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1H llt H m; \ Alli. 1 MUN lllll lHHlHlel HW‘HIHM uvuunmmmu 1“ 1H WHRHM H W hum WNW ‘

mam) AS SECOND CLASS MATTER AT THE NEW YORK. N. Y.. POST OFFICE. June 2, 1897 

Copyrighted. 1897. by BEADLE AND ADAM

‘ N O.  1 . magma?” QBeadZe g fldams, @ublishers, Ten GentsaCopy. " V01.  ‘.

-  ii 5! 
3K. F. HILLS Brandedfor Life.

$5.00 a You.
v m m:

92 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK.

 

 

7;

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MARQUITA’S READING WAS INTERRUPTED BY THE APPEARANCE OF A STRANGE-LOOKING BEING.

 

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. .  ,  . ‘r w «A... .-." .  ‘
‘ 7 5w» .» ,3" Hum: we :M‘A‘sm any"

  

 

 

 

"D;” or, Branded for Life.

 

 n
a

0 It.

BRANDED FOR LIFE.

BY K. F. HILL,

 

T AUTHOR. or “ SARAH iutoWN, DETECTIVE,” ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.
THE ColtltAL on THE PAMPA.

IT was six o’clock in the afternoon. The
month was February, the inidsunnnei‘of Bucuos
Ayres; the date was a corral on the boundless
pampu whic extends in a waste of yellow sand
from the confines of Patagonia to the, suburbs
of the city of linenos Ayres, capital of one of
the four States of the Argentine Jwpnblie.

The red sun, drooping to the horizon, sent his
slanting rays across the desert, an unbroken
plain, destitute of verdure, spring, or oasis,
with a copper-lined sky overhead, and the mo—
notinous 1.1in below, with never a tree save the
gnarled out/m staudin'," in solitary state far
from his fellows, distorted child of the desert,
which turns aside, the ax that nth ulpts to fell
1?. l‘l'l resists the flame, already kindled, refusing
l I . ~rnis‘h fuel to the Weary traveler.

'. 3 corral of the pom/m is simply an ine'osure
Minded by a pieket feure the boards are

*l mgether by light wire which permits
‘y removal from plm-etoplaee. 'Within
d the iinnn-nse floelzs I f >heep whit-h
'1ven to the slaughtt*r-houscs near the

-r~', th: mutton luring sold to the slave-mvners
{or l‘o vi, the hides and horns packed for the Eu-
cow-'11 nnirket.

’l‘aomen who follow the. trad) of conveying
2h(‘.flo-"l{sa(',1'oss the juror/m, are termed yum-hos.
'Jh-y live strange lives and wear a peculiar
to" s, and are noted for recklessness and daring;
.Ir'tlly of them are escaped criminals, for no ex-
~tradition treaty exists in the Argentine {e-
pubiie, and no offhiaiever questions a yum-ho,

Their dress betrays tile Spanish passion for
black, the loose trmvsers, vest and broad-brim—
med hat, and thoponcho (a. squarepiece of elotli
in the middle of which a. hole is cut, and the
headthrust through) are all of ebon tint, but
the broad belt worn beneath the poncho is
usually heavily embroidered in colors. To this
are atlached the scabburd of a dirk knife and
the case of a revolver: the {jam-ho also carries a
carbine slung to a. broad strap over his right
shoulder, and wears immense spurs which jingle
as he walks.

Inside the corral two men sat on their blan—
kets near the fire, watching the cooking of their
supper. Both were the costume of the gum-hos,
but neither were natives of Buenos Ayres.

They were about the same ago, some thirty-
five years, and there was between them a start-
lm resemblance.

T 9 same hight, weight, breadth of shoulders,
and gait, even the shape of the hands and the
feet were alike; but one of the men was a gold-
cn-haired blonde, the other dark, black-haired
End brunette-skinned, though his eyes were also

lue.

Both wore full beards, and both spoke like ed-
ucated men, but the brunette was by his accent
an Englishman, the blonde an American.

The similarity between them was startling;
the features were of the same model as if they
had been cast in the same mold, the hair and
beard were alike in texture, only one was golden
brown, the hue of ripe wheat, the other black as
a raven’s wing. .

The two men lay silently regarding the sheep
which hung upon a. crane before the tire roasting
slowly, till a. hoarse growl from one of the numer-
ous dogs in the corral aroused them.

“ That must be Jupiter,” said the blonde, rising

 

   
   
 

 

“Yes, I expected him to-night,” replied the
other. _

The dogs had rushed to the opening of the
corral, which was a gap in the fence secured by
bars. A horseman had halted outSIde, and he
struck his open palms together three times,
which is the South A merican manner of ringing
the bell.

As he dismounted he called to the dogs, who
ceased their savage barks, and fell to wagging
their tails, for they recognized a. friend.

“ Hallo, Jupiter!” cried the Americanv “so
you are back already?”

“ Yes, massa.” r

The negro, for the namesake )f the god was
black as ebony, advanced laden with bundles,
which he placed beside the two white men; he
then turned 'away and attended to his horse.

“.Hallol Here‘s a godsend,” exclaimed the
light man. “ New York papers, I declare 1”

“You still feel an interest in them?” queried
the other, bitterly.

“ Most certainly I do.”

“ Well, you are differently situated from me.
I1 am dead to the world and buried in these

oomy pampas.’

g "Yes, your story is a sad one; but I have, at
least, hope to sustain me."

“ I‘ve never‘heard your story, Fred; but I am

v 'certain you are no criminal.”

l

 

“ And you are right; I am a voluntary r xilc.”

Jupiter now drew near, and busied 1:. .Iself in
preparing the yerba, the tea of the pumprls,
famous for its restorative and life»5usi:aining
qualities. \Vhilo Fred eagerly perused the. papers
by the uncertain light of the fire, the Jar c man
lay watching him.

At length Jupiter pronounced the supper
ready; the mutton was cooked to pcrfection,and
the yum-hos each cut off a portion with his
knife, and ate it without plate or fork. They
had saltand bread, however, which were unac-

 

' customed luxuries, for J upiter liw‘ just returned

from Buenos Ayrcs, whither he had been dis—
patched for supplies.

The fragrant ye’rba, was served out in guards,
and heartily relished by all; the negro sat down
and ate with his masters. He also Wore the
gmreho’s dress, but betrayed by his tongue that
he was no Spanish-speaking negro.

Supper over, cigars were lit, and Fred return-
ed to his papers. Suddenly he uttered an ex-
clamation of surprise.

“What is the matter?” asked the dark man,
impatiently.

‘ You inquired about my story, Lester, awhile
ago,” was the reply, “ I can tell it to you now,
with its sequel.”

“ Indeed f”

“ Yes, look here!"

He handed over a copy of the New York Her—
ahl of a. comparatively recent date.

Among the personals appeared the following:

Fred C. (l. is earnestly requested to return to
New York at once. or communicate wilh his aunt,
Lucille. His grandfather is no more."

“ Does this refer to you .4” asked Lester, with
interest. V

“ It does; my full name is Fred Cameron (Lov-
don. My grandfather was the younger son of a
noble Scottish family. lie came to Ann-.iea
with a small fortune, and it grew to be a large
one by successful speculations. His only son,
my father, incurred his displeasure by marrying
beneath him. He died young, and so did his
wife. my mother. I was adopted by my grand-
father, who was a terribly harsh, stern man.
My aunt, Lucille, who never married, was a
mother to me: but I, in my turn, angered my
"'randfath r by engaging myself to Beatrice
liaybray, the (laughter of my tutor. He found

out my secret, and overWhelmed me with harsh '

reproaches, bitterly assailing the memory of my
parents, and declaring that the low blood of my
mother was asserting itself. This was more than
I could hear. I replied in a way I should not
have done, for he was an old man, and I owed
him everything, but I suppose I had a spice 01
his tem )er in me. ’

“ And so you left home?”

Yes I walked out of his house, vowing I
never would return.”

“ And you have heard nothing of them since?”

“ Nothing I left New York the 18th of Au-
gust on a steamer bound for St. Thomas, and I
caught the ellow fever and was left there in a:
hospital. came out without a cent or a change
of clothes, and one of I my fellow—patients and
myself drifted to the pampas, and here I’ve been
ever since.”

“ How many years ago is it since you left
home l”

u Ten.” .

‘v Have you not communicated with your
sweetheart—the girl for whose sake you left
home and became a. wanderer?"

“ No; I always hoped I could make a fortune,
till I found out my mistake.”

“ She was, of course, as poor as yourself.”

“ Yes, poorer. She has forgotten me, long
ago; she was fifteen when I last saw her; she 18
now twenty-five.”

“ Shall you have any trouble to prove your
identity?”

“ Not the slightest.
here!”

He touched his breast as he spoke.

“ And you are doubtless your uncle’s heir?”
said Lester, enViously.

“ Yes. I guess so; my aunt would plead my
cause; she was always devoted to me.”

“ Happy maul You (go home to friends and
fortune, while I am con emned to end my days
here!”

His face wore a bitter look, and his tone ex-
pressed a depth of anguish and desperation that
roused Fred 5 sympathy.

“ Cannot I help you, Lester?” he asked. “ I
shall have plenty of money, and perhaps some
little influence. ”

“ No, no one can help me,” returned the other,
gloomily. “ I am dead; don’t try to resuscitate
me; there is danger in the thought; but you
mere] drifted here, so can return.”

“ Yhs, and now let us tum’in.”

“ Yes, for I suppose you will leave us to—mor-
row?"

“Yes, with the dawn of day. I have money
enough to take me to New York, and after that
I shall be all right.”

They said good-night, and lay down wrapped
in their blankets. ,

The negro, Jupiter, had listened to the whole,
conversation with interest. He was an intelli-
gent man, and be understood Gdrdon’s story.

I have all my papers,

 

  

a '

“Have a drink. J upc?” asked Lester, whoa“v
second name was Allan.

“ T’ank ye, inassa!” said Jupiter.

The other poured out half a gourdful of strong
cane-juice brandy, called by the natives cana,
and the negro eagerly swallowed it, after which
he wrapped himself in his blanket and slept
heavily.

The sun shone bright and high in the heavens
when Jupiter aWoke.

He was (Lionel

“ Whar’s de folks?” he asked, rubbing his
0 es—his head still felt heavy from the effects of
t e brandy, and he gazed around him in bewil-
dernient.

NI) sound came on his ear save the tinkle of
the sharp-bells, and the voice of some dissatisfied
member of the flock, bloating pitifully.

“ Whar’s Mass’ Lester!”

Jupiter walked to the opening and climbed
over the bars.

On all sides were spread the yellow sands; he
walked all around the corral, but no living thing
was in sight; the blazing sky was overhead, the
desert spread around in every direction, but no
sound came from any earthly being; solitude
reigned as completely as if Jupiter had been at
sea. upon the traei‘iess (wean. ,

“’Clar’ to king, if dey ain’t don7 elar’d out an’ i
left me an’ do sheep I" said the negro. scratching
his wool] head in perplexity. “ \Vhat in do
worl7 inn 9 dem do dot!”

He returned to the corral and began to pic
pare his breakfast; suddenly he started.

0n the sand where Fred Gordon had lain
down to sleep the night before Jupiter caught
sight of something that made him start violent-

] v

A fresh blood—shun /

“ \Vhat am (lis{”¢ ried he, aghast with horror.
“ 7Fore do La wd ! I’se ’fruid dey donl had a fits
and kill one anudder.”

He hastened away and examined the horses,
saddles and bridles; both Gordon’s and Allan’s
horses were gone!

“\Yhnt dat blood mean i” asked J upitcr
again. mFore do liawd, I can’t understan’ dis
yer.

He waited till midday, but neither of the
yam-hos returned.

He then saddled his horse and rode into the
city to look for help to move the corral and get
his flock into the slaughter-pens.

He also visited the tavern in the suburbs
patronized by all shepherds and (/auchns, but no
one had seen or heard of the missing men.

They had disnp red from the face of the
earth as complete y as if it had yawned and
swallowed them up. t,

Jupiter returned to the corral, and busied
himself with the flock for which he was now 3,,
solely responsible; but he did not cease to pon- u,

 

der over the mysterious disappearance of his 11,-,
mas‘ers, and the fresh blood-stain u on the sand. i
The corral was moved away, an all that rc- 1'1; ,
mained to tell that it had ever been there were fa’tj
the ashes of the extinct fire, which were uickly u
dispersed, and the shifting sand soon uried n,
them. , ‘ and
The desert was left to its monotonous solitude; u 
but it Concealed in its bosom a terrible secret— the
the ghasti y evxdcnce of a fearful crime. took",
her.
CHAPTER II. . "I'\
A STRANGE PATIENT—BRANDED FOR LIFE. éggtbfl
IN a crooked, narrow and ver miserable wmbé
street (it street it dCServed to be 0 led) leading .. 
from Chatham Square on the east toward those “ R
unknown mazes and miserable portions of the there :11
city that lie between the Bowery and Broad- “01°
way, there stood, at the time our story opens, a. dacto, “

very ancient mansion. The street was not only ~
very narrow, but remarkably filthy, and i’. was hesitan-
lined with old houses that had known no repairs ‘ n5
for manygyeail‘ls. Tlie dwgllllendsl 1in these rookeries
were jus suc peopeas e ' a idateda ar- if
mice and character of the buildiriigs woulgpleead alarmed
one to suppose. They'were from the dregs of
the population of the City, with the exception of on
a few honest people whose poverty compelled branded na‘
them to hve 1n the best of these tenements. . ' “ The '
The house referred to stood about half-way .Y a of n I
up the street, and It was situated on one of thefldded your
sha angles, so that it projected one shoulder “At; 1
far into it, the street ending and adaptin “Show
itself to the house, thereby roving clearly tha The m me
the old Dutch edifice was 0 (let than the street The 19:,” W‘
itselfn Its hlgh- . ked roof, its small, project‘houiders er
ing Windows, an its many-sided gables digger “ The m‘
characteristic of apex-10d anteriorto the v O'Ctozg “ark ‘
lution; but, antitpiated and dilapidated thong ritish WYOU
it was, there stil clung to ita certain look ( “ You 37-"
res ectability. abitspn “1'8 i
he shingles were covered with can mos“I know
and the heavy, paneled doors were rown are.” “151
weather-beaten, and a. bull’s head carved ” Ye's 0
wood over the front door was ready to fall fros teen; “1‘59 ‘51
its fillies to the ground. “ , {in
is anoient dwelling was the residence ofyour was”; 1'5
strange old man. He had inherited the hoi'Is it non-9' -
from his ancestors, who were rich Dutch melt is not~°eab1¢
chants, but somehow the fortune had slippcannot ’C'eable
away from him, and he was as poor as his neigt twenty” 0‘51? 01'
bars, save for the ancient mansion and the pie: oath 5 feet a.
. 11

east a

of ground on which it stood. v d was: In
' 0' t emarkgi

 

  

../

,

He possessed one, priceless treasure, however,
in the form of a lowly daughter—his only child.

Stella was just sixteen years of age, and
beautiful as the vision of a heaven-inspired poet.

Her father gained a scanty subsistence by
prof-tiring his profession, for he was a doctor,
and deemed skillful by his patients, who were,
however, all too poor to reward him for his ser«
vices, as they would gladly have done had they
possessed as lulu-h money as gimdovill.

   

 

As it was, Dot-toi- He l’ayster was obliged to' -

go shabby and wear threadbare garments, neat-
ly patched and darned by Stella’s skilllul lin-

gers.’
The old house was as antiquated within as it
was without: its dark—paneled walls and dingy
(:eilinu rendered it a elicerless dwelling, and its
bare floors and scanty, old~fushioued furniture
imparted a look of discomfort; yet Stella‘s
brie-lit I'm-e and happy laugh made the old man
content with his home. '
He attended his patients, or sat poring over
his books, oblivious of tho busy World, and sat-
islied with his dreary life. He lovod his daugh—
ter loudly. but he never thought how eheei'less
was her existence, how uniltting her surround—
iii rs.
‘ ll. was a stormy night, in thn stormy month
of Mai-eh; the rain fell in torrents, and as it fell
congealed upon the sidewalks and the walls of
 the houses; the wind tore and rushed illl'nugh
3'- the streets, and shutters {lapped and slammed to
and fro all over the doctor's ancient d Welling.

The old man sat, book in hand, and Stella
1' nearliini, for theveould all'oi'd but one light,
‘ the old house did not boast of gas, and the
dingy room was imperfectly lighted by an oil-

lain >.

“lilarkl” said the doctor, as a sound caught
his ear. -

A knock sounded at the door, which was loud
enough to be heard above the howling,r of the
tempest.

"Some. one at the door, father,” said Stella,

' and laying aside her Work she lit a candle and
left the room.

The wind seemed to whistle through the.
dreary old house, and the girl shivered as she
left the room—the only one that had the win-
fort of a fire. '

She unlocked the door and half opened it,
carefully shading the feeble 'llauie of the candle
with her hand; -. _

. “ Is the doctoral: home?" came a mice through
- ' the darkness. ,

“ Yes; come in.” I

A tall man enveloped in thick Wi‘appings en-
tered. ,

Stella could not tell whether he was old or
young, for all She could see between the pearl?
that encircled his neck, and the slouched run of

’ his hat, was a beard covered with frozen rain.
' He closed the door, and the young girl locked

.; qv-‘""

.-».!IAW"'C,

M. .

     
  
  
  
   

L it, and then led the way to the room where her
9’ father sat over his book. .

"5 “ Good-evening, sir l” saluted the stranger. '
1V “ Good-evening!” replied the old man, rising
135' , and eying’his visitor curiously.

, , “ I’ve come to consult you, doctor,” resumed
.dea ‘ the man; at thesewords the doctors dau liter
3? {go}; up her candle and retired to her ownvc ani-

r r. i . . -‘ .
“ I’ve come to you, 511‘, the man said, remov-
ing his hat and muffler, “-because I hear you
E k _. are the only man in New York who can do what
P  _ I want done.” V r .
era. ° “ What may that bei".
‘ g V 1' “Remove a mark from the skin that has been
WW6; ‘ there for many years.”
gem, “ orwimt nature is the mark!” inquired the
\ doctor. .
musk“ “,It, is not tattooed,” the stranger replied,
,otlon Y I hesitatmgm _ .-
1 1» airs . “ Perhaps itis branded?” su the doctor.
) r69 .es , The stranger started and anced around, as

W if alarmed by the marathon on or the word.

can mad . . The next moment he laughed, though rather

:' uneasil . , .
of, ..Y2§”arg right, doctor,” he said; “it is
d , .

,.-. «Thai I fear itis beyond my sharia relieve

en...
.89 '
i», half

one 0-

 

  
    
  
   

!  ‘- Ag leastt .” ‘lrgal’hid strange "patient:

a u hoquet emu-k. '.

:‘d ' t I : Tgemwassoonstri tohis‘waist.

dig!le ,, mJeuer uI)” gleade redly betweenlhis

.n e ' “ ' . .‘ ' '. !
pro}ac u k of the branding-iron I” said'thepid

$59 we ' figfigtou have onca beena soldier in the

fi . . .,, , I. ‘ \I. ‘ i
m thou“ u%§'mlw fight; youknow their pleasant-

‘mm 1003, - , ,_ , _ , _
‘ ' "  ' that;de are branded asgypu
‘ ,- A: :g'um‘néni’z hissed the  between

(ii'ldelibylc. You mustiwnir it
,"-,IL.,V.V: i‘

1%



  
 

 

my .y°u of your unpleasant companion,” therdoct'or'

.av

~ '1' "41 y‘ x“:

D

l ble; seieiue—or at least my seleueo knows no
means of eradieating it.”

The man spoke no more, but quietly dressed
again.

“ Your feel” he, asked, in a sullen tone, as if
angry with the doctor because he Was powerless
to aid liiiii.

“ I have done nothing; for you,” was the reply.

“ No matter, you have tried.” .-

He plaeed a live-dollar gold-piece on the table.

The doctor opened the door and called his
daughter.

She up ieared, candle in hand. In the dark
old hall t ie girl’s I'm-e shone like a star in the
murky sky of midnight.

She was tall and slender, with hair of the
palest gold framing an oval fneo lit by large,
deep violet eyes. Her features were perfect,
and her complexion pure as snow, and colorless
with the creamy hue of the calla lily.

’l'he stranger gazed at her fixedly.

“ You are, the doctor’s daughter i” he inquired,
as he followed her to the door. '

“ Yes, sir.”

She, raised her beautiful eyes to his, as it' sur-
prised by the question.

“ ‘ Stella !’ " he murmured, as if thinking
aloud. “Exvuse me, young lady; your name
suits you. In this dark old house your face is
like a star.”

110 was near'the door as he spoke, and Stella
did not reply. She unlocked the door and
opened it: as she did So asuddoii gust of wind
extinguished the candle.

“ Ali!” cried the stranger, “shut the door; I
have matches; let me light your candle, for you
cannot. iiud the way back in the dark."

“ Thank you.” resixmded Stella, gravely.

Ile struek a match, and once more the candle
gave forth its feeble light; the girl‘s face was
very near it. Close enough for the stranger
to mark the exquisite purity of her complexion,
the dolieae of the beautifully molded chin and
throat, an the soft brillianey of the clear, deep
violet eyes. ,

‘1: lgo you live here alone with your father?” he
.as '01 .

“ Yes, my mother died when I was born.”

“ Are you not very lonely i”

“ No: I have never known any other life.“

She wondered why he lingeml. With all her
beauty Stella (lid not possess one spark of femi-
nine vanity. '
“Good-night, Miss Stella," said the visitor.

gust not keep you in this cold hall.”
“ ood- night,” replied the girl.
“ Let me open the door." .
He did so, and with a lingering look at the
fairest face his eyes had ever rested upon, he
passed out into the storm.

“ What a. strange man!” murmured Stella, as
s 18 returned to the room where the old doctor
sat, once more deeply absorbed in his book.

She took a her work, but the face of the vis-
itor seemed fore her, and a rich color came

“

glance.
Meanwhile, he strode on through the storm,

narrow street: '

“I’ll see that girl again if I have to feign
every disease in the list of diseases. What a
face she has! By Jove! it makes me for et
wh’at I’m about.
it! '

With this resolve, he hastened on through the

storm. . ,, ,
That night Stella dreamed of him. For the
first time in her 1'
stranger. She we as innocent as ababy,.and
had'never wasted heart in senseless flirtation;-
she had no acquaintances, and knew nothing of
love and lovers. I ‘ ‘ .-
Had she been older and wiser she would have
known that the man who came in the storm and
darkness had awakened new thoughts and emo-
tions in her heart. .' ’ . ‘

For the unknown visitor she tdt the first
gear! thrill of the sweetest of all sentiments—r

ve ' .

“ He liked thymine,” she whispered
self, as she rosethe following (in . “ He said I
was like a star. u I wonder _whet er I shall ever
Seehim Bin?“ - , A ,

Yes, s e: was doomed to see him again,
thoi‘ifihfin after years she , felt tempted to curse
the y her eyes first rested upon his face. ,

, CHAPTER III. ,
. rim RETURNED WANDERER. '
' .IN a statelyinansion on Fifth avenue a lady
at With an expectant look upon her face.
She was no Ion :-
1-

years of age, but er‘

as a. dart, ercomplexion‘unwrinkled and 1

,3d her clearlblue eyes bright as those of a1
 Her abandon hair was white,

in mammal fashion MM
3 face, and it was

 

  

 

 
 

“was
became her

Her flust’erlc'ss ” '
~......'°°‘*=‘ié  i"
. v a r - ‘
~ "‘m-token; a:

 

:” or. Branded for Life.

into her cheeks at :the thought of his fingering -

and exclaimed, as he foupd himself clear of the ,
I’ll see her again if I die or .

she felt an interest in a.

to her?

on bein lon tflt ‘
yslbiidé forgm wgswpflgg

ui ” out
_ t  Gordoan not“.
a , x i . -. ” _ .

  
   
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
   
  
   
 
   
    
   
  
   
  
   
    
  
   
 
  
   
   
  
  
   
    
  
    
   
   
 
    
    
  
  
  
  
    
   
   
  
 
 
  
      
   
  
      
   
   

 

 .' .. , , ,:

It was a cold March afternoon and Miss (low
don out near a. cheerful lire: the room was ur-
tistically furnished, and evoz‘rythiiu.r in it tes-
tmed not only that its owners were wealthy,
but that they also were persons of taste and cul-
ture. x

“ l’oor Fred!” said the old lady, as she. rum: ,
the bell for the footnmn to bring lll r ilve-o’elock- I
tea, “ I wonder whether he has lost. his love of \
home. and his aunt Lucille. It is strange that he
did not write, but I suppose he will be here, and
so explain everything." .

As she. spoke a carriage rolled u ito the door,
and the pea] of the bell announced an arrival.

“ LOUIS, that must be Mr. Gordon,“ Halli the
old lady, and she rose with a glad smile on her
llnely-sliuxwd mouth.

Louis’s fellow-servant opened the door, and
uslierel-l in a tall gentleman, who instantly came,
forward with outstretehod hands.

“Aunt Lucille!” ho exclaimed, in a joyous
tone.

“ Yes; why, Fred, how old you have grown!”
she answered, throwing her arms about his neck
and regarding hiiii earnestly.

“ Yes, dear auntie, no one grows younger but - ’
yourself. "

Miss Gordon was now standing; burl; and sur-
veyiiu: her nephew wu h a strange expression in
her eyes.

" You receivml my telegram, aunt!" he askwl,
as be seated himself near the tire and spread out - '
his hands before it.

“ Yes; shall I give you a. cup of teat"

“Thanks, I am fond of tea. Now, are you 1
ready to hear my story of how '[ have spent my
time since my grandfather drove me out into
the world!”

“ Not only ready. but anxious,” returned Miss
Gordon, Whose. aristocratic face had not lost its
curious expression.

Her nephew proceeded to relate. the same tale
we heard under the sky of lluenos Ayres,
the story told by the lire in the corral of the
pinup".

Aunt Lucille heard it all. '
' e“ Beatrice Maybray is married,” she said, ‘,
when the tale came to an end.

“Illdcudl “fell, I thought as much. I never 4
expected her to remember inc all these years,"
responded Fred, with a laugh.

“ Fred,” said his aunt, suddenly, “how is it
that you, Who have S' at ten years among Spain-
iards,, have acquir a. decidedly English ac-
cent‘!‘ . Y

He started, and stroked his ' heavy golden _
beard a little nervously. ," ,

“ I can’t tell, aunt Lucille," ho answerml, " un- '
less it is that my greatest friend in Buunos Ayres «
was an Englishman." _ -

“That may be the reason,” she admitted,
thou htfully. _

“ find now, dear aunt, tell me of my grand— f
.father‘s death, it it will not distress you to do

9‘ He was ill for six months, and he died 'very ,
easily—seemed to fade out of life. He relented '
toward you, and you are his heir.” , '

Theman’s eyes were fixed on the fire, so he
trusted Miss Gordon did not observe the gleam
of it? that lit them up. »

‘ on are poor, suppose, Fred?” queried

Miss Gordon. .
“ Poor!” he re Med, with a. bitter laugh: _-‘~
auntihuc’ 1, I hare not a garment t v.
in. ' -' x
‘f Is it 'ble?” in a. shocked tone. -. \ ~
‘, “Yes: I had barely money enough to carry
me here.” ‘ - “ l
I t‘  his; 1” Ir I
. Miss Go on’s tone was more kindly than _ MK = .
she had used before, but her face grew 90
in as she watched her nephew. .
e looked handsome under the s. ‘-
light; his lden hair and baa ‘ .
Well, thong his face looked darkerthnn seemed
natural to a man of his blondc t 3 but the hot '
sun of South America could be _ accountable

for that. - I. . .
“Tomorrow avg-u mustsee Mr. Dnlton,”anid
MissGordon at apause. I \«1» '
Fred looked up inquirmgly. I - _ -.
“'And produce your pa rs, before-taking
possession oiyourgrundfa "S estate.” ~ ,
“film certainly, the lawyer?” he answered
uic . , - ' ‘ ' ' ~ \ ‘
‘1.“Yegzhad outprgotiian hisname‘i" ‘
' .“ Yes. tor moment, It icten .yecrs ,
uknow.”. ’* , ‘1" .‘
a?” on have forgotten many

’1 .

   

   

 

     
 
     
  
  

    
    
 
    

  
 
  
  
   

    

      
    
  
   
 
   
  
 

    
  

     
   
    
 
 
  

 

 

4:

“1);” or, Branded for Life.

 

 

 

 

“ Yes; and this?”

A man’s face came next—a young man with
an open countenance, and lips that were a smile.
Next him a‘ lady, also young.

“ My father and mother.”

“Right—and this?” -

A woman’s face, a young woman, and he
glanced at Miss Gordon to see whether the por—
trait was one of hers taken in her youth.

“ You do not recognize that face 5” she asked,
in a strange, cold tone.

“ I really can’t quite recall—” he stammered,
uneasily.

“ No, I see you cannot,” she replied.

Her nephew looked confused, but she did not
appear to observe it. She glanced at the French
time-piece on the mantle, and rising, said:

“ It is time to dress for dinner.”

“ You must excuse me for not dressing to-
day, aunt Lucille,” said Fred, as he opened the
door for her.

“ Oh, certainly; we dine in an hour.
will show you your room.”

She swept away with a stately rustle of her
heav silken garments, and left the returned
Wan erer standing in the reception-room.

A smothered oath burst from his lips as he
closed the door.

“ Is it possible that she can suspect?” he mut-
tered, uneasily.

The door opened again, and the footman ap—

ared.

“Miss Gordon sent me to conduct you to your
room, sir,” he said. i

“ All right; lead the way.”

He followed the servant to an elegant suite of
rooms; they had evidently been newly furnished
and fitted up by the loving care of the mistress
of the house. A bright fire burned in the dress-
in -room, and the wanderer looked around with
so. isfaction.

“This is certainly an improvement upon the
corral,” he confessed, as he surveyed himself in
the pier- lass.

Miss ordon was also in her dressing-room.
Her maid was rearranging the soft, white crimps
and ufi‘s of her snowy hair.

“ s it pessible!” she murmured to herself,
“ that he could forget the face of the woman he
loved so madly—the woman for whose sake he
fiave up home and fortune? I shall see Mr.

alton to—morrow, and hear what he thinks.
Something tells me that man is not my nephew,
though, if this is an impostor, the resem-
blance between them is startling. If- he has
Fred’s papers he must know what fate has over-
taken my unfortunate nephew. I tremble when
I think of it; but, surely, my heart would warm
to him if he is really my poor lost boy 1”

CHAPTER IV.

“GRIEF AND JOY Go HAND iN HAND.”

MR. DALTON was more amusedthan impressed
by Miss Gordon’s suspicions regarding her
nephew. The young man had no difficulty in
convincin the lawyer that he was Frederic
Cameron ordon.

“My dear lady,” said Mr. Dalton, “how
many times has Fred been in love since he left
New York? These little affairs of the heart do
not make so much impression upon young men
who travel as they do upon ladies who remain
at home. You say he recognized his grandfath—
er, his father and mother, and what more do
you want?”

“ That may have been on account of their
positions in the album,” replied Miss Gordon,
doubtfully.

“Nonsenso; you are too suspicious. I should
have recognized Fred in a moment.”

Half convinced, the good lady returned home,
and tried to be more cordial toward her
no how.

6 did not try her much in this respect, how-
ever, for he was very little at home; he soon re-
neWed old friendships and formed new ones. He
joined clubs and became a fashionable mau-
about-town. His aunt’s deep mourning pre-
vented her fromaCcompanying him into society,
but Fred became a mark for mammas wi h
marriageable dau hters, for he was one of the
most eh 'ble ma es of the season.

Hedi not seem disposed to worship at any
shrine, however. His heart was not at his own

disposal.

Stella had often thought of the strange visit-
or who made so deep an impression on her oung
mind. He had passed away out of her ife as
suddenly as he entered it.

Fresh troubles were in store for the oung
girl. Her father caught a severe cold uring
the winter, and it was soon evident—even to
Stella's inexperienced eye—that his race was
run.

He was confined to his bed by the middle of
May, but refusedmedical aid, and Stella knew
him too well to bring any doctor there against
his will. '

She was terribly tried, for money grew scarce,
and she knew not where to turn for the scanty
supp! of groceries that she had, been accus<
tom to purchase each week. ‘

At length her last cent had been expended,
and she was in despair. Her father did not
seem aware that he had arrived at such a pitch
of poverty, and he called her to his bedside and

Louis

 

   
 

 

wrotea prescription which he requested her to
take to the drug—store.

“ Tell him to make that up at once,” he or-
dered; “ I am worse to—night.’

It was a lovely evening, and Stella left the
sick-room with a feeling in her heart that the
sun was cruel to shine through such rosy clouds
when she was in such terrible distress.

She had eaten nothing for two days, and she
passed down the dark old stairs, knowing the
hopelessness of her attempt to carry out the sick
man’s request; she determined. however, to go
to the (lru -store and beg the clerk to trust her.

“ How s all I over pay him?” she asked her—
self, as she turned the rusty key in the lock.

As she did so the bell was pulled, and on open-
ing the door she found herself face to face with
a gentleman.

“ Ah! Miss Stella; is your father at home?” he
inquired, and Stella gazed at him in bewilder—
ment.

She knew the voice, and she recognized the
eyes, but in place of a black beard, she beheld a
golden one!

‘.‘ Don’t you remember me?” asked he. “I
have thought so much of you that I could not
help hoping you thought of me, too.”

“ I did not know you,” stammered the girl,
flushing scarlet.

“ No, and I know 'why. I’ll explain that,” he
said, significantly.

“ You ask for my father; he is very ill—dying,
I fear.”

Tears stood in her eyes; she was so helpless,
and her troubles were so great.

“ Indeed? I am sorry to hear that,” returned
the stranger, in accents of the deepest sympathy.
“ May I not see him?”

“ I cannot tell; come in and I will ask him.”

He followed her in throu h the dark hall
which seemed so cheerless an dreary. She led
the way to the same room where the old doctor
had received him when he paid his first visit to
the old house.

“Sta here; I'll see my father,” and the girl
ran lig tly up the stairs to her father’s sick
room.

A terrible change had come over the dying
man; he lay unconscious, and his breath came
in short asps.

A cry urst from Stella’s lips; she had never
seen death before; but she knew him, and trem—
bled at his chill presence now.

“ What is the matter?”

The visitor she had left below was by her side
a moment after her frightened cry rung through
the silent old house.

“0h! He is dying! Oh! if I only had some
wine to give him!” sobbed the girl, chafin the
cold hands, and tryigg—in vain—420 call k
her father to a know! go of her presence.

, Without a word the visitor hastened from the
room, and in a few moments returned with
brandy.

He succeeded in forcing a little between the
pale lips, and the old doctor opened hi eyes once
more.

“ Father! dear, dear father,” sobbed Stella,
tears coursing down her cheeks.

“ My child!” he said, faintly. “Poor child,
what will be—come—”

His voice failed him; the heavy eyes closed
once more. _

“Oh! He is gone!” said the well-nigh heart—
broken girl.

It was true. With one long shudder the spirit
passedfrom its earthly tenement; the old doc-
tor was no more.

Stella threw herself upon the bed beside the
dead body of her father, and gave way to her
feelings in a pamion of tears.

“ Is there no woman in the house besides your-
self ?” asked the visitor, who stood near.

“ No, no one,” was the pitiful reply.

“ Then I shall go and find some one; but come

with me to another room.”
He laced his arm around the wagging girl
and 1 her away. She scarcely noti his ac—

tion—her grief overwhelmed her.

“ Sit down, Stella,” he said, and he placed her
on a sofa and took a seat beside her; his arm
still ,clas her waist, and he drew her head
down on is shoulder.

“Stella,” he went on. earnestly, “you are all
alone in the world now?”

“ Yes,” she sobbed.

“Well, my darling, ou must let me take care
of you. I ove you, tella; I have loved you
since saw you on that stormy night.”

Bright blushes dyed her face, and she raised
her heml‘from his breast—~her maidenly modesty
alm'med’dlyvhls bold wooing.

“ For vém if I fri hten you, dear little one.
I wou mhave dare to speak so soon if you
had nothe‘en inlsuch terrible trouble.”

She  speak, nor raise her eyes.

“ Youbtr me take you away from this
dreary ' e, and try if I can teach you to love
me Ste iii—will you not?”

She was very helpless, ve desolate, and it
seemed taller innocent mind t t God had sent
thisdman when-lend her in her hour of bitter
nee . "5 My A ,

“ Answer.'me, sweet one, ’he pleaded, clasping
both arms ammdfiher and pressing his lips to
her pure cheek“ “ May I take care of you,

   

    

 

dearest? Whisper just one word, Stella—say
yes.

Stella covered her face with» her hands~she
felt so happy, and her conscience smote her that
she could do so while her father lay dead in the
room above.

“Say yes,” tenderly whispered the tenlpter.
“ I shall devote my life to you, my darling,” he
went on, passionately. “ I shall make you hap—

ier than you have ever been; do you consent to i
come mine?” ;

Stella was moved by this tenderness. Never l
in her life had she heard love’s pleading; she.
was very desolate, and her heart yielded even
before her lips whispered:

H Yes.”

“ My darling!” he cried, joyfully, “how can I
thank you ?”

His lips met hers, and Stella forget her grief
in heir great happiness. She loved, and was be
ove !

 

CHAPTER V.
BEN BLUNT MAKES A PROMISE.

“ A MAN convinced against his Will,
Is of the same opinion still."

If this old saying is true, the author of it;
should have added, “and the same remark ap.
plies to a woman, only much more so."

Thus it was that Miss Gordon left the law—
yer’s office more firmly convinced than ever
that her nephew was not her nephew, but some
one else.

She studied him at all times and seasons,
whenever she had an opportunity, and she was
conscious that he shrun from her scrutiny and
grew uneas under her fixed gaze.

She had requently hinted at little events in
their past life—trifles that she felt certain Fred
would well remember—and this strange nephew
evident! knew nothing of them.

Miss
mind; with her to think was to act.

She had heard and read much of false claim.
ants personating heirs to fortunes.

“ I believe in my heart he is an impostor, and
if that is the case he has murdered or Fred
and stolen his papers,” she decided; “ ut I shall
not allow him to'go unpunished and reap the
fruits of his crime. ’

She dressed herself very plainly one day and
left the house on foot. She was determined to
act as well as suspect.

Taking a down-town car to Twelfth street, she
walked ralpidly east till she reached Second
avenue. wo doors beyond the corner she
paused and mounted the stoop of a plain but
comfortable dwelling.

“Is Mr. Blunt at home?” she inquired of a.
 colored girl who answered her ring at the

“ He is, m’am.”

“Tell him a lady wishes to see him on profes~
sional business.” '

The girl ushered her into a small, lainly-fur-
nished room, evident] used as an o as by the
man for whom Miss ordon had inquired. He
was none other than a famous detective—a man,
the mere mention of whose name struck terror
into the hearts of many wrong-doers.

Miss Gordon had not long to wait. A brisk
footstep sounded on the oilc othed hall outside,
the door opened, and the detective stood before
his visitor.

:‘ Good-day, ma’aml” he accosted, with the air
and tone of a person who never had a moment
to lose.

Miss Gordon was closely vailed, so had an o
portunity of studying Mr. Blunt’s face w e

or own remained unseen.

She saw a -middle-aged man, with iron-gray
hair, a clean-shaven face, rather sharp nose, and
brown eyes which seemed to observe nothing.
The only noticeable feature in Mr. Blunt’s face
was his chin—it was both long and prominent.

“ I called upon business of a ve peculiar, I
may say painful nature,” began 133 Gordon,
somewhat timidly.

