even thought of such a t) being resolved, now that he ha@ decided on his course, to be inearnest about it; ‘‘but Lhave had some chances of getting acquainted with you since Ivyhave seen you— such chances as do not often occur in ordinary inter- course. My dear girl, you know all about my follies, no doubt ; you know my latest infatuation at St. Paul, and it is my privilege to tell you that my heart is all my own again. mother loves you; you are worthy of the devotion of the best man in the world, and of all the women I have ever met, you are the only one to whom I would put this question—will you be my wife 2” , citted tint, With the fto fe sent.*- Who Is 107 clock, and that his] qaricer? She's, a stunner, anyway. | | 1 the reading line does not | | the handwriting of his friend and ked pat the wip—y Ake the hotel, and past | ~ the excitement and | | and at «ata THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. $= He took her hand and looked down upon the beauti- ful, high-bred face, and saw underneath the pure white skin the faint pmk flush which crept up to her cheek. She lifted her great dark eyes and met his earnest gaze. “Why do you ask me this question, Mr. Courtney? Is it because you—you love me ?” “It is becauseI want you for my own,” he returned, warmly, for a Man must have been indeed a man of stone to have wooed Theresa Otis and not felt thrilled at the contact ; ‘‘it is because I want a lovely woman to sit at my table, to wear the family jewels, to bear the Courtney name, and to reign in my heart. I want you, Theresa—will you come ” He bent over her and held out hisarms. She sighed a little sigh of longing yet unsatisfied. He had not said that he loved her. Then she glanced up at him, and saw his dark face glowing, his deep eyes shining down upon her, and she let him draw her to his bosom and touch his lips to hers. A moment thus, and then she disengaged herself, and stood blushing like the morning. «Shall 1 tell my mother ?” Reade asked, as with tender hands he wrapped the shawl about her, for the wind was rising black and chill. “Tf you like.” “She will be so pleased! So delighted! Theresa, it Will be almost like living over her own youth again !” And so in eloquent silence these two young people went up the path to the hotel, and met Mrs. Courtney in the deserted ladies’ parlor. The few ‘last things” which had claimed her attention had waited, evidently. She was there to receive her children. Reade led Theresa directly up to her. ‘“Mother,” he said, ‘I have broOught you a daughter. I need not ask you to love her for her own sake, for that you do already, and I know you will love her for my sake, for she has promised to be my wife !” Mrs. Courtney’s earthly ambition was satisfied. In that moment she felt as if fate had given her every- thing that she could ask. Nothing more was needed. She took Theresa in her arms and kissed her again and again. : “My little love!” she said, fondly. ‘“May God bless you both! And I do believe that I am happier than either of you!” CHAPTER XXVII. THE MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW. Mr. Ashleigh, the banker, was in an almost distracted state of mind when his son led him back to the carriage. Lucia was lost again! Oh, Heaven! were all the old grief and trouble to be lived over again ?” Judge then of his delight and surprise when he saw Lucia sitting quietly among the fur robes, awaiting evi- dently the coming of her party. *‘My dearest girl!” cried the old man, ‘you gave us such a fright! We thought you had been again ub- ducted! Where have you been? Why did you leave us ?” He had taken her hand in both his own, aiid was lean- ing over her pale with excitement. She looked up at him with a quiet smile, and not an added touch of color in her beautiful face. “Why, father, you are surely getting nervous. You should have an occasional anodyne. I stepped aside to see the slides from a different point ——” “But St. Clair saw a disreputable looking man speak Me you. A short, thickset fellow, with bushy eye- rows P “Yes, 1 believe they are all short and thickset and possessed of bushy eyebrows,” said Lucia, lightly; ‘that is the description the novelists give of them, but unfor- tunately this man was Only acommon beggar. Beggars seem to have a knack of selecting me as their lawful prey.?” : «Well, well; Iam only too glad to see that nothing has happened to you, my dear. And now shall we drive turther or go home ?” «It is cold,” said Lucia, ‘and Iam hungry. home.” So the horses’ heads were turned toward home. On the way the conversation was gay and spirited. No one gave utterance to sallies more bold and witty than John St. Clair, but he was watching Lucia Ashleigh with strange interest, and the banker, who marked his ob- servent countenance, said to himself that the young Englishman was surely smitten with his daughter’s charms. When they arrived at Ashleigh House, St. Clair pleaded an engagement and declined to come in, and Edward drove him to his hotel. He went to his room, and flinging himself into an arm- chair before the grate, he fell into a fit of hard thinking. He sat there half an hour; then rousing himself he glanced at his watch. ; “It is time for the western