:43

  

1: MW um

' x

4., 671/
o YRIGHTED

Published Every
Two Weeks.

3101' VH'

The Human Tiger;
A HEART ’OF FIRE.

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,
AUTHOR or “ JOE prmmx,” “rm: mass or
meoo,” “GENTLEMAN enema,” are, are.

CHAPTER I.
“PLAYED our.”

NIGHT had spread its sable mantle over the
domes and spires of Chicago, for it is in that
city—the young New York of the West—that
this, our strange story will find its verification.

Darkness, however, had not stilled into quiet
the denizens of the ever busy city. The streets
Were thronged with people; lights flashed from
the WlndOWS upon the moving crowd.

On the corner of Randolph street and Clark
stood a roughly—dressed man who, motionless
as a marble statue, surveyed the busy scene
around him. The stranger—for such ap arent—
ly he was—was one whose a 0 could not Be read
Inhisface; he rnightbe thi , or he mi ht be
fifty, yet no trace of old age appeared eit er in
face or form.

 

 

, cw...“
r I,” x

 

 

 

 

j: --

. \ \ \ \\ 
.. ‘i\ -.  \\ . 
 ($6 . _ -‘\
lilillll‘ll _ g i
 \ ‘_ .1}, .
\\:‘ g l ;_‘;~:T\\\;\‘ . r /

r/

' 4.2;. ,  hr. 4x >«
li $7 m"".’WQ( A???“
l figmltmmluliukv

- iiiliiiiiilliun n minim i l. I ll“ 1 ill ll nl '

Though dressed roughly—nay, poorly—yet
one could see with a half glance that the man
was a gentlemm _ both by birth and breeding
for “blood will tell.” even in our eagleguarded
Re ublic. ~

he face of the stranger was sin ly beau-
tiful, although bronzed almost to t e hue of the
Indian by the hot  of the sun on the far
Western plains, where civilization and nature
contend for mastery in the persons of the set-
tler and the savage. His features were regular
and clearly cut; his long face, almost a perfect
oval—pure type of the son of the south-west—
with its massive and s uarely—formed chin,
piercing, dark-gray eyes, t at shone jet-black
at a distance, and the long, straight nose, gave
romise of dauntless courage and an iron will.
is hair was as black as the ebon locks of the
red save. e, the prairiemnaster, and he wore it
long, our in down Over his ears: a lon , silken
mustache, lack as his hair, shaded '
sensual mouth. In figure he was strai ht and
stron ly-limbed; and, had he been w kin , a
ract ced eye would easily have guessed from
'ght, ful ste , that he, not only ssed
the suppleness of t e wild-cat but also he mus-
cular strength of that animal.

For dressthe stranger wore a common dark ‘

suit; his rough cowhide boots incased a foot
almost as small as a woman’s. A black slouch

 

l

 

 4 ////////////////// //

/
4452/4. .

 

 

 

:4;

 

ll ‘

1}}
[ll lillllllh’
‘l I: til-z
1 31'! I; .,i
 M 1‘1: "Infill?

" _.. _V /""‘_,/ M.
H E f

t MINI l ‘h  l

ENTERED AT rm: POST OFFICE AT New Yonx, N. Y.. as Sam‘s!) CLASS Mas-run.

(500(776 (f. \fldanrs. (Publishers,

 

h
i head

 

ll!

' /

 

:  1"" I‘ "v w l? a
  .z‘huv .inmt .l  I i I It .1

i i 1‘ iiiillu

niliiiiiiliil  i 

._——.

 

Ten Cents a Copy.

No. 81

$2.50 a Year.

at was pulled carelessly over his bronzed fore-

Ex-lawyer, ex-duelist, ex-guerrilla captain
and “ ex-road-agent ”—as the bandits who rob
the mail-coaches on the far Western plains are
called—Bertrand Tasnor was a man whom it
twere well worth while to look at the second

mm.

The story of Bertrand Tasnor’s checkered life
is briefly told.

Born in New Orleans, the child of a French
creole and a Boston Yankee, be united the dash
and fire of the Gaul with the thrift and caution
of the Northerner.

Soon after Bertrand’s birth his father died,
and his mother moved to Little Rock, Arkansas,
and resumed her maiden name, Tasnor. Hence
it was that Bertrand bore the French name of
his mother.

Bertrand, growing to age. studied for the law,
and in due time was admitted to the bar. He
was regarded as a “ risin man ”——as one destin-
ed to a bright future: bu , a shadow came over
his fortunes and clouded the brightness of that
future.

In a quarrel with a brother la er—the only
son of one of the first families in he “ Rock”—
he fatally wounded him and was forced to fly for
his life; not from fear of the law, but to esca
the vengeance of the enraged relatives; for t

  
   

 

     

iii ‘
H
t. l
. i In

ill
hi ‘lllliil I 1“
‘~‘\§\§

sum

‘1! i. I
‘ "1m! [W

, y 7/, I, [MN I,

p ,, /.z/,//’, N   

  
  
 

2 " i w The Human Tiger. '

 

...» r

oflicers of justice look with a lenient eye upon homicide even
now in our border States; but, at the period of Bertraud's
flight, which was some eighteen years before the time of
which we now write—for one to kill another in a street-fight
was merely an accident, not a crime.

Bertrand’s mother died men after his flight.

Years rolled on. Bertrand’s crime had been forgotten—-
lost in the lapse of time. The rebellion came. Little Rock
was filled with armed men. Among them came one Bertrand
Tasnor, a cavalry captain in the Confederate service.

Some fewcf the old citizens who chanced to meet with
‘ the dashing officer—for Tasnor’s name ranked with Fagan,
Marmaduke and Crocketh—remembered the name, but in the
silent and stern soldier they could not discern a trace of the
young and gay-hearted lawyer.

More years passed on; the rebellion ended. But, at the
close of the war, Tasnor disappeared u mysteriously as he
had come.

In ’69 a band of brigands—“ road-agents.” as they are
termed by the settlers on the plains—appeared on the trail
leading from Cheyenne to Denver city; and the result of
their appearance was, that Wells, Fargo & 00., together with
sundry passengers in their coaches, were robbed. A bold
and daring band of “ road-agents" were the robbers, who,
though few in numbers, made up with dash and cunning
what they lacked in strength.

For nearly a year, Captain Death—such was the odd title
of the leader of the “road-agents "—and his band levied
tribute on the Denver road; but, one bright morning, when
swooping down like eagles from their haunt in the mountains
upon a Concord coach, fondly expecting to ” gather in "
goodly bags of gold dust, and costly bricks of silver, they
received, instead, a deadly fire from Spencer rifles in the
hands of United States troopsi

The “ road-agents ” had fallen into the trap laid for them
by the managers of the express company.

Lead in lieu of gold or silver was not to the taste of the
highwaymen, and incontinently they departed.

The soldiers followed in pursuit, mounted on the coach-
horses, and the result was thht but a single one of the
“ agents ” escaped, and he was the leader of the bandits—-
Captain Death in person.

He was followed closely by the soldiers, and his horse
killed by a ball from one of their rifles, but as he was near
a wooded ravine, he managed to gain the covert and escape.

The soldiers paused in the pursuit near the body of the es
caped brigand’s horse. It was a jet-black steed, witha bright
blaze on the forehead and four white feet-—a noble animal,
despite the jockey’s saying in regard to the four white stock~
ings.

The lieutenant in command ofthe soldiers had been a cap-
tain in the volunteers, and had beer- with Steele in the retreat
from Camden, after Banks' ill-fated expedition. In the dead
steed he recognized an old accquaintance. It was the horse
of the Confederate colonel, Bertrand Tasnori

And Captain Death, the leader of the “ road-agents," was
Bertrand 'I‘asnor!

Now, having followed the fortunes of Bertrand from New
Orleans, in the year 1880, to Cnicago in the year 1870, we
will tell what brings him to the future metropolis, clad thus
roughly and with so desperate a look upon the handume
face, which bore so few marks of the evil passions that
reigned within his heart.

As he stands leaning against the lamp-post and gazing with
an overcast brow upon the crowd that surges by him, he
mutters to himself.

Listen.

“ ‘ Played outi‘ that's the word, exactly; for the third
time have I struck Chicago ‘ down on my luck,’ as my Eng-
lish mate at the mines used to say. Well, I am ‘ down on
my luck,’ in truth. One single dollar in the world and not
a friend in townl Here I stand in this big city, friendlees,
helpless. They say that the world owes us all a living. I've
taken mine by force so far. but now it looks as if I was at
the end of my rope. Rope!” and he laughed-d silent and
a bitter laugh. “ I wonder what suggested that to my mind!
I’ve been near enough to the rope in my day, though I’v
hardly get enough left now to buy one to hang myself with
Why should i despair, though? I’ve been in tighter places.

When the blue-coats had the very rope around my neck to.

swing me up‘to a tall cottonwood; ,when I faced the derringer
of young Meehan, nigh twenty years ago; when that tiger-
angel of a wife of mine, with her sweet, innocent face, golden
curls and blue eyes, laid open my breast with a slash of my

 

own bowieaknife, I stared death in the face; but I have lived
through it all. Never say die! that was always my motto.
I'll stick to it now. I wonder if that blue-eyed beauty whose
kisses were maddening in their passion, but whose nature
was a strange compound of a woman and a tiger, is still
alive; or, did the blow from my hand kill her? And our
child "—the man’s voice softened as he spoke—“ is she alive!
I fancy I can see her great gray eyes before me now; the
eyes so unlike either her mother's or mine. If she does live,
I wonder if she carries in her breast a heart of fire, like that
of her mother?"

For a few moments the man was silent. Old memories
—thoughts of the two years when he had folded to his bosom
a woman with the face of an angel and the heart of a tiger,
were with him, a haunting presence.

“ It’s getting lets," be muttered, suddenly; “ I must find
some‘shelter fer the night. Some cheap ‘ shebaug' in Wells
street will do" And toward Wells street he took his way.

 

7‘ onarrsn u.
m menu’s rowan.

As the clocks were striking nine, a young man, pacing
with slow steps down South Clark street, near Madison, was
acting in a most eccentric manner. First he walked a little
way down the street; then he came back again; then he
halted on the corner for a few minutes; then he crossed
over to the opposite side of Clark street, and walked a little
way down on that side; then back again he came, and re
commenced his pacing up and down as before; his eyes were
constantly fixed on one point.

What was the object that possessed such attraction for the
young man?

Behold a little fancy goods store and dressmaker's shop
combined. The modest little sign over the door reads:

Mas. Jonas, Dnnssumn. .

The window is filled with all the articles peculiar to a
woman‘s wardrobe. No particular attraction in them to
arrest the wandering eyes of a young man, unless, indeed,
a young and pretty girl happens to be displaying them upon
her penan.

But softly! Beyond the window, in the interior of the
little store, is the object!

It is the head of a young and beautiful girl—a maid possi-
bly of seventeen, and with a face as fair and fresh as ever
poet pictured.

A face not round nor yet a full oval; the complexion as
pure as snow, yet with the creamy tint of the white, sun-
kissed peach. The faint crimson hue upon the transparent
cheeks told of health and strength. Her hair was brown,
necked here and there with rich golden tints as the flicker-
ing light played and danced upon it, as though even the
gas-flame loved to toy with the soft, silken masses. A full,

.01,“ my eye lit up the pure, innocent face as the sun

lights up the dawn. As she sits beyond the window, we
can see but the head, throat and shoulders, yet we can readily
guess from the shapely throat, and the exquisite swell and
slope of the shoulders, that the maidsn‘s form approaches as
nigh to perfection as does her face.

She sits by the, window, sewing steadily, her eyes bent
down upon her work, unconscious that for an hour or more
eager eyes have been watching her—watching her with many
a tender and longing look.

And who and what is he, who thus, like a keen-eyed de-
:ctiv’e on the scent of .crlme, haunts the vicinity of the little

OP

Born in Chicago; native to the soil; by name, Edmund
Kelford; by occupation, an architect; he was the son of one
of the old settlers of Chicago, who had prudently invested .
in real estate when the city was just beginning to expand
from the swamp village into the metropolis of the West.
The result was that, without exertion on his part, Kelford,
senior, like a hundred others, woke one morning and-found
himself a wealthy man, simply through the enormous rise in
the value of property.

His father dying, Edmund—an only child—came into
possession of his slre's property, and found himself one of

the richest men not only in Chic 0, but in the ent' W
Edmund Keliord was a gentlem‘dn by birth as w‘ell‘l seed;

breeding, one of nature’s nobleman. Frank and 'honut to

run.

The Human Tiger. 3

 

a degree; of a kind and genial disposition, he was a favorite
with all. He did not indulge in the sports and dissipation
so common to the young men of the age. Pure in mind,
and honest in action, he had no superior in good reputation
in the Garden City. I '

In person he was a fine-looking man of eight and twenty,
with light-yellow hair, worn long and curling; full, blue
eyes, and a manly and resolute face. Straight as a sapling
in figure, he was also strong as a young colt.

And with all these advantages of face and figure, backed
by a fortune almost princely in extent, the young man had
fallen in love with a poor girl who worked hard for her daily
bread in a little dressmaker’s shop.

Over head and ears in love was he, too; one could easily
guess that by his action. A man must love a girl deeply to
walk up and down the sidewalk for an hour or so just for
the pleasure of looking at her face in a window.

“ She’s working later than usual tonight,” the observer
muttered, as for the hundredth time he walked slowly by
the window.

As Kelford paused on the edge of the sidewalk a young
man, apparently about his own age, and with a carpet-bag in
his hand, came up the street.

Kelford, in his abstraction, did not notice the approach
of this stranger; he had eyes only for the charming face
which had bewitchcd him. The new-comer halted and
gazed in the direction indicated by the eyes of Kelford. His
quick glance soon discerned the lovely face that the window
framed. A good-natured smile came over his features. He
readily understood his friend’s mood, and glided up behind
the young man.

“ She is pretty, isn‘t she?” be said, with his face over the
shoulder of the other.

“ Sir!” exclaimed Kelford, the hot blood streaming up in-
to his face, and turning, as he spoke, upon the intruder.

“ ‘ Site the wind in that quarter,’ eh, Ed?” cried the in-
truder, slapping Kelford familiarly on the shoulder. .

The look of anger faded quickly from Kelford’s face as
he saw who had disturbed his devotions at the shrine of
beauty.

“ Why, Wirt, where on earth did you come from?” he
excrimed, heartily, grasping the other by the hand as he
spo e.

Wirt Middough was a young man of about the same age -

as Kelford, with dark brown eyes and hair; a jovial spirit,
full of life and fun. An orphan at an early age, he had
been reared by an uncle, a wealthy lake captain, who had
made his fortune in the grain trade.

Between Wirt and Edmund a frank and loyal friendship
oxlsted. They had been companions from boyhood, living
side by side on Michigan avenue.

“ Just back‘ from the East," replied Wirt; “ but, I say,
Ed, how long has this been going on, eh?” And he pointed
to the window as he spoke.

Kelford laughed, and the telltale blood fast crimsoned his
cheeks at the words of his friend:

“ As I came up I noticed that you were as motionless es
a statue, and I couldn’t guess for the moment what on earth
there was in that window to interest you; but now that I
see what is there, I don’t wonder.” .

“ Isn’t she pretty?" cried Kelford, his eyes sparkling as
he looked upon the face of the girl bent so steadily over her
work.

“ Yes, as pretty as Saint Agatha," replied Wirt, after an
earnest gaze. -

“ And she is as good as she is pretty,” said Kelford, warns.

“ The more I look at her face the more I wish to."

“ Is it as bad as that?”

“ Yes,” replied Kelford, seriously.
hi my life I am truly in love.”

“ Met your fate, eh, as the gushing writers say!”

“ Yes, this girl is my fate. l’m serious abOut it. I am

“For the first time

only on speaking terms with her, yet I am fully satisfied .

that I love her.”

“You, a millionaire, in love with a girl who sews for a
living!”

“ There's no disgrace in honest labor in this country,
thank Heaven I" cried Kelford, warmly.
the street to the shelter of that doorway, and I’ll tell you all
about it. ”
as he spoke.

“ Go ahead.”

Io Wirt followed his friend.

“ But, come across 1

He pointed to the opposite side of Clark street

 

CHAPTER III.
mmm’s s'ronr.

Caossme the street the two friends gained the shelter of
doorway.

“ Now, then, we can speak freely and without attracting
attention,” said Kelford. “ Two months ago, Wirt, I didn’t
know that such a person existed in the world as Pearl Cud- '
lipp." I

“ What an odd name!”

“ Yes, but the prettiness of the first makes up for the ug-
liness of the second. She is a pearl, too, as pure and as
fair as that jewel,” said Kelford, with a longing look across
the street at the little window. “ She must become my
pearl, or I am undone ”

Wirt laughed outright at this announcement.

“ By Jove! you are in for it, eh, old boy?” and Wirt
slapped his friend playfully on the shoulder.

“ Yes, that's the truth,” replied Kelford, a smile upon his
fine features. “ Rain or shine I have been here every night
for the last month, excepting Sundays."

“ And Sundays?”

“ Sundays I sit at home all day long—dream of this girl’s
face, and wish that it were Monday," replied Kelford, with
s mournful smile.

“ Well, I never expected to see you in such a state of
mind,” said Wirt, utterly astonished.

“I never expected it myself," Kelfbrd rejoined, slowly.
“ Not a single spark of that passion the world calls love ever
entered my heart until my eyes fell upon this girl’s face, and
yet, at first, I did not like her. 1 thought her eyes too large,
her complexion too pale, though then—as J afterward learn-
ed—she had just arisen from a sick bed; but there was
something about her that attracted me, in spite of myself, to
her side. The next time 1 saw her, her face pleased me
better: and thus it was, I grew to like her more and more
until, finally, I found that I loved her. Yes, Wirt, that’s the
word; 1 love her with all my heart and soul. To see those
large, gray eyes look with love upon me—to hear those lips
tell me that my passion is returned, I would give five years
of my life. " Earnest and deep were the tones that came
from Kelford’s lips. Wirt looked at his friend in astonish- I
ment. '

“ And yet you say you are but slightly acquainted with
her."

“ That'is the truth," replied the lover, with a sigh; “ I
wish that it were otherwise. You know that my omce is
just around the corner in Washington street. One morning,
just after breakfast, as I was preparing to come down-town.
Mrs. Kelford, my aunt,'asked. me to get her some thread,
and bring it up with me when I came home to dinner.
This trivial request brought about my infatuation. The
store I stepped into for the thread was that over there. The
girl that waited on me was the one whose face has so fasci-
nated me. I got my thread, paid for it, and took it away;
with it I also took the memory of this girl’s face."

“ And that you didn‘t pay for,” said Wirt, jokingly.

” No, you are wrong; I have paid for it—paid by many
a sleepless night and many an anxious wish. This girl
is more trouble to me than all my money. To continue
my story; her face haunted me; I felt that I must see her
again." ‘

“ Well, that was easy enough,” interrupted Witt; “all ~

that you had to do was to go to the store and buy something
em”

“That is exactly what I did do,” said Kelford. “It is
just two months since I first went into that little shop, and
I have been back there forty times."

“ Forty times!" v

“ Yes. and each time I bought something; some little article."

" Well, of all the ideas—'

3‘ It was good, wasn’t it? I’ve spent in that little shop
about twenty-five dollars. The trouble has been to find arti-
cles to buy. Of course I did not wish the girl to suspect
that I came there solely to see her and had no use for the'
stuff I purchased. Between each visit I thought of nothing‘
but what I should buy next. You see the stock over there
is such a small one for a gentleman to select articles from}
I’ve bought pins of all sizes—s paper at s time. I believe
I’ve got about ten papers now. Then I bought gloves,

stockings—luckily they had a small supply of gentlemen’s

stockings—I bought all that there was in the store, so that
they would be obliged to buy more, and so give me another
chance. Then I provided myself with gloves; I W

.._ a» .a . ...»»-;,~...~ ‘

y 4.1:...

g.

.3»

 

 

«-._.-—..__._

1......

4 The ‘Human Tiger. .

 

:2:

 

gloves for about sixteen relations—l invented them all for.

the occasion—all sorts of sizes. Finally, I was at my wits’
end what else to buy, when I happily discovered a box full
of spools of silk of different shades; so I’ve been laying in
a supply of silk thread I got to the end of the box to-
da ."

)‘2 That finishes your buying, then?” said Wirt, who had
been heartily amused at his friend’s recital.

“ Oh, no. I’ve made a wonderful discovery. The spools
are all different. numbers. I’m going to discover that I’ve
bought the wrong numbers in every instance, and go back
and buy more.’”

“ What have you done with all these things?”

“Got them all in my room up-town; they are very pre-
cious to me. I look at them every night just before I go to
bed. ’l‘hey recall to me the memory of the woman that I
love better than I do my own life. Each paper of pins,
each spool of thread, each pair of gloves has‘some delight-
ful memory connected with it.”

Wirt was almost dumb with astonishment.

“ Upon my soul, Ed, I never expected to see you in such
a predicmnent. You, the cool, quiet money-bag—the ‘ Old
Bach’ as you are termed by about all of your female ao-
quaintances, over head and ears in love with a poor shop-

irl.”

g “ That’s honest truth, Wirt,” said Kelford, smiling. “ I
told you that I was infatuated. Ah, Wirt, when a man of
my cool nature does let the passion of his being have full
sway, a raging torrent only can compare with it in force.”

“ And this is the history of your love aflair with this
girl?”

“ Yes. I discovered that she was called Pearl Cudlipp,
by the elderly lady who keeps the shop—Mrs. Jones, I sup-
pose—calling her, on one occasion, Pearl, and on another,
Miss Cudlipp, while I was in the store."

“ Don’t you suppose ‘that the girl knows you are in love
with her, and that she is the magnet that attracts you to
buy all those ridiculous little articles that you have invested
in?”

“ I don’t know,” replied Kelford, thoughtfully; “she
ought to have guessed the truth by this time, if she has
ever looked into my eyes, for I can’t prevent the love
from showing there. Ahl see, Witt; she’s left the win-
dow; then she’ll go home soon.”

 

CHAPTER IV.
m mm or ma non

Bergman Tasnoa proceeded leisurely down Clark street
to Wells, turned into that street, and walked slowly along in
search of some cheap lodging-place for the night.

He had not proceeded far when a sign blazoned on a
lighted-up window opposite attracted his attention. The sign
read;

KANKAKEE HOUSE.
.Boanmxe AND LODGING. H

“ Kankakee House!” muttered Bertrand, as his eyes fell
up n the sign; “that reminds me of old times. It was in
the own of Kankakee that I met her. Oh, what a woman,

' that girl would have made if her heart had been only half as

good as her face was fair! How the‘ memory of that old
time of passion comes back to me! How hap y I was until

I discovered that she was utterly worthlessl '1 she had only ‘

been a good woman, how different might have been my
life! At that time the road to good was as open as the path
to evil. Her influence made me choose the last, and now
what is the result? After eighteen years of crime, I find
myself a broken, mined man. I have made a dozen for-
tunes, and lost them as easily as I made them.” And he
knit his brows together gloomin at the thought.

“ Why is it that evil seems to follow me? Has that wo-
man cast a cloud’ over all of my life?” He paused for a mo-

ment after he put the question.

“ I can’t understand what brought her up into my mind
tonight. I haven’t thought of her for years; yet 110'. 111°
old memory comes back as fresh as if it was but \yesterday
that we parted. That sign, too, reminds me of her. Bah!”
and he ground his teeth together fiercely, “ I am getting
childish! Why should I‘ think of her? She doubtless was
in her grave years ago. A woman with the fiery, passion-

 

ate heart that she possessed was not suited for this life.
Better for her, and better for the world, that she was out of
it rather than in!”

Then he turned his attention to the Kankakee House. It
was a common two-story frame building, the lower part 00.
cupicd by a saloon. The windows were curtained, so that
the interior of this saloon could not be seen.

“A quiet place, apparently,” mused Bertrand to himself;
“I think that it will suit my purpose well enough. To-
night, rest; to-morrow I must plan for action. Who knows
what may turn up to aid me? They say that when one door
shuts, another opens; all doors appear to be shut to me,
just at present. My chance may come, though. Now, let’s
see what the Kankakee House looks like inside."

Bertrand crossed the street, and entered the little sa-
loon.

It was plainly fitted up; a little bar at one end, and a few
tables for the drinkers arranged along the side of the room.
The saloon was empty except that behind the bar stood a
short, fat, gray-headed man, evidently well advanced in
years. His swollen and bloated face gave good evidence of
the power of strong liquors. He was in his shirt-sleeves,
and had just mixed himself a glass of liquor when Bertrand
entered.

“ Can I have a bed to-nightf" Bertrand asked, as he ad-
vanced to the bar.

“ Well, I reckon I kin put you up hyar,” said the land-
lord of the Kankakee House—for the evil-looking old man
was the landlord—in a voice strong with the peculiar twang
common to some parts of the far West.

“ What will it be? I'm not flush with money,” said Ber-
trend.

“ We won’t take your pocket-book, stranger," said the
landlord, with a hoarse chuckle; “ twenty-five cents will be
the damage.”

Bertrand gave the landlord a one dollar note.

“ Have you any ale?” he asked.

“ Yes;” the landlord gave the change; then called out:
“ Lurlie, glass of ale.” ,

A door to the right of the bar opened and a young girl
entered the room. Bertrand gazed upon her in astonish.
ment; only once before in all his life had he looked upon
such a face. ‘ ‘

The girl was apparently but a child in years. Little in
form—a mere sprite of a woman—quick and graceful as a
kitten in motion, she seemed to glide over the floor rather
than walk. Her face was as round as an apple, fringed by
a profusion of short, golden curls that clustered tightly to
her head in little spirals. Her eyes were large, and a deep,
lustrous blue in color. The little mouth perfect in its shape;
the full lips red as the carnation-flower, and pouting in that
exquisite fullness that told of passionate tenderness. A lit.
tle, shapely hand and foot showed itself from the sleeve,
and peeped out from under the short dress. To sum up
all, the face of the child or woman—whichever she was-
was the face of an angel.

Well might Bertrand Tasnor—cool “ Captain Death,” as
the desperate “ road-agents ” had termed him—be astonished
at the sudden appearance of such a lovely creature, coming
like a bright vision from paradise into the bar-room of the
Kankakee House, .evidently from its location and appear-
ance one of the worst dens in Chicago, and that was as ing
a'great deal: for Chicago, though perhaps not equal to ew
York in some respects, is no whit behind it in places of evil
resort. ' .

If Bertrand Tasnor was astonished at the vision of loveli-
ness in the shape of Lurlie Casper coming so suddenly and
without warning into his presence, she was equally so when
she looked into the bronzed but handsome face of the
nan who, by his daring, had won the name of “ Captain
Deat ”

In utter and speechless astonishment she gazed upon his
features. A deadly whiteness came over her face; the blood
deserted the fall lips, and the ruby gave place to the an of
the opal; her eyes stared with a strange expression; the
pupils expanded as in the eyes of the cat species when
angry; the little white teeth were clinched firmly together.
But for the support of the bar which she clutched, she
would have fallen. Yet there was nothing apparently in the
face of Bertrand to excite such emotion.

“ Glass of ale for the gentleman, Lurlie," said the land-
lord, who did not nptice the girl's dgitation. It did not,
however, escape the keen eyes of Bertrand.

With a great effort the girl recovered herself, and without

The Human Tiger. 5

 

 

speaking left the room. Bertrand watched her keenly.

“ Your daughter, sir?” he asked the landlord.

“ Yes,” answered that individual, a little grufliy, as if he
did not wish to be questioned further upon the subject by a
stranger.

“She‘s a beautiful gir," said Bertrand, who apparently
did not notice the tone in which the landlord of the Kanka-
kee House spoke, which was strange, for “ Captain Death "
was said to have a quick eye, and that few things escaped
him.

“ Pretty 'nufl," returned the landlord, shortly. He evi-
dently did not wish to be questioned.

. “ About how old is she?” asked Bertrand, carelessly, as
if he had no possible interest in the question, but had merely
spoken for the sake of keeping up the conversation.

“ ’Bout eighteen.” The worthy host was making his an.
swers as short as possible; but the effort failed in its object
if the intention was to keep Bertrand from pursuing the
subject. Tasnor was after information; he had a purpose
in view and was determined to accomplish it.

“ As old as that?” said Bertrand, apparently in great as-
tonishment. ‘

(I Yes-H

“ I shouldn‘t have thought it.”

The landlord made no reply, but busted himself behind the
bar.

Bertrand returned again to the attack.

“ By the way, is her mother living?"

“ No," replied the landlord, beginning to get out of pa-
tience with his guest. .

“ Your daughter takes after her mother, I suppose?"

“ Yes,” said the landlord, grufliy.

Bertrand left the bar, crossed over to a table by the wall
and sat down. On the wall by the table hung a looking-
glass. Bertrand glanced into it. It reflected back his bronzed
features.

“ Eighteen years have made a diflerence in my face, but
then I am bronzed by the sun; and riding for four years,
too, in the Confederate service, hasn't made me look any
younger," he muttered to himself, reflectively. ’

Then again he glanced into the glass, which reflected the
room back of him.

“ What was the meaning of the terror in her face at the
sight of me?" He put the question to himself absently, for
his thoughts were wandering far away.

“ Can it be her child! If so, then she is mine, too; but,
if she be eighteen, she is too old; my da vhter would be
scarce sixteen. Pshawl What a fool I l” he cried, sud-
denly. “My girl had large, gray eyes, while the eyes of
this one are like the eyes of Mildred; the eyes of an angel,
but they can also sparkle with demon light.”

The return of the girl with a glass of ale put a stop to
Bertrand’s reflections. He watched her narrowly when she
placed the ale on the table before him. She did not appear
to heed his searching glance. After placing the ale on the
table, she returned to the bar.

0n Bertrand’s face was a puzzled look.;

The features of the girl were pale as death.

Bertrand sipped his ale slowly; he could not understand
this riddle. Suddenly his ear, trained to acuteness on the
prairie, heard a light footstep near him; he glanced into the
glass which reflected the room behind him..

Even his iron heart gave a sudden leap, for in the glass
he saw the girl standing behind his chair. A keen-edged
bowie-knife glittered in her hand, which was raised to
strike him in the back.

 

CHAPTER V'.
wrnr’s panel.

Wm followed the directions of his kind and looked
across the street. As Kelford had said, the girl had left the
window. In the back of the store she was hidden front
view.

“ She will go home soon!"

“ Yes,” Kelford replied. “ she has worked later than usual
to-night. She generally starts for home about nine.”

“Where does she live?" ,

“ Across the river, on the west side. in Hsistesd street near
Madison." ,

“ What is your object in watching her go hcmst"

I

 

“ First, for the pleasure of looking at her. You’ve no
idea how prettin she trips along the street; and, secondly,
because fate may throw in my way, on her homeward path,
a chance to become better acquainted with her."

Wirt looked inquiringly.

“ It is just possible that some drunken fellow coming from
one of the saloons some night, and seeing her—a young and
pretty girl—alone and unprotected, may offer her insult.”

“ Ah, I see!” cried his companion. “ In that case you
will come to the rescue, floor the rufflan, ofler the lady your
arm, and see her safely to her own door, thereby becoming
acquainted with her, and perhaps receiving an invitation to call
upon her at some future time?"

“ Exactly!" laughed the lover. »
“Well, upOn my soul, you are the queerest of lovers.

You are actually wishing that your lady-love should be in-
sulted by some ruflian I"

“ But you understand the reason why, do you not '9”

“ What a pity that fate can’t send the fellow, and give you
a chance to accomplish your design. But, by Jove, I’ve got
iti” cried Wirt. “ Look at me,” and he pulled his black felt
hat down over one eye in a rakish manner. “I ’m the ruf-
flan i"

Kelford stared at his friend in astonishment, and shook
his head. “ It’s a failure, Wirt; you don’t look like a
rough."

“ Well, a Wabash avenue sport on a ‘ tehr.’ How is
that?"

“ Very good; but, your plan?"

" To lay in wait in some dark spot on Madison street till
the girl comes along; than pretend to be a little ‘ how come
you so,’ and speak to her. You can be right behind her;
step up; I‘ll apologise; you can offer the lady your arm,
galivant her home, and win her eternal gratitude.”

Kelfokd could not help laughing as Wirt developed his idea.

“ I’ve a mind to try your plan.”

“ That’s right!” cried Wirt, who dearly loved a joke. “If
my memory serves me, there’s a rather dark block about this .
time of the night, just after you pass Desplaine street. That
will suit our purpose excellently. I’ll just wait here until the
girl comes out, so that I can see what sort of a dress she has
on; it wouldn’t do to make a mistake in the female, you
know."

“ That would be rather awkward!"

“ Yes, particularly if she should happen to have some big
brother behind her.”

“ In that case your friendship for me would cost you a
thrashing," Kelford said, laughing.

“ Not a bit of it i” cried Wirt. “ As I heard the comedian,
Dillon, say at the Museum one night, ‘ my legs have been too
well brought up to see my body .abused.’ I can run like a
greyhound." .

“ She’ll be out soon. She wears a slate-colored dress and
a waterproo -—"

“You’re well posted, ain’t you?" rejoined Wirt, smiling.
“ You’re as bad as my governor; he’s awful spooney, as the
boys say, on some young female."

“ What, old Captain Middonght  it possible that he is

going to marry at his time of life?”

“ It looks like it,” replied the other.

“ Who is the lady he has chosen! Do I know her?”

“ I don’t think you do, or any one else, except the old
gentleman himself. I fancy from some few remarks that he
made just before sailing on his last trip, that his destined
wife is, like your lady-love, a poor girl. He didn’t say much,
but the drift of his words led me to think so. He spoke
about painted dolls—a fling at some of our acquaintances on
the avenue—and said the only true womanhood nowadays
was to be met with in the homes of the lower classes. Of
course I agreed with him. I always let him have his 0W1.
way as long as it don‘t interfere with me. Then, after a
time, he spoke about the old marrying the young—asked if
I thought a young girl could lose on old man; of course, I
saw instantly what he wu driving at, and didn’t commit
myself. Then the very next day he asked me how I was
situated in worldly matters, and told me, deliberately, that I
mustn’t expect too much fmm him, as it was just possible
that he might take it into his head to marry some fine day;

. and the jelly old fresh—water sailor lacked ten years younger,

from joy, I suppose, at the prospect before him."

“ Then you haven't any idea who the bride is?”

“Not the slight“; but I have a suspicion it is some poor
girl that he's met with in his travels. Between ourselves,
Ed, I expect my worthy ancient mariner will get taken in

“““"fl
.._nr.‘

... ......._.._. A

 

.. ficv

- w‘vvrw‘

3::1'

6 A The Human Tiger.

and done for in his matrimonial speculation. Any young
girl that marries an old man is either a: fool or a schemer. I
am no believer in a union between May and December.”

“ When does he return?"

“ Well, his boat, the Michigan, is due this evening, I be-
believe. She ought to be in now."

“ There she isl" cried Kelford, pointing.

A slender figure, wrapped in a dark cloak, came from the
door of the little shop, and took her way down the street.

The two friends followed.

 

CHAPTER VI.
A mean 'rns'r snnns rrs em.

As Bertrand Tasnor looked in the mirror that hung on
the wall before him, and saw reflected there the glittering
knife and the upraised hand of the woman ready to strike
him, he felt that he was nigher death than he had ever been
before in all his stormy career. Cold drops of sweat started
out in big beads upon his forehead; he seemed petrified with
horror; his limbs were powerless. In the glass he saw
clearly the fierce blue eyes of the girl, now tinged black with
passion.

The suspense lasted but a moment, although it seemed
hours to the threatened man.

The girl saw that, by the aid of the looking-glass, her
position was revealed to the stranger.

Quick as thought the expression of her face changed; the
tiger became a woman.

With a low, musical laugh, she tossed the knife« over the
bar; the weapon struck the floor with a heavy clang.

The noise seemed to dissolve the spell that had fettered
with its magic power the iron limbs of Bertrand. He wheeled
around in his chair and faced the woman, who now stood
smiling sweetly in his face. The pupil of the eye had con-
tracted again, and naught could be read there but peace and
gentleness.

“ Only a joke, sir," she said, in the low, sweet voice that
was so full of liquid music. “ I only wished to see if you
could be frightened easily. I knew that you could see me
in the glass. It was a foolish thing for me to do, but I could
not resist the impulse. I hope you will forgive me, sir."
And she dropped a low courtesy as she spoke.

The landlord behind the bar, who had been transfixed by .

amazement at this strange scene, shook his head and mut-
tered to himself: .

“ Ouss me, ef I didn’t think the gal had gone crazy, an’
was again for to stick him right in the back. Ef she had,
he’d never knowed what hurt him, for Lurlie’s got an arm
jist like steel, little as it is,” he said.

“A joke, eh?” said Bertrand, coolly. All traces of his
late \terror had disappeared. He surveyed the face of the
beautiful, golden-haired sprite before him. There was a pe-
culiar look in his dark eyes, but it was not curiosity that
shone therein.

“ Yes, sir, only a joke."

“ Ah!” Now there was a peculiar sound in the voice of
the ex-Oonfederate captain. The “ ah" sounded like a-
sneer.

“ You are very brave, sir," said the girl, looking cunningiy
in the face of the stranger, and trying the whole effect of~her
magnificent eyes upon him.

Few men had ever looked into the face of the woman
called Lnrlie Casper, without loving her. But the stranger-
seemed insensible to the play of the passionate eyes.

7 “ Do you think so?” said Bertrand, carelessly, and looking
into her blue eyes with as much unconcern as if they had
been of colored' glass. The subtle magnetism of the orbs
was evidently thrown away upon the steel-nerved stranger.

“ Yes, you did not move at all; you did not even wink.
You must have looked death in the face. many times to see
it apparently so near without fear,” and the girl came
nearer to Bertrand. and rested her arm on the back of his
chair. ,

“ Possibly it was because i hardly had time to realize that
I was in danger. Who would expect danger to come from
a fair little hand like this one?” and Bertrand took one of
Lurlie’s hands within his own.

The girl shuddered, despite herself, when the bronsed
hand of the “ex-Road Agent" closed over her taper fingers.
She felt as if grasped by a corpse. A sickening sensation
of fear crept over her soul. Her heart was chilled with

 

L

terror, yet it was a heart of tire, where passion’s fiame burnt
unchecked and unrestrained. The white eyelids, fringed
by the long, golden lashes, came down on the pale cheek.

A look of fierce joy—of triumph—glared in the full, dark
eyes of Bertrand as he noticed this agitation.

“ What’s the matter, little one? Your hand trembles in
mine,” he said, in his cold, impassible way.

“ Your hand is so cold; it is like ice,” she answered, with-
drawing her own from his grasp.

“ A cold hand, eh?"

“ Yes. ”

“ ’l‘hat signifies that I have a warm heart—you know the
saying?”

“ Yes."

" Do you believe in it?"

‘ I do not know. "

The girl seemed strangely ill at ease.

“ What do you think?" Bertrand was curious.

“ I have never thought about it,” she said, simply.

“_Ah, that is because you are so young; when you are
older—when you fall in love with, some dashing young fel-
low—then you may think about it; and mind, remember
my words, a cold hand and a warm heart always go to—
gether.” As Bertrand spoke he watched the face of the
girl, covertly, not so she could detect his watching; watched
her as eagerly as the eagle does the quarry that he is about
to swoop down upon.

His words seemed to lift a weight from the mind of the
girl. She breathed easier, and a quick flash of delight pass-
ed rapidly over her face. The keen eye of Bertrand caught
the expression, and an odd smile appeared about the corner
of his mouth.

“ How old do you think I am?” she asked.

“It is hard for me to guess,” he said, slowly; “ the age
of a woman is so difficult to guess sometimes. Why, I
have met women of thirty-four who did not look a day older
than a girl of eighteen ”

Again the leok of fear .came over Lurlie’s face as Ber-
trand spoke. Yet he uttered the words carelessly, as if he
attached no particular meaning to them. But, again, the
peculiar smile was on his face as he noted the eflects of his
words. The shot that he had aimed had struck home.

“ But," continued Bertrand. “ I should think that you
were about eighteen, or perhaps not as old as that. AmI
ri ht?”

g“ Yes," she said. Again his Words had lifted the shadow
from her being that his former speech had cast there.

“ I thought I could guess your age correctly."

“ You do not feel angry with me for my joke with the
knife?” she said.

“ Angry with you? Of course not," he replied, quickly.

“ I am glad of that, for I have taken quite a fancy to
you, and of course I wish to be friends with you," and she
looked up into his face again with the blue eyes, now so
mild in their tenderness.

“ Oh, we are friends—the best of friends,” Bertrand said,
smoothly; but there was a metallic ring in his voice that
grated harshly on the ears of the girl.

The secret instincts of her soul told her that, despite his
fair words, Bertrand Tasnor was an enemy and no friend of
her.

“ Let us be better acquainted,” she said, in her simple
way. “ My name is Lurlie Casper; what is yours?”

“ My name?" said Bertrand, with a peculiar look upon his
handsome features.

“ Yes, you do not mind my knowing it?"

“ No, of course not My name is Gilbert Smith.”

The blue eyes cast a quick glance at him from under their
golden lashes, but he did not seem to notice it; he, whose
quick eye nothing escaped.

Bertrand drank his ale at a single draught.

“ Now," he said, rising, “ I should like to see my
room. I am pretty well tired out, and shall sleep sound to
night,”

The tiger look was in the blue eyes of the girl, as he spoke,

. but in s seoond it faded out.

“ Yes, sir,” she said. “ Ricki"

In answer to her call a hunchback boy entered the room
——a wee, little fellow, with a withered-up face and an at-
tenuated form. Though puny and feeble in body, he 3p.
patently was not so badly of! in mind, for the little yellow-
gray eyes, that peeped out from the shock of bright red hair, ,
that covered the head and hung low down on the forehead,
had a gleam of intelligence in them.

The Human Tiger. '7

M

“ Rick,” said the girl. “ show this gentleman to No. 10.

“ Yes, missus,” said the boy, in a shrill and feeble voice.
Then he held the door open for the stranger to pass through.

“Goodonight, Miss Lurlie; I shall see you in the morn-
ing?" said Bertrand, moving toward the door.

“ Yes,” the girl answered, a strange expression upon her
features.