Mr. Blunt bowed. - '

“ If you will kindliaglilve me your attention
for a few moments I 5 tell my story. 1 know
enough of men of your professmn to be aware
that the esteem all communications sacred.”

Mr. B unt took a seat, and Miss Gordon relat—
ed her story just as she had done to the law-

er.
y Mr. Blunt asked a few questions and took
down a few answers.

“ Now, sir ” said Miss Gordon, rather new!
ously, “ what is your opinion i"

“ ardon me, madame; I have none.”

The lady had long ago raised her vail, and Mr.
Blunt marked the deep disappointment which
was written on her face.

“ And is there no help for me?” she asked pit-
ifully. “ Must I allow this impostor, murderer,
for such I feel him to be, to usurp my dear
ne hew’s name and place?”

‘ I did not say so. madame.”

“ Then what do you advise? I will spare no
money. no effort, to learn the truth.”

The detective aused to reflect. He then broke
the silence whic was fast becoming irksome to
the distressed lady before him. ,

“ You ask what I advise?”

  

ordon was a woman of a firm, resolth ‘

 

    
     

  

 

 
   

, “ Yes, yes."

“ Senda smart detective to South America.
Trace your nephew’s progress stop by step from
the day he left New York till the day he return-
cd—if return he did.”

Miss Gordon’s lips parted, her breath came
fast. She knew Mr. Blunt was a very busy as
well as a famous man. Would slic dare to ask
him to undertake the task?

“Mr. Blunt,” she said, hesitatingly, “dare I
ask you to take the journey L?”

The detective did not reply; ho was deeply in—
tcrosted in the case. Miss Gordon mistook the
cause of his silence.

“ Name your own price.” she said, eagerly;
“ I care not what it costs, and I know your time
is valuable.”

Mr. Blunt looked up quickly.

“ I was thinking of my other work, but I agree;
I am willing, and will go ”

 

CHAPTER VI.
MARIQUITA—A MODERN MAZEI‘PA.

J usr outside the eityof Buenos Ayres there
stood, surrounded by a large and beautifully-
kept garden, a mansion of considerable size and
importance. It was quite different from the
usual style of houses in that portion of the
world, and betrayed by its appearance tho fact
that its owner was not a native of South Amer—
103.

Such was the case. Signor Mudura was of an
old Castilian family, and had been born and
brought up in Madrid.

Ho had visited Buonos Ayres for pleasure
while tl‘avelingin his youth; while there he hnd
fallen in love with and married a beautiful,
though low—born, girl, thereby mortally offend—
ing his friends in Spain, by whom ho was dis-
carded.

Fortunately for the youthful pair, Hem-ice
Madura possessed a small fortune in his own
right; so, leaving his high-born father to nurse
his wrongs, he had settled down and become one
of his wife’s people.

She did not live long, but when she died she
left consolation behind her in tho form of a
lovely little daughter, Mariquita.

The girl was now fifteen, and a true child of
the South; she was already a woman.

It was early morning, and Mari uita was en-
joying the only freshness of the (ay. She ro—
clined in a hammock which was suspended in
the wide galler which ran around the house.
Unlike most of er countrywom‘en, the girl was
passionately fond of reading, and she held in her
hand a. book of poems. She was very beautiful,
her face a perfect oval, her brow low and wide,
and her regular features molded rather than
chiseled. lNothin could exceed in beauty the
clear soft tint 0 her skin, nothing excel the
liquid fire of her largo melting black eyes. Her
hairwas raven black, llno and glossy, and her
1i 5 a. rfect crimson, smooth and childlike,
w ilo t e teeth they revealed when they parted
in a ready smile glistened like Opals.

Her form was full and round, ant. her feet
and hands so beautiful that one could tell at a

lance this irl had sprung from a. race of aris-

crats or id ers. No toil had disfigured the per-
fect fln crs, or marred the proud arch of the in-
step. To the fact that South American women
rarely walk is duo the iroud boast that their
feet are the smallest in t 9 world.

Around the garden, which inclosed Signor
Madura’s house on all sides, ran a thick stone
wall which was overgrown by unsightly cacti
that crawled se ant-like in all directions; yel-
low and white jasmine, and other vines laden
with odors and lavish of bloom. Even the re-
pulsive cactus would put forth blossoms that
sgemed strangely out of place on its leafless
,s em.

The garden was rich in bloom; the rare Coral
Plant flourished there, the Indian Spear seemed
to glow With spiteful crimson under the hot sun,
and the Maiden’s Love to shrink with modesty
from the Impassioned kiss of the king of the
‘tro ic sky.

ariquita’s readin was interrupted at length

' by the a pearance 0 an attendant—n, strange-

, fath r returned from

looking eing in a somewhat fantastic dress.
He was of small stature, being less than four
feet in hight; but his black_face was lined and
wrinkled, and his woolly hair, snow-white. His
costume was Singular consulting ,of a loose
jacket and full Turkish trowsers composed of
scarlet cashmere, and profusely ornamented
with gold lace. He wore ,a White turban. and
'bore a silver tray in his hand on which rested a
steaming cup of chocolate. _

“ Ah, Beppo,” said the young girl, pleasantly,
“you are early to-da , are you not? Has my
is ride?”
orita,” replied the dwarf, who was
_ the house, and whose sole duty lay
in waitin u n his youthful mistress.

l, “ Ind was not aware that it was so late.”

She drank her chocolate and left her com-
fortable réstingrplace to joigi her father in the

large, cool dining-room, wh re he was drinking
his coffee. '

The morning greeting between father and
daughter was very loving. Mariquita was her
father‘s idol, and she loved him with the intense

. es, si
.9. favorite

"D ;” or, Branded for

 

v
affection which a motherlcss child sometimes I

bestows upon its father.

W hilo Signor Madura sat conversing with his
daughter, a noise disturbed the quiet of the
early morning~a coufuscd sound of loud voices,
and the clutter of a horse’s hoofs on tho stone
pavement in the yard behind the house, where
the kitchen and servants’ houses stood, remote
from the dwelling of the signer.

“ I fear the people are quarrelng again,” ob»
served the master, with a weary sigh.

In South America every white man is obliged
to maintain a tribe of servants, for it is impos-
siblo to get a fair day’s work from any negro in
that sultry and lauguor—inducing clinic. Every
experienced man or woman in the household re.-
quires a young assistant, no matter how light
his or her duties may be.

“ it does not sound like a quarrel, papa,” said
Mariquita, rising with the intention of investi—
gating the matter. As she (lid so, however,
Bcppo entered with a startled look on his with—
ercd face.

" Uh signor” he exclaimed, “ please come
out and see the man; I fear ho is dead.”

“ What man!” inquired Mariquita.

“ A stranger, signorita, bound on a norsc,
and terribly wounded.”

Before the dwarf had ccn sod speaking, the girl
was out of the room and hastening to the scene
of action.

In the large yard, which was surrounded by
dwellings of tho negroes, stood a panting horse
bearing aninsensible form bound upon his back
with the long leather lash of a gum-ho whip.
The man hung over the saddle apparently life—
less, and great clots of blood dripped from his
clothing and drenched the horse’s heaving
flanks.

“A murder!" cried the excited negrocs, who
stood around on every side; “ the man has been
murdered and tied on the horse; see, his feet are
not in tho stirrups.”

Signor Madura, assisted by the most intelli—
gent of the men, unfastened the thong‘which
bound the helpless form to tho horse. They
found that beneath the pom-ho the man was
wrapped in, he was still further Secured in his
strange position by a rope; it was a guiwho’s
lasso.

“Carry him into a chamber and place him
upon a bed,"coinmandcd Si rnor Madurai, and he
hastened away to his inc icine-eloset, which
was as well stocked as a small apothet-a -store,
for in South America a good supply of rugs is
kept on every plantation and in most gentle-
men‘s houses.

“ Is he dead, pa it?” asked Mariquita. eagerly,
as she watched t o negroes bearing the inani-
mate form to the nearest guest-chamber.

“ I hope not. my child,” was tho reply.

The girl followed the men, who placedtho
stranger on a pure-white bed in his dusty, blood-
stained garments.

He was a tine-lookin man, of some thirty
ears;a full heard of 01( -gold in color fell over
is chest and almost concealed his mantle; his

eyes were closed and his face the deathliko ash-
en hue of a corpse.

“ Poor fellow!" murmured Mariquita, softly,
“ho would be handsome if he were alive.”

“ He is alive, my dear,” replied her father, as
beheld the wrist of the unconscious man in his
fingers. “You must retire child, while I ex-
amine his wounds. Tell 01d Beppo to see that
some strong soup is prepared at once."

A little Wine was poured down the throat of
the unknown sufferer and. his garments were
swiftly cut away b Signor Madura’s skillful
hands. Two ghastlv wounds were then dis-
closed, both in the le t side. .

“ Ah Two swift thrusts of a knife.” said the
Spaniard, calmly—“ almost enough to lot the life
out of any man: but this one is an exception.
The have not let the life out of him, though, no
don )t, they were given with that intention.”

The wounds were soon dressed, the patient
opened his eyes and, after a few groans in—
qui'red:

“ “'hcro am I?”

“With friends,” replied the signer, holding a
glass of wine to his white li )S.
“ But how came I here? I\Vhere is Tester?”

“ He is safe,” said the Spaniard, reussuringly.

“ Was it a dream, then?” asked the stranger,
faintly.

“ es, it was a dream; try to sleep.”

Still and sore though he was, the man was so
weak from loss of blood and fatigue that he sunk
into an uneasy slumber.

Mariquita had given orders that a rich and
nourishing soup be prepared, and an oldwoman
named Mercmlcs was installed as the stranger’s
nurse. She was an exceedingly skill f iii one,- and
to her care the wounded man probably owed his
life. She nursed him day and right for over a
fortnight, during which time h0 'osscd, raved
and moaned in fever. He used, in his ravings,
only the English langua e, of which the old wo-
man did not understan one word; so 'his talk
passed unheeded. In three weeks hi was de-
clared out of danger by the surgeons who had
been sent for by Signor Madura, and he sat up
in bed, pale and wan, but exceedingly grateful

to doctors and nurse.
He spoke Spanish, somewhat like a native of

Life.

5

 

 

Bucnos Ayres rather than n Spaniard, and ex
pressed his gratitude with all the curneslness of
which that warm-tinlod language is capable.

“ It is nothing,” assured Signor Mndnrn, cure
lessly; " were we savages we could have done no
loss. "

“ Not so, dear sir,” re )ll(‘(l the stranger, with
tears in his eyes; “I S Hill never forget your
great kindness, never!”

In a few days the young man was strong
enough to leave his room. lie was then pre—
sented to the beautiful daughter of his clinri~
tablo host. '

He looked a very different person to the blood-
stained, insensiblu object Mariquita had seen on.
the night of his arrival at lho ('rlsu Muduru.
lie was dressed in a. suit of fresh whim linen;
his hair and board were glossy and golden, his
face pole and delicately tinted, and his blue
eyes clear and bright as those of a child.

llo saluted the young lady with eourtcs , and
his manners were those of a gentleman, t 1011in
he certainly expressed himself in the languugu
used by the lower classes of South American so-
ciety.

lllariquita received him kindly, but Signor
Mudura made up his mind at once that tho
stranger’s stay in his house would not ho pro-
longed. As soon as the young man was in a fit
state to traVel he must go. 'l‘hoproud Spaniard
had stooped beneath him when he chose a bride;
his only daughuir must not follow the example
of her father. The man had come among them
in the garb of a gaucno, he used the languu ro of
a goucho, and or no such lawless son 0 the
pmnpas would he bestow his beautiful (laugh-

I.

As for the sick man, he saw the fairest face
his eyes had over rested on; ho met a kind]
Welcome back from the mouth of the tom
which had yawned so widely for him.

Small wonder, then, that he fell at once into
that state of happiness rudely described as a
“ fool’s paradise.7

Moriquita was kind; she was lovely, and the
man was weak and felt the wnntof womanly
sympathy. He did not observe the frown of dis-
approval on the brow of his host. He saw noth-
in " beyond tho flower-like face of Mariquitu.

Several days passed, and they seemed days
stolen from heaven, to the young man. Every
hour he was in her company made lllnriquita.
dear to him, but his lovodreaiii was at length
somewhat suddenly dislwlled.

As for the young girl, she too felt that she
had met what poets would term her “fate.”
She forgot that this stranger must be what his
dress and language proclaimed him—a poncho
of the plains, and no llt mate for a dung iter of
an old Castiliaii family. She for 0t everything
save that she “loved, and was bolroved again."

The man had given Signor Madura no explana-
tion of how he came to be placed in such a
strange position; He appeared among them like
a second Mazoppa, and no one knew why he so
up leared.

ho question was, did he know himself i

That question, Signor Madura decided, must be

answered.

 

CHAPTER VII.
A MAN FROM SCOTLAND YARD.

MR. BENJAMIN BLUNT had several things to
do before he left New York on Miss Lucille Gor-
don’s mission.

He had to trace Frederic Cameron Gordon
from his grandfather’s house to South America.

To be in at the beginning, he must see and
talk with the woman for whose sake the young
man had become an exile—a homeless wandeicr
—tho woman whose portrait the present Fred-
eric Cameron Gordon failed to recognize.

She was married now, and the mother of chiln
dren. Hnr'husbund was awell-to-do dry—goods
merchant, and her comfortable homo was situ~
died on Thirty—sixth street, near Lexington avo—
nuc. Ben Blunt armed himself with a letter of
introduction written by Miss Gordon and called
upon the lady. He was loo smart a man to plan
beforehand his course of action. He knew he
must be guided by circumstnnces, especially
when he had to deal with a woman.

He rung the bell and asked to see Mrs. Gould.

Ho was successful so for; the lady was at
home. He was ushered into an elegant recep-
tion-room. l-l'e glanced around and obsarved
two handsome oil paintings among many others
-——they were both portraits; one was that of a.
fine-looking lady, the other—a gentleman, evi-
dently her husband.

Mrs. Gould did not keep him waiting: she soon,
1

appeared, with‘ an open letter in her and—the
one penned by‘Miss Gordon introducin the de-
tective. Miss Gordon knew that Mrs. ould was
a shrewd woman, and she entertained a sincere
regard for her. so she partly confided to the lady
the reason of Blunt’s visit.

“ So you (train detective, sir?" remarked M
Gould, signing to Blunt to be seated. _

He bowed and glanced toward the door.

“ Oh, that is.all right; I am too striet’a house-
keeper to tolamtn servants who listen at doors,”
said the lady, reassuringly. _

“Miss Gordon has told you my busmess, I
presume?” :

“ Yes; what do you think of tho matter!”

 

 

 

 

6

“ I can’t tell; I’ve never even seen the gentle-
man.”

“ lt is absurd to say that the man is Fred Gor-
don, if he did not recognize my picture.”

The lady reddened a little: she was a loving
wife, but no lady likes to think thata former
lover has grown so oblivious of her charms.

“ Thatis Miss lx‘ordon’s opinion also. Is it not
possible that you may have changed?”

“No, indeed! I was only fifteen when Fred
went away, and I am now tweiity»fivc; but I
have not changed so much as to bo unrecogniz—
able.” ,

She took up an album and turned over its
pages, calling the (letcctive’s attention to photo-
graphs of herself taken at short intervals from
early girlhood; it was evident that being photo—
graphed was one of Mrs. Gould’s weaknesses.

“ Have I changed?” she asked, triumphantly.

“ No,” replied the detective. “ Now, Mrs.

» Gould, you—I am certain—had a parting inter—

view with this young man!”
“ Yes,” answered the lady, With a blush.
“And he told you how he intended to leave

1 New York?”

“No; except that he intended to go to sea.
He had no money, poor fellow!”

“ He intended to go to sea?”

“ Yes; and after he left the house, and, as I

E thought, New York, a sailor brought me a letter
; from him—the last I ever received, dated the
,; 18th of August.”

“ Did this letter say what ship he proposed to

; sail a )on?”

“ es, the VVyoming—bound for St. Thomas.”

“ And you never heard of him again?”

“ Never; I have always supposed him dead.”

“ I think your supposition was correct.”

“ And so do I. This man is an impostor."

“ Well, madame, if you cannot think of any
other circumstances that Would be useful to me
in my investigations I need not detain you
longer.”

“ I cannot recall anything else.”

“ You have no sample of Mr. Gordon’s hand-
writing?”

“ No, I destroyed all my old letters before I
married.”

The detective left the house, firmly convinced
that Miss Gordon’s suspicions were wellvt'ounded

Fred Gordon had sailed from New York on

. board the ship \Vyeming, bound for St. Thomas,

? except on business.

ten years ago, and had never been heard from
again. He had died of fever, or been murdered,
and the false lioir had by some means become
possessed of his papch and history.

Mrs. Gould was not aware that the W'yoming
was a steamer. She concluded, and Blunt did
also, that she was a sailing vessel, and the ques-
tion was how could any information he obtained
of the ship or her crew?

lie Went direct to the office of the Maritime
Exchange; he there ascertained that a steamer

’ named the \Vyoming had sailed for St. Thomas

on the 18th day of August ten years ago. She
was owned by Collin Bros, and blunt found on
making inquiries that the firm was no longer in
existence, both members of it having been dead
several years.

The detective left the office feeling somewhat
discouraged, but determined to seek for fuller
information among the seamen who frequented
a Water street saloon.

He had learned of the existence of this place
during a search for some river thieves, and
knew that it was much frequented by sailors
from all port1ons of the globe.

Returning to his home, Blunt took his supper
and exchanged his neat business-suit for a pen-
jacket worn over a blue shirt, loose—fitting trow-
sers and scanien‘s shoes. A glazed hat worn on
the back of the head, while a blacksilk hand—
kerchief knotted about his throat completed his
costume. He altered his appearance still fur-
ther by spouging his face with a wash that
turned it a ruddy brown hue, and affixing a
bum, rough beard which concealed his mouth
an! chin.

He soon found himself in the place he sought.
It was a low-ceilinged, long room, fitted up with
a bar and several tables, where sailors sat and
drank; they could also order oysters, ham,
cheese or other light refreshments from a restau-
rant—so called—kept by the proprietors wife
in a back room.

The saloon-keeper was a short man, with red
hair and shaggy beard; he had high check-bones,
a crimson nose, and eyes which squinted villain<
ousl

his expression of brutal ferocity made up acoun—

' tenance that warned the beholder what manner

of man Swartzman was.

He Was said to be a Russian, but spoke every
known langua 6, though far from a. talkative
man. Indeed, e was usually in a. surly mood,
and his customers s‘carcelycared to address him,

His spouse was. however, more genial. She

was an enormously fat woman, nearly six feet
high, with rather a fine face— -that is, hér fea-
tures were regular, and her eyes large, black
and bright; but she possessed c miserly, grasp-
ing nature, and cheated every sailor who en-
tered her door out of manya hard-earned dol-
lar. _

 beetling brows and low forehead added to ‘

 

“D;” or, Branded for Life.

This couple were supposed to be rich; they
had kept the saloon for many years, and were
childless; they were never known to be absent
from business, day or night, for they kept the
place open far into the night, and Sunday was
the same as any other (la y to them.

When Ben Blunt reached Swartzman’s nine
o‘clock had just struck, and the place wnscrowd—
ed. He drew near the bar with a lurching step
and threw down a five—dollar bill. He had en—
tered the saloon in a noisy manner, slamming
the door after him, and enacting the 77316 of a
man in a state. of semi—inwxication.

“ hooky here, mates,” he said, or rather shout
ed, “come on and call for What 'er please; I‘m
just off a jolly cold v’y’ge and I’ve got an old
)sahn-singing Salvation Army aunt in Brook-
inc, and she’ll give me all the boodle I Want;
let’s drink her health, fer she’s a jolly ole gal.”

He finished up with a lurch, and sat down in a
chair which happened to stand near him.

A number of men drew near; some of them
had been ashore for weeks and their money was
exhaustexl, others had plenty of cash still, but
all were willing to drink at a friend's expense.

“ Thank’y7 kindly, mate,” said one young fel-
low, as Swartzman filled numerous glasses with
vilo liquor. “ Where might you hail from?”

“Mo?” inquired Blunt, stupidly, seeming to
have half sunk intoa drunkard’s ready slumber.
“ I’m an Englishman.”

“ So am I,” replied a voice at his elbow.

A tall man, dressed as a. sailor, stood near
him. He was a man of seine fifty years, and his
face was bronzed by sun and sea; but hls eyes
were keen, and something in their expression
told mat that this man saw through his dis‘
guise.

ien Blunt was no coward, but he well knew
that his hours were numbered if it was known
that he was an officer who had ventured into
Swartzman’s villainous place. A blow on the
head, or a thrust with a knife, :1 quick plunge in
the river, and a body at the morguez—another
disa )pearance, the mystery of which would ne-
ver cleared up; such would be the brief his-
tory remaining to tell; for river-thieves and
dock—rats abounded in the neighborhood and
came into the saloon to plunder seamen. The
detective had heard whispers of dark work done
there before, and they came back to his memory
like a flash.

“ An Englishman, ch, mate?” he said, cordial—
ly; “ tip us yer flipper.”

The other tendered his hand, and as he did so
inquired in a low tone:

“ l/tht's your lay t’”

Blunt knew the expression was a slang one
used b detectives when they wished to ascer-
tain w ether a stranger was a. member of the
Secret Service or not.

. He pressed the tall man’s hand, and said
aloud:

“I’m trying to find out an old mate of mine
what sailed on the steamer Wyoming, ten years
ago from this port.”

The men in the saloon were all busy drinking
at Blunt’s expense, so no one observed the con
versation between the two detectives.

A quick glance around convinced the stranger
that no one was observing his movements—his
back was toward the bar, so he hastily scribbled
on the back of a card:

“I’m from Scotland Yard, after a _murderer.
Let me know where lean see you ,outsme to-mor-'
row at ten A. M.”

Blunt hurriedly wrote in reply.

“Stevens House, 17 to 21 Broadway; ask for
Stackman."

He then placed his arms on the table and ap-
parently lapsed into slumber.

The drinkers soon exhausted the five dollars.
but the detective had time to pour his glass of
bad whisky into a cuspidore, before the sailors
gathered around him. They shook him up, see-
ing no sense in allowing a man with money in
his pocket to go to sleep when he might be up
and doing. '

" I’ve struck it hard, mate,” said a ruffianly—
looking ’longshorcman.

“\Von’t yer shout ag’in; I’ve got a wife an’
fambly to s’port.”

If he had, there could be little doubt that the
wife was in rags and wore the adornment.of a
black eye, and the children were starving.

“ Sartain, sure, I will. Let’s drink her health 1”
hiecu ed the detective.

“ hose health i” asked a would—be funny
man.

“Naybuddy’s health. Bridge’shealth. Brook-
line Bridge’s health. ”

Again the supposed inebriate sunk into slum-
ber, and again he was aroused by his new
friends.

He now sat up, and, after a. pause, pretended
to feel some interest in his surroundings. He
observed his com nions with the swift, keen
glance of men of is profession.

He had no difficulty in selecting the real sea.-
men from the sham ones; for boarding-house
runners and thieves were among them, dressed
in sailors’ garb and making use of nautical
terms and sea slang freely.

One man attracted Blunt’s attention. ' He was

 

a
:-

no longer young, and his sun—burned face wore
a dejected expression. '

“ You look like you’d seen rough weather
mate,” remarked Blunt, signing to the sad~faced
sailor to take a seat at his table.

“ Yes, I’ve had a roughish time, but I can’t
rightly blame no one but myself,” responded the
man, seating himself.

Fm‘tunately a new-comer, who seemed a gen-
eral favorite, entered the saloon at that moment,
and the attention of the crowd was diverted
from the detective and his companion.

“ How’s that!”

“Well, like mast of my trade, I’ve beena.
sight too fond of the bottle."

" Yes, that’s bad. What’ll you take?”

“A glass of lager; I’m looking for a. berth,
and I can’t drink grog.” ,

“ “7 e11, I’m on the lookout, too,” said Blunt,
when they had been supplied with beer by
Swartzman‘s assistant, who was as ill—favored as
himself. '

“ For a ship?”

“ No, for an old friend of mine. He sailed
from this port on the steamer Wyoming on the
18th day of August, ten years ago.”

“Bound for St. Thomas?” asked the sailor,
with interest.

“ Yes. bound for St. Thomas.”

“ Well, I was second mate on that very trip.”

“You were? Then you’re the man I wanted
to find, for you can tell me what became of
him.”

“ Yes, that was the trip); the last the VVyo-
ming made while Coffin ‘rothers owned her.
James Coffin died before we got back to New
York, and his brother retired from business the
same year, and he died in a couple of years
later.”

“ Do you remember a youngman who shipped
with you? It was his first trip.”

“ Yes, there were two men who made their
first trip. We took green hands, and were glad
to get them, for Yellow Jack was raging, and.
we had hard work to ship a crew.”

“ The season was unhealthy Cl”

“Awful,and the two green hands paid for
their foolishness in going for their first trip at,
that time of year.”

“ Did they die?” asked Blunt, eawerly.

“ Well, I can’t tell on, mate. L‘We left them
both in hospital wit Yellow Jack hot and
strong.” 2

“ At Panama?”

“ Yes; one of them was a regular dandy,
white hands and yellow curls like a girl; he was
a strong, able fellow, though, and we all liked
him; but he was a gentleman.”

“ What was his name?”

“ Gordon.”

“ That’s the man I’m looking for.”

. “Well, I Wish I could tell you more about
him.”

“ I wish I could find him; an old aunt of his
in Scotland died lately and left him some.
money.”

“\Vell,poor chap, it is a pity if he left his
bones in St. Thomas; I never saw nor heard of
him since.”

Blunt soon rolled from the saloon, leaving the
sad—faced mariner to brood over his sorrow.

Miss Gordon received a dispatch that night
asking her to meet the detective at his oflice the
next day at twelve o’clock. '

“I see plainly that I shall have to visit Pam
ama." said Blunt. as he hastened home' “ and.
somehow I feel that my interview with the Eu-
glish detective will prove that his case and mine
are connected in some way. Pshaw! I’m grow-
ing as superstitious as an old woman.”

CHAPTER VIII.
A niler MARRIAGE.

STELLA’S mournful watch over her (lead fa-
ther was not a solitary one: her vigil was shared
by one of her neighbors—a kind-hearted woman,
whose good feelings were enlisted by the youn
girl’s new-found friend. Even to herself s e di
not breathe the word “ lover,” for she reflected
with a painful blush of wounded modesty, that
she did not even know the name of the man to
whose care she had intrusted the precious gift of
her young heart. '

Early the following morning a waiter arrived
from a restaurant with a tempting breakfast for
the two ladies. Of course Stella/could scarcely
touch anything, but her companion did ample
justice to the appetizing viands, which were un~
wonted luxuries. .

The undertaker had paid his first visit the
night before, and he came again, and Stella sat
alone in the sitting-room while her father was
placed in his coflin. _

Earl in the forenoon her lover appeared. and
the ir Welcomed him with tears and blushes.

 

“ on have been so good and kind.” shewhis— ' '

red, ratefully, as he took her slender hand in
is an raised it respectfully to his lips.
“ You are well, dearest .4” he inquired, ten-
derly; ,
“ es; at least as well as I can hope to by,”
sher lied, great tears walling up and streaming
down er cheeks.

“ Cheer up, darl' ; this is a sad day for you,
but remember the ‘ arkest hour comes just be;
fore the dawn.’ ” .

-

  
 

 

-..... .- i.

 

 

 

 

  

v..-

. PP“! ""

 

‘34-,»‘3-1.  

.2; have

 

 

/

 

“ Ah,” cried Stella, in accents of the keenest
self-reproach, “ I feel as if I should never be
happy again.”

“ Yes, Stella, so every one feels when death
robs them of a loved one; but remember that
you must try and feel that you must be happy
for my sake, for if you are not happy I shall be
unutterably miserable.”

“ But,” stammered Stella, ('onfusedly, “ I feel
that I have been too hasty in giving you my
promise.”

“ \Vhat? Do notsay that you repent!” pleaded
her lover, his face betraying his agitation.

“ I have been so easily woii—I—I—have never
even heard your name.”

“7True, dearest. My name is Frederic Les—
ter. ’

“ It is a beautiful one,” said Stella, simply;
she had not observed that he hesitated before
pronouncing the name.

“ And a portion of it shall Soon be yours, dear
Stella,” whispered Lester.

The conversation between the lovers was iii—
terrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Collins, who
called Lester away to attend to some of the fu—
neral arrangements.

Stella’s father was buried that afternoon, and
Stella herself became a bride that evening. She
was uietly married by a clergyman whose
churc 1 Mrs. Collins attended, and that good lady
was the only person present with whom the girl
was acquainted.

When the marriage was over Mrs. Collins said
farewell to the young,r wife.

“You have a generous husband,” the poor
woman—who was a widow—said, gratefully.
“To think you are iiiai‘ried, and me living in
the next house and never knew you were even
keeping company with any one i"

Stella did not reply; she could not find cour—
age to confess how little she know of the man
who was now her husband.

Mrs. Collins had been handsomely paid by
Lester for her services, so she was satisfied.

The girl did not return to her old home again;
she had little luggage, and Mrs. Collins did her
p‘ieking. The dress she wore had been iurchased
for her by her husband. It was a ban some one,
elaborately trimmed with crape, and the deep
black set off her blonde beauty to the utmost;
her hat and heavy vail framed her lovely fair
face, and her waving golden hair shone brighter
from its somber surrounding.

“ A lovely bride,” murmured the widow, as
the carriage drove away with the new] mar-
ried pair. “But, dear me, I wouldn’t like to
marry the day my father was laid in his grave,
and in a black dress all covered with crapo like
a mourner at a funeral. Poor thing! I hope
she’ll be happy—she has a rich husband, any—
how. I wonder how on earth she got acquaint-
ed with him.”

The widow sighed, and returned to her hum-
ble home; she felt sad, though her pocketbook
was better filled than it had been for many

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX.
TBAILING A MURDERER.

WHEN Blunt entered the waiting-room at the
Stevens House he found that the Scotland Yard
detective had arrived before him. A gentleman
who had inquired for Mr. Staekman was in the
parlor, he was informed by a bell-boy.

The detective glanced around at the persons
assembled there, but failed to recognize his ac-
quaintance of the previous night. ‘

“ My name is Staekman,” he said, after wait-
ing a moment.

_ A tall gentleman, ole antly dressed, and wear-
ing lon .whlskers an an eye-glass, advanced
toward iin.

“ Ahl I am here by appointment,” he said,
with a draw].

“ Indeed? Whit a moment and I will inquire
for a private parlor.”

They were soon seated comfortably.

“ Now,” said the officer from Scotland Yard,
“this is my first Visit to New York, and as I
saw you were a brother officer, I trusted you
might excuse the Want of formality in my meth-
od of introducmg myself; I am certain you are
a smart7 fellow, and shall depend upon you for

ints.’

‘ Certainly,” said Blunt, with a laugh; “ but
I confess you startled me by so quickly piercing
through what I cons1dered rather a good make-
up- was it so transparent a sham T’

‘2 By no means." replied the. Englishman,
smilin a little at Blunt‘s very eVident chagrin;
“but am supposed to be the smartest disguise
getfiotive on our stud, and that is saying a good

ea .'

“M name is Blunt,” said the New York of-
ficer. anding the other his card. .

“ And mine, Robert Ashton,” replied the man
from Scotland Yard, returning the compli-
ment. ‘

“ I’ve heard of on.”

“ Indeed? We , I’m glad to have met you.
Now let me give you an idea of What a difficult
case I Am engaged on. Six years ago there was
stationed in a. small town in Surrey a regiment,
which we shall call the 16th. One of the officers
had for a. servant or orderlya man who had
formerly deserted from the same regiment, been

“  ;”r or, Branded gforMLife.

 

caught and punished in the usual manner. The
oiiieer, Major Kent, was of a coniiding nature,
and be firmly believed in this fellow, in spite of
his bad record. The orderly, among his other
duties, acted as groom in the majors stables.
lie was a fine-looking fellow, and un (‘Xeelleiit
horseman. He used to ride out behind the oth-
er horses when the major’s daughters took a
ride, and one day when the youngest girl—a
mere child of sixteenmwent out alone with the
groom be grossly insulted her. She, ofcourso,
informed her father, and the follow knew his
doom was sealed. That night, before the major
had time to take any pl'Oi'ffi'lllllgS against him——

owing to our liritisli love of red tape—~he shot ,

his sulwrioi dead as he sat in his ollir-e, and do
sorted again.”

“ But how (lid they know that the orderly
committed the, murder?” asked Blunt, whose iii—
terest was thoroughly aroused.

“ Because he wrote a remarkably good band,
and had the manners of a gentleman, and he
left behind him a letter, supposed to have fallen
from his pocket, written in his handwriting
imd‘ addressed to a friend in the west of Eng-

an< ."

“ “'as the letter examined, and the friend
questioned f”

“ Yes, and no. The letter was read. In it
the writer, who went by the name of l..cster, de-
clared his intention of deserting again. The
friend was not queslioned, for the simple reason
that he. was dead.”

“ And no steps were taken to fail the man
until now?”

“ You may Well look surprised. Yes, steps
were taken, but the military authorities Were
rather cool over the matter, mid Major Kent’s
family were very poor. They are all dead now
except the Very daughter whom this murderer
insulted, and she has come into :1 large, fortune.
She at once employed detectives, and vows she
will never rest till her father is avenged.”

“ Is the man supposed to be in the United
States?“

“ No; he has been tracked to South America;
he was in Buenos A yres within two years.”

“ South America?” repeated Illnnt.

Again the thonght occurred to him that Rob-
ert Ashton’s quest and his own might lie togeth—
or!

“I’Vell, my case is a peculiar one, also,” said
he, slowly; and he then told Ashton his story,
suppressing the name of the lady who had en-
gaged his services.

“ So your man came to New York from Buen-
os Avres’fl’ ueried Ashton. ’ .

“ Yes; at cast, so he told his aunt.”

“I wonder if he ever met m 1/ man?” remarked
Ashton, musincly.

“ Searcer likely.” ,

“ What did you say he was like?”

“A very fair man, golden—haired.”

“ Hum! Ridiculous ideas occur to the wisest,
I believe; when you said the lady suspected him
of being an iinpostor the thought came into my
head that it might be Lester, acting in a new
Nile. He has audacity enough for anything.”

“ But the description does not suit.”

“ No, Lester is, or was, dark; if he is still alive
it seems scarcely probable that the climate of
Buenos Ayres would change him into a blonde.”

“No, it does not. I have an aplmintinent at
twelve, so I must say farewell. My address is
on my card; call and see me; if we are both
bound for Southern ports we may as well jour—
ncv together.”

" I should be glad of company, and I shall lose
no time in calling.”

With a shake of the hand the two detectives
parted.

Miss Gordon heard all that Blunt had learned
from Mrs. Gould and the old sailor. She drew
her pocket-book from her sache].

“ Name the sum that you shall rcquire,”sho

, said, impulsively, “ for traveling expenses, and

start for Panama without delay. Give me a pen
and’ink and I will write you 6. CthK for futire
use.

 

CHAPTER X.
SUNDERED LOVERS.

SIGNOR MADURA lost no time in sending for
the stranger who seemed to have appeared in his
luxurious home in so strange a. fashion only to
create trouble and disquiet.

The young man appeared with his face flushed
and his heart beating wildly.

“ Good-morning, signer! " said he, as he enter-
ed tho private room of the master of the house.
“ Good-morning,” replied Madura, gravely.

He motioned his guest to a seat.

“ I have sent for you to request you to make
your stay in my house as brief as possible," he
said, in the haughty tones of a noble of Spain.

f His visitor’s face flushed more deeply than be—
ore.

“ I shall leave it to—day,” he said. ” I fear,
however that I must remain forever your
debtor, Since I am beholden to you for my life,
and even for the garments I wear."

“ That is nothin ,” replied the Spaniard, with
a wave of his han . “Sig'nor,”he added, as if
in_ apology for having spoken so discourteously,
“if ,I had .40 daughter Ishould not soaddress
vou. i «

 

 

“You disapprove of my acquaintance with
your daughter!"

“I do, most certainly.”

“ Then, signer, I shall relieve you of my pres-
ence, though I must in honor inform you that I
love Signorita Mnrii iiitn (lcvotcdly I am not
what I Seem, and lslmll return to (iii 1' 14, your
(lllll”'lll(‘1' my band and an honorable 1‘: n 4-. ’

“ Vhatf” exclaimed llluilurii, starting to his
feet with the hot fire of his Spanish bluuil flash-
ing from hiseyes.

“ I have said I am not what I seem.‘

“ Enough; be you “hem you may, ) ou : re no
match for my daughter.”

As Signor llladurn remained slain '14: his
guest roso also, and, be“ ing gravely, v Us about
to leave the room.

“Stay,” said the Spaniard, Stfl‘ll'I. “You
niustnot leave my house till you give me your
word that you will never ilIlilUII toholdany
communication with my ilnuglitii'.”

“But, Signor, if I can proVe to you that I am
a gentleman by birth and fol-tum» "

“No more!“ cried Mudura, interrupimg the
young man rcinorselessly. “ My daughli r >liall
wed none but a man of her urn raw and her
Own church."

“ You are cruel,” said his guest, bitterly.

“ I am just. Will you give me your promise?“
I‘ N(L 13

“Then I have nothing more to say ”

“Signor, it pains me, to refuse your i'ei ucst,
but I cannot in ll(IIlUI'llltll‘.(‘ a promise wbic 1 my
heart tells me I should surely brink. I must
beg you therefore tonllow me to depart. i shall
require a horse, and must also ask for some in-
formation. I li'now not in what portion of the
country lain.”

A sudden light lit up the dark face of the
Spaniard.

“ I shall send my servant to escort yin," he
said, more cordially than he had yet z-pokcn
during the whole interview.

“('an I venture to hope that you will permit
me to bid the signoritn. lurcwellf”

“ No."

Signor Madurais brow had once more grown
dark as midnight.

“ I bow to your dot-ision, though I consider it
an unjust one,” said the young~ man, as he once
more turned to leave the room.

This time he was permitted to go, and Signor
Mailura at once sunnnoncd lleppo.

“ That man is about to leave here,” he said,
significantly.

“ Yes, signer.”

“ Ho knows not where he is; you will be th
guide to the homo of old Irma.”

“ Yes, signer.”

“ Bear this message from me to Irmn: This
man must be kept a prisoner. He must not lie
harmed unless he, should at tempt to esca H‘. ll.)
must not escape «lire .’ You understan !”

“ Yes, signer,” replied Beppo, bowing sub-
missively.

Two hours later the young stranger, accom-
panied by the dwarf, rode away across the
boundless ex anso of yellow solid.

Muriquita 'newnothing of his departure for
hours. Late in the afternoon she called for
Rep )0 to perform some trifling service.

“ {eppo has gone away with the Signor,” said
the servant who appeared in his stead.

“ What signer? Has my f uther gone out '1"

“No, Signorita; the stranger Signor.”

“ Where has ho gonol”asked the girl, her clear
cheek taming pale.

“ He has gone away, signorita, to his home, I
sup rose.”

“ cry well; let me know when Beppo re-
turns."

She felt deeply wounded. He had gone with-
out a word of farewell. He had spoken no syl-
lnblo of love; yet Mariquita knew that her pas-
sion, so strangely sudden in its birth, was re-
turned. Ho loved her devotedly.

She snughther father, who sat reading in the
cool gallery.

“ I 'adrc, mic,” she said, softly, laying her
hand on his shoulder, “;our guest departed very
suddenly.”

“ Yes; he. is a worker, and may not linger in
idleness."

