That the two gentemen who had also received Indian letters were something stiff and cold to him, he could not fail to remark, and he laid it to the fact that they had re- ceived some news of Katherine Branscombe aud her an- ciipated arrival. ; “They may think what they like and do what they like when once to-morrow is over,’’ he muttered. ‘I’m not the first man who has turned from one pretty face to an otherin the world. ‘Forewarned, forearmed,’ they say. My good friend Mrs. Scorby has done me a good tnrn."* When Guiseppe went to his master’s room that night, he found him poring tently over the portrait of a lady. It was an exquisite miniature of poor Katherine Brans- combe, taken in the full fush of her happiness and beauty. There was no regret in the Jace that bent over it, nor an atom of self-reproach—only contemptuous disgust. He pushed it from him impatiently as his valet entered. “That's the woman Who will be at the bottom of any evil that may ever befall me,” he said. “I had a foolish entangiement with her before [left India, and I hear it has ripened into a grander passion with her since I came home. She is on her way; luckily, Ishall be off before she arrives.” He spoke hurriedly, as though he felt himself bound to make some explanation of the fact of possessing the mini- ature, and gazing at it at such a time. ‘*Pretty creature, isn’t she?’ he added nonchalantly. ‘Pretty! She is splendidly handsome, sir,’’ replied the valet, taking up the despised picture at which his master had been looking, mot withthe air of a man who had Known and loved the original, but with the manner of one who was studying the features with a purpose. ‘She ig? “A thousand times handsomer than Miss Hay@on—eh? Was that what you were going to say??? **[ would not be so rude, sir!” “But you think so all the same? Well, I dare say you’re right,” and he opened a locket, and glanced from the photograph it contained to the superb features of his for- saken love. Gwendoline did not make a good photograph. Her hair and complexion lost. their tints of life, and the color of her eyes died out. Ste iooked. apathetic and soulless —a poor creature beside the splendid, imteliectual-looking Katherine, “Are you wondering that a2 man can turn from this to this?’ Pulp wenton. ‘‘There’s fate in love, Santi; it’s a disease, an epidemic, and we cau’t resist it when it comes, By the way, talking of the tender passion, I have it from good authority that you and Miss Haydon’s maid, Myers, are going to make a match of it. Is it true?? Guiseppe smirked and bowed, and aduaitted that he had “proposed to Miss Myers.”? ‘“‘And been accepted?” ‘ “Subjeet to your approval, and that of her mistress, sir!? “Oh, I don't mind; only don't let your matrimonial felicity interfere with your duty, that’s all. Asto Miss Myers, if she feels herseif at liverty to become your wife, Pm sure v2 no objection. You'll pul i off tll we returz from abroad, tT suppose ?”’ “Of course, sir!’’ “Very well. Then you shail have a weciding and a suit- able festivalat the abbey. Now go, anc call me in good time. You'll have to put forth your very utmost skull to- morrow, you know, for the honor of your craft!” And with no higher thought for the morrow apparently than the all-important subject of dress, Philip Reynek dismissed his man and shu: his door—not to sicep, but to think. He made a somewhat anxious preparation for his wed ding-day; but then, to be sure, he might have need for a store of money, more than he could draw through banks and agents. He sewed into a belt which he wore under his shirt a quantity of bank notes anda few uuset dia- monds of rare purity and brilliance. Whe work was done in such & manner that the presence of anything in the belt would never be suspected, aud when he had finished tiie sky was beginning to grow gray with the first dawn of the day that was to see lim Gwendoline Haydon’s husband, Then he putied off his ciothes and got into bed, that Guiseppe might find him to allappearance asleep when he came to summon him to ils toner. “If the worst comes to tle worst, and Miss Branscombe arrives, | shan’t be hurt,’? he said. ‘The father of lies will help me to some way of getting out of it. If she should spilt on me, ’Loukl be another matter altogether. Weil, we shall see. I don’t think she will, or she wouldn’t be going to try the game sue hasin hand. I wish Santi joy of her, the she-devil 1? : Miss Myers was ihe subject of Philip Reynell’s apostro- phe, and it was evident he did not regard that young lady with much love. oy hele: At nhalf-past six Guiseppe cailed him to begin his toilet, and three hours tater he was standing in the little church at Boscobel, waiting for nis bride. The Right Rey. the Lord Bishop of Llandaif was there to perform the cere- mony-—Mr. Nottley was to give her away. No need for us to chronicle tlhe circumstances of the wedding. Does not every one iho sits down to write a uovel Hill chapter after chapter with the records of these events—and are they not ali alike, fromthe bridein her orange blossoms, to the charity children in their caps and mittens? Philip Reyneli's wedding was a regular orthodox affair. Th: oride and her attendant bevy of fair giris looked like ‘a pest of white doves in their spotless costumes, and every one wore tle ireshest of dresses and the prightest of smiles to enhance the day. Those who were interested in Philip Reynell noticed that, although there was no hitch in any way, and the ceremony proceeded entirely to the end, he keptooKing at the door as though he expected an interruption, and Gwendoline remembered afterward, when looking back on her bridal moruing, that the lips which gave her the first nuptial kiss were as cold and passionless asice, . {TO BE CONTINUED } The Banker’s Foe; onli shit OF CLAUDES INHERITANCE, By Carrie Conklin, Author of “LADY LEONORA; or, THE FATHER’S CURSE,” ("The Banker's Foe’ was commenced in No 5. Back num bers can be had from any News Agent in the United States. } CHAPTER XXXII. SETTLERS’ LIFE. The adventurous spirit of our hero found ample scope in his new way oflife. Like Paton Leitch, he was one who could not bé content to dwell in cities. Restraint and he ‘were at variance by instinct. ; : Claude, whose mood was dreamier, could sympathize with the enthusiasm with which Paton Leitch and Char- ley went to work. It did him good to see their energy, aud it did him good to share it; butof the latter he did net do much. They had purchased a vast tractof rich but barren Jand, where wood and water were most plentiful. Char- ley went.to work like areveler.