“ Well, good-night, Dot," Bertrand said.

A stifled cry came from the girl’s throat; she reeled, and
out for the support of Bertrand‘s am, who sprung to her
side, she would have fallen.

“ What’s the matter?" he asked, apparently astonished at
the girl’s sudden faintness; yet there was a gleam of triumph
in his eyes that did not suit with his words.

“ A sudden faiutness—that is all,” Lurlie murmured,
with blanched lips. “ What did you call me!” she asked,
Ilowl y.

“ Why, Dot; you are a dot of a girl, you know," Ber-
trand said, with a frank and open air.

“ I felt faint, just as you spoke; I—I did not hear what
you said exactly, but I fancied that you called me by some
other name than my own of Lurlie.” The face of the girl,
as she spoke, was as white as the face of one dead.

“ It was only a fancy of mine, that’s all. Good-night.”
Bertrand left the room, followed by the boy. a smile of tri-
umph on his face.

The landlord had watched all with a curious eye.

“ He knows me, father! He will be my ruin!" Lnrlie
cried, with flashing eyea

 

CHAPTER VII.
comma semen rite now.

Barnum) followed his odd-looking guide, Rick, up
stairs. The hunchback carried in his hand a small coal-oil
lamp, the light from which illuminated the entry, though

but dimly.
' As Bertrand followed up the creaky stairway, strange
thoughts were in his mind.

“ Have I acted prudently,” be muttered, to himself, with
an overcast brow; ” prudentlyl” and a smile curled the
corners of his mouth. “That’s a strange word to come
from the lips of Captain Death, as my poor fellows out in
the mines used to call me. But now I am not in Colorado
sr Montana, but in Chicago; here I will not meet open force
from my foes, but secret cunning. Was it wise then to let
this goldendtaired devil—for she is one—see that I had
guessed her secret? I could not resist the impulse to call
her by the old, old name. If she does know me——-ifl that's
folly; she knew me the moment she looked in my face. I
could see it in her eyes, and by my cursed carelessness I
have let her see that I, too, remember as well as she. I am
in danger, then; now to prepare to meet it. I am in a trap
here; she has all the advantages. I need allies. Where
can I find them?” And as he asked the question, Rick, the
hunchback boy, who had reached a turning in the narrow
stairway, stopped and flashed the light full in the face of
Bertrand.

“ Look here, mister; there is a hole in the stairs here,"
and he pointed to it as he spoke. “ If you ain't keerful,
maybe you’ll put your foot into it."

Bertrand mentally said to himself that he had probably
“ put his foot into it "—as the saying is—when he had ea-
tered the door of the Kankakee House. .,

“All right, my lad; I’ll look out for it, so go ahead,
Rick," he answered, to the boy’s warning.

A gleam of pleasure flashed across the face of the bunch
back when the stranger called him by name.

“ How did you know what folks called me?” he asked, ll
astonishment.

“ Why, didn’t I hear the lady call you by name, and an
odd one it is too?” Bertrand answered.

“80 you did; look out for the hole, mister." The boy
again went on up the stairway.

“ I asked for allies, and fate has sent them to me, or at
least sent one ally, and perhaps in this case, this one may be
worth a dozen," murmured Bertrand, as he followed the
boy. “ This little fellow has a shrewd eye in his head; he’s
no fool, ugly as he is. Perhaps we'll have the old fable of
the mouse and the lies over waist I will elav the lies

 

tn tne net of the hunters, and this lad, who, like Atlas,
carried a world on his shoulders, shall be the little, nibbling
mouse to gnaw the cords and set the captive free. But,
first, I must win him to my side. That will not he a hard
task. The devil, who seems to have presided at my birth
and since followed my fortunes faithfully, gave me the sub-
tle gift of fascination. l have won strong men to peril life
and limb for me, delicate and lovely women to give up
home and friends and follow my desperate fortunes, and
this hunchback boy shall be my follower too. By his aid
I’ll bafile this beautiful being, who has the face of Venus
and the heart of Pluto. She' will seek my life, I am sure
of it, now that she knows who I am. She knows well
enough that I have a good memory, and seldom let my
debts of vengeance go unpaid. So, to prevent me from
striking her, she will strive to be the first in the field and
strike me. ”

Bertrand’s musings were brought to a sudden end by the
shrill voice of the hunchback. The boy threw open a door
on the landing at the head of the stairs.

“ This is your room, mister,” he said.

Bertrand entered, the boy followed, and placed the light
on the table.

The room that the two entered was small. In one corner
was a little bed, the mattress covered only with coarse, gray
blankets. A common little table, holding a tin can of wa-
ter and a basin, with a single chair, comprised the furniture
of the apartment.

“ A small window by the head of the bed looked out int-
the darkness of the night.

Bertrand cast a glance around the room, then turned his
attention to the boy. i

“ Well, Rick, this isn‘t the Sherman House, is it?” he
said, in a cheery tone, seating himself carelessly on the foot
of the bed, as he spoke.

“ Not much, you bet!” replied the boy, emphatically.

“ What does this window look out on?"

“The back yard.” v

“Int me see,” said Bertrand, refiectively; “ we are on the ‘
second-story, ain’t we!" '

“ Yes, the second above the saloon,” the boy answered.

“ How far is it from that window to the ground?”

“ 'Bout thirty feet.”

“ Into the yard!”

as Y“ "

“Any dog in the yard?“

“ Yes, a big bulldog—seal a rouser.’

“ I suppose he would attack any stranger in the yard?"

“ You bet!” cried Rick, decidedly. “ He ’bout gobbled
up a country chap from Peoria t’cther night, wot got out
there."

“ What’s his name?"

“ Pete; but ’tsin't no use fur any one fur to call him,
‘cos if he don’t know 'em he’d only fly at ’em ten times
worse," said Rick.

Bertrand laughed quietly at the boy's speech He saw ,
that the quick-witted lad, who was not near as great a foot
as he looked, had gueased the reason why he wished to know
the name of the dog.

“ You are bright, my led, to guess a man’s thoughts so
quickly."

The boy smiled at the compliment. Kind words were
rare to him. '

“ Is there any other door to this room!" Bertrand asked.

The boy hesitated a moment before he answered the qua-
tion.

“ No, mister,” he said, at length.

" He is lying now,” Bertrand said to himself. “ I must
win his confidence."

“ By the way, Rick, I’m thirsty; can you get me about a
pint of ale?" he said, aloud, and taking a tencent “ stamp "
from his pocket-book.

“ Yes, mister.” Rick took the money and left the room.

After the door closed behind the hunchback, Bertrand
roeeand commenced‘an examination of the apartment. Caro

fully he scrutinised all the walls.

“ The boy was speaking truth, after all,” he said, when

he had completed his search, and stood leaning on the table;

, um i, .0 m door, yet I could have sworn that he w.

speaking falsely. But, let also examine this door.”

A single glance showed him that it had a stout bolt upon
it. He closed it and shot the bolt into its socket. It held
the door firmly.

“ Nothing wrong about that," he said; “no other does,

 

:77“

~13?

‘ Sri- -.-....J...._.:zt ~25~Jzfi_

'7 —~a~ .9

 

- - v-w

“3.:

—. w

sax-n :w *- ~ _._

 , The Human Tiger.

 

 

 

either, and this one can not be forced without making son

noise. 1 can not understand it,” he said, softly and thought
fully. “I have a presentiment that, if I go to sleep upon
that bed tonight, I shall wake either in heaven or in the
lower place—most probably the latter, if the doctrines that
the ministers preach be true. But, to murder me my as-
sassin must first get into the room— get into it without
alarming me—for the assassin that will seek my life knows
that it is my custom to go armed; but now I haven’t even a
penknife upon me. One by one I have parted with my
weapons that I might live. My bowie-knife kept me two
days, my revolver a whole week, and now I am in the hands
of the Philistines, helpless. But my foe doesn’t know that
I am weaponless. The game will he to enter this room with-
out waking me; how can that be done?”

For a few minutes Bertrand puzzled over the question.
His eyes wandered around the walls seeking an answer.

“By Jovel I have it!” he cried, at last. “No door in
the wall, but perhaps a trap-door in the floor. Now for an-
other search.” »

Bertrand examined the floor thoroughly, even moving the
bed from its place, but no dark lines denoting the presence
of a trap-door met his eye. He knitted his brows in anger.
'Oaptain Death did not like to be beaten.

“ Ah, this puzzles me!” he exclaimed; “the walls d(
not conceal a secret entrance, nor the floor; perhaps the ceil
ing may." , ,

But the low, whitewashed ceiling that met his eye was
as free from suspicious circumstances as the wall or floor.

“ Bah! I am baffled!” he cried, a tinge of anger in his
voice; then he resumed his former seat on the foot of the
bed. “ The boy thongh, may know, and if so, he shall
.peahn

Hardly had the words died away when Rick entered with
a pitcher of ale and a glass.

“Only one glass?" cried Bertrand, as the boy closed the
door, after depositing the articles on the table.

“ One!” exclaimed the hunchback, in astonishment; “ why,
you don’t want to drink out of two glasses at the no time,
do yOu, mister?"

“ No, the other glass is for you, my little man," replied
Bertrand.

“ What! me drink with you?" Rick cried, in amazement.

“ Of course,” Bertrand filled up the glass, and oflered it
to the boy. “ Come, drink.”

“ Arter you, mister,” said Rick, delighted at the honor.

“ No, you first. I am the host, you the guest, and should
drink first!” exclaimed Bertrand.

The hunchback drained the glass.

Bertrand watched him keenly.

“ And now tell me, is there not some secret way of getting
into this room 2”

“ Yes,” answered the hunchback, in a whisper.

 

/

CHAPTER VIII.
mu m noon.

Wm a light, graceful step the young girl—whom the two
watchers on the opposite sidewalk had marked leaving the
store—proceeded up Olark street to Madison, then turned into
that street.

Kelford and Wirt had followed in pursuit. On turning
into Madison street, however, they took the’other sidewalk,
instead of following directly in the footsteps of the girl. By
this plan they were able to keep her in sight, without letting
her discover that she was followed. '

Not many people were using Madison street as a thorough-
fare, for it was getting late, and the street was almost do-
sorted.

The girl-passed onward,as if ins hurryto reach her
home.

“When we reach the bridge I'll get on ahead of her,”
Wirt said, and both he and Kelford quickened their pace.

Wirt hurried over the bridge, and soon was half a block
or so in advance of the girl. Then he crossed the street,
walked on until he passed Desplaine street, and then selected
a dark place in the middle of the block, and waited for the
girl to come. . ~

She was coming on rapidly, and had littleddea that she
had been followed all the way from her place of toll. She

 

had worked later than usual, and though she felt but little
apprehension of being molested on her homeward path, yet
still, as the hour was so late, she was walking as fast as pos-
sible.

Kelford was quite close behind her, ready to play his part
in the coming tableau, yet he had little faith in the device of
his friend.

After crossing Desplaine street, Kelford perceived Wirt
coming down the street in a very erratic style. He was ocv
cupying all the sidewalk, from the houses to the curbstone.

Kelford could not help smiling as he watched his ally roll-
ing along. ‘

The girl, too, noticed the approach of the man apparently
so much under the influence of John Barleycorn’s distill-
ments. For a second she paused, and hesitated whether to
go on or retreat; but as the drunken stranger was minding
his own business, and was apparently too much occupied in
keeping erect to notice any one, she determined to proceed.

But on approaching the reeling fellow he headed directly
for her. v

The girl stopped in nifright. What to do she knew not.

The street was almost deserted, but she heard the footsteps
of Kelford approaching behind her. Quickly she turned her
head, asif to call to him for assistance.

Wirt laughed in his sleeve when he perceived this evident
intention. The me was half won before a move had been
made. Wirt sat?a plainly that all he had to do would be to
speak, and the lady would gladly accept the protection of his
friend.

“Why, Miss Splinter, how y’ do? ’Low me to offer my
’tection,” Wirt said, in capital imitation of a drunken man,
reeling up to the girl with outstretched hand.

“Sir!” exclaimed the girl, half in anger and half in fright.

“ Don’t ’pologize; I ’scuse you,” said Wirt with true drun-
ken gravity, and making another dive toward the girl.

Kelford at this moment arrived upon the scene.

“ You have made some mistake, sir,” he said, hardly able
to keep a sober face on as he watched the comical attitudes
of Wirt.

“ What you know ’bout it, eh? I’m a gen’leman—a first-
class gen’leman, you bet! How’s that for high?” and he
made a lurch against Kelford as he spoke.

Pearl anticipating trouble, pressed timidly to the side of
Kelford.

“ Oh, please tell him, sir, that he has made a mistake, and
that I do not know him,” she said to Kelford, quickly.

“ With the greatest of pleasure,” he replied, and then
turned to the supposed drunkard: “ This lady says that you
have made a mistake, and that she does not know you.”

“ Don’t know me—hicl Ain’t she Miss Splinter—you
know—Miss Splinter, of Milwaukee—make first-rate lager
there—hie! Jus' lieve drink with you as any other man—
double six l" and he reeled against Kelford again, who quietly
replaced him on his legs.

“ No, sir, this is not Miss Splinter. ”

“"I‘ain’t Miss Splinter—hie! I ’cept yo'ur 'pology. If
I’ve done any thin’ I ought to be sorry for—hic—I’m glad
of it, you bet—shoe fly!” And Wirt, with unsteady steps.
departed.

“ Will you let me offer you my arm as far as your home,
Miss Oudlippr” said Kelford, his tone too earnest, in spite of
his efforts to render the question a commonplace one.

For a moment the girl seemed to hesitate. Kelford lost
hope.

“Lemme see you home!” bawled Wirt, who had halted
a little way down the street, and was watching for evidence
of the success of his plan. He noticed that the girl hesitated,
and thought that perhaps the fear of his return would induce
her to accept the offer of his friend.

Wirt had judged rightly, for the moment the tones of his
voice fell on the ear of the girl, she started with apprehen-
ston.

“ If it will not give you too much trouble,” she said,
quickly, and taking the proffered arm.

“ None in the least,” replied Kelford, happy beyond
measure as he walked up the street with the girl he loved.

, ' The light pressure of the plump little arm upon his sent a
I .hrill of joy dancing through every vein.

‘ “ You remember me, do you not, Miss Oudlippt” he asked,
as they walked onward.

“ Yes,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation; “ but how
did you know my name?”

“- I heard you called by your name in the shop.“

.\.

The Human Tiger. I 9

 

 

‘; Oh, yes; how stupid 1 was not'to guess that!” she said, '
quickly;  "    ~  "
“But let me introduce myself, now that I’ve had the
pleasure of meeting you outside of the shop. I hope you

will not consider a formal introduction necessary?”

“ No, of course not,” she answered.

“ My name‘is Edmund Kelford." .

“ Do you live on the west side?” - i i
There was a peculiar look in the girl’s eyes as she asked
the question. ‘ - v - ' ' ' -‘

“ No,” replied Kelford, after hesitating for a moment. “ I " "
came over with a friend, and I am glad that I did‘- so, since'
it has 'prbcured' his the pleasure of your acquaintance. You 
are out quite late to-night.” ‘ -' »  i ‘~  ‘i

“ Yes; I worked later than usual,” shesaid; “ but here is"
my street.” They had just crossed'Halstead. “My home“ '
is only afew steps down the street.” ‘ "    

“Do you‘liiv'e with’ y0ur’ parents?" " ‘ ' " "

“No; I am,an orphan.”  - i
“An orphan’i” e’xclai'me’d ‘the’ young man, and in his hurt
came the wish to be father, mother, brother, husband—elk“ .
to the sweet young girl, who lddked so: lovely in) thé‘elear"
moonlight. ‘ I g . u I. "l "

“ Yet, I’sm's‘n, orphad; not Only that, 'bllt' "I 5m a round."
ling. I never knew eithéf'my'Tather Or mother. "-~I“was' de~- . '1
sorted by my Parents when I was an infant, was. reared by » :
charity, and haye'not’h relative in the world that I know

of.” -(_r1‘».' " . .. -.rtl
“ What a sad story!” exclaimed the young man, imptfl-"
sively. “ But who gave you your namei’“ -' - r r .. him; -'

“ The people who took care of me. They were Eng‘iish,"
and gayenme their [own name—treated me as a daughter.“ "
“Ars‘thsst'thé'pttplethst yew live with here???  -  r2 "
«Yea.» ‘,. .  ;‘,;,,§,

“ Yo‘u’hava hardly hissed your dwn parents, then."

«r liave hot trusted them stall)“ -  : - - ~ ~ 

“I hb‘pe', Miss Clidllpp, that you will permit our acquaint 
tance to continue beyond this meeting to-night; that at seine? “'3
future time you will permit mete call upon you," he ieaid,"
eagerly. . . ' . I 1.. w r. i.   ' 'i ..

“ And you are willing" to ’call upon-me now that yeu'kne'w"
that I am friendless and alone in the world?” she asked, arrw'”
earnest iook-in‘the great 'gray eyes. T “ I "1’ 3- 1i "

“ What difference can, that make to me‘?‘ 1May I home?“I mm

" Yes," the ‘girl answered, slowly,- and 4 dropping  eyes"
from his earnest, gaze. - w '- '

“ Good-night, theni”'he said, while joy d‘anced' merrily ill"
his eyes. I g V 

A single‘preseure of hands'and'he was gone.'  - l f "

Pearl‘ Mined oh the fence-post, and with thonghtful, Vishnu?
ful eyes watched him, the moonbeams glancing“‘down upon-w"
her shapeiylittle head. " ‘   'u '-’ "

t

. .1." i ' .‘  .1 ‘. "I
 .l ’l I. .’Z:‘ :. ..; .,")l., i
. ‘. - . , a, 'r'

. .' .11.. '  ' . n. Vi
‘ CHAPTER _I'x'.‘ ,. ,..
‘ imam mans In , a ' . v ~ 1

A 9(an of pleasure came over the bronzed face of Des " '
trend as the boyjconlirmed’ his suspicions respecting a 
entrance "to the room which had 'been assigned to  '3‘" “

“ Air! ti‘is’re iii a way‘th'eli‘bfgettiag‘into this room with" '

\-

.1—

out usiitg" the door?" he said.
“Yes,'_’ replied the boy, ‘ I L ‘ " ‘ ' ’ ""
“Wheieis'iti” ‘ i " ' -' ‘ "
l “ lHavety‘ou. hunted for it}? askedthe'boy, with 9'  
oer. , .  .l .. . . -. i“
‘6 Yul" .“ I "
“'Anddidnitflnditiii” “"' ' " A ‘ ' I.
“ Your guess ii!" right.” The“ h'O‘t discovered it, yet)”
have examined the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, thorough-H
1y,” repliedlserti-snd, who, wglspu‘ziled that the secret mode"
of entry'iitto’ his death 'h‘s'd‘sscibéd‘his remit. " "' ”
“pool; heresgttid thehunchback, rising from his new”
theu'hé moved the littie‘tsble away from the'wall." ' ,' ' '
The walls of the ‘w'sts- hung‘with c'ommohstri
paper- .. .. . .  » .
The table re yedhthe hunchbafik’pointe‘d to! dark line
on the ‘waif‘tbat ‘ 'the' ‘t’aiile "iis‘d‘itid has: Bertrand: search?
The dark line ran along the .wall, about three feet from the ""
noon”.  "’- ‘:l .¢.tllL'-l‘.lf‘.' ~‘i...‘
“ That's 'tli‘s' top "of insider,“ and masts..th
the faint, dark line as he spoke.

I! "

il

xv
y' .s
A

 

“ It is a little door, then ?"

“iYes; -’bout two foot wide, and ’bout three foot high.”

“ Where does it lead to?”

“ Into the next room;‘ it’s a bedroom just like this."

“'Is“tlle door fastened on the other side?"

“Yes, a little bolt; anybody wouldn’t notice it, ’cos there’tI
:a piece of ‘paper over ~ it, same kind of paper that’s on the
‘wall,” the boy answered. '

“'Then' in'the' middle of the night any one that knew of.
the existence of this door, could easily get into this room
{without waking me?" I

“ Just so, mister,” the hunchback replied, with a grin.

“*Wat’si'pkatiaflt,” said Bertrand, thoughtfully, half to
lhims‘élf.‘ " ‘ -' 'r '= -

The hunchback watched him sharply, with his keen little
ieyed..~.ll‘", .3 .. . 
3 Fora 'few‘ moments Bertrand'was silent. He was busy
(in thoughtfiplanning how to parry the blow that he felt
iwou'ld be'dealt him’in ‘the still hours of the night that were
{approaching so rapidly.

' “".Well,” he said, at length, “ move the table back again,
iRickfihud’ we’ll'flnisli the ale.” -

Tifd"boy'obeyiad the cemmand and repmced the table.

i Bertrand drank a glass of the 'ale, then refilled the glass
,and passed it over t’o the ‘hllllChbiiCk. The fine of the boy
‘fully‘e'xp‘ress'ed ‘th'e pleasure that he felt in being treated in
,this filmiliar‘way. Bertrand had fascinated the hunchback.
! Afs‘ Bertrand passed the glassiover to the boy his eyes -fell'
luponitifé' litthp‘thaty burning lipOn the table, lighted up the
Eroom. Only a small quantity of oil Was in that lamp, hard-
71y sireu'gh' to net: another hour: ~ r

f “ 'Nb‘t m‘mli‘bil‘ here, Rick,” he’ said, holding up the light;
9 “ suiho'trr's'r soiiih’d I ‘shall he'l'n- darkness."

t “ You can lightlthe gas,” replied the boy.

“*Is‘there-‘g'as here?“ J'" ’ -  1 v - .

“ Yes," and the hunchback pointed to the head of the
ibed; above the headboard, Bertrand saw" the gas-burner.
‘Hisgreifieilf’shllut‘itiy'hidmet entétdsd to that part of the
too  .r.!w..‘~”1 Lin: ('2  in: ', . - .

“Thai ih‘excelleliti” 'cried‘B'ertrand, with an air of satis-
factibii'i":’ *rhe'lsestiou- ‘of :the gas-burner suited his purpose
admirably?“ 'In'tspdst 56n the-fbedh’e could easily reach the 
gas-bdifle‘f’WTtlt ‘his’ha‘hd‘, and 'slio'eld any thing suspicions
,occur during the night, a single movement of the hand- and
he could illuminate the apartment with a flood of light. .

“ If I only had a weafioh"dow,‘"1’ WOuld defy the malice"
of tfifi’kfiifldfifimek"lmuillmumd,"t0 himself. Then a bright '
ithorig'iit‘ht'fliclimim‘r‘poaibliy‘the hunchback might possess
a w apon of some sort. He resolved to act uponthat sup-
posi 1553):“ ‘imm‘A uil‘/_ uti Y' .. _. , , ,

“ Rick, doyyou know that I am afraid to-nighti" he said.

The boy‘sthred" ’idat‘saidlshr’hstt»; in! his own mind he had'
set the‘efraiigér dihh as’a' main-of dauntlesslcourage, ‘

“ Yes, afraid,” repeated Bertrand; ‘ -

“ drummier ‘ asked‘the'boy, in wonder.

“ That is exactly what I do' not know,” replied Bertrand.
*“M'frstrit ‘t’ usmsiessi oasg'hutit 1' had a weapon of any
Skind‘ r's‘h‘ould not fear.v”-~ -* >' i- r -

 

I ‘ “mum's revdIVer do!”

I “,Yéli;",repiied'Benrand,‘eagerly. 1“ Have you got one!”
, “‘Yési’T idii'rid it‘it'rtéi' a'iigh‘t in'the street; it were down
iin the gutter and. I picked it up and hid it. Some soldier!
3 got intd a fight‘one'night’at‘t‘he sheebang over the way, and
,l s’pdss’tsns‘euwem result-"r. I w .

“ Will you get it for met”. 1: - .
; “ Yes, right away,” and neiselessly the boy left the room.
 “ Fortune at last favors mel’f cried Bertrand, in exulta-
5 tioni’: "“ With‘ a'gobd'revolveriln my paw, I’d defy the devil
ihimse’lt th’kii‘i hrs-without s struggle ore-noise. Besides, I
,am forewarned and'forevt'arnedlis forearmed. Now let this
larger-raced devil eohie—“kfld'iyeti‘llehbuidihate to kill her.”
5The tones of his voice softened as he spoke. “ The memOry
ior thfl‘dld’tinie" cuties their hosts-hut she- deserves death,
land it is only just'flidt’I‘ehould be her-executioner." - - 7
i Bertrand’s reflections were interrupted by the return of“
;the hunchback.
i The boy drew a large revoiverrfrom under his ragged
jacket and handed it to Bertrand.

The practiced eye of the ex-Confederate soldier quickly

‘saw the excellence of the‘eafié‘hfr ‘i I. ll 0

“ A ‘Remington,’ ” he said, trillsipgly7 _._‘f.Bow many times
;the halls f,these playthings in the hands of the ‘ blue-coats'
’hava'whlé’tled i'bh‘ilt'ln'y' head down ’iir‘old ’Rackensack'i' ~I-
- shodld‘di‘ke'td  Arkansas again,"b‘ut “I’m afraid nylife

10 The Human Tiger.

 

 

wouldn’t be worth much in that region.” Then he turned Bertrand Tasnor had left the soon)...
and addressed the boy. “ This is just the thing, Rick; I am “ Why, gal i" he exclaimed in utter amazement, “whatde I .
much obliged to you. Finish the sis,:' one,” he spoke he i you. mean!"
poured what remained of the liquor into the glass. “ Exaotiycwhat Isayi” she;Mpllgd,;,¢gcitpdly,. “ I cannot.
“ Sit down and drink it. up, my lad. : I’ve taken quite a guess what evil death)th brought, thisflmnnnto our honey.
fancy to you. I think that, you have 'quickiwits and keen. but I am sure that his comingtheregques no goodto me}? .
eyes. I want a lad like, you. How wouldyou like to leave “ Why, what harm can he doyoutf’ askedtheuamsgedpld-
this den and go with me?” man. ~
The bOY’B eyes sparkled vith detain. u. its,va mail» “ 0931s aim-attire. , her. and Irwilmlli yam? thesirli- r0-
iell upon his ears, plied. “ We can not speak here without danger thatsome .
“ l'd like to go, huh” ' one payout-hear, us." i
“ Buwham mag Bertrand. anon “ Bu. Leann, has the buosfliibuids-i there - sins-.m-
“ I ain’t tit/$0,150 with 8. ammunitiliko Jewraedxl'nie- mwithatossnmanilliwmhstm We; Wane-09°53...
hunchback," the mournful tone of the boy’s voice told how,‘. ., low,” said the landlord.
keenly he felt  degradation,“ “ Veg ,yfilh'3.replie§,,$1§°<$lllo .fibKWI: A. 
“ A gentleman!" exclaimed Bertrand. laughing. “ I don't ., . lion”)!!! 9993 he!” “filini'flafifid Jim“. 1'" “199$”!
look much like: a gentleman. in eedoheoshwe '0" f" ""1-

down contemptuoualy; at his came Lamentssahespoiet . “Now how kin this miss, him your. demanded the,
“ Maybe you‘ve got, a reason why yg‘n WW; “Milo   father.

the boy, shrewdly. «1m; mmwkolgs gum rwho comes hens!" said the,
“,Yes, I have a reason, Rick, and a very good. one. tooI , l
but though my fortunes may be desperate now, yet I am sure u Wuuw  mddought”
they will not always continue so. What do you say; will u Yes,"
you go with me when I want you?” «or com} know him; he says that I keep as good
“But my hump?“ said the boy, doubtfully. Iquor as any man in Chicago," said the landlord, with
“80 long as your tongue is straight, what do I can if Wm.
your back is crooked!” exclaimed Bertrand. “ I want one _ “ Your good liquoris not theattraotion  him‘to
who will serve me faithfully; one who has the courage, to m. ham" Lurue .poko dryiy.
carry out my orders. What say you, will yonllhe that onerf' u Wm; Imam" (
“ "Yes." said the boy. promptly- “ Your daughter.”
“ It is a bargain, then i" cried Bertrand, grasping the  “ You}?!
of the boy, and for a moment holding it withinlhis own.. «Yaw l»
“ And now tell me, Rick, who and Tibetan you? , Arayour. , . “131mg” an,“ up old m1mastopishmk : (“You
parents living?” do,“ a, .01"
“ I never had any that I know an,” said I the  “ It is the Mtkfreplied, tolsqnma.
“HOWmuY- the first time he ever entered~tlpese).tioox's.l  new to.
“ An orphan' eh," “0 Wi-m‘i‘i‘JMIWde    
“ Yes. sir; I beenknocked about our. ducal,  so es hisisstyisiur
her. I tried to be a bootblack, and for to sell papers, but. u “on”, one beng9, gm" ‘
the other boys made fun of me ’00:: I had a crooked  u Y”; he 1, in to" with mg."
and wolloped me ’cos I was weak and little. .At last,I come , u um!“ 11‘ 'm 49 we “my”  in... my,”
here with Mister Casper. That was ’bout two year- Isa’? w.’“ k
“And was thll girl-WI Milk—W '1”? ’0“ W”, “ It will do him a great deal oi good, for, Iamugoing ,to .
Bertrand asked, carelessly. m._,him"f Mid Lugg‘lquiguyh
“ N0. Bin" “ Wharf cried thafathsrnwlns. Warm Fido in «tow-
“ Ah, .how long has she been here?” mm.
“ ’fiout two months,” the boy replied. “ Hes fatherrheh -. u 1 m 1 “911px” to. pocqme his 1111a,”,  
the man wot keeps the house—was sick, and} she come V ‘m.
‘0 “k9 can 0‘ hm" ' “ You wry oldiliiddonshli Why. lief 396.11,- handed.
“ Where did she come from? Do you know?"  mom   ‘th   .
asked. indicated that.” ynzmrsushlnaienmeds , .
“ Yes. from Wilmington; it datum!!! from here" u and yet, with all his money, he wishgm Mourns)” ,
“ I know where it is.” Rwanda-ides N39 :0“; my.  wife. He told me so on his last visit. He says the fact am
What 8110 '88 doing in WumMQN"; I am only a poor 'rl, and (figment! from the circle in
“ Yes, she was keeping Withers}?  . which he moves, oes not matter inth-e—least. He is willing
Bertrand‘s face .shpwadbsqngiset,“ ' ' - to marry me, even if it displeases all his relatives.”
“ A school-teacher, phr’yhegturmured, slowly, to  'f, “ And what did you sagr',’
“ her spirit must have been tamed down toweo‘ nthto :1 “ I requested time to think it over, and promised him that
tell as that. Can she have changedh  I would give him at daeidadunsuas whenhe iretnrned to
have tamedto one of flesh? PBWWMHMRQ. ,It‘is, 1919001 Obie ",saidi‘Lur1ie.‘l_
siblel When, the “W. ewes; 11.“, “Mi 999;; $0.191 “ 311. sorrow. baptism}?! new.” arias! twisty”.
changqbut not -.befor]e.’.‘  r ' I ' a; delight.” “ [id  gh's ; aplenty, or money: I
Rick mm the “9° 9‘ Emma  im°‘1&§h.hfi'.9,¥99mim acme: .199 , it Jim with
“ You and Miss Lurlie used to hop.,,aaqlt,,-oih,etmgidn,'fi-, (hose eyes of yours, he was a gene coon, g {mopn'are you ,
you?" questioned the boy, shrewdly. . , pins to be married?" I I
Bartflnd. 1311811“ at “.10  “ I can not tell now,” said the girl, thoughtfully, “and com.
“P61118959” he said, 1 n Inc _ ’ I  “3’30”  _
“ Well. good-night. vision. misc. .’oo-,,..the.v,,m, think“. “ by not? ask e ’ er. “The sooner the better, I
down-stairs there’s something. up it i m Wm Mir! 2M. . should “3-”
he spoke, the boy moved._,t9vssdi.tho,,door. i, “And so I should have _said, an ham; ago}? replied the”
“ GOOd’nigh‘s  . WWW 'm  “101%Amlmt, 39°.“   
you areto come." _ as V 'Mw‘qqm
“All right. mitten? The door «momma sh- ,Wm -« “w? We» ssh.w.m’7
Bertrand awaited  93 Wimifim-i. . “ at has he got)” do with it?”  the old map, .

with U . '
u' at,ng bitterly. “I  never,

on
 .

 

“ . MPEM- “*3. . '. .
“APT”, 3- ' “flimfissrtmfi’ the aid  dubi-
m' 'm “a “pa. h “flxfirdlcannotfunyexplain. Therearesomedarkpae.,
Tn landlord of the Kankskee House loo ‘ “at , ug  ‘ l. e,‘ I L that, III P. W ..'°9m‘r9l°u.tr9n,
ter in astonishment when she uttered the strange speech nits; , “363%” M "M. m ‘

Wm

The Human Tiger. 11

 

 

“ And this euss has got something to do with them
events!” ‘

M Ya.”

“ Why, he's-only a- poor! shoot, anyway. Give him a ten:
dollar note to clear out,” said the landlord, sagaciously.

“ Ten dollars!” cried Lurlie, in contempt. “ Father, you
do not know this man. He could not be turned from his
way. by ten thousand dollars."

“ No!" and the worthy landlord of the Kankakee House
again opened his eyes widely in astonishment.

“ No," repeated the girl; “ his nature is like my own-—

cold, hard and pitiless; but. he does not give way to pas»

sion like I do. His heart is iron, his will an unbending
one. ' I have not forgotten, though it .is years since I have
looked upon his face. I thought him dead, but I recognized
him at once, although he has changed greatly.”

“Then he ain’t a friend of yours,” said the old man,
 z

“ A friend, no!" cried the girl, with bitterness in her tone; .

“ he is my deadly enemy!"

“How him. he prevent you from marrying Middough, if
you.and. he agree for to hitch teams?”

“ I can not tell you that; it must remain a secret, but he
can prevent. my marriage. with Middough or with any one
else."

“ Ain’t you dreaming!” asked, the old man, ineredu '-

lonely.
“ Oh, no!" cried Lurlie, bitterly.
though would to heaven that it were all a dream;

“I am wide awake,

this man, with one. single word, could. stop all. He could.

make me leave the altar’s side and follow him throughout.

the .werldi’H Earnestly the words came from her lips.

The old man-staredat her for a few moments insilence. ,

“ I s’posezthat this «map an’ you have had some love at-
fair,” he said, at length.

“ Yes,". said Lunliqslowiy.

“ Well, it’s funny that I don’t know any thing ’bout it.
I’m sure I never ses'dvhim store," said the old man, evidently
puzzled. .

I tell.
you, father, that were I standing by the altar and theJninisr
ter wesreading the serviceawhich was to make men wife,“

“ Oh, yes; he was at Kankakee, and stopped at our house-'1

there, years ago,” replied the girl.

" What!” and a sudden light appeared to break in upon--

the oldfeilow’s thewiidersd brain.

“ I remember now; you.

went away from us and were gone 'bout a year, an‘ you -

never told any thing ’bout it. Was he mixed up in than":
u Ya."
“ He Helflilftb'fi! fluent?

" Yes. and I once loved him. aslhsd sever lovedgbeim'

and perhaps as I shall never love again,” said the girl, a tinge
of sadness in her voice as she spoke. ’

“ You don’t love him nova?“ . . _

“ Love him! I hate him!” cried the girl, her voice full of
fiery passion.

“ And does he love you”) V H '_ . , .

“ No; he hates me as bitterly as I do him,” she replied.
“ I thought at first that he had not recognise! me, but, his

parting,speeeh.convinced me that he remembered 9.8  

membered.” H I
“ What) to be donei",.said the old man, thou htfully.
“Hemust not interfere with my plans!" cried Lurlie, a
wicked light sparkling in her clear blue eyes. “ By marry-
ing this old man—whose every sense I have snared to my
will—l gain all that I wish for in this world.
of being adrudge. I would be rich. The chains that this

I am tired '

e .

old captain otters are golden ones; all' that I desire in the '

world he will give me. I want peace and rest. I would
forget the past—forget the life linked in by days and nights
of suflerin'g. In the gay world of fashion I can forget.
Then the bitter memories will not crowd in like 'an inky
mantle upon my brain. I am young yet; I would enjoy
my life; taste the pleasure that the world can give me and
which I never yet enjoyed."

“ But this man is right in the way," observed the old
man, thoughtfully, and an evil expression appeared upon his
hard features.

“ Father, he must be put out of the way,” said the girl,
lowly and sternly.

“ Well, I thought of that,” replied ' the old man, in the
same cautious tones. '

" He must die that I may live.
tence between us.

It is a struggie‘for exis-
I must crush hint or he'will crush me.”

“ He’s right in the trap, too,” said the old man, grimly.

 

" Yes, such another chance may never occur. He knows
me,-‘I‘ am sure 'of'it, fer' he called me by the old pet name
that he used years ago. He attempted to make it appear as
if it was but: the result of an accident, the using of the ex-
pression, but I am not easily deceived.

Stern and haggard was now the beautiful face of the
girl, and in the 'blue eyes, now gleaming so fiercely, was
written murder! '

“ How kin it be done without detection, ‘cos we‘ve got to I
dispose of the body?" asked the father.

“ I have thought of a way,” replied the girl, quickly.
“ There is a small door that leads from the next apartment
into his. ‘ By means of that door my minister of death shall
strike him.”

“ And who is he?” asked the old man, in wonder.

“ To-morrow that question will be answered," replied the
girl,'with a‘ smile of deadly meaning. “There will be no
danger of detection; His death will seem but the result of
his own carelessness. No one on this earth will guess that
he perished by the agency of a foe."

“ Well, I don't understand,” muttered the landlord, ut-
terly bewildered.

“ Wait u'ntilto-morrow and you will. One glance at his
face will tell you the manner of his death, and you can
easily guess the agent I employ to strike the blow."

“ It will make no noise?”

“ No; no shriek of mortal agony shall tell the world
that the 'hour of death is nigh. By midnight he will be
before his Judge. " And with these mysterious words,
she gliddd‘from the mem.

 

CHAPTER XI.
, . . ,. ,
a omen max mam.

Trm staunch propeller, f‘ State of Michigan,” was plowing
Iher  through‘the moonlit waters of the lake, her prow
headed toward Chicago.

It’vv‘as a beautiful night, 'clear and cool.

The’h‘ands of‘the‘clbckin the pilot-house had long since i
passed the figures that dénbted'eleven, and midnight was near
at hand: '_ ‘ I
‘ Two men were phcing‘up and down the deck wher'eon the
moonbe'anis played in rays of silver light.

We will describethem.

Orie'wszs tabla-mun. ' His‘ hair and'beard'were white as
snow. Keen were the blue eyes that sparkled above his ruddy:
cheeks. and. thoughthe snow or seventy winters had whit-
ened’his leeks, yet his step was 'as light and his form as stal- '
.wart' ad though‘ as were in the .bright heyday of manhood
rather than a man approaching the confines of the grave with
irapid‘ steps. < This was Lemuel- Middough, captain.- of the
i“ State‘of’ Michigan,” and one of the-leading shipmwners of
Chicago. ’

: Lemuel ddough was a man 'well- to do in the world.
His ti‘oiie bu hange would-be reade cashed for almost any
amount. 5 ‘ ' '

Middough had come to Chicago when the—know justly
proud—“ Metropolis of the West " was but a swampthrough
‘which stoie‘two muddy ‘creeks. ' ' »

He had seen the city grow up from the wilderness into the
great center point of the West.

He had early embarked in the carrying trade on the lakes,
and from the owner of a little ugly sloop of- fifty tons he had
risen to be the proprietor of one of the largest propeller-lines
on the lakes.

From the force of habit, Captain Middough still command-
ed. He declared that he could not sleep well on shore more
thanfh week at a time, unless it'was in the winter, when per-
force he must remain on shore, the lakes being frozen.

Middough was an impulsive, generous-hearted man. Frank
and open in his bearing, and showing in his manner some
traces of the early sailor-life that he had led.

He was a self-made man in every sense of the word. Com- .
mencing without a dollar, he had made thousands by honest
toil. ‘

The other, who with Middough paced the deck of the
“ State of Michigan,” was named Amos Kenwood. He was
the second omcer of the propeller. In person he was short
and thick-set, with a manly, expressive face In years-about

thirty-five or forty.

 

 

t
.1
l

. up.

=?¥;§=§ 3Qil‘iti? 2:: :_

«11‘s:

73$: :35? 3

“gr- 

:" ‘rT

.: .3?

'3:

 
, A .

 1-2:! 

*5

V 9;...

12 1'

The Human Tiger.

 

 

 

Kenwood had joined the “ Michigan " early in the spring,
and therefore at the time that we write of, he had been on
the vessel some four months.

By nature, Kenwood was silent and reserved. He spoke
but little, and did not inviteconversation. Those who came
in daily contact with him noticed that a cloud seemed ever
on his brow. Naturally they guessed that some heavy sor-
row had, at some previous time, fallen upon him, and that
the remembrance of it had blighted all his life. A.

Middough himself had taken quite an interest in the silent
man, who performed, his duties so thoroughly and willingly;
but even he had notlattenipted to unravel the mystery of the
gloom that overshadowed the life of. the first Officer of the
“ Michigan.” I

Another strange fact too had been noted ,bythose whose
business brought them in contact 'with Kenwood, and that
was, that his neck was. encircled by a scarlet ring imprinted
on the fleshF—a livid mark, as if a hand 'of fire had grasped
the throat and left its blazon there.

Kenwood generally wore a scarf around his neck as if he
wished to conceal the strange blemish on his throat. .

This scarlet ring, taken in connection with his silence, and
the gloom ever upon his brow, gave all that knew him the
idea that in his past life were chapters of fearful meaning.

As the tvm paced slowly along the deck of the propeller,
Middough, every now and then cast his eyes forward, look-
ing eagerly to the right of the vessel.

“ No signs of the Chicago light yet, Mr. Kenwood," he
said, after an earnest gaze southward. '

“ No, sir," replied the other; "‘ but we cannot be far from
it.”

“ We should see it before midnight."

“ Yes, sir.” ""' "  " “

“ I shall be glad to reach Chicago. I have certain reasons
for wishing to be in that city,“ soon as . possible." And as
the captain spoke, a glad smile came over his blufl features.

Kenwood did not.reply, but paced onward'by his side in
silence.; V .4  .,

“ KenWOOd, were you ever in love?” questioned the cap-
tain, suddenly.