“ But he never said farewell,” said the girl,
earnestly.

“Ah! that is strange; but what can one ex-
pect of a aucho of the prI/M' a 1’ He knows
nothing 0 the usages 0 po ite people. For
aught we know he may be a criminal—many of
those men are.”-

“Oh, I am certain he is'no criminal,”‘pro-
testeil the girl, warmly, her face flushing indig-
nant .

“ Pzrhaps not,” said her father, with assumed
carelessness. returning to his book. As Mari-
guita turned away he inwardly ejaculated: “ I

id not dispose of him a moment too soon. This
very day I must arrange with Don Pedrotoscnd
(tic; Yirgil. It is time my daughter was Wed-

7

 

\

CHAPTER XI.
'rrm MYSTERIOUS HOUSEKEE En.
Mn. LESTER and his outlinil bri e occupied
rooms in a quiet hote in the upperportiond
the city for one week. '

 

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Iuch of the bridegroom’s time was taken up
in plil'eLmSlug furniture. etc, for an elegant
houseon the banks of the Hudson, where he in-
tended to reside with his young wife.

Stella, loo, o -i-upied herself in purchasing
goods to be. made up into dresses and cloaks,
and all the. other countless articles in which
most ladies delight.

Sue was veryhappy, though now and then her
consciencesmote her for her forgetfulncss of her
father’s ‘(‘('(‘,Ilb death.

Her husband was all the world to her, and her
life, so dill‘ei'ent from the old one of sordid pow
erty, seemed like a fairy dream. She offered no
reinonstranee when Frederic requested her to
lay aside lier mourning at once.

llis wish was law to her, and she only lived in
tho sunlight of his presence.

‘ Her only care, If such it could be termed, was
flint lie was alt-zentsooften.

“ When we are in our own home it will be
different,” she said, hopefully.

They were soon established in their beautiful
and luxurious home. Mr. Lester engaged two
feinaloservantsand a coat-lanai), also a. lady to
sew for his wife and superintend the house.

He presented Stella with a pretty little car-
riage and pair of horses, and seemed to take the
greatest delight in anticipating; her every wish.

lie was still absent from his homo very fre—
quently, however, and accounted for being so
on the plea of business.

The household was agreeable, and Stella had
no difficulty in passing; her time pleasantly; she
discovered that her husband was fond of music,
and she secretly engaged a teacher and began to
study and practice most iiidustriously.

The only person in the house who did not love
Stella was the housekeeper and seamstress.
This woman, who was some fifty years of age,
was a most peculiar person. She was very tall
and thin, and her square face and rugged fea-
tures gave her a masculine look.

She. was exceedingly quiet, but her thin lips
were never mated by a smile, and her low-
toued voice liad a harsh sound even When the
words she uttered were pleasant.

This person impressed Stella with an uneasy
sense of being constantly under espionage. J ust
why Mrs. Sutton should watch her she knew not.
but she was also fully aware that the lad y did so
uni-easingly.

b llllUl' the circumstances the girl began to re-
gard the housekeeper as a bide Moire, and had
she p messed a stronger will she would certainly
have made a determined effort to rid herself 0sz
person whose presence was obnoxious to her.
She was, however, both gmxl-hearted and weak—
minded, or rather wanting in firmness, so she
bore with the unpleasant housekeeper’s unwel—
come. presence.

lilr. Lester had not engaged the woman by a
personal interview; she had been sent; from an
intelligence office, and he had never met her
face to face until she had been in his house three
weeks.

Then they encountered each other upon the
stairs. The windows in the hall were stained
glass, and the light was dim and uncertain, but
both master and servant started violently.

«—

x.

“ Excuse me,” said Mrs. Sutton, and she passl

ed hastily on with averted face.

“ Hood heavens!” exclaimed Lester, his cheek
white and his lips quivering.

From that day the housekeeper’s manner grew
more strange daily. She began to carry her
sewing into Stella’smorning-room, where she
would take a seat by the window and ply her

nistress with questions.

She was not impertinent and Stella was too
sensitive of the feelings of others to resent what
she considered forward conduct on the house-
keeper’s part; so she replied to her inquiries,
though somewhat coldly. .

She had to confess that she did not know
“bother her husband was nnEuglishman or not.
That her acquaintance With him had been very
brief prior to their marriage, and much more to
the same effect.

Several weeks passed. and Lester was so often
absent for days mgether that; Stella began to
fear his passion for her had been but a passing
fane . born only to fade and die.

“ our husband’s business occupies him very
much, Mrs. Lester,” said the housekeeper, one
morning: as she seated herself unbidden by the
open window.

"Ya-s,” replied the young wife. biting her
lips; for she felt that the woman meant to in-
sinuate that she was neglected. I

“In what business is Mr. Lester engaged,
may I ask?”

“ I don’t know.”

“Indeed, you are so young that I suppose
your husband fancies you do not care for such
tongs.

" I do not‘understand them.” Stella‘s tone

“"‘3 even colder than usual; she longed for
ru urago to tell this meddlesome woman to leave
the room. '
_ Mrs. Sutton seemed to read her thoughts, for
we soon after folded up her work, and, mur-
muring something about duties in the pantry,
left Stella to herself. v

The grim-facod housekeeper did not retire to

I. .the pantryto attend to her duties then. She

   

 

“D;” or, Branded for Life.

 

proceeded to her own chamber, and after secure-
ly locking the door, sat down before a small
iron—bound chest.
key, which she wore beneath her dress fastened
to a long, sichr chain which encircled her
neck.

\Vith this key she opened the chest.
tents were somewhat strange.

A innforinwsearlet with yellow faciiigs and
tarnished gilt buttons, a number of letters, and
a small box. It was the latter article which she
sought in trembling haste. rihe opened it and
drew forth a photograph.

Its con-

The porti ait of a young; and handsome man in 5

the dress of a British Sl)l(ll(.l'.

On the pictured face the woman gazed with a ‘

world of tenderness in her grim fare. Her cold

gray eyes held a yearnng expression that \\ ell— :
nigh softened their steely brightness into beau— ‘
t

y“ Unfortunate being !” shemurmured, “ sinned
against and hllllllllg'. Is it possible that I have
found him at last!"

W itli a weary sigh she replaced the. picture
and drew forth a bundle of letters. They were
yellow with age, and the handwriting had
grown pale;but her eager e 'es followed every
line without dilliculty. She now their contents
by heart, and the hand that had traced those
words was, or had been, dear to her.

“ ‘ My shoulders have felt the shameful agony
of the branding—iron}” she read aloud, quoting;
from the letter, “ ‘ and 1 shall avenge myself on
the man who gave the order that] should be
bramlwlfor(1120”

The housekeeper slowly shook lierlieud.

“ Guilty one,”she said, in accents of reproach,
and yet those accents were blended with the
deepest pity. She replaced the letters and uni-
form and locked the b« or once more; then, after
removing all traces of emotion from her face,
for salt tears had forced their way to her stern
eyes, she returned to her duties in the house-

old.

 

CHAPTER XII.

JUPITER’S DISCLOSURE.
WHEN the journey to St. Thomas was accom-

plished, Blunt knew it was a somewhat hopeless ,

task to inquire at a fever hospital for a. patient
who had won an inmate of the institution ten

' years before.

Still, he tried the experiment of consulting
the authorities in charge of the f ever hospital at
St. Thomas, in which he beran to believe the
real Frederic Cameron G0“ on had died, lo..v—
ing his name and fortune to be assumed by a
bold impostor.

IIe inquired for the head doctor, and found
his ignorance of the Spanish tongue rather
against him, for the physician could speak little
English.

Doctor Quesebo, however, took an interest in
the case when he learned that the young sailor
who was supposed to have unhappin perished
under his care was heir to a large fortune.

“ Santa erluritl. los Americrmos!” be ex—
claimed. “ why will they commit of themselves
such foolishness?”

'He had been resident—physician when the
“ W yoming ” made her last trip to St. Thomas,
but he had not felt any particular interest in
the sick sailors, and he could not remember
whether they left the hospital on their feet or in
coffins. He promised, however. to look into the
matter, and with this promise Blunt was obliged
to be content.

Blunt found time hanging rather heav fly on his
hands during the doctor‘s investigation, and his
friend, the English detective, since their arrival
in St. Thomas had been fully occupied in his
search for the murderer of Major hent. Dur-
ing the journey they had become fast friends,
and Blunt had learned much from the Scotland
Yard officer. He found him a. singularly acute
and shrewd man, and a very keen observer.

i Ashton had one advantage over his associate
he was a. thorough master of the French and
Spanish languages; so he pursued his inquiries
with case. He was often away from the hotel
for hours, and the American detective was
thrown on his own resources for occu )ation and
amusement during the period of in orced idlev
ness. Under the circumstances Blunt was glad
to find any one who understood English, and he
formed the acquaintance of an American from
Key West who was in business in St. Thomas.
This man was rather a. character in his way,
and had been a. great traveler; among other
places he had visited Buenos Ayres, and had
been on tho pampa among the gauchos. .

He related many interesting stories of these
strange beings and their equally strange life;
how they roamed hither and thither over the
boundless expanse of yellow sand with no com-
panions save the sheep or cattle they guarded,
lonely and isolated as sailors upon the ocean.

Blunt became interested in these tales and
asked numberless questions of his new acquaint-
ance. ‘
“Such a life might be. borne by some men,”
he said one day, “ but I don’t believe a Yankee
would stand it, especially as you say these men
only receive a mere pittance ”

“ No, I never knew a' native ,of the United

{She drew from her bosom a '

, States who was a gawho but one; he was a.
negro from my own native place, Key West.”
“ A ingro! Why, I should think he would be

. the last man in the world to fill such a posi—
tioii.”

‘: " Well, lie only took itup because he was very
fond of a man who was a gumbo.”

‘ Blunt was beginning to tire of the conversa-

‘ tion, when his friend suddenly uttered an ex—

? clainati'on of surprise.

“ What is it?” asked th‘, detective, as he saw
Mr. Norton eagerly beckon to some one outside
5 his store.

“ Why, here. is the very Juan I spoke of,” he
replied, “ J iipitor, the negro gauche."

“ Indeed I"

The negro entered the store, his black face lit
1 up with smiles. his eyes sparkling with joy.

, “'VVell, Jupiter,” said Norton, “I was just
i this moment speaking of you to this gentleman,
l
i

who comes from Nev/York: how does it happen
that you are so far from the pcmipa and Mass’
Gordon f"

(In; '(ion 1 !

Blunt was now all attention.

“ \V ell, Mass’ Norton, I didn’t leave Mass’
Gordon; he done let7 me.”

" Indeed; how was that?”

“ Why . one night I went out to do corral from
Buenos Ayres, where they done sent me for
lresh provisions, and I bning some New York
papers: Mass’ Gordon he was a great ban” to
read de papers, and soon he ’ run to tell Mass’
Allan (lat his gran’fadder was and and lef’ him
a fortune.”

Blunt had to exercise all his powers of self-re ‘
stranit to maintain his composure.

“ So he went away to claim it?”

“ Yes, niassa; least I guess so.”

“ 'Why didn’t he take you with him?”

“ I dunno; you see, do way he let" was so‘
cur’us.”

“ Indeed? How did he leave?”

“ He tell Mass’ Allan to call him early in de.
mawnin’, and he ’lowed he had money ’nuflE‘ to
carry him to New York, where he grandfaddcr
done died."

“ Well?” .

“Well, we all went to sleep, and in de mawn-
in’ dey was bofe gone ’t’ore day l”

" So then he took his friend along with him?”

“ S’pose so, an’ let” me dar wid do sheep.
Can’t understan’ it nohow.”

“ W'ell, no doubt the gentleman was not sorry
to step into a. fortune and lost no time about go-
ing to claim it. You see, sir,” added Mr. Nor-
ton, “this Mr. Gordon was content to live a.
gancho’s life, and it appears he was a. New
Yorker.” '

“ So I hear,” replied the detective, impatient-
ly. “ Go on,” he said to the negro, who stared
at him in surprise.

“ “701], what I can’t see t’rough is Massl Allan
gwan too,” said Jupiter, and he scratched his
woolly head in perplexity,

“Why, no doubt Mr. Gordon took him along
for company.”

“ No, Mass’ Norton, he didn’t ,' I beam Mass’
Allan tell Mass’ Gordon dat he darsent go out ob

England.”

, Blunt was now most keenly interested; What
if this man Allan was the criminal of whom
the English detective was in search? Chance
had brought the two detectives together; why
should not chance bring the men they sought to-
gether also? ‘

With a. little skillful questioning Bluntelicited
the whole story of the sudden disappearance of
both the men on the morning after the arrival
of the New York papers, by which Frederic
Gordon had learned of tie death of his grand-
father.

Jupiter also related how his astonishment had
been turned into alarm by the fresh blood—stain
upon the sand of the corral!

“That seems rather suspicious, don’t you
think 9” inquired Norton of Blunt.

The Storekeeper had no idea. that his new
friend was a detective in search of the very
man who formed the subject of their conversa-

tion.

“ Well, I do not know. Might not the. blood—
stain mark the spot where the sheep you say you
had for supper was slaughtered?” he asked Ju-

iter. i ‘
D “No, massa; de sheep is always killed out-
side de corral.”

" But, if both horses were gone, both men
must have gone also." ‘

“Unless one man murdered 'the other, and

gested Norton.

“ I dunno,” replied Jupiter, sorrowfully shak—
ing his head. “ But I ’fraid dat something car’—
us happened dat night."

negro, as he turned to leave the store. .

“Well, come to the Cosmopolitan Hotel to-
morrow afternoon and inquire.for Mr. Blunt.
I’ll find work for/you, and if you like, I'll take
you to New York with me when I re’tiu'n
there.” ’ f , , 1

“Ah! laws, massa,” cried J u iter, in delight,

, “Yes. Don’t be later than t 9 o’clock. ’

   

 

de ’l’ublic, ’cause he done something bad In.

Yes. massa; I’se lookin’ for a. job.” . ' a

   

 

 

 ;_,K -~*>~.-* «it i.‘

.m
WW

. M, was.

 

turned the horse loose to avert suspicion,” sug- I

“Are you idle just now ?” asked Blunt of the l- A

     

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I
in the level plain and altering the face of nature ,3 ed Ashton, his eyes flashing as he turned and
inasingle hour. faced two men who had quietly entered the
Truly it was useless to search for human bones cabin.
among boundless wastes of sand. “( it) slow, Mr. Bloodhound i” said the captain,
The question was had Frederic Gordon mot Whose name was Mitchell, with u. sneer. “I’ve
his fate in the corral that night? Was it possi- i got a grudge against your friend ,- but. so far,
ble the. other had murdered himwhile he slept? i ain’t got any against you. We are going to
That he had perished without one cry for help? i sen. now, and I’ll land you at La Guayra, tho
“ I must have time to think it all out,” said  first port I make, if you’ll iromisc to keep your
Blunt, to himself; aloud he, added: “Consider i mouth shut. As for him, have not made up
yourself engaged as my servant; I shall tell you ‘ my mind what I’ll do With him. I‘m bound to
your duties later. I have an engagement, so i get s4 uare, you can take youroath.’7
you can amuse yourself till ten o’clock to—night. “ Vi hat grudge have 'ou got against my
Then return here; meanwhile, I shall see the friend!” asked Ashton, aliens (hath, for he be-
landlord and arrange for your acconnnodation. gun to realize the terriblle position they were in
and he felt an additional pang when be reflected
Jupiter bowed and withdrew, and the detoc- that ho had been the means of exposing his
tive remained lost in thought till Ashton’s voice , friend to danger, perhaps to death, for the cap-
rouscd him. 1 tam and his crew looked as if murder was an

They parted, the detective being well satisfied
with his day’s work.
He found the Scotland Yard man waiting for
him, and be related the story he had heard from
the negro, Jupiter. .
~Ashwu, however did not lay much stress
upon the fact that the man Allan was a fugitive
from justice and an Englishman.
, “ 1 am working on a clew I’ve just obtained,”
‘ he said, when the American detective had tin-
ished his story. “ 'l‘o—morrow I’ll investigate
mattersa little further, and to-morrow night I
want you to accompany me on board an Ameri—
can vessel, where we can obtain some informa—
tion and see how I stand.”
“ Very well,” replied Blunt.
He little knew how serious the consequences
of his promise were to prove.
Next day he prepared for the visit of the ne— .

Good-night. ”

 

gro Jupiter. “ Come,” he said, gayly, “you have not for— ‘ eVery—day occurrence with them.
He had received from Miss Gordon a photo- gotten that you go with me on board the Celia, l "Only seven years in State’s prison, that's
1 graph of her nephew-«or, more correctly speak- have you 2-" , all,” replied the other, with a. brutal laugh.
lug, two photographs. One taken before he left “ No,” responded Blunt, briefly; “ I am “ You would not have gone there if you had
his home—a youthful, happy face, a New York read .” I not deserved it,” averred the English detective,

 

 

 

div-m 7 ,

 

I ._ -ggv -

 

 

 

man in good circumstances, elegantly dressed;
the other,a. recent one of the man of whom Miss
iordou entertained such strong suspicions.

That picture showed what appeared to be the
same face, but very much changed; the expres—
sion was no longer bright and frank. Acer—
tain hardnessshono from the eyes and showed
itself in the set of the lips, which were so nearly
hidden by the full blOIl( e heard. The face was
that of a man imbittercd by misfortunes and
_‘.uffering-a man driven to the wall and despe-
ate—a man, as the dctective’s practiced eye
could read, who was capable of anythin .
Could ten years spent among the yellow sani s
of the pampa work this change in Frederic
"Ur ordon 'é

Jupiter was punctual. He arrived on time,
dressed in a fresh white suit of clothes, and
smiling all over as he bowed low before his
“new nulssfl." ’

“ Sit down, Jupiter,” said the detective, kind—

y“ T’auk you, sir.”

After a little conversation to set tbomau at
his ease, Blunt produced the two photographs
and placed them before the negro.

” Whose portraits are those?” he asked, calm—
l

Jupiter gazed long and earnestly at the first
one, and replied, unhesitatingly:

“ Dat’s Massa Gordon. shuali !"

“ And this?” asked Blunt, indicating the latest
photograph. '

Jupiter took it up and stared at It with a
puzzled look; he turned it about and seemed
uncertain ; at length a new light seemed to dawn
upon him.

" It’s Mass’Allan, an‘ his ha’r’s turned gray.”

A cold chill passed over Blunt.

“You are certain it is not Mr. Gordon?” he
asked, quietly.

“ Mass’ Gordon? Laws, no!”

“ Did Mr. Allan look like the other gentle-
man ?” -

“ N0,” said Jupiter, prom tl .

“ But those two pictures 00 alike.”

“ Well, dey was ’bout do same size, on’y Mass’
.Allan had black ha’r, an’ Mass’ Gordon’s ha’r
an’ heard was yeller as do silk ob dc corn.”

“But apart from their hair they looked
alike?"

“ No, dey didn’t, nedder. Mass’ Allan was
cross and sulky-lookin‘, like he is in his pictur’,
an’ Mass’ Gordon was allers a-smilin’ an jokin’.
Dat’s what makes I can’t understan’ why he
gowed off and nebber tell ole J upo good-by.”

Blunt pondered: this negro could easily prove
the false Frederic Gordon an impostor; could he
also furnish a clew b which the fate of the real
Frederic Gordon con (1 be ascertained, and if he
had met With foul play help to bring his mur-
derer to justice?

“ Jupiter, (lld you never think that Mr. Gor-
don was murdered and his body hidden in the
sandé" he asked suddenly.

“ Glory, no! Who could do dat?”

“ The man be regarded as a friend," answered
Blunt, solemnly. '

J u iter looked thoroughly; frightened,

“ Eat, what for would Iass’ Allan do sich
ping as ant?” he asked, his big eyes rolling wild—

y“ I cannot tell; they may havelquai‘reled dur.
ing the night after you fell asleefi. ’

‘Dunno; dat blood was mig ty queer, but
if Mass‘ Allan done dat, what makes dat do
3 horse and saddle was gone?”

“I will get you to guide me to the Spot where

your corral was that night.” , '

“Golly, inassa, how you s’pOse Isa gwm’ to

find it? Do sand done shift ten tnnesa week.
I couldu‘ fin’ (lat spot to save my po’r brack
soul.”

Blunt mused. Here was a fresh difficulty. If the .

bones of Frederic Cameron Gordon Were beneath
the sands of the pampa they were g'oncealed as
effectually as if they had been consrgned to the
depth of theocean. He had heard of the pam—
pero or sand-storm of the plains, the famous
wind of the desert which uplifts the whole sur-
face of the 1mm 2a and piles mountains of sand
wherel‘ollows vo been, cutting deep valleys

 

“ on seem preoccupied,” remarked Ashton,
as they left the hotel; “have you learned any—
thing of importance from your sable friend t”

The American detective related what had tak-
en place during his interview with Jupiter.

‘ By J ovel that does look as if your lady eli—
ent was right in her conjectures," exclaimed
Ashton.

“ I fear she is. It would evidently be an easy
matter to convict this man Allan of being an im-

postor, but Miss Gordon will not be satisfied ‘

with that alone. She also wishes to learn her
nephew‘s late, and if possible bring his murder—
cr to justice."

“IVell, you see, we have no evidence that
there has been a, murder.”

“ We have. This man is in possession of (lor—
don’s pa ers. He heard his story from his own
lips, usl ie negro can testify. Do you suppose
that the man would part with tho evidence of
his identity without a struggle? My idea is
that he was nuirdered in his slee ) by his treach-
erous companion, who was probably aware of
what est-oped the negro’s notice, namely—tho
startling resemblance between himself and Gor-
deli.”

“ You are right, I suppose.
Allan was dark originally?”

H YUM.”

“ Can it be possible that he is Lester, the mur—

Did you say this

' derer of Major Kent?”

-“ I cannot tell.
him, I suppose?”

“No; there is none in existence that I ever
heard of.”

“That is unfortunate; how can you be ex-
pectcd to recognize him?”

“ By the mark that no art can eil'ace, the let—
ter Dbranded between his shoulders. He is a
marked man for life.”

“ True; I had forgotten.
pay this visit to-night?”

“ Certainly; I have tracked Lester to this ves—
sel, in which he took assage. I now wish to
ascertain at what port e left her.”

CHAPTER XIII.
THE DETECTIVES CAUGHT.

WHEN the two detectives were seated in the
cabin of the Celia, Blunt made, an unpleasant
discovery. The captain was a. man who had
served a term in State’s prison for manslaughter,
having killed one of his crew at sea, and Blunt’s
evidence had convicted him of the crime or
rather, the detective’s efforts had brought 
to justice and obtained the evidence which sent
him to prison, and almost to the gallows.

He was an ill-shaped, evil-faced rufllan, with
beetling brows and coarse red hair and heard;
his small eyes were full of malice, and his broad,
flat nose betokened obstinacy.

If he recognized the detective he made no
sign, but welcomed the two officers with great
apparent cordiality. His-mate, who looked a
fitting companion for himself, assisted him to
set out glasses, hot water and spirits, and the
whole party sat down to what the evrl—faced
captain termed a “ social glass. "

Blunt was rather silent, but the Scotlaan
Yard detective asked a flood of questions about
the passenger the captain had carried to some
unknown port. After answeringl many of them
in a seemingly careless nian;.er, the captain’s
temper appeared to suddenly change.

“ IVhat do you want with this man, mate?” he
asked, roughly, and Blunt observed a meaning
glance pass between him and the mate.

“Well,” replied Ashtor, with a. laugh, “I
might want hair-because he was heir to a title.
but, as it hap _ s, I don’t.”

“You mig-t want him because you are a
cursed bloodhound !” said the captain, fiercely.

“ What do you mean i”

Ashton sprung to his feet but he was seized
from behind his back and his arms piinoned
before he had time to make a. move. At the
same moment Blunt was felled upon the cabin
floor by a blow on the head.

Bothanen had been sitting With their backs to
the companionway, and their assailants crept
upon them noiselessly.

“ How dare you assault my fricnd?”exclaini-

You have no photograph of

May I ask why you

 

boldly.

" ou had better keepa civil tongue in your
head,” warned the captain, with an oath. He
then made a sign to his men, who raised the un—
conscious detective and carried him away.

The anchor had bi en weighed while they talk-
ed, and the vessel was soon at sea. Ashton
had tried to go on deck, but found he was tied
fast to an iron ring in the locker on which he
had been sitting. He knew resistance was use-
less, so he remained quiet. T he captain went
on deck, and the mate followed him. leaving
Ashton alone to reflect upon his folly in expos—
ing himself and his friend to such danger.

Thedelayin prosecuting their mvmligatious
wasexasperating enough, but Ashton was well
aware that dark deeds can be done in tho por—
tion of the globe they were in without much
danger to the nien who commit them.

No one had been informed of their intention
of Visiting te , "elin, no one saw them board the
ship, for the pier was deserted at that hour by
all save [tfllchiu watchman, who was coiled up,
fast asleep, on a rug, as they passed him by.

If t‘apiuin Mitchell saw fit, he. could toss them
both over 1.10 ship’s side when they were out at
sea, und'not a soul Would be the wise '.

Ashton’s reflections were very latter, as he
stood with his arms tightly pinioned behind him,
and tied fast to the locker. His most- painful
thought was that Blunt was in far greater dan-
ger than in. :self.

He knew not to what lengths this murderous
wretch niii- t To, to—as he termed it——“get
square" wait) the man whohad been the means
0 bringing him to justice for some former
crime. . ,

\Vhilo Ashton stood thus in enforced idleness
bitter] reflectingr on his own rash conduct
which ad brought about such dire results, ho
heard a step behind him, and glancing around
he saw the captain descending the companion-

wa .

‘iyVVellW said that worthy, “ I guess I can cast
you loose now.”

He cut the ropes that held Ashton‘s wrists and
signed to him to be seated.

“We’ll havea lass of grog," he said; “and
I’ll tell you why We got such a spite against
that cursed detective.”

The English officer longed to lay the brutal
ruflian upon his own cabin floor senseless, as

oor Blunt had been half an hour before; but be

new that he would only incur fresh danger by
obeying the natural impulse, so he took a seat
and prepared to listen to what the scoundrcl had
tosa .

“ s’pose {Ion think me a regular tough?” in-
quired Mitc ell, pouring out a glass of raw
spirits and drinking it down.

“ I don’t understand your conduct. You in-
vited me on board in a friendly manner, and the
result is I am at sea, a prisoner, to the injury
of my business: my friend has been brutal]
assaulted—mud I cannot understand the affair. ’

“ Well, listen. But first, what business do
you follow 3"

“I am a lawyer."

“ What are, you doing in these parts.”

“ A man has laid claim lo a fortune, and we
think he is an impostor. We are in search of
the real heir.”

“ Are you sure that‘s all?"

“ Certainly I am.”

“ IVell, when I saw that bloodhound, I
thought you was another like him, trailing some
poor devil, so I thought I’d take you to sea."

“ Vlhat port are you bound for?”

“ Liverpool, England.”

“ Then we may expect to be detained from our
business for months.“

” You. needn’t.”

The captain spoke very significantly.

“ What do you mean!”

“Why, I‘ll put you ashore at La Guayra if
you promise you Won’t say anything.”

“ And my friend!"

A sr-owl of black malignity settled over the
brutal face of the sailor.

“ I swore I‘d get square With him ten years
ago, and I’ll do it.” he said, with a terrible
oath, bringing his huge fist down on the table

 

 

 

 

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(iii \ i"l‘l‘1li. XIV.
\‘icwn.won.

l5i:1,plea<:1ni' morningirooni in a very fine old
(‘ounl ry .‘al. in llm'onshire, near llarnsiable. two
ladi-s‘ sol engaged i=1 conversation. line was
elderly, \yhile-ltiii'ed, and beautiful with the
]]|:]I4'i)li-,\' lynnuiy ol' \\(-ll—prwerved age. A
lady whososkiii was «liar and soft as :1 baby’s,
whose. blue. eyes werolurightaud l'11ll,:111d whose
snoyy hair iormed :1 piopei'setiing‘ {or so fair
{I luv“. .r\11221i~»lo1-r:2iie old E-idy, who-o liqui'e
wasiiorig‘hi as :1 li:il‘1,,(l‘.ill whose hands were
modelsdi’ symnu 1'.

'l‘noothei' \\:1» l ii'irk browed ;:’irl ol‘ twenty—
twoyoai‘s, \R'lill :1 lieiiidsoniU fare and resolute
gray oyi‘ ;, Shw \~.‘1\‘ not beautiful, ior her lips
Were, too tiriii :‘ud her rhin loo bduaro l'or i'enii~
lime loveliness, liiitrlin i111 llil‘ll full of energy and
detei'iniiiatioii. ’i‘he ila .rhterol' :1 i'aeooi' sol-
diers. iiei‘truile Kent was as fearless as she was
frank and candid.

" How terribly i'iresomo it is to wail,” she
said, inipaiionily, paving up and down the
pretty room. and now find then casting a dis—
contented glance oiii,1.i' th ‘ windows on i’liolaii'
liiiidsi'ape, which should have cxoited her ad-
niirziiion.

‘Herirude, my dear,“ said the other lady,
mildly, " don‘t you iliink lime would pass more
quickly if you oeeupiod yourself!"

“ With liu,-e,»\w,1i'k{” inquired the girl, with
contempt.

“ Or any other work,” replied the other lady,
not nothing the slur east onthe delirate. cobweb
in her white hands.

“ Flannel pettivoiits for the poor? No, thank
you, li'uly Grafton, I have no designs on the
rector.”

“You have no thoughts save those of ven—
geance,” sighed Lady (v‘rai'ton.

“ You are. right. While my father’s blood
cries out I shall never rest.”

“0h, Gertrude, my dear, such feelings are
not only unwonianly, they are. nnehristian.”

The girl did notiinswer: she clinched her long,
shapely brown hands as if she had been smitten
by a sudden pang.

“ It is useless to argue with me, aunt Mabel,”
she said, after a long pause; “ nothing can
change me, nothing shake my resolution to hunt
down my father‘s murderer.”

“I know it, dear; but I do think you should
try and enjoy your fortune after enduring the
tiresome life you led as a governess.”

“I shall enjoy it afterward. Do you know,
aunt Mabel, that I am half-inclined to go to New
York?”

“ Nonsense, dear; what good could that do?” '

“ I cannot tell. I sometimes fancy that I am
fated to be the one who will discover that vile
murderer.” .

“ You are foolish to cherish such a thought.
The detective who went to America. was—as
you were repeatedly assured—the very best
man for such a mission.”

“Perhaps so, but it seems such a weary time
to wait; he wrote me that he leaves for St.
Thomps, and I cannot expect to hear again for
a  .

g“Be contented, dear; do try to be con-
tented.”

Such easy advice to give, but such difficult
advice to take. Before Gertrude had time to
utter the impatient answer which trembled on
her lips, the door opened and the footman an-
nounced “ Mr. Seymour."

A tall, well-made man of some thirty-five
ears entered the room, and was warml greeted
y the young mistress of Lethridge Ha and her

aunt.

“ I have news for you, Miss Kent,” he said, as
soon as he was seated.

“ Indeed?”

“News that will insure a welcome. I have
heard the early history of the man you sent me
to in uire about, and secured his photograph.”

“ You don’t say so?” cried Gertrude, eagerly.

“Yes, I secured it, though I had to use strat-
egy and diplomacy, for 1 had to induce no less a.
person than his Wife to give it to me.”

“ He has a. wife?” '

“Yes; he deserted her many years ago.”

“Of course.”

“He is a younger son of a noble family of
Scottish origin; he was educated at Cambridge,
and offending his uncle, whose heir he expected
to be, in a. fit of anger he enlisted and married
beneath him. He then deserted, as you know;
your father happened to be the officer in com-
mand when he was punished, and he vowed ven—
geance against him.”

“And carried out his scheme by pretend-
ing great penitence.”

‘Exactly. It appears that he has an elder
sister who is perfectly devoted to him; she fur-
nished him with the means of escape. He has,

however, no gratitude, and this woman has
1, been visiting his wife in search of information as

 

 

 

 

 

i

is -.'o111-deh'rniiiiaiion. i. ii .'":1ski~d 1

 

., w. p , Wag: . up,“  l, mam u“...

to his when :i‘ooiils, iryim: io ascertain whether
h:- is mad or alive, as he has never written her
one \\ord.‘

" 'l'hi-rel" exvlaimed Hertrude, “ and yet pew
ple 11-“ one that no person is \\'l1olly bad."

“ Well. [ (-oiii'i-ss i fall to iind one good trait
in (his man‘s (-harzii'ter.“

“ llv the by, did you learn his real name!"

“ Yes, his real name is Gordon.”

“A cool name. terribly (lisgi‘ai-i-d bya bad
man.” said Lady (lral‘tton.

“ lhii. the picture; let me see it.”

(lerirude silreii'hed out her hand and .'\i1‘. Sey-
moiii~pl11~ml :1])liiiii>;;i':i]ili in i1, llm pii-iui'o of a
handmme y:11111;';111:111 in the ('up and gown of a
university student.

“ iii-ought up a. gentleman, and lie sunk so
low!” nuirmurml the girl as she gazed on the
pir‘iur. d face before her.

“ ll”, had a bad nature, passionate and revenge,—
fill.“::i1id .‘Jr. Seyiiioui'.

Gertrude remained lost in ilioiuht. A few
inhuih-s 'Iilii'rlliliib' (irai'fon was i‘lllll‘ll from the.
room to :1 ('onsullai ion With the housekeeper on
some. knotiy question.

“ Mr. Seymour,” said Gertrude, suddenly.
“you have (lone so inur-h for mo, haveproved
yoiirsell' my friend m thoroughly, and besides
have. found out so 11111<h that seemed l'oreyer
hidden in mystery, that i am trying“ to gaiher
courage to make a bold request.”

“And that request you mav eonsidei' grant-
ed,” said the gentleman, rising and standing
near her, his earnest face, glowing, his dark eyes
full of interest.

“ it is this, “'ill you go to America and find
the murderer of my father? I have more ('oli-
Iilli'lH'l‘ in your obiliiy to do it than I have in
the whole, form of Seotland Yard.”

“ My dear Miss Kent,” began Seymour.

“ Wait!” cried the girl. interrupting him and
standing with uplifted hand, “I know I am
trespassing upon your friendship, but I feel that
you alone can aeoomplish this work.

“ I shall try,” he said, gravely.

“And you will succeed,” she answered, her
brown cheeks flushing and tears in her resolute
0 'es.

“ If I do, may I claim my reward when I re-
turn to England?” he asked, his eyes grown very
tender.

“ \Vhat reward can I offer you 2*” she said but
her hot cheeks and averted gaze betrayed the
fact that she well knew.

He raised the shapely brown hand that hung
by her side to his lips.

“ Yes,” she whispered, as Lady Grafton re-
turned.

“Then, ladies, it is adieu; I start for New
York to-morrow,” said Mr. Seymour, and
with a how he was gone.

CHAPTER XV.
A PRISONER.

MARIQUITA’S lover was too mucn oppressed
by varied emotions to heed ordinary things, and
he blindly followed Beppo‘s lead after leaving
the house that hold all that was dear to him.

He was tempted to despair when be reflected
on Signor Madura’s parting words, for he well
knew the pride and obstinacy of the Spanish
nature.

Bop 0 was silent and his companion was glad
that t e dwarf did not feel disposed to be loqua-
cious, for under such circumstances he felt that
it would require a powerful effort on his part to
find conversation for even a. negro.

They journeyed on till nightfall, when they
came in sight of a cluster of huts sheltered by
trees.

“ There must be water here!” exclaimed the
white man in surprise.

“ Si, Signor, we sleep here tonighmd go on
to-morrow.”

They ali htcd and were received by an aged
negress. er hair was white as lamb’s—wool,
and her face was one mass of wrinkles; but her
eyes were full of- fire. and her form upright.

“ Come in,” said she, leading the way to the
largest of the houses, and the weary traveler
found himself in a cool room, which was clean
and neat, though almost bare of furniture.

He was left alone for a. few moments, then
the woman returned, while Beppo attended to
the wants of the horses.

“ You are hungry i” said the woman.

“ Very, and thirsty.”

“ The yerba is ready, and I will spread acouch
for you to sleep.”

“Thank you. Call me early to—morrow; I
wish to leave this part of the world as soon as
possible. How far am I from Buenos Ayrcs?”

The old woman made no repl to the (finestion,
and the tired man thought she ad not card it.
Irma, for that was her name, prepared a tern t-
ing su per, and he ate heartily, swallowmg
large raughts of the fragrant tea.

Meanwhile his couch was prepared, and throw-
ing himself upon it he sunk into a profound
slumber.

He slept far into the following day, and when
he opened his heavy eyelids the hot sun was
streaming down in his midday strength.

“ Good heavens!” he exclaimed. ‘ They have
allowed me to sleep till noon l”

He sprung up and hastily arranged his dress.

 

 

 

,wnumfumrw worm-4w ‘

or, Branded for Life.

 

lie was about to seek Ileppo, when the old

woman i norked at the door.

. “ Comeiii!”lie::1id, impatiently.

i, “ Whatcan i get you i‘or breakfast, signer?”
she asked. calmly.

“ Anythingflnoihinp : did inot ii-ll you iiH‘llll.
me early? ‘Vlll'l'i‘, is lieppof”

“ lh-ppo left at sunrise."

“ Loft! Then who will
City?”

“I am sorry “ignor, but i have niyordei‘s,
Signor " dura says you must not leaye here.”

“ Wind ."

“ ll.i,4ii‘1ie, signor. T am indebted to the sig-v
nor for more than lil'e, and I must obey him.”

The old woman‘s lone was \i-ry resolute, and
she, looked the picture, of dignified determina»
tion.

“ But this is an outrage,” exclaimed the Juan,
indiunantly.

“ l oaiinothelp it. I am Irina, the mother of
escaped slaves. Manyyears ago i (‘M'liiil‘ll from
Brazil: Signor I‘illllilll'il saved me, and I am
boundto him and his for life. lie, is ilio friend
of the blaeks and they all obey him. Uniil I.
receive. differentorders you must remain here,
where I shall mako you as comfortable as 1
ran.”

1 “ And is it possible that I am lo lie kept here
i a prisoner?”

" Those are my orders."

“ I shall not stay. Guide or no guide, I leave.
this place at once.”

“ You cannot, l'or 'lleppo has taken the horse
away With him."

“ But this isiufaniousl I do not wish to re-
turn to Signor Maduru's house, or hold any
(’Oiilllllllll(‘.'iiin)! wiih any of its inmates. I wish
to go to New York ”

“ [ ('amiot help it: I have my orders."

Ile saw it was useless to argue with the old
woman, so he walked out into 1110 open air, for
his head was in a Whirl. Several negro men
were lounging about, having for companions
huge dogs, but time were no horses in the en—
campment or village so for as he could see. A
spring flowed in the centerof the chislerof huts,
and the shade of the trees was grateful; but on
every side stretched the boundless sand of the
pump", and the angi'yinan Well knew it was
madness to attempt to leave his place of shelter
alone and on foot.

Signor Madura. had triumphed, and he reflect-
ed that the Spaniard would justify the course
he had pursued by reminding him, should they
ever meet, that he had refused to give his word
that he would not seek his daughter’s resence.

“ I must endeavor to bribe one of t ese men
to carry a. letter for me,”he said, moodily; “ but
how can I when I am penniless? How did this
all happen? My senses are coming back by de-
grees. I remember the sheep roasting on the
crane made of the bars of the corral, and I re-
member bein bound on the horse, though not
so clearly. ow did it happen? The papers the-
negro brought— But w at became of Allan
and the corral? What became of my letters
and papers, my money? Am I dazed, or mad?"

