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flex year. Entered at the Post, Office at New York. N. Y.. at Second Class Mail Rates. Copyright, 1883, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. August 28, 1883.

 

 

 

 

N0198. VOL. VIII. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS

 

WILMA WILDE; ma, THE INHERITANCE OF HATE,

 

QBY $1133. JENNIE 93A VIS GB UR TON:

AUTHOR OF “ADRIA, THE ADOPTED,” “THE TERRIBLE TRUTH,” ma, ETC.

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'V ’ WE‘LMA' WIL'DE; 

  

 

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 Wilma Wilde;

as]; .INHERITANCE or HATE.

" BY MRS. J'ENNIE DAVIS BURTON,
v amen or “ com AND aver,” “ADRIA, was anomn,”
“m amen mun,” “ran FALSE wmow,” n'rc.

 

 

, CHAPTER I.
we ran SHADOW.

r ' Dmc. Alone exce t for the elfln—faced girl shrink-
« ling back into the ow, awed b the presence

' creeping closer as the minutes passe , With a greater
‘dread o the hard face outlined against the pillow
. ‘:than she had ex erienced hitherto, and yet she had
' ‘ r 'neverknown any hi differing from dread and awe
of that hard-feature old man, dying there in the

late afternoon of the late October day.

A chill, clouded day, with hostly lights and shades
chasin across the outer lan cape already sere with
heavy rosts. The chill and the clouds were dis-
solvin together as the hours wore on, and a fine
mist filled the atmosphere, gathering faster and
heavier and breakin with a dash and a burst at last
against the dark 01 house, rattlin the windows of
x ‘ s' the room in which these two waite .

‘ The gray head on the illow stirred, and two eat

hollow eyes opened wit the vacant stare of alf-

, I, .' unconsciousness changing to ava’gue comprehension
, as familiar objects about met his sight.

’ “ What was that?” he asked, in a voice sharp and

4, , ‘ r3333, .
', . “ n,” the girl answered. “A storm has been
I all the day athering.” .
v' " “Rain an storm, muttered the dying man, “rain
' I and storm, devastation, ruin, waste— oodl Winds
blow, lightnings burn, thunders cras - I can die
easier with them tearing their way thro h the
r world. Curse the world and all in the world, say i"
" ' The vehemence with which the last words were ut-
' tered was appalling, considerin how close he was
11 n that verge of the worl which breaks into
V , e ernity. It was exhaustive. as well, and he caning
i I aspingly for the breath which gurgled through
2 ‘ ghmat with a harsh rattle. The girl made haste to
put a cordial to his lips which he swallowed with an
effort. The hollow eyes glared up at her in a way
which sent a shiver curdling the blood in her veins.
». , “You! Why is not Gerrit here? You know I
.I , never want you.” .
a . n ‘ No need to tell her that With all the years of her
, . remembrance passed in the gloomy place, and not
 one aflectionate word which she coul recall he had
. ‘ever addressed to her. She had been an object of
' aversion to him, banished from his sight sometimes
for days together, but always as carefully secluded
. from contact with that outer world which he was
cursing with his dying breath. What a morbidly un-
healthy atmosphere for, the girl-nature to e and
. f in! One migh questionif the taint of it won] not
I, cling to and corrode the entire after-life. But this
, \ x " lcarried apathetic appeal stam ed on the thin
. I: ' ~ gr]: features. and 100 mg out o the big, wistful
“n ’ eyes which must have struck asadder chord than
’ anythe careless worldly heart often responds to, a
look which might have struck a chill of apprehen-
’ sionin a erous heart, a foreboding of an unha py
life darkhng ahead, adesireto ward off the broo in
i;erva it might be from that childis
still

.v\,

.m/

. ’ , d and shrinking, and self-contained
. f l w th t 'maste of habitual reserve.
‘ She answored is harsh words quiet] .
- f v ‘ . “ Mrs. Gerrit has gone for the medic e which was
3' ~ v ordered. It is so near the doctor’s hour I think she
‘ ' ‘ . ‘ must be waitin for him. She had no umbrella and
v ,w. , it is rai Shall I sit by your side 2—1 win he

. vegquiet.’ .
' , 6 mod his head slightly With an impatient ges-

fas

tur .
“$70, no. Go awe out of my sight. God knows
there’s no comfort the sight of you; no comfort
that u overcame into life, and less loss‘than even
I be when you quit it.’ r
' v She drew back a‘ step claspi her hands, a quick
‘ panorsweeping across her sin dark face.
' ‘0 'why‘ do you hate me so?" she cried, in alow,
, ' breat ess we. . "‘Why is there no one in all the
j : world to care or me? Who am I—what am I, that
f the only 'bei inthe world on whom I have any
' ’ claim can no comfort that I ever came into life?
~' Imust’b‘e something to you, or hating me as you do
ouwould not have kept .me here. Why am I so
Kept away from other peo 1e; why do you dislike
Gregory; oh, do ell me—achy ”
eepening lish tint was in the harsh face
1 ' [upon the pillow. labored respiration was shorter
, an louder. W’ith aneffort he raised himself in the
r stretching out one quivering hand, his difficult
articulation intense with abitterness which burned
every cruel word upon the girl’s remembrance with
.. _ I, , an ineffaceable stamp.
1,1,, . ,“ Yen are no to me—noth 1 You Were
f ‘ . cursed before you ever saw the light. f therebe any
3  one in all this world upon whom you have any claim,
' - 2 . ,r that one of all living mortals has greatest cause for
5;  ' hate and dread of you. If ever you fancy you have
'1 , . -, found such, a one, tear your own heart out rather
f» ,, than attem t to press any such claim, if you would
‘ not call at or curses u on the hour you were born.
_ Yours is a dead life. you ever pray for anything,
‘ htl’ipt you may never be the cause of a living
a

 . meso,Mr.
m-' ‘ Ad

I.’

e .

He fell back again, pale, tremblin , the breath
' _‘ v . gown faint upon his lips but this time s e did not stir
‘, ‘ . t‘hattempting to reVive him. She shrunk back into

, dup by his wor . the last of which repeated

~

 

e deeper shadowsaswith a dull pain and terror-

themselves again and again in her mind like some
thit'eatening danger which her comprehension could
no asp. ' ‘

‘_‘ ours is adead life; if you ever Ipray for any-
thing, pray that ou may never be t 6 cause of a
11 death.” at could that mean? Why, oh.
why ad she been born at all, since her very exist-

I

once must be a curse to herself and to any other i

who might be allied to her? What a fate to be hers
at the time when other lives would be utting forth
their best buds of promise, when t ey would be
blossoming with the hogs and happiness which only
young lives know! She

, and was pressing her forehead against a ane, with
' those painfull

numbing thoughts st within

. her, the rain re s, new falling heavily without,

1 dashingeat interva

 

against the glass and trickling
down fore the great, mournful unheeding eyes.
If she observed them at all it may have been with a
vague fancy that even the clouds were more blessed
than she since they could weep and she could not.

She heard the opening door without turning her
head, but a moment of silence and an advancing
step drew her gaze suddenly that way.

A woman’s form was framed in the doorway,
which was certainl not the form of Mrs. Gerrit.
This shape was ta 1, and thou h loose] cloaked
slender and graceful as she coul :ee. A ailing v '
concealed the face, and while sk gazed the form
moved swiftly forward across the floor to the bed-
side to the dying man. His eyes went up with a
startled light in them to meet the woman‘s eyes
lookin down as she put out a small gloved hand to
touch im. Some unintelligible words bubbled up
to his lips but Without noticing his apparent effort
to s eak the unannounced visitor addressed him.

“ heard that you were dying, and I have come
once more to ask for those treasures of mine which
you took from me long ago. I could have forgiven
you all our harshness and all your cruelty more
readily t an that. They have never been anything
to you; they have done on no good: they might be
turned to do me harm. or the sake of the tie which
should have bound us closer once, will you not give
them to me now that you are upon your deathbed?"

The voice was low, clear and sweet, but of such an
even intonation that it seemed incapable of convey-
ing jarring emotions. The harsh, aged, wasted face
upon the pillow had changed strangely. Some look
had come into it which the girl by the window had
never seen there before, and which seemed a strug-
gle even at that time between bitterness and yearn-
in , between upspringing tenderness and hard re-
so ve.

“I told you before that I had not kept them, that
they were destroyed years ago,” he answered, speak-
ing with difiiculty but qluite distinccly, while his eyes
never wavered from er face. “ You would have
kept them and pored over them, and. been disc0vered
at ast. I was wise in putting it out of your power to
brin harm upon yourself.”

“ on will not give them to me? I thought if you
would ever soften it might me at this hour."

“And you have no ity,” he whis red, hoarsely.
“It is a mournful, sa pointed 1i 6 which will be
ended soon, and its pitif close does not touch you.
Dying. alone—as much alone since you have come.”

“ It is a perverted and willfully wasted life,” said
the low, steady voice. “ Whatever motive may
have actuated, or whatever mistaken sense of duty
ma have prompted, it was a wrong, hard, unsym-
pat etic life from the ,very first. I cannot find fault
with myself for having learned my lesson too well.
What I am you made me, and I am no more we or
marble—feelingless—now than you were in the days

one by. I have come on a fruitless mission, but I
did tnpt come hopeful, and I shall not go despon-
en .

She turned from him and a bitter spasm convulsed
his features, but he made no motion, and in a second
more the heavy lids dropped over his eyes, dimming
already with the dead numbness creeping over him.
The presence of the ri in the room had not been
observed by the vis tor, until in turnigf she caught
3 limpse of the slight figure outlin against he

1 gra outer light. At the same instant suppressed

* sounds ecame audible from without, a door opened

and shut, and footsteps came nearer through the
bare corridor.

The girl glided silently forward to admit the new-
comers to the room, while the lady, swee ing the
falling vail closer over her features, stood at , await-
in a passageway. Two persons entered. A tall.
thin man in advance whose keen light eyes swept
the room and absorbed the situation presented there
with a single glance. Following him, the quiet
elderly person who was the one servant of that dull
old house. When the chamber door closed it shut
the other two out, and the lady paused to drop her
hand upon the girl’s shoulder.

“ Who are on?" she asked abruptly. " How do
you come to ehere?”

“ I am Wilma Wilde, and I live with Mr. Gregory.“

“ What are you to him?" ,

“Nothing, he said. 1am nothing to any one in the
wide world, so far as I know.”

“ Not strange since you live here. Yours is not an
entirely new ex erience, Wilma. What will be done
with you when e is gone Y”

“ I don’t know. I suppose I shall live on here with
Mrs. Gerrit.”

2: "l‘rhatyas she?" with a glance at the closed door

es.

“ And the other?"

“ Was Mr. Dallas."

“ Ah, well, Wilma; some one will probably look
cihiit1 (for you. How dusk it is getting herel Good-by,
c

She touched herv‘gloved finger-tips to the girl’s
cheek, but so gently and lingerineg that the touch
seemed a caress. then walked the length of the bare

/

 

‘ then the glow faded suddenly as it had come, an

ad drawn close to a window ‘
“ she drew back into the corri

 

is very punctual—-

corridor and let herself out into the st‘grmy = 
afternoon Without once glancii back. ilma f ',
lowed after slowly, her heart swe ling and throbb' I'.‘ 
from that gentle touch.- and stood in the entrancir~
way watching the shape growing dim in the 659?,
tance. For a moment the rain had almost ceased, l
and through a rift in the clouds a gleam of yellow a
sunset touched the sore dam and illumina

the upright graceful figure——

   
  

 

e
for a moment only, an
the swift dusk succeeding blotted the ref resting
shape from her view.

A dash of mist in her face (gave Wilma a chill, and

or, but held aloof from -'
the room where the  man lay. Mrs. Ge
came out presently, tak er way to her own more ,
particular domain, and ilma cre t away to her”
cheerless chamber, feeling the awfu silence of the
always silent house too op ressive to be borne.

An interval of Silence h ' reigned in the sick-room
broken only by the heavy res iration of the sufferer-
A shaded lam had been p aced on a stand at the,
bed’s head, an with his back to it, his face in deep
shadow, Dr. Dallas waited for the end which his
practiced eye detected to be very close. He wall
watching as well, those keen light eyes fixed intently
upon the patient’s face shaded also, but less 013'
soured than his own. The short heavy sleep into
which the other had fallen passed suddenly as it
come. The hollow eyes opened and the gaunt form
on the bed raised itself with a spasmodic effort.

“ I must do in work,” he said, hoarsely. “ Give
me something to eep up my strength fora momenfi
-—only for a moment.” he ph sicran put a draught
to his lips, but the effort to s low convulsed the
old man with a painful spasm and he pushed it back
with a wild fear coming into his face.

“ The little desk there,“ he whispered, intinS
waverineg to the article he wished. “ Quic , bring
I 11

It was brought in an instant. His hands fumbling
at his breast brought forth a key suspended on a
ribbon from his neck, but his trembling fingers re‘
fused to fit it to the lock. .

The doctor’s deft ones did, however, but even then
the_ sharp hght eyes scarcely left his patient’s face:
A httle box Within havin neither lock nor key came
beneath the fumbling gers, but he was sinking
back, the sustainin nerve power was almost gone-
He realized this wi h an agony plainly apparent in
the hollow, imploring eyes. ’

“ Let inc—sec it—burn; let me-J’ he gasped
brokenly. “My God—Quick!” Those light, steady

eyes were on him still and the doctor did not move.

“ Is there anything more to be done?" he ask
“ Be quick if there is."
di“ Yes-— Wilma. Burn the box -—-Wilma — guar'
an—
“ You want to name me as Wilma‘s guardian and
I sin to burn the box. Yes, Isee that is it. Is the!5

Some uninte ble utterances were checked b
the death-rattle 1n the throat; the gray head fe
back; a s asm, a groan, and then utter, etern
stillness o the wasted form.

CHAPTER II.
was 11' wxsn!

Bamm was laidinthe morning room of th"
Richland mansion—one of those modern palacefi
which lift their state fronts upon Western avenue .
in the ci of Alle en . It was a cheery, ruddy
room, am rather t an he opposite, withapolished
black sideboard where silver and threw on”
cold sparkles viein with other crystal and silver
and dehcate porce 11 disposed upon the snowy
tting1 damask which draped the round breakfast‘
a e.

The table was laid for three and at precisely the
second the little marble cloc u n the manth
trembled upon the first stroke 0 nine, the door
turned upon its noiseless es to admit the
of these. Amiddle-aged man aving a slight ten‘
dency toward obesity, with a ruddi, rather heavy
countenance shaved perfectly smoot , bright calcu'
lating eyes under well-arched brows, and row
short ha r brushed smoothly across his heavy fore‘
head. An open honest countenance was this of the
master of the Richland mansion, the face of a mi?"1 ,
who carried no phases of his life hidden out of sight
of the world one whose self-pride and self- ‘
ciency were his worst faults.

He stood for a moment rubbing his soft whim
hands before the bright blaze glowing in the gratev
for this was the first y of November, and thonh
clear there was a wintry chill in the air withou‘!
and Mr. Richland clung with the persistencyKof:
fixed affection to cheeryo n fires. He too 0‘1
his watch and wound it, gancing up at the little
clock whose silvery chime had ce , and turnin
to face the door as he returned it to his peck
This was his habitual custom, repeated as o ten 
nine of the mornin came around, and varied all“:
fin throu h the di erent seasons and changes 0‘
ocation. ever man was rigid in the observance 0'
re lar habits, Mr. Richlan was open to the imp“

ta ion.
“ Three minutes t,” he said to himself. “MW
Richland is unusu Xiate this morning. Ethel new”;
h, good-morning, my dearalmo

.

 

was remarking it that you are almost behind
for an occasion. Gertrude.” ‘
Two ladies had entered together, and a serfigt‘l‘o

making an a gamma with the coffee, the
party roppe to their places after an exchange
he customa greetings. Mrs. Richland,

0
than her hue and by a full decade was tail: witch
slender, graceful shape and langui carria e will
matched the quiet repose of her striking ace. h.
was an oval face, the skin marble-white and smOOt ’
eves. hair and lashes, a soft istty black: the

   
    

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4‘.

 

K

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.Meak of color in the firm close lips. If any kindred
otion rivaled Mr. Richlaud‘s indiVidual sell-suffi-'
: v ency it was pride of his wife’s beauty and culture.
3 _ The other, a irl of eighteen was his Sister. Also
‘ tan, She lacked alf a head of Mrs. Richland‘s hight,
and the round supple form may have been a trifle
988 perfect in its modulations, yet Ethel Bichland‘s
Was not a beauty to pale even by the Side of the
Other matchless fade. Hers was a fair Sweet face,
“21de in by glittering yellow hair confined loosely
18 morning in a wide-meshed net—the blue cash-
mere morning robe she wore bringing out the exqui—
Site tints of her fine complexion. Some points of re-
sembance there were between sister and brother,
but so modified that they lay rather in the lntan lble
reminder one sometimes reco nizes than in any ke-
- 118,88 to be analyzed or defin A rel n_in belle of
‘ his season scarcely yet opened Miss c and was,
n0 less so now than when her debut a year before,
had created a furore not often equaled in the .high-
v e§t circles where the Richlands moved. Sitting at
18 breakfast-table, that br‘ ht morning, With the
elieute viands for which he ad an epicurean taste
.efore him, with the two lovely contrasting faces on
e.lther hand, Mr. Richland felt himself a superla-
t1"Elly contented man. . "
“ And now what ma be the newest sensation?
he asked, as he broke his egg With neat dexterit .
on are generally ready With a budget, Ethel. s
ere a new star disputing the horizon With you, or
goes the reaction begin with the first outgomg of the
me?”
* “Nothing of the kind, brother. . A dearth of news
perhaps since I do not recall an item of late intelli-
Bnce. There will be plenty with next week and the
z“Sham opening." I
“ Then, for once, fashionable intelligence is behind
t e times or one of the pet votanes has drop
V01untarily into our groove. Who do you suppose!»
ck in town, who after a year's absence, is pre-
Dated to be lionized and favoritized in the way some
of You ladies lavish upon the Beau Brummel of our
3136? Guess my dear?”
“ Reall ,” Mrs. Richland‘s delicate brows arched
in & vainl’y reflective way. “ There are so many late
tollrists putting in an appearance just now that I

= capnot even hazard a guess.” .

‘And you, Ethel; what have you to say in de-
llense of intuition and resentiments? You should
7913’ have been warned by one or the other. It is
1:[Bthervilla Erle Hethervdle, Gertrude, and. there
have been sly thrusts made at me already, hints of
0kcloth and ashes for us, and wedding favors at
110 great distance. How is it, Ethel? Have you
{£111 16 been outreachin our knowledge of
I Snfiefiggt; qfl‘aire (76 cam? ow that is hardly

l, generous when so much of it IS-(hle to me._” I _

“ assure on, Howard, this is my first intimation
that Mr. Het erville had returned. Rumor as usual
[afar too fast. I thought he was not expected until

{fr in the month.”

Youthful impetuosity, I presume.”
. Richland cast ag ance of interest across _at
‘ he? young sister-in-law. The fair face .opposute
mlght have caught her own usual expressmii of re-
086 at that moment, so far was it from telhng the
8 she half-ex ected to read there. Etheljs e es
91‘8 upon her p ate, her hand idly laying With . or
,be Ha cup. Much or little as Erle etherVille might
to her, she was equal to meeting the announce-
?‘nt of his return w th unmoved complacenc .
‘ “You have seen him i” Mrs.‘Richland aske .
‘6 Unfortunately no. He called at the bank, yes—
May, after I had left, it a pears. Late last night
c“Inc iis note of apology. e is busy with his agent
filth a duty trip out of town before he can report
tere, but will make his own apology in person on
11,9 earliest ossible occaSion.” .
‘ e will quite an acquiSition, a general favor-
: a year ago, as you recall. Have you any plans
01’ to- y Ethel?"
“ None, believe." .
1, have been thinking "—she was addressing her
“band again—“ if you have no objection, there is
young girl in whom I have taken rather an inter-
hst- whose services might .be made available in the
£986. She is an orphan, quite without relatives, I

have.”
3h“ Certainly, my dear Gertrude, certainly. _ You
0did he assured of my approvinghrany decision 91
“Pills, and your (generous phila opy is ,9. credit
hJehl am rou toacknowledge. Any orders of
“Ills I shall e most hap y to put into execution.”
mFlfteen years of wedde life had not tended to
lw 3:103 him unobservant of the tender courteSles
8111011 too often close with the honeymoon; but
“with , which ferrets out more of private life than
taisawa s pleasant to find afloat, had long ago
w “my ac owledged that the Richland honeymoon
has Perennial. Apparently the lady had entertained
°,,d0ubt of his gracious concurrence.
In You are very kind, but I will not trouble you._ I
meant to have remarked that I was not proposing
she girl’s coming here in the capacity of a servant.
‘3 Was a ward of Mr. Gre cry-Matthew Gregory,
some miles out on the

13331? deceased, who reside
E nchester road.” ' . .
the], listening with no personal interest in the
shbject, was surprised at the anno ed, impatient
“We swefiging into her brother’s aceTSurprised
th Well at e oubt and questioning in his eyes as
e? rested for an instant in sharp scrutiny upon his
1119- Her dark orbs met the gaze calmly, and her
get features were not disturbed bya uctuatlon

, r ,3“ their habitualre se.
3,, Velgwell, Gertru e' do as you think best in
in erg; ug, of course. our judgment is to trusted,

r

36,1.th not often that Mrs. Richland troubled him

1%“ opinion on such a minor point and his last

  
  
  
 
 

 

 

,3 seemed spoken as an intimation that the sub- ' day

‘ ‘ . '\ '
'ject dropped there. She was content to let it be so,
with the added observations . _

“’I shall call at your sohCitor’s d my drive
to-day and leave the matter in his hangs to be ar-
ranged. There ma be some legal forms to be ob-
served, thOugh I t ink not probable. If you care
to accom any me, Ethel, you may direct the drive
afterwar .”

Ethel cared sufficientl to si nify her acquies-
cence as they rose from t e brea est-table.

“Will you come into the library, if you are at
liberty for a moment?” her brother requested. “1
have a word for your rivate ear which may as well
be said now as at any ater time.”

She cast a gulch, apprehensive glance into his face
and, hesitate with a half-protest.

“ Now Howard? Will you notbe detained?”

“ My dear, no; I have fully a half-hour at my dis-
posal. Unless you prefer another time, in which
case I can defer to you."

She made a gesture of dissent and followed him,
a quiver of nervousness .u on her acertain intui-
gion dof what manner of in erview  request pre

ace .
“ I think you must know what there is to be said,
Ethel. You know what Erle Hetherville’s coming
must mean for you. Let me be the first to give you
congratulation of the fair prospect which will be
speedily yours. I don’t know another man to whom
I could resign you so willingl .”

“But there need be no aste," she protested,
faintly. “There is no question of resigning me yet
Howard. I hope you are not wishin to do so soon.”

“ only for your 'own sake. It is in desire and
my adVlce that this marriage which as been in
contemplation so lon , shall be consummated at the
time first named an that time is nearly here. You
are eighteen, Erle is Six years our senior, and your
betrot a1 has been of just tha len h of duration.
My courtshifp occupied just six wee s, and it is by
the light _0 my own experience that I would urge
you to fiitter away none of the coming years that
Will be bugger for being shared together. ’

Holding V head erect and with the glow of ear-
nestness shniin in his onest face one could com-
prehend howt e man’s heart spoke in his words,
and what a wealth of peaceful content his own life
embran

“ Erle will come expecting it," he continued after

moment, during which she had not made a reply.

I wanted to urge you to let no caojy spirit inter ere

h whatever proposal he may to ' . There could
be no more perfect fitness of things than is exem li-
fied in the case of you two. Ibelieve if an ot er
union in the world can be blissfully comp etc as
mine has pr0ved, yours will be that one. Young
and naturally adapted to each other, no circum-
stance has been wanting to perfect the mutual at-
traction, nothing will be lacking to make it complete
to the end. One possible flaw which I warrant you
two have never considered at all Ishall take the
precaution to avoid. You have nothin in your own
right, my dear Ethe but Hetherville s bride will
haveadower of whic she need not be ashamed.
There, not a word! it is my privilege to do that
much for you, since my little Sister was left to fill
the place in my heart which must have been a void
otherwise. MIv affection has. been fatherly as well
as brotherly fancy.” .

“Best and dearest of brothers " she said, softly.
her fair face eloquent with love an gratitude. “ You
would never urge me to any thing which would not
forward my be. piness I am sure. You would never
ask me to sacri ce tha , Howard?”

“.1 would advise nothing which would not insure
it Ethel. You don’t mean, though "—with a wave
of doubt and apprehension struggling into his face—
“ ou surely can’t mean—"

‘ I can’t and don’t mean to disappoint you if I can
avoid it, dear brother. Iscarcely know what I do
mean, except that I am not quite sure of myself or
of Erle. I may become so—who knowsf—when I
have seen him again.”

r

“I think I may be sure of you," Mr. Richland ‘

said, with a fond glance down into the fair, wistful
face. “ A ‘ 'l’s natural shyness, that is all.”

Was it a , oh, Howard Richland, wise in your own
way as you may have been, but blinded by your own
light of fancied secure content?

A small sketch-portfolio lay upon the table by
which Ethel was stan , and she turned the loose
leaves absently after he had left her a far-away
look in the soft hazel eye% a closer setting than was
habitual to the red lips. ne of the leaves fluttered
from beneath her hand to the floor. It was the
merest outline of a sketch, a masculine head in rov
file, carefull begun it would appear—a fine, 'm
outline of eature, bold and clear as seen in even

that unfinished penciliiéifi; She stooped to raise it ,
a

after one glance sw verted, and, crossin to
the hearth, paused there, the bit of paper eld
loosely in her fingers, undecided and wavering for a
moment.

Was it only girlish sh see that caused her to
shrink at thought of Ere Hetherville, then? Oh,
Howard Richland, wise in your own belief generous
in your own inflexible way, was it wise and generous

 

, did you mention the Industrial Fair? As well

of you to prevail upon a child’s unreasoning assur- ‘

ance and unthinking consent to

{our map ing out
of the most important ste s of

er life? ut _she

had consented, she was Er e Hetherville’s promised ‘

wife, and Erle Hetherville was doubtless here to
claim the fulfillment of that standi romise.
The indecision and the wavering seem 0 pass;
the paper held so loosely dropped Without any ap-

arent eflortgrom her into the grate, where a low

re smoldere .

A few hours later the two ladies settled back amid
the azure cushions" of the barouche enjoyed the
fresh air and mellow sunshine of tile bright fall

  

l
i

“Will you wait?” Mrs. Richland asked, as, obe~r
dient to her order, the carriage was brought to a
stand before the tall building, where the lawyer’
oh‘ice was sandWiched in between numerous other
offices of more or less pretentious appearance. “I
will be back in five minutes, or, less perhaps.”

" I shall wait here then, of course. Take your own
time, Gertrude.” '
Ethel could not have told whether it was five min~
utes merely or five times five that assed before her ,
sister-in-law’s return. She had f en into a reverie .

with the sounds of the street unheeded about her
when Mrs. Richland’s voice spoke at her side. , v

“ I was longer than I intended but I think I shall ’
not need to plead an excuse. am fortunate in
chancing upon an old friend of ours. Miss Richland,
there is certainly not a poss1bility of your having
foggotten Mr. Lenoir.” _

the] lifted her eyes with the sli htest start, a

light of surgfi'isein their hazel dept s, a soft glow
coming into er cheeks as she saw in the face before
her the original of that imperfect sketch which
crisped on the library coals so few hours ago.

CHAPTER III. ,
AFTERNOON AT THE RICHLANDS.

“ Miss RICELAND may not have'estimated the num-
ber of weeks since we clambered over the mountain
hights together, but I trust to her leniency to spare
me the pain of utter forgetfulness.”

“ I should be song to claim a memory so short-
reaching as that, an this meeting is an unex ected

leasure, Mr. Lenoir. And you are looking tter
.or those Wild scrambles over the rough roads or is
it the time since has lent the improvement of that
bronze and health tin e?" ,

She leaned forwar to give him her slim, gloved
hand, and a bright smile, which seconded the pleas-
ure she had expressed. .

“ The entire time, I think: I am only back from
the countr these past two days. You saw me first
in my mos spectral gauntness after a hard season
of hard work and a siege of fever to follow it. I am
my natural self again thorough] rejuvenated. . To
dro self, are you finding it very ul'l in the semi-um
sett state which prevails until the season is fairly
“533?th m?” that h f ult f Id ad

. e ssess a y ac y 0 se om mit.
ting du ness. I think goward is careful to leave no
zoom in the household for that perverter of all na-

ures.

“ To guard still further against the chance, can 'we ‘
not Erevafl upon you to favor us with your compan-
ions lp for the rest of the day? We are two lonely'
females, drifting without aim or object just now,’
and it Will be a pleasure to dispense with formalities
by introducing you direct to our lace upon Western
avenue. You surely cannot re use to return and
dine With us, Mr. Lenoir?” Mrs. Richland’s invita-
tion was cordially given, but it is to be questioned if

Ethel’s smile and glance did. not weigh most in the ,

scale where his momentary indecision balanced.
She almost doubted if it had been indecision be was
so positive, despite the unmistakable regret of his
response. » '
“ Impossible opportunities are always doubly en-
ticing, think. his one is too brilliant to _be to “apt.
ed by any dereliction of duty and you will par on
the necessit which demands in I declining your.
kindness wit warmest thanks. am back to dut .
again on the editorial staff of one of our dailies;
have cultivated the habit of reading my own proofs
and am satisfied there are some at this moment
await‘ in attention. After a season of unworted
pleasuring milst pin close to my post for a time.” I
“Lotus see, then, if we cannot effect a compro-
mise between inexorable dut and our bm‘ef expec~
tations for the afternoon. uppose we call for you
an hour or two from this? We can drive, meantime,
or find other amusement until on are at liberty.
Wheéi, and where shall we 0 ' for you,Mr. Le-
neir

bl .

“ Please don't attempt to make another objection.
Gertrude can be dperSistent when she likes, and to
change the old or er of things this once, consider us.
at your service for the afternoon. It‘is not like our
friend of the mountains to turn disoblifigng." The
trlfie of im eriousness was that of the be e who was"
accustom to have her wish reco ized as law, and
send as plainly as words might ve done—“ You
will come because I wish it.“ The lance of a cat,
was all sweet and shy and woman y, irremsti e to
him as the soft light of those hazel eyes had been to
others many and many a time. ‘

"I would be a churl to refuse after such
condescension. I am happy to acce 1:, Mrs. RICIP r
land, and I will be at liberty Within t e hour. The
gdi'torial rooms are just opposite, the reading room -

e ow.”

“ In an hour then. And in the mehntiine Ethel,
there
as anywhere.” -

The ca ' e rolled on, but there was a mistypic-
ture before nOir’s mind still of a pearly face and
soft, appealing eyes, and tin spirals of bright hair

clin' gingto the temples—a cture which was .dissi- ' v
‘ gated as a hand descended?»

y no means lightly upon
is shoulder.
“ Sky—gazmg, Lenoir? More
suit our chief 'ust now. you are ac uainied with \
la belle Invinci 1e 7” It was a reporter rom his'own
office who had addressed him so unceremoniously.

“ With whom, Ora ton?” ' ‘ ‘

“The Richland, toie sure. She deserves the title
if any one does. Circe herself never wove more

subtle spells. I wonder if I need to tell you how ;
fatal her reign has beam-«how doubly fatal-silica ‘
to fall a vic 1m
. J.  I \

. , . r
V, . . , ,l J, i

 

“ You are too kind, Mrs. Richland; and the new \
e__ ,

l

_ rofitable than. sky; ‘
‘ larkmg perhaps, but not recise y the occupation

once'ls to' exemplify the oldrtale .’ I N

 

 

 

 

 

 

gracious .

     
 

, I

\

i

\

 

 



'WILMA WILDE.

 

 

of the moth and the flame; the fascination endures
to the end, always a fatal end to the silly moth.”

“ You needto ve me the first evidence that Miss
Richland merits t e character you have ascribed to
her through any willful or intended triflin . It is
not so hard to imagine her the worshipe among
men and the envied among women.” .

“My dear fellow, are you susceptible to friendly
advice? I have a fancy you may need it yet—be-
ware of the flame! You can never be more mis
taken in life than in han ing your faith upon out-
ward appearances. She is the greatest coquette, the

most heartless flirt and unmerciful despot of the ‘

da , and to have that truthfully averred is to have
aned notorious celebrity among the coquettes,

'rts and despots, of our twin-cities, that I tell you.
Better to trust yourself to the tender mercies of
sha ers and knaves than to have fallen—”

“ an to have fallen into the unpardonablo
error of discussing a lady ac uaintance in the street
_moreover one whose sim e ac uaintance is an
honor conferred on a poor 1 term? ack with sense
enough not to presume upon it. t strikes me that
these floating ‘they says,‘ from which you have
gathered your opinion doubtless, have little or
nothing to do with our business, Crayton.”

“Mistaken again,” the re orter answered, with

1’ imperturbable calmness. “ very thing belongs to
our business, my boy, even to the private opinions
and public a pearances of these two fair beings just
gone, and others of the same class. Bless you!

enkins would be lost without them, which reminds
_me that our Jenkins has an item in to-day’s issue
with a hope of lengthening it indefinitely, and al
regarding the invincible Richland. Like this: ‘A
rumor is afloat that the brave, luck and handsome

Mr. E— H————, lately returned rom his stately
country home and wide ossessions in the ve
heart of fertile, enticing aryland is soon to fulfl
the expectations of his friends blending the
matrimonial honors with his otherwrse already per-
fect felicities. The fair lady of his choice has been
a favorite since last season, the lovely Miss E——-
R———-,’ with further reference to her charms and
hints of her conquests, ad in m‘tum.”

,“And probably as correc as two-thirds of such
notices are nowadays. No wonder the fashionable

ublic has decried them as intolerable nuisances,”

noir answered, chillingly. Crayton gave him a
shar , glance, half-knowing and half-pitying.

“ eserve your detestation of the nuisance for
Jenkins then, or better still run in a square or so in

pathetic condolence with the injured ublic.
t wouldn’t be consistent perhaps, but 9 ective
certainly from the pen of Justin Lenoir. Trust Jen-
kins in his harmless range to make much out of

, little, but never ve me- the cold shoulder on his ac-

,count, my dear ellow.”

They had walked slowly side by side across the
square and ascended the steps leading to the editd
rial rooms. Crayton turned in one direction as he

kc and Lenoir passed throu h to his own desk.

omehow all the brightness an misty glory of the
da had passed away from him. There was a pain-
fillv contraction in his forehead—a broad intellec-

tual forehead dgt was, his features firm and fine, the
rather thin, rk face full of nervous power and
,'energy. Thou h his eyes were fixed upon the proofs
of his own art cles awaiting him. it was a moment
before he recalled his thoughts to his task.
i “ Is she all the world says of her?" he was think-

, “Whether or no, why should it be anything to
me? Have I forgotten myself so far as to have need
of Crayton's warning? I have had the warning at
any rate and it remains for me to profit by it.” nd
there Justin Lenoir turned to his work with awill
that for the time left him too absorbed to admit
perplexities.

‘ There was only the softest glow roseate lingering
in the Richland parlor. The light altered over the
two forms drawn close to one of the west windows,
talking in softened tones together, and watching the
glitter of a little ded cross snrmounting the s ire
of a small gm 0 apcl, all but the dome of w ' ch
already lay in he shadow. Mrs. Ricbland had wrth-
drawn for a moment. Her husband had not made
his appearance at, and the cook had remarked
twice to William ompson, the footman, that in ten

, mmshe had servediuthe famil no three dinners  simplmmed “with

iled through waiting for t 6 master.

Tthifwo left in the parlor to ether had felt the 
a ned silence which ;
Matthew Gregor . I am most anxiousto acquit my-

embarrassment of th constr
ma dro for an instant upon the most self-possessed
bellye of the season, the most brilliant and _romisin
bung journalist of the times; a silence w ich Ethe
{roke by rising and crossing to her present osition.
“ I am sure you will agree with me in Iii g it a
pit to ruin the eflect of this lingennfi sunset by
0 erin‘g llgshts fora few moments yet. T e peaceful
quieto th time and the tinted atmosphere always
remind me of the ‘dim religious light,’ as I saw it
once streaming through painted win ows over kneel-
in forms in St. Paul's. was a very little child, but
I t ink I shall never for at the strains of soft distant
music swelling and ris g in a grand pecan, or the
vivid solemnity of the chant rin ng from column to
_ column and echoing through t e vast space. The
music of our own churches has never seemed so
complete.”

He joined her, speaking of the various cathedrals
of the world, their architecture and adornment, and
remarking how impossible it is to point out the fine
line of demarcation which separates the erfection
of sensuous delights of e e and car from he enthu.
siastic fervor of the sp t service in religious de-

- votees.

Listeni
looking on to the golden I
perha s that me doubt herself to which she h
given" erf t utterance that very morning, stirred

 in' _er breast.

\ ‘v’
., \i\‘\

.oi-x. ..  .- .1'

      

‘ looked down from his superior hight

‘ audacious amusement in

 

to his rich, low voice, her earnest eyes,
sparkle of the little cross
0

 

, she did not hear the opening

53,; k, NV» I: ‘ .1

once

deor—they were all order] ,uncrealdng doorsin the
Richland mansion—nor t 6 double footfall on the
thick velvet pile, heard nothing until her brother’s
voice broke suddenly audible at her back.

“ Ethel, are you too absorbed to welcome another
friend, an unexpected friend, after my communica.
tion of the morning, and I assure you I had trouble
enough to secure him, unflattering as the fact may
seem to you.”

Ethel turned, and at the same instant the gasoliers
were set ablaze with the full glare shining down
upon the little group.

' solicitor, who is fully instructed I have no doubt, can;i

I you can report

Another gentleman who had entered with Mr. 2

blonde face
u on her, a

pair of bold, laughing blue e es seemed to e findin

e conscious guilty loo

Richland stood there; a handsome

sprin uglinto hers.

“ iss lchland will believe me that the difficulty
was not of my making. If she could know how I
have sacrificed my impatient inclinations to the rigid
consultation of an exact conscience she would ap-
plaud rather than reprove."

“ With the support of that approving conscience
you did quite roperly to consult our own conven-
ence, Mr. Het ervil’le. Neverthe css I am glad that
the o portunity ofagiving you greetimr has not been
inde nitely gostponed, as we were led to expect.
And here Gertrude ready to add her more
weighty assurance to mine.”

“First let me present Mr. Lenoir, Mr. Hetherville.
According to all rules of contrast you two ought to
be excellent friends.”

Two minutes afterward Ethel went out to dinner
on the arm of this tall, blonde young man, this scion
of the old school aristocracy whose family posses-
sions, coming down through five generations, were
seized by voracious Jenkinses in furnishi sub-
stance for those items of morbid interest whic feed
the minds of the envious hangers-on of that little
central hub of society, about which the circles widen
and widen until they are lost at last in the vulgar
current of the masses.

“A fri htfully demoralized scion, I am afraid,”
Mr. Erle etherville was accustomed to Say in his
cheer , off-hand fashion. “ I find the family dignity
a bur en too mighty to be borne by these tender and
inexperienced-s oulders”—givin said shoulders a
whimsical shru , and looking in is six feet of well-
developed man 00d fully equal to th bearing of a
burden of far greater realietgr than t e old family
di nity he laughineg deplor .

he gentlemen were still at table after the ladies
had left them, when a card was brought to Mrs.
Richland. She had sunk back in an easy-chair, and
with 9. ion id glance at the name looked across at
her sister-1n-law.

“ Have you any objection to my seeing him here,
Ethel? The person is a stranger to me, a _rofes-
sional gentlemen, Dr.—ahl—Dr. Craven Da as”—
with a reference to the card;

“No objection whatever, Gertrude. I was about
to excuse myself in case it was a private interview
desired."

“Don't think of going, my dear. These strange
callers are ve apt to turn out bores, and I have a
presentiment t at this one will prove such.”

The visitor bowed himself in, a tall thin man,
very sallow, with sparse sandy hair and keen, light
gray eyes which swept the entire surface of his ob-
servation at a. glance, and fixed themselves with
peculiar intentness u n Mrs. Richland’s face.

She lanced up wit out risin .

“ Wi on be seated, Mr. D si"—with a wave of
her ham , indicating a chair—"and pardon me for
reverting at once to the object of your visit. I am
at libert on] for a brief time."

“ It is u re erence to a communication I received
from your solicitor madame. when I chancedto
drop in upon him this afternoon. I am guardian to
the ivIoung girl Wilma Wilde.”

“ er guardian! I understood she had been left
without a guardian."

The keen, li ht eyes lanced guardedly toward
Ethel, but wan ered bac to their subtle inspection
of Mrs. Richland’s uietly unconscious attitude, of
the slight weary ace so perfect in its re e, the
white ban 1 g idly in her lap, the soft, ark orbs
ilnding so litt e to interest her about him that they
uid surilprisc upon him and

ore or.

went in to the space

"I was appointed her guardian after the late

self of the trust n a mo nner to satisfy my own per-

‘ ceptions of right and to meet the confidence reposed

in me by my old friend.” _

“ Am I to understand then that you obJect to my

roposal regarding the girl?" The soft, black eyes
met his fully for the first, the listlessness was stirred
by a littlel faint bewilderment rather than any dis-
a inte expression. '

p“)? am not sure that I object, Mrs: Richland; in
fact it might not be wise for me to object. I hope I
do not appear too zealous in assurm myself that
this is the best advantage offering to rlma before
I can give my consent. 1" am a bachelor, maintain-
ing a bachelor‘s primitive establishment, and it is

uite out of the question that I should_rece1ve her
t ere. I have been thinking that the child may need
schooling; she has not had many opportunities, poor
thing! along with m friend who grew misanthmfiic
toward the last. he has nothing at all, as 3‘.
Gregory, against my wishes I assure you, willed his
little roperty to me; but no pecuniary t’rifle should
stun between me and her best welfare.’

“ You are very considerate ” said the lad , quiet] .
“1 ex lained to my lawyer t at my”intent on was 0
give 0 girl all ordinary reasonable advantages.
She will'occufiiy no stated position in the household,
though I s expect her, to hold herselfin o -

\ it "  I  _ lib. '
Kiwi fading. . rut. .Y-’a‘.“.i 

. viewing such

 

to my own and  Bichland’s wishes. I; _he

 

   

]give you any satisfaction you require. You may.
ke to think further of the matter, in which case
our decision to him. Of course , ,,
should assume a expense in receiving her." ’3'

“I could not consentto relinquish my guardian‘ g,

ship or occasional communication with my ward- 

Assured of those points, I am quite willing that

Wilma shall be received into your household—quite, 7
of Mrs. Richland’s generosity :

positive that a lad .
and kindliness will nothin whichisnot consrdel‘alr
ate toward the friendless orp an.”

“For the time upon these or any terms. Ibe‘

came interested through hearing of her utter desola' ,
tion, perhaps I mentioned. Should the first arrange' f

of retreating from it may be wise y accorded. Tha
is sufficient, I hope.” "
“ All-sufficient, my dear madame. And, by the by

e—with another glance toward Ethel srmfily unob‘
Servant of them, as he rose togo-~“I be eve you
visited my friend when he was too low to be into -
ligibly consulted on any matter. He was intrus
With considerable independent business at one time:
and his papers have all reverted to me. If any
point was left unsettled I may be able to attend 170
it ’

“You are mistaken,” Mrs. Richland answered:
her dark eyes opening in cool 8 rise. “ Some
other visitor, perhaps. I had not t e pleasure
an dealing With the late Mr. Gregory.”

‘ Ah—strangei Let me beg that you will ardon
the mistake.” With a few more words Dr. raven
Dallas bowed himself out, and Mrs. Richland turned
her uiet face toward her sister-in-law. .

“ on are something of a physiognomist, Ibehevev
m§ dear. What is your opinion of that man?"

thel gave an expressive little shudder.
“ He is a person I never could tolerate with any

; ment prove unsatisfactory in any oint, the freedom 1:

degree of composure, I fancy. He looks to have the ‘
inclination of a sycophant; he is cunning and ‘ -

sincere, I am sure.

“My impression of him was almost the samei’; ‘

Gertrude said, slowly. To herself she added—J‘

was like coming into contact with the slimy coil of 3
serpent.”

 

CHAPTER IV.
TOO MUCH conrmsncn.

“AND you will not be here for next week’s enteP

.

a,

tainments, Mr. Hethervillel Not forLotta, nor the ‘

Clinton dinner, nor the Latham reception, whic
last will be recognized as tliifositive opening of t 9
campaign. An how heroic 1y you appear to be
11 under the weight of disappointment that deg”?
oFsacrifice must necessarily impose! Your mascu,
line stoicism puts our little feminine logic to shamer
we could not willingly turn our backs upon such
alluring rogramme."

It was vthel speaking. The were grouped in the

parlor still. Mr. Richland in
the fire had lapsed into drows
all but the genial warmth an ,
voices that blended in with the dreams floatan
mistily through his mind. His wife was 100111!l
at some stereoscopic views with Justin Leno“;
while Miss Rio (1 was engaged tete-a~fete Wit,5
the blonde young Marylander, whose blue, brig
eyes, and rippling golden beard, and general
nonchalance ad worked as much havoc in his owl:
field, as Miss Richland’s feminine charms haclef
fectedinhers. t
“Ishall miss them—yes, but I am not withO“
solace. The greater attraction of the three Low”
remains, and have In return for the sacrificebe'
fore itis made. But or Mr. Richland‘s .ersisten
interposition I should be lodged ina lit 0 smog
' up in Westmoreland county now, whete a
queer ol aunt of mine has the odd taste to nutk
bode. She has avast amount ofsuperfluo‘g

is easy-chair beforg
unconsciousness 0‘
the low murmurO

her 9.
energy which couldn’t be better emplo ed than
overawing her humbler nei hbors by t 9 state a
maintains, and b turnin Eddy Benefactress t0 tn,
villagers, who su mit wit less protest than wig“r
be  She is a dear old soul, under all fa
vaga es, and quite fond of me, with reason 01'h
sp to of it as you like. She would never forgive
oversight if I he lected aying my respects be“;
launchi upon he tide ere, and she is sure to be
me off th not less than a week, by which time g“,
odor of my offensive cigar in the scrupulous San
ty of her household precincts, my odd fowli
pieces, resurrected to temporary service, my 110 the,
man's carelessness and general ungainliness wear
good old lady‘s patience down to that fine edfi
when she is willing to see me depart withasii
which mingles regret with sublime reconciliatfier
The sacrifice which is no very reat sacrificehawfll
all, is the delay of my journey or a day, whic tion,
throw m return us too late for the last attrac .
on your ist, the atham rece tion. I am more t mg '7
consoled by the thought of t e hundred follow re
receptions all likely to be as much. of a jam, W 1.9.
one sees t 9 same people and hears the some

marks and eats the same indigestible conglome . ' 1

tion 0 salads and creams confections, ices an . in;
try, and generally to s off the matter by imbl keg
too freely of New ersey champagne and W
next mornin with the identical hea ache, the
good resolutions which go off with the head!w
all of which have been a recurring experience a In,
dred times before. Pray don’ commrserafla
upon the loss of that deli htful prospect.”

“ You forfeit your righ to any commiserati r
a phase of it. But then it is ch8-
teristic of Mr. Hetherville to be independent 9
considerations.” , at! A

“You are too severe; I disclaim most emph , I ,
ly in, individual cases—yours for instance. in, 
can’t question that I am anxious to .propltiage I »
self in your favor, Ethel. You don’t 

.t, \ ' ~/ , A ,“

1 ‘ l

,_

    

'A

.i‘.‘

    

 

l

 

W. ‘
f  .

1‘.

 
   
   
       
   
 
   

    

  

/

 have been any thing but ea er to break the strain of
,4 “T?.Serve which has been hol 'ng me afar ofi from my
1110’ lady-love of six years ago? I find it‘almost hard
t0 reconcile the noted, quoted Miss Richland now

' With the joyous little Ethie of that time; I wonder if

    
 

 , you realize all the difference?”

quick nervous dread was under all her com is.-
cent quiet a dread which was touched by t at
c D e in his light, careless manner to one earnest
,. and nderly reflective, more nearly approaching
:” lhe tenor of the thoughts she felt must e dwelling
ul‘his mind.

‘I should ho e fora difference,” she answered,
hastily, “ from t 0 silly little hoKden in pinafores of
those old recollections. If you ave any regard for

my feelin s, pray spare those obscure reminiscences
which w' 1not gain in their resurrection. There,

1‘. Lenoir has reached the last of those no doubt
Vastly entertaining views, and Ger rude I know is
Waiting to make inquiry of all our aryland friends,
38d to compare notes in disposing of the timeto

me.")

“I am at Mrs. Richland‘s service after one mo-
I{lent You have not forgotten, Ethel; you wear my
nng‘ yet, the ring which was so much too large when

0U tried it first. The time which was agreed upon

5’ my father and your brother, who were interested

in and desirous of aiding this final consummation,
as come close at last. I had my. own. reasons for
remaining quite out of your soc1ety in_ this year
, past. I wanted you, of your own unbiased Judg-
ment, to determine if‘ our woman’s heart could
Wholly and freely secon your childish ch01ce. I say
is to you to-iiight because in strict honor I can not
del'er longer than my next visit here s eakin to
flour brother upon this subject, which I ave c 'er-
hed first in my thoughts—tenderly cherished it—
for six ears past. If you can assure me that your
heart 3 not wavered from the letter of truth
sliioken in that childish betrothal, if no other love
a:Susu ed the place of that attachment of long
3E0, in rllappiness and my pride will be complete
When have trulflgaiued—my wife. I want you,
Ethel; and Hether nds is sadly in need ofits future
mistress. Have I your permission to consult your
rother—your assurance that no flaw will mark the
Perfectncss of our long-laid plans?”

The blonde, manly face was handsomer in its ten-

01‘ earnestness; the flashin , mocking blue eyes had

fiiown still and deep, and e hand into which he
. drawn hers, wearing his ring, was close and firm
11} its clasp—strong and tender and true as she knew
18 nature was; there could be no exception. taken
: Erie Hetherville as be presented his cause in such
Plain, deliberate words. More unimpassioned, one
might have thought, than the full of his aroused
earnestness should warrant; but then this prospect
ad been one of daily consideration with in} for
[years past, and if a little £011 is indispensable in _ro-
Illantic love-making, their fo ly and their romancmg
ad occurred six years ago, when the boy of eighteen
and the irl of twelve had been thrown together in
an old Mga 'land homestead, and turned their whole
801118. as they fondly fancied, their silly heads and
81lsceptible young hearts it is very sure to the pretty
arce which in their case had been made abiding by
be delighted approbation of other older heads.
After one sw f glance Ethel’s e es had been per-
tcntly downcast. A little p or displaced the
bright rose-flush which had lingered in her cheeks;
1"  ile weight ressed u on her heart and seemedto
,still the warm lood wh ch had thrilled there. With

ose clear, bold and tender eyes 11 n her, with her
rother’s words of the mornin —-“ think I can be
8fire of you, Ethel," ringi in her hearing again
"that could she do, what co (1 she say, but give that
fignxsent they were both confident in expecting from

r

She spoke, and her voice sounded to her own ears ‘

H e a tone far off and independent of herself. Her
Words did not seem of her own volition, they were
30 broken and unintelligible, until his face bent
01Oser and his firmer pressure of the hand he held

“liar retcd them to her
“f 93.. have never thought of doing other than ful-
filling 'our part-Heaven bless you, darlln 1 And 1

1““Ver ad a real fear that on would fa , Ethel,"

He loosed the little hand, an while she was still in
at mazy traxwo, which doubts the reality of all

around, he had turned to speak ga 'ly across the

room to the other two ust leaving t eir places by
e book-strewn side-ta le. _

, Mr. Richland, wakin suddenly out of his nap,
' 33y formed one centre group after that, and at a
_ ~er hour the two young men took their leave to-
other. They had eon empted to ' er late, and
“he gas burned with a dull glare now in the silent

streets. Apoliceman pacin his lonely beat glanced
but way as the two descen ed the wi e white steps,

lIChed his cap and passed on down the ion line of
intimate blocks of light and shade. At the t cor-
e}: Lenoir paused, sa ing:

I hope ou regret eartily, as Ido, the fact that

my Way takes me oil? in this diverse direction. Do

3’03 cross the river, may I ask 1?”

01 es; I am staying at the Monongahela now. My

‘1 lOdgings are something out of re air, with no
r(’slivect of being ready for days yet. bore to live

a afai’tments, but better than to be at the merc of

38 of knavish hangers-on in an establishmen of

0119‘s owfl. l!

Wh noir, with avery correct fancy in his mind of

y at aspect this luxury-loving, lavish-fortuned
(mug gentleman's apartments might present in

FEW ant detail, smiled and turned back, check-
mg lips words of good-night which had trembled upon

0 .
ym‘lstfcond inspirations are often the best and if
532 1&2? gbjectJ will change my route and attend

t
1mg 01 flatly. It isa long, lonely walk at

 

WILMA WILDE. <~

“ My dear fellow, Ipositivel do object if your way
lies in that other direction. t strikes me that the
long, lonely walk might be longer and lonelier by
the time you made the return; t is now five min-
utes of twelve,” glancing at his watch by the light
of the street lamp near which they had paused,
“ time that honest men were in their own quarters,
when thieves do walk and deeds of darkness shall be
done. I don’t fancy that either are in waiting in
this uiet and eminently respectable neighborhood,
and feel quite equal to the task of taking care of
myself if they were. Take 8. Ci or to cheer your
way, Mr. Lenoir, and let me ope to welcome
{fin to my quarters when I’m once established

ere.’

Lenoir took the cigar and turned his own way,
glancin back to see Hetherville still standing in

he cxrc e of 1i ht, puffing slowly at his own weed—
a tall, well-bui t manly gure as defined there his
frank, open face, with its rippling luxuriant golden
beard in full sight, his dark Overcoat, fastened by a
single button, letting the learn of the diamond )in
retract in broken darts, w ile a costly ring spark ed
upon the hand from which he had removed his glove
to reach his cigar-case.

“Brave and honorable, rich and handsome,” Le-
noir thought. “ What woman’s heart would fail to
be won by him?"

, Hetherville, lacking his eulogistic attributes, was
thinking something in not an utterly dissimilar
3 rain.

“I fancyI am one of the luckiest amon men,”
he reflected. “With such a fair, sweet ride to
finish off other excellent advantages, I ought to be
the happiest of men and shall be, of course."

It is not robable that there was a qualm of doubt
stirring r. Izletherville’s mind at that moment.
Earnestly in his heart he believed that the devotion

which had been nurtured and kept blossoming"

through these ast six years was e one passion
which could wi en to complete his after life~a pas.
sion rown calm lon ago- but then, all paSSions
cool, e assured himse f, an this was the calm of
lasting, peaceful contentment.

‘ It had been five minutes of twelve when he paused
in that circle of hght. At a quarter past, the watch-
man, returning on his beat sto ped suddenly in the
block of shade lying beyond, an stooped down over
a dark, moveless body stretched upon the )avement,
the unconscious face turned toward the s 3’, a little
trickle of blood dabbling the bright hair an staining
the stone beneath.

Erie Hethervilleshorn of his ride and his strength
in that brief interval with spar 11 ring and gleam-
ing diamond pin, and costly old 0 rouometer, with
kindred valuables, gene rom his person and
ominous purple marks appearing upon his throat,
from which his collar had been torn away.

CHAPTER V.
'rnn ELF-FACE.