The ofilcer started at the question, and a look of pain
passed overhis features, but Middough, who was watching
the surface offthe lake beyond, did not notice.

“ Yes, sir, I have been in love in days gone by," replied
Kenwood, in a ‘voice that trembléd slightly as he spoke.

“ KenvIood',‘ I‘m going to ask your advice on a rather deli-
cate subject,” said Middough, after a short pause.

“ Very well, sir; I will try and give it to the best of my
ability. ”. . I g I

“ What do you think of an old man marrying a young
girl? , Of course I don’t mean a feeble old man, but one like

myself for instance, blufi', hardy andmfull of life,” said the'

captain, slow y. v

“ I hardly, know how~ to reply,” said the other, after a

pause.
ent.”

“ Take the generalidsapf, the'suhject.” ‘ , , .

“ Well, from that standpoint, I must say that I do not
think it is a wise proceeding'on the part of the husband.”

Middoughmleared his throat a bit. The answer was very
unsatisfactory-m. 4.  - . , . ,.

“ You do not think, then, that such marriages are advis-
ableztt...... . , t . . .. .. .

“ No, I do not," answered Kenwood, honestly.

“ Well..th 80?” a . . .

“ BecauseI can hardly believe it possible that they would

,. “ If I knew, parties I perhaps it would he difler-

. be suited to: each otherpand, of course. 0,1110“ husband and

wife are suited, the marriage can not be a happy bne."

“ Yes, that’s yery true," said Middough, slowly;-, “ but if
the parties were suited to.,each ,qthen-r" I , I - ‘

“ Why, then of course they would live happilytogqghen
but, as a general thing, I think that such marriages would
not be productive of happiness."  3 . . , ' ‘

“ Well now, take a case like this," and the captain grew
earnest in his tone. f,‘ Suppose that anflold man, or one that
the world calls old, although he himself feels thatlhe has
twenty years of life in his veins yetr-suppqse that such a

man, wealthy and holding a good p0sition among his fellowg

men. should happento meet with'a beautiful girl—«he poor
and belOnging to thepoorer class; supposing that, attracted
by her beauty, and gentleness, he took an interest in her, and
that she, despite the dinersncel in their years, returned that

interest; sup ose the man, finding that he really did like the
girl, propo to her to make her his wife, without thinking

 

of the difierence in their social positions, and she gratefully
accepted that offer, don’t you think that she would make a
good wife and that the marriage would be a happy one?"
And the captain looked earnestly in the face of his compan-
ion when he had' finished. .

“ Are you sure that the girl is not dazzled by the positiou
and wealth of her suitor? that she loves the comfort, luxury,
that she will receive by the union rather than the man who
gives them to her?" said Kenwood, earnestly.

For a moment Middough looked puzzled at the question.

“ Well, I don't know. I suppose that it is hard to say,”
he replied, finally. “ But, even in that case," he continued,
warming up with the subject—-—“ even allowing that the girl
is influenced more by the thoughts of what the union will
give her than by her love for the man, then gratitude for the
benefits he has conferred upon her should make her love him
after marriage, if she did not before." And the captain
paused with a look on his face that plainly said that he con-
sidered his argument unanswerable.

“ Gratitude, captain, is a strange quality,” said Kenwood,
quietly. “ Gratitude sometimes turns into hate apparently
without reason, except that the weight of obligation is too
heavy to be borne with ease. Many a man and woman in
this world has—like the snake—turned upon and stung the
hand that has befriended them. Gratitude is an uncertain
ally to count upon in this world’s battles. There are some
in this life so worthless at heart that, the more you do for
them the more they think you ought to do—who really hate
you because they are indebted to you."

“ That’s very true," said Middough, thoughtfully.

“ I do not say that it is the fact in this case, for I suppose

your supposition concerns a living man and woman—"

Middough silently nodded “sent. .

“ Still, it as well to consider all these things. I do not
say it is impossible that a young girl should truly love a man
muchher senior in years, but I do say that it is unlikely.”

For a few moments the two paced the deck in silence.

“ I’ll stake my life that she loves me!” exclaimed Mid-
dough. suddenly.

Kenwood was not astonished at the exclamation, for he
had guessed that the captain was one of the supposed

“ Then you are the man, eaptainf” ' L

u Yes. 9’ _

“ And the woman?”

“ A blue-eyed girl of eighteen that I met just by chance
one of the worst streets in all Chicago.” -

“ And you love her?”

“ Yes; she has bewitched me."

“ Bewitched you!” Kenwood smiled at the em

“Yesl’lltellyouallaboutit.” -

 

v_ onsrrnn x11.
In: men m m

‘ Edi a moment or so the two walked on in silence, then
the captain spoke:

, “I had occasion one day just'about a month ago to enter
mto ' a little saloOn on Wells street, called the Kankahee
House, and there I beheld the prettiest woman that I 1.".
ever ,laid eyes on. She was a little sprite of a girl, about
eighteen years old, with short, golden curls, bright blue eyes
and the face of an angel—a perfect little witch. I confess
that I was fascinated at the first glance, long as I have lived
in thd world. Of course I found an excuse to go to the 5..
Icon again and again. I got acquainted with the girl, and I
found that, her disposition was as angelic as her face. she
is the daughter of the man that keeps the saloon. His name
ll Casper.’ I The girl is called Lurlie.”

“ A strange name.” -

“ Yes, but it suits .her well. Lurlie-—to lure; that is,
using ,the word in its best sense—to attract.”

" Yes, but it is generally used attached to peril; to lure, to
attract ‘to danger," said Kenwood, dryly.

“ Well, there is danger in her—danger to any man's heart ’
that looksgupon her," said the captain, gayly. “ But. to be
.hrlef: I took a strange interest in the girl, and she seemed
gratified, at my notice. She apparently put herself out to
please ,I noticed this. mind you, without letting her see
that I was watching her. There was huch a charm about
her. so much gentleness and innocence, that, even if I had



The Human Tiger.

 

 

not wished to love her 1 should have been compelled to do
so despite myself. On my last visit there I asked her how
she would like to become an old man’s darling? Ii she
thought that she could be happy as my wife? Ah, kenwood,
it would have done your heart good to have seen that girl’s
features when the offer fell upon her ears. For a moment
she looked me full in the face with those soft blue eyes of
hers opened to their widest extent, as if she was unable to
comprehend my meaning. Then, when it was plain to her
the moment afterward, the tears stole into her eyes, and she
hid her face on my breast, and said that she did love me
Kenwood, I felt ten years younger that moment. ‘Tisn’t
every man of my age that can win the love of a pure young
girl’s heart.”

“ And you are going to marry her then f" asked Kenwood,
who had a dim suspicion that perhaps the old captain was
not quite as sharpsighted as he imagined himself to be.

“ Well, it is not exactly settled yet,” replied the captain,
with some slight hesitation. “ She confessed freely that she
loved me, but asked me to wait until my return from this
trip before she gave a decided answer. But, there's no doubt
about it whatever. I read in the girl’s eyes that she loved
me and meant to consent. It was only maiden coyness that
impelled her to ask for the delay. I am sure that when I
visit her to-morrow, and ask her to name the day for our
marriage, she will do so at once. I shall be the happiest old
fellow in Chicago." And the captain rubbed his hands to-
gether gleefully, as he spoke.

Kenwood watched him with a peculiar look in his eyes.
It was evident that he was no believer in the power of love.

“ Well, captain, I wish you joy," he said.

“I'll try and deserve it," replied Middough. cheerfully.
“ I have opened my heart to you toonight, because I knew
you to be a sensible man and that you could give me good

counsel.”
Kenwood could not forbear smiling at the idea of counsel

ing a man who had so fully made up his mind as to what hr
should do.

" Of course I haven’t said a word about this aflalr to any
of my relations," said Middough. “ A precious row they'd

kick up if they had any idea that I was going to put my neck

into the matrimonial halter at my time of life. as they would
say. Just as if a man was ever too old to do a wise thing!"

“ You are the best judge, probably,” said Kenwood, quietly.
He thought that advice would be thrown away upon a man
so determined upon his course of action as Middough.

“ Well, I should say so!" cried Middough, heartily, “ but
you see my relatives would never admit it. They wodd call
me an old fool for even dreaming that a young girl could
love me.”

“ Yes; thit is probable.” ‘

“ Now, there’s my nephew, Wirt—he's a sensible young
dog, for such a devil-may care fellow as be is. I sounded
Wirt carefully upon the subject before I went away on this
trip, and be fully agreed with me, that it was possible for a
young girl to love an old man, and that I had a perfect right
to do as I pleased in all things regarding myself: Of course
I didn't let the young rascal see what I .was driving at."

“ Then you intend to be married snout", -

“ Yes; just as soon as I get Lnrlie to consent. I haven't
got so much time in the world that I can aflord to waste any
of it,” replied the captain.

“ That is true."

“ By the way, Kenwood,” said Middough, suddenly,
“ there is something about you that puzzles me."

“ Indeed! what is it?”

“ The abstraction that you seem to be perpetually in—
the cloud on your face. It doesn’t suit with you at all: You
must have suflered terribly at some time in your past life to
lave the‘eflects still so visible upon you. "

“You are right; I have suflered terribly," replied Ken-
wood, in a tone that told plainly that even the thought of that
suflering was bitter.

“ I hope I am not intruding upon your confidence," said
Middough, kindly. .

“ Oh, no; nokat all. It is but natural that you should
wonder at my gloomy abstraction. I'll tell .you the cause
of it. You have made me your confidant; I'll return the
compliment; perhaps it will make me feel better to speak of
the past.”

“ Has that peculiar scarlet mark around our neck any thing
to do with your story i" -

“Yes; that is a symbol to keep alive the memory of the
wrong that has been done me, and keep me from forgot-

 

13
ting that, some day, I may have bloody vengeance for that
wrong." replied Keuwood, in a voice that showed how the
memory of the past rankled in his breast.

“ To begin at the beginning; i am a native of an Eastern
State, by profession a sailor, and have followed the sea from
early boyhood. At the commencement of our late War I
enlisted on the Northern side. My regiment was ordered to
the West. I served my term out, then re-enlisted. I rose

gradually, so that, when my regiment was ordered to join _

Steele in his Arkansas expedition, which resulted in the cup-
ture of Little Rock, I held a commission as first lieutenant.

“ After the capture of the Rock, my regiment was sent
to Pine Blufl. We were in garrison there for some time.
Then we went on the Camden expedition, .and then, when
we returned, went again to the Bluff. '

“ One day, on a scouting expedition, I halted for water at
a little house some twenty miles fromthe Bluff on the river
road. There I became acquainted with 'a young and pretty
girl. I took quite a fancy to her, and she to me.’ With the
exoepticn of an aged father, she was alone in the house.
Her two brothers were in the ranks of the'First Arkansas
Regiment, fighting for the Union. Like her brothers, the
girl was loyal to the old flag. '

“ Of course, I managed in my scouting expeditions to pay
quite a number of visits to this young lady.

“ One day, on dismounting at the house, I found her in
tears. After much solicitation, she told me what the matter
was. A noted guerrilla leader, fighting on the Confederate
side, had, like me, stopped at the house, and, like me again,
had fallen in love with the girl. She, however; hitd re-

pulsed his suit. This man had heard of my visits to the
lady, and had openly threatened to 'her that he Would lay in

wait for me some fine day and provide me with a liempen
collar. I laughed at the threat, of course. I had little'fear,
but the girl was terrified at the thought of my being ex-
posed to danger, and implored me to be careful, which I
promised, readily. I had counted without my host, thbugh;

for, one day, when at the- farm-house with my men, the;

guerrillas came down upon us like an avalanche.  'Half my
squad were killed outright; the rest demand! was taken
prisoner. As the guerrilla promised, I was provided with a
hempen collar, and swung up to a tell cottonwoodtree,
right before the eyes of the; girl. - She fainted with “flight,
and was carried 03 by this demon. She was dearer- heard
of after. The rest of my regiment 'srrived 'jnst'initime to
cut me down and save my life, but I rayon/my back for
many an hour, just between life andvdeath. The mark of
the rope is still on my neck; you ss'eJ- '7I shall-wear into my
dying day." I 'i»

“A terrible story.” I r  

“ Yes; do you wonder that I am abstraeted and-silent
when I have this horrible memoryever with'me’! Sleeping
or waking, I pray but for one thing."  z 

“ And that'isf” ~ ‘  I ‘ ~

“ That I may one day meet this fiend who‘committed the
horrible outrage, and have a chance to put my‘hiark‘bir him
ashe has his on me.” Intense with feeling withevtonc
that he spoke in. ' ‘ ‘ "'"f
" " It is possible that you may'meet him.” " ‘ “ '“'"

“ Yes; and‘ when that hour comes, either‘he or I Istand

f‘i'l'» 2.1. ‘

before the Great 'Jud'ge'a few minutes after.”
“ Hulloai there’s the Chicago lights i"
And so the conversation ended.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
was man or m can. t . 

LmrsmetBiekonthestalrs. "'

“ Where are you going?” she asked. ' ‘ v

“ To get some beer for the gentleman," he answered.

“ Did you put him in the room where I told you?"

“ Yes; ma'am,” he replied. f ' ' - z " ' v

“ Did he say that he was going to bed at once?” '

“He didn’t say nothing at all ‘bout it," Rick answered.
“He only wanted to "know if I'cduldiget'him some beer,
that's all." I -~ - '-  " ‘

"Very well, get it, then,” had Lnrlie, reaching the land-
tug, went into’the roots and stone the door. i I " ‘

“ I wonder what she is so mighty curious ’bout thislfdller

for?” arid Blek'ran his hands through'rhisslmck'of red hair

reflectively. “ I never see’d, her so before. 'Rssrs mime
that somethings up. lmusttlnd out what it it. And with

  
 

 

 

 

14 The Human Tiger.

 

 

‘ .his reflection, Rick descended to the bar, got his pitcher of

ale, and again ascended to the room of the stranger.

Lurlie, after entering her room, paced the floor for a few
moments, evidently in great agitation. '

“Now let. me think!" she cried, sinking with an air of
weariness into a chair. “ That he has recognised me, I am
sure. I detected it in the glitter of those cruel black eyes.
How I loved those eyes once, and thatuianl. How I hate
him now! I am sure that he willrtry to harm me. I know
that he hates me fully as much as I hate him. He is poor,
too; that is evident by his shabby“ dress. 'His old ill luck
still clings to him, then. What evil' genius sent him here
just at this moment? Just as I had fancied that, hereafter,
this world’s life would be easy forum, and that, though the
past was all gloom and shame, the futuremight be bright
with‘peace and happiness?” -

Then she rose from her seat, and for a few moments
paced the floor with the stealthy and nervous tread of the
caged tiger. ,

“ Heaven knows I do not want to kill him but I must;
it is forced upon me! I have but one choice—one road to
follow. and that leads to. death. If he learns that I have
fascinated this old captain, he will denounce me to him.
Then my vision of happiness, of wealth, will be destroyed,
and by his hand, too. Has he not wronged me enough al-
ready! Why should he live to make my .ife one of tor-
ture? He is in my power. Fate has given him into my
hands. Besides I will not shed his blood, although I take
his life. A single twist of the fingers and the deed is done.
No telltale blood; no marks of violence will betray the man.
net of his death. All will think that it is the result of acci-
dent. Oh! I do not want to do it!” and for a moment she
wrung her hands in agony. “ But, it must be. His hate-
ful presence shall not keep me from treading the path to
wealth that a kind fortune has placed before my feet. I
we: be this man’s wife if I have todestroy not one Bertrand
'l'asnor, but. ten! Oh! how well I remember his name, and
how I used to watch for\ his step, and count the hours that

intervened between our. stolen meetings! But now, in the-
. place of love, is hate—bitter, unrelenting hate / 0h! let me

rest awhile. -My' brain seems to be on fire." With a-con-
vulsive sob Lurlie, the. - strange compound of a woman and
a tiger, threw herself upon the :bed, and buried her face in
the pillow. .

For half anhour or so she remained there. sobbing con-
vulsively but lowly. , v ,

Strange words came in between the convulsive sobs.
She, murmured of a babe and’ blamed herself for that babe’s
death. ,

Many a dark secret was in that lifted. head that the bright,
«crispy curls crowned with rays ofglaittering gold!

Afterxa- time/the who grew, fainten and less frequent.

She rose from the bed and bathed-her. “111113105

“ He must have gone to bed by'this time," she mur-g
~ muted, Thenshe weatto. the -,d,oorrand.lietened. All was

stillinthehouse. . ,._ ,.. I a
“ I can easily and. the ' tie door,',’.she. said, ” and then,
that once opened, death wi i come to him, not suddenlybut

sure, a death that he can not light lagainst, for I will steal ‘

upq‘rg‘hls senses and numb them to (crgetfulness. ,
en again she opened the door andlistened. As before,
all was still. ' . .

“ I am sure that I can find the door, easyin _ dark,”
she said. “ If I take a light when I open ‘the’ cor the
rays may penetrate-into theroom and might alarm him
should he chance to awake; but, that is unlikely. Why
should he lay awake. He can not aspect danger. I did not
let him see that I recognized him. "

Then to her’ears cameihe‘sbh’nd of footsteps descending ‘

the stairs, and in a few moments .RiokJappeared bearing in
his hand the light that he had taken from the room occupied
by the . stranger. ~
“'What have you got there, Ricki” asked Lurlie, appear-
ing at her door suddenly as the boy passed. Rick started
as if he had been shot, and the lamp almost dropped from

.his. hand. * .
“ Why. Miss Inrlie," he said, after drawing a long breath, ‘

“ how you frightened me. "
“ Where did you get that lamp .fromt” she demanded.
“From the? room where the gentleman is," replied .the
hunchback. - ' -

“ Ah! he has gone to bed, than?" exclaimed Lurlie, hop '

ing that it was so. .
“ Yes.’Miss,” said Rick, who did not dare tell her. that

 

he had told the stranger about the gas. He saw that she
was anxious about the unknown, and had taken his ap-
pearance with the lamp as a sign that the stranger had retired
to rest.

“ You need not sit up any longer, Rick; you can go to
bed.”

“ Yes, miss,” said the boy, slowly proceeding down-stairs
to his bed, which was only a heap of rags in a little dark re-
cess formed by the stairway. “ Wouldn’t she cut up rough,
if she knOWed that I’d told that feller up stairs all ’bout the
room! She’s up to something, to-night; I kin tell that by
her eyes. They look jist like the eyes of a cat. I reckon
she won’t make much out of that ent up-stairs, though.
He’s jist as cool as an iceberg. by, a perarie mud in
winter‘s a fool to him! If I go with him it-will be ji‘st high
times with me!” And,_with this pleasant reflection, Rick
crawled into his little den, put out the light, gathered the
rags around him and was soon in that paradise—Which is
free alike to all in this world, be they prince or peasant—the
land of dreams.

Lurlie watched Rick until the glimmer of his lightiwas
lost in the turn of the stairway.

“ Shall I go now or wait for a few minutes?” she'asked
herself. Fora moment she pondered. “ I had better wait,”
she said, at length. “He must be asleep, or my planrwill
fail; yet; even if it does, he will not be apt to suspect that
it is a blow aimed at his life.”

Lurlie returned to her room, and for a quarter of an hour
or more" remained quietly seated, buried in gloomy thoughts.
Suddenly she 'rose to her feet. '

“It is time," she murmured; “ he must be asleep by
this."

Quietly and carefully she stole up-stairs. Hardly a- board
creaked under her light tread.

She reached the landing whereon was situated the room

' that had been assigned to the stranger.

Cautiously she Opened the door of the room next to that
one, and entered.

 

To return to Bertrand: After the departure of the hunch-
back, he turned the gas-light down so that it burned with a
faint blue flame and threw no light whatever out into the
room. Then, with the revolver by his side, be extended
himself upon the bed, ready for the approach of the foe
that he felt sure Would attack him at some time during the
night.

The gas was within easy reach. In a second he could
tum it up to its full hight.

Bertrand waited patiently.

Time passed, and yet no sign of the anticipated foe.

Then, suddenly, a slight noise fell upon the listener‘s ear.

With every sense aroused to acnteness, he waited.

The noise ‘came from the direction of the little secret
door in the wall. It was plain that some one was open-
ing it.

“I wonder if it is she?" he muttered, as he raised the
revolver—he had previously cocked it—and trained it in
the direction of the little door. “Is it fated that she

shall perish by my‘handt”

 

CHAPTER XIV.
me’s men.

In the darkness Bertrand waited.

Eagerly he listened for the noise which would tell him
that the secret foe, wh'o thus stealthily, and in the gloom
of night. sought to work him harm, had gained entrance to
the room. .

The seconds lengthened into minutes, yet the keen ear of

v .the threatened men could not hear a sound that would do.

note the approach of the midnight visitor.
Thorevolvbr, firmly grasped in the irpn hand of the man,
was leveled dinectly at the little door. A single pressure of

.mtogofl agar and the missile of death wouldor‘ash ‘Ihraugh
. (sheila-sin of anyone attempting to enter by that passage.

The minutes went slowly on. Still, in the gloom and si-

 hnoe, Bertrand fwaited. 'l‘he slighttnoise' at the little door

was not repeated. N o sonnd broke the/silenced! the night.
“ What does it mean ?" muttered the watcher to himself,

' in doubt. “ Can it be possible that my assailant has guess.

 

The Human” Tiger. 15

 

 

ed that I am ready for the attack? No, ’that is impossible,”
he said, after a moment‘s thought. “ Why, then, if she
thinks me sleeping, does she nbt'procee‘d to exeCute her pur-
pOse? I can not guess this riddle. I‘ am sure th‘at'I‘heard
'r soine'one at that little door, sure that‘ some one opened it,
and yet the person, whoever it was, has not attempted‘to en—
' w."

Again Bertrand listened attentively.

“ Not'even a mouse is stirring," he muttered. "His the
attempt been given up, or have my ears deceived me! "dish!

I am getting weary. "

But, if Bertrand’s ears failed to detect the approach of a
stranger, his sense of smell did not. He sudde'nly' became
conscious that his room was being rapidly filled with the
notions fumes of gas.

The odor was getting stronger and stronger caeh‘instant.

“ What the devil can it mean?" quoth the exiroaddgent,
in disgust. “ How the deuce has all thls‘gas‘vgot into my
room? It’s escaping somewhere, and badly too. It ‘can’t be
from my burner."

Bertrand turned up‘ the gas a little, and it-‘th'rdw a dim
light over the little room.

“Bah! I shall stifle here, presently!” he exclaimed, site
' ting up on the side of the bed. “ Where can it come from,

and why the devil didn’t I smell it before!" '

Bertrand's eyes then wandered toward the little door.
‘ It was open! Ills ears then had not deceived him; some one
had been at the door.

“ By Jove!” he cried, '9 I was right then after all. But,
I must get out of this, or this eursed gas will stranglevme."

Then he turned the light up full, rose to'his-feet, and ap-
proached the door. The fumes of the gas grew still more
offensive.

‘Suddenly a thought dashed through the man's hrain. His
- brow grew dark and his eyes dashed tire as the horrible sus-
picion came to him.

“ Oan‘it‘be possible that this 'is the game!" he muttered,
between his clenched teeth. “ It is like her devilish cun-
ning. If Il'had been asleep, too,'!t would hare succeeded
[should have been put "out of the way as easily as we
drown blind kittens. No telltale mark of violence upon
“my body; an accident, that’s all. not are cool! my suspicion
is correct." .

Bertrand lit a matchythen noopin , passed through the
little epen door into' the adjoining . 'As he had‘ expect-
ed, the room was filled with the fumes of the‘ gas.

' By the flicku'ing' light of the burning'ni’ateh he" e'tamined
the gas-burner. His suspicions were correct;’the 'gas was

turned on full.
“'1 was right!” he cried; “ the gas was to be the'weapon

to deal me my death. What devilish cunning! She be-
' lieved me to be asleep; opened the little door, then turned
on the gas, expecting that the fumes of it would strangle
.me. Anti then in the morning. when they found me, swol-
len up and disfigured by the deadly vapor, all would-believe
‘that I was a green countryman, who had blown out my
gas instead of turning it off. It was well plannedrbut the
blow has failed."

A single movement of the handend thegas was'turned
of; then Bertrand returned to-his own room."

“ Now, then, shall I lie down and sleep or remain awake
on the watch? Am I safe till morning or not!" Thought-
fully he pulled the ends of his mustache as he pondered the
question.

" By Jove! I have it!" he cried, suddenly, after thinking
the matter over for a moment. “ Yonder room may be safer
than this one. That door can be bolted en the other side.
I’ll change my quarters; then, I think, I will rat quiet until
morning."

Bertrand passed through the little deor into ‘the other
room again, lit-the gas, and bolted the door behind him.
‘ ‘He-ekasainod the room carefully, and being fully'convinced
that no one could gain entrance to the apartment without
waking him, he turned down the gas, threw himself on the
bed, and within an minutes was fast asleep.

A watcher who could have stood by the bedside of the
sleeper would never have guessed how desperate were the
tor-tunes, or how stained with crime was the career of the
- "man that slept so calmly. His breathing ‘was' almost as

regular as that of an \infant, and the quiet smlle'u'pert the
bronaed faatum told no telLtale story of the reckless life
"that! hmhad led" or of the 'many evil deeds that he had
done.

The regular aspirations of Bertrand Tuner told plainly

 

of dreamless slumber. How difierent was the sleep of Lur-
lie Casper!

Her golden curls were half hidden by the embrace of the
white pillow whereon nestled her dainty little head. The
snowy night-dress half open at the throat, revealed the
pearly tint of the skin' and the exquisite contour of her

' form.

The full, red lips were moving convulsively, and the

beautiful face was distorted, for the dreams of Lurlie Casper .

features were swollen and distorted almost beyond recogni-
tion. The lips were pinched and blue. The man had died,
suifocated by the fumes of gas; a terrible death! And, as
she looked upon the features, how horrible to gaze upon,
thoughts of the old time came back to her. She remem-
bered when she had pressed the blue-tinted lips—then full
of rich, red-blo'od—3-with the passiéuate love-kiss. She re-
membered when “tin strong arms—now lying motionless—
had folded her to a manly breast and how the pressure had

" till-med her to'the heart with exquisite joy.

Then, in her sleep, he meaned; cold drops of perspiration
stood like beads upon her forehead.

“ Bortrand!" she muttered, “ Bertrand, forgive me!"

She was dreaming of the time when she had loved Ber-
trand Tuner with all the passion of her heart of tire.
' Ho'w changed was she now! She hated him as though
he was a deadly serpent coiled in her path.

 

‘The‘inornlng came.

Lurlle' rose ear‘ly and woke Rick from his rest under the
front-stairs.

“ You had better call the stranger, Rick," she said; “ he
may ‘wish to go away early.

The boy shrewdly wondered at her anxiety in regard to

' '.he 'ma'nwhom he looked‘ upon as his future master, but,

without a word, he departed on his errrmd.
'Luriie waited for his return with impatience.

Each moment she expected to hear the cry of alarm from
the boy’s threat that" would announce the success of her
plan.

She Waited for that cry, but waited in vain.

In 'a' law minutes—minutes that seemed like hours to Lur
lie—Flick cam. slowly down the stairs.

No traces of emotion could be seen in the face of tha
hunchback; evidently nothing had occurred to alarm him.

" Did you wake him?’.’ Lurlie said, with bated breath.

“ Yes ma'am," the boy replied.

" You did!” Lurlie cried, in astonishment.

“ Yes, 'ma'am," repeated the boy.

“ You called him and he answered you?”

" Yes, ma‘am."

For a moment Luriie stood like one struck by some and.

tho bolt.

"‘ He'ait'swered. you," she said, slowly and with a vacant

" look upouifh‘er face.

“Wh'at‘oa'n it mean!" she murmured. “ Can he have es-

caped l"

"were fearful. 'She stood by the bedside of a dying man; his v

The heavy footfall of Bertrand resounded upon the stairs;

in  'to'tlie question.

“Each stepstruck a chill to Lurlie’s heart. She could not
underptud the escape of her foe from the deadly trap that
she‘ha‘d laid so carefully for him.

“Good-morning," said Bertrand, cheerfully, halting as he
spoke by ihp side of Lurlie.

A’ ’su deli Iaintness seized upon the girl as she looked upon
the bronze face of the man, whose fleroe black eyes watched
her so keenly. ‘

vainly she 'attempted to speak—the words seemed to choke
in her throat. Mechaniwa she clung to the stair-railings;
without'the'ir' aid she would have fallen to the floor.

A peculiar smile came over Bertrand’s face as he looked

upon‘the“p£11id features before him.

“ What'is the matter this morning?
Bertrand said, "still watching her keenly.

“ I—I—L-am not well,” Lurlie stemmered, finding the use
of her tongue at‘last.

“ Did you rest well, last night I" he asked, carelessly.

'“ Ye—‘-yes.”'the girl replied, hesitating in the simple mo-
no's‘yIlable.

“ 36 did' I. though the gas in. my room—or in the next
 t6‘in‘i‘ne, ratherL—leaked dreadfully. I happened to dis-
cover.» in tine and turned it oil or it might have strangled
me during the night.” Bertrand said, carelessly.

You don’t look well," ,

 

 

 16

 

The harm Tigeh

 

 

 

ll Lurlie saw that, by a miracle as it were, her plan had “ Yes, avoid you," she replied, firmly.
‘3 failed. ' “ And why?"
“I am sorry that you we‘re disturbed,” she murmured, “ Do you wish me to tell you, frankly?" she asked, look-

810le. , ' ing full into Kelford‘s face with the large gray eyes that had
 “ Oh, “'8 nothingl” he cried With 8 light laugh. “ We". . set his heart in a flame and given his whole nature to pas-
.2‘ good-by; I shall come and see you at same future time, and sion’s fires.'
 you mustn’t put me in such a room again unless you desire “ Yes, above all things,” Kelford said, eagerly.
 my death to lie at your (10012" “ Since you wish it, I will do so.” There was a tinge of

, A courtly bow and Bertrand was gone."
,. “ Follow him, Ricki See where he gees!” cried Lurlie,
 hoarse1y, her eyes gleaming lurid light

 

l .
all 0 n A P 'r E R x v .
KELFORD’S woomo.

EDMUND KELFORD had not been slow to take advantage of
the lucky chance that had; procured him' the pleasure of an
acquaintance with Pearl Cudlipp. He had contrived-to enter
thelittle store wherein she tended on two evenings, just as
she waslpreparing to depart for her home. And by telling
an innocent little fable as to his residence being in thelsame
direction as hers, he had had the pleasure of escorting her
home. , I V _ p a .

Two long walks had he taken, arm in arm with the girl
whom he loved so dearly, and yet he was obliged to confess

to himself that he had made but little progress in ascertaining
whether he could win the love of Pearl Cudlipp or no. ,

There was an easy and quiet dignity about her that seemed
to keep him at a distance. He was at a loss to guess whether
his attentions were pleasing to the girl or distasteful to her,
that is, if he was to jngc of that fact by her words or actions.
Yet there was a certain look in her eyes, a glad expression
visible there when he came into her presence .that gave him‘
hope. _ , ‘

On the third evening he entered the little store just as the
clock was striking nine, but to his astonishment he found
.hat Pearl was absent. ~,

“ She’s just gone ’ome,” said Mrs. Jones, the dressmaker,
who was a lady of English extraction, with a strong aversion
to using the letter H in its proper place. f

' “ Gone!" exclaimed Kelford, in astonishment.

“This very minit. but p'haps you can catch hup with ’er.
sif you run ’ard, young man,” said Mrs. Jones, withdignity;

“ Thank you, I’ll try,” and Kelford made ahasty exit from'
.he store. ‘ ' L ' r ;

“ Well, of all the cursed pieces of ill-luck!” cried Kelford,‘
as he walked rapidly dewn' Madison street toward the bridge.
“ I should have thought that she might hat/e expected me and
waited a little. Can it be that she'is‘trying to avoid met)";
Bitter was the thought, yet he did not pause in his chase of
the girl. “ It looks as if she did tint/wish my Company, yet;
here, like a fool, I am running after ‘one who pessibly does
not care in the least for me.” ‘ ‘ “ ‘ ‘ ' ‘

Kelford hurried onward. , I ‘ _ 1 1' "

- Half a block before him he saw the slender graceful form
of her he was in search, of. 1 He was rapidly overtaking
her. ' ' '

As he approached, the noise of his footsteps fell upon her
ear. She turned her head slightly and saw who it was that,
was so close upon her'heels. ' '

If her wish had been. to avoid the company of the yOung
man, she gave no sign of it now, for_she did not seem to be
in the least annoyed when Kelford overtook her.

“You did not wait for me this evening, Miss Pearl," Kel-
ford said. . l ,

“How could I know that you were coming for me!” she
asked. I

“ You may be sure that I shall never fail to be in readiness
to escort you home, until I discover that my company is dis-

agreeable to you,” Kelford replied, warmly.

Pearl colored slightly at his words, and for a moment made
no reply. A few steps they walked in silence, then .Pearl,
spoke: , ,

is “ Mr. Kelford, I will be honest with you," she said, in the

I low, sweet tones that were so dear to the ears of her lover.

“ Your company is far from being disagreeable to me, and

 

i1: Yet, Perhaps there are some reasons that should make me
i svoid lt—avoid you.” .
I“ ’ “Avoid me? 011. Pearl!" Bad was the votes of'ths

ta young man and troubled was his W.‘ .

 

 

sadness in her voice as she spoke. “In the first place, you
are aware of the difference in our positions?”

“ I do not exactly understand what you mean,” Kelford
said.

“Why, I am poor and you ire rich."

“ You know, then—"

“ That you are the rich Mr. Kelford? yes. When you
came to the sh0p where I work and seemed to pay me some
little attentions, there were plenty to warn me of the danger
that I was, in. " ,

“Danger from me!” cried Kelford, indignantly, the hot
blood mounting to his face as he spoke. .

“ Yes; are you not a wealthy man and am not I a poor
girl?"

“' Does that prevent me from loving you—prevent me
from thinking that, some day, I may win you for my wife?”
demanded Kelford; and as he spoke the hot blush swept up

.into the white cheeks of the girl. She cast her eyes to the
ground, sorely puzzled, for she had not expected this'open
avowal of love.

“Perhaps I ought not to speak so abruptly," continued
the young man, ,‘9 but, the words have now passed my lips
and can not be recalled. Besides, it is better that you
should know- the truth. I have loved you, Pearl, from the
very moment that my eyes first fell upon your face. I
thought. it an infatuation, and strove to forget you, but the
effort was fruitless; I could not. For the first time .in my
life I discovered what it was to love a woman with all my
heart. I Want you for my wife, Pearl; and I mean to win
you if..I can."

For a few momentsvthe two Walked on in silence, Kel-
ford watching the pale face of the fair young girl with an
anxious eye. ,

“ I have been told that you are very wealthy," she said,
at length.

“ .Yes, I am,” he responded.

“ You .know (hat I am a poor girl, depending upon my
daily toil for my bread?”

“ Yes, I know it,”.he said, in a tone perfectly calm.

-“ And does not that make a difierence with you?”

“ Why should it!”

I“Rioh men do not marry poor girls very often, in real
life, although it may be- a common thing in novels."
‘ “Yet I ofler to marry you.” Kelford‘s reply was unan-
swersble. 7
‘9 But are you sure that you really love met" she said.
I “ Yes.” I .

‘f But, you may grow tired of me after a little while!”

“ .N ever i” replied - Kel ford, decidedly.

“ Ah! don’t be too sure of that,” the girl said, mournfully;

- "‘ it is human nature to change.”

“ That is true; yet I shall - never change in my love for
you. w A year hence I shall be the same as today—no, I am
wrong, not exactly the same, for, if I win you, a year after
our marriage I shall love you better thsn 0n the day when
we stand before the altar together. " V

There was no doubt in the tone of the yowng man’s voice.
He evidently believed what he said. .

“ Do you remember what I told you on the evening when
we first became acquainted?” she said.

“ In reference to what?”

“ 'I‘o myself." - .

“I do not remember exactly; what was it?”

“ 0t my condition in life—of my being an orphan m.

out knowledge of who were my parents."

“Yes, I reniemher something. about it, though I must
own not very distinctly. You must remember that it was

'. thenrst time that I ever had s chance for s free and open

conversation with you, and the pleasure I felt was too great to
allow me to pay any very great attention to what was said
on=that occasion. I was very happy, and that wss about ah
thatI do remember,” said Kelford, honestly, .

. Pearl laughed a littls at the frank confession.

r I“ Well, I will repeat it now. thencw Lsm .an orphan and
have never known who and what my parents were. u
been brought up by charity, Ass you- willing to tab:- 9.

 

 

1'7

 

=2

your wife the girl who he :1on Id Wiedgo—e erngle
reletion in all the wqyldt"

“ Yes," Kelford answered, promptly.

“But ' consider,” Veer) totem v-theugh. erooftglglnd
ltght» ehoee ie the full grey eye-t "'me dey I meg die»
cover toy-parents anppoee you meh me your'wife end
then thet discovery in mode: mppoeo thet, I em the chino!
evil—thet my tether-end another erouretched end (handed 1,
things! Would not “knowledge exthguioh, in. your heart,

, ell tholovefor me?" : ,

“ Why do youeuppoee ouch i-pmbehle thingei" .Ksllord
shed. “ But, I will enewer. the-question. I love you he
youeeelfgl love you beceuee I believe thet you will woke me
egeod wife, end that, if you do merryeme, you will tutti
moire-my lilo heppy."

“ If I do merry you, you my be euro thet I will try.‘exv
M‘M oeneetly. .

“ I think eoyend thet, perhepe, ie ate-m WI 1!".
you-Io deerly, for love you-I do. Gen-m:think.‘9mm
moment the dieooeeny thet your perqto ere met whet M
ehould be, can divert the current of my love from you! I
do not merry your Molly-«if you honours-abut“. Hove
you not him thet I will love you, one whee my!"

“Yes,” eeid Burl, lowly. :

“Theo, will you not glue me your mm.m
day, you will beoome my-wifet“ .

-“ I oeu not.n

“Why!”

“ Deoeuee I do not love " '

“lot love me!" Rotter woteo~wee all. ~ '

“No, but vaould give ny'llttle finger-whultyelfl
eried Peel-i, eerneetly. “ ‘i' like youyiikoyou eo muohl but,
I feel thet I do not love‘yeu M-‘KlyIIm-I‘“ 
it would bewreog for me to deceive you; thet remade."

“But, in thoyou may lovomol"

“ Pei-hope Io," Deerl‘ eneweted, ehyiy.

'l’hey were nowhefem'thezdeor of Ml‘ehoerdingtheu
With e eudden vlmpnlee, Kelford tech Peerl in~ hie me,
M e hlee upon hernotunwiiling Mendeotheypened.

onAP'rnR' xvi.
m om m‘e m
g Lox-lie welted for the return of Rick. 11m

mod , at “111 thdboy come not. _
Lurlio‘enea but little et the morning meel. The food 
ed twohqke her. A. dreed eenee of danger wee honing oyer‘
m, miniature wee ehedowed by e dark cloud: e could
net‘ueee how eoou thet cloud would open end the light.
niegaholt of magma Teeno‘r‘e Vengeence fell upon her heed.‘
“ Why Jhouid he return, efter ‘eo men'y ygere’ 
return to pro" mypeth end heme ell my ‘plenef' ihe'mun'
mm _ film wanted by thewindow in her room." hem.
this mimic,“ qhe commended e View of the street. I .v
f' MI I riekit?” she quartione'd, “ I must—1'10! I "If
the 91d minimum  me. I will we the consequence-i.
Derethe, vengeence of thin men into whose heed my lune-‘-
will .put e weepon with which he on strike mrel
3m. ,1 ‘11] dere ell. The golden dreem ehell become e
1 .° tit. notion. ell 3M" be mine!" '
“grainy: with unyielding lips the muttered "the one
determination to hex-pelt. her eyes rendering listleth out
of the window. nought eight of e men coming down'lhe
etreet. Her feue lighted up on the well-known figure come
in View.
“’Tie he!” ehe cried, in joy, “ my future 'huubeud: ‘the
men whowill give rue gold in exchenge for myself.” And
Ihl hushed bitterly et the thought- , '
“ Once I geve myoelf ewey for love; I m wibr M
end he that huye my,,.ove,muet pey gold for it; pay nehiy
" I

too.

Then the old gentlemen;'whoee epproech ehe lied wetchod
from the window, coming‘oppoeitevto the home.- uw he!
heed et the ceeement. He reieed hi hot, Indore-ed the’
street. .

“u. 1‘. comlegi” mm.“  «immune
thet he ehould heve hie epewer‘eo‘lijyflhn I woulth
whether I would wome- hie'wfhuor'roftree'the heliorflfor
it in en honor for e men like him, rich end proopereue, to

 

The Human Ti .

.pyoech in hie tone.