Signor Madura had indeed triumphed; the
man he dreaded was a prisoner.

eseort me to ihi,

g

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVI.
SANDY MCBEAN—CAUGHT IN THE ACT.

ASHTON had no he left: probabl the cap-
tain of the Celia mi h be induced to orego his:
scheme of revenge i he was well paid to be mer~
ciful.

“ Sit down and let us make a ni ht of it,” said
the sailor, and, willing to humor im as far as
possible, Ashton took a. seat and accepted the

lass of spirits and water which the burly ruf-
gun had mixed for him.

“ That fellow is the worst bloodhound in New
York,” said Mitchell, with an oath; indeed he
rarely uttered a. sentence that was not garnished
with one.

“I om loyed him to assist me in finding an
heir to a. ortune in New York which an im s—
tor has possession of for the time being,” rep led
Ashton, carelessly

“ A fortune di ye so. , mate?” asked the cap-
tain, his small, ferret-1i 9 eyes twinkling.

“ Yes, a fortune of sixteen million dollars.”

“Great Scot! sixteen million; and here have

man thousands.”

“ ell, my reward is so big that I expect to
retire from business as soon as I earn it,” said
Ashton, coolly lighting a cigar and passing one»
to his host!

“ Hell! Well, some has luck an’ some hasn’t.
Did ou find the feller?”

“ o, I thought you could give me some infor-
mation, for w ich of course I was repared to
pay handsomely, as I was instructer to s are no
expense; but you’ve done the thing up rownl
I relied on Blunt because he was recommended
to me as the smartest man in New York.”

“ Yes, darn him, a sight too smart,” growled
the captain, concocting another stilf glass of

grog.
,HlS face had brightened When the detective-

spoke of pa mg him but it grew dark again
when he alliided to Bliint. ,

 

I been a-slavin‘ all my days and ain’t worth that. V

n

   

a
l
l
l
i

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

r H...

“ lVell, you see,nll these thingsm'e inuttci s of 
business to these fellow. Ashton l'i'lilltl'lU'd,
lol‘tily, asit' detectives \verc lih‘lll'iilll Hunt-ian l

“Yes, (ind :i blooming llll'llll husnii-s 2, :i llllllii.
in’ mid lioundin’ :L inuu down l‘n,ii‘.~x<iiiietliiiil or
other he’s forgot ull uhout.’7

“l cun’tsuy I have“ Very li' 'l opinion of the
profession,” suid Ashton, shrugging his shoul»
ders, “ but you see these nu n urenew-ss:irye\'ils.
I can’t earn my l'( word without lilunt."

Captain Mitchell l'i‘ili‘l'll‘ll us he sipped his
grog, lie wus desperutelv u\':lricious. Ashton
hnd guessed that. l ruin his smull, cunning, green
eyes and gl't't‘llyd‘lUl-lelg' mouth; hut. he wusnlso
revenuel'ul. lie loin, d to handle the money he
heard of with such euu‘cr curs, but he huted the
thought. oi letting; the detect i\'c slip through his
fingers.

" '. s‘pose you curry lots of hruss about with
you?" he remarked, with u clumsy attempt. :it,
(‘lll'i‘l<‘.\:~ll(‘h‘>‘.

“ Yes, and no. I liuve plenty of money at the
hotel, and to my credit :it the llritish l-nnlcut.
St. 'l'lioinus, but. 1 lll'\'t‘l' curi'ynioney on my per-
Son.”

The. sailor gave a, grind? of disgust. If the dc»
tcctiyo hud acknowledged that he had uuy coil-
sidei'.‘ihlosuni in his pocket. he would not luivo
felt the slightest,conipunctions in robbing him,
and then pitching him oycrhoui'd in company
with his friend.

At this moment on interrupt ion occurred in
the form of a short, thicksct ninu, \iho entered
the cabin and said:

“ Ye‘r’ wanted on deck, cuppin."

The captain hastened nwuy, and the man
turned to Ashton and said hurriedly:

“ Luk oot for you devel, mester; I’m sure
afraid he’ll be at some dcvelisliness wi’ yon puir
men.”

“Can’t you help us?” asked Ashton, for he
saw that the Scotchmuu was honest and well-in-
tentioned.

“I diima ken; I’ll try. I only cam" an the
ship to-day, an1 little did I ken what fur cappin
she had.”

“ If on save my friend you shall be well rc—
wardct .”

“ Hoots, men! I’m no thinkin’ o’ rewards.”

“Do your best, for (iod’s sake!” whispered
Ashton, for he heard the heavy step of the cap—
tain, who returned and seated himself, scowliug
at the Scottish sailor as he did so.

“ Well, it is a hard life you lead,” said Ashton,
with great apparent sympathy.

“ It‘s a dog’s life,’ replied the captain, cm-
phasizmg,r the remark in his usual manner.

“ Do you know what I think?” remarked the
detective.

H No.77

“Well, on may as well chip in with me;
we’ll get glunt to find our man, and then get
rid of him and pocket his share of the reward.”

The captain’s small eyes 8 arkled with a mix-
ture of greed SUSpicion am cunning.

“How do I, know that you ain’t giving me
gulf?” he inquired, roughly.

“Well, you will have to take my word for
it,” responded the detective, in a calm, even
tone.

“ I don’t know you from a side of sole-leather,
why should I take your word!”

Ashton shrugged his shoulders.

“If you don’t take it you can leave it,” he
said, helping himself to a glass of water.

“ Of course I don’t say you ain’t telling Gos-
pel truth, mate,” remarked the sailor, apolo-
getically.

“ That’s as you please. I do not think it
would be worth my while to lie to you under the
circumstances.”

“ No, it wouldn’t, that’s a fact, but I can’t let
that Blunt off. It would kill me if he slipped
throu h my fingers now.”

“ ‘ fievenge is sweet ’ they say,” said Ashton,
with a. yawn of indifference, ‘ but I’ve found
hard cash a great deal sweeter.”

The greedy little eyes glowed and the captain
licked his lips.

“ If a man could only have both!” he ex-
claimed, enthusiastically.

“ And I was endeavoring to show you how to
get both, but you refuse to listen to me.”

“ I’ll listen. Go ahead.”

“Then you must bring this man Blunt out
here, and we’ll make a. bargain with him; put
back to St. Thomas. and when we find our man
we can get rid of Blunt, and you shall have his
share of the reward.” ' .

The captain hesitated. I This did sound prom-
ising, but he still entertained a doubt as to who-
ther Ashton was acting with good faith toward
him.

“That sounds mighty finc,”hc said, slowly;
“but how do I know that you and Blunt won’t
inform the, police on me the moment I land

on?” _
y “As I said before, you will have to take my
word for it.”

“ Well, I ain’t goin’to put back to St. Thomas
on no sich wild-goose chase. “'e’ll see what
we‘ll do when we git to La Guayra.”

“Very good,” said Ashton, coldly. He saw
that the captain was drinking himself into a
state of brutal obstinacy. and thought it better

 

  
 

     

 .711;th

 

to argue with him no further.

tag-2;? ,1.“  

“D z” r, Brandel for Life.

 

“ i , it all ~ woke :i i'i;1':ii'oii dwell. i." you lulu- no.
tilrlt'VillillN.‘ llt'ltillll. H»: l‘,','.

“11o ahead: I don‘t. curr.“ \aus the surly}
reply. '

tlu duel: Ashton hoped he llll;_'_'ili .si t- t he Scott-Ir
man. the only mun on board on \\liUlIl he would
depend. lle wus not disuppointed.

“Eh! Hir, dire ye wont till licm‘uhoot. yer
t'r'eulf” he u hispercd, us he cautiously upprom-li-
ed the detect i\'<'.

“ Yis, llltll‘lll,71 replied Ashton,<-:1;;;er|y.

“I untied his hnii’s, and he’s \\'I‘t‘l urin‘t. \\ i‘ u, ‘
undo revolver.”

“ 'l'hut.‘s well; [was ul'ruid they would t:il;e it,
from him."

“An’ N) they did. the menu hounds: hut
Sandy Mclleun wus \\'l't‘l uhle till gi‘ it. huel: till
hiiu.”

“'l‘liunl; you, bluntly: l'll not l'ory'i-l, it. to you."'

“ 'l'hut‘s :HV richt; \\l.cii \xe icucl: 1.41 tinnyru
l’ll tlei-t awn; l‘ll no hide (lll no m‘l‘l; sheep us:
'ou.”

“ \\"cll, Sandy. I depend on ,‘.'o1i.'l:-‘:iid .'\sh-
tion. :uid the Scotchnuiu hastened own) just in
time to “void the cuptnin, who now inudo his
appearance on deck.

It, wus :I. dark night, with only on (N't'H‘dnllill
ulezun ol' moonlight; lll‘l\l't't‘ll the clouds, but the
sen where the \‘cswl cleft} hcr wny through its ‘
cului surface was :l. mass of pliosplurl'escent
tire. i
Ashton sluyed on deck :11] iii :ht , and :it day—
li;:‘lil.\\'cnt, Lelow. The cupiuin l'ty slunihcriug i
heuvily.

The detective took a rapid survey of the ,
cabin: on every side there were small loch-rs- or
closets, every inch of splice being utilized, as is
tho custom on shipboard.

(in the door of one locker was inscribed the
word “ l‘dediciues.”

Ashton glunccd at, the sailor; ho was in a deep
sleep, induced by his liherul potntions.

'l‘.io detectivodrewa lillll' h of keys from his i
pocket, and after several trials, succeeded in
opening the closet door. It was stocked with
drugs in small quantities. i

In an instant a four-ounce bottle
“ Laudunnni ‘7 was in his pocket.

As he closed the closet and wnsabout to lock
it lhocabiii door opened, and he found he was
not :done with the sluinberiug captain.

“Caught, by Jove!” he said to himself, and
turned to face the intruder.

CHAPTER XVII.
Miss (:onnoN TURNS DETECTIVE.

FROM the time Ben Blunt left New York
Miss (‘rordon began to enact the rote of detective
herself.

That is to say, she began to watch her nephew
very closely. She partly laid aside her mourn—
ing and accompanied him into society, and she
observed that he felt her presence irksoine and
restraining. Day by day the impression grow
stronger in the lady’s mind that thoman who
had assumed her beloved nephew’s place was an
iméiostor.

. he had loved her “dear boy,” as she still
fondly termed him, with all her heart, she had
always felt toward him as if he had been her
own son; but her heart had never warmed to
the stranger who had come forward to claim his
name and fortune.

The time seemed desperately long to the anx-
ious woman when the detective was in South
America, and she longed to hear from him with
almost feverish impatience. Days passed into
weeks, however, and no word came. “What in
the world is lie about!" she said to herself, for
she had no confidante. Mrs. Gould, of course,
knew something of her doubts, but they were
not congenial and the two ladies rarely met; in-
deed, Miss Gordon, with that absence of logic

culiar to her sex, could never quite forgive
l'i‘f. Gould for being the cause of her nephew’s
ex 9. ‘

Some four weeks after Blunt’s departure for
St. Thomas, Miss Gordon, in company with her
nephew, attended a large rece tion given by
one of the leaders of society in how York. They
were late, and the parlors were crowded when
they arrived. It was, in fact, a fashionable
crush.

Miss Gordon was soon surrounded by old
friends who Welcomed her warmly, for she was
a favorite.

“Quite a lion show,” said a lady. who was
more remarkable for her sharp sayings than her
amiability.

“Indeed? Who are the lions?” asked a rosy-
chceked débuimitc.

“ There is one of them! an Englishman, .(Ir.
Seymour.”

“ Ahl He is fine-looking.”

Mr. Seymour was standing near the group of
ladies and Miss Gordon felt interested in him.
He was handsome, rather above the average of
drawmg-room exquisitcs; tall—six feet two, and
well proportioned, dark-haired, and aristocratic,
indeed the very man who had won Gertrude
Kent’s affections by his manlincss and intelli-
gence. Later in the evening Mr. Seymour and
Miss Gordon were introduced to each other, and
the impression he had already made on the old
lady was deepened by his conversation. *

She cordially invited him to call and see her,

 

 

inn rlied

 

 

‘ cheouituhlusludyur

’ :e’ww" in.

“:3; w

[1,}

and he ll"l‘i"]iil rl the lll\'ii:lilt)ll us it he was glad

vii, hud l‘lu‘ll I'\tr iltlt ii to hint.

“\\lio wu‘ iiihi ycutlrinuu in whom you

'N‘t'lllill so llllt‘l‘t‘\i’(l. :qut Lucille!~l “shed h: r

nephew. us soon
Huge.

“A Mr. Seymour, :1” l'lllj.‘li>lilll.‘lll, she i'c«
plied, iu the cold touo she ulwuys “hill in ud-
drcssiup,‘ h'ledci'ic (Jordon.

“ llill l ill'.‘ll'_\'(ill ill\‘li|‘ him to luncheon?7 ho
uslwd, with seeming; iuditl‘erenre.

" Yes."

He did not, :iilsuer, but his uuut l'nncied tliuL
lie \'.':is:uiiio_\'ml.

’l‘uo duyr'. :ilti-r l\ll'. Seymour incite
peuruuvc, und wus presented to fair.
\\ ho \\'4'lk'tillll'll llllll \'("l‘_\' cordially.

“ Wheredid l sce thnti mun hcl'ore‘hthe Hu-
ulishniun :islzcd liiinsell', us he wt .' :.-- hin-
'f ill“ l'ui'i' (Ii. lll‘ii w
I, “re you iiot:‘ he

:x» they \\t'l'I' M‘Hlt'tl iutlio cur—

7

his up—
(Jordon,

  
 

" You zire l‘lu said,

i :1lmlll,:ultll'i‘~v\illu,’ Mr. tiordon.

“ No, (‘1'l'i:il!ll_\' not. l \\:‘,:~li1il‘ll:lllil brought

. up in New \Hl’lx’,.‘lll(l lime iu-vcr llt't‘ll in l‘lu-

gland in my lil'e,‘7 lit nus quich Him” that tho

gentleuiull lt-lt. unqued by thc question.

“ Your zuwcut is decidedly l‘liiylish.”

“dust \ihui l lvuye :Ilwu) s remarked." :vuid
Miss (Jordon, us >lie helped her glut-:1 to hll'nw-

"  :ind l'l‘l‘ulll.

“ ftlygreutest. ( huin wus nu lliIi-jlislunnn,“s:1id
the master of the house, uhi'uplly. : : il‘ he
wished the (liru'lhfihrll to drop, :ind soon ulti r ho
excused hiinscll'rud left the ldldt‘.

“ Your nephew’s flit e i. p: rl’eetly familiar to
me, illiss (iordou, nnd still i «:innolz place him to
sure my life,"1 swid i\li'.. -yniour.

“ Have you ever \ isilr d South America ('l

“ Never."

“ He spent ten years there."

“ Indeed; I am intern-ti d izi that country,
and may have to Visit. it. 1 Hill engaged in
mnut'enr detectivu Work.“

“Indeed!”

Withoutintending to i‘.) so, l‘runk Seymour
related the story of the inurdi r of Major Kent,
and his (haughty r‘s (it it rininutiou to avenge h( r
father‘s death und hi'iivg‘l is inurderei‘to justice.

“ What (1. grind glil!”('yel:iiniul Mir-s (lor—
dou. l.cr color risingr l'!.tl lit 1' eyes sparkling.

" I think so,” Ls. eii'r d Seymour, quietly.
“She isiuy promisid “ill-.“lie added.

“ I congratulate yen. (Ionic, let us go to the
parlor, and tell me morn about her.”

She felt tempted to relate her story. but/re-
flected thntit would he scarcely prudent to do
so till she was better acquainted with her guest.

He spcntn. pleasant hour, lllld left the home
with a warm invitation to i'etiu‘n at an curly
da '.

“I don’t like the nephew; he looks like a man
with an unpleasant history,” thought Seymour,
as he Walked away from the house.

“ If that man goes to South America I’ll tell
him to look for Fred.” decided Miss Gordon;
“ he found out more than the detectives did in
England, why should not he find out more here!
The man he is in search of was last heard of in
Buenos A ires,and the man I suspect came from
there. While he is truilin r the one he may ac-
cidentally come across theftrack of the other.”

How little did she know the truth!

Frederic Gordon was more disturbed over the
visit of t e strun o Enrlishman than seemed
reasonable. He lc t the tense, and proceeding
to a. livery stable, hired a buggy and drove rap-
idly out of town.

is face worea scowl, and his cigar was al-
lowed to go out so often that at length he threw
it away with an oath.

“ l’m as nervous as an old woman,”ho said,
impatiently. “ \l'hy should I care if shehecnmn
acquainte< with every cursed Englishman that
ever left England l”

Still he did care—nay, more, he trembled u:
if struck with nguc. What was it that he
dreaded? What danger stared him in the f (1ch

CHAPTER XVIII.
HOPE FOR THE CAPTIVE.

SIGNOR MADIlRA lost no time in summoning
his friend Don Pedro to his house. Don I’edro
do (‘arrnra was like himself, a Spaniard, a
member of an old Spanish family where pi ide
was only exceeded by their wivcrty. lIis only
son was a young man of twenty-four, and the
fathers had long ago decided that the young
people were intended by kind Providence to
unite the two old (lastilinn houses.

Signor Maduru’s family had promised that in
the event of his daughter marrying n. Spaniard
of noblebirth, they would overlook The past and
receive her as one of them.

Virgilo was a gay, careless man who did not
bestow one thought on the girl he ind promised
through his father to marry, and Muri . uita had
never met her intended husband, an , indeed,
was1 not aware that the arrangement had bed]
mm c.

   
  

 

 

 

Two weeks had elapsed since t he stranger who I

won her young heart had left so abi uptly. She
could learn nothing of him from Beppo. whose
lips were closed by the orders of his mien-r.

He told her, however, that 1.0 escoru d the
young man to Buenos Ayres and left him there
with a party of gauchus, his friends.

 

. “er.

 

—z
.5,

 

ritatingly.

 

 

‘met

7» 3,

«mm- "a w , .
I . I 7 'Q‘ n

12

 

This news saddened the young girl more, than
ever, so he was but a rude herdsman, as her
father said. Somehow, she had hoped for sonic—
tliiiigbettci';slie felt that he was supi riorto any
one she had cvermet; she loved him with all 1
the. fire, and passion of her race and cliine, but u.
gain-1m J

Why was he not a gentleman? A hero, such
as she read of in poems and r1 unanch

He had up )eai'ed in her quiet home in such n.
romantic far ion that she felt half-disposed to
love him before his eyes had looked into hers.

Now all seemed changed, conunonplace and
disappointing. l'lcr father’s opposition could ‘
never kill her love for the unknown stranger, ,
but contempt is fatal toromunce, :ind ll'Iariquita ,
was dangerously near despising the handsome ‘
gu uch o.

Fortunately for him—the absent lover—un—
fortunately for Signor Madura, another roman—
tic heart throbbcd under the same roof with ,
that of his lovely (laughter.

This heart was that of Mariquita’s maid, 1
Juanita, a quadroon girl of some education and
great beauty. Her mother had once been a i
slave in Brazil, and had lived and died in the
household of Madura.

Juanita had a lover, and he was an inmate of
old lriiia‘s village—one of her band of fugitives.
Of course he visit d his fair one whencverho
found an opportunity, and such an opportunity

)rescnted itself when licppo returned to the
house of Signor Madura, after escorting Mari—
quita’s lover to Irma’s village home.

Mona rode the horse which the stranger had ,
used, and he arrived at Signor Madura’s house ,
in the evening, accompanied, of course, by the
dwarf.

As visitors to the negro quarters were every
day received hospitany by the servants, no at—
tention was paid to the fact that J uanitas lover
was staying with an old negro from Brazil with
whom he had been acquainted when both were
slaves.

Juanita dearly loved her youthful mistress
and shrewdlyguesscd that the lady’s melancholy
had some connection with the abrupt departure
of the. handsome stranger. Of course. the girl’
.~._'.‘mpz-.ihized thoroughly with Muriquita. She
lnaruwd from Mcna that tho strnngcr was It
1 riw 1101' in lrma’s village by the orders of Ma—
dura.

That night, as Juanita brushcd out the long,
gins-y hair of Mariquita, she began a conversa—
tion (lil the subject of the hardships which beset
girls with rich fathers and poor but deserving
lovers.

Mariquita listened, at first languidly, then
with dawning interest, as Juanita related the
history of one oppressed maiden after the other.

“ And the best of fathers, even such as signer
himself, will send away lovers from their daugh—
ters and break the poor young men’s hearts,”
said the maid, as she skillfully braided the silky
locks of her young llllStl‘F ss.

“Alil my father would never be so cruel,”
murmured Mariquita, while the rich color on
her cheeks deepened.

“ Ah! you little kiiow—l‘ replied the girl, hes-

 

“ Know what?”

Suddenly the thought of her lover's hurried
departure sprung to Mark uita’s mind. Hcrsus—
picions were aroused. W hat it he had been
driven away from her Without one word in fare-
well?

“ Tell me what you mean, Juanita,” she said,
almost sternly.

“ I dare not,” cried the startled maid. “I fear
the Signor.”

" Fear nothing; I shall not betray you. Tell
me where the strange signer is, if you know.”

" He is a prisoner at old Irma’s,” said J uan-
ita, in a. frightened whisper.

“ He did not go away willingly?”

“ Yes, Signorita, for be thought he was going
to Bumos Ayres. but he was led to~ Irma’s by
lleppo, and the old woman has given orders that
Le is to be shot like a dog if he tries to escape. ” ‘

“ Santa Anna, 1” exclaimed Mai‘iquita, pale
to the lips.

“Yes; and it is all because he told the Signor
that he loved his dau hter so madly,”said J uan—
ita, thelast portion of er information being mere
guess-work. ) '

“Oh. Juanita, what shall I do?” cried Mari—
quita, the dreadful thought of her lover’s dan-
ger banishing her maidenly blushes for the mo-

n .
“ VVrito a letter and Mona shall deliver it.
Tell him tobe patient and that you return his
love,” suggested Juanita, who was of a broad
and candid nature.

“ I shall warn him to be patient,” murmured
the girl, “ but when can Mona. return to the vil—
lage?” .

"This very night, and he shall bring you an
miswer. Stay, there is no paper at old Irma’s,
no pens, no ink. Send him some.”

Mnriquita delayed not a moment; she hastily
penned a note, whieh,1.hough she did not express
irr feelings quite so plainly as Juanita advised,
H'illproved that she was warmly interested in
the young man whose misfortunes had been so

great.
"' Send Mona. at once, and for the love of Heav—

 

.'ii“,'l"lfl:% ,,..

‘ ten-dollar gold-piece to the letter she had placed

an .WW'bcnww-il-V. ,"w.  . .

 

’1‘.— ~

 

"‘ D;" or, Branded for Life.

 

on lct him be careful; should Irma suspect that I
havo sent this letter she. would betray me to my
father, and kind though he is, I believe he would f
kill me.” .

“ Mona is Stilcntas the. grave,”said Juanita, sol«
cinnly.

"'l‘lien here is the letter,” replied Mariquita,
handing it to her andhastily tying up a quantity
of paper, pens, ink and t’ll‘r'QlOIH'S. She added a 1

iii Juanita's hand, saying:
“(live that to Mona and tell him to be faith—

‘ fill.”

" h, my mistress, do you think that he needs ;

the house too much; you should go out these
bright autumn days.”
- The yrllllg‘ wifo smiled, and to l h: I 1' her hus-

E bard sat down and played a lively many, for she

had practiced so diligently and in r talent for
llllls‘ll' was so decided, that she already perform-
ed very crcditably.

Mr. Lester complained of fatigue, and they rc<
tired curly. Stella, however, could not sleep; so
she rose. and throwing on a loose cashmere dress—
iiig»g<>V\'ii, took her seat by the open window and
gazul on the river which gleamed white in the
moonlight.

Suddenly a voice from the bed startled her. It

money to render him so.”7 asked Juanita, leoking ! was that of ll! r slumbering husband, and it was

deeply wounded.

“ No, but, Juanita, you know that money is
always necessary for us; do not be angry, go
send away Mona and then return.‘7

In less than five minutes the young girl heard ,
the sound of a horse’s gallop as her messenger 
rode out of the yard. ;

Juanita returned and the two retired. for the !
servant always slept on a mattress at the foot of =
her mistress’s bed.

Of course they did not sleep for hours, but
talked together on the subject of the handsome
stranger who had appeared so suddenly and in
such a romantic manner.

“I shall never allow Beppo to wait upon me
again,” said Mariquita, indignantly; “ to think
how he deceived me by saying he escorted the
sigma: to the city, and parted from him when he
was with his friends.”

“ Yes, but you must not allow him to think
that you are angry, or he will at once suspect
that Mona has revealed the truth,” replied her
maid, who was now versed in worldly wisdom.

Much conversation followed, until Marii uita
fell asleep to dream 01’ her lover, who was ept
a prisoner for her sweet sake.

.Ieanwhile Mona was speeding
pumpd by the vivid light of the tropic moon,
bearing a. message of hope to the captive.

 

over the .

 

CHAPTER XIX.
REVEALED IN A liltl’..\l\l——Tllll
COVERY.

THE mysterious housekeeper became every
day more obnoxious to the. youthful mistress of
the prottyhomeon the Hudson. Sliequestioncd
Stella continually about her husband, till the
girl’s patience was exhausted and she sharply
rebuked the woman’s forwardness.

To her Surprise Mrs. Sutton meekl y apologized
and begged forgiveness so humbly that Stella’s
kind heart was touched.

“ The reason I take so much interest in your

 

Wire’s pis—

raiscd in a frightened cry that was almost 8.
shout.

“Take him away!” he said, angrily, “ He is
covered with blood! I got my hands covered
with it when I placed him on the horse. Go!
Oifl—Aci'oss tho pampu J”

Stella shuddered, Her husband was sitting up
in bed, his eyes wide open, but seemingly sight-
lcss, and his arm outstretched. After a few
moments ho sunk back on his pillow, and the
frightened young wife breathed again.

He began to mutter again in a few moments,
but this time more quietly.

“She suspects me!” he said, in a tone of
alarm. “She suspects mo, and I believe she
has told that Englishman that she does. What
if he is one of the sleuth—hounds who drag men
down? He looks like one. I fear her, with her
cold eyes. I must rid in self of her as I did of
the others. No blood t is time though; that
would not be safe. Poison ["7

Stella’s blood rmi coldly in her veins. This
was no dream. This man was enacting in his
sleep fearful scenes in which he had taken part
during some period of his life.

Or" what woman was he raving? Could it be
the strange housekeeper? 'l he young wife knew

' that the woman felt a strange interest in hcr

husband, and his allusion to her “cold eyes”
seemed to indicate that he was alluding to the
woman who was so constantly asking questions
about him. Like a flash it came back to Stella

. how Mrs. Sutton had said: “ If he haddark hair

I would be willing to take my oath that he was
the same man.”

“ Take her oath !” Stella felt certain that
ineant— testify against him in a. court of justice.

If he had (M Na hair l

The unfortunate girl almost fainted as she rc—
meinbcred how he looked the night he paid his
first visit to her homo.

“ I shall tlyto some far-off place,” she said; “ I
cannot live with n. murderer.”

All her love for him seemed to die in a mo-

husband, Mrs. Lester,” she said, “ is because he mcnt. She was good, innocent and pure, she ab-
so closely resembles a. dear friend of mine that I , liorred evil of every description. If this man’s

lost man ycais ago. If Mr. Lester’s hair was
dark, I s ould be willing to take my oath that

hands had been stained by the blood of his vic—
tims she felt that she could no longer breathe

he was the same man, but your husband is a  the same air as he did, live under the same roof,

decider] blonde.” I

Stella was startled. She had never felt uite '
satisfied with her husband’s explanation o the
fact that his hair and beard were black when she

 

or cat the bread he provided.

No, she would rather die.

She resolved that the next day she would pack.
a few necessary articles in a. sacth and fly far

first saw him. His story was that ho had dis- ! from the home where she had been so ha py.

guisod himself in order that he might not be re-
cognized in such a low neighborhood, and Stella.
had felt that the reason was insufficient, artless 
though she was. .

The housekeepers sharp gray eyes were on
her face, and she observed the confusion plainly
written there.

“Ladies nowadays bleach their hair,” she
. aid, slowly, “ but I never heard of a man doing
so.

“ Of course not,” replied Stella, sharply.
Somehow her dread of this strange woman
grew stronger every day.

She was uneasy too on account of her hus-
band; he had grown moody and silent; he was
often absent for two weeks, and replied so cold-
ly to Stella’s anxious inquiries that she at
length forbore to question him at all, and he
came and went as be pleased.

The girl was full of vague terrors; she felt
that there was something wrong, though she
could not define her fears.

She dreaded the loss of her husband’s affec-
tions, but he seemed loving as ever when he was
with her, though care seemed enthroned upon
his brow.

At night be tossed and turned, muttering to
himself in his sleep, and to Stella’s horror his
talk was of blood and murder.

“ I shall strike him as he sleeps,” he muttered
one night, and raised his hand as if to carry
out the threat.

At first Stella foltinclined to tell him of this
and similar speeches, but she refrained from
doing,Ir so—sho scarcely knew why.

“ t is dreadful, but he is on] dreaming,” she
said to herself. “One day read of such
dreams ;” then she sudden] y remembered that it
was of Eugene Aram she had read, and that the
dream was no dream, but the forced confession
of a murderer, forced from him by his con-
science. which gave him no peace day nor night.
She shuddered at the thought.

 

One day her husband arrived suddenly; he .

looked even more moody than usual, but greeted
her affectionately.
“ You are pale, Stella,” he said; “ you stay in

She dreaded this man as much as she ad for-
merly loved him. She remembered the night he
had come first to her home. How the tempest
had lashed the old house, and the voice of the
wind through the draughtyold rooms bad sound-
ed liko the wailing of a lost spirit.

“ I forgot my dear old father for his sake,”
she whispered to herself, as she sat in the chilly
moonlight. “Oh, how dreadful he looked! Can
it be possible that he is indeed a. murderer?”

As morning broke her feelings changed. Her
husband slunibered peacefully, and Stella grew
half ashamed of her fears. Her tender heart be—
gan to plead for him. What if it was buta pain.
ful dream?

She drew near him and leaned over his pillo‘w,
gazing earnestly on his face. Suddenly she start-
ed as if a serpent had stung her.

His light golden curls were pushed aside, and
his hair at the roots was dark, indeed almost
black. Stella remembered Mrs. Sutton’s words,
“ Ladies bleach their hair.” What if her hus-
band had done the same?

Was he a criminal hidin from justice? Had
he changed the color of is hair to render his
identification difficult, if not impossible?

She trembled and turned away, all her terrible
doubts and terrors coming back with redoubled
force.

Leaving the room quietly she went to her
dressing—room, bathed and dressed. She was
tr in g to make up her mind what step she should
take, but she felt like a. rudderless ship adrift
upon the ocean.

Stella was not by any means a self—reliant wo-
man. She had been so peculiarly situated dur-
ing her father’s life that she had scarcely ever
thought for herself. She was very young and
very untutored in the ways of the world.

“ I will call the housekeeper and ask herabout
the man whom my husband resembles,” she said,
and acting on the impulse of the moment, she
run the bell and requested the chambermaid to
sen Mrs. Sutton to her. _

The housekeeper appeared, looking surprised,

for Stella had never called her to her dressing»
room before

 

 

 

  

a4

  

' 4 ~..1.;....~..,..-~. 

“1);”

"ta-“r;- -  '

 

13

 

or, Branded

for, Life.

 

 

“ Good—morning, Mrs. Sutton,” she said, pleas-
antl . “ I could not sleep, so I rose and dressed,
but lllr. Lester is still asleep. Sit down and let
us have a chat." ‘

The housekeeper obeyed, looking as if she
wondered what would come next.

“ Do you know I’ve been thinking of what you
said about my husband resembling some one?
Might it not be a relative of his.”

“ No, Mrs. Lester; the man your husband l'l“
senibles can be no relative; he is, (.i' was, a
Seotchman, and his name was Gordon." '

“ I should like to hear more. of him,” said
Stella. “ Will you tell me his story?”

The housekeeper hesitated, then murmured to ‘
herself:

“ thy not?"

“ Of course, whatever you tell mo will be in
confidence between us,” said Stella, roassuringly.

“ Well, it is rather a long story, but I sliall be
as brief as possible.” 1,

1
CHAPTER XX.
THE IIOUsEKEErEn‘s STORY.

THE two women set near each other by the 
open window;below them lay the fields of rip— :
ened hay, and beyond them the shining river i
whose eddying ripples shone like curves of gold 2‘
under the morning sunshine, while the breeze
came freshly u 11 their faces laden with the -
odor of hay-fiel s and clover.

“ Well, I must go back a long way, when I
was young and full of hope as you are now. I .
was the only daughter of a poor but proud Seot— ,
tish family, and I had one )I‘Othcr, many years
younger than myself. My mother died when he
washorn, and she called me to the side of her .
death—bed and gave little Allan to Inc. ‘ Care
for him, Janet, she said, and I always tried to
obey her. I never married, but spent my life in
devotion to the boy, who grew a strong, manly
fellow, clever as he was willful. My father
died and We were desperately poor, poorer be-
cause our pride of birth forbade all thoughts of i
work. The tiordons might starve, but honest
labor was beneath their dignity; neither was I ‘
capable of earning a penny; my education was
very superficial and l was not physically
strong.

“I could not teach, not being proficient in
any branch of learning, but possessing a slight
smattering of all; and I coiill not s1 >ek employ—
ment as a maid of all work, as I was often
tempted to do, for no one. who saw me would en- 1
gage me for such a position, as theycould tell at;
a glance I was not strong enough to till it “'o ‘
owned a tumble-down cottage and a few acres
of land, and near us lived my uncle, the elder
brother of my father, who had inherited the
title and fortune, while my father received noth— 1
ing but the cottage and two hundred pounds a

can this he reduced, b raising money on it. t
0 one hundred (five llllllf rcd dollars), and that
was all we had to live upon.

“ W'cll, as Allan grew up a bright, handsome '
boy, I thought I would put my obstinate Scotch ,
pride in in iocket and go to my uncle to bog 
for hel . . id so, and to my no small surprise 1
succec ed in enlistinor his sympathy. He had
seen Allan often, and he was proud of the boy
who was to be his heir, for he never married.

“ I-Ie adopted him as his own son, and 1 went
to live at the Hall as a. sort of upper housekeep-
er. Of course, I was not so termed, but that
was the )OSlthll I really occupied. My uncle I
never too to me; I was plain and unattractive, l
and used no flattery er other means of rendering
myself a reeable. All I cared for in the world ‘
was my rather. He was Sent to England to |
school, first to Eton and afterward to Cam-
brid e University.

“ t college he began to go wrong; he got in
debt and constantly wrote to me for money;
sometimes he wrote coaxing letters apologizing
for his extravagance, at other times bullying ,
letters, telling me he had the best right to his
father’s income, of which he always spent every
penny, though my father had willed it all to 1

me.

“ My uncle gave me but a small salary, suppos— I
ing that I used my annuity to purchase clot h- l
ing, and, as I would not betray Allan, I expcri— 
enced no little difficulty in presenting a, decent
appearance, and gained the reputation in the i
nei hborhood of being amiq r. For this I cared
not ing; what broke my heart was the fact that ‘
Allan was going from bad to worse.

“ When he had been two terms at Cambridge. a
host of his creditors wrote to Sir Lcstcr de-
manding their money. My uncle was furious
as he had given Allan a liberal allowance an
strictly commanded him to incur no debts. He
sent for my brother, who came and openly (le-
fied him. A terrible quarrel Was the result, and
Allan, who was just twenty—one, left the_ Hall
and enlisted use. private soldier In a regiment
of the line.

“ This, of course, was an open insult to the
proud old Sir Lester, who never recovered from
this blow, which was followed up by another,
for my unfortunate brother’s next step was to
marrya. barmaid. Ho nextdeserted. was caught
and punished; after this we heard little of him,
thou h he wrote to me occasionally, alwaysde—
man ing money and vowing vengeance against
the officer who had given the orders when he

 

 

 

was punished for dcscrtion. I was just begin-
ning to feel secure that our disgrace could go no
further, when the terrible news reached inc that
he had again deserted, after shooting Major
Kent, his commanding oiliccl‘, through the
heart."

“ My (lod l” exclaimed Stella.

“Yes, he had fulfilled his threats. Major

‘ Kent was the oilicci' who commanded the party

who punished him, and ho had sworn that he
would have vengeance.”

“How was be punished!” askcd Stella, in a
hollow tone, her face being pan as death and

. hcr wide violet 0 cs full of horror.
7

“As all deserters are; lie was Whipped and
branded between the shoulders with the letter
1) "

A shudder passed over the girl’s slender
frame.

" lIe escaped, thank God! Though, perhaps,
I should not say so; but if ho had been taken
and executed I should not be here now, for the
shame would have killed me.”

“ Do you know where he is?”

“ No, neither his wife. nor myself have ever
heard of him since the day he fled. My uncle is
(lead, and the title and fortune would both be
his if he were not a criminal and fugitive ironi
justice.”

“ And you have come here in Search of him l”

“I have. long to see him before I die.
My uncle left me a small sum yearly, and that
with my annuity, has kept me from want. I
had just sent Allan fifty pounds when he desert-
ed the last time; he must have received my letter
a few days before thewinurderl”

Tho liousckwpcr grew so pale as those words
passed her lips that Stella. handed her a bottle of
smelling salts, and taking a decanter from a
closet, poured out a glass of wine and made her
drink it.

“ it is terrible!” said Stella, when the old wo-
man seemed to have recovered licr composure.

“ Yes; when I remember him, a bright,
happy child, my heart breaks afresh at 'the
thought of what he afterward became. (Rod
knows what he now is. whether alive or dead.”

“Let us trust that ho is penitent and doing
well,” said Stella,.in a low tone.

The houSckccper sorrowfully shook her head.
“I fearnot.”she replied; ‘ I fear he is onl
plunging headlong into new depths of wicket—

iiess."

“Is his wife living still?” askcd Stella, in a

' peculiar tone of voice.

“Yes; she is in very poor circumstances. I
assist her Whoa I can.”

“This mark you speak of that was branded
upon your brother’s back, is it indelible?”

“ Yes, he will carry it to the grave with him;
he is branded for life I "

Stella’s pale face changed; her lips closed
firmly; she looked as if she had just resolved

‘ upon some important step.

Before either woman broke the silence that
had fallen between them there came a knock at
the door, and the chambermaid entered in re—
sponse to Stella’s calmly-spoken “ Come in. "

“ Mr. Lester is in the arlor, ma’m,” she said,
looking a little surprised) to see the housekeeper
still closeted with her mistress.

“ Very well, N annic; I am coming.”

Stella smoothed her hair, and after whis er-
ing, “ I shall keep your story a secret,” she eft
the room, Mrs. Sutton remaining seated by the
open window. _

Lester stood gazing out on the river, his face
haggard and pale; dark violet shadows lay be—
neath his eyes, which were heavy and dull.

“ Ah! irood-nioruing, Stella!” he saluted,
with an attempt at liveliness, as his wife ap-
arcd. “ So you have taken to early rising l”

“ Yes,” she rcplicd gravely.

After the night she had spent, and after hear-
ing the housekeeper’s story, it was impossible for
her to seem gay or happy.

“ “'hat is the matter with you?” inquired her
husband, affectionately.

“I do not feel well; I rested badly, and my
head aches."

“ Rested badly? I slept like a top!”

Stella looked fixedly in his face, and he
Chilth (1 color.