Exam Hmmvinnn opened his eyes with a feeling
of intense languor, with a sense of ressure upon his
brain, but except that, with no p ul or disagree
able im ression in his physical sensations—with
only the aziest and Lpleasantest impressions mistily
apparent to his min . His head was pressing dainty
lace‘ruflled pillows, his eggs opened upon white
filmy dra cries and a blen ‘ g of bluesnd-gold be-

ond wh ch were sure] not natural to his room at

he Monongahela. N ei her was this quiet chamber,
with some soft, sweet perfume just perceptible in
its atmos here, one of his own suite of handsome
a. artmen s he had ordered repared. It came to
hlln slowly that this was a to ally unfamiliar place.
He made a vague attempt to remember how he had
come there, but with the effort lost sight of misty
draperies and blue-and-ggld tints beyond, faint per-
fume and strange, in ' tinct objects about him.
Then, in a dreamy way, he had found the blue-undo
gold again in floating, cloufiy forms, and very much
nearer and clearer, but 100 n out from them down
upon him a face like no other ace he had ever seen,
unless erhaps, in other dreams.

An e dike face, with wistful, pathetic, pitying eyes,
that gave him a thrill as of something intangibly
mournful about her, even in his dream. A soft,
cool little hand fell u on his forehead, brushing back
the clusters of thick right hair, and With thug, face

and clouds vanished, but the cool, soothing touch ,

lingered still. When he found himself again, there
was subdued lamp-light in the room. The reign of
quiet was broken at his first movement, as his ead
turned, and his wide eyes unclosed with the vague
wonder in them deepening to amazement as a stiff
little rustle of silk heralded the uprising of an erect,
spare form stationed by his bedside.

“My dear aunt Erie!” said his weak, su rised
voice. “ Then I am in Westmoreland, after al 7"

“Bless my dear boy, he knows me at last. And he
is not going to have a fever, or a relapsehor any-
thing of the sort, so there must be no agitation and
no effort. Awake and sensible and hungryT—I do
hope you are hungry, Erie. It‘s the best of signs."

‘ Be comforted by the best of signs then, my dear
aunt; I'm voracious as thou h I hadn’t had a mouth~
fulfor a week. I'm puzzl to know how I came
here and how everything seems metamorphosed,
and how to account for all the weird fanCies I’ve
been having. Did I come with an incipient fever
throwing me helpless on your hands from the first?
I’m just rational enou h to know that I’ve had an
illness of some descripl ion.”

“But you’re not are and you didn‘t come—I
mean that on did come, but you are not here—we
are not in Vestmoreland, at all, that is. How the
boy is talking, and I ositively cannot permit him to
say another word. e is just to have some chicken—
broth and goto sleep again, and have no worry in
his poor ,brain till he has a little more strength.
There. not a word; I should know. I imagine.”

\\

 

I

" ‘ rv . . '. ‘ ' 7V ' I. I *m; ' "H ‘ ~
‘ . x. ‘ ' us.  i
, .

, .

‘ He was quite content to be silent as the stiff silk. . '

rustled away. He heard her speak at the door of-
the room, and a moment after she came back with
a little .trgiy covered with a snow-white napkin. N ot~
withstan ng his assertion of a voracious appetite, it
was almost satiated by a sight of the delicate, light
little lunch. The attempt to lift his head brough a
dizzy whirl and a sense of faintness he had not or
perienced in his oiiiet state. I

“ I insist, Erlei. you must. be obedient. You must
sip the broth I give you, With a mouthful of bread
and a little wine, but for these other things you are
not to think of them at all. Just hke the eneralit
of people to send up a lot of syllabubs or a si
man, as thou h his stomach was overned by a con-
trasting rule from the rest of his ody.”

When the tray had been sent away again, and she
resumed her seat by the beds1de, his eyes, quite un‘
touched by any symptoms of sleepiness, came back
from their interested survey of the room to rest in-
quiringly upon her face. ,

“ I’m coming back slowly, aunt Erle. I ve got as
far as a circle of light under a street-lamp, but there
I’m stuck. Do give me a lift out of the mire.” .

“ You were garrotcd and robbed and the pohcea,
man who found you—poor, dear fe lowi—senseless
and hel less, brought you back here to Mrs. ,Rich-
land’s. hey sent word to me; I came, of course
and here we have been ever since, and that‘s all of
it in a nutshell."

“And that ‘ ever since ’ has been how long?"

“ A week—just. And now not another word.

Somebody has been asking for you, and I shouldn’t '

be surprised if somebody came in to see you, if you
are not tired or asleep, before she oes to the ball.”

“ Somebody ” did come—Ethel ichland, in her
rich evening dress, all white and decollete, with
jewels sparkling at every turn, the purest, sweetest,
fairest vision surely to grace the Latham reception
that night. .

“ The favorable report I have heard of our invalid
is true. How re blood I am to know you are
fairly recovering, Er 6. You on lit to recover if
faithful attendance and rigid o servance of the
ph yslcian’s orders of seclusion and quiet can enforce
that end. Since Miss Erie's arrival ou have had
the most indefatigable of nurses, an we less elli-
cient ones must admit the wisdom which has ban-
ished us in her favor." _

“ Odd how our sick vagaries aflect familiar faces,
is it not, and how vivid the workings of a distem-

red fancy? I could sketch out a face I saw linger-

ng over me lookin out of floating clouds. ' So kind
aunt Erle took so 6 possession of me? I should
have known it through the mere fact of finding her,
here. At least I am glad that I have not been a tax
utterly u n the enerous consideration of your
brother’s ousehol ."

“Don’t imagine that we submitted to the extreme
letter of the law which would have banished us en-
tirely. I thought you resented the appearance of
being half-awake and elf-conscious when I was
here, some three hours ago. Miss Erie has flattered
me more than once by trusting you to my watchful.
ness for a half-hour or so when she could be per,.
suaded to leave this chamber."

Mrs. Richland came quietly in at that, also in
evening dress, and with solicitous inquiry after the

invalid. .

“ So kind of on to dgive me a glimpse of all our
magnificence,” he sai , from his ropped-uppo tion
among the pillows. “ Even on orced confinement
that breeder of general discontent, does not temp
me to uarrel with in present delightful location-X
apart rom the disabi t attending—or to envy you.
A pleasant evening lad 05- a triumphant evening to
you, la belle Ethel. 'It is quite the proper thing for me
to wishi.you, as whether or no you can not fail to

“ Was my elf-face a dream-fancy only?" he asked
himself, as he Efifihm fisher? depart. “I  no'
more imagine 's a r ace 9. 'n ike th
than I could fancy aunt Erie 01:35:33, iyoung all:
strange, and with such mournful traces ln the big
dark eyes and weirdly sweet young face. I won
if dreamland will conjure that fancy u again."

i

Dreamland failed to do so, either t en or after- V.

ward, except in vague, elusive ways which no
sooner took that form than they faded into air
again, or wavered like a will-o'-the—wisp just beyond
the ower of his comprehension tograsp.

“ d now," said aunt Erie, three days days after ,
this, “you are well enough quite to sit up in your '

room. You shall go down to the parlor to-morrow,

provided you conduct yourself properly ,mean— --

whll

valid proves itself " protested her no hewz lazily..
“Upon my word, am not sure that don t owe a
debt of gratitude to the unknown arty or parties
who manifested their kind regard or me in such a
deucedly close-handed manner. I’m not at all sure
but I can forgive them that, after experiencing,
these new sensations of comfort—this havin my
wishes anticipated before they come tobew, hes,-
the exercise of the whole household's ingenuity to
keep me amused You should all be highly grati-
fied by your grand success. Like all perfect pros-
pects in life it has been too fair to last. Very well ’
aunt Erle; if you insist, there can be no question 0
my routing out from this indolent enjoyment."
“Much you d
Erle, with as much impatience as she often manir

fested toward him' “much, indeed, if that is the’

night of your conslderation. Forgive the ruffians
forw of! with our valuables after coming
within an nch of ta your life. I ho I’m a.

Christian, biit I don’t long, to equal that s retch o‘f  

generosity.’
“ And all because I instead of you was the sufferer.

eserve sympathy!” retorted aunt ‘

I

I

A .
-.> .

e.
"You don’t know how pleasant this being an in- 7“

 

‘ \
i

 

 

 

.l.

 

‘ ? You‘wouid bearin with the most sublime fortitude

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
  

l

, " \wan'derin

I t  and with his
t' silently back, then stood as if transfixed upon the
, j thresholdflstood

« enhands crossed -u

in a merely indivi ual case.”

“Erle,”said his aunt facing about suddenly, the
stifl silk’ crackling with an abrupt movement, an
anxious embtion come into her face, “ have on re-
membered that the ring was among the va uables
lost? It’s unlucky—a bad, bad sign.”

“I have remembered it, and I regret it more than
all the rest. My mother’s ring—the dearest signifi-
cance it could hold for me. I am not in danger of
being troubled by any superstitious fancy attaching;
rather, I can afl'ord to defy such.”

, Miss Erle closed her lips and spoke no remon-
strance. but the anxiety was not cleared out of her
face. That same afternoon as Ethel sat by him the
book which she had been reading aloud dropped in

to her lap, the sub ect came to 1115 mind again. He v

reclined upon a so a, in disha‘bille of purple-brocaded
dressing-gown and embroidered s ippers, looking
none the worse in his llor and languor and enera
tted invalidism. eput out his hand an drew
are into it, turning a' heavy ring she wore, having
the device of a heart wrought in diamonds flaming
out from an incrustation of rubies which burned

‘ like a sullen glow upon the taper white hand.

1 “I have lost the mate to it,” he said~“the rin
with which the Hethervilles have been accustome
towed their brides. Have you faith in evil omen"?
They say—that lS tradition says, such a loss foretells
the reaking of the betrothal, though where tradi~
tion found authority for the same I am at a loss to
surmise, since there is no record of either ring hav-
ing ever been parted from the family possession be-
fore this.”

“Yours may not be irrecoverably lost,” she sug-

rgested.
“A be py reminder. It would be uite out of
geceden , and a marri e in the fanu y probably
voted no marriage Without the Hethervflle ring.
Failing it, I think I can answer for ourindependence
of old customs, and assert as emblematic a degree
of constancy in any new substitute."
. The hazel eyes were lookin at him with an intent
expression, and the slim han drew away from his

~ clasp. There was a feelin astir in her heart, a half-

lmpulse to confess the m sgivings which even now
were not wholly at rest, a longing to cast herself up-
on his finerosity and gain the release which won (1
surer 'ven for the asking. But after all, how
much bet would she be for breaking this bond
which had united them since distant childhood?
, Would she not be miserable, instead, for bringing
such a inisery upon him? She respected his firm,
mainly principles, and liked him so much; he was so
unmistakably handsome as he lay there, supporting
his head in his white, shapely hand, his hair lcam-
ing a darker shade but almost as intensely go den as
her own, and Ethel was no Sphinx among women to
be insensible to such mascuhne beauty. How could

she endure to witness her brother‘s disa ointment
with the reat debt of gratitude she ow im upon
'-her? n would she not be

with nothing‘ gained
misera is in her own rig t at relinquishing the ex-
pectation which had been held constanty in her

sight during these six years? It was a morbid im-

pulse, one which her better judgment would repudi-

vate as it had done in calm deliberation once before.
‘ Ah Ethel, was it the better 'udgment which had
rebelled or was it an upsprin ng of that inexorable

pride—t 6 same, however, modified and unsuspect-

ed under your gentler exterior, that had been the

power of Howard Richland’s life? Was it

more a shrinking from the acknowledgment even to

herself of having given unasked the heart which

., was not hers to give, and to a man who had never
‘ spokenone word of love, who had never ventured

eech of gallantry, or by any act of his in-

upon a
more than in civil intercourse he would

terpre

‘ give to any other woman?

, ‘I‘ Where had you gone?” he asked, smiling at her
absorbed, perplexed expression, dissipated y a re-
membrance of his immediate facing of her. “Not
on a clairvoyant quest of the missing ring?”

, "‘No, indeed,” with a little feminine shiver. “I
have a dread of those subtle powers which so far
outreach our ordinary understanding. I would
rather ree with you in ignoring the old supersti-
tions, if or no better reason than may be found in
consulting newer ones. I have a fancy I would
rather not be wedded with the Hetherville ring.
There, spare me that glance of sad reproach—I
know quite well what a coveted honor it has been."

He was alone shortly after that with his thoughts
back to the suggestive result their con-
versation ad indirectly touched.

f‘What reason for deferring the understanding
'which must he arrived at soon?” he asked himself.

‘  ,“Why not make haste to complete the bliss which
= has been so long in prospective?

To-morrow aunt
Er 6 set aside'for my appearance below, but I think

I' - I all anticipate the 00d 01d lady’s rmission by
' findingm up6

way to the ibrary now an awaiting the

'retum o my brother-in-law in future close at

i hand, accordin to his regular hour. I have Ethel’s

[authority for e treaty: so let it be brief and

'1: , mutual] satisfactory as it lies in the nature of the
 , ’pleasan affair to be.’

He went out through the corridor where his steps
on the thick lie, down the stairs
and upon the ibrary door, swungi

fell noiseless]

azing silently down at a little
6 that curled in one of the great library chairs,
n the arm her head

i in
t the back wit the all’elfin-face fullsy irgl

' 7, ,' cw soft dark hair 0 about the rather'low
xbl'OW’, 23%

and'the eyes seal

eep.

CHAPTER VI.
m noc'ron’s PATIENT.

DR. CRAVEN DALLAS lost no time inestablishin
himself in the old house on the Manchester roa .
There was no one to dispute the bequest with him

I and no tedious formalities to be observed in as—

suming the responsibilities of his new situation.
Some might have wondered at the doctor’s taste as
well as his haste in taking occupancy of the dull,

. rambling], shadowy place from which the death-
a

1 ting shadows lurke

shadow d scarce] lifte , where ghostly dispiri-
in odd corners in the rightest
weather. But Dr. Craven Dallas was not affected

by morbid sentiments any more than he was superior

: to the collateral consideration which would have

was hours in recovering from it.

 

adapted him to worse quarters had any personal ad-
vantage demanded it. Perha 5 no more flt suc-
cessor could have taken up 01 Matthew Gregory’s
relinquished reign.

Alone as he had kept himself during his life, alone
from all kindred pity or sympathy or affection as he
had been in his dym hour, so he had been hurried
from under the she ow of the roof which had
sheltered him for two-score years into an obscure
corner of a dark, damp old cemetery], shut in by such
forbidding walls, so overhung by t e shadow of the
old stone church upon the one side so crowded in
by the tall tenement-houses upon t e other, that
none of heaven’s brightness or earth ’s fairness ever
stra led by any chance into that dark mclosure
whic was more like a spot accursed than hallowe
ground. A few followers there were, drawn by that
insatiate craving of morbid curiosity which makes
Death—the great leveler of all distinctions—so
familiar a discussion with the common classes. Dr.
Dallas with a fold of cra e surrounding his hat, Mrs.
Gerrit with a corr on ing badge in the mournin
vail she wore, and t e lonely orphan ward, were a
in the little knot gathered near the long, narrow
grave, who, having any interest with the departed
ife, might be supposed to experience an emotion at
these last Observances paid to the body.

The impassive faces of the first two were stolidily
undemonstrative in all expression, and the few bit~
ter tears Wilma shed were more in pity for her own
utter friendlessness than grief for the hard, harsh
man who had repelled every advance she made to
him in life whose cruel assertion in respone to her
last appea , had fallen upon her like a parting curse.
That she was not to be left friendless and destitute,
that she was to be transplanted to a healthier at-
mos here of kindness and care for her welfare,
touc ed her with such unexpected ha piness after-
ward—filled her oor, chilled, starv heart with
such a warmth o thankful gratitude, that, for the
first time, the shadows which had burdened her.
young life let throu h a rift of the sunshine which
should be the nature. allotment of all youn lives.

So her first glimpse of a quiet, deep joy he. come
to Wilma over that lonely grave in the darkened
churchyard.

A wood fire crackled on the hearth of Dr. Dallas’s
sitting-room, as the evenin which closed the first
week of November came own. It was cold and
clear without. There had been a little rain on the
previous night, and patches of ice and slippery
glares upon the sidewalks were dece v've pitfalls
under feet of unw edestrians. T e house, set
back from the thoroug fare, caught none but the
deadened echo of noxses from the surrounding
streets encroaching fast upon this which had been,
not long ago, beyond the extreme outskirts of the
city limits. To the south, the dense smoke which
perpetually overhangs the twin city could be traced

ike an immense heavy cloud against the clear night-

sky, and the red eyes of the furnaces came out, one
by one, as the darkness deepened. This sitting-room,
with the cheerful flame sendin a ruddy glow over
its bare extent, communicate with the chamber
where old Matthew Gregory had spent his last
breath, just too soon to enforce that prompting
which seemed suddenly to have become such a fe-
verish desire. Scarcely changed in detail, it was the
doctor’s sleeping apartment now, and no ghost of a
broken trust haunted him there.

He was smoking his ipe before the fire his eyes
fixed ‘upon it, his thin orm seeming even t inner in
his dingy loose dressi gown, his sallow face, with
the scant hair giving his forehead an appearance of
greater width than the reality, was inscrutable in

ts repose.

“ Domiciled under a roof of my own, thanks to my
skillful generalship rather than my very dear friend
Gregory’s kindness,” he soliloquized. “A good ad-
dition to my practice, which, though small, is toler-
ably lucrative." There were some to say that the
secret of Dr. Dallas’s success was not owing alone to
his medical abili , but rather to the knowledge of
the nature of ske tons inhabiting certain rich men's
closets than his intimate knowledge of ractical
skeletons strung upon wires, like the one n a cur-
tained niche of this very room, the sight of which
had given Mrs. Gerrit, who remained in her capacity
of housekeeper in the place, such a fright that she
“ I fancy that my
legacy is not the single 00d fortune which comes
down to me through Ma thew Gregory. A discreet
man, but one who was mistaken in supposing him-
self an impenetrable mystery to other men.”

The fire sunk fitfully, and as he stirred himself to
poke it vigorously, he lost the sound of the gate
creaking on its rusty hinges and of heavy, uneven
steps on the paved walk without. A loud knocking
at the door, repeated almost before the first echoes
died away, bore so unmistakably the sound of an
urgent summons, that, hastily lightin a lam which
stood in readiness, he went out with i in his and to
himself'give the required admittance.

Two men stood upon thesreps; one, the taller,
leaning heavily upon the shoulder of the other.

2 l

I , I

 

 
  
      
  
   

«You are m. Dallas?”he asked. "I met witKi
cgnfounded accident out here by your gate, that.  g ‘
given me a sprain or a wrench of some sort. '

ose I can come in and have the thing attended ‘
is gentleman, who was so kind as to pick me n a
from m tumble in the gutter, recommended, Ind-C
here. you‘ll kindly give me your arm a little fill“
ther, sir—sol Curse the awkwardness of this, to as!“
nothing of the inconvenience! Who would have
thought that such a two-penny bit of ice could 31799;
such a deuce of a twist? Thank you my man, an 
that to drink to m chance of speedy dependence up‘ 1
on my own limbs. ,

The man, who was probably a mechanic from his,

meannce, would have declmed the coin profler a

,but, bein pressed, acce ted it, and thankégf 
the donor wit drew. The doc or was already kn ‘
ing ma n a swift examination of the injured .-
limb, but t e keen light eyes that never let any
thing escape them, had seen t e golden gleam an
heard the chmk of coins carried loosely in
other’s pockets.

“ A dislocated ankle," he said. “ It was somet
of a feat, that of limpingin upon it, and I see the
the pain is having its reven e. It is badly swollen;
the sooner ut into place t 6 better. Can you en-
dure the ad ed twinge?"

“ Go ahead!” was the brief reply.

The doctor did go ahead, after a glance into the
other’s face, a tri e pale under the deep hronzeO
the skin, but with every muscle firm, not a quiver o
anerve anywhere to manifest the acute agony he
must have suffered. When the limb was fair]
dressed and easil placed, Dr. Dallas stood with h
hand upon the c air he had lately occu ied, noi
logging directly at his unceremonious pa out, an

88.1 .

“ You will do very well after that, and you stood
it brave] . Will you have a carriage ordered, 01‘
ma I 0 er you my own poor hos itality for the-
mg t? I can find some one to ta eany message
yo‘i‘i may de51re to your friends, in that case.”

If you can accommodate me for aday orsO.
until I’m about again, I will be happy to square 80'
counts With you for the advantage derived. I’ll
give on no further trouble than that. I’ve no
frien s to communicate with—not even acquaint-
ances in the city.” .

“In that case I’ll order preparations made for
your stay here. The best at my disposal is lain
enough. but we’ll endeavor to make you com otter...
hie." He went out to consult with his housekeeper, v
bfitreturning after a few minutes, resumed his
0 8.11‘.

“ You were smoking; said the other, glancing at
the half-filled pipe w 'ch he had put down hastily
and still alight. “Take another pipe in my com-
gang, and favor me with an opinion of this brand.

at or fine, I consider it.”

_ He passed a heavy silver tobacco box and draw-
mg a short meerschaum from his pocket, filled it
after the other.

‘Elgrom the West?" the doctor .asked, between his

u .

.“ You think so? Quite rightl Odd how one cat“
ries the flavor of a locality about with him.”

“Not so odd while you carry jingling currency.
We don’t have many ‘yellow boys’ turned loose.
about here in these days. Been intbe service out
there? That inference is clear enough; amilitary
man is recognizable anywhere.”

“ So it would appear. I was in the frontier service
not a great while since. You said something a mo‘
ment ago of my bearin that little operation without
an ado over it, but by t to time a man goes through
the mill I’ve been ound in, he isn’t apt to flinch at
such a trifle. Litt e eno h to come to the fact of
the accident, but a devilish inconvenience into which
you are thrown for your share.”

“ Don’t speak of it,” said the doctor, blandly. In
this new patient he was ositive he would not find
an illiberal debtor. Ethe ’3 reading of this man’s
character had not been far wron . A dozen ordi-
nary men mi ht have dislocated t eir ankles before
his gate, an uld not have disturbed his

 

he wo
domestic arrangements to have received one of
them. But this was not an ordinary man“ his first
glance had shown him that and that clinic of gold and
silver coins in his pocket had assured him of as much
more as he had cared to know at first. He was a
soldierly-lookmg man, erect, well built, broad-
shouldered, and muscular, and with a bronzed,
bearded face and curling hair, that had been chcsv ,,
nut but was turning grizzled along with his heavy
military mustache and lower whiskers. .
. “Don’t speak of it," the doctor said. “ My regret
18 that I have not better to offer you. Mrs. Gerrit,
my housekeeper, will arran e my slee )ing-room
yonderfor your occupancy. have a met icy piece
of furniture here,” pointing to a nondescrip o jeci
at the back of the room, “which can be metamor
phosed into a sofa or a bed, or a table at pleasure;
which will serve my turn as it has done man a time
before. The truth is that I have very recent y estabs
hshed myself here, and the lace remains in almo
the state preserved by its ate occupant. By the
way you have not favored me with your name."

. ‘ An oversight. I am Leigh Bernham, late captain
in the 10th cavalry. Do you succeed a brother prac'
.titioner here?"

“ No; the place was left me by a atient, partly a! .
areminder of old friendship, party in return fol
services rendered. Matthew Grego seemed a!
much a fixture as the old house itse , apparently.
but he was buried from here a couple of weeks ago
Of course you are not interested in any of this.” '

Captain Leigh Bernham, late of the 10th, smokin r
his 1pc contemplatively, resented a steady aspec
'o . ea which one w 0 runs might not ready
which might'batfie those keen bright eyes. nudet .

 

    
   
  

 

" " WiLi/IA ' ,vleLDE.’ 

 

 

 

 

I l . , i '
_ which he was for the time being placed with more
, gect than they yet had to look‘him through.
- ’ ,, am interested in anything ” he answered.
‘v , , Having no interests of my own I am led to take
. “F those of other people. This Mr. Gregory had no
5 OOd-heirs, I am to presume; or is it poss1ble ‘thai
"1m ems has been discovered at last, a survmng
f'fihtivye who is not ready to squabble for ‘ dead men’s

oes? ”

“ There are no relatives. Did I understand you to
'9')" gen had left the service, Captain Bernham?”

ome time since. I sent in my resi ation when

my brother, more sensible than I had een, thou h
1938 luckfi in one way the Neva 8

died up among . _
mines. e had gone in with he Cali ornia excite-
meat of ’54 and never could rid himself of the

l:aliher inexp cable fascinations of the rough mining
hge- I was his heir by law, and he left enough to
make the change rather marked between. the poor
devll of an army captain and a stock-holding nabob
of33118 Far West.” .

For all which, ” thought Dr. Dallas, during thein-
We] of silence which elapsed, “there’s somethin
more behind the reserve that sa 8 so_httle of himse .

. is Time and Craven Dallas bring out the con~
“Ming proof of that if nothing else.”

CHAPTER VII.
m DOCTOR'S coma. .

“ LONELY? Well, no sir; I can’t say that it seems
3° to me. I’ve lived here for a matter of seventeen
fears and now I’ve grown used to the place, Just as

hawe asort of fancy that it has grown used to me.
I(Bouldn’t feel uite at home anywhere else after
this, and I thiifi: the old house wouldn’t be quite

‘0 same with me out of it.” . D

‘ There’s no doubt of that, Mrs. Gerrit. Knocking
a'bt'lut', the world as I have done I’ve had little
eRough ex erience with home-comforts of any sort;
but with the evidence presented before my. eyes
here, I can understand the advantages of havmg a
coInipetent person thoroughly devoted to one’s
ma rs as domestic manager. You look decidedly
comfortable in there now. I wonder if you would

ect to my coming in for a little sociable chat? If
you don’t find it lonelyl do—confoundedly so!’

Captain Leigh Bern am had limped back through
the long dark corridor, which stretched between the
two parts of the building—one Occupied by Dr.
Dallas. and containing, besides the two apartments,
whiCh already have been seen, two others, one used

an office, the second fitted with the appliances of
3' borato ; the other art, a fac-Simile of the
first, was Id’ivided into kitchen and diningzroom,
MP8. Gerrit’s own room, and another not now in use.

Some days had passed since his untoward ac-
cident, and Captain Bernham was about again, tak-
ing the freedom of his host’s estabhshment me.
Very matter-of-fact fashion, and saying nothing as

fit of moving his quarters. Saying no more to Dr.
aHas’s concealed disappointment reg arding himself
hiSexperiences of the past, or his prospect of the
gulul‘e. Some subtle attempts to draw him out had
een bluiliy ignored, and the doctor found himself
“hex ectedly affected by an uncomfortable sense of
"1'6 ority, with all his craft and cunning, matched
a'gall‘xst the quiet discipline of feature that was
proof a ainst all surprises, and the simple open
finder fortified at the back by such close reserve.
mire than. once in these days he had repeated that
., t conviction and half-promise made to himself:
- There’s more behind his reserve. Trust Time
and Craven Dallas to bring out the convincing proof
of that, if nothing else.” His slow pro ress made
11the way might have shaken the fait of aless

E111?er and sub 10 spirit, but the doctor’s was only

i8_htened by his own lack of success. He was out

lting patients now, and Captain Bernham had the
wlfi‘OIe morning before him to while away.

' Beggin your pardon. sir, I’ll take it as a great

Fndness. El overlooked invitin you in through so

°ng habit to the old masters ways. It’sagreat

ghange since he’s gone-a great chan e——but it s not

01' me to com lain of it since I’m ept on. That

fihfiil‘, sir you’ find an easy resting-place with the

aSsock or your lame foot. Do you find yourself
°°fpt01table now?”

t Very comfortable, thank you. Your old master,

he late Mr. Gregory, must have been quite strongly
. atf‘lichedto on.”

Hardly t at; it wasn’t his way to be attached to
any one. He was never any thin but distant to
glen them one might think woul have won upon

in! closer. He never interfered in the household

l'X'il-ngement, which was a great thing fora lone
331, and one so set in his own opinions. He left
a? a. remembrance in his will, only a small matter
“ enough to show that he thought kindly of me.’

ite ite the pro or thing to be done after seven-
IneQ years of fait ful service, I should say. My only
t cllnation to quarrel with the late Mr. Gregory is
hat he did not make it more considerable, no im-
h ible matter since there were no heirs-at-law in

9 case. A woman’s tact in the houseis invaluable
37nd on have excellent skill, Mrs. Geriit. Upon my

01' you force me to mark the difference between
37°“? cozy snuggery here and my own and the

ac e

ggftor’s speedy lOr disarrangement over you-

 

He cast an admiring glance about the room, plain '

§n°u8h in all reality, ut with those little touches
hgparent which s eak loud as words of a woman’s
II(liwork. A llt 1e round stand in a corner With a

v {girlie but snow-white cover holding a wicker-work
in ket, with amedle of bright Worsted contained

t it. A-vase of dri flowers on the mantel one or
$0 graceful prints in rustic frames upon t e wall,

/ ,wfiembroidered cover of the hassock, fine touches
‘ " to firfi’fifl if“ “°° “WES it“ h“? flayed”
 v. aperson . r. eoow
in“ fiance mg}: some are

. l

 

 

_ ed pride beaming in her

face' and something like a sigh afitating the hand-
kerc ief crossed upon her ample reast.

“They’re not my doing,” she ex lained. “I
haven’t any faculty that way, for al I like to see
the pretty things around. They’re all Wilma’s work
and they seem more like a part of herself now that
she too is gone. See had cunning fingers, and she
always would put the little ornaments she made in
here. Her own room yonder is ni ih about as bare
as the rest of the house. Poor t 'ngl poor thing!
‘They only make my own loneliness harder,’ she
usedtosa . ‘1 can enjoy them out here with on
to sharet em along with me.’ The most affection-
ate little thin ,and for all that the saddest—it makes
my heart ac e yet, poor dear! The change was a
hapBy one for her, I m sure.”

‘ cad i” asked the captain, changin his position
before the fire, his tone q‘uiet throug sympathy.
“ Was she your daughter?

“Oh dear no, sir; to both questions. She’s Wil-
ma Wi de, Mr. Gregory’s ward that was; Dr. Dallas
is her guardian now. She left here something like
aweek before you came. A kind, rich lady who
had heard of her took a fancy to befriend er so
Wilma h s gone to her house for a time, though I’ve
an idea that Dr. Dallas don’t mean to let her go en-
tirely. I've missed her sorely, but it was far away
for the child’s good. It’s not natural forayoun
creatureto take kindly to the sort of life she had
here. Mr. Gregory was distant to every one as I
said, but he was more than distant to her. here
were those who said. and I sometimes used to thin
he knew herto be something besides the little wa'
he brought up for charity‘s sake. I’ve known him
to give a crust ora penny to a beggar at his door
but never a kind look or a tender word for her. And
she, poor lamb! so patient under it and so gentle

ou"would think no human heart could withstand

er.

“Awaif, you say? That is a 1 itiful lot indeed. I
have an idea that bad parents are better than
no parents, or what amounts to the same
thing, after the rule that certainty of any sort
is always preferable to suspense." Captain
Bernham kept the ball rolling with that slei ht
which betrayed no great amount of curi0sity on is
part, yet encouraged Mrs. Gerrit, who could wax
a little voluble at times, to offer a more explicit
statement. Matthew Gregory had found a uiet
bed in the old corner cemetery; an released rom
his influence—from the presence which had served
to chill the atmosphere of the whole house—she was
blossoming out quite a changed Mrs. Gerrit from
the late master’s reign. Wilma herself would have
had her full heart touched anew could she have
heard the housekeeper’s tender references; she had
been uniformly kind to the little waif, but she was
not of a demonstrative nature, and the affectionate
outbursts which hadnnot been checked in the bud by
her master’s example, were kept under effectual
control by the wress order which had been issued
when the child ilma would surely otherwise have
won the expression of them. That order was that
no moddley-coddley display of weak sentiment
should ever be lavished, beneath his roof, u on that
strangeling from all kindred humanity, an it was
an or er to be enforced, for with it came allusion to
the prom t dismissal which would follow any vio-
lation of 8 expressed wishes. Mrs. Gerrit’s strict
seclusion, too, and separation from kindred sym-
Eathy of her own, had turned the milk of human

indness in her breast to curd and whey; sweet

curd though it may have been, there was little

flavor to it until now, released from the cold, eu-
forced discipline, her natural cod - heartedness
served it up with spiced cream-an sugar dressing.

“ It’s certain enough that she’s an Ovphan, on the
one side at least, an if hints to the other might be
taken for truth—ah, well! the less said of that the
better. It was when I was new in my place——a mat-
ter of seventeen years ago almost, something later
in the season, for it was bitter cold and storming
without, and the Christmas fires were alight, that
little Wilma came under this roof.” The captain’s
lips moved after her as though he had repeated an
inaudible “ seventeen years,” but they closed in their
accustomed flrm line under his heavy mustache, and
his quietly interested expresSion remained quietly
interested as she told her story. “ There was little
enough Christmas cheer inside except for the bi
blazing woodfires. I was sillier in those da 3 than
have grown to be since. It was the first hristmas
I had ever passed outside a house of my own, and a
wide mark between it and the last one when Tom
Gerrit—as good and thriftya husband as woman
ever was blest With l—sat with me over our plum
pudding and roast and great Christmas cake. He
was taken down a week after that and lingered on
into the summer.

“We had started poor, and the long illness took 
iad saved ahead, so when the . .
- effects will tell me before this.

away What little we
housekeepers place was like to be vacant here I
thought it a bit of rare good luck that I was the one
to get it. I had the heart taken out of me by brood-
ing over my sorr0w and through havin no soul to
say as much as a erry Christmas. t set in as
desolate a n' ht as you’d care to see, two feet of
snow on the eve], and with the big flakes that had
fallen all the day changing at dusk to a sharp sleet,
and the wind tearing up throu h the hollows with
the wail in it that turns one’s b 00d cold. I turned

 

timid at the sound of it and at the lonesomeness of :

the em house. I went in thro h the corridor ; mi ht ain by the assistance you could 0rd me, I
onder gotzvard Mr. Gregory’s Withllllfi notion except . wi no trouble you by even an appeal for informa- z, _,
get  .. .  . transitsassassinate...“ ~ ~»
‘ s on ew'th tt 0 : rus p ' 1 , , - M-V.
But, w ’ l a e c tramp, , What did that SiIdee— 03k mean? Nothing good, as I v

light through the ke hole and his steaddy;
tramp, going up and own the bare boar inside
there came a dull thud a ainst the outer door and
something like a cry. B oreIcould stir toward it
the sitting-room door came open with a crash. and

l

I
I
i
l

ling of what those plans of yours may be, are lmo Ms 
portant items of consideration now, and it does not \ ,v .:
, require your assurance that the first might prove no .  s,“
’ easy matter to accomplish. The fellow sleeps with  ' .. 

g settled the single point of indecision

Mr. Gregory passed so close that we touched with-
out his ever seemgI stood there. I’ve never sup- ’ ,. ,
posed any thing but that he knew all in asecond '
' what had fallen there. He had ‘the door wide and
was looking down at what was lying there, stretched
across the threshold, before I had brought a thought ' ‘
out of my first start and sur rise. ‘ i
“It wasa woman with er head bare, and the
ion , black hair streaming about her face, all matted '
wit the sleet and torn by the storm. A woman, I ‘ I '
said, but she was no more than a r1; I should have '
taken her for one but for the tin undle she held at ‘ "‘
her breast that stirred and 0 ed while the storm
beat down upon them both. That roused me, and
the master too. We had them mto the light and the
warmth, and we did what we could for them with
the means we had at hand. It was the tiniest of
babiesl unwragped but a few days old I should
have thought, ut from the poor mother’s having ‘
strength to be out it must have been more. She .
poor thingl had the color of death in her face and. |
the chill at her heart too strong torecover. She»
lived thro h the night and into the day when it:
came and ied without havingarational moment;
Mr. Grego had her buried from the house in the»
very churc yard where he lies now, and little Wilma. _
never left here through his time never up to the:
ve week before you came. Do Weary you, sirp ’
wit such a prose? ’
“No, you have interested me in this little Wilma, , ~
who began life in‘ that pitiable way. Did you say , : .
there were proofs of her identity?” ' . -.

“Not the least, but the woman who had'served , ;~
here before me paid a visit to the house long after— . ' ‘
ward and when I told her about it said there wasn’t , ,’

_ the slightest doubt that the 'rl-mother had been v p r V ' ‘
Mr. Gregory’s own daughter. he had come to grief _
thro h some handsome, wild youn scamp and ran . ‘ .
away in home months before' I ad never been I u,’
told that he had a daughter, orIshould have known ‘ y 
the truth from the first. Her father swore a bitter
oath, so they say that he would never forgive her,
and he never di , for a harder face than his as he .’
stood beside her dead body I never saw on mo 1 ‘ ‘ ,
man. Did you (give your ankle a twist, sir? I as .'
sure on groans ."

“ othing to speak of, but I be 'n to feel the need
of limbering up again. So this ittle Wilma—what
did you say her name was i—Wilma Wilde Has been
taken into a rich lady‘s house? A very benevolent ,
lady, I dare sa 1" a .1 "

“A very kin one, Dr. Dallas said. I’ve no memory I " .
for names, and I’ve forgotten hers, but any change i ..
would be better for Wi ma. If you’d care to come
in here any time again, sir, I’d be glad to make you ’
welcome.’ ‘ .r,’

Captain. Leigh Bernham limped back through the
long corridor into the doctor s si room, which
was still empty, with the result of be his .‘
stiff joint so effectually that he dropped into 3 ac— » , , ,- v~
customed place b the side of the fire and sat there 
looking steadfast y down into the coals for the next u
half-hour, as stirless and expressionless as a. life- '
size cast of bronze. ‘ , ‘ , -

That evening as he sat in the same place with Dr.
Dallas, opiplosite, smoking with hard puffs until his '7 ~‘

ipe was a red glow he removed it from between .r "
teeth to so. ly: , '

“You’ll be g ad to ow, I dare say, that I consider . 
myself so nearly recovered as to warrant a. speedy ,, v: “
return to my prospects which have been in stem ‘ '  T§
quo for some time past. Oblige. me b making out .v 3 .1
your bill, not too light, mind you for a the trouble '- ’3
and expense of which I’ve been t e occasion."
be“ My dear sir. I really must protest," the doctor

an. '

‘ Pray don’t, Dr. Dallas. I never listen to protest:
after I’ve once made up my mind—a persistency, by
the way, which has brought me into many a scra -
before today. It suited my state of mind at t e x,\ -_ %
moment to take up my temporary abode here, and it' i '  ,
suits my plans now to follow up my original intent. \ l ; .
If you are Willin% we will dispense with the bill and I ., ‘44,”
call it square on hat.” , ‘ ‘ , ‘ '

He drew a handful of money from his pocket and
dropped it altogether into the other’s by no means
laggerd hand. ' , o

‘ A deuce of a sight easier and uite as satisfac-
tory, I hope as the formality of a bi] . I’ll say good-
by to our pleasant companionship and my own satis-
factory sogourn here rather earl to-morrow." 

“It suits your plans.” Dr. D as thought, witha v ,
contraction of those shar , catty eyes—“ but I’m , "as
sorry to admit it. my dear ‘aptalil Bernham. 89011 8 . _'
precipitate movement does not suit my incnnfitlonin - . ‘ '
the least. To defer your 80mg 01‘ to get some mk’

 

 

 

 

abru

 

 

 

    
  
  
  
   
 
 

I should have discovered allhis,
one eye open or Let me hope he
may sleep soundly, this last night of his 3158. .3'
There was adisagreeablegleam in the 1%? or s, _
which did not phase unnoticied by Captain;  .-
unobservantas eappeare ——apassm geamw _ , ‘  .

go had carried w , <

‘ i I

in his mind. ‘ . ,V

“ I’ve read that man too thorou lily to trust any '
thing to him,” he thought," and ’m not quite 8i, x.  I
fool to give a clew which may be followed into his , 3n
possession. No, no, Dr. Craven Dallas! 11011 381 x '. ~

hope to be Judged by a. better record than my own
merits.” '

Dr. Dallas put out his hand and reached the bell '
null as he niet the other’s eves. i .1

 

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I. I (p.
'1 .

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l ' r W v - I
.i ,. A , _,v- 'v ,”'i

 \> 4%". ‘ . , . x ‘ .
‘ WM _»‘ r 1» ~‘ ‘: ,_.  .”

‘I.,

 

 

 

. seen the man’s head go sudden

‘ whole
' heard a hoarse, unnatural voice in no more than a

qwb recpeat. .
cad, eadl Poor little Rose! Poor, poor girl!"

7 was so

not the cause of f ghtening you away.

8

_,,

,,

 WILMA'vaLoE. _ ,.

 

 

’ “ One of the’few items of renovation and improve-
ment I have added since taking possession here,” he
said, with an upward glance at the cord. “Fancy
going the'distanceof a uarter square to communi-
cate with one°s own ki‘c ien. I can’t tell you how 1
regret this sudden determination of yours, but,
since you declare it incombatible, I must hold my-
selfresigned. Isit up late tonight, and I ordered

. coffee for us both. Let me flavor yours with brandy

in company with my own and wish you undisturbed
re ose for your last night here!”

rs. Gerrit had answered his summons with two
coffee-cups on a tray, and, putting it down upon a
httle stand between them, withdrew again. Dr.
Dallas rose, approached a closet at the Side and
came’back with a flask in his hand. He poured a por-
tion into each cup and turned to replace the flask, all
done carelessly and with no attempt at shirking the
other’s observation, but then Captain Bernham was
not at the moment glancing that way. In the few
seconds the doctor’s back was turned, however, he
reached swiftly and turned the little tray upon the
stand. The doctor came back, and, motioning his
guest to help himself, took up the remaining cup,
sipping the iquid with slow, a parent zest. Bern-
ham drank his at a single draug t and pulled out his

pipe again.

‘To neutralize the effects of your coffee, doctor.
It was deucedly bitter to my taste.”

“I drink it so purposely,” the doctor answered.
“But then, coffee is t e only stimulant I allow my-

“Smoke?” The captain ushed his tobacco-
box, always well filled, across 0 the other. “And
:ythe way, in case you are not astir after your

ht’s vigil, supplose make my adieux over night.”
.he doctor’s t in lips were just stirred by the
slightest sneering smile, and in a moment both men
were absorbed in watching the clouds of smoke
wreathing bazily about their heads. Unconsciously

_Dr. Dallas lost sight of another intentionhe had.-
' fixedinhis

mind anintention of shifting his obser-
vation from the hazy mists to his com anion. Pres-
ently it was dimly apparent to him t at the other
had antici ated t e in ention and was calm] watch-
. T en,with no thought of resistance, 0 seem-
to feel a hand searching is pockets and something
withdrawn but all so vague and so separated from
any care of his own that, with not even an attempt
to shake ofl' his helpless languor, he slid into deep, un-
broken sleep.

Had he followed further the facts of those vague
forerunnin fancies, he would have seen Captain
Lei h Be am leisurely trying his keys in the desk,
wh ch had been returned to its old lace in the other
room—the room in which Matthew regory had died.
He would have seen him successful after a time, and,
scare the interior, bring forth a little box having
neither lock nor ke , but a s ring with which his
fingers seemed pe ectly fami iar. He would have
down upon the

senseless little thing, the bronzed ace convulse the ‘

strong figure shake and quiver, and have

M

 

CHAPTER VIII.
sums or am.

Earn Hnmnavnu: stood looking down into the '

- small, dark slee ing face, with a sensation new to

all his pro ous fe struggling at his heart—an in-
voluntary recognition 0 that mournful influence
which had preyed upon her life until the stamp of it
Elainl' y apparent in her face that it was
always t e first impression to strike an observer—a
tender sympathy and a desire to extend rotection

to that httle creature who looked too chi dlike and 
delicate to buffet with any rou h fortunes of chance I

in our rough world. The long ark lashes quiver-ed
and the lids went wide, leaving the startled dark
ayes looldng up at him in turn with an uncertain,
oubting ex ression as if his presence there was
Scarcel sett ed in her mind fora fact. His words
her of it, after the space of a breath.
“ beg your pardon," he said, as her timid eyes
fell before his bright, bold, blue ones, and thou h it
was no new experience for Erie Hetherville to

ave ;

the eyes of women droop before his gaze, the shy I

' grace of this girl made the ex erience now a delight
’ worth of his accomplishmen .

“I would not have
(1 that the library already
can’t hope my appearance has

intru ed had I sus
an occu nt.

5 not disturbe you, since I am a witness to the fact,
‘ , but I can and

make such amends as lie in my
war by taking myself out of the way immediate.

f‘Oh no, pra don’t. Iwas asleep I supfiiose, and
not quite sure hat I was not dreaming s lwhen I
suddenly and saw you there. I shall go right
awa , all the same."

“ will agree to‘ sta only on condition—mag I grin

y e
way. it would be only according to the law of natural
recompense, though a rather ueer coincidence, if
you, really had seen me in your reams. I have met

on in that misty region— of me see, something like
so days or so ago."

He was loungin in the open door, with the slight
form standing w ere she had risen first, a smile
breaking over the little red mouth.

_ “It would not have been so strange if I should
have seen you in my sleep. I am accustomed to

‘dream of things which have made a recent im—

ression on my mind, and your illness would suffice
or that Mr. Hetherville. Perhaps you dreamed
also that I magnetized you back to slumber when
you Were yielding to wild fancies and spin a fair
way to brin on the? fever which was ea ed? If

on will‘be nd enough to let me ass; Mrs. Rich-
' willbe 'me before " , K

 

}
i

. ion

"AfterIthank on for the a‘ reciated kindness.  connection disagreeath apparent. In fact.  '
rs. Richland will be '

And won’t you te me whom
expecting? If we are dwellers beneath the same
roof for a short time may we not be friends as well 2‘"

There was the swee of a dress at his back and
the maid who shared er services between Ethel and
the mistress of the mansion, stood there.

; pose

Mrs. Richland had sent in search of Miss Wilma, ‘

and would she see to arranging the ppm-gm for the
dinner-table before she came up-stairs? Mr. Hether-
ville made way for the little figure, and Miss Wilma
disappeared from before his eyes, but leaving a vivid
im ression of the small, dark, pathetic face, lighted
anc frightened by its wmning smile, fingering in his
D1111 .

He sat down in the same deep chair of purple
morocco and solid oak which she had occu ied, and
turned the leaves of a book with a scar et mark
fluttering between, that la on the table at his side.
He was there still when r. Richland made his ap-
pearance in the doorway a few moments later.

“Why, bless my life I-Ietherville, this is more of
an improvement than I, had hoped for. Below, and
equal to Owen Meredith, a poet whom I thought
men only affected when inspired by the presence of
alady. Iwonder if these avorable symptoms are
to be charged in any case to Ethel’s a ency? At
any rate, I’m heartly glad of your rapi recovery,
my dear fellow.”

Not a man of fine tact, the host, but honest to the
core, Erie Hctherville found himself struck with a
guilty sensation as then h be had been tried and

omid wanting in some eplorable measure b ' the
side of the other’s strictly honorable principle. Vith
Mr. Richland’s words had come his first recollection
of his own mission here the first reminder of how
near he was, in all probability, to setting his seal to
his own future destiny, and with the reminder came
his first inclination to Shirk the issue for a time—to
hold to himself yet a little longer his indefinite sense
of freedom. He turned his back upon the prompt-
ing with the quick recollection that he was not free,
that he was bound only less firml and surely than
by the marriage vow, with a su den, fierce, angry
contem t of himself that his devotion to Ethel
should ave wavered for the first at this supreme
moment. He plunged into his subject almost with-
out )refaCc.

‘° hanks, Mr. Richland. There’sverymuch owing
to Ethel, I assure you. It is with her permission
that you find me here, waiting the chance of a few
private words with you. You were a kindly ap-
Proving party to our betrothal of six years ago, and

trust am correct in assuming that you have not
deprecated your favor of me. The extreme limit of
the time agreed upon then is now almost reached,
and I am here to ur e the strict fulfillment of the
old plans. I am a one to make Ethel m wife at
as early 3. day as you may approve and s e agree
to. I have not accustomed myself to this end for so
a time to urge unceremonious haste now, but I
do eg that there may be no unnecessary delay."

“Spoken with the sg rit I expected from you,”
responded Mr. Richlan , warmly. “I should have
been immeasurably disappointed at hearing any
different proposition from you. And Ethel is of the
same mind, he ? Well, then, there’s no reason, not
the slightest, or any delay whatever, except the
small time necessary for preparations which must
be made. Upon my word, Hetherville, I was never
more rejoiced in all my life except once—when I
stood upon the same ground you occupy now."

He wrung the young man's hand with all the
warmth of 113 own up roval, and that same guilty
sensation returned to ‘ 19 that he was not more
elated over the smooth, fair fortune which had at-
tended his wooing and winnin , if wooing and win-
ning it could be called which ad brought no exer-
tion of his own into play, which had been attended
b none of that painfully blissfully) uncertainty
t t hopes much, and is magnified aheaven of
{yelicitclicilisdrapture when certainty is sweetly and shy-

e e .

‘ If on don’t object,” said Mr. Richland, “to
leave t e management of the whole affair to me,
I’ll see that those same pre arations are not drag-
ged throu h the entire lengt some people consider
necessary efore they settle to even the contempla<
tion of the final ceremon . Ethel is one of the best
of girls but not utterlly ree from woman’s eneral
habit of dallying. I’ give a carts blaw'he or the
trousseau, and have it ordered from the largest im-
portin house in New York. After that there’ll be

no di culty in naming an early (la . I'll be grieved, I
deeplégrieved to part with my ( ear irl, )ut, my
own to experience to the contra , believe in

early marriages. If you are to be a in all to each
other, give the best art of your lives to yourmutual
happiness, I say. you have any objection to my
turning such an urgent generalissimo, don't hesitate
to make the fact known.”

“Not any objection in the world. On the con-
trary, ou must know how great the obligation on
my si e will be.” Yet now, as once before his
words lacked the fire, the hasty ins iration of the
enthusiastic suitor who lives in the ' ht of hisin-
amorata’s smile.

The result of so much exertion on his art, of
mental perplexity more than phisical act on, was
the return of some sli htly feveris sym toms that
were triumphantly seized upon by Miss rle as what
might have, been anticipated from the violation of

g her rule, as he was taken into unquestioned charge

i
‘ tionto

g world within

again and im ressed with the necessity of resuming
the invalide role in his own apartment for the
evemn . It was by no means so desirable a situa-
thoughts, that night, as lthad been when
the blue-afld-gold of the walls had tan led into
cloudy forms and had.elfin faces limn their
midst—not so desirable as- durln the later (in s of
his convalescence, when the wor d without an the

that (18/an chamber bad no links of

.\ .i..\,

‘44
.‘(V - .

 

 

 
  
   
   
 
  

kind of night he passed, sleepless, until the 
watches, and restless then with grotesque, disto
dream-forms haunting him, was not at all the - ~
of night that a happy young lover, just assured ,
the spiedy realization of his dearest hopes, is 911,
o ass. 
Mrs. Highland breached the subject to Ethel 1311“,
very night. It was one of their very quiet everun 4
below. stairs. There had been invitations to b_ ,«
and dinner parties and operas and select reception“,
to occupy every one of the six nights of the w
but these, with the exception of 0 or three, ha .
been declined in deference to the invalid beneath?
their roof. This night with Lotta—that blight, brief
star—at the New Opera House as an irresxstibe
ma net of attraction, and two after balls, the 911'
lan mansion escaped even a casual caller dun“ _
the evening. These domestic evenings, in a hou59‘ ,
hold little accustomed to the kind, are eommo 1
such tiresome afi‘airs that no precedent is ever 1
established sufiicientl favorable to warrant their .
frequent repetition. is one was proving no 61‘
ception, although, as Ethel had asserted once, the ‘
were seldom yielded preys to dullness even wh
thrown upon their own resources for the memberI
of this little group were knit in habits of companion'
ship and consultation of each other’s tastes more
than is often found in our so-called first families.

Ethel had taken refuge at the piano and lost h 1"
self fora moment in the mazes of “Faust,” w
her brother sat over a chess-board, matching
skill against his wife's random, absent moves.

“ My dear, my dear!” he remon trated, after 0110
of her least-guarded ventures. “I never knew 0“
to play so badly. Wh , you have virtually V911
the game into my ban 5, and you generally ma
me shar )ly to the end. See how easily I am gel”
to gain t 1e victory.”

Mrs. Richland’s white jeweled hand, coming up!
struck the corner of the board, jumbling the pieces
into a mass of mingling colors. ‘

“There, what a pit l I have spoiled your Vic‘
tory; but, as you sai , the game was all in your
own hands. I am quite willing to yield the inevititblo
defeat.” ‘

“ What a ity all women aren’t as sensible as 0‘3
Gertrude! on are looking wearily; I am a r
you are not as strong as you were— you are not a
pearing to bear the excitement of the season as w
as heretofore.”

“I am quite well and quite strong, but a little 911'
nuied, I am afraid. If you will spare my further in'
fiiction, I think I shall retire earl for once.” ‘,

“By all means, do. Nothing ike a good nigh” ..
rest to bring you to yourself again, and bless m0
the evenin has gone rapidly, after all,"glanoin$
at his watc , where the hands pointed at a qua
to eleven. “ Good-night, my dear! No, don‘t follow
fora moment, Ethel. I :resume you are not in
hers cc of a petition w iich was made to me, t
afternoon." ,,

“A petition, brother? Not—surely, not already?
~—her troubled gaze turned upon him and the fain
flush upon her check palin would have been eV‘i'
dence of her apprehension guicker eyes than hi5
kindly ones, but Mr. Richlan saw nothing more
than a rather sensitive young lady’s embarrassmen
over a delicate love affair.

“ Surely and already, and quite the proper action,
just as I expected it on Hetherville’s part. He wall
conflding enough to leave the whole affair of 91"
rangement to my dictation, with the stipulation that
there should be no delay. What do you say

lacin as much confidence in Gertrude? Let her

ake t 9 whole onerous burden of the trousseauo
and when the pre arations arrive at a state of gen‘
eral satisfaction, rle and yourself can settle the
important <(irluestion of naming the day. What migh‘
be assume as undue haste in another case will 110“
be in this, after your long engagement. 'Hethervil-le
claimed your permission to speak, so of course 0“
are quite willing to agree. A_noble fellow, Et 611
and ‘one I shall be proud to claim as my brother-111’

“ But I did not e ct more than simply the un'
derstanding yet. I on‘t want to be rushed into“
matter reguiring so much careful consideration."

“Rushe , Ethel, after six years’ standing choice?
What would on women call taking our own time-
I wonderf. here, there; you qui exhaust my

iaticnce With you. If it were not for my respec
or Hetherville’s feelings, to say nothing of hi5
rightshand if my heart iadn’t been set upon yo
marrying him at this time I’d be tempted to thrOVv
up the sponge at this late (late and leave you to ml“
neuver the affair, for the mere curiosity of see
what turn it would take to the end.”

His voice carried a nearer approach to fretfulnesa
in it than Howard Richland‘s general contentmffin
often ex ressed. “ After all, it might be the sur
means 0 bringing a nick result. Why not throw
the matter of alittle ime on the best side of the
scale I should like to know i"

j‘T e matter of a little time,” Ethel echoed, in her
mind, drearily. “It is no more than that indeed,
so why should I hesitate for the matter of a little
time? And how selfish to grieve Howard, whow
been both father and brother to me 1"

She sed over the space between and touched
her quiet ii to his forehead. ‘

“ I am w ing to trust everything to you, Howard'
Forgive me for having seemed irresolute; you 
not find me so a sin, with two such steadfast 8‘

 

am les in Erle an ourselt." ,
S e was gone at at, before he had time to rep
a word. S e paused at Mrs. Richland’s doorin 9&5“ 2‘

 

   
 

ing, but all seemed still and dark there. and she W”-
turmng away in the direction or herowh chamber, ‘
when a thread of light still further on caught 1‘9“:
eye. She moved toward it, her light footmt I ‘
the thick carpeting of the possess. The ' 

I.