mail to be in,” he said to himself, ‘and surely I ought to hear from Hardy by this time. I may be crazy on this matter of Miss Lucia Ash- leigh, but 1 want to solve my doubts, if possible. She tells me, her father telis me, several of her intimate friends tell me that she has never crossed the water—and yet! Could my eyes so deceive me? Are there, could there be in the world, two women so much alike ?” A moment later and his mail was brought in. turned over the pile eagerly and pounced upon a squgre package, bearing a Texan tmark, and addresse artner, Hardy Let us go fhe wrappers- anded wsquare past MDRAR Jonn: Herewith fi / Some favorite actress, or b Hope the sigha of her will do you good. Everything all right at the Gplt Ranch. Flocks and herds pees, % Weather mijd. Take care of yourself, old man, and don’t allow the sirens of St. Paul to bewitch you. Ta—ta. ‘HArRpDy.” St. Clair removed the cover of the box and took out the cig ofa woman in an ebony frame. It represented er at half length, leaning upon a desk, and with her right hand uplifted, while her left rested upon an open book. lt was the precise attitude which would be taken of a person being sworn to give testimony in a court of ustice. : St. Clair looked at the pictured face long and critically. The woman or girl, for she could have been scarcely more than seventeen, was wondrously, magnificently beautiful ; her eyes dark, luminous, and deep as wells, looked out from the frame fearlessly and met your own. The hair rippled around a low; full brow—the features were perfect—there was a half mocking smile on the soft lips which seemed almost ready to break out with a laugh of scorn. «It is Lucia Ashleigh over again!” said St. Clair. ‘She must have looked just like this picture when she was the age here represented ; and yetitcannot be! Itisutterly and entirely impossible !” He shut the picture up in the box impatiently, and went down to dinner. There is nothing more soothing to the distracted nerves of the average man than dinner. * * é: \ 2 picture you req That night, when the family of the banker were in bed, and the house was given over to darkness, forth from a side door there issued a figure of a womazn, | wrapped in a gray cloak. She paused a moment to look around her, and then walked rapidly down the street, he corner was joined by a tall man, who strode ; by her side. oticed that a little behind them, on the op- of the street, shielded by the darkness and on sile Neit. posite s the dept: ulster anda seal-skin cap well pulled down over his face. When the couple before him quickened their pace, he quickened his; when they lagged, he laggedalso. At length they reached a vacant lot, where trees and shrubs had been allowed to grow without the care of a pruning hand, and they turned aside and stood in the shadow of a brick wall which had once formed part of a stately | edifice, several years previously destroyed by fire. The man who was following them stepped lightly upon the other side of the wall, and remained stationary. “Well, Victorine,” said the woman’s companion, ‘have you brought the money 2?” “Only a part of it. What do you think? Do you think that the old banker’s house is full of gold, which | has to be swept out daily, like the dust? You are ex- tortionate” «How much have you brought ?” “Five hundred dollars; and that is money given me for anew dress and ornaments to wear at the wedding,” returned the woman, in a hard voice. “The wedding! Ido not understand,;you. Who is to be married, pray ?” “Mr. Edward Ashleigh.” «Ah, yes, [remember to have heard a whisper of it. And this marriage—is it going to dethrone you at Ash- leigh House? Will the new mistress be a mistress in- deed, or only a lay,figure? I should suppose that this question would be one of considerable importance to you.” Satie “Naturally it would. Miss May isa very beautiful and lovable girl, so I am told.” “But you know her, surely ?” “Oh, yes, I know her.” “And hate her, of course, as in duty bound. That is right. When does the event come off ?” “The twenty-sixth.” “So soon?” Why, it is onlya matter of eight or ten days.” “Exactly.” The man laughed softly. amusing. Then he said: “Victorine, I make no suggestion. I only ask a ques- tion. Why do you allow this happy event to take place ?” She started nervously, and grasped his arm. “Stop !” she said, sternly, ‘I will not hear it!” “As you like. But you must get me the other five hundred ; and very soon ; I am going away.” “Going away !—when ?” ‘What would you say if I should tell you that I con- template crossing the water, and perhaps in the course of time calling on my Lord Geoffrey. “Jt might be dangerous. You do not know how far his pridé of family might influence him, Would it be stronger, think you, than the hatred he so justly bears you ?” “T think it would. But hark you. Victorine. There is something I will say to you, but the very air must not listen. Bend your ear——” He whispered a few sentences rapidlyin her ear, the purport of which, though he strained every nerve to the utmost, the listener did not catch. The woman drew a short, convulsive breath. “T shall never feel safe again until the sea rolls be- tween us. And even then!