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Copyrighted, 1885, by HEADLE AND ADAMS. Entered at the Post Offiv-e at New York. N. Y., as Second Class Mail Mntm. July ‘28, 1‘85.

 

 

V0 V $250 V PUBLISHED WEEKLYBY BEADLE AND ADAMS, price. N 
L. . a Year. No. 98 William Street, New York. Five Cents-  -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

u I I 7:
AND YET, PHILLIS. THERE Is ONE CONDITION ON WHICH I‘ MIGHT BE MORE CON‘SIDERATE—NOT FOR v l
HIM, NEVER !——-BUT FUR YOU—IF YOU WILL 1315003115 MY WIFE! ’

    siévyes, Mr. Barnes. Be you ready to come, 

“ How is it now in the Ladye—Bird? Have
or: More Sinned Against than ginning. you heard anythmg of them the last half-

 

_______ hour?” _
B? L [131; [A N Lox/Eva}: “ Not much, sir. They’re most ogulet ’cept the
old cgptain. He and the young un are at it
CHAPTER I. still.” '
c B ‘ A DASTARD’S DEEDS. “That will do,. Pull m close, and steady the
WtOAT, .ahoy! Is that you, Ben?” in a boat while I get 111.” i
5’ Whlsper. The boatman comphed.

 

» 5'9 students 

 

./ ‘zv‘

    

 

 

. .They‘l‘man on the shore looked,_ round" long and
 ‘warily before embarking. An hour after mid-
night, and-no'light but that of stars. The'

  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
   

. him; before ’him the tranquil Hudson, calm
‘ and placid, beneath the starlight.
x» distance the lights’of a yacht, at anchor out in
the great, broad river.

 LadyeBird, Ben?” asked the man addressed as
, ,I'Mr. Barnes,” as" the Englishman pulled steadily
 I». ,out' into the stream. »
j “Not a bit, sir. Haven’t I seen her up and
 down the river this last year and more? There’s
 .. rrnot' a‘better known, tauter bit of a craft atween
‘ ,. this and the Hook. Yes. them be the Harlem
' f bridge lights, sir,” pointing to a little illumi-
nated patch that was just disclosed to view on
-_. theothér side ’of the rivor.
* 5.“ Ah, 'no one saw you leave old Bolt’s land-
. ing tonight, I‘ hope?” , '
 - “ Not a soul, sir,” returned Ben, indulging
:uin’a grin in the darkness. “And you, sir——
how did.you get over, and down here?"
“ Oh, well enough. The fact is, Ben,” as-

;the captain, as you know him—is a curious
g :Iman. I manage his law business for him, and
I ' hewill; have it done secretly. As a wealthy
' 7 jold bachelor, with plenty of relations and a
.cru‘Sty temper, he’s constantly changing his
*tnind and making fresh wills. That‘s why I’m
here. .tonight; and I Only hope he’s ‘not too
"drunk to sign his name”

~ “(Likely as not,” muttered Ben, resting on,
biscuits to listen. “They seem quiet enough
y-new,‘sir. I don’t hear him or t’other.”
‘1‘.,‘fPull gently, Ben. While I’m on board
:you‘must lie 0min case you‘re seen. Idon’t
suppose any watch is kept. I shall whistle
" « when» I’m ready for you to take me back.”

‘ (They were close upon the yacht now, whose
as. .,_ symmetrical and beautiful proportions were
2": dimlyvvisible in the uncertain light. Ben
pulledsilently round to leeward, and then
hinngsi'de. '

. raucous: light and voices streamed forth
 .,,,,fr‘omthe~ cabin as they passed under the stern.
‘ a Otherwise all was in silence and obscurity.

Ben

» «L 1‘51 must clamber up somehow; it isn’t very
highly Stay, there‘s a bit of rope. Give me 9.
deg up ,to, it; Ben.” ‘

gate “athletic boatman did so; and as Mr.
Themes. stretched up to layhold of it, some-
* thing square and dark“ slipped from his pocket.
» caugfit‘”it dexterously and Without a
;werd.. :  i ' ~
517233611 Mr. Barnes; ,
the bulwark, anwa I _
,7 wwAnfimng  

 

 

 

 

fdeck, 19 learn: over

I ,

 

nakedppalisade‘s rising gaunt and rugged behind r

In the dim .

,‘ “There’s no mistake about that being the,

naming a tone of confidence, “Mr. Garlapel— '

' -‘5“How will you get aboard, sirl” whispered '

' ,_ “- Nothin’, sir,” was the: reply, while?
ix ith his hand in‘his pocket, was ' fingering.” 
pocketbook. ‘ ' ‘ ’ ‘ ’
‘2Alh right.
whistle." , ,
Mr.t$arnes watched until Ben hadshoved ofl! v
into the darkness, then he turned his attention
to on-board. He listened'long and intensely.
From the stern came the hum of conversation
—nothing else to hear, save now and again the
drowsy creak of spar and cordage. So he stole
*to the illuminated skylight on the small a‘quar-
tor—deck. There was a cat—like stealth about
his movements. With care he could look down .
and hear the talk in the | brilliantly-lighted '
cabin. himself unseen. He both looked and
listened. _ ,
Confusion reigned below. Two men were
the only actors on the scene, both in a ,fairly
advanced stage 01: conviviality—if not intoxi-
‘ cation. Elegantly out decanters and cham-
pagne bottles stood about half empty, when
not tipped over. Dessert had not been cleared,
for shivered wine-glasses, fruit, cards and sil-
‘ ver plate lay about on the table in strange
medley. A huge pine-apple, 'with a jack-knife
, sticking up in it, stood in front of the younger
of the two—a man about thirty years of age,
and of handsome, frank, reckless appearance. I
The other was short, elderly, with little ‘*
choleric eyes, and rubicund and jovial as King »
Cole. -
They were unbosoming their hearts to each, ;
other, in that candid manner engendered by “‘3
f good wine: at times boisterous, at timesimaud- r
Ilin. The elder of the two had evidently a I.
v great affection for the younger;. “ 
Mr. Barnes’s breath came short and quick 
once or twice while he lis ened.
- Presently the elder stretched his hand he: 4
hind him, and brought forth from a cabinet, 
unsteadily, an iron box. This he unlocked "
and produced several papers and, a' sealed 
packet, which‘he shewed to the younger exult- . '
autly. Then he closed it again and left "it on
' the table before him. . h 
1 During this operation Mr. Barnes’s eyes 
; glistened greedily. He ‘now desisted from
v’ watching the pair, and turned his attention,
strange to say, to the illumination of the cabin. 
; This was performedby two large lamps—one 1
swung at the foot of the companion-way, the 4
other a little below the skylightthrough which 
he was watching. I I ' , p  ' .1
Cautiously he Stretched his arm down to the
laiter one. Yes, as he thought, he could'reach
it and turn it out if he chose. He did no”
3 cheese—«at least, not then—butcarefully, with
drew his arm. Then be stable round tot
companion—way. Again, as he expected, 17'
, stairs down into the cabin were; repento a,
i, one.’ Stooplng,‘ he could even gseewhenla

Lie chi, and  for tiny ,

 

 

    
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
 

 

 

     
 

,«y that‘swun’g‘at the bottom of them, even catch
‘ V l the gleam of an empty bottle or two that lay
e , on the cabin floor;
' He crept "across to the bulwark now, and
 looked over it. The night was very still; the
‘ great river wasso calm that the reflected stars
‘ looked like rich jewels, rising and falling on its
; dark, sleeping bosom. The young Englishman
and his boat were not to be seen. ‘
_ “Lying oft far enough, at any rate,” he
‘ muttered. _ '
[ I Then he took his hat, off, and, drawing in a
 deep breath of the soft, cool night-air, gazed
up into the dark-blue sky.

After a while he glided across to his post of
observation ,at the sky-light again, and there
crouched down, watchfully and thoughtfully.
He noted the iron box was still on the table,
the jackknife still sticking up in the pine-apple;
he noted the, change that had come over the

r _ talk below, more disjointed and discordant
with the wine that had flowed. Then he noted
. that from janglin'g, matters proceeded to quar-
' reliug,‘and the elder man laid down the law
3, in a gross, nwaggering manner, that the
younger resented. Hot words followed; then

a blow; then several, and a scuffle.

 

All this Mr. Barnes noted, and now he set

his teeth hard. His chance had come.
- _ He thrust his arm through the open skylight
, again, and this time turned the lamp out.
- “Then he made for the companioaway, and
down it. The decrease of light had evidently
not affected the broil. But on the second lamp
being also turned out by Mr. Barnes’s willing
agency, therelwas a sudden hush. The com-
batants couldn’t understand the meaning of
this unexpected darkness.  ,
The silence was broken by the sound of the
agiron box being moved. What followed can be
 - described by the. imperfect means of hearing
V, 7’ Only, night having asserted her merciful supre-
' V 1, macy. A hoarse shout; oaths, strugglings
' "5nd gaspings; then a dull thud, accompanied
4. \ by a low, blood—curdling cry—what could this
a :- IIteam—then a fall and clatter, as it the table
j find contents had been turned over; and then
\ Pr Barnes. emerged» from the companion-way:
. ’Qmo the deck, panting, his hat in his hand,
" Vfind the iron box under hisparm.
1' .Some one had been roused, and was coming
up from the fore cabin, as Mr. Barnes leaned
“Yer the side and, whistled. There was no
need for this, as the boat and boatman were
 below him.
“Quick,

 {“Isv that you, Ben?” he gasped-
mam  Take the box, and help me down l”
“ lane‘said never a word, but did as he was

 

 

 

    
 
   
  
  
 
 
   
 

_/

“her moment. 
“hove, bill, Be sharp, my man!” And
3  faction“ to his words, he gave the

,‘m,

  , _V   am

“i seat a vigorous push out from a; and, Vtfie‘, 
, yacht. . v _ _. . u r .. 

‘ Barnes, anxiously.

a: and ,Mr. Barnes was in the boat in

., glo’omily. A

       
    
    
 
   
 
  
  
  
    
   
  
  
   
   
 
   
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
 

 

i Ben seemed in no hurry, but resumedhis-I
oars and began using them _V stolidly. The die , 
tance between the yacht and boat increased, » _
but they could hear a commotion on" 

former, and could see fights flitting 

fro. , ' ' *‘ ~ V 

“Get to shore as quick as you canyBen,” _
said Mr. Barnes, in a voice that was strangely g
husky». He was sitting at the stern of . the
boat, with his hat drawn over his brow, and ~ '
the iron box beside him. ‘ , ' r ,1

| No reply from 3911, but the same steady-pull ,7 '
landward. , ‘ f H V I ,» .
,. “The captain , was very drunk to—night, 
Ben,” said Mr. Barnes, after a few"

, with more compoaure in his tone. ’r ” Wheel 1

, had got him to sign the document, be quarreled

; with "his nephew, and I came away and It

1 them at it. Between them, they seem to be ."e
roused everybody on board.” ” " 1 

Silence, all but the noise of the ears in the

E rowlocks. Ben stopped rowing, and then even
\that ceased. They were about midway between

V the yacht and the shore now.  :7 i j in

Ben?”  

 

l “Why don’t you go on,

i Ben turned a huge quid out of hischeekand ,
V then ejected it over his shoulder into thed'ark .1
water, as if that were the cause of hisblong  “
serve. I , «- " 
“ Can you swim, Mr. Barnes?” he demanded, =
Solemnly. V , ' t [ " ’
“N—no! Why do you ask?” ‘   

5‘ ’Cause, if you do, you may stand defiance
of getting straight toshore.” ‘ I}, i
“What do you mean, Ben?”  ‘ ' J :V 

“ Why, that I’m, going back to the hays» ’\
Bird, to see What’s the row aboard herJ’: "
A pause, the two men eying each atlas-3‘ f
keenly through the semi-darkness, Ben 
on his dripping oars. , . , : ’ ‘V " ,
“Let’s understand one another, my 1333,33
said Mr. Barnes, at length. VV “ You wish tbfreé
turn to the yacht. Why?” ’ r , . '  "
“‘Ay, let’s understan’ one Mother, 
You be open, and so’ll I,” returned Ben, 
V “What about? You seem tolhave mspici".
Out with them!” 1 I ~ ~  , V,
“ Like enough I , have suspiciont'Any 
would who’d been under that there-literati: 
seen them lamps turned out, an heard;  '-
tollowed. I shouldn’t like to la  ~ “
but'look’ee there!” and suddenly
‘ ears to one hand, Ben stooped”
caught Mr. Bames’VchOat-sleege _ , 
wine nor yet water,” holding  up‘in, l
the dim starlight,”  it’s notary-yet!”  V
1 Another   ‘1-sgboat drltting'a 
both men measuring-each...btherstill.' ‘ ‘ ~‘ f ,1:  '

i , ,3‘ What do you waassgrowaa   "

r
1 wav

 

   

   

  

' ” amber. isms  g: .. 

 
 

 

       
   
   
 
  
  
 
  
   
   
     
   
   
  
  
  
   
     
     
      
    
 
   
   
 
      
     
   
     
    
     
  
   
   
   

V": young go, ag’in’ my “conscience. if anything‘s
'  " "ptain, but if you want
here straight away, you
ething ’andsome. You
’side you with nothin’ in

 
  
 
   
 

 “ There’s not  n it of any use to any one
but  I can assure you of that. Its con-
:teute’are papers and legal documents. Neither
 anything oflthe least value about me.”
 _19$hen;’msster, I must trouble you to hand
thetthei‘abox oyer to me, and- I’ll take care
«filli‘to-morrow mornin’. ‘I’ll'bring it to
 carefully wropped, up so as nobody
 We cansettle safe enough then.”
:3."  manner was not vicious but resolute.
Thelseemingly stolid young Briton was not a
' person to trifle with, that was apparent.
1 :’Mr. Barnes considered within himself for a
minute or two.
savage light in the eyes beneath the felt'hat, it
‘tvould have been a-warning to him.
4 / ,,.‘f‘;You can go with me,” drOpped from Mr.
 Barnes,- slowly. “I am staying for to-night at

 

 

Lee.”

ndsbme. How much is it to be?”

9‘.‘We"can settle that, surely, as well by—and-
eyes here?” ‘ , ' -
~‘j'Ben seemed doubtful. Atthat moment, the
"sound of cars came distinctly over the water.
 'f,‘ A boat’s put off from the yacht l” exclaimed
,‘Mr.'l3arnes, hurriedly.
, after us, in another minute! Come, Ben;
 it"si’nowor never 1” H ' ‘

'1 Ben dipped his cars in, and, with a vigorous

  

  

  

   
   
   

he paused. _

> .5“ 5‘ Now, just mark, Mr. Barnes, you don’t
give-ins. the slip! It’s no good if you do! Your
,nanie mayn’t be Barnes, but I shall know who
"flare and where to find you quick enough!”
eéhugging his pocket closely. “ So I give you
lair notice, that’s all!” ’ '

  

  
  

.weresbon under the shadow of the dark clifls,
énot far. tron, where they started, just below
Glisten Point. I y

' _.‘fThe’ beat’s gaining on us!” whispered Mr.
Barnes, hoersely. “They’re sure to have seen
Inst” 7 "

5*‘7We shall-do ’eml I must beach the boat,
drew her upinto a nook I know of, where
they'woh’t‘flnd her till doomsday“ When she
etcheshottonx, do you jump out and run her
epithet ' , ~ ~ . .

  _ operation was 7 successfully performed,
,and‘they soon housed theboat in an abandoned
,‘quarry at the cot at themlifls. " The boat from
.theLadye—Bi: Fwaslnot’close enough behind to
diagram what,  takehpM.

..;

  

   
   
   
  
 

“ There’ll be a hue and .

istmke,lheaded the boat for shore again. Then .
: of all, master. There’s a bare three-foot track

‘ ,"1‘5‘1‘hat’s accordin’ to; you mean. It.  “Now,’tlren; this waymexclairnedygéh,

, master,”

 

I
r

If Ben could have seen the {

 

‘Taf little cottage by the cross-roads, above Fort wary, hard-heeded Ben.

" iRight, master! But first the somethin’  cliif’s edge, but the boatman know every foot

,1

i

l
l
I
I
I
i
l
l
l

l
i

l

x;-Then Ben’s oars went to work, and they r ’

n

' suspense, he resumed his solitary, way,-

   

; river from the other side.

   

Mr. Barnes Was shaking oh! the waste whiéh‘
he had been up to the waist; “We shall?th 
atop afore they can beach stems. You first,  a
‘ Ben pointed out a. narrow, rugged pathway, '
which wound up the cliff, and of which they
could only see a few feet in front of them. Up‘ ‘ I
this Mr. Barnes, proceeded to clamber with
difficulty, the iron box under his arm, closely

; followed by the more nimble Ben.

It "was some minutes batons they emerged
on the top. All we. darkness here; but they
managed to find a footpath that ran along
parallel with the edge of the cliff. j y

“We must keep close to the edge,” whis-
pered Ben, “ to put ’em off the scent; then we

,can strike 03 through the woods, toward

Engles, when we’ll hev to ‘spend the rest 0’ .;
the night with a friend of mine.” 
“Will that be better than trying to recross 
to the other side to-hight?” queried. Mr.
Barnes. " ‘ , ‘ 1
“Rather! You lead on, master; I’m here.” ’-
And close at Mr. Barnes’s heels followed the g 

The path wound at times perilously near the

of the way, and directed Mr. Barnes carefully ‘
« where to go.

This gentleman was evidently beginning to
find the box an incumbrancefrom the way in '
which he constantly shifted it from arm (to, ?
arm. , 4

“Now you can see the Fort Washington .4
lights,” muttered Ben, as they came in 'view'of
a narrow band of light that shot out into the
“This' little bit
round the bend of the cliif is the closest touch

 

along the edge, and below, a sixty-foot drop,
and plenty-0’ rocks a’ bottom.” ,

Mr. Barnes proceeded very deliberately now.
In the middle of the narrow way he paused,
as if weary, and raised his burden onto his
shoulders. ‘ -

“Dorie up?” inquired Ben. “I suppose it’s
no use offering‘to carry it for you, master?” ,

“ I don’t mind,” replied Mr. Barnes in a low
thick voice, turning 'and facing the other. ‘I 7

Ben chuckled as he saw Mr. Barnes lift the
box again from his shoulder. ' 7

But, only for an instant; then it desconded-
with a. sudden, lightbing-like' swiftness- 011th?
boatman’s unguarded skull. I Be reeled;
clutched wildly at the, empty air, and the
Mr. Barnes was left alone with his, iron box,
the top of the Palisades! I / I ~ '

No sound but the lap-lap of the 
against the rough shore below greeted his 1'
tenin’gears. ‘  . ~ ’ V
‘ After a minute or two of anxious, in,

 
 

 

 

{scarce perceptible shudder, and soon disap-

:- peered in the impenetrable darkness. V

 The second dastard deed of that most woful .
' night. . , . ' a :

 

A CHAPTER 
arms LONG YEARS.

11' is a brilliant scene in the grand salon ot'
the Lyntern Villa, on this particular evening.
One end of its broad floor is partitioned 011’ by a
stage front and green curtain, all complete.
and fitted up by skilled workmen from the
city, while the greater length of it is fast being '

ivorowded by a gay and brilliant throng—the

. aristocracy of “ The Hill.” ~

‘ Among all the elegant villas and fine es-

 tates upon the stately Hudson, along the

\ Palisades, this of Lyntern, the English banker,
is one of the most conspicuous. Proud of his

. English paternity and of the blood of the no-
ble house of which he was descended, the
banker had built himself a. veritable castle, as
it to remind his American neighbors of his
ancestry, and loyalty to his English associa-

one.

On this particular occasion the banker cele—
, brates the coming of age of his only son and
heir and proposes,to”celebrate it with due
_,I'estivity. while, asan-added incentive, he has
{for guest, one of his father’s friends—a real
 live duke ,who is the reputed owner of vast
‘  estates in Devon, yet, in truth, is looking for a
 Wealthy American alliance by which to clear
 0133 his heavily mortgaged properties.
, So there isto bea grand ball preceded by
 some amateur theatricals, the performers
“Wherein are members selected from its august
it}; Ody. : r ,
 5 “ The orchestra are playing selections from
.  Patience,” preparatory to the rising of the
' Guttain, while the hum of conversation rises
louder and louder upon each arrival.

 

  

7,, I 'In the “green—room ” utter cenfuslon reigns
 “Prams, as the quondam actors are hurriedly
. ; lputtering over their parts for the last time,
 (and the‘finishing' touches are being given to
' V 9 Various toilets by two distracted ladies’
maids. ,
' In a deep window recess at the further end
 “19 room stand two figures looking out into
i“ .9 moonlight and whispering softly. They
iial'efihe hero and heroine of the play to come-—
We are and heroine ot our-"'story—and the
‘k‘czlfds. which now pass between them are
*- geek the parts they are supposed to be“ p
 xcertainly must go, Mr. Dearn. See, it is
an £1?!le eightl The curtain will be rung up
39:9 Emirates, andI haven’t even rouged my
me; §geltfif With aswift, saucy glance up into

  
   

 

  
 
  
     
  
   

  fatness m; Hts mwfigz 11.2,,gkymgy Y .Q '

. Your sweet» wild-rose color‘will‘be more a} :51"

‘morrow; tonight after the play, there lwill be - '

‘ «“Perhaps you may chance to be in

' Dearn, who wrote this play.

' though.

 

_ coking so tenderly into her drooping

 
  
 

  g the, rouge! Miss Hatherly. ‘

v.2

 

' going behind the scenes and, beingl‘introdhced'
t0 the fair object Of, 1133 admiration,” 

i r“

   
   
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
    
  
  
  
  
     
  
   
    
  
  
   
  
   
  
 
   
 
  

_.._. .. j.

tective thth any amount of paint or powder.
ButhhilliseéI may callyou Phillis, may. .I,‘ a,
not?—-I must see you for a few minutes to«  ’

so little opportunity. You will be the belle '92
the ball, the’ star of the evening. Monopolizéfl
by otherfellows I will have no chanceto Speak ‘ g
with you excepting during those waltzes you 
have promised me, and that is scarce sufiicient;
Will you, Phillis—will you?” - i ' ‘ '
A little sigh escapes her; she
up nor gives consent. ' V 7 , V
“Well, but you will, dear Phillis?”
He grows bolder as time presses. '

king.
under the aims or resting in the summonhbusfi;
sometime during the ai~ternoon.,,;;Phiuiglone
word will—” i 3f ~ -. x  5" ‘7 5%,
But the curtain has been rung up;  
given; one bright gleam from under. hes 
dark lashes, and she has left him,   ‘
Will she be there, or will she— . " 9 '

No! There can be no' alternative he thinks!