 

merry‘e'poor’ghi like. myself. But I. telkniiho obol,” ehe
cried, suddenly-I "He ghee no weelth-it it true, but I give
him youtheud keenlyfor I--em pretty;- nygleee has told
me it~ineny e‘ time. The mileage, thee, to not on uneven
one. flotsam" the tint men who hee- bought love for
gold. No, not love, for how can e girl with all the fiery
peeeieueoi youth-burning in her- veine love e nan old enough
Id be Whither!“
A trite question, end one which hoe new yet been en-|
ewered.~
Ceptein Middough—for the old men whose coming Lurlie
bed wretched from the window wee the eeptein of the Mahd-
gan-n-entered' the‘houeeg‘ ehookxhende with the lendile end
then proceeded-upstairs to Luriie’eepertment. His-knock
et the door-weeeuewered by theyeioe of Lurlie bidding him
enter. '
Del-lie roee from hereon-by” the window; e tulle of. joy
deneed in her blue eyee end illuminted her flesh. yams
fece es the cepteie entered.
'“Ohl 1 onto gied thet you hereoolnel" ehooried, ed-
vencing to meet-him withqu em
“ Glad to see me, eh?” excleimed Itddough, telling the
Wheaties hie, whilohie feee pleiolyehowod the joy thet
woe-in~hie heart. - I , -
“ Yoe,“Ivuriie enewavelyloohing-‘up btohie feoe-tvuetingly.
“ Gled to eee the old men, eh?"
“'Why,.y0u m not old—you do not eoetn to H leeet
got, to me, Lurlie‘eeid. ‘ - '
‘“ Wh Inn with you-I feel twenty yeere younger. our
tell em I deriing little girif’ v
' Then hev‘drewxher' whim, inprieonod‘tho little form in
hie 'nmfmmud kieeed the rampaging-up,» full ofanthe
dewy freehnoee of youth. he-Jipo-wore oonfidingly held
up‘to receiVe-hie‘eereeeg'while the girl shyly neededher heed
on his broed breeet.~ “He’etroked the-golden-heiredheedrend
twined his mire cereaingly-ie the many, eilhen cutie.
imam,» omemmmnmm the weight or, yeere,
loved the golden-heired eiren thet he held in hil‘ll‘lllllilh
ell the fire of youth.
3 “"Do-you mleor'veho‘eeid,» ehyly, end not nflngmor
beed‘to meet‘hie'm - - -
""‘ Yum cent-oer dog“ end Iprove theth thhk eohyny‘
eetion‘ew Dem-mum thee-l Mom!"
'“Yeez” eon end lowlycene 'ehellittle werdfrom (hoe
l V l. ' ' ‘ e, . r . .
fineneyeu premleod to give meeu-‘eoewee toeoerteiu
quei'tlon'wheu I returned tel‘mlcego.  needy
td‘glve ine ‘thfl'dtiewu‘?’ “ Meetiy'tho old apt-II eekld
the question: "1k  ~ ' - ,
“ What wee it thet you wmed )0 new". helioeeld,
with beautifully “me ' ‘
“ Have you forgotten!" eeid the old men, e tinged no
' 1' 1w,» mete Wmé'hee‘bleo que .,fore.unonent
tomeet hiegeno, then hidingthemegeinon his“ ., ..
' “I'M! eunuing'iittle MW tHiddo'eghppeltng
her heed fondly; “ do you went me to. m whet 1L: mid
when you premiud‘tofiveneme moo-my untuflt!”
“ Yee," murmured the girl. ,
“"Very well, I-‘willg'thon,’ if it 'will- plee‘ee  for, to
pleeee you, I would do elmoet my thing.” ‘lliddough'o‘m
would hm convinced eny one Aloe he-“epoke tho‘teuth. “ I
ldve'yeu, Durlie,-eud'went‘you totem Wife. .Lhuowehet
there‘ie‘e greet ‘dilereuee- in our: egos; taupe-My, the
world might say I we too old for you: but, ee I here aid,
your love will make me youug‘egein. 'Wiil you been. oid

_mun'e‘ileriingr '1' wilildo ell thet I o'eu lo theworld-for yen.

I‘em‘ weelthy, but I ehellholdny gold uweter weretify W5
define: "Everything thet I 'cen'give-you, I will." 'Wm.
will you enewer me now i"

v “ Bet loin-e poor~giri,l'9‘eho-mmurod.

“I know thet; but whet difference-do you ‘olppoee it
neurone no? hunky-immune“ you-loved me.
Hove I been deceived?”

' “Nogn'ehe Ieeidntlnlll'llyt - - ‘
i «we low-m" = » - - ’

« Y“ it

“And you will be my wife?”

" But whet will yam-reheione my?” ehe eekod.
“ Will they not look upon me with eoornf I em not etrong,
end I know thet I cen not beer to hove eny one engry with
me”,

“ My neletivee know me pretty well; they know thet I heve
ewillofmyowu Once you ere mywife,let enyone of

 

- ;»sr.3‘-. cue f“

."':‘ A

32::

 

 

'18 ' ' The Human Tiger.

....‘~ ‘ r v— . .f.. ‘

 

1

them dare to treatycu with disrespect, and he or she, which-
ever it may be, ,will_never darkeumy doors again.” ~

“ But I am afrdd that, theytwillqaayahat I married youfor
your money; they will never guess ,the love for you that b
in my heart.” And As she Spoke, she looked the old man
full in. the 1500“ ‘ 1.; I: .13) ‘x , ' .~

He wasintoxicatedLWiuth delight, Koran old man like
himself to win the love of such a delicate and begrtiful girl
as he held withinhia Hulk—Q willing. prisonu—wn.,m1his
mind wonderful. It flattered his pride, generally the w
spotin all:snon’s.heerts.. .1-  m1! ,w. ‘;:'v a t. i: .-, .-

“ Iletthem say: what; they like. in . private!” he. exclaimed;
“,thcymwillmdver speak so.tc.m~...'l‘,he. world will talk, my
dear; it is :uselets.to try-to‘presept,it., . . Roman were to stop
to- kick.’ everyyenyipea amounting: snarled.» his. heels,» he
would have his hands full. My friends will like my wife;
dl-lhht demotmremmlnegen friend; alumina: LAME?!“
qyeryrqneeti ofvyom little one. but ,etill'a queen. , ael
have said, you shall be an old mania darling," , , I

4.52 Obs 1L ensureithetlyou ilove me! yes, that, you love. me
as well as I love you,”ishe ejaculated, softly.-

“ And you will consentf”

,. Lunlie hid her face.on the old man'sbreest, and for a mo
ment did not reply. Busy thoughts ran rapidly through the
brain of. thevlittle head that the golden curls crowned with a
halo of light. . . I

:..i‘.,8hell Ldareitrt’ she murmured to herself. the words.“
reaching the ears of the man on" whose breast hsr'  
pmed. Jaipur; mind with, Bertrand Tenor livins‘i Why
not? He will come here for mesif,he.sgain seeks the, and I
am surethat hevwili. I be far away. He will not
dreamrof seeking Lurlie Casper in the wife of Captain Mid-
dough. The chances are against detection. When I leave
this house,:I will leavevno, clue- behind .hywhich he an, fei—
icvmme. ~..,Yes. I havedeoided. I wildo it”, .

“MushLanawer nowf’? she said, aloud. ., g ,  . ‘

.MYes; Lam burning‘up..withaimnatieneet” he «claimed.
“.00me,.ia.lt.yes.orino?',’,.  ~ :~ . ,. . .- . .

“ Yes,” she whispered. ,. . ,  _

inflame, bless you, darlinsf'h “id. MW'OII. “Old
may that Heaven give me many years to watchoverycul”

-._Axhl_xihad ,Qsptein. Middough known-Aha past life of the
woman upon whose head, he called downuheaven’a blessing,
he‘swould'xhavershrunk: from her. sides: though the vein a
poisonous thing, and the words would have withered his lips.
Benthacldiseiiorrwes-nomrcphetr; Heloan the girl, with
allithalevezinhianature. To him aha was the purest and
beam woman kindnend he meld he" branded as a flu.“
any man who dared to say that she was aught else.

M‘i‘hen 1011' will b. w  my; .

“ Yes,” she replied, soW.-hut,flrlfily.

 r H. i . :v 'I i "in S .

“ Whenever you like." ..

=“If Ixhad-my.way,,11,ahonld..myat sectioned the old
milor, i310]. :lH "my: n. u;' . ml ,  . . :

.f‘Mcucef”.slldCIsulilllnMinto tbs 1.0050,! the oidman
with azheaminpzapilen mu m I. , . v , . ,_ ,

‘9 BntlLenppose yeuuwill require some little time, topmpare
for the ceremony!” , ,,, I, , . , ,z . ,'

"who, iishall he madymhpWer you  pfvcourse, we
wifllba'mm'ivsmm 1w. '  ., , ‘, j '_ ~ ; , -‘

l “ Certainly. [dormant .- pack of ,foole pinning at me '
nimvaedding. We-can gomnthe  minister,and
bufmatf’hd there. I will get ,the, license at,cnee. ,Will‘.,t_e-
nigMIIit you?” “liked. fui . u; .- .m  i .]

MiYupif it suits you," shueplied. ._ H  .,  ,,,

who» I'll'epmfor m in mm at am Jim“

I'll, exam am. grew. thin poor I We. and in»
hematemm 109, Whitman-rife. end a little l.an in!”
own house, on Michigan avenue.”  . m ‘  I H

“ You are so goodmumei'fv MW up her
libs Mmlarewell hiss-wax .. v :x  .i l

alts-inandfiflieithe victim ere-sadness“. red lips,“
then, with a hearty good-by, left her. ,  I, -,

"‘ I have succeeded!” she cried, lamiumph. her blue eyes
darting tire. “ Once his wife, Bertrandl‘ennl’t Ltlely’yel
teworkntehannl" ". g"

0

"xii/1' 111'.“1 i‘i/‘r’  "l M’. "
bni-n eds "Y'ms “hm I,
Wanna Jun nmi firm In. .L'..'. mu "
um: (1mm 'v'm ‘I'flu ‘l'lrili ml 1,

\

 

CHAPTER. XVII.
mama rs m

Tnfutursleokedallhright toLurlie Caspss. She had
won the old sailor. Wealth, social position, all would be
here. Yet, in the brightness of the future, that opened so
glorious before her, was onelittle cloud, and in the center of
that cloud was the handsome face of Bertrand Tasnor.

“Oh! if he were only dead!” she cried, while her brows
knitted and her eyes flashed fire. “ How did he escape from
me last night? Can it be that there is a special providence
watching’cver the life of such scold-blooded villain as he is?
No, itieaa not be. Why then wash iifepreses'vedf Is it
that he may again come “rose my path; th‘. he may make
my life a living hell—my existence a torment and a mock-

",.":!;.Hl"‘: v I . p : , ‘
ex’vlziercely came the words from the full. red lips; and then,
as-if7 enable to restrain herself,'she sprung to her feet,- and
paeedup sudden the room, with the samechafed andrest-
lea motion that the caged tiger treads theharrow limits of
rte prion. ‘

“ Ohl how I hate that man!" she cried, pausing for a mo-
ment in her restless walk and glaring into the vacancy of the
air before her, as though she beheld there the face of the man
of where she spoke. “ How I hate him that I once loved—
loved as 1 never loved before, and I dare say will never love.
again. How the memory of the old time comes back to me!
The passionate hours that passed so quickly away; hours of
heavenly bliss that changed so soon to the‘torments of the
region below. How often have I. kissed those cruel lips——
tlmsslips thatynow I fear will work my ruin! ,But no, it
shallnot be!" She shut her teeth firmly togethcas she
spake,andthedevilishgiarecamein.herayes. , . .

“Oncskehsseseapedme; the second timehe shall not.
If he crosses my line of life again let him look to himself,
for I will not spare hiss. There is no power in this world
 me from treadingthe paththat Iharemarked
oaefar myself. My future life shall be one wild dream of
W triumph. v WhenI am the wifeof this- old
man, there is no woman in all this great city that shall
eclipse me. I will lead them all. The poor, despised Lin-ii.
—the daughter of “ Kankakee Joe," the keeper of a low sa-

loon—one cf the worst of its class—will teach the wealthy

of Chicago how to dress—how to be admired—to be envied.

I know that I am beautiful i" and she paused before the glass .

and surveyed the h dsqme features reflected therein with
pride, " that beauty 1"brih‘g hundreds to my feet, willing
slaves. Man is.a.foollgemrallyt where a womgn is concerned.
Lwili fwinglltlte poor, shallow idiots around my finger; break
their hearts, crush their vanity, and, then laugh at thech
cfmy powers”, She smiled mrnfuuy as she spoke. The
picturewasapleasantone. ,' “ ‘ ' "

“ Lurlie Casper. thepoor girl, is passedb‘y, unneeded, in the
street; scarcely a glance of admiration does the receive; but,
Luriie Middough, the wife of the wealthy captain, clad in
silks, will__make more than one turn their heads and take the
second look “Today I am poor—I am nothing; tomorrow
Ilahall he'rich‘, then.I shall a saint. The man who wrote
that ‘ charity covers a multitude 'of sins,’ should have added
that a golden mask cover: all crimes. Dazzle the eyes of
the world with the yellow, glittering dress and they no
blind to aught else. Int met» but true to myself and the
future will be one long dream of joy. 'No'more foolish weak-
naml I. know my powers; let mouse the’m rightly. Who
could guess that this soft, white bosom hides a henrt of am
That the evil passions of a fiend burn within? I on. m
nothing but myself, nau ht else; self and self alone.”

Thegiri was right. e demon cf‘self-intetest swayed her
whole nature. But one man in all the world ’ knew her for
what in 'truth she was, a tiger in‘ the form of a woman “d

I I a faced an  And that man was the only bein
 9W  dim “ml '0“: that had av:
proven that she could be made to' tremble. Tim m w“
“I”, ska   bitterly, Bartrand TIIIIOI‘, the ex.
ss ” ' '

*3.  detain Rick so long?” muttered‘L‘nrlie, thought-
fw,,,_.‘,: Will he.bs.able.to,traoe this man? I think so, for
liaise,de little huh. I must not lose track of this
mum help it"... .

Alcwkncckscnnded onthedocr.

z“.mw;bsthsh°rl”hrlh cried.- sls-nef ioyon
"MU “‘Domeim’ehO-id- .

 Manda she had expected. Biek,the
hunchheok. sawed.

 

 

The Human Tiger. ‘ r 19

 

“Well, did you follow him?" cried Luriie, impatiently,
not waiting for the boy to speak.

“Yes, mum,” Rick replied, with a cunning leer.

" Where did he go to?” she asked, in breathless anxiety.

“ Down to the Clark street dock.” ‘

“ And then?"

“ He went on board of a propeller, the ‘ Lake Birdg’ he's
goin’ up the lake in her 'to-night; so he told the man wot

t was in the oflice.”

“ Where is he going?"

“ To Mackinaw. He said he had an interest in the lumber
business'up there. I heard him tell the teller so," and Rick
grinned, as though proud of his watchfulness as he spoke.

“ To Mackinaw," said Luriie, absently; “ that is far 011—”

“ Yea, mum,” said Rick, “ ’way on up in the woods, some-
where." ' ’

“ Can it be that he did not recognize me?" murmured Lur-
lie, to herself, in doubt, “ or is he willing that I should go
my way free? I can hardly believe that, for I know his
nature too well. I am sure that he hates me fully as much
as I do him. He must know that the blow that came so near
his life last night came from me. Is he then a man to go
quietly away without trying to return that blow? No, I know
him too well to believe that. What then can he the mean-
ing the movement which takes him far from me?" For a
few moments Lurlie pondered over the difficult questiOn in
silence. Her earnest face and puzzled look showed plainly
how deeply she was interested.

“ Ah! I have it I" she muttered—still communing with
herself—as a sudden thought flashed across her brain. “ This
is a trick—a trap wherein to catch me. He wishes to throw
me off'my guard. To make me believe either that he did
not recognize me, or else, that, recognizing me, he does not
care to measure his wits'against mine. He must have dis-
covered that the boy was following him and suspected that
I set him on the watch. This must he the explanation of
his conduct; it is the only reasonable one.

“ Rick," she said, aloud, and turning to the boy, “ did
this stranger discover that you were following him i"

“ No, mum," answered the boy, promptly.

“ Are you sure?" questioned Luriie, somewhat pussied.

“ Yes, mum, worry sure," said Rick, without a bit of heel-
tation. ‘ ' ' '

“ But, he may have noticed you without your seeing him."

“ Why. he never turned round.” ‘

“ And you are sure that he did nor suspect that you were
following him?" said Lurlie, who was bewildered at the in-
telligence. ‘

“ Yes, mum," said the hunchback, decidedly. " He went
right down to the dock—right straight from here; I foliered
’way on ahind; so he couldn’t see me if he had a-turned
round, but he didn't, nary time. Arter he inquired on the
boat, I shied off home, ’cos I thought that I had found out all
you wanted to know.”

“ Yes, that is all I wanted," said Luriie, sbsently.

Rick watched her face, covertly, from beneath his heetling
eyebrows. There was a cunning leer on his features, that
possibly‘would have added to Luriie's uneasiness had she
noticed it. But she did not. She was trying, but vainly,
tonndareason forthcstrangeaotiononthe part of Barter

' Tasnor

“ When does the boat go?” said Luriie, at length. -

“To-night at seven o'clock. I see’d it on a hill, just over
the bridge,” said the boy.

“ To-night, then, at seven, Rick, you go down to the dock
and see if this man goes on the boat.” . .

“ Yes, mum." .

“Then come back instantly and tell me)“

“ Yes, mum, I will,” replied the boy.

“ That is all then; you can go, Rick." Mechanitu the
words came from the lips of the girl. Her thoughts were
far away. A dim sense of danger was hanging over her.
She had a dark foreboding that the action of Bertrand men-
aced harm to her. That, like the tiger, he was only recoil-
‘ing to make his spring more certain. But, how to‘ guard
against that danger she knew not. Her thoughts were
groping in the dark; no ray of light shot across her bewil-
dered brain.

' With a noiseless step, Rick left the room. 'l‘hsrs'was
a something of the snake about all the actions of the lunch-
back. -

4 Once outside he'cl0sed the door carefully behind him.
Then he doubled up his dirty fist and shook it menacineg
in the air. The direction indicated clearly that the menace

a

 

! I

was intended for Lurlie. ' ' ‘

“ You didn’t give me nothing, neither,” he w’hined, soft.
ly. " You think I‘m a-going to watch the ‘cap’ for you
and for nothing, too! Maybe, 1’“ watch you for him, my
lady, the fust thing you knows. You ain‘t a-goin’g to ban
every thing your own way; not as I knows on." ,V

Then having apparently relieved his mind, Rick i'slunh ?
down-stairs. ' I ' .

Lurlie, afterthe departure of the hunchback, left'aioae with 
her own thoughts—which were a strange mingling of sweet 
and bitter—sat down by the window, and for a few moments
drummed listlessly upon the window pane. I ' '

“ I can not understand," she murmured, reflectively.
“ Can it be that he is willing‘ to leaVe me to follow  way
through the world in 'pe'sce.‘ I can hardly believe it, and
yet it looks like it. I shall know tonight when the boy rc-
turns. If he does l'esve- Chicago in the “ Lake-Bird,” it

- will be positive proof that he meditates no wrong tome,
for, if he did, he would not leave the city. Tonight I shall
know, sure. Let use see: the captain—#my future hus-
hand--" and; a tone of triumph swelled in herIVOice ts she
spoke— “ will be here for me at eight, so he said. The
boat sails at seven. Rick, then; will have time lto see‘whe-
.ther thie'men ‘om' in her or. remains'ih- Chicago.~ If he
leaves the city then I may breathe freely, but if-he remains,"
and she drew a long breath cache spoke,-'-“ why then I am.
in danger. I ehali know toonight though, and m: is tobe
war I must prepare to'milh' It- will be strmge,u'indeed,
if my woman's wits are not a match =fot'1-hisi4-tcoolg‘desper
atevillain though babes ‘ Timele :shew, howeVer.-' Now
I taut prepare to leave' this deh"of misery. . To—morraw I
shall shine in Michigan venue, the honored wife of Captain
Mlddough. The worm will beoonIe-arbuttet'fly. “I 'r’nust
take care, though, that my wings are not singed by the 5fiery
breath of Bertrand 'I‘annor." . ~ ' ‘ «

The day passed slowly away to Luriie. Eagerly and-anx-
iously she watched the handset the clock as they, at a
snail’s pace—so it“ seemed to her—~0rept lazily eronnd the i

Thehourofsevencameatlast. ~. ~.- ~ .~~

Darknesshegu to van in the bhystretteol thegreat
city. . The lkhte slowly appeared iavthe-wi‘adoweyoneby
m '. i . . .." l. i. 1.1. l 1.1» I_ .

-- If-the previout home had seemed long to Luriie,".th‘o sixty
minutesthet intervenedhetween seven and 'eight appeared
tothe'vestless spiritvofthe woman along a ll] flievsest put
together. .  . f 4

“ Which will come first!” she mu’niiure‘dgu’ impatiently
she paced the mom. “ Will it be Rick oethaea‘ptainr
Will I receivefthe newe- that say enemy has gene or thatlmy
marriage waits? .Oht will eight never comer”. a!

Auxiously she mhed trim of the clockt ffllewlyrthe
hands marked the minutes. The loud ticking ofnthe clock
was answered by the pulsating thrdb of‘the fiery heh'rt'that
heat within her 'bresst-d-that‘ heart which oouldmeltlwith
all the warm tenda'aess of woman’s loveor burn9with all the
heme passion of a demon’s hate. =- - n '  n s. "I

At last the hands noted the hour of eight. ".(mm

Isurlie's-heampvea, great throb of joy when he looked

atthedialandnotedthetima -  ,,
r “A. short hour andul shall commence my camerlof-tri-
umph.- Oneilittle hour and I shall be the. wife .of ‘Oapmin
Middough; but—chi why does not Rialn‘ come that Itmay

' ‘know whether Bertrand has. left Glicago or not?» Iona not
hreathe in peace if be. main. --Bven .his presence in the
city, though out of weight, will cast a. dark standout
my “'0.” i - . . ' 5

'A viprous knack mttied the docs.

,-‘ -Ui":r

.'~ / ‘\(l.. ,

 

OHKPTIR ‘XVIID ‘1
‘ m. Hartman. _ ‘ I g I
Beau-m beat high 'and: the bright color flushed her
wax-like cheeks. - . . .
" - Shevknew thehaoek fellmeil. Itwmgiven bythehrtwny
hand of the captain of the “Iichigan.” - ; ..
“ Come in,” she midnofdy, bathe know that ti-auxious

rear-sot her shticch wo'uldcateh theiwlorda ‘ r , -»

lliddoughrentered'theroon.   
M he came in the glare of the gully“. u. Mum {om

.-.

 

20 The Human 

 

clad in a complete suit of black broadcloth, his snowy-white
hairand flowing beard strongly contrasted with the somber
hue 0! his wedding-suit and the joyous light sparkling in his
clear eyes,.few would have guessed him to be over fifty years
of age.»

His honest face expanded in a glad smile as he looked
upon Innlie, who rose joyoust to receive him.

The girl was glad in a simple white dress; a little knot
of blue ribbon at the neck wasrthe only ornament. The
dress and colors became the blue eyes and golden hair of
the girl. She looked as fresh, as young and as innocent as
one of Rafael’s Madonnas, straying from the .painter’s can-
vas.

The eyes of the old man glistened with pride as he
looked upon the slight form andthe girlish face before him.

He held out his hands; eagerly Lurlie ran to him.

He drew her to his broad breast and caressed the golden
leeks, tenderly; caressed her nsvif she had been ln's daughter
instead of his promised wife.

Confidingly-Lurlie nestled in his arms, and looked up into
his face with the blue eyes that seemed so full of love and
trust.

The old captain felt that he was‘supvemely happy. No
joy that the world could give him could much exceedlthe
present one.

“ I wish I were thirty years younger for your sake,” he
said, as he twined his fingers in the crisp, golden curls.

“ Why so?” she asked, a look. of simulated wonder ap
pearing in the soft blue eyes.

“ Because then I might be able to make you happier,” he
said, honestly. “ I should be nearer your own age, and of
course would be more suitable to you.”

“ I do not see‘how that can be," murmured Lurlie, softly.
and giving him a short, quick glance with her blue eyes,
that seemed to set his heart in a flame, although that heart
had-been chilled by the arrows of many winters. But the
mom, though they had whitened his looks thoroughly, had
not sothoroughly chilled his heart. r That still best with
passion’s fires called into life by the bright eyes of thelgirl
who reposed upon his breast.

“Byv Jewel" cried the captain, impulsivdy, “I believe
thatzyon- will make me young again. Your hive will renew
my youth. I am an old man, Lurlie; but I have never
loved any woman as -I love you. Now I know truly what
love is. Lurlis. I shall try to make you the happiest litth
woman in all Chicago. These wiliunot be many things-in
this world that I shall not give you."

“ You levesis all I want," hid quslie, softly.

“ That you have already l" cried the captain, in joy. His
nature, they! an honest one, was-drained in a worldly
school. Like many others he bulbvnd 1 in buying women’s
love, as Al love could be bought. crux-being bought, was
worth athe having. .

“If I can’t five all the passionate tenderness, of a young
husband, I can give you all the earsandsttentim of, an old
one. I will be both husbandmnd lather—watch over you
with a father’s care, and love. you with. a husband’s tender-
ness." 1

“ Oh! I know I shall be so :happyi-with'you, for I feel that
I love you so much!" she said. ‘M them an if isnpefledby
a sudden thought, shs‘threw her suns around the neck of the
old captain and imprinted a warm kha'upbn his lips.

Kiddo-ugh had never been.” thrilled.

“ The carriage is attire eomsr'cf the street,” he said. " I
thought it bettec'to'lsafie it there and not excite attention and
Why driviagiw beforexthe'decr.’ - s

“ Yes, it is better," Lurlie responded.

“I got the license, Mcauedw-anflrszmlaistsrflrh after-
noon; every thing, therefore, is ready for the ceremony. 80
as soon as you are ready, we’ll go. I am anxious for my
happiness. It will be-a layout-touts for me, darling, when
I call you wife.”

“ And that will be within an hour,” Lurlie said, softly, and
a burning blush evaspreadingxhev cheek”

“ And then in this world we will never part till the dark
angel calls me from you.”

“~I’-hcpe that will in many, many yarn Ahenea,".Iiurlie
added, earnestly. .

Who could-have guessed fromher words or (mannsrzth
she was not speaking the trash? -

“Arniyca ready?" the captain asked.

“ Yes, all but putting on my hat and cloak; theyare (in
the closet. It will take me but a moment to put them on."

Luriis, releasing herself. gently, from the arms of the old

 

 

~man, ran to the closet and got her things.

Tenderly and carefully the captain wrapped the dark cloak
around her shapely little shoulders.

The cloak completely hid her white dress.

Middough again drew her to his arms and pressed a loving
kiss upon her rosy lips.

'A little knock came at the door.

Quick as the lightning’s flash the thought came to Lurlie
that it must be Rick. Here then was an end to her anxiety.
She would know whether Bertrand had left Chicago or re-
mained in the city. Whether the cloud—which she felt sure
was hanging over her head—was about to burst and dart its
lightnings upon her now or in the future.

“ Will you excuse me for a moment?” she asked.

“ Certainly,” said the captain, gallantly.

“ I will be back in a moment." Then she glided from his
arms, hastened to the door, opened it and left the room.

The captain watched her little figure until the closing door
hid her from his sight.

“ An angel, by Jove l” he cried, heartily.

In the entry, as Lurlie had expected, she found Rick. _

A shrewd grin came over the features of the hunohback
as the girl approached him.

“ Did you see him i" questioned Lurlie, anxiously.

“ Yes, mum," the boy answered.

“ And did he gain the boat 2"

“ Yea, mum.”

“ You are sure that you have made no mistake!”

“ Yes, mum; I waited on the dock till I see’d him coming.
then I followed him in the crowd on board the boat, and I
see’d him buy his ticket at the office for Mackinaw. I heard
him give his name, too, and in course you’ll know by that
whether I make any mistake."

“ Yes, yes!" cried Lurlie, anxiously; “ what name did he
give 2”

“Bertrand Tasnor," replied the boy, promptly.

“ Yes, that is right. You are sure that he did not leave
the boat before she sailed ?"

“ No, ’cos I sse‘d him arter she cast on and put out late
the stream.”

“ On board?"

so  mm"

“ You are a good boy, Rick—a good, faithful boyi" u.-
elalmed Lurlie, her face showing her pleasure at [the news.
“ Here‘s a dollar for you," and Lurlie took a note from her
pocket-book and gave it to him. ‘

" Thank you, mum; I‘m very much obliged,” said Rick,
pocketing the bill, and a shrewd twinkle gleaming in his little
eyes. “ Is that all you want me to dot"

“ Ya,” replied Lurlie.

Then the boy took his way, slowly, down the stairs.

For a moment, Lurlie remained motionless, in deep thought.
Her brow was now clear; no deep wrinkles furrowed its fair
surface. The ugly lines at the corners of the eyes and month
were gone. The face was that of a joyous girl of sixteen.

” At last my pathway is ales-l" she cried. in exultation.
“ This terrible man has taken the baleful shadow of his form
from mel Now I can become this old man’s wife without
fear. Even if Bertrand should discover me, after ray marri-
miehailbetoopcwerful for-him. He will not dare to
attack me. I shall have gold —gold that I can run as freely
from my hands as though. it was but water. The sunbeams

» will again light-up my life. Perhaps, too, in the future, I

may discover the treasure that I abandoned long years ago.
Oh, how {have wept in the still night hours when I thought
of my baby that a cruel fortune compelled me to leave to the
cold mercies of the world. Heaven knows I have repented
the step bitterly enough. It is a wonder that my face still
retains its youth and freshness, forI have endured misery
IMvIO'hOW made an old woman of me. I mustn‘t give
way to such thoughts as these!” she cried, suddenly and with
determination. “ The future is bright enough; let me not
thiamine of thoxzpaat, that has been so dark and gloom.”
Thu, with a bright step and a happy face. as if by the
mustexereise, of her will she could chase the black shadows
from her hearttshe returned to the room where she had left

Captain Middougk

The old man had seated himself by the window, and was
«vainlymdeavoring-ts subdue his impatience blessing out
upon the darknau. .

“I am all ready now,” said Lurlie, taking up her little
hat and fun-mg itupon her head; the little golden curls
peeping out ocqusttlshiy from under the brim.

 

 

 

The Human Tiger. I i 21

 

 

 

r a ’ m
The old lover sprung to his feet with all the quickness of
youth.

9‘ Cane, then,”vhe.said; “I .am impatientlor the time
when .1 shall have the right to call-you mine alone, and guard
you forever afterward from the harm and bitterness. of this
world.” a ‘ .

Arm in arm the two leftthe house. , . : , V

.At the corner of the street stood the back that had brought
the sailor. . . . ,
. Middough assisted Lurlie into the coach; then followed
her. . , . .
“ Drive to 822 Wabash avenue," he said ,to the coacltmau.
.,The-man.nodded_sssent, closed the coach-door, and mount-
ing the, hon whipped up his horses.

The eoach. drovemfl. , . , t, ‘ .' .

silently hadtha coach siMMhens dark, implike form,
that had been lurking in a doorway near the corner,,.sprung
forward into the streamaadqulowed impeach ata smart run.
Rick—for the pursuer of the hackflms'the hunchbackwsoon
oveetook itrand, with a bound. leaped nimbly upon 'the rack
behind. _ / , , , . , \

“A ride free— gratis for nothing,” he muttered, with a
grin that stretched his mouth from ear to ear.

The coach, a half an hour afterward, drew up before the
house in Wabash avenue. W

The old man had explained to Lnrlie that they were going
to the house of the minister who- presided over the church
which. 9°. “WW1 . . .  _

’_ The two entered the house and the door closed behind
them.

‘ Riék‘fgiiietly‘dlsmounted from his perch and approached
the driver.

'f Say; ml'ster, kin yen tell me who lives in her-er” and he
pointed to the house that the two had entered.

“ In course I kin, sonny,” said the driver. “ Mr; Hatplain,
the minutes”, ‘

“ wuss nudesgu‘, and Lurlie—now Mrs; Middough—came
out and entered the hack, Rick slyly resumed his perch.

xhe-hunehbach watched as the two entered the sailor's

mansion 'on’ Michigan avenue; and then, witha grin, departed.

 

churns xxx;
A IIW rassron.
so: Zaire. “any: use Lurlie Casper been m’ wife’ef new
macaw. ,.,  ., . . . .

,.nq;p,id.ehh,h~d‘kept- his we... 111 the child

gun, he ltmhed..,uwn the. réunsisffl no. sensed to
eliminate w 8.1"!“ 1.19 W 9.5% we. muons:
We?!“ Mixieimus “m 3* friends .thpuld maths. :
 new neural 30.3119  $13,111!de spent
16199.9 was. of.  ...The..91.d. we. immediate»!

' ,ps,9i'.9oci9)tx,aaq, with his gift wife, called upon his friends
without ceremot'iyf' ,  u _ H  ,  .-

Alladr‘n‘ired he blooming ‘brlde—so fair and'f'resh in hot

. elevemm  ., . .  .

. .l-swe’iwnemd. that she—-  .cmi,g.'a’-a‘,n “mf-
Ihgrldewxe meld -.¢n°ush..‘ to; he! tithe. 13m.
 Meihstswéd the. the whpttsmuel, Widows
had ,_ g outage do with the love thathis ydung bride seem.
edto bearwhim.  H , I    ~
- Witt, is he‘ldid ln,ti_ie samehouse, natur-
sl . . Wenmt’h Wilma! methane . r .

“ wrest. Writ. ed)" first Newsweek-
thewmmirmfm .6 severe-21" wrestled by
mililn‘ilesitfihhfil‘zizlfihi‘  f. the midough‘hgwbld;
but e‘was asto ed at the hppearanee ofuth‘e'bride.’ gfie
 revetmmnllis «umis’°,ri£°..w°v13.bs«newsman:
adventureas—sOme woman of ' the world, ;able1and willing“ to
9.9 when tfiih‘W °.«i.'h°..h!£1 wrapped www-
lor nto a marriage solely or his money; butlol'herefysasa
M, l.- We 1903-9“? 9‘. P 5' 39°99! Aim“ 3"
raggeflfieiwififium.n9gimme:
whim-fingers, . 11° 99m Missile-twirl!» . . . -
“ Why, eave"s ‘name,”'he said ’to  in'wgon.
d°'- “didn’il 9.0 .. some! such! 91.903500? of whatn-
.hqqd,-s .thii Shari ’1 ,Whuen 9&1,“anqu her imam

 midfield, freshwater wardog,“when there are plenty
'f’f $063159:in fyqttng futon arenhd? , vao‘rt'der ifthe‘bld
'min'i‘ uni: MWghé‘d. genrfitmssalfigqfiq .m' m u!
tho htth'st the old horsemadne’w d'get ,taken‘in'and
‘ it"‘lie 'gdt the worth ‘of his

H "7 ' ll . 1' i' I.
sees but?" “1
MOD“.

 

g:—

All the facts in relation to his uncle‘s .wife Wirt confided
to EdmundKelford; and he, anxious to see such a paragon
of loveliness, called upon the old captain, in company with
Witt, and spent the whole afternoon there.

Kelford was as astonished as Wirt at the blooming beauty
of the old sailor’s wife. ,

He thought that he had never looked upon .such a divine
facebefore. It was more the beauty of an angel than that
of a human. K ,

“ What do you think of her?" asked Wirt, after they had
left the house and were leisurely strolling down-town.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what to think of her,” re-
plied Kelford, thoughtfully.

“ Don’t you thinkvthat she is pretty?” Wirt said.

:“,Yes,»more than pretty; she'is beautiful,” replied Kel-
ford in rapture—“ very beautiful i” I. ‘

“ Hullol" exclaimed Wirt, ntonished; “ that’s going it
pretty strong!” ,, ; I , . V

“ Ah! but she fully deserves such praise!” cried Kelford.
“ I.think that hers is the most lovely face that I have ever
seen.” , . : 7 , ,

.“ Prettierthanlfiss Pearl’s!"  shyly.

Kelford’s brow clouded up stths mentionof thesewingb
girl’s name, and it was smoment err-so before he replied.

“ No,” he said; at lash.” I Ida-not exactly new that she
iaprettier than Pwhalthongh, at. the first ,‘ glance ’; almost
any one would pronounce her to be. Hereter of,.beauty
indifferent from that: of the, other. This one impresses -.,you
oaths instant. .v Thentimt :glaaceat her face,-and you say,
‘-how- beautiful!’ ,With Pearl..it,is quite diffean When
younurst look It:.h€l' face-yous”. ‘she .is.pretty.’ .W hen
you have seenher. three or _four  you-myshe is. f, my
pretty.’ ..And when you come to knowsher,’ to speak with
her. .YOILISY. i-ahe is. beautiful.’ Little rby littlanher. face
View soon yon-t Ion commence 121ml! lookins at her.
and end by adoring her; while, with thh,pne—-” ,

“ Youvbegin byadom'ng- her, eh?” said Wirt. laughing.

“ Yeshthat is the. truth.” , , , __

“ Take care that1 .you don't carryout. admiration too; far.
for I don’t doubtthat the .Joilp oldgovernw will be tolera-

. bly..ie.810us of hisnhildmife; and,~besides, there’s Miss Pearl,

the sworn idelotiyourvheart.” _, _ ,, - ,

A. mouthful. smile earns over Kalford’s face at the joking
remark. of his friend.

Vilirtnotieedjltr ., g _. , ,__  ,1

“ Why, what’s the matter, old fellow! ., I haven‘t touched
you. ingay tender, Wu It You and your ladydove
haven’t quarreled, I hope!”

“Nu?”  _ . _-.  v I. .

“ Well, what’s the matter, than? How goes on your love
 " ' "‘ i  ‘ v z'  . x J "1'

“As the refinement, ham? New! A!» .9 Hpnomoop.‘
says: ‘ The best advancement I can boast of is that it goes
not backward’, " ' '

“ That’s.bed~;" _  . . _.  - . .

“ Yes, Wirt, the girl is middle. that I can notuuder-
mend. She acts as if she loves me, and; yet .her words give
the lie to her actions. of ever .winning
her.” Kelford spoke seriously, and with quite a tinge of
sorrow in his tone.  , _  y I ,

~ ‘,.‘. Hoverdsay- die!”.‘oried Wirt, slapping his , friend. on ,the
bask. heartily I “New simian. the ship-4."? Wm!
that’s themotto to listen on your ting! ~All women in this
world ,can be. won when theLrightnan comesalong. And I
think teammate the right manor thisrslrli” .

“ Well, I had hoped so,” replied Kelford, quietly. M

.:“.,pr0. so; still!";.oried Wirt. .“If. she hasn't said 'no,’
it’s plain pooch-that some day she will say ‘ yes.’ You can
take my word-4mm."  - - r: v

“ I confess that you encourage me." .

.‘-‘-‘:0£~.oosm. .Jm.doehvnt:s:rs male; 899 4111.9le that
he has won in the marriage lottery! That ought to en-
‘WWUW” .l. 1:1. ml 1;: i. .- b ’ '-

“ She is a beautiful creature,” said Kelford, with a sigh.
" It’s a great pity that 1 can’t find one like her to make my ,
life happy. ” , . .

“ If you had only seen her first, I’m afraid that the worthy
navigator wouldn’t have stood the ghost,of a show. ,She
seemed to take quim fancyto you this afternoon. She sel-
dom talks.much,,.but she said,QO to you this afternoon than
she ever did to any one else since.I’ve known her."

:33Whichzha‘s besnhfor'the remarkably long time of three
days," said Kelford, ’dryly. l

.“ That’s very true.” replied Wirt; “ but I tall you. I kept

 

 
 

22 The Human Tiger.

 

my eyes on her pretty closely during that time.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Kelford, with a meaning smile.

“ 0h, hang it! I ain’t in love with her!” cried Wirt; “and
you needn’t insinuate so. But really—joking aside—I think
she has taken quite a fancy to you.”

“Do you think so?” asked Kelford, absently; yet, as he
spoke, there came a feeling of joy in his heart. Perhaps it
sprung from the vanity innate in all men’s natures. It is but
human that they should wish to inspire love in the breasts of
the other sex, even‘when they know that that love is folly.

“ Yes, I do indeed," Wirt replied, “and I really believe
that it is my duty to caution the old gentleman upon the sub-
ject. Why, we shall have an elopement seme fine morning;
then all the outside barbarians will be gloating over it with
big headlines: ‘ Another Chicago Scandal—ten minutes for
Divorces,’ etc.”

“ There's no fear of that."

And the two friends, laughing, pursued their way down
the street.‘

' 'We will now visit the palace of the sailor, for it was a
palace, though situated in one of the cities of our republic.

Seated in a low arm-chair by the window was Lurlie, now
the wear Lemuel Middough.

Shei‘wa‘s richly attired in lustrous silk, the color of which
was ‘the pure blue of the vaulted heavens above.

' L'u'rlie‘ had wondrous taste. She knew well what suited
her blue eyes, golden hair and waxy cheeks.

If the girl-had looked pretty before, when in a plain deem,
and surrounded by'the dark, dingy walls of the Kankahe
House, 'siie‘lnoked divinely beautiful now, as she sat in the
embraco'of the. cushioned'arm-chair. The last dying rays of
the and poured in through the curtained window and flooded
the room with its’ golden rays. They played upon the
queeniy’little head of Lurli'e, kissing the curling locks, and
encircling the head with a halo of light like those that played
around the brows‘of the saints of the 'olden time.

Lu'riie was playing listlesst with the silken cord of the
window curtain, her eyes wandering carelessly out of the
window tipc'nthe broad avenue before her.

one person" alone'besides Lurlie was in the apartment.

iIt Was‘Lurlie’s maid. A dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, some
two-and-twenty years old. A girl with a rather pretty face,
but mhr‘réd by the lock of evil temper that was so plainly
apparent there. She was called Aimee Oardon. She was of
French extraction. Formerly she had been in the employ of
Mi‘s’J‘Kelford‘, Edmund's aunt. '

'Thu‘girl stood leaning on the back of an arm-chair, at a
respectful distance from her mistress.

“ And you lived in the family of Mr. Kelfordt” said Lur-
lie.  ‘ ‘  '

The conversation‘had been in reference to the young man
who‘had'but a 'few minutes 'before departed.

“ Yes, ma’aur,"'rep’lied the girl.

“Is Mr. Kelford married?” Lurlie asked, carelessly, as if
merely by way of keeping up the conversation rather than

dearly interest in thesubject. '

‘ ' .“ No,‘t'nii’am, not‘yet." *-

“th’yctl. "Is" he engaged then!"

‘ “No, new», not "exactly."

“ I don’t understand.”

"‘I'will‘ you, ’ma’am. It’s a" secret," said the girl, mys-
teriously. '" I heard Mr. Kelford and Mr. Wirt Middough
talking about" it one day. " Mr. Kelford is in love with a poor
girl who “sewsfcr her living in a dressmsker’s shop on Clark
street. He is desperately in love with her, and wants to make
her his wife.”  ‘ '

“ And will she not conscnt?”3asked Lurlie, in wonder.
Haring sold herself for gold, she was astonished that any

other girl should hesitate to do the same thing.

' “Not yet, ma’am.” - 4 > ' '

“'Bhe'muit bee fodl, then," said Lurlie, oontemptuou‘sly.
" Is‘she'pretty'i" ‘ ‘ " ' ' ‘ '

“ That's just as people think. I heard Mr. Witt say she
was.” "  ' ' ’ "" ' "

“ What is her name!"