—who can tell ?” “Trust me, Victorine. Your interest is mine, so long as the banker can be squeezed to disgorge his green- backs. But money 1 must have.” And arr I refuse to yield to your demands ?” “T think I have answered the question before. I give His thoughts were evidently nargileh passed about amongz the ladies of tix of the shrubbery, stalked a man in along | — ——— you the same answer to-night. I should blow on you to your respected father! Father! Ha! ha!” “Do you forget that I, also, could ‘blow’ upon you? What, think you, would your life be worth if I should open my lips to tell the world the half I cowld tell 2” “Not much, if they caught me. And on that I should take my chances. I have led the officers of justice many a wild chase, and I am still at liberty. But I have no fear of your ‘opening your lips,’ as youcallit, because my ruin would involve your own. Of course, I should feel obliged to indulge in reminiscences, and they would make vastly al tela. Vit for the papers which ne Peete = report criminal intelligence. Victorine, you and I are in one boat—it is for our good to pull together.” “And you will take her away with you?” asked the ere anxiously, changing the subject. **¥es.” ‘But how is she? What are the chances ? return to life and reason ?” “You ask me too much. I will answer no more ques- tions. Suffice it that she shall not trouble you. You are playing a bold game, and I admire you for it, and I would not break it up for the world.” «Shall Isee you again ?” «Possibly. To-morrow night I shall take the 8:20 train for St. Louis. I have business to transact there. After that I will see you again. And could you not get the other five hundred in two weeks’ time? 1 say, Victorine, how would it do to contrive another burglary ?” “Hush!” she said, sharply, ‘you forget there may be listeners.” “Listeners, indeed, in this place!” said the man, scornfully. ‘By the way, is it not. about time for that youg Boston cove, who was accused of cracking Papa Ashleigh’s crib, to come back and be tried? Ha! ha! it makes me laugh when I think what a thin job that was Will she ten syllables, and women who want the suffrage, and. you did it well, my Victorine.” The listener behind the wall softly brought his hand down on his leg, slapping himself in a congratulatory sort of way, in the absence of anybody else to slap. ‘will you not give usa kiss, my girl, in memory of the old times when we were young andinnocent? Ha! ha!” She.drew back from the arm he extended, with a ges- ture of disgust. “You talk folly, Rupert! You know. that the day for that sort o#thing was over long ago.” “As you like, my dear. I will let you know when I return from St. Louis. And I will leave you here.” He drew his cloak around him, and walked rapidly away. The woman stood looking after him a moment, and listening to the sound of his receding footsteps. “Curse him !” she cried, shaking her fists atter him in impotent rage, ‘he has been the bane of my life. I could kill him with a will!” And as she hurried away from the spot, the man who had listened behind the wall rose and stretched his cramped legs, and stepping out of the shadow, he went iy - nearest lamp-post, and looked at his watch by the ght. “‘Half-past twelve,” he said to himself, ‘‘and to-morrow night he takes the 8:20 for St. Louis, does he? Well, we Shall see.” And Mr. Detective Smith made his way back to his house. : (TO BE CONTINUED.) > Oo 4 — THE TURKISH HAREM. Some interesting information concerning the harem is given by Gen. Lew Wallace, ex-Minister to Turkey, in his very entertaining lecture on ‘“‘Turkey and the Turks.” We make a few extracts: Every Turkish house is divided into two parts, the selem-lik and the harem-lik. The selem-lik is that por- tion in which the master of the house receives his friends, where he sits and smokes and transacts his business ; the harem-lik is sacred to the ladies of the household. Only the master can enter there. When a Turkish lady marries and enters a harem she says farewell to her father and all her male relatives. Her subsequent situa- tion in respect of them is much the same as that of ladies who enter some of the well known religious institutions in America. 1 get my information concerning the Turkish harems from ladies who have begged my wife to take them to see a harem. When the ladies returned from one of these expeditions they always had plenty of opinions to exchange, and they sat in my parlor to exchange them. I, being interested in the subject of harems, listened. The stories were always the same. A person who had seen one harem had seen ali, one might say. Upon entering the harem of a pasha the ladies found it to be a spacious apartment strewn with carpets and rugs which age only made more precious, Silken por- tieres served for doors; there were confections of rose leaves and sweatmeats of various kinds, and the jeweled pasia’s.. adult ce of slaves, whitte ai were there, and musicians who played wret two stringed guitars and eon mandolins. ‘The were clad in airy gewns of silk and other colored fabrics, which draped beautifully. The mistresses of all this splendor lie amid fat pillows on divans; they pose beautifully; their feét are clad in gay slippers which