 

The play is in full swing—rather a jerky,
amateurish sort of swing, it is true; lorgnettesfl
are leveled, and the hum of conversationuis
lulled for’the nonce. .7‘) “ ‘ '* ‘

- “Your grace,” says Lyntern, pompously,'to_w“
the duke, a round, red—faced, chatty little man, 7 '
with a. bald head and bandy’ legs, “what do . 
you—ah—-think of the play?”  r i 1 ',

“So, so—not my line, comedyLdrama. "Very" '
good, no doubt-confounded slow! Whols'the, 
pretty girl—plays heroine?” asks the guest,.
after a pause. “Dark handsome man
love to her—very nice.” .  7

“ That’s Miss Hatherly. Ah! a good-looking;
girl, as your grace Says. Thema'u is 05711;”;
A poor devilef
0! good English ramny,
Your grace—ahemay remember
about his uncle, Arthur Dearn? . Gambled «ti;
family estate away. He’s living still.., 
evening, Mr. Garlapel,” to a gentleman wheii's’
passing. “Your ward—ahéh‘as talent, and.
playing excellently.” ' ' '

.“ She is fond of it, and plays
the gentleman, and he goes by. 1, , p 3
“Seen him before—who is he?” inquires the-
duke. - , v ' “  a”? '
“He’s a. nephew of the old Garlapel 
ah—was murdered some ten years since onhis
yacht; This one came in for his  Hots“
wealthy. He it ‘was .who—ah—aold up Arthur
Dearn. He lives at 'Dearn Park 11mg.— 
Hatherly is his cousin and ward.” ‘ “ ' ,

an author ; now.

often,” 

u Deuced pretty girll, Not much. judg '  ~\
deuced pretty 1”  V ' » g :1 V .8, ,. 
Presently his grace takes an importunity off

 

  
  
    
   
    
 
    
  
 
   
  
     
    
    
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
    
    
  
 
 
    
  

» ates:

 

 doesn’t seem”to ireceivehis, compliments warm;
 'Jy. Auden during the short interview; the
*' .. dark handsome youngman—w ho, by the way,
I” is only dark 'on the stage, and sports naturally
’ age. fair curly head of hair and tawny mustache
 his locking unutterable contempt and aversion
 f forhis grace from a distance. a \ '
’ . But Mr. Cyril Dearn’s innings come soon,
 ,s'when’he feels the full benefit of being his own
, author. 'For in the last act of that play there
a is a certain amou'nt'of embracing and kissing
gmt'the heroine necessary for the adequate
'1" “comprehension of the plot, that sends a deliri-
?-.;,/ous.sort oil-thrill through the young auth .
 4, The long and short Of which is, that Ogrril
" Dearn is as madly in love as a. young man of
- ‘fiv'e-and‘twenty can be. '
 ,After ‘the play is over, the bouquets all
‘ thrown, the performers called, the authors
a {called and the congratulations done flowing,
y Vth'e ball commences. The entire lower floor is
, thescene of it, and a very charming, animated,
snarkling Scene it is, too. ' ,
As is to be expected, the heroine of the play
becames. the belle of the ball, and Miss Hather-
 ly’s daucei'programme is overflowing speedily
' with‘i‘rthe names of‘young male fashiOnables,
“tor all sorts of improbable dances, beyond its
, - printed'limits.
 “Mydear Phillis, a word with you,” says
Weber, the gentleman whom the banker ad-
}: dressed as'“Mr. Garlapel.’_’ “Let me have a
You]: at your programme.”
=  Why, Gideon, do you ‘want a dance?” she
'ks, her brown eyes sparkling with merri-
ment as she hands him the gaudy trifle. “ I
harvester-.119 'shaddw oi.’ one left-not for you
assess , , v
liens avplain,‘rather harsh-featured man,
_ iddie-aged,‘with a dashof iron-gray about
his black hair and heavy mustache; but; there
fisfa;wonderiul amount or fire and expression
’ in}, his dark eyes. And fire of a rather un»
plegsmt kind lights them up as he hands back
 pregremme to the young lady.
r“ My dancing days are over, Phillis, as you
know; What'initials are those, pray?” _ t
j“ “ 0. DJ, Gidednfl she answers, with a blush.
'“¥5."Wbichv repre‘sgithr. Cyril Dearn, I sup-

;even ti es, while no One else is favored more

Who and what this rDearn is~a loose sort of
shah a no favorite of mine. You mustn’t dance
these!’_dances with him.”

 “But how'can I refuse him,
I expostulates, her sweet mouth puckering “a:
trifle petulantly. I ' . ~
.. I ‘»"§Leave that to me- I’ll speak to him.
nefden’htyou’ll find other partners.” ‘ ' ~
“ And she finds, as Mr. Gsflapel assures her,
 the »o’w‘ne‘s“_ or the initials  I). does not

I’ve

‘

 

 ms.

3; .

’4" ; Unless I amvfmistal‘ren, they are down ‘

H" than tw ce’.‘ This won’t,do,.Phillis. You know ’

Gideohiwéliég’eveaue, only because her soul: is pining for;

 -

i

 

,.-ofl?er himself to fulfill )hissg'emgimy’g" engage. A:
ments with her that evening;r- ‘_How'Mr.‘Gare l'
lapel effects this she does not know; but she
knews‘that his expressiye dark eyes follow her ,.i i
about persistently, asif suspicious of her desir- ‘
ing to dance a surreptitious valse with Cyril -’

, , iDearn. \ '

But even Mr. Garlapel’s eyes ' cannot? be
everywhere. ‘
p The small hours of the morning have crept
T on, and the dancing is beginning to flag, when _
. Phillis Hatherlyis left alonefor a minute in
i the conserVatory, while her partner is fetching
1 her an ice, and, by some curious coincidence,
1 Mr. Cyril Dearn, in that little space or time,
F happens to pass where she is sitting-e—also
alone. . '
She, hearing his footsteps, looks. up with a.
1 start to find him moodil y regarding her. -
3' “So it was even too great a task to fulfill
‘ your engagements for the evening with me,”
i he says, in a bitter tone, “that you had to send ’
i your cousin to excuse you?” . ' .
; Even then the spirit of coquetry is so deep
within 'her that she  to tease him before
answering; but she ' 'rs‘ approaChing voices

   

   
      
 
 
 
  
 

and knows the , 
, An instant andw'ehfiii 'hi’sside, clasping his
‘ hand and looking ' ,
_ “ I didn’t sendghik ’
” Oh, how sweeti‘fi ing from

those dear lips! , \

“He forbid my dandi’ugi‘
but, Cyril, I will meet you to-morrow at three :
under the aims,” and before he could answer 
she was gone“ ' V \ L

 you;  I].

shes; ii" s

Many of the guests are housed that night——
or morning rather—at ,Lyntern Place." “Among
those who’enjoy this hospitality are'Mrsj Gar—
]apel and hisgpretty cousin, Miss Hatherly, and yr
the young author, Cyril Dearn. v , 3, 4

That is how it is that same afternoon Phillis
Hatherly is tripping so daintin down the ter-

. race-steps, looking as fresh and charming as if
she had had'a'SOundHnight’s rest instead eta few 
hours’ restless . sleep after a hard night’s danc- ,.
ing. ‘ . a r v“? s, a ; . I

Autumngwinds are blowing  stirring the3

 

 
   
   
    
     
    

 

dark tressgfis ', on her white  despite the
wisp of gossamer she has  across to keep,
Q them ill-fines. Her brownieyet are brimming .

over W1 acertain demure roguishness and ens.

JOY: .
i 4 

unobserved, and is going for a stroki’ih the

   
   

eet saucypuss has managede slip;

quietness and solitude for a little while. ” TM,
9 faintest sprinkling of rain is, e’omin: n” bu, ,
. not enough to chill a butterfly,“ she thl, :
arrived under the dime, she saunters a
charming, pensive picture of 
and innocence. ‘  ‘

   

 

_ . I «fibula alter a'

g; v, ’ws. " I  "tedious. She

. I ~ peepsghround, than looks boldly shout her. No
' “71:1? one seems Coming to disturbher pleasure.

 i‘Meanwhile the rain is coming down more

. steadily, and the" wind sends it with little buf-

‘_ fats in her face, and the green velvety turf is

3 growing ; wet to her little feet.

What shall she do? She draws her fragile
wrapper more closely about her, and brings
forth a fan from her pocket. That will at any
rate keep the impudent rain from driving in
her pretty face. ‘-

'I 'As she spreads it, 10 and behold! she hears
the/click of the gate behind her! Some one is
invading the sacred precincts of the pleas-
aunce. She is seized with a sudden desire to
get indoors again, and hurries toward the gate

_ under shelter of the fan. She murmurs to her-

, self—“ He is coming! I’ve «good mind not to
Speak to him; it would serve him right. I
'won’t! Oh, he’s brought me an umbrellap 2
3W'hat fun!”

' And the first notice she receives of the in- ,
vader’s intentions is the descent of the: open I
umbrella on her like a huge toad-stool, and .

, . then the, handsome face of Cyril Dearn Under
» it, dangerously closeto' her own. . 

“ Oh!” she cried; she is so prettin surprised.

‘_ » “Don’t you want it for yourself, Mr. Dear-n? v
"5 It’s so kind of you! I’m only just goiug‘to 

run across the terrace indoors.” '

._ ,, “I have another here,” he returns, still i

 ‘ sharing the one with her. “ It is a small one;
’ "Hut this is large enough for two. I’m so sorry

 I kept you. I‘waited here; but when I saw a

n the rain coming, I 'postedoif for these}?

, ‘ ; ‘7‘ You kept mel”-——and her brown eyes open
9’1 him wide with innocence. "‘Oh, no] I

lust happened to come this way, as I wanted a

- mitle quiet after last night’s excitement.”

I “Just so. And I wanted a little quiet, and

:, . . .Ppened to come this way also.” .

 " ,“ How very strange! Well, I’m going in-
‘F‘OOIS now, so you won’t be disturbed. Will

'39}! oblige meets the little shade?”

"This is. a- v" ;_ good one, Miss Hatherly.
Qan’t be afraidl. .2  under it with me.”

i  31115 I want to geifidoors, and couldn’t do-

.pITV'0yon of__’1, "  * g

"" .zTh‘eu stay and enjoy it with me; and after, _

39:1 have the comfort of it.”

> . , é‘,‘Any“‘;one would think we were a pair of
~ ‘ 1.1:“ _  walking up and down this place

- 7 «£519 RWrd fashion. on a wet afternoon.”
' ~N ‘ they’d be right in part. But,

 I. want a few words seriously. ,

re too precious to be

 

. > //"

 

 

 

 
  
 
 
 
    
    
   
    
   
   
    
 
 
 
     
  

s

 

 

  

w...

 

_ .  my ristian name  ,L
’ arty, Mr.iDe  fl  ' . 
that I knowofiu unless I’m thumb-r

lie to,youv.s  'Butiii’hil

through. Still, as there was n0'seat,in-the=5"1‘

you won’t let me.

,, the male human creature.

i more tender and ,fervid than that bred'ofjh‘hi‘
; actor’s ardor: the pressure of his armsgjney,

, uséfa’klovefl' , .

  

  
   
  
    
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
    
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
 

 

.Y".' .2,  , (

 

 

astute... l ~
WlSll to tell you Something about myself. Your»

needn’t get‘very wet, it you Come close ,enoughi‘ A
Stay; we can shelter here.” ‘ i f  

He drew her within a little bower-at one". 
side of the avenue, sooverspread with foliage “'
that but little rain had had time "to 0036 .'

bower, they were compelled to stand up

their umbrella. * -.   
“ This is very funny,” she says. ,“ But we

mustn’t be long. Cousin Gideon willbe look-A .»

ing for me.” « .

“It is about Mr. Garlapel, and his connét— ,7
tion with my family that I wish partly’gto’rfi,
speak, Phillis. I am a very poor man, as,
you—?’ : -‘ '

“ Excuse me,’b,ut you’re very egotistical,
Dearn,” she interrupts, rather petulantly. “:1

don’t wish to hear particularly about your;
self...” , ’_ ' : ,, a
He looks at her in some sort of blank ear , ,
prise and reproach. He can’t quite, understand], 
this, , ' , 
“ I mean,” she adds,” more mildly, ‘f I have?»
heard from Mr; .Garlapel more about $613:
family than you could tell me in half an. hour “
Mr. Dearn. [Soil your‘dnformationyisprpi-sna.
liminaryjto something else, tell me the sonic;-
thing else, or else 1 shall have to go away
without hearing it. That would V be» 
voking.” ‘ ‘ x '. 
He pauses, thrown somewhat out‘ Of {his-
reckoning. » .r r   . j,
“ I cannot understand you, Phillis“. ,, Youia'a '
the most strange, delightful, bewitehing girli -.
ever met! In the course of \i’ny‘tufentyfive
years of life I’ve met a good meny~~ ” r ‘ " “
“Again! Is about Mr. Cyril Dearn;
have to keep me in the rain for?” .1  1,
“Why, hang it all, Phillis! But there, you;
shall have it, sentiment or no sentiment! "My?
darling, I love you with my “Whole, martial“
wanted- to tell you of; thevpoverty-suiclze‘n,
down-in the-world sort of a fellow Lamybut'w
Phillis, I want you tophe
my wife. 'I will make you 11311133331? 
honest love can make you so!!! ' I r - s
The artful little puss! She must havpkhe‘sfiiayfl
what was comingwwhathewas striving to 
out in the methodical, preconsidered‘manfief
A fortnigbt’s'con-
stunt rehearsal; thedaily'gazing up into
gray eyes of his, and noting the growth 01qu '

at ya-

 

 

"even the very warmth of his kisses
toldheraltll ‘ g L ~ 
._ ‘.‘ That’sfiwhatjyoui said , ‘Broken Hang,»

night. :1 can “hinders nd how,  samba
silent  hero is such a talkative, unreast 
temptations Mr. Dearnl‘}, The part“ fitted you

must have "

 

 

    

f

n

 bly in earnest! _ V ,
A I '..;_;“You said that, too-rein the
 V, before I accepted you.”
"11  She is looking down demurely, calmly, on

the ground. Oh, how these women like to feel

 "their power! ,
" ' “ Oh, my darling, don’t play with me! You
; 7 cannot torture me like this for—for fun?”
' , “I don’t remember that.”
I  “"1 .won’tJJear with it, Phillis! I want an
  gamer-x"— seizing her with one hand, while
’mthe umbrella dances about frantically over
 _ their heads in the other. “Now, what is it to
z,  ‘1 V , . ,
'  She doesn’t answer him; but he has drawn
i her so Close that even he can see, looking down
‘ into the depths of her brown eyes as she raises
> _ fiber head, something new, and gentle and holy—
 ‘something she has not let him see before.
' 1.“, It is ‘yes!’ ” he cries.
,She gives a series of little nods, and he
  her to him, and kisses her soft, unre-
 sisting lips, after the fashion of the newly~ac-
‘ "cepted lover, the umbrella performing gym-
nastics overhead. ' ‘
i \ f‘ Shall I hold the umbrella a minute?” she
1 asks, soberly.  '
r ‘; "Bother the thingl”-—and he casts it on the
irgwund. \ , ' I

* ‘ ‘* '_ t‘s enough—that’s enough 1” she says,
trying to, disengage herself. “You had plenty
 many last night, sir.” ' V
7'  Intact, the rain is really getting too bad for
 ardor of love eyen. Not that Cyril Dearn
"WOuld‘ mind much; but the young lady insists
‘onreturning forthwith. At the terrace steps
x ' pauses. ‘
, ‘Icannot let you come further with me.
gWe may be seen. .And you quite agree with
'mexabonh” * '
 “About not telling Mr. Garlapel for thI
present! Certainly, Phillis.” _
7 {Wind no signs, nor looks, nor sentiment, 1f
Vii-“meet in company? .
‘ "f/Not'a wink, darling. And now it’s my
 Why wpuldn’t you let me speak about
my‘position and circumstances when I wanted
to, Phillis?” .
The way she'l‘ooks at him will be recom-
pause, he” thinks, for any piece of, raillery she
may renew it up with. But no, she is in

last act, just

   
    
 
   
 
    
  
   
   
   
    
   
   
  
 
   
    
   
  
   
  
 
   
   
 
     

.: 

‘

_Efl"‘“_-Because, ' Cyril, dear, it wasn‘t position,
"With,er anything else of that sort I cared ,
,fihOut: ‘it—F—it was you I” ' . ’

 '  With one kiss—the flrst—-she trips away ;
. {up the steps, aware how much she has be- v

o

m

 

 I What, Phillis, I’m is earn~estl——madly, terrii I

   

‘ 1:

CHAPTEB' III. I
WRAP]? IN MYSTERY. I
, ,,
“GIDEON', who was my mother?” , - -
~ This question is addressed by Phillis to her ’T
; cousin and guardian. A couple of months’
I have passed since the coming—of-age festivities
at Lyntern Villa, and winter has set in. Din-
ner is over at Dearn Hall, and Mr. Garlapel
and Phillis are sitting alOne in the stately old ’
drawing-room. A fire is blazing on the hearth,
and the lamps shed a softened radiance around
on the rich crimson upholstery. ,. ' ’

She repeats her question, for Mr. Garlapel
is so deeply immersed in his book, that he does
not seem to have heard her. * 7 I 

“Your mother, Phillis?” and he lays his
book aside. “Why do you ask, my dear?"

“I was thinking about what yOu said the
other day, about my growing‘mo’re like my
mother.”

“Ah, Phillis, and that is true,” ,he says, and
his harsh features soften as he looks at her. “ I
have reason to remember her very Well. She ,
was of French, extraction, aud'of very good "
family, I believe. When first I met her I was
only twenty, and she a. couple , of years 4’
younger.”

“Then you knew her before papa did
Gideon?” she says, in surprise.

“Thereby hangs a tale, Phillis. I not only 
knew your mother, but loved her, before your
father ever saw her. Ah, I thought then,
Julie Delacroix a charming and beautiful f
Woman!” ° ‘ « «

“And that’s how it is, dear Gideon, you V
have never married?” she says, looking at him ‘
kindly. “She couldn’t love you and papa.”

_“ True, Phillis. But—and I don‘t see now»;
that you shouldn’t hear the true story—when I
.introduced your father to her as my dearest \
friend, she had already confessed that she
loved me.” ‘ .

“0h, Gideonl”'she cries, in a; low, paingl
voice. "” = >
“And within a month after, my dearest
triend went 013? with her, and they were mar-
ried before I dreamt of her inconstancy. I - .
never spoke to either of them again, but, I  .
vowed I would havemy revenge.” ' ,

He says‘this with a bitter‘flercen‘ess, as'if, he
were still gloating over the realization of his
vow. She lies back in her chair, hushed and
pale,_with the tears welling up in her brown
eyes. ’ ’ , ' ’
. “But there!” he adds, after a pause, drawing
a deep breath; “they’re both gone now, and
that’s over.” ' ' ' _  .

“And you have had your revenge—a noble
retenge, dear Gideon,” she I says,leaning "for-
ward again. ' v I  ‘
“ What do you know of it, Phillis?” he ext}
claims. v . , _ A

I

’

   
 
 
  
  
 
    
 
    
 
 

 

 

 

l

 

 

bringing me u
done.” “
“Well, well, my dear; perhaps I did it for

. my own sake, as much as anything. You have
' been a comfort to a lonely man, Phillis.”
And again he watches her, with that soften-

p and caring for me as you have

the fire.
W‘Did mamma die before papa?” she asks,
after a minute’s silence. ‘ ,

‘ “ Before your father was— Yes, I mean; two
or three years before your father. my dear.”

“ I don’t remember anything of mamma’s
dying,” she says, thoughtfully. “ I don’t think
I was much with her; but I well remember '
your coming‘to the boarding-school and telling
me of dear papa’s death, Gideon“ That must
be quite ten.years ago. And then you brought
me here. Had you been living at Dearn long
then, Gideon?” ‘

p . “Only a few months,” he answers, shifting
about uneasily. \
, > “ Do you know, Gideon, I’ve heard some
’ people say that—that you were, rather hard on
Arthur Dearn.” - -
She hesitates a little as she says it. ,
He eyes her grimly, as it he would read her
very soul. '

, “ ‘Some people ’ means Cyril Dearn, Phillis,
I suppose? I wish you had never met that
,manl But mind, Phillis, you‘ve' done with him!

I You have never met him since leaving Lyn.

tern Place?”

“No, Gideon,” she says, softly, looking down
with a blush.
- , “If you do—it I find it out, I shall have

' something to tell him about yourself that will

make it impossible for even him to have any-

, thing more to say to you. No; never mind

how. my girl. Don’t ask about it. You shall
 know some day, perhaps.”
; ' She has looked up with a sudden brightness

/ in her eyes, and-aprouvd curving of the mobile
.; -'lips, as if she would challenge any one to say
‘ withing to discredit her in Cyril Dearn’s
- But he takes no notice.

- “And as for being hard on Arthur Dearn,"
, ‘136 gees on, more quietly, “you know, Phillis,
 that the’man hadn’t a tarthing of his own in
r 1“Mirror'ch He had gambled everything away.
When I inherited my uncle’s property, I found
 0. EM; of this man Dearn‘s, which he never
_38}3med to have the slightest intention of set—
- “"18. Consequently I did the only thing I
_°0nld——sold him up and bought in the estate
313378811. If I hadn’t ' done this, some other,

reditor would have done it shortly.” ’-

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
    
    

 the matter in my presence,” says Phit

. ' re, rathel' proudly. 

“ Why, in’taking me, their only‘child, axial M, 9,

" ' Phillis’s thoughts are busy overr/this‘fsamefif -‘
th V I
iherself. What can it be, this mystery, which, 
» ,if communicated to another, would bringabo'nt ',

' ing of his harsh features, as she'sits gazing into E well an ommous result? 1

!she says, at len h; “ but you have excited it 1,

' dared to make love to you—to offer ‘

V, rlap'el Cmerely inclines his head in, any: '
swer, and silence ensues: " ‘ ‘ ' ‘ -‘

   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
   

lug” he has hinted at in connect withii.