- The old settler whom they had engaged as overseer said it made him feel young again tosee how Charley swung an axor rodea hiorse, There was plenty of romance in their career—enough excitement and adventure to stir the blood and give to each that noble sense of independence which all true men delight in, ’ Paton Leitch was pioneer and guide. t It ata price the seller was glad to get. But Leitch knew the value of his purchase. Barren as it was in some places, and densely timbered in others, he saw that some outlay of capital and application of labor wou make it a splendid property. The iaborers. were easily obtained. Some were poor fellows who had been duped into leaving home by the un- scrupuicus advances of emigration schemes—others were “government men,’’ otherwise convicts, whose goud con- duct had entstled them to a ticket-of leave, with liberty to obtain work in the colony under surveillance of the au Lhorities, Charley an’ Claude were rather doubtful as to the result of introducing the convict element, but Paton Leitch ar- gued the point with firmness and common sense. “The men work weil,’ he said, ‘‘Most of them were driven to crime by poverty, which poverty originated in want of employment. Remove the cause and there can be no effect. They are content to toil—glad to be honess,"? So they were. Paton had an old-fashioned, simple no- tion tbat the money spent in keeping men in prisons and penal settlements would, if judiciously applied before- hand keep them honest. Unnke the majority of theorists, he put his theory in practice. ‘Adopting that idea,’’? said Claude, “it would be possi- le to suppress vice altogether.’? “Certainly. Itis a question of population and labor. There are 80 many people who have to earn their bread from day to day—so much work to bedone. There is bread enough for all, but the method has not yet been found to dispense it in due proportion.”’ “Haye you a method?’ Charley asked. “Thave. You will smile, of course, when I suggest it,’ ‘Tet us hear it.” “Divide the population into sections—see how many there are of the working community, and what amount of work there is for them; we shall find that the supply exceeds the demand.”? “To a greatextent ?"* said Claude. “A very great extent,’? “Then what are we to do with those who form the sur- pius population ?”’ “We find work for them in prisons and work-houses— weemploy feions and paupers, With different institu- tions these felons and paupers might be honest and inde- pendent men.” “So they might,*? said Charley. “So le} us do ourshare by taking all we can of either class; the felons will be hon- est then aud the paupers Independent toilers,’? ‘Utopia,*! said Claude. *Practicable,”’ rejoined Pator Leitch; ‘‘and in our case the best thing we can do is to establish good feeling be- tween our free Jaborers and the government men. They are very likely to clash otherwise.’’ “Asa dog chained ina Kennel will howl at dogs who are at liberty,’’ suggested Claude. ‘Take the simileasa simile, not as a comparison.” “As either it is bad,’’ laughed Charley; ‘for in this case itis the free men who howlatthe chained ones. Leitch p **Well 2"? ; “Have you thought any more about Martin Link's cat- tle ?? “T thought a great deal of them first.’? “Shall we buy a drove??? “T think we had better,” said Leitch; “you and I will ride over and take old Sanders with us.’? Old Sanders was their overseer. He had been for years a resident in the colony, and for some time had prospered well asasheep-farmer and cattle-kKeeper. Lately, how- ever, a singular ran of misfortune had ruined him. Martin Link—the man of whom Leitch and Charley in- tended to purchase cattke—was a man who had prospered by just as singulararun of good fortune. He had ar- rived out a penniless emigrant, and took service with Sanders as shepherd; he rose by rapid steps to the post of overseer; but the day that saw his master’s ruin saw him With @ sheep-run and cattle of his own. “He keeps his own stock better than he kept mine,”’ Sanders said, when apprised of the expedition, ‘‘though lie seemed a good servant to me. Lots of my cCatile strayed aivay and were stolen; he never loses a single head.?? “Providence favors him,’? said Charley. Sanders shrugged his shoulders—he evidently did not shure the good opinion Martin Link had gained. “There was alivays something strange in the jad,’’ he said. “I took him when he was but a boy; he had Satan in him then. Ihave seen him scare the biggest bull we had—a thing from the mountains, wild as a buffalo. He was a likely lad to get on, but & man must be very lucky to get from shepherd to stock-keeper in eight years.” “By perseverance and energy,’’ Claude said, ‘‘a man might do more than that.”? Sanders shook his head; apparently, he had his own idea as to the cause of Martin Link’s prosperity. Claude, who was hardly equai to the fatigue of a three days’ journey on horseback, was to stay on the farm. Our hero seemed thoroughly im his element; perhaps, with the exception of a sailor’s life, nothing would have suited him so well. There was a freedom of dress weit manner far different to the rigid limits of the Old y orld. . In his picturesque riding attire Charley looke:i the beau ideal of a man, young, atiietic, lithe and daring, as his every movement testified. Come,’ he said, springing into the saddle and crack- ing his stock whip witi a sound like a rifle-shot; ‘it wiit be suuset before we reach tlhe forest, and a meeting with bushrangers in the dark wouid not be tlhe most pleasant thing imaginabie ”’ The others mounted and prepared to follow hin. said farewell to Ciaude and rode away. The distance to Martin Link’s stauon was nearly fifty miles, and part of the journey lay throug: a forest Inu of huge trees and mountain sceuery. So far, it was a pictire of rough, striking beauty; but there were. reporis current witici somewhat detracted from its charm. It. was a place of refuge for escaped convicts and law- less men who lived by cattle-stealing and other desperate deeds. Unfortunately there were many unpriucipled men ready to profit by tlie firs: crime. Unbranded cattle found Willing purclasers. As Charley had predicted, it was aimost nightfall before they reached the foresi, Sanaers was their guide. He knew every bridie-paih and catue-track in the vicinity. Tuey reached a giade.. The space around was Clear, and calm Australian eveling broke tpou them in allits beauty. The skiee were softer than the skies of Italy— the atmosphere ac fine, the moonassilvery. The heavens seemed blending with the earth, for the tops of the mighty trees stood out like Titanic shadews on the distant hor- izon,. The night birds’ hum and the leaves’ slow mur murs mingled with the soughing of the breeze, “An exile’3 home,’? said Charley, irresistibly reminded of Byron’s beautiful verse, by the calm and gentle majes- ty of the scenery. ‘It must have been some such scene as this which created that exquisite gush of poetry: ‘Ava Mariaf Blessed be the hour—* The time—the clime—tue spot where 1 so of Have feit that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er tue earth so beautiful and soft.’ We have no ‘deep beliin the distant tower,’ but every sound is like the sweet dying day hymn.”? 7 “In such a@ scene and at suchatime men think of home,” Paton said. ‘Though I have no particular home to think about. I wouder how our friends get on—the banker, Join Beyerly—a noble gentleman tliat, Charley.’ **A man,’’ Said our hero, “good and true.”? A slight exclamation caused all to turn. Just behind them a gentlemaniy, handsome fellow of about two or three and twenty. sat on a powerful horse. He carried pistols in his holsters and was accompanied by tivo mounted constables similarly armed. “Pardon me,’’ he said, courteously; ‘tbut you men- tioned aname fust now with which I am familiar Like yourselves, lam a native of the old country."? “Beverly,’? suid Charley, regarding the stranger curi- ously—‘‘that is the name I mentioned.” “John Beverly, now at the head of the firm which was Beverly & Dorling?” “The same, Did you know him?” ‘My name is George Brigden,”’ said the stranger. ‘‘Mr Dorling was my uneie. Scarcely a recommendation, you will say; but we must not speak evil of the dead.” ‘| did not Know your unele,’”? Charley said, frankly ex- tending his hand, ‘but Iam glad to meet lis nephew.”’ “Soam I,’ said Paton Leitch. ‘A voice from the old couniry is always welcome.” “Thanks, gentlemen both! I may be of service to you. lowe very much to Mr. Beverly, since it was through his kindness I obtained my present post. {f am police magistrate of the district—a large district, though not populous.”? “An appointment,’? Paton said, ‘‘which is not a sine- cure,” “By no means. Now [ amon the track of some ras- cally bushrangers. » Your station, if I mistake not, is the new one westof: the Mittagong?’ “It is.?? “Keep a sharp lookout, then. The rangers are travel- ing that way. See thai you don’t let the blacks get a footing on your station. ‘The aborigine wanderers are the most expert stock-thieves in the country, ‘The ran- gers use them forthe work. ‘The Jark-skinned wretches have one valuable scampish virtue.” “What is it?’ “They never betray the white man or each otier. They are clever, too—watch all the new herds before branding days, aud if they only get the ghost of a chance, iv’s ten to one the herd will couut iess.”? “The bushrangers, being convicts, are more dangerous, I suppose?” ‘They are not all convicts,’? said George Brigden, in answer to Chariey’s supposition—“runawuay sailors, and the riff-rafY emigrants, humber as mang as the convicts. From what I cau hear, the perpetrators of the last aifuir are not escaped prisoners.” “Whatis the last affair?’? “It happened on the run of the Spaniards’ station. One of the keepers was shot, and nine unbranded oxen were driven away. Ils is thethird visit they liave made to Don Sebastian.” ‘Don Sebastian—a Spaniard??? exclaimed Chariey. “Don Sebastian Romana. His daughter is the most beautiful woman in the colony.”? ‘*Marianne ??? “That is hername. You seem to know them.’’ “They are friends—dear friends,’? “A day’s. ride will @uable you to renew the acquaint: ance. ‘Thei: station is next to Martin Link’s,’’ “And itis tohim weare going, Here will 0¢ news jor Ciaude!”’ “What a pily he did not come with. us!’’ Paton said. ‘Don’t you think we ought to go back for him?” “TI cau send one of my men,?’’ said Brigden, “We shal! be much obliged. Your taau can act as guide, too.” “What name shali le ask for? “Hargrave.”? Brigden bounded in the saddle, “Hargrave?’’ he iterated. ‘Surely no relation to the gentleman who was lost in the indian Queen?’ “His son.”’ “Great heavens!” “Why this emotion ?!/ ‘The hand of Providence is manifest in this!” said Brig- den, with deep feeling. “I may speak in confidence. We are friends.”? “All! Let us ride on. You have made me curious.’’ Brigden dispatched one of the constables for Ciaude. Sanders rode with the other, and the young magistrate put his horse between our hero and Paton Leitch. “You may remember the catastrophe on. the railway,” Brigden said, ‘when Mr. Beverly’s special train ran into the express, and caused my uucle’s death 7’? ‘T remember it well.’’ ‘Mr. Beverly, as you are probably aware, was pursuing his partner.’? “So I understood.” Our hero was growing interested. ‘Do you know why ?’? “No,” “Is it a secret—one it need not be between us—that the business was shaky at the time?” “It is n0 secret Irom me.’? “Well, then, Mr. Beverly, had some papers—a deed of trust referring to the Hargrave property—sonie papers, also, concerning & boy who was left in charge of a Doctor Radclitfe—Mr. Hargraye’s son, in fact—the genUeman who isout here with you.” ' ‘You seem well acquainted with the matter.” «“Thorougily.”? “Haying hieard the details from your uncle, I suppose??? ‘That you must uotask me. How I became possessed of the intelligence involves another’s secret. This I may say—these papers, the letters, and the deed, which are absolutely indispensable to the proving of the identity of Mr. Hargrave, and his right to the property, were taken by Mr. Dorling without his partner’s sanction. They were destroyed when Mr. Dorling died.” “That would not affect Claude’s right.” “I rather think it would, and to a considerable extent. The papers and the deed I know are indispensable, tor the case is so complicated that there would be some difficulty in proving your friend’s right and name. In the event of this not being proved by the time the son should be of They age, the property goes to the next-ol-Kin,” “Mr. Basil Hargrave,’ said Paton Leitch, “Doctor Rad- cliffe’s ward.’! “We are both well informed,” said Brigden, with a smile; ‘and where the doctor is concerned, we have need tobe. You see lamranging myself asa partisan on your side—you will find me an effective one,” “If you are not misinformed or mistaken,’? said Char. ley, “the case wears a serious aspect. These documents being destroyed, it seems inevitabie that wrong must triumph.’? “That does not follow,’ said the magistrate, with an inexplicable smile. “Wait tili the day of battle comes; be sare then,”? he added earnestly, ‘‘to let me Know.” “T will, if living.? ““Right—for the life of to-day may be death to-morrow. If 1am living, send tome. Shouid there not be time, ask Mr. Lawrence Dyhurst, of the Middie Tempie, for a sealed packet intrusted to his care by Matthew Bridgen.”? “What is this packet?’ “Tcannot tell you. When you wantit, if neither my father nor myself are at home to givcit you, ask it of Mr. Dyhurst.”? “He is Mr. Beverly’s solicitor.’ “That is why the packet was given to his care.” “There is a singularity in our meeting,’ said Charley; reflectively, ‘‘and you certainly bear welcome news. If I may guess at the nature of the packet, it is one whica will set aside the evil the loss of the documents might effect.’ “Guessing is unfair,*’ said Brigden. “‘Ungenerous,’’ added Paton. ‘Still, [think Mr. War- ren’s guess Was near.’’ Bridgen did not deny it; his quiet smile was rather an assent. “How strange, too, that Don Sebastian .and his family should have been in the colony without our knowledge!’ Charley said. “Not at all. You arecomparatively new, and your time has been spent in hut-building and agricultural work, [ presume.” “It has.*? “By-the-way, you have as fine asheep-ran and cattle paslurage as any in Australia. Your Government men are not the best you might have got.’? “We find them tractable enough,’ said Leitch. “You will for a time. but there is sure to be one discon- tented spirit among them, and discontentis a quick and sure contagion.. Never let the least sign of mutiny pass unnoticed. Be prompt—kind, butstrict, Have you nota half-caste 7? “Louis Ballard—one of the best we haye.”? ‘He was, Martin Link’s overseer; his history is pecu- liar. ‘Let us hear it.*? “Heisarunaway slave. Heescaped to a United States trading vessel, and passed himself vif as a Mexican gen- tleman of fortune. Previous to escaping, he headed a slave insurrection, burned lis muster’s house, and left him a beggar.” ‘*A nice man that to have about the premises!’ said Paton, with a short laugh. “Wait,’? said Brigden, quietly—‘‘he did something more than that.’? “Burned his master too??? suggested Charley. “Killed him,’ said Brigden. ‘‘His master came out here, obtained a free grant of land, and was going on very well until he met Ballard, They quarrelled. It appears that each was armed with that favorite weapon—the bowie. Ballard’s master was found dead on the threshold of his door. Ballard was arrested. He said simply that they had a fight, and his former master had the misfor- tune to get the worst of it. He was convicted of homi- cide—had a light sentence—is free now, and, I think, on the lookout for mischief.” “Why should you think that?” “It comes natural to the man. There is plenty of good stuff in him, but he will nevertame down. His color isa tender point with him, and he will draw his knife if in- sulted, “We must cure him of that,’? Paton said—‘the knife is abad argument. Why did he leave Martin Link?” “They quarrelled—came to blows, I believe. In the bush, men are not’ scrupulous about those little social amenities common to civilised Europe—a man, whether master or help, is a man.” “Tike our helpmate,’’? said Charley—‘‘he is an intelli- gent, quiet fellow.’ “Keep him down,’ said Brigden—‘‘he will work well then. IwishIcouid get scent of the rascals who stole Don Sebastian’s cattle. ‘he son——’’ ‘‘Rafaelle 2??? “7 think thatis hismame. He is out with a party, and there would be desperate work if he met the thieves, What with this, my general duties, and having to look for the last escape, I have enough business on hand,’? ‘Has there been an escape lately?’ asked Charley. ‘A very clever one—a London adventurer. He was just on the point of having a ticket granted him.” “A desperate man, is he??? ‘‘T do not think he would stick af trifles. Heis a tho- roughbred scoundrel—energetic, daring, and first-rate at disguise. Most likely he will seek the town. | Itis hardly probable he will take to the bush. You haye heard of the man, perhaps. He was sent out before you emigrated.”’ ‘His name??? “Richard Lee.’? CHAPTER XXXLY,_ WILLIQQSLEY. The adventurer’s name came to our hero like the thought of an unknown danger. Fear to Charley was a word without a meaning, vet he felt the escape of Richard Lee foreboded no good to himself or to Claude. “Now, that’s very strange,’ said Paton Leitch, ‘that the rascal should get loose in our neighborhood! 1 shouldn’t wonder if he were to try and do us an evil turn.’? “You know him too ?’? said George Bridgen. “Exceedingly well!’ said Paton, twirling the slender strip of hide which formed the thong of lis long stock- whip with a click that startled his horses. ‘We have met several times—as a rule, to my disadvantage, but on the last occasion he made the acquaintance of my black- thorn.”? “We brought his wife out,’’ Charley said—‘‘she obtained a situation with a family near Port Philip.” ‘Perhaps the fellow would be grateful for that,’ Brigden said; “butthese clever scoundrels are the worst Of all. Give me your rough,.stolid piece of stupidity as a convict —the man whom want has driven to crime—not the man who has made crime a trade.” “Are you not veryyoung to hold so responsible a posi- tion?” said Paton. “I should have thought the post re- quired a colonist and a man of middle age.?? “No,” said the young magistrate, smiling at Paton’s bluntness—‘‘the post requires a man of energy and ed1- cation. Most of our educated colonists are men of money when at middle age, and would not faney the hard work I have.?? ; “Tt is hard work, certainly.’ “My time is never my own. Isometimes spend three or four days in thé saddie—hard ridnig, and occasionally hard fighting. Of course my position is one of trust, but Lcame out with first-rate references. It happened also that I had made convict life my study, and this was soon discovered when I entered the colonial police. A lucky chance or so gave me an opportunity of displaying what ability Lhad. My education is tolerable; that is to say, I could pass an ordinary Civil Service examination with a day’s preparatiou. Ihave the most. unrefined rudeness ofstrength, So altogether, and perhaps in default of a reat J was chosen as fittest person tur the place I now told.?? ‘Life in the bush affords other advantages beside that of adventure,” said Charley. ‘While each man’s hand must win him bread, he has no time todo evil or silly Speaking with his tongue.’? “He should not doitif he had,*’ Brigden said. *‘Cal- umny has driven many 9 poor fellow todespair. I know of one whom it nearly kéfled.’’ He said this so sadly that his hearers were sure he meant more than he said. ‘Why did he not prove his innocence?” asked Charley. “Te could not.” “That was strange.’? ‘Many things more strange have been true. bore the stigma of another's crime.’? “And Knew the other's guilt ¢”? “¥es." “Then he must have connived at it.”? “Just what the world would have said had the poor fel- iow attempted his own vindication!’ said the young magistrate, bitterly, for he was speaking of his father, “So he preferred to bear the stigma—live it down.” “We might as well hauye gone back for Claude,” said Paton, aiter a pause. “Notso. Our horses would hardly stand the fatigue. And you muss break the journey,’’ said Brigden. ‘My man will bring Mr. Hargrave on to Willis’s Inn.) That is some distance yet.”