“ Why do you stare at moi” he asked, an-
grily.

*’- Because you did not seem to rest well; you
tossed and turned and muttered in your sleep as
if you had nightmare,” she answered, quietly.

“ Did ll By Jove! Well, you must not mind
that; I always have disagreeable dreams.”

Just then the bell rung for breakfast, and the
husband and wife were soon seated at the table.
Neither of them did justice to the tempting
meal, and immediately after it was over Mr.
Lester announced that he must return to the

City. .

His wife bade him good-by for more coldly
than she had ever done before, but "he scarcely
seemed to notice it. He drove away without
once looking back; his mind was full of other
matters. He arrived in New York carly, and

left his horse and carriage at a livery-stable; he
then went to the Grand Central Hotel, where he
lunched in a priva to room.

“Bring me pen. ink and paper,” he ordered of
the waiter, when the meal was over. ,

The order was obeyed, and he wrote a few
lines, which be folded and consigned to his
pocket.

Leaving the hotel, he proceeded to the nearest
drug-store, where he handed the sheet of )aper
to the clerk; he had removed the stamped cud-
liiio from the hotel paper.

“ Is not that rather a largo quantity of such
a strong rciiicdyz” asked the clerk, looking
doubtl’ully at the prescription.

“ No, it is just as the doctor gave it to me; I
want a tpiautity, for I am going on a long sea.
voyage.7

" ( lh, very Well; the doctor is a careful man.
so I suppose it is all right. llo has warned yet
that this is Fowler‘s solution of arsenic, l sup-
pose?"

“Certainly; plcasogivc it to me and let me
know the price; I am in a hurry.”

‘Tho drug-clerk offered no further rcmon»
strain-e, but made up the prescription and hand—
ed the bottle to his impatient customer, who
paid the price asked and cft the store.

“ Queer fellow, that!” thought the clerk, as
he put back the articles ho had used in attend—
ing to his customer's wants. “lf Doctor Car~
ter’s name hadn’t been signed, I’m blcsscdit I
wouldn’t suspect that he was going to poison
some one.” _____

CHAPTER XXI.
ANXious nars.

Asu’rou turned to face the intruder and
found to his no small relief that it was Sandy
Mellcan. the Scotch sailor, who had promised
his aid in assisting himself and the American
defective to cm ape from the brutal Mitchell.

The detective raised his hand in token of sin
lcncc, and lacked the closet door.

” Now, Sandy,” he said, in a whisper, “ what
is it 1”

Sandy signed to him to follow, and led the
way to a small cabin aft.

“Ile’s tlicrc,”ho said, pointing to the door.
“ lt' yc.can open the bit locker, maybe yo can
O]i(‘ll_ynll door.”

The (lciectivo drew his bunch of keys from his
pocket, and soon succeeded in unlocking the
door.

“l‘ll wliustlo wlicu onybody is nrouu’,”suid
Sandy, “an‘ yc’ll licii whcn I’m no whustlin’
that the coast is clear an’ yo can win not.”

Ashton entered, and found “011 lllunt lying in
a berth, looking somewhat pale and Weak.

“(food-morning, Blunt.” he. said; “can you
ever forgive me. for being the means of getting
you into such 11. Sf rape?”

“ Oh, yes, I know it ain’t your fault. I should
have made a break for tho shore when I caught
sight of that i‘eliow’s ugly face, but I fancied he
did not know inc. Has he told you why he has
a grudge against me?”

“ Yes,” said Ashton, and sitting down beside
his friend be related all that had taken place
between himself and Mitchell. He also told
Blunt of the Scotch sailor’s promise to be]
them, and how he, Ashton, had secured the b0 -
1:16 of laudanum. ,

“ I trust when we reach La Gua ra that. with
the Scotchman‘s assistance, I sha 1 get the in-
side track of Captain Mitchell,” he said, and
Blunt seemed cheered by the welcome news,
but soon looked grave again.

“I’m afraid I shall never find that colored
man again,” he said, sadly.

“Oh, yes on will: he won’t go out of St.
Thomas; he’l know there is something wrong,
as our baggage is all at the hotel.”

Ashton thought it would not be rudent to
linger too long with his friend. andy had
found an old volume of “Bleak House, with
which Blunt was trying to while away the
tedious hours, and the Scotch sailor also an

lied him with such articles of food as were 0

9 found on tho Celia. Sandy had “ whustled”
frequently while the two detectives talked- now
he was silent, as Ashton left his friend and.
emerged. Sandy was cleanin pots and pans
and informed the detective tha his services ha
been engaged as cook, steward and cabin-boy.

“That’s lucky; give my friend plenty to eat
and drink,” said the Scotland Yard detective,
and he handed the sailor a gold~piece, which
Sandy accepted under protest.

When Ashton returned to the cabin he found
(‘apiain Mitchell awning and stretching him-
self; ho was hal awake, and feeling 1; 9 bad
effects of the many glasses he had imbibed the
night before.

“ I’m as sick as a dog,” he growled, glaring at
the detective, as if it was his fault that his
health was not good.

“Take a brandy and soda,” suggested Ash-
ton, with great. apparent sympathy. .

“ All right, mix it; call Sandy with ice.”

Ashton did not intend to stand on his dignity,
so be obeyed the request, or rather command.

After several brandics and sodas had gone the
same way as tho first the noble seanian declared
himsrlf ‘ ‘ better. “

Ashton suggested a walk on deck before
breakfast, and the ca tain ussciiled with a.
grunt, and accompanie the detective on deck.

Now that daylight had come and the captain
was comparatively sober. he began to think that
‘ he had acted somewhat hastily in carrying of!

 

 

 
  

 

111111111.1:~tylc.
coir-.1111-1'al1le risk of detection if he murdered
the (lI‘LH'l 1ve outright, and he feared lll11111.‘s
an}; ‘11" ho allowed him to escape, Under 1111-51-
circumstances the sailor l'clt rather, as he termed
it, “ 111 a tight place.”

Ashton fancied he understood this feeling,

 

and h.- was111-1or1111111-d 111111. 111- would not assist .

the lrl'lllzll Mitchell out ol‘ 111>11lilii1'111t_\,‘.

A11 lr-ng1l1 1111- 1-1111111111 brol 11 the :.~il1-ncc in }

1‘111111-1'1111unexpected nay.

“ 1.111sol’s11111'ks in these vv:;1'1-1‘s."li1\,said, gaz— 1

1111-; down at the heavy rollingr waves through
which the Vessel was plunging.

" I. suppose so,” responded Ashton, indill'ei"
0111 1y.

“ Yes; 11' a. fellow lumhled in there wouldn’t l ta
1

he, 111111-11 chance 1111' 111111.”

" No, ll1ll1‘>>‘ 111* was 11 good swiinnu-l'.

“ lellllllt‘l'l
him it" he had ten or a 1111211'11 of them daisies
after him.”

“ llo you lose 1111111ym1-n 111111 may!”

“ \Vell, s1 11.111, 111-wen hands are. apt to tumble
over if they go 1111111, and it ain’t no use 11) lower

11 boat, for they are 111.151111311 before it could .

touch water.”

“ ’l'errilulc.”

“ Yes; 11.1111111111111'1:1111-.11ysf11lloxvs a vessel; if
you watch you \‘.ill see 111111 11111'111g1hod11y.”

Ashton pon1l1-1'1-doier Ihis conversation. 110
could not see exactly what the sailor was head-
ing at.

Did he intend to murder Blunt and give the
murder the 11p] marancu of an accident?-

Their talk had been cut short by 1110 appear—
ance of Sandy to announce breakfast, and they
went below to partake of that meal.

“That fellow in the. aft cabin must have some-
thing to eat, Sandy,” said the captain, when he
had linished eating.

“ Very wee], sir.”

“Come on deck, Mr. Ashton, and I will re-
lieve 1.11131111111- till he gets his grub.”

The two men strolled up and down in silence
for a. time; the captain then spoke suddenly.

“ Did you say you couldn’t get the money
without this fellow’s help?” he asked.

“ Yes; I might get it, but I don’t know how
to set about it. He is a detective, you see.”

“ Yes,” said the sailor, blinking uneasily.

“ He has a full description of the man we are
in search of, and so forth. No; I scarcely think
I could do Without him.”

The captain seemed discouraged by this re—
mark and said nothing for a. time, but moodin
paced the deck, his hands in his pockets and a
short, black pipe in his mouth.

“A big haul you’ll make," he said at length,
cnviously.

“ Yes; that’s why'I am so mad about being
hindered in this way,” replied the Scotland
Yard detective, in an injured manner.

“ Well, you see, I had considerable grog
aboard, and when I caught sight of that blamed
bloodhound’s face I couldn’t resist the tempta—
tion to try and get square with him.”

He spoke in a half-apologetic tone and kept
his 0 es fixed on the (leek. ,

‘f an’t you get him to tell you how the feller
you’re huntin’ for looks?” he added. .

“ I might, if I could see him,” said Ashton,
carelessly.

“ “7e11, I’ll let him up on deck if you say so;
try and find out all you can.”

ith these words the captain walked away
leaving the detective staring after him.

“ He is laying some deep ame,” reflected
Ashton. ‘ Perhaps Blunt may able to fath-
om it.”

In a few moments he saw Ben Blunt appear
accompanied by Sandy. The detective looked
very pale and languid, and Ashton felt terribly
anxious for fear the savage blow he had re-
ceived upon his head had injured him seriously.

“How are you, Ben?” he asked, as the Amer-
ican officer sunk into a camp-chair provided by

11d .
“ F’deling weak from being shut up, but the
fresh air will soon bring me around.”
“ Does your head trouble you i” asked Ashton,
anxiously. -
“ No, not much; you see, I’ve had a good
many hard knocks in my time.”
“ And I fear, Ben, you are in danger of hav-
ing more.”
he Scotland Yard officer then related all
that he had heard from the captain. telling Ben
how he had affected to agree to all the scoundrel
said.
“ He intends to murder me,” said Blunt, calm-
, l ; “ but, thanks to Sandy, I have In seven—
‘sliooter, and I’ll make it lively for him. ’
“ But in all probability he is armed also.”
“ Yes; but with a. knife, most likely. I’ve seen
a good deal of men like him; they rarely carry
firearms.”
' “Well, for God’s sake, be on your guard ”
“ I shall, never fear; so his mind is running on
sharks, eh?”
“ So it appears.”
“ How many men can he count?"
“Five; that is, counting him in.”
“ And Sandy is on our side.”
H “st so.”

1
hi: ancient 6111 my, lien Hirint, in such high 1 .
lie 1‘1-111-1-11-11111111.1111-1‘11 would he. 1 the gale-.7 1111 we reach La Huayra, we can dose

Il’hat good would swinnning do ‘1

Br

antled for Ln‘e.

 

  

“ If we can~in seafaring parlmice—-‘ weather

1 the lot and go ashore 111 pence; hut we can‘t nav—
igate the shlp.” '

“ No. .1 1.111111: he means mischief this very
, night; 11111.111-1'11heco111es."

1 They were joined at that. moment by the ‘(lp-
tain, who said 111L’1-11 14111111:

“ Well, mate, 1 put my foot in 111 the other
1 night; I Was 111111411115 over and didn’t know
what. 1 was about very well: I hope you hear no
mali1-1 t"

“ (‘ertainly not,” replied Blunt:

“ That‘s right; by 1111-, way,1ho sun is now
1 over the. mainmast; I suppose you know what

that means!”
“ l 111-Joye on shipl.»oard it is an invitation to
ke a drink.”
“ You’re right; conic ln-loW.‘7
All the rest of the day the captnin kept up a
gnu-111151111111 of cordinlity toward the two 111-tow
tives, but he. took 11 (‘11:1111'1- 1o whisper to Ash—
ton: “ Did you lindoutwhatwowant’11.1111111w?”
1 and the 1111111 1'1'11111Hc1111and Yard replied with a
shake of 111:; head, upon which the other mut-
‘EN'ed 1111011111111-1ow his; 111'111111.

“ So long,r 11-1I c1111 make him believe, that Plant
1 is necessary to us, he may not attempt his life,”
[ thought Ashton.

It was now evidently a race against time.
1 The two detectives (111831111111011 Handy 311-131-1111,
3 but he. had 1.4) reluctantly confess ho 1:11ew little
or nothing of navigation. Three days passed,
1 duringr which the captain 1111-1 mate. drank deep—
, ly and quarrelel frequently; but nothing hap—
pened to alarm the detectives, who were in mo-
mentary expectation of some attack upon Blunt.
Ashton longed to know how men they would
‘1 reach La Guayra, hutdarcd not inquire for fear

of exciting suspicion. The. crew wei e a moody,
1‘ hangdog sot of men, and the looks they cast at
Blunt proved that they had no reason to feel
kindly toward a detective.

It was the fourth night after Blunt had been
allowed to come on deck, and it was exr-essively
dark. The two officers stood together gazing
into the black abyss through which tl 1121 Ship was

ilunging heavily, when Ashton was called be—
low b Sandy.

“ 1’ 1 come back as soon as poss‘ble,” he said.
and descended to the cabin, where the captain
and mate sat drinking as usual. , ~

“ Take a glass, mate,” said Mitchell, in a
jovial mannei, though he looked ill at ease and
nervous.

Ashton sat down and accepted the glass which
the captain mixed for him. He noticed that the
sailor’s hand trembled.

“ Here’s luck 1” Ashton said, in a hearty tone,
but he kept his car on the alert to catch any un-
usual sound on deck.

He heard nothin for a time, and was com-
mencin to think Ins fears were groundless,
when a of a sudden there was a hurried tramp-
ling of feet as if men were engaged in a scuffle,
then a loud splash and a scream for help.

CHAPTER XXII.
FRANK SEYMOUR’s PROMISES.

MISS Goanox’s liking for Mr. Seymour grew
stronger da by day, and it seemed reciprocated,
for the Eng ishman s out an hour or two in her
parlor daily. Ha ha made every effort to learn
whether there was any truth in a report that
reached him that the man he was in search of
had left South America. for New York, and
finally came to the. conclusion that the story was
without foundation.

He then determined to start for the Argentine
Republic.

‘ I shall have to beguilo him to some place
with which we have an extradition treaty ” he
said, in conversation with Miss Gordon ‘ or I
cannot lay one finger on him while he is in
Buenos Ayres.”

“ I wish you would attend to some business
for me while you are in that portion of the
world,” said iss Gordon, and she related the
story of her nephew’s home-coming, and her
doubts and fears.

To her intense disa pointment Mr. Seymour’s
o inion was identica with that of Mr. Dalton.

9 could not understand Why she suspected Fred-
eric of being an impostor.

“ His strange En lish accent,” she pleaded.

“ “’ell, my dear ady, be accounted for that
in a reasonable way.”

“But the idea of his failing to recognize
Beatrice Maybray, when he was madly in love
with her.”

“Which proves nothing; he had forgotten her,
or she has changed.”

“ Oh! you men are all alike. So very dense,”
exclaimed the old lady, indignantly

“ Oh! you ladies are all alike, so very fanci-
ful ” answered Seymour. lnughingly.

‘ Well, I am surel This is the first time in my
life I was called fanciful.” ‘

“My dear Miss Gordon, I shall act just as if
your suspicions were founded on all sorts of evi-
dence; candidly speaking, I do not like your
nephew."

‘I thought as much,” said the old lady, tri-
umphantly.

‘ No; he looks to me like a man whose past

  

 

 

history prayed upon his mind.”

1

 

 

7,“, . n, Tl‘fiIA*,~w.fi___.___fl 0*"
“ Just so. and my poor Fred was as open a I

daylight, 111-111' 111-How.” 1

Tears sto1 111 in her clear blue ?yes or her visitor
would have felt tempted to laugh. He thoughé
to himself: he 111-tests and loves the saint .
man.”

“ And you promise me solemnly to make every
inquiry 1'1 11' my nephew?” she resumed. after 11.‘
short pause.

“ I do.” '1

“ l have, a detective down there as I told you,
11111. I cannot for the life of me tell what he is
111111111. I hear nothing, 1111111110 :411»111:1L\‘1} drive?”
me wild.” '

“ Probably ho is \\'1111111,'J,‘111l111-11as something
of 1111pertan1-c to communicate,” s11
mour.

“ Uh! I‘d be glad to hear the merest 1'1'iil1'.”

“\Vell, 1 shall keep you informed of every
move I malze. By the way I wonder if your
nephew can give me some letters of introduction
to parties there."

“$111131 to dinner and ask him.
hmncto-duy for a wonder.”

“ I have. one letter which I think may prove

1111
D

1

Ft}

H1- dlncs at

“Nested S‘ey-l
}.

useful; it is to a Spaniard, Signor Madurn, who ‘

resides near liuenos Ayn-s."

11'1-ed1,-1‘i1- Gordon dined at home, and he made
1111 ellort to he very polite to Mr. Seymour, but
it \1 as evident that it was an effort.

“ By the way, M 1'. Gordon,” began the English-
man. “I am bound for the portionof the world
Where, you spent some years.”

“ Indeed?"

Frederic looked startled and hastily drank a
glass of wine.

“ Yes, I am off to Bnenos Ayres. Can you
give me. any introductions to parties there-5”

“ N11," said Gordon, in a hoarse tone, so abrupt-
ly, that Miss Gordon gave Mr. Seymour a sig—
nifieant glance.

“ Ah! Excuse me for taking the liberty of
asking, but I fancied from your long residence
in the place that you had friends there."

It was evident that the man felt that he had
betrayed too much excitement over such a sim-
ple matter as an acquaintance asking for letters
of introduction to parties in a place whei 0 he
had s ent so long a nation of his life.

He ad committe himself, and he endeavored
to make amends. “ It is true,” he said, hurried—
ly, “ that I lived there six years, butI was poor
and had to work for my bread; you would not
care to become acquainted with the class of men
I was forced by my circumstances to associate
with.”

“ Six years, Fred?” c'aculated Miss Gordon.

“ Ten I mean! Goo heavens, you cross—ex-
amine a man as if he was in a court of
law 1”

He spoke so rudely, so angril , that Miss Gor-
don turned to her guest in t 9 most pointed
manner and began a. conversation upon another
sub 'ect.

T e host relapsed into a moody silence and did
not join his aunt and her friend in the reception—
room after dinner.

“ What do you think of that?” asked Miss Gor-
don, when Mr. Seymour and herself were alone
together.

‘ I scarcely know what to say. He was very
unger. tlemanly. ”

‘ Oh! I care nothing for his rudeness to me,
but he looked absolutely frightened when you
told him where you were going.”

Mr. Seymour did not reply, he did not wish to
encourage the old lady’s suspicions- but he could
not fln a ready explanation of  Gordon’s
stran e conduct.

“ e is an impostor,” she said, “ and he has
many low ways. He is intensely lazy, but re—
fuses to employ a valet; I suppose that he knows
that a man who was accustomed to waiting upon
gentlemen would see through him at once.”

Segmour laughed.

“ hi you laugh, but it is a fact,” she said,
gravely.

. “ W should not his refusal to employ a ser-
vant arise from the fact that he has grown ac-
customed to waiting upon himself?”

“ No such thing, it arises from what I say.”

Finding he could not shake her faith in her
own acuteness, Seymour changed the subject.
He was to sail early the next day, so this was in
realit his visit of farewell. -

He ade the old lady who had been so kind to
him adieu, with a strange feeling that their part.
in was forever.

by he should feel so he did not understand.
He intended to pay a return visit to New York,
on his way to England, and Miss Gordon was in
excellent health.

“ You will not forget to seek for the real
Fred Gordon?” she said, earnestly.

“ No; I shall search for himw1th as much zeal.
as if my whole mission to South America was in
his behalf.” .

“ I know you will find him if he lives. Oh!
If I could only live to see him return to his old
home, and take that vile impostor by the throat. "
‘LHush, my dear lady, do not excite yourself

“I cannot help it. But good-by. God bless
you. Write soon.”

With one last friendly pressure of the hand
they parted. ‘

80

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CllAlVl‘lCR XXIU. ‘
'11111: 1:111:11) 111v t’AlN.

Aia‘uoutin Stello WJH 1'111'1‘1'11111 ri deternnwvil
womlm 111111111111 111.1111- up her 11111111 111111111'11 the
truth 111 regard to the 1111111 rlll‘ 1:1111 loved so
passionately. _

So 111111-11 ot’ Mrs. Sutton’s storyseenwl topoint
directly to the conelusion 111111. this 1111111 whom
she called her 11Il>1111111l was none, other 1111111
Allan (iordon, the fugitive from justice 111111
murderer.

S1111 shudderwi When she remembered tho terri—
blo night she, 111111 >p.-111. lierblood r1111 coldly
in her veins as sue thought. of her husband‘s four-
[111 words.

11' it 111111 only been :1, dream, why should he ‘
say that no 111111 rested Well, when his face was
1111 ' '11‘11, 11nd his heavy, (lull eyes told .sueh 11
(liilerent story?

“ If he is Allan (iordon, he. isnot 111y1111sh11111l,
1111111111 1111111 for his wife is alive in England,"
1511111 Stell:1,11n11 it proved 111111t11.st,:1te her 11111111
was 111, that she could rejoice at the thought. ,

Pure and innocent as she was, she was thunk- ‘
fult|111ttl1isn11n1 \1'11s11othe1‘ husband, l'orit' he
111111 been, she would have considered herself,
bound to 12111111111 by his side 111; 1111 111121111111,
though she must tell 111111 that he 111111 revealed 1
his true nature. to her, for showusiio111ssomble1‘.

Now, however, if he, should prove to be the
man whose story 111111 been related to her by the
housekeeper, her course 11m clen r. ‘

He was not her husband. 111111 she would leave ,
him w1thout one l1oui"s1lel11_y. ,

“I shall put 111111 to the test,” sho said, as she I
roamed listlessly through the house.

. “I shall ascertain 11' he is the 1111111, and if he
is, I shall tell him he is not my husband, and ;
leave 111111.” 1

He did not return that night, so Stella “'11s 1
forced to endure suspense, the greatest torture 1
the human 111411 rt can bear.

Three days elapsed, and Stella, who had been
terribly anxious on one subject, viz. , how to ask
her husband the one question she must ask,
found a way out of that difficulty.

The fourth day she heard the rapid gnllo of
a horse coming up the long drive which led.) up
to the house.

It was a familiar sound for her. Lester often

qude out to his beautiful home, and his young
Wife usually ran down to the. door to meet
and welcome him ere he had time to dismount.

Now she remained in her place. She sat by
the open window with a trifle of fancy-work in
her hands. It was making no )rogress, for the
listless fin ers and preoccupied mind were un-
fltted for p ying the needle and thread.

“ Why, Stella! Did you not hear me coming?”
asked Lester, coming in briskly.

' She looked up, and he could not help remark-
lng the pallor of her face, the dark circles be-
ne‘ath the wide violet eyes. ,

_‘Wby, Stella, my dearest, you are 1111” he

crft‘agfap rehensivel . v
0, am not ill: Frederic; I am only wor-

 

“ Why are you Worried, my pet?”

6 took a seat beside her and tried to draw
the small head down on his breast, but she
shrunk back with a shudder.

“ Stella!” cried he, reproachfully.

I cannot help it. I am nervous,” she stam-
mered, for_do what she would a lingering hope
remained in her heart that her fearful suspi-
Ciops might prove unfounded.

You are ill, darling- you must see a doctor;
but wait, I have somet 111g in my pocket that
In? cure you.”

9 drew forth a. jewel-case and laid it in her

la .

Her heart beat fast, and a rush of tears filled
her eyes, so that everything in the room trem-
bled and wavered till the flood overflowed the
aglteaiidsialll‘d 11111111l dfozilrln her cheeks, falling on

0 P 11 us 0 e 'ewel-case and s h-
1115 11: with bldtches. 3 pl”
Why, Stella!” cried Lester, and he knelt be-
fore her and took her face between his hands,
“ You are ill, and you never told me.”

“ No, I am not ill—only nervous.”

“ Well, look at this. ” ~-

He opened the case and displa e a magnifl-
cent set of turquoises and pearls. They were
of unusual Size and Very rare and beautiful.

“Oh! how lovely!” cried Stella, true woman
as she was, for one moment forgetting her
trouble in the contemplation of the beautiful
jewels.

“Ah! that has cured you, my sweet,” said
Lester. joyfully. “Come, try them on.”

He clasped the wide band of gold, heavily set
with gems, about her creamy throat, placed the
earrings in her little ears. find slipped the broad
bracelets over her slim white hands. I

“Look at yourself. my beautiful little Wife,”
he said, proudly, leading her to the mirror.

She could not but know that the ornaments
became her well.

Her trouble, forgotten for the moment, came
back upon her with" redoubled force as she
caught sight of her husband’s face smiling upon
her inthe mirror.

Was it possible that could be the face of a.
murderer?

 

All the beauty of the gems, all the sunshine of

' '54‘ W-‘hnfik

“1);” or, Branded for Lif

the:1111'1111111111morning,111111111brightnessol' ivcr
11114111111154 smile. oneotho 111.:11t111 her lil'e,se1111e1l
blurred 111111 blotted out 111' the sight of the
111171111111 girl. A gain >111: shuddered 111111 trem-
1111-11.

“ You are Very 111, my darling,” s11i11 Lester,
11111111321111 ho elusiml her 111 his 111'111s. “’l‘his
lonely plueo 111111511111, suit, you; wait 11. little 111111
i will 1111111 you 11111-1: to the eity. Only :1 little
“111111111111 my bountiful wife 11111111 be queen of
New York society.”

“1 do not wish to be queen of any 111111-11," she
answered, 111 11 low tone.

“liutyous111111,11111111\snmc.
surprise in store for yup.”

'l‘he 1111y pusse1l,111ul Stella tried to net like
herself 111111 keep 1111‘ terrible doubtsond tears 11f
rest. till tho moment should eolno when they
would be proved false. or true.

Shepluyed111111sung(luringtholongevvning,

but tl1o11111sie jorrezl upon her 111111 her voice was
not sweet 111111 powerful 11s usual.
Lester suggested that she should retire
sho 111111 resolutely refused to eonsult. 11
physieluu, 111111 insisted that her illness \voul11
soon pass away; she at once took his 11111111: 111111
retired to her room.

1111'. Lester smoked 11 cigar (11111111111111-thotrces,

1 b11ve11.br1;_~;11t

  

, and his Wil'o, \11'11tel1111e,~ 111111 by 1111- lightof the

hurrest moon, prayed that 1111 her terrible sus—
pit-ions might prove unfounded.

llv 111111 by, she heard 111111 moving about in
his dressing-room, and she softly tapped 11.1: the
door. I

“ Who is there?" ho asked, sharply.

“ It is inc—Stella.”

“ Wait one moment.”

His tone expressed surprise, for never before
had she thus sought 111111 111 his dressing-room.

“ You are astonished to see ll]01.lel‘(‘?”sl.l@ said,
with a wan little smile.

“ I suppose you are still a little nervous," re—
plied Lester, pleasantly.

“ No, that is not the reason. You have
strange dreams, Frederic, and last night I had
one.” Not only 11. strange dream, but a dreadful
0110.

“ Yes?” he said, in a strained manner.

“I dreamed that we were sitting under the
trees watching the river, and that a police ofli-
cer came and arrested you, and said you were
a murderer 1”

His face had turned a sickly yellow while she
spoke. She marked the change, but kept bravo-
ly on. She had really dreamed the scene she
was depicting had taken placc, for she was in-
capable of telling a falsehood.

‘I thought he said: ‘Your name is Allan
Gordon, you are a murderer, and on your back
between your shoulders there is branded the
letter D.’ ”

The man’s face was now frightful to behold.

It;l was as ghastly as the stiffened face of the

a

e .
“What do you mean i” he asked, hoarsely,
and his eyes flashed u 11 her with savage fur .
“ It was a dream,’ said Stella, faintly. is
looks bad chan ed so, she would scarcely have
recognized him ad she met him elsewhere.

“ It is a lie, madaml It is no dream; your old
villain of a father betrayed me, and you have
made” up this story for some object of your
own.

The fierce look he cast upon her, the fearful
oaths he uttewd. almost caused her heart to
stand still. A bolder woman might well trem-
ble, for he looked as if he felt tempted toadd an-
other murder to the list of his crimes.

Stella did not tremble. He had dared to insult
the good old father whose death had seemed
such a. trifling rief because of this man’s love!

A fine; shot t rough the girl’s heart asshe re—
mem red the hasty wedding which took place
the very day that dear old father was laid away
to sleep his last unbroken sleep.

She thought with, oh! what a. bitter sting of
conSCience, how soon her mourning—the out-
ward garb of woe—had been cast naide. In her
heart she had never mourned.

For this man she had forgotten her duty as a
den hterl '

“ y father was no villain,” she said, with a
calmness that surprised herself.

“ He was,” he shouted in reply. “ He said he
would not betray me, when consulted him
about the accursed mark between my shoulders;
he could not remove it, but he said my con-
fidence in him would be respectet .”

“And he kept his word,” replied Stella, still
speaking in a quiet, even tone.

She knew him now. He was indeed Allan
Gordon—the escaped murderer, and deserter
from the British army.

His face changed once more. Had he been
too ea51ly frightened? Had he betrayed himself
by his violence?

“He kept his word?” he said, inquiringly.
“ He did not tell you?”

“ He never breathed one word to me; I never
knew why you consulted him.”

Lester was silent. He felt that he had mined
himself.

He loved Stella, as evil persons love the pure
and good. .

“Im sorry I spoke as I did, dear,” he said
approaching her and trying to place his hand

~vn.1~:1~:1u1w-c:- fish-1 N»

 

  
      

-.hvvl‘\lw‘1.uu v1, ...,._. , 5...,” M,“  1.

_. 1,1511 '1 1

. 2115

,4-.__-_.. ...__ ..... 1.. __..........~_.... 4.. .. m- ..-. ..—.-—..—.

 

upon her shoulder; 11111: 7111- shrunk from Mi
tom-‘11 11,411 be 111111 in n.vl«.e.

" .\hi you 1111-1111;,1 1'1‘1'112111. No Wonder!”

“1 111 not angry, 11111 1 '11‘V1'l' ‘1”;in 1:11.11» your
11110111311111."

“ 1111.111?”

Annin 1111 angry lrown gathered like :1 storm»-
cloud over his 1'111'e.

“ You are Allan Gordon, and you have. 11, wife
11'. 11111111111111. 1 11111 not; your wife, 111111 1. shall
1e11,ve_vou11s soon 11s 11111‘111111';,.,_‘1

Swift 11:1 lightning ho 1'11is’1-11 111:1111'111 .14 if to
strike her down. ills 11111111 sunk by his side,
hoWever, and he 111111. with otteinpted 1-111111-
ness:

“ You are. 711ml !“

“No, l have been 1111111. 1 11111<11ne11o\\'.”

She rose us she spoke, her long white cashmere
1lross111g—gown 1111111111: upon the carpet, her
heavy golden hair 1111111511114 1111‘ below her waist,
111111 her pule 1'111'1: looki 111.111111-1'111-1- of 11 V184
11.11111. from the. 1111111 111' .1 its.

“ You need not trouble to leave 7111'. 111111111111,”
he suiil. “ l sl111ll leave this housontonee,111111.
1 shall not. return torn-inlays: by 111111 111111‘)‘ou
will 1rob1111ly h11vo eonie to your senses."

“ hope so.‘7

Without one word of l‘nreuell she left the.
room, 111111 he 111-11111 her loeli 111111 bolt the, doors
of her sleepng11pnr1111ent. ’

“ My Hod!“ he ext-11111111111, wiping away the
huge drops of lu‘l‘npll'lll ion Willl'll run down his
111'1111'111‘11. “ llow 1111s she11-:11'111'111his1"

11o dressed- —1'or 111‘ 111111 um 11 his dressing-
gown 111111 slippers (luring: the inlerviva—11111l in
11 few moments the rapid 1:11111 m of his horse [{0-
in;: down t.ho.'1ven11etol1lStella that he had left
the house ._

S1111 rung the ho ,nndns soon 11s the chamber-
11111111 11ppwire11, said quietly:

“ Send 1111's. Sutton to 1111-."

The girl obeyed. All the servants 111111 caught
the sound of loud talking, but not the, sense of
the words which had passed between their inas—
tcr 111111 111isti'css. They know too that Mr. Les-
ter 111111 left the. house.

“ Come to 111issus,” said the girl to the house
keeper. “ Master and 1111ss11s 111111 an awful.
row, and he’s gone back to New York.”

With a strange sinking of the heart the house-
keeper obeyed.

  

 

 

   
      

CHAI’TER XXIV.
A NARROW ESCAPE—FREEDOM.

THE detective followed by the captain haste!»-
ed on deck. *‘

The night was dark, the sky overcast, and the ‘
moon gave only a fitful gleam of light now and
then, but the wake of blue flrc followed the l
ship’s course as she cleft her way through the
heav waves.

“ an overboard 1” said the man at the wheel,
in a 3001 tone. This accident was not unex—

pectedl

11 Help pa

The cry came from astern, and it was the fee-
ble utterance of a. drowning man.

“ Why in God’s name don’t you lower a boat?"
asked Ashton, seizing the captain by the arm.

“ It’s no use,” he replied, with brutal indiffer-

ence. “Before we could reach him he'd be
chawod u by the sharks. Anyhow, it’s only
that cusse bloodhound.”

“How do you know?” naked Ashton, his very
heart sickening with the thought that his friend
was rishing while he stood idle.

“ h! I ess so; none of my men would be
darned foo is enough to get over the ship’s side in
these waters.”

“ Hel—pl”‘the sound came more faintly. and
Ashton strained his eyes to try and catch sight
of the man Who sent forth the cry of despair.

“ Why, you could have easily saved him," he
said, indignantly, turning to the captain, who
was lighting his pipe.

“I guess not," replied that worthy, cooll .

At this moment a hand touched As ton’s
sleeve.

He turned, and b
unbounded joy, he
Blunt 1

” Thank God!” he Whispered, for Captain
Mitchell stood near. 1

“ So, captain. you’ve been unfortunate enough
to lose one of your men,” said Blunt, in a tone of
sympathy, after he had exchanged a hearty
pressure of the hand With the Scotland Yard
detective.

the binnaclc light, to his
held the features of Ben

“ Great Scotti” exclaimed thc sailor, «lroppin ’«" '
his pipe on the deck and staring as if he has '1
seen a. ghost. "..

“ What’s the matter?" * 1

“ Why, darn it, I thought it was you who fell ‘
overboard.”  I

“No it was a short man with a big red
beard.’ .

“ Perry, by gosh!” The captain used another
woiili. It

presume so; 1 was a it on couldn’t save

him: he seemed to be a gooId s¥v3in1nicrfl

A terrible oath came from the sailor.

"‘ He seemed to kee afloat for quite a long
time,” said Blunt. “ was right aft, and saw
him ffiilly ttcin méifiutes afteit') he wiant oven-hand he
was was 11 ewaves rave and s o ting' *
for help.” g y u

16 66

 

“As you know so darned much, maybe you
know how he got over,” growled the captain,
fiercely.

“ No, I don’t.”

” My best man gone.”

The sailor turned on his heel and left the dock.

“ How did it happen, Blunt?” asked Ashton,
eager] '.

“ Why, after you went below, I walked aft;
this fellow sprung on me like a tiger. I gave
him :1 sockdolager between the eyes with the
butt of my revolver, but he tried to drug me
over.
muscle, so 1 let him have his own way till he got
mo to the ship's side. He was dragging mo with
all his might, and I was holding back with all

mine, but when I got to the right place Isud- ,
denly yielded, laying hold of the bulwark at the ,

same time; he had got on so much steam that he
could not check himself and over he went. He
tore a piece out of my sleeve. I shouted for help,
but kept out of si ht till the fuss was over to
see what they wuu d do. They could have saved
him. but they thought it was me, and didn’t

try.”

‘I’m glad of it,” said Ashton. “ Now it is
only four to three.”

“ Yes, and there is one fellow who don’t like
the captain. I overheard him asking Sandy
what spite Mitchell had against me, and when
Sandy told him, I'd sent him to State’s Prison
once, he said he Wished I’d do it again.”

“ Well, if we can get that man on our side it
will be an even score.”

“ Counting the laudanum as one I guess it’s
that now." > - '

“ l’ll tell you another thing, the mute and the
«captain ti rht like (11 igr’.”

“ And 7ll tell you something. VVe’ll he in
La (‘ruayra to—morrow it" tho wiirl keeps fair.”

“ Then this is the last night at ecu.”

“ Yes. You must dose the noble tar; the other
follows won’t care to commit murder for his
sweet sake, but he is dangerous.”

The captain reappearedon deck, and Ashton
imiiiediatcly took him by tho arm and conducted
him to a safe distance from llen Blunt, who
went below.

The Scotland Yard detective had transferred
the bottle of laudanum from his own pocket to
that of his associate. He [1150 gave him his
bunch of keys.

“ Make good use of your time, Ben,” he
whispered, “ 1’” keep him on deck till I see you
come back here.”

Blunt disappeared.

The cabin was tcnantless. and Blunt lost no
time in opening the locker where Captain
Mitchell kept his stock of liquors.

He drew forth a quart bottle of whisky and
poured about an ounce of Iaudanum into it.

“ It’s s-uch Vile stuff he’ll never taste it ”he
said to himself. He then carefully recorked the
bottle, put it back in its place and locked the
ca tain’s private wine-bin.

{e reappeared on deck almost before Ashton
had time tomiss him.

Meanwhile the man from Scotland Yard was
engaging the captain in conversation.

“ Do you know, Cap.” he said, in a confiden-
tial manner, “I believe we can get all the in-
formation we want out of that fellow, if we get
him half full."

“ Blast him! I wish it was him over the side
instead of poor Perry.”

“ Yes, it seems a pity to lose a good man, but
there’s no help for it.”

" I’ll tell you why I don’t like it.”

The captain had been drinking heavily all
da‘yipndflwas disposed to be communicative.

es

“ I don't like my mate. He’s a‘darn sneak,
and there’s another sneak on board, and now
Percy’s gone, it leaves me short-handed.”

“ hat‘s bad.”

“ Yes, it is: don’t let on to that blamed blood-
hound. or he’ll be putting old Hacky in their
heads. ”

“ 01)! I’ll be dumb as a fish. I say, though,
Cap, do you know what the Governor of North
Carolina said to the Governor of South Caro-
line?”

H No.”

“ He said: ‘ It’s a long time between drinks.‘ ”

“ Hal Hal That’s good. Well, come below
and we‘ll find a cure for that.”

They proceeded below, and the captain sent
Sandy to call Blunt, who of course was nowhere
to be seen.

He soon appeared.

“ \Vhat’ll you take?” asked the captain, who
was getting out the liquor.

“ Gin? Pshaw! that’s a Dutchman’s drink.
Why can’t you drink old rye?”

“I don’t like it.”

“ All right; please yourself.
take Ashton 2“

“ I’ll try Blunt’s tipple.”

"‘ All right: help yourself.”

They sat down and began to talk.

The captain drankheavily; the two detectives,
scarcely tasting the poisonous stuff before them,
eat talking on all sorts of subjects likely to in-
terest the sailor.

During the conversation the mate came in and

What’ll you

I‘m small, but few men are my equal in ‘

D ;”

joined the captain in discussing the contents of
the drugged whisky bottle.

The detectivos xvi-re afraid he might; detect
the flavor of the laudanum, but he did not, and
the bottle was soon emptied.

In five minutes the captain was fast asleep,
and a short time after the mute reclined on the
‘ tloor beside him.

“ I hope you didn’t overdo it,” said Ashton,
rather apprehensivcly.

“No, it; won’t hurt them. They are pretty
tough. but we had better put the bottle back in
case they should miss it.”