“You must xcuse my curiosity, Gideon,” "

.in what you have said about myself. . Is what
you mean'known to any one else?” I V , 
“ My .dear Phillis, don’t ask me further! 
There is a mystery attached to yOur lifetimes 
in the eyes of the world will ever place you
apart from other girls. One day it may  as;
cessary for you to know it. For i the preterit
dismiss it from your thoughts.”{ ' "‘ 
“ But—but, Gideon, supposing ‘Irsupposing
some one ever did care, for me enough tomato?
me an offer, would it be necessary first forbids 
to know of this?” , ' . > f W '
, He doesn’t answer her.
As she looks up for the reason, he
comes and stands over her. I ' ' , . 
“Phillis, what does this mean? Has 7 
ever dared—~has this fellow, Cyril Dearn, ever

rises: 

you?” ‘ r _  
There is fierce, repressed passion in 
and _,as (he leans over her, the lurid glow in 
dark, eyes makes her shrink. ‘ '   , 
She has to summon all her fortitude'toqlne
swer his! lightly. ' ' ff '
“Why, Gideon, you seem to hearthis 
Mr. Dearn a sad grudge! What if hedid hav
to make love to me on the stage, it needn’t be
carried into real life I” v ,’ 4  '
But her little forced laugh does not deceive
him. ' " . ’ 
“ I see it now, Phillis 1” he mutters, in slow,
,; tremolous voice. “That fellow has‘daredte
I love you, and you have returned his 
You can’t deny it, girll’.’-—with ’asu‘dden. pas-

sion. , -, . 
She buries her 

 

 

And Phillis cannot. ,
face in her hands, and leans back inhereheir
He takes two or three turns up and'dof,
the room, and then says, sternly, “l How 
has this gone, girl!” , » ' 
‘f I love him, Gideon, that’s all I know," $6
answers, in. desperation.   I, V"
i “ That’s quite enough. Listen. If youwant
to live here—if you want to have a root-cyst
i your head, you must forget this man.i_YGn
must wipe his very name out of your memory;
If he pesters- you to see. him, Or. with letters,
, leave him ,to me; I'll deal with him. 
you have yourjchoice nowl” _. 

, And he resumeshis walk up and down.   
“_ 0h, Gideon, how can you be ’so‘ha‘rdr‘sa‘e ‘

pleads, with flushed, agitated features.“ #de
haven’t even heard what  I *

 

 

 

 

  

   r   ~

 

 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  

'Have..you Inomemories of your own young”!
v lovel‘lthat-cen make you generous toward us?
You have always had my happiness tit-heart ,
hitherto, dear Gideon.” > , I ’ > , ‘
 And as he turns in his walk close .to her, she
:extends One hand to him, with a faint, coaxing
' fies}, "' , ,
igllnH'er 'soft touch has an effect on him that is
electrical. , A flood of emotion, wild and im-
' r‘p’et’uous, sweeps across the grimness of his
; features. overwhelms the man, and the next
instant he is on the floor beside her, pouring
out a torrent, of words with an ardor, a deep
f'qnivering tenderness that thrills her, yet holds
her Spellbound, like one in a dream.
 .She; makes out presently that he is telling
hereof his great love for her; that behas felt
it growing on him; that he atfirst thought it
was. for her,mother’s sake; that the truth has
incline upon him lately, and will she now ruin
all hopesof happiness in his life—blight it as it
as blighted in his younger days? ,
r l 2-91 have no one else in the world "to care for,
Phillis; I am all alOne' but for you. It isn’t
as if '1- were\ a young man, and could go and
find; 'love where I sought it. Men at my age
don’t forget, and 1‘ [shall never'love again. I
have always looked on you as my own. You'
have, grownup to a womanhood of loveliness
'im'd'purity in my sight, and my heart has gone VI
. , "ratatoyou. I thought I could wait, and" you '
.n’iight turn toward me; but to lave you
snatched away, tohave to give you up when I
 you most, I cannot do it. It is my right
tubule. you, mytdarling, and I will, despite
any’manll" ‘ _ ' ,
g  d he takes her in his strong arms, and
“holds-her to, him, and kisses her; and she is
unable tie/resist him. And when she lies back
‘- the Vchair, convuised with sobs, his arm is

 

a

round her. -_ v _
_ .:.":Iae‘ye,rtne, Gideon,” she says, brokenly. “1
ball lie-better by-and-by. I cannot speak to

 

ed’i“ 1, ' ,
 iswsilence fora few. minutes. She is
shoveling from her agitation. His passion
haa'sosurprise‘d and whirled her away on its
shament floOd that it is some time before she
air-egained calmness and consciousness enough
think [what she is to doe—what is her position.
,;.«~‘0h,_ Gridemf, go and leave me howl” she
,pleadsagain- “You are taking adVantage of
:‘y'pasision.

~ rid? strange I. cannot realize it.~ Leave me
'alOneyQideon.” , “ t I . / . '
And attempts to rise. ,

 

   

' word. , ’

,come to you, you know—in the Willow Walk? The.

e What you have said is so new , .

 

  
 
 

 

Bpt‘figwqfiht her. ~ ,He stands up himself, ,

/

 

 walla-ghsagainst the unal'rtlepiece op-wg -
‘ ' '      V ,T ,.  ” "' confession éfy-hisloveg No reference};

_“ You must_'ex"cuse‘me,.1’hillis.  ‘ ~ 

ried‘awayibyfimylov’e for you. ' I cannotleéve ~

you without some word to bid me hepe.”~ {1- ' ‘
“What'can I say?” she moans, half to.her«

. self. “I love‘you so much, Gideon, because,
I you are so good to me—” ' ' ' '

“You love me?” he exclaims, catching at the
“Yes, Gideon; but not—not as you mean. ”

What you have said is a great troubleto me.

Such a. thing as this never occUrred to me. I '

'would' not pain or displeas'e you if I could help  “

it for anything in the world; but—P
“. Well, Phillis?” as she pauses. ,
“ But love such as you wish,Gideon,"’ despair-. ' ‘

‘ingly—“ oh, I cannot, cannot love you as  3

love-—” .
“Don’t name himl” he thunders, striding
forward furiously. ’ “ Spare me at least the
inflation of hearing his name every minute!”
She cowers-down in her chair, as if she were :
afraid he would strike her. ' r r. I .
“Now, understand me,’ ’Phillisl’7‘he says, in
a hard, unfeeling voice. “I have offered you. ~
such love as you will never have offered you ‘
again! It will still be here for you; but you
must first learn its worth. You must learn I
what it is fiqhave’ your love scorned and thrown r 
at you, as you will when I have told that man
what it is my duty to tell him! I warn you
his affection won’t survive—~” . ' 7
“What can you tell him about me?” she
breaks in, all her spirit aroused. “I have a.
right to know now, Gideon.” _ ,
He looks at her darkly for a. moment; then ‘
turns away. ' -'
“I will spare you, Phillis.”
And gathering up‘his books and
quite the room.

(CHAPTER Iv.
Iran Werner unvarnnn.‘ ,

“ My DEAR, Dun Lovn:—~ . . ‘

“This from the ‘Homestead,’ where I arrived .
this morning, and am staying interim/o. .I have ' i.-
news, darling—great news for you and me. , I have .
ust hearth at my aunt, Miss Brand, who as you '
now. (had recently, has made me her sole legatee.
That means that I am the master of a s lendid‘ for-
tune—enoi’igh to buy back Dearn Park, l? it can be
bought. / ill your 1guzu'dian have any obi'ection to
my suit now? But
therefore amI here.

 lemming—4:. , a: ; ‘ a

apers, hé

 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
   
   
  
   
   
  

 

must see you, dear» ove, and
Will you meet me~—-I may not

part of the,park is deserted enough. I‘ will wai
here from three o’clock till you come. M messen-
ger is perfectl trustworthy. Give me a ‘ es ’ or a:
No,’ and I s all understand. Adieu, darlin% till
we meet. , It ‘ C. .’-’

This note is put into Phillis’s hands, as she
takes. her -morning’s walk, by a village lath;
Despiteher pretty confusion and " blushes, “shot
understands it so far that she isvableto-‘giv
him his message—the single"‘woi-d, f‘ Yes.”  ,,
Aweek had elapsed since Gideonfflsarlapl

 

 

 

  
    

   
 
  

.- medetdfithht fiéfifiGfifiQd; the daily routineeth; Thequestion11sm-uhgsfronifheriinlayI_
‘marn Hau'€¢£‘£‘°fifi$ heret0f0r6."‘ ‘  L "  . ' ,‘ngueishffor memory ,hasreoeiyeér‘a jfifif \
_ " ‘When‘ lunch is over-{Phillis dresses herself,'__ the "intonsity otrhe‘r‘feelings, antif’shegiknow
 ; ‘ and» Bets“ 011’ a full; hour before the appointee now that this  been some ouevery 
 time." It is December, and the weatheris raw' dear-to hens I, I ,.    .  7’  .r
l r and cold. There is a Ieaden; sky,‘ and the wind? ~“ You donot remember me!” falls from him;
“sighs drearin through the ynakei branches of ‘ brokenly‘. ” “How can I tell her? ,Weit, Eh
the trees/in the avenue. But wrapped «in her list Think back on you young litéffandjteil
rich “seal-skins, and with the bloom of fresh air me of it. What has become of those"ku
and exercise on her cheeks, Phillis looks a knew? »Where are your parents?” ‘ ,  »
charming picture of health and'beauty. V ’ I “‘ Both are” dead,” says Phillis, mechanically;
1 'She pursues her way leisurely, for she is not“ “ What! your—nyourrfether deed, you say???
’pressed for, time. The footpath she is follow- gasps the man, wildly. “When did»?
ing winds round a coppice of young trees, and heal-e.” t -r ’ v ,g g  ‘ ~

  

   
      
   
      
    
  
  
  
    
  
    
   
  
     
     
   
    
   
  
  
   
    
    
  
  
  
  
       
    
    
   
   
 
      
     
    
       
     
        
       
     
     
  

 

,- as. she approaches it, she is startled by a sudden} “Father!” ' r r r 1 :  _i 
 movement in it. ‘ She hesitates a. minute, then ' And With a‘ low, terrible cry,,PHillis‘ I,
 ' [decides to pass it rapidly. _, 4 back. The man springs forwarizl and ‘rece "
« ~ Her design is frustrated, however. Sudden- her in his arms. ' He is ’50 Week that he-cennot
«137 a creature of strange appearance emerges held hermany minutesthus, hefeele ' fur! ‘
on the path in front 'of her. It is a man, With I: But she recovers quickly. " Ashevl‘ea'dsfi _
shabby, unkempt hair and mud-stained clothes, and seats her on the'fallen trunk,fteersfco 4o
80 tattered and deplorable that they will scarce- to her relief. At his touch she? shudderstfih"
- hang on his gaunt frame. ‘His cheeks are 1101- tremblesin every limb; * z ' , , 1"? 
low and wasted; and\ his eyes shine out from , “Don’t befrightened, Phillis,?”'he Saysf". _
their caverns with a hungry, half-stewed look.‘ kily. “, I wish I could get ybursvome watery my
He confronts her doggedly, with an evident girL; ’ But I daron’t venture.‘ __You‘will behet
intention of barring-r her ‘ ,way. He does not vter presently. ' ’ ' , I, »    
speak, but stares at her with, an intensity as if A strange scene those two, seated 
V the dim light. . She young and beautimiigjrhe‘g

 

’ he could not believe his senses. . ‘
,. y .. * “What is it, my good man?” inquires Pbfl‘ dainty figure, arrayed] withall thee}? H
“ , lis, covering with a bold front certain little and luxury ‘ of fashion; , he *3 Lemma ‘ f”-
senssltions of trepidation. “CanIbe of assist- famished man, a wreck in‘his‘etatteréd‘ggg
3306 to you?” , meats; and the dark, somber  '
In a moment he recovers himself and glances background, . r ) I . _  4, 2, if
round like a 1311an animal. The action moves ‘ In a lime while her schemes,-
Pbmis mngelyo ' V ‘r at him anxiously, i'questioningflyr   x
r “‘ There is only one woman on earth youcan her meaning; ,;He_ is not sittimgévquite a}, k
be,” he says, in abusky. quavering tone, “an '~ her, nor is he touching her new. 2 retiree
that is Phillis Hatherly.” ' his consCious of the distance his   on”w

 

,She rec/oils a step from him. Some dim place between them. ’ r  y a ~ ~
memory has been touched within, more by the ‘ “ You/wish me to ’giyesoineeeeonn‘tiof 
man’s voice than his announcement. And she self, Ph111i3,5he says; «Me 31151;»: rear} '
stands in a. whirl of thoughts, as her“, childish done'wmng incoming here to' make
. i; recollections come sweeping across her.- ,; ' happy.» I should have M You 
.c: '  “ You dOn’t' remember me,” he says, watch- not a sen; in the world! coulde «but
, » V jug-her, “stay; we shall beeeen. Will you my daughter; V And myrgearlhag,
gagefitlgefiewhat is: ifiyoucan m1“ mewhe that 33311 Would not  ‘1  * 

’ ; er Y- , p 7 ' ‘ ’ ' 0W me. -’ ’ v M "7:;
' Whatis the spell abOut this man that holds no Yliugfm my fathefymy  ’I'to
~ her—«that- indnces; her tofollow him unhesitat- sheasaxs, simply, ché were walling up '11 ”
him under the shelter of the coppice?‘ » ~ ' no despite his Wretched comet! .
‘ %- “This Will} ‘30,".135 533.73: ’rainmfidndrsgatsl goes 1:?) him tremblingly,'a}fid 13333" a"

himself on the train: of afailen tree. “Come ' young head was shoulder“ ' V j _   -‘ .‘

j‘here,-1’hillis Hetherly, and look at me closely.” i oh the 100}: of day that comes; *ih‘lio
’ ,' $136, obeys-she cannot do isotherwise, ' she ‘ p061. hungry'éyes a his;  __ i e-  ”
1566154  Overhead» the closer-interwoven ' 1 “My girl ” he" resumes, utter a teatime 

,_ branches attire young-= trees make it almost! “we masohiyw hambeén misledjsvtc

= twilight Where they are. . As she ems at him 3 death is ivorysedf n;   crests
she sees his white, drawn lips are quivering“bver your map: _   I i,  
\ .With‘some GmQtimr ‘ r L, ‘  .   ' It’flashe‘s ac assesses, newthati
.~ 1: i have seen, youjheforejf she: murmurs; ‘-‘  ear" gem: mysteryGideoniGerlepei i‘siih.
vri'T‘IT-da “Qt/km"? “he? ’ Years "330 I knew sion'of shoqtherself»   *   '*

 

 

 

   

 

   
      
       
      
      
    
  
   
  
  
 

  

   
  
 
  

  

  
 

     

 

    

 
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
    
  
   
 
   
 
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
   

.L l \r

, in: neverto-meet again, it shall be so. I would
 net mar your young lifewith the curse that is'
' on mine.” ' - , — . ,
1 “I. can bear the worst if I am with you,
father,” she falters. “Tell me everything!”
» _’ I "‘I will,” he says, with desperate calmness.
.  9130 you- remember about the death-of old‘
gRalph Garlapel, my uncle? He was always
, called ‘ the Captain,’ because he spent most of '
 ‘ his time going about in his yacht.”
‘ , “I do, father. He was foully slain in his ,
own. cabin some ten years since, was he not?”
I , , ’p f‘ Yes, Phillis. And do you know anything
' -' '01 his assassin?” '
 . ‘_ ' ‘.‘ I believe the man was taken, and sentenced
r to State’s Prison,” she answers, reflectively.
«'“Inever heard who he was. Cousin Gideon
" never liked speaking of the matter.” ‘
 ,‘fPhillis,” he says, very solemnly, “I am
"the man who was tried and sentenced. But g,
p  wait, girl; I am not the man’ who committed ;
 the deed. ‘I will not terrify your gentle ears ‘
‘ with any oath to testify to my innocence; but
believe me, Phillis, I: would not venture here
rinvzyciur pure presence if I were that guilty
» -» '- - « ~

 

 , Poor'Phillis! She shrinks from him with a
"low moan'and gazes about her in a dazed way.
 The dreadful truth comes upon her with a
1‘ rush—her happiness, her lova, her hopes in life
1 are all dashed to the earth. In the eyes of the

world her fatheris a. convicted criminall

,;_‘,‘Do you doubt me, Phillis?” he asks, after

tsetse minutes’ silence. .

v _ “:No,.no, father,” she sobs, clinging to him
 convulsively; “not for one instant! But I
couldn’t realize it; it is 50—50 horrible I”

~. ’ He draws a deep sigh of relief.

  y‘_‘Bi1t, father,” she gasps, as a new thought

ycomestp appall her, “ how—how are you here?

‘ You have escaped!”

T “It. is true, Phillis,” he assents, sadly. “I

[could endure it no longer-«ten years of it.

{Threedays since I escaped from Sing Sing.

KThere wasno hope for me in that place but in

*adeath. Lite is still strong within me. I will

,' “ There are reasons why I should lea’ve‘Gideon’s 4

. hoarsely.

 

make one stiiigglclto prove my innocence.”
'\ “015,. father, how have you lived? Have
{you had food?” ‘ , -- - ' I
 “I have broken my test twice, Phillis. !
gil‘hese‘rags I‘ have stolen from a cottage.
took theWorstIcould find. I would 'not rob the i
mattinuch, and they answered my purpose.
The first day they hunted me for miles, but I
was stronger that day, and eluded them. I
:idjydn’t know where to turn for help, so I made
 my way, here by night. I had heard that
'1 rcohsin Garlapel had previded fer you, and it
‘ .,_.wae,_bitter' news to. me. , And new, Phillis, I
Z serene: ask you to share my wretched lot. I

 not wish it.“ The cheeses are I shall be,
“Father, I Will ‘ sharia, lib—,4: will go with

    
  
  
    
    
 
 

 

 

deliberately. ,g “ Youap‘pear to be gated.

“Li ~> ,’ K. m

k ' Hisrom    ~ 

you,” she says, firmly, ante:  , ~ ‘ v
gotten in hen sympathy .for heroutéast father. . ,'
roof. He has been, making love to me, and I 
cannot endure it. And, father, I will devote
my life to proving you innocent. ‘Oh, if that
could only be done i” , '
“My dear girl, you make me very happy.
But the only way to prove my'innocence is to '
find the guilty man. How can that be done
without money? How are we to live,"even 3”
He says this looking at her tenderly,‘and he
wonders how this delicate, beautiful girl will
fare if she goes with him. But her determina-
tion seems fixed. ’ p
“I can work for us both, father. There is
one thing I can do that, unless I am mistaken,
will provide for us well. And that is—” .
' A sudden spasm of fear crosses her father’s .
pale features, and'arrests her. She hears foot-"
steps coming along the footpath. They pause
at the coppiceg. then she. hears them again ap«_ 
preaching. ' ' . '
“I must run for it,” whispers her father, “ '
“ Can you give me somemoney,’
Phillis? When shall I see you again 3”
She presses her little purse into his hand. '
“I will meet you to-night, father, at mid-. "3
night. by the mill. And it will hate go with '
you wherever you ’go.” I  , '
The desperate look of a hunted animal isvon
his face again as he presses her to him, and it
nearly breaks Phillish heart to see it. _
“I will stop him, father, whoever he is, 7-
even if I have to cling to him,” she whispers. "
He glides away. through the brushwood
quickly, and she is alone. Then, checking’her .
sobs as well as she can, she goesforw‘ard to ,‘
meet this new-comer. All her courage is sum-’
moned, but suddenly she stands face to face 
with him, and her heart sinks like a stone. It ‘
is Cyril Dearn. ,_ ' c 
“You, Phillis!” he exclaims, in vastonish- 
ment. ' “ What are you doing here? 'And the" V
other—I heard a man’s voice.” ,, ‘
And he starts forward in the direction in
which her father can still be heard, forcing his
way through the undergrowth. ' 1 ,
“Stay, Cyril 1” she cries, seizing his arm to ’
keep him back. “ Don’t go after him. It is“
nobody—nobody you know. ’.’ , -
He regards her curiously. In her excite
ment she is clinging to him, scarce'lyheeding L
what she says, and peaking amid broken sobs.
Her ‘teartstained, flushed face is raised to his
beseechingly, and the little «hands pressing his,
arm are trembling with her agitation. .

g’ . . -‘

   
 
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
   
 
  
    
  
   
   
  
 

 

 

at a rendezvous'not far distant. Cyril 11%
at least, doesn’t seem to find it so. ' or , . "  
“I don’t understand, this, Philliav’fhegsayiw

I.

   

' ‘ imam fife  L  : ‘ ,

 

washOuldf likato-know who that mania It you
»» -zwould'f'rather not-tell me, I shall haveto go
fiend find out.” ; ’ ”
, ' “No, Cyril, you must not!” still holding to
' his arm with the courage ofdesp‘air. 
“Then tell me who he is, Phillis. It is very
strange, after making an appointment with
fine, that I should find you here in company
with another man, whom I’m not even to know
about.”

“ Give me time to think, Cyril,” she falters. ‘

_ “I-—-Iiteel faint."
 Thevsight of the sorrowful, beloved face tells
On‘h‘im, and his vague suspicions are dispelled
K under the magic of love. He passes his arm
v round her slender waist tenderly, and draws
; her close to him. i
.1 But his touch seems to nerve her with fresh
 Strength, and with a convulsive eifort she tears
herself away. Now that she is assured her
. father has had time to escape, her own cruel
rpbsition forces itself on her. The trial before
her is a terrible one, but it must be faced.
» “Why, Phillis, what is this?” he asks, re-
 Proachfully. “You have altered strangely
. Since last we met.” ' L l
_‘ “Mn-Dem,” she says, brokenly, “for th
‘ moment I forgot myself.
perform that is very painful. Our engage-
, I. merit must be at an end. Do not ask me why.
You will know some day, and then, perhaps,
v You will not think so harshly of me as you
 must now. Will you say good-by?”
 ' “What does this mean} Has any one—”
3, Then a light breaks on him. “Ah, this is the
 explanation, then, of the man’s voice I heard!
a, )7 mistrust was well-founded, it seems. I’ve
i I ,been made a fool of!” . '
~;'  hitter words are met with silence. ,
 « Her head is bowed, and the scalding tears
y. mi their way downher cheeks. To deny the
 1MBellsation is only to court prolonged suflering
, .5an further reproaches on his part. She is
'“Tesolved not to betray by a single word about
hardener. Cyril will learn the sad truth soon
renough‘ from others, and then will know she
vi (, “done for the best. ,
‘  I understand from your silence that my
Q’WOrst fears are realized, Miss Hatherly,” he
“P”. in a low, strange voice. ,
i . She only inclines her head and moves away
. . ,l 13'. her bosom heaving" with the heavy sobs
 , cannot keep down. ' .
’ :39 follows her onto! the coppice, with a
I L“ lcokvon his handsome features. : x
* . Good-by, Mr. Beam.” 7
 hon: the anguish at her heart as she says-"itl
11390363? him her little hand, and her eyes
he “1’ at him through a mist of tears, des-
;,;i"§g§nsly.= Perhaps this is the last'time they
, t 4.‘ V ’ '

 his voice tremble: withhia

  
    
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
 

 

 

2.
O
S

3 assurance,

I have a duty to .