 

  

 

 

 

   

“rm #312: ,5,

   

x

With

' / sOftene

K9 rA l

31.38:!!! came from: the crevice of Wilma‘s door. but
her silent touch pushing itajar, it was not
8 11ma awake there as she had expected to find.
eeillg onl the back of the tall, graceful form
Stfinding With a little shaded night-lamp dis ensing a
glow upon the sleeper’s face, Et el drew

bfick and turned away.
‘Like Gertrude,” she thought; “ always interested

‘ in the comfort of others.”

he would scarcely have passed the little incident
‘0 lightly had she caught a view of the hidden face,
the eatures locked in their usual marble-like repose,
“tr With all the intensity of a strong consuming
emotion concentrated in the wide eyes, dwelling
1311 an absorbed fascination on that unconscmus
hegd upon the pillow. _
Does my heart lie, or have I gone mad in all

* reslit i” was the wild thought in the soul of this

I

    
  

pron , emotionless woman of society, as she stood
thfiil‘e, seeming the frozen symbolic statue of that
Dude which the world both worshiped and decried,
m00ked by those burnin , passionful eyes. The lips
of the sleeper parted wit a smile, and the woman s

adid closed tightly over her heart, as if some sharp
agony was tearing there, and she turned aweag', but
“nth the firm line of her own mouth blanch to a

Sad whiteness.

 

CHAPTER IX.
THE d nine LIBRARY. u d

Richlan rary a paren y . ossesse a
. culiar fascination for Erlre Hethe 9 after this
We. He grew to a habit of dropping in there at
Odd hours of the day, and before many days had
Passed was well conversant not so much With the
rows upon rows of volumes lining the walls us know-
l‘éd e of what other members of the household
v181 d that treasury of literature with any regular
freiiluency for. _

T e symptoms of the relapse which Miss Erle had
confident] predicted were off .during the night, and
MP. Erle {lethervllle made his ap’ earance in the
13‘38.ki‘Zast-rooni next morning a lit e thinner and a
I‘Ftle paler for his illness, a handsome, blonde young
giant, in mornin undress, whose eyes went over the
gnangements o the room with a sw1ft, searching

ance.

His aunt was there discussi general philanthro-
gy with Mr. Richland, the sntfif black sni: of her

Ilemoiin wear exchan ed for a soft, neutral cash-
Inere of the morning. Ethel who would have looked

Ore like a ghost of horse than the bri ht, fair
1"ills of two seasons but for the rose- in of her
trailing wrapper which reflected a color 0 her quiet
f8~ce, gazed out upon the still, silent atmosphere; and
MI‘S. Richland lookingr as she always did, a strikingly
s _ tuesque face and form, appeared Simultaneously
with himself by the opposite doorway. If he had
gubertained an ex ,ectation of secin . the slender
httle figure and e fin face that had‘ in cred With

B“ch strange persistency in his thoughts e was not
destined to be ratified. .
“You must et us do the honors for on, Miss

Erle,” said Mrs. Richland during the break ast hour,

now that you are released from your faithful at-
tfinance in the sick-room. I am quite at your ser-
‘nce, and I think Mr. Hetherville may be safely
trlisted to the liberty of the house during the day.
N0 fear of a relapse now, I imagine."

“By all means, aunt Erle, provide yourself with a
full complement of tracts and bitter pills, quiet little
Purses, and bi bundles and papers of sugar-plums,
and new insta ments of fresh logic, for those nu-

erous de endents of yours up among the West—
InOreland ls. If I’m to give you a safe-conduct
back into that benighted regio I stipulate to be
tol‘tiiied with the whole array 0 introductory arti-
ces needed to gain any sort of reco ition from
ulose calculating lambs of your Village lock.”

“ You incorri 'ble Erle! Because all my efiorts
1'01‘ the better condition, moral and physical. of
is! poorpeople are not immediately recognized, it

no

in(lee ,‘generaily speaking, they are most gratef

form endeavors.” ”
“ B g bundles and little purses and ar-pluins,

inSerted Erle. “Small favors thankf y received,

and larger ones in proportion. I must commmsion
{011 with my mite, all in the way of sugar—plums,
oWever."

“And, meantime, don’t have any fear of Heiher-
Vme rowing melanchol in his seclusion,” said Mr.
R10 and With a comp acent glance across at his

18ter and very satisfied good-nature beaming in his
lg“100th, florid face. “ I shouldn’t be surprised, Miss
Erle, if you were petitioned to bear a hand in other
commissions, shopping excursions and the like, af-
to? we persuade you to remain on here until a cer-
ln hap y event has been consummated. West-
morelanf and your poor people must sagire 'ou
til after the holidays, I’m thinking. as his
hoDeful ne how of yours imparted the secret. of the
ggderstan ing arrived at during Our interView of

Sterda 1’”

Until after the holidays! Ethel caught her breath

1th auupward glance quickly dropped again. So
Soon, so very soon! Even Erle was surprised al-
most to expression. He had stipulated for no delay,
and. had entertained some vague thought of early
lspl'lflg and a voyage across the ocean, With the
mine oon passed in South France and Italy.

‘ 01; told you? Is it possible? Ethel, my dear,
1‘0 need of that shy reserve. It is all In the famny
imongus here. Gertrude and I have Into a reed

‘1 relieving you of all responsibility, so hat a you

“’0 young people are expected to do is Simply to
gimme yourselves in any way you hke, and avoid
i,900ming too much absorbed in each other. Com-

‘8 back to you, Miss Erle—we all hold ourselves of
fecond importance—you surely will not contemplate

“With-2 us now?” ' . .

proof that. the case will always stand so; and I

 

_\, ‘ , ,/ . v' an»,

" TWILMA "WIILDE.

ButMiss Erle, wavering for a,moment between
her own delight and her sense of Ipersonal duty, de-
cided conscientiously in favor of t e latter.

“I could not be of use here," she said, “and I
would be lost at advisin for a wedding. I am
wanted at home, missed am sure, now; why, I
haven’t been out of Westmoreland for two consecu-
tive weeks for the last ten years. Just as soonas
Erle is fit to travel he shall go back with me. I’ll
not insist on keeping him very long, my dear, and
I’ll come down to the wedding with more happiness
than I can. express.” With that she kissed Ethel
tenderly, With a smiling assertion that she was the
only young lad in the whole circle of her acquaint-
ance quite goo enough for her own dear boy. The
dear boy sauntered around the table to receive his
share of the caresses, and stood with his hand on
the back of Etliel’s chair, chatting gavly until the
little breakfast party broke up, its mem ers dispers-

in their own various directions.

in was three hours later in the day, and the car-
ria e containing Mrs. Richland and Miss Erl: had
ro ed away from the door, when, in his restless
wandering from place to place, he let himself un-
ceremoniously into the library.

Those well—ordered doors with exemplary hin es
were surely a great institution in the mansion. rle
Hetherville was more than ever inclined to bestow a
silent benediction upon them as he stood, unseen,
lookin in at the two occupants of the room.

Ethe lay. back in the great chair now, her fair
hands holding some scrap of needlework dropped
into her lap, her soft, hazel eyes fixed upon er
companion. _ The latter was in a window-scat, with
an open boox in her hands. She turned a leaf, read-

in :

5‘ Faultin faultless, icily regular, s lendidly null-—’.’.
and glanced up with a deprecatory ittle motion.

“ I don’t like it " she said, with sim le candor.

“ And neither do I like it, Wilma. omen are not
created so feelingless as the poet would have us
think. You may cave ‘Maud’ and read something
else if you like.’

But the readin was not immediately resumed.
As if his proxi t affected her as she had vividly
impressed him wit her sweet, shy timidity her un-
affected, child-like grace, her trusting, ocent
candor and the reflection of the sadness and loneli-
ness which had shadowed her life heretofore, Wilma’s
fine sense had detected his presence. Ethel, follow-
ing the direction the (dark eyes had taken, saw him
standing there.

“Come in,” she said. “No, don’t stir Wilma; Mr.
Hetherville can accommodate himself on the sofa
here without interfering with your light. Miss
Wilde, Mr. Helhervillel—you two are strangers, I

resume, though you should not be, with almost a

ortiight since you have both been inmates of the
house. I hope that you understand you are admit-
ted here on sufferance only, Erle' this is our course
of regular discipline of late. Wilma. reads to me or
with me in the mornings, and I play propriety for
her when the time comes for her music or language
lessons. Then I teach her a little of my won xrt'ul
proficiency in drawing—by the way, did you know
hat I sketch? It’s one of m accomplishments
taken up since our ‘childhood ays together.’ I’ll
give you convincing proof of the fact presently.

nd in return Wilma does wonderful lace embroi-
dery, and picks up all my fallen stitches so unob-
trusively t at I have been actually deluding myself
into the belief of late that I am one of the most ex-
em larfi of careful mortals.”

lg. etherville, bewing his acknowledgment to
the (ilntroduction, sunk lazily into the place indi-

te

“ On suii‘erauce though it may be, I assure you I
would sufler an penalty rather than deprive my-
self willingly 0 so much unexpected leasui'e.
Don’t let me I beg of you, interfere with t e usual
exercise, an indeed, you uite charm me with the
dlescription of that mutual y beneficial companion-
3 zip. ’

Both were thankful now for that open discussion
of the breakfast time, which divested this encounter
of the embarrassment each must have felt bad it
been otherwise.

“I don’t mean that you shall interrupt,” Ethel
averred. “In that case, however, you are entitled
toaii equal privilege. I dare say you came in here
to enjoy a Cigar, and I shall certainly insist upon the
indu ence.”

“ ith thanks for the permission, then. What an
extremely sensible young lady! Did you really
chance to know there isn’t a more efficient way of
silencing any of us masculine bipeds than by ac-
cording such a hbertyfg Truth, I assure you. If Miss
Wilde will favor us With anything she likes from
the poet laureate, I’ll be happy to respond in the
same way myself presently. ’ I

The readingwns resumed, and Eric, blowing fan-
tastic wreathing clouds about his head, watched
them rise and-fall, take form and melt away, while
he listened to the clear, Vibrant, expressive voice
renderin the full sentiment of. all that was to be
Conveye(. Watching the chaii ing face between
whiles and with all his own indo ent sense of con-
tentment come suddenly back to him.

“It never Occurred to me before this to wonder
what she may be in the. household,” he thou ht.
“ ‘llliss Wilii‘ia’ of last night, I remember—Wi a
Wilde. Odd little name, harmonizing admirabl
with the odd little creature she seems to be. Sel -
possessed under all her shy reserve, fine-featured
and slender-handed and musicalvoiced, Wilma
Wilde, whatever she may be is no less a lady than
m own unmistakably high-bredfiamee.”

It was the pleasantest of hours that ever flew on
incredibly sw1ft Wings. Erle redeemed himself of
his voluntary promise by relieving her present :

and at last. when Wilma went away to, oversee t e
. , . p .

/

/

 

arran ement of their lunch. recalled Ethel’s laugh-
ing re erence to her sketches. ~ ' '
‘I shall surely pass the keenest of critical judii;
ment,”.he said, walking across to the little sketc .
portfoho where it lay u n a neighboring table.
‘ Tremble for thf result you care.”
He turned the eaves with amusing comments, and
Ethel spared them dperhaps half her attention from
the work she be taken 11 again, caring litth

enough for the really merltor ous efforts to bear his ,

light raillery with perfect indifference. His own af—
fectation of ludicrous criticism chan ed suddenly a
an involuntary low whistle as he toofi 1.1 one of t]
later pages. Glancing up, she saw w at he he.
with a vivid return of the color to her cheeks, a’llttlu
mirthful smile breaking Over her lips. It was the
cartoon of a youth, with the faintest trace of a mus-'
tache over his mouth, on his knees by the side of a ~
short-skirted simpering little miss—the very evident
burlesque of a first love confession. But the hu.-
morous resemblance, the surroundings faithfully
executed, came up before him as something differr
ent from burlesque; as very well remembered en-j
thusizistic reality in fact, and ‘a flush of annoyance"
rose to his forehead. No man cares to know that:
his own earnest feeling, even when changed -b the'
remote distance to a ho ’s 130111:r has furn shed
amusement to any other. e slig t annoyance was
very quickly passed, however, and he met her eyes
wit a comical expression.

“I dare say you are right. It was a rather ludi-
crous affair as seen from our standpoint now ” and
folding the offending leaf, took calm posseselon of
it. “ A warning that I shall not fail in asserting my
lawful 'degree of authority when the proper time
comes.

“And be overruled by submission. That is the
we it'is done I believe. ’

they had passed into an easy reco _ tion of
their old familiar terms and with no furt or refer-
ence to the future in which they were mutually in~
volved, for at for the time the disquiet which had.

se arately aunted both. ~ '
hel uttered an exclamation of surprise as she

glanced at the little gold watch at her belt, while v

they were lingering yet over the lunch-table as the
bell rung a sharp unmistakable business summon-
“Your music- acher Wilma. How the day has
one! No, Erle, in pity to this child’ , timidity,
must excuse you from further atten anceupon
us. ’ a

The music-lesson was over and the excitable little ’

French professor one again. Wilma was above
stairs now in Ethe ’s company still, and in Ethel‘sx.
room, her deft fingers looping up Ethel’s sea-green -
diiiner-dreSs with knots of rose-ribbon, when a
tremulous sigh escaping her lips drew the other“.
observation. Ethe] was alwa s tenderly consider-
atei especially soto this hereto ore neglected young
1‘

g1“ You are not unhafigy here, I hope, Wilma?”
Wilma’s smile wo have been answer enough
despite the tears standing in the big, soft dark

e es.
y“Unha py‘l I am so wonderfully thankfully .

ha‘plp , iss Ethel, that it seemed so much .10
co n‘t be intended to last for me. So much kin -

ness from every one in the house, I don’t know how

I have ever deserved or can repay it."

“Dear child, if ever [unassuming worth deserve
yours is well deserving. There's not one of us can]
aflord to lose you now."

Happy, ha py change indeed from the loveless”
lonely life 0 so few weeks ago! It was no new
thing for Wilma‘suelyes to be suflused with grateful
tears, or for her f
containing her present joy.

There were a number of callers that evening ‘
Lenoir and Crayton amo them. The former
been at the house almost

much ier than had been even hoped. Orayton,

one of hose true Bohemians who are at home in

any society, who know everybod , and whose im-

measurable impudcnce is counterbalanced 13g real
eiiius of a certain sort, put himself forwai with
is sublime unconcern.

“ My dear Hetherville, take m congratulation ,
along With the rest. I didn’t troub e myself to call ,
when you weren‘t in a state to appreciate the atten- '
tion, but I’ll promise to make up the omission when
you get back to those old jovial bachelor. waiters-

f on ever do get back, I suppose I ough to add.
W at a windpipe ou must
of to come out so ittle the worse from the close em-I
brace it got the other night. I suppose «you saw the
account of the affair. ur three ocals ishedv it up
in as many different we. s, and I threw in sensation-
al head-lines by the had -column. What a blessing
those head-lines are, by the way! Saves us poor
devils of pen-scratchers many a long, close column,
and is a deuce more inspiring to the eye. And, by
the way, I ut forward a hyppthesm—mot in print
out of cons deration for _Len01r there. I am
convinced, since striking it that my proper s ere
in life should have been in he detective corps rather
than on the editorial staff 1” Mr. Crayton was a lit~

tle giVen to enlarging upon his own merits, and mag- '

nifying the importance of his own position when
outsi‘le the office. '

“Upon my word, I wish you wereain the co , if ’

that fact would return my missing valuables. ray

how would you trap the slippery rogues, Mr. Gray 4,

ton i”

“ My dear fellow I would quite slip over all slip- .

pery rogues. Take the case in abstract now. Two
young men are walking home through the streets.
One turns OE and leaves the other stand under
the late of a street-light. /‘The‘ first kills .6 echo
of sfootsten as he goes. is lost in the darkness. ,

y

..r .1,

 a. ..v,"»'~’_.'i.'
.' ,7.» ' y >r’e

\ l -

,1

 

heart to swell almost beyond »

y during Hetherville’s  '
first precarious Week of illness, and he expressed his, .
pleasure now in warm terms at his recovery, very

e the lucky possessor}.

uite f

 

 

 

 

. ’ fora moment.”

 

."1 7‘ lace foundation, tin

O,

7  v. 

I " ' ' ‘darts around the firstcorner afterward, down one
alle and up anothcrone and comes out breathless
,. h a square ahead. There’s time enough to re-
cover breath, however and—the remainder can be
better imagined than described. Rather a remarka-
, ble”hypothesis, is it not?”
.Erle 5 eyes opened wide with indi nant surprise.
“Remarkable, I should say, Mr. rayton. I hope
you have overlooked the fact that a breath of that
sort might affect Mr. Lenoir very unllleasantly. I
sincere y hope you have not re erre ‘to your hy-
pothesis as, a possibility?”
f‘ Outside, certainly not. I have quite too much
‘ consideration for Justin as I just now remarked.
' “But why not between ourselves?”
, “ Why, Mr, Crayton, I would as soon suspect any
""011 cu for instance as Lenoir.”
, , “And, with the same facts to point the case so you
. ' ht,” responded Crayton, coolly. “ ’Pon honor,
/ , Twit only that much incentive I’d throttle any man
I, gin Elie’universe to rid myself of a reported successful
' v .
He nodded familiarly toward Lenoir and Ethel, at

i v quite the opposite end of the long room, Lenoir with.

his elbow on some convenient support, leaning to-
' ward her and talking animatedly, Ethel with her
face. raised, listening intently With a rapt ex-
, pression—such an expression as he had never been
the means of calling there.
“And she caricatures my love making,” he
, thought. “ She even avords words a art with me. It
.\" looks—it certalnl does look—” Ear e Hetherville’s
brows contracte ever so slightly. Something more
than twentyofour hours previous to this he had
Wished almost for some disturbance of the too
. smooth course their love had taken. With what
might have been the slightest foreshadowing of a
-’ , storm ahead, he had a. grieved sense of injury astir
’in an instant. , He was immeasurably vexed at him-
self. and more than immeasurably vexed at Cray-
ton when Lenoir came back to join them a few nio-
meuts later.
V“_I’ve been demonstrating my hypothesis to Both-
101771118," said the imperturbable reporter—“ the same
x I explained to you as we came down. Oddly enough
he turns your advocate on the second."
Lenoir’s frank laugh had not a measure of appre-
hension in it. _
“I trust to Mr. Hethervrlle’s better estimation to
exonerate me from all suspicion. You carry your
absurdities uncomfortably close sometimes, Cray-

A't that Mr. Richland turned about to face the

' . youan man. .
“ hat is thisI hear of you, Lenoir? That you
' aren’t content grinding out your bralns on a daily

newspaper, but you must go to grinding them closer \

over some abstruse work .on domestic economy?
. How do on get along with it?” .
“ Slow y, 'I am sorry to say. Iain in need of reha-
’ ble references and illustrative cases. The lack of .a
. really good public library is a blemish upon the fair
record of our twin cities.” . '
, "‘  you should try aprivate library then—
, mine or instance. I’ve an idea on ma find almost
anythin there; I had it well fil ed in y a connorsc
2 near lag year. I I’ll be happy to place it at your free
. disposal.’
' v CHAPTER X.
t o N L r A 'r 0 U c n .
“ CAN you tell me where Mr. Hetherville is, Cicely?
Or if you wouldfind him and ask him to steéi
Miss Erle looked a little
. and t1 annoyed. There_was a clear
the q vering ribbons of her h ht httle headdress an
indignant rustle of the stifl blac silk, as she smoothed
down its folds with a nervously impatient hand. She
had gone down the stairs with a letter in her hand,
r on the look-out for Erle to post it. But Erle was no-
where visible, and in the round she had taken she
,hada lim 3 of another view, which gave the excel-
, lent o ladi’;rather variable tem er a dissatisfied
turn

tation given'by Mr. Richland, and come unceremo-
nio to the house these mornings, delving dee

invaluable mine of information the -

afforded him, full two hours later than his

I  room. -
‘I havn’t five minutes for my pleasant work

. V . he “ he said. “I hope to have one uninterrupted
-‘ ev g, this one, and came for a book of statistics
. ‘ ' I (Ind myself needing. 15 an unfailing resource

you have here i” . .
i“ It is my favorite resort of the entlre house._ You
gay sci; oxidences of our habit of frequenting it
ery . , _
She glayi'med-around at the table strewn With books
 magazines with a little basket of fiosses and
old thimble, dainty needle-

‘ book and bright stee sc ors, on a corner, vases on

 ‘ p the mantle and window-brackets where fresh-cult;

flowers were odorously bright, the soft glow o
’ burning coals behind the burnished bars of the grate,
' the cosiest of home rooms where every appomtment
was massive and substantial without an attempt at
I' display or undue ornamentation.
‘

And this is the first time I have had the happiness

" of findin you here. I shall certainly curtail m
‘ own visi s if I am the means of interfering wit
ouroccupancy of the room."

. l “I 'can assure you to the contrary, in all sincerity.
 Your early hours insure you privacy. I had ust~
' borne in,andif there is any variation I am ra her
, before’m’y usual reading hour. You are that early

0

 , bird here and gone before we idlers are re
1 ,, "an interest in the day.”

 but still lingered. talkinz in that easv. familiar c

ya, - .y .' V I. ,l

  

 WILMA " WILDE. 

' ion which spanned the distance between them and i

left him fo etful, in her presence how vast how
, unconquerab 8, it was in all realit . It was probably

not wisdom for him to forget.

t; he had scarcely accepted the warni
had put it awa in his mind and cover
thought that ' th

kind] ; he

now. Hers had been the delicate nurturing of a life
that  never known a care; his had been a strug-
gle smce his earliest recollection—a slow winning of

is own way through his own merit. Could his true 7

democratic principle have overridden that disparity

there was another consideration to place her beyond
, the reach of his wildest aspiration, as the bright,
, calm stars are above the earth. She was betrothed,

so rumor said, to one who was her 6 ual in every

respect, worthy of her as any man con (1 be, one to-

ward whom he was drawn, too, by the strongest
1‘ powers of that assimilation which may exist be-
; tween noble, contrasting natures. Whatever tem -
tation mi ht have come to him, un arded, wou d
surely f powerless now, hedged in by the full
knowledge of how baseless any be e of his Own
must be, and by the loyal of friendship which
would never undermine the ot er’s right be it ever
so loosely held. ,

“If there be a weakness in my own mind still, I
shalllive it down,” he said, to himself, with a quiet
stealing of his fine features, a resolute light in his
dark eyes. “If I cannot conquer myself, what hope
is there that I shall conquer the course I have
marked? But I shall conquer—both.”

And Justin Lenoir absolutely believed that he was
in a fair way of doin it. erhaps he was—who
knows? Men of his caliber have an insu erable per-
s1stency of urpose, and a strong, fine fl er, a reso-
lute nerve, atwill carry them unflinchineg over
t e sharpest thorns of the way where their sense of
honor—is it overstrained ?—bids them walk. The
possibility had not presented itself to him that the
very means he was taking to live down his own
weakness might drag her tender steps over the same
rough path. There was no egotism mingled with his
own justifiable confidence in his own powers. He
would as soon have expected fame and success to lie
at his feet without an eflort of his own, as have ex-
pected great works to spring spontaneously from

nexertion, or for Fortunatus’s purse to find its way
into his possession, as for Et el Richland, bound
to another, with the inheritance of a pride which
had whis red in the world—her world to stand her
in good s ead of any more substantial inheritance—-
as soon all that as to suppose she could let her

 

!
_ through the o

 

., . . Theg pseofavery simple ittle view atthat. j
3 Justin Lenoir, who had availed himself of the mvi- ; babm
since
i where of course there is none.
gm 1 file wedditilllg tshall hirer, itis he hight of fo
“‘3 . I a ' e a an ‘
us“ , time this day! had surprised Ethel alone “1 l thathnam glad, a ter al , of my} conclusion to yield to

e secured the volume fer which he had cog]?

 

heart waver, unasked and unsought, away from the
allegiance which should have been hers.

0h, conflicting prides and purposes! How they
cross each other, run counter and pierce into the
sharp agony, and yet are stone-blind to the strai ht,
clear way and mellow harmony into which t ey
might be merged!

It was the view of those two as she saw them
11 door communicating between
library that had so disturbed the

music-room an _
Hearing the manly tones

uaniinity of Miss Erle.

‘she had started in through the former, supposing

she had discovered her nephew’s whereabouts, but
paused short and drew back when Lenoir’s more
slender, straight figure and dark energetic face met

' her sight, strong contrast as might be to Erle Hether
,ville
11:11:53 Ito a’tldacity,fl'ls1elf-corilfiden§ asb ainpe tfid dafi‘rllin d
‘ . ' a
protest. in lsocxety may (1 apo ogye or e g ea c

tall and broad and blonde, easil indolent, boltjif
o
sharp, bright eyes of

r own, not by any means

I dimmed that fine wrinkles were laced m a network

’about them or that the soft hair shaded not con-
cealed by t e tasteful little head-dress of ribbons
and lace was snow-white and thinner than its once
luxurious growth. _
‘,‘He’s just the kind of man to make mischief, if
mischief can be made between them. A meddler or
a busybody never could, but if any man could rival
Erle it wouldbe one of that sort. There’s no pro-
of it, thank goodness! I‘ve been nervous
8 ring was lost, and I seem to see danger
uch a little time till;
could intervene. I beheve
their urging and remain till t e wedding is over. 1
wouldn’t be easy in my mind away from here now."
Miss Erle m ght have gone even further and
. doubted if she would be easy in her mind there with
. that slightly superstitious misgiving assailing her,
1 and er clear eyes seeing what had cecaped all the
rest, how wonderftu alike in temperament were
,her nephew and his betrothed, and recognizing,
;tllough unwillingly, that contrasting rather than
, similar natures and dispositions have greatest depth
of lasting fascination for each other. She went
. slowly back to her own room, and finding the maid
there, busy over the arrangement of those soft laces
which were so inseparable from the stiff black silk
and its wearer, put her question and made her re-
quest in one breath.
“Mr. Hetherville, ma’am? He is not in ct, I be-
lieve. He went something- less than an our ago

wonderful taste, and Mrs. Richland trusts her with
all the floral decorations. She‘ll take just a handful
of browu-looking leaves, and some bunches of grapes,
and apricots or peaches or orangzi and make an
epergne look as though the fairies been at work

,on it. They’ve gone now to select flowers for the
ldinner- all'vtly.”
“Wit ssWilmal It apgears to me that my
en

ne hew finds' occasion tb. gaged with Miss
W ma uite uently'nowadays. Miss Eric’s
continue annoyance led her into that indiscretion

 

 

8 had had his dan- I
er presented to him once and been warned against ‘
it wit the 3
ere had been a wavering weakness '
before this, the chance of it even was all done with l

with Miss Wilma to the fiorist’s. Miss Wilma has

 

 

Which at any other time she would have been loudest
to condemn, encomaging the llght gossip of a hire-
ling. It was very kindly gossip as corn ared to the
usual order of servants’ observations ut not of a
sort calculated to act as balm to Miss Erie's spirit of
apprehension.
, ‘ Oh, dear, yes! Mr. Hetherville seems very fond
of Miss Wilma, and no wonder' eve body is fond of
her, You have seen how they ave ken to making
1quite one of the family of her. It wasn’t so for the
rst fortni ht after she came. I think Mrs. Richland
supposed t t the master might object, for she made
much of her in her quiet way even then. But,
bless you. ma’am, he no sooner takes to noticing
her a ttle, and she falls into the way of oing down
mornings before the rest and reading t e paper to
him, and having his slippers ready of evenings, than
he says to the mistress—‘ Why don’t you have your
little protege come down among us, sometimes?
Poor c ild! she doesn’t look to have been so indulged
before this, but she might be able to bear some
mark of consideration from all of us.’ Miss Ethel
seemed to fall in love with her at first sight, and it’s
more shame I say to any one that isn’t taken with

her gentle wa s.’

Miss Erle c osed her lips grimly. She had not
been amissin kindliness to t e girl herself before
this, had “been taken,” as Cicel expressed it, by
the gentle, winning manner whic charmed all, but
it did not at all accord with her present frame of
mind that there should be no exception to the rule of
a universalifiroclamation of Wilma‘s praises. She
did not at advocate the theory of love at lit,
and rather than find any fault Wlth her pros ec ve
niece-at-law was quite prepared to shift the gurden
of her present uneasiness upon Wilma’s shoulders.

“Was it your letter you were wanting mailed,
ma’aml‘” Cicely asked, folding away the last of the
laces. f‘I can ask Wilma Thompson to put it in
the box if you wish.”

“I’ll not trouble William Thompson,” Miss Erle
answered. “ I have changed my mind regardin 'the
letter. When Mr. Hetherville daes come in, p ease
let him know I should like to see him here.”

Miss Erle‘s mind had evidently undergone a decided
change. She sat after the maid left her, looking
forward into the fire, a. troubled contraction in her
forehead, her slim, wrinkled fingers tearin strl by
strip through letter and enve ope, droppn Elem
bit y hit upon the grate. She drop ed t e last
fragment presently as, after a warning ap, Erle let I
himself into the room.

“ Well my dear aunt! Have Ibeen neglecting my
own 01 lady that she greets me With such a
solemn visage?”

He drew a chair forward and drotpped into it,
throwing his head back with a smile an an affection-
ate gvltlaince of his bright blue eyes.

“ on will you be ready to go back with me to
Westmoreland, Erle l” she asked, abruptly, scarcely
meetinghhis glance. “I’ve waited away much longer

1

than I 3 DUI
“ To Westmoreland ? I thought you had ven up:
that you had concluded to accept the ichlands

invitation and remain here until after the holidays!
Ishould have tried my persuasive powers before
this had I not considered he matter settled.”

“ I’ve (Hilts made up my mind that I must return
home wi out anghn'ther delay. It was reprehen-
sible on my part hesitate at all. If it would 31111i
you tomorrow, I order my packing done at
once.

“ But to-morrow isquite out of the question,” as-
serted Erle, knitting his brows and looking his per-

lexlty full into the old lady’s face. “ I’m romised

or the ball to-n ht, my first night out. an to-mor-
row there's the nor given here—you can't rush
away at the very eleven h hour before that. What
lilo? put you in this impatience so suddenly, aunt
4r e ’

MissErle had no intention of explaining to him
precisely what.

“ of a woman’s perverse spirit," she
thought, “and then com it with a young man
of that sort; thefirst , into absolute ' ‘
canoe. Give him a hint that I disapprove of the in-
timately he is building with Wilma Wilde, and he
woul immediately conjure u the idea of injustice
done to her and set  to comforting her
with added manifestations of his own interest!
No, it would never do to, give him a hint, any
more than it will do to leave him here to pick a
misunderstanding with Ethel, or to run the risk of
his taking any warmer liking for Wilma. I think I
can coun on keepin him in Westmoreland for a.
fortnight, and when e re he’ll take up his old
quarters again of course. d of course again
he’ll devote himself to his/tame in his visits here
and with the holidays so near, and Mr. Richland
to press the time of the wedding, it will all be
bro lit through according to the programme.”

So ss Erle pleaded imperative duty as the canes
of her recall, and no persuasions could shake her de‘
termination of turning her face homeward immedi'
ately. She consented, after a. little hesitancy, to I“?
main for the dinner party, and the time for then'
departure was fixed for the morning following. ,

What'sort of a crotchet has aunt Erle taken up!”
mused Erle, in his own private disappointment.
“Something, thou h she is so close over it. So
am not to escape estmoreland and the villagerso ,
after all? and I am to miss the German translations
and the mornin readings and the afternoon al’f
tendance, from t is time out! How deucedly dreary
the bachelor lod 'ng will seem, after this!” and, sad
to indite Mr. He erville forgot to insert a clause
there felicitating himself upon the change from
bachelorhood soon to take ‘. . ' ' -‘ »'

Returning from the ball, that night, in th 56 131391;.
0r early hours verging. upou the awn. Mrg. R1011", '

. l ' ‘

   

 

 

   

\

  
     

l, /

i ‘ ‘ 

'i

. \

;-,§1‘vr3 1-.ty,‘ \ _,.,i ’x .9).
- r‘ly‘ .‘. I,‘ .. ‘ .

‘ l

i

1 'WILMA‘

 

 

WILD‘E. “ * 

 

land found Wilma waiting for her before the bright
' fire in her dressing-room.
“M child. you?’ she said, with an accent of re-

Pr0va. “You force me to 've orders that this
Olfense shall not be repeate . I can not permit
You to lose rest— on whose days are given to the
Comfort of all 0 us. This is Cicely’s duty, not
yours.”

“But Cicely has Miss Ethel to wait upon, and in-
deed—indeed—I would rathergvait u for you than
not. You are so very, very kind, an I have so few
\Ways of thanking you, of showmg how grateful I
am

Mrs. Richland, with the red glow of the fire shim-
mering over her rich party dress, looking down into
the wistful, tender face, With eyes which might have

en looking away through the mists of long years,

. 80 absent and rapt were they, put out her hand and
touched the girl’s hair gently. .

Wilma shivei‘ed. That touch, so.quiet as to.be
almost imperceptible, had sent a sinfully startling
thrill to electrif her veins—a thrill so intensely v1-
brating, she cou d not have told whether it was most
terror or delight, except that a chilhng weight at her

eart seemed to point at the first.

The absent look melted out of the lady‘s eyes.
She sat down before her dressing-table and began
Slowly unclasping the jewels at her white, stately

oat.

“Go to bed at once, Wilma,” she said, quietly.
“You may call at Miss Richland’s door, and ask

icely to come to me when she is done there.”

“Oh, dear, dear Mrs. Richland, I trust that you
are not offended with mel” cried Wilma, all in a.
qlliver of sorrow and remorse. “Indeed, I could
not help it; I would not have angered you for the
World. Oh what have I done?”

“Dear c 'd, you have done nothingB
express your own grateful little heart.
not here to take my maid’s duties into your busy

ands. I must watch that they are no ‘overbu'r-
gfsned. Kiss me if you like, and good-mght, Wil-

a.”

Wilma kissed the cold white cheek turned to her
and went away, only half comforted. In her
dreams, that night, the same painful thrill of terror
came back upon her and she woke suddenly ’in the

Slim glin dawn, With old Matthew Gregory s last
W0 s tofiier soundingmagain in her ears.
“ You were cursed ore you eVer saw the light.
ours is a dead life; if you ever pray for any thing,
gray that you may never be the cause of a livmg
oath."

except to
ut you are

 

CHAPTER XI
THE nocron’s GUEST.

DR. CRAVEN DALLAS opened his heavy eyes, and
after a moment of struggling recollection, roused
‘1? and shook ofl the torpor which weighed upon
5 In Daylight was beaming dully in at the uncur-
§ained windows. The fire was out, and the room in
1'58 disordered state looked chmrless and barely
grim even to his accustomed eyes. The httle stand
containing the tray with the two em ty coffee cups
uDon it remained as left on the previous night, and

1‘. Dallas himself had an uncomfortable sensation
Of coldness and numbness, and stiflness, after pass-
ing eight hours in that dead sleep which. is due to
the influenceof a powerful narcotic, in his clothes,
and inhis chair.

“Great Heavens!" he gasped, as the full truth

Poke upon him. “How is it possible that I made
Such a mistake?” He understood better when he
had shaken himself from his cramped position, and
eI‘Ossed silently as might be to the doorwa of the
0ther room. It was vacant, and the not

11 slept in, as he saw at aglance. His own ke s,
Which had been in his pocket on the previous nig. t,
lay upon an inner table. 01' his late patient, no sin-
gle trace remained. Dr. Dallas nnght have fancied

hat the entire occurrence had been a the ac-
cident of a week before, Captain Leigh Bernham s
so.‘Iourn beneath his roof, the defeated practice
Which he had laid for last night’s experience, all
Vali'ue and confused, except the handfu of ggld and
silver coin with which the ca tainhad paid in.

‘ Truly, agol” said Dr. Da as in that ill-temper
which is more dangerous than all other ill~temfiers,
ample, intense quietness. “ Verily a guy_to ave

een so readily outwitted. Well, well, Captain Le1gh
Ifil‘nli’am, all may not yet be over between you and

And meantime he had taken up his keys and un-
iOCked the desk, and cast one com rehenswe glance
)OYer its contents. Asilent breat of relief passed
lhls lips. Nothing had been disturbed. Numerous
packa es, sealed and labeled, rolls of manuscript
8"“ with faded ta , boxes of receipts and can-
C"916d notes of hand, a remained there as method-
‘C‘fl, morbidly eccentric Matthew Grego had left
em. Asingle lance assured him 0 t at. Then
he 1"00k up the li tle sprin -closed casket, and With
9* quickness which evince that he had mastered the
l.‘5‘31‘et commanding it before this, threw back the
{fi- His sallow thin face in its common aspect was
s“Olldly inexpressive, the shifting hght eyes guarded
fifth any betrayal of himse f, and now only a
an}! dropped down 11 on the one and a narrownig
earn coming beneat the lids of the other mam-

’ Sted any emotion of re. e or diSappomtment he
‘ may have felt. The little x was empty except for
3’ couplle of bright old ieces‘ upon its bottom. He
00kt em up shift t em from one palm to the

0 .591" and regarding them curioule ‘
h ery conscientious of Captain eigh. Bernham, ’
fife mused.- “ Rather overstrained consolentiousness
(n he had sufficient interest in the contents of this
“518 box to claim the ownership. But for/all that a

' .gouple of gold eagles will not repay me for the loss:
 v'figlh “01" a hand nor all youcan of your own
‘1 W,Pfl§z\forw “perhaps, Captain Leigh Ecru-

  

A V. 7\—'N.A- ,
l , V ' l ‘v \.

     

 

uses an

The restless eye lit suddenl upon a little object
which had been concealed wit in the shadow of the
desk. He had it in his fingers in a moment, a minia-
ture case he already knew which had probably been
dropped there from among the contents of the box
and afterward for otten.

“ Very kind of him to have left me this,” he mur-
mured, springing it open in his hands. And the re«
semblance is there just as I see it stronger every
time. I have made no mistake. I am surely on the
track which leads straight to the end. My good
friend Gregory scarcel meant to put so much
proof into my hands t at is evident. And how
much more than a fool am I to let it sli away from
me again. And I have one more to ght now be-
fore the game is mine—one who will be no mean ad-
versary at that.”

Dr. alias refillaced the miniature and stood look»
ing down into e open desk, his face with its pro-
minent features and scant sandy hair, short and
straight a study of concentrated quietude. The lit-
tle case had a fascination for him, and he opened it
again after a time, studyin the boyish face repre-
sented there, smooth and no featured as a girl’s,
dark, defiant, laughing eyes as ictured there, and a
smiling mo th drooping a litt e at the corners—a
face in whi Dr. Da las studying it closely traced
line by line the resemblance he had mar ed be-
fore—~a resemblance to his ward, Wilma Wilde.

“Upon my soul, I gain a reater sense of the im-

ortance of the kind y serVice that my good friend
atthew Gre ory rendered me, with every day that
asses,” he tiought as he shut away the ictured
ace again and locked the little desk. “ An this re-
minds me it is quite time I pa some attention to
my little protege; I’ve neglects her with the later
charge on hand, I’m afraid. And she not
seemed fond of me, which is a pity a very great
pity, conSidering the advantage her ikin might be.
’11 put in an appearance soon as the ashionable
morning, which would have been old Matthew
Gregory’s afternoon, comes around. Think of as-
similating Matthew Grego with any element of
our fashionable world—«ha, a!”
atever Dr. Dallas’s idea in connectin the two—-
the old man six feet under ground in t at damp,
dark, overcrowded churchyard, and the bright, ay,
giddy whirl of the fashionable world, he enjoyeg his
own whim 'of linking them with apparent relish.

He remained goo as his word and was ushered
into the drawin -room of the Richland mansion dur-
ing the day. e sent up his card t. Mrs. Richland
Within verbal request for an interview with his
war . -

" You had better go down at once, my dear,” said
Mrs. Richland, putting out her hand for the book
which Wilma had beenreading aloud. The latter
went slowly' alittle of the old shadow came back
upon her; the association of her new guardian in
her mind was like the chill of the old place brought
close to her. He had not gone amiss in his supposi-
tion that Wilma was not very fond of him. She
dreaded and disliked him nearly as her confiding,
affectionate nature ermitted her to dread and dis-
like any one. It ha been abitter rief to her gen-
tle heart that Matthew Gregory, arsh, cruel, and
cold, had never given her one glance or word of en-
couragement, never relaxed one line of his severity;
but harsh and cruel and cold, she could cherish his
memo with less of a thrilling terror than she could
meet 1: e smooth smile of Dr. Dallas the cold,
clammy, lingering touch of his hand. There was
that in his nature from which her fine sensibilities
shrunk, that in his sha , shiftin gray eyes that
impelled her alwa s wit the des re to hide away
from his sight. 8 9 went into his presence now
with her inward reluctance concealed under her
quiet manner, reserved in spite of herself; went
with a resolution to conquer such unreasoning
aversion, and felt it strengthen instead under h
profuse reeting. .

“And ow much improved the dear little girl is
looking,” he said, after she had taken the seat he
had placed for her. “Wonderfully improved. Get-
ting more color and growing rounder, and looking
happier, Upon my word, growmg handsomer than
I ever anticipated, and no expectations in that re-

ard were never verKamo crate. And you are happy
PP

ere Wilma—quite f"

“ am ve happy, an very ateful indeed, sir."

“So, so; aflpy and grate . And they are all
kind to you? s. Richland now I dare say is very
kind?’

"They are all very kind, Mr. and Mrs. Richland
and Miss Ethel-all. ’

“ You wouldn’t like to go back to the old house, I
presume? And you can t imagine how much we
miss you there, and how Mrs. Gerrit keeps such re-
minders of you before our eyes that it seems you
must come gliding in as I’ve seen you half a hundred
times.” .

he 1 ced u in a startled way but did not speak.
HS wag figr gual-odian still, she was thinking. He had
the right to remove her from all this brightness and
warmth and sympathy, which had been such nour-

ishing elements to the chilled, starved life she had .

brought here. Would he do so? Had her joy indeed
been too perfect to be lasting? '

“Yes, you must be very happy,” he continued,
his keen, shifting eyes keeping their almost con-
stant watch upon her face, ye comprehending.“
well all the perfect details of the room. “And it’s
natural you should be grateful for the kindness
which has given you a place in suchahandscme
house as this." .

‘ It is the place they have so generously given me
in theif affections for which I am most grateful, Dr.
Dallas.” . . .

“Ah, of ' course! And if some one should give you
a permanent place in such a house, and a permanent

hold u on 'uch affections, youyould take the kind-H
Ifgsonie one;loved«' you so very,

uuvw
.Il  in,  [5,, _

     

 

 

; I

I
dearly that he would consult your we‘lfare'before "

his own present wishes and if he would push your
interests as though t e were his own, and if he
should discover something which should add very
greatly to those same interests, you would be happy
and thankful and lovmg in return, would you not?
Yes, I am sureof it.”

The same chill which his presence carried struck
her through the medium of is voice now.

“I am very gratef Dr. Dallas,” she said, quietly, ._
“ if it is any inconven ence to you in permitting me
to remain here. ’f , E

“It is a sacrifice, my dear, agreat sacrifice but
only of my selfish des1res. And what was it I said
of your right a moment ago? Qh, yes; what a re-
markable and fortunate change it would be, if some

one should discover that you really have the' right. *’

to a place in such a stately house as this, to a nat-r
ural degree of kindred aflection from such con.
siderate. gentle hearts as on have found here.
A great change, would it not i” I V I
Wilma puzzled at his straiige'manner, under the
fire of those light, restless, insmcere eyes, had a.
little part of her wonder dissolve as it came to her
suddenly that he was talking to but not at her. ,
“ Wilma has found her right to such aplace, Dr. ~
Dallas,” said Mrs. Richland’s low, clear,_ sweet tones,
as she came forward. “She has won it very fairly
by her own irresistible method." r
The doctor’s light orbs turned in apparent sun
prise to meet the lady’s dark steady ones, and the
octor’s smooth tones insinuated his gratification at
the affectionate reception his ward had found in the ..
household; but, presently, the doctor drifted out of
the light commonplaces with which he kept the con-

versation going for a few moments, in spite of
gteigeotyge monosyllabic replies he received, and
e 0W8

himself out, awggxfrom those steady d rk
eyes which were proof ag st any surprise to be -
flected there.

He went down the steps and a pace or two for-
ward, then tumed and crossed Over to where a young
man was loitering.

“ Good-day to you, Mr. Crayton. I was sure I re-
cognized something familiar about you. And how

  

41;“.-

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1
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. s.

.'»
v

ill

.
1-,
l
,.

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.r,

4:

oes the business of the reporters’ world, these 

a sf”
11‘?§low enough, Doctor. Got a patient, ,over there, 1

“ Not at all. Merely the matter of a friendly call.
You have the same privilege, I suppose ” ’

“Freeisely
ton, dayly "I fancy on an I receiVe about the
same egree of toleration, doctor.
cheek and they all the endurance of it. Going my

wa ?”
“Y If this is your way. Refined and pleasant lady,
Mrs. Richland. Easy to detect the difference be»

tween high-bred culture and elevated snobbishnesa’f: ‘

“ I dare say. I don’t pretend to di nateJ ,

“I should have given you credit for great
penetration. By the way Mrs. Richland, nee-
whomf. Can you tell me? I've been impressed with
something like a family resemblance since I had the

pleasure of meeting her first, but can’t succeed in,  '

getting it placed.” _
“ You’ve got hold of an impressiOn, then that no
one else has ever succeeded in tackling. The truth
is she comes of no family
love; the pride and the wealth on our gentleman‘s
side, the beauty and inherent grace u on the lady’s.
He married her abroad, or marrie her here and;
took her abroad, some sa . It‘s altgufi‘icient that-
she’s Mrs. Bichland, and t e nee No
buried in our utpper circles.”
- “And whati is

ness before pleasure, you know.’ ,

“What object has old Bitter-Herbs in ,t
pump me, I wonder?” mused Crayton, loun'
alone. “Pumping, surely as I’m an ade t
process. Hope he’s got his trouble’s wo
my particular good-nature, this morning."

CHAPTER X11.
m EXQUISITE woven or PAIN.
A vim old family indeed my dear; two very old:
famihes I might say. The rice have been known
in Westinoreland since its first settlement. (1 the '
Hethervxlles have ranked with the first fami
Maryland for a con le of centuries. ‘Erle is the last
representative, an my dear bo iswell worthy of"
his race—the last of the Hethe ‘ es and the :last'of -‘
the Erles exceptin me.
have survived
his choice of a wife. He is too well aware, however,
of what degree of consideratiOn is due to the fen.in
dignity, as well 'as the fitness of the choice he has
made. I defy any one to find two more squall
matched—two more delightfully mated, when 9 t
comes tothat. Don’t you think so, Wilma?” ‘
Wilma’s dus little head was bent low over her ’,
embroidery, an the hands
flosses were a trifle unsteady in their swift move ‘
merit. Miss Erle sat back ‘
idly folded in her lap, her face placid under her soft
gray hair, the black Silk at its last degree of stiff-
ness the delicate laces especiall
lllg'llhe picture of that refinedy old aristocracy of ‘
which she was an unyielding advocate. . ‘ .
“What. MissErle? I didn’t even know that  ‘
Hetherville was—did you say he is engaged? I
didn’t quite catch your meaning, I believe. , "
“ Not know? It seems almost incredible.
I forgot what a little novice
ters. But it’s odd you haven t observed it from their,
afiectionate manner, and from the free
made to it in the household. Maids are so.
why fond of discussing their mistresses’ affairs,

out ’

 

, y

no.

I wonder still more at your ignorance of the
ment.’\ ~ ' ‘ . ' ‘

“1'. am not in the
y ' , v ' , r V ‘ .

habit ordisteninzto‘tham ' ' ,yne.

1

 

 

the same, I sup ose,” retorted Cray: ‘

, I believe. A case of pure . ,

tobe conversant with the histo ‘ --< ; ‘~
of the same. Sorry to leave you, so soon, but Pug: . g V IV

mg to 
agtfig 'f
of

"5°! .,

F, I think I never should 
the b ow had he disappointed mein ,.

manipulating the snowy, .,  ‘

in her chair, her hands, 

fine and soft, look-. " ‘

But ah!  ' 
you are in all these mat- ‘

allusions .
proverb ,:

ensues-f" ~

,

.‘x'

We have allthe ' 'i 

/ '_ l‘
, mg.

"sin"

.\I > \‘

 

V,

dy is Quietly 4‘ x r  i

,"'.“r

    
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
    
  
  
   
  
 
 
    
     

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, sanctioned on both sides, and now so near to a

712

v - ,

WILMA WILDE.

 

 

“that is what you mean, Miss Erie. I 13th Mrs. i Wilma looked and saw. A slight little figure with

Richland would not approve of it.”

“Myidear, no well-bred person would approve of
it.” iss Erie said it with as much racious conde—
mansion and as utter assurance as t ough she had
never yielded to any dereliction from the rule which
well—bred people should follow. Indeed, it is doubt-
ful if she had ever taken the conviction of the fact
home to herself. “ And on do not know how near
there is a wedding nigh he tapis here in this very
house; not know t t my nephew as been en-
gaged to Miss Richland for six years ast! A ro-
mantic little affair in the way of two 0 ildren fall—
ing in love at first sight, and of the attachment
remaining and strengthening and being hap ilyi
na
fulfillment. It is not often that so hafipy a combi-
nation of circumstances exists throug out, and not
often that a marriage so perfect on both sides is
consummated at all. Hetherlands has always been
celebrated for its lovely mistresses and the new one
who will take possession there, before long, will
carry the palm away .from all her predecessors. I“ .
have thougvht, of late, how fortunate it is that you
are here, ilma, to fill, in a measure, Etliel’s place.
It would appear a drearily lonely house, I haven’t a
doubt, to Mr. and Mrs. Richland, with her gone, but
your presence will lighten the trial to them.”

“I am glad to know that you think so,” Wilma
answered softly. “I do wish to deserve their great
kindness to me."

’ “Your sentiments do on great credit, my dear.
Indeed, I am quite sure hat our correct principle
would not permit you to over ook any duty to those

' who are so deservedly attached to you. If I were

not sure that your proper place is here, I should be
hap y to take you away as my own com anion. I
begin to feel the need of young companionship; it
imparts the vitality we older people lack. You are
so useful and tender-hearted, just the person to take
an interest in my poor people, and to gain their af-
fections. I suppose, though, it is quite out of the

r tquestion to suggest it, even after the wedding is

,/

 either, but I hope Mrs. Riehland may wish me to
u main

‘ v there were to be any 0 ange, Ethel herself would be

 

  

' m

I 6‘ O
- {firedhthe trembling lips behind their shelter.

, ant heusehol .

I Cicely altering) one o

‘ we do now, so of course it is your duty to make
I , yourself bright

' guests are here, if you please I would rather not.
" you must familiarize yourself.

rras we as music and .langua

{L 1 mousie. I was right in_la ng

over; but perhaps, when Mrs. Richland makes her I,
arrangements for the summer, I might hope to beg i
on fora little time. That is if you don’t object to "
_ estmoreland and my uiet ouse.”
“Thank you, Miss rle. I would not object to

with her.”
“And there's hard] a doubt of it. Isuppose if

petitioning for you. Constancy is such a rare ele-
ment in our young 1people nowadays that it is almost
lous such a ong engagement should have ex-
isted without even a lover’s quarrel to mar it. The
more extraordinary that both are so popular in
society. There‘s an old saying that we always re-
turn to our first love, but Erie and Ethel never left
heirs. Yo men are so inclined to trifle, often,
’m afrai With unso histicated little hearts that
‘eve in hem too fu , and young ladies take to
tation so naturally, and coquetry that We who
are interested have all reason to re oice over my
dear boy and the lovely girl of his choice havin
preserved the first freshness of their hearts for eac
other. How industrious you are, Wilma, and what
wonderful work you dol Mrs. Riehland was re-
marking only this morning what an aptitude you
posse“ for delicate needlework."
' With the sharp, bright eyes of the old lady; 11
her, Wilma controlle the quiver which agita er
fingers, and beat the sensit ve face closer over her
work. But when Miss Erie had gone after a few ‘
wards more thewhite web went down and the face i
was hidden in the agitated hands. '
cruel, cruel, to have never told me,” ‘v‘vgis-
ut
ey never supposed I could be so foolish—they never
suspected I might so for at my place! They are all
sokind, and it was only indnesss from him. It is *
as Miss Erie says~they are perfectly matched—and
I shall be‘ happy inseeing their hap iness. But, oh,
Wilma—Wilma Wilde!” and that 'ttle cry of her '
torn‘heart was like her old pit of herself which i
used to arise in her old, clouded, oveless da 5.
“ Wilma, come here a moment, my dear.’ ;
She had conquered herself, ut away her pain in ‘
remembering what a happy 0 ange had come into
her life thro h the generous efforts of this leas-
She ad folded away her em roid- -
cry and bathed her face, and started in the direc-
tion of the music-room With an hour of practice in
her mind, when Ethel called her from the open door
of her room. . i
“I want you to try (your dress, Wilma. You are '
to make one of our inner-(party to-day, my dear,
and I have made up my min that you shall appear "
in something besides our usual blacks. I have had
my muslins, and I think she

 

has ‘ ot it to a out the proper diluensions.”

“ u_t, oh, Miss Ethel-—”

“If it was mourning for an relative I would not
insist. Althou b you have s d so little, I am sure
your late guar an could not have cared for you as

. for us. You are always that in spirit,
we Will make the dressharmonize for once.”
go down when stranger

and
“It; was not that. But to

“ It will be a new experience, and one with which
. a I . Howard quite con-
siders himself in the light of your guardian, if only a
nominal one, and the protege of Banker Richland

' must‘be su plied with suitable advantages, a sight 3

ofthe eop e with whom she will mingle some day, i

and ,other accom-
e but a quiet party,
after all, nothing to frighten our demure litt e
. out.the muslin, *
Wilmgée is making you 100 like aidifferent mor-

plishments. And this is to

, .4
.y . ., \ r _ c
r‘ ‘" _  \ . " ' A ' 0 N

: been a silent little

 “ Only that the enzageme

rounded outlines, a sweet, wistful face and deep,
large eyes, and soft, dark hair curling back from
the temples about the slender neck—the misty
snowy muslin bringing out the clear dark tints o
complexion, and a scarlet ribbon drawn through the
loose hair giving a. touch of brightness to the pretty
ie ure.
pA lovely picture Erie Hetherville thought as his
admiring eyes rested u on her that evening. A
quiet dinner-part Ethe had said, and it was such
in reality. But a alf-dozen guests outside the pres-
ent household, and two of these Wilma had already
seen—Lenoir and Cra on. The re rter was there
b the mere good Inc which usua characterized
his admission to such parties. A c ance meeting
with the banker in the street and an apparently
chance reference to Lenoir had brought an invita-

‘ tion similar to one which had been already extended
,1 to the young journalist.
‘ by a couple of middle-a ed savans, a young artist
‘ whose brush had won

The party was completed

im some fame and much
favor since he belonged to the dilettamz’ who have

‘ not the leaden weight of poverty to clog their aspir-

ing wings, and a threadbare, nervous little man who
seemed out of lace there until later when they were
assembled in t e drawing-room and he was called to
a place at the piano, when his thin fingers drew all

. the magic of rare music from the keys.