? , “Tins Martiu Link,’ exclaimed our hero, suddenly, ‘‘is a visitor at Dou Sebastian’s 7" “Yes. There is a rumor afloat that he is engaged to the daughter—Miss, or Donoa Marianne.” “Then Claude has a rival,” reflected Charley. “From the tone of your remarks concerning Link,”’ he said aloud, ‘ynay I infer that you suspect him ?? “You may indeed.’? The admission was'drawn from him yoluntarily. ' Ie eyidently regretted having made if, “Do not be afraid,’’ laughed Charley. ‘T only wanted to know. Iam curious for-my friend’s sake. [t is probable this Martin Link is his rival.” Just then they drew within sight of the inn. é {t was a rough but substantial wooden structure, form- ed of split timber bolted together with iron bands... The roof was covered with well-Seasoned bark, and the inn§ itself was built‘ with arude attempt at Gothic arehitec- ture. ‘Picturesque,’’ said Charley. “Like its vagabond Aabitues,”’ rejoined Brigden. ‘The place is one of the necessary evils of the bush, It is a re- fuge for the idle and the dissolute—a den of low gamblers. It would be worse were the authorities not so strict.” “Here we are at the door,’ added Brigden, throwing his reins to the constable. ‘The house seems full, but they will find room for us.’? He siniled, as he entered, to see how the rough gather- ing of customers made way,for him, while some shrank altogether out of sight. | He was recognized by one or two, and the whisper went round: ‘Tne new superintendent.’’ The landlord of the inn, Dick Willis, was worth study- ing; certainly he was the rigut man in the right place there. Herculean in hight and build, and with a face evincing inflexible determination, though not destitute of a lurk- ing humor, which broke out now and then, he was one who could enforce order where 2 man more surly and less courageous would have failed. Lis jests were, a8 a rule, This man jronical and grim, but he never carried them too far. ; There Was an uproar going Jorward just as our hero and aE his party rode up, butit was subdued at the sight of George Brigden and the constable. The young magistrate had gained a character for promptitude which saved him much trouble. He was not severe, but he hadasrern sense of duty, and he acted up to it. When, with his new friends, he entered the inn, and Was with much respect conducted by Willis to a compart- ment set aside for private customers, he saw a man—a peddler, evidently, for he carried a box of various articles for sale—attentively perusing a placard on the wall. lt was a biil offering a reward for the apprehension of a convict named Richard Lee, supposed to have taken to the bush. “The description is rather vague,’ said Brigden, read- ing over the peddier’s shoulder, ‘and very general—you might arrest a hundred men by that.’ “[ think Ihave seen him,” said the peddler. ‘Iam very much mistaken if he did not buy a revolver of me.”’ “When ?? “The day before yesterday.” “Where ??? “By Harpy Creek. We said he was bound for Port Phil- ip.’? The peddler turned and encountered Paton’s gaze. Leitch had watched him intently. So had Charley. j om a we have met before,’ said Paton, going closer 0 him. The hawker’s keen and not unhandsome face wavered no muscle before Paton’s steadfast look as he said quietly: “Very likely.” {TO BE CONTINUED.) Wildcat Ned. CHAPTER XVII.—(Continted.) There stood their comrade, Wildcat Ned, bound to a tree, ahuge pile of combustibles around him, through which the flames were slowly rising, but every moment gaining fresh fury. Already the curling smoke rose up, half concealing his form. Upon the ground, revealed by the uncertain light of the fire, lay two or three Indians, while dancing around him, in fiendish glee, were seven or eight others. All of this the trappers took in at a glance, and then they crept up, whispering as they went. . wie say, Tom, shall we try em?” Zeb demanded, speaking rs! “There are about four to one,’ returned the younger, “but when | leave a comrade in any such place as that for a few red- skins, my name isn’t Tom Travers. So pick your mau and go in.” “Not yet,” returned Zeb. “‘Wildcat Ned will roast if we leave him there while we fight it out. You'go in, kick the fire all over the redskius if you can, and then pay on. Don’t-you see?- Pil be dewin’ somethin’ meanwhile.” Tom did see, perfectly, and without the exercise of any great amount of caution, the two trappers scrambled tothe spot. ‘Their movements were quite unnoticed by the Indians till Zeb’s rifle rang Out its = at a yard’s distance, sending two of their num- ber to the earth. At the same moment their fire was scattered over and among them, while a fleree yell, such as only trapper Jungs could give, rent the night air. _ The savages scarcely stopped to fight. Their bloodthirsty hilar- ity was changed into guilty fear, and they scattered in all direc- tions; pursued by the fierce Zeb. Tom stopped to cut Wildcat Ned loose, and then he joined. But there were none to pursue, and very soon he returned, with the delighted Hammond. “You are just in time again, Tom and Zeb,” remarked Wildcat Ned, with a glance at the scattered taggots, which were still blazing here and there. “I wasin a tight place, and no mistake. Thad given up entirely. But we never can tell at what desperate point help may come. My legs were getting 2 trifle too warm, when the first I knew somebody was kicking vhe fireaway. But don’t Jet us lose any time. Susan is a little waysup the hill, aud she'll be frightened to death on my account.” “Susan here!” remarked the others in a breath, ulng: “Tuen we must find her before one of these runaways come upon her.” ‘ The trio hastened away up the hill in the direction Wildcat Ned had advised the maiden to take, separating somewhat, that they might not pass her unobserved. But far up the hill they climbed, surprised at finding no traces of the giri they sought. On the summit of a small eminence the three men paused to consult and wonder. ‘Dm sure no redskins came this way,’ Zeb remarked. ‘‘They all went off toward the mission. What in fury kin haye befallen the gal beats me, Ye Know she come this way ?? “Tudo not know,’ Wildcat Ned replied, “but I told her tofly, and then turned upon the Indians. I saw no more of her, and sup- posed she did as I told her.’ “You supposed that! Wal, yer karkilations don’t amount to a thing, then. I know enough of women to know that she hung nght around thar, clus by, to see how you come out. And them red scamps got her, and took her off. That’s the whole of it, I'l bet my skelp.?’ “It may be you are right, but I can’t think it,’”’ said Wildcat Ned. “Pil call to her, not very loud, and if there’s no answer we'll go back, or wherever you choose,’”” “You don’t mean, Wildcat Ned, that yer goin’ back arter more— that ye aint satistied yet ?” “Not while [can be of any service to others, Zeb. Susan has shown herself a true, noble woman, and if there’s any possibility of saving her from that Jo Jack [am bound to do it,’ “Jo Jack; is he after her??? Tom demanded. “Yes, it is because he wants her for his own that her life’ has been spared solong. Yow have a settlement to make with that traitor, Tomi? Zeb contin- “Yes, poor fellow, I hate totell you, but it mustcome. Your brother, Steve——” A fearful rigidity overspread the features of the young trapper, and with teeth ctosel y sunt, he demanded: “Ts he killed ?”? “He escaped at Cayuse Mission,” continued Wildcat Ned, with averted face, ‘‘came up to Sampson, and brought news of the massacre. Jo Jack came in to spy out the place, aud Steve tried to arrest him. ‘The fellow had a Hostal and-shot your brother and Mr. Sampson. Steve died, but ; Sampson was living the last Susan knew.’’ s “Oh, the wretch!’ exclaimed Tom, as he clutched his weapons, after wiping away a tear for the memory of his fallen brother. “It don’t seem but a day or twoago that I left him, so well and happy. He was very much alarmed for me, because { was in such a hard, dangerous business. Now he is dead, and murdered by such a miserable curse asthat! Poorman! But if I ever cross the path of that half-breed again, mark my words, men,JZ will have my revenge! ‘he murderer of my poor brother shall not live to gloat over the deed he has done!” “That’s right, my boy,” said Zeb, heartily. ‘And if I meet him first, ’ ll help ye. The mean, cowardly sneak has done enough mischief on this airth, and the sooner he’s put off it the better. What do you say, Wildcat Ned?” “You needn’t ask me, boys. If I meet him, face to face, I have good reason to suppose that’ he won't live to meet either ot you io J think l’ve good cause, on my own accvunt, to put him aside, “Wal, boys!” exclaimed'Zeb, in his most impressive manner, pointing toward the burning settlement, ‘somewhar around that are sorrerful scene Jo Jack is holdin’ forth, Lam goin’ that way, for I think all we air lookin’ fer hes not fur from thar, And I shan’t come ajay till swthin has beendone, Nowwhat do you say, my lads?” Both expressed their willingness to accompany him, Wildcat Ned only stopping to call the mame of “Susan,”? Of course No response came, and with many fears pressing upon his heart the young man joined his companions in their movements down toward the spot where he had béen so nearly otfered ap.’ The place was silent, and the unarmed Wildcat Ned had no‘diificalty in finding a tolerable rifle with a quantity ot ammunition, which he appropriated, re-primed, and put in readiness for immediate service. ‘his done the trio moved down toward the burning settlement, CHAPTER, XVIII, ALFRED AGAIN, When our boy-hero, Alfred, checked his flight and found that he was no longer pursued, he also discovered that his course had taken him back toward the settlement, from which he was now separated only by a thin belt of woods and a field. Here he re- mained for some time debating in his own mind whether to creep back toward his father’s house and try to learn the fate of his parents or seek again to find Wildcat Ned and. Susan. That they were safe he had no doubt, for surely the skillof Wildcat Ned could not fail, even in such a time as this. Possibly his pa- rents had been spared, and he could communicate to them the glad tidimgs of Susan’s satety. ? On second thought he climbed a tree to secure a better view of the village. { ’ All desire to return left him ashe took in the scene. Nearly every house in the place was on fire, all opposition to the In- dians had ceased, and they prowled about among the burning buidings, venting their savage tury upon the disfigared bodies of the slain, : Sick at heart, and with an irrepressible longing for vengeance upon these heartless murderers, he slid down irom the tree, and after calculating as nearly as possible the course Wildcat Ned aud’ Susan would take, he set forth. ; Securing a good ‘stout club, with which he fancied a valiant fight might be mude'in case of need, he trudged along as fust as the necessary ‘caution would allow. But plans for the future woud intrude upon his mind. His cogitations all had a looking forward to revenge embodied in them, “Susan Will marry Wildcat Ned, of course,’? the little fellow soluloguised, ‘I shall have to live with’em, tor I ain’t any home, and Susan always wanted iné around her, I can go out with Wuidéat Ned and. tearm all his skull, so that maybe I shall be as much ofa hunter some day ashe. .Then—I don’t know how it will work. It won't be just the thing togoright om and kill these Indians, for know nothing abvut who are to blame or who are not. But maybe there'll be an Indian war. It there is Wildcat Ned’ll sure be a captain or some officer, and PU go with him and-——” 1 The boy’s dreams might haye run on for a long time, but he was startled at hearing rapid footsteps, and he had secarcel sought out asnug retreat betore an Indian rushed by at a little distance toward the settlements. He had scarcely passed when another followed, stil further away, and it seemed to the boy that the forest was alive with distant rootfalls. “A new batch, most. likely,” he mused. “But it seems still again. A guess Pll go on,” He emerged from the covert and resumed his way, glancing back at the burning settlement to make sure that he was right. He had gone but a short distance when other footsteps sound- ed; this time fullin advance of him and coming that way. They were not iike the others, rapid and hasty, but quite slow and deliberate. The boy was at 4 loss to understand their na- “Maybe some ‘poor fellow got wounded,” he muttered. ‘I pity hifa, even if itis an Indian. I woulduy’t want them to sutter if they were never so tvicked. But I'll see who and what.’ lie found a place of shvlter beside a rock which was fortunate- ly near, whence the comer must pass within a fuw feet. Inatew.momentsthe figure appeared. If an Iudian it was not dressed’ in savage costume, and seemed to be carrying a second person. Furtier than this Alfred could not make out, owing to the distance. But his curiosity was aroused. : , When the stranger had passed the buy arose and glided after him. An incautious tread revealed his presénce, and the, person whom he followed turned hishead, Even in the darkness Alfred knew that man—it was Jo Jack, The recognition was simultaneous'y mutual, and the half-bred threw his burden to the ground that he