look remarkably small peeping out trom the wide legged trousers, which match the slippers in color. A bright sash girdles the waist and a sleeve- less jacket of blue or crimson embroidered with seed pearls, completes the dress; diamonds are in the hair and ears and at the throat, the eyelids are darkened and the finger tipsand nailsare pink with henna. The ladies seem perfectly contented, so my intormarits say. I asked, among many others, the wife of a United States Senator, to give me a sample of the conversation. She said: ‘‘Well, they asked us where we came from, and we replied that we came from America, and they asked where America was, and we replied that it was over the sea, and they asked was the sea very broad, and we said it was, and they asked if we were sick, and we said we were very sick. Then they conversed with each other -in Turkish in a very animated manner and finally asked us if we wore vails in our country. We said, Oh, yes, when the weather was bad. and they asked if we some- times went without vails on the street, and whether the men did not see our faces, and we replied that the men did see our faces, and that we didn’t pay any attention to the men at all.” The American ladies all agreed that the Turkish la- dies had the manner and intelligence of half-grown chil- dren; they looked on their hosts with contemptuous pity. I am inclined to suspect, though, that the con- temptuous pity was mutual, and that the Turkish ladies estimated their visitors at just about the same value. Ifthe Turkish women are so lacking in intelligence, it seems to me very Strange that generals and governors tremble when they know that ladies who have access to the imperial harem are intriguing against them. Itis a great mistake to imagine that ladies of the ha- rem are prisoners. They go shopping, with their own slaves, and their own carriages. Before they start, their | faces are enameled and painted by an artist; their eye- | lids are darkened and their eyebrows are penciled. The } last thing adjusted is the yashmac. or head-dress. I | Suggest that ladies who now wear the high hats about ; Which so much has been said, throw aside their Parisian |} and London finery and adopt the yashmac. it makes | the homely look beautiful, and the beautiful angelic. One corner of it is drawn aside just enough to let the | eye do its duty. The faintness with which the eye is seen adds to its loveliness. I think that Western nations have very much misun- derstood the life of Turkish women. Nowhere is the love ot the mother for her children more marked or more beautiful; nowhere is the family circle stronger than in the harem. A Turk might ask me after my wite’s health, but for me to ask after his wife would be an in- sult of the gravest kind. Western nations have imag- ined that this arose from contempt borne by Turks for their women. [am sure it is otherwise. I am sure the ‘Turk refrains trom speaking of his wife because her name is too sacred to be mentioned to any but his chil- dren. The children are masters of the harem in Turkey, as they are in the homes of America. “The wor a synonymous with our word home. > @-—< FOOD FOR INFANTS. The temperature of infants’ food should be about ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit; a trifling variation either way may dono harm. Butin this, as inall things else expected of mortals to do, there is but one way which can be sanctioned, and that is the right way. In every home where there is a baby there should be a thermometer. It is needed not only when preparing the food, but also in making ready the little one’s daily bath. Now, when theinfant’s food is to be warmed it should not be heated by diluting with hot water. The bot- tle containing the mixture, properly prepared, should be placed in a pan of hot water, or first in cold water, which can be heated on the stove, over a gas jet, or as one pleases. The food made ready, the bottle well rinsed in cold water and filled, and the nipple adjusted, the child should be taken upon the mother’s lap, and here, half reclining, be allowed to enjoy its meal. The operation will need constant watching; if the base of the bottle be held too high the milk will flow in a stream without suction. which it ought not to do, and if held too low, the neck or the bottle not being filled, the child will draw in and swallow air, a harmful practice. An infant must not be hurriedly fed; ample time should be given it, and it will be well to withdraw the nipple and allow it to rest for a moment occasionally. Returning again to the preparation of the food, mothers should feel the importance of being exact in their measurements. If milk, water, sugar, etc.. are used, then, when the proper quantities of each, suited to the child’s digestion, have all been determined, it will not do to vary them much, especially while itis very young. —————_>- © +____—__ Horsford’s Acid Phosphate For Exhaustion. Dr. A. N. Krout, Van Wert, O., says: “I found to put up on the young native of the land of words of _ udants™” light, gay signifies the sacred place, and the meaning is exact 5 it decidedly beneficial in nervous exhaustion.” | xi Bey “Well, Victorine, | must be going!” said the man, ~~ J P