Wilma was listenin to it breathlessly. She had
em all the evening, charm-
ing one of those elderly savans by her gentle and
retiring manner, calling some ent insiasm into the
glance of the artist, though the man was never
enthusiastic. She had drawn back into a niche
almost concealed by a marble Minerva. Her las

lance at the little groups scattered about the room

ad shown her Ethel seeming a very magnet of at-
traction with the young artist at her side, Clayton
loungin veg/i7 near, an Hetherville leaning upon
the bac ' of iss Erie’s chair, turning his attention
where his laughing glance rested at the moment upon
his fair betrothed.

“ So beautiful and so ood, how he must love her,”
Wilma thought, and if t eWistful light in those dark
eyes deepened it was with no set/«sh envy of the more
fortunate lot. She had drawn back and resolutely
abstracted herself for any thought which might
cloud the bright, affectionate spirit that had won
upon all their hearts. Then the music claimed her
attention' that perfect melody which to her with
that unacknowle ged sadness was an exquisite pain.
A crash as it slid into another measure, a long si h
gambling over her lips, and the spell was broken or

1 ma.

“Decidedly fine, was it not? Monsieur Vacquot

, would do well to confine his fingers exclusively to

that at le of note-drawing. It seems almost without
exception that great genius must be accompanied
by little or no worldly wisdom." ’
It was Hetherville lookin down upon her, his
unctilious broadcloth in c ose conjunction with
inerva’s fair, undraped shoulder.
“Is that the reason he looks so troubled—so—

“So shabbily presentable, so much struggle of
broken down gentility against open poverty, of so
much talent a plied in no better way than to g
himself admi co to same notable house on an
occasion of this sort? That is it! Monsieur Vacquot
has skimped through Moon 3. very slender little

. pittance of an annuity and a very stubborn allow-
[ ance of an inherited
; and begged of all

gide. He has gone into debt
3 blends-literally accepted
charity-and denied himself the best comforts of
ilife with that magic at his finger-ends which
ought to coin his notes into gold, or what is the same
th ng in our day of paper currency. That feted-tots
was never intended for one person, Miss Wilma. If

ou will permit!” He did not wait for permission,

ut dropped into the unoccupied seat at her side
with the bonhomie which made even his audacity
attractive. Wilma’s heart ve a fierce throb and
bti’eaé‘t1 faster, with all her reso ution to control it at a
s r n.

“Are you goin to make me retract mi good
opinion of your c aracter, Wilma? I thong t you
were the soul of scrupulous honor and uyet you
quite ignored the understanding which she d have
concluded Aurora Leigh this mornin ."

“I was busy," Wilma answered. she had been,

, dear child, conquering what had seemed to be such

a sore breach of discretion, such weak, ungrateful
fell to herself. '

“ ilma, you willfully avoided me to-day. You
are avoiding me now, at this very moment, by find-
ing more interest in the pattern of the ca et and
the blank of Minerva’s pedestal than in me. What
fault have you found in me that requires such pun-
ishment?” .

“It is not my place to find fault With you, Mr.
Hetherville. And if on please, Mrs. Richland will
be wondering where have one.”

“If it be as I please, Mrs. ichland shall not know
for a moment or two. Are you aware that I am to
make y adieux to all here to-night? Will you miss
me, W1 ma? We shall never be again quite what we
have been heretofore.” ‘

She knew what that allusion must mean, and it
gave her nerve to say what she had pondered since

e'sat there, what might make her own way clearer
and easier for her.

“ It cannot fail to be a very happy change to you,”
she said, lifting the soft, dark eyes to meet his. ‘ I
did not know, until Miss Erie told me this morning,
how soon Miss Ethel is to be lost to the rest.”

“ Miss Erle has been telling you! And what more
may Miss Erie have taken 9 on to say?" There
was the athe of a frow in the broad, smooth
foreh , the i action of impatience in his voice.

has been of such long
I J ‘ V r . . l ,5 my
' 3 i. ‘, ' ‘ \ ‘ -

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standi ——-six years, Ithink—and that it was in every "

way sue a desirable match, and how rejoiced every
one had been over it.”

“And so aunt Erle could not leave me quite up-
biased! Wilma, Wilmal can you tell me there is
one who is not rejoiced at that prospect—one whose

single word will give me resolution to cut the whole ‘

mesh of long ears‘ weaving and stand fair and true
in my own sifi t?”

A startled ght was coming into her e es, held by
the power of fascinafion by those bo (1 blue ones,
into which a strong passion-flame had suddenly
come. The tall, bright head drooped close above
her, the rippling gel on beard swept her own hair.
her hands were can rht in the pressure of his white,
flrm palms, and his ow, intense voice was lost, under
cover of the mimic which filled the room, to all ears
but hers.

“ Wilma, Wilma! I love you, on, you on] . Of
all women in the _world you 0 y shall ever emy
wife. Oh, my darling! hear me and hel me. The
promise of two foolish children, repente of on both
sides long before this, shall never stand between
you and me.”

The music died but swelled again. Wilma’s heart
seemed to be dying with it, so faint and dizzy she
grew.

“I love you, Wilma, as I never loved Ethel in those
wildest, foolish, youthful da s—as I never could
have loved her had the who 6 earth stretched be
tween lyou and me and all gone on as intended be
fore. t was a grand mistake on both sides, but it is
not irremediable, and we shall both be happier that
it has been discoverednot too late. A rash promise
is better broken than kept, and this one should be
if it left me the most desolate among men, one
whom a woman’s love should never less. Pray
heaven that I may be blessed with the swuetest of
all loves~ 'ours.’

‘f Oh, Er c! 0h, Erie!” His vehemence had sur‘
prised that name from her lips. She had turned
white as the dress she wore. She was shrinking
before the buining fire of his aze, she felt if she
could really die in that moment t at her spirit would
be borne into eternity with the sweetest joy life
could have brought her not untasted, but she never
once lost sight of her duty and his. “ Oh, Erie! to
speak of heaven’s blessing and such apui-posein.
one breath! A promise should be sacredly kept
carefully made and never broken. Heaven pity all
if you should be really changed and she suffer
throu h me! You must forghct that you haveever
said t ese words to me, as I s all forget I have ever
heard them.”

“I have not the right to ask it, but tell me only if

you love me Wilma, if you ever can. T1 0 rest is
as fixed as ate, forI am sure of Ethel a: I am of
myself.”
A little more of her self-command came back. A
little more of all Miss Erie had said to her recurred,
and knowing how her decision would affect not her
after-happiness only but that of all to whom she
owed much, that of all who had an interest ore
pride in him, she saw more clearly still what was
the only right course for her to pursue.

“ You forgot yourself—you forget what an impos-
sible distance would be between on and me were
you indeed nothing to Ethel. 0 , Mr. Heiherville,
don‘t give me the pain of thinking that I am to be
the cause of darkening “your life, of blotti awa
the he pineal: which we d have been yoursnxgithou .
Don’t e me know that even unintentionally I have
been the causeof bringing in to them. I am grate-
ful for your kindness, an could not have been an -
thing more if—if—you were sure of all you said
me Just now, and if there had never been another
eng ement. If you will promise mo—if on have
any endship for me you will promise t at Ethel
shall never know of this.”

“Ethel should know ifltwas for her own sake
only, and I will not believe that any distance can be
im sable between you and hie—not er on this.
E el shall know, for my own heart’s rebellion has
taught me what is dueto her. Disaffected eyes
see clearly and I know there is another whc se sin 18
word would be dearer to her than my whole 6.
I- have seen her look u ini 0 his face, ilma, with a
light in her eyes whic was never there when she
looked u on me. law not mistaken in E1 he]; she
does not ove me, and she will be happier with the
bond between us broken. It shall be broken as I
said before for her sake if not for mine.”

.“But if her heart should break, oh, Mr. Hether-
v11]e!_ And It would be so easy for you to love her
even if true that you do not now. Men are so strong
and I think that women must be so weak. Ethel
would never marry without lovin you.”

She beheved that because she t ught no woman‘s
heart could remain indifferent to him, and she
pleaded Ethel’s cause more eloquently for her own
weakness. »

“If I come to you Wilma, freed by Ethol’s word
andb Ethel’s wish with no word of myfdisloyalty
to in. uence her, wi dyou believe then? I ‘ut the
opinions of the worl behind me; if I ask on y what
will bring perfect hap iness to me, and what Will
injure no one in the wi e world, will you believe and
trust to me then? Until then I shall not ask a breath
from your lips to assure me of hope.”

The music died wholly out, and a second’s stillness
rested upon the rooms. In the midst of it he was gone
from her side, leaving her white and shrinkin an
still in the shadow o the marble Minerva, wit the

light and fragrance of the room and the murmur 0 .-

voices rising again Seeming like the vivid impression
of some distant picture, or like a floating scene in
which she had no interest of her own.

CHAPTER xm, . r ‘ .
,rnn moama’s snow. »

 

“You are such a Connoisseur in yourqart, M153

Latimer: we must have your opinion of the picture

i -- x , w .,
x .V,  ,

  

 

 

 

WILMA Wi'LD‘E. 

i

 

 

Mr. Richland sent home this morning. Ethel, my
near, you will see that Mr. LenOir 1s not neglected
for a moment.” _

Mrs. Richland swept awii with the young artist,
and Justin Lenior ad t on the vacant place at
Ethel’s side. Crayton was a little withdrawn, turn-
ing a. book of illuminated rints, morose and indif-
{from for the moment, an wholly withdrawn into

imself.

“What charmin evenings Mrs. Richland has the
faculty of making ers,” remarked Lenoir. “I think
my sense of duty could not have been overruled by
any less temptation than an evening here. It is the
last 0 portunity of the kind I shall probably expen-
ence or quite along time to come. Thanks to Mr.
Richland’s kindness I am well progressed in my
Work now, and I have a new incentive tobasten its
conclusion. I seriously contemplate giving up my
position here with the first of the year, and accept~
111g another which has been tendered .me, more con-
genial to my taste. The smoky city is endeared to me
by much pleasant association, but I have not a tie to
litold me here, or to force any great regret at leavmg
l H

, “ You think of leavin i” she asked. She was look-
mg down, toying with t e drooping ends of the gold
and jeweled bracelet she wore. The fallen golden
hair cast a little shadow over the pure fair face.
Some wonderful blue tint and texture, rich, soft and
lustrous, of which her dress was composed, lay
about her in billowy folds; the very chain at her
round white throat, slender and plain as it looked,
would have cost three months of the rismg young
journalist’s salary: the rings on her slender hands,
with their value realized, would have brought_ a
moderate little fortune that would have given him
the advantages of which he was stinted now. Look-
ing at her, so fair and so far removed from all as—
piration of his, nothing in Lenoir’s still face told of
the short sharp struggle assailin him for that in—
Stant, of is im ulse to question t e Infinite Wisdom
Which had so p aced them, the surge of a strong de-
sire to battle over all obstacles, and wrench her
away in the face of opposing rivals and his own ln~
Sufficient dependence. An impulse quickly passed.
Could he have seen into the depths of her heart,
how it was achin and quivering under a hke agony
at the thought 0 their separation, how. in her more
yielding weakness the pain of seeing him daily and
0f experiencing even that greatest humiliation of
knowing that unsought, unasked, she had let her
love waver from the one whose right it was to him
neither knowing nor carin , never to know and
never to care even if that s ow, dreary ain should
linger on and eat through her life as she elt it must,
would be less than this pain of partingand of know-
ing that. the way of their lives must Widen never to
come close again.

“ I have the offer of aposition on a New York mag-
azine quite an advance upon the one I hold at pres-
finf’. It will be to my interest in every way to accept

“ThenI presume your friends here must submit
With the best grace they may, to their loss sustained,
and rejoice for your as e. ’ermit me to oifer con-
gratulation on that much happflufsortune.

“ Thank you most earnestly, s Richland. I will
‘"like it as the ‘God-speed‘ which I have so few
friends to offer me. I can truly say there is not one
household in the two cities of which I_shall bear
awa such kindly remembrances as of this.”

“ an MD find new friends soon—new attachments
to blot out the older lesser ones.”

The hazel eyes were persistently downcast still,
the fingers nervous in their idle motion, the golden
head droo ing more into the shadow.

“I neitfier make attachments nor break them
Soon,” he answered, lquietly. “ I have drawn out a.
1oner life for myse . but abusy one. Pardon me

resume, Miss Richland, but the world—your
Worl —has not kept the secret of the enviable lot
which is to be yours. Ima not have another op-
portunity to wish you joy. do wish it Sincerely, as
my truest friendshi toward both of on demands.
etherville is a nob a fellow, a man W cm I am bet-
ter and prouder for having known; one nearly wor-
“w of you as any man can be. From all my heart I
Wish you the great ha piness the tender devotion of
Such a man cannot fai to bring.”

If ever Ethel had thought tremulously that Le-
nmr’s dark eyes had glowed upon her With any
mOre than afriendl lig t, if ever she had thrilled
in the assin belie that his heart was not utterly
untouc ed; i ever she remembered the few quiet
,‘lmmer weeks when she had known him first, and
.118 had been drawn in closer intercourse than ever
"I t iat rustic little village up among the mountains,
alld found excuse for her own alien affection in the

06D enjoyment they had found there together,
t11,0ught and thrill and self-pardon now had the
shght base of their sup ort crumble from beneath
them. Could he be wis ing her happiness with an
Other if he had ever cared for her, wishing it so
caulifly, predicting it so positively? '

_ He never cared,” her heart moaned, in its bitter
3,15. “And to me so soon to be another man’s
“do, this parting is death! I would rather die my-

‘h f, or worse than that, see him_ die than to know
9 could love another as I love him.’
Or one instant she had lifted her eyes, grown
1991) and dark with a dumb, anguished reproach in
‘em to meet his gaze; for that instant seem how
“Om osed and a parently indifferent to any eeper
“int ent than go had expressed, shrunk, inward?
with scorn of her own we ess. Then the so t
fies drolpped again, and the quiet, sweet voice
rilliii im under the calm he had forced mur-
mfired er thanks.
is Your high estimate of Eric is well merited. He
“also a warm friend of yours, as I am happy to re-
”?- Waa Howard sneaking across to you. Mr.

 

 

merit to be deferred to

Lenoir? Some weighty a
o by all means and set-

your decision, no doubt.
tie the disputed oint."

Crayton close. the book of illustrated prints and
approached. Had either chanced to have glanced
toward him a moment before, they would have seen
his eyes fixed upon Ethel’s face with mood inten-
sity; would have seen his mouth harden an his sal-
low face gloom over with a fierce, dark shade;
would have seen a spasm convuise it before the
usual cynical curves and stoical unconcern re-
turned. .

“ Is the man blind that such a look in her eyes
tells him nothing?” thought the reporter.. “ Can he
not see what I see that a word from him would
tem t her to defy all the world—lose it all happily
for im? Hethcrlands and its master are less to
that proud beauty’s heart to-nivht than Justin
Lenoir with his portion of bar work and un-
certain fame before him. And if he knew it even, I
doubt if he would utter the word which would call
her to him. So much for that overstrained sense
which men call honor! And that lovely crea-
ture for whom men have pined and hearts have
broken has her ‘ retribution in like ' with
that she has inflicted. She will marry the bus-
band that others have chosen for her, and
reign the fairest mistress who has ever graced
stately Hethcrlands, and grow reconciled at last,
after a time‘ perhaps. Lenoir will lose his dis-
appointment in the fight through life which he is
sure to Win, and marry when is hair is turning
gray and no other fields to conquer shall leave him

reathing space to remember his own loneliness.
And long before that the reporter’s place will be a
blank, With no one to remember his presum tion,
no one to mourn his loss—an aimless, restless ohe~
mian gone to oblivion as a true Bohemian should,
done to death through his own reckless folly.”

The fierce sweep had passed over his face and left
it morose and _still again as these thoughts went
through his mind. A changeable, inscrutable na~
ture was that the reporter’s generally careless as.

ect covered, a character wit hidden depths and

arker phases than those who knew the surface life
only were apt to sus ect. A nature which might
have been strong an steadfast and noble, a talent
which mi ht have conqueredawider sco e than
opened to im in the simple reporter‘s wor d—a na-
ture perverted, and a talent wasted, a mind misap—
plied, the better impulses checked and the worse
passions fostered, he was that miserable being a
man bent upon wrecking himself in the face of 
own knowledge of the consequences to surely come.
Even that phase had succeeded to his usual careless
im udence of demeanor when he stood beside Ethel
as noir moved away.

“What a ity you object to be written up Miss
Richland. 0 course you do object, and all J e ’ns’s
persuasions at some future hour of the night or
morning shall fall to wring the faintest hint of
a description from me. But you cannot well im-
agine what a temptation it is to resort to a flowing
pen in subscribing to your praises.”

“Pray don’t contemplate yielding to the tempta-
tion, Mr. Crayton. Descritpltive items are always de-
testable; anything closer an descriptive not per-
missible."

“Your wish is law. Why could not Mrs. Rich-
land have favored us all with the fine ints of that

icture they have been discuss' ? I haven’t :1

ate for chi‘ara mama I have a. c tivatod talent for
criticism. They are coming back, I believe Lati-
mer lost in one of his raptures, and there is lifether-
ville b down from the opposite direction. No

limpse of eaven but must ade before a repor‘
's vision!"

“Change to the mere earth, earthy. Let me
have the pleasure of affording you a ghm se of the
canvas; inde I believe the icture is re y fine.”

She rose up astily. She ad caught a sight of
Hetherville’s face, of the determined lines, the
bright, bold eyes resting u on her With a purpose in
them which gave her a an den start and hi ht.

“ What has he read in my face to bring t at look
into his e es?“ she thought, in quick 0. am. _“He
looks as t ough my indecision had betrayed itself,
as thou 7h be had some avengin interest in hand or
as if all oss or all sin hung in t e scale of the mo-
ment. I must no will not—cannot bear a word
from him now. It is surely enough that I shall be
true to my word and to Howard’s hopes."

She moved away at Ora ton’s side, and the swift
terror which had assailed or destroyed the o por-
tunit Erie had hoped to gain of setting righ this
tang e between them that neither were deceived in
behaving clear and smooth. If she could only have
known what the steadfast wose in the blue bright
eyes meant! If she could y have read the per-
fect understanding, clearer than her own, which ‘ad
given him such confidence in her, such hope for him-
self! She moved away, some one else interrupted
him, and the opportunity he was seeking was not
found.

The picture hung in a side room, 1i hted but de-
serted. Ethel paused before it, glad o the Silence,
scarcely heeding the reporter’s presence, a careless
escort to whom she was giving so httle cons1dera-
tion just then. Her only impulse had been to escape
from Eric. What she feared most, his detection of
the more than disquiet which had been swaylm her,
orof his undisturbed trustandhisur in oft e onds
they wore, she could not have to] . est in con.
quering her inner self, she was not observing her
companion. He had paused in apriarentt silent study
of the canvas; but the moody 100 which had been
dissipated for a little time, was returning to his
face. He was not unobservant of her, absorbed as

he seemed.
“ Angel that she is, and with all my mad idolatry
of her. even she could not redeem mv life.” he was

 

‘ vendor was a boy. 5

thinking. ‘ I was born for the: end which is not so
far but, am sure of it. Selfishness is aiwu s a char-
acteristic of the lot of us, and. I am selfis enou h
to wish for just one expression of her sympathy, or
one insrant to claim her compassion and her kind-
ness, more than any woman has ever given me yet."

She felt the softest of touches upon her hair, and
glanced up quickly, scarce! knowing the changed
face looking into hers, sue a changed, despairing
yet softened face that her heart went out in pity
and half in awe of the unsuspected depth of mourn-
fulness reflected there.

“ If you will let me tell you and not be frightened
or angry at knowing; if you will only think of me a
little more kindly than an one else has done for
many 1years, I shall be happ er for feeling that you
know ow your gentleness and our sweetness have

ower to touch even such 3. ca lous heart as mine.
if anything could do me any good, love of you would
show me the way; there is no escape from the wreck
which I was born to reach since it does not. No,
don’t speak!

all you could say, like everything else, woul be use-

less now. The pity which may be felt is subtler than '

that which may be spoken, and it reaches me better.
God bless you! One temptation which I have had
before n0w I think will never come up again.”

It was that temptation grown
led him to instill a momentary doubt of Lenoir in
Hetherville’s mind, a doubt winch his varying better
impulse caused him to dash away again in another
instant. ‘ ’

That same light touch was upon Ethel's hair, and
this time she knew his lips had caused it. More than
that, a tear trembled there, moistening her hand as
she put it up. But for that she might have ques-
tioned if she had not dreamed the rest, for yet while
her pained soft eyes were turned 11

and his voice had changed to its usual accompanying
tone-

“If you are through with the chiam occur-a, Miss
Richland! I leave all comment to Latimer. A happy
motto that, and the better if it were oftener realized
--‘ Tread not upon another’s corns;‘ in other words,
leave every man alone to ride his own hobby." '

CHAPTER x1v.
IN ma wns'ruo'annm norm.
FOR one of the not fre uent times‘of his entire
indolent life, Erle Hethervil e was up with the sun-

rise. He was all ready for departure, furred over- a '

coat, travelingcap, gloves half-way on, and his
cigar‘case in a convenient outside pocket, as amald-
servant tap ed at the door and entered with a lith
tray in her ands. ~

‘ There’s colfee served in the breakfast-room if
you would prefer it, Mr. Hetherville. Miss Erle‘is

powerful once had "

n him his face “
looked down upon her with its care ess light glance,

Your eyes tell me how sorry (you are; ‘

takin a cup in her own room, and the houseke r ,

sent t is up to you. If you will come down to he
breakfast-room you can have 0 stars and an egg
and muffins or rolls and no trou 1e whatever, wit
plenty of time. Miss Erie ho es you‘ll not mind
that she's not down, and woul adwse you to take a
light breakfast at least, sir. "

" Very good of Miss Erie, but i fancy I can endure '

a couple of hours’ ride by rail sustained by a cup of
coffee well as she. None of the family are stirring
yet I presume l” '

lie pulled off one
fragant old Java, rich y creamed as he ' ed it, the
cup a 1; thin lobe of china. Say what you
may, a ught is ways sweeter for being daintily
served and Eric, who, a moment before, w
have declared it an impossibilit to swallow any
thin , si the contents With azy relish, looking
at e storted reflection of himself in miniature
thrown back b the inner surface of the old spoon.

“Not yet. but is, no one but Miss Wilmer ,she
came down to see that the coffee was made, and has
taken Miss Erie‘s to her room now.
beread and the carriage at the door in half an
hour. ill you have any thiillg more, sir?"

“Thank on, nothing." e put down his cup
and the gir went away with the tray.
my

“No wonder
coffee was delicious,” he thought. “A half-

hour yet; well, surely something may be done his ‘
half-hour." ., , , 

Ila went down the stairs three at a timeshalf-
minute later. and out upon the frosty avenue where
the leafless trees rattled stiff branches and the early
sun slanted his early roseate lances. .There was
elixir in the airthat morning, stiff bracin , health-
ml and Erle squared his fine shoulders an drewm
full aspirations as he hurried along the silent‘
thoroughfare. Not silent for long. Those blessings

of poor men’s travel, the street-car, rumbled near at,

hand, and as be

[p a corner came upon a grou
of gathered wor men,

tin dinner- ails in hand, wit

others hurryinghfrom alleys and si estreets. He took ‘

a car along wi them, and stood balancing "himself
upon the rear platform, glancing in at the crowded
interior and the rows of plain, intelligent faces pre~
sented there. ‘
“ Not a parently such a frightful lot to be r
after all, he thought. “.Upon my word, I ha no
idea that ‘ up in the morning early ' was such a de-
lightful maxim to 1put into practice. Talk of twists
in comparison wu
the same breath with a race down to Federal street
and back again under circumstances such as these".

love and took 11 the cup of ,

Miss Erie Will '

. I

the air, or of spirit-revivers' in /

The half-smile about the bearded mouth, the genial a L

glow in his cheeks might have confined his
5 into to a smaller scope still, might have summed
t e Alpha and Omega of all his exuberance in one
word—Wilma. 1

He sprung down from the car as it turned into
Fedora street and crossed to the market, jostl'
his way through the crowd of early buyers to one. o

the numerous flower-stands lining the square. The 7 
and snarc‘faced and don»

/ .

happy .

 

 

,A ..

x H,

r

/

 

 

 

h‘ .’~

  
    

 

.{g a
in.

llfl.‘

  
   
  
 
 
 

" " ,utes to spare.
- ' t one, an then rush off at a way fit to break your

. . yourafim down

res‘fipfind
(all t”ese traps—pile ’em in any

I I

I

. I, That Erle would most willingly

'- l‘ mity grew calm again.

" ,k “on:
»    it ever so humble there’s no place like home 1’

‘ j‘tection to give that.”

  I ,' ' ;. i
, . ' r' I
’  , ' \

cats-looking as air of the fragile plants over which

he hovered. The y’s pale face brightened at sight
of Bethe ' e..

“Good-morning, Oscar, my boy! So on are at
your st already, and ve satisfaction, hope.”

“I ope so, sir. You re too late for the early lot
of bouqtiigts, all sold out, and the best ones not come
over e

the store nor to wait here. I can trust to your selec-
tion, I su ose. One of your handsomest moss-
baskets wi fragrant cut flowers not so delicate as
to wither all at once-pinks and pansies and mignon-
ette and the like. I‘ll write the address for on—
Miss Wilma Wilde, No. — Western avenue. beg
your pardon, sir, but it’s a deuce of a jam here.”

In stepping back he had jostled a tall, soldier-ly-
looking man who was loitering in an idle way about
the market and had paused at his elbow: his eyes
after one sharp,.scrutmizing lance over the young
man’s form were fixed upon t e flower-stand.

“ No apology. A man gets used to rough passages
by the time he reaches forty and knocks about over
half the known globe.” .

' Erle, with no time to spare and a parting caution
-—“Don’t neglect, Oscar, and as early as may suit
your convenience ”—was off again. ‘

_ The tall man pressed close to the little flower-ven-

er.

“ One of your regular customers, that?” he in-
quired. “A gentlemanly young fellow.”

“A customer at the house, sir. He got me my sit-
uation here only two days ago. The young lady that
I’m to take the flowers to had been kind to me when

. I had only little roots and herbs to peddle, and when
she stop (1 to speak to me in the street and told

‘ him all e knew of me, he just took one good look
and asked where I might be found again. hat very
day he comes back and gives me a written recom-
mendation and sa s be has spoken to the florist who
has the reat esta lishment on Market street, and he
hopes I’ do my best because of the young lady who
was the means of getting me into the place. He

ave me some money to make in self more respec-

abie than I was then, and said e’d look out to or-

der his bouquets of me. I like the work, and it’s do«

ing me good already; I’ve been weaklylike, and

ou’re ri ht in saying he’s a gentleman. Young Mr.
ethervi , name is.”

' “And your young lady is Miss Wilma Wilde, of

r No. -— Western avenue,” glancing at the card which
the boy had put down as he referred to his order-
book. “ I’ll take one of these sprigs of myrtle for
my button-hole—sol Never mind the change. Good-
morning, my ladl”

* ‘ He laid down a piece of silver and turned away
.with a half-embarrassed glance down at the decora-
tion which was apgarently novel to his tail, muscu-
lar strength and sol ierly bearing.

“Enou h sight better thanlflpeddh'ng roots and
herbs an etting kicks and c 3 about the streets,”
solrloq ' the pale little flower-b0 . “ I get more
Ckind words in a morning now than had in a month

 then, and blessings on the sweet young lady that’s

‘done it all!" ,

V . Erle, walking rapidly back, reached the mansion
with the last minute of the half-hour to find his

r aunt in the hall surrounded by bundles and bags and
' baskets, all the paraphernalia indispensable to femi~

. nine travel, the carriage at the door and a frown

upon her face which cleared at sight of him.
in“ Oh, there you are, Erle. And we haven‘t two
You men always do wait for the
necks. If you’ll inst take some of these and 've me
? he steps, and—why, where s your
V 86
a‘yAll ht: not a minute to spare, my dear aunt,”
Erle, catching her up and bearing her
be placed in the waiting1 carriage. And
ow at all, I sup-

9.
page madea dash back into the the hall for some
package left, but his hast lance around failed to

- ,- , ~ reveal the, sweet, wistful itt e face of which he had
V. I '_ . hoped

to obtain a parting view. Miss Erle had taken
' od care of that. Her own leave-takiri with Wilma
_ figd been done above, and she refuse y disclaimed
'filving the other descend at a The discove of
ale absence at the last minute gave her a thr' of
alarm which changed to relief with his a pearance
from ithout. That fear of some bitter isappoint-
ment was making her nervous; she was cherishing

) Ellie possibility until it began to take a Gor on shape I

her view. In her secret heart she felt hat Ethel
ht have dis layed a trifle less indifference in iv-
.ing her farewe in the presence of the family a ter

'» the other guests had departed on the preceding

night, that she would have sacrificed no maiden re-
/ serve by coming down this morning for a last art-
1118‘ word. But, at the same time had she foun her
,. nephew lingerin for a farewell with Wilma she
would have mos sternly resented such disloyalt as
her active fears could discover toward his betrot ed.
have ex osed him-
.lelf to the reproach was fortunately not is layed as
.pm'mafacte evidence, and Miss Erie’s ruffle equani-

A few hours later they sat over a late breakfast in

N the old Erle mansion, shut in by Westmoreland

hills, and overlooking the straggling Westmoreland

e.
ome 3g ,” sighed the ladyin thankful aspira-
“ It's true as gospel, Erle:

M

' ‘en Hetherlands would never have the same charm

me that all to every corner and crevice of the
old met here.‘ ogre! you are lust in a fair way to
and a realization the Word. trequires home of-

v . ,
“ That is a pity as I have neither time to go on to §

' ‘ WILMA Wan‘E; ‘

l ‘ uI’m not shut off from all sense of the word, then,
4 my dear aunt. Really, you are right; I turn long-
, inglyto my dear ones left at Hetherlands."

l ‘ ’

our what, Erle?’
, “ ydear companions, home affections, and the
' like. How poor unius must miss me! ‘And Jupiter
and Pluto, and Lucifer himself, I fancy. Even poor
wind-blown little Gabriel, and—”

“ Erle, what on earth 1’

.“ Only my do s and my horses, and the little pet
niggers, dear o d auntie. So fond of me as the all
firehupon my_Wuclirdlit’sliarzatlieg remarkablgd cons der-

g ow partic ar y ave arena to kee
them all. ’ y ‘ g p

“You are thorou hly incorrigible on that and all

actically useful eads, I do believe. It’s a mercy

ere’s to be a change, and I do ho e Ethel may ex-
ercise her first power in setting t ings to rights at
Hetherlands."

A shadow came over Erie’s face. He rose hastil ,
gushing his chair back, and crossed to stand on t 0

road old-fashioned, red-tiled hearth. A wood flre
flamed in the am is throat of the chimney and
he looked into the eaping blaze with steadg, absent
eyes. His aunt followed and stood beside im, put~
ting her fair, wrinkled hand upon his sleeve.

‘ There, never mind the old woman’s interference
in dearboy. It’s not natural that you and I should
th nk alike, 9. spinster of three-score, and a fine
young fellow of twenty-four, the reatest contrasts
to be .found in the world. Ethe will understand
what is right better than I, be sure of that. And
now I am going to see that the dear boy’s old room
is Suite in order for him. It is always ke t in
rea mess, and Prudence has had fires there or a

week, according to my instructions. Do you care
to come along? ’

“ M dear aunt, bow sorry I am to disappoint
you. oor Prudence too, will scarcely be ersuaded
Ito forgive the cold s oulder I must give er atten-
zions. , The truth is, I am to return by the afternoon

rarn.’

“ Erle!” screamed his aunt, aghast.

“ It is very important, or you should know I would
not insist. I could not think of leaving you to make
the tripl alone, or the matter demanding my pre-
sence s ould not have been deferred to this hour.
My dear aunt, you’ll never find it in our heart
to forgive me, I’m afraid, but I mean to reek with
Ethel. ’

“Erle!” It was not a scream this time, but the
lowest and slowest of shocked utterances.

“ We will both be the better ofl for that which it
is my duty to do. I am confident Ethel never could
be happy With me as she may be, as it is her lot to
deserve. But I—ohl aunt Erle-can never be ha py
with any one, can never know any happiness ter
this except with Wilma. Oh, aunt Erlel thank God
with me that we are not all made miserable by the
discovery coming too late.”

Miss Erle seemed turned to stone. She stood look.
ing With coldly horrified eyes upon him; her fair
wrinkled face turned hard, the soft white hair
which had shaded her forehead, and the years of
hope and pride which she had upon the fact of this
projected marriage all laid waste in a moment,
were hke sharp pangs of remorse resent with him.

“ Say at least you will try to par on me thiswhich
is so greata disappointment to you, aunt Erle. It
is so much the best for all of us; I can’t plead for
any thing less than that. It is my worst pain seeing

‘ you bear it so." ‘

“ You don’t mean it, Erle, Erle! ou surely don’t
mean it. With the pride of the Hot ervilles and the
Erles running in your veins you can’t intend any
thing so dishonorable. I’ve got a nightmare on me;
I‘m surely never awake in my own senses and my
boy telling me that!"

“ “I’m sure of Ethel; if I were not Iwould sacri~
I flce myself rather than her. She Will be happier in

her restoration to freedom, and, oh, dear aunt! all
the world would not weigh in the scale against my
love for Wilma."

It was onl the same form of words lovers have
; used in a m’ lion cases before, but With Erle’s rapt
. face before her, with his blue eyes so steadfast and
é earnest, tender and grave, that she could scarcely
! reconcile their change from then bold, laughing,
g defiant she knew that every word had its cc 0 n
; his so . Knew how strong his determination was
1 under his remorse at causing her this grief; knew
! that word or act of hers would never turn him from
I his own decision of right. She sat down without a
" word, and her silence, the cold horror stamped upon
her face yet, the shock of the disa pointment which
he knew was possessing her, struc him with keener
reproach than more demonstrative grief would have

 

done.

“ You will believe that it is for the best when you
see the end,” he said, gently. “ Don’t think too
harshly of our b0 -—your own boy the same as ever
if you will et him 6 so. And the little Wilma who,
God willingl shall be my own some (lay—you can’t

a message of your kindness to her—if I might have
the assurance'you are not changed toward me l”

“Not changed? Erle, Erle] I fear me I am so
chan ed I shall never know my own self a ain.”

An , indeed, that impenetrable ice 0 reserve
dropped so suddenly about her neither melted nor
moved while he remained. She was stiff and still
and silent, making no attempt to check him when
he talked to her, not saying much and to so httle
purpose that he soon desisted and was simply
quietly attentive until his hour for departure came.

“ One thing I ought to say, I suppose,” she re-
marked then, as he stooped to kiss her withered
cheek. “I always meant to make you my heir Erle,
not that fyou needed any thing more, ut of lath
and kin 0 Now—"

“ Now. aunt

.1

mine min are the‘last.

 

help loving for her own sake. If I could take back.

1e. there shall be no cuestionof’

 

I {our disposal of an thing. At least one flow which 

as troubled me efore this shall have gone from
between us. I never want any thing but the old
love back again.” ‘

He went hen more sorrowful and gloomyzaand

threatened by dismal forebodings, than his ppy
i spirit of the morning could have deemed possible.
. The ice did not break about Miss Erle even then.
Nor yet later when Prudence, the old housekeeper
and confidential maria or for half her life of more
9 Berha s than Miss Er e‘s domestic affairs, came to
l or w th a troubled and anxious face.

“There’s
village," she sai ; “signs that I don’t like in the
least. “It’s come among the Bifflns that great
family of httle children, smothered two close
rooms together. No wonder they take every dis-
ease that’s @1132
out me, Miss rle. I’m going down there to take
the matterin hand before it gets the chance of a
sweep, and the best of us.”

CHAPTER XV.
A nnsnnnnsncn.

ETKEL looked more than ever pale and Matron,
was more than ever quiet and appetiteless at the
breakfast table that same morning. Not one to wear
her heart openly upon her sleeve, this; fair potted
darli of two seasons’ favor found not her least
morti cation in her own self-humiliation. With that
as an inward reproach, with her woman’s pride not
proof against efeat yet sustaining itselftoallex-
cept her own heart, this listless, silent Ethel mo
about the rooms was not at all the embodiment o
one’s ideal belle who has reigned undisputed through
ashort triumphant term and is about to end her
grilliant course by the brilliant marriage expected of

er.

f‘Etlrel is all right," thought Mr. Richland, in one
of his complacently observant moods. “She feels
the difference with Erie’s absence let me warrant,
for, however little disposed our young folks may be
to turn sentimental atter the popular fashion, there’s
more of the true ring of the metal under all n she
has cared to acknowledge. A very long absence
may con uer love, but a short oneis more apt to
prove it. t has all been as I foresaw; Erie’s com-
ing set the dear girl’s misgivmgs at rest, and by my
faith! it should require no stronger inducement than
that handsome face and perfect manliness of his to
overcome worse odds than siméflly a girl’s shy heel:
tation and distrust of herself. ‘s comin was none
too soon, as even I can see; this society ife is be-
ginning to tell on her with a rather startling eflect;

shall certainly advise along season of travel and
sight-seeing before the return to it. Gasli ht and
hot air and late hours w ruin any woman’s ooks, I
suppose, if rsisted in, though Gertrude stands
them admire 1y. But then Gertrude is incompara-
ble among women.”

His complacent reflections were very comforting
to Mr. Richland. The world, always dis sed to
treat him kindly, had for so Ion a time en his
humble devotee that be quite over ooked the probav
bility of any different phase ever being presented to
him. His own comfort had been so well assured
that it was quite out of all reason to contemplate
any worse disaster than the small‘élaily annoyances
which are the gnats to buzz in the aces of the best
and the greatest. His old unyielding pride and his
individual satisfaction were both to receive a prop
through the consummation of this alliance in every
way so well calculated to gratify all concerned.

Ethel, reading all this in his kindly face, was

ierced more dee ly yet b that rambling pain with—
in, as she steeled erself c oser still to her own reso-
lution. Come anfisb to her own heart, come bitter
humiliation and ting concealed rebellious senti-
merit, she would not disap oint Howard, she would
kee faith with Erle Het erville in all except her
hid on inner heart.

But oh, Ethel, Ethel! Had Justin Lenoir’s deep
earnest e es looked into yours, had his lips formed
the wor and his voice said it ever so softly-v
“Come,” what then of the firm will to override all
temptation? Is ever any resolution to be trusted,
which has no depth of heart for its foundation? Yet
with all the knowledge that should be ours the same
game of cross-purposes goes on daily and hourly and

east often with the fair, happy termination of set~
ting all straight.

It was after ten when the pale little flower-vender
made his appearance. “For Miss Wilde,” and the
fragrant package carefully inclosed was given into
Wilma’s hands. She knew in a moment from whom
it came while her fingers were get busy with the sil—
ver paper enfolding it, before t 0 little card with hm"
address in Erie’s writing assured her beyond a doubt»
And conscientious little Wilma, her heart swelling
with the proof of his tender remembrance, dro ping
her face over the fragrant mass for the b efest
space, only drew away with the quick contraction
, which was a certain sign of troubled feeling appear‘
in in her forehead.

I have no right to receive them,” she was thin]?
ing. “ I would not—obi for all the world, I would
not be the cause of bringing sorrow to Miss Ethel.
I was wrong without knowing at the first; now tha
I know, I must do all I can to put the wrong ' h‘l’n
But oh! you darlings! And he sent on to me. 11‘
lrlna, 1Wilma} remember they shoul have come to

or.

And thus bringing herself to a reminder of be!
0m: strict sense of duty, Wilma detached the little
card, and, taking the moist moss basket with its bur-
den of bloom, went up to Ethel’s room.

‘;Il;ilrom Mr. Hetherville,” she said, as she placed, it
qu e y. '

 

of taste, I am afraid,” Ethel remarked ,

Ian ‘5,
it. innowise aroused from her listless in 

’ere

 

 

  
 

sym toms of a sickness down in the ' 

You‘ll have to get along with- '

l

i

i

1

“And foronce Mr. Hetherviile has made an error ~ ,’

  
    

 

   

z.

 

 , I'W‘ILMALWILEE‘. I

 

 

 

"Ihave heard him say that the proper was late

choose flowers in character with their rec pient.
White roses and japonicas and calla lilies have char-
acterized his choice for .me before this, andI con-
fess to rather disapprovm of the change.” Her
white hand went careless y over the mass, great
loving-e ed nsies, sweet spice-pinks, blush rose-
buds an m est mignonette, but turned away with-
out removing one. “You may have them if you
like, Wilma. In fact, Erie’s. theory would suit them
to you far the best, and their greenhouse fragrance
gives me a headache.”

A heartache more likely, as a reminder of how
the “ eternal fitness of things" was being marked
in the case of them two.

Wilma took them away, that tremulous happi-
ness at her heart as she thought What a delicate,
far-reachin sympathy it was to distinguish itself so
unmistakab y.

“Surely I may keep them now,” she thought,
got, as coming from him but as Miss Ethel’s

t.

There was another ring at the bell resently, and
Mr. Crayton was shown into the gar or where the
ladies had gathered, Mrs. Richlan lying idly back
in her chair, Ethel with some pretension of work in
her hands, and Wilma reading aloud—as totally di-
verseatrio as might he often found, tenderly at-
tached as these three had grown to be. .

“This is an inexcusable breach of etiquette, of
course " said the reporter, after the first greeting.
“Won’t you ladies show forgiveness of it by not
lettin my Presence disturb you in the least? I
haven t the aintest shadow of an excuse for intrud-
ing, I may as well tell you at first. The lawlessness
of us Bohemians is our only law, though I promise
not to make a repetition if this is an offense. Truth
is, chancing into the neighborhood the law of at
traction di the rest.”

“You are very welcome.” Mrs. Richland assured
him, with that true courtes which does not distin-
guish between guests. “ on see for yourself that
we accept your permission, Mr. Craytou, and re-
ceive you quite Without ceremony.”

“ You’d be amused to see what sort of receptions
I do get sometimes. I don’t suppose you have an
idea. of What a powerful lever our newspaper world is
under your stratum of society. The reporter who
is called in under the gaslight to take notes of a

and glitter, a smash and a jumble to be separated

to so many descriptions of toilettes and mingling
shades with plentiful inters ersions of aigrettes an
coronets, cluster curls an pompadour braids, of
magnificent parures and tastefu ornaments and
drooping spra s and fair bou uets, en doc-allele,
trained, loo , puffed and all e perplexities of
your mantuamaker’s art which we are sup osed to
conquer—that reporter is scarcely recognizable in
uncivilized Bohemianism, which may lead him
to intrude after this fashion. I don’t quite class
myself with that ilk or I would not be discussing the
Variations quite so amiably."

“But-what a free-.and-easy world it is, that of
your loved Bohemia. Peeple say that after its fas-
cinations have once been experienced there’s no
enticing one of you away from it. What Paris is
to a true Parisian so is your delightful world which

on car about with you everywhere—an advan-

ethe arisian does not possess." Ethel looked
in restedlypp from her work—it seemed such a
novel world to her. to whom such a vague compre~
ension of its hidden inner life had come in that
Phase he had shown her lately, scarcely credible
new in the bright light of day with his careless re-
sence and unconcerned surface appearance hin 'ng
of no depths.

“Les paum‘u Bohemianan And yet this wild
wide Gipsy life, which has the sky for its covering,
its home all over the earth. as you say, is so very
attractive that no temptation can sever a true. Bohe-
mian from the vagabond existence, no amount .of
Influence or persuasion result in transforming him
into average res tability or uietude. Once come
to the state whic I have or ved at, I assure you
there is no redemption for any poor devil, and the
Worst or the best of it is that be rather glories in his
ot than otherwise.” .

Saying it all with the reckless dash which gave
added force to the words and was calculated to
bring out the brightest tints of the picture, the
froth and sparkle of the Bohemianism only was
Visible, none of the despair, the miseries, the want
and waste and willful misuse of a life which almost
invariably goes hand in hand with it, seeming the

rthest of all realizations from his mind.

“ There are regular gradations among us as in all
other classes,”he continued. “Those on the top
Ere not such an immense remove from civilized

lugs, after all—Latimer and Lenoir, for instance.
APropos of Latimer, which suggests his art and ac-
companiments: Mrs. Richland, did you ever, in
the auld lang syne,’ which cannot be so far gone as

\ave on much changed, have a likeness taken
and call t Rose? Moreover, were you ever dead
dud buried and resurrected to life a ain, after the
fashion of threewolume romances of hree centuries
8«to, when that interesting experience seemed the
'3qu method taken to outwit one’s enemies 7”

‘1. Mr. Craytonl” The wide, dark eyes turned
Egon him slowly, their depths fathomless until a.

‘pleasured surprise rose to them.

Yourself, Mrs. Richland. I’m well aware that is
anovel aswell as impudent mode of questioni ,
but ‘ thereb hangs a tale,’ which I hope may gain
“19 pardon ' our sight. That is unless you abomi-
nate scenes rom real life whic run in the way of
mystery and dramatioeflect.”

t You couldn’t orig: any better lan for raisfigg
henatural Mother _ we all co ess to," lung

.1101. “Icon answer for Gertrude, in one particu-
_ at least. She hasamorbid aversion to sitting.

r x .
I

 

4

 

and we'havenever succeeded in persuadin her to
have even a photo ph taken- Artists of h and
low degree, of al ranks, grades and pretensions,
have exhausted their eloquence in vain, so I ima no
it decided that Gertrude never could have lent er-
self to a representation and called it Rose. For the
rest I cant take the responsibility of answering;
such Phoenix-like emulation does not often appear
after the actuality of ‘earth to earth, ashes to
ashes,’ I believe.”

“_Ethel is quite right," said Mrs. Richland, calmly
indiiferent, and disclaimingi any show of curiosity.
“Certainly I have never, ed or been buried or

resurrected, Mr. Cra ton.’
“And yours is sue a vercy peculiar face, if you’ll
allow me to remark it. ertainly quite a singular

coincidence, a remarkable affair to say the least."
“ Wha; is a remarkable alfair, hr. Crayton? Don’t
keep us in suspense, please; our weaker nerves are

not calculated to bear the strain, and anything to in- 3
Volvo Gertrude, ever so remotely, must prove of ‘

vital importance, 1 am sure.”

“ Pray don’t overwhelm me b taking it up so so-
riously. My rather absurd an unwarranted ques-
tioning sprung from a little incident which might
form one of a series entitled Nights in the Streets.
An incident not calculated to reflect to the credit of
our twin cities, and with a slight exception, a
match-picture to Hetherville’s niischance of not
long ago, occurrin within our sight, Lenoirs and
mine, after we left ere last night. Allegheny is not
responsible, as perhaps you may be glad toknow.
We had crossed the bridge and were walkin along
Sixth avenue near Penn, when a brief but ecisive
skirmish took place ahead. A couple of rufl‘ians
darted out to attack a gentleman, but the sporting
gentry seemed to have reckoned without their host

or once, Since their selected victim proved himself
more than enough for both of them. He drop ed
one With a back—hand sweep, and the other was g ad
to find his heels after a round or two. We were on
the spot in a minute after the occurrence, and when
the gentleman returned from the short pursuit he

ad made, cool as either of us, we all stood talking
until .the police came u and took charge of the
One villain. Somethingg 'tterecl on the pavement in
the .hght of the bull’s-eye, and I picked up a little
miniature wherein I would have declared it was
your face painted, Mrs. Richland. Lenoir and I both
remarked it, but the stranger claimed it as his prop-
erty and assured us of our mistake. It had been the
keepsake of a friend of his, he said, the original a
lady named Rose, who had been dead and buried for
seventeen ears. The resemblance was remarkable,
you may agine, since it was powerful enough to
attract the attention of both Lenoir and myself. ’

“Rathera strange coincidence, as you sa ,” as-
sented Mrs. Richland, indifferent as ever. “ sem-
blances are not uncommon, however.”

“ I rather congratulate myself over the interest

aroused b that one, since it opens the pleasure of
Captain, ernham’s future acquaintance, and I
flatter myself he is one man of the few worth culti-
va in . .
“ gwhom—What name did on say?” . Mrs. Rich-
land‘s face was turned away, ut her mice was soft
and clear and bell-like, a peculiar VOice just as hers
was a peculiar face.

“ Captain Leigih Burnham, a deuce of a handsome,
strongbuilt, sol ierly fellow. M wonder is that the
others had the temerity to attac him. But, by the
way, you will soon have a reputation for resem-
blances. One of our mutual friends discovered an-
other, rather va us, I’m afraid—Dr. Craven Dallas
I'm meaning. he old fellow appeared so exercised
over the matter that I ass of the fact with
which I chanced to become acquainted—that you
have no blood—relatives to share such an honor. I
believe I was right in that."

“ Quite right, Mr. Cra n." Her head came back
to its former position, t e face to his View, and he
remarked how perfectly marblehke it was in its con-
tour and coloring.

“And that reminds me of what I had nearly for-
gotten," supplemented the reporter “ that am
summoned to appear in the case at t e alderman’s
office, this afternoon.”

He took his leave soon after, and the short fall day
Went uietly by in the mansion.
busy a the da and at nearly dusk went ‘out to a
store on a neighboring street to match the silks Ethel
was using.

“I won (1 rather go than not,” she said when the
latter made a remonstrance. “I nefglected my
usual walk to—day, and need a trifle o freshenmg

u i. ’

1She went and had returned to the ve shadow of
the ' ansion itself, when she was caug t suddenly
from er feet, folded close in strong masculine arms,
and kissed in fierce, fond lassion by bearded hps.
Then she was put as sud only down again, and a
tall form strode rapidly away and was lest m the
gloom.

 

CHAPTER XVI.

, caoss-Puaposss. _

“ SEE here, Ethel. You haven’t been domg any
such foolish thing as uarrel with Erie, I. hope ‘1”

She was passing in t e dusk but turned back with
her brother’s words. He was walking the _Wld6
up or hall, waiting for Mrs. Richland’s dinner tailette
to completed. It was to be a night out and the
task of dressing was rather prolo
land‘s natural domesticity rather inc ned toward a
disfavor for the empty drawing-rooms, and after
fifteen years of wedded life he was suii‘iciently lover-
iike to wait in attendance upon his a.

“ Certainly not, “

Howard. -
i“ You relieve me. Ioould make nothing else out ,
his solemn :

mewith some active ,

of his strange actions. my word,

“as
physiognomy almost aflec ‘

. 1

1111111 had been r

‘ Cicely was .busy, and I thought you might be need- . --

 

ed. Mr. Rich- .

l

l

a prehensions, and he would like a rivate interview
you have the leisure, though he eclined a seat at _
the opera and his own chances for the evening.” ‘ ,
“Erle, Howard? He went to Westmoreland this ,_
morning did he note—and for a week’s time, I am '
positive his aunt said.”
“So I had understood, and his unexpected return
gave me my first start when I met him at the door a
ew minutes ago. He is waiting below now, in the
library. I behave he came here straight from the
train, thou h I remember his saying something of -.
taking up s own apartments. And, by the way, i

. Ethel, Gertrude tells me there will be no dela on

account of trousseau or other preparations. T ere _
has been a reply to her order and the goods them- . .3
selves will be forthcoming Within the month. So, if , ;
Erie broaches namin the day,Icouldn’t flndasingle , ‘ 1
objection in the worl to an earl date. I have had ‘ 2
New Year’s Do. in my min , but t is your preroga-
tive to be suite in regard to that._ Shorten the time . x ‘
by all means if it agrees better With Erle’s no doubt -’
impetuous desires.’ .

‘ Oh my dear brother certame not sooner than \
that. Indeed, Howard, Iain half-inclined to resent;
this intense anxiety of yours to rid yourself of a. ‘
troublesome incumbrance. Fortunate that I am in. _
clined to assert in right, or you would be marrying.- ' «
me out of hand w ether or no.” " ,

“Well, well Ethel; you understand why I am, I '
anxious, my dear. An now don’t let me detain

on.

She passed on, but not down immediately. She'

aused at Mrs. Richland’s door and went in at find. ‘
mg her alone. Shewas already dressed-and turning
over the contents of a jewel-casket absently. She
glimpsed with a smile at seeing her fair young sister

— aw.

/,.«

“ How prompt you are, Ethel. And you are in time 
to settle a vexed question. I can’t qUite decide what ‘ '
to wear to-night in the way of ornament." - , -

“Diamonds by all means, with that ruby moire, "
Gertrude. In eed you ought never to wear anythififi
but diamonds. You have been born to them and
brilliant things in destiny. I wonder if life is a fatal-
ity from first to last?" I

“What has turned your thoughts in that strain,
Ethel? You have not found any dissatisfaction in
your own, I he )6?" » '

“ Not robab , since I have always been so kind? 
guards . I have wondered sometimes what when . A: ‘

ave been inclined to doubt myself—I suppose we ’
never are sure of ourselves until we are put to the 1' » ._
test. Take your case for example. If you hadnot , 
loved Howard as you do, if you had married him ' ’ '3
out .of gratitude or from a sense of duty as. , only;
havmg the. highest respect and appreciation gains , ,
noble qualities, would you have been contented, to if
always ke t your duty toward him in view, have ,
grown per ps into some approach of the peace ~ '
which I am sure you must have mutually enjoyed?” ,v?

_ Ethel’s face was not averted but her eyes'vWere not , 4
lifted to meet the scrutinizing glance of the other ‘7;
darker ones. Those deep, inscrutable .eyes of Mrs. , '
Richland had a subtle poWer of their own which ‘ , »
could penetrate more clearly than Ethel’s troubled ' ;
mind ust then would care to be probed, , I ‘

“ I ancy such cases are more common than , yo .
imagine, my dear,” she answered, composedly. 91% »
it had been my caseas you have just put it, I am . '«
sure I should never have suffered one pang of regret  .:
thro any lingering indecision of my own, but would 4
have found such peace and such content in his ten.
demess and his strong love as would have reconciled. .
sacrifice and made sweet anyafter trial which. might .2 7
bebravely borne for his sake. I have little enough "i . 1
faith in that sentiment of love which has hadvnwtmal '
and none but a fancrful eXistence, Ethel; I have ev- ‘ a
cry faith in the reality with the plain knowle '0! ' V 
its strong, earnest foundation and the perfect ust »
to be reposed. there. High respect and appreciation , 'r .,
of noble uahties are the truest bases upon which an ‘ I. '
enduring rus‘t was ever built.” . r . - .9

Ethel‘s eyes lifted now freely and smilingly. . ’ '.
“No one could have atruer experience to speak ,; ,‘gf
from, Gertrude. Has Howard spoken .to you. , ; 'f‘
Barticplarly of Erie and—and men—and . New Year’l -

a t‘ 4 . 
Et‘illlgnow what hopes he has built upon all three, ’ 7 
e r ' “ 
“You maytell him if on like that I shall  3
ready then, provided irleywishcsv’it. He is below,  
now. come unexpectedl back from Westmoreland y , ’
and waitingforme. Ah, ilinallwas almostunelts)’. » 
thinking on had not returned yet.” A . - r» z“ « u ‘
Wilma ad come into the room, just catchin the. '5
last of Ethel’s speech, half-hesitating, on the to! , 3,.
back for ten minutes at least. 1,,

 

 

i

 
 
  
   
  
   
 
 
  
    
  
  

 

retiring again.
“I have been

ing something. ShallI put your jewels back,-
Richland f" '

“If you like, Wilma." Mrs. Richland had clasped
diamonds at her throat and upon her wrists, but she r ‘-
did not move .away. The stead eyes were looking.  ,
at her own'faii' semblance in t e lass, abstracts,  %«
andfar-seemg, but, preoccupied astfiey seemed, they, ' ,
ca lit Wilma’s upward, anxious glance. . VI‘ . ’ "

“ hat is it, my dear? Why, child, are you‘ll" .  ,
You look to be burning with fever.” ,. , t  w.  . ‘

.“ I am quite well, only flushed. Is it Mr. Hbtbel‘m ‘
Ville has returned unexpectedly whom Miss Ethel 7'
hassgzone down to meet?" , 1“  /~.