“ Pearl Cudlipp.’_’ I

"' An' odd “name.”

“ Yes, ma’am."

“  Kelfbrd is very rich, isn’t he?” '

“ es, ma'amg‘ he hasmore money than he knows what
[to do with,” replied the girl.

' “ You may go, Aimee," ‘said 'Lurlie; “ I shall not want
you till after supper." ,
‘ The girl left the room.

 

m

Lurlie seemed lost in thought. Her eyes were gating out
of the window, but they saw no object there.

“ Young, rich and handsome,” she murmured; “ ahl why
did he not come across my path? He would have been the
husband to suit me. He is the first man that I have seen
since Bertrand Tasnor and I parted, years ago, that I felt
that I could love. What am I talking about? I almost love
him now! I have a rival, too. A poor girl. He must for-
get her and love me! But, how can he? Oh! I am bound
in chains, golden ones, but still they are chains. But, if he
can not be mine, he never shall be another's. He must——he
shall forget this girl!"

“ Loss of the ‘ Lake Bird’—the steamer burnt—only ten
saved—Evening Post!" cried a newsboy on the avenue.

“The ‘ Lake Bird ’ lost! and Bertrand Tasnor was on that
boat i" cried Lurlie, as she threw up the window and called
the boy.

She tossed him a five-cent piece and eagerly seized the pa
per, then closed the window.

“ Oh! that the fire and the water have accomplished what
I failed to do—his death 1” she cried, with a fierce joy.

 

onar'rnn xx.
. .aunnn 's sum

Baum! she looked at the newspaper It contained a brief
account of the destruction of the» propeller Lake Bird by fire,
just above Glen Arbor. Ten only of those on board of the
ill-fated steamer had succeededincscsping the wreck.

With intense interest Lurlie read over the list of the names
of those that had escaped. The name of Bertrand Tasnor
was notin the list. I

A cry of joy came from her lips.

“At last, then, I am free!” she exclaimed. “Bertrand
Tasnor was the only being in all this world that I feared, and
now he is dead—swallowed up by the waves. The only
obstacle in my path is removed. Now I breathe freelyi”

For a minute or so she paced up and down the sumptuous
parlor, as if unable to remain quiet.

“I must see this girl who has infatuated this handsome
Kelfordl” she cried, suddenly, pausing in her walk. “ Can
she be as pretty as I am? Will she take the pains to win
his love that I will? No; I am sure that she will not. Kel-
ford must love me, even if a hard fortune prevents me from
ever being his. But if I can win his love—4here may be a
way to break these chains that bind me to this old man.
Oh! how I hate him 1” she cried, fiercely. “ I did not ectuo
ally hate him until this young and handsome fellow came in
my way. He is such a gentleman, too—one both by birth
and breeding. Oh! if I could be his wife, instead of the
mate of this old man! I begin to shrink now from my bus-
band's caresses. I thought that, for the sake of wealth and
splendor, I could bear any thing, but I find I can not. The
human passions are still in my breast, and I can not conquer
them. Now that Bertrand Tasnor is dead, there is no one
else in this world that'can make me tremble. I must see
this girl—sec what she is like. My rival!” And she laughed
bitterly at the thought. “ She must be a bold ‘and darin
woman that attempts to rival me. But how can I see her
For a moment she mused over this difiioult question.

“ I know!" she cried, at last; “ this girl, Aimee—she may
be able to tell me something more in relation to the stair——
tell me something that will aid me in my endeavor.”

The entrance of her husband put an end to her musings.

“ Well, little one, all alone, eh?” he said, advancing to her
with outstretched arms.

“ Yes,” she said, in the soft, loving voice that had so wen
upon‘the old man’s heart. ' ‘

Caressingly the old sailor patted the little head with ,lts

wealth of golden ringlets; '
' “ Ahl you are the dearest little woman in all the world.
Are you happy as my wife, eh?” and he looked fondly into
the depths of the lustrom blue eyes that were raised so con-
fiding’ly to his. '

“ Yes; do I not seem to'be happy?” she asked.

“ Of oeurse,” he replied. “ I’m an old fool to ask such a
question. I have given you every thing in the ‘world that
money could buy. , If there is a wish of yours ungratified,
.let_ me know it, and I will try to remedy the want.”

“Therels nothing," she said, and‘laid her head down

gently upon in. ems breast as a. spoke.- The falsehood

 

/
r
/

/

The Human Tiger.

 

 

 

=u:===—

 

23

f

 

same like truth from her lips, and the old man believed her.

‘ He little guessed that, even when her head was pillowed on

his breast, and his hands were twined caressineg in her silken
locks, another face than his was before her eyes—that another
image filled her heart. He said truly that he had given her
all that money could buy, but he had not given that for which
her heart craved and which no money could buy, the pea-
sionate, fiery love of youth.

Then, as he parted the golden curls_ of the head, he saw on
the scalp the great white scar of a fearful wound. The scar
was fully four inches long: The blow must have been a tea
ribls one to have left such a mark.

“ Why, pet," said the old man, fondly, “ you have had a
terrible wound on your head.”

Lurlle started at the words as though she had been bitten

by a snake. The color left her cheeks, and a look of deadly
pain came over face. The old man did not notice how much

she was agitated, although he felt the slight form he held
within his arms tremble violently.

’“ What is the matter?" he asked, soothingly.

“Nothing,” she answered, recovering from her emotion,
“I 'am foolish to give way. to my fears. But, as you spoke,
I seemed to feel the same pain that I felt when the wound
was inflicted.”

“ What caused it?” he asked.

“ In the darkness, going down-stairs, I slipped and fell
from the top to the: bottom, striking my head against a
corner of the wall; that made the wound,”sheanswered,
slowly. u

“ Poor child!" he said, patting the little head.

The old sailor was no surgeon, or a single glance would
have told him that the wound from which came the scar
was never produced byooatact with the angle of swell.
But the explanation satisfied him, and he spoke no more
of it.

In a short time the suppeobell rung. 7 .

Supper over, Lurlie excused herself under the plea of
headache, and sought her room. .

There-she” found her waiting-maid, Mules. ..

Lurlie commenced a conversation, her intent being to
finally lead it to the subject nearest her heart—the love of
Edmund Keiford for the sewing-girl, Pearl Godlipp.

Suddenly, as- if she had guessed her mlstress‘s intention,
Aimee spoke of Edmund Kelford.

‘ " Don‘t you drink it strange, ma'aus," she said, ‘i‘ that a
gentleman with all the money that Mr. Kelford has shonl
fail‘in love‘ with a poor girl?” .1 -

“ Yes, it is strange," Lurlle replied; “but perhaps she is
very pretty." . '

“ No, she isn‘t what I call beautiful,” said the girl, tarn-
lngup ha- aose moat decidedly. “ She’s oniygot one pretty
.flfiggimu up"? .; . ‘

“ And what is that?” Lurlie asked, with curiodty.

..“Hu m” I . , .

“ Her eyes?” . .

i‘Yes; she-has very pretty eyes. Thsyass verylarge,
gray eyes. suoy nave a strange look in then. I can’t
describethemwery well,but theylooklikeariyerwhen the
wind blows out! it—Jthey seem to move all the'time.” .

u I suppose .what people would calllustrons eyes," said
Lurlie, looking full into the girl's face. 

“ Oh, ma‘aml” cried the girl, sudduiy.

“ Well, what'h tar" asked hurlie, somewhat astonished at

“ Why, your eyes, ma’am—"

“ Whatzof them!" -

“ They are just like her eyes!”

“ Like here!" said Lurlie, amazed. '

“ Yes, etaotlyaiike; only hers are gray. md yours 1'.
blue, but they have the same oxpressiou.” ' ‘

‘-‘ That is strange.” I I

“ Yes, it is,” repeated the girl.” 5

.“ When-didEyou‘see this girl!" , - "

“ It was only a little while ago. You see, ma’am, when
[heard In Wirt and Ir. Kelford talkiq about the girl, and
Mr. Kelford saying how well he loved her, and-how much
hewaated tomarry her, though she was only apoorgirl, I
thought that I would like to see her, and see what she look-
ed'lika- Sores I heard Mr. Wirtspeak about the shop being
on Clark street, near Madison, I thought I would be ablato
find it“ . One dayJ went on pus-pan . I found it just as
easyascouldhe..Iwentinaad. somethread,aud

Iashsdtheyounglady’if her'aame wasn't Pearl! Isaid

t

 

that a friend of mine recommended me to the store where she
served.”

“ And you did not think that she we beautiful?” Lurlie
said.

“ No, ma’am," replied the girl; “except the eyes. She
has pretty eyes.”

“ Is she tall or short?"

“ Tall, ma‘am, I think—I don‘t remember exactly.
I’m sure that she’s not short.”

“ Light or dark hair?"

“ Dark, ma’am.”

For a few moments Lurlie did not speak, but set buried in
silence. The girl watched her covertly.

“ Do you know, Aimee, that you have excited my curl
osity by speaking about this girl!” she said, suddenly. “ 1
can not understand how Mr. Kelford, who seems to be r
gentleman of great taste, can fall in love with a girl that it
not beautiful. ”

“ And as poor as poverty, too, ma'am,” cried the girl,
quickly.

“ That does not make so much difference, Aimee," said
Ldrlie, a little bit of scorn perceptible in the corners of her
mouth as she spoke. “ Let a man get infatuated with a
woman's pretty face, and he will not be apt to ask whether
she is rich or poor; that is, I mean, such a man as Mr. Kel-
ford, who has'money enough already.”

“ That‘s very“ true, ma'am,‘ observed the girl.

“ There. must be something about her to attract him, for
he is very‘far from being a fool.”

“ Perhaps he thinks she is pretty; there’s no accounting
for tastes, you know, ma’am.» She’s a perfect lady; all“ I
will say for her,‘ but she ain’t what I call pretty.”

“ I should really like to see her," said Lurlie, as if the
idea had just borne into her mind.”

“ Nothing easier, ma’am."

“ How so?"

“ Why, just put on' your hat and cloak and come with
me. We can go to the store just as if we were going to buy
something, or we can buy some little thing, and then you’ll
have a chance to take a good look at her and no one thr
wiser. fl .

“ But, haw can we get there!” Lurlie asked.

" Cross over to State street and take a car right down-
town to Madison street, then we can walk up to Clark. It’s
only a few blocks, ma'am."

Aimee spoke as though she thought Lurlie to be a perfect
stranger in Chicago, and so, indeed, she considered her, as
did everybody else. '

0n bringing home his bride, the old man had told every
one that he had caught a country girl, and no one of the
aristocratic circle on Michigan avenue with whom she min-
gled, guessed i that the honored and courted wife of the
wealthy Captain Middough was the daughter of Kankakee
Joe, bf Wells street. Oh! how the silk and broadcloth
would have shrunk from her side if they had known the
truth! Even the gold of the old sailor would hardly have
suflced to cover up the shame of the Sailor Boarding-

But

’house.

“ I’ve‘h'alf a mind to go,” said Lurlie, as if undecided.
“Oh, do 'go,’rna’am. It will be such fun!” cried the
fi- .

“Very well: I will go, but my husband may miss me.”
“ We’ll be back in an hour. He won’t be likely to come
up-eta‘lrs before two.” "
- “ (let me ‘a’ dark dress, and my hat and cloak—the plain-
eet I have.” '

. “ ‘ The’old mau‘hed provided his young bride with a bounti-

ful wardrobe.
~ Bh'rlie was soon dressed and reedy for the nocturnal ex-

pedition.

The’two  the stairs, opened the front door and
gained the street without notice. Then they proceeded rap-
idly in the direction of State street, Aimee, the maid, lead~

 

 :onsrrsn xxx.
m arvana

mm: had, the two girls turned into thecrossstreet
leading from  when two dark (onus crossed over

i

 24 The Human Tiger.

5" mm 

 

 

Apparently the two had been,watching the house 'of the
.oid captain-hut; for what purpose it would not be easyto
8‘10“ I

The girls hurried . onward, unconscious of the, two follow-
ing them so stealthily. They reached. Statestreet, got on" a
car that happened to be passing just at the minute, and thus
proceeded. down-town. , _ I

The two dark forms also boarded the car-fifthey getting
on the front platform as if they shunned recognition. I '

At Madison street Lurlie and her companion got out.
,The'two 9n the front platform followed, still keeping well
out of sight of the twogirls. I  . ; I ' ‘

Lurlie,-guided by the maid—although in truth she knew
the way-as well ‘as the -other—,—went down , V_ ,son'street
and then turned into Clark. A few “stepson, and they came
to the .‘dressmaker'e. shop kept bylidrs. Jones, and wherein
the sewing girl, Pearl Cudlipp, worked. ” r I 

“ This‘is the'pisce,ma’am," said the maid, as they stopped
before the window of the little shop.

“ Doyon see thergirl?" Luriie asked. _ I

“ Yes, ma‘am,” replied Aimee,  through the win-
dow; “ there she isbehind the counter. Wouldn’t. youlike
to'go in; then you can see exactly what she looks like?

“ Yes, I will go in," ‘Lurlie replied, 4 I _

“ You can buy something, you know, mafhme—a‘ spool of
thread or anything like that. Then you’ll have a chance
tdhave a‘good look other.” . y 4 ,x

“ Come, then,” and Lurile entered the store, followed by
barmaid. . , M

The two who had followed them had crossed over‘to the
other side of. the street, and there, sheltered by a convenient
doorway, watched the two girls narrowly. ‘

“ What the devil can she want here?”  the taller
of the two, who seemed a giant in size compared to his pigmy
companion. . ‘ ‘

“P'r'ape. she wants some thread or a paper of, pins,”
said-the other, who was no other than Rick, the hunch-
haek. ,

“ It isn't very likely that she would take, the trouble to
come ’way here after a trifle. Lurlie is not a womanto
take the trouble of this night's expedition without a motive
for 'it, and -a strong one too. I’ll find out what it is, in
time."

“ She's going in,” said Rick, who had never taken his
ey'U oi! of the two on the other side of the street.

“ Yes,” replied his tall companion, who, with his coat-
oollar turned up and a slouch hat drawn down, over‘h‘is
eyes, would have puzzled anyone to have made out what he
looked like. _ y H   _ _

I “ There is no; mistakesbout it, Rickt‘she’a marriedto _
old captain. I .saw the marriage notice in. yesterday’s
Me,” the tail one said, thoughtfully. ‘ ‘

“ i guessed. that they, were again; intentmsrried when
I followed  that:;night to the minister's house. And
whennthe driver told me .that it was a preacher'e house, I
felt sure 0! it." a 

“ You’re a smart lad, Rick; only keep your eyes about
you, andqyour wituhsrpl endil'll .mskswyonr fortune in I
rear or.so.’.’. said' the disguised-stemmed, than bedded
to himself, “ or else send you to the State-prison or totthe
gallows.  like the masterthatrusesthsm, un-
lucky.” _ . .

Just then a newsboy came along. crying ,his papers: , .

“ ’Ere’s the 'M’:M~ioss of4the,‘IAke Bird'—-ohly
' ten saved!” I g 1

“ What’s,thetif’.,oried.the,tsllz.man, es the words of the
boy fell upon his ears. I, . ' ’ ‘ 

“ ‘ Lake Bird ’ loati'Foried Rick. “ Why, that’sthewlerry
propeller—” g H ‘ .

“ --_That-_Bertrand Tanner sailed in to: ,Ksokinaw,” cried
the stranger, completing the sentence.

“ Yes." said “Blah. with I. trim

'i from the other side of Michigan avenue and followed them. 'Tasnor. Therefore, as WENT!!!“ $11.04- *? 1.50 

Bird,’ 13er Tasnorabout, this timemlnst be at thebottosn
of Lake Michigan. Beer devil—he always was unlucky!"

and the man‘ laughed bitterly as he spoke. Rick reechoed

.the laugh. , . _

‘_' How thiswoman, will rejoice wheashe learns that the
man'she hates so fiercely is dead—gout oi her way forever!
How she will bless the fire and} the water, the two .deedJy'
enemiesthat seem to have combined expressly to,do her will
and kill the man that shc‘feared. She must see ; this news.
It will take In load from her heart. ,She has, nothing to fear,
now that Bertrand is dead, sophe will think, but, the armof
Captain peathT—asthe miners caned>Mm—h along one, and
it may strike her even from thetop'ib." V

.Rick listened attentively while the ether was speaking.
The words were loud enough for the .boy to hear, though the

speaker was communing with himself.

.“Oh, she knows that he went in the {magnirhxa‘ssie
Rick, adopting the idea of the mam'which pleased” the .odd
humor of the hunchback, “ ’ooe I told her so, and she seemed

tickled about it."

“i Yes, and that moment of joy will be seasoned bymany

a one of sorrow,” said the man, coolly, but there wees-deme-

ness in his tone that boded no good to the wife of Lemuel
Middough. A.

. Leaving the tic..watchers,on- the corner, we will cross the

. street and follow.- Lurlie and her maid.into._thelittle shop. ,

‘.‘ Have you Coatee' thread; No. 60?” asked Lurlie, of Pearl,
who came forward to wait upon the customers.
“ Yes, miss," said Pearl, .tskingf-down the hex ,that -held

I . the thread, and displaying theweontents, before her, customers.

There was somethingin the-tones of the girl's yoioe _-thnt

sounded strangely familiar to Luriie’e ears. Vainly.» shepuz-

sled her brains tarsusember. .  .,. _
“ Can it be possible that I have met this girl somewhere
before!” she mused. “. Her facertom is familiar, Itseems

..aeif I'hadseenitsesncwhere. .1 camnot understand it; I

can not remember. It seems like a dream.” , , ,
Lurlie paid for her threadtvthcn Aimee took‘epcoonsider.

~able time. in selecting some collars and culs, asking Pearl’s

advice in regard to the matter—advice which the .yousggirl '
freely gave. And .all.‘ this time, Lurlie watched Pearl intently, ,
and tried to think where she had.eeen or met her before, or
if not her, some one that lacked like. her. ,
Aimee at last was suited, paid for her purchases aid the
two left the store. . -
“ What do you think of her, malamr’! sated, Mn... an

,. moment they were outsideof the little shop. .

“ I think that she is pretty, though perhaps-  

imux;be;miioquL" . .

“"I‘hat’s what Lseyl” cried tthstwsltiwmaid, in. mm
" She ain’t beautful a bit, and what Mr.‘Xeitord.¢n.... 1,,
her, I can’t see.” .. . . .

“Where can I have seen her before!” murmured 14311..
half to herself and half aloud. . _ ,

\“Why, did gon'ever_,see.her ,befere, sash-2”...“ a“

- girl, in wonder.

um, . 1. .m- ‘ .'I..can .not an," .14 Thimble res-st.
“Her‘Iaee fishery. familiar, to me; lies! suns that'I-Jsave

men’hersomewurein thepastflyet‘I eaumotgouswhere or

when."

“ That is strange,.sie’am.”

.‘tkumgspfomlnever focget ates.”

“Maybe you have seen some one thatxrhoh'flk..,h¢s”
suggested the girl. \ . _ , I

“ That is possible, yet I can not remanher who it was, or
where.” r

“ Well, she looks just like yen..th the eyee,_though
brace; flare-t polar,”.ssid the. w I

“ Ah!" cried Lei-liqeharplymnd she steppedsnddenlyin
her walk and put her hand to her heathen“ struck with a
sudden pain. H ,

“ What’s the matter, mi‘amr’oded .thrgiri, 13 um

—‘

.1Lum.'.rhoa.wae B white as: the (auto! ICON)“. Even
.hu- lips were bloodlese,1and.the:glaeiyistareot her eyeewae
.eerdbb to look, apes. ,. _

,qu Quickly put heparin ueuad'thejalst of her ‘-
3‘. tSheithenglmthat‘Lurlie wasabouhte taint.

rescued ones? Iwager all I have in the world—and that
isn’t much—that his name don’t appear in the list of those
that escaped.”

“ I should wonder,” said Rick with another grin.

“ Ten saved, eh? I wonder if Bertrand  (the

“I must see.” u the,” thought a paper, and , “What is the-.mstter,.ma'smr" T5. and m :30 ,5.
stepping out into‘ l8 6! ii: came from a neigh- L. ‘ , V
boring window, ran hinqefio the list of the names of ' .‘idiothhgfmtid Lune, hmlhanlirhh go,“ a

 

no“; testpmysfitpgerwmfltt wr k3.  , , _, tuneumnksamiwam unmeas- heart. ..
 “Merlot... 0‘ lithwltiefifiifi. or,» -“Wheyouamuwmmmumcmt men.
‘ma'ilstcmr' . “ wine".  use " It is nothing—I am bum now,”eaid Luriie, with.

WV we.“

 

The Human Tiger.

25

 

—‘
_

great eflort. “ It was only a sudden pain in my heart; I are
sets t to them at timhs. Let us go on."
with a slow step they walked onward.

'Aimaa v'saw plainly that her mistress still was entering,
though not so keenly as at the moment of the shock.

“ I how now what "tint girl's face reminds me or,” Lars
lie said, after they had walked on a little way in silence.

" You do?’ cried the girl, in wonder.

u Ye...

“ Then you haveseen some one that she looks like!“

“ Yes; my mother,” Lurlie answered, slowly.

“ Your mother!" said Aimee, in wonder.

“ Yes, my mother,” repeated Lurlie.

“ Is she living, ma’am r"

“ No; she 'died when I was only can ya“ old. This
.‘m is unto“ the very things of her, except that my mother’s
hair-was lighter, and her eyes were a grayish-blue, instead of
beintparegrsy like-the eyes of this girl.”

“ Was that what made you feel sick, me’emr” asked the
girl, inquiringly.

“ Yes, I suppose so,” Lurlie replied. “ It flashed upon
me, all in an instant. Then ‘at ‘Ohce I understand why the
face of this girl affected me so strangely.”

“ But, don’t you think it strange that Mr. Kelford should
fall in love with hair" ‘asked‘the'girl.

“ Yes, but strange things happen in this world,” Lurlie
responded.

The we retracing their steps to State street, there took a
 proceeded imp-town.

They'h'ail heen ioilowed closeiy by Rick and the stranger,
who "had watched them from the opposite corner. he be-
fore, they rode on the platform forward, so that Lurlie would
not be apt to see them.

Luriie and the girl left the cs'r et the cross-street. Again
the'tw'o watchers foliowed.

The door of the hiiddough mansion received the two girls
and hid them from sight.

" 80, um is the nest where my game has found sheiteri"
cried the tall stranger. “ To-morrow, Miss Lurlie, now
Mrs. 'Oapthin Midd‘ough, will be honored by 'a call from rue.
mused money, Rick, and yonder is the woman who must

It!"

CHAPTER XXII.
a neurons we:

came sat in her richly-furnished chamber. an the cont-
forts that money could purchase or taste devise surrounded
hsi'. She had remained the goal of her ambition, and yet she
was far from being happy.

One thing she lacked and that was peace of mind.

“ Ohi how I hate these golden chains," she murmured.
“ I almost wish that I was free, even though the gratification
of that wish would give me back again to poverty and want.
I have now all that money can procure, but I want something
more. I crave th'e love of Edmund 'Keiford. I am sure he
likes me. I am ‘ture that I can make him love me if I but
try my powers upon him. Oh! if I" were but fréei” Deep
and earnest cents the wish from her lips.

“Let me not despair. If I an but make Edmund love
me, I am sure tth I can and some way to escape from the
bonds that hind fire to Captain Hiddough. But, Kelfordis in
love‘with this young girl, Pearl. He must forget her. She
herself aids my plan by repulsing him. It is strange what
an impression her eyes made ‘upOn me. If I can not win my
idol while the girl is in the way, 'she must be removed.
When she is gone he will ferget her. Absence conquers love
they say; but, sometimes, the truth is, that it strengthens it.
But this is the pure, the holy love that I can’ not feel: The
passion that fills my breast comes from a heart of fire. It is
so fierce that in'time it destroys itself. Oh, how my heart
rejoiced which I read the news that told me that Bertrand

[Teaser was dead. He alone in all this worid I feared, and
now he sleeps peacefully beneath the am waters. His cold,
cruel nature will no more work me harm. It was a strange
chance that brought him in contact with me after we had
been separated so man} years. Now I breathe freely."

A knock sounded on the door; men, in obedience to Lu:
lis’s words, a servant entered,

“A gentleman wishes to see you, hir's. Hiddough,” said
the servant. ‘ ‘

“ Who is it!" asked Luriie-

 

1

“ I don't know, ma’am.”

“ Did he not give his name!"

“No, 'ma’am; I asked him for it, but he said that he wee
a stranger to you, and that you would not know it.”

“ And he wishes to see me?” asked Lnrlie in astonifi-
ment.

“ Yes, ma'am, on very particular business, so he said."

“ There must be some mistake. It is probably Captain
Middough that he wishes to see.”

“ Oh, no, ma’am,” replied the servant, quickly. “ Became
I asked him if he didn’t wish to see Mr. Middough and he
said no; that it was you he wished to see. He‘s a rather
roughly-dressed man, and I thought it might be some one
from {the captain's boat.”

A strange presentiment of danger filled Lurlie's heart as
the words of the servant fell upon her ears. She could not
guess what any roughly-dressed man should wish to see her
for. '

“ Where is he?" she asked, after a moment's panes.

“ In the parior, ma‘am,” the servant replied. “ I told
James to keep 'an eye on him and see that he didn't walk at!
with any thing.”

“I suppose I had better go and see who it is.”

With many a strange fear in her heart—though- whyshe
should fear, sh’e c‘ouid not tell—Lnrlie descended the stain.

She entered the briliiautiy lighted parlor.

A man roughly-attired sat in a cushioned arm-chair with
his back to her, gazing out of the window.

A single glance Lurlie gave, and then the hard lines up
peered 'at the corners of her eyes and month; the dentin
light sparkled in her eyes; the little white hands clenched
togfther till the blood almost started from the quick of the
nax s.

In one glance she had recognized the stranger.

Behring her footfall on the cnrpet-—light and almofi noise-
less as it was—the stranger wheeled aroun‘d in his chair an
displayed the handsome face of Bertrand Tasnor. ~ ‘

“ Living!" Lurlie gasped, wrth a stony pence, as thbugn
she wished with her eyes to strike him dead. But, Bertrand
Tanner had seen those eyes before; he was not easily ap-
palled.

With a quiet smile he looked upon the white fees of the
angry woman. The angel had vanished from the women's
teatime, and the tiger reigned therein. The eyes were an.
ing living fires. ,

“ Am I_ sliver—I believe you intended the emanation-for
a question—well, to the best of my knowledge end‘heiief, I
am," he said, slowly, and with quiet sarcasm. "Bunny
did you suppose me dead?"

Lurlie did not answer the question, but stood and looked
upon Bertrand with the passionate eyes that could look so
fond with love, and Were now glaring so have with hate.

“ Is it possible that you have heard of the loss of the
‘ Lake Birdr’ Is it possible that you knew that I was a pas-
senger on board of that ill-fated vessel! I can not under-
stand how you could know this, unless you set a spy to dog
my footsteps when I left the hospitable shelter of the Ranke-
kee House. Did you do so?” And Bertrand laughed-'-a
quiet,vsllent laugh as he put the question.

As before, the girl did not reply. Bettrand’s presence
seemed to chill her into stone.

“ You will not be questioned, eh?” said Bertrand, after a
pause. “Then I'll answer for you. You did set a spy to
watch my footstpr It was a wonderful interest for you to
take in an utter stranger.” And, as he spoke, he watched
her face keenly with his cold, glittering‘eyes. But, the face
of Lurlie was pale as marble. No change was there; one
expression only—fierce, determined hate.

“ You do not deny, I see, that I am a stranger to you."

"No," Lurlie said, mechanically, and even to herself her
voice seemed strange and hard as she spoke.

“ You do not deny it, and yet I’ll wager that your memory
is as good as mine," Bertrand said with bitter emphasis.
Lurlie did not seem to heed either the tone or the words.

“ You thought me dead—you need not answer, for I am
sure of it. Therefore, when I entered the doors of the
Kankakee House, a few nights ago, I must have seemed to ‘
you more like one risen from the tomb than a living man
I read the truth in your face—you know I am good in read.
ing faces—and yours to me was like the pages of an open
book. Then, conscious that I was living, you sought to
discover 'if I had  you as you had remembered
me. You discovered 'that my memory was not treacherous,
and that you still lived in it, in glowing colors You ra-

 

‘ i
i
i
i

. 23 The Human Tiger.

 

solved to deal me a blow that should, forever remove me
,from your path. Ah, Lurliei few, to look at you, would
guess thatwith the face of an angel you possessed the heart
ofa devil. But, I knew you—knew you of old. I guessed
that you would seek my life, and I guarded against the at-
tack. Then, in the morning, when I left the house, I de
tected that you had placed a spy upon me. I resolved to
humor you in the belief that you could put a watch upon
me without my being conscious of it. So I let your spy
follow me» I took passage on the ‘ Lake Bird.’ I wished
you to, have the idea that I was going far from Chicago. ’I
wanted you to think yourself free. It was my game to
have you marry this old man. I was afraid that if I
remained in Chicago, you would not dare to do it. I
sailed in, the ‘ Lake Bird.’ Your spy. reported the fact.
You believed—foolish woman—that I had forgotten the
past—I, who never yet was known to forget or forgive!
You thought yourself safe from all harm from me, and man-
‘ ried this wealthy Middough. HadII had the chance to have
spoken three words in the old captain’s ear, he would have
sooner wedded a fiend from the fires below than you! As
[have said, yOu married, and even while your head was
pillcwed on your husband’s breast—while your passionate
kisses were on his lips-atlas ‘ Lake Bird ’ was in the embrace
of the fire-fiend. Far from land, on the broad bosom of
the water, the red flames held their sway. Do you know
what a terrible thing it is to be on board of a ship of fire——
so choose between a death by fire or a death by water—to
be burnt up or to be drowned—no chance for life? The
strong man, the weak woman and the nursing infant, all with
the;ssme,dreadful fate staring them in the face!"

“ And yet you escaped?” cried Lurlie, from between thi
white clenched teeth. ., . i .

"‘ Yes, I escaped; that I am here now is ample proof of
that,” replied Bertrand. “ But, can you guess how I as-
caped!” _ ‘

.“ No," said Lurlie, sullenly.

" I didn’t go in the ‘ Lake Birdi’ ” said Bertrand, with a
cool, quiet smile.

" Whatl” gasped Lurlle.

A " I thought that I had better remain in Chicago and look

.after your fortunes. I hada presentiment that you would
rise in the world, and I knew that you would not forget
your old friends, particularly a friend like myself, who was
once so near and dear to you. So, after we swung out into

, the stream, and I saw your spy depart—of course complete-
ly satisfied that I was bound for the pines of Mackinaw—I
concluded that I had better get off. The boat made a land.
'ing just the other side of State street bridge and I seized the
' opportunity to depart. I had previously discovered that the
boat would land there, and I thought that my device would
be successful in throwing you off your guard, as it proved.
.Now, Lurlie, what is it to be—peace or war?"

“ I do not understand your meaning,” said the girl,
slowly. .

“ Oh, I do not speak plain enough, eh?” said Bertrand,
. in his usual cool way. “ I will remedy that error, and speak
plainer. Just look at me.” .

It was hardly necessary to tell Lurlie to look at him, for
the girl had not taken her glittering eyes from his face for a
single moment. A
I “ Don’t you perceive a change in my personal appear
ancei" he asked. “I don’t mean in my face, for that'har
changed of course. Many a rough day’s work and many a
wild night’s carousehave left their indelible'marks upon my
features. Once my face was as whiteas yours; now it is

browned almost to the hue of the Indian. But the heart,
Lurlis, in my breast is still the same.

. “ But to return to my subject. The change I speak of ii
in my attire: look at it. What do I look like? A country
man from the backwoods? Yes, that’s more like it. ‘ ‘Lur
lie, I am in desperate circumstances; I want money."

“ That is a very common want," the girl said, slowly.

, ‘.' That is very true," replied Bertrand, cheerfully. "' Yea

Jhsve felt that want—felt it very recently, too, or you never
would have married this old man." 1

9‘ How do you know?” demanded Lurlle.

“ Baht” cried Bertrand, contemptuously; “ do not try to
deceive me; you will but waste your time, and gain nothing
by it. I know you as well as you know yourself. You have
not changed one particle in eighteen years. You are still tir-
ssme fiery-hearudeoman. ' I know that you can not love
this old man. You have married him for his money. I do
not blame you. Money is a very good thing to have in this

. the, cushion whereon the head nestled, ,

 

.p'fl-fl,".-

world. One does not discover how really valuable it is until
he feels the want of it. With money, one is a king; without
it, a-beggar. Now I am a beggar, but soon, with your help,
I will be a king!” ,

“With my help!” cried Lurlie, anger flaming up in her
scintillant eyes. ,1

“ Yes, with your help,” repeated Bertrand, tauntingly.
“ Your husband, the old lake-captain, is rich, Lurlle. I must
have some of his money. ” ,

“ Never with my aid!” Lurlie cri

“ I want abbot five thousand dollars.”

“ From me i"

dd  I?

“You are dreamingi” , . , ., , ,., ~

“ No, you are; but you will awaken soon," Bertrpnd ssid,
c‘oolly. , “Sit down and listen to me. Let me tell._you, a
story of eighteen years ago. How a man whose  was
oficelovedagirlwhoseheartwasoffirs.’ ~

 

CHAPTER XXIII. ’
man’s near.

Fort a moment Lurlie looked with angry eyes into the calm,
passionless face of Bertrand; then, with an impatient gesture,
she sunk into a cushioned arm-chair, user which she stood.

“ Why will you force me to listen to what I' do notfcere
to heart” she cried, impetuously. . ‘ ‘ ‘ ,

" Because I wish it," he replied, coolly. “ It is necessary
to speak of the past, that we may decide. upon our  of
action toward each other in the future“ .80 be patisnyaud
listentome.” :. § .   ; . z

“ Go on, then, sinceyou will haveit so,’._Lu_rlie said, dis-
dalnfully, and letting her head  back. wearily into. the

soft embrace of the cushions of the chair. f The golden heed

shonellike a_ blaze of light in} contrast to the, dark green of

“ I see you do remember something of the past; " u re-
member that I like to have my own way, and generaI y‘suc-
ceed in having it," Bertrand-said,- in his cool way. “ But to
my story. If I am wrong in any of the particulars, justcor-
rect me, please." . . . , , .

Lurlie answered only with a disdalnfiil'look.

“ To begin. In the year 1868, a man known as Joseph
Casper kept a little hotel called, .the. Chicago Homqin, the
town of Kankakee, State of Illinois. '. The said Joseph Cas-
per—as a. lawyer would say—had a daughtert truism,
blue-eyed girl of sixteen—a girl with an angel's face, 
sort of a heart she possessed, my story will probabl‘ _tell.
One day in the year 1852, there came to the house of .oseph
Casper a stranger frorn the South. .He was a young ls er
from Little Rock, Arkansas. He had killed a scion ofoiie of
the first families of ‘the Rock ’ in a duel, and had been forced
to fly for his life. Chance brought and to the‘town of Kan-
kakee; chance led him to the. hotelof scoops O‘as  and
thus threw him into the society (if Casper’syoung anfllo’om
ing daughter. This stranger was'named  Tssnor.
He was a young, dashing, good-looking fsllovifor, stV least,
all the women said that he was. It was not wonderful that
LurliHo Casper’s daughter was «Until—should,“ in love
with the handsome stranger, or he with her._ Two ‘he'art's'of

fire, a single spark ignited them, and the imitates.“  lore

sprung up. It was not long before the two  to an un-
derstanding. Tssnor was not ibashlul. by nature,‘and Lurlle
would have wooed him if he had not laid siege to her. So
far, all was straight and clear. Bertrand loved Lurlis, Lurlie
loved Bertrand. Now all that remains to do is to unite the
two, and the story is finished. ‘They were married, and lired

happily ever afterward. But stop! the story I am telling '

had a diflerent ending. There wassn obstacle in Bortrsnd
and Lurlie’s path to happiness. Bertrand had 's' wealthy
rival—an old German, a friend of Lurlie’s father. ' Cid Cas-

per favored Ms suit, and as he was a surly and determined ‘

man by nature, the lovers knew full well that he would never
consent to their marriage. There was but one course open—
to fly together, and seek afar that bliss that was  them
at home. ' " I

“The slopement was cunnineg planned and cleverly cer-
rled out. Bertrand paid his bill dud ice the house in the
morning. That very night Lurlie tied and joined her law,
No one suspected that the two ha‘dlgoue tOgethsr.

 

 

The Human Tiger. ' 2'7

 

 

“ Bertrand and Lurlie came to Chicago, and there they
were married. For one single month alone they tasted of the
cup of joy; then the honey lost its sweetness, little by little.
The fire was too intense to burn with a steady flame. Ber-
trand, too, was really cold and heartless by nature. He soon
tired of the warm caresses of the girl who had forsaken home,
friends, all for him. You see I do not spare him. I am
speaking truth. The girl, too; her nature was not one capa-
ble of feeling the pure and holy love that makes married life
happy. The two were totally unsuited for each other. Their
natures were too much alike for them ever to live together
and be happy. It did not take them long to discover this.
The wild dream of happiness soon came to an untimely end,
and they faced stern reality.

“ Bertrand, besides, did not prosper in the world. He
had attempted to practice his profession in Chicago, but
briefs were few and far between for the unknown lawyer.
And Lurlie, the wife, instead of standing with him, shoulder
to shoulder, like the Highlanders of old, and battling like a
true woman against the adverse fortune that was crushing
them so heavily to the earth, unnerved the spirits of Ber-
trand by unceasing regrets and unavailing complainings.

“ At last, Bertrand grew to curse the very hour when he
had first looked upon the face of the beautiful girl whose
heart had more of the devil in it than the human. He was
not slow, either, to tell Lurlie his thoughts. The hot, pas-
denate love changed into deadly hate.

“ Then a child was born—a baby girl. Bertrand felt no
pride in his child. It was only another weight hung about
his shoulders. Hard fortune was making him desperate.

“ Some six months after the child was born, a terrible
quarrel took place between the husband and wife. Ber-
trand spoke his mind freely. He told the beautiful angel
that she had the heart of a devil, and that he wished that
he had never seen her. Maddened at his words, Lurlie
struck at him with a knife. The keenoedged weapon laid
open his breast, but ’twas a mere flesh-wound, and not dan-
gerous. Angered beyond measure—all the evil in his na-
ture roused to action—Bertrand, with the butt of his revol-
ver, struck the woman to his feet. It was a heavy blow,
given with all the force of his powerful am, There at his
feet lay the woman whom he had once loved so well; the

1 being that he had sworn to love, cherish and protect. The

blood was streaming freely from a fearful gash on her head.
The golden hair was stained a darker hue with crimson
gore. Believing that he had killed her, Bertrand fied. He
left his child to the mercy of the world. This man’s heart
was of ice; he cared for no one but himself. You see I do
not attempt to make an angel out of him.

“ Years passed on. Bertrand, battling with the world,
heard nothing of the wife and child that he had deserted.
He concluded that both were dead. Seventeen years after
these events, Bertrand found himself again in Chicago. He
was a ruined, desperate man. The world had gone ill with
him. Three times he had won a fortune, three times he had
lost it. Nothing seemed to prosper with him in the end.
A curse was apparently upon his life. Whenever the cup
of fortune was raised to his lips, some powerful stroke dashed
it down again to earth. He thought that itwas a judgment
for the death of the girl that he had once loved so madly.
Judge of his surprise, then, when accident revealed to him
that she was living.

“ She is now rich. Can she fell to aid the man that she
once loved so dearly? Of course not—particularly, as it is
very probable, unless she finds some means to stop the tongue
of Bertrand, that he will (all: I”

“ And what will he say 7" asked Lurlie, an ominous light
shining in the largeblue eyes.

“ What will he say 1" repeated Bertrand, as if in astonish-
ment. “ What do you think he will be likely to say?”

" I do not know, nor do I care," said Lurlie, contemptu-

ousl .
“’Oh, you do not i" and Bertrand laughed as he spoke;
but there was a hidden menace in his laughter. “ I’ll tell
you what he will say. He will tell the world that Mrs.
Captain Middough, formerly Miss Lurlie Casper, is the wife
of Bertrand Tasnor.”

“ And how will that hurt me?”

“ Do you think that your husband, the old captain. Wm
like it when he beers that the charming young flower that
he picked up in the delightful locality known as Wells street,
is smart-led woman, and that, instead of being a'glrl of
eighteen, she is a woman of thinrfourt”

“ He will not believe you!" Luriie cried, impetuously.

 

“Ican easily provetohim thatIspeakthe truth.”

“Even if he does believe you, the fact will not change
his love for me."

“ Perhaps not; but when I exert the rights that the law
gives me, and take you from him, it will be apt to make
you uncomfortable if it does not affect him.” Bertrand said,
coolly.

“ Take me from him?” cried Lurlie.

“ Yes, I am your husband, am I not? We have not been
divorced, even though we mliving in Chicago. You should
have looked out for that, Luriie You should have out free
from me before you tied yourself to him. You are very
much married, Lurlie, now, having two husban ”

“ You can not prove our marriage!”

“ Yes I can. The minister is in Chicago: I saw him the
other day. How would you like to figure in a police-court
on a charge of bigamy i"

Lurlie was puzzled She had had an idea that the lapse
of years had annulled her firetmarriage,yet shewasnot
sure.

“ What do you demand of me?” she asked.

“ What all the world wants—money.”

“ How much?" ‘

“ That depends upon circumstances. I suppose you wish
all the secrets of the past to he keep still as secrets?"

fl Ya.”

, “ Well, it is diflcult for me to fix upon a price for my
silence. Of course I want all I can get. I have it! Al»
low me a yearly income; say, two thousand dollars per year.
Divide it into monthly parts.”

“ How long will you give me to think over this?"

“ Just five minutes,” Bertrand answered, laconically.

“ Then, without waiting for five minutes, I refuse," said
Lurlie, rising, spiritedly.

Bertrand‘s brows contracted. He saw that he had eves»
shot the mark.

“ You refuse?" he said.