. if satisfl . * “You ' have'not heard yet, 

.deep‘emotionru“; tell me you arejactin'g 'pnnderfl
compulsion. ,I’cannot, understand this. " ’It is; ,7
, scarcely three menths since you promised to ‘ ‘  
be my wife. ‘You cannot have changed .‘you’rjkfl  ' 
mind. Only give me one little Word, of“:   ~
_ -love,\'and I Will cast my "doubts all JV 
" aside.” v 4 .  x v
He looks at her eagerly, fondly, but she has » -
no words for him. , e. ' ‘
This is the bitterest moment oi} all. , A wild 
longing seizes her to lay her aching head on;  '
I his shoulder, and tell him all. She would have  
his strong arm about her once again. The f 
' temptation is great within her, and she feels, ,
thatin another instant she shall yield. With a .;
last desperate effort she turns away, and halt.— F

blinded with tears, flees down the path,_never
once looking back. ‘ < - v ‘ i  

 

 
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
    
   
  
  
   
 
   
  
 
 
  

 

 

‘:Mr. Garlapel, from the Hall, to see you, _,
sir. ’, ' . ~ 1 ‘
“ Show him in,” says Cyril to the servant,
in surprise. j  
At the “ Homestead ” on the following morn- 7,
ing, Cyril is sitting at his Solitary breakfast:
table. He looks pale, for he has passeda sleep-‘5. ;
less night. ' \4 j" ' ,“ 9'
Mr. Garlapel is shown in, and the two
bow coldly. Cyril motions him a chair;  i
“I was going to call on you, Mr. Garlape ?"
he says, for Cyril has made up his mind, to
seek further explanation, it not froinPhillis,
from her guardian. - r , ‘
“ I have saved you the trouble, Mr. Dearth”,
returns Mr. Garlapel, in. by no ,means a plea-s»,
ant tone. “I presume the object of your"
visit was about my cousin. Do you,",know.
where'she is?”-—looking at him searchingly. 
“Unless she is at the Hall, I haven’t. the
slightest idea.” ' ‘ -  ‘ f. 
“ On your wdrd‘ of honor?” I r
“ My ward of honor is not. necessary,” says
Cyril, haughtily. “You can believe “me'iof‘
not, as you choose.” . v ‘ < . 
“You are down here, I suppose, to see 
Hatheirly—clandestinely,if by no other manna.
Perhaps you have ‘ Seen her already, M
Dearn?" ‘ j" ‘ ,~ ', "' x,
“ I haVe. I met her yesterday afternoon;
At that time she was conversing with son: "
man I did not see.” _ ‘ 9 '_ . ‘  
“ It is as I feared , then,” says Mr. Carla-pt
removing his scrutinizing , gaze from Cyril, as

Dearn, th Miss ».Hather1y left my roof
night seeretlyl" ‘  v y, "  I 1
Cyril bounds to his feet With a hoarse
clemation.’ , , ‘  -  
‘f Impossiblel‘. With whom!”
“Henfather.” .    ' .   y
 age;- Iatherl Ee'iedeadlii   ‘  1,.

 

 

 

  
     
   
   
  
 
 
   
    
    
  
 
  
    
  
 
    
   
   
    
    
 
   
  
  
   
   
   
 
  
 

«  ' 

 

 

..f;;t-»Man’x suppose. so.*'; he has, been dead
to the. world; these ten years, Mr. Dearn.

’ i, andis without doubt the man Miss Hatherly
.v wasvspeaking to.” .

LllhiebaCk to his visitor. , There is a grim smile
on’Mr. Garlapel's visage as he watches him.

convicted of the murder of Ralph Ga rlapel, his
uncle and’mine. as you know. Since that time
Iwhave taken charge of his daughter Phillis,
and until yesterday she had never heard of her
fatheris crime!”

 “Thank you, Mr. Garlapel,’ for telling me
thief? says Cyril, facing round again. “You
have given me the «claw to something I could
not understand. ,1 Phillis Hatherly, is a; noble
girl... I revere her a thousand times more for
herselfesaeriflce. I .will seek her out, and,
despite, all the world may say, she shall be my

5' fiend" her father?” says Mr. Garlapel, sig-
nificantly. ' » ‘

if It hezhas sinned he must suffer—not his
If it be possible that he is an inno-

weil, there is no work in the world I would so
gladly perform as to prove his innocence.”

‘ " nyGarlapel turns slightly pale, and the
light that always seems smoldering in his dark
eyes kindles.  . V /
 .f‘Vei-yv well, Mr. Dearn,” he exclaims, con-
trolling himself with an effort. “I also shall
seek, out Miss Hath'erly and her criminal father,
 if, I find the latter before the law does, he
shall berec‘ommitted to the prison he so richly

yensomething? ‘ I- love her as I loved harmo-
er hetore her. That, she, a girl of tainted
parentage and dependent on myself should be
 another, never occurred «to me. I
have leays looked, on Miss Hatherly as my
own,  mylown she shall be when I find her.
hitherto I've not been thwarted in life, and I
greyed-notice, Mr. Cyril Dearn, Phillis Ha-
therlyshalrbe my wife—mine I” r»
Maceompanying this scornful utterance

quits the room.

 I , [CHAPTER V.

 . :2 rum AND DAUGHTER.
,‘VW‘IHA‘T address, m’am?”
rtthlnmberA-A, Tenth street,
th two trunks onli’. ‘
Auright, m’aml”.

 

 

Harlem. Are

 cabinan bangs the door of. his four-
wfieelery mounts to his seat, and presently the

deterred  for Miss Hatherly—shall ,I tell

t , “a sinister scow-lon his dark features, he _

1..."; WW- _

f I Charles Hatherly is a convict for lifel‘ He es- »r
 chped, I hear, from Sing'Sing three days since, 7

‘  Cyril turns away to the window with some- I
a thing like a groan, and leans againSt it with ‘

; V-.:"§Charles Hatherly,” he adds, coolly, “was ;

, watching for her. .

' ed the days till you would returnl’,’ *

surely. to his death.

 

elfimsy, illfhungvehieleisrumbling away out :‘

of the great station and, through the; New.” '
York streets.” * ‘ > I .y   ’ I
“It is a soaking March evening. . '
v' After driving some time,-and then receivr 
ing sundry directions from within, c’ahby “
turns into a-small dark street, and pulls up [in 1
front of a house- of modest appearance. By ‘
the time he descends from his seat the door»
has been flung open, and a flood of, welcOming
light streams forth from the little passage. ‘
A young lady springs lightlyfrom the cab,

and trips into the house, followed by an old

woman, who settles with cabby, and sees'to
the due transferring of the trunks. ' ‘

“ My father—how is be, Mr. Bolt?” asks the '
young lady anxiously of the man, who stands
holding the door in the passage. , /

“Better, Miss Audley—better,_thanks to the
hopes of seeing you. He’s waiting for you,
up— stairs.” ‘ . x ' .

She runs up quietly, and on the first floor is
a door” standing half open, She .peepsround
it. On a couch in front of_ the fire a man is
stretched at full length. He is evidently

“Papa, dear!" ' «’ 5

She closes the door, and goss to him ’ He
sits up, and takes her in his arms, and kisses
her sweet face again and again.

“ My darling, how I have waited and count-

  
   
  
 
    
 
  
   
 
   
    
  
 
  

“And here I am at Iast,’ papa; and for
three whole days this time.” a ‘
And she brushes "away a tear as she stands

up.

“Not longer than that, Phillis?” , ,

“You forget, Mr. Audley, that my name is
May,” she says, with .‘fgay pretense at dignity.
“I’m Miss May Audley, leading lady in the
Mr. Drake’s comedy company now.”

He'shakes his head at her with a sad smile,
and lies back on the Couch again. Charles
Hatherly—for it is he—seems more ill, and ,
weak, and wasted than when We last saw him, . '
even. He looks like asman going slowly,‘_but

 

 

Our Phillis is a trifle paler than before, per- j
haps; and with the happiness cf the lovelygirl» "’
face of yore is blended now a new and more
tender light, giving her avery attractive and '
womanly beauty. . ,

“ I sha’n’t be long changing, papa,” she says, 
with another fond kiss. - t ,
And she goes away to a bedroom upstairs.

When she comes down again presently, a girl
is setting the table for tea. The room and its ,r
furniture have that sort of shabbygenteel apf I
pearance peculiar to. the ordinary boarding: »
house: but in the preSent glow of, fire and-
lamplight it looks‘inviting and cosey enoughn,

“} suppose Mary, you’re glad to" have your
aunt here to stay with you?” Phillis says to. th

a! .

 

 

 :girl,rwho smiled an assent.)

r/

 r dragon! Now, then, let us have teal”

" . She draws the table forward to her father’s
couch, and seats herself close to him.
Three months and more have passed since

‘ Phillis quitted Dearn Park with her father. So .

‘ far they have been safe from all pursuit. Since

’:Y‘«-'J'1"2~‘-V- . r‘ Av

    
 

 

«a
7' ’

,; their arrival in New York they have occupied

their present lodgings, under the name of And-

ley'.

Phillis followed out her idea, and speedily
found a theatrical engagement; and now is
often away for two or three weeks at a time,

- playing in various towns.

v 'The peOple they lodge with are a. Mr. Bolt
and his daughter, Mary. .

When Phillis first took to “the business," i
was necessary she should have somebody to
play the duennar—to take care of her. Mr.
Bolt recommended his sister-in-law, Mrs.
Surle, and-Phillis found her a motherly, but
uneducated, old soul. . ,.

“How long are you going to be away next
time, Phillis?” asks her father, as she hands
'him his second cup of tea. ‘ . «

“Six weeks at least, papal Oh, but don’t
look so unhappy about it! I’ve had such a
brilliant idea; Mrs. "Surle suggested it. "We

' shall finish up at Yonkers and be there a fort-

night; Mrs. Surle’s home is there, you know.
She has a daughter and a son whom they call

' ‘daft.’. That means something wrong with his

head, I guess. They live in a little houSe right
down by the river, and how nice it would be,
while I’m there, if you could come and stay at
the Surles’l You could live entirely unno-
ticed, and it would do you so much good!”
“It would be a great happiness for me, my
“love, if I were well enough," said her father
with a I weary sigh. “ We must ask Doctor
, Goodeal about it. But, it won’t be helping on
the great cause, ‘Phillis.
way would do me more good than a dozen
country places.” ' V
’ “I have been thinking over that, as well,
dear papa,” she returns, leaning over him with
a wistfuhx loving gaze; “and I have even taken
a small step in it.” ' .
“ The worst is, eyery step is attended with
‘ danger, Phillis!” he says, bitterly. “ Evenif we
had the money, I should be afraid almost!”
“ The only way will be to get a trustworthy
V man to act, for us, papa, and if he succeeds,
promise him a good round sum.”
“ But where is the good round sum to come
from, love?‘

4 {brought with me from Gideon’s house.

   

To see that on its»

   

5‘08, Papa: Mr?» -' saved: We m{glint reckon on quiteone thoushhd“ 
f. Surleis so geod and nice! She is just what I dollars. We might start with, that, sandievery, J V
Wanted, and {leeks after me like a“ regular week I'm saving. money you know.” , ~

‘ is, he must he a man whom we can place 

 

‘ for the right, we must use its‘weapons,goqd‘

l

u Well, papi, tor any other reason I should Matthew Scorpe’ and ask
not like to sell poor mamma’s jewelry; itls all  am here? Dare we risk mo
, , But
forthi’s cause’I would gladly part with it; and ifi»si1ence,,
 with what that would reeling and what I’ve h

 

   
  
  
    
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
    
 
   
  
   
   
   
    
  
   
  
 
   
  
  
  
  

“ My brave” girl! it’s yery, hard upon you;
and all for my sake!” ,  " 
‘ ‘.‘ Not at all, dear papa,” she says; isoftlyf ,
with a tender glow deep in her brown eyes, »
“There is some selfishness in my, desire to,
prove‘myself in the eyes of‘the worldan benefit
man’s daughter.” ‘ , ' ‘ 

She has never told her father of her love." a
As the mute agony of that last meeting with .,
Cyril Dear-h comes across her now, sherdeelsu:
how' sweet it would be to lether'onoe lover-
learn the true reason of that parting-who let?
him learn then that she is the daughter clan
innocent man—ay, if he_,‘can never love her
again. And she wonders, 'with a dull aching
at her heart, whether he has forgotten hen.
already—whether he has found another yet to‘
take her place.” , a .3- .'

“I didn’t tell you, papa, what! havez
already done,” she says, rousing herself, and:
stirring the fire, for they have both been sunk“,
in reverie. “When I was in Brooklyn,,M~rs.
Drake, who has been very kind to me, you
know, introduced me to her brother, Mr.
Pierce. He is the head of the g'reatlegal 
of Pierce and Starkey, and has a fine estate
down on Long Island." He'was very/cordial;-
so one day I, took the opportunity of askirig‘f
him, casually, if he could recommend a trust-3'
worthy private detective. He laughed, and}
asked it I was on the look-out for anyfieh,
relative, and then gave me an a-idress'of‘fiai
detective, whom he considered the mostflcapa
ble man in New York.” ’ I r ' _, 1' ‘ i

“That’s ,wellvdone, Phillis! Theroniy thing!

full confidence in, without fear of his betrays
ing it. He will have even to know that I
have broken prison, and am living here inf
hiding.” . . ,  ' 

“ Oh, but, papa, nobody,_believing wanna,
cent as (I do, could for an instant think 1339 ‘
wrong in doing'so.” , « ‘   I ’ fl

“ Ah, my love, but that’s the question; 
we persuade this man to'think me 
also?” ‘  ~ 1
“ I hope so, papa,” she responds,
“And besides, we must make it, werth “v "3
while.” ' z ' I _  

“My little clever daughter is grouting“- :-
worldly-minded,” says her father, strokinglgher
dark hair tenderly-yd ' ’ " “ »
v “If we are going

to do tattle as the was,

papa, And now; shall I write to this 
him to can While;

Charles Hatherly commas to:  
“ I think row marinate, mess, 

 

     
 

16     anemia iris"

 

 

 “Of course, under the name oi! Audley. 'L

,‘g ilt seems to me ouronly chance. And if, when

‘ [we see him, we‘don’t like him, we needn’t give
him our confidence.” r I

 ._  86 the letter is. dispatched that evening. I

 

CHAPTER VI.
,  DIAMOND our DIAMOND. i
“As soon as Denny comes, show him up, ‘
v "~_Roberts.” - - l
. fl, ; “Yes, sir,” returns the man-servant. leaving .
' therooma ' ’
3;, Cyril ‘Dearn' is lounging about his handsome
) ' apartments‘disconsblately énough this morning. i
1', They are situated in that fashionable locality,
.~_;;Madison Square. 01 late, Dame Fortune has
, Vj'showered her favors on Cyril more bountifully
' than most men have experience of in the whole
 course of their IiVes. He is in mourning.
.vWithin the last six months an aunt has died,
, , ‘leaving him a very pretty fortune, and now, a. ‘
f’ week :or two back, his uncle, Arthur Dearn,
J'Qhas likeWise departed'this life, and Cyril is heir
.‘if of both. And yet this favorite of the fickle
 "goddess seems,anything but happy.
1'  Presently he seats himself at his escritoire,
 Vg-gand unlocking a drawer, produces a small MS.
‘ book." This'he opens at the first page, dejectedly,
pand‘ commences to read. The heading is as
follows: , .,
“Diary, of my» search for P. H. Written
for reference.” ‘
, We may have to gain access to this book
again, “We will give a. few selected passages.
“Feb.,,13.-—Still as wide of the mark as
eve“. shall give up the advertising. Either
she’ca’n’t or won’t reply. ‘Perhaps she is afraid
to answer, in‘ case it is a trap to lay hold of
her father. ' Went yesterday to Trenton in
reply to a hint of that stupid letter; but it
turned out, as I expected, a wild-goose chase.
This the third false scent I’ve followed
up. ’ ’
f: “Feb. 20.—-No news yet. C. H. is still at
lil‘gfe,‘/I hear. The police are doing their best
1gp find him. She is with him, I don’t doubt.
Can the man be innocent. I will look up his
‘ ‘7“ Feb. 25.-~Have been through the evidence
tin-pad against C. H. carefully. It has a very
filackloak. It seems to me as if the man com:
mittsdthe deed in a gustyof passion. ‘ He con:
cases that he was quarreling at the time with :
he old man; also that the knife with which f
a} was dens was his own, and, he had 
 been using it to cut a pineapple. It looks :
*.,;very clear, too, about the lights being put out. j
Wisdcould have done it, if nothimself? Then
his story about the third person coming in and
oing  deed seems highly improbable. And,
> most'datnaging of all, is his pretended pursuit
 this third one in the boat. . 'Any one would

  

 

 
  

 
  

  
  
  
  
    
 
   
  
  
 
 
    
 
    
  
    
   
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'conclude'heI-was trying to" escape. some of

the sailors" said they thoughts. boat was in  I

front of them; others contradicted this; none

; of them would swear to it. Under the circum-

stances, I think the sailing master of the yacht
was quite right in taking him back, and making
him a prisoner. Still, there are one or two
points I should like to know more about.

What was the subject ofmhis quarrel with his . .

uncle? If the crime was not done in passion,
what motive could he have for it? Did any

1 one else gain by it? These are questions well

worth considering, I think.

“March 4.-—I have just hada splendid idea.
Gideon Garlapel must be followed. If he suc-
ceeds in the search, so will I. I’ll have a do.
tective on his track. Hitherto I have not

, liked to employ a. detective, because I should
I have to inform him of C. H. being an escaped
, convict.

But I had better take a trusty man
into my confidence. I’ll look about for one.
“March 10.—-—Denny is the man for me. He
goes about his' work skillfully and quietly.
He has already found out thatuGarlapel is as

nnich in the dark as to where she is as we are.

Garlapol is in the city at present. Denny dogs
his footsteps hour after hour all through the
day. He cannot do much, or see anybody,
that I don’t know of. Denny has looked over
the report of the trial of C. H. He points out

about the iron box, which had escaped me. If ,

there was an iron box of the Captain’s, what
was in it, and what became of it? This is im-
portant.” ’

“March 11—110th of any use yet. Denny
thinks Garlapel: has a detective to assist him.
I cannot help wondering where C. H. is in
hiding—where sho is—how they are living!
Perhaps she has to work hard for bare ‘food. " I
wish I could find her, and help and protect her!
But, strive as I may, all my efforts " seem
vain.” .

This is the last entry in the diary. Those
we have given tell their own tale. Cyril turns
the bookover pettishly; there is nothing here
but, what he knows by heart almost.
at the door comesto his relief.

“ Mr. Denny,” announces the servant.

The private detective enters. I lie is a cheer-
ful-looking little man, with light-blue eyes,
light hair, and an unassuming appearance. He

has been recommended by Cyril’s lawyers as a. ,

young and clever man, eager to make a repu-
tation in his own line. ' ~
“ \Well, Denny, what’s the news about Mr.
G.? Have you anything important?” asks Cyril,
motioning the detective to a chair. '
“Yes, sir. We have made a discovery that,

if Carefully followed up, may be of great use h.
to us, I think. I told you that I felt sure Mr. 

G. had a detective working for him.”
‘ “Yes.- Have you found who heist"

/

"l

A knock

, {xi}: .

Amish; ‘

sun—“viabz-vH .-l, .1“. ‘ .612...

 

 
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 

 

   

if.

 ,’cutest man in the profession. We shall have
all our work cut out if we have to watch him
sharp!” ,  _ u  4

. “You must, Denny. The better man he is,

_ the more likely we shall be to get so'me’clew

a from him. You are sparing no expense?”

‘ “No, Mr. Beam. 1 have two men (‘n the
job. The one on Scorpe is a foreigner——
Rooshian, I think. I was bound to have him,
or else Matt would have 8991*. a rat. He
knows every man in our line in the town.

' “ Quite right. Do you know anything about
this Scorpei Could we get at him by-and-by
with bribery?”

/“ Ithink not,” says Mr. Denny, deliberately.

“ Not on account 0! his principles—Matt hasn’t
got any. But he is a peculiar man, and I

7 . ought to know him. I started in the profession .

under him—worse luck!”
“How do you mean ‘peculiar,’ Denny?”

“Well, Matt Scorpe is always trying to be
too clever. He‘ll ogerdo it some day. If you
bribed him, it’s ten to one he’d go to the other
party and make him pay a bigger sum down,
and throw you over after all. He has a better
head than mine; is up to every trick and dodge
ever thought of;‘ but I’ll be even with him yet.
A man who’s always on the square must win

in the end.” i
l I. v “Very good, Denny. You’ve heard nothing

:5. of C. H. and daughter, I suppose?”
' “ Not a word, sir. I’m at a dead stop there;
.’ haven‘t the least little clew. You feel sure

‘ they’re in town?”

' l "“I do. 1 traced them inth the city myself.
Then I lost them entirely. waever, keep a
hharp look-out, Denny. We can’t do more at
present. Good-day.” ‘
‘And Mr. Denny takes his leave.