This was soon done, and the two detectives
went on deck.

“ IVhere‘s the captain?" asked one of the men
on deck.

“Fast asleep in the cabin, and so is the
mate.”

" They are a pretty pair,” growled the sailor.
“ It’s well me and that other fellcr knows enough
to bring the ship into La Guayra, for we‘ll be
there before day.”

“You have been there before, I hope?” said

, Blunt, who had heard of the dangers of naviga—
; tion among the West India islands, on account
{ of the coral reefs.

i “ I should say so.
‘ there.”

l The detectives remained on deck till day
i broke, when the Celia dropped anchor in the
i harbor of La Guayra.

l “I’ll pay you well to take us ashore,” said
, Ashton to one of the men.

1 "I can’t spare the time,” replied the man,
“ but Sandy can go if he likes.”

“What in thunder ails the captain and the
I mate?” asked the other man, who had been be.—
t low. “ Darned if they ziin’ta-snorin’down there
§ like they’d took cloryform.” .

“1 am very sorry they are not awake,” said
Ashton. “ I should like to bid them good-by,
ibut I must lose no time, for Sandy says the

steamer for Bucnos Ayres sails to-duy, and my
business has been so long neglected that I must
not lose any more time. Please present our rc—
gar-ls to them and tell them I was sorry they
were not awake to go ashore with us and have a
good time.”

The two detectives loft, followed by the good
wishes of the sailors, who were both well paid
for their politeness.

\Vithin two hours they were on their way to
Bucnos Ayrcs.

Great was Captain Mitchell’s wrath when he
rose from his drugged slumbers and found the
birds had flown. More especially when a negro
came on board in a bum-boat, carrying a polite
note thankng him for his hospitality, and
signed: ~

“ has BLl‘NT,
“Roxanna Asmon.
“ Stcnl Svrrice."

I was born and brought up

 

 

He danced with rage.

“They were both loodhounds!” he shouted,
and gnashed his teeth with impotent fury.

“ And they fooled us nicely and hocussed our
grog ” replied the mate, consolingly.

“ ’ hey didn’t.” .

“ They did.”

“ Shut u ! I’m too sick to jaw.”

“ So am .”

The worthies held their heads and groaned;
then betook themselves to their favorite remedy
-—brandy and soda.

CHAPTER XXV.
A BROKEN ENGAGEMENT—THE FIRST LETTER.

['1‘ was difficult for Mariquita to meet her fa-
ther the day after she learned how treacherous-
ly he had acted toward her lover, without be-
traying some resentment. _

He, the lover, was at once elevated to the ex-
alted position of a martyr for his love of her
fair self. .

Juanita’s imagination was ‘very fertile, and

scene when ona presented the letter. She de-
scribed tne raptures of the signer as if she had
witnessed them, and Mariquita actually found
herself humming a love song, and feeling so near—
ly happy that she reproached herself.

“ I am sin ing and feeling gay, while he is so
miserable,” s e said to Juanita.

“ He is not miserable now, cam,” replied the
girl, “for he has your letter.”

In the afternoon visitors arrived at the Casa
Madura.

Don Pedro do Carrara and his son Vir 'lio.
They were warmly received by Signor M ura.
Mari uita also received them very leasantly
and t ey apparently enjoyed their inner, an
spent the evening in conversation and listening
to some fine music, for Mariquita possessed a
beautiful contralto voice, and Virgilio a fine
tenor.

“What a. splendid couple they will make,”
said old Pedro, admiringly.

“ Yes,” replied Madura, “he is a handsome
young man.’

“And your daughter, she is a living sun-
beam. Graceful as a humming bird.”

“ She is a. good girl, modest and tender.”

“ And has never. had a lover?” remarked
Pedro, inquiringly.

 

or, Branded for Itife.

she drew lar ely upon it in picturing a glowing

 

“ Nevcrl” sa id Madura, almost indignantly.
“\Vhat would you think of me if I permitted
such a thing?"

“ Of course I know you would not. "

“She has been carefully nurtured, watched
over like a flower; she is as innocent as an angel,
and knows not the meaning of the word love. ’

This was all highly satisfactory to the two old
men, but it was far otherwise with the young
people.

“Signorita,” said Virgilio, “do you know
what the gray heads discuss in onder corner?”

“ No indeed,” replied Mariquita, with a
merr augh.

“’1 hey are busy tolling each other what a
pretty couple we will make; for, let me tell you
a secret, they mean as to marry.”

“ What, Signor?”

Mariquita opened her great velvety eyes to
their very utmost width.

" It is a fact. They have planned it, and
think we shall do just as they say. ”

“ But I won’t." rotested the girl, stoutly.

“ Neither will II,” replied the young man,
laugliingly. “ Mariquita,” he added, ‘till a
week ago I was at your disposal heart and hand,
but I am so no longer. I met and love another.

tel’use me, for the love of Santa Illaria, and
put me out of_my pain.”

“Nay,” said Mariquita. “Why should I in-
cur my father’s wrath? Refuse me, and go
frce.’

They both laughed, looking meaningly in each
other’s eyes, and the two old men nudged each
other and whispered that everything was going
on just as they wished.

“ Do you love, Mariquita?”

She did not answer, but a warm tint like the
blossom of the pomegranate stole over the smooth
oval of her check.

“Ah! I can read your secret in your face.”

“ Ilush! My father would kill me.”

“Then let him kill mu,” sald Virgilio, bravely,
for the chivalrous blood of old Spain ran in his
veins.

“ Will you please refuse me?" pleaded Mari-
quita, raising her lovely eyes to his beseeching-

y.

“ How beautiful you are!” replied the young
man.

Her face such apuro oval, her wavy jet-black
hair, her velvety eyes with their silken fringes
and delicate eyebrows, her exquisitely molded
features, and the smooth purity of her complex—
ion certainly wero lovely beyond the power of
words to paint.

“ Nonsense, Virgilio; what has that got to do
with it?” exclaimed the girl, pettishly

“ Very little as it is, but a great cal if I had
not seen my Laura first.”

“ Laura; then she is English.”

“ No, she is American. Wait, turn this Way
and I’ll Show you her picture.”

He drew a photograph from his pocket.

The face was that of a bright-eyed blonde, as
inferior to Mariquita in beauty as the moon’s
last quarter is to the queen of heaven when in
her full perfection.

“ A sweet face,” said Mariquita.

“Yes, indeed, and a sweet, loving child she
is,” replied Virgilio, with all a lover’s enthu-

Siasm.

Little did the old men suspect the subject of
the conversation between the youthful pair.

” You must refuse me,” said Mariquita, as
they bade each other oodvnight.

“ I'll do it, if they ill me,” was the reply,
anal the girl’s great dark eyes looked their gratin
tn 8.

When the young mistress of the house entered
her room she found Juanita awaiting her.

“lMona has returned, Signorita,” she said, ear
ver y.

5 “Well, what news?"
Mariquita spoke in a. low tone, but impatient?

y.

“ Hush, cam J ” cried the girl. “Your fa‘
ther’s guest. Don Pedro, is in the next room and
walls ha .e ears.”

“ Give me the letter,” said Mariquita.

“ Here it is. Mona says the signer was wild
with joy.

The girl drew a letter from her bosom and
handed it to Mariquita, who seized it and sat
down to read it with a crimson rose of love and
hope glowing on her cheek.

‘- MY Dannmoz- How can my hand find skill to
pen the words my heart dictates? lam an Ameri‘
can. and have learned yoursweet language from lg-
norant men. but I am of good family. and as soon
as I reach New York I shall be wealthy.

“That I love you seems to me so very eVident, it
seems scarce worth while to write the truth which
you already know so well.

“ Mariquita. if God did not mean us to love each
other, He would newer have allowed us to meet.

‘ Be true to me, my beautiful heart’s darling and
you shall be my wife. I swear it by the sky 8. ova
me and my hope of heaven.

v “I am impatience itself for Mona. to begone with
this so say farewell for today.

“ My thanks seem worthless, but I offer them in
return for your priceless kindness.

"Darling, think with love of yours till death,

“ Fammmc CAMERON Gannon."

Ah, had Mariquita’s father seen her then.
what opinion would he have formed of the

  

 

 

r L
5?: . no: -;

 

 

  

 

w;

>21. r; ..

 

 

.‘e‘n‘fiasi .

__/

. H» w..,

.14

“D ;” or, Branded for Life.

._.,,, ___..,... ,, ,

1'7

 

 

 

chances the two old Spanish families had of be-
ing united by the marriage of his daughter and
Don Pedro’s son?

The girl possessed all tho fire and passion of'
her race and the sunny land that gave her
birth.

She pressed the letter to her lip-4, and blushed
when she found Juanita’s eyes iixed upon her.

"‘Mona says the Signor was wild with joy,”
shos'iid, “and he. is only anxious to get away
to claim his fortune, so that he may return for
you. He is a rich Americano, and when you
are his wife you will live like a princess.”

" And I shall take Mona and you with me.”

“Ahl Thanks, cam, signm'ilu,” said Juani-
ta, gratefully.

“ No, for I should never have heard what he—
came of him but for you.”

The conversation between mistress and maid
was interesting; to them, and Don Pedro and his
son, who Were smokng in their own apart-
ments, were also engaged in animated talk.

“ Your future Wife is a beauty,” said the old
gentleman, in a tone of satisfaction.

“She is,” replied his son, gravely. He was
thinking" of Laura. '

“I should like you to marry at once, and so
would Signor Madura. Mariquita is young, but
no younger than your mother was when she
becanze a wife.”

“ I do not intend to marry her,” said Virgilio,
calmly.

" “hat!”

The fiery old Spaniard sprung from his seat,
his e res blazing.

“ I) said what I mean—you heard me.
not marry Hignorita Maduru.”

“ You are mad! It has been agreed between
my and Mudura for years.”

“ I cannot help it. I will not marry her—put
all the blame on me.”

A stormy scene ensued, but Virgilio remained
firm. He had kept his word and saved Mari-
quita.

I will

  
  

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE VICTIM or THE POISONER

VERY soon after Frank Seymour’s departure
for South America, Miss Lucille Gordon‘s health
began to fail. She lost her appetite, and suf-
fered from severe headaches and constant dis-
agreeable feelings which her doctor attributed
to indigestion.

His treatment did not benefit her in the least,
and she daily became weaker.

She grew very nervous, and her anxiety to
live till her real nephew was in possession of his
home and fortune seemed to become greater as
she dreaded that she might never 'i'ealize her
wish.

Her prejudice against the man who had
usurped his name intensified as her illness in—
creased.

She could scarcely address him with the cor-
diality which is supposed to exist between such
near relatives.

He was very assiduous in his attentions to his
aunt, but seldom saw her after she was confined
to her own rooms, as she invariably declined to
admit him.

A faithful woman, who had been her attendant
from youth, waited upon her, and nursed her
tender y.

“Doctor,” she said, one bright day, ‘,‘I feel
that my race is near] run, but I wish to live a
few months longer. ' ave you any objections to
calling in Doctor Carter in consultation? I be-
lieve he makes a specialty of such cases as mine.”

“ Not' at all; 1 should have suggested it long
ago, but I was atraid of alarming you.”

“ I am not easdy alarmed,” said Miss Gordon,
smilin ly.

“ at astonishes me is that you look so well ”
said the doctor. ’

“ I don’t think so, and I feel far otherwise.”

That afternoon the two doctors arrived to-
gether. Dr. Carter wasa remarkably learned
and skillful man, but did not win favur with
ladies, as he was exceedingly frank and candid.
He never condescendcd to flatter a patient.

He asked a flood of questiQm-I, all of which
Miss Gordon replied to as candldly as the doctor
himself could haye done. _

“Now, one thin more,” said he, putting,r on
his spectacles and rawma' up the window shades
and twisting up the costly lace curtains as if

, thf‘y had been rags.
6

ad

. tiny pearl

then took his patient by the hand and led
her to the window. He stared m her face
earnestly. .

“Draw up your sleeve,” he said. ,

She did so, and he examined the skin of her
arm. She had always been admired for the
beautyot her complexion. WhICh was TemQI‘k-
able, ‘and had not suffered from the lapse of time
since she was a. girl.

“How long is it since your eyelids looked as
they do now?” asked the doctor, abruptly,

“ I cannot tell how they do look; I very rarely
spend much time at the mirror.”

The doctor handed her ,9. small glass.

She examined her face. Her eyelids did pre
sent a. Singular appearance. They were very
full and clea , as if water rested under the skin,
and among t e lashes small um- appeared. Wit,

 

- mrnuses: Miss Gordon Was a. woman, and there-

         

” They are not painful I know,” said the doc-
tor; “ that is why you did not remark them.”

“ They feel somewhat strange lately, hot and
heavy.” replied Miss Gordon.

“Yes, the symptoms are making rapid pro—
rress.”

é. “ \tht is my disease, doctor?”

“ [ shall inform you after the consultation is
over.”

“ You need not be afraid of alarming me, as
Doctor Gardiner is,” said Miss Gordon; “ I am
not nervous, and I am almost certain that I am
suffering from cancer of the stomach.”

“ You may rcst assured that you are not suf-
fering lrom anything of the. kind.”

“ Do you think I shall recon-r?”

“ That depends in a great measure upon your—
self.”

The two doctors retired to consult.

\thn the library door was shut fast Dr. Car—
ter turned to Dr. Gardiner and said:

“ Didn‘tyouknow that woman was an arsenic-
cater?"

“ ’What?”

“thy, she has every symptom of nrsenieal
poisoning fully developed.”

“ You astound me.”

“ No wonder: who would suppose a sensible
woman of her age would kill herself for the sake
of beautifying her complexion?”

“ I don’t believe she does."

‘.‘Then some one else is poisoning her, slowly
hilt surely.”

“ Great God!”

“It is as true as that I stand here. “’heii
that Woman is dead, her body will prove the
truth of what I assert."

“ But who is doing it?” »,

“ Ah! That I cannot tell. If you are certain
she does not use it for the purpose I suggest,
then some one in the house. wishes to put her out
of the way.’

“ But who?”

“ I do not know enough of the family to haz-
ard a conjecture. Is her nephew dependent
upon her?”

“Not at all. Ho was his grandfather’s heir,
though~ Miss Gordon’s fortune is also ample.”

“ W all, I am not a detective, so I cannot say
by whom the poison is wimiuisterod.”

“ And you are certain that ,is the cause of the
trouble?”

“ I would be willing to swear to it.”

“It will be a difficult matter to discover the
culprit, or rather murderer.“

‘ Is the maid straight!”

“Perfectly so.”

“ I‘ll tell you what to do: recommend a
change of air and get her out of the house."

“But where can she go at this season i”

“ Florida, Bermuda, heaps of places.”

“You had better return with me and give
your opinion.”

“ Tell her she is being poisoned?”

“Gracious. no! Tell her that change of air
and scene will benefit her.”

“Very well.”

They returned, and Doctor Carter gave his
opinion with professional gravity.

“ Do you reallyr think it will help me, doctor?”
inquired Miss Gordon, earnestly.

‘ .ljthiuk it will be the means of saving your

e.

"ThenI shall go; weak though I am, I shall
make the attempt. ”

The doctors departed, and Miss Gordon called
her maid to her.

f‘iPlace my writing-table hero, Maria,” she
saw .

It wan done.

“ You heard the doctor say that we must go
to Florida.” said the lady.

“Yes, Miss Lucille.”

“Well, as you are not used to traveling, and
I am old and siex, I am going to advertise for
a oung person to take care of us both."

‘ I am sorry you ain’t satisfied with me,
ma’am,” said Maria. looking ready to cry.

“ I am satisfied, you goose, but I take up all
your time waiting on me, and I want a smart
young person to see to our baggage, buy our
tickets, and all that sort of thin 3."

“Yes. miss.I dare scith would be a good"

plan,”said Maria, who
matters.

80 it was settled. Miss Gordon wrote the ad-
vertisement, and Maria went out and had it in-
serted in two morning papers. '

Miss Gordon felt better the next day than she
had done for some time. '

Why this was the case seemed rather mysteri-
ous.

The explanation was liried this. Frederic
Gordon, otherwise Allan ordon, became
alarmed when Doctor Carter was called in con-
sultation.

,He had 'been administering arsenic to Miss
Gordon in small doses, for he dared not poison
her outright as he longed to do.

He had to exercise great caution, for should
traces of the deadly mineral be discovered in
cup or, glass he knew Miss Gordon would sus-
pect him, and suspecting, make her suspicions
known. ,

Doctor Carter had been correct in one of his-

ow nothing of such

 

fore she possessed a certain amount of vanity.
She knew her complexion was singularly pure
and good for a Woman of her yours. She at-
tributed this to the fact that she never drank
tA-a nor ('olfee.

She used only milk, and that milk must come
tron) a special farm on Stuhsn Island.

It arrived every morning at six o’clock.

The special farmer who sent it had a young
assistant who drove his inillowagon.

Now the young assistant was not insensiblo to
the charms of beauty, and l{:itie,one of tho
(‘hlullb(.‘lllllal(lfi, was an exceedingly pretty girl.

It was Katie’s duty to receive the sealed milk-
can and piano it in the pantry. This done, she
rather enjoyed returning to the-front stoop, and
whileshe swept it off, the gallant inilkiuan lin-
gered near and paid her bewildering ('()lllpll~
ments on her beauty and other engaging quali-
ties. At that hour no one was ustir. for it Ha~
zel, tho butler, had been liable to imd Katie en~
gaged in a flirtation, she would 1‘.( it have dared
to indulge in one.

But Hazel was usually engaged in sleeping the
sleep of the just, so Katie followed the bent of
her own sweet will.

\Vhen the clock struck seven Maria appeared,
regularly as clockwork, and carried a glass of
milk to Miss Gordon, Who sat up in bed and
drank it. .

Katie, when her tender interview with the
inilkmau was over, always poured out the milk
and placed the glass upon a silver salver on the
pantry table, for Maria did not approve of wast-
ing her time doing things that humbler mem-
bers of the household could perform just as well
as herself.

This was the golden opportunity of which the
intended murderer availed himself.

In dressing-amp and slippers he stole down-
stairs day after day, dropped the deadly dose
into the innocent glass of milk, and then return-
ed to his room as he came.

Even then his task was not completed.

He had to listen till Maria, after her mistress
drank the milk. came. forth and placed the sil~
ver salvor on a small table in the Hill.

It was but the work of a moment to wash out
the glass and replace it upon the snlver, thus
ell‘cctually obliterating all traces oi’ the poison.

He had repented this every day from the time
when he obtained the urseiiie-—ior, of course
Frederic Lester, the husband of Stella, and
Frederic Gordon were one and the same person
~—till Doctor Carter was called in. Then he
sto )ped for a time.

we days after he was about to leave the
house when, to his utter amazement and alarm,
he saw his wife walk up the steps and ring the
doorbell.

He just had time to get out of sight in the
pantry when James opened the door, and he
heard Stella inquire for Miss Gordon.

CHAPTER. XXVII.
FRANK sEYMoun as AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE.

WHEN Ben Blunt and the man from Scotland‘
Yard arrived in Buenos Ayn-s they were again
delayed, for they had to await the arrival of
the baggage from 'La (hiayra.

Blunt also wrote to the proprietor of the hotel
to send the negro, Jupiter on immediately, or at
least as speedily as ppssib e.

“ Nothing for it at another wait." he said,
discousolately.

“ And all my fault,” replied Ashton. “ I was
so glad I could speak dillerent languages, but
what good did it do us?” .

“ Well, you did your best, and ‘angels can no
more.’ ”

“ No; but if it hadn’t been for my wild-goose
chasing after ships and sailors. we should be
much further on t mil we are. \Vell, it’s no use
crying' over spilled milk, I ll sit down and write
to Miss Kent, tor she is all impatience to hear
every move I make. Ladies are ten times more
exacting than men.”

“What bothered you was hearing: that your
man had left here and gone to La iuayra, and
from there on the ‘ Celia’ to some unknown
port,” said Blunt, reflectively.

“ Yes, that was the trouble.”

“ Well, I shall go out and see if I can pick 11
any information. I won’t write Miss Gordon
1 have some news for her.” I

Blunt was again sadly at a disadvantage on
account of his ignorance of foreign languages.
In La Guayru ovary tongue is spoken, but in
Bueuos Ayres Spanish is he language which is
most general. ' _ ,

Ho wandered about aimlessly, and was glad
when Ashton’s letters Were written, for than he
had company.

“Your man was a herdsman, was he not?” in—
quired the Englishman.

“ Yes: but that is not the name Miss Gordon
called it.”

“ She called him a gauche.”

(I Yes.” ,

” That‘s the same thing. I shall find a café’
frequented by these men. and see it I can learn
an hing about the one you are in search of.”

he rendezvous of the herdsmen of the may;
was soon found, and the two detectives guanine
habitués o! the place.
To Ashton'n great joy, many of the gauche:

 

 

‘ dent] y were not observant.

. ance with him when he arrived in New York?

, latest photograph of Miss Gordon’s so-called

inext question is: ‘that became of the real

V fear,” said Blunt, sadly.

‘ murderer to justice?”

‘ securing able counsel.

, gauchos eagerly discussing the strangers and ‘

' tectives patronized.

throw down cases on my own responsibility.”

. be of some assistance to you.

18

knew Gordon. He communicated the fact to 
Blunt, who made all sorts of inquiries through ‘
his friend who acted as interpreter.

He learned that the story told by the negro l

was true in every particular. I
l

The man, Gordon, had a friend named Allan.

They ad both disappeared very suddenly, no
one knew where.

The, next question was: “ Did the two men re-
semble each other?”

This seemed to puzzle the gauchos, who evi—

“ They all say,”said Ashton, “that Allan was ,
dark and the other man a blonde.” l
Blunt reflected. If Gordon left the [iampa to
enjoy his fortune, and his friend accompanied
him, why did not that friend make his appear-

He now tried the last test.

He drew forth the two photographs and re— .
guested Ashton to inquire of the {/auchos whose '

aces they represented.

Loud oxclainations passed around the circle.

One Of the gmochos, who seemed more intelli-
gent than his follows, placed the two photo—
graphs on the table.

“ Allan!” he said, laying his finger on the

nephew. "
“Gored'ong,” he added, pointing to the other.
“Miss Gordon is right,” exclaimed Blunt.
“That man is not her nephew.”
“No, it really seems he is not. Well, the

 

Frederic Gordon?l ” I
“That question will never be answered, I
“ NO doubt remains l
in my mind that he lies buried beneath the‘
sand of the pumpri.” ' ‘

“ And how will you ever be able to bring his

“ God knows. I shall take the negro, Jupiter,
back, to New York with me, but the impostor i
has all the. necessary papers to prove his ident- ‘
ity. He is in imsscss'ion of unlimited means to ‘
pay lawyers, and will ex )ei'ience no difliculty in
ll there will be against 3’
him will be the testimony of one poor negro.”

“ Which will count for nothing, for of course
Miss Gordon’s suspicions are not evidence.”

“ No, people will laugh at them as the idle ,
fancies of an old lady, and declare that Jupiter ;
is bribed.”

“ Nothing will do any good but producing the \
real Frederic Gordon.” l

“And that cannot be done if his bones are 
beneath the sands of the desert.” ]

l

“Well, Ben, you have been such a successful
man that you can aiford to lose. one case.”

“I Won’t do it if I can help myself,” said
Blunt, doggedly.

“ Bravo! That’s right.”

The detectives, ha'viiig learned enough for the
time being, returned to their hotel, leaving the

hazarding wild conjectures as to the object of
their visit to Buenos Ayres.”

While the Officers anxiously awaited the ar-
rival of the negro, Jupiter, another arrival took
p ace.

Frank Seymour landed in Buenos Ayres, and
of course took up his quarters at the principal
hotel, which was the same one that the two de-

He at once inquired for Ashton, and learned
to his satisfaction that he was in the same house.

He sought him out and requested a statement
'of his prog‘il'ess, resenting a letter of introduc-
tion from ‘ iss eat.

The Scotland Yard detective was at first dis— ;
posed to be very indignant.

Here was a man not even a member of the
profession sent out to overlook his work.

“ Docs Miss Kent wish me to resign and give
the work into your hands?” he asked, stiifly;
“ because if she does, I must get my orders
from my superiors in the Yard. J. am employed
by her, it is true, but I cannot take up and

“Not at all, my dear fellow!” said Seymour,
who saw he had wounded the detectivc’s profes—
sional pride. “ She has, since you left England,
found out a few additional particulars, and,
like most ladies, was afraid to trust to the mail
to deliver them into‘your hands, so she commis-
sioned me to bear them. You are not aware of
the fact, I presume, but I am her intended hus-
band.” ,

“ DO you remain here, sir?” inquired Ashton,
already half-a peased, for he could not resist
the charm of eymour‘s manner.

“ Yes; I am at your orders, and perhaps may
It is rather a sin—
gular fact, but I met a lady in New York who

as also sent a detective down here to look up a
nephew of hers. A man came from here and
presented himself as the heir to a fortune, and
she swears he is an impostor.” r

“ And she is night.” said Ashton.

He then proceeded to relate the story of Gor—
don and Allan, and summoned Ben Blunt to
take part in what he termed the “ council of
war.” ' r '

“ I shall vote myself assistant to both of you,"
said Seymour, an the detectives oflered no ob-
jections.

 

“ D ;” or, Br

 

“ I have several letters of introduction,” re-
sumed Seymour; “ one is to a Signor Henrico Ma—
dura; suppose we go and look him up; he is sup—
posed to live in a hacienda, whatever that may
be. ’

anded for Life.

“ It is a farm—house, or house a little way out I

of the city,”said Ashton.

“ All right; suppose you order a trap and we
will all take a drive out there.”

The detectives Offered no objections, and they
were all seated in a roomy carriage in less than
half an hour and on their way to the Casa Illu—
diuu.

The old Spaniard looked angry and disap-
pointed, and two gentlemen, who seemed out of
sorts, were taking their departure from the
house.

Seymour presented his letter and was politely
received, though it was evident that something
disagreeable had just occurred in the pretty
home of the old Spaniard.

He spoke no English, so Ashton‘s services
were called for and he acted as interpreter.

Ben Blunt was rather indignant when he
heard Seymour tell the whole story of Miss
Gordon‘s doubts and fears in regard to her
no liew’s fate.

era was this man giving away the whole
snap,” as he muttered savagely to himself, and
added he could “club himself for being fool
enoug to engage on a case a woman had any-
thing to do with.”

Signor Madurai listened with an appearance
of interest which might have been attributed to
his old—fashioned training in the rigid school of
Spanish politeness.

He was in an unfavorable moo‘l for feeling
any interest in a total stranger’s story, however
romantic.

He had just had a stormy interview with his
old friend Don Pedro and his son Virgilio.

His ride—theruling passion of his old Cas-
tilian cart—had been humbled in thedust when
the young man firmly refused to ratify the en-
gagement which had been formed for him by his
father.

Madura’s heart grew cold in his breast when
Virgilio informed him that he could not marry
unless he loved, and added that he did not love
Signorita Maniquita, and never could love her.

The fiery old man longed to seize his sword
and call u on this insolent fellow to defend
himself. e could not do so, however, for if he
did his child’s name would become a household
word through the length and breadth of South
America.

No; for Mariquita‘s sake he must swallow his
wrath, though it choked him.

He allowed them to depart, and sent a hearty
malediction after them.

Now, before he had time to recover his equa-
niinity, these strangers appeared.

He was compelled to sit down and listen to a
story in which he felt no interest out of mere
politeness.

He was iving what he felt to be vague re-
plies to As iton’s inquiries, when Blunt was re—
quested by Seymour to produce the photo-

graplhs

“ his,” said Ashton, handing the Signor the
portrait of the flal Frederic Gordon. “is the
picture, of the young man we are searching for.”

“ Dios mil) !” exclaimed the Signor.

“ “That’s the matter?”

“ Why, it is himself! The young Signor who
came to me bound upon the horse.”

When this was translated to Seymour and
Blunt they were all eagerness to hear the story.

“ There,” said Ben, in triumph; “that ac-
counts for the disappearance Of the horse.”

“ It is possible,” said the Signor, “ that the
horse may have formerly been mine; I have
owned so many that it is not possible for me to
remember all.”

“ And this man,”Ashton said, eagerly; “have
you ever seen him?”

“ It is the same man, is it not?” inquired the
Signor, after a careless glance.

A t No. 1)

The old Spaniard raised his eye-glass and
studied the face with solemn attention.

“ No,” he said, gravely, “ I see it is not, and I
see also that this man is unknown to me. I
never saw him.”

“That is the man who is in New York. enjoy-
ing the fortune and position of the real Frederic
Cameron Gordon,” said the detective.

As he spoke, throu h a window which opened
on the gallery there itted the light form of the
signor’s daughter Mariquita.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
“ FOR FREEDOM AND MARIQUITA.”

J UANITA had not exaggerated the joy which
the lonely prisoner felt when he received Mari-
quita’s letter. ,

She—and of course there was only one woman
on earth—loved him. ,
tthiat cared he for the proud old Spanish. fa-

er

Not an iota. .

He answered the letter and hurried the negro

H

 

away with his replv, though Mona. was doubt— v

ful whether his horse could undergo the return
journey without some rest.
“ N onsgme,” said the impatient lover. “And,

 

4‘

Mona, can you not bring a different horse when
you return—one that is fresh and sound?”

“ Yes, Signor.”

Mona knew why the Signor asked the ques‘
tion.

He intended to escape. “Tell, as long as he
did it without involving him in trouble, Mona
did not care.

Mariquita was generous, and Juanita was de-
voted to her. If the Signor escaped,and became
the possessor of a large fortune, as he said, it
might be well that he should be under an Obli-
gation to Mona.

The negro returned, bearing a letter in reply
to Frederic‘s passionate ap al, and the impul-
sive girl had replied as her ieart dictated.

Therefore her letter was as loving as Frederic
could wish.

“Mona, is the horse tired?” asked he, as the
negro stood near his window smoking a cigar.

“ Better rest tonight, Signor; tO-morrow night.
he will be fresher.”

Old Irma never suspected that anything was
wron .

She fancied every black in the village was as.
devoted to the Signor as herself.

For this reason she no longer watched her
prisoner so closely. He sauntered in and out,
apparently as content as if he intended to re—-
main there for the rest of his life.

That night passed, and the day following it.

Then came the time for action.

The tropical moon shone broad and brilliant.
The village was hushed in slumber.

Frederic Cameron Gordon rose from the couch
where he had been resting—not sleeping; he had
not undressed, only removed his shoes, and he
re )laced them and left the cabin noiselessly.

.{e knew where the faithful steed, which be
trusted would bear him to freedom, was to be
found.

The animal was munching its evening meal
still. Mona had not forgotten to feed it well.
Beside the horse, half hidden by the hole of a
tree, there stood a bag made of twine.

Fred silently thanked the negro for his
thoughtfulness as he examined its contents.

A boiled fowl, a loaf of sweet white bread,
butter, salt and pepper, and a large flask of'
brandy and water. .

“ How did he think of this?” said he, joyfully,
as he fastened the bag to the saddle.

As he closed it, a. slip of paper affixed to it
caught his 6 e. . _

On it, in ariquita’s handwriting, were these
words:

“ Go, and may God protect you. Do not forget.

" MARIQUITA."

“ Forget you, my darling!" cried Fred, press-
ing the paper to his lips.

‘ SO it was you, my precious dear one, who
thought of my long journey."

He mounted the horse and rode slowly out
across the sands till he was clear of the village.

Then he increased his horse’s easy pace into a.
rapid gallop.

“ For freedom!” he said, exultantly, “ and for
Mari uita.”

He new not where he was on the trackless
waste of ellow sand, but his love had sent him
forth wit a God-speed, and he rode on.

Mona was wise. He had brought a horse that
often journeyed from Irma’s village to the city
of Buenos Ayres.

He confided this fact to Frederic, and the loose
rein on tharthe animal’s neck bade him follow
his own course.

1-] e did so.

When day broke Fred Gordon stood in the
streets of Buenos Ayres, penniless, but free!

“I have been a sailor before,” he said, as be
reflected on his position; “I shall try if I can’t
get a assage to New York.”

Hat he only known the truth how happy
he would have been, but fate is ever the master
of cor weak mortals.

efore dark he had secured a passage on a;
sailing—vessel: he knew he must be weeks at sea,
but he cared nothing for that.

“ I shall reach home destitute and rough," he
said, hopefully, “ but aunt LiiCille still loves
me; I shall tell her of my little Mari uita. and I
shall return for her. looking verydi erent from
the forlorn object I was when she first beheld
me.’

The price of the horse, which he disposed Of—
thinking with a, grim smile that he would have
to return the sum thus obtained to the Signor—-
enabled him to procure some suitable garments
for the voyage, and he left the next day for his
native land.

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
Miss GORDON’S COMPANION.

MRS. GRANT was not surprised when she re-
ceived Stella’s message. She had heard the
loud voice of the master of the house, and she
veg):A nearly surmised the truth.

7

1y. ” sit down, if you please."

eavesdroppers near.”

She glanced into both the rooms adjoin'tnlilg‘ "

Stella’s and out into the ball, then looked

 

   

Mrs. Sutton,” said the young gii'l, calm— ,
“ Wait, Mrs. Lester, till I see if there are any V ‘ .

 

«rmu.“‘.

..~.~;-x

 

 

   
 

 

 

 

     
    
   
   
  

     
     
       
     
       
     
       
     
     
   

 

 

-~v»~ -.~~...~..-.  .w .

i

i “D ;” or, Branded for Life.

  
  

19‘

 

 

 

three doors and drew her young mistress to a
seat near the window.

“ You can now speak safely,”she said, and
she carefully wrapped the girl in a warm shawl,
for she was trembling from head to foot, though
more from nervousness than cold.

“ Mrs. Sutton,” said Stella, hergrcat eyes wide
open and full of the silent agony that rent her
heart, “ you said that if that man’s hair was
dark you could swear that he was your bro—
thcr."

“ Yes, I did."

“His hair is dark. He has changed the color
of it, and the first time I ever saw him he came
to consult my father, who was a doctor.”

“ Was be ill?”

“ No; it was a terrible night of storm and
tapped. lVe ‘Wcl'o very poor, and we lived in
an old house in a very common neighborhood;
he came, and his hair and beard were dark.”

“ lVi-lli”

“ Tonight I told him a dream I had. I
dreamed that \i e were, sitting on the lawn
watching the river. All was pleasant and gay,
the sun shone and the birds sung. All at once a
policeman came up and told him he was a mur—
derer, that his name was Allan Gordon, and that
he wore a brand upon his back.”

“ You told him this?”

Mrs. Sutton face was pale, and she spoke in a
low tone.

Lt XYES‘ ”

“You did! What did he say?”

“ He flew into a violent passion. He cursed
my father, and said he had betrayed him.”

“ “Hint?” .

“ Then I knew why be consulted him. He had
tried 10 get my father to remove the mark from
his back.”

“ I feared so.”

It was rather a wail than alight else that
came from the housekeeper’s pale lips.

“Yes, I have no doubt that the man I have
called a husband is your brother, Allan Gordon.”

“ Poor child! Poor childl”

“Do not pity me,” said Stella, quietly. “I
for 0t lily father as soon as the last breath left
hisfiips; for a stranger I cast Iside the love that
sheltered me all my life. I deserve no pity.”

“ I‘oor child! I’oor! poor! child!” repeated
the bousekmlxer.

“He is not my husband, thank God!” Stella
resumed, “ his wife is alive; I shall go away as
soon as it is light, and never see his face again.”

“ But what can you do? that will become of
you?”

“ I am young and strong. I can work,” the
girl replied, drearily.

“ Ah! me, the child I took from his dying
mother's arms and promised to watch ovei and
tend,” moaned the housekeeper.

“ You did your best.”

“Yes, I did. He was born to be a curse to all
who knew and loved him. To think of the man
I knew as an innocent child.” '

“He is innocent no longer. I thought he in-
tended to murder me to—night when he cursed
my dead father.”

“ Ohl Stella.”

“ It does not matter. Nothing does matter it
seems to me. ’l‘o—morrow I shall go away; I
wish it was not a sin to bury one‘s troubles
beneath the river. ”

“ Hush, Stella! Never that.”

“ No, I shall go away. ‘Will you help me pack
up my plaincst dresses, and to-morrow I shall
leave here. I can easily get a place to mind
and care for little children. I love children.”

“.Yes, I will help 'ou. It is not right for you
to live with him. His wife is living.’

:fiAnd' on? What will you do?”

fill geshakl I plriilmised ray mother I would
(3 war 1m -

deserts gel. Child.” , an a mother never

:2 good woniain l"

o, no. if had been as end as
have been he would not be whgt he nowIiE‘l’omd

“ You reproach yourself unjustly. You have
been—not his mother, but his slave. You have
sacrificed yoursclf to him, and encouraged his
selfishness. You have been only too good !”

“ I have done wrong. have been blind.”

“ And you will stay here?”

“Yes. I cannot desert him.” 4'

Mrs. Sutton—0r rather Janet Gordon— cmain.
ed with Stella that' night; she did no slce ,
neither did the young creature over whose brig 1;
head such an ocean of trouble had suddenly
rolled.

In the morning a few plain gannents, a few
chan es of linen were packed. and Stella bade
J aneEgOOd—by and drove into the city.

Stella did not intend that the coachman who
drove her should know her address. _So she re-
guested him to drive to the Metropolitan Hotel.

he engaged a. room, but merely had her trunk
placed in the office, and ordered her breakfast.

She did not intend to remain, so declined the
offer of the clerk to have her baggage sent up to
her room.

“Iain going out,” she said, “and shall send
for my trunks; I am going to stay with friends,

- but arrived in the city so early that I did not
, wish to go to them at once.”

She left the hotel’and purchased a. morning
paper. .

 

In the “female help wanted” column the fol—
lowing- advertisement caught her cyez~

“WANTED VA young lady of good education and
cheerful disposition to accompany an invalid lady
to Florida. Apply in person at —— Fifth avanue."

“I will call and see the lady,” said Stella;
“ though I fear I am too young, and I certainly
feel far from cheerful.”

She. eullul on Miss (iordon, and, as we have
seen, very narrowly missed meeting: the, man
whom she had lwlieved to be her husband face to
fare.

To her great joy and surprise Miss Gordon en-
gaged her at a good salary.

“ \Tuen can you start!” asked the old lady.

“ At once, madam.”

“ I am glad of that; we leave this afternoon.”

“ Where shall I send my baggage?”

“ ’l‘o Pier :34), East river. \Ve go by the steamer
to Jzu-ksonville.”

“ I shall be there. What hour does the steamer
sail?”

“ Between three and four.”

Stella lost no time in useless conversation; she
soon left the house, for she trembled lest Lester-—
or Gordon—should ascertain that she had flown
from him.

How little she dreamed that he was in the
very house Where she met her new employer.

lie watched her leave the louse, and deter-
mined to learn the object of her visit.

He feared that she had found out he was per—
sonating Miss Gordon‘s nephew and had called
upon that lady to unmask him, and prove that
he was an impostor.

He had learned from the butler that his so—
called aunt was going to Florida, and he had
fully made up his mind to run the risk of ad-
ministering a fatal dose of arsenic the next
morning, for if she once left the house she was
safe. He would find no opportunity of remov—
infilier from his path.

1 0 had no idea that she was going that very
( ay.

“ I shall make an excuse of this intended
jou ney to call upon her and inquire concerning
her health,” he said, as he walked lip-stairs and
knocked at the door of Miss Gordon‘s sitting-
room.

To his surprise ho found the old lady seated in
an easy—chair, surrounded by trunks and sach—
els, which Maria, assisted by one of the cham-
bcrniaids, was busily cugngml in packing.