“ Yes, if you force me to answer now. If you will give
me time to think it over, and I find that I am fully in your
power, I will give you what you ask."

For a moment Bertrand was silent. ' He knew full well
that he had no very strong hold upon Isurlie, and he thoughtl
it better not to push her to the wall.

“ Well, I will give you this; say until this time to-mor-
row. Will that do!”

“ Yes,” Lurlie answered, and a peculiu light shone in
her eyes as she spoke. Bertrand‘s keen eye noted the gleam.
He guessed what was passing in her mind.

“ She is thinking of some way to outwit me,” he mut-
tered to himself. “ Thinking of some new blow to sin at
me, but I bear a “charmed life,’ like Macbeth. I will put
my wits against here any day and will not fear for the re-
sult.”

“ Come to-morrow, at this same hour, and you shall have
my answer," she said.

“ Very well, be it so; but, Lurlle, I want some money
now." '

“ How much?”

“ Oh, but a trifle; fifty dollars or so.“

“ I have forty here in my wallet; will that do?

" Yes,” he answered.

Luriie took out her pocket-book and counted the hills into
his hand. .

As she did so, her fingers touched his; he seized the little
hand and held it, lightly, within his own broad palm.

"‘ To think, Lurlie," he said, “ that this little white hand
could deal such fearful blows—that this soft palm could
grasp a dagger and drive it to a man’s heart! Do you know,
Lurlie, that I bear on my breast to this day the scar caused
by the wound that you gave me?”

“ And if you will part the curls on my head you will find
there the terrible scar where you struck me with your re-
volver," she said.

“ Marks of. affection from the husband to the wife,” he

cried,withalsugh. ,-

OHAPTEB XXIV.
m slurs an om sequels-ram
“Arm now I suppose our interview is ended, is it not?

 

 

28 The Human Tiger.

 

 

demanded Lurlie. ..

“Yes, but there is one question more that I should like
to ask. Our child, Lurlie, what ever became of it?”

“ I do not knew," said Luriie. sadly.

“ You do not know?" . said Bertrand. in astonishment.

“ No. I was forced to abandon it. You left me here in
Chicago, without money, without friends. What could I do
with a helpless infantil” she asked, bitterly.

“ You mighthave taken it home to your father."

“ Y0. and have every one believe that it was the child of
shuttle. No, that I could not hear. I found what I thought
would be a home for my infant. In that home I left it. I
said that I abandoned it, but I did not, for I intended some
day to return and claim my child again."

“ And why did Sonnet?"

“ldld. but {could find no trace of the woman in whose
care I left my babe. She had left Chicago and taken my
infilnxrwitlt her. You think that I am cold and thess,
Bertrand: mumps I. am. but. as there is a heaven above. I
loved my child with all a mother‘s love. Many a night
have I wept myself tosieep, thinking and, mourning for my
lost baby. ”

“ And all clue to the child then is lost!" Bertrand said,
Windy. “ . /

“ Yes.” hulls-answered. wily-

“ If she were living she would now be a girl of sixteen."

“ Yes. butldo notthink that she is living. Somathing
tells the that she is deed."

“ Whatunsthehame of the woman with whom you left
the child?" Bertrand asked.

“ Cavendish; she was an English woman. Do you not
remele She had apartments right above the ones that
we occupied-7'

“ Oh, I do remember," said Bertrand, after a "use. “ Do
youlsposv I. have estrange curiosity to discover whether our
child is living or dead 2”

“ Search is useless. If I, urged onward by a mother’s
loveqshsvetslled. itis notliksly that you will succeed.”

. " Rsrhaps not! yet I shall try. I should remember the
face of the woman at once. I’ve a wonderful memory for
faces, although a- very bed on formulas.”

Bertrand rose, to depart.

“ Tomorrow you will come again?" She salted.

‘.‘ Yes. to receiveyour answer; to decide whether it is t
be peace or war between us. If you are wise, Wile. yo
will not makes foe of me.”

. Ammlulsmile imputed around the corners of thegirl‘s
mouth as he spoke.

Berk-ltd.de (torn the room.

Lenin; Litrlie to her reflections. Which were far trout b0-
lngplaasant, we will follow Bertrand. V
. As he mused from the. parlor into the entryway, he heard
the rustle of a woman’s dress.

f.‘ By Joyel" he cried to Mac", “that sounds as if some
one had been'listening to our conversation. If the secret is
intimation 9t. 90y:0ll08199, itrvonit be worth much to me."

Then, from the darkness of the other end of the entry, a
woman came toward him.

As she came intothe glare of the “light. Bertrand oculd
not repress nstart. _

The quick eye of the woman noticed the movement, and,
with»! linger-on. her lips. motioned silence-

Bertrand was amazed. He had reCognized an old acquain-
tattoo! ' ‘

“ Follow I'M." said the girl, cautiously.

Without sword. Bertrand followed

The girl led the way into a small room at the end of the
hall; then, after they had entered, she carefully dated the
deer. .,

“ Now we can speak freely.”

“ Aimee, is it possible that it is you?” excisilned Bertrand,
in wonder.

“ Yes," replied the waiting-maid, for it was Aimee who
had appeared to mutational!-

” What are you doing in this house?” .

“ I am Mrs. Middough’s maid,” said the girl, with mock
humbleness.

“ You are?" _ l

“ Yes. Quite a change isn’t it from the time when my
father kept the wine-store on the the west side, and you used
to come there—used to drink my father’s wine and make love
to my father's daughtefl”

“ What has caused such a change in your circumstances?”

" My father died suddenly. I was poor. I could not

 

carry on his business. I was forced to do something or starve.
I am happy now."

“ And yet you are a servant.”

“ We are all servants in this world; if not to one another,
then to something else. You are a servant now, Monsieur
Bertrand, and poverty is a hard master," said the girl.

“ Oh, you have overheard—"

“ All that passed between you and my mistress, yes. I
am very curious,” said the girl, with a light laugh. t

“Then you know the hold I have upon this woman P”

“ Which isn’t any hold at all, unless she is frightened into
thinking that you have one”

“ You're a shrewd girl, Aimee! you reason ssgely." Ber-
trand knew full well that she spoke the truth.

“ Yes, but suppose that I tell you something by which you
may be able to how her to your will!" said the girl, a wicked
look in her dark eyes.

“ You know something then that I do not?"

“ Yes, something that no one else knows except myself.”

“ Concerning this woman who was once my wife!"

H Yes.“

“ And will you tell it to me?" asked Bertrand, eagerly.

“ Yes, if you'll promise to give me a share of what you
may be able to gain by the use of the knowledge that I am
about to impart to you."

“ I agreeto that; it is a bargain," said Bertrand, quickly.

“ Well, then, Mrs. Middough is in love with some one, and
that some one is not her husband.”

Bertrand’s keen eyes sparkled at the news.

“ Are you sum of this?" he asked.

“ Yes, quite sure," answered the girl, eonildently. “ I‘ am
not blind. I can see well enough.” .

“ And who is the man?”

“ A. gentleman, named Edmund Keiiord; hevlins only a
few doors from here. This girl, or woman rather, loves him
win her whole soul, and you can probably guess how she
can love.”

“ And does he love her!"

“ Not yet. I do not think that he even suspects that she
canes any thing for him. He is very much in love with a
“wing-girl who works in a shop on Clark street. ” t

“ Does Lurlie know that she has a rival?” .

“ Yes; she questioned me until she found out all the per-
tieulars of the affair. Then; the other night, she took the
trouble to go to Clark street to see the girl."

“ By Jove!" cried Bertrand, suddenly. “ I remember new,
[saw her there, and you, I suppose, were the other female
mt  hot." '

st Yes."

"sts nmdedstthetlmstosccouut forberprsmnee in
such a locality and at such an hour- It was to see this girl,
than, her rival, that she took all this trouble?”

at Ya.”

For a” few moments Bertrand remained silent, evidently in
deep thought.

“I have it," he said, at length. “ We must encourage
this aflair. Luriie must he made to commit herself in some
way, then she will be utterly in our power. I have s curi-
osity to see this girl who can rival this beautiful tiger. Is
she pretty!"

“ I do not think so,” replied the girl, with a shrug of her
shoulders; “ but, this Mr. Kelford declares that she is the
loveliest woman in all the world.”

“A very natural thing for s lover to my; they all say
It, even though the added of their adoration be as Iteg so
sin is supposed to be," Bertrand said, with s sneer.

“ If you would like to see her, I can direct Jon.”

“ There is no need of that. _ I member the locality well
enough. I will see the girlt but it is necessary for the suc-
cess of our plans that Lurlie shall succeed in winning the
love of this young man. If I can, I Will aid her in crush-
ing her rival; but out of that triumph will come the means
that shall in the and lead to he! downfall—diet we have
drawn from her all the money we need.” "

” We are allies, Item" _ l

*‘ Yank”? ssood watch upon all that passes withil the,
house. We have the game in our hands if wepuy play on:
cards rightly." ,

and aiming/mac the compact. name-wee

“My skies are brkhteningi" he cried. exnltautly, as he
mededengthe staeet. “By the aid of “W151 shall be
ebletokeep accustom watch upon Luz-list I shall know .11
um passes within the house. Fats seems to werk for me
now rather than against me. Just as! lelttbet thsrope

 

 

 

 

The Human Tiger.

29

 

YT-

which bound this woman to me was slipping out of my
hands, then another and a stronger one is placed within my
paim.’ Sb, Lurlie already tires of the old man, who bought
her with his money. The chains are silken ones, perhaps;
stillnthey are chains, nevertheless. Now, if this man, Kei-
ford, will but fail in love with her, my vengeance would be
satisfied That love will be the means by which I will work
her ruin. The old captain must know that his young and
dainty wife already tires of the bonds of wedlock.

“ First, to see this girl, Lurlie's rival; she must be lovely
indeed to rival this beautiful demon."

Bertrand proceeded straight to the little shop in Clark
street. The bells were just striking nine as he reached it.

As he stood before the shop, Pearl came out; her work
finished, she was proceeding homeward.

As she passed by Bertrand, he had a full view of her
face, and a wonderful effect that face had upon him. For
a moment he reeled like a drunken man. It seemed as if he
had been stricken by some heavy blow.

“ Merciful powers!" he gasped. “Can it be poesiblet

. Itcannotbe that I am dreaming!” Then he passedhis

hand mechanically across his brows. “ Can it be that fate
is going to-give 'me. such a vengeance as this will be, if my
guess proves trust It will be terrible, and amply repay me
for all the past. I must not lose sight of this girl. I must
follow her; iind out 'all' I can about her.”

And with this resolution Bertrand followed in the foot-
steps of the girl". ' '

At the corner of the street Pearl was joined by Kelford,
who was waiting ‘for her as usual. Then they proceeded on-
ward. Bertrand followed at a safe distance. '

“ I wonder if this is the man that Lnrlie has given her
heart to!” he muttered, as he followed stealtth in the rear
of the young couple.

: They proceeded (onward arm in arm, little thinking that
they were so closely followed.

Kelford saw Pearl to the door of her house, then bade her
good-night and retraeed his steps homeward.

Pearl was a riddle to the young man. She confessed
frankly that she liked him, but would never own that that
liking was. love or would ever become love. Kelford felt
that he was almost hoping against hope.

- Bertrand watched the young couple separate, the girl en-

' tor the house and the young man proceed down the street.

‘ .'

i

He had concealed himself in a doorway opposite.

"I am sure that it is shot" he muttered, as he emerged
from the gloom of the doorway, “ but I must be certain
that I am right before I strike the blew. Oh, it will be a
terrible vengeance!" and he ground his teeth together fierce-
ly as he spoke. “I hate this woman who was once my
wife. She was the ruin of my life, made me what I am, a
felonandanoutcast, butthisvsngsaacswillpayforall.”

 

CHAPTER XXV.
. ,m'rnroa or a mu m carcass.

In a little dingy office just across the way on Randolph
street from the court-house, sat an elderly, gray-haired man.
His features were thin and sharp. Cunning was in the little
gray eyes, and trickery played in the lines of his thin-lipped
mouth.

This was the celebrated criminal lawyer, Grover Chicks.
A man of wide reputation; renowned for keen legal tricks,
and notorious from the number of divorce suits that he had
successfully carried through.

A knock at the-door of his oflice drew the lawyer’s atten-

tion from the pile of musty-looking papers that he was perus- -

mg.
“ come“ in;' he said.

A '30! entered. She was heavily vailed and evidently in- .

tended that her features should be concealed as much as
possible

The lawyer was not at all astonished at the precaution
shown. He had had too many queer customers in his dingy
little ones to wonder at the appearance of any of his
clients. - -

“ Lawyer Chicks!" said the lady.
‘ v“-Yes,’-’ replied that indIVidusi; “ pray be seated," and as
he spoke he rose from the table and handed his visitor ‘

 

chair. Politeness was Chicks’ great forte.

“ I wish to see yOu on a little matter of business,” said the
lady, in a tone that betrayed considerable hesitation.

“ Certainly, ma’am,” said the lawyer, blandly, and then he
murmured to himself, " another divorce case, I'll bet.”

From the tone of the lady's voice and by her slender figure,
the lawyer judged that his client was a young woman.

“ Pray be seated, ma’am," said the lawyer, again offering
the chair, which the lady this time accepted.

“ What I wish to know is, suppose that a husband should
leave his wife here in Chicago, go away and remain absent
for fifteen or sixteen years, would—" and the lady paused.

“ I know what you wish to say, my dear madam,” cried
Chicks, who understood the case in an instant, or at least
thought he did. “ You wish to know if there would be le-
gal grounds for a divorce. Certainly, ma’am; put the case in
my hands and I’ll insure you victory. No doubt about get-
ting a divorce upon any such grounds as that." Then Chicks
leaned back and looked sagacioua.

“ Yes, but you do not exactly understand what I wish to
learn," said the vailed lady, quietly. “ As I have said: sup-
pose that the husband remains absent for sixteen years, and
during all that time the wife never hears from him in any
way whatsoever; and during that time she marries again.
Then the ilrst‘ husband comes back and claims his wife; Has
he a legal claim upon the womanl”

“None in the’woridi” cried Chicks; “the mere fact of
his remaining away for that length of time constitutes a di-
vorce.” -

“Then, ifshedldnotwishtogowith him,thelawgivcs
him no power to force her to complyt"

“ None at all.”

“And the second marriage is strictly legalt"

“Of causcc.”

The lady drew a long breath as though a weight had been
lifted off her mind.

She rose to depart. .

“ How mucht” she said, taking out a pocket-book well-
ililed with bills.

“ Five dollars, ma’am,” and then, the very moment after
he had spoken, Chicks was sorry that he hadn’t said ten.

The lady gave the lawyer the money, and, without a word
departed.

“ That‘s an easily'earned five doilarsl" chuckled the lawyer,
sitting down again to his papers.

The lady descended the stairs.

In her plain garb and with the thick vail drawn down
closely over her features, few would have guessed her to be
the dashing Hrs. Middough. .

“ I am safe, then,” she muttered, as she emerged upon the
sidewalk; “ but no; not safe, for Bertrand can tell the story
of my life to my husband. I am sure that it will not Change
his love for-me, yet for him to possess the knowledge will be
a thorn in my side. Bertrand must die. Once already since
his return have I tried to strike him; the blow failed to ac-
complish my purpose; my second stroke shall be more certain.
I’ll go to my father and ask his aid. This man will c'ome to
see me tonight, to receive my answer. When he leaves me he
must he waited for. He must never see the morning’s light
a living man.

And with these dark thoughts surging through her brain,
Lurlie hurried onward.

She soon reached her former home in Wells street.

Entering, she found her father behind the bar as usual.

“ Why, Luriie, gal,” he cried, in astonishment, “ come to
see the old maul"

“ Yes, father, I want your assistance,” she said.

There was no one besides her father in the saloon, so she
could speak freely.

“ You dot well, spit it out; what kind do for you?”

“ You remember the man that came to this house just be-
fore I married the captain! The stranger that I told you i
had met long years ago?”

“ Yes, ’pears to me I do,” said old Casper, reflectively.
“ The man that you was afeard of; the fellow with long
black hair and black eyes!"

“ Yes, he is the one that I mean.”

"Has he run across you ag‘int"

“ Yes, and he threatens to tell my husband all about my
past life if I do not pay him to keep silent."

“ I'd pay him with a good knife-dig in the heart,” said
Casper, enragely. ‘ ' -

“ Father, between you and me deception is useless. I
hate this man, and I wish him dead,” said Luriie, earnestly.

22.:—

a:

.44“; ‘a -.‘r A;—

. nus. -

n ,.,,. . v-..” -.

 

7. xx...” « rqm'“‘. u mm H —— r. .

‘_—

—-_~.— ~..——.~--~_ “w-..-

'30

The Human Tiger.

 

“ But what difference does it make to you if this poor
shoat does-speak!“ Casper asked.
, :~ 4‘ Father, this man is. my husband.”
"‘ Your'husband?” cried Casper, in amazement.
, “. Yes, I was married to him here in Chicago years ago.
I thought himdead, but hells living to torment me,” Lurlie

“ Why, then you’ve got two husbands-l" cried Casper, as-

- tonished.

“ Yes, but the first marriage is void. This man holds
two threats over my head. The first one was that he would

- claim me as his wife and farce me to go with him. - But I

»haVe~consulted a lawyer and I find that he can not do so.
His second threat was that he would see my husband and tell

- him all that he knows in relation to my past life. True, I

I do not think that it would change my husband’s love at. all,
- but it is not pleasant to have any one—much less the captain
—know aught of that life which should be buried from the

- world forever.”

“ The only way then to keep: him quiet is to put him
where he can’t talk," said the old-man, grimly. .

.“;You aseright. father, that is the only way,” replied Lun-
lle, firmly.

“Can he beget at~essilyf" said Casper, thoughtfully.

“ Yes, he is coming-to see me tonight at my house on
Michigan. avenue. Hmwill come between seven and nine

' o’clock."

“ And if any one should ‘ lay" for him about 'that time,

 stheyzmoulde‘t be apt to miss him!”

If n
“ All right; I’ll fix it," said the old man, with an air of
satisfaction. “,But, Lurlie, gal, it will cost money.”
‘ “ I care not 'what it costs, so that I am free from his pre-
sence." cried Lurlierfierceb. ,
“ You don’t love him much, now, do you?" said' the old
man, with a chuckle. ‘
“ Love himi";and Luriie-‘s lips curled in scorn; "-hate is
too weak a word to express the loathing that I bear for him.
- All Chicago is notlarge enough to hold this man and me.
One f us- must die."

“ .llwrightztl’ll fix him,” said the Old man; “ he’s a
stranger and will never be missed. I know a couple of fel-
lers that I think will do thejob up prime; they’ve just come
from California. I reckon that they ain’t over' and above
flush, so they’ll probably be reasonable.”

“No-matter what the-cestis, so that it insures his. death.”
There was no hesitation visible inLnrli‘e’s voice.

“ I’ll fix it; leave it all to use, ’cos'you don’t want to be.
mixed up in the affair at all. I’ll see-the boys, and arrange
the; job. He’ll leave the house between seven‘andl nine. eh!”

soYe‘Js .

And so the death of Bertrand Tamer wassplanned.

Lurlie returned to her- own splendid home on the lake
shore. , Yet what'w-ae all the luxury by which she was 'surt‘
rounded to her while the demon of fear was in her heart.

“ To-night will free 'me from this mam-"she thought.
“ To-morrawIcan breathe, again, freely. Bertrand-will be
removed from'my path, and then this‘ girl, Pearl, must fol-

low. Once she is removed, I will find some way to break ‘
v the gilded chains that bind me to this old man, and then to

win the love of Edmund Kelford."
AfterlLurlic‘s departure, old Casper, leaving the house in
charge of a shook-headed 'boy, his assistant/since Rink had

~ left—for that worthylhsd suddenly'disappeered one morn-

ing, without even taking the trouble to say good-hy—pro-
needed down the' street.

He halted at a dingy saloon, a few doors from his own.

Over the door of the saloon was thesign, mesnm
HOV“: ‘

Casper entered

“ IsDick Gofl about?” he asked

“ He’s inside," said the barkeeper, pointing to a door to
the right of. the bar.

Casper opened the door and entered-the room.

Two men were in the apartment, busily engaged at a-gsmev
of cards.

The two were rough-looking fellows. with small, evil eyes,
and hull-dog faces . v

“ Hello, old- man, what’slnpr” asked the larger of the two,
who apparently knew Casper well.

" A little job," replied Casper.
-seme money!” _ .

“ You bet!"- said the rough, who was the notorious Dick
Got! in person—a men well known to the Chicago police, as

“ Do- you want Make

use. - 90

 

w .

,.

aw a

well as to the prison omcials at Joliet.
Casper sat down andexplained to the two what he whhed
them tordo. ~

After he had finished, Dick cegitated for amount.

" It must bevdone to-nightr”

“ Yes,” Casper answered.

“ How much tin?”

“ What do you want?”

“ He‘s to be laidout stiff!”

“ Yes.”

“Five hundred."

“ Give yen a hundred apiece."

“ Too little." ,

“ Take or leave it," said Casper, rising.

“ Holden; throw in the beer!”

“ Yes.”

" ‘It’s a bargain.”

That night, at seven o‘clock, two-hen-‘lennptbdrehssly
up Eighteenth street to‘Michigantavenne.‘  walked down
the avenue till‘ they halted in front ol'the "Mifleugh' inan-
sicn.

The night-birth were waiting!“ their-m

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
manure A MT.
Knuonn sat in ' the parlor of the Middough million.

a = lie-«had: called after supper in-qnen of'W‘irt; ~bnt~thdt'gentle-
‘ man had not returned home 'since‘dinneri- - ln"elsedience to

Mrs. Middough’s urgent request, Kelfud-yhaduentstedothe
houses In fact, he needed but httlelnrgimrfor~shtrange
fascination was exercised over his nature by the wile-offline old

- :captain. Min vain he struggled-«agdnstwiknd Mye’to cast

of! the subtle influence that was-weaving Redeem-meshes
around his heart. . -

Vainly he said to uhimself: «‘4‘ 'llhis womanhtherwle of

‘ another; why-should I: think other!" and yst'ire'di'dlihink
of her.

And atthosame time beloved: Pearl Cudlipp with all the
order of a man's first love. Such lathe ineensbtehey ntpoor,
weak human nature.

The man felt that he was in peril every‘minntelh‘e spent
in ,the- presence of golden-haired, blue-eysd-lmrlhzreld yet

- he rdid'not avoid that perilgibut rather muted it. .

He wss'heginning to think that the love h-hwfw'fml
was but a hopeless, aimless passion; that? he whuld 'liever
win her, and that it would bet-bettertfer'hisn‘to crush the

"names rinsing-his heart. A ’suhtle demon whhpersd‘la his
ear, and urged him to forget the pure and holy‘ love he felt
for the pure girl in the smiles of elegant Lurlie. The same
instinct was dominant in his nature that urges the hopeless
man to seek forgetfuTiféss’Tn"thFWine-cup.

And so he sat in the Middough parlor, face to face with
the dangerous siren, who had lured the old captain to make
her his wife. “j 3 v ,  ' ‘ .

Lurlie’s joy was plainly evident in her face. The fierce
passion thaf‘ihe édlled‘iofe Was‘rh‘glhg‘ hi her heart. For

, fKellord’s sake—to win his love—«she would have  the

' fires below. ; I .
, To have looked in the face of Luriie. none would it"
 the evil passions that swayed her heart. .
‘ "Where is the captain?” asked Kelford. U-
“ He has gone to- Milwaukee on businen".r0flsdtimflh
“ I do not expect him home for threedays."
“ You must miss him greatlyfi’ Mord“
'“ No,” Lurlie answered, truthfully.
“ Igen do not?” Kelford askod, in mm
s! 0.”
“That is strange.”
“ You would not think so if you- knew the W'Lnrlie
said. “ Ido not know why I should saythis openly to

I‘ll

 fin, for I  I ought not to speak of “rug { "in".

at' I wOuld not say it to any one but you. I know.” who
a gentleman, Mr. Kelford, and I am sure that you will'not
betray the confidence that I repose in you”. i‘

“ You may restsssured of that," ssidKelfodfiqnickly.

The snare was closing, slowly but surely, 
of the young man.

Amarried woman'should haveihutons-ceofidlltglsnd that
confith her husband. I V

“I am glad to hear you say sp,” said Lurlie, looking the

\

 

 

The Human Tiger. 31

L
3

young man full in the face with the glorious eyes so full of
subtle witche‘ry.

Kelford Was dazzled as he looked upon the eyes; dazzled
is; he'would have been had he gazed upon the sun at rioon-

ay.

“ You can hardly guess how much I wish for some one

' to whom I can speak freely and without reserve,” she said,
with a mournful accent.

“ Your husband," suggested Kelford.

; “ How can he, a man of his years, have aught in common
with a girl like me? We are matched but not mated. I
thought that I loved him, but I was wrong. It is the aflec-
tion of a daughter toward a father, not the love that a wife
should bear her husband."

‘ “ But, you have discovered this truth too late,” said Kel-
ford, frankly. “ You can not now repair the error."

” You'forget that we live in Chicago,” said Lurlie, archly;
“ Chicago is famed for divorces.”

Kelford laughed at the words.

“I’m‘afraid that our good city is much abused by the
outside barbarians."

“ But there is a good deal of truth in my words."

“ I do ‘not deny it," replied Kelford; “but how long is
it since you discovered “that the love you bore your husband
was-not the one that should fill your breast?”

“ I can hardly answer that question,” said Luriie, slowly,
and dropping her eyes from Kelford’s face to the carpet.

“ Not answer it I” said Kelford, in amazement; “is'it pos-
sible'tha‘t you do’ not know?"

' “ Yes, 'I know, and yet I can hardly answer,” and Lurlie

’cast a swift glance under the long, golden eyelashes at the

~ face of the young man, and then again her eyes sought the
carpet.

,Kelford was perplexed. He had noted the glance, swift
as it was; but, its meaning he feared to guess at, even in the

- secret of his own thoughts.

“ That is odd,” said Kelford, slowly; " I can hardly un-
derstand how that can be.”

“ Perhaps 'I could tell some one else, but I can not tell
you,” said Luriie,softly.

The hot blood surged up into Kelford's face.

- 'The truth flashed opon‘him,‘ and yet he could hardly be-
,‘lieve it. Bewildered, he asked himself if this goldendhaired
beauty could be in love with him.

"You edn‘not tell'me r" he said, mechanically.

“ Nd,'for-then you would guess a secret that is better for
both of u‘syorr’should‘ not know. I can tell you a little of
it though, and I will. I know that I do not love my hus-
band, because, since my Mtge, I have met one that I do
low.”

" Is it possible?” Kelford was in'a mane. Two passions
in his heart were struggling for mastery; first, the love he
bo‘re to Pearle—hopeless passion though it was—second, the
wild infatuation that the spells of the golden-haired beauty
had-caused. '

“Yes, I frankly tell you the truth; tell you, whom I
ought not to tell. But, I have spoken the words and I will
not recall them.”

“I pledgef'you my honor that I will not repeat them,”
said Kelford, earnestly.

“ I am not afraid of that,” replied Lurlie, quickly. “ I
knowthat-‘I can trust to your honor. 0h, Ir. Kelford, I do
not believe you can guess how bitter it h for a woman to

-disoeverthatshsisbeundicrlifetoamanthatshecauuctI

love as the should love him. ”

“ We can not always have things to our liking in this
life. ’There’s many a love in the world that never meets its
reward." Kelford spoke feelingly, and as the words passed
from his lips, before his eyes rose the image of Pearl. Cud-
iipp, the pale face wherein' was enshrined the large eyes so
full of mournful sweetness. Then, for a moment, the spells
of the siren were powerless, the silken meshes that passion
had'spun-aroind'his heart were burst like oobwebs.

Lurlie-goemed from his face what was passing within his
mind. She sawthat her influence was waning. The angry
spirit of a demon was in her heart, but no traces of it ap-
peared ia‘her face.

“ And that, I fear, will be the fate of the passion that
Ills my heart,” she mid; slowly and mournfully. “ I know
that it is sinful for me to even -tirink of it, but I can ‘not
help it; I am only am, weak woman, not a giant in
will. I have striven—olrt striven so hard to conquervthls
passion—to drive it from my heart and forget the man
whose noble nature made me love him, delp'rte‘illyldl."

5—.

 

And as she spoke so earnestly and so piteously, she looked
Kelford full in the face. The eyes fascinated him as the
eyes of the serpent fascinates the bird.

Again he felt that he was in danger. Something whis.
peredhimtofiyfrom this woman, who wassoweakinher
agony and yet so strong in her helplessness. But, the im-
pulse was not ‘ttrong enough to break the meshes that her
passionate eyes had again woven around his heart.

“ This is a terrible situation fer you," Kelford said, ear-
estly.

" Is it not, and yet I must‘bear it!" she cried, with a piw
one look. '

“ I do not know how to advise you,” the young man said,
after a pause.

“Andlcannot tell you 'Myhead is inarnasewhen-
ever I think of it."

“ Why not avoid his presence?” suggested Kelford,
slowly.

“ And so lose the little ray of sunlight that fate permits to
beam upon my life-path?” she cried, impatiently.

“ But, if that sunlight is destined to be succeeded by a'still
darker gloom—"

“ Take away the light of his presence and I am in the
gloom and darkness of the tomb. Seeing him is the only
comfort that I have.”

“ And do you see him often 2" Kelford asked, and then the
moment after felt sorry that he had put the question.

“ N‘ot half so often as I could wish,” she replied, quickly.
“ I have never seen him but once alone, and the joy that‘that
meeting gave me tells me full Well" how happy I would be if
fate should ever give me to him, forever and forever.”

Kelford felt as if he was under the influence of some terri-
ble dream as the passionate words came from Luriib's red
lips. .
“ You will think I am foolish, I know, when I tell you
that I sit at the window yonder, for hours together, only to
catch sight of him as he passes along the street. And the
days I do not see him, I go upstairs to my rooms, lock 'my-
self in, and in scalding, bitter tears strive to forget I my
misery.” ‘ '

“ Does he know that you love him?" Kelford mked, slow-
iy. He felt that some irresistible power was drawing lhim
quietly, bnt surely, to some dreadful gulf. _ He guessed who
the man was that this beautiful wornan loved 'with' such a
fierce and guilty passion. He knew that he' ought not to be
eager to learn the truth, and yet he could not resist‘tlre"'wish
to do so.

“ How can he know that I love him, unless he reads the
truth in my eyes?” Lurlie asked. “ I am not a'young, un-
married girl; if ‘I were, then 'I might exert the powers‘ that '
Nature has glVen me to make him love me; but, as‘it is, I
can not. I must be secret and be silent; must  the
love that is burning in my heart, and thus suffer untold
misery.”

“I am sorry-that I can not aid you.”

“ But you can,” said Lurlie, quickly.

“ Indeed, in what way? Letme know, and I shall be only
too glad to oblige you.” Kelford spoke earnestly.

“ This man that I love thinks himself in love with another
woman. She does not return his passion, therefore, I know
that he can not really love her; that his Only an infatuation
on his part, for if he did love her, really and truly, she could

not help loving him'in return, so noble is his nature. I can

not bear the thought that any other woman should win him.
I ‘am young ye't; my husband is an old man. In the course
of nature a few years will set me free; then, if he is free I
can 'win him. 'I wish that you would see him, tell him that
I love him; that will relieve my heart. Will you do this?"
Full of pleading was the tone in which Ldrlie spoke.

Kelford was puzzled. He thought he had guessed Lurlie's
"070'. and yet her' speech told him that his guess was
wrong.

“I will do as you wish. (Where can I see this man?” he
asked

" Here, to-morrcw night at this same hour,” she replied.

“ Here!” Kelford said, in astonishment.

“ Yes, here," repeated erriie; “ I will invite him here on
some pretext; he will not 'guees why I wish to see him.”

“ And you are sure that he will come?”

It Ya.” . .

“Very well, then, I will come. too."

Akncckatthechr interruptedthseonvesmtssa.

 

a:

a -. and: ‘,

32 The Human Tiger

L
4 l

CHAPTER XXVII.
a noun mmvmw.

 

~.._..~ >5. 3-. v4.3,—

nerved, he could not remain there. In search of something
to distract his mind and quell the fire raging so wildly in his

“as...

t
i,
u
.

 

 

In obedience to Lurlie’s summons, a servant entered the
room.

“ I beg pardon, ma'am, but a gentleman wishes to see
you."

“ To see me?" said Lurlie, with affected surprise, for she
knew full well who the visitor was, and why he came.

“ Yes, ma’am. He wished to see you personally, so he
said,” replied the servant.

. “ Very well; show him into the library and tell him that
I will see him in a moment. ” '

“ Yes, ma’am." said the servant, and then he departed to
bear the message.

“You will excuse me for a few minutes,” Lurlie asked,

smiling sweetly upon the young man.
4 “ Yes, but I must wish you. good-evening,” said Kel-
ford, rising. His head already was in a flame; he did not
dare to risk a second interview now with the golden-haired
siren.

. “Must you go?” There was a world of regret in the tone
of Lurlie’s voice as she put the simple question.

“ Yes,” replied Kelford, slowly. In Lurlie’s face and
voice he read a truth which gave him both pain and
pleasure. His better nature contended with the wild infatua-
tion that the spells of the blue-eyed siren had cast about his
heart.

“I am so sorry; but you will come again?” she asked,
quickly and eagerly.

“ Yes, to-morrow night.”

“ The hours will be very long ones till to-morrow night
comes,” Lurlie said, sadly.

I “ I: hope not,” Kelford replied. He hardly dared to trust
himself to speak. All the good within his nature was striv-
ing against the evil fascination exercised over him by this
bright-eyed spirit.

“ I know that they will be long hours and sad ones, too,
until I look again upon your face i” Lurlie cried, impulsively.
“ But, good-night; I will not detain you longer. I see that
you wish to leave me.”

“Luriiet” exclaimed Kelford, reproachfully.

“ That is right, call me Lurliel” she cried. “ It is the
first time that you have ever done so. I hope, though, that
it will. not be the last. But, good-by," and she extended her
hand as she spoke. ,

Kelford took the little white hand within his own. The
warm pressure tingled through everyvein within his body.
That single grasp made him Lurlie's slave.

A few words more of aimless import, and Kelford left the
. house.

As the cool night-air struck upon his fevered brow, he
vainly asked himself if he had not been in the mazes of a
dream; if the scene, in which he had played so prominent a
part, was in truth reality.

As Kelford proceeded up the avenue toward his own house,
two men came from the darkness of an alley-way and fol-
lowed him cautiously. They had proceeded but a few steps
only, when a third, who had apparently been concealed in a
doorway a little further down the street, overtook the other
two.

“ Hold on," said the third man, addressing the_two who
were following Kelford; “ that ain’t the man.” .

“ Not” growled one of the two addressed, in a tone which
showed his deep disgust.

“No; the one you want was the fellow that just went into
the house."

” What! that tall fellow?”

“ Yes. "

“ He’s a w’opper, he is; he'll makes tough old fight if we
give him the chance. "

' “Jump on him, suddenly," suggested the third stranger.

“ You bet, as we used to say in Frisco,” said the other,
with a grin. v , .

Then all three returned to their former stations, and ap-
parently the street was again deserted. No one would have
guessed that the darkness of the night hid three men on mur-
der intent. , ‘

Had it not been for the presence of old Casper, who was
the man who had stopped the two roughs from following in
the footsteps of Kelford,,Bertrand Tasnor’s good star would
have saved him from the night attack, and the young man
would have been the victim.

. lefovd went straight to his house, but, restless and un-

 

veins, he jumped into a car and rode down-town. There
he met a party of his friends, and for the first time in his
life ioined them in a “ time.”

Kelford that night went home flushed with champagne.
Midnight was OVer, and the clocks were striking two when
he retired to rest.

And Pearl that night? When she came from the little
shop, her place of toil, she found no Edmund Kelford wait-
ing for her. '

It was the first night that he had ever missed escorting her
home since they had become acquainted.

The way home had never seemed so long and lonesome to
Pearl as it did that night.

Her heart was heavy with fear; fear for the man whom
she had repeatedly said that she did not love. Her thoughts
suggested that Kelford was ill. She did not think even for
a single instant that any thing but sickness could keep him
from the test that he had assigned to himself.

Pearl’s pillow that night was damp with tears. The young
girl cried herself to sleep; cried, she knew not why, except
that she felt all alone in the world; yet, even amid her tears
she would not own, even to herself, that she loved Edmund
Kelford. .

 

Lurlie, after. Kelford’s departure, proceeded up-stain to
the library where she had ordered her visitor to be shown.

She knew, of course, who that visitor was, and was nerv-
ing herself to meet him. She knew thescene would be a
stormy one. A man like Bertrand Tasnor was not to be de-
fied without a struggle. She knew that the'strugglewas at
hand, and she was prepared for it. e y v

She opened the door of the library and entered

Within the room, cosily, in the arms of a huge-cushioned
chair, sat Bertrand Tasnor. ' . ‘

Bertrand looked at Lurlie searchineg as she entered, leek.
ing to read in her face the determination that she had ar-
rived at. But, the face of Lurlie was as a sealed book, even
to the keen, eyes of the ex7roadoagent.

“ I have come, you see, as per appointment," he sai
opening the conversation. , '

“ Yes, I see,” Lurlie replied, shortly. .

Bertrand frowned Neither the words nor the tone pleased
him. He foresaw that all was not smooth sailing ahead.

“ Well, have you thought over my words!” he. asked,
slowly. . v

“ Yes,” answered Lurlie, quietly.

“ And have you made up your mind as to what course
you will pursnef’.’ ' , .

“ I have. ” 1

Again Bertrand frowned. The coolness and quiet of Lur-
lie boded danger to him.

“ And what do you intend to do?” Bertrand put the
question, but felt sure what the answer would be before Lur-
lie opened her lips to reply. »

“ Refuse all your demands!” v

“ Refuse!” exclaimed Bertrand, and an ominous light
gleamed in his dark eyes. .

“ Yes, refuse,” said Lurlie, coldly, quietly, but firmly.

“ Do you know what you are doing?” cried Bertrand, with
a lowering look. .

“ Yes, I sinfully aware of what I am doing,” shenplled,
without heeding his frowns. t . .

“ You are mad!” Bertrand cried. - . .

“No, I am not; but Ihsve been mad, to seem, even for
an instant, to yield to your threats,”- Lurils replied, spirit-
sdly.

“ You defy me then i” said Bertrand, rising, and the angry
lire gleamed in his eyes.

Lurlie, though, faced him undaunted.

“ Yes, I defy you. Do your worst, still I defy you!" ,

“ Good I" cried Bertrand, bitterly. “ To-morrow, then, all

Chicago shall know that thefair young bride that old Cap-

tain Middough picked out of the slums of Wells street is the
cast-ofl wife of Bertrand Tasnor, the dueliat—the Confeder-
ate captain—tbe western outlaw.”

“ And what care I?” cried Lurlie, defiantly. “ I have
plenty of money. The crime must, indeed, be glut in MI
world that a golden mask will not hide it, if crime or disgrace
there be in ever having borne your detested name"

“ But all your gold will not savo you from are!” exclaimed
Bertrand, with a threatening gesture. “ To-morrow I will
go before the proper, authorities—shew the proof that you

 

 

 

 

The Human Tiger. 33

 

 

are my legal wife, and evoke the power of the law to force
you to go with me. I’ll take you from all this splendor, and

from the arms of the old dotard whose money has bought
your charms. Far from here, I’ll make you repent in bitter
tears the hour when you dared to defy my power. That I’ll
do, or I’ll do worse—I'll send you to State’s Prison!"

Lurlie laughed scornfully as his words fell upon her ears.

“ You can not frighten me, Bertrand Tasnor,” she said,
proudly. “ I know full well that you have no legal claim
to me. I have sought the assistance and counsel of a lawyer,
and he has told me that, by your desertion of me, our mar-
riage was rendered null and void, years ago.”

A bitter oath rose to Bertrand’s lips; but, with an eflort,
he kept it back. He knew that Lurlie spoke the truth. His
first blow had failed.

“Enough; I will not deny the truth; I know that, legally,
I have no claim to you,” he said; “ you have parried my first
blow. Now for the second.”

“ And that is?—-—"

“ I shall seek your husband; tell him all the facts relating
to your past life—your marriage with me—your desertion of
your child. It may anger the old captain when he discovers
that his blooming child wife is the grass widow of aso-called
desperate character, and the mother of a child. I shall also
publish these facts to the world."

“ And again I defy you!” Lurlie cried. “ My husband is
in Milwaukee. I will hasten to him at once; tell him frankly
the history of my life; confess the deception I have practiced
upon him by allowing him to think that I was a young, un-
married girl. I shall plead in excuse my love for him; tell
him that I felt that I could never be happy in this world un-
less I became his wife. My tears will flow freely, and I shall
ofi'er to make all the atonement in my power, and that I can
only do in one way—by leaving him. Then I will throw
myself at his feet, and implore him to forgive me before I go
away from him forever. Can you doubt what the result will
be?” asked Lurlie. triumphantly.

“ No, not for a single moment,” replied Bertrand, angrily.
“ Iknow your power. The old fool will take you to his
heart; tell you to forget. as he will forgive. all the past; call
me an interns. scoundrel, and you a dear suflering angel.
There is- no fool like an old one in love. ”

- “ And you see your second blow will fall. Bertrand Tas.
nor, I have counted well the cost of defying you. Did I not
think that I could do it successfully, I would not try to cope
with you, but would yield to your demands. I am sure that
you can not do me harm.”

“ I have yet another blow in store for you, Lurlie,” said
Bertrand, menacingly. a

“ Indeed!” and Lurlie looked the scorn she felt. “ Is it as
potent as the other two?"

“ I think so, and you will think so, too, when you hear
what it is,” said Bertrand, coolly. “ It comes in the shape
of your child.”

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
nunnni's emu.

Fen a moment Lurlie looked into the pitiless face of the
man who was gloweriug upon her, and then, with a low
moan of anguish she sunk into a chair by which she stood.

A look of fierce exultation swept over Bertrand’s features
as he beheld her stern will give way.