 

 

 . ‘,‘ Ah, does Mr. Audley live here?” in-
‘ ‘ ,quires a. portly, beetle—brewed man, consulting
"  an open letter in his hand. , ‘ ~ ‘
He has had to knock twice—two heavy,
thhndering knocks—at the door or No. —-
Tenth street, before Miss Bolt has got herself
3‘9th presentable condition to answar him.
 "Yes, sir,” she says, looking at him with
' One Eye, while the other seems to be watching
ftlli'o little boys playing in the street—for Miss
. 1t sufi'ers under an imperfection in Her
‘ 01”ng of. sight. ' " '
y ‘ ' ‘ffi‘ell him Mr. Scorpe wishes to see him.”
., ’ ving him standing in the little passage,
“‘18 disappears up the staircase, to return soon
;  the message that he is to step up to the
 “it floor. ' ' v A
 Scorpe does so, making the stairs creak-
1‘ 11 Death his portlinesa, He is shown into'the
.- ;_ sitting-room, where he is received by Miss

   
 
   
    
   
     
    
 

 : Amber‘méeisintvse;7‘ ‘* 1;  :j3-t, '

4'" We/have. It’s, Matt. some. very}

the interview which ensues.

stances, we shall not be able to 'reckontongfiyour

 

.7 it!”

 

' : €ij 17’".

y Audley, who’ was afterward joined ’hyf'
her father, Mr. Audiey. ; g" r ' ‘ .

It is needless to go into the particulars of  1?,
Suffice it to say» a g : 
thater. Scorpe, by virtue of his bland and. ’. ;
suave demeanor, is soon taken into the confis 7  ~ "
dence 0LMr. and Miss Audley, when it is  
covered to him—he has been onvthe verge or f] 
doing’ it for himself—that they are the Mr. ; 
Charles Hatherly and daughter who have been   ‘
the objects of his search for some time past. '  .

Quite inscrutable are the great detective‘s g: 
features as he learns this news. He listens  '-
with dignified complaisanceto Mr. Hatherl‘yl’s  I
tale of his wrongs, mingled as it is with Phillis’sk ‘
protests of her father’s innocence. j ’ . _

‘- When they have finished, he begs a few min- 5‘
utes for deliberation. ’ ’ r t '_ 'p

“And so, Mr. Hatherly,” he says,'breaking 
an anxious silence, “ you Wish me to take up g
this case on the lines stated, and with a. View? v
of proving your innocmce? It will be verin
difficult to prove anything in‘ a matter that? 3.
took place ten years back, I fear. Also, in as—r‘f  -
sisting you, I shall be committing a breach of
the law, whose officers, if I understand:
are even now in search of you.” « ‘ - 5'} ‘

“But if I am only proved innocent,l’ says]
poor Charles Hatherly, “surely the ‘law‘fwill 
be inclined to overlook my breaking prison?” .

‘6 And besides, papa is so ill!” pleads Phillis,
wistfully. ‘ ‘ _‘ ' ‘~ 

“And then, again,” proceeds Mr. Setups,
waving their remarks aside with dignity, “the;
prime investigations as to the details of the
trial, the evidence given, should be made by a;
lawyer. Still, I am equal to that business ‘m’y- . '
self. or course, you know, Mr. Hatherly. the
sum you offer will be no sort of remuneration
for my services;L in fact, it will little! moth?
than cover the current expenses.” -    2

Charles Hatherly leoks very‘blankgfit 
information. I ' 7 . ' A.

“Oh, but Mr. Scorpe,” cemmencesiPhillin,
eagerly, “if you will Only‘ wait, ,{we (can
promise you double~three times the sum”—'-””§-;’
’ “No, no, Phillis,” interrupts her rather; 3‘3;
will not have itl I will not allow you to“ “ad”
yourself in this way, ’

he adds, sorrowfully, “that, under the 

 
   
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
    
 
   
   
  
  
  
 
    
  
   
    
  
  

I suppose, Mr. Scores;

services?” ’ - .  
“ 0n the contrary, Mr. Hatherly, ' ou 
command them, as far as my humb stability-
goes,” says the great detective, magnaniline"!le3
ly.‘ i“'1‘he fact is,sir, I am a, man of heart;
and cannot bearto see a followereature, Whom:
I believe to be innocent, sufferingflunder’a
weight of infamy and injustice. [ I shall’ta’ke
up your caseiwarmly, andshall find "yrs? 'j'
ward,_no doubt, where—J-where I least  3

  
 

‘ We.

, observing Mr. Sdo

-?'-;-‘given him credit for so much J‘Iheart;”_ but,
 :  Phillis and her father did not stay to consider 
 this. " They were only too pleased to have his ,
:’ hassistance. It seemed too good to be true ale '
>4“ 'lm‘Ost‘N , , V

  ype’s heavy, dark yours widei‘ Matt Scorpe
; _j‘features with an unprejud-iced .eye would have yet.”,, ‘ - ' \

 
 
       

'1,' ' ’ '1

shall    

 

uCHAPTER’VII. a » i ' . ‘/"
' BEN SUBLE. . '
NOT the least among the attractions of

Yonkers is its charming little “ opera—house.”

if.“de now,” says .Mr. Scorpe, rising, “we Drake’s “famous comedy company ”—i»adv.er-

    
  
   
    
   
   
   
  
    
   
   
   
   
 
   
    
   
    
  
  
 

‘  may. consider the aflfa‘ir settled so far. I shall
,"call on you again in a day or so, when I shall
= ; havegot the matter pretty well in hand. Your
{hint about inquiring for the boatman, whom
V you feel sure you pursued on that night, is very
” ; good, Mr.,Hatherly.” i
. -” "And, with 'a bland “Good-afternoon,” Mr.
, Scorpe and his portliness, betake themselves
" down the little staircase and out into the street, ‘
(and. then,,.b’y means of the “L” road, on the ‘
 igoute for home, I ‘ i
_   MrfSCorpe, thOugh [on his own evidence a i
‘ ’ man, of heart, is a bachelor still. His “home ” I
consisted)! two rooms, high up in- one of those ‘
stirée‘ts' doWn, town, used chiefly for busi-
ness purposes. ‘When. he arrives at this lofty
aémiéfle, he finds a-gentlemen waiting for him ,
vinhis room- . '
x“: Goodiday, Mr. Garlapel. I hope you have
not,,. waited long,” he says, in his blandest
inhun’er.’
1, "9110, no, Seorpe. I just called to know it
inu’ve heard anything yet,” returns Gideon
heaps}, impatiently. _ r
ti“ Nothing—nething, Mr. Garlapel. Wherever
they’are hiding, it is a very safe place, and
§hByare very wary. I’ve used every artifice
knowvof' to lure them into betraying them-
selves, but it seems no use. I’ve just been to
 see ‘one of my men who fancied he’d
got—{terns clew, [but it all came to nothing. Is
fipohsible’gdo you think, that they’ve left New
York sin?” , y . . -
v 75‘fl'don’t believe it,” is the brusque rejoinder.
“They’re in hiding down some ,of the slums,
‘ :.there you’ll find them one day. Do you
more money!” V ~
,‘iW ll, Mr; Garlapel, expenses are mounting
#3), I
Where you are!”——-taking the notes frOm his
$56“th  “Another hundred on acoount.
V ind/you "send me word at once if you hear
striking.” "

a ‘Wu'en Mr.

 

 

‘ 7 Scorpe-has seen his client down-
 he returns, and reclining in his shabby
firm-chair, puts on his considering cap for some

me. " At the end of which , he rises abruptly,
mung-A his big white hands together with a
satisfied smile. ‘ .

 “This business shall be the making of me,’? ,
hammers , ‘ ‘-‘ I see my way clearnow. ' That i
 is innocent—not a. doubt of it! I’ll get

theiprmlsoffitmoo, and then— , Ah, my friend 1_
Whinelgwe’ll make you open that purse of p

 

 

greatest invalid in the house.

. it looks as if he were sickening for something.”

t‘ised since the middle of March in flaming

characters all over the town—will inaugurate

the “ season ” with a fortnight’s stay. . ,
At the lower end of the beautiful little city,

I stands a little square'built house on a gentle

slope, rising from the sea. It is called

p“ Surle’s,” and years ago used to be the princi-

pal place for hiring and letting out boats,.
when old Surle was alive. It looks a trim
little dwelling now, with its fenced-in—garden
surrounding it. ' ’

Here lives Phillis’s duenna, Mrs. Surle, when -

:she is at home, with her son Ben: and ’her

daughter Bessie. Neither Ben nor ‘Bessie'are
any longer young, both having some time en-
tered that periodof life comprised in the term
“ middle-aged.” I a ,
Mrs. Surle is at home now; Charles Hather- ‘ 
ly is also enjoying the shelter of this humble *
roof; and although Miss May Audley, :’ the
actress, has had apartments for the last couple
of days at the hotel, she is often to be found at
this end of the town. ‘ . _ .
“Are you feeling better yet forthe change,
dear papa?” asks Phillis, one morning. -
Heis lying on the parlor window-seat, bask-
ing in the warm April sunshine, and drinking
in the fresh breezes. She has walked dyer
after morning rehearsal to spend the day with
him as she always does, and in‘her piquant
yachting costume looks very i air and charming
Phillis has sorrows and troubles enough for
her young heart, but she has also so much hard
work that she has no time to fret and look ill
over them. ‘ I - ' '
“I think I am, a little stronger, my love,”
returns her father, hopefully. “Indeed, from
what Mrs. Surle says, l’m afraid I’m not the
Her son Ben
was taken, very unwell yesterday. She says

   
 
 
    
 
 
   
 
   
   
  
 
 
 

“I trust not, papa,” says Phillis,‘anxiously.
“We shall have £0 find another place for you,
if he is. ”, . ' »

f‘Well, we’ll hope it won’t be necessary,
dear. Whatka strange fellow this Ben is! . He
seems almost an idiot!” ,

“ He has no memory, papa; Mrs. Surle; told
me' he lost it entirely through an. accident
some years ago. Who is the letter from,‘pa'pai”
pointing to onethat lies on the little table he-
side him. , I ' g  .

“ It’s {rem Mr. Scorpe, Phillie. I- wonder I
didn’t, think to, tell‘ you of it Bhfort. 419 is.

\g.

.,.

 

  

. V says he thinks he 'can put his finger'on the

’ s ‘ boatman wepursued from the Ladye-Bird that
 ' night. I can hardly think it’s possible.”

_' “If he can, it will» be a. great step gained,
papa»... I am sure we can never thank Mr.
Scorpe enough for what he is doing for us.”

In the course of the afternobn that portly
’ gentleman puts in an appearance. He greets
»;.:Philiis and her father in his usual hiand man-

ner, and then allows his big” person to be
"seated. . r ' 7 - '

' ~ “ I’m going straight to business, Mr. Hath-—
Mr. Audley, I should say—walls have ears] I
wish to ask you a question or two.
that on that fatal evening your uncle, the cap-
,tain, produced an iron box, and that afterward
that iron box was missing. Now, do you know

T‘  anythingof the contents of that box?”

 I “Only what was said at the time,”, replied

Charles Hatherly, after a moment’s reflection.

“As I told you, Mr. Scorpe, we were both
unfortunately under the influence .of drink
somewhat. My uncle took from the box a
sealed packet, which he said contained his
will.” ' 
1“ His will? Ah, as I thought!” mutters the
 , detective. “And did, he tell you" in whose
 i . , favor it was drawn?” '

' “No; he would not. When I‘asked him, he

said that neither I nor my cousin Gideon would

be the gainers by it. He said it unpleasantly.”

“And then you quarreled?”

' “Not just then; a little while after. ” ,

“Excuse me, Mr. Audley, but Ihave reasons
for pressing this question. What was the
' exact cause of your quarrel l”

“Well, Mr. Scorpe,” returns Charles Hath-
erly, reluctantly, “if it hadn’t been for the
wine we had both had it would never have
gone so far as it did. l’ve no doubt I was
mostly to blame. My uncle accused me, and
quite correctly, of having squandered one for-
' i , tune, and therefore he would take. care I
should not have his to do the same With. He
also spoke ot—ot my wife, and a. prevmus en-
gagement of hers, in a way I did not hke.
However, the upshot of it was. he struck me
l in his passion, and then the scufile ensued.” _

' “ And so, no will being found, your cousm,

i Gideon Garlapel, came in for the property.

«see—I see!” murmurs Mr. Scorpe, making a

‘ note in his pocket—book. m“ Now, Mr. Audley,

,I’ll tell you how I found out who that boatman

Wagiand who he is. Stay a. moment!

my one listening in the garden?”

 are in the parlor, and Phillis, who is
 the open window, puts her head out

sly. V

. soul is to

ya smile.

 

 

 

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
   
  

be seen, Mr. Scorpe,” she
“I think

 

 . 
N,» . ‘ ,‘,

w     ‘ '

timing down; he ‘wm he seaweeds. He '

You say. '

Is that,

we are quite i

   

But the pertly detective “has crept out from
the parlor with a stealthinesshardiy to be ex».
posted in such a ' bulky man, and, standing at 
’ the outside deer at the. end of the little passage, .1

looks about'him suspiciously. " ' " . _} 

“ No one about. _ All right at present; but ‘I ‘
can’t be- mistaken. I saw his face in'. the-‘7“
station here this afternoon; I saw it whens‘Ij
took the car yesterday; I saw- it on leaving
Garlapel’s last night. Foreign-looking, too. ?
Can Garlapel be playing a double-game? What -'~'
did he want to come down here for withine
I had to put him off; but it it wasnot neatly
done. Hem—hem! Idon’t like it...”  ‘ \
After this uneasy soiiloquy Mn. Scorpe re
turns to the parlor and announces that he mus

have been mistaken. _ ' " ' » I 

“ I was going to-tell you about this boatmtm,

Mr. Audley,” he resumes. “Well, I got 11016,"!
‘with: some difficulty, of 'the local paper, the

Yonkers. Gazette, for‘that date ten years'agngfl
Local papers are of use sometimesvlin "the: ”
cases; but I had almost givenup this one, when?
I stumbled across'a little. corner paragraph. I, ,
was about a man who had fallen over the slit!
on that very night, and been found«,‘the he;
morning stunned and hopeleSsly deranged ast‘o _.
his brains.” ‘ ‘ r ' » y  f,

‘ “Why, it must be Ben, Mrs. Surle’s mall’s:
claimed Phillis, eagerly. _  r 

“ The same, without doubt,”  
tective. “His boat was found afe,‘ day's site
hidden away at the foot of the cliffs} -’ When "
came down here last month , I made everyt‘in
quiry—even saw this very man;' but cool
make nothing out of it, you know.” , ., 

“ And now what is to come of it’l—ewhat cant

you make of itl’f asks Charles ‘Hatherly,  ‘
with excitement. “You don’t think. that’ge.

Surle did the deed?”  « , x , -. .. i

“No; but the man who did do itkwas row

out to the Ladye-Bix‘d by him. ‘I hear-that» V
has never recovered a fraction of his 

light since the accident—is virtually admiral;

You may depend upon it the true secret 

night is locked up in. that man’s lost '; 4t   ’

“ But how to get at the truth—ho,  
the poor man to tell us whatoccurredi’i'say

Phillis, with repressed excitement. ' ~ ‘  * 

‘9 That is a matter of patience and  

Audley,” observes the detective,  

“ Men out of their senses have been :g  /

back to them before snow. The result of your

father’s case depends on our doing this}? ,» 
, “ There are Ben and his sisterl?’ excliii

Phillis, as they see the‘two coming upthje gs

den-walk. “Bessie has been out walking 

the river with him.” ‘ I V x V' ~ I 

“Doyou mind asking him to‘v‘step intern
minutei’flsays Mr. Scorpeylooking ,afihis'waite

“ I ought tohe elf, forllmust get back seep; , a
i tonight. ‘ Time ismoney, and I heigenencgtoo

 

 

    
    
   
   
  
 
   
  
   
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.“',

 

rants cheater.
,, rlefl « 

  

ljlowedaby the unfortunate in question.

1 ,‘He has a hopeless, uneasy look abdut him as
he'stands just inside the door gazing vacantly
_' rounds His rough features are more than half,
concealed by his bushy hair and beard; but on
forehead there is a deep red scar plainly
tbservable. ' ’
 -“’Sit_do’§tn, Ben,” says Phillis, kindly, placing
eachaireforhima “The gentlemen only want
9'. ask. you a few questions.”
ii“‘~Do’ you remember the Ladye-Bird-—the
pretty .Ladye-Bird, ., Ben?” asks Mr. Scor pe,
, leaning'in his most portly manner toward Ben
‘ when he is seated. ‘
i.:Ben,f-Whose dull countenance has been un-
rreiileved by any intellectual gleam, Suddenly
brightens “part this. . .
a?“ The Layde-B'irdi”. he says, in his harsh
Wicca.“ tliejLadye-Bi'rd? Where is it?”
4’ E‘Why,‘ the pretty Ladye-Bird in the river!
e finegyacht, you know,“ my fine 1ellowl”
‘f‘fl‘he' Ladye-Bird?”‘says Ben, again puzzling
 thefiord. - ‘
V Yesgtthe beautiful Ladye—Birdl skimming
' er'the’ water with her pretty sails like white
in'g'sll‘t-eacplains thgdetective, blandly.

if. no-F-red wings!” breaks in Ben, with
"Weak smile. , “Bessie caught it, and put it
“the'back, here,” holding out his hairy fist;
’h "-it’gfl'ew away home—pretty lad y-birdl”
MraScorpe rises hastily, and buttons up his

   
  
  
    

  
  

 

    
   
  

    
   
    
    

 

   
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
   
      
 
 
 

~ fiance; and my- ti'rne is short,” he matters.
 beiofli, Mr. Audley. I shall be down
aim-in a day or tWQ—nperhaps sooner.” ‘
magmas. hardly been able to restrain a.
snail. gtflthd. portly detective’s discomfiture;
‘ ehe'ih'urriedly7 takes his leave ’now, and
‘ it’s‘jorthe station, whither we must follow
if ghasfreached the crowded platform, when
gentleman who has evidently arrived
.givingldirections to a porter about
 ’ '1’] . “ . I ‘

 

 

H1130, $corpel Any news?”

 Emmi-’3 ' .

I [Scorpe’s features_ are inscrutable and

mconceined as‘ever as, he‘makes this ready

 suavest tones; but Garlapel’s dark

e  «ashgbn';  an instant, suspiciOusly.

33:11.3 aregoingbark to town, Scorpei’f ‘

I was; but I' can stay _if-——” .

as; you’ve enough to do in town. What

. yeyou-I’heingdeiag here?” *
i‘tili’ofil‘iowing up“ thewghost o; a claw; but
i  ‘3 success, so! far. You? shall hear-all

 l‘ should like to see this  I

2 ‘Phillisgbes oat,‘ and‘i’n' B‘mifiute “hurts, “1‘.

,"Ham+¥hemi ifiort of thing that requires

@11an particular, Mr. Garlapel. Hope

 

_ I‘V‘Neteremind, new, scorpe.’ f fiThere?i,your'
train_”_--’-as the whistle sounds.
a moment «to lose.” ,1 , '

the car as if he were particularly anxious‘
about the detective’s not beingleit behind.

 

|
,, diary: '
1 “March fil—Cannot understand Socrpe’s
I movements. Ishe playing a double gamepon
.5 has be another case in hand? Pov-itski watched

him to a house in Harlem, yesterday. He was

there an hour.

,Bolt, and his daughter live there. Denny
obliged to Fbe careful not to eXcite suspicion.
He asked if any ledgings to let.

1 let first floor, and that-let at present};- ‘Who
to?’ Miss Bolt looked hard at Denny. ‘To a

1 Mrs. .Surle—old lady.’ ‘Had a rather-stout

> gent called to see her yesterday? ‘Perhaps she .

i had.’ ‘Could he see Mrs. ,Surle?’ ‘No; she

had gone away for awhile.’ ‘Who was she?—
l what did she do?’ ‘Didn’t know. She only
V lodged there—nothing else." ; This was all he

i could elicit; not of much use at present. Gar- ‘

lapel has made no move so far, however.”

“March 28.—Scorpe been up to Yonkers /

1 There’s no doubt he’s on some sort of clew. Po-
, vitski says he was inquiring secretly among the
 boatmen for one who rowed out to the Ladye-
'1 Bird on that night ten years ago, or for any

successful.
up these details for?”

the country. They have given up the search,

I don’t think he has, nor does Garla’pel seem to. .
Scorpe getting more mysterious

1 think so.
than ever. He and Garlapel don’t seem on the
a best of terms.” . i 4 ' ,
“April «IQ—Believe We have a clew to C.
 H. at last. Denny has a man in his pay—«a
. neighbor oi! the Bolts, in Harlem. Bolts; are
very close people. Tiliyesterday this neigh—
bor has found out nothing. Thenhe saw an

Not a.’ cab to be got under five minutes’ walk,

.. so he could not follow. Could this ' invalid

have been 0. IL? I think it possible. Denny
called there again to—day. Saw Miss Bait.
She said a man named Audley, friend of Mrs.
, Surle, had been staying .lhere unwellrbutgone
now. Hadn’t the least idea where. iDidn’t

know where Mrs. Surle was. She was not"
Denny must have a stricter ‘
;Whe can this Mrs. ,
It cannot he '

_coming back yet.
watch kept at thishouse.
Surle be, and where can she be?
1’. thin disguise? Surely~ surely notl!’ ,'  .

2; “April _l2.—-—Scorpe gensup- to Yonlfiers" l

\. .
. A: < a,

/,

 “.Y‘ou haunt ' ' ' '

And Mr. Garlapel watches  Scorpe 

I We must have recourse to, Cyril Dearn’s /

Denny called there today, but ,
could make nothing of it. An, old man, named .

‘No; only "

1 news or him. ‘But he seems to haye been 1111— ,
What can he want to be hunting ‘

“April 5.-The police belieVe C. H, has left V

invalid-ea man—being driven away in a cab-

mummfiwmflntfismfl‘hr mam“... . a 

  
 
 

    
 
   

A; k

' .this morning. . What does this mean? P'oyitici'
after him. Am afraid Scorpe is. getting sus-
picious. Wherefore his journeys to Yonkers?
I will go up , myself to-mgrrow,’ or send
r Den 3”  ‘ ' 9
‘ “April 13.——:Garlapel gone up to Yonk—r
ersl Scorpe come back, but going to return ’
tomorrow. Povitski says he went to see peo-
ple named Surle- These Surless again! Therc’
is a mystery about them. Things seem draw-
,ing to a climax at Yenkers. Can they—P. H.
and father—be there? Oh, if I thought she
were—my darling—I would— But this is not
the sort of thing for my diary. I have sent
Denny on“ Garlapel has the start of us. If
he finds C. H. first, and [puts the police on, the
game is played out, and wehave lost. .But if
Denny’s suspicion proves correct, we hold him
at our mercy—it we are only in time!”