“ es. We were mistaken regarding his intention,
evidently or he has changed it.” .. ' a '

‘fAnd it was he thoughl didnot thinki “mu-ed ' ,.
Wilma. a hotter flush burning her cheeks. “What ‘ > .
shouldI do—what can I do now? Itgvesmesuch a . i » -,
ltmnse, though Heaven knovvs would sooner .‘ ‘
e t bring misery to any of them.“ ~ . . 1
Searching

. e as wet-even“
face. 'Mrs. lifeblood drew

flush ; s V ’ 
hack andmgink  ' 7 4

M an, -
. “13.”. ,

 

'l

I

\
'l
,1.

i 6
/
into a chair, the ruby ‘ silk draping about her in
i‘lc‘hé glowmg folds, the diamonds flashing back the
ign .

‘_‘ Come here. Wilma,” she said, quietly. “ Some-
thing is troubling you, and trouble can sometimes be
bel ter borne when the, knowledge of it is divided.

- Sobb and nervous and distressed, I am sure the
blame not ours, whatever the matter may be!
Sit here and te 1me, if you can."

Wilma dropped on a low stool at her feet, her
slight form shaken, her hot, tearful face buried in
her hands. She lifted it in a moment, more composed,
wistfully deprecating. '

“Oh, dear Mrs. Richland, it is the fear of trouble
coming through me, the fear of repaying all your
kindness with sorrow and disap ointment. I would
so gladly bear all sorrow and a pain if it might be
spared to an one in this dear house.”

“ Go on, ilma. Tell me what sorrow-what pain i"
The white cool hand was passed gently over the girl‘s
forehead with a touch which was quietly soothing
now, such a deep soft light in the steady eyes that
Wilma’s heart ached to its depths.

“ Oh, Mrs. Richlandl I am afraid that through me,
unhappiness may come to Miss Ethel, disappoint-
ment to all of you. Indeed, indeed, if I might undo
it now by gomg away I would go gladly. If I had
never come there wo d have been no change, as I
fear there is, in Mr. Hetherville.”

The soft, cool hand was still the slightest change
come over the marble'like calmness of the perfect

face.

“ Mr. Hethervillel” The little dusky head was
drawn with a sudden swiftness to the lady‘s shoul-
der, the quiet cheek laid against the burning, throb-

brow. “Tell me here, Wilma. Has this change
which has come to Mr. Hetherville also touched
ou
’ Aquick comprehension had come to Mrs. Richland.
Acha e, too had come to her, almost a relieved
change 1: won (1 seem, and that caressing, ma netic i

/ touch quieted Wilma until she could tell stea ily all

. ~moment more, then Mr. Richland.

» with m own earnest desire to

. than her. Had he believed it for Ethel’s truest hap—
‘ bonds for her.

'winn
chs.ing

. surely my task will not be so very hard to learn with
, so much returned for the little that is asked ” she
’ laid to herself, and went into his

that had passed between her and Erle on the preced-

ing night.
/ ‘ He promised to remain the same to her unless
her own word and her own wish released him, but to-
night—to-night, as I was coming in from the street,
Just at dusk, some one—a tall man, whom I had not
seen in the shadows—caught me- in his arms and ,
kissed me on the cheeks and lips and forehead. I i
turned fairly sick with fright, but he ut me down
and was gone in a moment. I did no think of its
being Mr. Hetherville. I thought he was in West- 3
moreland, to remain for a week.” 1

Her sobs choked her there. Mrs. Richland’s quiet- ’

lug touch was gentle as before. ‘
‘I think we can trust to Mr. Hetherville " she '
said. “He is quite incapable of a dishonorab c act, '
am sure. You are not to blamein the matter. But. ‘
Wilma, child, it may bebetter for our own sake if i
the chug? in him proves to have can but the im- !

also of e moment, to be lost in the truth of his l
ove for Ethel. If it proves more than that, the dis- .
cove is better made now, as he said—far better ‘
than the were bound by irrevocable ties.”

The uie intensity of her expression startled and
stifled lma. They satin the same position for a
V own impatient
of his solitary march up and down i e wide dim hall,
ta at the door interrupting them.
el had gone down to the library, where Erle
awaited her. He had come straight here from the
train as Mr. Richland had surmised. The knowled e
which .had broken upon him with such powe ul .
fprce would permit him no rest until his future posi- '3'
tion was decided. He had not lost sight of his

romise toWilma; it must to Ethel’s will, not his,

at should give him liberty. He had meant it fully
when he dec ared he would sacrifice himself rather

piness now, he would have sealed his lips above ev-
ery remonstrance, and given no sign. But he felt
sure of her heart as he was of his own he had not a. .

"doubt but that, in bringing about the freedom which ’

he was so sure of gaining, he would break hateful

With that settled purpose in his heart he was wait- 1
ing, when the door swung back and she came in, '
strai ht up to him, With a. brighter smile than the
fair acehadworn for him in all these later days &
they had been t ether, both hands ut out with that f
gracew ch had always een one of her 1

ms.
Ethel’s‘lingering, long battle had been fought out
in those few minutes passed in her sister-in-law‘s
room. A long, lingering battle, the end of which she
had marked on since, but not until then had she
really conquere that stubborn enemy found in her-
.self. Her sacrifice had been promised before this,
for her brother's sake, and by the reflex of the pride
so bitterly wounded through her own weakness; but
Gertrude’s words let a new light in u on the sacrifice
which changed it to an ennobling du .
“ With my own full knowledge of Er e’s true worth,
bring him all he ex-
it: me, wifely devotion to him very soon,

resence with the'
glow, of conscious ap royal warm ng her heart and
appearing in her fran greeting.

What a surprise you have given me,” she said,
“adellghtful su rise. I did not expect you for a
week at least. ere has been no mischance, noth-
In to “give you apprehensmn, I hope.”

rhething in his face roused her uick alarm. He
had taken her hands, meeting her ree, affectionate
glance with one doubtful an searching. His confi-
dence was wave for the first. Never before had
she seemed so en ely affectionately trustful, never

I had brought such a change into her old sad life.

 

before‘had he elt so regretful of the bond, bemeen
them.- I ,

l
\

"WI’LMA I WILDE.

" No mischance, nothing unfortunate in the way of
actual happening, Ethel. And I have come back
purposely to arrive at a thorou h and perfect under-
standing with you. Sit here w ile I say what I have
to say; will not kee you long."

She rested her han upon the back of the chair he
placed for her and remained standing, her hazel
eyes fixed in uirin ly u on his face, that lately
gained strengt of ers caring her unwaverineg

efore him.

“ We entered upon our betrothal six years ago,
mere inexperienced children both of us, not even un-
derstanding the sacred nature of the trust we were
taking upon ourselves. Under almost any other cir-
cumstances the old tender folly would have been
spent long ago, the remembrance nothing more than
a matter for laughing comment now. We were kept
to it b the approbation the proposed alliance met
upon )oth sides; we had no test of difficulties to
overcome, not an obstacle which might have rou h-
I v~ «l our way but was smoothed from it by Ehe
watchful care of others. For six years the same end
has been steadfastly fixed before the sight of both;
we have each been impressed with a conviction that
to deviate from the straight path leading to it would
be such a breach of honor and good faith that we
could never redeem ourselves from the stigma it
would cast. We have come ve close to that end
at last, so close that there will 6 no possibility of
turning back after this. Is it your wish to go on,
Ethel? Has there been no outreaching 'or no craving
for any other destiny than that linked with mine? Is
there not love dearer, another lot to be shared with
more promise of sweet content than ever thou I lit of
mine afforded? If any other life can hold etter
hap iness for you, Ethel, it is due to us both that the
trut should be spoken now. Don’t fear to speak it
now from the inner depth of your heart, and remem-
ber, it will be doing only the same justice to me as to
your own life.”

-‘ The sweet earnest face not drooping before his
aze, the soft eyes looking wistfully into his, saw in
is fixed and resolute expression only the strictrec—

titude of a noble soul, the doubt of her best happi-

ness being assured, the willingness to advance it at
the sacrifice of his own, and never before had she
felt so nearly drawn, so close to a comprehension of
purelyiquiet happiness such as she was sure to find

with m.

“ It is like you to be so nobl considerate, so wholly
disregardful of self in remem rance of me. I appé'e-
ciate and thank you for the kindness, Erle. It is st
that there shall not be even a 1i ring misa prehen-
sion between us. If ever any 0 stacle ex sted be
tween our free trust in each other it exists no longer
now. If I ever had a temptation o waver from the
first spirit of our attachment it is gone for all time.
As for you, I will not wound your true heart by
even a doubt. To show how thoroughly I trust

on, Erle, I am going to do what will give all most

Joy, I believe, name next New Year‘s Day for our

wedding."

The lights danced before his eyes, the color faded
from his 11 s and he sta gered dizzily, but she never
sus ectcrl but her hard y-found submission dashed
all is cherished hopes and wrung his heart with as
keen anguish as she had ever felt.

CHAPTER XVII.
A mnmrron.

TnnWestern avenue mansion was still. Lights
were turned down here and there; the gets in the
balls were at a brilliant blaze, but in he cham-
bers and in the drawing~rooms there were only
softened glows leaving twilight obscurity over 9.1
and deep darkness in the corners. The party for
the opera had left an hour before. Erle, who had
declined Mr. Richland’s invitation so positively
changed his mind with Ethel's solicitation romaine
to dine with the family, and made one of the party
for the evening.

Wilma was not down at dinner. She was calmed
and less weighed u on b hera pghensions after
unburdening hersel to t e kin nefactress whltz

was not like the same life, this to which hers had
turned, warmed b tenderest consideration from
all about her. no di erence marked by Word or look
between this highadproud family and her lowly
station. They had opted her into their hearts,
and the fullest gratitude, the deepest loving respect
went out to them in return. Unconscious of the
wrong it meant, Erie’s handsome face, which had
a pooled to her tender-(st pity, first when it lay
bihnchod and sin-wrung upon the illow, Erie’s
voicewhich ha! asweetness in it for er on] that
was never carried to another ear, Erle's bold, right
eyes which had looked into hers witha conscious

ossession of the secret her trembling heart held, a
happy light of confidence and ra ture of trium h in
that knowledge, and his own elief that Et el’s
bond was loosely worn as his own—Erle, in himself
had been received into that deepest tenderness of
the girlish inc rienced heart whose first freshness
gone out to m would never be reclaimed, would
never turn with the same full faith and sweet trust-
fulness to an othér. That much had been done
and then her nowledge came. Between Ethel and
her must lie the misery and'the humiliation which
that knowledge brou ht, and she had been .the
usurper of Ethel‘s righ and Ethel’s previous reign.
It was no more than just that some suffering should
follow; there is never a wrong however unconscrous-
1y or unmeaningllg' done but is followed by retribu-
t on of some so for the moral law broken. And
her willing, gentle spirit would have borne it all if
she might only so avert like suffering from them.
Mrs. Richlands words had given her one little
gleam of hope thatit mightbe averted still. If his

ove for her might .
an hour—~11! this

 

ovalty to Ethel min t move but

‘ (

 

rove Lut the pas-sin , impulse of ,

 

a wavering indecision which faced 'by the test
calling for the renunciation of his love of six years
standing might fail before it—if he should return to
his old allegiance, forgetting her as she had begged
of him to o, the unhappiness and disap ointment
which threatened might be safely passe . Safely
passed even for her, for Wilma’s best happiness was
always found in administering to the joy of others.
She might be saddened, grieved, wrung to the heart,
but her SWeet, yielding spirit would find its own re-
ward in the consciousness of duty well done.

She was to have her endurance at to the test
very soon. She was waiting still in rs. Bichland’s
room, where Cicely had laid out the ladies’ opera
cloaks, gloves and fans, when Mrs. Richland mme
Ep from below and drew her aside out of the maid‘s

caring.

“Dear child, no need of reproaching yourself
further, I hope. I. fancg the misunderstanding
which must have exxsted as cometo its happiest
end for all. If Erle wavered he has found strengih
to be firm at last. They are the same confessed
lovers as before and they have named the weddin
to take place on New Year’s Day. Be thankful the
it has ended so, Wilma.”

“lam, dear Mrs. Richland; I am thankful with
all my heart. It is a weight off my mind, and a
great relief. Do they look hap y as though nothing
could come between them nowlg

“ They-will be happy. Two such noble natures, so
truly assunilated, can not fail. to draw out the very
best of mutual affections. Ethel looks it fully
hrmhter and fairer, more lovmg and trusting than I

have seen her before. Erle is at least resigned. I
can not even guess at what has passed between
them but the manner of both might point that a
lover s quarrel has 'ust been happily terminated.”
Sympath with ilma’s state of mind prompted
her to tone so lightly upon Erle’s demeanor—gal-
lant, closely attentive, almost widly gay it appeared.
With her knowledge she might have guessed what
never occurred to her—that it was forced gayety.
Our own individuality is so a t to influence our
judgment of others, and Mrs. chland was so ac-
customed to keeping her soul-life so closely looked
under that marble, unchanging exterior that her
sympathy had not reached to the despair which
turns reckless, and Erle‘s recklessness was so tem-
pered by that sterling honor _which intvd outhis
course so clearly now, that his last t ought of de-
viating from it had de arted. _ ,

A little later the dpa , consisting of Mr. and Mrs.
Richland Ethel an Erle, quit the house. Ci went
down to gossip in the housekee er's room,and or the

 

first time since her coming t ere the rent house
seemed intolerably silent and lonely to ilxna. She
went down the staircase presently, into the dim -

lighted drawin -room. She had taken a bookwi
her, but the su dued glow, the shadowy nooks and
corners were in better unison with her mind just
then, and she dropped into a chair without alte
any arrangement of the room. It was a sore h
throbbing within her breast although she was so
truly grateful for the end 0 her worst apprehen-
sions. She told herself again, sitt' there in the
dusk, that an impassable gulf must ave stretched
between Erle an her bad he been free whenthey
met. All of wide, fair Hetherlands, all of the ride
of the Erles and Hethervilles combined, all 0 the
hopes based upon him and the ambition nurtured in
him, must have come between. For his sake she
must have borne her own grief just the same, which
was less ignant as it was through her fidelity to
Ethel. ow lo a time had assed she did not
know, when the cor-bell tinkle through the silent
house, and some one was admitted into the brightly
lighted hall. Some one’s hand was laid upon the
door, and a. voice, whose cool. even accents she
know said very distinct there:

“ The family are out, am very well aware, my
good fellow. In fact, knowledge of that is my
reason for being in. Be kind enou h to take my
compliments—compliments of Dr. raven Dallas,
you understand—to Miss Wilde, and request her to
accord me the favor of an immediate interview.”

William Thompson had no guard against the doc-
tor‘s smoothly-decisive enunciation, and was mov-
ing away unwillingly when Wilma herself appeared
upon the scene.

“Iamhere you see Dr. Dallas. You may light
the room, William, before you go, if Dr. Dallas will
come m.‘

It was Dr. Dallas’s very evident intention to come
in. He had deposited his hat and walking-stick u
on the rack, and his overcoat followed hem. 6
crossed the threshold into the drawing—room then,
sinking his feet deep into the thick, rich carpeting,
and throwing himself into a seat with the compla-
cent abandon and approving satisfaction of his sur-
roundings. William Thompson turned on the gas
and adjusted the shades, and withdrew, with a back'
ward dissatisfied glance at Wilma’s little figure, and
the tall, thin form of her guardian. The man was 8
philosopher anda fatalist in his way, and no b
physiognomist, considcring his opportunities.

‘ I ham’t taken any love to t at Dr. Dallas,” he
reflected, as he went. “It hain’t a good cast to that
face of hlsnfl nor yet agood look in his eye. Show
me a man t at’s orever looking sideways and for-
ever uinting at you unbeknownst, and I’ll show 8

‘ villain hat’s on the strai ht roadie the gallows if he

gets his proper deserts. at Dr. Dallas ain’t mean'
ng any good to our Miss Wilma, I know. Her
guardian, indeed! and if he was any kind of a
proper-minded guardian he would give up his prf‘
tensions to that same, and leave her to them that n '
care more for her in aminute than he’d be apt to d0
in a week. I don‘t like his look at her—like a 09:9
gloating over some oor little hel less ,m use, an x ‘
she so. unconscious, ear soul! ell, well wlmt 13 ‘
to be will be whether it comes to pass or not; 0*“ ~ 
I'llzive my head fora football to any one Ias wan .' r

. 42“.

 

 

  

 

 

WILMA” WILD sf

 

 

' it if that same Dr. Craving Dallas don’t make a wor~
17m this house yet with his sneaking in at odd
hours, and his being like a lord to us, and so smooth
and oily and the-dust-ain’t—good»enough-for-me-to-
lick when the master and mistress are by in the way
01 seeming dreadful humble before them. Take my
Word for it, he’ll be the sarpint in this derelictable

aradise, than which I defy any man to show me
one more so.”

It is to be presumed that William Thompson meant
delectable, and though his analog ' may have been
a. little obscure, and his construction far drawn his
Observations were not so very wide of the mark as
t ey readily might have been, and his sentiments in
the main were quite correct. I

Wilma sat down facing her guardian, trying to. be
glad for so much kindly consideration shown by him,
as well as she was rateful for all the tenderness of

33 new, true frien s she had found, but that dread
With which the doctor’s resencc always inspired

or, interfered sadly with er thankfulness for the
favor of this unlocked-for visit.

“How is my dear little girl to-ni ht?” asked the
doctor’s smooth accents as his shi ting gaze wan-
dered awa from her into the furthest corners.

‘Not 100 g as well I fanc . A trifle sadder, a
trifle more Wistful an wan t an when I saw her
last}. A touch of the blue vapors are very unsatis-
fEmory company. Not at all a ood state of mind
for one so young and so hopef and so cheerful as
IVi'ou to cherish. Is there less satisfaction in your
to here than before? Has the c of newness
Worn away and the reflex of neglect already takin
Place of the favor shown at first? These fair ph’ -
anthropists have a fashion of backsliding, I’m afraid.
might have told you not to ex ct too much too
1011 , but what use of poisoning t e pleasure for on
will c it lasted. It is one of my principles. my ‘ ear
~a praiseworthy principle, is it not?——not to stir up

6 dregs of bitterness while any of the sweet
draught remains at the to . Take the bitter all at
Once, and a fresh cup a terward, if you_like, but
dOrl’t ruin the effects of the two by mixmg them.
Odd philosophy for a physician, perhaps, but none
‘he less sound for that. And so the old life rind the
new are not cut so wide adrift but the loneliness
the one may extend into the other!”

“I would not wish them so Widely separated that
my remembrance of those experiences should not

88p meconstantly grateful for the great change.

0n are mistaken in su‘plposing I can have any cause
for unhappiness. The “grow more kind. if that be
Possible, with eve a .

“Then there isrysom); other foundation for that

Sadness. I am not mistaken in regard _to_that; a
Vei'y strong affection is seldom mistaken in ilts lint;-
ac in ,

“ions, Wilma. You have found somethin
then. Some element is lacked to comp ete your
tborough contentment. They are kind, very kind,
but the have their gayeties, and your seclusmn ls

fecte with loneliness, is that it?’ . _

" Oh, no, indeed! I have no desire for.anytliing
mOre than I receive here; I hope you Will believe
that. There is not anything, not the least, I would

ve changed if I mi ht." »

“And that is not e youth and hope. It is only
nMural you should look forward to more. It is
acarcer possible you can be thoroughly content
with your slight tenure upon your position here.
Mado much of just now through the uncertain

' Vagory of a fine lady‘s whim the same will take an-
0ther turn and you will be all the worse off for hav-

8‘ been afavorite for a time. The old sequestra-
t10:1 and narrow limits and bare discomforts of the
old house on the Manchester road, With only Mrs.

Orrit’s companions-big, will be the less endurable
t0P-the glimpse of all t at is luxurious and refinrd,"

Wilma made no reply as the doctor aused. His
WOl'ds did not demand one, and her. eavy heart

rew heavier for such ominous prediction” Coming

r0m him it might mean that it was his intention,
800her or later, to remove her from this fair, rich
mansion which was so freely her home, back to the
01d bare, forbidden precincts where'seventeen dreary
years or" her life had been passed.

e was watching.r her as he always watched every-
th 11g, fui'tively. His keen eyes read the weunness
in ler face, read more c10scly into her entle, uile-

e§8 heart than she had any suspicion 0 him 0m .
‘I wonder if any impulsive young lover won (1
take much encouragement from such complete in-
i“difference,” he mused, “from hidden monruful-

938, erha , overa loss which she ma not be ill-

..cnne to ac nowledge « ven to herself. cry kind of
i inide and useful friend, Crae’ton, to give me an
1" ng of how matters stood. ’ery sharp eyes our
“Nless reporter has, and uses them to advantage.
which is more than better men alwa s do. Deuced-
3 8.11am and netratin , and I mig t question the
tl§mterested indnessw ich led himtocall u on me
Ihlsfifternoon with the result of his observ tions;
tm‘iht be alittle inclined to keep shy of him but
0” e devil's recklessness which is taking him to
aesh‘uction and leaves him no better care than to
“$98-11 others follow the same eas road. I. have al-
6 “Y3 found an advantage in cultivating miscellane—
“3 acquaintances; there is alwa '9 some good tobe
9‘ Out of eve man if you only now how to strike
d'inL And re y I don‘t know that I could desire a
1 erent state of mind in our little creature of con-
8‘3393108 here.”
th My dear Wilma," he said, aloud, “I am afraid
h at In comparison with the later interests which
nine engrossed you, my anxiety for your happiness
t W have failed in comparison. I thnik you cannot
“my comprehend how entirely I am devoted to you
had to your advancement. I told you truly that I
gm sacrificed my own desires to your welfare.
- Do,“ that. developments have been reached which
,5 gttto a differen course, one to gratify my hopes

  
 

 

\ ° 11198 else could. and at the same time to estab‘

lish ou in the place for which nature has fitted you.
to a deb you are entitled by right. I have it in my
power to insure your life, from this time forward, in
the midst of just such surroundings as these. The
power to place you on a footing in every way e ual
to that enjoyed by these people about. Better t ian
even that——to assure you of our right to a life and a

osition in the world secon to none. I think you

ave felt it keenly, sometimes, in knowing yourself
outcast from all kindred, in doubting your right to
the name you bear, in being so utterly a stranger to
the secret of your own existence. It was very careful-
ly kept from you. It was kept from all the world, and
falsely represented where utter concealment was not
possible. It is surely not needful to ask if it is your
will to pierce the mists at last.”

Wilma heard as it seemed with a sudden sto pin
of all the blood in her veins. Her heart sto sti .
She grew faint before she seemed able to breathe
again. The secret of her life, the knowledge of the
hidden past which had loomed darkly over her, in
this man’s hands! The intensity of her expectation
had its first chill in that. That the secret which he
boasted as a power was to come through him struck
her quick intuition as having some sorrowful if not
Wicked depths of. history to unfold. Her eye 5,
chained to his thin, Fallow, unmovirg face were
eagerly and painfully attentive, but her lips formed
no words.

“There must be something given in return for so
much gained, my dear Wilma,” the smooth, low
tone continued. “ I have been careful to conceal
that which my mature judgment assured me was
wild, hopeless folly in a man of my age—my long
enduring love for you. Little Wilma, yru never
suspected, I dare say, that the fatherly affection I
have evmced for you was more than that; you never
supposed that the heart which has not had a near
or a dear interest for a score of years could be
thrilled and fi‘cshened by your sweet, gentle influ-
ence—that one seeming so absorbed and so isolated
as I, could be loving—faithfully, earnestly, tenderly
—uyou. _ Ah, my child! the best part of what our
lives might be is very often hidden. But the neces-
sitfi for that concealment has changed with me. It
w add all this that I have hinted at to our ad-
vancement if our interests be identified, an to that
end I ask you what I mi ht never dared have asked
otherwise, to join your e to mine, Wilma; to be
mine, my wife."

She sat asif stunned. Of all words she might have
expected to hear from his li these were the last.
or all men in the world wi In whom any thought
fight have linked such a. possibility, he was the very

“ I have taken. you by surprise," he proceeded.
“ I hoped you might have been not wholly unpre-
pared for it; I have tried to convey my loving sona-
ments in a manner to give you some knowled e of
the truth. Think for a moment, Wilma; thin of
all I tell you this offer of mine means; a place for

on high and proud as these Richlands possess, and
uxury to surround on, myself as your husband,
and my first object a ways devotion to you; think
of all that and give me your answer—simply yes or
no.

Her eyes, fascinated and horrified, fixed upon his
face, had not wavered away. For once his were
still holding her as if b a magnetic power. She
had rallied far enough 0 think, however; she had
gained the war of speech again. '

“It can not but no—no! I am 3 used,

eved, but I think— hope you will not muc care.

on mean it as a kindness, and I thank you for that,

but I could never have any different answer for you,
Dr. Dallas.” '

“ I hope and I think you will reconSider that, Wil-
ma. You do not yet know what all your refusal in—
volves."

" If it means all of the knowledge you say, my an-
swer must still be the same. I can never be any
thing more than slin ply grateful for your kindness.
I shall be grieved to know that you are disappointed
through me. If it is best for me to know that
secret which on hold, it will come at some time in
some way. {can not even ask you to tell me. I do
:uk you no matter what advancement might come
to me, to let it remain untold, and let the remain
lm'i)Wn even to myself if harm should come to
an v one through the telling."

Matthew Gregory‘s last words were in her mind,
then; Matthew Gregory‘s stern, abhorrent look as
she remembered it, causing her to shrink With a
dread of apprehension. If the choice had been put
to her then and there, it is most robable she would
have chosen to bury all knowle go even from her-
self forever. But the choice was not to be left with

r.

e“ If only as a duty to myself the matter .should be
dropped. And there is some one else involved—-
very deeply involved, it may turn out, unless you
choose to shield her. As my wife only you Will
gain the power to do it. You think a great deal of

our friends here, of your Miss Ethel, of Mrs. Rich.
hind. Suppose either of them should be threatened
with worse trouble and miser than you can well
imagine being visited. upon hem: Sup 6 the
choice is yours to bun degradation an sorrow
upon either of them, or o avert such, which should
be sacrificed, they or you—supposing yours to be a

saggicefhope I may never be the cause of bringing
to, them. I think I could bear anything rather

than that. Surely, Dr. Dallas. no ast interest of
mine can reflect sorrow upon them. “

“ Something worse than sorrow perha s, an-
swered the doctor, grimly. “ My dear chi] human
creatures are not born into the world except of bus
man parents, and the sins_of the parents may some-
times be brought to recoil upon emselves instead
of coming down as,heritai:es to the children. It

 

'be

will notbe my fault if it is so in your case unless on
Will it differently. You have been told simply is at
your mother is dead, but I know of my own evi~
deuce, amed in erson, that your mother lives to-
day. e lives. upplose I tell you more—that on
have seen and know or? Suppose I tell yout t
the discovery of your identity to the public now
would mean sorrow, humiliation, disgrace to her,
that it would drag her down from a proud hight
that it would stamp her hfe with a misery which all
time could not efface? -Supp)gse I tell you that your
unknown mother is your nefactress of to-day,
Mrs. Richland?”

CHAPTER XVIII.
AT 'rnii: ovum.

Tim Cplera House was well filled that night. The
3urtain ad just gone down on the first act, and
during the stir consequent, the Richland family
fashionably late, entered, and took possession of
their own private box. The advent of the Richlands
it any time was always the occas1on of a flutter of
attention and comment.
were a magnetic attraction to those moths of society
that so constantly flutter their admiration about
wealth and beauty. Ethel, belle of two seasons,
flirt, coquette, sweet despoiler of men‘s hearts, as
she had a reputation for being—the world alwalys
zives that to those qualities which win irresistib y,
forgetting how impossible it must be to respond to
the many—Ethel might have counted her devotees,
declared or othermse, by the dozen, even in that
audience. And Erle, big, blonde, handsome, match-
ing admirably at her side, lent a completing touch
to the harmony of the. group. whatever his a‘ pear-
ance there may have caused in the way of 19 ous or
envmus tWitches in the minds of not wholly disin-
terested. lockers—on.

A fair, well-matched couple certainly. 80
thought complacent, self-satisfied oward Richland,
as he turned from them to bend in lover-like atte -
tion toward his wife. So the ht half the poo
there who had a knowledge 0 that long-stand};
engagement, so romantic. so refreshing to meet with
in our prosaic age, a child-love grown up with their
growth. lasting, and to be consummated at a very
near date according to Jenkins’s report. If there
were rebellion and envy over this expected result in
many phases of masculine feeling present, there
was also relief in near approach to t e imbittored
hearts of less fair rivals. For the few to envy her
the handsome young Marylander at her side, there
were the many to rejOice at returnl ' allegiance or
waverinfilteovers when convinced of [go hopelessness
of their . r aspirations. It is in no more than or-
dinary ratio that one acknowledged belle will covet
the final conquest of another where a dozen will re.
joice over the conquest which removes a formidable
rival. Ethel Richland was sure to m sooner or
later from the upper stratum, so as well grle Hether-
ville as any other, and the sooner the tender £011 of
six years standing was merged into the real
effect of the matrimonial venture, the better chance
for those remainigig. ' '

Erie himself 2b come out from that interview

 

in the library with a set resolve at his heart thatggg A

should never know how nearly faithl‘ess he
proved to her—how his heart was turning
monttawzi. from her fair bodily presence, from the
wee , 8
face. small, pathetic. wistful, which had grown
dearer to him in this short time past than any other
one on earth. Ethel had ut away the tem
which he had fancied wou d rove as w 111 with
her. Nothing remained for im but accept the
renewed offering of her love and faith, nothing
to bring his own allegiance back, if that ml;
to the old contented standard.

“ And though dear little Wilma may care for me,"

he thou ht, with a thrill of shak him-
“ , ow, her sense of duty and ri ht never
let her waver. Her own heart would rank before

she would gamut the slightest distress to Ethel.
Oh, Wilma, ilma: my darlinggmy darling for the
last time! The hardest will to tearoutlovfng
thoughts of you as I must do now.”

The musical interlude was brief. The curtain
went up on the second act almost before they were
fairly seated. Erle’s eyes swept the stage, went
care essly over the house and came backto restupon
his companion. Of all the fair young creatures
there—and there were manly—not one could favor-
abl com are with her. 0!: one of allthosqthe
bri iant b aze of lights shone down upon who mi ht
have drawn him from her with one extra of
admiration. It would not seem any im ‘blg
matter to go wild with love of so faira ace,but
there was no enthusiasm, no warmth of -
ness present with Erlo. ' .

She glanced up to meet his steady, earnest e es,
and smiled in return-a lance anda smilew ch
were noted by an occupan of an opposite box. It
held two gentlemen, one whose attention was fixed
steadily upon the scene acting before him; the
other, apparently indifferent to the stage spectacle,
had been amo those to bow to the late arriv
and whose care ess observation had not wav
from them since. It was the reporter, Crayton. .

“Going as I predicted,” he thought, .
“They are actually becoming reconcil at this
earl day; that is, as nearly reconciled as they will
or atime. They
and find a complacent sort of enjoyment in it, no
doubt when the honeymoon is once over. He will

be rat er fond of his Ipainlessly fair bride, in spite of ,

the dark-eyed little e who, accordingto all the laws

; of contrast, was such a owerful attraction to him
; notwithstanding my ow: intuition of the meaning of

3 that tote-a-tete so well covered by Minerva’s aha ow' ' ‘

in the Richland drawi -room——a teta—a-tete whi
his intense expression an A the little pne’s Dallor a

The banker and his wife ‘

atthatmok
expression her face wore to another.

tion -

but,
the,

loo'mlly  '

will foilow the usual routine, .

'51?

l

l

l

\

 

‘18,

agitated stillness afterward invested with a hint of
more than ordinaryl chitchat. For all that he

. will be proud of t 6 fair mistress he will take
.to Hetherlands; he will share his best affections
between her and his dogs and his horses and the
thousand and one interests which are inbred as-
sociations With him. And she will have her hosts of
ad still here and there and wherever her

dainty resence oes, and will find in the excite~

‘ ment 0 her free ashionable life whatever may be
lacking at home. It will not be either the best or the
bagpiest lot which might be hers; it is not the one I

* wo, ' 6 choose for her with the purest wish I may be

3 capable of turning for her happiness. Lord knows,

"2‘ Q my best hctifie isfor that. I would give the best or

 -" the worst at is left of me to turn sorrow of an

, kind from her, and yet who is to know where this
' enterprise of mine is taking me? Who knows what

it may be threatenin her throu h them? Nothing
good nothin hopefui nothin w 'ch can well bear

6 light, or hat sly o d fox 0 a Bitter-Herbs would
not be upon the trail. It’s no princi le of mine to go
back, when I have started once, an I’ll not go back
in this. Fair and still and cold and statue-like in her
unbroken repose of e ression is Mrs. Richland to-
night. I wonder if no hing can change the statue.
I wonder if the striking similarity Lenoir and my-
self found in the pictured Rose who has been dead
and buried for seventeen years, will make any

ter impression upon my new friend and lavis
companion of the evening than a reference to it had
u 11 her. Ah, she lances this way! The play is a
t . m8 aflair, an the curtain goes down again
with lit 9 encouragementin the way of applause,
and now is the time.”

He touched his companion upon the shoulder.
The latter, who had been sitting half in shadow,
looking around, nodded approvingly.

, .“Upon my word, it is proving rather a novel sen-

’ sationto find myself in such a place again. I see
you are smiling over my absorption in the drama,
, ut itis years since I have been in a theater, re-
member.’

“ We have other hts here better worth the see-
ing, to my mind, Cap ain Bernham. at have you
 to as for all the dazzle represented here in the way

' ’/ of demonds and b ht eyes, exquisite costumes

and fair faces? There s one, two I might say, Opgf-

site now. The Richland box, that is, hol ing e

. two most famed beauties our twin-cities boast,

r , madame herself and the (younger, her sister-in-law—

" . the sweetest, most bewil erlng and heart-breaking
, of all the fair ones gathered here.”

j , ‘,‘You take me out of m depth when ou speak

’ ‘ _of fairi’aces. The Richlan s, you say? at name

“V , has avfamiliar sound— ray where?” He leaned
A forward into the light. ll head, his bronzed,

‘ ‘ bearded face, his straight, stalwart, soldierly form,

‘. ,4, ’ cutin relief against the drapery at his side. Sud-

' ‘, denly his face paled beneath the bronze. A tremor

, i. / gassed over the firm lips shaded by the heavy mili-

- rymustache. His hand drop upon Crayton’s

a. l ,r ' , arm, closed-in a crushing grip t at made the latter

' ' wince with ain. His eyes, dilated, were fixeddn
i. y unwavering tensity: the whole scene of dazzling
o“ . rightness, the human sea around, the gallery, the

t, the stage, all, were blotted into an unmeaning

,out of which .one face looked forward into

- , s own.
 ' 'Mrs. Richland, leaning back, the ruby silk light-
in with richest effect, er snow-white opera cloak

, fa en back, diamonds at her throat and on her
-. ; v round white arms, formed a picture well calculated
‘ . toim ress a stranger at first sight. The_perfect

« ' lor ess oval of her face turned into full view, the
,. f e jetty hair dressed high in puffs and braids, the
.4 longlas as that had been downcast raisin to dis-
~ , , close the wonderful soft, dark eyes beneat —-—that
T“  ' ,Was the sight which fascinated Captain Leigh Bern-
 'ham’s gaze. For one second the dark, fathomless
, eyes had looked into his; in that one second she
’ had seen the intense e erness, amazement and in-
' redulity, the ewe agitation reflected in his
ace; then the ong lashes dropped and amist of
, cobwebby lace-and-cambric was swept across the
.  ‘ lady’s hips, held there for a second and dropped,
' , - - » butthe ark e es did not again glance that way.

' “My dear mham, what the dickens may the
. l I matter be? 1 say captain. "you are drawing the no-
v’.  , tics of the whole ouse or a good portion of it, and

' ’ have succeeded in star galady completely out of
countenance. Suppose you should look somewhere

 

Sign:

 

* ’i
.'.' 7 intensity into your gaze. There‘s a wonder-
. y 1111 resemblance, I grant, to that painted face of
' ' your miniature as we remarked, if you take the
v , ains to remember, but, since the original of that is
; ~fi and and buried these seventeen years past, of
.. - ' course there can be no question of any relative con-

i? " nection between the two.” .
- . .. ., ‘ ‘Captaln Bernham breathed adeep inspiration and

'  ' ' drew back to his former position. .
' “Who did you sa that lady is?”he asked, me.
~ , ’ low, level voice. “ on are right—the resemblance
v’ “ is strik , starting.” .

“That 8 Mrs. ichland, one of our first leaders
3 of the first Circle, the envied of all envying; the
5‘: . courted, flattered, eulogized wife of the richest
‘ ' banker whose plate-glass front decorates the av-
I ,. enue. That is her husband beside her, the acknowl-
: dged most fortunate man, as his wife and sister are
ghe acknowledged most beautiful women in our two
cities. The
‘ture in his

 

     
 
  

\

 

say he never made anunlucky ven-
e, and to be witness to his rosperity
would 0 to show it. Such men usual y makea
failurefii a suitably equalized choice matrimonial,
but his is exceptional case. They have been
mauled for fteen ears—thatlong a 0 one might
fancy Mrs. Richland would be more an ever the
{mascot the ‘Rose’ dead and buried even then—
 :after fifteen'years of that familiarity in the

x. 5, ,1

/.

vyb /.

/' y»

‘ 2? , 'W‘ILM-Aj WILDE/ ‘

' close relation which very often breeds complete in-

i
l
i
g

l

 

difference they are lover-like and devoted as during

the honeymoon. See him now-no, don’t look while

you are blanched out to that ghostly shade, you

gositively would make a good personation of the
pirit Aven er in that shape.

Captain eigh Bernham had looked however:
Had seen the tender solicitude with which Mr. Rich-
land was treating his wife, saw the anxiety come up
into the smooth, florid face, the slight stir in the
box, one or two leave neighboring places and make
their way there. Crayton went among them.
He came back after a couple of minutes. Mrs.
Richland had been overpowered by the heat, some
one had brought her a E ass of water and she was

uite recovered from er sudden faintness. That

ormed the body of the observation Crayton had it
on his tongue to utter as he went back to his place,
but he found no occasion for speaking the words.
He found the shadowed seat vacated, Captain Leigh
Bernham incontinently deserted.

CHAPTER XIX.
m Docron’s ANSWER.

WILMA heard with adeathlike faintness rushing
over her.

“ u pose Itell you that your unknown mother is
your enefactress of to-day, Mrs, Richland.” The
words, spoken with not a trace of sentiment or
emotion, repeated themselves over and again in her
mind. A wave of awe of pity, of dread chilled and
held her still. The octor’s light, stealthy, coldly
triumphant eyes, the doctor‘s sallow, impassive
countenance were cruelly forbidding in their un-
changing expression. Even the doctor’s phlegmatic
nature was not iplroof a inst the startled terrified
aEpprehension the eepening, darkening eyes.

es just then, notwithstanding the entire difference
0 expression, wonderfully like the soft, dark, steady
' ones which had looked the doctor out of countenance
oefore this.

“Not the only feature she has taken from her
mother “thou ht the doctor in the interval of 51.
lanes w ‘ch fe . “ The oval of the face is the same,
the same cut about the lips and chin, but there the
resemblance ceases and is alto other so indefinite it
is not wonderful that none 0 them have ever de-
tected it; and all the rest is every fac-simile in a
little more delicate cast of the miniature which
Ca tain Bernham so kindly left me.”

he curved-fine lips he watched trembled a art,
the pained, Wistful eyes were drawn away from 'm,
and, in the bewildered way of one waking from a
stupor, Wilma murmured:

“It is impossiblel That could never be even if my
mother lived. 77ml could not be."

But even then in her uivering, agitated soul had.
come the conviction hat his words were true.
Even then she understood as she never had ‘done
before what was that strange fascinating influence
which the lady’s presence never failed to exert over
her—a strangel fascinating influence, so mingled
With a. contras ing, almost repellent sensation at
times when those inscrutable dark e es had looked
upon her; as they had once or tWice, with an ex-
pression which had half-terrified her then, a sense.

ion like that thrill which Mr. Richland’s touch had
once sent over her, such an uncomfortable, unde-

 

‘ fined feeling that she could not conquer— it came to

her that it might mean the depth of sym ' athy be-
tween arent and child, poisoned by t at curse
which atthew Gregory asserted was hers before
she ever came into life at all, that which must make
her an object of dread and aversion to any one
upon whom she might find a claim, such a, claim as
this she knew now his meaning must have been.”
“ It is afact rather calculated to take you by sur-
Brise at first, one so strange as to well seem incredi-
le I can readin understand. A fact which I am in-
clined to think might even give Mrs. Richland her-
self a shock of surprise and incredulity at first.
But it is atruth for all that, a truth which, as I said
before, may be turned to your advantage in a way
insure your permanent welfare, to give you a
station and a name equal to theirs, even the power
to avert the worst of what might be brought home
to her and which could very materially alter her
envi and enviable position of the present. Take it
all into calm consideration, Wilma. Remember that

i a favorable answer to my suit will insure all that to

= 4 .1 5.. else for a moment, or throw a little less of dramatic “

on, and the best that can be made of a bad affair
0 her” There was an old idios 'ncrasy which used
to run in your former guardian s mind, which took

. the form of a monotonous chant in some of his

 

'-/t“‘. 1 \y .i ‘r >. a
~ 4‘ . V f\ (by;  ,L . ,.‘:-,,__,,'.

flighty moments and the burden of it was alw s
‘ a dead life, a dead life.’ You have heard sormth‘i’fi’g

of the sort, no doubt. Did he ever tell you whose
was that dead life?”

“ He told me once,” said Wilma, her reat solemn
eyes looking their wonder and awe an dread upon
him again, “ that mine was a dead life, and told me
to pray that I might never be the cause of a livmg
death. I never knew what he meant by it; I pray
Heaven that I never shall know.” .

“ Upon my word, you are an exception to the rule
of your sex, Wilma. With that much mystery to
have fed upon, few of womankind would hold back
at the chance of iercing their own hidden histories-
fewer still would) care to resist the allurements 0
such accompanying fortune as I have hinted at.
Yes, yours has been a dead life; you have been dead
to your roper identity from the hour of your birth,
dead to hose who are accountable for your exxst-
once for as lon a time. And yours is by far too
sweet and use iii a life to remain so—by far too
faira prospect as it may be made to let an inex-

rienced girl‘s sentimental fancy mar the wondera
$1 results which may be brou ht out of it.”

“But I do' not up erstand,’ said Wilma.‘ “I can

not understand how it is possible Mrs. Richland ,
I l x ‘ y

l \
l ’ .' ,V I
v ‘ ' ‘ /  .. I r 3 v

’ " U. .lv .v .. ‘ L"  ’7

 

should be my mother-how‘lt can be that I should 
be lost to my mother and every one, as you say.” .
.“ Both matters which I might not find it ex client 1
to explain to you now. There is another ar of the '
affair with which you re uire to be fa ‘arized at
first—the importance of etting me be your guide
from this time out, and the result which arefusal on ‘
your part may mean in eflect. You can reap no *
eneflt except through me. You may. through the
truths I can bring to light, send your mother dis-
graced out from her home here, take away her'

right to the Richland name, send her out to such' ‘

miser , such humiliation as one might readily fancy
woul prove a death in life to her roud and stub-
born heart. That was my old riend Gregory’s
meaning without a doubt. He knew what the fair,
proud, courted Mrs. Richland may not know to this
very day—that when she married her present hus-
band she had another husband in the land of the
li ' . A husband and a child by one of those roe
mantle early marriages which b so many young
fools to grief; and she not suspecting the existence
of either; by my soul, little wonderi it should come
as a shock to the madame of today. I really incline
in my heart to spare it to her, but that part must re-
main with our decision. You know somethi of
what the Richland pride is, my dear; you know ow
it would be stun to the quick by any such revela-
tion as this whic I have traced for you, not in its
darkest or most hopeless aspect at that. I have told
on what my aflection for you is, W' - You will
(1 it more lasting more truly devoted to your best

welfare, more true worthy than the professions of .

some younger and more impulsive men might have
proved, perha s. A certain friend of. mine, who is
not wholly Without an interest in you, gave me a
hint of the danger you are in, which has rather pre—
cipitated this avowal of mine. No need to be secret
on that score. It was that odd genius, Crayton a
sharp and observant young fellow, by the way, w o
for once has succeeded in putting those quahties to
account. He called on me at the old place to-day,
and while there I chanced to refer to my guardian-
shi of you. He was surprised, and let me know it
in t e rather assured and not always agreeable man.
ner these wild Bohemians pick up.

“ ‘A deuce of a guardian you are, then,’ he said.
with rather more emphaSis than elegance. ‘ You
ought to be ashamed of owning the trust, I say.
That little Wilma Wilde istoo trusting and tender a
blossom, according to my idea, to be exposed to the
rough chance that before her now. There are girls
who wouldn’t be in any way hurt by it; in fact, such
things go in the common experience that makes our
Girl of the Period, I believe, but that child would
break her tender little heart over a case of willful
deception which is simply flirtation'to the generality
Of“0lV.lvl‘ sort. ’mu

0 na
to exp ain 
ou.

“ ‘ The danger of throwing her into daily compan‘

ionshi with hat alreadyas good as married male
flirt, etherville,’ was the reply. ‘I’ll wager you a
XX. she don’t even know of his engagement whole
ages ago to the Richland beauty; or if she does know
that, he has insinuated in the strongest terms his in-
tention of breakin from that long betrothal for
sake of her—poor little innocent! He’ll not break
anything except her heart, take my word for it.
I were her guardian, and had no particular interest
in an untimel death or something of that sort, I‘d
make it a pomt to set her straight regarding the
handsome young villain.’

“ You may fancy what a start that hint gave me,
Wilma. I seemed to see not simply my hopes shat-
torcd and your future devastated, but a new com-
plication to make worse this pitiful Richland rela-
tion. Suppose if it were less serious to on, more
serious to him, if the daughter of Mr. ichland’s
supposed wife won the lover of Mr. Richland’s sistet‘
to a forgetfulness of the faith which was due from
him there would be the double blow to the Rich-
land pride. Su ose it should be, as Grayton said,
if a handsome, eartless youngl scamphad brought
a misery into your life from w 'ch you might never
fully recover. It pointed out my own course too
clearly for me to mistake it Wilma. My first duty
is to you, and my heart is all e aged in that duty.
I don’t even press the question there were truth in
our re orter an apt surmise; I only ask you totrust to
my a action, to. the love which will be the more
steadfast for being matured, to the judgment which
has shown me how you will wish to spare a pain
to them. Your answer, Wilma, here and now. ’ ‘

What a contrast to be ut vividly before her in
asking a chOicel Erie etherville havin youth ,
and manliness and honor and earnestness al on his
side; and this man, crafty, hypocritical selfish as
her pure mind warned her; more than t at, design'
ing and subtly treacherous—what a pitiful, meager
chance for Dr. Craven Dallas had he based his hopes
3110!: the impulse she would derive from that con‘

ras ~.

What a bitter, bitter choice for Wilma, with her
younfiand lately sorely wounied heart to even con-
temp to then a duty leading her to an relation
with that man. His thin, sallow face, an cold, cal‘
culating eyes gone back to their shifting habit and
furtive scrutiny, his narrow, retreating foreh

with the scant sand hair far back at the templer
the whole man repe lent and insincere to her glance,
no wonder Wilma , nk and shivered and put he;
lligands up over her eyes to shut away the sight 0

in.

He waited, leaving her the silence which would
enable her to take a full comprehension of all he
adulaeen‘ saying, and of the inevitable misery will
we resu t'
edges Theme who [had > extended their bounty?"
generously toaher. not sumactinz what she 

\ . I

Iwasatal andb gedhiin
danger coulocsls’ possible;g menace

I

 

  

 

.5,
,
a

from a’furtlier betrayal of his now!“ 

   
  
  
   

 

’ and doubt hidden away as well.

e M ..
, bu Ring to swear to

\

gone or them, who had lived in such loving harmony

or fifteen years, that their devotion had come to be

a standing matter of approv' reference in their
World, u on those two the bligh of this knowledge
must fa with an appallin , terrible iorce' it'must
reflect in such bitterness t at, if the poss1bility to
cover it over and kee it concealed should remain
there must inevitably e a gaunt skeleton of distrus
If acknowledged
there would come the full horror of all his words
Presented to her; that fair, stately woman—her
Wither—would go out into the world with such an
agony of humiliation in her roud heart as would
Inake it worse a thousand old to face life than
death. The silence, with the horror, of all these
ahou hts bearing upon her, grew oppressive, unen-
ura 10.

She dro ped her hands and looked at him, some
new thou git striking her colder and stiller than she
had been efore. .

“My father," she said, her voice low and intense
with her strong emotion. “You said he, was alive
When she married again. Is he alive still?

Cautious Dr. Dallas checked himself in the ready
rcply which was upon his tongue. Would not up-
certainty here leave her more flex1ble to his Will
than a positive knowlegfe of precisely what danger
menaoed might do? 8 answered slowly, aftera
moment: .

“My dear Wilma, who may say? That pomt, I
lancy is quite as well left at rest. I, for one would
not Willineg recommend to you an awkward inves~

ation.” ‘

at did that mean she wondered apathetically.
That her father really lived, or that the associations
connected with him could reflect no credit to any
One? His cold cruel e es were watchin her, he
was waiting wi that tlr less, cold-bloode patience
Which seemed sure of its prey. That knowledge
was like a good to her despair. .

“What assurance have I that all you tell me is
true? What proof have you to offer of it? How
am I to know—to know that the—the—love on
have rofessed for me, knowing how imposs1b o it
must e that I should give a return,”has not led you
to work in this way upon my fears?

“ My dear child, it might prove sorry work to inti-
mate any such charge as this of mine Without proof.
Ihave had ersonal evidence, as I informed you.

ave a rat er remarkable memory, not for faces
Simply, but also for forms, outlines, gestures and
tones. I am not often amiss in connecting any
Vivid impression I may receive With‘ Whatever cir-
cumstance ma have given rise to it, no matter at
how remote a a . Such an impression struck me
upon the night of Matthew Gregory’s death when I
entered his room and saw a strange, veiled lady
Who was on the point of departing. I watched her
Slide out followed by yourself, and I knew then,
Well as I ve known since, that I had seen herun-
681‘ eculiar circumstances at some preVious time.
The ad was Mrs. Richlaud, as I discovered With my
first sight of her here in her own house. Even your
inexperienced eyes must have recognized her again,

llma,” .

Wilma‘s had. More than once that strange inter-
view at Matthew Gregory‘s deathbed had recurred
‘0 her, but she had ut it away With the thought
that it was not for her to penetrate the mystery,
Whatever it mi ht be. Mrs. Richland had never by
Word or look re erred to it, and Wilma had remained
as strictly reserved.

“ The association of Matthew Gregory gave me an
idea sooner than I might otherWise have gained.

hat recalled an incident of my early practice,
Seventeen years ago; and, by the way, that very iii-
Oident formed the beginning of infidear friend s
patronage, which only ended With is mortal pil-
gl‘ima e, and his generous remembrance of .me,
even tien. Seventeen years ago, wuh the differ-
ence of a few weeks later in the season, I was called
forty miles out of the city to attend upon an urgent
case. Forty miles’ journey in snowy December
Weather, with half the distance to be done by stage,
Was by no means a small undertakmgilin those days.

at, however, was outweigheduii t‘ e eyes of the
xi96dy, out-of-elbow young physmiaii, hardly estab~
118bed in any ractice yet, by the consuleration of a
(loner in ol for every mile, and five added for
every day ~might be detained. Calls were few and
331' between then, and the oflered sum treble the
best I might expect by staying at home. To cut it
3 ort, I went, and was successful in the delicate
taSk of usheri a new life into the world a tiny yet
fierfectly healt ful female infant which saw the

8111? first in as ' d and desolate a. region . as
1]night he found forty miles out of our two Cities.
That task alone was not to earn me my fee, how-
eVer- I had the additional one of breaking to
the mother that the little one had never drawn a.
breath. I don’t defend the morality of it; I Simply
carried out the instructions some one else would

aye done had I refused. She took it hardly, poor

111g! but in all of the two days 1 was W11 11 her, she
em her face so ersistently concealed that Ihad
but One glimpse 0? its erfect oval its line, smooth,
masl‘ble-white skin, am? great black eyes matchin
the glossy hair streaming over it. It_doe_s not nee
that should add, my patient of that time is the Mrs.
Richland of to-day yourself the child which was
“km! away from the house before I quitted it.
‘1 rward when that subsequent occurrence of a
death at the old house on the Manchester road took
06. I wa not deceived with all the rest. 1
9‘” and wrung the confession from him that the

' dead woman was not the mother of the child brought

roof. That much I would
More I have discovered,
that much persomd evidence and my firm

glider Matthew Gregory’s
‘5 with

‘ ,gnfiction aside from proof; of the identity of you

'\

   

. 0 on
' ‘Wwetho

i'y

altareg can not require asseverasions of the

 _ 4..

“WILMA

He changed his position, leaning forward in the
chair with the slightest yawn behind his hand, fol-
lowed by a depreciatingr gesture.

“It is growing late, Vilma. I really must beg of
you at last the aver of a final answer.”

“0h, Dr. Dallas, can you not see that I am faint,
sick With the surprise and dread of all this? I can-
not even think. Give me time; let me gain some
understanding of these strange things you have
been tellin me. I can decide nothing in my own
mind now. ’

“ So I see,” reflected the doctor. “ So I see and so
I approve. Indeed, I would never ofler a premium
for any better comprehension on your part. And as
for time, my pet, t ,is is the time upon which I hang
my best hopes. For ten chances now with her
worked into that nervous, bewildered state, there
won’t be one when she has had time to collect her-
self. She will certainly see that the disaster of her
mother’s discovery is inevitable either way, and
conclude to save herself. I’ll be left the alternative
in that case to take the truth where it is apt to pay
the best, and be treated to hush-money or a booting,
according to whether our gentleman‘s ride or has-
cibili comes up ermost. And in t at case the
Nev a fortune w most likely remain undisturbed
in the possession of its present owner, not at all the
result owe to your cleverness, Captain Lei h Bern-
ham—not at all the result I hope to see main ained.”

He said, at his smoothest and blandest:

“ My dear child, yield to my decision; trust to my
judgment; believe in my earnest affection.”

The great, reproachful mournful eyes were upon
him, as though they would read the secret depths of
his narrow, conspiring soul.

“ I want to understand better what danger can
come to in mother except through me,” she said.
“ What obgect would there be to bring grief and hu-
miliation to her exceipt this advantage, whatever it
may be, to me? If were not for me, Dr. Dallas,
Would you ever bri this knowledge of yours to
Work harm to her?"

“How you mis udge me, Wilma! It is your wel‘
fare and your w es which claim first consideration
in in thoughts.”

“ I I were dead—if I really had died when I was a
little child, knowing all you now know, would you
use that knowledge to her detriment, would it be any
gain to you?”

“ You are not dead, Wilma. If you were, there
Would not be the slightest change in the responsibil-
ity of Mrs. Richland 3 position.’ ‘

With a quick movement, before he could inter-
cept her, she crossed over and rung the bell. .