“Aha!” he cried, in triumph; “I have found a way at
last to tame your haughty spirit. The third blow is more
powerful than the others, is it not, Luriier”

The woman did not reply to the taunting 'question, but
buried her face in her hands in anguish.

"Now then, will you be reasonable, and yield to my de-
mands?" he asked. .

“ Oh, my poor baby!" she moaned.

“ She has grown to womanhmd—a beautiful girl, but
though she is beautiful, she does not resemble you in the least
nor me, either, for that matter. She is a strange compound
of both of us in looks, but as report speaks of her as an
angel, it is very clear that she does not resemble either of us
in disposition," Bertrand said, sarcastically.

“Oh, how I have Ianged to see my child!" Lurlie said,
feebly. “ Many a night have I lain awake in the long, still
hours, wondering what her fate had been—wondering if my
child.“ been doomed to pass her young days in the self-
mo misery that had clouded all my early life."

 

“ She has been happy enough,” replied Bertrand, carelessly.
“ She does not carry in her bosom the heart of fire that burns
in yours. Her life has been one of toil, but in that toil she
has been happy.”

“You have seen her?” Lurlie questioned, with an eager
look into Bertrand‘s face.

“Yes, and found out all the particulars of her life.”

“ You will tell me where she is, so that I can see her, that
I may imprint upon her innocent forehead a mother’s kiss!"
Lurlie’s voice was full of emotion as she spoke.

“No,” replied Bertrand, coldly.

“ You will not tell me where she is, so that I can once
more look upon her face?”

6‘ No.”

“And why not?” The angry blood swelled in Lurlle’s
veins as she spoke.

“Because I will not. The secret that I possess of your
child’s whereabouts is the only hold I have upon you. Once
in possession of that secret, you would defy me as you have
already tried to do.” -

“ Bertrand, I implore you, by all that is good and holy in
this world, do not keep a mother from her child! The love
I bear to my girl is the only pure passion that has ever filled
my heart. I know that I am utterly, thoroughly bad, with
the single exception of that one love. Give me, then, some
chance to save my soul from eternal perdition. My child
may save me. For her sake I may become a better woman.
0h, Bertrand, your heart can not be all stone! Can you
listen to my prayers—the prayers of a mother—and not grant
my request?"

Wildly Lurlie extended her hand in supplication toward
Bertrand, and the big tears, welling slowly from the passion-
ate eyes, trickled down her white cheeks. ~ I

Bertraud’s face wore a demon smile as he looked upon the
supplicating woman.

“ Lurlie, if I knew that your soul was sinking to the
fires below, and the presence of your child could save that
soul, you should not see her if I had the power to keep her
from you!" Bitter and pitiless came the words from his
lips.

“Why are you so merciless?" she asked, gazing, as she'

spoke, with straining eyes, upon his face.

“ Why!" he said, bitterly; “because from the moment I
met you I date all my evil fortune. ' At that time a straw
would have turned me either into the path of good or evil.
in a fatal hour I looked upon your face, was dazzled by your
beauty. In your face I saw the look of an angel; how could
I guess that the passions of a fiend raged within your heart!
I linked my fortunes with yours, and from that moment my
evil star was in the ascendent. You cast a blight over all
my life. Can I forgive you? No! never while this heart
beats within my breast, and I bear the name of Bertrand
I‘asnorl”

Lurlie did not eower before the fiery speech, but un-
dauntedly she faced the angry man.

“And you?" she cried; “ have you nothing to answer
for in the past! Who lured me from my humble home, to
follow the desperate fortunes of a penniless adventurer? It
was you, Bertrand Tasnor; and then, when you tired of
your victim, I was cast aside as a child throws away a
broken toy. In the account between us, if there is to be a
just reckoning, I am the wronged, not the wronger. And
now, Bertrand, now that we meet after long years have
passed, I am willing to forgive all the wrong that you have
done me—williug to ask your pardon for all the harm that
Ihave wrought you. I will even leave this old man who
doats upon me as his darling; will give up all the wealth
and splendor that now surround me, and follow you through-
out the world, a submissive slave, if you will only give me
back my child. ”

Bertrand gazed in astonishment upon the earnest face of
the pleading woman. He found it dimcult to believe in the
existence of any good in the woman's nature.

But Bertrand was wrong.

No soil in this world so barren but that some seed will
grow therein. No heart so had, but some little trait of .ae
angel lurks within the darkness of the evil.

Bertraud‘made no reply to Lurlie's speech, but stood, cold
as a marble statue, with folded arms. .

“ You do not answer!" Lurlie cried, in despair.

“ I have already answered you,” he said, coldly. "Do ’

you think that I am a man of wax, that you may soften me
with a warm breath, and then mold me to your purpose?"
“ Yen will not be merciful, then, and grant my prayer.

34.- The Human Tiger.

 

 

even when I ofler to give up every thing in this" world that
I possess and to follow you blindly?”
‘ “ Lurlie, I am no fool. You Offer to go with me. How

long would you remain contented? Do you think that I do .

not~kuow you? I shouldng to sleep some night in your
arms, and wake either below or above. Oh, no; I know
you too well to trust my .life in your keeping. Besides, I
want. a shareof the wealth that you now possess. It is my
game to have. you remain here, to still continue to be the
wife of the old- captain, and. so hold control over his purse.
Through your fear I reach his money-bags."

“ How can you retain a.hold onme, even if you do know
where my child is?" asked Lurlie, in wonder.

“ You love that child, though you have not seen her for
yam,"

fit Yes. ’I

“ Would. you like evil to come to her?"

‘f No, heaven forbid!" answered Lurlie, fervently.

“ Good; that is the. power I possess over you."

“ I do not understand."

“ Why; it you refuse to do my will, evil will come to the
gixu”

“ Frontyouf” asked Lurlie, horrified.

“ Yes,.from mo!” replied Bertrand, sternly.

“ What! would. you harm your own child?”

“ To be reveride upon you, yes," answered Bertrand,
firmly. “ Lurlia. you ought to know my nature well enough
by this,,time :to understand that I don‘t shrink from any
thins-to accomplish my;.purpose. I mean to bend you to
my will, and through your child I reach your heart.

Forms infirments Lurlie was silent. Busy thoughts
wotscfiashiug scrmher brain. There was a peculiar ex-
pression upon her face that Bertrand did not like. His
keen eyes, eagerlywatchiug her features, noted the change
of expression.

“ Is my child now in Chicago?" she asked, quietly.

“ I shall not answer. that Question," he said.

“ Thanshe is. not in the city!”

“ Iatliiukthat~ will be difficult for you to find out,”:he
said, sneeringly.

.“Perhapsgso.” Therewas s lurking .devil visible in the
yes of Lurlie as she spoke. ’

“ Well,hare you concluded to yield to my demand!”

“ N03. replied.Lurlis, firmly.

“ Whati’,’ cried Bertrand,,fiercely. “ You wish me then ‘

to strike-5'9“. tin-push your child?"
“ You can not do so!” said Lurlie. coldly.
“ I can not do sot What do you mean?"

“ Why, that I have. guessed your cleverly plannedde- ‘
vice. » Youythought to work upon my fearsfor my child to ~

forceps.» your will. , You have lied to me. You do not
km.,w,.hqe guy daughter is; you do not know whether she
is living or dead.” ‘

“ Yougwillnoon sesi" exclaimedBertrand, angrily.

“ Yes, I will soon see whether mytchild is in Chicago or v

not“, Tenors-owl willhave every :dotectivs amour in this

cityzinlgearchgof her. I have plenty of money, Bertrand. .
Tamorh-moneyjthat I will use,, notto buyyour silence, but.

round my child ,and to punish you if you do her harm.”
Like an inspired. priestess, Lurlie spoke.

"Foolish woman; you will brave methenf" Bertrand said.

“ Yes, brave anddefy you!”

“ 'I‘skecarel I may take vengeance into my hands even
newt"- cried Bertrand, ,fierosly, and advancing a step toward
her. . ,

Quick as thought, Lurlie drew a little revolver from her
pocket, andraccking it, leveled the weapon full at Bertrand's
breast. ~ ’

“ If you come assume, I will fire. I would not willingly,

nave your blood upon my soul, but you shall not lay hands
on may” .

Bertrand's face was distorted With passion; he felt that he
was overmatched, and the anger of a demon was raging in
his soul.

“ Do you. want to hang for my murder?" he asked.

“ Do you suppose even for a single instant, that, if I were
to kill you outright, I could not find some plausible excuse
forvthe deed? Could I.not swear that it was in defense of
my honor that I shot you? They do not hang women very
often nowadays, particularly when they have plenty of money
\0 pay the fees of learned counsel.”

“ I was a fool to think of violence toward you. N 0, Luis
lie, my blow will reach you through the heart of your child."
Then Bertrand moved toward the door.

s

 

_* “4‘ R’l

“ I defy your malice!” Luriie said, scomfully.

“ Before one week is over you will repent those words.”
and Bertrand. left the room.

“ And before this night is over, you, Bertrand Tasnor, wih
stand before your Judge. Your cold heart will be colder
still in the chill embrace of the grave. Your malice will be
powerless to do me harm,” and as she swke, Lurlie sunk
into a chair, her face glowing with angry fires.

Bertrand proceeded down-stairs after leaving the room.
He was not overpleased with the result of his interview. He
had expected that the bare mention of her child would bend
Lurlie, like a willow Wand, unto his will.

At the foot of the stairs he found Aimee. She had ap-
parently been waiting for him.

“ Good news, Bertrand,” she cried. “ Mrs. Middough has
had a love interview with young Kelford. He is to come
tomorrow night again. I am sure that she will speak plainly
then, and tell him who it is that she loves. It would be a
good idea if there were some witnesses to the interview. "

“ A capital ideal" cried Bertrand; “there shall be wit-
nesses.”

A few words more passed between them and then Bertrand
left the house.

Bertrand had little idea that three pair of eyes were watch-
ing him—that three dark forms were stealing, silently as red
lndians, upon his footsteps. Unconscious of danger he
walked onward.

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
a1! unnxrnornn HEETING.

Camouer the three men followed in the footsteps of
Tasnor. He, proceeding onward, busy in thought, did not
observe his usual caution and keep his eyes on the watch for
danger; for Bertrand Tasnor, in the city of Chicago,lwasslike
the traveler on the far western plains. He looked more for
enemies than for friends in all comers. A man of desperate
fortunes, his hand was against all, and all men‘s hands were
against him. Had he noted the three that were follOwing;
him so closely, he would have guessed instantly that theyt
were enemies, and he would have guessed rightly. But- he
proceeded onward, unconscious of the danger that lurked so
closely behind him.

“ You’re sure that that ain‘t no mistake this time?" growled
the tallest of the three, who was the notorious Dick Goff in
person.

“ No, he’s the one,” answered one of the other two, and
the tone of the voice betrayed that it was old Casper, Lurlie‘s
father, that spoke.

“ We’ll lay him now, you beti" said Dick, emphatically.

By this :timc Bertrand had reached State street, and then
he halted on the corner and looked up the street. ~

“He’s going to take a car,” said Dick. The three had
sought the shelter of a doorway-to conceal them from Ber-
trand, should he chance to turn around.

“ What shall we do?" asked the smallest of the three, Dick
Gofl’s partner, who was known as Tommy Bedford, and who
was a bright and shining light among the shoulder-hitters of
the Garden City. . .

“ We had better walk right up to the corner and then
walk doWu the street a little way, and there wait till he gets
on board of a car, then we can get on the front platform."
said Casper.

“And we kin keep our eyes on him like a mice," said
God, with a hoarse chuckle.

Acting on the suggestion, the three left the shelter of the
doorway and walked boldly up the street.

They passed Tasnor, who, standing on the corner, busy in
thought, did not notice. them at all. '

The three walked down the block about half way; then
they halted

“Now, if he changes his mind and don't take a car, why i
we kin keep our eyes on him just the same," explained Cas- ‘

per. - .

“ And if he does take a car, why we kin foilsr him too,”
said Dick, with a grin. '

“ Exactly,” replied Casper.

The throedid not have long to wait for a car coming past
Bertrand, he hailed it and got on board.

When the car reached the three, who were tracking Ber-
trand so carefully, they also got on, but without stopping
the car, and took possession of the front platfomi.

The Human Tiger. I 35

 

:i

Bertrand, whose thoughts were far from being pleasant
ones, annoyed, and out of temper, paid little heed to what
was passing around him. He had no idea that three pair of
sharp eyes were eagerly fixed upon him and watching his
every movement.

At Madison street, Bertrand left the car and proceeded in
the direction of the west side.

The three watchers also left the car and again followed,
cautiously, in the footsteps of their destined victim.

“ If he's a-goin’ to cross the bridge now, the center of it
would be a good place to go for him,” said Dick.

“ Yes, but he’ll hear our footsteps behind him,” said Cas-

“ I can fix it,” replied Dick. “ I’ll get ahead of him,
cross the bridge, and then turn and meet him about the cen-
ter of it. Tommy, here, kin foller pnrty close on his heels.
I e'poee you don’t want to be mixed up in the row?”

“ No, of course not. I shouldn’t pay you if I was going
to putthe man out of the way myself,” growled Casper.

“ In ooorae; that’s natural,” said Dick, with a grin: “ bl“
I thought that maybe you’d like to have a hand in the fun.
But, please yourself and you’ll pleaseme. Well, as I were
a-sayin', Tommy an’ I'll go for him on the bridge. You
kin stay at the end, and then arter we lay him out, you kin
handover the greenbacka Ain’t that fair?”

“ Yes, that's all right,” replied Casper.

“ We’ll go for him, then,” said Dick, coolly, just as if he
was proposing that they should all go and take something.
“ Mind, Tommy; foller him purty close. I’m off.” And
with the parting caution, Dick left the other two and has-
tened onward.

He soon overtook and passed Bertrand That personage,
walking slowly onward, his eyes fixed on the ground, moody
and abstracted, took little heed of the man who went by him
so rapidly. Besides, the night was very dark, and one could
hardly see a dozen paces before him.

Tommy and Casper quickened their walk a little and soon
came within ten paces of Bertrand.

Tasnor reached the bridge and disappeared in the gloom
that. enshrouded it.

Casper halted on the edge of the bridge.

“ When you have finished him, come here and you shall
have the money," he said.

“ All correct," said Tommy, drawing an ugly-looking
bowieqknife from beneath his shabby coat. ,“ You won't
hear no noise for to speak of, '00s these dogs bites werry
sharpbut never bark.at all,” and he held up the knife as he
spoke.

“ Be sure you finish him,” said Casper, and he spoke as
any. as though he was planning the death of a blind kit-

“Dea’t you worry; he’ll never know what hurt him,”
and.then the ruflan followed the footsteps of Bertrand, and
the ink-like gloom soon hid his form from old Cesper’s watch-
ful eyes.

“ He’ll soon be out of the way,” muttered Casper, to him-
self, ss he watched the figure of the rough disappear in the
darkness. “ Once he is dead, he won't be apt to trouble
my little gal any more. It’s funny that Lurlio never told
me about this feller before. I s’pose, though, she hated to
speak of him.”

Then Casper listened eagerly. He could hear the distant
footfells sounding faintly, on the bridge.

“ They’ll be at it soon,” he muttered, as intently he
strained every nerve to catch the sound of the struggle that
would bring freedom or death.

Suddenly the smmd of the footsteps ceased. Either the .

two had paued out of hearing, or else they were pausing
and prepa-ing for the struggle, and yet that was unlikely,
for, if Bertrand had discovered the trap laid for him, he was
not the man to meet his death withouts desperate struggle for
his life.

“ It’s lucky for us that that ain’t anybody ’round,” mut-
tered. Casper; “but, what kin they be waiting for? They
ought to have settled him by this time."

“ Ah!" and Cllper listened, eagerly.

From the center of the bridge came the sound as if a
slight scufle was taking place there—such a noise as a couple
of young men would be apt to make skylarking together.

“ ’Tain’t much of a rumpus,” muttered Casper, as eagerly
ne listened. Then, as suddenly as it had commenced the
noise-ended.- '

Following the scuflle,borne on the wingeef thenight—

 

wind, came the sound of a stified green, and then again all
was still. ‘

“ They’ve fixed him I” cried the old man, in glee, and he
rubbed his hands together, cheerfully, as he spoke.

Then he heard the sound of stealthy steps approaching
him, rapidly, from the bridge.

Two dark figures emerged from the gloom.

' The two were Gofl and Bedford.

“ Come on,” said Goff, in a hoarse voice, as he passed,
rapidly, by old Casper; “there’s some one coming on the
other side of the bridge. Whoever it is, they’ll be apt to
diskiver the cove we've laid out, and we’d better be goin’."

Without a word Casper followed the two.

A couple of blocks down the street, by a lamp-post, the
party halted.

“ Now then, old man, shell out," said (303, tersely.

“ You’ve finished him all right?”

“ Yes, a straight lick right through the heart.”

“ And he made no struggle?"

“How could he? we didn’t give him a chance. I pre-
tended to be drunk and tumbled ag’in’ him, then when he
held me up, I let him have it. One good lick. He never
even hollered; he only moaned like, and then went down
like a. stuck pig.”

“ Why didn't you throw the body into the river!"

“ Why didn’t I? Wouldn’t the splash have made noise
enough for to bring somebody down onto us?”

6‘  true.”

“ True, you bet it is; but come, fork over the soap.”

Casper counted the bills into the brawny paw of the
rough.

“ There, that is correct, isn’t it t” he asked.

“ That is O. K.," replied Dick, stowing away the hills in
a greasy wallet, “ and, I say, the next time you’ve got a job
like this, don’t forget your humble servants to oomman ”

“ That’s all right.”

“ Good-night, old man. Come, Tommy, let’s be travel-
ing.” And the two roughs crossed over the street, and turn-
ing down Wells street were soon lost to sight.

“ He’s out of the way, then,” muttered the old man. “ I
must go and see Lurlie the first thing in the morning and tell
her that I‘ve fixed the job up all straight. It wasn‘t half as‘
much trouble as I expected it would he.”

Slowly Casper proceeded homeward. No welghtcf guilt
was on his mind when he thought of the man whom his in-
struments had made their victim.

 

About nine o’clock the next morning, old Casper called
upon his daughter. Attired in a plain suit of black, he
looked quite respectable.

Lurlie received him with an eager face.

“ Well, father!” she questioned, hreathlesely.

“ It's all right, gal,” he answered, with a chuckle, “I’ve
fixed him.”

“ And is he——” Lurlie halted in the question.

“He’s passed in his checks. He won’t bother you not no
more, you kin bet on that.”

“ 0h, father, if you only knew the misery that that man
has caused me," and Lurlie shuddered as she thought of the
past.

“ Well, it’s all right now.” Then, briefly, he told the
story of Bertrand Tasnor’s death at the hands of the ruffisns
whom he had hired for the deed of blood.

“ Human life isn’t worth much in Chicago,” said the girl,
with a sad smile.

“ ’Tain’t worth much anywhar, gal, when that’s such fel-
lers. as. these two roughs around”

After a few more words the old man departed.

“ At last I can breathe freely i” cried Lurlie, when she was
alone. “ The cloud that shadowed my life has passed away,
and in the future I see golden gleams of sunshine in the love
of the man who is the idol of my heart.”

But, Lurlie was but human, and who can guess thefuture'

 

CHAPTER XXX.
a Danaqu ennui-roar.

0mm anonen and Amos Kenwood, the man who

_<._...-... —————z—- -

...,.~...__ VF.-—w—.—_ .— w-_-- .- ..

 

 

 

bore on his neck the scarlet scar, were sitting together in the
reading-room of the Milwaukee Hotel.

‘Middough had visited Milwaukee'on business, and Ken-
wocd had accompanied him.

The old captain had noticed that his first officer had been
strangely silent all day long. A deep weight seemed to be
on his mind.

“ What’s the matter with you, Amos?” the captain asked,
kindly. “ Ain’t you well?”

“ Yes,” replied Kenwood, quietly.

“ What’s the trouble, then? You’ve hardly said ten words
to-day. Now, if it was me, separated as I am from the dear-
est little wcman in the world, why, it would not be a wonder
that I should feel dull and gloomy. But you; what on earth
have you to trouble yourself about?”

Kenwood silently pointed to the scarlet ring that encircled
his throat.

“ Oh, I see!” exclaimed Middough; “you are thinking-of
the past?”

“ Yes," replied Kenwood; “ you remember the story I told
you one night on the deck of the Michigan as we were com-
ing into Chicago?" I

“ Certainly I remember it. A man don’t hear such a story
as that every day."

“ I should hope not," replied Kenwood, solemnly. “ Well,
captain, for the last three nights, in my dreams, that passage
in my life has come back to me with all the startling earnest-
ness of reality. Again have I felt the cord tightening around
my thrb’aQ-heavd the wail of despair that came from the lips
of‘th'e poor girl that I loved so well, as she fainted in the
arms of the guerrilla leader when they swung me up by the
side of the tall cottonwood. The whole scene came back to
mo'asvividly as life. Why, captain, I could see the low
shore opposite with the clump of timber growing down to the
water’s edge; could even hear the dull swash of the river as
it beat against the bank in its restless onward passage to the
ocean. v 1 '

“‘And you dreamed about this?” - '

“ Yes, for three nights in succession, and each night I
have awakened just as I was feeling the terrible pain that
the rope gave me, choking my life out. I tell you, captain,

it’s a horrible thing to dream of, and the dream is really as .

painful as the reality was,” and, as he spoke, the strong man
actually. shuddered at the remembrance.

“ It is strange that this sfiair should haunt you so."

“ Yes; I can not understand it.” , .

“ Have you been thinking of the affair before you went to
bed?"

ments, I should think that it was a warning that I should
soon meet this man who put this indelible mark upon me,
and. that the dreams were sent to keep alive the memory of
the terrible affair.”

“ What was the name of this man?”

. ‘19. Bcrtrand ,Tssncrl’

“ Anodd name.”

.‘vKes. v By birth, I believe, he was a French Creole; but I

bymtureand instincts, he was a devil. ”, v

“ And you have never met him 9”

‘f’NO'; after the war closed, I went to Little Rock on
purpose..to meet him and square up the vengeance that]
owed him. I expected of course that, after the surrender
of the Confederate armies, he would naturally come to Little
Rock.”

‘.‘ And, he did nott",_Middough asked. ‘

“ No; he feared to come. I was not the only man in
Arkansas that thirsted for revenge upon him. I met a
doses or so rough Union men from Northwestern Arkansas
—-the Boston mountain region——who had a little debt to
settle with this same. Bertrand Tasncr. But they, like my-
self, were disappointed. He had evidently scented danger
and. kept ort.cf.the.way."., ; , . . . ,r .

“ It is hardly possible that you should meet him now after
this lapse of years," Middough said.

“ Captain, I have noticed that the most impossible things
happen, sometimes, in this‘imrld.’ It "does ieem improbable
that I should ever meet this man again, and yet, the con-
viction is gradually taking possession of my mind that I shall,
and speedily, too.” , j' '  I ' i "i

“ And then?" V .

“ I think I will" close the account between'ui', and the end-
lngwill be a bloody one," replied Kenwood. moodily.

“ Do you think you would know him!"

3 3 The Human _'_l?ig91ié__

«this; I have tried to avoid thinking of it. I can not no? ,
‘derstand it in the least. If I was a believer now in presenti.

 

 

' “ Know him i" repeated Kenwood. “ Yes. I could pick
him out of a crowd of ten thousand at a single glance. His
face is not a common one, and I saw it last night just as
plainly as I did six years ago when he stood by my side and
ordered his men to swing me up by the side of the cotton-
w00d. If there is any thing at all in dreams, I feel sure
that I am going to meet this man, and here at the North, by
the side of Lake Michigan, settle the debt that was incurred

in the South; by the muddy Arkansas.” 0

“Tomorrow we’ll return to Chicago," said Middough.
abruptly changing the conversation. “Ah! Amos, you’re
an unmarried man, so of course you can’t understand how
anxious I am to get back to the little woman that I call
wife."

“ You are happy, then, in the marriage state, captain t"
Kenwood asked.

“ Happy! Amos, my boy, I can hardly express my feel-
ings on the subject. To think that an old weather-beaten
man of the world, like myself, should be fortunate enough
to secure such a treasure as I have in my little wife; why

it’s wonderful.” And the old captain rubbed his hands'to- '

gather in glee.

“ And you are completely happy, then, captain?"

“ Yes; and what is more, I feel that my happiness is like-
ly to last for many a long day.” And the old sailor stroked
his chin complacently as he spoke. v

Little can we poor mortals guess the future! At the very
moment that Captain Middough was boasting of his good-

fortune, a tall, dark-haired stranger was examining the hotel

register in the otiiee in search of the captain‘s name. '

Carefully the stranger ran his eyes down the list of names.
Suddenly his face lighted up with a smile of triumph as he
beheld Captain Middough’s bold signature. .

“ That's my man,” murmured the stranger to himself.
Then he addressed the clerk: a

“Can you tell me if Captain Middongh of Chicago is in
at present?" \

“Yes, sir,” replied the clerk, who knew the captain well.
“ I saw him a moment ago. in-the reading-room. Jim,” and
he called a servant passing at the moment, “ tell Captain
Middough that a gentleman wishes to speak to him You
will find him in the reading-room.” ' . 

The servant departed with the message. '

It is astonishing what a difference trifles sometimes make
in this world. Had the stranger sought the captain in the
reading-room in place of the servant, there would have been
a terrible aflray, and one, if not two of the principal charac-

ters of our story would have met an untimely death. But.-

it was not fated so to be.
In obedience to the message, and in some .little astonish’
ment, the old captain came from the reading-mum. ..
“That the gernmer, sar,” said the negro, indicating th
stranger who stood carelessly leaning against the omce bar.
The man was a stranger to the captain. ‘
“ You wish to see me, sir?" Middough asked.

“ Have I the pleasure of addressing Captain Middongh?"

said the stranger, in polished tones. ' '
” Yes, sir,” replied Middough, bluntly. There was some-
thing about the stranger that he did not like.

“I am glad to meet you, sir,” said the stranger, not-in -

the least discomposed by the captain’s not overpOlite style.

“ You want to see me, sir?” asked Middough, abruptly.
He had taken a decided dislike to the cool, quiet stranger at
the first glance. ' ' ‘

“ Yes, sir; but what I have to say to you must be said
in private. If it is not asking too much, will you grant me
s few moments’ conversation with you in your room?" ' .

“ If it is absolutely necessary—” growled the captain, who
didn't like the stranger’s manner at all. .

“ It is. necessary,” replied the stranger, blandly, “ and
when I tell you that my business concerns your wife in
Chicago, you will probably feel inclined to grant my request
for a private interview. ” . ‘

“My wife!" gasped Middough, his florid cheeks turning:
white with apprehension, “ she is not ill?” » .

“ No, sir,” said the stranger, with a peculiar smile; , “ not
illlinibodyi-J’. » ' a

“Thank heaven for that!” cried the old man, ssrnestiy.‘
He did not notice ths._hidden meaning 'in the simple phrase
usedbythestranger. .  ...-‘ x'-

“ Will you grant .me thevinterviewt” ' . . .

“ Yes; follow me, if you please,” said the captain, short ..

ly. Then he led the way to his apartment. And all the
way be bothered his brains trying to think what the stranger

 

 

__ _--__...‘_»...-._- ___._--, - -_ A”... _ ._. V

The Human Tiger.

37

 

could possibly have to say to him in regard to his wife, Lur-
lie.

In the room, Middough motioned the stranger to a chair.

“ Now, sir," he said, after the stranger was seated, “ what
have you to say concerning my wife?”

“ If I have been rightly informed, sir, you wife was but
a poor girl when you married her?"

“ What business is that of yours—or anybody’s else’st" cried
the captain, bluntly.

‘ "I am not saying that it does concern me or anybody
else in the least," answered the stranger, coolly. “ I am
merely stating it as a fact. It is a fact, is it not?”

“ Well, suppose it is?" said the captain, gruflly.

“ Then she should not only owe you the love and obe-
dience due from a wife to her husband, but also the grati-
tude due to the man who had raised her from poverty to
wealth.”

“ What the devil are you driving at?” asked the captain,
in a surly way.

“ Your wife should love and honor you, should she not?”
said the stranger, coolly.

“ She does!" said Middough, fiercely.

“ And if I were to tell you that she is deceiving you?”

“ I’d choke the lie in your cursed throat!" cried Middough,
in anger, and advancing toward the stranger.

“ Your wife is false to you, and loves a younger lover.”
Cold as ice came the words from the lips of the stranger.

“ You lie, you villain!” cried Middough, in rage, and he
assayed to take the stranger by the throat, but though a
strong and muscular man, he was an infant in the iron grip
of the other, who easily pushed him back into a chair.

“ Don’t make a fool of yourself," said the man, quietly.
“ I can give you proofs that your wife is false to you, if I’m
paid for so doing. Of course I won’t take the trouble for
nething. Give me one hundred dollars, and to-night, with
your own ears you shall hear your wife declare that she
married you solely for your money, and that she has given
the love due you to a younger man.

“ I accept the offer!” cried Middough, fearfully excited,
“ and if she has deceived me, I'll kill her with my own hand."

i

 

CHAPTER XXII.
a man warm

I! was on the night following the one whereon the stormy
interview between Mrs. Middough and Bertrand had taken
place. ‘

Lurlle sat in her boudoir.

Before her was a full-length mirror, that reflected back
her form.

In the glass Luriie watched herself.

A smile of triumph was on her face, as in the glass she
saw the reflection of her own beautiful features.

“ It is nearly time for Keiford to come,” she murmured,
musing, twining her fingers as she spoke, caressingly, in the

shining, golden curls that stole, coquettishly, down upon the .

pure white forehead. “ Will I triumph? Can I make him
love me!” And as she put/the question a smile upon the
face reflected in the mirror answered it. “ Yes, I can make
him love me. I am sure of it. If he comes, before he
leaves this room I will have him at my feet, and from the
fluor will I raise him to my arms. But, I am this old
man‘s wifel" And as she spoke, an angry cloud came over
her face.

“ What of that?” she cried, impetuously. “ Can I not
find some way to free myself from the chains that bind me
to him, if I succeed in winning the love of the idol of my
heart? Yes, I am sure that I can. Kelford must—he shall
love me. He must forget this pale-faced girl, who does not
know the value of the love she spurns. Strange how the
memory of that girl’s face afl’ects me whenever I think of
it. The sight of her face recalls to me the old, old time
When I, a merry, sinless child, played about my mother’s
knee. And now, what am If A desperate, reckless wo-
man. A hard fortune has made me what I am; had I been
diflerently situated in life, possibly I might have been a bet-
ter creature. But there is yet time to change my way of
life. In the future I will be diflerent. The love of Ed-
mund deord 8118“ make me a batter woman. I will strive
to be worthy of him; strive to be the angel that my face
“y. I "I. rather than the devil that my heart has made
me- But one ‘task more—to free myself from this old man.
0“ how I loathe him! I shudder at his caresses. Then a

 

\

long dream of peace and love.” Over her face came a holy
calm; the blue eyes, now soft and loving in their look, gave
no sign of the fire that lurked within their depths. '

“ The blighting presence of Bertrand Tasnor is forever
removed from my life-path. How easy it was to destroy
this man ' who so pitilessly assailed me! Could he have
spoken the truth when he said that my child—our child—
was living?" And as she asked the question a look of an-
guish came over her face.

“ No,” she said, after thinking for a moment, “ I do not
believe that he spoke the truth. It was but a device on his
part to force me to comply with his demands. I will be
sure, though. To-morrow I will employ the detective om-
cers. If‘my girl is in Chicago I will find her. I am sure
that I should know my child in an instant. The holy in-
stinct of a mother is within my breast, and I’m sure that it
could not be deceived.”

Lurlie buried her head in the soft cushions of the arm-
chair, wherein she sat, and closed her eyes as if in thought.
Over her face came a smile of joy. She was dreaming—a
day-dream—of the happiness that awaited her in the love of
Edmund Kelford.

A slight tap at the door disturbed her reverie.

“ Come in,” she said, hardly stirring from her position.

The door opened, and Aimee, her maid, entered.

“ A gentleman wishes to see you.”

“ Is it Mr. Kelford!" Lurlie asked, a slight trace of eager-
ness in her voice. /

“ Yes, ma’am,” the girl, replied. And as she spoke.
there was a peculiar expression shining in her glittering, dark
eyes that Lurlie, engrossed as she was in joy at Kelford's
coming, did not notice.

“ Bring him up here, please; and, Aimee, if any one also
calls to-night, say I am not at home. ”

“ Yes, ma’am," replied the girl, and then she left the apart-
ment.

“ Will the task he a dimcult one to reveal the truth to
him?" Lurlie questioned, musingly. “A few minutes will
decide. I feel sure that I can make him love me. I wonder
if he suspects the truth? He must; he is no fool. If he
does guess the truth and comes, it is clear, then, that he
wishes me to speak plainly. I must do it. I am not a
young girl to be wooed, but a married woman, and I must
be the wooer.”

A low tap on the door again interrupted Lurlie's thoughts.

In obedience to her command, Aimee showed Kelford into
the room, and then discreetly retired, closing the door behind
her.

Kelford was habited in a complete suit of black. His
face was quite pale, and a hectic spot burned in each cheek.
His eyes, too, were restless and uncertain. He seemed like
one under the influence of some terrible spell, and Edmund
Kelford was under that influence. He knew that he was do-
ing wrong in coming to see the fair-haired siren. There is
no master in this world so terrible as passion—no slave so
wretched as passion’s slave.

Kelford knew full well that he was treading the path to
evil, yet he blindly closed his eyes to the dreadful conse-
quences and pressed onward; true, with wavering footsteps,
yet still he went onward.

“ Oh! I am so glad you have come!” exclaimed L'sriie,
rising, eagerly, to receive him.

“ Yes, I promised you that I would come, and I always
be? my promises," replied the young man. And even as
he spoke, his voice sounded in his ear hollow and unnatural.

“ Pray be seated,“ and Lurlie wheeled the arm-chair
around.

Almost mechanically, Kelford took the proffered seat.

" I shall never be able to thank you for your kindness,"
said Lurlie, with one of her brightest smiles.

Kelford felt the spells of the fair-haired, blue-eyed beauty
weaving their web of entrancement around his heart. The
subtle poison of human passion, inflamed by youth and beauty
"woman‘s witchery—was filling every vein. One safeguard
alone had he, the memory of Pearl Cudlipp’s sweet, innocent
face. That face, pure as the face of a saint, " niched in ca:
thedral aisles." But that pure memory was fading slowly
from his mind. The bright face of the siren before him, ra-
diant in youth and beauty, fresh in its loveliness, and beam-
ing full of tenderness on him, was slowly, but surely, blotting
out the remembrance of the other. -

\ “ I am sure that I have never shown you any kindness
call for especial mention,” said Kelford, slowly. '

“ But, you have shown yourself to be my friend. and,

  
 

.fl—sa 0“ .

l
l
l
l

\r

Heaven knows, I need friends had enough," Luriie replied,
with a sigh, and as she cast rlnwn her beautiful eyes, Kelford
noticed that a tear-drop glistened on the golden lashes.

No influence in this world so quick to reach a man’s heart
as the tears of a woman. .

“ You are in trouble, then?" he asked.

“ Have you forgotten what I told you last night?" she
said, raising her lustrous eyes again to his face.

“ No, no,” replied Kelford, quickly.

“ Is not that trouble, then? What can produce greater
agony in a woman’s heart than to discover that she is bound
for life to a man whom, in her soul, she feels that she can
not love; but I am wrong; there is a more intense agony
possible, and that is, when, bound in such chains,.she meets
the man that she feels she can love—that she does love with
all the passion of her nature."

“ But, that love is sin," said Kelford, making a brave effort
to keep in the right path.

“ And does that knowledge quench the love? Not” cried
Luriie, quickly. “I know thatI am doing wrong not to
‘ove my husband. I know that it is sinful to let this other
.ove take free possession of my nature, but I can not help it.
It is in my heart. I can not disguise the truth from myself,
and I will not from you. I am in passion’s chains. I do
not love my husband, and I do love this other man. It is
my fate, and who can resist their fate?"

“Avoid the presence of this man; do not see him; then
the love, not being fed by sight of him, will die within your
heart.” Kelford was striving hard to do right and give the
counsel that a good and honest man should give.

“ When that love dies then I will die too,” replied Luriie.
sadly.

“ Better, perhaps, that you should die than live with this
guilty passion in your heart." Kelford was fighting the good
tight, bravely.

“ Perhaps so; yet, if it is my nature to love, am I to
blame?" And Luriie looked full into Kelford’s face as she
spoke. “ Shall I not rather blame this man whose danger
ous fascinations have made me love him- —yes, love him in
spite of myself? I have struggled against this sinful love.

‘1 have tried to banish it from my heart, but, my will is pow-
eriess against it. What then shall I do?”

Kelford was sorely puzzled. He half wished that he had
not ventured to brave the consequences of this interview.
He had come, strong in the determination to do what was
right—to advise the wife of the old sailor as he would have
advised a dear sister. But now he felt his resolution yieldv
ing; the spells of witchery were about his heart. He felt as
if he was wandering in the mazes of a dream.

“ I do not know how to advise you,” Kelford said, slow-
ly, “ except that, when you are in the presence of this man,
you must try to crush this feeling that you say you have in
your heart toward him. "

" And how can I crush that?"

“ Think of the duty—the love you owe your husband.”

“ When I am by the side of the man I love, I can think
of nothing but him," cried Luriie, quickly. “ You do not
understand my position in regard to my husband. Ihave
never loved him as a wife should love her husband. I was
dazzled by his wealth and the luxury that he promised
should surround me. He has kept his word. All that
money can purchase he has given me; but all the money
that there is in this great city will not compensate me for
the absence of the love without which I can not live. Now
—-too late—oh. fatal words! I discover the truth. I feel
that I can not live without love. Now, I hate my bus-
band. I would rather have a snake coil its slimy fold:
around me than to feel the arms of the man whom, before
the minister, I swore to love, honor and obey.” Wildly
came the words from her lips

“ This is terrible!” exclaimed Kelford.

“ If merely hearing of the agony makes you say that it is
terrible, what must it be to me who suffer it? Even now,
n spite of the world, in spite of every thing that I hold
dear, I would leave my husband- break the vows that I have
taken, and follow this man faithfully, even though poverty
and toil attended the path."

“Luriie, you must not speak this way,” said Kelford, ris-
ing in agitation.

“ Shall I speak falsely, then, and conceal the truth that
is in my heart?" she demanded, facing him with fire; not the
fire of anger, but of passion. .

" 0h. I do not know What to seyl” grossed Keiford, in'

savvy.

 

38 The Human Tiger.

!

“ Why? Have you guessed the truth? Have you guess-
ed who the man is that I love—love better than I do my
own soul? I prove that by being willing to give away my
hope of my soul’s salvation for the sake of that love.”
And Luriie extended her hand earnestly toward Kelford as
she spoke.

“ Yes, I have guessed it," Kelford murmured, slowly.

“Then I may confess the truth. Edmund Keiford, you
are the man I love! For your sake I will leave husband,
all, and go with you, if you bid me so to do. Oh, Edmund,
can you not love me?”

And as, with outstretched arms, Luriie approached the
young man, the door behind her that led into her bed-
chamber opened suddenly, and there in the doorway, with
a face purple with passion, stood Captain Middough, and,
smiling with the smile of a demon over his shoulder, were
the bronzed features of Bertrand Tasnort

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
a HOLLOW 'rnucn.

me’s face became as white as the face of one stricken
with sudden death, when she turned and looked upon her
husband.

The hot blood swept into Kelford’s cheeks and temples.
Never in all his life had he felt so thoroughly ashamed of
himself.

It was evident that the old captain had overheard all.
His face, purple with passion, and the big veim, swelling
out like whip-cords on his forehead, showed that be fully
understood how basely and cruelly he had been deceived.

But the bitterest gall to Luriie was that her foe, Bertrand
Tasnor, lived, and was a witness to her disgrace.

The lurid light was flashing from her eyes as undauntedly
she faced her angry husband.

“ Oh, you vile woman! have you no shame?” the captain
cried, in accents hoarse with rage, as Luriie faced him. “ By
heaven, I should strike you, woman and wife though you
are, and lay you dead at my feet!”

With uplifted hand the old man advanced, as if to exe-
cute his menace upon her.

Kelford, transfixed with shame and horror, felt as if he
was rooted to the spot whereon he stood. And Bertrand
made no movement to restrain the angry man. He was
gloating over the agony of Lurlie'e position. He! theme
was joy to him.

Luriie stirred not, but with angry eyes looked upon hr
husband‘s face. She seemed not to fear, but rather to invite
the blow. ' .

The captain glared upon her for a moment. His anger
swelling in every vein choked his utterance Vaialy he
strove to speak.

A few hoarse sounds came, gutturally from his throat.
His face grew more and more purple. Convulsively he tore
open his shirt at the throat, as if the slight pressure of the
neck-band was choking him. He gasped for breath—Arts
stalwart form swayed to and fro, and then, with s convul-
sive groan, he fell forward on his face to the carpet, moaned
once or twice, then rolled over on his back, dead!

“Merciful heaven!" cried Kelford, “ he is desdl" than.
with a cry of horror, the young man fled from the room.

Over Luriie’s face swept an expression of joy, while Bee-
trand’s bronzed features were a look of blank dismay. The
blow he had planned so carefully, and which he intended
should prove Luriie‘s ruin, had been defeated by the sudden
death of the captain. The very means he had adopted to
humble her had resulted in her triumph.

“ Ah, Bertrand Tasnor!" she cried, in wicked glee; “ you
see that fate itself befriends me. My husband is dead. I
am free and I owe that freedom to you.”

Even in the dark presence of death itself, Luriie gloated
over her triumph. I

“ Curses on the luck!” Bertrand muttered between his and
set teeth. l

“ And now leave this house!” cried Luriie, imperiousiy, and
she waved her hand toward the door as she spoke.

“ Do not be alarmed; I have no wish to enjoy your charm-
ing society any longer than I can possibly helpl" he said.
grimly, moving to the door. “ One consolation, though, re-
mains for me. Though you are free, and I have contributed
to that freedom, yet you are a beggar, compared to whm yon
were But a small part of the captain's wealth will come to
you. There, ‘tl any rate, I triumph.”

