THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. Vol. 57—No. 3 THE RIVER OF DREAMS. BY HENRY VAN DYKE. The river of dreams runs silently down By a secret way that no man knows; But the soul lives on while the dreanitide _ flows Through the gardens bright, or the forests = brown; And I think sometimes that our whole life seems To be more than half made up of dreams, For its changing sights and its passing shows, And its morning hopes, and its midnight fears, Are left behind with the vanished years. Onward, with ceaseless motion, The lifestream flows to the ocean— And-we follow the tide, awake or asleep, Till we see the dawn on Love’s great deep, When the bar at the harbor mouth is crossed, And the river of dreams im the sea is lost. The Branded Foot. A ROMANCE OF A MONSTROUS PERSONATION FRAUD. BY A FAMOUS AUTHOR. CHAPTER I. MIDNIGHT AND MYSTERY. Dr. Krafft shivered and bent over the grate. So long had he been sitting motionless, wrapped in thought, that the fire had. died down, and the chill wind of winter, laden with icy sleet, had found its way to his study. And well it might, for if ever a tempest raged that could make a man fear for the aay of his house, it raged upon that dismal night. All day long the wind had been rising. At sunset it was a gale; as midnight approached, it wrought itself to a fury, driving the sleet before it in clouds, slapping the window panes, and howling as it was forced by stout walis to whirl about and double.on itself. It seemed to be maddened by the resistance of houses, and when the church clock tolled the twelfth hour, it roared its anger till the booming of the great bell was lost in the tumult. The doctor rapped the smoldering chunk of ecanne!l coal with the poker. It broke into pieces, and the flames leaped instantly over the oily surfaces, setting the room alight with a lurid glare and sending out a wave of heat that caused the doctor to withdraw his face hastily. . He glanced at his watch, for he had not heard the tolling of the church clock. “Twelve o’clock,’’ he muttered, ‘‘and a fear- ful night. In another hour I must face it. What a storm! It seems like risking my own life for the slender chance of saving that of my patient. But—bah! what is the weather to me? Let it rage. My battle is with death —death that does not come riding on the storm. Human life depends upon my knowl- edge and skill. Ah! that is a thought to rouse the courage! It makes a man forget the gale, the freezing cold, the——’’ “Doctor—Dr. Krafft!’’ It was a startling interruption, not because the tone was loud or agonized, but because it was so utterly unexpected. There was something, too, in the intensity of the low tone that thrilled the physician from top to toe. He leaped to his feet and wheeled about. The dancing flames in the grate threw a maze of wavering shadows upon the wall op- posite. tis own, shadow, that were mingied in hows i f his table, swaying con + his easy- fusion, ane het pracntod ation i ees r in ght it seemed like a wom- ; an’s shadow painted there—a tall woman, .@raped from throat to feet in a black cloak, ‘her face invisible behind a heavy veil. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” demanded the doctor, sharply. : His answer was a mocking laugh, in which there seemed to be a ring of triumph, either attained or anticipated. It was followed by a slight catching of the breath, a plain indication that the woman was laboring under intense excitement that she controlled with difficulty. “Come!” said the doctor, sternly, “I am not to be trified with, and you are not here for trifling. How did you get in?’ $ Then the woman answered, at first in a tone of scorn. “When the celebrated Dr. Krafft leaves his doors unlocked, he must not be surprised if visitors intrude upon him; and if he gets so lost in thoughts of scientific problems that he cannot hear loud and persistent knocking, he must not find fault if his visitors take other means of arousing him.” The doctor was more and more amazed. It was clear that this was no ordinary wan- derer of the street who sought merely to gain shelter by her impudence. Wihat could be her purpose in coming at this unearthly hour? “Did you say that you knocked?” he asked. “J did; several times.”’ “But there was the bell. seen it by the light of the street lamp. was put there for a purpose.” Again she laughed. “A house bell,’’-she retorted, ‘‘rouses the house servant. I wished to see nobody but Dr. Krafft.’ This suggestive reply seemed to rouse the doctor from the half stupor into which the surprise of her appearance had thrown him. He crossed the room and peered intently at the dark, motionless figure before the door. “Veiled,” he said to himself, as he drew near. Then, without completing the thought, he raised his hand above his head and turned a button on the chandelier. ee Suddenly the room was flooded with brilliant light. 3 On the instant the woman dropped to her knees with a stifled cry and crouched there, pointing one hand toward the windows. ; “Man alive!’ she gasped; ‘‘the curtains! the curtains!’’ Dr. Krafft moved quickly to the windows and drew down the shades, All the hesitancy from the moment of her entrance had disap- peared. He was still amazed, and everything she said and did amazed him the more, but he had now recovered that perfect control of his faculties that makes a physician cool and steady when others would falter. Once more he was the man of science, alert, prepared for surprises, ready to act instantly according to the dictates of his trained judgment. After he had lowered the shades, the doc- tor also unloosened the heavy curtains and let them fall. While he was thus employed the woman arose, turned the key in the door by which she had entered, crossed to another door and locked that, and then swiftly moved to the chair the doctor had vacated. She stood there resting her gloved hand on its back when the doctor finished his task and faced her. For a moment neither stirred. It was as if these were foes, each studying the other and watching for an opportunity to spring. Breathlessly she watched the doctor’s tall form, his clear-cut, strongly-marked features, the piercing gleam of his steady eyes. She noted that his head was thrown slightly for- ward, and the shoulders somewhat rounded, both indications of the persistent study to which he devoted his life. He saw little more than he had seen before he turned on the light. There was the same darkly-shrouded form, the attitude only revealing a suggestion of some terrible purpose that had brought her there. He saw the flash of glittering eyes be- neath her veil, but it was a flash, nothing more. The color of her eyes and the contour of her face were effectively concealed. “T take it for granted,’ said he, slowly, ‘that you require my professional services. By whom am I thus honored ?’’ She made an impatient gesture, as if the formality of an introduction were wholly un- necessary. When she spoke it was ton “6 You could have It in harsh, abrupt es. nd I take it for granted,’ said she, ‘‘that you have no objection to earning a fee.”’ The doctor half closed his eyes, but kept them fixed upon the luminous spots beneath her veil. ‘It is my business to serve others,’ he answered. “I object to no fee that is earned honestly.’’ @ : Perhaps he had not thought of the sugges- tive significance of that last word, but the woman evidently saw a comment in it. made another patience. “Can you attend to me at once?” manded. “T do not know,” replied the doctor, indif- ferently, ‘““whether I can attend to you at all.’’ He took out his watch and glanced at it as he proceeded: ““When I know what your ailment is——”’ “Nothing ails me!’’ she interrupted hastily. The doctor shut his watch with a _ sharp click and replaced it in his pocket. “I was about to say,’’ he remarked in the same cool, indifferent way, ‘that at one o'clock I must be with a patient whose life erisis will come at that hour. I can give yo half an hour—not a’ minute longer.” ‘ “Tt is enough!”’ ; The woman spoke irritably. Then, after a slight pause she added in a tone as quiet and apparently indifferent as that of the doctor’s: “T want you to brand my right foot.’’ With this startling announcement she eb ng the room and seated therself upon a sofa. Paying no attention to the physician’s amazement, she proceeded to remove the shoe and stocking from her right foot, as if the operation she required were the most com- monplace thing in the world. Dr. Krafft’s face and voice both expressed the shock her demand had given him. “Brand your foot!’’ he echoed; “surely you cannot mean it.’’ “I believe I understand the English lan- guage,’ she retorted. ‘‘I said that I want you to brand my right foot, and that was what I meant. There is the foot. Here,’’ and while speaking she hurriedly took a black bag from her arm and emptied its contents on her lap, “here is the branding iron, and this is a dia- gram——”’ She stopped abruptly and looked up at the doctor, appearing to note for the first time the amazement—ay, consternation—she had caused him. “Listen, Dr. Krafft!’’ she exclaimed; ‘‘don’t stand there and stare as stupidly as——’”’ “T hear you, madam,’’ he interrupted, coolly. “T hear and I will tell you what I think.’’~ **“Well?’”’ “You have come.to the wrong practitioner. “Bah! you cannot drive me from my pur- pose by insults. No, Dr. Krafft, I knew per- fetcly well what I was about when I called on you for this operation.’’ The scorn in her voice and the possible in- sinuation in her words brought a flush to the | physician’s pale face. “That. demands an explanation,’’ gravely. ‘‘Why did you. come to me She raised both arms in a frenzied gesture and uttered a cry of exasperation. “Thirty minutes!’’ she exclaimed; ‘‘you said thirty minutes, and yet you delay for ex- planations! Do you think I am not in tor- ture already in anticipation of the ordeal? Do you think it hasn’t cost me agony to get up courage to come here and endure it? And yet you would prolong the agony by asking needless questions! Are you a man with a heart, or are you a cold-blooded demon?’’ “Such talk, madam,’’ he responded, ‘‘is ut- terly lost on me, except as it makes me more unlikely to serve you. shall give you not one of those precious thirty minutes, which are passing steadily, until I have some under- standing of the reason that brought you to me.”’ Again she showed her irritation by a sweep- ing gesture. Then she spoke vehemenily and with exceeding rapidity. “It is the quickest way,’’ she said. ‘‘Here, then, are the reasons. I come to you be- cause I know your career, your ambitions, your attainments, Dr. Krafft. I know that in the medical profession you are held to be one of the greatest surgeons in New York—per- haps the greatest. But your fame does not go much beyond the borders of your profession, of im- she de- gesture indicative ane said that had marked him for you hide yourself away here in Grove street, where your neighbors are poor, and where, therefore, the rich do not find you out, and where, therefore again, you cannot exact high fees. You prefer to live among the poor because you can pursue your studies She shrugged her shoulders scornfully and | gave the woman a paper on which he had would not call upon him, or send for him to attend to it. “You are thoughtful,’’ glanced at the paper bag “If you are quite ready,”’ she said as-- she and thrust it into her he began, with terrupted: that will prevent a wound such as this from appearing to be recently made? I want the sears to be there, you understand’’—she spoke impetuously, with fearful bitterness—‘‘but I don’t want them to appear as if they were made yesterday. will remove the appearance of freshness?’ Once again the doctor’s keen eyes tried vainly to pierce the heavy veil. “Tt will cost,’ he remarked slowly. ee ee matter!’ she almost shrieked; it! Silently Je went to the other side of the room and unlocked a cupboard in the wall. From this he took a large jar and a tiny phial. He filled the phial, corked it methodically, and took it to the woman. She snatched it from him in her eagerness. “Apply with a soft sponge as soon as the wound begins to heal,” said the doctor, speak- ing. as if he were prescribing for a simple cold in the head; “it won’t help the healing a particle, it won’t lessen the pain, but it will destroy the traces of recent work. It is a preparation I made myself, and is not known to the druggists.”’ “The price, doctor—the price?’ “Twenty dollars for that phial. all you will need.’’ It amounted to about a dollar a drop, but she paid the money without a murmer. “We are ready now,” he said, ‘‘but I beg you to take off your hat-and veil.’’ The woman for the first time showed signs of alarm. “Do you think I will faint?’ she agitatedly asked. ‘ Fe BOS She stood up quickly and grasped him by the arm: Hoarsely and with frightful eager- ness she said: ‘ “Speak, doctor! promise me—I know you hold your word sacred—promise me that if I should faint you will not lift so much as the corner of my veil!’’ Dr. Krafft’s answer was short and to the point. “Be calm,” he said. ‘‘You need all your nervous strength for what you are going to endure. I promise. As you have already stated, I am too occupied with important mat- ters to concern myself with you or your projeets.”’ “And you will forever keep the fact of this operation a secret?’’ ‘“*You have nothing to fear from me.” The doctor said so much and then suddenly checked himself, as if a new thought had come to him. He added with dignified se- verity: “I will qualify that. You have noth- ing to fear from me unless hereafter I should discover you engaged in some nefarious scheme.”’ ‘The woman laughed scornfully, released her viselike grasp on his arm, and reseated herself upon the couch. Dr. Krafft resumed his pro- fessional tone. “Time presses,’’ he said. “If this is to be done, it must be done without further delay.’’ *‘None of the delay has been of my seeking,’’ she retorted. An interval of dreadful silence followed, broken now and then by a smothered groan from the sufferer. _“Ha!’’ suddenly muttered the doctor, impa- tiently. ‘“‘Just as I anticipated—a faint!” “No, no!’’ gasped his patient, ‘‘only a little weakness.”’ Taking a bottle from the table, the doctor hurriedly saturated a napkin with its con- tents and thrust it into her gloved hand. “Inhale and bathe your face,” he directed. Feebly the woman obeyed. Silently and rapidly the doctor proceeded to dress the wound. That done, he encased the foot in a large slipper she had brought, and gave her a mix- ture he had prepared toe soothe her nerves. The woman swallowed it eagerly, and then It contains with less interruption, but you have to have fees, else you could not live. There are sev-| eral reasons already, but there is «nother, racre importeon: than ali the oth "On to you because yuu al... pree pea in your ice searches, your books and your experiments, that when I am gone you will forget me. You will not have the curiosity of ordinary men to follow me and try to learn my secret or discover my identity. Furthermore, a skill- ful surgeon can give good advice. Now, then, doctor, will you brand my foot?’ | The question shot from her lips with savage fury, and she waited. . Dr. Krafft folded his hands behind his back and looked at her for a brief moment. “T will,’ he said, quietly. : “To business, then!’’ she cried, energetically. “TI will pay in advance, for I do not expect to be in a condition to count money after it is over. How much?’ The doctor named a sum and she took up the purse that had been one of the articles in her bag. When she had paid him the amount, she handed him the other articles, calling at- tention first to the diagram of which she had begun to speak.”’ “TI want you,’ she said with the same ra- pidity as before, ‘“‘to gum that paper to the sole of my foot and pencil through it the ex- act spot where the brand is to be placed. The brand on my foot must correspond perfectly with the diagram.’’ Dr. Krafft had the paper in his hand and was studying it intently. He saw a drawing of the sole of a human foot with a brand mark on the ball. In spite of ‘his rigid self-control, the shocked expression came again upon his features as he saw the mark and read the word it made. He took up the branding iron and examined it, comparing its surface with the mark on the diagram. : They were exactly alike—the same dreadful word. Bending over her, he -held the di.gram close to her veil and pointed to it with the brand- ing iron. Slowly ‘he said: “I cannot believe that you really want that word burnt into your fiesh. Think of it, madam!’’ : CHAPTER It. BURNED TO THE QUICK. as seemed habitual sture. The woman’s answer, : with her, was given with imperious ge “Do you suppose,’ she demanded, “that I came here on the impulse of the moment? I have long considered my desire, and now I wait.” Dr. Krafft thereupon turned from her and put the branding iron and other articles upon the table. He went to a corner of the room and began to move a large operating chair to the middle, where the light was strongest. ‘What are you about?’ she asked sharply. “TI am getting ready,’’ he answered, begin- ning’ then to bring up an apparatus for ether- izing the patient. “Stop it!’ she cried. that!”’ He looked at her with renewed amazement. “Surely,” he said, ‘‘you cannot dream of the anguish this operation will cause without chloroform or other anzesthetic——”’ “T will not have chloroform, ether, or any~ thing of that kind!’’ she snapped. ‘“‘I will sit where I am, unless you wish to move the sofa a little nearer the light. You can put my foot on a stool. Understand me! I am determined. Don’t waste time. with argu- ments.”’ The doctor shut his jaws together and moved the chair and eitherizer back to their places. “Tt shall be as you say,” -+he remarked, ‘‘but you will not endure it.” “JT willl’? she retorted, vehemently. He took a blowpipe from a closet, turned on the gas and ignited it, and set the branding iron in the flame. While it was heating he made other prepa- rations. “How get home he asked ab- ruptly, his work and turning to her. She nodded in the direction of the door. The doctor looked and saw what he had not noticed before—a erutch leaning against the wall. “T brought it with me,’’ she said. Dr. Krafft could not but feel a certain ad- miration for his strange client—he could hardly call her his patient, but he said noth- ing of it. He had given up argument when he accepted her fee. “You will find it exceedingly difficult to walk with a crutch to-night,’’ he said, simply. “The wind is high and the sidewalks are slip- “T will have none of ™ will you interrupting pery with sleet.” “TF will manage it,’ she’ doggedly responded. ' Dr. Krafft went silently on with his. work, ' pausing now and again to look at the heat- | ing iron and turn it in the flame. When all was ready: for the operation he | = written directions for treating the wound ‘he | was about to make, for he inferred that-she | his hand.upon the branding iron, when she in- | “A moment, doctor, there is one thing more. | In your studies have you not-found something | Isn’t there something that | “get. ; within. Roused to a paroxysm of agony and rage, she shifted her crutch to her left hand, leaned her weight more completely on her el- | bow and shook her clinched right fist in air. _ “Never!”’ she hissed, and then, with a grat- ing scream, “‘never! never! I’ll defy her! I'll make her out the impostor! So, beware, Hes- ; ter Millburn, how you cross my path! Be- | ware, for the torture of this night has given my spirit the remorseless fury of hell! I will not suffer thus and lose the reward I seek!”’ Once more she shook her fist at the inky |sky. Then she took her crutch again under |her right arm and hobbled slowly, painfully on. A few toilsome moments, and she turned into | another street, where there was a cab waiting ‘at the curb. | Disdaining the proffered help of the aston- | ished driver, she crept in and sank with a | groan upon the cushions. to a doctor, lady?’’ sympathetically. | “Shan’t I drive you asked the driver, she hissed. “Go where I told you “*Fool!”’ to!” He slammed the door, mounted to and drove away. The tempest was howling its worst, and for the first time the woman seemed ta be aware of its tumult. “Is it a threat of Heaven?’’ fearfully. ‘‘Does it condemn? scornfully at coming failure?’’ She burst suddenly into a harsh laugh. “‘Bah!”’ she cried, pulling herself to a sitting posture, and tearing aside her veil. ‘‘Do | talk of failure? I, who have endured so much? | It is a perfect plan, and it cannot, shall not fail. The first two steps have been taken successfully. The third shall follow. I will not permit myself to doubt or fear. I will go on unfiinchingly, remorselessly to the end, and woe to them—nay, not merely woe—death to them who try to block my path?” TO BE CONTINUED. A Splendid Man; the box she muttered, Does it laugh THE CROWN OF CHANCE. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands, Author of “Brave Barbara,” “A Kinsman’s Sin,’’ Woman Scorned,” “A Girls Kingdom,’ etc., etc. +4 (“A SPLENDIP MAN’’ was commenced in No. 1, numbers can be obtained of all newsdealers.) Back CHAPTER IV.—(Continued.) After he had spoken, Cuthbert had had a moment of reactionary fear. What if she were to fight him—make matter public? who would fight for her and put lasting dis- grace upon ‘him? But these fears were but transitory. He told himself that Doris would do nothing. As we know, he had sneered at her passion- ate threat of self-destruction; but he did not sneer now. He. seemed to understand her proud nature for the first time. He longed for the day to come, and with it some news from Winstone. Colonel Thorpe had promised to send him a telegram the first thing in the morning, and the tragedy was sure to creep into the papers, _ Doris had adopted the name of ‘‘Mary Scott’’ for her professional work, and though she-had not risen very high, still she had made a little success for this name, and regretful