“ My dear aunt," cx<-laimed he, “ I have just
learned that you intend to visit Florida this
winter.”

“ Yes,” said Miss Gordon, coldly.

“Do you think it safe to venture on such a
long journey so soon after your illness? Ilad
not you better wait a. few weeks?”

” No; Doctor Carter says I shall never get
well if’I stay in this house, and I believe he is
l'l It.

g‘he guilty man changed color. Did this doc-
tor suspect iim of poisoning his aunt?

IllilXMs‘SlblCl No one could know his motive
for committing this murder, for bad he been the
true Frederic Gordon he would have had no nio-
tive for doing so.

“Perhaps I had better accompany you,” he
said, nervously; "it is not right for you to go
alone. When do you leave 3”

“ This afternoon.
to have you with me, and you don’t care to
leave New York. I shall not he alone, for Ma-
ria goes with me, and I have engaged a young
lady as companion—Miss De Payster.”

That afternoon! She was saved, for he could
find no opportunity to poison her even if he
dared attempt it, which he did not after the sig-
nificant words spoken by the doctor.

“A guilty conscience does not need to be ac—
cused.”

And Stella had come by accident to engage as
Miss Gordon’s companion!

She had kept her word and left him, for she
had resumed her maiden name. ' .

How bad the. girl, so young and innocent,
learned the whole truth?

Like a flash of lightnin the evil-minded
villain guessed the source of or information.

The housekeeper, whose face had risen before
him like the face of an accusing spirit, was none
other than his sister, Janet.

He had been absent from England six years,

I

No, thank you, I don’t care .

and he had not seen his sister for some time be-,

fore.

He remembered the meeting on the stairway,
when he had started as if he had seen a. ghost.

Janet, no doubt—changed by time, bitter sor-
row and deep disgrace. Changed to a. mere
shadow of her former self by his terrible
crimes.

_He feltno remorse, however, no sting of con-
science, nor self-reproach.

A_s 'Gertrude Kent had said, he had no good
trait in his character, and base ingratitude was
numbered among his evil qualities.

He inward! y cursed Janet for her interference
——not that he cared for Stella. Indeed he was
glad to be rid of her, as she might rove dan-
gerous, now that she had learned the ruth.

He had been silent while these thoughts sur ed
through .his’ brain. He feared Miss Ger on
{night think his silence strange, so he said, care-

essiy:

 

 

“ IVho recommended the young lady to you .""'

“No one," replied Miss (Jordon. “I adver—
tised for a companion, and she came to see me.
Lots of others came with piles of letters ol’refei‘-
once, but I. liked this girl and have engaged
her.”

“ Shall I go to the pier with you?" asked he,
trembling for fear she would my " yes," and he
should meet Stella face to face.”

“ No; the (101'er is coming for me, he will see
me safe on board. I can say good-by now."

She shook his hand coldly and drew back when
he attempted to kiss her.

“ We liavo not got on well togeiher," she said.
lookin r him straight in the face, “ and I want no
Judas Kisses.”

His face grew pale, and he turned away with
out one word and left the room.

“ Curse her!” he muttered. “ I believe SllE-
suspects Inc. I must see Janet and ascertain
whether she has told the whole story to Stella or
not. How lucky it was she (lid not seomo; if.
she had, tho game would be up. I must shut
Janet’s month by fair means or foul. I shall
send her back to England at once."

He went to the liVery—stable he always pat—
ronized, and hired a horse to ride out to the.
home Stella had left forever.

Gil/\P'l‘l‘llt XXX.
BROTHER AND SISTER.

JANET SUTTHN was not surprised when the
('lianiberniaid informed her that the masterwas
iii the rmeptionwoom and wished to see her.

All the servants were on the «(Hi Tire. and
greatly (‘XClth by the sudden turn affairs had.
taken.

There had been a “ row ” betWeeu the master
and missus, and the latter had packed her trunk
and left the house.

True, she had taken only one-tenth the hr—
ticles which filled her wardrobes; her jewels
were all left bebind;the bud bee l carel‘ullyput
away and locked up by 11‘s. Sutton, and every
one in the house was on the alert for the close of
the game.

Many wild conjectures found expression in
the basement, butone and all of the help synr-
pathized with Stella.

“ I doii’t’old with married men as kce is such
hom-crtinp,‘ hours,” said the coachinan, w l0 was.
a coekney.

“ No more do I,” said the chambermaid, Nan-
nie, who looked upon him as her private proper—
ty. “ My husband, if I ever have one, must
spend all his spare time with me.”

“ l-Iand so be will, my dear,” replied the John,
fondly, whereupon the young lady immediately,
with the inconsistency of her sex, told him to
“ et out.”

ills. Sutton smoothed her hair and walked
down—stairs.

She knocked at the parlor door, and in re~
spouse to a gruff “ Come in,” entered the room.

“ Shut that door. ma’ani ; sit down and tell me
where my wife is.”

She shut the door and sat down. She raised
her eyes to his face as he stood before the tireless
grate and said quietly:

“ I do not know."

“ That is a falsehood.”

“It is not. She left here this morning after

ticking a few articles in a trunk. I did not ask
lier where she was going, neither did she tell
me.”

"She is a lunatic.”

He knew Janet now; he recognized in the worn
face trace». of the loving countenance that had
ever worn kind and forgiving looks for him, the
wild boy, the shameless spendthrift and dissi-
pated idler, and last of all, the outlaw and mur-
derer.

He knew her, but he was not yet certain that
she recognized him. I

“What absurd story is it that my Wife got
hold of?” he asked suddenly, not meeting Janet’s
clear gaze, but keeping his eyes fixed upon the-
window.

“ Did she not tell you?”

“ She partly did—.that’s to say she related
some stuff, and I should like to know where she»
got hold of it. ”

“ I told her the story of my lirothcr Allan.
The unfortunate whom I came to America. in
search or.” . _

“Why did you come in search of him?”

He kept his face turned away from her, still
staring out of the Window at the trees With their

 

   
   
   

,

autumnal coats of crimson and gold, at the riv- ‘

er glancing silver white in the sunshine, at the
clear sky overhead; staring at them and seeing
nothing. ‘ . ‘

“I came because he is heir to his uncle who is
dead. If he could clear himself of the char 8 of
murder, he would be Sir Allan Gordon, an one
of the richest noblemen in Scotland. ”

Something like a groan burst from his lips.

In that moment, as a drowning man is said a:
do, he saw all his past life presented to his men
tal vision like a vast panorama. His willful
childhood, so impatient of. the gentle control his
lovin sister sought to exercise. His mad career
at so 001 and college. His headlong folly in
entering the army as a private soldier, his de-
sertion, capture, and cruel and degradingpunish-
meat. and then the terrible crime that rendered

“flux. . ..

.‘t

s

 

‘20

“D ;” or,_l3randed for Life.

 

Pf ,. _ WWW ,, .  .,..r .i,,,......

him an outcast. His life on the lone] y pampa
a life of toil and, privation, and other fearful
things, from the contemplation of which he
turned away with a shudder.

All this he saw, and more. He saw that he
might have been a man of an old and honored
name, of high rank and cxalted station, com—
manding respect, surrounded by noble friends.

\Vealthy, respected and happy. Free to meet
the eyes of all the world: blameless before mun—
kind’s keencst investigation; unabashed by
sharpest scrutiny; spotless, unstained by blot,
or even tinge of dishonorable action, much less
encrimsoncd by crime.

“ If he could clear himself of the charge of
murder,” Janct repeated, slowly, as if she long—
ed to cheat, delude herself into hoping against
ho )6.

She knew he could not. ‘but he hesitated.

The crime had been committed six years ago
—the evidenco against him was purely circum-
stantial. If he had plenty of money might he
not employ lawyers to defend him '5

The won‘t feature in the case was his flight
after the crime had been con'imittcd.

He was not aware of the loss of the letter
which fell from his pocket in his hasty flight.

“Janet,” he said, suddenly, “ I am innocent
of the crime!"

“Uh! Allan.”

She sprung up With outstretched arms, and
the brother for whom she had sacrificed herself

all her life passively allowed her to embrace~

him.

“You are innocent?” she cried, joy lighting
up her face till it almost gave it back its youth.

“ Yes; I did not shoot him."

“ Thcn who did?“

“How can I tell?”

“ But you deserted, and you had sworn that
you would murder him.”

“ Pshaw! A man will say anything when he
is an ry. I deserted because I was afraid they
wouli try to throw suspicion upon me.”

“ But that was the worst thing you could
have done. ”

.“ Nonsense! “'hy should I stay and let them
hang moi”

“ Well, Mia; Gertrude Kent has come into a
fortune now; she vows she will hunt you down
if you are alive.”

“ Come into a. fortune?”

“ Yes; she sent a. gentleman to J anc, your
wife, and he gave her money for your picture,
the one you had taken at Cambridge in the (tap
and gown. She told him all your history, and
he said Miss Kent had employed detectives,
men from Scotland Yard; they found that you
had been in South America. and when I heard
that} came here to see if I could find and warn
you. .

“ And Jane gave them my photograph, or ra-
ther sold it to them? Cums her.”

“ Well, you know you did not treat her well.”

“ No matter: to sell me like that. So Miss
Kent is rich. and she has sent the bloodhounds
to trail inc?”

“ Yes; she swears she will never take comfort
out of her fortune till her father is avenged and
his murderer brought to justice.”

He was silent again. This put adifi'erent face
on the matter. It was one thing to return and
stand a trial, which would be but feebly prose-
cuted by lukewarm military authorities, for a
half-forgotten crime; but quite a different thing
‘to stand up before a jury of indignant men and
be accuse-d of the same crime by the daughter
of the man whom he had murdered.

The girl, too, whom he had insulted—a girl of
bravery and determination beyond the common,
and worst of all, with all the aid on her side
which a large fortune, unlimited wealth, has the
power to invoke.

“ The worst thing was the letter they found,”
resumed Janet, anxious that he'would, if possi-
ble, Cll",‘" away every doubt from her mind,
though l...r heart sunk within her breast, for she
had believed him guilty from the day she first
heard of his crime.

“ What letter 3’ he asked, sharply.

“ The letter you had written to some one, and
dropped on the floor. In it they said you vowed

vengeance against Major Kent and declared you
wouldidesert after killing him."

“ Is that true i”

t k Yes. 7’

“Then the jig is up. No powers on earth can
save me.”

J anct’s face fell. She knew he was guilty!

“ Fortunately I am in a good position here,”
he said; “ I have plenty of money-«all I want,
a fine position, and as good society as I could
find on the other side. After all I shall not
trouble myself.”

“ N 0, but others will trouble you,” said Janet,
anxiously. - '

He was her brother; no matter how black-
heari’gd a. criminal may be, there is usually
some one, nearly always a woman, who clings to
and pities him still.

“ They cannot; I defy them. I have another
name, a different place in the world. They can-
not identify me with the deserter. Lester. ”

“ They can and they will. I knew you, 1”

He turned pale and tugged at his blonde beard
V. savagely. , ‘ *

     

 

“ You didn’t know me positively.”

“ I did, after Stella told me you had dark
hair when first she saw you.” *

“ She did, ch?”

“ Yes, your hair and board are both changed
in color, but detectich are all well-posted in re-
gard to disguises."

“ Well, Janet, Stellais gone. I'm glad of it,
for I was growing tired of her. I will not go to
England; it is too risky. 'l'hc best thing you
can do is torcturn there, for if they are trailing
me they run y trail you.”

“ That is true," said Janet, sadly.

“I will give you plenty of money. i have
some in my pocket; but wait: you are a good
busincss woman: can you not sell oli‘ everything
that is here? Pay the servants and keep whatis
left. Here’s two hundred dollars in case you
want some cash bcfore the sale comcs oft. I’d
better not return here.”

“ But. Allan, shall I never son you nor hear of
you again i" ' she asked, wistiiully.

"You’ll hear of me; write to me at the post—
ofllt-e. New York City.”

“ What name shall I addrcss you by l”

“Anything. (fall me Mr. Curtis—ll. H. Cur-
tis. If you let me know where you are 1 will
send you plenty of money.”

“ What am I to do with the money realized by
the sale?”

“ Keep it. Pay whatever is owing to trades-
people and servants, and keep the balance for
your own use. Now good-by, Janet. Take care
of yourself, and if you hear of any move on the
part of the enemy, let me know.”

He shook her hand, walked out of the house
and sprung on his horse’s back, and was gone
before she recovercd from the shock of the feel-
ing, that this Was their final parting.

The brother she had loved and suffered for
parted from her as coolly as though she had been
an utter stranger.

She had said she would never desort him, but
he felt no compunctions about dcscrting her.
She had sought him out to warn him of the
danger that threatened him, and he had not even
thanked her.

With a. feeling of unutterablc bitterness in her
heart Janet set about carrying out his wishes.

Everything must be sold. Even Stella’s fine
dresses and jewels. The servants had been paid
regularly and J anct had not any trmicsmen’s
bill to meet; so the largest sum she had ever
possessed in her life remained in her hands.

She packed her simple wardrobe in one trunk,
and sailed for England three days after she
parted from her brother.

CHAPTER XXXI.
MUTUAL CONFIDENCE.

“TELL me your story, Stella,” said Miss Gor-
don one da as she sat in the cool piazza of the
St. flames otel, in Tampa, Florida.

She was better, indeed quite well, and had
never in her life felt less like dying.

Her eyes were clear as diamonds, her pure
complexmn wore the rose-tint of health, and—
but for her snowy hair—she might have passed
for a woman of thirty.

She liked the girl very much indeed; had she
been of a. demonstrative disposition she might
have said she loved her. Stella was so gentle
so sweet, and so anxious to please that she had
quite won Miss Gordon‘s heart. With returning
health the old lady said she felt as if she had a
new lease of life.

,“I don’t look half my age,” she remarked,
upon the day in question, “and I feel as if the
world had grown youn er too.”

“ How do you know have a story, dear Miss
Gordon?”

“ Because your face tells me so.
I’ve told you mine, tell me yours.”

She placed her hand on Stella‘s and smiled,
not only with her lips, which were fresh and
sweet as strawberries, but also with her eyes,
which were blue as the sky of midsummer.

Stella felt touched. She had been mothcrless
ever since she could remember. Her father had
ever been kind, but he was a studious, abstract-
ed man, and he could not enter into the hopes
and fancies of a. young girl. Stella’s love-dream
—it seemed little more—had been very brief,
and she had longed to confide in some one; so
she told her story unhesitatingly, suppressing
all names.

' Miss Gordon listened with grave attention.
This mysterious man who had changed his ap—
goartlince, who was a murderer, interested her

ce . ‘

“Il’gor child!”she said, with a depth of feeling
few of her acquaintances would have given her
credit for. a

“Yes, it is terrible! When I think of the last
interview I had with him I shudder.”

They had been four Weeks at Tampa, and
were thoroughly happy and congenial.

Stella’s sympathy for Miss Gordon had been
so frank and spontaneous that shehad awakened
a. warm interest in the old lady's heart. She
believed in her suspicions, too. and that was just
what Miss Gordon had been lookin for—some
one who would think iiust as she di and never
contradict her in the s ightest degree. .

Stella believed thather nephew was not her

 

Come, dear,

. nephew. She was firmly convinced that he was

1

 

an impostor, if nota murderer. She had her-
self just received such a rude awakening from
her drcam of love and confidence in everybody
that she was almost ready to believe any one a.
criminal.

“chcr mind, Stella,” said Miss Gordon;
“ you shall stay with me now, you shall be my
daughter, and if tho i'eal Frederic Gordon re—
turns—who knowsl’7

At this moment an interruption occurred. A
call—boy appeared with a yellow envelope in his
hand.

“ A dispatch for you, ma’am,” he said, hund-
ing it to Miss Gordon.

She read it hastily.

“ \thn does the steamer sail for New York?”
she asked, eagerly.

“ Tomorrow at eleven o’clock,” said a gentle-
man who was within hearing.

“ Eleven in the morning?”

“ Yes, Miss Gordon.”

“ Stella, give Maria orders to pack up at
once.”

“ Are you going to New York?” asked the girl,
in astonishnivnt. ,

“ Yes, Stella: whisper—the real Fred Gordon
is in New York! This dispatch is from my law-
yer, Mr. Dalton.”

“ImposSIblc l"

“ No, and that impostor has had him arrested
as a. confidence—man who attempted to black-
mail him. Think of it!'-, '

“ You will soon set n otters right, Miss Gor-
don, when you reach home.”

“ Yes, yes; how I wish 1 was there.
a fever to be gone.”

——<n—
CHAPTEln XXXII.
TB is TW 0 oLAIM ANTS.

THE “ real Fred (lordon,"as he was termed by
his aunt Lucille, had a somewhat rough passage
to New York.

The captain was an old Scotchman, with a
strong love of Scotch :wvhisky and an unsur-
mountable deafness. He was a brave and skill-
ful navigator, and had commanded the “Rose-
dale" so long that her owners would have felu'
loth to trust her to any other man.

Captain Auld liked brordon, because he formed
an idea. that he was a fellow-countryman; it was
perfectly useless to try to convince him of his
error, so Fred allowed him to retain the opinion
after vainly shouting a contradiction till he was
hoarse and weak.

The ship arrived in New York one dark mom-
ing, and the captain invited Fred to'go ashore
with him and breakfast at the Astor House.
During the progress of the meal be entertained
the young man—who had been born and brou lit
up in the city—with an account of its terri le
wickedness, and warned him against trusting
man, woman, or child, if they lived in New
York.

As soon as possible Fred got rid of the captain,
and the returned wanderer took a cab and start-
ed for his old home, picturing to himself the
gear-by reception which he felt certain awaited

1m.

He alightcd from the cab and rung the bell.

The butler happened to be in the hall and
opened the door himself, a proceeding he did not
often indulge in, considering it beneath him.

“ Hallo! Hewson, do you know me?” asked
Fred extending his hand to the old servant who
had known him from babyhood and also his
father. ‘

" My God, sir!” exclaimed the old man. The
sham heir had not noticed Hewson. How could

he?

“ “That’s the matter?” asked Fred, briskly.
“ I hope aunt Lucille is well. Where is she?"

“ In Florida, sir.”

At this moment a. door was thrown open and
an imperious voice inquired:

“ Hewsonl what’s the ins-tar?”

“ Nothing, sir; my starsl‘ ,. 73;,

Fred recognized the voice, his sunburnt {ace
grew crimson.

“ Who is that?” he asked, turning half-sav-
agely to the old man.

“Good Lord! sir, how can I tell? I’m all up—
set—dear. dear!”

“ What’s this disturbance about?” said the
sham Frederic Gordon, as he strode into the hall.

His face blanched when he saw who the in—
trudcr‘was. ,

“ Well, Allan!” said Fred, coolly, “so you ar—
rived in New York before me?" , -

A sort of gasp broke from the impostor’s lips,
but he recovered himself instantly.

“Who are you. and what do you want?" he
inquired, haughtily.

“ That’s a good joke!” laughed Fred, looking
him full in the face. “ So my dream was not a.
dream, that you stabbed me in my sleep and
stole my pa rs?” '

“ Fellow, eave this house, or I shall have you
arrested.” : ..

"' Do so, _ if you dare! Villain, murderer,
branded outlaw I” ‘

Fred seemed about to‘ springl upon, him, and
the servants, attracted by the and voices, clus—
tered about the doorway. ' v

The real Fred Go turned, and seeing.
familiar face among the crowd, said: - : -

Im in

   

,Aav

E‘Oh, Mrs. Grafton, do you rememme ;

   

 

.ra.

 

A 7;».

 

 

 

 

who was so fond of your strawberry jam that he I
learned h mus on Sunday in order to he re—
wardcd w1th a lar 0 plate chock-full of it?” I

“Yes, indeed do, sir," replied the house— .

 

extended to her. |

“See here!” interposed the sham. “I am I
Frederic Gordon, my grumll'athcr‘s heir. This
man is an ilnpostor. and any one who pretends
to recognize in him the true son of Mr. Gordon,
can now take warning that they are no longer
inm service.”

“ hen I shall do so,” said the old butler, with
dignity.

“And so shall I,” added Mrs. (l‘rrafton, “and
I have no objections to add that I always knew
you wasn’t Master Fred. You never had none
of his ways, so you didn‘t.” l

The sham heir glared indignantly at the
speakers. They were the only servants in the
house who had been there when Fred left his
home, and they had both recognized him.

Meanwhile, the impostor had sent one of
the footmcn for an oilicer. Fred felt tempted
to lay him senseless upon the floor, but deemed
it prudent to restrain his feelings.

‘1 call you all to witness,” he said, slowly,
“that this man is an esca d murderer. He is
English, a descrter from t o army, branded on
the back with the letter D. We were together
in South America, and " was fool enough to tell
him my story the night I saw the advertise-
ment my aunt addressed to me. I was to leave

' for New York next day, but he stabbed me in
my sleep and stole no papers. He tied me on a
horse which carrie : ie to a house where I
found friends. My aunt Lucille, and Mr. Dal-
ton, m grandfather’s lawyer, will recognize
me fas enough. Well, oiilcer, what do you
want?”

“ I was sent for to arrest you for creating a.

. disturbance.”

“ Very well, arrest m3. I have spent nights
in worse places than a. New York station-house,
and I don’t expect to spend even one night
there. I am ready to o.

The sham Frederic rdon turned away, and

' the officer did not know how to proceed. ‘

“ Am I to take this man in charge, or not,
sir?" he inquired.

.“II(JIc;>rta.inly; the charge is attempted black-

fll ' ‘

“Very well, it is two o‘clock, sir; on had
better be in readiness to appear against 'm.”

“ Rather an extraordinary home-coming.”
Fred Gordon remarked to the officer, as they
walked to the station to ether.

“ I don’t understand t e business,” replied the
poliheman.

“No; you will understand, however, if you
are present when the examination takes place.

' What justice shall I appear before?” ,

“Justice Griflen.” .

sensible, man.”

'. “Alli-i ht.Ionl h he isa
‘. “ He lag Hero wz noggin”,
I no time in summoning Mr. Dalton.
hm: a. note stating the facts of the case

Gordon lost
He wrote
briefly. .
“Great heavens!" exclaimed the old lawyer,
when he read the note; ,“then Miss Gordon was
'” “$35”... u. m v '
e n e on and found Fred
awaiting him. He was roughly dressed in sea.-
13 aments, but he arose and advanced to-
‘ ward r. Dalton with extended hand, recOgniz-
ing him instantly. ‘
. "How do Yyou do, Mr. Dalton?” he said,
heartily. “ on have channg so little I knew

99%? °“°°' lit? ‘5 “if” i m. n

. eis muc rove in ca re liedth
lawyer, “butstill \i’nableto walk?" p I e
.‘ Jessie was hi ,onl daughter, and wasasuf-
rarer from a. spinal action. ,

. , The lawgier sat down and Fred told his story,
a) which 1'. Dalton listened with grave atten-
on. ' -

l‘ “ Is it ible,” said Fred, in conclusion,

' “that on elieved that im tor was
don? idmy aunt Lucille have it?“
, ""“ Your aunt has always doubted,” replied the
lawyer, with professional caution. , . '
“Ah! I Should think' so. Well, when shall I
' be able to return and pitch the murderousscmm.
dreloutlntothestree if? . v - . '
_.-.“Go easy, my dear air. He is in on, a.
 at in his favor; he has been race ved as Fred-
eric Gordon New York society, and her-basal!

1‘s, . ‘ ,
' .  that mattsr?” asked Fred“!!! u-
tiedtly' .P‘tlon‘t‘you know m'o—ain’t I Fred or-
flon,.»who usedt help amuse Jessioon her ’cris-
closudayxmL~ is was a nuns the invalid had
I dayseof extreme suflering when Fred and

n. - ‘ ~ - i »

on are Fred ” saidthe old

finest ofl onstely; “but we’ don’t

‘ n, yawaut-proofs, it the case comes

manual“)ka you”.  r,; . .

. Mvheorda‘reb chanced-natur-
udcdrbetwegn' the

k”_-aw~_.. ..................‘._..._.._-. m»... ._..

.
l
I
l
g
i
?

 
 
   
  
   
  
    
   
  
   
    
  
  
   
   
  
  
     
  
  
  
    
   
 

    
   
  
   
   
     
 
  
   
   
 

 
 
 
  
 
    

 I ’edtha halltofitallp’s

Gor-I '

' and Miss Gordon had received Mr.“

 

' “Stella's 
Showed-'35“

“D ;” or, Branded for Ilife.

“ I shall telegraph for your aunt: on her re—
turn we will set to work to oust him.”

“ All right.”

Fred's case was called, but the sham heir to

him, and he was discharged.

By Mr. Dalton’s urgvut request Fred returned
to his house with him. and promised to rcmmu
his guest till his aunt Lucille arrived from
li‘h Irida.
Jcssio, his old playmate, and they recalled
trifling events of tho past amid heart laughter
fromull. Mr. Dalton acted as Frcds banker,
and he was soon as fashionably dressed asIthe
impostor who had stolen his name and position.

He called upon Mrs. (i-ould, formerly Miss Bcn— .

trice Maybray, and she not only recognised him
but related the story oi.’ the dctoctwe’s vnnt, aut

claimant to be an impostor, because he had failed
to recognize her portrait. I

All was going on smoothly with Fred but Al-
lan Gordon was in terriblo suspense. fie know
that Miss Gordon would throw all her influence
on her nephew’s side; the old servants knew the
real heir from the false one. Mr. Dalton, the
family lawyer, had acknowledged him and
warme espoused his cause. True he had the
papers. but he knew that he could make no
stand if cross—examined in a court of law in re«
gard to the past life of Frederic Gordon. '

“He’ll win the case, and I’ll go to State’s
prison,” he said, gloomily. “Tho  thing I
can do is to gather as much cash as possuble, and
1i 'ht out.”

or found, however, that Mr. Dalton had

shrewdly guessed his intention and Served an
attachment notice on his bankers, so that he
could not touch one cent either in money or so—
curities. He was completer baffled on every side.
He ground his teeth with rage. as he reflected that
if he had led a different life he would now be a

wealthy baronet with nothin to trouble him
instead of a wretched ou w—hunted and
branded.

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
mu SEARCH-PARTY “CALLED. '

‘f WHO speaks of Frederic Gordon?” Mariquia
ta. inquire of her father.

“These gentlemen are in Search of him,” re-
plied the Signor, locking uneasy. _

“ Well, pa , you know where he is,” said his
dau hter, ca mly. ' ‘

“ ow should know i”

“Did you not Send him away with Bcppo to
guide him?" asked the girl, fixing her large eyes
on her father's face.

“ Yes; but that is long ago.”

“ He was here for months,and he has notbeen
long gone away. If you tell the ‘signors whore
Bep b(iIoIrIlductocl him they can easily find him
no on . _ 7

Something in the tone of‘the girl’s voice at-
tracted Ashton‘ attention. She’seemed to speak
and look with peculiar significance.

"“ I’ll get a. (inlet chance to speak to her,” he
said to himsel . I I ,

As the life in South America is different from
that in other climes less formal and freer, Ash-
ton strolled out of Ithe house to smoke a. cigar.

The Signor had introduced his fair daughter
to the gentlemen, but she spoke no English,
and therefore could converse with no’ono save
the Scotland Yard detective. I » - ‘

When she saw him leave the room by the win.
dow which opened on the gallery, she raised her
fan to her lips with a. significant movement
which Ashton understood. ' 1

She had something to tell him. Some dis-
closure to e. ' l _

In a. moment he saw her alight format the op-
posite end of the gallery. ' '

He' drew near and she thrust a. paper into his
hand, saying hurriedly .

“I dare not stay.”

Thendisa . ' . ' W
m the, paparan'l readtheso

Ashton
words: . ,
“ Frederic Com eron Gordon icon hi: way to New
York. I Say nothing to my father." - -
The detective knew he could rely on what
Matiqulta had written, and he saw that from
some unknown reason th Signor did not relate
all‘he know. . . : .
He told Ben Blunt and Seymour what he had
just learned, and as there was no reason why
they should rcmainnny longer at the 0m Ma-
dum they returnedto the city. ‘ ‘ ' ‘ '

Here Seymour found a. dispatch  Fldrlda .

awaiting him». It was Irom- Miss Gordon‘aud
88.1: -., ~I Lr,,.'.I:I",
“Return at once: your mania In Now ‘Yorkfl‘  ‘

--r—-—1— 

 

: ‘ , caning xxxp‘rfi
. I ’ men-mom K ,
THE night after sunaéaism had:

, Dalton
was too excited to slag
and

 

 

gram she
land throw can dream

6 Acoughthadpmea 3

He renewed his acquaintance with ,

i l

(leclarcd she had always believed the otherl

 "tors;
‘ matter

 

'i'tehr
.-,~~shsimge‘.f I I  . _ I
My” ‘ssgmmfi’lm‘wnrm _ _

21'

“ Stella!" sho whislxcrcd softly. for if the girl

 

t sho did not intend to disturb her.
Yes. Oh, Miss Gordon, am you illl"
“ No, only restless. Lin still, dour.

slop

I only

keeper, and she eagerly graspml the hand Fred l his name and fortuno did not appear against i wish to ask you a few quoslions.”

I “ Very well.”

“Have you any objection to telling mo a lit»
l tlo more about this terrible man you wero so
‘ unfortunate us to marr ’9"

l “ No.” said Stella; “1 will toll you everything

with )leasurc, 1 do not sen why 1 should not.”
E “ hat is his proper name! You say the
i housekeeper was his sister.”

“His name is Allan Gordon. That was the
reason I did not mention it yvstvrday. lie is
really a Scottish nobleman, but cannot claim.
' his title on account of tho churgo of murder
against him.”

“Gordon I” said Miss Gordon; “ why he must
iieloIng to the elder branch of my father’s tam-
l

“ His uncle’s name was Sir Lcster Gordon.”

“And the man he murdered l”

“ Was Major Kent. ”

“ What?"

Miss Gordon s rung from her seat.

“Yes, Major ’ent; his daughter is now try«
in to hunt him down.” .

iss Gordon said no more. She had received
a dispatch from Seymour from St. Thomas in-
forming her where his head-quarters would be
in Bucnos Ayrcs and the first thin she did as
soon as she was resscd was to send t 0 message
flashing over the wire which created so much
sur rise when it arrived.

6 did not tell Stella. of her intention to do
this, for she fancied the girl might still retain a
lin erin regard for the villain who had blight-
ed ier 1i 8.

This was not the case. Stella’s pure nature
forbade that she should cherish any particle of
affection for a murderer and a profane blas~
phemer. He had grossly assailed her dead fa—
ther, and by so domg had alienated evcn pit *
from her heart. Simple and childlike thong
she was her principles were very firm and so-
verc. No Puritan of the old School could have
possessed stricter opinions on tho subject of
what was right and what was wrong than this.

olden-halve , white-browed child. She knew
ust where the dividing line come, there existed
no middle course for her.

Later Miss Gordon knew her better, and felt: '
surprised by her stern and rigid principle. She I
never could have enacted t 9 Mia Janet had.
plated.

6 had no mercy for the wicked, but it is a

peculiari of very youthful persons to be some-
what uu irritable. Advanc' years teaches
them to be more merciful; they ow what it is

to err, and need forgiveness.
' Miss Gordon was in a fever of excitement dur-
ing her journey to New York. When she ar-
rived she drove directly to Mr. Dalton’s house. ,
As the carriage laden with trunks drove u to
the door, Fred, whowas playing chess with es—-
sic. looked out of the window. .. . I '
“ Jessie,” he cried, sprmgizé up and scatter- «
ingkings, knights, queens, c 195, etc., over the. -
ca , ‘ it‘s aunt Lucille." v ' I
fitore down-stairs and 0 mad the door with.
a. ban , and before his aunt (1 time to exclaim _ l
“ Frag!” hohad her inlus arms, while tears of
'oy‘from both their eyes were running down his
blonds beard and motstonin his shirt front.
v Aunt Lucille was soon in essie's puretty morn?
. in -room, and every one was talk mt once
w ' e‘mss Gordon held Fred by the d as if
she feared some one might wrest him from her.
When she heard how nearly had been tour~
dared by the treacherous villain e supposed to
be a friend she became nearly) wild. I _
alton,”lshewcried; 
ore '

“ Have him arrested, Mr.

.w‘hy didn‘t you havchimmeatedbef ,

‘ I can‘t have him arrested for Itth ted,

~ murder in Buenos Ayrea, and besides we vs

no Iwitneases.” I r I ‘ '
0h,thelp.wl IIt disgusts me, 1: is 

Itcfiiotect . .
i . Dalton smiled indulgently. Ho knew _
ligss 33:10“ was impulsive, and was not easily ‘
0 en I . .  . I , .
“ What did you mythic fellow’s name was.
when he was in South America, Fred?” sham.

quired,  . . .. v 
mam. make had mentioned » the startling
change in 0 color of his enemy’s hair, and the»
. thou htflasheduponherthatt emanwho hc'd
minung had changed the color of his‘hsirf,
a.    
‘ ‘I'Almllemr Allan. -He'isadeserterfrom ..
tho. British arm I; -he_ shot an othcer against ‘
ham he entertained a. tooling-if revenge,he
,‘ ‘couscthe oflicer had him bran ad on tho-hock
fairs crew was! was»
- The  was called forth;  ' '
who  Iguan'npon the floor insensle -
téLit“"h‘inchW “‘wl°’*°dxl‘“' 
_ I onw I cram enco. _ is:
 m; and, I  «1 ac: ’bymm;

     
  

    

    
 

t

 
   

  

  

 

_ I more

XI.

  

   
   
   

  
   

         
    
 

    
 

 

 

.22

“D ;” or, Branded for Life.

 

 

to say nothing and do nothing till this Mr. Sey—
mour comes from South America, for if our
man takes the alarm he will ret 01f Scot free.”

“ You are right," said Free.

“ And I must wait till then?” Miss Gordon ex-
claimed, making a face at the thought of the de—
la .

A": If you do anything else he will escape, and
Mr. Seymour will have a. right to be very an—

,.1.V.l7

6‘ But he may run away with all he can
steal.”

“ Softly, my dear madame! He can run away
with nothing. I have attached everything be—
longing to your nephew. Take my advice and
keep quiet.”

So it was decided that the old lady had to do
what she hated most to do under the circum—
stances, vizz—keep quiet and be patient.

 

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE unions or SIN—HAPPINESS.

“ XVELL,” exclaimed Seymour, “ we can all go
home together, Ashton. You see, you were
right; your man sailed in tho Celia, and you
might have obtained all tho necessary inform—
ation on the subjectfrom that villainous Captain
Mitchell, when you struck the trail, if he had
not had a grudge against Blunt.”7

This was a diplomatic speech and did away
with every unpleasant feeling 15110 man from
Scotland Yard had ever felt toward Miss Kent‘s
intended husband.

None of the party were sorry when they were
once more at sea on their homeward voyage to
New York.

They Were blesséd with pleasant weather, and
the voyage was a speedy one.

“ Where shall we go!" asked Seymour, when
Fire island was past.

“It‘s all right,” replied Blunt. “I’ve tele—
graphed to my boss; he’ll go to Miss Gordon’s
house, and meet us with instructions."

The old servant had not yet been dismissed.
To tell the truth, the usurper was afraid to take
anfir decisive step.

e knew not what to do. He was hemmed in
on every side. He began to curse his folly in
permitting Janet to dispose of all the valuable
furniture and other articles at the house on the
banks of the Hudson, for he found himself short
of ready money.

He had never been a smart business man, or
ways and means of raising cash might have
occurred to him.

As it was, he was at his Wits’ ends. People,
1:00, began to look strangely at him. The story
was beginning to leak out; he was virtually
cut when it became known that Miss Gordon
was in New York, residing at her lawyer’s, and
utterly repudiating the man who occupied her
old home.

No one knew that Fred himself was in New
York, for by Mr. Dalton’s advice he kept very
quiet.

Miss, Gordon was terribly disappointed when
her nephew informed her that his affections
were bestowed upon the girl who had assisted
to nurse him back to health after the murder-
ous attack Allan Gordon had made upon him.

She had hoped that he might learn to love
Stella, but she was obliged to relinquish that

ho .

‘ Stella knew that justice was about to overtake
the man she had called by the endearing name
of husband, and she calmly awaited the end.
Her strict sense of justice overruled all the sen-
’timental feelings natural to her age and sex,

She did not even pity him.

Ben Blunt was right; the messenger sent by
the head men in his bureau met the party on the
pier, and gave them Miss Gordon’s address.

“ I must lose no more time,” said Ashton, and
he hurried the others, who were only less anxious
than himself to see him place his hand upon the
shoulder of the murderer.

When they reached Mr. Dalton‘s house they
learned the truth, and found to their surprise
that they had unknowingly all been at work
upon the s e case.

“ Now,” said Ashton, briskly, “you may not
know it, but the young lady is the one I want.”

“ How is that?” asked Mr. Dalton, while Stella
turned pale.

“ She knows that he is the man, and she must
see him, and swear to it.”

All eyes were turned on the pale, child-like
face and slender form.

Could she hear such an ordeal? A fragile
being like that? ‘

She could.

“ Very well,” she said, in a. low tone that
thrilled all present, so full was it of subdued
strength and resolution. “ I am ready to go.”

A carriage was sent for, and Stella, accom—
ga ied by Seymour, Ashton and Ben Blunt,

ve to Miss Gordon’s house; the others re-
wined in the carriage, and Ashton rung the

f‘I wish to see the master of the house,” he

d metly. ',

“ ilmdiy think Mr. Gordon will see you, sir,”
replied the footman; “ are you an agent or a
cam/assert”

“ No; I am here on important business."r

 

l
“ “'ell, sir, if you take a seat I’ll take in your l
card.” - l

He opened the door of the reception—room but
Ashton remained standing in the hall. He had
sent in a card bearing the name F. B. Cliiford—
he always kept a few cards on which were en—
grayed different names to use in cases of this
kiln .

“ llIr. Gordon is engaged, sir.”

The footninn had returned and began to open
the door suggestively.

“ I must see him, so I shall announce myself.”

Before the footman recovered from his aston—
ishment the detective was in the room where the
impostor sat reading.

“ I am from Scotland Yard, London, Allan
Gordon, and I arrest you f1 if the murder of Ma—
jor Kent, committed at Guilford, in the county
of Surrey, England, six years ago.”

The man spinng to his feet with the cry. of an
animal at bay. He had expected all sorts of
troubles from Frederic Gordon or his aunt, but
he had lost sight for the time being of the
greatest danglr of all. Ho attempted a denial,
but he wassoon handcuffed and led away, and
formed one of the number of passengers on the
next steamer for the port of Liverpool.

His trial was a remarkable one; he escaped
the gallows by a hair’s breadth and was sentenced,
to penal servitude for life, as the murder was
well-nigh forgotten, and the evidence purely cir-
cumstantial.

Frederic Gordon came into his fortune and
place without the slightest trouble; he returned
to Buonos Ayres and succeeded in gaining Sig—
nor Madura’s (:onseLt to his marriage with his
daughter. The old man‘s haughty spil it wassub—
ducd by Virgilio’s refusal to wcd Mariquita, and
he no longer op oscd her wishes to unite herself
with the man ot her heart. Mona and Juanita
married and became the faithful attendants of
the newly—wedded pair. They all sailed for New
York, where they Were received by Miss Gor-
don and her adopted daughter, Stella Do Pay-
ster, who then sailed for Europe. '

They first paid a visit to England, where the
were warmly welcomed by Mr. and Mm. Frank
Seymour, for Gertrude Kent kept her word and
became Frank’s wife when he returned from
America.