 

 

. ma.-..,.-m._ a“........._«. a”... .-___.... _._..,-‘ u .

«— \. ~ ._._.._4.. ..

 

 

 

“ " """V ~

The Human Tiger. 7 I I 39

 

Lg

“ You do not triumph at all, Bertrand 'l‘asnor,” and Lur-
he laughed, exultingly, as she spoke. “ The captain was an
old man, liable to die at any moment. Do you suppose, even
for a single instant, that I have not thought of such an event
and provided against the evil that it would infiict upon me?
You think too poorly of me, Bertrand. You should know
me better. Captain Middough has made a will. In that
will I am left the sole heir to all that he has in the world.
You are beaten again. I can thank you that this old man,
to whom i was bound, is dead, and that I now shall enjoy
with my freedom all that his life could have given me."

Without a word, Bertrand turned upon his heel and left
the room. He had been defeated at all points. The mine,
fired by his own hand, had damaged only himself. Bitter,
indeed, were his thoughts, and angry were his brows as he
descended from the scene of death.

“I am free!” cried Luriie, exultingly, “free to win the
love of Edmund Kelfordl He can not blame me for this
terrible scene for it was my love for him that provoked it.”

Then Lurlie summoned the household.

Wild was her grief over the body of her husband when
surrounded by the servants.

The sudden death of Captain Middough surprised no
one.

A man well advanced in years, and naturally full-blooded,
that he should be stricken with apoplexy, was not to be
wondered at.

Captain Middough was followed to the tomb by a large
concourse of Chicago’s beat citizens.

The deep grief of the young and beautiful widow touched
every heart. That she sincerely loved the captain was patent
to all.

No money was spared in the funeral, and a magnificent
marble shaft bearing the simple sentence, “ My husband,”
marked the spot where lay the body of the old sailor.

The young widow did all that she could toshow the world
how much she loved the memory of the lost one.

Oh! the mockeries of this lifel

Lurlie, the widow of the old sailor, young and beautiful,
and worth, in her own right, over two hundred thousand

‘dollars, was far more respected and admired than she had
’ been as the wife of the captain.

Money is a golden mask; what does it not hide! It makes
the old young; the ugly beautiful, and wraps a mantle of in-
nocence over the scarlet breast of crime

It was some three days after the burial of the old captain,
that Luriie, seated in her boudoir, received a message that a
gentleman desired to see her on particular business.

On entering the parlor, to her astonishment, she found that
the “ gentleman ” was Bertrand Tasnor.

The ex road-agent was habited in a plain, dark suit. and
looked every inch the gentleman, forming quite a contrast to
his former roughness of dress.

Luriie frowned when she saw who her visitor was.

“ You here?” she said, in an angry tone.

“ Of course,” replied Bertrand, coolly; “ what more natural
than for an old friend like myself to call upon and condole
with you upon the loss that you have met!” There was a
slight touch of sarcasm in Bertrand’s voice; Lurlie’s keen ear
detected it at once. .

“ Bertrand Tasnor, instantly explain your businem—that
fl, if you have any with me, which I doubt—or else I will
call the servants to eject you from the house.”

Bertrand listened with a calm smile to the threat.

“ A great deal of the tiger about you as well as the angel,
eh, Lurlief” he said; “ but, I have business with you,” he
continued. “ I suppose it is useless to speak of the past.
We were once lovers, Lurlle, and then, as if by magic, the
love turned to hate and we were foes. Years passed on. I
came back to Chicago, little dreaming that such a person as
Lurlie Casper was in existence. Fate brought us together
again—Aogether as foes, for the hate had lasted if the love
had been evanescent. Twice you sought my life. First by
“081. second by the vapor of gas. Both times you failed.
Then, for the third time, you essayed to kill me by means of
your worthy father and two rufllans hired by him forthe pur-
pose. They waylaid me at night on the Madison street
bridge. I was alone, unarmed. It was a narrow squeeze
for life. What do you suppose saved me?"

“ The devil who protects your life 1" cried Lurlle, in anger.

“ You are right; I was saved by evil hands, not by
good. The men that your father employed to kill me were
old acquaintances of mine. Many a deed of blood had they
done under my leadership in the mines of Montana. Be

\

 

that, when on the bridge their hands were raised to strike.
they discovered that their victim was their old leader, Cap-
tain Death, as they used to call me in far-western moun-
tains, and they paused. A few words explained all. I
thought it better that you should think me dead than living,
so I told them to deceive your father, and to swear that
they had killed me. Besides, I needed the money which
you were to pay for my death, for the two fellows were only
too glad to have me again for a leader, and offered to turn
one-half of the plunder over to me if I would join with
them. So you see, Lurlie, I am strong now. Three des-
perate pair of hands, with a head like mine to plan out the
work,can do a great deal.”

“I do not fear you," said Lurlie, scornfully. “ I own
I have tried to kill you, and I am sorry that I have failed.
But, in the future, I shall trouble you no more unless you
attack me. Whatever my past life may have been, I mean
that my future one shall be blameless.”

“ You are honest in your speech; I can’t deny that. I
suppose after a reasonable time elspses you will marry this
young Kelford, and in his arms find sweet forgetfuiness for
all the misery of the past."

“ Perhaps so,” replied Lurlie, dryly.

“ It is to aid you to accomplish thislaudable purpose, that
I have come to see you to day."

“ Indeed?”

“ Yes; like you, Lurlie, I am tired of waging war. Int
there be peace between us. You have money. I need some
of it. I can aid you and will, if you pay me for it.”

“ How?”

“ You have a rival, Lurlie, for the love of Edmund Kel-
ford. A dangerous one, too, for she is a young, pretty and
innocent girl. More than that, this man loves her and she
loves him. The love this Kelford feels for you is more
animal passion than true love. Once let him discover that
this girl does love him, and where will be your chance of
winning him?”

“ But, this girl does not love him.”

“ You are generally well-informed, Lurlie, but here you
are in error. The girl does love him. For some few days
he has not seen her. She pines over his absence. Her
cheek is pale, and the dark circles around her eyes tell of
sleepless and of tearful nights. Now, let them come toge-
gether; the girl at one single word of love from his lips
will confess the truth; tell him that he is loved in return.
Then your castle of happiness that you have built in the air
will tumble to atoms.”

“ But, how can you aid me in this?" Lurlie asked, with
a thoughtful brow.

“ I can remove the girl—put her where mortal eyes will
never more look upon her face," said Bertrand; slowly.

“ What! kill her?” And Lurlie’s face was dark as night.

“ Yes; give me five hundred dollars and the girl will never
come between you and this man."

“ I will do it!" cried Luriie, suddenly; “ to gain his love
I would dare every thing. But, this shall be my last act of
crime. Hereafter my life shall be spotless.”

“ That is what we poor humans always say," said Ber-
trand, rising. “ One mom, and I am done; but, that one
more brings a dozen others in its train."

“ It will not be so with me,” said Lurlie, firmly. “ When
will this be done?”

“ To-night. The girl Pearl leaves her shop about nine;
we'll waylay her as she crosses the bridge—the very same
spot where I was to have met my death.”

“ One word, Bertrand. At our last meeting you spoke of
our child. Does she live?”

“ No, I lied to you. Or, rather, I do not know whether
she is living or dead, any more than you do." As Bertrand
left the room, there was a peculiar smile upon his face—e
smile wherein triumph was plainly written.

 

CHAPTER XXXIIL
aroma

Baum at the foot of the stairs met Aimee

“ Bertrand, I have discovered something," she said, my.
tsriously.

“Indeed, and what is it!” he asked,

“ Mrs. modem is a wealthy womau'

0‘-

 

 

.40 The Human Tiger.

 

“ That is not a discovery; every one knows that."
“ Yes, but a great part of that wealth she keeps here."
“ Ah!” and the manner in which "he spoke the simple
exclamation told plainly how important he considered the
discovery.
“ In a little safe in her bedchamber, she has thirty thou-
sand dollars in Government bonds, and a thousand or so in
greenback s. ”
“ A nice little sum,” said Bertrand, thoughtfully.
“ Yes, is it not?”
“ If you and I had that sum, Aimee, we might go to Eu-
rope and leave this cursed country to take care of itself.”
Bertrand spoke earnestly, but he watched the face of the girl
keenly, as he gave utterance to the words.
“ If we had it?” and the girl‘s eyes gleamed as she spoke.
“‘ Why not take it?”
“ Yes, but how 9"
“ She carries the key of the safe in her pocket-book. How
easy to wait until she is asleep, then steal that key, open the
safe, and the valuables will be ours.” Aimee brought her
.lips close to Bertrand’s ears as she spoke.
“‘ An excellent idea; we will carry it out. I shall come to
the house tomorrow night to see Mrs. Middough. After I
have finished the business that I have with her, I’ll pretend to
leave the house, but you can hide me somewhere, and in the
still hours of the night, when all are buried in slumber, we
can carry out our plan.”
“ Yes, I will remember.”
Then they parted and Bertrand left the house.
“ Now, by my patron saint, the devil, all works well for
me. This angel-fiend with all her cunning has something of
the fool in her nature,” he muttered, as he walked slowly
down the avenue. “ She thinks that I am willing to be her
tool—I, that am her master, by right. She will know me
better before forty hours are over. By that time she will
have felt the vengeance that I am about to execute upon her.
Like Sampson, her own bands will pull destruction down
upon her head. How nicely she fell into the trap! How
eagerly she accepted my ofieri Yet, how could she guess
5that that offer concealed a deadly blow aimed at her by my
[handt Tomorrow night she shall feel my vengeance, feel
it keenly, too, if my plans work well. A fouune, too, is in
thy grasp. It would be strange, if, after all these years of
bitter struggling with sour misfortune, I should suddenly, by
one blow, seize upon the wealth I crave. ‘ Who knows?’ as
the Mexicans say. The future looks bright. Why should I
not strike a ‘lead ’ of luck in this Vein of mischance in which
I have so long been working? I’ll try it at any rate. And
now to see my precious partners. It was a lucky chance
that saved me the other night. As Lurlie says, it does seem as
if the devil looked after me. They say he never deserts his
own, and I'm sure that I’m a bright and shining light among
his chosen ones."

Then, for a short time, he walked on apparently busy in
thought, pulling the ends of his long mustache refiectively.

“ I suppose I must take the girl,” he muttered. ” I don’t
see-how I can get the money very well without her. Bah!
I hate these women. They’ve always been the cause of all
my ill-luck. Their love brings no good-fortune to, me. It
astonishes me sometimes to see how they cling to me, even
when they must know that I care nothing for them. I sup-

ports it’s in their nature to love something. There’s no such
thing in my nature, though,” and Bertrand laughed as he
spoke. _

He was right. His nature knew no such word as love,
although he was sometimes swayed by passiou’s fites.

Bertrand took his way to Wells street. v He found the two
roughs, Gel! and Bedfond, in the same low saloon where old
Casper had sought for them. With the two was the bunch-
back boy, Rick, who had faithfully followed the fortunes of
Bertrand, whom he looked upon as a god among men.

“Well, boys,” said Bertrand, as he entered, ‘.‘ I’ve got a
job on hand.”

“ What is it, cap?” asked God.

“ A gal to be put out of the way."

~ “ And the price?”

“ Five hundred.”

“ A worry tidy little may,” said Bertrand, with a grin.

“ Yes, and we can earn it easy, too.” I .

“ How so, cap?"

“This girl works in a dressmaker’s shop on Clark street
near Madison. She lives over on the west side in deleted
street. She leaves the shop about nine o’clock at night.

 

1

Now, we must lay in wait for her, and when she is crossing
the bridge, we must do the job.”

“ Why, that’s the same place where we lay for youl” Goff
exclaimed.

“ Yes, I know it,” Bertrand replied.

” How shall we finish her?” Got! asked. 2

“ That is what we must decide now,” said Bertrand.
thoughtfully.

“ Nine o’clock, you know, is pretty early,” observed Goff.

“Yes, an’ there’s likely to be a lot of people ’round,” said
Bedford, continuing the speech.

“ You are right; we must think of some way to do it
quickly and withoutexciting attention, in case there should
happen to be any one near us,” Bertrand replied.

“ She’ll squeal like blazes, you know, if we don’t finish her
right 013?,” Bedford said.

“That’s so, and these women kick up a precious row,
sometimes,” continued Gofl.

“ Yes,lbut we mustn’t give her a chance to make any row.
She must be settled both quietly and quickly.”

“ But, how are you a-goin’ to do it?” asked God.

“ I have it!” cried Bertrand, suddenly; “ we must knock
her overboard into the river. Once in the water, in the
darkness, she will never be rescued, but will surely drown."

“ Why, the smell of it is enough to kill any one, let alone
the water,” said God, with an air of disgust. It was evi-
dent that he had not the least possible opinion of the famous
Chicago “ river.”

“ That plan will work, I am sure, and we shall run no
rlsk of being detected. We can make her fall into the water
appear the result of no design on our part. ”

“ How so?” Gofl asked.

“ I will explain. We must watch the girl when she
leaves the shop, and track her to the bridge. I will get in
the center of the bridge and advance to meet her as she is
crossing. You, Goff, will follow close behind her, and
then, when she meets me, we’ll close in suddenly upon her,
threw her over the low railing into the water beneath; that
will be easy enough, for it can be in a second, and before
she can guess our purpose." -

“ And what am I to do?" asked Bedford.

“ You will follow a little way behind G'ofl. Then, if any
stranger comes behind you, why, you can stop him on some
pretense, ask him the way to some place, or the time of night,
and so keep him from coming near enough to see our attack
on the girl."

“ Yes, I‘ll ask him the way to the ‘ Armory' " (the Chi-
cago Tombs);' “ I don't know where that is,” said Bedford,
with a grin.

“ You, Rick, will be on my side of the bridge, and pub
sue the same course with any one that approaches from the
direction of the west side. The moment we throw the girl
over, we will cry out ‘ a suicidel’ and raise the alarm. It
is only one chance out of ten thousand of her being saved,
for the night will be dark and she will probably be stunned
on striking the water. We will say that, as she was passing
the center of the bridge, she suddenly sprung ‘over the rail-
ing. And you, Bedford and Rick, if you are near enough
to see any thing, can also swear that you saw her leap over
the railing. Of course, there is no apparent object why we
should wish harm to the girl, and I do not think that there
will be the slightest suspicion that we had any thing to do
with her death.”

“ Oh, it will work like a mine!” cried Bedford, in glee.

“ We shall finger the five hundred easy!” exclaimed Gofl.
joyfully.

The four remained in the saloon till about eight o’clock,
and then set out upon their murder quest.

First they went to the little dressmaker’s shop in Clark
street. Within the shop they could see Pearl, their destined
victim, sewing, steadily.

Bertrand had spoken but the truth when he had said that
the girl was greatly changed.

A few days had made a wonderful difference in the face ‘
of Pearl Cudlipp. The roses bloomed no longer in the
cheeks, and the luster had faded from the large gray eyes.

The girl looked quite ill.

_ Pearl left the shop just as the clocks were striking nine.

The four desperate characters followed upon her feet
steps. ‘

But the four were not the uniform who watched Pearl
on her homeward mil,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Human Tiger. 41

 

Kelford and his friend, Wirt Middough, had also been in
waiting for the young girl, and they, too, followed.

Despite his friend’s advice, Kelford would not show him.
self to the girl; for, in truth, he felt ashamed that he had
neglected her, and he knew that he would show that shame
in his face.

Had Kelford guessed the terrible danger that awaited
the girl he loved, he would not have so quietly walked be-
hind her.

Pearl hastened Onward with rapid steps as usual.

The four plotters had assumed their places according to
the programme drawn out by Bertrand.

The girl had nearly reached the center of the bridge.
Kelford and Wirt, following behind, had just stepped upon
the bridge when they Were accosted and brought to a halt by
Tommy Bedford, who wanted to know if they could direct
him to the Illinois Central Depot.

Kelford was explaining the way thither, when he heard a
slight scream proceeding from the darkness that vailed in
the center of the bridge. A moment after, and the sound
of a dull splash in the water below the bridge fell upon their
ears.

“By golll that gal must have jumped into the water!”
cried Tommy, in aflected astonishment.

“ Help! a woman‘s jumped into the river," cried Bertrand’s
loud voice from the middle of the bridge.

The three ran to the center of the bridge. One glance
Kelford gave at the inky surface below, and then plunged,
headlong, into the stream.

Attracted by the cries, a crowd commenced to gather on
the bridge, and a boat from a coalvbarge, that lay just above
the bridge, put out into the stream, manned by the watch-
men of the barge.

Kelford had succeeded in finding the girl, and, aided
by the boatman, bore the senseless form of Pearl to the
dock. ‘

Eagerly the crowd bent over the wet and motionless fig-
m ,

The rays of the lantern flashed upon a face that showed
no sign of life.

“ She is deadl” cried Kelford, in despair.

Bertrand’s voice re-echoed the cry.

 

'OHAPTER XXXIV.
mmn’s meme;

Luann, in her widow’s weeds, sat in her boudot‘r awaiting
the coming of Bertrand.

The shades of night had descended upon the busy city, and
with the night would come the man who had promised to re-
move a dangerous rival from her path.

She felt sure, too, that Bertrand had kept his promise, for
in the morning papers she had read a brief notice, the tenor
of which was, that a young girl had committed suicide by
leaping from the Madison street bridge into the river.

She guessed that the girl was the one whose influence she
feared with the man she loved; although by what means Ber-
trand had made her death appear to be the act of one bent on
self-destruction, she could not guess.

“Perhaps I am wrong, and the notice does not concern
her, but another,” she said, musingly. “ And yet, something
within, tells me that it is she. If my presentiment be truth,
there is now no barrier between Edmund Kelford and myself.
I am a widow—a wealthy one, too, and this girl that he
fancied he loved, is removed. The future then is all bright.
Oh! how happy I shall be in his lovel”

Lurlie was giving way to wild day-dreams. She thought
not of the man—the old captain who rested beneath the sod,
and whose love had given her all that she had in the world.

She thought not of the past but only of the future; the
future that was to be so full of happiness.

The clock had just struck eight, when Bertrand was ushered
into the room. Lurlie had given orders thad he should be
brought to her instantly on entering the house.

Lurlie could hardly restrain her impatience until the door
closed behind the servant who had conducted Bertrand.

“ Well?" she cried, in eagerness.

“ It is well," he answered. with a smile

“ The girl?”

 

“ Will never trouble you."

Lurlie drew a long breath of relief.

“ You have kept your word, then?”

“ Did you ever know me to break it?”

“ No."

“I have not in this case. I promised you that the girl
should be removed from your path, and I have kept that
promise. Did you see any of the morning papers?"

4 “ Yes, the Wm.”
“ Did you notice the account of a girl committing suicide

V by jumping from the Madison street bridge!”

“ Yes," Lurlie answered, eagerly.

“ Well, that girl was Pearl Cudlipp.”

“ But I do not understand—"

“How she came to commit suicide, eh?” said Bertrand,
with a smile. “ Perhaps you will understand it better when
I tell you that I was by the girl‘s side when she leaped into
the river. "

“ Ah, now I understand you. Passing, you pushed her
ofl the bridge.”

“ There is no one who can swear to it,” said Bertrand.
coolly. .

“ But it is the truth, though!”

“ It is not impossible.” .

“ Now there is no obstacle in my path to happinsll” cried
Lurlie, in glee.

“ Are you sure of that!” asked Bertrand, with a peculiar
smile. -

Bertrand's look made Lurlie tremble.

“ What do you mean f" she demanded.

“ 0h, nothing,” he said, carelessly; “ a chance remark-—
a thought, that is all.”

“ And that thought?"

“ The old and trite expression, man proposes and fate
disposes," said Bertrand, with a laugh. “You think that
your life in the future will be one of peace and happiness;
that, to a storm-buffeted ship, you have passed through
the angry and dangerous waves, and gained at last the har-
bor of safety.”

“ Yes, I do think so,” said Lurlie, slowly. She felt sure
that Bertrand’s words, careless as they seemed, concealed some
hidden meaning.

"—Well, I hope that you will not be deceived,” and again
the peculiar smile appeared on Bertrand's face.

“ I do not see how I can be," Lurlie replied. “ By my
husband's death I have come into possession of wealth
enough to gratify every wish, and now that this girl is re-
moved from my path, I do not see what can prevent me
from winning the love of the man toward whom I feel the
same passion that once filled my heart for you, Bertrand
Tasnor, long years ago."

“And that passion lasted a remarkably long time,” said
Bertrand, with a sneer.

“ Your fault, not mimi" cried Lurlie.

“ I might say the same thing in regard to you.” replied
Bertrand.

“ But, this man‘s love will make a better woman of me.”

“ And mine made you worse!”

so Yes.”

“ Very plain if not complimentary,” said Bertrand, with a
laugh.

“ It is the truth.”

“ So you say."

“ So all would say if they knew the history.”

“ Well, we’ll let it pass,” said Bertrand, lightly. “lat
bygones be bygones. As the old saying is. ‘ let the pest
bury its dead.’ And now to business. Lurlie, you prom-
ised me a certain sum of money for that service that I did
you last night.” -

“ Yes, and here it is,” Lurlie said, counting the hm.
she spoke, from her wallet into his hand.

“ That is quite correct!” he exclaimed, when she had fin
lshed. “ Why, Lurlie, you are quite a woman of but
uses.”

“ There; and now we are dens With each other.”

“ Donel do you want our acquaintance to end here!”

fl Yes. I!

“ Isn’t that rather hard? Old friends like you and me
to part in this cavalier way with the understanding that in
the future we are to be as strangers to one another?" Though
Bertrand uttered the words in a light and joking way, the
dangerous light that gleamed in his eyes told that he was far
from being in a humorous mood.

“ Enough of this, Bertrand; all is over now between In,"

 
 

1  .‘__.,...;..‘._.: “._:
..- A. .-- ,-._._..._-..--:;3== ..

-75

um"-

-—‘-———~‘ ‘ —--' ' 1

. _ .

wuilmzzw A I '2'.“ -.,,.

:85-

42

 

The Human Tiger.

 

said I-urlie, haughtily.

“ Are you sure of it?" Bertrand asked, with an air of
menace.

“ What do you mean by that question?" she cried.
“ Have I not braved you—yes, and beaten you, too, in all

your attacks?”

“ There again, I must put the question, ‘ are you sure 1’ "
said Bertrand, with a smile full of ominous meaning.

“ Do you wish to again test your power against mine?"

“ No, not to test it again, for I have already dealt you a
blow which you can not parry."

" You have?” said Luriie, increduloust and scornfully.

It  H

“ It must be a powerful one, for I have not felt it," and
Luriie's lip curled contemptuously.

“ First a question, or perhaps a series of questions.’

“ Go on.”

“ You are wealthy?"

u You}!

“ You are sure of gaining the love that you seek!’

u Yes.” -

“ And then you will be completely happy I"

" For the third time, yes. ”

“ In the enjoyment of your wealth and in the arms of
this young Kelford, you will find forgetfulness of all the
past it”

“ Yes, again, to that question.”

“ Forget even your child!”

Luriie started at the question, but barely as much at the
question as at' the look of triumph that was on Bertrand’s
face.

A sudden fear took possession of her; a heavy weight
seemed on her heart.

“ What do you mean by that?"

“ Exactly what I say," responded Bertrand; “ in the
midst of all this what a kind Providence spreads out before
you, hiding the memory of your past life with the gloss of
joy, you will even forget your child‘?” /

“ But she is dead!”

Bertrand laughed and triumph rung in the laugh.

“ Luriie, when I came to you, sued for peace and offered
to become your tool, and for a paltry sum of money to do
your bidding, did you not guess that my action concealed
some hidden meaning! Did you think so poor of me as
even for a moment to suppose that I, your master, would
become your slave? No; that offer, Luriie. concealed my
vengeance. The death of this girl, Pearl Cudlipp, by vio-
lence, whom, in reality, you murdered, for I was but a tool
in your hands, is my blow. When you know the truth,
that blow will make you curse the hour when you first look-
ed upon the face of this young Kelford and allowed this
fatal love for him to enter your heart.” Wild and swelling
with devilish joy was Bertrand’s voice.

“ What do you mean!” asked Luriie. in wonder. She
guessed that some fearful truth was at hand.

“ What do I mean t” and Bertrand’s face fully showed his
fierce joy as he asked the question. “Why, that this girl
whom you hired me to murder, was your own child I"

With a wild shriek, Lurlie staggered back into a chair.
Her features were white as death, and large drops of perspir-
ation hung like waxen beads upon her forehead.

“No! no! it can not be!" she moaned.

“ It is the truth 1" Bertrand cried. “ When first I saw the
girl I noted the resemblance she bore to you, though her
style of beauty was so different from yours. I followed up
the clue; discovered all her history. The woman, Cavendish,
in whose care you left the child, was a widow. She married
again, this time to Stephen Cudlipp; hence the name of the
girl. When I discovered the truth I formed my plan. When
I came to you and oflered to kill the girl, I knew then that
she was your daughter. What do you think of my vengeance
now? Do you triumph or do I not?"

Terrible was the tone in which Bertrand uttered the \words.

“0h, devil that you are!" moaned Luriie. “Does not
this deed tear your heart as well as mine? Was she not also
your child 2”

' “ What care I for that? My heart is marble. It was the
only way in which I could strike you, and I would have done
it, even if it had cost me my right hand!" cried Bertrand,
fiercely.

“ Oh, wretched woman that I am! Heaven have mercy
on me, and let me die!” moaned Luriie, in her agony.
Bertrand, with a cruel smile, glosted over her misery.
"And you had no mercy! a single word and both our

 

souls would have been free from this weight of guilt. But
you are a tiger in human shape. You ruined my life years
ago! But for you I should have been a good, pure woman:
not content with turning into bitterness all my life, now you
have killed my child." Then, with a sudden movement, Lur
lie sprung to her feet. “ Devil, you shall not live but diel‘
she cried, wildly, and springing forward in mad frenzy, at
tempted to catch him by the throat.

With an oath, Bertrand hurled her heavily back.

Turning as she fell, her head struck on the sharp corner
of the heavy marble-topped table; the skull was pierced at
the temple, and the death-blow had been received,

A single moan and Lurlie lay on the rich carpet, dying.
The purple life-current stained the golden locks.

“ Oh, my poor, poor baby,” she moaned, in her deep sies-
pair. Then, with a few convulsive motions, Lurlie passed
into unconsciousness, which deepened until the pulses ceased
to throb.

The Heart of Fire was chilled by the cold fingers of death.

With a gloomy brow, Bertrand knelt by the body.

CHAPTER XXXV.
JOY a'r user.

In agony of grief at Pearl's death, Kelford bowed his head,
and the hot tear-drops, despite his efforts to keep them back,
came slowly in his eyes.

“ Remain here and see if they make any effort to revive
her,” said Bertrand in Bedford’s ear; then he and God de—
parted.

Bedford, the moment they were out of sight, took another
look at the body of Pearl.

“ What the blazes is the use of my staying here, I’d like
to know? Blessed if I’m going to do it, and it‘s getting
chilly, too." So, without more ado, he slunk away in tht
darkness.

Some two hours afterward he joined Bertrand and God at
the low saloon on Wells street and reported that the girl had
not recovered. ' .'

It was on his report that Bertrand had spoken so confi
dently in regard to the death of Pearl.

After Bedford’s departure a young doctor passing, attracted
by the crowd, came and stood by the side of the senseless
girl. His practiced eye_ quickly decided that there was yet a
Chance to save her life.

Under his direction she was taken into the coal ofllce near
at hand and the usual means employed to resuscitate her.

Slowly but surely the life, that had apparently fled forever,
came back.

Wild was Kelford's joy.

Wirt could not help sharing in it.

By the doctor's orders all the crowd, except the boatman,
who was in charge of the office, and the two friends, Wirt
and Kelford, whom he rightly conjectured to be, friends of
the unfortunate girl, were excluded from the room.

“ She will recover," said the doctor, gazing hopefully into
the white face.

“ Oh, thank Heaven for that i" cried Kelford, fervently.

“ You are friends of the lady?" ‘

“ Yes," Wirt answered.

“ What could have induced her to attempt her own life?"
asked the doctor, in wonder.

‘.‘ I do not know; I can not even guess," replied Kelford.

“ It is very strange,” said the doctor, thoughtfully. " One
as young and beautiful as she. should have no wish to seek
forgetfulness in the river."

“ It is true. Her reason for the act is a mystery to me,”
and Kelford was sorely puzzled to account for it. He had
no suspicion, of course, of the facts.

“ Luckily I’ve my little pocket medicine-case with me."
And then the doctor forced a few drops of a reviving cordial
through the firm-set teeth.

The magic effects of the liquor were soon apparent. The'
color came slowly back into the white, death-like cheeks.

“ There; in an hour or so she will be very little the worse
for her cold bath,” said the doctor, cheerfully.

“I can hardly express to you, sir, how thankful I am for
this service,” said Kelford, warmly.

“ Only my duty, nothing more," said the doctor, modestly.

Wirt essayed to put a ten-dollar bill, quietly, into his hand,
but the young doctor modestly but firmly declined.

“ Not in a case like this, gentlemen. I should fed

t

I

 

 

 

 

 

The Human Tiger. 

 

ashamed of myself if I took pay for this trifling service, but
here is my card," and he gave the pasteboard to Wirt. “ If
at some future time you should need my services, profes-
sionally, I shall be proud to attend you.”

This simple act was the making of the young doctor, for,
in after time, through the influence of the two friends, he
was introduced to an excellent practice From such trifling
causes come deepest consequences. '

“ I suppose you will care for the young lady, now?" the
doctor continued.

“ Yes, of course," answered Kelford, eagerly.

“ You had better get a carriage and take her home. All
she needs is rest and perfect quiet._ When you get her home,
she had better be put to bed at once in warm fiannels."
Then the doctor departed.

A coach was procured and the still unconscious girl placed
in it.

“ You will tell the driver where to go?" Kelford asked of
his friend.

“ Yes, of course. You get inside and look after her. I’ll
get on the box with the driver,” Wirt answered.

Kelford did not wait for a second bidding.

In the coach he supported the slender form of Pearl in his
arms.

Fondly he pressed her to his breast, and kissed the cold
lips with many a passionate kiss.

, Little by little, consciousness came back to the maiden. .

She did not fully realize her position. It seemed to her
like a dream; yet she knew that she was in her lover's arms,
knew that his lips were pressing hers. She was happy. She
did not resist, but wound her arms tightly around his neck
and yielded her lips up to his caresses.

Half unconscious, she yet tacitly admitted the love that
filled her heart, but which her lips had never told.

Kelford was in a wild dream of happiness.

From that dream he was rudely awakened by the sudden
stopping of the coach.

He wondered at the stoppage, for, to him, it did not seem
that five minutes had elapsed since they had started. The
half-hour had indeed passed quickly!

“Come,” said Wirt, opening the coach door; “here we
“'0 .

Carefully, still carrying the girl in his arms, for though
her senses had returned, her strength had not, Kelford de-
scended to the pavement. ,

Then, for the first time, Kelford discovered that he was in
front of his own house on Michigan avenue.

“ Why, Wirt—" he said, in surprise.

“ It's all right; carry the girl in; I’ll explain every thing
to your aunt, the old lady.”

Wirt had previously settled with the hackman; so he
sprung up the steps. Kelford gave him his latch-key, and
he opened the door.

Kelford carried Pearl up-stairs to his own room, and laid
has upon the sofa

“ You are better, dear?" he said, tenderly, as be bent over
her, and smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead.

“ Yes," she said, slowly, and glancing into his face with
eyes full of love.

In a few minutes, Wirt, attended by Mrs. Kelford, Ed-
mund's aunt, and a host of servants, comprising all that were
in the house, from the coachman down to the stable-boy, en-
tered the apartment, bearing blankets, pitchers of hot water,
and various other articles that could be procured on the spur
of the moment, and were supposed to be useful in a‘ sick-
room.

Pearl looked a little dismayed at the entrance of the motley

crowd, but an encouraging pressure of her lover's hand re- ,

stored her.

Wirt, in a few brief words, had explained the pesition 0f
aflairs to Mrs. Kelford, and that worthy lady, burning With
a desire to show her skill upon something better' than a sick
poodle, entered upon the task of restoring the half-drowned
girl with joy.

First, all the gentlemen were turned out of the room, “web
to Keiford’s discomfiture and Pearl’s dismay. for the Pmn“
of her lover was like life to her.

Then Pearl was undressed and put to bed between the
warm blankets.

Mrs. Kelford, an excellent woman at heart, hustled about
her in true motherly style, and all the while she sung the
praises of her handsome nephew, until Pearl felt ready ‘0 017

or joy.

Then all the servants were turned out all th. mu“ h‘d

 

been, and Mrs. Kelford, turning town the gas, sat down by
Pearl’s bedside in an easy-chair, to watch her charge.

In vain Pearl protested that she did not want to be so
much trouble; Mrs. Kelford was as firm as a rock, and
Pearl, wearied at last, and with happiness swelling all through
her little heart, sunk into tranquil slumber—a bright smile
on her pale face, and on her lips the name of the man she
was now conscious that she dearly loved.

Meanwhile, Wirt and Kelford had adjourned to the library,
Kelford‘s snuggery, and there, with a couple of good cigars,
discussed the events of the last hour.

“ What the deuce put it into your head to have the girl
brought here?" Kelford asked.

“ So as to give you a chance to win her, of course,”
Wirt replied. " If she goes out of this house Pearl Cudlipp,
and not Mrs. Kclford, you ought to be ashamed of your
self."

“ But her folks will be anxious about her; doubtless they
are so already.”

“ I’ll go this very night and tell them. that she is safe, and
where she is.”

“ But I’m not sure that the girl loves me well enough to
marry me.”

“ So much the better, then, that I brought her here. If
she doesn’t love you now, you’ll have a chance to males her
do so. _ Ed, if you don’t win her, you don't deserve to have
her at all."

“ But suppose—"

“ Don't suppose any thing!" interrupted Wish “ To use
the classic saying, ‘ go in and win.’ ”

“ If I thought I m win—"

“ You never will, unless you try; that’s a moral eer-
tainty.”

“ I will try," said Kelford, decidedly; “ to-morrow I'll
urge my suit again, but will not force her to an act which
her heart does not approve. If she does not love me for
myself alone, I shall not accept a hand given in gratitude or
fear." He spoke earnestly.

After some few more words, the friends parted, Wirt to
proceed to Pearl Cudlipp’s friends, who, he knew, were,
then anxiously awaiting her return, and Kelford retiring to
rest. His slumbers that night were pleasant, for he dreamed
only of the girl be land so well. '

In the morning Pearl had quite recovered, much to the
satisfaction of Mrs. Kelford. That worthy lady had sat
and dosed all night long in the easy-chair by the side of the
girl’s bed.

After breakfast, Kelford seized an early opportunity to
speak to Pearl upon the subject that was nearest and dearest
to his heart.

They were sitting in the parlor together

Kelford had explained that it was his friend, Wirt’s ides
in having her brought where she was.

“ Your aunt is such a dear, good woman," Pearl said,
warmly. “ I am not sorry that you did bring me here, fat
I should not have known her else."

“ And now, Pearl, that I have you here, I feel reluctant
to let you go again,” Kelford said, imprisoning the little white
hand within his own.

“ Do you?" Pearl asked, shyly, yet not attempting to no
lease the prisoned hand.

“ Yes, Pearl; can you give some little hope? but—I never
thought to ask before—why did you attempt to commit sul-
cide last night t”

“ Why, I did not!" said Pearl, in astonishment

Cl  l"

“ i was thrown into the ,water by a tall man that passed
me on the bridge; he turned, seized me suddenly, and before
I could even scream I was falling through the air."

“ What a strange attack! Pearl, will you not give me
the right to protect you from any such danger in the future?”
Kellord‘s voice was low and earnest.

“ I should not refuse you again, for you saved my life,
md_"

“ If you do not love me, refuse."

“ But—" and Pearl paused, shyly.

“ But what?"

“ I do love you!”

The words at last were spoken; and thus Pearl, the orphan
girl, became the promised wife of Edmund Keli’ord.

No happier hearts in Chicago than theirs on that eventful

day.

 

 

  

.. 5. A
w.~~.«~ .5

CHAPTER XXXVI.
mm mm or anaraarm mason

“ 53!! is dead !" muttered Bertrand, gloomily, as he knelt
-by Lurlie’s side. “ It was fated that I should be the cause
of her death.”

Moodily he gazed upon the fair features of the woman
whose head he had once pillowed on his breast, and whom
he had sworn to cherish and protect. The red lips that he
had kissed so often in the old, old time were now colorless.
The golden curls were dabbled with her life-blood, streaming
free from the terrible wound in her head. The full, blue
eyes were now staring vacantly at the ceiling.

“ Poor girl,” he muttered, and there was a and expression
in his voice as he spoke, “ how different might her fate
have been but for the Heart of Fire that she carried in her
bosom! It Was not altogether her fault that she has been
what she has. Nature did much to make her evil, and cir-
cumstances did the rest. Men prate about honesty and
goodness in this world, while half the time it is but good
fortune. Expose these same good and honest men to the
temptation by which others have fallen and they, too, will
fall.”

Then for a few moments he was silent, and gazed fixedly
at the rigid features of the dead.

“ There is a fascination in her face, though motionless in
death, that I can not account for. I do not want to leave
her. Bah! this is folly!” he cried, rising with a powerful
effort of the will. “ What the devil is the matter with me!
I feel as if all my energy had deserted me. This is mad-
ness! I must get out of this. If I am found here with the
body, they will accuse me of murdering her. In reality I am
guilty, although my hand did not strike the death-blow.”

Then Bertrand turned to leave the room, but, with his
hand on the door, he suddenly paused.

“ By Jovel I had nearly forgotten," he cried. “ The
bonds are in the safe in the other room. Aimee said that
she carried the key of the safe with her. Why not search
for the key, open the safe and secure the bonds? I do not
need Aimee’s help. Besides, I don’t want her with me,
anyway. These women never bring me luck. I can easily
tell Aimee if she is waiting for me at the foot of the stairs,
as she promised to be, that I will return again. The way
of escape is clear. The bonds will be a fortune to me. I
can hide in some obscure hole until the fuss of this affair
blows over and is forgotten; then I can make my way to
Europe. There, with this money, I can live like a king.
With plenty of gold—that magic charm—in the gay Euro-
pean cities 1 can forget all the misery and crime that I have
passed through. Now, first for the key.”

Bending over the body, he proceeded in his search. A few
moments and he held the key of the safe in his hands; a few
moments more, the safe was open and the bonds within his
hands; also some five hundred dollars in greenbacks.

“ Fortune favors me at last!” he cried, in triumph. “ This
money, with what I already have, will keep me until I can
find an opportunity of disposing of the bonds without detec-
tion. For about the fourth time in my life I am in posses-
sion of a fortune. Let me try this time to take care of it
and not lose it like a fool. All goes well with me; my luck
has turned. It’s about time, for I’ve had enough ill-fortune
within the last few years to do for a man‘s whole life-
time.” .

Carefully Bertrand secured the bonds in an inner pocket in
his cost, than buttoned it up securely.

\

 

4.4 " The Human Tiger.

#4-v

_- __A..__:'

“ Aha!” he cried, in glee, “ who could guess that this com-
mon dress conceals a fortune? It is in my grasp, and this
time I’ll hold it. The devil himself shan‘t wrest it from me
I suppose I ought to thank my patron, down below, for this
streak of luck. it's the first gleam of light that has beamed
on my pathway for some time. Now to get out; quietly. if
I can, and without seeing any one, but I suppose that that
infernal woman will be on the watch for me.”

Then Bertrand opened the door.

A sudden surprise greeted him, and it was not welcome.

Aimee stood before the door, her hand raised to knock,
Behind Aimee stood a man.

Bertrand caught one glimpse of the man‘s face; then he
reeled back as though he had been stricken by a heavy
blow.

Thc face of the man seemed to him like the face of one
risen from the dead.

He could hardly believe his senses.

He, who thcre stood before him, was one whom the rob-
ber and murderer had hanged to a tall cottonwood, by the
Arkansas, in she war-time. when, as a guerrilla captain, he
had done many a deed of blood.

The man was Amos Kenwood, the mate of the Michigan.
He had called to see the widow of his late captain on some
business connected with the propeller.

Wild was the expression of fierce delight that came over
Kenwood’s face as he behold the man whom he had sworn
to kill.

With a single exclamation hissed through his clenched
teeth: “ Remember Arkansasl" Kenwood sprung upon him.

Bertrand, recovering from his surprise in an instant, was
ready for his foe.

A moment the two men swayed to and fro, tightly locked
together. Aimee, with fear-stricken eyes, too frightened even
to cry out, gazed upon them, terrified.

With a desperate effort, Bertrand swung Kenwood around;
the mate of the Michigan was hardly a match for Captain
Death; then, with a cunning wrestling device, he broke Ken-
wood’s hold and sent him spinning back into the room.

With a cry of triumph, Bertrand sprung down the stairs
at breakneck speed.

Kenwood, recovering from the shock, drew a revolver and l
hurriedly aiming at the flying man, fired.

The ball, too high for mortal wound, tore through Ber-
trand’s shoulder, but the shock caused him to miss his foot-
ing, and headlong he rolled down the stairway. At the bot-
tom he remained, all doubled up in a heap, motionless.

Kenwood descended the stairs. .

Bertrand Tasnor was dead; not by the ball of Kenwood’s
revolver, though; in falling, he had broken his neck.

Byaccident, not by the malice of a foe, the devil had
claimed his own.

Our story is ended.

Rick and the two roughs, Goff and Redford, are even now
living in Chicago, and are well known to the police as three
of the most dangerous characters within the limits of the
Garden City. '

Edmund and Pearl were married, and the millionaire and
.he sewing-girl have never had cause to regret the hour when
first they saw and loved each other.

Beneath the same marble shaft that marks the grave of
Captain Middough lies the mortal remains of the woman
whom, in life, he loved so well—Lurlie, the strange girl,
who with the face of an angel, had the passions of a demon,
Id a heart, not of flesh, but of fire

mm

l
| . t I, »-. . .
i "r"; .  .  .._ ,
i ' “it 1 I I 4
i ‘ -- . .
' t... ...J..t. V  _ p , , _,_,, o ' ' '.' V  p '_   , .éfJL't'ktl.