 

CHAPTER VIII. ,

SELFfSACRIFICE. '

“ THIS is most unfortunate, ,_ Mrs. Surle,’
said Phillis, anxiously. “ What does the doc-
tor report about your son Ben?” , ‘ v

“The very worst, Miss May. He says that
my poor Ben have the‘fever bad, and I knew
he was a7s'ick’ning for something. I said so,”

A and old Mrs. Surl‘e applies the Corner of her
apron to her eyes. '

“ I trust it may not be so serious, after all,” »
says Phillis, kindly. “Doctor Leigh is with
my father now, you say?”

“Yes, miss; Mr. Audley is not so well to-
day. We only fear he may have caught it

' too.”

‘Phillis is in great distress. It is the day
after Mr. Scorpe’s visit, and she has been, de-
tained longer than usual at the theater. It is
already late in the afternoon when she arrives
at the little house, and finds the doctor has had"

* to be called in to Ben Surle. ' ‘

“Oh, Doctor Leigh 1” exclaims rhillis, as the

. doctor enters the parlor after: visiting his
patient, “has the worst, happened? My father
r—has hetdken the fever?" . 7‘
“ I’m atraid so, Miss Audley; but «only very
’ slightly, I hope. If he were not in such a
' weak cendition it would not be serious. But
‘ we must hope for the best.” ~
“And my son Ben?” asksMrs. Surle.
“It’s a bad case,” returns the‘ doctor, with
» a grave look on his elderly face. “ But he has
a strong constitution, thOugh his head is weak;
I and they pull through.”
V “It would be dangerous now to move my
, father, I suppose?” says Phillis.
‘ “Yes. He had better be nursed here.”
“ Andhannot I see him?” ‘
 9;,For a few minutes
  I_ must desire you to keep away"

 
   
 

 throw ofl? the burden of

' only, Miss Audley.fi,

,mix',with atthe theater”, , , .
, The doctor takes his,leave,and

here.”

' at the wings. , “Do you know,er.‘Chunip,

 

,i_"‘

 
 
 
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
    
  
  
 
  
  
  

x ='.I,A

from here? in: considerations“; theipeopl’e  ,,

Phillis 
up to her father’with a heavy’heart. She‘sits ‘
Withhim some time, lovinglytrying ramped
him with some of the, hope, and good Spirits she
has not herself. 3?], I ,V ‘ ' ‘ ; ~ 7‘4-
f‘I saw some one to-day,:PhiIlis,”.says‘ 
suflz‘er , in a quavering, voice, “I have‘l'ri-not
seen since—since I was sent to. flat. 
place. He passed close by the house. V'He‘ was
going to the jetty with some boatingparty?’
“ Who was it, papa?” . ' .1 . “f .
"‘ He was a close and true friend: of min‘é’sirt
the good old days. His, hair isgray nowi=ffilt
was George Carlyon. Carlyon Manor is closets)

“He didn’t see you, papa?” ‘ ~   .
“No, my dear. Nor Would he hare 
nized in this feeble, worn-out old bedsithe 
Charley Hatherly of yore. Listen, Bhillis". "
the worst should happen tome, ands-J” '-
“Oh, ‘ dear papa, don’t talk 8013’ She  '_
flinging her arms round :her father tendérl .
“ You’re going to get well, and strong,
hearty soon again, for'mysake.” , I “ 
“ We’ll hope so, love. v But if you hold“ w
in straits, and not have afriend to: 
mind, don’t go to Garlapel, Phillis...”1.distr
that man. somehow; o to my old friend”. ,
yon. Tell’ him all a out me, When  '
and, unless I have-much mistakénthe smith,»
will assist you.” ' r . " 1-; 
{Phillis promises her father to do so. fresh
ly she is obliged to take leayeof him. 
bears up with her brave little heart
out of the house, but she can hardly 
way down the garden-Walk, so blinded 
eyes with teat: ' p ' fl . 
It has been rranged that Mrs. Surle audit
daughter Bessie shall nurse, the patieniafiaml
Phillis is to find some one else commutatist
at the theater. She has not'time to do, this," M
fore the performance, so 101' this night she“ j
haveto do without.” ' ' a   , a 
She plays the vivacious herpinein thetsiina‘;
ling comedy with a heavy heart that evening
The applause that greets her'is'as’ gefiuiiié‘iian-
enthusiastic as everybut it rings reproaieh’fiit‘,
in her ears. Try as she will, she cannotq “it

her troublegfandi

 

 

a

 

,"t

herself justice. ' . I . , . «r I
“Cut brilliant Lady inenrrflagsiapli‘
this evening,” Simpers Miss Pet Hammeng
'paragingly, to'the' stage-manager, asthey:~staii
think she has @119 of! a great deal—seems”
have lost the “ go" .shehad at'first.’ Shehe've
did havegnuch, it’s true.” ' a p . I 755'"

‘I‘Bru‘mhruml”! growls. the. stage, '
“Takes gwith the public as’muchasev

that’s-more than was misses,” f 

4 .in

  

 

, ' . ,.  'Atubsr’mnxsmwssj ; 

 
       

 

~‘.‘ 3 Y ‘ fl‘his was one for Miss Pet,th used to shine ,{
1‘ - 'as‘a .stafia’f’the’flrstmagnitudenn‘til MissMay s
in a’Andl’eyeame toeclipse her.» I 80 Miss Pet tosses
if her. pretty head with , a.‘ snort, and is just
' retiring in a hufl, when something Occurs to
 her.’ « , I
  last act is on, and Lady_inen is going
 through an exceedingly pathetic paage with
? Ea: sperverse but repentant brother, who has
3,5 incensed [ r a good deal of distress for two-
 thirdsflo er ephemeral existence. I i
 . ‘She is shedding her tears of joy on Marma-
duke’s neck when, happening to cast her eyes
3 over his shoulder; they meet those of a gentle-
“dnan Who a few minutes before has entered'the
J’ j’i'sta'ge-box opposite her.
'  To his surprise, Mamaduke feels her start
i‘fuhis arms, and then collapse onto the boards,
pulling him dewn almost onto his knees with
her dead weight. . 1
_ This is not in the “business ” at all; but the
hudieuce look upon it as a capital bit-oi acting, 1

    
  
      
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
   
   
  
     
   
   
  
  
   
    
  
   
   
  
  
 
 
   

 

.i/tunate“ brother hangs over" his sister in the
’ throes of very real distraction. 

‘i "t‘What the demo is she up to?” exclaims
 Mr.,"Chump, angrily. “That’s not the place
Where—7.,” A.

’ f‘Shf ' fainted!” gasps Marmaduke, bending
,7 _ liver, as it he were murmuring sweet words

"inherear. ‘ ‘
' “Stage-struck, more likely!” jeers Miss Pet. 
The. curtain is rung down, and then the in-
animate form of the Lady Vivien, otherwise
fhillisl-Iatherly, is gently carried ofl? the stage
andilaid upon-a couch. Willing hands tend g
pouher, Mr. Chump brings his private brandy.
flashlin his anxiety for her speedy recovery,-

‘ d’eYeu Miss Pet goes down on her knees to
bathe (the acid white brow. '

,While everybody is intent on the process of
sensation, the door leading from the front of
x. the house to behind the scenes is pushed slowly
s h h, and the realcause of this disturbance—
?! inmate of the lstage-box—appears.

He stands" looking down coldly on Phillis, un—
noticed in the confusion.

3.50:6 and get J efl'ries to apologize for her, ,
and call it .‘sudden indispositionl’” exclaims
 Chump, reSignedly, to one of the on-
7, 7 . “It’s no use keeping them' waiting,
Sfiewion’t be right for going on any more to-

 

l

    
       
      
     
      
      
     
 
   
   
     
     
   
       

   

 

  

  

  

' “N’r'

  

V any ether night, either,” says a deep
nice in'iront‘of him.” ‘
~ .The stage manager stares at the speaker
with honest amatement. ' y ‘ »
Emilio!” he says. “ And" pray where do
yen , some ,from? ’Are you concerned at all j
ith‘this young lady?”  I r ' ' ' " I
“in so far that I am her guardian, She left 1

   

  

  

  

' for her everywhere.

 ’f-applaud accordingly, while the unfor- 5’

. eagerness, and ris' .\ “This gentleman is Mr. *

sgmeliinasince, and/I have been looking .

please, to.  'at my hotel, ‘Brunswick,’ ’ 1. 3f
to-morrow morning.” '  ,'   .  I,
“But there’s five hundred dollars forfeit-

. money if the engagement’s broken!” says the

stage«manager, aghast. . \
Now that I have feund
her I will be anwerable for her future .
doings.” I -

Consternation is depicted on’Mr. Chump’s
visage, and there is a commotion among those;
present. a ‘ ~ , 

“Comel' how am Ito know you’re Miss _ 
Audley’s guardian?” exclaims. Mr. Chump, re- »  
covering himself somewhat. “You’ll have to " 3
prove it first, I tell you.” » p

" She is coming to. Wait and hear what she v s
says,” is the calm reply. ' p

A faint color dyes the pale cheeks, from 
which the paint, has been wiped, the parted ‘3
lips quiverfitfully, and with a deep drawn 1
sigh, the brown eyes open and gaze round with 
the dim light of returning consciousness in ,2
them. ‘ i r ’ H

As they fall on Gideon Garlapel she half .
raises herself shudderingly, witha low moafi, « E
as if she would escape the sight of him. ' '

“Are you better, dear?” asks Miss Pet, more
kindly than she has spoken hitherto. ’

And other inquiries and wishes for her speedy , ' ';
recovery are addressed to her by the little “2‘
group as she sits up. ,,

“Here’s a gentleman, Miss‘Audley,” then
says Mr. Chump, indicating Garlapel, “who
declares he’s your gardian. He wants to take
you away with him. ls this so?” ‘ ’

She feels very weak, and looks up at those .
round her in a yearning, pitiful way, as if supr V
plicating for help, or some means of escape. -

“If this is not true, just say so!” adds Mr.
Chump, firmly. “ I and Mrs. Chump ’11 take
care of you; and there’s no fear“ of his carry-.
ing you off then.” I * , ' . ' , ‘

But GideonGarlapelstoops down a moment
and whispers something in her ear. ‘

“ If you wish to savo your father, Phillis,
come with me immediately!” I

A flood of recollections sweeps over her then.
Her father is! ill—perhaps worse—in the hands
of the police—in want of her She must go to '
him.” ' ‘.
“It is quite true,” she says, with ,feverishf

.u.  l. r... r . twin“

. . u a s
sumac emanates“ 14.;

Garlapc—l, my guar ian, as he says.
with. him. Let me go at once!” ]
Mr. Chump offers 'no further remonstrance.
While Phillis is preparing in’her dressing-room, *
he is drawn aside by Mr. Garlapel- " 4 fi .
“With whom shall Ihave to make arrange-
ments about concluding Miss Audley’s engage?
men‘t?” asks Gideon. -‘ g ' ’
“Mr. Drake’s the party, sir.
mean it, surely—J . , I , / , ,
“ Most certainly 1419.. Request Mn 12133965

. t

I I_ must go_ ‘1};-

       
    
   
     

', 331.15 For «isn’t

VY

   

 

 

1..

 - ‘l It‘rshall be -‘ down,” returns   enough for that inf‘the'morning.  ou’lool;

lapel, coldly. .

vail hides her white features, but not the eager

4 9 tired.~ '
Phillis emerges from her room. A thick you like.

shine of her. dark eyes. She lets Mr. Garlapel“

conduct her out of the theater. At the stage-
' door a carriage is waiting, into which he shows
. z . her, and then takes his seat beside her.

' mean to keep me prisoner? For if you persist:

They roll away through, the dark streets in .

silence. Presently they draw up in front of a
building from Whose lower.windows the light
A streams forth broadly. ‘ ’ .
/ “ Where are you taking me, cousin Gideon?”
says Phillis, tremulously.
“This is my hotel, where I shall engage
apartments for you.” ,
,“ But my father, Gideon? I thought you
were taking me to him. He is very ill.
must go to him I" ' , r
“ Listen to me, Phillisl”‘he adds, in a threat-
ening whisper, as the carriage door is opened.
“ You’re in my power! Do as I tell you, or it
will be worse for you—Feud your father 1”
And he clasps her arm firmly, painfully a1-
-- most, and hurries her into the hotel, while she
is too bewildered to resist. He stays to give
some instructions tooa ’waiter, and in that mo-
ment it flashes across her that he is in ignorance
of her” father’s hiding-place; that she must not
'betray it; that probably what he said at the
theater was a mere‘subterfuge to induce her to
go with him. -
The Waiter precedes them up the wide, car-
, peted staircase, to a handsome sitting-room,
after lighting up which he retires. '
\ “Take ofl? your things and sit down, Phillis,”
_ says Gideon, in a kinder tone, drawing for-
 ' ward a couch for her. “ You shall have some
‘ supper and a glass of wine in a few minutes.
Where have you been stayingi-what hotel, I
mean?” . .
“ At the ‘ Eastman,’ ” she answers, obeying
him mechanically. She is wondering what she
,. shall do about her father—is be any worse?—
' hOW she can let Mrs. Surle know what has be-
‘ fallen her? What policy she shall pursue to-
Ward Gide'bn? Open resistance, she feels,
I Would be worse than useless; it would endan-
‘ ,ger her father’s safety. _, . v
H I“ I will send over for your baggage at once,
 .- and settle your bill there. Have you any maid
3; -,--any one to look aficr‘you‘, Phillis?”~*
‘ « "_‘Yes, Mrs.-— That. is to say, an old wo-
man has been with-me, but she has left me to—
 day.”- ‘ ' 1 .
‘ ' ’ “And just as well,” says Mr. Garlapel, as the
 ,. Waiter, enters with the supper things. '
i Philliscannot be induced (to eat; she is too
I anxious for that. But at Gideon’s eutreaty,
She takes a little wine. A _
‘ .‘.‘ Now, Phillis,” he says, aflably, “I propose

 

   
  

_h

t that nothing “he, discussed loo-night. Time»

J r

1" ing at once, Gideon.” ' ..

 

    
    
   
 
   
   
  
   
  
  
    
 
   
    
  
   
    
 
   
   
 
 
   
   

Your-«rooms, are ready “for ,
“But I cannot rest in this uncertaintygfiid;
eon. You have found- me again, but do you

0‘1 We

in making melive where you are, it comes to
that.” _ v v " ‘  1'.

He takes one or two turns up and down the?
room moodily without replying to, her, than";
taking his stand by the mantlepiece,’ rests his
arm on it, and looks down on her. v  ’, ‘

“If you will enter into the subject, Phillis
of- course 'I can’t help it,”yhe says, with re." re“
turn of his hard tone. “I would rather have"
spared you for the present.” I '_ . A"  

“ And I would rather come-toanunderstandéf-

Phillis feels her .spirit‘rising within 
the desperate condition of her hopes and’yher
situation becomes clearer to her. - f _ ' "

“Very well. If that’s thecase I must“ just
speak out what I thought it better .to 
for awhile. ‘In the first place, Phillis, I know.
that you have found out the secret abbutayopr;
father, which I had kept from you. I 
too, that he has escaped from the prison
richly deserved, that you left Dearn with him
and that you are supporting him now. 1 has
nodoubt he is the cause of your present as
iety ' Knowing all this, you may understa ‘
why I desired to find you, and now wish to
withhold yam—willful as you mare-man
vicious influence.‘ It is my duty.” ‘  I’ 

“ I cannot sit‘ here and let you speak thus-“of;
my poor father I” exclaims Phillis, rising, [with
flashing eyes and a hot flush in her, pale, cheeks
“Izbelieve him to be as innocent of the
he is charged with as you are; and shoe;
trust to be able to prove it before thé was
A ’great detective has taken up his case'w‘ith-
out paYment, so strongly does he believe‘in "my"
father’s innocence”, n “5'  "

“ If 1 come across the detective I’ll charge
him with being party'to the escape iota/am
victl” . returns Gideon, with a sa'mge»,li3
smoldering in his eyes; “It’s felony! {Anna
mind you, you’re open to the {same “charge;
Phillis, for/what you’ve been doingi :‘Bu‘t
man Hatherly shall not‘go free long! “I’ve‘got
Scorpe, the best man in, London," one _'
track!” - _   .,  p .

“ soorpcl Not Matthew. Scorpe,’ the/dates
tivel” _ ' p , ; - f; ‘  '

“The very same!” , '

“ Why, he’s the man—3’ 

 

Then Phillis suddenly comes to a, step,  ""
recollectsherself. But Garlapel, stem ' g 09.1,,
posits her, turns deadly pale, even to his/lips.“

, “The sco‘undrell” he mutters bot'ween his 
teeth. “80 this is the double game” he’splgj.’
ins me! - But-13111» eVen with‘him yeti?  '

l .

 

  

r

3,.

i  7‘ ‘ swearim‘msirownn; »  

 

 

. , 'Philkleansback on the couch in bev'vilder-

w i ment'and astonishment. What does it mean?
i : Isthis Scorpe deceiving them? If so. why has
, " he not denounced Charles Hatherly before? It”

5 Occurs to her‘ now, there has always been
’ something repugnant to her in the man’s Way,
. ,‘,‘soniething untrustworthy beneath his bland-
‘nesls. ‘ . ’
 ; “‘But ‘I warn you, Phillis,” breaks in Gar-
', lapel, on her thoughts, “before to-morrow is

a. —‘ over I shall know Wherethis convict is, ‘with
 or without. Sharpe’s aid. ,Of one thing _1 am

l

 

: \ andsél’ll find him if I have to set the police to ‘
p ; work.” , '
 r fth, Gideon, you cannot be so cruel!” she
' beseeches, dismayed by his threat. “Why-are ;
- {you so pitilcss toward my poor father? Cannot
 you forgive him yet for that wrong he did you
 so many years ago? He owns himself it was a
‘ éwi'ong,’? . ' '
~ g “‘ It was a greatwrong. It ruined my hapg
' "piness. ‘Why should I spare him, irrespective
. of any duty? He didn’t spare me. {And yet,
.Phfllia- there is one condition on which I might
be more considerate—not fer him, neverl—but
for, his daughter’s happiness. Do you know
what’v that is 3” '
 “She 'shakes her head mutely, but with a.-
‘great dread, for sheunderstands his meaning.
5 . “’YOu remember what I said to you once?
I aphidsbe considerate for the father of the
woman I call ‘wife.’ I could even be willing
‘eatliough myself believing him to be a guilty
mans—to further any endeavor to prove him
innocent, and to assist him abroad meanwhile. y
@0 you follow me, Phillis?” , ,
 That'she.ydoes so is evident; but, as he leans
. 13on her, she cannot meet the glow of those
fierce-dark eyes of his any longer; and, turning
ifromhim, she buries her face in the cushions
ofthe canola, while her slender frame is con-
'vulsed with sobs. ’
' The worst she dreaded has come. To save
'her..-,.fatherv she must sacrifice herself. And‘
;yet"}no great sacrifice, she thinks, with that
yawning gulf bemeen her and love. And she,
,strljies' to keep down the flood of tender recol-
lections that sweeps over her at the bare

  
   
    
  
    
  
   
   
    
 
   
   
   
 
    
   
   
   
   
    

l
4

Wonders. Can he have quite forgotten so

 is a hand on her shoulder, and she
 herself. Garlapel is bending low over
 and his looks demand an answer.
i'i‘If, Gideon,” she says, in a low, suppressed
mice, 1‘ ya: "mean to marrya woman who——
‘ ho ha bestowed her heart on another man,
expecting to find happiness with her, then—w
then (I, must submit.” r r . -
“One moment, Phillis; Cherish no false
 about CyVi-illl‘iearnwwho, by the way,
' “ may, wealthy, _ anacde member, of

l

 

1 certain; he’s in the neighborhood somewhere, i, .

' til you’re my, wife I can do nothing for your

’ even, “he stands in his eld position by the‘ ' i"

thought of Cyril Dearn. Where is he? she I takes his breakfast alone. ‘In reply to his in, 

society. Men’s hearts: are not like ‘youWo- (
men’s, even the best of them. I saw Dearn ‘,
the ’morning after your flight. 'He inquired '
about you, and I was obliged to tell him all I
knew. He was in love. no doubt; but-'—you
can understand, Phillis—Beam is a man‘of the ' '
world.” ,- ‘

Did she believe him? In her heart of hearts ,
she did not. Yet there was, one moment of '
bitter doubt when she felt her love had been
wasted—cast to the winds. His merciless
words stung her to a mad impulse.
“I will marry you, Gideon; but—but not
yet!” ' i r
“It must be quickly, Phillis—within a week, ,
or not at al .” ‘

"Have you no mercy? Cannot you be co ~
tent with my word?” she cries, facing him with
a red, feverish spot on each cheek. ’

' “ I have reasons—very urgent reasons—~why
it should be at once, Phillis. ‘Reniember, 11m 7

:JM; ~. ..  ‘4 A ~ '

\

 

father.” .

“I must obey you, I suppose. I am your
slave henceforth. . Do as you like.”

He makes no display of his affection. He
understands, no doubt, that in accepting him'
she does it with scorn. She rises calmly, and
walks away from him. Phillis, in these few 
minutes seems transformed from a sweet, lov- fi' '
able girl into a haughty, disdainful, woman. 

“To-morrow you will be prepared to start
for Dearn Park, Phillis”, ‘ V

“I may see my father first?” she says,
loftily, from the middle of the room.

v “You may, and make any arrangements
with him you choose.” g I

“Thank you. If that is all you have to say, ' v
I can go to bed now,‘then?” , «a
, “ Certainly;” and he rings the bell.

»When the attendant comes she bids him
good-night, coldly, Without approaching him

 

 

mantlepiece. Then she leaves him to himself.