William will show you out, Dr. Dallas. No wron
was ever righted by adding wrong, and it coul
never be right for me to marry you with the certain-
ty of never loving. For my own part, I renounce
every advantage which may come through your
agency out of that sorrowful past. I beg if you
mean what on have said, that your wishes are
truly for m appiness, you will believe it may best
be assured y sparing her.” _

He rose u , pale with anger, his furtive eyes
glancing ba ed malice and rage but he was con-
trolled and courteous in his own oily way.

“ In that case, my dear child, I must insist upon
resumin my active duties of guardianship immedi-
ately. must request your return to your old place;
for, if it is your Will to renounce your right to sur-
roundings such as these, there can be no object to
my sacrifice of your charming presence; in fact it
is more a duty to rem0ve you from these associations.
1 shall e tto find you in readiness to return to-
morrow, ilma.” '

There was no time for more words. William
Thompson was holding the door wide; he brought
forward the doctor’s overcoat and hat with cheer-
ful alacrity and bowed him out with a better grace
than he had exhibited on admitting him.

Wilma sunk bacl: into her chair with the stillness
of intense reflection in her face.

. “ He never would have been true to his promise of
span‘ng her with his own ob‘ect, whatever it is,
weighing a a'mst. I am sure t at my own sacrifice
never woul have sufficed. I fear im ‘and dread
him, for my own sake and hers. There is no duty
none, to urge me back to that dreadful houSe and
him; and yet it is right that I should not stay here
and by my presence, unconscious as it has been, en-
danger her. If I only were buried beyond chance of
being found a sin.” _ _

Her brain w irled dizzny as she rose and went up
to her room. One idea surged there, filling it to the
exclusion of all other thought. If she might on]
hide away beyond the chance of being ever four: ;
if she might avert the horror of the threatening
conveyed in Matthew Gre ory’s dying words; if she
might at least feel hei'se f‘innocent of any misery
visited upon those she loved)

CHAPTER XX.
NEW DUTIES.

“TYPHOID in its most malignant form,” was the
reort which came back from the village to Miss
Erlle that same night after Erle had left her. “ Three
of the little Billiiis down with it, and my hands full
there,” was the message Prudence sent. “Sym ~
toms strong in two other homes and the woman in
the Lee cottage in a bad wry. look up medicines
and comforts and eatables; ll not come back to the
house while the infection is spreading.”

Prudence was never more in her element than at
such an emergency. An excellent nurse and a
cleanly housekeeper, she was sure to find sufficient
opportunity for the exercise of all her energies in
both directions at the cottages. They were a low
and stubbornly ignorant class, for the! most part,
those peo 1e whom Miss Erle had taken under the
wing of pr protection. The Village was one of

 

~ e shut-in nooks where erations of the
@3318: $315191...” lived and dieiiruu in the some

, I l I , r _ ’- .
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groove, married and intermarried and isglated them- '
selves from other humanity, until th y had lost
the finest and best of human im ulses in them-.
selves. Such places do exist even n our fair, free
land—lingerings of the barbarous which reflect all
the more brightly by way of contrast the glorious
advancement which is the rule and not the eitcep-
tion of the thousands upon thousands of growing
villa es, and prosperous cities and towns, and teem-
in elds of our own America. But this benighted
vifiage had been left to itself for whole generations.
Its opulation so closely associa

mos); in reality composed of on
family; almost eve household was related to,
almost every other ousehold by ties of either
blood or marriage, until a chance new-comer to
the place was a matter not only of wonder and
comment, but of jealousy and resentment as well.

that it was 3.1- 1‘
wide-reachihg ;

 a l
l

l

An outside interest had reached them for the first ’

time in generations when Miss Erle undertoo

and to widen this limited sphere into which they
had shut themselves, as i‘. were, awa _ from the sun-
shine of prosperous contentment w ch has laced
even our humblest homes at the head of 9. their

to». '
better their condition. to encourage improvem nt, ' .

like in all the world. Miss Erie's philanthropy?” «W
e re- .

not well received. The people were inclin
sent as intrusive the manner in which she w
the habit of storming their domiciles, invei
against the remissness she detected at eve turn, '~
distributing advice reproof, sermons, an. more
welcome worldly gifts as Erle had laughineg re-
marked, with impartial liberality-had resented at
first; but, as time passed and she continued faith.

in‘
ng

ful to her self-constituted duties, as they race zed ‘
something of her true good-heartedness an real
interest in their welfare, and reaped theadvam

tages of her generosity, they grew more tolerant
of her visitations, and began to display some thank-
fulness here and there where the greatest favors had '
been received.

But, after years of faithful adherence to her
course, the people as a mass were unregenerate and
stiff—necked almost as their predecessors, and any
but Miss Erle must have grown disheartened long
before this. ‘ '

The evil tidings aroused her as perhaps nothing
else would have done, just then. She could bury

thoughts of self with this danger threatening “her w '
01‘

She lost no time in busyin herself, hand-l
g fresh linen out of the closets, we packages
from her well-filled store-room, diving in o odorous
pantries 'where dried herbs and roots and barks
were ranged on shelves 'or hung in great bunches,
half forgetting her own disappointment in the ac-
tivit of the time. ' '

plies myself. in the morning,” she said to her mos-
senger.
not yet been sent for. There’ll be some one needed ‘
to stay with the woman in the Lee cottage; ' ’0 one
of them down there for to-night and we wil see to
having a regular nurse installed to-morrow.” \
The woman in the Lee cottage was One of these
few exceptions coming latterly into the village. A
quiet, respectable person, past middle age, who’
cultivated her little garden~plot, made the best-of
the products of herslngle cow, which pastured with

others of the villagersu on broken waste land abouli2 5 . .l

and from her little poul ry-yard, and proved horse
neat and industrious and t nifty to a degree which
gained her no good-will from her already resentful
neighbors. She proved by far too convenient a’
reference, too admirable a model to held up for"
their patterni , and the ‘ ople had hinted among .
themselves “t at for al her sanctified ways she
mightn‘t be so much better than them of thef'rcst
which had large families to drudge for, let alone
scrubbing and scourin _ every day 'of the week.”
There was some hesita on, now, before one of the
villa e women volunteered to remain with
lug t e night. . I
‘An ungrateful setl” cried Miss Erle, hot! in-

dignant when she heard it. ‘ “I quite lose pat ence

with the lot of them. They take a kindness as no
favor and break over a hair at giving one. A thrift.
less, unregenerate set; they deserve to be left to ‘th
worst they would bring u on themselves.” * '

It was a decision Miss 116' had. arrived
than once since she had entered upon her mission; .
but now, as before, her annoyance passed, and she
was soon actively planning again for their comfort
and advantage.

She was sitting over her late breakfast; next morn .v
mg, after giving her orders to her household. or f~
own fastidious tastes and habits, her fine old a '

9-.
crati’c proclivities were not to be shaken, even by  »

gialignant types of typhoid in her own pet neighbor‘ r
ood.

not outweigh the just consideration which was first
due to herself. ‘

“What news this morning, Dorothy?” she  ‘

0f the maid whotbrou ht in the breakfast thin .
“ Bad news, Miss Er e. Two more cases, an 

Brooke taken worse in the night and so fr! ’hteni’ng’ , '
m .

the Lee woman who staid With her mutter
ravings that not one can be found to pm as
much again. The do say that she has something.
on her mind, azefu ." ‘ \
“Oh! they say!” cried Miss Erle, tartly. “And
did you ever know them not to say when one
with tolerable good sense and decen set a axe,-
am 19 to them The would ‘say’ it the el
Ga rlel was to come
that is, will you i” v
She had a glimpse of 'a-little close-vafled,‘dark~
robed figure it past the window and a moment
1:156]? a summons at the door sounded through the}
ouse. I ' “ ‘ ’
“Some one from below, ,
mused during the moment'Dorothv was none. “I 
' l , I ‘ ‘ l , \VK V1." 1

 

“ ell Prudence I shall be down with fresh, sup- ‘ ,_

“Have some one go for Dr. Joy, it he has ‘ V

herdufi  , t

at more .

   

A conscientious, finely»tempered, exact old]
lady was Miss Erle, one whose duty-promptings did

own among them. Seew o  3»

l n ' l
I daresay,’,’ Miss ,Erle r'

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47
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‘-.

 

 

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.11.

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. any
iwas a difference, rest assured it has been safely l

, pose he has become.”

I

20
wonder if I am growing nervous. It really'gave me
a start. thmkmg for the second that it looked like—
absolutely, like Wilma.”

She glanced up at the opening door and sat trans-
fixed at seeing, absolutely, Wilma.

She. threw back the vai and came forward uick—
1y, With her anxious, timid eyes fixed plea ingly
upon the elder lady’s countenance.

“I never will give my sanction if she has come
for that; I never Will approve of Erle’s course in
this,” was. the hardening thought which flashed

lhrough MISS Erle’s mind as she gave a gesture of

{ismissal to the maid. The latter went out, and

' [Vilma put forth both her hands, her face eloquent

I .vith entreaty. ‘

“Oh, dear, dear Miss Erie,” she said. "Won’t

ou befriend me—won’t you advise me, help me?
l‘here is not one in the wide world to whom I can
turn unless to you." !

Stiff and still sat Miss Erle, very sternly looked ‘
forward into the sweet wistful, pleading face. The
face, she thought, which had le her nephew away
from his true allegiance, that had drawn him out
of the strictly honorable course from which one of ‘
his race should never deviate. That look and the 5
lack {of all other remse was a sudden chill to *
Wilma’s hope. She d with a sense of dreary I
desolation come upon her, the e ectation faded ‘
from her face, the old weary hope essness settled
there and at her heart. ,

“I beg your pardon,” she said, quietl . “I never
should have come here but for your kin solicitation
.a few days ago. of .you only this, the
you will not mention my having been here i” <

Miss Erle, brought back to herself, put out her
hand and spoke not unkindly.

“ You gave me such a s rise, Wilma, and—I ma
’as well say it first as last— received such a shoe
and disap ointment through you very recently. A
,sense of t 9 two came so strongly;1 over me just then ,-
that I quite forgot myself, thong I don’t lay any in-
tentional agency to you.”

“A disappointment, Miss Erle? Oh, I hope and I
think it may not be as you suppose. You are mis-
taken, I am sure, if on thou lit the disappointment
was to come throng 1 Mr. He erville.”

“ Do you know what Erie told me before he left
here yesterday, Wilma? That because of hisliking ,
foryou he meant to break with Ethel; that after
discovering his change of mind he Would do so if he
could not even have the assurance of finding a re-
sponse in you. You mean, I presume, that you have
not seen him and do not know how set in his pur-

“I mean, dear Miss Erie, that there is no fear of
estrangement coming between them. If there ,

passed. The have passed all misunderstanding, ‘
and have dec d' d that the wedding shall be on New .
geafi’sapay. I am glad I can tell you so beyond 3
cu .
Miss Erie’s face lighted with something very like
it:ny incredulity a perceptible chan eof warmth
her manner. She could not well un erstand how
this happy result had come about. Erle had a -
peared very decided, and though indolence might e ‘

C a prevailing characteristic of his, lack of determina- 1

‘/

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I

./‘

l’cisi

/

 
   

. ance of my whereabouts.

, ours th
? into pfiPaThyere is a Sickness broken out amen
W

, r, ,
'p 3 ’

tion certainly was not. If he had compromised with

. himself and again acknowledged fidelity to Ethel, it

was no half-way compromise to be broken through
with any succeeding change or discontent, she was

v sure.

“ on have lightened my heart of a heavy load, ‘
. llma," she said, with aflectionate kindness. ‘Come
here my child, and let me tell you how real] wel
come on are. I am truly ver fond of you, ilma,
thong on may have been le to doubt it just now.
There nothing short of m hope and pride in
Erletowhichlwould not wi ngly admit you. I ,

 

'v/felt every word when I told you how glad I would be '

to secure you as a young companion; if any change :
has occurred to have sent you here for that purpose, I
my ‘dear, I am ready to prove the sincerity of my of- I

«fer.

, “A great change .has occurred, Miss Erle. One

I which can not explain fully, but I have discovered ‘
that b remaining there I was liable to bring sorrow
and d stress u on those who have been so kind to
me and whom so dearl love. I came away with-
out their knowledge, an I know they will be grieved
at what will seem such it rateful conduct from me, i
but my most urgent wish to leave them in ignor- ;

I want to go where there
is no chance of their tracing me. Itis my duty, Miss
is, to lose myself to them, and I came to you be-

* I am myself so inexperienced.”

“ Whatever cause has sent 'you, dear child, you
shall not leave me while you are free to remain. No,
not a word. I need you and I shall keep you. Never
mind what reason sent you here, I am rejoiced at
your coming. Sit here and breakfast with me and

at me tell you what additional cause I have for wor-
riment us now." _

Miss rle‘s own private conclusion, hastily arrived
.at, was that Wilma’s influence had persuaded Erie
to a continuance of his duty, and that Wilma’s se-
cret reason for leaving was to avoid the chance of
her resence swerving him from the right again.

"‘ £11 for the best, no doubt,” thought Miss Erie,
“but there is”no fear of Erie if he has made his de-
on .

“There is no lace you could well be safer than
here, my dear,’ she saidbgonfldently. “ There is
work ready to your hand, of a kind'to call out

and bring that delicate tract of yours

poor people here, a fever, but I think we 0
ng , health and good constitutions need
ve no cause for apprehension. These foolish peo-
regard for sari measures.

 

may have no
live in a styleto induce disease to reed among

\

,1 .I \ . V ‘ "' V

W ILMA WILDE.
them; they have no care and no forethou ht, and
very often they will not profit by better wis om and

kindly intention. Don’t imagine, my dear, that I i
you to unwilling service, or that I am ‘
I would not .

urge any one to exgosure, and what chance of con- ,
e. I shall as gladl make you 1

come here and keep you exclusive y to myself ' , _
i the news spread, his deduction was not far incor-

wish to press

anxious you s ould engage in it at all.

taglon there may
we

in my own home.”

“ Indeed, I shall be glad to be of use, and I am not
afraid of the infection,” Wilma declared.

Dear little Wilma! Life was so dream to her just
then, such a hopeless, despairing out ook, that to
lay it down in a brave performance of duty and

kindliness to that humanity to which she was in ‘

debted for so little would have seemed no appalling
prospect.

 

CHAPTER XXI.
TEE noc'ron’s ADVANTAGE.

Mn. RICHLAND, with his back to the fire, the gold
watch wound and replaced in his pocket, waited
with exemplary patience for minutes past the usual
breakfast time that morning. Much given as he was
of late to his own complacent musings the delay was
proving a source of annoyance to this model man of
exactly regulated habits. He shifted uneasily, and
glanced up at the marble clock, and growled a mild
expletive in a gruff voice far down in his chest and
waited again, but the light broke through the clouds
in a moment as with a soft sweep of trailing robe, a
breath of faint fragrance, a fair face sweet and

1; ; bright, Ethel made her appearance.

“ I am unpai‘donably late I know,” she said from
the doorway, “ and— Is it possible that Gertrude is

1 not down yet? Indeed. in that case, I will not plead

any excuse."

‘ It is unprecedented. this delay on the part or
Gertrude. Real! ,Ethel, I am quite apprehensive
over it. Here, illiam send some one up to see
what may be detaining l rs. Richland. I am apprehen—

. slve that Gertrude is not so perfectly well as always

heretofore. Her slight indisposition of last evening
ma ' have been the precursor of something more
serious: I thought she looked uncommonly wea

" and affected With lassitude after our return, thong

she would have it that she was not even fatigued.
His growing uneasiness was set at rest on that
score as Mrs. Richland made her appearance a mo—
ment later. She was her usual self; that clear still
face never changed even to those who love her
best and were with her most. Looking into its per-
fect statuesque repose one could ill-imagine any
hidden inner emotion, great throes and s asms like
the convulsons of those inner fires which .urn silent~
ly for centuries, and break out to mar fair, unsus-
pectingxear’th with some little loosening of the power
which olds them. She came in with an open letter
in her hand, a sheet of note pr per written over in a.
straggling,broken, uncertain hand, growing firmer at
the last, and with the dry blistering of tears upon it.
She went close to her husband, no way chan ed, and
yet her face had gone down u on that litt e sheet
wenty minutes before, drawn, ardened, every line
strained and tense her heart a dead, numb agony
worse to bear than keen, fierce pain.

“Dearest friend of all I have ever known," ran
the note, “ do not think me ungrateful for all your
reat kmdnesses. I never can tell half how thank-
ul I am and have been; if I never should see any
of you again I should never fail to car lovin re-
mombrances of all. Ihave been very appy ere,
but it is my duty to o away—a duty I owe to you.
Please do not try to iscover me; do believe that I
am not ungrateful as this must seem, and that I
will be happier in bein only kindly remembered
than if you are distresse at my going, or make an
attempt to find me. I shall go to a friend who I am
sure will hel and advise me for the best, and I shall
never cease o ray for ou and your pReirfect bagpi-
ness, for dear iss Ethe and for Mr. chland— ll
Heaven bless you all! WILMA."

That was what Mr. Riehland read, and looked into
his wife‘s eyes, perplexed and disconcerted.

"Upon my word, Gertrude! Most extraordinary!
What is this the child has been doing? N ever—
surely;i pever so foolishly precipitate as to have gone
awa ’

“ She is certainly gone, Howard. I sent Cicely to
her room to call her tome and she found only that."

“ Wilma gonei” echoed EtheL “Why should she
go? Wh in such a manner?”

“ And first as we had all grown fond of her,” added
Mr. Rich and,in ag rieved tones. “ I presume it is no
more than we mig t have expected; it always is the
way. but I own to being disappointed. I would not
have thought it of Wilma.”

“Don‘t think hardly of the child now, Howard. I
feel confident that some reason which she has not
hinted must have ersuaded her that this step is for
the best for us an her. She is so inexperienced, so
apt to be impressed ve deeply by what would seem
a small matter to us. do not fear much difficulty
in explaining any such fancied trouble awa . Of
course she must have gone back to her guardian.”

William Thompson, entering, caught the last

words. ,

“ I think, ma’am,” bowi profoundly, “if I may
beallowed to say it, if it’s ss Wilma, which Cicely
have told me just now is found missing, I think as
how she couldn‘t have gone to that doctor what calls
himself her guardeen. The doctor were here at a
very improper time, if I may be allowed to remark
it seein as how he knew the family were out, and

flilsSdWi d h lad l kl
co see an s e 001' ear oun ! 00 n
sad and stunned hits) to ’touch’h rein 0 stone.
thought more of it after, when I‘d gone back to wait
by the fire ain, and could see her face coming up
in the is coking so. And the doctor was savim

 

ms. were in nowa s glad tohave him as I‘

 

  

something as I answered the bell to show him c.1153
of coming to-day to find her ready, and Miss Wilma
saying not so much as a word to answer him. I’d
sooner think she’d care to go away from him any
day than to go to li’nx, for i ever I see dread on a'
human face it l'VOl':'- on hers then.”

However much William Thompson had positively
seen, and how much had wakened in his mind since

recté, and gave a new, startled thought to one pre‘
sen .

“If Dr. Dallas is exerting his influence, it means
no good to either her or me. And,Wilma, Wilma!
if ours should be but the first example of two i"

o trace of the thought reflected itself, as her hus-
band %uestioned the servant shawl}

“ W en was this pjerson here, ' liam, Dr. Dallas,
I mean? I doubt if e is a man I would care to ad-
mit to the house. I have heard of him through
Crayton, Hi dear; a charlatan, a dabbler in phar-

 

macy and c emistry, and a syco hant who hovers
about better men until he gets a old to push him-
self upon their footing. Very unfortunate that
Wilma should have been left to the charge of such a
person. Last evenin after we left for the theater

on say, William, and remained for an hour? 1
{hink there is scarcely a doubt but he has had some-
thing to do with this freak of your little protege,
Gertrude.”

“ I was present when Dr. Dallas stipulated that he »
should sti I be permitted free communication with
his ward, and considered his trust in no Way yielded
throu h allowing her to come to us,” remarked Eth-
el. “ formed an unfavorable impression of the
man, but do not think he could have any object in
persuading her to leave us in a manner hke this.”

“ Of course we must not lose time in tracing her
whereabouts whether she has or has not returned
to him. The rat thing will be to send to the residence
of this Dr. Dallas,I resume. Can some one be far
from the househol for that, Gertrude?"

“ I have been thinking," she answered slowly,
“ whatever Wilma’s reason may be I am sure it 15
one which seems sufficient to her. I would not ad-
vise an thing public or calculated to disturb her in
any re age she ma have taken. Make quiet inquiry
and wait in hope t at she may either return or com-
municate some further assurance of her safety.
am sure Wilma meant every wcrd that she has
written here; I am sure if it seems right to her she
will come back of her own accord. I think the we
may all trust to her realization of what is right.
Howard.”

“ Upon in word, Gertrude. ‘ Any refuge she may
have taken' but why should she take refuge from
us? Why shouldn’t she trust in us if any trouble of
her own as overtaken her? I would scarcely have
been more surprised if Ethel here had taken such a
wild freak into her mind. I am more than grieved,
disappointed at her lack of confidence in us and after
our meaning to receive her in Ethel’s place in the
household, to be vacant so soon. No one ever coul
take your place in our hearts, little sister, but
Wilma had won a very ten er lace in mine for her'
self. I repeat I am inexpressifiy disa inted."

In his perplexed annoyance r. Ric and failed to
see that whatever influence had rsuaded her, had
some way found a hold thrgeug themselves. W11-
ma’s duty to them had affec , her action, and G9!”
trude, looking down into the glowing coals, saw
further and more than the others co (1 even sus‘
pec ..

“ Whatever Wilma’s romptin , I believe it is for
the best,” she was thi ing. “ eis brave self-de-
nymg, heroxc; but this affairof Erie and Ethel may
have pmved too great a trial. She may have found
herse f lacking force of nerve to keep down her own
pain with the presence of both such constant re-
minders. I fee «is it only a fancy i—I feel if we had
her here now, if she ha not gone like this, if we
should find her at once even, that it would be to lose
her completely forever. She ishis child—he's—and I
cling to her so it would be death to give her up
now. Oh, merciful Heaven! what end to the web!
I can only pray with her that no shadow may fall to
cloud the happiness of these dear ones.”

“Well, Gertrude,” her husband interru ted be?
silent reflection “ what is to be done? ause the
bells to ring and the tidin to o forth, or wait as
you say the simple issue 0 even ? One will inflict
publicity and annoyance, and the other appears to
me heartless, wrong. I should feel almost implicated
now if any harm came to the rash irl."r

“ Could we not make inqui an trace her quietly:
in such a manner she shoul not suspect we were
making the attempt? You mentioned Crayton, an
I fancy he would be a good person to consult With-
For to-day do nothing, at least until I have acted up‘
on our suggestion and sent to her guardian.”

eanwhile breakfast had grown cold. Mrs. Rich‘
land rung for fresh coll’ee, and they sat down, a {19‘
Bressed party, all feeling the absence of the trim
ttle fl ure of the sweet, dark, small face with the
soft ha r clinging lovingly about the temfiies, and
rippling down about the slender throat—a 8 £16 and
a ace which had grown dear to each of t em in
these few weeks

There proved no necessity for any messenger to

be sent to the old house on the Manchester road that

da . . ,
Mr. Richland had gone to the bank' Ethel pale and
perturbed all her own new senseof relief and GP‘
roval of er own course rowing more easy beforg
er suddenly shaken by t is unaccountable loss 0
Wilma, had taken the advice of her brother‘s wife
and kept an engagement she had made, to drive

 

past.

with Mrs. Latham, whose nd rece tion of a little :
more than a week ago h o ned t e gay _ ,_.
Outwardly the entire househo (1 moved on be some! 5

get scarcely one within the fair, wide walls but . ,- v

meter or less degree. the shock and the W,

\ l

 
   
  

 

 

xix“.

WILMA' WILDE. ‘

7‘».

 

‘7

 L . 2i

 

 

 

‘ 8101i which had fallen with greatest force on the one
w , 1213?! made least display of her emotions—Mrs. Rich-

The news, spread over the house through Cicely’s
avgenciy, had created an under-buzz of excitement,
kept own b means of the unchanged surface.

It’s that r. Cravin Dallas‘s doin s, depend on
“‘1,” asserts] William T ompson, stout y. If ever
vlilainy and cat-cunning were sot in human counte.
mince, them are hisn. Our Miss Wilma is too sweet
and trusting to be left to that human vulture’s
clinches, as I always will maintain~ Bless In life!
gs only the door-bell, but what a start it di give

8“)

Out short in his dissertation, William Thompson
hurried to the performance of his duty, and a mo-
ment later admitted the chief object of it—Dr. Craven

.Dallas himself. _ _

“ Which I was never so took aback,” said the ir-
l‘qpressible William, in a snatched side-conference
With the housekeeper, on the way of transmitting his
mess —“ I never was, as when he u s and asks for

iss V ilma, with his compliments to rs. Ricliland,
lMid will she see him for a moment alone, while he
Waits for his ward? And what does he but walks off,
not into the drawing-room at all, as I was thinking
0f asking him to take a hall chair, but hke a 19rd at
home, straight into the library. Let your mistress
know I am waiting here,’ says he, lofty as you please,
With his yellow eyes shut down and looking on all
Sides of him as though he’d like to put the whole es-
tablishment into his pocket, and walk 011’ With that
Same. It’s ablessing that our Mrs. Richland is of a
5011} to ut him down to his Eroper level.”

Mrs. ichland was before er dressing-glass, com-
Dleting a hasty toilet of plain outdoor wear, when
the message reached her. She turned to her maid,
Who was la. ing out mantle and gloves and vail for
her, secretly wondering at the whim which was
8aking her mistress walking in that unassuming

uiso.

, “You may put them back Cicely. This interrup-
tion chan es my mind. I will not go out at all this
morningfi think.”

She went down as she was, the plain dark gar-
ments sweeping about her stately form, ease and
grace in every quiet motion, the stead ,. unreadable
eYes looking forward into the face of t is nearly Vis-

, r as the door unclosed and. left her standing before

In. With an inclination of the head and agesture
:1 recognition, she stood silently awaiting his

Pooch.

“ ’Pon honor, very much as a (Ewen might do with
{10 ve well~favored subject,” ought the doctor,

‘andrl can very well imagine, my high~toned mad-
nnine, secure in the assurance of your own insolent
8llpei'iority though you may be, that the Sight of the
One-time needy young physician should be no very
afi'l‘eeable one to ou—by no means a. person
W 1:11 whom you mig t desire to be thrown into con-

ued juxtaposition which might overrule fanCied
‘0 etfulness. '

e bowed profoundly before the coldly-Silent
presence. mt d POD prior

“I trust sincere] 1 do not ru 6 u
lrrangements," he ysaid, blandly deprecatmg. The
doctor always deprecated intrusions on his own part
With a sort of Uriah Heep humbleness which‘ roved
Particularly oflensive to his present listener. Favor

1116 b ing seated, madame° there will be no need
to delay my subject. Grieve as I must be to meist
“Don any change which may not tall With your
Wishes and most nerous intentions I ave still a

“W to i‘form tfit shall be faithfully executed to
“10 f est of my poor ability. My ward,_I_ pre—

slune, has not left you in ignorance of a deciSion I
was forced to import to her during an interView last

evem .H
“W'lfina has told me nothing, Dr. Dallas." Hrs.
d was non-committal regarding the cause of

Well rcserv waiting to conclu e how far he might

concern in this step of Wilma s. -

I “All, that makes my task the harder! I find it
neconomy, absolute a moral necessuy, to resume
my active duties as ilma’s guardian, to request her

mediate return under my own ersonal observa-
tlop, to my own individual care. have already ap-

I‘lsod my ward of the facts of the case. My house

eepor, who is extremely fond of the young lady,
and who has done little but make regret eyer our
t8Illporary loss of her, has put her old room into its
prefious order, and I am come prepared to accom«

any Wilma back to her home which Will .never
cease to be freel hers. Will you kindly permit, her
‘90 be informed tlviat I am here for the purpose?“

“First will you explain to me what cause neces-
Bitates this sudden change? Accept my warm in-

rest in our ward as apolog for asking. ”

“Fami y reasons entirely, Irs. Richland,” he an-
B.‘l’ered, with apparent carelessness, but With his
11% t, furtive eyes scanning her closely. “The as-
BuI‘ance of advantage to e derived from Wilma

rough—ms yet—an unacknowledged connection.
I am sure on will rejoice to know that  ilma, pre-
sumedly alone in the world has one hvmg relative
‘7er favorably situated in the scale of earthly pos-
398310118 and honors from whom she may ques-
thnabl expect to reap some veritolerable benefit.”

‘Ang this relative, ’qucried t e lady, “is recon-
cneéli to Iher existence, prepared to acknowledge and

v6 er?”

t “I have every reason to believe, madam, that

his relative does not even suspectthe girls ex1st-

» 9300. I have my own private opinion at. heart that

‘ “‘9 knowledge will be a matter of any thing but re-

0‘ the person most nearly concerned by it.
“333 shagging: Cecal' , nothing With .impera-

‘ ' ‘1 y in 0 er s e. I

‘ I “That with Dr. Dallas means what Sum? Ithka

i understand, your motive, air, and am sufficiently

, merested to submit to anv fair demand rather than

   

 

part with Wilina, It is 'our wish—Mr. Richland’s

and mine—to adopt Wilma into our household; to

rc.-eive her and cherish her and be assured of her as
though she reall were one of us. Every man has
his price, Dr. D as; let me ask again plainly what
is yours?" .

“How the maternal heart, all unsuspecting, re-

sponds to nature’s thrill," was the doctor s sarcastic
t ought. “And how our fine lady’s worldly WIS-
dom reaches to the root of affairs! If better calcu-
lations fail, my dear Madame Richland, I may even
ml: 8. tconsiderable price out of you, but not yet—-
no e . ’
. “ y dearest lady,” he exclaimed with a plaintive
intonation of reproach and of tha ofifensive touch
of deprecation combined, “must I assure you that
my interest in Wilma has been without money and
is without price? It is so, I assure you. For the
sake of the child‘s welfare I shall not neglect one
precaution in makin her claim good; my own re-
ward will be found in witnessing her prosperity.
We could not wish it to one more deserving. May
I trouble you—1am in some haste this morning—
again to summon Wilma to attend me? Your par-
don for having detained you, Mrs. Richland."

“It is unfortunate] impossible to comply,” an-
swered Mrs. Richlan , uietly. “ You may under-
stand better than we w at reason Wilma had for
her action, Dr. Dallas. She left us unknown to any
one, some time duringl the night or early morning.
Her room was foun vacant, her bed unslept in,
Wilma gone."

The doctor’s jaw dropped. His eyes opened wide
for once and returned her fixed gaze with such a scin—
tillation of angry, cruel reen lights that her heart
sickened, nothing distur ed though her outward
com Josure remained.

“ ilmagone—Wilmagonel” he repeated. Then,
with a su den, tigerish ficrcencss, and a blindin
suspicion rushing across him, breaking the smoot
mask of craft and oily subterfuge—‘ Are you in—
strumental in that, Mrs. Bichland? If you have
undertaken any such underhand game by the
Leighyou have chosen the wrong man 0 play it
Wi

Her steady, calm and scornful eyes gave him an
assurance of how hast his conclusmn had been but
it was an effective dec aration of war between them
he was in nowise inclined to retract.

“You for et yourself, sir,” she answered, coldly.
“ There nee be little more said until Wilma is found
again; but, meantime I refer you to Mr. Richland’s
solicitor in the hope of reachin'r some definite agree-
ment regarding the end we Eillt‘lfld be happ to ef-
fect. I have the pleasure of wishing you go ~morn-

in sir.”
‘31 beg flour pardon for detaining you one moment,
Mrs. Ric and. ’ The doctor had gone back to his

usual bland and courteous demeanor, hut every
word was underlaid with a sarcasm which grated
upon her sensitive ear. “ Let me hope Wilma may
be found very soon. If you had no interest in her
disappearance, I shall hope to invest you with one
to hasten her recover -—a secret, by the way which
I was favored throng her hearing last even ng. It
is my duty now—how incessant is this stern Duty in
her calls upon usl—it is in duty to inform you,
Mrs. Richland, after a co derable la se of time.
that the child born in an isolated old ouse, forty
miles out of the city, on astormy December night
seventeen years a 0, never died; that that child
lives to-day asW aWilde, your own daughter,
Mrs. Richlandl”

He had meant to give her a sudden shock, and
Succeeded admirably, though a slow moment of
sheer, astonished disappointment elapsed before he
was permitted a realization of the fact.

That marble face had wonderful powers of self-
command: those deep, inscrutable eyes, so earnestly
steady that they abashed even him, were so steeled
against su rises that this one was a moment break-
ing throug . There seemed a slow smile of in-
credulity upon her lips as she put a hand on the arm
of achalr--shehad stood all this time—wheeled it
about and sunk down into it. Not a feature of the
marble mask changed, but as if ihrou h a deliberate
contemplation of the act, Mrs. Rich and’s stately
head rested back against the chair, and then.and
there under the doctor‘s very eyes she , quietly
fainted.

 

CHAPTER XXII.
nrcnrnss YEARS BEFORE. .
0mm LEIGH BERNHAM was walking his floor
with a rapid, regular stride, that steeled bronzed
face telling little. though there was a uiver at times
and an unusual paleness hidden un er the heavy
grizzled mustache, his eyesfixed on the straight
space before him, steadfast and inscrutable to a de-
ree which might have rivaled Mrs. Richland’s own.
‘a tain Le' b Bernham’s strong, contained mind
ha grasps a. refrain which was re eatin itself
under the disconnected jarring chor s of i ought
that were “less a melod than pamj’ With him at
that hour of that articular morning. That _in-
credible surprise of t e previous night was thrilling
him with something bar er to bear than Simple un-
lief.

be“ Never dead and never buried seventeen years
ago ” sounded that refrain in the captain’s mind-—
“alive, sliver;—
d above i *
another man’s wife—oh, Bose! oh, Rose! Dead
to me, and it would be lessdpiain to iglnow thatot’lég

r was can an owers coming
got? heads—33ml And she could see me and.
ow me with those cold, unanswerlng eyes. What
did she think of the change, I wonder, and how
much of it will she take home to her own proud, un-
relentln heart? Whatever m faults and follies
then. w atever-my long lone iness and my long

. , k, 1 , ; v 3.,
! , ' w v .1 1’ . \

 

\

mourning since, I alwa s cherished her first and

loved her best alone of a l the world. I would have ‘

been true to her memory forever, and she is alive
and another man’s wife.”

He paused at a turn before a inclined mir-
ror which reflected back his ronzed face and
gloomy, stern eyes and soldierly figure—paused and
gut up his hand to run it through the close, nut-

rown hair just tinged here and there by silvery
threads. The beard, more ruddin brown, with more
silver streaks, and the flrmmout-h, the bronze gather.
ed from ion years’ ex osure to wind and sun and

storm, a d' erent face rom one which cameu as;
having looked back from his mirror, somet
more ban seventeen years before.

“Little wonder if she had not recognized me,”
he thought, “but Rose is not one to forget. What
was that she said when we spoke of this once? It
was when I gave her a picture of _myself and got
her promise of this one of hers which I have worn
through all the years since—foolish sentimental
times those, and to think how I have held to them 1
I asked her, would she love the giver the same
when the face grew old and seamed and the hair

silvered, and she said—I remember her very words .

-—she said:

“Through all time and all eternity the very
same, Rafi ——calling me by that name. ‘The dear-
face itse can never change for me. If, any im-
possible thing. should separate us for years and
years, and if you should come back to me wrinkled
and' ay, as you said just now the eyes of love ‘
woul not be deceived. I should surely know you
and love you all the same, Ray.’

“‘Any impossible thingl’ Ah, 1: girl! She
could have no idea how very soon t emost probable
e ctationI had in view should part us; and I, pi‘i»
fu Iyoung fool! had trusted to her love to follow me
tot eend of the world if need be. Heaven pity
mel my great disappointment in her love found,
wanting came and was over seventeen years and
more ago. I could not hold myself blameless
through my too much love for her, and she never
forgave me the deception. I ity myself yet as I
think of the time when the wor came that she was
dead. Dead! my little Rose deadl All my faith in
Heaven and earth would have been shaken first had
any one whispered this—«that I should find her liv~
ing and have sooner known her dead! And, ydet ,

or Rose! not for any temptation in life wou

reathe one word to injure you now. But the
child——om- child—~whom ou deserted for seventeen

ears, whose existence did not even suspect, she

mine; not even you can claim so good a right.”

He turned and fell to walkin the floor again,s
deep corrugation coming into his forehead, .a trick
of ex ression which was repeated in Wilma. His
thong ts had gone to her, the child" of the brief,
bri ht romance of his youthful foolish d ,the
litt 6 daughter whose existence he had not own
until these later da 5. -

“ Little Wilma! know I frightened her, but so
near, with her sweet, shy face net 3 .
through the dusk, I could not resist takingherin
in arms and givin her a father’s first cares

wt _

i

s. ‘
Pgbr little thingl at cast I shall makeherlifehap— -‘

pier than it was before." ,

Some one knocked. Captain Bernhain paused and
gave a brush of his hand over his heavy mustache.
Pauor and quiver which had been there changed to
the usual close setting of the fining-chiseled lips,

“ Come in,” said the captain, an Lenoir amend
the invitation. .

It was neat-ii noon of a clear, cool November day.
A brisk walk t rough the bracing air had brought a
flush into the oung man‘s cheeks, and an added
brightness to h 3 fine dark eyes, yet for all that he
was thin and worn even to a casual observer. "It
ispetter to wear out than to rust out," says seine
Wiseac
it in hand to verify the maxim in as shorts time an
the process of wearing out could Well he consum-
mated. His was not a vigorous constitution at the
best. These long nights of incessant upon
both mental resources and [Physical endurance, the
hours uiredb his edito al duties, sup lamented
by other ours 0 brain labor lastin habi :y‘ly'into
the breaking dawn, and often until he sun was high
up and busy traffic begun in the streets—all follow»
ing this restless American impulse of ours which ‘
has no mercy upon health or life or anything except "
the iron endurance that can stand firm in its om:
place and be beaten and 'ostled on all sides,» and
take no im ression from he wear and tear of the
multitude a ut—but it all told upon Lenoir. Possibly
his own reflection that the result would be the same,
whatever use he made of the time, was in part cor;
rect. More than overwork was proving a source of
unrest to Justin Lenoir, but who ever knew a. rest-
less mind to be put at ease by the extra efforts of a
restless body? .

“I came immediatel upon receipt of your note," .
glenfiir said, dro ping nto the seat Bern am placed

or m.
usual goin out hour. You know the reprehensible
habit to w ich newspaper men are necessarily ad-
dicted, of turning nig i into day, and m‘ce term, and ,
that must pardon my dela .” / '

“ I dare say I took at liberty in addressin you at
all, but I trust to your accommodati sp 1; not to
think it such,” said the captain, fran . “ Are you
at liberty now Lenoir? Can I claim you for a half-
hourfior so without interfering with duties of your

" Quite at liberty and happy to place myself at
your service,” Leno answered. ‘
“And I want to claim a service of on, I think
you are acquainted with an influential amily here-
the Richlands. Yes. I remember you had come
from there, the other night, when I met you
A verv short acquaintance it has been to warr

re, andJustin Lenoir seemed to have  ‘ ‘-

“My andlady did not disturb me until my ‘ , ‘

 

 

 

 
    

 

«‘ A

l I", "K v’ ‘37

V A WILMA’ WILDE.

 

this (flerin of my confidence and tax upon your
kindness. you have any delicac in regard to act-

‘ in for me, my dear fellow, don’t esitate to say it-

af er I have told you how my case stands. There is
iavyoung, lady staying with the Richlands—Miss Wilma
. ilde. Have you met her?”

“Frequently. I had the liberty of the house

1 through the kindness of its master—of the library

more properly—a short time since, and became quite
, well ac nainted with Miss Wilde inmy daily com-
. lugs an go 5.”
, “ Sheis ma e quite one of the family, then?”

i. “ Yes, and is well worthy the distinction. Such a
eculiar, sensitive, childlike, trustful yet pathetic
ace, I never saw anywhere else, and the face is the

clear mirror of a pure soul. The all think and
make much of her. An artist frien of mine, Lati-
mer, has done little but rave of her since our last

 " eveningthere. He wants to paint Wilma as Cinde-

‘ rella, and, as Latimer is apt to have his way in all
, things, he may hand Wilma down to fame in that

guise yet.
The concealed lines about the captain’s lips had

I barely escaped apauper’s rave at last. But all

that was long afterward, an at the time a slight
coolness had come up between my brother Ray and
myself regarding this ve chance of inheritance.
The uestion of who shall e heir has made worse
breac es between as close friends, but Ray and I
were never what we might have been to each other
because of that. We were doing each other the
worst of injustice in those days, though we never dis-
covered it until‘too late to remed , long years of es-
trangement lying between. Whi e I was in the city
here, gallopin over the country roads, or makin

the best of sto en opportunities with Rose, it was no

very well known w ere my brother was passing his
time. Among various reports one had come to me
that he was not so far distant as I might suppose,
and a whisper came with it that he was keeping a.
surveillance over my actions, hoping to discover a
flaw which might cut short my chances and at the
same time advance his own of succeeding ourgrand-
father. It was made plausible by my meeting

lhim in the street one evenin , but. before a

softened during the first part of the other’s speech, . g

, only for an instant and then were firm as before.
. 4 . “ Cinderella must have more lasting assurance of
more real pleasure,”he said, quietly. “You can
- imagine how gratified I am at hearing you or; press
' yourself so favorablfihhow truly happy I am in an-
‘ nouncing myself W' a’s father.”
Certainly an abru t and unexpected announce-
ment. Lenoir looke the su rise it had given him.
"It was a matter of astonishment even to me,"
the captain continued, answering the look. “It is

_ 1’ less than a fortnight since I discovered that I had a

, ,l daughter, and onl yesterday that I traced her

8 , whereabouts. Wil you smoke and listen to a rough

w sketch of m

 i solace for so ong
’ ion now. .

r , He pushed a case of Havanas across to Lenoir,
buttock down a beautifully colored meerschaum
for. himself, flllinliit leisurely from that hea silver

‘ tobacco-box whic had arrested Dr. Craven allas’s
covetous eye.

, Lenoir lit his cigar and settled back to listen with
unmistakable interest awakened. The captain
drew some slow whiifs watching the misty blue
rings curl about his head and drift oif in almost im-
perceptible clouds. -.

r ‘ “something near eighteen cars a 0,” he began,

7 v in that same uiet tone he ha used, I was a mill-

. tary student, at free for an interval, with an ap-

Efintment to a commission and active service under

, 'Scussion. I was passing the interval in the city

  'here and seeming the country roads in shootin cos-

V, I, tume and hunt equipments, with very in ' erent

success. I hadt e misfortune to bri down some

staid old body’s pet pigeon one day, an somebod ’8

com anion who was in some way responsible or

'the‘ r beyond the limit of its regular haunts,

was in. great trepidation over the accident. I can

tit is insepara 1e as a compan-

W’-

.-‘l ‘

i> \

storaiflLenoir? My pi ehas been my ‘

chance to accost him was given e finged in a
crowd and eluded me, doubtless thin" g I would

‘ persuade myself I had been mistaken in the recogni-

tion. Believing the worst, I set myself to outwit him
and hold my own chance equally at least. I married
Rose as Raymond Leigh and was guilt of one other
piece of deception toward her. I told or nothing of
my own uncertain pros )ects. I permitted her to be-
lieve that my release pm the militar academy
was a final release from all accompanying regula-
tions. I did not dare to put before her the probabil-
ity of barrack life on the frontier as the wife of a

' petty oii‘lcer, though I believed firmly she would fol-

ow me there when the time came that I should ask

-‘ it of her. I never believed she would let me go

 

4  say, after all this time and after seeing women from ‘

all parts of the globe, that the companion was the
loveliest creature sun ever shone upon; nearer per-
fection than an thigg my impulsive young ima ina-

‘ \ ition had ever ctur ' , or that I have met with n all
' of in experience. Seeing her shrinking,

. ' as was duty, to explain the affair to
whomever it might concern, take all the blame up-

ed. Her

her from any reproach 6 may have fear

‘ vein loyer turned out to, be
‘ . v witga stern manner, bu I am sure, a kind heart.
.' ed to come out o the affair, which promised

warm- ance, with colors flying and all honors at-

, 4

mt
“ That we the beginning, and the end was I mar-
ried the pretti companion a fortnight after my first
meeting with or. can see what you think, hat it
was ‘marry in haste, to repent at leisure,’ but my
life! with my head clear as it is to-da , with the
' I came runof cestoimpel, but kin the
" I ‘ knowledge of what was to come after, I should ave
, married Rose as then.”
' “ Rose!” spoke Lenoir, quickly. “ Then the love
. Rose of your miniature was the one you marrie ,
‘-1  / Captain Bernhami”
 _v ' ’ ‘ That was Rose.” There wasthe slightestdieturb-
; , ' ed inflection in the captam’s tone- it had been a slip
: . ofhis, mentio the name at all. " You may won-
. _ " derless at my atuation now. Imarried Rose in
 ' secret and under an assumed name. There were
v family reasons for that. You know where family
  ‘ pride will run sometimes, and I come of one of the
‘ .2 ‘* atiflest, most overbearing and unreasonable old fam-
_ ‘ flies that branches over Maryland to-da —a wild,
roofless, rash-minded set of men we ave been
L, (1'0th to last, I may as well say at once. Of
‘ our branch there were left at that time only no
I . I ' brotherand myself—my twin brother he was—bot
 worthy representatives of our race gone before, and
l .m an old grandfather, who was stiffer and prouder and
' rasher and more unreasonable than both of us young
Jbloods taken together, and of whom we stood in
‘ wholesome awe to his face, at least whatever law-
. lessness we may have been guilty of behind his_back
‘ . and in defiance of his strict prohibitions. Ills m-
' fluence had put us at the military school and msured
usour commissions later. in his eyes we were young
’ , vandals, both of us, never taken into any very espem
't .r , ‘gfavoritism, though it was generally understoo that
i 5 , one or theother should inherit after him. Some
" , ' to person once broached his leaving it to
' 'j as jointl , but he was stiff-necked in his intention.
There should be no division. of the roperty; it
,should go to the one who proved mself most
, ‘- womb , which meant with my grandfather the One
 , . who anced tobein best favorat the latestmoment.
Poor old gentleman! He had lived a high lit and
near the close of it gota fever for speculation and

I l
’ l

 

 

 

 

 

 
    

i

 

,, ' ‘ on myself, where it belogged, and consequently free ;

‘ faith. After that I rented a little place still
I volun- ‘

avery exact old lady :

 

 

: clam,

alone when she was once my wife. Hers had been a
sad childhood, as she told me the story. She was the
only child of a morbid, disap ointod man. I learned
afterward that his whole life ad changed when his
young wife—the mother of my Rose—~deserted him
and her little child for an early lover from whom his
own duplicity had served to separate her. He had
alwa s seemed to visit the sin of the mother upon
the c ' (1‘ he had been harsh and cold to her, and
in poor little Rose had come up a lonel , sad heart-
e girl, with scarce] a bright spot in or life until
an eccentric old la y of the neighborhood saw and
took a fancy to her, and succeeded in securing her
in the capaci of a young companion.

“ We were p y, for a little time, as only young
fools can be. 0 y one little cloud had risen against
our bright , and that a fleetin one. Rose had
driven into 6 city with her emp oyer, and when
I saw her again, taxed me with having passed her
unnoticed in the company of a lady, a youreig girl
and very beautiful, she said. I comprehend or
mistake in a moment. She had seen my brother-
we were very much alike—and at the short distance
she had not distinguished the diiference. I had
never spoken to Rose regarding our family, and I
passed over the occurrence without an explanation
now. She had no distrust of me and my Simple as
surance was all that was needed to restore her erfrect

er
out of the city. where Rose and I assed a few such
blissftu ha.pr weeks that it is ke. an exquisite
pain now to ook back at them. A ermg, deli-
cious time, perfect but for the thrill 0 one little
discord which came through my consciousness of
how soon it might all be a ruptly ended. The end
came, a shock even to me who had been expecting
it. I got my commission and orders to 30m m
division at the front in one letter. I went back w:
it in my pocket, with a cowardly sinking at my heart
and a sense of guilt upon me now that there was no
help for breaking the truth to Rose.

‘ She met rue-my wife who had arted from me
loving so few hours before—frozen h e a statue and
as hard, but with one burst of fierce reproach greet-

me.

mg ‘I have discovered all of your deceptionl‘ she

said, with her eyes flaming in her white face. ‘I

am convinced, and yet I ave refused to believe

the truth until I have it from your own lips. If you

gave one word to say in your own self-defense, say
now.

“ As she spoke, there moved forward a step from
the shadow at her back a shape which I had not
seen before, a tall, gaunt old man, from whom Rose
shrunk even then and half put out her hand to me.
I heard her c :

“‘Oh, Ray, dyl tell me it is not truel’ but he
sto ped her an silenced me when I would have
“with: have ‘

grossly deceived "and misled my
daughter ” he so d. ‘ or that you are answerable
to me. If you have any explanation to make or
one extenuation to plead. I am willing to hear you.
My dau hter goes with me now, and will meet you
——or, be ter perhaps—you can write me to this ad-
dress anythin you may wish to say.’ He thrust a
card into my and, but I dropped it and sprung for-
ward, with my hands clutching my wife’s mantle
detaining her. I only realized that she was leaving
me that I was losing her through my own secrecy
an deceit. Something like a flash went over her
pale, cold face at the sight of mine, and she stop-
ped1 resisting her father’s efforts to draw her away.

“ It is not true, Ray?’ she breathed.

“I could only drop my head in shame, and d!-
brokenly:
orgive me, Rose! I loved you 301 dared not
risk the chance of losin you.’ I saw her row hard
and white and cold ag I remember W at a wild
sweep of despair went over me' that I tried to drag
her away forcibly. that I,ple ed for myself wit
all the wordsl‘could master. but she would not lie:
ten. She put up her hand". The gesture and the
blaze of her eyes silenced me.

 

, the ordeal.

 

"'I never can forgive ou—neverl‘ she said..'

Then, ‘turning to her fat er—‘ Take me away,

quickl

“I fell back, and the were one in a moment. I
was dazed. stricken. ncapab e of action for what
seemed hours. The sense of my mise came
upon me in the middle of darkness, the emp ness of
desolation all about in the little house where my
dearest happiness had been. The stu or which had
been upon me seemed to burst and f away all in a
moment. I sta gered to my feet and found a light
and stood. looking about at the familiar things, no
one of which was not associated with her resence.
It dawned upon me in avague way that it was all
unreal, that it was a great mistake which would be
cleared away soon; great though in offense had
been, Rose never would cast me o for that. I
picked up the card from where it had fallen and
turned it in my hand. If I could go to her—but there
I thought of her gesture, her look of min led anger
and despair and scorn, as she had declare ——‘I never
can forgive you—never!’

“ A clock, striking somewhere within sound.
warned me. It was a most morning, and I must be
off 11 on my journey before noon. There was no
time 0 see her bad I not, coward-like shrunk from
I sat down and scrawled a few hasty
lines. Ibegged her if there had been any mistake,
any misunderstanding, any supposition of greater
wrggg on my part than this deception, which I con-
fes , that she should come to me there, or send
me at least one word of forgiveness or assurance of
love. I went out in the breaking dawn and dis-
patched it by the first messen or found. No on
swer came. I grew calmer as waited and in my
last hour at the house I wrote again, etaih'ng my
own fault at length and imploring my wife, if she
could pardon the offender for the sake of the motive
urging the offense. to join me at a junction by the
way. I wrote again when I was really on the way,
again and again afterI reached my post. I never
received One word or token from Rose, but after six
months there came a line in an upright, crabbed, ,
unknown hand and signed with her father’s name.
Rose was dead——dead without forgiving me."

The sli ht nervous tremor and the pallor had
come bac to Captain Leigh Bernham’s lips. Ex-
cept that he sat unchanged, upright, bronzed and
se f—contained, an admirable example of what stern
disclipline may effect.

“ ardon me,” said Lenoir, softly. “I can not ,
think you had cause for much self-reproach however
deefily you might sorrow. Your offense was so
slig t that a woman’s true love should have easily
covered it."

“ I am not sure now that it was so represented to
her. Only a week or so ago I came into possession
of a little box which had belon ed to Rose one I
had given her, and in which she ept the old lover’s
notes I had smuggled to her. They were there still.
and with them my own later letters with unbroken
seals. Whether 5hr got them or not itis certain that
Rose never read those pleadings and explanations of
mine. That is the story, and I on‘t know now I
should have told it to you. - It has scarcely 9. ng
on what I have to ask of ou. No word was sent to
me of the little dau hter so left; I never knew the
existence of the c (1 until accident discovered it to
me. I can brin forward a witness to declare that
Wilma is the c d of in dead wife, and I shall sure-
li claim her as mine. wanted to ask you to break
t 9 facts of the case to the Richlands. Can I pre-
sume that far on your friendshi , Lenoir?"

“ For much more than that, I ope, Captain Bern-
ham. In any way I may be able to serve you.”

Lenoxr answers unhesitatirgfily though not with- .
out an inward twinge. He h meant to keep aloof
from Ethel, in thouggllit as well as reality, so far all
might be possible. e had thought that he might
not see her again, or for no more than the briefest
moment of arting when her band should touch h
her sweet ace surrounded by its glory of brigh
hair look 11 at him her voice murmur a simple fare-
well, mea ng little to her, but another cadence
added to the song of his life.

The captain emptied the dead ashes from hispipe,
turning his face from the other’s direct view.

" There is a trifle more. I have a fancy I should
like you to Witness the oflering up of my sacrifice.
Some papers concerning this story I have told you.
Rose’s letters and my own; I on’t imagine any
Phoenix will rise from their ashes. A little weakness
has induced me to kee them this long."

He stirred the coals m the grate until they blazed.
then But his hands to an inner .breast— ocket of the
coat 6 wore. It stayed there, and aptain Bern—
ham’s face really and perceptiny changed at last-
It was startled and ghastly in its sudden alarm.

A certain pocket-book to which he had transfe
those fpilgpers for the purpose of having them alwa
u n own person, had completely and recon

ppeared.

CHAPTER XXIII.
non rnnnn DA!&

CRAY'I‘ON, tipped back in one of the leather-covered
officechairs, his heels in complacent familiarity
with the banker’s desk, was listening to the story 0"
Wilma’s disap earance, intorsperse as it was by
the banker’s e aculations of regret and annoyance.
By no means grown less after three hours down

WI]. I

“Most ine licable occurrence to my mind and _
very distressing to all of us," he said, passing hi!
hand over his smooth face and rubbing his so
white palms to,ether, with the aimless motion 0 ,
mental dissatis actidn. So much prosp‘erlty and 59 
little disappointment in all the enterp es of all 1113

  
  
 
 

smooth, well-regulated life left Howard Richland 11‘ A 
a loss in meetinfiaeven this departure from the nag 3,”
r. Richland might enduregrea  3

\
\ .

wavy However

n".
l s."

.g.’

  

 

 

 

he was perplexed
; ‘uld disturbed to a degree over this.
" ' rayton had looked in at the bank with the rang;
id belonging to his class, the assurance which
Ognizes no inner scroll of an man‘s life sacred
{gm intrusion. He greeted the anker with a cam-
s n
H
I

)“l’ ’
,. trials should they come to him

0d and a good-morning.

haven’t any one to interview,” he said, “no
1“irrible disaster to chronicle, and have left the com-
°nplac..-s to the lesser lights of our ilk. How did
Wu leave the ladies this morning, Mr. Richland?
Let me hope Mrs. Richland’s indisposition had no

1filter continuance.” .