mention would certainly be made of the death of so charming a young. singer. Wearied at last with walking to and fro, Cuthbert Latimar threw himself into his arm- chair, and rested there a while; but. he was nervous beyond description, and, though fa- tigued, could not bring himself to undress and go to bed. Half idly he stretched out his hand and took up some letters that had gathered during his the What if she possessed friends |} “D— her!’’ teeth. This intrusion at such a time For it would unless, of he said again, between his Dove into his life inopportune. to ignore her, bring definite Dottie was most be impossible course he wished to annoyance upon himself. Suddenly he sat forward with a frown. He recalled her declaration of calling at his rooms, probably on the morrow. He must prevent this. All sorts of things might hap- pen when daylight came. He might have a visit from Colonel Thorpe. He fully expected to hear something from those lawyers who seemed to have been that old man’s friends. He must be prepared for everything, and Dot was the very last kind of person he desired should be seen in his rooms. He set her in imagmation beside the figure of Margaret Thorpe, and he shivered. He must write to her; he had noted address before destroying her letter. He sent her a few friendly words, bidding her welcome home, and saying he would call upon her, if possible, late the next afternoon; and when this was done he put on his hat and coat and walked to the nearest mail-box. The slight contact with the chill air did him good; he felt less disturbed as he re-en- tered his rooms. After all, he had the spirii of the true adventurer, and to one who lives by. chance, emotional influences must gradual- ly disappear; even fear, which is more power- ful than most mental sensations, can be un- consciously repulsed. Cuthbert Latimar had long ago cultivated indifference to all feelings that find their home in the heart; and so, when finally he threw himself on his bed, he slept dreamlessly and peacefully. of her CHAPTER V. It was not until evening of that long day that Meg found herself alone in the Abbey. Lady Sara had fretted to be gone early, but there had been many things to detain Colonel Thorpe, and indeed the girl knew right well that her father would have infinitely preferred to have remained at Winstone, but both he and Meg had grown into the trick of gratifying every whim of the little dainty woman who ruled at the Abbey. Sometimes (this night, for instance), Meg would go back to that first keen regret that she had been unable to repress when her father’s second marriage had been made known to her. They had been so much to each other; ever since she could remember, she and her father had been comrades; and had she been one whit less selfish, Margaret Thorpe might very eas- ily have resented the advent of another wom- an into her happy life. But the girl had in- stantly lost her heart to little Lady Sara; she quite understood what had led her father to take such a step as a second marriage when she had come in contact with the delicate, girlish creature who had become her step- mother. The question of relationship was easily solved by Meg. “It is I who ought to be the not you, you dear little child,”’ ito her father’s wife. between them stepmother, she had said “Why, how old are you —sixteen?’’ and this had delighted Lady Sara, for she was a good many years more than sixteen, a good many years older than Meg; but youth was her métier, and she fell in- stantly into the position as arranged by Meg. And there had been very little disagreement | between them in the five years that had |elapsed since first she had come to Winstone Abbey; indeed, Lady Sara had grown fond of Meg in her own selfish way, the girl was so thoughtful, so clever, so useful. A household such as that which was gathered under the roof of Winstone Abbey required practical dealing, and though she loved to pose as a rperson of power, Lady Sara in reality de- tested everything in the shape of work or trouble. Hence, she was but a mere figure- head; it was Meg who managed everything, Meg who was her father’s right hand, Meg again who had the full burden of duties upon her shoulders when the house was full of guests, as it very frequently was. To-night the old place seemed strangely sad and desolate. The drawing-rooms were closed, and Meg elected to sit after dinner in one of the big chairs in front of the hall fire. struggled to a sitting posture, though trem- bling as with an ague : ‘I think vu hag better lie Nf few s : 1id. liaal at her, *“No, no! let me go!” der the crutch!”’ The doctor brought it from the corner and she rose unsteadily to her feet. Again he felt that glow of admiration for her, and now he was stirred by compassion as she slowly moved to the door. He laid his hand upon her shoulder when she reached it. “You really must lie down a few minutes, he said. ‘I will go out and find a cab for you somewhere.”’ Leaning on her crutch, she angrily shook off his hand. *‘Let me alone!’’ she harshly gasped. no, fool. I know what I can bear. go!”’ The doctor yielded, for she was no more to be argued with than before, and helped her through the entrance hall and down the steps to the slippery sidewalk. With no word of gratitude—how could she pe one in her acute suffering?—she left im. Silently, her face unseen, she had come; silently and still unseen, she departed. The mystery was swallowed up by the black, tempestuous night from which it had come. Dr. Krafft watched her until he could no longer distinguish her wavering form in the darkness. When he re-entered his study his attention was attracted by two things—a handkerchief on the floor and the branding iron on the blowpipe shelf where he had placed it at the end of the crucial operation. He took them up and examined them. The handkerchief was of ordinary marked in a corner by the initials ‘J. B. ‘There are doubtless thousands in New York with those initials,’ he muttered. He turned the iron over for any other mark of identification beyond the terrible word on its surface, but found none. Then he sat at his writing-table and wrote in a large book a precise but brief account of the time and circumstances under which the iron and handkerchief had come into his possession. This done, he closed the book, wrapped the iron in the- handkerchief and put them in a cabinet drawer. i “Tf they should ever be needed,” he thought, “T can produce them. In her agony she forgot the iron and dropped the handkerchief. i not likely that she will return for them.”’ Through a lull in the boom of the church clock. “One o’clock!’”’ he exclaimed, to she cried, irritably spur of her great misery. ” linen, in hurry.”’ later Dr. but- make to-night. I must did, and a moment running along Grove street, toning his overcoat as he went. The strange woman struggled slowly through the dark, deserted street. At first was a blessing to her that the way was difficult, for the constant effort necessary gle I am to Hurry he Krafft was so to keep herself upright on the icy walk distracted | her mind in some measure from her physical pain, But presently the torment renewed itself in| overpowering throbs. Gasping, her teeth chat- tering in the effort to hold back a scream of anguish, she leaned her left elbow upon a stone} post at the corner of steps leading to a house, and waited for the spasm to pass. Ah! how that tortured foot sent of shrieking protest from limb to messages limb, to her finger tips that dug into the flesh of her | to | palms, to her temples that seemed like burst with each pulsation of pain, to her throat, where they were held so firmly in check that no audible sound issued from her quivering lips. Her heavy.veil dripped with the perspira- tion that fell from her brow, and her body, despite the wintry wind and the icy sleet, seemed to be afiame. “What biting, unimagined torture! she muttered, seeming to find a shadow of relief in putting her feeling into words. ‘“‘It is worse, far worse than I had dreamed. Could I have done it if I had known how terrible {It is too late to ask that! It is done, it is done, and I told myself over and over again that, cost what it. might, it would be worth while. It is so, it shall be so! I believe it, and now, while the worst of the horror is upon me) I rejoicé that I had the courage! And yet, how do I know what may happen during the slow weeks while this awful wound is healing? What if she should return before I can ‘get about? Shall I give up then? Shall I con- fess that all this was for nothing?’ As these strange questions occurred to her and she uttered them, her voice grew louder. Battling fiercely with the pain, and half- conscious of the howling storm, she cried: “Shall I? Ah! shall I?” ” The storm without was unequal to the storm } looked iL Te,