 

CHAPTERHIX.
A roacnn ashram. '
Ma. GARLAPEL, on the following morning, “1 “

  
    
  
 
 
    

 

quiry, Phillis sends word she is not very well,
and will breakfast in her room; also, it a let~
ter comes for her, she would like to have :it at
once. ' a ' ' -r
In the course of the morning Mr. Drake ar-._ .'
rives on the scene, ' , ‘ ‘
On Mr. Garlapel’s informing him that Miss
Audley is a young lady who has taken to the”
stage in opposition to her friends' wishes, and
on his paying up handsomely all the demands,
incident to the broken, engagement, Mn Drake 
departsagain, well satisfied. f y ‘_ r . r *‘
’By-andjby a letter does arrive for Miss And“ ~

,s

 

 j      

 

 

flay, forwarded from» theftEastman." ‘As
.Philli‘s has not 'yet. put "in an appearance,
Gideon calmly opens it. It contains only a
rather dirty I slip of paper, on which is
‘scr’awledz— ' , , v

the doctor says. He sends his love. But we are in
great trouble. My poor brother is dying, they say.
“ Essm S. ’

“Not much to make out of this,” Mr. Gar-
lapel thinks. No address to tell from where it
was written. Who can “Bessie S.” be, and
what interest can Phillis have in her brother 5'

g However, he restores the letter to its muti-
lated covering, and puts them both in a large
envelope, on the flap of which he writes that

I it has been opened by himself, and then sends
it up to Phillis.-

The morning—room in which be is sitting is
built in an angle of the hotel so that. it has
windows on one side overlooking the road, and
on the adjoining side French windows opening
onto a flight of steps. This leads .to a smooth
lawn—terrace, from which a fine view of the
Hudson is obtained. Beyond the terrace
stretch lawn, and garden, and shrubbery, right
away to the river side, with which they have
communication.

Mr.'Garlapel happens to be standing at the
‘open window, perhaps in enjoyment of the

 scene, for in the mild April sunshine it is full
of charm and color, when his attention is at-
tracted by a portly looking man threading his
.' way along the garden-path, toward the ter-
race.
_ “That rascal, Scerpel” he ejaculates. “ Why
I the deuce is be here again? 1’11 just settle his
'matter now.” >

,He beckons the detective to come up the
' steps. ‘

Mr. Scorpe has evidently approached with
the intention of so doing, having been the first
“:th make the mutual recognition. . _

, “Well, Scorpe,” says Mr. Garlapel, in his
} usual manner, when the detective, has entered
‘- ’the room, “ any news yet?”

if ' - “ Nothing very particular,”. returns Mr.
is Seerpe, with his bland smile. “ And you, sir?
‘7: ~have you anything of importance concerning
our case to communicate!”

h “Lhave. Miss Hatherly is at the present
moment lodged under this root in my charge.

 
 

EL
tf"",,$he has been in this iownat leasu a week”,

  
  
  
  
  
    
 
 

, ‘9 Yes; I heard that Miss Audley’s quarters
had'been transferred from the ‘Eastman’ to
here at your request,” Mr. Scorpe says, gently.
“ I did not mention it, becauso it could be no
newsto you. ’? .

 er. Garlapel glares at the detective’s inscru—
table features, and there is avpause before he

 

 

speaks.
v “New, look here, Scorpel” 'he says, pale
‘w'ti "a-er. “I don’t want any of the low

  

' “Mr. Audley ismuch about the same; no worse, ‘

3 tricks of your trade practised on me. I’m/just _ ; :
.ugoin‘g to sum yougp in three wordy—you’re a  _ . EV
secundrellé—youlve been playing“ a unable  '
game. You’ve not only deceived me, and / ,.
been drawing mymoneyon the false pretense ' ’ ‘
of finding this Hatherly, but you’ve done the' 
same by him. What do'you mean by it?’? ,  ' "
Mr. Scorpe slowly shakes his head, estif‘
politely deprecating his client’s wrath. But
he seems to have no answer. '  
“I’ll tell you what,” continues Mr. Gar—2
lapel, more incensed still; “unless you cangive, ~' "
a very good account of yourself, I shall just
hand you ov‘er to the police for being concerned .
in the escape of a convict! -You know whatrr.,..’
that means.” . ' 1' 
“ One moment, Mr. Garlapel,» puts in Mr. ' 
Scorpe, suavely. “ Arejthere no :other dis-.- ,
coveries in connection with this matter that ‘ '
you have made—discoveries, for instance,tinf 
connection with the crime Mr. Hatherlywas
supposed to have committed, and of which V he
was found guilty?” ‘ ', 7 Hr? 
“What do you mean, you rascal?”- , 
“Hard words-hard words never do, any 
good, Mr. 'Garlapel. I mean this. Perhaps” ”
you are not aware I have been engagedineri.’ ._
Hatherly’s interest, in an endeavor to prove ; 
his innocence?” I . - ‘ »  l ,T’ 
“A {001’s game! What has it to do with 
me?” " ' "7 .‘ t' 
“My investigations lead me think it may “
affect you considerably, Mr. Gar-lapel. ,At :
present Mr. H. is in ignorance how {arithey
have gone, but I can tell you they have been
amply sufficient to clear him of all guilt.”
“I don’t believe it; and—and again, what"
the deuce has this to do with me?” o
“ I am coming to that now. Not onlyl
prove him innocent, but I am able to put, my
finger on the man who should be in his place-eh:
the mom who didrthe decal! ,1 think you nmustf‘
be aware now how much the matter concerns?
you.» , ‘  
Gideon Garlapel’s pale face grows disedlor‘ed _
and livid-as he listens, and his breath comes
heavily and slowly. . ’ '  >
Mr. Scorpe is watching him with stealthyx
leer from beneath his beetling brows. ’ - 37- '
‘ “Permit me to beg you to: consider firstfi!
adds the detective, raising his hands entrants
ingly to anticipate the other’s speech. “ There
is no need to mention ,names to specify‘the
guilty party. I am here with the most‘ 
abledn tentions, and don’t wish to'makje uni, p
necessary trouble. There is only one- little‘ilf'
fact I need mention, in proof of inyabilitly to: 
do what I said:——In the course of my search, ’1: , ~
have come, across one Ben Surle, and his: 
secrets are my secrets.” . ' ' ,_  
“Ben. Surleialivet It’s a liel" gasps‘Mrt"
Garlape], with fierce emphasis.  V;  .
 Scorpe shrugs his shoulders as it he had

  
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
    
 
 
  
 
  
 

 

V \

     

  

 

........,....z .m. a»,

obdurate to

 

, , .to deal‘witha man ‘very convic-
7’ ;.tion. ‘- > ' * - ’ '
“You
_‘ believe! him dead; and in the second, you
think if he werenot, you would have heard of
 himbefore now. "The fact is, Mr. Garlapel,
X'Ben Surl’e escaped that very strange and un-
accountable tumble he had on that night ten
a ‘ years'a'go, only to levy for along time partly
 unconScious, and even now he is unable to get
" about his work as he used to do. But, he has
, quite wits enough to remember all about the
K  Ladye-Bird, and to tell the secret—preserved
r ’ trom every one so far—to a good bidder, which
» 1.11m been. Now let me pray you to be alittle

 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  

 fdetective,’considerately, “and take your time
' J’to think the matter over. I am sure we shall
 be able to come. to some little arrangement
 , r Sth-atlwiil. not necessitate anyunpleasantness be-
tween” us.” ‘ '
 n ' And he turns away generously to a window,
.120 allow his late client the Opportunity of re-
» vcovering himself unwatch‘ed. Mr. Garlapel
'_‘seems, inclined" to avail himself/of this, and
 “falls into his favorite, attitude of leaning on
 the mantlepiece. ’ ,
 When, after a prolonged silence, Mr. Scorpe
:,_lodks round, he seems, from the smile on his
gcountenance, of the opinion that so far he has
carried the day. . '
 .““;Well, Mr. Gar-lapel, and have we come to

ider the circumstances?” he asks, in amatter-
Mast way. I "s
 :V“5Wh_at do you want, Scorpe?" is the abrupt
mend, without facing round from the man-
 “ Money?” A
 ’ Scorpe signifies that that commodity
gm satisfy him as an‘ equivalent for keeping
their “little’secret,” and they fall to business
forthwith. , _
  With the details of the agreement that is en-
teer into between this pair of rogues we have
r0nothing to do. Suffice it to say thata large
is to be transferred from one to the other
19m, large. that “Mr. Garlapel' has to ask a
week’s grace to raise it’ in, during which time
r-Mr. Scorpe thoughtfully offers to give him the
‘béneflt of his company. , -
. ‘_ This end is not arrived at without some hag-
‘a'gling, and sundry assurances and explanations
oaths detective’s part. '
I  "And now let me ask you,” proceeds Mr.
ggoi‘pe, pleasantly, “ why you have so mis-
trusted me the last few weeks, so as to have
me followeddmy steps dogged, as it were, by
that foreign-looking individual? 'A cool and
irate hand.“ is true, ‘but I flatter myself the

 

nn' Matt Scorpel?’ 7 «

   

_transmit.exempting-9,»   s  ‘1 "

say‘jthat, probably, because, in the i
, first place, you think you have good cause to 1

reasonable, Mr. Garl‘apel,” continues the artful ‘

anyiittle decision as to what is best to do un—,

man isn’t born who can play thatlittle game om .

 

l3 “‘Ihayen’t'had'youfollowedl?’ returned'Mr. . v)
 Garlapel, surprised. _ ', " " , g .‘ I , "

' “ You‘haven’ti You'really mean it, sir?”

“certainly, no one has watched you by ,
my instructions.” , ' ' ’

Mr. Scorpe raises’his heavy eyebrows and.
shakes his head mysteriouSIy. Then, with his
usual acumen, he goes straight at the truth.

“ Who was that party you told me of once '
-—fond of Miss 11., I think?” ' ~ . "*

“Cyril Deaml » Yes, he told' me he- should
never rest till he had found her.” i 
“The man, sure enough! He’s been playing . 
a deep game! Had "you and me followed—1 
i can’t understand that! Why hasn’t he ’drop-_ ,
f ped on the Hatherlys before. this? Anyway,
you marry her within the week, you say, sir?
Then we must keep him of! somehow for that
time. It‘ll be a close shave. . Are you. sure
I she’s all safe? No fear of her escaping out of '
l the place?” i
“Not the least fear, I think. Where can
she go to? ; Her father’s ill, I hear; Besides, I
have a hold on her by threatening to inform
the police about him.” ,4 x
“Good! I’ve got a man d0wn here, and I’ll
just post him close by in case of accidents. -
We had better get to Dearn as soon as we can, _
l Mr. Garlapel. Once there, you can defy a 
, dozen young sparks. I’m going down now to
‘ See what’s the matter with Hatherly, and pick
up any news. I shall be back soon.” ‘
And the ‘portly detective, whose energies ,
seem fully aroused by the occasion, hurries
away. Mr. Garlapel summons his valet, and
bids him pack and prepare to leave at once.
Another half-hour passes, and then, surprised
at Phillis. not making her appearance, he is
just sending up to inquire about her, when a
waiter brings a folded soiled card to him. On
its front, is printed “Matthew Scorpe,” and
scrawled in pencil on the back is—“, The young
leddy I was to keep an eye on has just, gone’
out.” . r , :
With a muttered oath, Mr. Garlapel snatches 
up his hat and rushes out into the entrance-
hall of the hotel. '

 

 

 
   
    
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
   
    
  
  

\.

 

CHAPTER X. '
MEMORY AWAKENED. 

EARLY that same morning there are visitors
at Mrs. Surle’s—a dapper little man, with a ‘
cheerful face, and a tall gentleman, good-look:

inngenny and his employer. «7
“ Good-morning, ma’aml” says the little
man, blithely. “Fine day! We have called. /
respecting our friend, Mr. Scorpe. Has he 
been here?” ‘- -
“ Not‘yet, sir,” returns Mrs. Surle, taken off
her guard somewhat. “ He Kis expectedeveiy
minute by—by some One. Perhaps ~ you
know-—” - - , ,'  '

 

  

1'

l  V‘_‘.Yes,._yes\; just

 trouble. Anything the matters—eh?”

“Yes, sir; my poor son. Ben is ill with a 

fever, and the doctor gives no hopes of him.
He’s up there now.” , ‘
“Oh, dear, that’s"‘very sad,” consoles \Mr.
Denny, shaking his head solemnly. “And is
no one else ill with the fever?”
“ The gentleman, sir; but only slightly.”
I ' “ Ah, yes; the gentlemen named~named——
  vDear me, I’ve forgotten!”
 “ Audley,” puts'in Mrs. Surle.
,  Doctor Leigh enters, with a grave face.

. In reply to Mrs. Surle’s sobbing inquiry, he
 reports that her son’s time has come; he ispast ‘1

human skill.
“ And Mr. Audley, doctor?” says Mr. Denny.

way with the hope of seeing him.”

, “Well, you must be careful, gentlemen. I

should be grieVed for Mr. Audley to have a
‘ reiapse, if only for his charming daughter’s
‘ sa e .
,. “his daughter! Is she with him?” exclaims
;' - Cyril. '

“ No; she is obliged to keepaway {rem here

a g ’ in consideration of those she is brought
- tact with.” 4
. “And they are—” gasps the excited lover.
“The other members of the company. You
are aware she is an actress, I suppose, sir?”
, Cyril recoils, with his nether lip between his
- .«teeth. . '
_ This is what she has come to, then, the brave
a girl—to earn her father’s bread and her own!
 ~ A Cyril speaks aside to the little detective, and
T , m a minute or two stands alone at the sick
man’s bedside. , _ ’ v
. ' _  ' “I come as a friend, Mr. Hhtherly, and with
~ the best intentions,” he says, gently. “ Do not
V be alarmed. ‘ I know your story, and believe in
 your innocence. in fact, ~more; Ihave hopes
‘ ,0! being able to prove it.”
 ‘ ‘f I don’t know who you are,” Hatherly says,
' 7 g! guav’ering tones; “ but you’re very kind,
r. .
' (“You shall know who I am in a few min-
utes, Mr. Hatherly; but, first and foremost,
We you any information to give me? I have
_ . {trustworthy detective below.”
N . 3‘ There is one thing all-important, sir "—-
r inking himself to speak more collectedly. “ I
 pave Wary reason to believe that the man who
{‘3 {1571113 in the adjoining room is the same man
.WhO rowed the boat cut to the ’Ladye-Bird on
, hatfatal night, and whom we afterward puro
shady / ,  .
_ 1‘. Have

in con-

 

   
   
  
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
 

 

you taken his evidence?” asks Cyril,

I?
s
t

 

“ This gentleman andmyself have come a long,

 
I . 89. my; ear ,ma’amr” we," so ever since that night.
3 know all about it, through Mr. Scorpe, lot that crime lies with that man.”
course. By the way, Mrs. Surle, you look in ‘ '

truth is dawning.

in broken whispers.

 

'  imbecile mentally, sir, and has been

 

 the;   » __:,,.

“Stay a moment, Mr. Hathe‘rly.” _ ', . I, 
I And Cyril gees'out to the head of the little" _' '
staircase (and calls softly for Denny, who 
comes to him. A fewghurried Words of explan» j V I
ation, and the little detective decides he“ muse ,. 
gain admission to‘Benr-Surle atall risks. 
Further conversation follows between. Cyril  .v
and Charles Hatherly, in the course ofi which~ 
he, finds out Phillis’s address. ,A quarter of an- 
hour later he ison his way to the “ Eastman,” '
every nerve thrilling with eager anticipation
and pleasure. - ' ’ t j   ,_
Mr. Denny softly enters the roomwhere the. 1'_
dying ,man is, his mother and sister hanging , 
tearfully over him.  I '  
So far, portly. Mr. Scorpe’ has certainly been
in the wrong when he told-Gideon Garlapel
that poor Ben Surle had wits enough to Sell any . ’
secret. But then, perhaps that wily detective '-' 1
arranged the facts to suit his own convenience; 
and with no particular regard for the truth. ‘  
Bessie, looking at her brother, is sudden} , 
startled by the new light, in the usually do i".
eyes, and the changed expression of the stolid :1

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
     
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

features. / . r ,
“ Where’s father?” he presently asks. _ 
Mrs. Surle gazes at him with awed surprise.»—
“ Father, Ben?” Says Bessie, on whom the

. “ Do you» rememberhina

brother? He has been dead this eight years!” '
" Dead?” A bewilderment, that has the

light of puzzled intelligence in it, is jn’his eyes.

“Father dead? Where ha’ I been then, mother?

I know you; you are the same. And y .

Bessie. But I——I forget—” " I ‘ 
“Ben,” his mother says, tremulously, i“ y

you mind your father?—-do you mind the)

at last? And your dead brother John, andthe
boat Nancy he was drowned in? Oh, Ben,..Ben

can you mind them all?” , ‘ ,  .1
“ I mind them all, mother,” falls from :hini

“I mind them throng
like. But who" is here? ' *an

a. dream,
you?” I . f , .. I
' He has observed Mr. Denny. ,The’ little
detective has been closely watching ,the "scene
and coming forward now, says in a Low; feeling
tone, “Will you pardon my asking your sen-=3 ‘
question, Mrs. Surle? I would not intruder:
this solemn time, but that it affeCts the 11mm:
happiness of one you know——Mr.,Audley...Yomv
son only can tell the truth.” Then, addressing
himself to Ben, he continues, “Do-you rémein':
her—try back. in. your memory, I implore, yes,"
Mr. Surle—a certain dark night, on which'ryen'
rowed‘a man out to a yacht called the Ladye— ,
Bud?» _ L _ - ‘ K, I
~A dazed look comes into the pallid face of 
dying man, “and then a sudden gleam of homer
and apprehension.» . r _  ' 7 . IL,

 

  
    
 
   
    
  
    
   
   
    
    
  
   
    
  
  
   
   
  
   
    
  
   
  
   
   
  
 

 F‘Iwmind it!” The. gasps, shudderingly. .“I
mind‘the man now, and the night, and, what I '
'rfiawt-h” , ‘ ' ' i ‘ I a ' J,
n “ Stay a moment,” says Mr; Denny. “Did
(you'gouon board the Iyacht that night?” ,
an, P“No; butI lay o , and saw him‘that went
on, and—and what he did.”
, -‘ “That’s enough,” pAnd Mr. Denny goes to
agthedoor. “.I’ll be back in a moment.”
' vfI-Ie runs lightly down-stairs, ,and out of the ‘
_-ahOume. I There is a foreign-looking man loung-
Ling" about the garden, waiting for him evi-T
Eidently.” , ' ‘ x ’
I", 4‘ Did you find Who was the nearest magisr
tra‘te, ,Ifovitskii” he pants, breathing with
haste..." ,‘ ,
 Yessir..y Mayor Carlyon; he lit close to
here.” ' v , ‘
« “Take this to him, then,” producing a card
1mm his pocketbook, and writing on it in
'~ pancil. _ .' i g _
i: Thegforei‘gner hurries away, and Mr. Denny
returns “to the house. V r i
_ v-Azschange has come over.the suiferer. ' Agi—
tation'and excitement, the result of, memories
., stirred up within him after these long years,
' have lent him new strength. ‘
",Can you tell me the name of the man you
tied to the yacht?” asks Mr. Denny.
,1-‘wa :don’t rightly (know, sir. I—~I don’t
minda' Hal'was it Barnes? That’sit, sir—,-
arnes!”_ A ’ V "
 Denny shakes his head, doubtfully.
FLA. dark, flklooking man,” pursued Ben,
namely, and with feverish eagerness; “and
it me Cover the skull with that iron box,
1.17611.“ I mind it like it were last night;
yeasts name might ha? been“ something .
, are dropped his pocketboOk, and I kept
,_ _mind,,tor to gethis right name.” ’
“Where is the pocketbook!” demands Mr.

1
y

 

 

 

 

.enny. , . y ,
Bentlooks Vbiankly at his mother, who has '
healivlistening in amazement. ' v
. QShe’seems to ,understand he is appealing to
 _‘-.Suddenly she starts, and exclaims:
“feeliethobk, Benz There was one. I found ;
it Qfi‘you when they brought you home so like
tof'éead, I thought it was yourn, Ben, being,
scholar-a, and put it away ’gainst the time

/

sesame want‘ it.” . I
,CHAPTER XI. " ‘\

  .  RIGHTED,‘AT_ «LAST. " ,
" 18m: ain’t been gone three minutes, sir, ” says
he unan whom Gideon Garlapel almost rushes
againstin the piazza of the hotel. “She went
: up the read; and ,when you get to the
turn'most like you will see her.” ' _ ‘
.‘Hehurries on; and, arriving at the corner,
a is some distance in iront,‘ walking

1 was there, and we may be sure won’t be long -

leave your baggage ii’it isn’t .ready,,_and i H

1"

 

awayrquiéklym Mr. Sqorpe suddenlyf.-appésrs;., ' 
coming from the opposite directiontcward T 
her. ,. «c' ’3, ,  " '
.. She seems desirousof passing him without ' ‘ ’
bestowing the least recognition on him; but. he

plants his portly person iii front of her and ,
takes her hand, apparently with the most " '
kindly interest in her welfare. [Though ‘she  '
resents this impertinence by starting back,
from him angrily, he still manages to detain
her without attracting ,the attention of a
passer-by. until Mr. Garlapel comes up. v

“What does this mean, Phillis?” inquires
the latter, sternly. ‘

Phillis colors up with a defiant look, but
says nothing.

“ You will accompany me back to the hate
immediately, please.” »

“I wish to go and see my father, according
to our arrangement, ” she returns as firmly as
she can. - ‘ '

“But, my dear; young lady,” puts ’in’ Mr.
Scorpe, aflably, “I have just been to call 'on
Mr. Hatherly, and I hear he is ill with'fever—
a very infectious fever, too. It surely [won’t
do for you to go there.” I f g

“ Certainly not!” says Mr. Garlapel. “Come,
Phillis, you must take my arm and return at
once.” . ‘ ' ' ,

Having no alternative, she does so with a
heavy heart. She looks very pale and, weary
this morning, after the sleepless. night .she‘ has
passed. a _ V

On the way, the detective signifies to Mr.
Gal-lapel ina, whisper that he has some" very
important news for his private ear. So when;
they are rgain in the morning—room occupied
by Mr. Garlapel, that gentleman, désirous’ot
being where he can keep his eye on Phillis, y .
goes“ out onto the terrace, followed by Mr.
Scorpe.. ' ~\

“ What is it, Scar-psi”  ‘ p . .

“That man Dearn is in Yonkers. He has
called on. Hatherly—Awas still with him when I

\

she

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
  
 
    
   
  

 

finding his way here.”

*“ Then we must be on at once!” exolaims
Mr. Garlapel, with a savage scowl. “ When
does the next train leave here—for an ywherei” '

’ “ There’s the express'for New. York starts in
five-and-twenty minutes,” says 'Mr. Scorpe,
consulting his Watch.  ' * .