might be tree ‘to dispatch the unwelcome intruder, But the boy was as tully alive to the exigencies of the hour as tho other. . Alfred had no weapon but his club; that was in his hand and ready for immediate use. He swung it alott and aimed a furious blow at the half-breed, but the latter avoided it. A thrust whieh the boy gave with the skill of an experienced swordsman struck the wilted fullin the face. Before he could recover from the confusion and, blinding, pain which it occasioned, Alfred had re- peated his blow, this time with first-class results, His antagonist tumbled sprawling upon the ground, and Alfred followed up his work with another gentle persuader upon the fallen man’s knowledge-box. “There, be’ll lie quiet a moment,” the boy remarked. to see who or what he was carrying so gently.” ‘he boy took but one step, for he recognized the garments and the form, eyen before he saw the features, as belonging to his be- loved sister.Susan. “Why, my! If this ain’t Sue!” heexclaimed. ‘I wonder what in the world can have happened to Wildcat Ned. Course he’s killed, or she never would have been here. I wonderif she is dead! Why don’t you speak to me, Susan ?”” E But there was no answer. he hand which he had raised lay limp and lifeless in his own, and the mute lips gaye back no word of recognition, Y “Susan, Susan!” he cried, in an agony of fear, dropping beside the silent form. ‘Hear me—speak to nie-tell me are you alive ? It is me, your brother, Alfred.” “Now There was an uneasy movement, a sad groan. ‘Oh, yes, she lives!” was his glad exclamation. “Now I must look out, for nobody knows how many redssins there may be hanging around. 1f I could only get her away a little some- where. He did not realize that in that general danger one place was quite as safe as another. By exerting his str th to the utmost he was able to drag her away a few yards, and as he knew noth- ing of the means which could be employed to hasten a return of consciousness, he left her, placed in as easy a position as he could manage, while he hastened back to look after Jo Jack. That individual was beginning to recover somewhat from the bruising Alfred had given him, and while the boy balanced his club once more, he refrained irom striking. He could not bear to murder the man, brutal as he knew him to be, who lay there helpless at his teet. His purposes of revenge had a practical test now; the moment had come when they could be put in execution, but the heart of the boy shrank frum the deed of blood. “If I could only tie him, so he ceuldn’t get away and do her any more mischief,” the boy thought. Acting upon this idea he searched the person of the half-bred, hoping to find a cord of some kind, but the search was vain. Not even a string could he discover. There was no alternative. He raised the club again, and shat his eyes as it descended upon the traitor’s head. Then making sure that the desired result had been attained, and that Jo Jack would remain quiet for some time, if not permanently, he hasten- ed again to the side of his sister. Susan was regaining her senses, and when Alfred beat over her she put forth her hand and touched him, “Alfred, brother, is that you ??? she asked. “Yes, Susie, itis me. How did you know that ?? “T heard your yoice.” “But I didn’t speak.” “Didn't speak ? You must, for I heard you. But maybe I was dre*ming all the while. Tell me, Alfred, where am I, and what has appened ?? “Y_- are in the woods, and I have just taken you away from Jo ack. “The. ‘tisall real! Ihad hoped I could wake and find that Scene Oo: sorror alla dream. But I see we are all alone. You A.tred, all alone in the wide world!” Fe ry, Susie,” pleaded the boy, his eyes filled with tears. We can take care of ourselves afterall. If you can waik a little ways we'll try to hide somewhere till you get strong enough to go—I don’t know where, but somewhere else.” Poor Susan bowed her head upon her hands, and gave way to a burst of tears; which the alarmed Alfred sought in vain to check. Hedid not know thatit would be better thus for her. that the misery she felt should thus find expression, and relieve her half-crazed brain. Alfred wished to ask regarding the fate of Wildcat Ned, but he prudently refrained. He knew that Susan believed him dead, or lost to her, and he supposed such must be the case. He had no idea that when Zeb and Tom madetheir assault upon the savages, Jack had clasped Susan in his arms and fled, breathing into her ears the base falsehood that the Indians had shot her eevers and that henceforth she could live for him, and him n one. With these sad words, which she believed, for she well knew they might be true, the maiden had lost. her consciousness, not one it untilshe recovered her senses under the care of red. When her tears had ceased somewhat, she rose, weak and trembling, placed her arm about the brave lad, and without a word they moved away from the spot, Alfred taking a lcok to assure himself that Jo Jack was not watching them. A load of misery weighed upon Susan’s heart, and gave an additional weariness to her steps. How lonely and endless the great forest seemed to her now. Where should she direct her steps? Why should she seek to prolong her life when all the future could hold no happiness for her? Better that she were - ane than seeking longer to maintain such an unequal stragzle. Alired did not speak, save ashe gave an occasional word of warning tothe weary sister, who strove mechanicaily to heed them. A new dignity had come over the boy’s movements. If he were indeed the sole guardian of his loved charge, it be- hooved him to assume the trustin earnest. No idle words were allowed to drop from his tongue, his senses were all kept on the alert, and his movements were made as carefully as it was possible for any bey in his position to move. For some time they had been traveling in this manuer, though the distance made was necessarily short. Susan was weak and trembling from the varied scenes of hope and despair through which she had passed. Sometimes she paused to ro- gain her composure and strength, but when Alfred took her hand she was ready to be led forward again. Suddenly the boy stopped and bent his head to listen. “Susan,’* he said, bringing his lips close to her ear, “some one is coming. I heard their voices, and I can hear the sound of feet. Here isa fallen tree. You crouch down beside that, and Dll see what they are.’’ Offering no resistance or remonstrance, the maiden sank upon the ground as directed, while Alfred moved cautiously in the direction of the sounds he had heard. Buthe did not know with whom he had to deal. Before he was aware that any one was near him, he eaped by the jacket, while a sharp voice demanded: , “Hello, here! who are ye?”’ Alfred had seen Zeb Hammond, but he did not recognize him at that moment. He only saw that he was deaiting with a white man, and this fact in itself gave him an ardent hope. “Iam Alfred Sampson,” he replied, promptly. “Now. who are you?” : But he received no answer. Tom and Wildcat Ned heard the name which he gave, and in a moment both of them were be- side him. The latter Alfred recognized at once, and with a glad cry he sprang to his side. Disregarding the questions that were asked, he took Wildcat Ned’s hand and led. him tothe spot where Susan was iiding, fullof mingled hopes and fears. The boy called her name as ue advanced, and she rose to her feet to meet him, “Susie, here is Wildcat Ned,” Alfred began to say. but she recognized the comer before the worus had left the »oy’s mouth. With one glad cry of joy shes arms, and then her emo lost all consciousness the heart that beat “Ts this Susan ?” Tom “Yes, it is Susan,” w thought he was dead, and I tell ys living, herself.” “He would have been dead about right,’’ returned Tom. “i no I don't suppose we’ll have any more of thejob.” “Yam sure you will not ask me replied, as he passed.his finger my only object, and I do not ne _ “There, there,’? muttered Zeb, “don’t make any more apolo- gies. If ye’d leave the gal now, arter all that’s taken place to- night, I wouldn’t hey ye with me on’any account. Git her away if ye kit and if we make out anything we will meet at the old spot. “See here, boy,”? Tom demanded of Alfred, ‘how come your sister here ?” “Jo Jack brought her.” “Jo Jack! Where ishe? What became of him ?” 2) TEL pounded hin over the head with my club, and left’ him ty- ing pack here a ways,”. Alfrea answered, with quite sxcussnio pride. “Are you sure he’s done for ?”” “No, sir, I don’t think Ire is. I didn’t mean to kill him, only to keep him quiet till 1 could get Susan away.” “You didn’t kill him? Then take me there, guick/ I want to get hold of the confounded villain before he gets off.” Arthur was ready tolead the way, and Zeb would not be left behind, So with a word of parting to Wildcat Ned they set out on the route which Alfred indicated, The distance was comparatively short, and under the urging of Tom, who was all athircst for revenge, Alfred was not ‘ong in finding the place. But, .1t was vacant now, He looked on all sides, but the half-breed was gone. “Here’s where I pelted him,” the, boy remarked, putting his foot upon the spot. “*‘But he has gone off.” ‘Yes, so we see. Well, Alfred, if that 1s your name, you can go back to Wildcat Ned. We are going down to the mission, and it’s more than likely you will hear trom us agin, it we dou’t git into it too thick.” . The boy accordingly turned back, while the twe men pressed forward upon their mission, [T0 BE CONTINUED.] ne memnen ne ’ . MRS. PARTINGTON'S SAYINGS “A good cup of Oblong tea will not hurt anybody,’ said Mrs. Partington as she presided over the mahogany, with a pleasant smile upon her face and the tea. urn by her side, “| know some say it is dilatorious to the neryous cistern, and subscribe cold water; but I need the flagrant herb, and two Cups just equalizes my temperature. Some say, too, that if shortens life, and where the Widow Shoot died, at one hundred and ten, it was remarked thatif she hadn’t drank tea she would have lived to be an old woman. I’m sure she survived her factories wonderfully, and the tea I know dia it.”? “But we are exposed to the pekoedilloes of the Chinese,’ said Dr. Spooner, ‘‘and do not often get our tea pure,”? “Well, l always hope for the best,’ replied Mrs. P., sip- ping her cup, without remarking the doctor’s pun. ‘‘Some- limes itis not so good as others, and then again il is, but the price is very equable, and I haye to give just as much for half adoliar’s worth as I did before the duties were taken off, which was made sich a fuss about in the pa- pers. I hope your wea suits you,” “Tallo!? said Ike, starting up and banging his chair up- on the floor, at the same time pulling the doctor’s cup from the table into his lap, The boy darted through tne back door, while the guest danced around with pain. Mrs, Partington was confused. ‘It suits me well, madame,’ said the doctor. a trifle too hot, though,” again seating himsei!. Ike returned and explained his conduct. He had seen, through the window, a big dog after his cat, and ne nad rushed to the rescue. wa Ot has The Hickory County Mirror, published at Wheat- land, Mo., has the following first-rate notice of the New YORK WEEKLY: This invaluable chief of the literary weeklies, puts ina regular appearance at our office. It has become a real household necessity, When the other literary papers fail to come to hand on time, we can manage to get along without them, but when the dear old NEW YORK WEEKLY fails we are completely lost, and at once dispatch the stamps to New York for the missing numbers. Its stories are superior in intrinsic value to any appearing in any other literary publication, and to lose a single number is indeed a loss. When we begin to read a story in the NEW YORK WEEKLY we Cannot be induced to quit until we have reached the end. Street & Smith have ihe advan- tage of other literary paper publishers, for there is con- stantly from seven to nine first-class serials running through its columns, and when the subscription ‘expires you are just in the midst of a great story, and you cannot do without the balance, so yeu must subscribe again, and by the time you have taken it two years you cannot get along without it, and become a life-time subscriber. The circulation has now reached over 300,000 copies weekly, and is rapidly rising. Old subscribers seldoin quit, and new ones are being constantly added, as fast as the fame of the paper spreads and becomes known. We say suc- cess and jong life to the NEW YORK WEEKLY and its pub- lishers. ‘Those desiring the best literary paper in the United States willsubscribe at once for the New YORE WEEKLY. Was : forward, sinking into his ‘toe much for her , She ke a lifeless torm against near. v's happy answer. ‘She she didn’t care much ‘or hing hadn't happened that he h ound her Our art of. very ow his help op “Perhaps —~———— @4- Resignation of Rev. Dr. W. 8. Mikels. The pastorate of the Sixteenth Baptist Church, of New York, for the past sixteen years filled by the able and popular Rey. Dr. W. 8. Mickels, will soon be vacani, as the doctor has, on account of ill-health, sent in his resig- nation, which his church has very reluctantly accepted. The resignation will take effect on the first day of June next. As an able expounder of. Baptist denominational principles he has no superior. He carries the love and esteem of the entire church with him,