“It was but a assin faintness and did none
0311‘,” answered . Rio and, with his usual pre-
cision. “I left them both quite well though very
much distressed. You are the ver man I want to
398, Crayton. Come in here and ve a seat for a.
mOment.” .

Crayton went in nothing loth, to the inner ofilce
With its comfortable apéiointments, its wall fres-
cOed, its woodwork carve , its furniture solid, heavy
“31d plain, very careless over the mark of distinc-
tIon this attention from the banker appeared. "

“Mrs. Richland suggested consulting you, the
Panker went on, after making his first explanation
‘and I remembered that you knew something of
he person who is Wilina’s guardian. For .my part

am quite bewildered. The Will ascertain at the
hOuse if Wilma has returner , and upon my word! I

On‘t know what more you might do unless to sug-
gest the best means of following her up Without
making the alfair a matter of public comment.”

“ Count on me proving good as an amateur de-

ctive,” said the reporter, confidently. “A man
Who is in all sorts of places every day, and has had
eXperience with all sorts of people, has a better
0 ence of stumbling over mysteries than others who
might set to work in a more methodical way. ’Pon

onor, much as I appreciate the compliment con-
erred, I must declare that Mrs. Richland is a lady
Of decided penetration.” '
he two were sitting in consultation still when
Lenoir was ushered in. Crayton catchin a. doubt-
‘11 glance in his direction answered it w1 his usual
concern.

.“Don’t mind me,” he said. lounging across to a
wIndow which overlooked the street, as apparently
nslifferent to the world without as to the wo men
Within. Lenoir took him at his word. People in
general had a habit of not minding Crayton so long
as his duties did not lead him to interfere With them.
esides it was not Lenoir’s mission to betra any of
{1136 confidence Captain Bernham had paced in

1111. I

“I have come on private business,” he said, “ re—
garding Miss Wilde.

“Regarding Wilma! Have you heard of her, Mr.
Lenoirf—what?” _

‘fl am authorized with a message from Miss
Wilde’s father, Mr. Richland. an acquaintance I

ave recently made, Captain Leigh Bernham, who
8stopping at the St. Clair now, is preparedhto au-
thenticate his claim in that capacity. He Will give
he best of references for your satisfaction and as:
surance of his responsibility. At his request I under-
90k to transmit his wishes, to inform you of his
r.Isht, and toavoid, ifpossible, the tedious formali-
l’Iles or any legal procass." . _ , .

“Wilma’s therl Upon my Word, this is growmg
'50 be a complex aflair. My dear fellow, are you
8fire there is no mistake about it? I certainly under-
at00d that Wilma was an orphan, without relatives
0 any degree.”

,It only needed this latest phase to disturb Mr.
Bdchland’s serenity to its greatest do the.

“ It was the general supposition, believe. Some
eill‘ly misunderstanding effected a separation be-
tween Captain Bernham and his young Wife; he was
called away to dut upon the frontier, and received
news a few mont 9 later of her death. Captain
Bfimham had unconsciously gamed the enmity of
ms Wife’s father; their marriage had been a secret
“19. and he was never applrised of his daughter 8
emstench. Accident and t e testimony of an old

revealed the truthIto. him. If any
culty is put in the way of his cla inglhis daugh-
ter he is pre red to ut the matter in_t e hands of
“ laMyer, bufi trust t ere may be no difficulty when
he Presents his claim in proper form. He has heard
of your extreme kindness to her, and believed it
beSt to advise you in some such wa as this, at the
88me time to spare Wilma the su donness of the
8119ch an abru 1; statement mi ht Igive her.”
5, ‘But there adifficult ," r. 'chland asserted.
ere Lenoir, don‘t 100 as though you supposed
“’6 would throw an obstacle in the way of the child’s
Eggd. ' She canes to ush 0st untdtlelr protest from;
. guardian. ra on ere can e on more 0
111111;} know him gt name, merely this Dr. Dallas,
who is her responsi le protector. I had hoped to
5 cceed him if any change could be effected in re-
a«I‘d to Wilma, but your strange story puts an end
“that expectation, I su pose. ‘ .
You think the diffic ty apprehended Will be in
°Dpoeition from Dr. Dallas?”
1 know nothing whatever of that person, let me
Eepeat. The difficulty lies in the fact that Wilma
3.33 deserted us, one oil in the most incomprehen-
blble and lnconsi crate manner. I am quite used-up
tgtween the 3 rise, first from her action, and now
8 later one gf'Ehis revelation of yours.”
w d there the story of Wilma’s disappearance
' 9‘8 repeated and discussed With even more
. gésthMion on e banker’s part than before.
halt]! no newer conjecture of what motive must
'p “9 Prompted her came the knowledge which
wmmised a dltionalidisappointment for themselves,
mullever it might dportend favorably for Wilma.
ea- Richland wcul not selfishly- have consigned
5 . _Pt&1n Leigh Bernham and his claim to oblivion if

B‘PPVant recently

‘ ,  .
,.,.. ,"- I.

i », u ' ’
.I l'. ->, J-

..L‘A..I. ~i."n\.. 1"‘.l

  

Win-ii WILDE.

be readily could but there was actual regret in his
thought that Wilma was lost to the p ace in his
home and heart which the lack of any child of his
own had left unfilled.

Crayton failing a little in his self-absorption and
finding no hing worthy of his attention in the ami-
liar sights of the street, lounged back to his place by
the banker’s desk. He had picked up a pen and was
sgrawling idly over a sheet of blank paper lying

ere.

“ I haven’t an idea of how in wife and Ethel will
take this added surprise,” sai Mr. Richland, as the
young journalist rose. “Can’t you spare time to
come back with me, Lenoir? I am going back to
the house directly. You, too, Crayton. hat a re-
lief it would rove on the top of all this perplexity
to find that \ ilma had really gone back to her guar-
dian. Why, I say! How in the world did that ever
get here?”

He had gone across to Crayton’s back, and stood
staring down at the scribbled sheet torn in strips
now and str‘ewed over the desk, Crayton, pen in
hand, scrawled over another line, Mr. Richland’s
amazed eyes following him.

“ Upon my word, I never would have believed it if
I had not seen for myself. It’s the very fac-simile
of Gertrude’s hand, the very shade and turn she
gives her letters. Improbable as such an occurrence
might be at any time, and impossible as it would
have been at this particular time since Ihaven’t
been away from the place, it really struck me first
that Gertrude must have been here and left a writ-
ten message. Strange how very like. What is it
you have written?—‘ I, Rose take thee, Robert ’—
was it Robert? No matter, 0 course. You must be
acquainted With my wife’s chirography to imitate it
so perfect-1y." ‘

‘ Never had the pleasure of seeing it thatI am
aware of, but I have rather a facility for running
different styles. As for ladies’ writing that always
runs in the same groove, sloping and ltalian, all hair
lines and shades at the curves, a very little modifi-
cation will suit the hand to any of the sex.”

"Perhaps ” Mr. Richland admitted, doubtfully.
Crayton ha deftly twirled the fragments of paper
together, rolled them between his palms, and tossed
the ball so made into the waste-basket. “You are
both coming?”

“Soul-y, but I have an engagement too near at
hand. enoir here can bring back any news there
may be to me.”

Lenoir, apggtached near enough to overlook the
little scene, ed a quick glance at the reporter’s
sallow undemonstrative face. His keener eyes had
read the fragment—“ I, Rose, take thee, Raymond ”
-—and he had instantly connected the names with
the story he had so recently heard. What could
Crayton know of it? Crayton’s expression did not
Eetray, and Lenoir very soon dismissed the specula-

ion.

The reporter sauntered away in his solitary direc-
tion, and the other walked briskly through the
streets back to the Western avenue mansion. No
lessenin of anxiety had occurred there during Mr.
Richlan ’s absence. Ethel had just returned from
her drive in a nervous flutter until assured that no
tidings of Wilma had come. Dr. Dallas had been
there and gone so the hope they had all encouraged
that she might have voluntarily returned to his care
was ended.

That scene in the lib had not gone beyond its
four walls. Mrs. Richlan had silent y faintedin her
chair, and Dr. D with his own unwearying
patience had waited 0 natural course of restora-
tion. A little ap rehension mingled with his waiting
before it was qui over. His e 6 tell on a cut-glass
flagon upon the mantle filled th some fragrant es-
sence, and he took it down sprinkling the unconsci-
ous face liberally from its contents. Then as he ob-
served si s of returning consciousness he retreated
to a win ow and half withdrew behind the falling
drapery. This was through no consideration on
the part of the man; it was simply the policy of
an reme selfishness.

‘ Give her a moment to come thoroughly back to
herself, to fully comprehend the force 0 the declar-
ation I made and there will be no useless scene, no
hysteria or other excess of nervous agitation. Trul
a woman with her amount of nerve should be amar
for the sex; I positively thought for a. second that
she was not goingto give a sign. There’s always
a tender spot with even the sternest and coldest of
them, however and I flatter m elf that I have found
our self~suificient Madame chland’s vulnerable

oint.’ '

p He turned gesently to meet the steady. dark eyes
silently watc ng him.

" Oh, recovered,” he said, advancing; from his
position within the shadow of the curtain. “And
no bad effects from your late shock, let me hope. I
see; not even occasion for me to prescribe. Believe
me, I would willingly be of service in that way, if at
all necessary. Permit me to felicitate Eu upon

our wonderfuilpowers of self-command, ‘8. Rich-
fand; but I rec you were noted for that rare virtue
when you were not Mrs. Richland.”

There was a smoldering fire in those steady eyes
now, aburning redness in the closed hps in vivid
contrast with the still whiteness of the rfect face
—-a warning of surging, hidden passion- es had Dr.
Dallas rightly interpreted them. She neither no-
ticed these later words of his nor made any refer-
ence to the weakness which had overtaken her.

“If that is the truth ” she said, “wb are you
telling it to me now? Why are you not is l kee ing
the secret which you have kept sowell for seven

ears?” ' . '

y “Perhaps that very lapse of time may have re-
leased me from the obligation of keeping it secret;
act, I may as well say that it is so. You Were the

 

smallest concern in my share of that out-of-the-wu

\ .

l .'

as. 

 

1

bit of by-play of seventeen ears ago. M patron of '

the occasion paid me 1i rail accorc ing to his
means for the services render He had his own
reasons for wishi the child dead; I had discovered
his hatred of it be ore it was ushered into existence'
but with too much conscience to t the small

life to drift out before it was fair dy begun through
any gross neglect. It must be dea. to you, that was

his edict. 1 was bound to obey instructions, of
course, and I don’t retend to any particular qualms
in doing so. I was iscreet in those days, and let in
hope not quite a fool. I did my bidding in the sim-
plest way and found means to discover 3.111 than
cared to know. I discovered what relation existed
between my patron saint and my atient, what dis-
torted and overstrained views 0 his, along with ~-
some personal disap ointment which I put down to
quite a wrong basis 1: en, influenced the stro
ing which he expressed and from which’he ac . I
traced up the c ild and kept the remembrance of
his anxiety before me, letting you drop out of sight
as a doomed character whose part in the play was
well over. It was left me to understand that the.
dead life which disturbed my atron saint’s mind at
a later date was to be yom‘s om that time forth.
I have not even attempted to reconcile that de
ture from his plans as I understood them. on
were to enter some institution of sequestered sis ter-
hood and be dead to all the world. .Whether that
was so much duplicity on his art, or if he was over-
ruled by your Will afterward. wouldn’t retend to
say now. I retained my knowledge. an my very
god friend was happy to remember my serVice of
at time at various intervals in a substantial way
during the seventeen years since—rememw.‘_
handsomely as his circumstances would permit upon

“his death-bed. And only then I suspected for the

first how much a wider sphere gratitude should
have attained in the upper s ratum. N o more duty
was owmg to my patron saint, so, manifestly, my
dut to myself is that to be developed next.” ' r

“ ou mean,” interru ted Mrs. Richland’s quiet
voice, “ that after exto bribes to insure our
silence from him, all his ' e, be is no sooner cad
than you betray the last confidence he reposed in
you. You thnk to have gained a hold upon me
which shall answer the same as the power you have ,
held over him.”

“Ah, but there you mistake," answered Dr.
Dallas, With that humbly deprecating gesture. “I
have a taste for mysteries—almost an out! of- in
regular patients can tell you so, and a éculty w
possny may run into a species of harmless manill. ~

or following up the same. Let us call it that, and
say I have a mania. for mastering mysteries of this
sort. Then there are family ri
honors which might be so near at!
same; fanc the gratification of such :13
as having amily pride and f honor ban
upon aword Withheld‘or spoken y me. There
something irresistibly charming, inexpressibly do-
lightful in the thought." -

“That tells me nothing of what you want or cu;-

ect of me. Don‘t boast or attempt indis utable
-riumph before you have gained grounds for the ‘

same: it is in exceedingly bad taste to do so. Dr. I '

Dallas.’ . i .

“ And Mrs. Richland is an oracle from whom there
is no appeal. ‘Man wants but little here below,’ ‘
dear madame and my want is most moderata- '
want Wilma Wilde aspeedily foundgand when found,
I want that you sh urge no interference with my
own claim which I may ring f ard.”

“And then
tangy you know, to my husband.

“ y dear madame, betray! It is the second
time you have used the word to reflect to my disad-
vantage. It is the code of the profession m .
to betray. With such family pride and fa » one!

made reference to hanging hi the 
might possibly find

ve
any disclosure you had to ma
me what I may expect from you, Dr. Dallas. Take
geeaissurapce that I am quite capable of that much ,
ulna I“
The flame had made a lea into the hitherto cola-
less cheeks. Even Dr. Define. phi iC, (1881834
ing, ex enced a feeling akin to
eight 0 the face answering so aptly to a strong res-
olution, and in the second it required the unwout-‘
ed im ulse to turn cold '

lyourself forestalled in '

these ta occupant of e room, Mrs. Ri d‘s ' '
clear bell— e. vibrating tone without r
tincti in his hearing. ~ .

“. ‘ on will find Dr. Dallas in the library, William.
grating to be shown out. Attend to your duty at
nce." '

“ I

and not a waver,I believ '
soul!” thegdiotcwr muttered to hlm3elf, betoween g '

teeth, with asmile which was no favorable index 3 '

upon his face. " It is well to have a host in reserve,
my high-handed madame. Forestall me if you
like; eat humble-pie to your heart‘s content‘ trust

an! ' from girlish folly as you Will dou

it; ca up the pathetic story of the earl ufihap ‘4 ‘
ymin tfii 1

marriage; gain all the sympat and ave

blame, and then be overwhelme b the evidenceI‘ I r
can bring to IOWe you the. much full for 1’ ‘
your scornful treatment of me." ‘ ' ’

There is nevergiity in a heart like his- never has
in a narrow, so (1 soul. He would have had ‘no'
feeling but of exultation had he been a witness to
the moment of utter prostration which succeeded,
robbing her of all that brave assured bow~
ing her pallid, and with every nerve relax with
the swift throes of agitation rushing over her.

‘ Min own—Wilma mine!”

‘ e—m v
words her  lips whispered to h b

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feel. ’

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ectedb the

o ' .
you would betray, all you know or ; _~

a. You have shown I

admiration at s '

in winning forgiveness for the simple decgfitionprdot- ‘ 
ess

lessly. over and over again. “Mine andl never-to" ‘

 

 

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.34
4 know it not to sus ct it when in heart earned
or er li .rto the strai‘ne of breakin .” y y
She was invisible still when s. ‘Latham’s car-
riage, rolhng past the door, deposited Ethel, but ten
- minutes later, when her husband returned with
LenOir in his company her quiet, contained presence
was the first to meet t em.

If it was less quiet, or less contained as Lenoir‘s
{nismgntwas unveiled, not one there had any percep-

ion 0 1 .

* “ Gertrude‘s presence always does me good.” her

husband had said once, in confidence to a friend.
> “ She is calm, With a reliance which an earthquake

would not shock. I don’t believe in men who require

a prop, but I’m proud to declare in my wife as pure

stuff as ever shone in a Spartan mother."

That stuff. had Mr. Richland only been aware,
shone at its brightest in the half-hour after his re-
turn. Wilma c
not suspected her existence unti
night past; Wilma, for whom the father-love and
the mothenlove had sprung up, and been recognized

, sovery recently—Wilma gone from both; the two

labi-

 

 

 

    
 

- grufl, and inveig '

' of those prickly human burrs

‘  ishthem with physics and
atmos here, t’s t eir look- .

1 ioctures.
'1 second time that day.

l

separated by such a chilling, dread-inspirin barrier
that never in time could they be mutual y drawn
by the influence which was so powerful with each.

There could be but one aim now as conceded b
general acclamation—though had they observecl:

rs. Richland was mute there—Wilma must be
found, no method must be left untried, and Lenoir
carried ‘ with him authority to insert a carefully
worded advertisement in each of the leading dailies.

Later, Erie Hethem’lle came in with set white
face and blue eyes siormily ablaze-came in on his
fair fiancee as it chanced, quite alone.

“ at does it mean?” he broke out, with perfect
tness. “What truth is there in this Cra ton
has n telling me, that Wilma is gone wit iout
provocation and Without warning? What has driven
hat inexperienced child to such a ste .9”

.Ethel wondered at his vehemence, coking up into
his stern face.

“ We are all very much distressed, Erie. It is true
that Wilma has gone, leaving no reason and no

a trace. She said in the note she left that it was her

duty to go, and that she would appeal to a friend.
We are all at the greatest lOHs without mm mum of
a clew to show us in which direction to turn with a
hope of finding her.”
‘ She must be found, she shall be!” declared Erie,
in the same strangely vehement way.
_ But the days wore themselves out, and Wilma’s
friends were worn along with them through anxiety
for her' but neither Erie’s declaration, which was
followed by his earnest action, nor Captain Le‘ h
.Bernham’s widely instituted search, nor Mr. Ric -
land‘s rplexed following of their two examples,
result inany return or hint of success. ‘Crayton
had faded out of the field almost before the others

"engaged in lt-—faded as well from the familiar

places which had known him daily before, but which
now knew him not.
Thus for three days.

\ CHAPTER XXIV.

r A STRICKEN vmuen.
THREE busy, anxious days they had been, up in the
little Westmoreland village. Malignant typhoid

\

l

aimed by a stran e father who had E
less than 9. tom 1

AV.‘_
v

 

was sweeping its way with an irresistible force, and ;
hadstrlcken a third of the population in this short ,
time. Scarcelyafamil where one or more mem- '

bombed not succumb to the disease. One of the
Billin children had died, and on the morning of the
tlird day the still little form lay in its lain casket.
Before night another one had passed on of life, and
: the same grave would receive them both.
There were indefatigable workers in the midst of
, the'suflering, fri htened pie. Dr. Joy burly and
aga t the willful re ard of
allsani measures, until the shock of a c mit
like this fell upon them, courting disease by the r

habits of ii ‘ , their over-crowded, ill-ventilated

 

houses, was do g his best to mitigate the affliction.
His own re round of patients, together with
- this added 3 rai had its t him at his best effort for

three days and t nig ts, but the doctor was one
that will bristle all
over and resent as an injury an recognition of his
ovm warm-heartedness, or pe tent sacrifice of his
own comfort.

“If 1; care to waste any time in blowing up these
foolhardy villagers," Dr. Jo would say, “and pun-
s the ougiht never

to need in this health _
out, not mine. They ave no usmess to cave the
door 0 n for the thief to walk in. If they had

' taken 6 advice of Miss Erie there, and drained 011’
the nagmires at their back doors three months
ago, eymi ht have spared themselves the visita-

tion. Talka out the hand of Providencei In ninet - .,
y A tall, thin figure, with

nine cases out of a hundred the people owe such

\ visitationsto their own folly and neglect. For the

credit of human intelligence I’d like to see some
[corlnmon sense brought to bear among the lot, and
as on
cord t ey’ll have to take it in the homoeopathic
doses we can force 11 n them."

Prudence was inva. uable, and Miss Erie spent her

' eyes.

; had an undefined relation to herself.

, ure looming against the gray clouded atmosphere,

‘ miliar about him.
as they Shirk that result of their own ac- I

. against unpro itious fates after this, and I should
. as soon have t ought of looking for on in Jerichol ‘

days chiefly at the village. Even when not there in 1

person she was in mind, laying plans and issuing
orders for the comfort of her strlc en flock. Wilma
Went with her, the quiet little hands and gentle
. voice and sweet face exertin a soothing influence
‘ over the invalids until gruff Dr. Joy, stopping her
once, laughin limdeclarcd that her ministrations
bid fair to riv own bitter draughts and caustic

Miss Erle had driven down to the village for the
, It was near evening, the
. wintry sun a caring in occasional oold gleam be-
tween gray c oudsmassed against the sky. Wilma

u \

 

' and conscious now.”

. ward—an uncomfortable sense, a vague realization

y": ,1 * y":',,"' .5" m».  r, -.  u

WILMA WILDE. ‘

had gone with her into the Bimn cottage, andstood l "Surely you must know where my weakness lies,
down at the two still little I Miss Wilma. And yetIventure to assert that you
r burial. It seemed a lisp iy 2

for a moment looking
forms alreadyl robed o
esca e for t em as she turned away and met t e
sigh of the narrow house overcrowded with the liv-
ing yet sharpfeatured, unhealthy little faces look-
in out from all sides, another child and the mother I
ta on down with the disease. '

Prudence had worked wonders in brin ‘ neat :‘
ness and order out of of the chaos which a reign-
ed, but at its best, and subdued by the presence of
sickness and death, such a prospect as life there
offered turned Wilma sick at heart for a. moment-
and made her glad to get back into the free air, with
a chilly breeze rushing through the straggling vil-
lage streets.

_ ‘They say some one is wanted to stay with Mrs.

rooke,” said Miss Erie coming out to join her a
moment later. “Cases ave multiplied so fast, and
the people here are so inefficient, that those who are
competent to attend are obliged to change from
place to place as they are most needed. The Brooke
woman is low, past 110 e of recovery the doctor
says. Would you min sittin with her, Wilma.
while I visit the other places? S e is both tranquil

“I shall not mind in the least, except to be glad
of any chance of uSefulness, and if you think Mrs.
Brooke will not be alarmed. She appeared so strange-
ly and so strongly agitated when I was there With
you first that I have never gone back.”

“She was wanderin then, her odd conduct sim-
ply the result of a. elii'ious fancy. She will not

now you, but-she does not much notice what goes
on about her. You know the house?"

Wilma answered in assent and turned that way,
while Miss Erie continued the course of her round.
A little brown detached cottage, with a few feet of
walk in front, and a gate swin ‘ng, as some careless
passer-throu hliad left it. W ma went in, closing
the ate an quietly admittin herself, as her soft
knOc elicited no response. A was burning in a
little polished stove, a few articles of furniture were
ranged about the walls, a shelf of shining tinware
and common delf filled a corner, but the room was
empty of any presence. A door 0 ohm into a
second room was a er and throng it s e had a
glimpse of a narrow e , with a gay coverlet thrown
over, and a bright rag-mat on the floor before it.

She went through into the sick room quietly. No
one was there except the prostrate form u on the
bed. Mrs. Brooke was in a slumber which t e ‘ 1’s
Silent movement had not broken. ilma sat own
by the bedside, looking compassionate] into the
s cc ing face, thin and worn and touche with age,
the lair. which struggled down upon the pillow, iron
gray, the hollow cheeks and wrinkled forehead and
closed eyes looking deathly in their allor and hard
stillness. She was so perfectly still t at with a little
thrill of awe Wilma out out her hand to touch the
pale forehead. Light as the touch, was it aroused the
sleeper, and the sunken eyes came wide with a start-
led glance up into the young face bending above her.

" did not mean to wake you," she said, “ I came
to sit with you for a little time. Ifyou cansleep

ain, do so.”

he woman shrunk awa . her eyes, startled and
starin , not leavmg the gir ’3 face.

“W o are you? she asked, in a hollow whisper.
“You touched me, didn't you?”

“ Yes; it was I that waked you. I am Wilma Wilde,
and I”stay with Miss Erie. Can I do anything for
you? ,

“ No, no," the woman answered, and lay still with
that same strange look still fixed upon Wi a’s
face. Such a steady sort of awed gaze that Wilma
grew embarrassed under it first, then restless, with
something very like a dread of those fixed, staring
She was glad Wen a nel liborlng woman
came in presently to give the in cine the doctor
had left. The interruption seemed like the lifting of
an incubus which had weighed upon her.

“Are ou sta mg?” the woman asked, in awhis-

r. “ ’11 not e then. My man is coming down
with it I’m thinking, and my hands are full enough
at home. It’s a sore day for all that brought t e
scourge down upon us.”

She went, and still the sick woman re arded
Wilma with that same intent curious look. T e im~
pression she derived from it lingered with her after-

of some meaning or some cause underlying it which

The sound of a footste and a Lnock at the outer
door brought a relief to icr sense of o pression. She
arose hastily, with a desire to escape t ie aze which
followed her even then. She had not dcru ted open-
ing to Miss Erle, but, instead, it was a. masculine flg-

which obscured all trace of the sunset. A rather
an overcoat buttoned to the
chin and traveler’s cap slouched about his ears; for
the first instant she did not recognize any thing fa~

 

“Miss Wildel” exclaimed the voice belonging to
the form. “ I fancy I need never be tempte to rail .

I wonder if you have an idea of who. a hue and cry
has been raised after you, Miss Wilma?" 1

His glove had come of? and he was clasping her I
hand before she had recovered from her first start I
of surprise. Certainly Crayton was the last erson l
she could have expected to meet in the ailing l

loom, u on the threshold of that lain little cot-
Eage in t e isolated little Westmore and villa e.

, Mr. Ora ton, did you follow me here?’ cried
Wilma, havin 0st his words in the start her recog-
nition of him ad given. “ Did they send you? 0 ,

I am sorry, sorry, if I. have distressed them much;
but indeed I cannot go back. it you would promise I
that you will not in tion/havmiz seen me.” ,.

. 1
» . , 2 \
i 1 l‘ ' _:,\ ', q '4 ’r, . I‘, i I r H '.

 

 

' said, w'istfully. “If you certainly

 

,, I_. rang, , 

i ‘ . I I . V \

would never forgive me should I consent to ruin all
our future prospects by too close observation of an
pulsive young ady’s whim. Perha s you haven’t
an idea even of what a service I mig t do you by
merely mentioning our meeting here 1”

“ I am very sure that the very best service on can
ossibl render me will be togkeep silence, r. Cra -
on. it were poss1ble that any pros ect could

made tempting enough to ersuade me ack to them,
I should Lpray that I mi h be kept in i norance of it.
I am we cared for, an am baggy in ruling myself
of use here. I am staying wit iss Erie. Oh, Mr.
Crayton promise that you will not force me to leave
here by betraying my whereabouts to them. It is
best as it is, believe me.”

" I must romise against my better judgment,
then. But t en. I never could refuse a lady, espe—
cially a young and pretty one. I’m not obliged to
relate that I’ve seen ou here—certainly not. lcaine
on a matter of di erent business, and because I
chance to stumble across the charming object of
much solicitude on the part of certain friends of
mine just now, it isn’t at all incumbent upon me to
betray the knowledge which accident merely has
revealed. I see that is the view ou take of it. Ve
well my dear Miss Wilma; muc gratification as it
mig t aflord me to report your safety and your con.
tinuance of regard, I must in all gallantry submit to
your wish instead.”

“I should like them to know,” said Wilma, “that
I am safe, and that I do hold them in most grate-
ful remembrance. If I should write just a line say-
ing that, and iflyou would kindly mail it in the city
and not mention seeing me, it would be the very
greatest favor I could ask.”

She h come out by his side, drawing the door
close so Only the faintest murmur of their voices
could be distin 'shod in the rooms within.

“ I would vise it,” said the reporter, earnest] .
“Let me tell_you, the Richlands are in ateri‘ib a
state of anXiety regarding your disap earance,
which is equivalent to a Greek puzzle to t iem. Do
you suppose you could manage to make out with a
pencil and my note-book here? I’ll see that it’s put
in a form for safe dehvery. I rather expect to go
back at midnight, and to be busy meantime."

He produced the articles which were required.
from an inner pocket, and whistled some dlSCOD'
nected bars of an air as he gazed away through the
gap between the squat lit
riedl wrote her messa e. The air was a keen chill,
and ’ilma’s benumbe fingers produced a tremu-
lous scrawl—her own love and giatitude, sorrow for
their distress, an assurance of or safet , and that
the course she had taken was much for e best.

“And I venture that yonder is Miss Erie’s turn-
out,” said Crayton, as he received the little missive.
“ Is she waiting there for you?”

“If you only would promise movaiglain," Wilma

not betray
seen me; if on will mail that to Mrs. Rich-
land, will be so tru y indebted.”

“ And as I said I can’t refuse' but remember, the
concession is given against my better gudgment.”

“ Thank you the same, however,’
warm] and leaving him went down the street to
meet iss Erie, who had stop the carriage to
consult with Dr. Joy u on the dewalk.

“You, Wilinal“ sai iss Erie, in su rise. “I
thought you undersde that i meant to for you.
Just as weslgdpfrhaps, since it is so late, and Dr. Jo

havin

has promi 0 look in on Mrs. Brooke directly, an
stag with her during the night. Did I see you speak
wit some one here just now?”

She had nodded her psi-ting to the doctor as Wil-
ma came up, and they were turned on their home-
ward way now.

“Yes; it was Mr. Crayton,” Wilma. answered.
“ He promised when I asked him to say nothing of
seein me here."

“ ou can‘t expect it concealed always, Wilma.
Crayton! Odd that he should cometo the viii e.
Was he going there, do you know—to the Broo
woman’s house, I mean?

Miss Erie glanced back at the step which was
empty now, and the bare outlines of the little house
against the gloom.

The doctor did not lookin there immediately”
had been his intention. Another patient grown sud-
denl and serious worse claimed him, and it was
two ours full be ore he looked in at Mrs. Brooke’s.
and meati'ine Crayton had passed the time without
interruption by the (1 ing woman’s bedside. Sure
and slowly d ’ing to er own knowledge, percept -
bly near deat to the first glance of an experienced

eye.
Her wide, preternaturally bright eyes had turned

to meet Crayton as he entered. but fell away wig};

their brightness dimmed in a single momen
dropped nto the scat Wilma had vacated short] be'
fore and leaned forward to look into the pallid ace.
She glanced up again with an awakened purpose be-
fore he had spoken, perhaps wishing to ascertain
her condition first.

“I don’t know who you are," she said in her la-
bored, whispen'n tone. “Can you write? ’

“ Can and wi with the greatest leasure: my
very mission up here by the wa , an I came pre'
pared with all the necessaries. ou don‘t know me.

ut I have the advantage there, Mrs: Brooke. Is it
something you wish to confess regarding an 0cm};-
rence who took place some seventeen years ago?

. “Yes, yes,” she whispered erl . “ Give me
time, let me t until it is all qui ear, His face
has haunted me, often and often, but I‘ve seen it in
the flesh just of late and it’s a gir ’s face now.

know I’m dy andlcouldn’t o nto the 19 ,' ‘
eas with themvgeight upon me. gAre you reelinng
e i , Y ‘ .1 .‘

wri?
\

- r

  

le houses while she hur- "

said Wilma...

i .

., :,

  

 

  

 m i .
f ‘ ’ “(flute ready in a second, when_I put a match to
:v the ‘mp here.” He did it, shading the flame care-
fully from her eyes, changing his seat to one besrde
the little table holding the lamp, and upon which he
had spread his material for writing. “ Ready, now;
go ahead, Mrs. Brooke." I .

“I can’t tell it as it should be put down,” said the
Woman. “You can do that, or it will make little
difference, I dare say, so the plain truth is there. I
hadn’t meant to ever tell it, and I don’t know that I
Should now but for his face coming up before me,
and that girl the very picture of him.” _

She had not much difficulty in speaking in that
Whis ering voice what was distinct to the re )orier’s
ear, 1but she was weak, and the continu effort
Wearied her, and her recital was made at intervals,
but Crayton was patient in waitin and helped her
with his quick understanding of er broken utter-
ances. “She began:

. “Some eighteen years a o I was housekeeper for
Matthew Gregory, and ha been for ears before
that. He was a very bad man, but stil not a hard
master, any we not to me. I never could find the
heart to blame im so much as others did. He had
married a flighty youn thing when he was well_in
his prime, an it turne out unhappin as such ill-
!natin s generally do. His Wife ran away the
secon year with some old lover who surfed her bet-
ter, leaving their baby—girl in its father’s care. All
that was long enou h before my time in the house.
Eighteen years ago t 0 little thing had grown up to

e a young lad , the loveliest creature that could
have been foun anywhere in the two cities, and yet
she had scarcely been outside the walls of the old
house on the Manchester road, except for one year
She had been sent away to a schoo . It had been a
lonely life for the child, and her_ father never ave

er any care or liking that might be seen 111 t ose
days. She had been called Gertrude after 'her mo-
ther, but the name was dropaed after the disgrace
was brought by the other ertrude. She grew up
Without a name until some one who chanced to
see her said she was just like a white rose, as are
and sweet, so after that she was called The ose,
and at last Rose. _

“ She was seventeen or nearly when a rich lady
Who lived further out on the road saw and took a
fancy to our Rose. Nothing would do but she must

ave her for a companicn, and she got her way
though the master was bitterl oppo. ed. He ha
alwa s meant that Rose sho d go into aconvent
and re had sent her for a year to a convent school
With the understanding that she was to take the
Vail when she got througlh with her studies, but she
rebelled at the end of t e year, and he brought her
awa again but without giving up his plan.

“ se went to be companion to the fine lady.
She had as much will of her own as Matthew Greg-
ory himself, and she overruled him in those two
things in lavin the convent and in gomg from
the old house to t 6 new home that was offered her.

6 had been bitter hard in his censure of the mo
ther, and he had all his resentment stirred up
figainst the daughter now, for all he gave Way to

er

“There was a worse shock to come to him soon,
when Rose disap ared from her employer’s house,
Gaming word onlJychat she had married in secret
and had gone to her husband. I don’t know what
means her father took to trace her up. He did it
though' he found her out, discovered more than I

ew of afterward. _

“He came to me one dayto say he had discov-
ered another person to fill my place. I was all taken
aback at that. I had been with him for half a
dozen years; I was a quiet body and grown used to
his silent ways. It struck me at last that the man
had gone mad to be thinking of a change; but he sat
dOwn and explained to me so graciously'that. l was
groud of the confidence he was putting in me,
hough his news gave me a sore heart for man a
dad. Rose had bren vilely deceived, he said. he
Was living alone at a little outrof-the-way place he
had discovered, where the man she supposed was

er husband visited her now and then. The mar

ad another wife married in secret, too. W but Mr.

regor wanted of me was to get a place in that
man‘s ouse, to find out whether the other Wife was
a lawful one or not, and which of the two he’d be
apt to give up first if it came to the chorce. He
had found that Mr. Bernhain which was the young
man's name, was looking for a servant, one who
001ml be discreet, and when I Went to him Wth the
recommendations Mr. Gregory furnished, I had no
t“Ellble in etting the lace. '

‘IfIhagn't known never could have beheved
{hat young Mr. Bernham was such a villain. He

was so frank, seeming so fond of his wife, who was

is true wife without a doubt. She was a foreigner,

“ mere child, too, without a relation in the world,

and with some fortune in her own right which was

eeping them then. The marriage was kept secret

ecause somebody who was ex cted to leave a

great deal of property to Mr. ernham would be

8“1‘6 to disinherit him if it ever found it out. It

was, the very same stor that had been told to Rose,

an.“ Which she was be ieving in then. M foreign
lstress fairly worshiped her husband, bu she had
0t temper, and she was dead ealous of him for

er love. She told me about t eir having a quar-

19 Once when a ve beautiful young lady had

831° ed so strangel a her Raymond in the street;

a e . been sure t was some other love of his, but

tge ciliite behaved him, after they had e it up,

Wat it was all an imagination of her own. She
“mild trust him perfectly in every thing, she said,
had She meant» it, but she couldn’t he p

3““ poor thing!
1 m It took the w ole weeks ,to’ discover all my old
ceggter wished toimow, but I did at last. I saw the
:5  iflcate of their marriage by a clergyman known

  

.
i z

'r.. ‘ \3

her own ,

:

 

 T   

in the city,_dated four months before the time our
Rose had disappeared. I found out what I could of
Mr. Bernham‘s plans. He had been a military stu-
dent and was expecting his commission new daily,
but e meant to resign it rather than be parted
from his wife.

“When he had learned that much, Mr. Gregory
came to the house one day when my young master
was out. He had an interview with Mrs. Bernham
and he must have told her the whole stor . He had
been with her a good hour when the be runor and
I1 went up, and as 1 opened the parlor door I eard

er say:

“‘Iwill go with you and show her such proofs
that she shall be convinced, but I will never see him
again so long as we both live—never?

' “ She was dressed to go out, but she looked more
like a corpse than a living woman with the glim so I
had through her vail. She left a. note with me o be
given to er husband, when he should come, and
went away with Mr. Gre ory, andI knew then, well as
I knew afterward, that 6 would never come back to
that house. I gave the note aslwas bound to do
when Mr. Bernham came. I never knew what it was
she wrote, but I shall never forget the awful look of
despair on his face when he had read it. He was
like a man rone wild for a time. He shut himself
up alone ant came out. hours afterward, looking ten

ears older than before. He talked with me quietly

or a time, not once referring to her, but of the
house and what was to be done. He had got his
commission, he said, and would leave next morning
to join the army on the frontier. He said ood-by
to me, and gave me my waves and a rernin er, and
left the house overnight. DI think he couldn‘t bear
to stay in it alone.

“ Somehow I got a restlessness over me next morn-
ing to reall see him off, and to say a last word,-
maybe for never could harden my heart a ainst
him, t ough I had tried. I knew what train he
would take, and I was at the depot before the time,
look' for him in the crowd there. I saw him pres-
entl , ut while I was studying whether or not to
pus through and speak, the ver picture of him
came up from the other side. here they stood,
face to face, so much alike that I couldn’t have
sworn which one was in master. They shook hands
and spoke, and then I ew for there was a differ-
ence in their voices, and a change came into their
faces as they talked: but I stood dumbfounded and
bewildered until the had gone away together be-
fore my very eyes. wasn’t uick at understanding
then, butI knew the truth a erward. They were
twin brothers, and the one that was my master was
not the one who had married Rose. But when I

was sure of the truth, Rose was gone, no one knew '

where, and when I taxed Mr. Gregory with having
known, he advised me to hold m tongue on the
matter. He gave me quite a sum 0 money as I was
out of a lace, he said, but it was no more than a
bribe, as knew, but I took it, and it’s that has been
on my conscience ever since.

“ Rose died at her father‘s house months after,
and left a tiny babe that must have grown into the
girl I saw here. She has the very face of my young
master which was the same as her father‘s face,
and a ittle look of Rose; she ou ht to know the
truth which Matthew Gregory WO (1 never tell her.
Her father was killed in a battle, I believe; at least
that was the report."

That was the sto as Crayton took it down from
her broken telling o it. All the strength which had
sustained her seemed exhausted as it was done.
Joy entered at the moment, and after one searching
glance at her, turned to the reporter.

“ Does she want to sign that i" he asked, his eye
falling u n the paper. “ It must be done at once if
at all. e is almost gone."

The dyin woman rallied, while, with Crayton’s
help, she a xed her name to the sheet with the two
men as witnesses; and with her work complete, she
drifted quietly out upon the great eternal sea.

 

CHAPTER XXV.
CRAVEN DALLAS, M. n.

A SLIGHT snow fell during the night, and the air
was full of cutting, bitter, frozen sleet next day. It
rattled against the plate-glass of the long windows
in the Richland drawing-room, and made a slippery
coating over the snow where it was not broken up in
the gutters '

“ A bitter day to be out,” said Ethel, with a little
shiver and aglance at the cheerless as ect. Mrs.
Richland looked around listlessly. She h aglimpse
beneath the sweep of the ruddy silken curtains
within of icy pavement, where occasional forms hur-
ried past; a woman, thin] -clad, and shivering, flit-
ted before her e es, 9. vivi contrast in suggestion of
her worn, pinc ed impoverished condition to this
air of warmth and luxurious comfort. Homeless in
the streets! There could be nothing in the thought
to strike a chill to her heart, or change the weary
listlessness of her expression. Her glance went bac
to the lowin coals as she answered:

“A reary ay, indeed!”

Observant of the ennuied face, Ethel forbore to ut-
ter the thought which had been first in her mind
with the sight of the bitter outdoor weather. It had
been a. sad wonder where Wilma might be on this
freez' wintry day; while they had every luimr
about hem, migh she not be unsheltered, frien -
less and alone, suffering, when all this abundance
might have been freely ers. . n

‘ I fear that Howard is more than half—right,
Ethel thought with another glance at the graceful
shape lying idly back in a chair before the hearth,
the white ringed hands loosely folded, and the
droo ing lashes almost sweeping the fair cheeks.
The ace was like fine sculpturing. as perfect and as

 

Dr. ~

 

‘ sently and took it from its resti place.
‘ land seldom hesitated when 151

still. “Gertrude certainly has not seemed well of
late. She always was met and undemonstrative,
but she has appeared ke one moving ina dream
for days past, ever since the day that Wilma was
lost to us. .

She went out a few minutes later, leaving the ’
other alone. _Then Mrs. Richland looked up at a lit-
tle obJect which had strangely fascinated her all the
morning. It was Simply a“ common-looking brown
envelope bear-m her husband’s address in stiff char-
acters, onl sue a lcthr to all outward appearance
as any busmess-man may receive by the score every
Week; but common—loo and coarse, Mrs. Rich-
land could not overcome an uneasy impression the ;
sight of it had given her. She_ had srngled it out
from the package when the mail was brought in,
and when her husband passed it to her inadvertently
along with the papers and a magazme and a letter
for herself, that impressron so strong led her to let
it remain under their cover while he talked on,\un-
consciously making references to his own volumi-
nous correspondence. . .

“By the way,” he remarked, _foldin the last mis— \
sive with his methodical recisron, “ asked. Lenoir ‘
to bring Captain Leigh ernham around With him w
this evening. Itis only right that we, as Wilma’s
friends, should extend much courtesy to Wilma’s
father though the slight, if any, has been rather on
his si e before this. I certainly thought he would 3 -
have taken the initiative and called upon us after ’ /
breaking the case. Lenoir reports him busy and w
anxious and half-disheartened at finding no trace.
Lenoir himself is a fine young fellow, by the way—
talented and bound to make . his mark. I find my-
self really attached to him.” ’

His gaze chancing to rest upon his sister‘s face
caused her a sudden embarrassment unlike her'
usual control, and making a hurried apology she left
the breakfastsroom where they were gathered. He
turned to his wife with aslightly-troubled expresc \v
sron. \

“ Do you suppose there can be a d er of Lenoir
entertaining more than a mere frien y regard for ,
Ethel?” he asked. “ The possibility occurred to me ~ a. V
once before when something suggested it, but I’d be .
willing to stake my own honor against his, and of
course he is aware of. the engagement. Ethel is a ’
very 10vable girl, but I should not like to think that . ,
Lengir is to meet with any disapporntment through »

f‘Did it ever occur to you Howard'that Ethel
might also care for Lenoir? I have imagined before
now that he was even better suited to her than Erle, ‘
and scarcely doubt that there would have been a
diifetrgeéit’ result had that childish engagement never
exis .‘

“There mi ht have been in that case, but it did-
and does exis , and Ethel is too true to depart from
her duty, no matter for what fancy. Your idea is
preposterous, Gertrude if it reaches the extent ‘
of her wavering from Erie. Ethel is a. Richland, and 
we have always been good as our word,‘I eve. ' 1
Why, it is one of our roudest boasts that no dis- - ' “3
grace has ever touche our family an I would feel ,
it a blot on our family honor, kept spotless for * ’,‘

enerations, if any thing could induce her to prove
aithless to Erie now. A very preposterous idea,
In dear!" ‘, .

‘ If she really could not love the one to whom a , -.:.
childish promise bound her," persisted Mrs, Rich; ’ * .,:'
land, her earnest eyes upon her husband’s face— ' ’
“ if in its of her own efforts to be true she found ,, 
herself cking, loving the other as she should the - V
man she is to marry, could you not pardon her for , .r ~
breaking her unconsidered promise, for proving at i , ,3
least true to herself?" ‘ , 

“That doesn’t apply to Ethel in the least," he a “
answered, uneasily. “Ethel did consider I her . " 5‘

romise, and it is quite too late for even the remo-‘
est contemplation of a change. She has not the '
slignhtest thought of it, I will warrant. Just as I say;
a chland never has been and let me hope never ,
may be associated with the disgrace of broken honor, ’; L
thfitirtigh wordl or act.” mg n ‘ 5
was on y a sup sito case I was 11 , _.
Mrs. Richland said, qu etly. I"; Ethel has 11% idea of '9' , _ .
proving any thing but true to her word, I am very » :1;-
sure.‘ ‘

The conversation lingered with her after her hus-  . i
band had gone to his day’s business. '

That inexorable family ride and jealousy of the
famil honor, how coul it stand the shot-Plathe V  ‘
know edge and dread of which hung so th ten. ~ 
ingly over her? Ah, better, better far had she
never known any thin different from the loneliness ~- _ ‘i
and rebellious dissatis action of her cheerleSS - 1‘s 7
hood days; better that she had borne the weigh ‘ of
misery which had come to her later through all,
time alone, than that she should have taken 11 this
new life to result now in the shock of humi tion"
and sin and disgrace which would reflect from her' ,
to t e kindly, generous but proud man who
been the best of indulgent husbandsto her for ‘- '
teen years. r ,‘ ‘

She had carried the letter addressed to him which '
he had missed into the drawing- room, and placed it ‘ xi
in si ht on the low marble mantle, and there it had‘ , v
lain ke some evil tempter before her sight in‘the . 
hours since. The stiff, legible characters of the ads -. ’ _~ 1
dress staring back at her were like a challenge. 1 '-
Studying as site looked, she

‘\

A

.3 {7.

‘ .

put up her hand pres,‘ " '
Mrs. Rich-  f;
, , sh ad once reached; _  
decisron and she did not now hesitate in mastering '
the contents of that aggravating missive. There
fell from the envelope, as she opened it,,a card,
printed: . ,, ;

CRAVEN DALLAS, M. D. _ ~ ‘,
and on. the reverse side was written in'that' can  ’ ‘ "
hand of the superscriptionz. . ' g .

 

«V . "' l  , ' (1
i I > 1,.
267 L " ‘
, ..
I .

. ,, I ‘ “ Dr. Dallas will do himself the pleasure of can
. x ing upon Mr. Richland at six this evenings-[and

. hopes to: be admitted to a private audience. He
ventures to assert that the revelation which authdr-
izes,  demand will prove fully satisfactory to the

 

1

, That was all. Mrs. Richland crushed the card in
;- ‘, her hand and sat looking into the coals again with
[3/ . , that (ice ly-absorbed aze which m ht have been

' ' looking k throu h he years whic were past, or
forward into that t eatening future the shadow-of
which was upon her even now.

A Later that day Lenoir was admitted into Captain
' Bernham’s a rtment, and made known the mission

* with which 6 banker had charged him.
“ Go with you to the Richlands; 1 go there?” said

Ca tain Bernham, taking a turn across the floor

an “pushing back the hair from his forehead in

vex. impatience. “I’ll be hanged first!” Seeing
I Lenoir‘s quiet surprise the captain modified his
, -' tone suddenly.
 ' I. \ “I’m not used to polite society,” he said, shortly;
.' - . ‘ "'I’ve roughed it on the frontier with little enough
of ladies’ society at the barracks for the greater“
part of the last seventeen years. I’d find myself
, wonderfully out of place in a fashionable drawing-
é- room, I’m afraid. My com liments to Mrs. Ric -
, ' = and that as my reason or declining.”

“ t me hope you may conclude yet not'to de-
cline,” Lenoir Urged. “I am very sure on will not
regret it if you once 0, Captain Bern am. They
are so warmly attache to Wilma and so deeply in-
terested in whatever may pertain to her wel are,

t the areprepared to receive you quite as a
end th that bond between you. Let me call for
, V , you at the time I have appointed for going this
 '1 _ ~ ~ evening.
‘I  '| The captain had stopped and was staring (gloomily
;' '. out at the chill aspect the street presente . After
'  , all, why should he not go? Rose was dead to him,
 ' . and, he was not in the world to Rose. He
had thought after that night at the opera that he
should never wish to see er face again, but now an
, ,Imdeflnable longing came over him to stand before
« her 'to touch her hand perha s, to hear her speak
an with the presence of t e man whom she ha
r preferred to him there as a reminder, to bring the
 conviction yet more firmly home to him that a bar-
, ’rier impassable as the grave itself stretched between
‘ .them. A weaker man mi ht have shrunk from
such trial of himself, but aptain Bernhamh; iron
, discip ehad stood him through trials before this
and would again.

“I have reconsidered,” he said, when he turned.
“ You may come this way, or I will take up with
you at the office if you like better.” .
, Lenoir, promising to return, left him. There is so
much irregularity attendant upon the business of a
news aper daily, such lack of smooth connection
some imes in its various departments and in the
movements of its detailed corps, that no one of the
many composing the great whole can always be
informed regar mg what unexpected duty may de-
volve upon him at a moment’s notice. It proved so

 > inLenoir’s case this late afternoon. Some one of
‘ x  the stafl had failed in the amount of “ copy " which

n should have been forthCOming at that hour. Could
’ I Lenoir make good the deficiency? It was the chief

 

 

 

 

 

 

of the staff asking it in the tone which takes for
anted/the assent which he did not wait to hear.
enoir, thus appealed to, could and. did, but the
gas was flashing through the streets and the red
glow of the furnaces was reflected over the city
, and fell like dull stains on the dark, rough surface
* of the rivers, before he returned to redeem his
_’ ’ ‘ v promise to Captain Bernham. ,
'_ , ' The latter had come down into the street. expect- l
ing him minutes before. He was pacing the ave- ;
ment slowly, that consoler of many a tedious our ;
before this his meerschaum, his comfianion now, a
' , I, his tall, soldierly form and bronzed and carded face 1
' . perfectly distinct in the glare illuminating the front 5
, of the hotel.
r ,O, The two paused in it for a moment while Lenoir
‘ / y r .,,msdehis explanation, then linked arms and walked
1‘ away. In the time he had passed walking 11 and
" : down there no intuition had come to Captain igh
“ Bernham of the watchful eyes upon him, no single
uiver warned him of what wistful, lon ing, despair-
gig 6 es the were, losing no motion 0 his, reading
-. an e , stern face. noting the gray which min-
”. gled in h s luxurious heard and tinged the hair, cut
. I ~ close to the massive, handsome hea . They followed
him down the line of h ht as the two walked together
in the direction of the ridge.
.v a [Then the tall, muflied form, which had been sta-
“' tidned Within the shadow of adoorwa opposite,
’ passed out and mingled with the crow upon the
‘ : street. When the proprietor of the shop which
,owned the doorway found time to look out for a mo-
ment he missed the quiet lady who had been wait-
ing there through the revious half—hour. The tall
shape, graceful and we -poised, despite the disguis-
' Wing wraps, went with swift, unhesitatin steps
. ' ‘ throu h the thronged and lighted streets. er way
 itook" er to a dis , over-built locality, where the
, original tenements Jostled each other to make room
 _’ for the handsome compact blocks fast a proachin
, them, up the steps of_ one that lad shah y gentee
*, ’wrltten all over its spindling hight, from the narrow
.windows, with their flims inner drapings, to the
;: soiled white stones under er feet, with rust balus-
; _ trades on either side. Her'hand was upon t e bell.
pm] when the door was thrown (éplen andaman
came out from the largle bare hall. e made a step
g forward and dropped or hand upon his arm as he
7  338mg-
u "Craytonfl was on my Way to ask. for you.
avNo. don't turn back.

  
  
   
 
  
     
  
    
  
   
    
    
   
 

29'
8'

\i‘
‘9".

’.k. '

; purpose.

I only wished to know if, you A

 

’\_“ \y i,» ,7: .IV  I I ‘ ; I
‘1 I. ’1'  1’ VIC; n 
W ILMA W ILDE.

have discovered anything regarding Wilma. trave-
some way had an impression that you might.”

Crayton, never very readily surprise and cer-
tainly never taken aback by any such simple, unex-
pected occurrence, took the meeting coolly, what-

ever his speculations regarding,' her appearance unv
attended at that hour and in hat place may have

been.

“ I said before this that on were a lady of un-
usual penetration, Mrs. Rich and, and this proves it.
I am most happy to inform you that 1 have news re-
garding Miss ilma; in fact, it was somewhere near
this time last evening that I promised not to betray
the fact of meetin with her to any of on.”

“ You have seen er? Surely you Will not refuse

; to tell me where?”

“ Surely I will not " Crayton answered. They had
both descended to the sidewalk, and he offered his
arm over the way. “Rash promises are better
broken than kept, you know, and, truth to tell, I
hadn’t an intention of keeping this one. I left Miss
Wilma up in Westmoreland with our friend Miss
Erle, with abundance of employment in the way of
angelic ministrations among a lot of sick villagers.
She gave me a little note for on, expecting, I rather
believe that Iwould post it rom some part of the
city. was just starting out to deliver it in person,
knowing how precious it was sure to be to you.”

She ave an upward glance into his face to detect
if her ancy of a ointed meaning in his words had
any foundation ut he was fumbling atapocket,
from which he rew forth a little folded slip, appa-
rently quite indifferent to her. Just then they came
upon the stronger glare of light and the stir of the
crowd which thronged Fifth avenue. -

“ Did you have your carriage?” Crayton asked, as
she paused there. “ Can I take you to it, or send it
to ou, Mrs. Richland?" .

‘ Thanks, but I am not going back now. I will
not detain you, Mr. Crayton. Thanks again for the
service you have done in bringing tidings of Wilma,
and this from her hand.”

“And that cuts short in hope of aseat anda
comfortable ride across,” so oquized the re orter,
as he watched her disappear within one of e gay
bazars linin the way. “Whewl what awind it is.
That is too bitter to face in crossing the brid e afoot,
I’ll be bound.” He took a car from the Sixt street
terminus, settling back into a corner, and was appa
rently dozing in a moment’s time.

And meanwhile Captain Bernham, with Lenoir,
had reached the Ric land mansion. Aclock was
striking the quarter-hour as they entered' it was a
quarter past six. Preciser as the same clock had
rung out six chimes, William Thom son had an-
swered a summons and opened to Dr. allas.

“Show me at once to your master,” commanded
the doctor, loftily, “ he is expecting me. Or, stay,
where is he? I’ll not trouble you, ‘my man.”

Mr. Richland was at that moment in the library,
and at a word the doctor turned that way. The
banker glanced in uiringly at the visitor who ad-
mitted himself in t at unceremonious manner, and
rose to draw a chair closer the fire with true cour-
teous hospitality.

“Be seated, sir, said the banker. “You wished

yes. You were expect-

to see me, I presume.”

“ Thanks Mr. Richland
ing me, of course—Dr. Dallas, Craven Dallas at
your service, sir. I had the pleasure of informing
you by letter this morning of my intention just now
put into effect.”

Dr. Dallas delighted in smooth, well-rounded sen-
tences, and never more particularly than when the
velvet of his words covered the inclination and the
ability to use hidden power of his own to a ruthless
A stiffness came into Mr. Richland’s man-
ner instantly. .

“ I received no such letter,” he said. “ Will Dr.
Dallas kindly explain what his business may be in
brief terms I am expecting friends at any mo-
ment now." ‘

Any resentment the doctor ma have felt at the
change of tone was quickly smot cred.