“ We can just do it. It’s afsafe mave, and
we can still get down to Dearn to-night from
town. I wouldn’t have her meet :that man
now for anything; he might spoil all,” , '

When they enter the room again“, Phillis is;
lying back in an armchair, still dressed in he
out-door costume. ; p » - 4 " 

“ Phillis, I find it necessary to start at once”;
says Mr. Garlapel, peremptorily. “ Youim’nst

‘* amt : ' 

 Come!”

1 Surprise’and' resistance are depicted the

,. face she turnsto him. 3 ,
“I understood you were not going till this
attemoon,” she returns, steadily".
{ ‘-‘ The'arrangement is altered. We are. gm
ing now.” , - "
“I am not going till I, have seen or heard
direct from my father.” '
“My dear Miss Hatherly,”~ interposes, Mr.
[Scorpe' again, “I neglected my duty in not in-
forming you that when I inquired about your
' father he specially sent werd to you through
V. ‘myself that you were not 'to distress yourself
' about him; \the doctor is satisfied with the
progress of the disease, and he is being well
i and carefully attended to.” . '
‘ “Mr. Scorpe, I don’t trust you, and won’t
have anything to do with you,” is her rejoinder.
“I wish to hear from my father about some-
‘thing*else besides his health, and ,until I do I
don’t leave here.” i , ‘
_ 4. Aheevy, cruel frown gathers about Gideon
* Garlapel’s dark features as he watches her
‘ brown eyes light with sudden fire,“ and resolu-
tion. *
f‘ New listen to me, Phillis,” he says, in sup-
pressed tones. .“We have only a very, few
‘ minutes to spare, and thoée you’re wasting. I
mean you to go with me semehow. If you
 make any further resistance, Scorpe here goes
 to the police at once to lodge an information
against your father.” ‘
_’ “He may do so,” she returns, paling slightly,
 but still defiantly. “Your cowardly threats
 ‘slaall'not move mel Nothing but brute force
 shall tear me away, and‘ that you dare not
 use!”
’> ., "‘ We shallsee,” mutters Garlapel, savagely,
_ between his set teeth, and advancing on her.
» “ Shesits and faces him unfiinchingly, and
.‘cla'sping the chairarm with both hands. At
that moment Mr, Scorpe’s voice comes between.
“Excuse me, Mr. Garlapel, but before you
0 anything unseemly, will youygive me a
V moment’s attention?" I
 Garlapel crosses the room'scowlingly to
Where the detective stands, close by the door;
{then some whispering ensues between them,
' Dd Mr. Scorpe goes out of the’room. ' ‘
: A‘minute or two passes in silence, and Mr.
Garlapel stands with his watch in his hand,
Waiting. A ' '
~5“I 'wish, Mr. Garlapel,‘ to be permitted

  
   
  
   
  
  
  
    
   
    
 
   
 
 

   

"find a trusty‘ messenger,” says Phillis, then.
,"r§§*You will remainwhere you are till Scorpe
 ,he may have something to tell you,”
1Villain-artrejoinder. , ,

The precious minutes pass—four, five, six—-
. “thedetectiye enters'with an airy 

a, y. , y

5:“? She semen; «me mm was few taunts; ' '

Miss Hatherly—” ,

:We’ve only twelVe minutes, so there‘wonlt 

'waiter stares at the, inarfimate forni of Phillis

_ shall be at liberty to see him.” ,

“her toga to where my father lodges or to I : lapel, until youvtell me where Miss Rather!

of detaining you here while  my 

 

V‘rightto do this, From inq ,,

   
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 

. ‘ :1 i Z
, .

and a quick glance at,"Garlapel.,» His hand:  ’
is ' tucked away I in ' a r pocket glbehin'd ; '
curiously." Approaching Bhillis, he says: ("If ‘:
have thevpleasure. of informing you, .my dear 

It is done and‘over in a minute; His hand,' m . '
with a handkerchief, is pressed [to her. mouth ' '
and nostrils. She starts up Withxa little choking;
scream, slightly struggles and'gasps in his armsgi‘v 
and ,then slips down into the chair,‘ lifeleSe-
apparently. Truly, Mr. Scorpe’s resources are ,
wonderful' _ , , j I  '. V

“ Chloroform’sa capital thing at. times,”;he,,
says to, Mr. Garlapel, who has beenilookingpn. ‘
grimly; “ Wrap that cloak round her; and 
here's a heavy vail to hide her face. I’ve. got
a. cab waiting at the side-door. When we take
her out atthe stationwe must sayshe’s fainted;
much time for inquiry.” - V V _-  

There isa knock, and a waiter enters with
a card on a salver. .  

“Cyril Dearnl” gasps Mr. Garlapel, while-the

“ Tell him I’m engaged; but in ten minutesi

But the man has only juSt retired when
hurried footsteps are heard, the door is flung i
violently open again, and Cyril rusheslin.” f ' 

“What do you want here, sir?” eried’M
Garlapel, with a furious oath. r ~ 1

“Stay, stay, untilz'I have taken my 
sister out onto the terrace,” entreats wilygfir
Scorpe, lifting Phillis, closely trailed, [a
cloaked, in his arms. “The fresh air it “
will revive her,‘ perhaps.” ‘ 
' Cyril regards this proceeding suspicig
but how should he recognize the beloved 1’6 x _
concealed under this amount of clothing? '2 
Scorpe effects his object, and disappeais_;,,with
his burden down the steps, while Mt; Garlapel;
repeats his question with “yet more furious. I.
vehemenoe. ‘ - ‘  ‘ _  a;

“I wish to see "Miss Hatherly,” returns“
Cyril, promptly. “I wish to know it sheds
hereof her own free will.” ‘ F _ l > 

“By what authority do you ask?” 3 

“The Very best—~her father’s l”‘ ‘ “

“What! that runaway convictl. If thativ'is‘
all, you have come on a foolish errand-Kr;
Dearn. But my time is precious; I must  2
And taking up his hat, he “makesior the
door. . ' ’ ' ‘ ' ,. "

“ You shall not leave this room, MrsGa

 

J .

 

to be found!” exclaims Cyril, placing him
in the way, determinedly. ‘  , _;4, -
f‘ I shall do nothin of the  ,
“ Then I shallbe u der'the  necessity

 

tive, has the house searched}; I have; every",

V handmade:

  
  

‘,_.

id'-

:v;\' 11,:
 

 

» this; in . he holding?  iéghthéxly [by ,

fierce". fl  A, ‘

 “ Letme pass, fooll?’ ‘ _  I

-’ * “IshaIInotl” * I ' r , /
1' Mr. Garlapel, seeing his advorsarybetween

 the door and himself makesa rush for the open 

"Window. . I I ’

Gyril is on him as he reaches it,_and a strug-
gle'seems imminent. But, coming up the steps
drain the terrace are two men, who efiectually

'ar the way, and at the same moment Mr.
Denny enters by the door, accompanied by a
gray-haired gentleman of upright and dignified
. en . ,

{Which is Garla’peli” inquires'the gray-

, ired gentleman of Mr. Denny;
l": , _:.‘=‘I am,”, answars Mr. Garlapel, now released
,by'Cyril. ' r a V
“Then, Gideon Garlapel, you are charged
hthei murder of one Ralph Garlapel, some

‘ten, years since, and you are apprehended on a .

rrant issued this day by me, George Carlyon,
ayorf‘ Take him in charge, ofiicer.” '

, an indescribable look of desperation and

: lichenifear comes over the guilty man as one
i‘ otthe men, whovhave entered by the Window,
advances with the handcuffs. 1 But he does not
to lose .his presence of mind, for, as the
filcer links his own left wrist to his prisoner’s
:g‘ht one, he . says, with well-simulated indig-
natiOn and contempt: .
3“- And pray what has been the cause of the
ions farcelz' I warn you, George Carlyon,

 ‘ ht matter to arrest a man of influence

on in this country on such a charge

‘ row yon=will have a hearing,”yre~
mayOr, inclining his head. “ Mean-
 ‘n inform you that I have just come
1» the th-bed of Benjamin Surle, who
; té'reco'v, , his sanity\and intelligence be-
 ere hisdeath. _, He made a detailed deposition,
arresult oil which is this arrest. To further
32g)th his.“ evidence, he" had a pocketbook
t9:  youvdronped, and he took possession of.
W be Was found the following morning. it
on him; _ but his mpther thought it was her
, and put it‘away. It is in my keeping

,,  ,_ .

deon ,Garlapeln seems stunned ’by this last
‘ at. lige'nce: and his eyes wander with aistony
xexp ensign from face to face.
uddenly he asks: ‘ ,
 “(Andy‘where is-‘Hatherlyt—have you 'seen
51h xiii—the man who was convicted by the law
of diacritics I am charged with?” ‘
“I hate seen him,” is the q’uiet rejoinder.
V, ,is too'ill to be remOVed.” \ f '
' ill» you allow ,me taxes]: the prisoner
Miss. Estherlyvis’i” says Cyril, who has
.. tr spectators}: theiscme, coming ,

. and above all,

 

“Ward? MM 806?! {seaside/Ltd heme e ;_

knows.”  ‘ , 0 j-; , .
“,Ah, Mr. Dearn,” exclaims Mr. Denny, ‘ “I f 
am glad to assure you she is-safe, so far. ;That a. -'
clever villain, Sco‘rpe, had chloroformed her,
and was just carrying her off when we arrived. ,'
He escaped; but the'police are on the'traCk.”
I , “Then it was, Scorpe and Phillis I saw here! I,
Where is she, manié—what' is being done with  p

. her?” cries Cyril, in a state of mad excitement. ‘

“ $he was Carried into the hotel, and doctors r
Were summone ” returns Mn. Denny.~ “If
you’ll come with me, sir, I can take you to
her.” ‘

When Phillis recOVers consciousness she is , _,
lying on a couch in a room she does not ref  7
member. She comes back from her/ dream-  
land to find earnest, loving eyes gazing down _
on her so tenderly that she thinks it must be a
sweet dream, and closes her own eyes again
not to lose it, and finds it gone. > This is a re,- ,
versal of the usual order of things, so when she '
sees them still gazing at her she begins'to think,
with a thrill, that they must be reality.

 Doctors and others hover round her—fuss " 2
about—advise this and that—prop her up with ‘
pillows; but they seem all shadowy personages
compared with this one. Presently they are,
alone—she and the one _she cannot help loving,
it she would. ,  i' ,' ' '

“My darling, you have been very cruel to
send me aWay, and not to let me share your
trouble and help you bear it.” * 7. ‘

She shudders, and the tears rise in her eyes,
full of the soft, sweet light of love, and he kisses
her lips as if he would kiss the tears away. '

“You must not, Cyrilmdear Cyril l’xfi—an'd
she tries, but not much, to turn her head aWay.

‘F We are apart, and ever must be, while this ,
trouble is over me.” / , , ,
Then he tells her all, gently and fondly; of her

father’s innocence; of that wretched prisoner;

of his constant and loving pursuit; and, lastly, '
of his heart’s true and steadfasu ,

devotion. ‘ ’ ' , ‘ ' _ ""

“There will be no Mrs. Dearn, if you are
not she, my love. Will you be? Nay,‘rI need ;,
no answer. You shall be!” I - _

And she is so week, she‘ does not resist when;
he takes her in his arms, and pillows her gentle
head on his shoulder. And oh! fer the sweet"
murmured words of young love, that move two.
fond hearts with a. subtle happiness that, shall,"
not be intruded on here. ' .

at it ' V {I '1' , ill , .

Gideon Garlapel. was neVerbrought’ to trial. .
He died in prison by poison, concealed abbutr
his, person, no doubt, in case of this. very,

, emergency, and administered by his/om 

And so, even after long years, his guilt {dun}
him out, and he perished miserably. , ‘ .

 

 

. (.311;th table he‘leii afcc‘nfessiil‘iie  crime;

“roughlyscrawled in pencil; in'5‘yirhieh-he said

' that:th he véent o‘fit fnom the emeyIShere

that night to the'yacht under the name 01

«  g'Barne'e, any murderous designs that might‘have

' intended Wife.

 them in his heart were directed against Charles

,H'atherly, the than who "had robbed'vhim of his

bruncleh words about the will be conceived the
diabolical plot by Which Charles Hatherly was

to Suffer, and did suffer. '\ The attempt on the

, life of poor Ben Surle was to secure his own“
 safety. - , ‘ ' _
' He did not say anything ahout the will;

'Which’ heitookhway in the iron box, and by
the disappearance of which he was able to

"  "enjoy his uncle’s property as next ot‘kin. ’But
’When his papers were gone over at‘Dearn, it
.Was found securely stowed away. ‘By it every-

‘ ' thing was left to little Phillis Hatherly, when

she came of age, and/an old friend of Ralph’
,Garlapel’s-‘lmg since deadwwas appointed-

' trasth meanwhile.' '

.Gideon had, ‘withouh doubt, really loved

5 Phillis, as he had loved her mother, but he had

7also "been influenced in his desire to marry her

hy‘the feet-that he could then produce 9161

“A »\,,

But when he Overheard his

' sequence.

“WSW.   ‘,
_ 1: _Hetberly enjoyed for
only his cleared character and ffree'd m 
they were; perhaps, the happiest mont hf
misspent. life.  Henlived‘ to seey'hi‘s (laugh ‘ ‘
become Mrs. Cyril Beam, and then
content to’ leave her in the safe keeping at h
husband. ' t. y.  ix m I" 
The portly and bland, Mn Scorpe me”

in an appearance on New York Soil again;
Mr. Denny enjoyed a :great reputation in con,

After her son’s death, Mrs. Shrle l'er
kers with Bessie, and went to live V,
“ nglish neighborhood“. near. beam. 3? ‘
where they were well provided,_for_ by Philhg
 People think it a curious coincidencetha , "
young wife should have brqught. thefihebl ;’
place back to the family that had '3ownedi ‘
long, and lost it. \ But, as Phillie sa,id,;s‘td;il
'upvin her husband’s happy face w‘itheyfo‘r- hi}
at least, the old witchery and §harm,* '

full of such, curious coincidences, ’ r ,"

was Love that gave you back your  \
heme!” "e ,   . -  '

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIRTY—TWO 90114 V0 PAGES._

 ’1 A Bride‘ofafiay; ortThe Mystery of Winifred
Y ' Leigh. ~B filmy Reed Crowall. . X
in": Girl lfey: or, The True and the False. " By
 , 'Bnrllvy T. Cmnpbvll. ‘
8-Wasrlt I we? or, (Jollegiana and‘Sweethearta. By
R  ‘Wm. Maw n Turner; M. D. . _ h
A Man-led in Haste; or,AY()uug Girl’s Temptatlon.
  By Refit Wlmvogd. , ' ‘ , '
. , “1 She Marry “1m? ur,The‘ Masked Brxda.
. I By Mrs. Mnry Reed ,Crowell. . J I
r 6 Illli Lawful “'lfe; or. Myraytlxe' Cluld ol Adap—
‘, “Wm. Bv Mrs, Arm 8. Stephens.
‘z A Fair Face; or, Out in the World, By Hartley '1‘.
8, '. Cmnpb « r '

ell.
A-Mnd Marriage; (11‘,le Iron Will. By Mary
' AK-nehimm, ' _ * I - \
II bter of Eve]; or, Blinded byLuvo. By
1V at ,R‘earl CTIWVel ‘ ¥ ‘ _v r
Bertrothal; or, Low) nuns Hate;
Aetorl‘qr, Drlvxm from Home.
Ahmad" the World,” etc., etc. ~‘
, ; nrfil‘fié Emerald Necklace.

 

(emit! ' ,
h it a Heart} or, Walking on the Brink. By
, Prentiss: I namlm m. ' , r

a , .

n
I e Anthur hf “ 'l'lm’ Tlrirle m'an Actor,” etc.,,¢ltc. .
(llama; m, The Fnrmer’sSweetheart. By Col.
‘ , :‘I ‘ s I. graham.  ~ I
T e. \ecret Marriage ; “or, A Duchess in Spite of
V eraelf By 8mm Chat-on. ,, '
Miter “gallant c g r, The Rivalry 0f Hearts.
M . Mary R l‘Crow_ ;.’ ’ I ‘
with m Heart: my Fulr Phy'llisI’leove. By!
’ vkmhelln anthwox‘th, ,' _- , U
‘ fur Gold; or, Alma»; Lash. By Mm. M. V.
glad; or, A’Dnngerouslaame; By‘Hem-lettn‘

, yhfl r'cb‘a'm . The Gaxfihler’a,lWlfs. By Mrs.
' 15:11:16. Staph”) ."j ‘ I V I , r. . v
22’ Trhnt Her Nut ; m", A'T'nlé Knight. By Margaret
A Ba 3955 " ‘ ' - '
Elmira!
‘(Jlrym

59.9?le or, The Winthrop" Prida. By,
yug‘u‘sn' ‘ ., , ‘ _
, l Lover: on'l‘h‘ekLast of the Grimspeths'
 {j'nbulln8ohlv wan; . n“ _ r , ~ I
~' 25 ’1‘ ie 4301: Ma Coating or, All is not Gold that
f 4,6“;th 323081; Kemmy! ’1 . -
' 2 maid»;- at The lug-arm Mama e.
- v ‘hlaryfiee’d .G’ro-wcll. ’   'V g,
‘ llrt’ntlo x; or. A’Yt‘ung Girl’s Good
., 1,, Jmp Aharhamell‘fllnlpll Rnyul). fl ' _ _
.1, "> 38 Now and Forever; 01', Whyflld She Murry Him!
 \ flxflgurintm Thackeray.  ,

By Mfg.
Name. 

rphmi Nellytl1¢0mnga
. ByAAgilg fielflle. V , ‘
0 (manage Temme. 98y Mn. Rowsofii- I
3&0 Little "circus; hr, Under a Cloud. By Mrs.
{.Al‘y’ r - I ~ '

Girl; Var, the" Lost ,léieir.

‘ A. thumbing _  , 

, a2..vLeup»13ar 3 6r, Why Slml’rhpoaed, By Sam (flax:
. ~ ' um. ‘ _' ’ ' _ ‘ . '
83 In  itch? llergelfg‘vor,’ Jeanette’s Reparatmn;

r ' By  herwuud.g - r r -

Jler Faxed 4W!“ Her

fiogtune. By Eleanor,
Illahm. ' r r , . ,

The, 'Waverlei Library is for, sale

' fien‘thy mail on receipt ofglx, cents each; u . ,

r3? Tfie WIng’ed‘Méssenger; or,

c Wnfld ; 6r. Tho Yonmz Man’s Ward. r

'62
'33 She“ ma Not Love mm.

 

35SThc Cuban Hell-ems; Or, The Fri-anew
‘ . tresse. By,Mra. Mary A. Deniaom" , ’

3601:117 a Seh'oolmlst’ress; or,

By’Arubelln Suutlxworth. , “W‘- ’

Her Uhmg,

Riskin A11 for a N

eart. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. _ g '

83 Was She a Coquette? or,A Strange Courtship. ’

‘By Hem-lam: 'l‘lmckemy. '. '

39 One Woman’s Heart; 0;, Saved from the Street;
’ By George S. Kzfime.’ : r- -‘ ’ ‘

40 Love-Mad; or, Be’trothed,,AMnrrle\d, Divorced nub»
“ By Wm. Mason Tumél', M.’ . " r, J

41 For llerncal' Sake; 0T,Sm‘ed From’Hlmnelf. By
_ Sara Claxtxm. :' _ ‘ : - ‘

42 ’Thé'iliouuuét.‘Glflg‘or,‘A Mllllbn «Money; '13)- ‘ ' '
W Agile Penna. _ _ - . l r ‘ ’

,43' Marlgna,’ the ,Pri‘ma ’Doimn. Ily,Afhbellu South-
, wort . , . ' ' g , u

5y Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. ‘

45 Lucy Temple. Daughter of Charlotte,

46 The Three Sisters; or, The Mysler)‘ of Lord

‘ _ ullfout. By Alice Fleming. v \ 

4“  l Creole Siéteruioi, The Mystery of the

, ‘ Pm“. By M“. Anna “.Porler. , ' '_ ‘ r ’ '

48 A Marriage oftlonvenlence . By’Snm Claxton.’

49 T  Wife’s Secret; Ory’Twixt Cup and Llp. By '
Cal. 5mm Lewis. ' _ r " I, . 4

50 Sir Archer’s Bfifle; or,The»Queen- of Hearts.
By Arabélla’SouthyvorLll. ' _ _

51. Led Astruy .1 V‘By Octave Feulllet.

44 Tim: Ehén‘Mank; or, 'l‘he Mysterious Gunrgilml.

69 “mingle” ,o'r Two 0r ham Girls ln New York. By
_ w {Ami Pl- ' , _

ljhert. . ’ on.

535316 Maniac Bride; or. TheIDeud Sacral offihllow
r 5am Hall. ’Bv%largaret Blo’lmt. I. «

Sam'Cluxton. , I .

55 Cecil’s Deceit 3 pr, The Dinmon‘d'Légacy. By Mn. '»
Bentrhée , flhe Bealxtlfixl; or, ms Second Love.
By Arubelh; Solifllwa’lh. - V , ,

541’1263031 to‘Marry; or, In, Love’s Bonds. MBy’
36,"le Dmis Burton. _

56

m wnhc‘mt Merey . « By Bfiitley '1‘. Campbell: ' "

58 The Bax-“net's secret;- 951115 Rlvhl Halfilgcén; ’ V

By' Sam Chxtml .

59 A he's “6 I ' the_A,etreAs tor the mama (f a r
‘ l'thy Rili’glfe’fly WM. Mitscln;l;ur,l,er, M. I). ‘J v

60 A“WMow’s_W;nes; «,1; Bum Vengeance. ’By‘ 4  ‘ '

Rachel Bernhardm ' g
61 Did He Love not"! By Halley '1‘. Cn’luph 1L 
I ' n L 3 Ready July 91‘.
Almmgt In His Powén bullion)’Simmllminst.
than flailing. By Lillian Low-joy; \ Ready July '28.
worth. ‘ 1 Randy August 4'.
64 Bessie Rayhor, the Work Girl; By Wm. ,'
[neon Turner, M. D. _ Ready. Augult 11,
'65 A quve Girl; or, Swish/lug «Elna: By Aliceh
Fleming“. _’ ‘ - _ \R‘Mdy August l8. '

by 911 newsde’alers, fivehénfis Pet; cépy,‘6r

5" .(

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WNO.’ 

William ygtr‘eéliéiew ,gopg i

 

 

 

By Arnhelln; Scull» * ' 7