Years have elapsed, and Stella is a rarely
beautiful woman; but she favors no lover, and
turns a deaf ear to all who try to win her favor.

She cannot forget her first terrible matrimo-
nial venture, and devotes herself to her dear
friend—whois really a mother to her—Miss Lu—
cille Gordon. ’

Mariquita has little children and is very happy
in her Northern home, and, of course, thinks
there is no one like her modern Mazeppa.

THE END.

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BY JOSEPH E. BADGER. JR.

928 Old Sobersidcs, the Detective of St. Louis.

925 ‘While-Horee \Vlleclel‘. the .Rt'Vt'llllt‘DOLOCUVC.

918 The Double Ellge‘l Detective.

907 Maverick Mark. the Mull from Nowhere.

898 Silky Steele, the St' y-in Sport.

881 The S letter-Sport s N. «ck-Tie l’ill-Iy.

870 High- Vuter Mark: or. Silver-Tip Sid.

862 Riutu Rob. tllt- Rilllge tlllam llUii.

355 The C .whov Chief's Sure-S lot.

848 Tile Rival Red—Hui Sports.

837 Curly Kid. the Clleywllllc Sport.

824 The Soft llulld Dt‘l/t ctive.

815 The Soft [I'illd‘s Clutch.

.809 Dan Dll:.n. the Soi‘l-Ilzuld Sport.

796 The Frisco Delectlve’s Thug-Tangle.

789 Sam (jury. the River Sport.

7’80 The Dead Sport’s Double.

771 Prince John. Detective Special.

763 Dandy Don. the Denver Detective.

751 ’l he Jinn fl‘tilil Texas; or, Dangerfield, the
Doctor D '

7-14 Swut-l ‘ Sam, the Silver Sport.

720 Tlle Seen-t Six; or, 0 d Huh-yon.

'3‘12 The Ellen of Silk.

5‘05 Bulltmn Bob, the Beauty from Butte.

693 Kent K‘dSSHll,‘lllE l’ri-llcller Sport.

‘ Bob Breeze. thc Rounder Detective.

675 Steel Surl-y, the Sport in n1 Sunrise.

668 Solemn Sulll’s Luck Str. uk

661 The (let-There Sharp.

(551 Silvertip St ve, the Sky Scraper from Siskiyou.

645 Gopher (lube, the Unseen Detective.

636 Dandy Dill-ling, DL-teclive.

627 Mosslnick Mow, the Mountaineer.

“1617 The Grip Suck Sharp’s Even u l.

597 Dig Bundy, llil' ill'igndit-r of Brimstone Butte.

588 Sandy Sands, the Sllzlrp from Slurp City.

576 SilveltTtmgut-ll Sid: 01', Grip Sack Sharp‘s Sweep.

564 The (lil'ipSavk Sharp; 01'. The Scruphs of Sodom.

555 UripSuck Sid. the Sample Sport.

51" The Buried Detective; or. Sulll‘s Six Sensations.

541 Major Magnet. tho Mun ot‘ Nerve.

535 Dandy Dutch. the Decorator from Dead—Lift

  

t'l

' 1V0.

      
  
 

 

d
@
w

' 5m Dullin Andy. the Diamond Detective.

514 (lube Gunn. tllt- tirinlv fl'mu Ginseng;
604 Solemn Silul. the Sud lull from San Saba.
’ Ruttlepme Rob; or. The Rouudheud’s Repl-isal
488 Tile Thorn lighbred Sport. _
r174 Daddy Deu<l-]~lye, the Dcsuot of Dow Drop.
466 Old Rough [Hill Ready, the Shire. of Sundown
458 Dutch Dan. the Pilgrim from Spitzenberg.
44.3 A Cool Hand; or. l’istol Johnny‘s Picnic.
438 Oklahoma Nil-k. .
133 Laughing: Leo; or. Sam's Dandy Ford.
425 The Ghost, Detcetlw: or. The Secret Service Spy.
416 Monte .J'lln. the Black Sheep of Bismarck.
Rob Roy Ranch: or. The lmps of Pan Handle.
'. The Nameless Sport.
395 Dertily Aim. the Duke, of Derrinzel's.
387 D'll‘k Dili'g. the Ishmael of the Hills.
372 Captain Crisp. the Man with a Record.
367 A Royal Flusn; or, Dun Brown’s Dip: Game.
380 J umnlng Jerry. the Gamecock from Sundown.
355 Stormy Steve. the Mud Athlete.
351 Nor‘ West Nick. the Border Detective.
345 Masked Mark. the Mounted Detective.
339 Spread Eagle Sam. the Hercules Hide Hunter.
331 Chispa Charley, the Gold Nugget Sport.
317 Frank Lightfoot. the Miner Detective.
292 Moke Homer, the Boss Roustabout.
286 Pistol Johnny; or. One Man in a Thousand.
283 Sleek Sam, the Devil of the Mines.
257 Death Trap Dig lugs: or. A Man ’Way Back
2-19 Elephant Tom. 0 Dill-unto.
241 Spitfire Saul. King of the Rustlers.
233 The Old lloy 01' Tombstone.
20] Pirate of the Pincers: or. Joa uin‘s Death Hunt
180 Old ‘49: or. The Amazon of Ar zona.
170 Sweet William. the Trapper Detective.
165 Joaquin. the Terrible _
154 Joaquin, the Saddle King.
141 Equinox Tom. the llul'y‘ of Red Rock.
119 Alabama J 0e: or. The ‘xazoo Maul-Enters.
105 Dan Brown of Denver: or. The Detective.
88 Big George: or. The Five Outlaw Brothers.
71 Captain 0001 Blade: 01'. Mississippi Mun Shark.
67 The Boy Jockey: or, Honesty vs. Crookedness.
50 Jack Rabbit, tile Prairie Sport.

BY \VlVI. G. PATTEN.

i -E a, the Thug's Terror.
gig £1316 NTgllt-Huwk, the Crook Shudower.
768 The Prime 0! New York Crooks. I
756 Old Burke. the Madison Square Detective.
747 Double-voice Dan's Double Disguise. '
715 Double-Velma Dan on Deck. I
702 Double-Voice Dan, the Alwuys-on-Deck Detective
696 Double-Voice Dan, the Go-lt Alone Detective.
689 The Sparkler Sharp.
673 Hurricane Hill. the Cowboy Hotspur.
659 Old True Blue. the Trusty.
333 The Giant S ort; or, Sold to Satan.
656 Old Plug Ugly. the Rough and Ready.
648 Gold Glove Gid the Man of Grit.
541 Aztec Jack. the PsertNOIniati.
531 Colonel 0001, the Santa Fe Sharp.
“02 Ca. lain Nameless. the Mountain Mystery.
571 OREDismal, the Range Detective.
545 Hustler Harry, the Cowboy Sport.

BY GEORGE C. JENKS.

910 The Arizona Detective.
894 Silver Sam. the Shasta Sport.
1isol'rhe Silver Sport’s Double.
, he Race-Course Detective.
-6 The Hayseed Detective.
2 Ca tain Corden, the Twister Detective“
)5 W d Pete the BronchoBuster Detective. .
)6 Fearless Sam. the Grand Combination Detective.
9 Boston Bob, the S ort Detective.
‘ f2 Jauntv Joe, the ockey Detecdve.
04 ad harp, the Rustler ', ,
638 Rube Rocket. the Tent Detective. _ t
526 Death-Grip, the Tenderfoot Detective.
WuThe Drummer Detective. ,
482 The Giant Horseman. _
898 Sleepless Eye, the Pacific Detective.

ta
:3
Ca

Elk-
‘18

 

BY “'ILLIAIVI R. EYS'I‘EII.

tlltl Two Dead-Square Sports.
902 Soft, Velvet, the Man from Sundrock.
till] tlentet-l .linl, Spot-but Large.
8H1 The (lluhlnun-Cl'vtok‘s Cat‘s—paw.
8437’ The Frisco Sport.
832 The Stranger S mrt‘s Shukemp.
82% Kirk King, the illlll from Kirby.
818 tlenllelllull Dave, the Dead (lame Sport
753 The .KlllK-l’lll 'l'l'illlll).
Til? The Sport ot’ rilvel' Bend.
715‘ Uncle lit-drock‘s Jill: Bollnct‘.
707 The Rival Rovers.
liHT Double (‘inch Dun. the Sport With a Charm.
571’ 311'. Jackson, the (lent from Juyhirtl.
ill’lll tlilt-illdze Johnny; or. Roldan and His Rovers.
tll'lll lillcky Lester‘s Lune llulld.
lifli (lid Jlullilem't's ilk: Dump.
“'22 The All Around Sports.
tints Desert Alt". the lion With the Cougar.
Silt) (lentleJuek. the Ilirh Rollel‘l'l‘om Hulllhug.
57 Seven Shot Steve. the. Sport wilhlt Smile.
Still The Dude Detective.
.558 Hurrah Hurry. the High Ilol‘se from Halcyon.
. lielshuzznl' lll'ick. the llzllllll' of Blue Blazes.
": Oregon. the Sport \\ ith a Sear.
. Tile Dude from Denver.
l’illlnti-le Pete; or. The Fool from \Vuy Duck.
. Mlljor Sunshine, thi- Mun (If Three Lives.
‘. lluil' 'l'ritzger ’l‘olll of Red l't‘lltl.
‘ Snapshot Sum; or. The Angels” lt‘ltlt Racket.

' The l’ipnr Detective; or, The (tilt Edge (lung.
"' Royal George. the Three in (inn.
' Till‘ e llzllldsollle Sports: ory ’l'lle Combination.
3f; Derringer Dick. the Mun with the Drop.
Music Mike. ‘lle illlln ol‘ Frills.
'42!) (luptllin (‘ll'slt eve; or. The Little Sport.
r The Two Cool Sports; or. (lerlie ot' the Gulch.
182 Hands Up: or, The Knights of the Canyon.
Hol'l‘. Hund. Shurp: or. ’l‘ht- Mail with the Sand.
'” Pistol Pilrds; or, The Silent Sport; from Cinnabar

BY NE!) BUN’l‘LINE.
657 Long Tom. the Privateer.
(:33 The Sea Spy.
7 The. Red Privateer; or, The Midshipman Rover.
rm Fire Feather. the illiocilneel' King.
Buffalo Bill‘s lt‘irst ’l‘l'ilil.
Tombstone Dick. tin- Train Pilot.
1'22 Saul Subberdzty. the idiot Spy.
111 The Slnllzgler t ‘uptuin; or. The Skipper‘s Crime.
H The SPHJifll’ltllH or, The Queen of the Isle.
16 The Willlo Wizard; or. The Seminole Prophet.

BY JACKSON [KNOX—“01d Hawk.”

8:38 Old Grips Still Hunt.

R27 Detective Willtlell‘s Web.

775 The llutler Detective; or, Old Grip‘s Grip

770 The Showman Deto live.

762 Old Grip. the Detective.

740 Capt-ail] Glow, the Fighting Detective.

732 The Hurricane Detective.

643 Castlemutne, the Silent, Sifter.

616 Magnus. the Weird Detective.

606 The Drop Detective.

595 Wellborn. the Upper Crust Detective.r

592 Jorn m. the Detective Expert.

574 Old ll‘ulcoll‘s Double.

561 The Thug King; or. The Falcon Detective’s Foe.
518 Falconbrldge. the Sphinx Detective.

536 Old Fulcon‘s Foe: or. The Detective's Swrll Job.
515 Short-Stop Mu‘e, the Diamond Field Detective.
509 Old. Fillvon. t 10 Thunderbolt Detective.

501 Sprlllirstecl Steve, the Retired Detective.

49-! Tile Detective's S 5'.

485 Rowlock. the Hill' or Detective.

477 Dead-arm Brandt.

467 Mulllwnring. the Salamander.

462 The Ciscus Detective.

451 Griplock. the Rocket Peteotlve.

444 The Magic Detective: or, Tile Hidden Hand.

424 Hawk Heron's De iluy.
386 Hawk Heron. the Talcon Detective.

    

BY J. (l. COWDRICK.

52 The Sus ect S art of Daisy Drift.
62B Ducuts ion, t le Nabob Sport Detective.
61:2 Shorlif Stillwood, the Regulator of Raspberry.
598 The Dominic Detective.
591 Duke Daniels. the Society Detective.
580 Shadowing a. Shadow.
565 Prince Paul, the Postman Detectivp.
557 The Mountain Uruybeurds; or, Riddles‘ Riddle.
519 Old Riddles. the Rock Ranger
499 Twilight Charlie. the Igoad Sport.
47:3 Gilbert of Gotham. the Steel-arm Detective.
452 Rainbow Rob. the Tulip from Texas.
436 Kentucky J ecu, the S ort. from Yellow Pine.
42:2 Blue Grass Burt. the old Star Detective.
390 The Giant Cupid: or Cibuta John’s Jubilee.

BY ED‘V ARI) WILLETT.

493 Flush Fred. the River Sim .

368 The Canyon King; or. a P ce on his Head:
348 Dan Dillon. King of Crosscut.

337 Old Gabe the Mountain Tram .

3m Terrapin Dick. the Wildwood Betective.

315 Flush Fred‘s Double: or. The Squatters‘ League
308 Hemlock Hank, Tough and True.

298 Logger Lem: or. Life in the Pine Woods.

289 Flush Fred‘s Full Hand.

274 Flush Fred. the Mississip l Sport.

248 Montana Nut. the Lion 0 Last Chance Camp.
222 Bill the Blizzard; or. Red Jack‘s Crime.

209 Buck Farley. the Bonanza Prince.

129 MlSstSsippl Mose; or, a. Strong Man's Sacrifice.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.

$7 The -White Squaw.

284 The Hunter’s Feast. ’

218 The Wild Huntress; or. The Squatter.

200 The Rifle Runners; or. Adventures in Mexico.
74 The Captain of the Rifles; or, The Lake een.
66 The Specter Barque. A Tale of the Paci o.

55 The Scalp Hunters. A Romance or the Plains.
. 9”.

BY (10].. PRENTISS INGRAYI.‘ RI.

911 The Blue Bloelunlmjor, Tlltl (tillth (lruyhollnd.

906 The Cuban Cl'lliSl'l'.

8.31 The Oct-nu Gipsv.

it‘ll The, Wild Fteu-r liltlt'l'Slul', Ttxns Jack‘s ’l‘iu‘rols.

Hill The Rival )lollte (‘rislosu

805' The Inst of the “rules; or, Dot ln Dert-n.

801 The Water \\ olves‘ Detective; or,’lrupnin'.: the
(lruve Ghouls.

791 The Coast-imitler‘s Death tlhllst‘.

748 Arizona (film-lie. the Crack-shot lit'll‘cllVL‘.

704 Invisible lvull. the Wizard Detective.

695 The Redrkin Sell Rover.

U7!) Revello, the Pirate (,lrlliser; ul‘. The lilvul Rovers

(it; The Red Rapier; or, The Stu Rovel"s llride.

till? The Jew Uriel-live: or, The lleuutit’lll Convict.

tilt] The [lover‘s lirt illllllt ll.

(:35 The Ex BlitK‘llllL" r: < r. The Stigma (.t' Sill.

this lied Wing's; or. Thl- tlold Seekers ot'thc illlllumas.

“15 The Three i ilt'Cillll'l‘l'S.

(110 The Red Flag ,llorwr;nrJVhite Wings ofthe Deep.

Iitll’) The Shadow SiIVi-r Ship.

(Bill! The Silver Ship: «r. The St-u Scouts of ‘76.

GUI: The Sea Rebel: or. lied ltoversol’tlle Revolution.

5‘7 (mm-ml. the Sailor Spy; or: Tl'llt‘ Ill‘iltllS of '76.

SH] The ()Iltlllwvd Ski vpel'; or. The (mullet Runner.

Bill) The Man from ll exit-o.

1') )liil‘i' Month. the MN hit-er: or. The llrunded Brig.

’l'h- Doomed Wilul 'r: or. The Life Wreck. '

The Savages of the Sell.

The See (lll'lser: or. The Pirate Noble.

llll Moro. the ('olsuir Commodore.

; ’l‘llu Scouts of the Sell.

The Soil insurgent : or. The (loin-pirutor Son.

‘ Oct-tin Ogre. the Ulltcnst “orsull'.

'. The One-Armed lillt't-lllli-er. '

The Final Frigate; or. Rivals ill Love and War.

. The New Monte (Irish).

39.; The Convict (,‘upliml.

Alli/at. :lllll Ashore: or. The (“orsuil‘ Consplrator.

' '. ‘l'he t‘oust L‘nrs. r: or. The Slrt-ll ot’ the Sea.

The Sea Fugitive: or. The Qlli-t-n ol' the Coast.

in The Sc-u Desperado,

The “:1ng Ship; or. Snndy Honk lt'rt-einoti-rs.

....> Tim (lelltlelllllll i’ll':tt.t-; or. The (lusco llerlllits.

313 The 1.1mm] Jillt'l‘flllt’l‘l'l or. limited Rovers.

307 The l‘llulltom l'll'ute; or. The Water Wolves. l

.‘5 The Pirate Priest; or. The (inlllblefls Daughter.

246 Queen lit-lei). the Amuxnll ol' the Overland.

2’35 lied Lightning the Mall of Chance.

“:24 lllm-k Bollrd. the Burl-unet-l'.

2:20 The Specter Yacht; or, A Brother‘s Crime.

210 llllct-llllei-l' lie ..tlle Lioness of the Sen.

'10.“) Tile tlzunbb-r irute; or. Lady ol‘ the. Lagoon.

198 The Skeleton Schooner; 01'. The Skimmer.

181 The, Scarlet Schooner: or. This Sell. Nemesis.

101 lilontezunlu. the Merciless.

103 Merle, the. Mlltineer; or, The Red Anchor Brand.

IIY PIIIIJP S. \VARNE.

802 Dull Dirk King of No Man‘s Lund.
58“ Captain Adair. the Cattle King.
567 Cupluln Midnight. the Man of Craft.
514 The Back to Back l’urds.
5‘32 The ,‘hunlpion Three.
502 Bareback luck, the. Centaur of the Plains.
472 Six Foot Si: or, The Mun to "Tie To."
431 California Kit, the Always JD Hand. -
ill-l Silver Sid; or. A “ Dull-w " lilul‘i’.
381) ‘iger Dick‘s Pledge: or, Tne Golden Serpent.
359 Yellow Jack. the Mestim.
335 Jack Sands. the lions of the Town.
299 Three of u. Kind; or. Dick. Despnrd and the Sport.
251 ’I‘iucl' chk rs. Iron Despnrd.
207 Old Ilard Head: or. Whirlwind and his Mare.
17'1 Tiger Dick. the Mun ol’tllc Iron Heart.
1“ The Gentleman from >l'lk8.
80 A Man of Nerve; or, Caliban the Dwarf.
51 Always ml Band; or. The Feot‘llllls Sport, .
2!) Tiger Dick. Faro Killtr; or. The Cashier's Crime.
4 The Kidnapprr; or. The Northwest Shanghai.

BY CAPTAIN MARK \VILTON.

823 Hotspur Hugh; or. The Banded Br. them.
311 Heavy Hand: or. The Marked Men.

. 5 Silver-Plated Sol, the Montana Rowr.

291 IImsesliOe Hunk. the Mun of Big Luck.

285 Lightning Bolt. the Canyon Terror.

276 Texa< Chick. the Southwest Detective.

271 Stoneflst. of Big Nungct Bend.

266 Leopard Luke. the ' m: of Horse-Thieves.
 Iron-Armed Abo, the Hunchback Destroyer
25% Bullet Head the Colorado Bravo.

237 Lou -Huired Max; or, The ltluck Len .
227 Buc (shot Ben, the Mun-Hunter of mu lo.

22'! Canyon Dave. the Man of the Mountain.

219 The Scorpion Brothers; or. Mud Tom's Mission
202 Cactus Jack. the Giant Guide.

191 Don Sombrero. the California. Road Gent.

176 Ludv Jaguar. the Robber Queen.

BY OLL COOMES.

619 Kit Bandy & Co . the Border Detectives.
1-18 One-Armed Alf. the Giant Hunter.
99 The Giant Riflcmun: or. Wild Camp Life.
43 Dakota Dan. the Reckless Ranger.

BY COL. THOMAS H. MONSTERY.

236 Chum ion Sam: or. The Monarchs of the SJO‘I‘
150 E1 Ru io Bravo, King of the Swordsman.

BY DR. NOEL DUNBAR.

919 The Sea Scout; or. The Patriot Privateer.

886 The King of Crooks.

858 Number One. the Dead-set Detective.

850 The Planter Detective.

730 Duke Despurd. the Gambler Duelist.

604 The Detective in Rugs; or, The Grim shadoweu
500 The True-Heart Purds.

4 new issue every Wednesday

Beadle’l Dime Library is for sale 1) d
Newsdeuiers, ten cents per copy. or sent by m a
receipt of twelve cents each. ‘

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pumxsans.

\
.4

 

 

 

 
  

 

98 Wm 31%, NEW Yam

 

BEADLE’SrDIMfiruBRARY.

 

Published Every Wednesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers.

BUFFALO BILL NOVELS.
By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

960 Buffalo Bill’s lilue Bolt Brigade.

956 Buffalo Bill's Volunteer Vigilantes.

950 Buffalo Bill at Bay.

943 Buffalo liill’s Block Game.

9:16 Buffalo Bill's Black Ford.

927 Buffalo Bill’s Bluff; or, Dusky Dick the Sport.

921 81117th Bill’s Quandary: or, Velvet Bill’s Vow.

915 Buffalo Bill and the SurgeonVScout. ‘

909 Buffalo Bill’s League; or. Red Butterfly.

904 Buffalo Bill's Tangled Trail.

900 Buffalo Bill‘s Rough Riders.

895 Buffalo Bill's Secret Ally.

890 Buffalo Bill’s Lil‘eAStuke.

882 The Three Bills: Bufl'alo llill.Wild Bill and Band-
box Bill; or. The Bravo in Broadcloth.

874 Buffalo Mill’s Buckskin Braves. ‘

H59 Buflalo Bill‘s Road-Agent Round-up.

863 Buflalo Bill‘s Dealh Charm.

857 Buffalo Bill’s Royal Flush.

851 Buffalo Bill‘s Double Dilemma.

845 Buffalo Bill‘s Redskin Ruse.

830 Buffalo Bill‘s Bovsin Blue.

826 Buffalo Bill's Sher ) Shooters.

822 Bufi'alo Bill’s Best. ower.

816 Buffalo Bill‘s Red Trail.

812 Buffalo Bill’s Death—Knoll.

794 Buflslo Bill’s Winning Hand.

787 Buflalo Bill’s Dead Shut.

781 Buffalo Bill‘s Brand.

777 Buffalo Bill‘s Spy Shadower.

769 Buffalo Bill’s Sweepstake.

765 Bull’alo Bill’s Dozen: or, Silk Ribbon Sam.

761 Buffalo Bill‘s Mascot.

757 Buffalo Bill‘s Double.

750 Buffalo Bill‘s Bu: Four;or. Custer‘s Shadow.

748 Buffalo Bill‘s Flush Hand.

789 Buflalo Bill‘s Blind: or, The Masked Driver.

735 Buffalo Bill and His Merry Men.

731 Buffalo Bill's Beagles: or Silk Lasso Sam.

727 Bulfalo Bill’s Bodv Guard.

722 Buffalo Bill on the Wur- ath.

716 Buflalo Bill's Scout Sha owers.

710 Bufifalo Bill Baffled: or. The DeserterDesperado.

697 Bufialo Hill‘s Buckskin Brotherhood.

691 Buffalo Bill's lllind Trail; or, Mustang Madge.

667 Bufialo Bill‘s Swoon;or. The King of the Mines.

658 The Cowbw Clan: or, The Tigress of Texas.

653 Lasso King‘s Lea e; or. Buck Taylor in Texas.

649 Buffalo Bill‘s Chie of Cowboys; or. Buck Taylor

644 Buffalo Bill’s Bonanza; or. St ver Circle Knights.

862 Buffalo Bill's Grl ; or. Oath Bound to Custer.

829 Buffalo Bill’s Pie ge: or. The League of Three.

189 Wild Bill’s Gold Trail; or, The Desperate Dozen.

175 Wild Bill’s Trump Card: or. The lndian Heiress.

168 Wild Bill. the Pistol Dead Shot.

By Bu ll‘nlo Bill.

839 The Ranch King Dead~Shot.

820 White Beaver ’s Still Hunt.

8M Wild Bill. the Wild West Duelist.

800 Wild Bill. the Dead-Center Shot.

639 Buffalo Bill’s Gold King.

599 The Dead Shot Mne: or. My Pards of the Plains.
414 Red Renard. the lndian Detective.

- 401 One-Armed Pam; or, Borderland Retribution.
397 The Wizard Brothers: or. White Beaver’s Trail.
894 White Beaver, the Exile of the Platte.

319 Wild Bill. the Whirlwind 01' the West.

304 Texas Jack. the Prairie Rattler.

243 The P1). rim Sharp: or. The Soldier‘s Sweetheart.
8'! Gold Bu etSoort: or, Knights of the Overland.

{52 Death-Trailer. the Quiet of Scouts.

By Leon Lewis, Ned Buntllne, etc.

773 Buffalo Bill‘s Ban; or. Cody to the Rescue.

682 Buflalo Bill‘s Secret Service Trail.

629 Buffalo Bill’s Darin Role; or. Daredeath Dick.

517 Buffalo Bill‘s First rail; or. The Express Rider.
158 Buffalo Bill. Chief of Scouts.

117 Buffalo Bill 5 Strange Pard; or, Dashing Dandy.
92 Buflalo Bill. the Buckskin King.

BY HAROLD PAYNE.

888 The Man from Mexico in New York.

872 The King-Pin Shark: or, Thad Barr’s Ten Strike.
861 The Tenderloin B Four

853 The Quaker City brook.

844 Tracked to Chicago.

896 The Policy Broker's Blind.

829 The Frisco Sharper‘s Cool Hand.

821 The Tramp Shadower’s Backer.

818 The Sham S otter's Shrewd Scheme.

806 The Grand treet Gold-Dust Sharper-s.

798 Detective Burr's Luna-lo Witness

792 The Wall Street Sharpcr‘s Snap.

784 T ad Burr’s Death Drop.

742 Detective Burr Among the New York Thugs.
784 Detective Barr’s Foil; or, A Woman‘s Strategy.
728 Detective Burr. the Headquarters Special.
713 Detective Barr‘s Spirit Chase.

706 Detective Burr‘s Seven Clues.

698 Thad Burr, the invincible; or, The “L " Clue.
690 The Matchless Detective.

680 XX. the Fatal Clew; or. Burt's Master Case.

BY LIEUT. A. K. SIMS.

914 Snowflake Sam’s Double.

897 The Six-Shot Spotter.

887 The Stranger Sport from Spokane.

878 The Sport Detective‘s Colorado Clew.

860 The Spangled S rt Shadower.

843 The Crescent (. ty Sport.

882 Gid Gale‘s Block Game.

804 The King Pin of the Leadvilie Lions.

786 Chicago Charlie’s Diamond Haul.

776 Chicago Charlie, the Colombian Detective.
758 The Wizari King Detective. ,

723 Teamster Tom, the Boomer Detective.

709 Lodestone Lem. the Champion of Chestnut Burr.
695 Singer Sam, the Pilgrim Detective.

688 River Bustiers; or the Detective from ’Way Back
673 Stuttering Sam, the Whitest 815m of Santa Fe.
666 _Old Adamant, the Man of Rec .

618 Kansas Karl, the Detective King.

552 Prince Primrose. the Flower of the Flock.
598 Huckleberry. the Footrflills Detective.

 

BY CAPTAIN HO‘VAIID HIDLIVIES.

920 Gentleman George. the Showman Sport.
91'.“ (ientcel Joe‘s Lone Hand.
903 The Train Detective.
896 Kent Keen, the. Ui-ookarusher.
888 Niglilshalll- in New York.
879 Falcon Flynn, the Flash Detective.
871 The. Crook Cashier.
851i (flew-Hawk Keene‘s Right Bower.
811' llirani Hawk, the Harlem Detective.
Sill Major Bullion. Boss of the Tigers.
831 Shadowing the London Detective.
817 Plush Velvvt. the Prim-c of Spotters.
90:5 The Bogus Broker’s Right Bower.
768 The Night-Hawk Detective.
779 Silk Rulihou‘s Crush-out.
706 Detective Zach, the Broadway Spotter.
751 The Dark Lantern Uetl ctive.
736 The Never-Fail Detective.
724 Captain Hercules. the Strong Arm Detective.
711 Dan Damon, the Gilt-Edge. Detective.
Silver Steve, the Branded Sport.
u Gideon Grip, the Secret Shadower.
Velvet Van. the Mystery Shadower.
The Dude Desperado
671 Jason Clew the Silk-Handed Ferret.
664 Monk Morel, the Man-Hun er.
654 Sol S hinx. the Ferret Detective.
642 Red ard and Yellow.
608 Silent Sam. the Shadow Sphinx.
592 Captain Sid, the Shasta Ferret.
579 Old Cormorant, the Bowery Shadow.
569 Captain Cobra, the Hooded Mystery.
559 Danton. the Shadow Sharp.
550 Silk Hand, the Mohave Ferret.
543 The Magnate Detective. ‘
512 Jack Javert. the Independent Detective.
523 Reynard of Red Jack: or. The Lost Detective
512 Captain Velvet’s Biz Stake.
505 Phil Fox. the Genteel Spotter.
496 Richard Hellfire. the Two Worlds‘ Detective.
487 Sunshine Sam. a Chip of the Old Block.
480 Hawkspear. the Man with a Secret.
468 Coldgrlp in Deadwood.
460 Captain Coldgrip. the Detective.
45‘! Captain Cold rip’s Long Trail.
447 Volcano. the ‘nsco Spy.
441 The California Sharp.
434 Lucifer Lynx, the V\ onder Detective.
421 Father Ferret. the Frisco Shadow.
413 Captain Coldzrip in New York.
407 Captain Coldgrlp‘s Nerve; or. In un Nick.
400 Captain Coldgrlp: or. The New ork Spotter.
392 The Lost Bonanza: or. The Boot of Silent Hound.
382 The Bonanza Band: or, Dread Don of Cool Clan.
874 Major Blister. the S ort of Two Cities.
365 Keen Kennard. the haste. Shadow.
352 The Des )erate Dozen.
347 Denver uke. the Man with " Sand.”
840 Cool Conrad. the Dakota Detective.
335 Flash Dan. the Nabob: or. Blades of Bowie Bar.
321 California Claude, the Lone Bandit.
294 Broadcloth Burt. the Denver Dandy.
941 The Shadow Sport from Frisco.

BY \VILLIAM H. MANNING.

948 The Ped-Gloved Detective.

931 Frisco Frank at Glory Gulch.

920 The Montana Miner 11 New York.
908 The Doomsday-Den Detective.

899 The Double-Quick Detective.

893 Yellow Gid. of Dark Divide.

885 'l‘heExperr Detective‘s Shake-up.
875 Trap ing the Race-Track Judge.
864 The olice Special’l Dilemma.

849 The Genteel Sharper‘s Combine
841 Graydon's Double Deal.
833 The Sport Detective‘s Grip.
823 The Athlete Sport About own.
806 TheCrook-Detective's Pull.
790 Plan er Pete. the Race Track Detective.

782 Roy Rock, the Round-up Detective.

774 Steve Starr. the Dock Detective.

764 The New York Shar 1% Shadow“.

738 Detective Claxtou, t 6 Record Breaker.

714 Gabe Gall. the Gambolier from Great Hump,
706 Spokane Saul. the Samaritan Sus ct
692 Dead Shot Paul, the Deep-Range

655 Strawberry Sam. the Man With the
646 Dark John, the Grim Guard.

638 Murdock. the Dread Detective.

623 Dan erous Dave. the Never-Beaten Detective.
611 Alkal Abe the Game Chicken from Texas.

596 Rustler Ru ; the Round-Up Detective.

585 Dan Dixon‘s Double.

570 Steady Hand. the Napoleon of Detectives
563 Wyoming Zeke, the Hotspur o! Honeysuckle.
551 Garry) Kean the Man with Backbone.

539 Old oubledark, the Wily Detective.

531 Saddle-Chief Kit. the Prairie Centaur.

521 Paradise Sam. the Nor’-West Pilot. -

513 Texas Tartar. the Man With Nine Lives. '
506 Uncle Honest. the Peacemaker of Hornets' Nest.
498 Central Pacific Paul. the Mail Train Spy.

492 Border Bullet, the Prairie Sharpshooter.

486 Kansas Kitten. the Northwest Detective.

479 Gladiator Gabe, the Samson oi‘ Sassajack.

470 The Duke 01’ Dakota.

463 Gold Gauntlet, the Gulch Gladiator. ,

455 Yank Yellowhird. lhe Tall Hustler ol the Hills.
449 Bluff Burke. King of the Rockies. '

442 Wild West wet. the Mountain Veteran.

437 Deep Duke: or. The Man of Two Lives.

427 The Rivals of Montana Mill.
415 Hot Heart, the Detective S Y. J
405 Old Baldy the Brigadier o BuckB n.‘
29770010rado Rube. the Stron

81 ’ I, u
Arm of hots dr. ‘
279 The Gold Dragoon. or. literals.

lorer.
irthmark.

BY LEON, Lawn.

797 Pistol Tommy, the Miner Sharp. . .
785 The Down East Detective in Nevada. - ,, l
773 Buffalo Bill's Bangor. Cody bathe Rescue." ' '
699 The Go lEloy Couriers. ‘ "
686 The On; e-Wine Detectives. . .. V
624 The Submarine Detective: or, The-Wu
1:14 gfiptgliln liegdy. 521% Red Rfilésonm‘. .

6 'en etec ive: or, e Bogusrm
456 The Demon Stacer. . , Q, ml
1428 The Flying Gum: '

 

 

ALBERT “l. AIKEN’S NOVELS.
Dick Talbot. Series.

741 Dick Talhot‘s Close Call.

737 Dick Talbot in Apache lend.

733 Dick Talbot. the Ranch King.

729 Dick Talliot’s Clean»()ut.

72.3 Dick Talbot in No Man’s Camp.

354 Dick Talbot; 01. The Brand of Crimson rose
30' Dick Talbot; 01'. The Death-Shot of Shasta.

Alken’s Fresh of Frisco Series.

825 Fresh, the Race-Track Sport.

660 The Fresh in Montana; or, Blake‘s Full Hand.
652 The Fresh’s Rnstle nt Painted City.
647 The Fresh at Santa Fe; or. The Stranger Sharp.
5515 Fresh, the Sport: or. The Bu: Racket at Slide Out.
5337 Fresh Against the Field: or. Blake. the Lion.
407 The, Fresh in Texas; or. The Eseobedo Millions.
461 The Fresh 01’ Frisco on the Rio Grande.

97 The Fresh in Big Walnut Camp; or. Bronze Jack

Aiken’s Jon Phean Serleu.

959 Joe Phenix’s Double Deal.

9M Joe Phenix Ir. Chicago.

919 The Doctor from Texas; or. Joe Phenix‘s Clue.

944 Joe Phenix’s Right Bower.

865 The Female Barber Detective; or, Joe Phenix in

Silver City. 7
799 Joe Phenix‘s Great Blue Diamond Case; or, The
New York Sport at Long Branch.

793 Joe Phenix‘s Decoy: or The Man of Three.

760 Joe Phenix’s Lone Han .

749 Joe Phenix’s Big Bulge.

745 Joe Phenix‘s Mad Case.

708 Joe Phenix‘s Siren; or. The Woman Hawkshaw.

700 Joe Phenix’s Unknown; or. Crushing the Crooks

681 Joe Phenix‘s SpeciaIS' or. The Actress Detective

637 Joe Phenix in Crazy Camp.

632 Joe Phenix’s Master Search.

628 Joe Phenix‘s (‘ombim ; (.r,the Dandy Conspirator

620 Joe I‘henix's Sllent Six.

601 Joe Phenix's Shadow ; or.the Detective’s Monitor

419 Joe Phenix., the Kink of Detectives.

161 Joe Phenlx's Great Man Hunt.

112 Joe Phenix, Private Detective; or. The League.
79 Joe Phenix. the Police Spy.

Alkems Miscellaneous Novels.

940 Captain Jack, the Scalper

935 The hawks and Wolves of New York

932 Detective Gordon’s Grip.

926 Old Sunflower. the Silent Smiter.

923 Old Sunflower. the Hayseed Detective.

901 The Hotel Swell-Sharp; or, The Siren Shadower.
892 The. Countryman Detective,

876 Gold Button Sport; or. The Miner Sharps.

842 Town Tom the Half-Bleed.

835 The King-Pin Detective.

814 The New Yorker Among Texas Sports.

775 King Dandy, the Silver Sport.

753 Gideon‘s Grigiat Babylon l‘ar.

717 Captain Pat cGowen, the Greencout Detective.
674 Uncle Sun Up. the Born Detective.

670 The Lightweight Detective.

665 The Frisco Detective; or. The Golden Gate Find.
618 Keen Billy. the Sport. .

607 Old Benzlne the “Hard Case" Detective.

594 Fire Face. the Silver King's Foe.

586 The SiIVer Sharp Detective.

577 Tom. of Calif ( mm: or. Detective‘s Shadow Act.
570 The Actress Detective: or. The Invistble Band
562 Lone Hand. the Shadow.-

520 The Lone Hand on the Caddo.

490 The Lone Hand in Texas. '

475 Chin Chin, the Chinese Detective.

465 The Actor Detective.

440 The High Hor e of the Pacific.

425 The Lone Band; or. The Red River Recreants.

408 Doc Grin. the Vendetta of Death.

881 The Gy sy Gen tleman: cr. Nick Fox. Detective

376 Black eards: 01. The Rio Grande High Horse
870 The Dusky Detective: or. Pursued to the End.
869 Crowningshield. the Detective

320 The Genteel Spotter: or The N. Y. Night Hawk.
252 The Wall Street Mood: or. The Teleltranh Girl.
203 The Double DetectiVe: nr.'l‘he Midnight Mystery.
196 La Marmoset. the Letecllve Queen.

101 The Man from New York.
91 The Winning Oar: or. The lnnkee r‘s Daughter.
84 Hunted Down: or. The League 0 Three.

, 81 The Human Tiger: or. A Heart of Fire. ‘
75 Gentlemen George: or. Parlor. Prison and Street.
72 The Phantom Band: or. The 5th Avenue Heiress.
56 The Indian Mazeppa‘. or. Madman of the Plains.
49 The Wolf Demon; or. The Kanawha con.
42 The California Detective: or, The Wltc es of N.Y.
81 The New York Shari): or. The Flash of Lizhtning
2? The Spotter Detective: or. Girls of New York. ‘

NEW" ssuns.

971 “ D;" or. Branded Ir Life. By K. F. Hill.
972 The Captain's Enemy. By Col. P. Ingraham.
973 The Man from Denver. By Jos. E. Badger.
974 Freelance, the Buccaneer. By 001. Ingraham.
975 Overland Kit. By iAlbert W. Aiken.

J U811" ISSUED.

993 The Sea Recreant. 4 v Col. P. In em. '  .
964 Buffalo Bill's Invin biea. Bv Co . P. Ingraham.

5 Joe Phenix‘s Mascot. By Albert W. Aiken. “
. The Sporting Detective. 1B1}, Jos. E. Badger.
968  Clarkkty‘hs GOP gem‘lt. By ‘1

Te o 9.35. o . gra am. -

969 Texas J ack. the Lasso Kins. By Buflalo Bill
970 Theorem}! Rover. ByCol . lumham. H

'4 you: km wary ‘Watiwday,