“ I explained in my missive of the morning that I
have a revelation of importance to make to you. I
would really rather not be recipitate in breaking
it. We medical men learn 0 be cautious over the
chance of giving sudden shocks after knowledge
gained from a long course of practice. When you
are fortified to hear what I fear may prove disagree
able news—”

“Pray sa whatever you may have to say briefly
as possible, ’ Mr. Richland interru ted him. “ I am
a man of few words myself, Dr. alias, and prefer
bein dealt with after my own fashion.”

" our will is my pleasure, then,” the doctor re-
plied, smoothly, but with cold gleams coming into
his restless eyes. “ It is my duty to inform you, Mr.

tichland, that fyou have been laboring under a mis-

apprehension or the past fifteen years, which may
prove both disagreeable and embarrassing in the re-
sult. The lady who kindly listened to your suit then
was unfortunately not free to listen. She had a
former husband alive at the date of her marriage
with you; she has a daughter, the issue of that first
marriage, alive to-day.”

CHAPTER XXVI.
wanna 'rnn DOCTOR mm ms msmxn.

FOR one second Mr. Richland’s face was a blank.
The astounding impudence of the man sitting there
under the glow of his own lights, by the warmth of
his own fireside,_ and deliberately attacking him with
an assertion which exceeded all limits of possibility,
took his breath for a second, while his comprehension
of the reality of the charge came slowly. Indi ' -
tion and amazement came with it, strug ling to

1

every line of his smoothfiiorid face.

   

 

.Mr. Riemand was never much givento demonstra' 
tion. His was both a generous and noble spirit, but 

it was not aquick or clever one. .This accusation
was the furthest from any which might have gained
credence with him, and except for his bewflderment
it had no other result than to arouse his indignant
5 rise.

“ pon my word the man is surel madl” ejacu—
lated Mr. Richlan , with a half-pit g half-an
stare into the sallow countenance, snoe g and or-
bidding, with the crafty c es not .meeting his own -
honest ones but still watc ing furtively every change I
of the banker’s face. “ You surely are mad, Dr.
Dallas, to come with such a flims , shameless at-
tempt atimposition. Understand, , that my Wife
is above all reproach."

“ I am quite as sane as yourself, Mr. Richland
You might be pardoned thinking me otherwise if I
had come with an unbased assertion only, but I have
the pleasure of announcing myself an eye-witness,
an active agent I may say, to a share of what the ac-
cusation embraces. I can very positively swear to
the identity of the present Mrs. Richland with a a-
tient I had under my care, seventeen years ago. he
was the on] daughter of my friend and patron lately
deceased, atthew Gregory.”

Mr. Richland leaned forward in his chair, a quick
change flashin into his face, his lips artin , but
sober second t ought was there in time o chec the
impulse which would have led him to speech. Let
the man bring forward his charges, absurd and pre-
sumptuous as they may be. He was ve evidently
determined to be heard, and it woul be time
enough to summon William Thompson to put him
out forcibly, if need be, when he understood
fliers/(ere this groundless revelation was intended to

“ You were about to den that " said the doctor,
drawmg a quick inference rom the other’s manner.
“ You were not ke t in ignorance of your wife’s re-
lationship with h then, and that should be one
point toward your concession of the whole truth. I
certainly assure you that it is truth, and I can prove
so much of it that I think you will not refuse to con—
cede the rest. If you doubt my word you are uite at
liberty to call in the lady herself and see how 5 e will
face the facts I have to tell. I had the pleasure of
wrin ing a tacit admission of it all from her, not
very ong since. If on want perfect satisfaction,
by all means let . Riohland have a hearing
a so.”

“You must know that you have made ve un-
qualified and preposterous charges,” said the ank-
er, in the slow, heavy way of a man assured in his
own stand but erplexed by the movement of an
enemy. “I co (1 not think of subjecting Mrs. Rich-
land to the sin: 1e annoyance of refutiu them. You
have attemp to perpetrate a most a rocious slan-
der, and my advice to you is to drop thQ matter be-
fore you further commit yourself. I am wii‘iin to
overlook this much of whatever malicious inten ion
has led ou so far.”

"But have no desire that on shall overlook it,
Mr. Richland. I tell you in so or fact that the lady
you have supposed to be your wife was the wife of
another man livi when you married her. I tell
you more, that she is the mother of a child who lives
today, whom you have, had in {gur veiI'y house,
whom you have known as Wilma ilde. daresay
it never occurred to ou to wonder what was the
strong interest your e found in the girl. You had
no reason to suspect, of course, a fact of which the
lady herself was in ignorance untila short time since
but the maternal perception is strong and subtle and
far-reaching, as surely this proves. I repeat (your
Wife has never been our Wife, and Wilma Wil e is
her daughter, acknow edged by her, as I shall prove

ou ’

Mr. Richland breathed a silent inspiration of relief.
Not wavering nor convinced by so much as a line,
such a ositive unmistakable assertion necessarily
resultc in the extreme of annoyance to him, but
this the doctor’s last words had materially lightened.
Lunatic or villainous schemer, whichever he might
be, Dr. Craven Dallas had surely overreached him-
self. Wilma, his own wife’s child—Wilma, the
daughter of a marriage consummated before he had
ever met her, and existing still when she had taken
vows of closest fealty to himl Carefully as he might
have concocted the remainder of his plot, in makitgg
Ehat dfeclaration, Dr. Dallas had surely commit

imse .

In that moment Mr. Richland had a grateful if
va no and incomplete comprehension of what wise
or erings are those of the inscrutable Providence
rulin all. Not many days since he had been in-.
cline to regret the chance that had resurrected to
knowledge his unknown and unsuspected father of ‘
Wilma who would claim her whenever found; it h
a selfls regret spri 'ng from his own warm affec-
tion for the girl, and is own intentions regardin the
future. Now with this atrocious attempt to a
base scandal ll)Ol'l them, the very fact which had
been a source 0 scarcely acknowledged dissatisfacr
tion would serve to refute it. What better testimony,
than that of Wilma’s father to offer against what? ,
ever cunningly—woven deceit Dr. Craven Dallas
mi ht have in readiness? He could almost smile in
an ici ation of the doctor’s entire defeat, but that
his in ignation was/too deeply touched to admit of
it. That same indignation was very dperceptibly re’
flected in his face turned coolly incre ulous upon the

other. .

“ You have been guil of attempting the  '
of subterfugas, one culated to inflict the very
deepest injury. 1 resume there can be no dou v.
of your mot ve, d the desire to extort money r
never led to a more villainous endeavor.
failed as it deserved to do. I hope it will
accessaryto you in yet more unmis

rms. v

   

“t be "
no ,
W

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guy
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e

A trust, such entire belief in t at thing which never
any existence, a woman’s good faith. You are
, not by any means alone in finding yourself a victim
Of ion and deep deception, Mr. Richland. I am not
1 @8138. ing from the truth in any single statement of
mine, as the result shall show——a result which I in-
to, and one I fancy you will even consider worth
Inoney to stop before the evening is over. Three
years before you fell in love with the present fair
mistress of this fair mansion, that interesting expe-
rience had its precedent in her life, and she was even
more eaSily wooed and won than in your subsequent
short and successful courtship. She was ma ed to
a Wild young military student, who called himself
Ra 0nd Le1 h. It was not his own name however,
bu that fact oes not affect the validity of the mar-
rlage. His real name was Bernhain. Ah, poss1bly
you may have received some hint which leaves my
Statement ah’ead seeming less absurd.”
The banker h given a great start, and his ruddy
ace turned pale. The eifect of that sallow, sneezing
Gountenance opposite, that quietly impreSSive yet
1Illockingly trium hant tone, and the sudden drag-
 forward of t is name i"hich had been associated
“7113 his own stron hold ( f defense combined, gave
him a start and a s unned sense of havmg lost some
lImportant art from his hitherto unshaken trust.
Dr. Dallas ad gained an advantage which he was

quick to follow u . _ .

‘They married in secret, and hved in secret for a
little time, but my old friend Gregory was more than
equal to the portion of caution exerCised by the
370qu peo le. He had intended his daughter for a
c0hvent litg, and it had been a clashing 0 two stron

is between them, and she had first resisted an

t en conquered in a way Matthew Gregory was apt

neither to forget nor forgive. He found them, and

6 found means to se arate them: what means, it is
safe to infer that no 'ving person very well knows.

Young Bernham's commisSion and orders came in

me to prevent an explanation and reconcdiation, if
8i1<:h might have been made and a few months later
0time the report of his death. She believed it you
can give your wife credit for that. Mr..Richland'
bill}, unfortunately for your case now, instead of

Ineeting questionable honor, death upon the. battle-
field, Lieutenant Bernham had thrown up his com-
mission, and taken himself to that Eldorado-zthe
mining districts of California. Life in_ the mines

as a. wonderful fascination with it, and it is not so

Strange that he stayed there quite as good as dead to

geeople here, so far as his own intervention was con‘
rned.”

Mr. Richland had listened with a dread and a sick.
e11mg fear weighing upon him. He would have hked
'0 throw the lie back in the man‘s face;' he_wanted

° Proclaim his own unshaken belief in his wife, and
he could onl sit wei hted down by that chilling ap;
Drehension, his gaze eld by the cold, crafty lights
of, the gray eyes turning the full of their mocking
trlllmph upon him now. With an effort he broke'the
89611 upon him and arose, a (figrple flush coming into
1115 face, and his voice soun ' g hoarse and unnat~
“1‘31 to his own cars.

It is a base fabriction, all of it. How dare you
at‘t‘empt to impose it upon me?”
t I have dared, more with less assurance before
his, Mr. Richland. Try me in regard to this if you
re. I am willing to substantiate my own state~
manta. If on doubt still, or if you wish further
a"Fourance, y all means let Mrs. Richland speak
for herself. I can bring a witness to prove the

9136 of her real husband a death—not a Willing wit-
ness, perhaps, but who will not dare to refuse his
tsetimony.’

Mr. Richland, his hand on the back of his chair,
st00d staring in a bewildered way upon Dr. Dallas,
easy and confident opposite. The date of her
’58: husband’s death; and if there were truth in
any of this miserable story he had been hearing, that
other husband was alive and expected every moment
t are in that very house. What horrible de uswn did
vi“! doctor labor under since he could render such a.
“Cd impression of it with all these contradictions
gslng to confuse. Mr. Richland could make nothing
if It. And while he stood, not speaking, the library

031‘ was thrown back. ‘

a Captain Bernham and Mr. Leiioirl” the footmsn
tfimounced, and ushered them in according to
begmorders which had been left with him an our

OThe banker turned his pale face, and Lenoir pressed

fiWard, with an exclamation of alarm.
R hat has happened, Mr. Richland? Are you ill?

“e on had an tidings?”
high: ichland, s aking off his bewilderment, gave
n hand with a negative to the questions, and ack-
e W edged an introduction to Ca tain Bernham, his
93138 Searching the still discipline face of the latter,
th noting his fine, soldierly form—surely a man in

“om he could repose a trust.

30 e seated, entlemen,” he said, in that voice
0 unding so unh e his own. “ You have come at an
OPDQrtune moment, most opportune since upon you,
naptain Bernham, rests the decision of an accusa—
té’n Which has proved to me startlin and incredible
bran extreme; an accusation made that person,
“8' Dallas. You, sir,”—-to the doctor—“ may explain

.1? on like."
at he doctor's sallow face had V8? slightly chan ed
1, ht of Cleiptain Bemham, but is eyes ad ta en
 eSgt eir sh' .in , uneas habit, and, self-acknowl-
i to edor othe the octor inwardlfi' uailed be«
’ l'nelzhat comman ng presence. Fora t at helost
E 8° 013 his cool iinpudence, which also mig t have
' j £l¥.fiingled with a dash of defiance. '

   

   

 

vs Just now made it my dutv to reveal to Mr.’

as is simply natural that it should. You, Captain
Be _ am, are a witness I should have been forced to
call upon sooner or later. You can not refuse to hear
me out in the assertion that the present Mrs. Rich-
land was truly Raymond Bernham’s wife, and that
Raymond Bernham’s death dates no further than
two years back. Mrs. Richland has never had a
legal claim u on the‘ title she wears; she is
Rafvn’rond Bern am’s WldOW, never Mr. Richland’s
W] e.

With a couple of long, swinging strides, Captain
Bernham stood by the doctor’s side. His sunbrowned
countenance was impenetrable as steel, but his eyes
flashed menace and warning down upon the banker’s
w§Ia§WS' king alt l”th ta'

on, you snea , p ry cur e cap in e ac
ulated, in the tense, low voice of restrained passion.
“You dare to bring such a false assertion to bear
against that lady! You, a cowardly assassin, a thief
in the night, a miserable hypocrite and sycophant,
too contemptible for notice except for the powers
you bring into action for the se of mischief-
making. Your charge against Irs. Richland is false
-false to the last degree. She was never my brother
Raymond’s wife.” _ ~

Dr. Dallas, cowering under the sup ressed vehe-
mence of word and look, raged nevert eless at this
open refutation of the cha e, to which he would
have sworn With the fullest be er of its truth, then
or at any preVious time. Dr. Dallas had made one
grand mistake in following the clew which had fallen
into his hands. He s rung u now placing the
chair between them, or that look blazing in the
other‘s eyes gave the doctor some chilling qualms of
distrust. '

“ I’d swear to the truth of it,” he asserted dog-
gedly, “ You know, Captain Bernham, an you

eny it because of the fortune in your possession
now which Will go to his daughter and hers, Wilma
Wilde. You know that you don’t dare brave out the
denial. You stole the certificate and the letters,
which would have been ample proof, that were left
in my care, but the ole yman who pronounced the
marriage ceremony is a ive yet, and other witnesses
may be found. You may not find it a light matter to
commit a theft and to intrigue in kee ing ossession
of an inheritance which is legally ano her s, Captain
Bernham.”

“Have a little care, Dr. Dallas. You hired assas-
sins to attack me for the purpose of recovering cer-
tain papers from my ossesswn, to which I fancy no
other person living as a better right. You failed
once but you worked more subtly and more suc-
cess ully another .time. I demand those papers back
from you, and for the sake of avoiding your equivo-
gfitions and subterfuges, name your own price for

em.

The banker, more than ever hopelessly bewildered,
more than ever weighed upon by that heavy dread
put back Lenoir, whose quick comprehenswn had
gras ed the vaguest idea of the truth and who
won (1 have interposed in aiding Captain ernhani to
screen the “Rose ” he had loved and who had died
to him seventeen years before. _

“Tell me, for the sake of heaven, what does this
mean? That man has declared Wilma to be my_own
wife’s child; on, Captain Bernham, have claimed
her as ’1 our hter. I implore you tell me the
truth! t is too to for evasions or subterfuges
now.”

The captain turned upon him like aflash, speaking
between close set teeth. _ .

“ If you have one conSideration for_ your wife, Mr.
Richland, do what you can to stop this matter here.
Leave me to deal with this fellow, whose motive may
be very readily understood. _Once more, Dr. Dallas
will you take the chance which is offered on, and
name our rice for those papers, and at t e same
time this M d surmise you have mistakenly derived
from them? You will never find a better chance of

makin terms.
“I to yothave no a is. You took very good
care to insure that, ap in Loiglh Bernham, but
ich you cannot

ou are apt to find greater odds w
fay hands upon before this afi’air is over. I’ll swear
to the truth of every Word I have _uttered and I’ll
prove it before I am through. Wilma W de shall
come in for all that is her due. And, by heaven! if
it is for no more than the leveling of all this iiiibend-
ing pride, and in return for the scorn With which she
has seen fit to to treat me before this, all .here shall
be convinced that Mrs. Richland has a difficulty _on
hand in the shape of a bigamy—that she had a liv-
ing husband when she became the recognized Wife
of Mr. Richland." I _ I

“ Put it strong, you charminle disinterested old
Bitter Herbs. Say at once, why on’t you, that the
husband of that time is livmg yet to_-day? Make the
scene effective, my dear doctor. Ring up the cur.
tain from the mysteries and call up the grand
tableau, but take some friendly adVIce along _Wlth
it, and accept the terms our friend the captain is so
liberal in offering.”

Another spectator whose presence had been passed
unobserved, advanced now With a careless nod to
the little group so worked upon by various stron
emotions. The reporter, coming close in the others
wake, had admitted himself, and waited, listening,
for a favorable o portunity to discover himself. “

“Make terms, %y all means,” Cra ton said. .I
would advise it on both sides. And, by- he-by, Ca tain
Bernham—speaking of papers reminds me~le. me
take the occasion to return the wallet, containi
somethin of the sort which you so kindly loan
me the o er‘night. it has served its age ad-
mirably but I have now no further use or it.

Captain Leigh . .
suspicious, doubtful glance. which was quite lost

1i
’ surface reflected under cold winter sunlighg

 

361?an received the wallet with a ,

stantly.
“I’ve another aper ma do a trifling service be-

fore following hose ” layton continued cobll .‘
“But t Dr. alias, disappointing thbugh it
must be after you have

. . gone so far into the facts of
the case, I am pontive t ere will be no ob ection to
having you retire. There isn‘t a doubt but t at either
Captain Bernham or Mr. Richland here will consult
wit you at some subsequent time regarding any
claims you may \Ylsh_ to present. Just now, an
trouble on your part might make the locality 
ily unhealt y for you. ' .burglar, nabbed and the.
lock-up now, is only waiting an opportunity to turn
state’s evidence, and, among other interesting items,
is one of an inst ation to plunder a gentleman,
which, supported y the evidence of t e captain
here, mi ht rove embarrassmg." ,

Dr. D as ad not accepted his defeat but he was
wise enough to see that his chance was lost fonthis
occasion. He took a silen eparture under the blaze
of Captain Bernham’s th atening eyes, and the re
porter, with a thin packet in his hand, dro ped his
careless unconcern as the door closed after
stood
seem
caring

ve, with a gloomy and what must ave
a reluctant look in any except that Wild, un
Bohemian, as he faced the waiting trio.

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
on AND on.

UP in Westmoreland the snow had fallen and lay
now in a white, unbroken sheet, with a tvt‘efindg
u
had drifted it in the hollows and against the fenties,
and a bank of it lay undisturbed under the windows

of the old Erie homestead.

A depressing stillness reigned throughout the
house. The scour e of the Village had seized upon
its benefactress. iss Erie was stricken down in the

midst of her usefulness suddenly; fatally the whisv ' '

er had ot abroad, and the grave appearance of
luff old r. Joy as he came and went gave no better .
assurance in answer to the general anxiety. The
little village had been stirred aside from ts own'
selfishness b the tidings, and in their own'humble
way these of n unghrateful recipients of Miss Erie’s
boun testified to t e better impulses her unweary/
ing e orts had aroused in them. Even those mourn~
inglover some loss in their own households felt that ,
a eavier loss was in store for them should the

watchfulness and care they had resented before this -  ,

be forever removed.

Wilma had scarer left her bedside for thirty-six I
hours, and now, as Dr. Jo was turning from his ‘
patient, he caught si ht of er ale cheek and heavy,
eyes. He beckoned er outsi e the room with/an
attemptto look stern, but succeeded better in look-

i anXious. . '

‘A pretty kettle of fish this. I’ve got u on my
hands, ’ he said blusterin l . “ Next we’ll fig have;
iiig you down along with t e rest. I suppose t ere’d
be no use ordering you ed to bed, the best place for ’.
you so do the next best thing and get out into this "

r sh, crisp air, for an hour at least. No, not one
word, and as you care to save yourself adeserved
beratin , don’t you dare to venture into one of those \

village ouses. There never was any sense in taking ,r: ,
a mite like you into those laces toget a philanthro- . -
pic heart-break over the s iftlessness of such misen “ . '

able beings. Be of! now, and see that you bring a 1
better color back with on.” -

The doctor watche her as she went out, hooded
and cloaked, a few minutes later, her step'listless, ‘

r her motion weary and relaxed. . _ s . F
“ That will never do," the doctor growled to him- ‘2

self. “An aimless walk in that frame of mind is
good as an invitation to the disease. She wants an
ob ect, and she shall have it, b Geor el”

le made a dash and overtoo her a the gate. ‘ 

“Here, Miss Wilma, make this walk of yoursof .‘
some account, can’t you? Go b
and take a message to my house eeper, if yOu’re at ‘
all inchned to be obliging. Tell her for me that I’ll'
not be home to-night, and she may
boy across to meet me at the village if I’m not home
by noon to-morrow.

“Not much danger of my housekee
sleep through anxiety for me," chuckled 1'. Joy, 85’
he turned back from the gateway. “ A stretch of
nervousness that would be which my cross-grained;
old Tabitha would scarcely be a t toindulge even;
Without her ex ierience of a roun dozen years in.
Ehe service of t iat slave of all times, a country dw *
or.” .

Trans arent though it ma have been Wilma re—
ceived t e messn e in the bes of faith. The doctor’s '
house stood a to 1 mile beyond the village, and the *'

sun far down in the west warned her to make haste   ‘

to accompilsh the long walk while daylight lasted.
She had delivered her errand, and was returning
more slow] as the evening set in. It was a sorrow-
ful heart ilma was carrying over the homeWard"
way. She had lost sight of her own troublesin a
great measure in the task which had engrossed

stroy the peace she would have found in this

here, but a new sorrow had arisen to suddenly do; ‘ - h". 3“

life. Her loving, clinging nature had gone’ out . 

to Miss Erie in even this short time. She had found
her an affable companion and a true friend an ,
glrefidy the tender tie between them was aim
ro en. »,
The sun was down, and broad. bands of {glow and
red_stretched across the western sky. A omotive
shrieked behind a belt of leafless tram and rushed
on around a curve into the village. Wilma, pausing "
to watch it. became aware. for the flrst time.- tha '

I ,
l

i

l I

 

mand'r
11

way of my house, I i
send my errand- u -‘ ,
i ' «

a .

r Closing  V

(1
08h ":

’!
‘I

 

i

-._‘ ‘ ..-

. - y. i; ' f)‘ moi ; -_  *3  '4, r I.  i' .13 I ‘ r, «t. '1;  ; I' R ' I .-. W
. . P ’ In 5  ~ } I."    ,fl _' V, I: ‘ 4 > . X _ 4_ “I ,.
\ , I | , I ‘ . r . ,  _ , l . I,
x . , , ,. i ,W» ILMA; W _ILDE. ,
There was menace in both .voice and face', which Richland the rather disappointing misapprehension upon the reporter, (veganed it with a quicksurve of ‘7
‘ ; Dallas did not fail to note, but thefact in no way under which'he has labored during the past fifteen its contents and th 8. rapid movement, be re ‘
. ; “gagged his complete serenity. , years. It has proved something 0 a shock to him, any one (Bound interfere. dropped it u on the burn- ,
‘ y the powers! it isa pi to mar such perfect ' 158‘ 00515. Where the 10030 Papers bed uP 111"

« l

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I.

.1] I

. 1.93 1
Us ,
Vii ., i
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 g, 28 '   ' 

 ' WILMA' WILDEI

 

; a figure followed her a woman cloaked and veiled,
 . who lingered as she 3 od there and followed ain,
F kee ' the same distance. She had taken ittle
k, , ‘ notice of the occurrence at first, but as she observed
- ‘ that whether she walked fast or slow the woman
,, Y ' following timed to her own pace, the fact fixed itself
v’ impressively upon her attention. She had reached
, ‘ the villa e, and a lance showed her that the at-
‘ tending s a was t ere still. Wilma stopped short
j ‘ then. vague/y uneasy, and waited, determined to let
; the vailed figure pass, and so rid herself of the dread
, ,. hich was stealing upon her. But the other also
w . tused, and after a moment’s hesitation turned and

1 r ' alked sWiftly away in another direction.

She had been gone full two hours before she reached
»  the old mansion a sin, and if she had _not_ im licitly
"n. - obeyed the doctors instructions in bringing ack a
. color inher cheeks, at least she had gained a firmer
elasticity of step had shaken off the worst of the

weariness which had weighed upon her. There was =

light glowing within the curtained windows .of the

gallon another one glimmering faintly above in Miss

rle‘s chamber. She went up the steps and let her—

self into the parlor. It was a large room“, and now

a cheerful blaze upon the hearth and a bright flame

from the chandelier left shadowed spaces, and I

Wilma coming from the dusk and chill without, into ,
the light and warmth, was not aware for a moment
“ that the room held another presence. From this

’ . lacein the shadow the former occupant watched :

r for a moment; the small face, with saddened

6 es, looking down into the fire, the soft, dark hair

clinging about the low wide forehead, and fallinnr in

' 'loose curls about the slender throat, just as he had

 her image potographed upon his mind, except that

‘ .‘ hehad oved to think of her with a happier look.

‘ ’ She was slow in glancing,
the floor at her side, t

 

around as a step crossed

V nking it only Dr. Joy, but
she did lance around at last. Glanced about to

find herse face to face with Erle Hetherville. For
a second her breath was stilled, her heart beat irre - .
lar and faint through the surprise of seeing him. e
‘ ex cted the meeting, and was greeting her
with a rother‘s affectionate kindness as she re-
covered from the faintness, which came and went
within a brief moment.
I / “ Wilma, dear child, knowin you were to be found
I ‘ here has lifted a dreary weig t from the minds of ,

fl A your friends. And yet you are scarcel looking 1

i ‘ well. 1 can understand that you, too, ave been
. « , worn and weighed upon.“

“And you—we were not e ecting you .before

V V " morning, or, at the earliest, the ate night train. Dr.

' ' Joy sent a tele ram only some three hours ago.

\liave you‘seen iss Erle? '

- “I received no telegram, and I have not et seen
( my aunt. She was asleep when Icame in rom the
depot, scarcely five minutes ago. I shall go to her ,
soon as she awakes, but first I have a. surprising
revelation to make to you Wilma."

, , A startled fear was in Wilma’s eyes rather than v
any wonder of qluestionin , afear which was not
realized in this de ivery of t e mission with which he
was charged. Her father alive and returned and
waiting to claim her, a father’s love longin for her,
abright future lying before her! Her fat er near ;
her even then, and awaiting only for the tidings to
be broken, keeping his own impatience in check, and
(seminal-Within the hour! That was the substance of
what 1e told her. as the stood there together, so 0
near yet so far a art, wit a painful remembrance
of their last spe ng together stirrin even under

half-terror at this revelation; the sad certaint
the chan e which was to come soon to Miss
But still t t haunting fear lingered, and she could
'not put it into words; and there was a subdued some- i
*t hismanner which was owing to more than i
. his own sorrowful anxiety. 1
 , Asthey stood talkiniaquietly Dorothy ap ,ared ‘
’ , ' ~ in the doorway to say t Miss Erle was awa e and
, , Ebro see other nephew. He leaned over
e bed, shocked to note the change in her in
this short time. She had lain in a stupor for the
most part of her two days‘ illness, the uncon-
scious uiet varied by flashes of raging fever, and oc-
casio lucid moments. She was conscious now
and weakly whispered her welcome to Erle.
' her extreme weakness and that strangerl fixed
‘ apathy which was baflling Dr. Joy's best ski . She
could say but little as he sat beside her holding one
' of her thin hands in his firm, tender c , but she
smiled u at him the infinite content whi his pres-
ence brought her. .
“ We hardl parted ri ht when I was here last,
"dear aunt Er e, ‘ he sai , holding her hand closer.
_ “I wantto tell you at once, if it will ive you 313'
 , ' ,added happiness that the old way is t 9 same sti .
 , I never broke with Ethel, and she has named New
,' ‘7 Year’s day for our wedding.” '
l ‘ Atroubled afression disturbed the serenity of
 - ' the wrinkled, an yet fair old face at that.
‘ ; - ‘ “ And is it truly for the best, Erle? I was wrong
, J ' ‘ then. I have chan ed since, but I knew it even then
, finder my own st' , bad pride. But I have realized
I . ,it bet since, since Wilma has been with me, and I
,2 . ' have] rned to love her, and to know how worthy
' she is of even you. If it could come to pass again,

It was

 

 *'=  Erichl would never utter one word to influence
*2 '  ‘\ on.
V  y “It would have been the same dear aunt. I was

, . bound to consult Ethel's wish an happiness first. I
' made my mistake in supposin she would meet me
, more nhalfway in cance the old bonds. I
shall not be unhappy with Ethe : I do tenderly and
dearly care for her.
It was the best assurance he had to ve her, and
Miss le. S e lay s
for what she had to as , an
slowly and a little broke .

 

 
  
  
 

, creature, whose childhood
: there sprung into quick realization all the powerful

i that long train of misery, and

th t 1 rise 119, M 11' he i where concealed in
the forceof e remu ous sum 7 e g 81:3 ' mm to haibmng it to you till the momma but I

fie. : moughtn‘t get away to fetch it then.

 

 
   

happiness, Erle. There is somethin more. I filled
out in Will that night, after you be
it rea y for a long time, but something always ke t
me back when I meant to ut in the name of i e
heir, to Sign and witness it. did it that night, but
now I want to have it changed. I must have it done
soon—directly l”

“If you mean that éviaou have left all away from
me so much the bet r. I have surely enough
rind you as surely have disposed more wisely o

“I have thought of that, and shall leave you only
some simple remembrance and my blessing, Erle. I
want to make a provision for Wilma.”

“ And even that need no longer trouble you. Wil-
ma is well provided for. If it is not distressing on to
hear me talk, let me tell you how.” He to d her
then, omitting all the (Painful details, of the great
good fortune which ha even then come to Wilma.

Even then, in the parlor below, Wilma had met
her father, and between the two, the strong, bearded
and bronzed, soldierly man and the slight little
had been so forlorn

strength which is ever reciprocate-d in the love of
parent and child. In the hours they were left alone
together Captain Bernham told to Wilma the whole
story of that early wedding, and of the rting, to
which he himself had so recently obtaine the key.
“ And now, my child, we must find the dear wan-
derer, upon whom we can Lever urge a claim. She
knew that the revelation was inevitably to come,
and she fled before it from her husband‘s home, let
me hope not entirely through fear of us. She be-

? lieved me false and dead, she believed our marriage

no marriage, and the child dead to her from its
birth, a wait of disgrace, and if power of mine can
eflect it she shall believe so still. She is the wife of
a noble, true-hearted man, one whom she has learned
to love and revere. She had su posed you the
daughter of my brother’s wife, w iom she thou ht
to be my wife, whose jealous delusion helped lea to
who died in forward~
ing a revenge upon her sup osed rival in Matthew
Gregory‘s house. But she news the truth at last,
she knows where to find you, and she is sure to
come here. She may be somewhere in the near
vicinity now.”

“ Do you know it was in the hope of sparing my
mother that I left them?" Wilma asked. “ My mo-

, therl And, oh! why did I not see beforel” with a

quick (‘a’tchinor of her breath as there rushed across
her a remem rance of that vailed,muflied figure
which had followed her.

“ My dau liter, what?"

“She is ere; she has been here, and she may

 fie gone before this. I know that it was my mother.
n

then Wilma related the occurrence of the even-
ingwhich had impressed her with such strange un-
easmess.

“And she may be gone before this,” said the cap-
tain, with a groan. “While we have been losing
tim Hark! there is some one asking for you.
Wilma.”

A ta at the door a moment later and its opening
verifle the accuracy of the captain’s sharp hearing.

3 A half- rown village lad stood there, a messenger

who ha come up at this late hour to make inquiry
after Miss Eric.

“I ha' got summat for you, miss,” explained this
a pearance, staring wide-eyed at the surroundings,
w ile his hand went in search of the pocket some-
ragged garments. “I wor-

I goes to the
quarry now that the old man‘s down. ”

“It was your mother who waited on Mrs. Brooke;
I remember now," Wilma said encouragingly, as

5 the boy’s embarrassment seem endent.

“Yes, miss and‘it’s from the one that‘s taken up
after her. There it is now, and the old woman says

she’d bet her eyes that this one’s a lady 'cause she
shows it and no showing off neither."

Wilma had got hold of the paper which he pro«
duced at last, and Dorochy summarily hustled the
lad away. The slip of paper which had come thus

rematurely was a fragmentary outburst, betraying

ow the burden of her anxiety had w’eighed upon
the writer.

“My owxi dear child—mine—I may call {on so in
this way now that I know the truth. had not
meant to reveal myself by so much as this, but you
also have known, and so near you it is taking all my
will to refrain from once seeing you, once taking
you to my heart; and I dare not so tem t my own
resolve. Icould not go quite away Without once
lookin upon your face again but when I followed
you this afternoon and thought on recognized me
—” There followed some ilegi le words. Then-—
“ Something stra e is comin over me, but I have
been without rest, have shu myself in an armor
for so long that now when I lay it down I am lost.
Pity {our mother, little Wilma; forgive her if you
fln t at which shall need forgiveness. As for me
I shall go on and on—”

Ailid there the writing ended in a broken, waver-

ine. ’

‘It alarms me," said Wilma, in quick, low tones,
looking with the apprehension she could not put in
words up into her ather's face.

“ We must 0 to her at once; you may save—Hes»
ven knows w at!"

But it seemed in the time after that that no earth-
ly power would suffice in bringin rel ef to the tem-
pest-tossed soul and worn-out dy whose poor
refuges in the cot e where so im ortant a
part been brought to ight of the grey. mistake
whichhad resulted in such manifold misery. She
was again the Rose of times pas always the strick«
enthdespairing Rose, weighted y her burden and
wl ut a. hope. 0n and on! She was surer some

I

w ‘-
n" if.

left me; I had .'

 

"in fla- :‘ .»

.____5-

CHAPTER 'xxvni. ‘
A HOLOCA‘UST.  I

THE banker sat before the fire in his own bed‘—.‘
chamber_ a bright dressing-robe contrasting With 1
the purplish pallor which had come into his hitherto
florid, contented face. It was the morning of t 6
second day after the bitter revelation of truth .
come to light, the morning of the second day 811109
the Wife who had been his pride had taken flight be”
fore the conse , uences of that revelation, and DOW
was the lack o trust in his generosity which linger
with him most. The blow had fallen in severe for“?e
upon Mr. Richland. He had given way before ity.
not so much with the yielding of a weak charactg‘g

 

 

as with the stun of a shock which had bewilder
and suspended the forces by which he had regula
his entire life, and failing now left him helplessas a
child at this emergency.

Ethel had just- left him for a moment, and in her
absence, Crayton, admitted below, made his way “3
to the banker‘s room unannounced. Mr. Richan
looked up with a start at seeing him.

“ Is there any news?” he asked, with the tremulolll
eagerness which fears disappointment. “ Have you
heard anything of her?”

Few looking into the banker’s changed, worn face
could have resisted a thrill of pity and sympathy.
and the, reporter’s, if concealed, was none the 1659
genuine.

“There is news, Mr. Richland; a telegram from
Captain Bernham. They have found her, as I W85
sure they would, u there in Westmoreland, where
theyhave gone. T cy have sent the word to haVe
you Jom them there.’

What was there in the reporter’s tone to strut0
such quick dread to the banker’s heart? Slow to
realize even the consequences which must come to
himself, the scandal of publicit which could 110
well be avoided now, the humi tion of that un‘
compromising Richland pride, the honor of t 9
name tarnishedhand through one he had trusted to
the uttermost, his perceptions were proving unusu ‘
1y quick in all concerning her.

“She has been _much troubled, the weight of 80
much dread hanging over her had worn her down'
She has been ill up there. Captain Bernham asks
you urgently to come at once, if gossible, and by
your resence stop the rumors whic may otherwise

et a oat. If you are able to go by the afternoon
rain so much the better.”

“Now—any time. Ill, and away from her owl1
home? My poor Gertrude!” - .

The banker had roused himself, speaking with
tremulous excitement, but with his voice breaqu
suddenly at the last. There was more u on
mind than he had yet riven utterance to. he sub‘
ject he had pondered t rough the long hours of the
night and day was struggling in his mind now. H
look fixed 11 on the reporter, and a confidence in
him which ad grown notwithstanding the pa
Cra on had taken in raking to light these long-0011‘
cea ed facts, prom ted him to speak.

“She has been lameless through all " he said-
“She is dearer to me than my own e, and 8139
never was mine. He was the husband of her youth,
the father of her child, and yet—oh my God! mm”
give her u ? I ask you to tell me, all truth and

honor, w at do you think will insure her future
ha piness best?”

here was a huskiness in the re orter’s voice
which he could not quite comman , a twitchin
about his mouth that betrayed the true man] fee '
in which had never been wholly lost under his W '
fu self-neglect.

“On my soul, I’m sorry for yo Mr. Richlan
but I do believe she has cared for him all alo .
do believe that the assurance she seemed to 3""
of his falsity would never have prevailed upon 119’
to enter upon a second marriage had she not
believed him dead. I think that since she disc?”
creel him yet alive she has suffered tortures whlch
neither you nor I can understand which would km
her or drive her mad to longer en ure.”

The banker wrung his hand, turnin his face away
to conceal the spasm which convulses .

_ “I believe you are right, Cra on. He is a noble
fellow, Ca tain Bernham, and etter suited, lovlllg
her as tru y as even I. I don’t think I can mist
my own duty now. Will you kindly let Ethel knoW
of this? ' She will go with me there, of course.”

.“Theie 15 another matter to be considered, M1"
Richlaiid, that of the mischief Dr. Dallas‘s malicious
tongue would do. I really believe it will be better
for allconcerned to bu im off; while the matter
must inevitably be ma e a nine da s’ wonder. a
least let it be resented in its truthf form, with 11"
misapprehension to reflect upon her. I am Willi!1
to undertake compromising with him, if you care W
leave the task to me.”

“I shall be glad to have you do so. I’ll give you
an order for any amount you like. Or, now I 1“
member there’s a pack 6 of bills in m escritoir0
there, which I intended or Ethel, if it enough“
Will you look?” ,

.Crayton got out the rod of bills under the other 5
direction, and ran over the amount.

“Enough in plenty, Mr. Richland. A thousan‘l
dolla and trust me that the old fox doesn't Be“
more t an half of it.”

He met Ethel on his way out, and stepped her 5"
deliver her brother‘s messaiein

“I could not quite give ' the full im “36350”.
1 derived from the tele am,” he said. “I ear sh”

imagine'

   
  
 

is much more seriously 11 than I led him to
It might be as well to repare his mind for an?“ /_
change before he sees er.” / . , ,‘

\ I

   

. '4 ,0, .
y.  f _'- . U . .r i

\ I

' WILM‘A' 'WILDE.‘ 7

v

. I. v . ‘i ' " :. '2, .. . >. »'
, 1  I I .. ,  r ‘ . _ .4 A
. ' . i .

 

    

,, "Peer Gertrudel” Ethel sighed, tears in her e es.
And to think we never knew the suffe

9 must have borne; so true, so noble at heart,
arlld believing she had been so wro ed' hiding her
Wound from that wron throu h t ese (years,
and filling her entire uty in he househol here
and to my brother, with her own assion never be-
mWed. Oh, it was hard, hard! 6 owe much to
you. Mr. Ora n, for discovering the truth which
my lighten er burden for many years."

Lord knows whether it has been productive of
80051 or harm,” said the re orter, loomily, "I
can t lay claim to any partic ar good intention in

'ng. the secret facts to light. There’s never
""10 good in anythin I’ve had a hand in, Miss
Ethel, and I followed t e clew I got of the story
11 about as little aim as I‘ve put into the rest of
my life. I had a curiosit to see where it mi ht lead

9 and if there was anyt ing better in my s are of
the affair, it was a vague ho e of sparing you some
3 00k and pain by forestalEng Dr. Dallas, who was
on the same track with a worse motive. You see you
have very little to thank me for."

Ora ton did not go directly to the old house on the
Meucliester road. It was near evenin t when 1123
er e

made his ap arance there, two hours _
seen the banieer and his sister aboard the train for
8 Westmoreland village.
The doctor met him in a sulkily defiant mood. He
, ad expected some overture before this time—some
attem t to make terms and to insure his silence, and
more than ever he had fixed himself in his resolve to
maintain the stand he had taken, to hurl all the
Orces of his maligni against the fair, proud
wOman whose unconcea ed scorn had made of him
a bitter enemy. Dr. Craven Dallas was eminent]
mercenary, but there was a venom in his col -
looded composition which could at times reach be-
yond his covetous impulses. In his assmn of that
night he had failed to comprehen Crayton’s de-
CIaration, which might have made clear to him
Own mistake. .
He was in his laboratory when the reporter let him-

self in with his usual lack of observln formalities.
1‘. Dallas met him with no very we leased ex-
Dression, but the reporter was there, an not to be

rebuffed.

“A rather bad habit that of leaving your front-
door unlocked," he said, coolly h_el as self to a
0 air. “Of course you are delig to have me

rep in unannounced, at any time, but you In ht
Chance to have some more unwelcomeyisitors. ou

8ave been very successful for a conSiderable time,

. Dallas, but mal-practice and extortion through

lackmail, and instigation to assault and robbery,
mig‘ht succeed in bringing you into even more dis-
afil‘ceable quarters than t ese. What a confounded
0_ or you keep here, by the way, and hot enough to
give a fellow a foretaste of what] he may expect at
he end of that th which sports good intentions in
place of a Nicho on pavement.” ”

“It might be made a short step between places,
t e doctor answered, grimly, With a_gla_nce at his
char furnace and a. mixture bubbhng in a vessel
Over it. v.

The reporter made known his business shortly,
With no useless superfluity of words. ‘

“You don’t deserve anything better for your in-
tfil'ference in the case than a trial on the charge of
a“lemming to extort money unlawfully, but of course
you know ourself secure so far as a complaint
from them concerned. 1 have been authorized to
atscertain what price will secure the silence of that
mischievous tongue of yours. ¥ou know me, Dr.

alias, and ou know I could easil bring testimony
to bear w ch might end by lodging you at the
State's ense for a respectable term of years.
Take my advice and name a reasonable price, and
V7881! gut hands of all things pertaining to the
1‘“31m m this time out.” _

“No argument and no offer of [yours could induce
me," the doctor answered as coo y. If on want
any result to offer in way of inter-Viewing, . Ora -
tion. take this: thatI mean to reassert my ri ht 0
command the actions of my ward _ when 6 is
brought to light; that she shall inherit the fortune
Whl is hers by right, and that the Richland pride
Shall be brough to a lower level. You have some-
thing to learn yet if you have never that
there is sometimes more satisfaction than money
gained in a grand stake of revenge."

“You are apt to find a small obstacle in the way
or your estimable purpose, however. The fact is,

on have most ously deluded yourself, Dr.

alias. You will n a difficult in assuming any
rights of guardianship to Miss ilde since she is at
' present under her own father’s pro tion. Acute
'18 you deserve to be rated, my dear_ doctor, I really
can not comprehend how on so blindly exchanged
the identities of the brot ers Bernham. Captain

ernham is fully qualified to hold his own against
eyen you, I imagine." ,

e as he might, Dr. Dallas found himself over-
reached, and the end was that. he took u With
Crayton’s offer, his ood faith being assured the
Close knowledge 0 certain transactions his
which the reporter held, to ther With a self-com
fiction that Captain Leigh ernham was not the
Person he might wish to provoke to further anger or
action.

It was not in the doctor's nature to accept a de-
feat quiet , and the bitter disappomtment of this
One must ave blinded him. He went back to his
mixture over the charcoal furnace as the re orter
left him. A shelf near was filled with bottes of
shapes. The supposition is that
the wrong one and added to his com-

Pound. .
Crayton, list deacon the steps, felt them rock
his set, and he , a. (1.11 explosion. Mrs.
ft. in the onnosite wins.

 

, y. . v . , I
, n.4, . . . ‘
._,, l t . . , y I (v ,I i . ,1
an. ~ ,- - u s. - . l~ .

 

 

was momentarilv

stunned. The reporter, rushing into burst open
the door of the laboratory, was met and driven back
by a sheet of flame. Out of the we as it was, and
its timbers inflammable [as tinder, t e old house on
the Manchester road was a holocaust which still
could never suffice for the miserfi bred within its
walls. From the still smoking as es was taken a
shapeless mass, which was 'ven a burial in that
same crowded, shadowed c urchyard where Mat-
thew Gregory had been laid.

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
AS rr was

Tm: last of the dreary November days had worn
away. December followed them and the new year
was ushered in.

Mellow lights lowed in the parlor of the old man-
sion up among t e Westmoreland hills. There have
been changes there since the eventful night of Wil-
ma‘s coming in from her walk to the doctor’s house.
An eventful night, and one when the saddening ele-
ment held its su remacy, for Miss Erle, holding fast
to her nephew‘s and, had passed from a light slum-
ber into a sleep which knows no waking, and at the
same time, in the little bare cottage in the Village,
the anxiety which had awakened in the hearts of the
watchers there was deepening, with how good cause

they afterward knew. . _

Miss Erie was laid to rest beSide her kindred, in a

uiet s 0t there amon her native hills, followed by
t e vi ers, who, failing to appreciate all she had
been to t em in life came to a recognition of the
full measure of their loss with her death. Another
funeral cortege at a later date, an imposing proces-
sion, went out from the Western avenue mansion,
where the marble remains of that dearly loved wife
of two husbands had been conveyed. A white
tapering shaft in the Allegheny cemetery marks her

rave, and the world is none the wiser for the pain-
§ul drama of her life.

It is Ethel who sits in the parlor of the old house
up in Westmoreland, this evening of the early new
ma Miss Erie’s will, which was never changed,

left the bulk of her property to Ethel. BeSides
there had been some charity bequests. and Erie
would not hear to the renunciation which Ethel
urged. The house in the city was unbearable with a
sorrowful reminder at every turn; and it was Ethel
herself who had proposed returning here. Ca tain
Bernham and Wilma were here as well, at Mr. ich-
land’s urgent solicitation. Their mutual grief had
resulted in knitting those four more close! than
‘tihe brightest prosperous friendships ever cou d have

one.

Erie had gone back to Hetherlands, and despite
his sincere mourning for his aunt, he was lighter-
hearted on his journey than he had been for weeks
before. The cause of it had come about most unex-
pectedly to himself. He had gone into Ethel’s pres-
ence one day, as the holidays were drawing close at

him not shl'mklng from the duty which rom ted
him but with a depression which reveal to 'm-
self how futile had been his effort to return the full

ardor of his wandering devotion to the allegiance
where, in all honor, it should belong. The trousseau
had arrived and been packed away fnom sight, in
those darker days, and no reference made to their
previous plans, until Erle broke the subject, a trifle
abruptly, on that occasion.

“ has come to a time when I must speak to you
regarding our marriage, Ethel, ” he had said. “ I leave
it entirely to your decision if any chan e shall oc-
cur in our plans. It seems ill-advised to e speaking
of this so soon after the sorrow which has come to
us both, but ours has been a quiet, long-standing be-
trothal and I think it is your brother’s wish that
there shall be little as ossible deviation from our
first arrangement. It is my desire as well; and if
you also agree, we will still be married plainly and
privately, upon New Year’s Day.”

There was a troubled li ht in the soft. hazel eyes
as Ethel heard him, but t e pure fair face was quiet
in its resolve.

“There must be a change in our plans, Erie—one
of which I have been wishing yet dreading to
speak to you. I scamer know how to tell you, even
now. This great grief of Gertrude’s death, and the
knowledge of all she had home, has shocked me to
a comprehension of the great wrong I might have
done us both. do not love you with the love I
should hope to bear my husband, Erie; I know now
that I never can. I would be doing a great wrong to
marry you at all. ' Howard is needing me, too, and
my duty, the gratitude and love I owe him in return
for long years of watchful tenderness, is to devote
m self to him from this time forth.

rle made a remonstrance pleaded strongly even
while his heart beat quick at thought of regained
freedom; but Ethel remained firm. And so, at last
he had accepted his dismifial at her hands, an
gone back to Hetherlands. e had spoken no word
to Wilma. She was sodeeply under the cloud yet,
of the sorrow which had come upon her; her first
duty was owing 3'9? to ill" F‘ll her. who fUl' so 1011:: a
time had been bereft of wife and child. He could
be content, he thought wuh this measure of ii ht-
heartedness which ad come to him—contente to
wait a fitting time to tell his love again to Wilma.

Ethel, sitting alone, the firelight p over the
somber mourning ss 5 e wears, e low from
the chandelier. hting the bri ht hair an the pearl-
like face, is thin  bu not gloomin of the
many changes. There w be still another one when
spring 0 us. They have made all calculations for
a trans- _ tlantlc journey—her brother, Captain Bern-
ham, ilma an herself. Her brother’s f '
health is the first object romptlng) the move and
will better for alli of h m to e remogeil from
the sociations of these familiar scenes. I e isreg

 

 

“Mr. Hetherville, for shame! Let me go!" , “.1
“You shall never, never go " he answered her,‘l., 

“ never until you have romised to be my own i“. In,“

, loved, cherished wife. I out exact any promise of _ t

calling some vague reminiscence of that other Eu- .
ropean tour, her brother’s wedding-tour, whm she.
was a very little child, as the door opens and she
looks up and rises With a slight cry, as, with quick
step there advances to meet her—Justin Lenoir;
She has thought him gone to his new field of action
before this and his sudden appearance is a surprise
from which she does not recover at once. There is
something which is not embarrassment, but an ea-
ger excuement ke t down as he holds her hand for .
a moment and u tors those commonplaces which . ’~
people always use in greeting. She remarks her .
surprise and wonder, an he answers her. His book!'
has delayed him. It is just out now and he has hisu’
first assurance of its success. She 5 always been i
sure that it would succeed, and sa s so now, and it
is a truth that he finds asmuch dehght in her sim le \
faith as with the favorable reviews with which a
critics have seen fit to r ve it. y '
“ I shall be ready to go within another week," he 4,
said; “ and this encouragement I have met has ' ‘
sulted in placing me bet r even than 1 ho ed fort
the new work I am to take up. I should ave gone . ‘
without seeingmgou again except for a recent chance
meeting with . Hetherville. (That chance meet-
_ had cost Erie more trouble and maneuverin th
eit er of them was ever to know.) Oh, Ethel, filthgfi
I know that on are free of your own accord, and I
dare to pl for mlyself what your heart withheld
from him. I have oved you since we first met, 11
in the mountains, and I never could school mysc
uite to be reconciled at tho ht of ever losing you. ‘J
is asking much now and o ering so little exce t K i
my love, but if on can trust to that I shall _be t e v
most blessed 0 men; I shall strive to gain much for
your sake as I never could have striven alone for

in own advancement." .
thel, finding her hand clasped in his ain, say-
ing not a word, did not resist when he rew her . I :1

blushing, happy face down to his shoulder.
“My arling, my darling!” he repeated, accepting ‘ _
all that the concession from her meant. “M only i i
love, and you were my love at first sight. (1 you

know that, Ethel? Tell me, my own, when did you

know first t on could care like this for me?"

“When I e you first, ale and worn by over-
work, last summer among t e mountains," she an- “1
swere'd .truthf y. t 5'

Mr. Richland was less surprised than Ethel had
expected he would be when the announcement of
this result was made known to him. The old pride, ’ ‘.
which had always been his worst fault, had been ~ ’ 
humbled. In its place had come a softer, better ' -
sentiment, which shone pro-eminently bright at
what might have been a httle 1i eri , concealed
giisaippomtigept liohimh (lever:1 rifw. at «in had had I I

sesson, ilerv ar an ewasnot cking ‘;
ap roval of Ethel’s choice. in . “K ‘

he marriage .was fixed'to take place in early ‘
sprmg 'and the time between seemingly flew away
upon lightning Wings. Lenoir was assured of ob-
taining leave of absence from his new situation,
which be retained at his own and Ethel’s desire, '
notwithstanding Mr. Richland‘s urgent representa- -
tion that such a course was unnecessary, since Ethel / ‘ 1
33d Eithtel’tstllliusband should share email; of his, 

un y, u eyoung ewere ocllning 
his nerosity. peOpl '

‘f ustin has his own way to work out," Ethel '
said. with a. glance which showed how entire her ' " ‘
belief was that he would make it. “You must not ‘
s :1 his chances by depriving him of achlef licenw
tfi‘léwvfl‘had be hanged nly ’ ‘

e p 3 one o thisfarthat ‘ 
Ethel should return with her husband after a'bnef » in
two mgnth leavingflthe regughigtliler of the tourist“ 1'
party own me an own easure‘ ’
hist othertcsdgg of the 03415? pl ‘ on

was every e marriage. An invitation,
was dispatched to Eric to be present u n the ’ ' “
occatzion,  a hflszéiozendhecaui: after t 9 letter . is
con ning n m e cam 
them unexpectedly—almost. e in ma "

“Yousee the ower of attractionwas too stron < ~' .V':
for me," he declgred, la hingli; and than ,1, . ~ . ,. -;
mghwll‘eyal pleasure the t‘ilgings 0 had c on " ,“e

Later that same day he succeeded in fl  i. .3
Wilma alone, and before she could even was 
his intention hehad caught the slender little form .r »
closein his am his rippling golden beard awe t ' “.
across her dusky ir, an hisbold, blue eyes 100%. . * '
ing degvpalppon her caused her own shy, soft, dark ' ,, .~,i
ones v . ‘ 

your loving me," he laughed. “I am ve sure of: r ',
that already. Guileless little heart, it coul not con- ’ - -
ceal the truth from me. I have your father’s con‘
sent Wilma. M own little love! Can ybu andwill ' ' .
yoube ha pywi h me?" , ' 
“ Dear rle. so ha py that I am frightened.“ t 1" '
There was a doub e wedding. of course. amt-on
was there and ate of the cake, and drank the health ' *3" ~
of the two young mm and was the wild reckless '~  .‘
Bohemian even un er his forced good‘ behavior of * "
the day. He is that still one of those talented men
of flood impulses and bad habits, who with versatile
ab ty Will never achieve apoint inlife. As such,
let us leave him, for there are sure to come darker .
hours and worse recklessness before he is done with
life‘in the true Bohemian way.

   

 

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DIME NOVELS.

Incomparable in Merit.
Unapproachable in Price.

 

338. Tahle, the Trailer. 449. The Traitor Spy.
389. The Boy Chief. 450. The Gray Hunter.
340. Tim, the Trailer. 451. Little Moccasin.

452. The White Hermit.

. Ax.
. Stella, the S y. 453. The Island Bride.

The White venger. 454. The Forest Princess.
. The Indian King. 455. The Trail Hunters.
. The Long Trail. 456. Backwoods Banditti.
. Kirk the Guide. 457. Ruby Roland.
. The Phantom Trail. 458. Laughing Eyes.
348. The Apache Guide. 459. Mohegan Maiden.
. The Mad Miner. 460. The Quaker Scout..
. Keen Eye, theRanger 461. Sumter’s Scouts.
Blue Belt, Guide. 462. The Five Chain ions.
. On the Trail. 463. The Two Guar s.
. The SpecterS y. 464. Quindaro.
. Old Bald H . 465. Rob Ruskin.
. Red Knife Chief. 466. The Rival Rovers.
. Sib Cone, Trapper. 467. Ned Starlin .
. The Bear Hunter. 468. Single Han‘.
. Bashful Bill Spy. 469. Tippy, the Texan.
. The White Chief. 470. Youn Mustan er.
. Cortina, Scourge. 471. The unted Li e.
. The Squaw Spy. 472. The Buffalo Trapper.
. Scout of ’76. 473. Old Zip.
. S anish Jack. 474. Foghorn Phil.
asked Spy. 475. Mossfoot, the Brave.
365. Kirke, Rene ade. 476. Snow-Bird. '
866. Dingle, the utlaw. 477. The Dragoon’s Bride
. The Green Ranger. 478. Old Honesty.

479. Bald Eagle.

480. The Black Princess.
481. The White Brave.
482 Riflemen of the Miami
483. The Moose Hunter.
484. The Brigantine.

485. Put. Pomfret’s Ward.
486. Sim le Phil.

368. Montbars, Scourge.
. Metamora.

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. Foul-weather Jack.
. The Black Rider.

. The Helpless Hand.
374. The Lake Ra ers.

. Alone on the aims.

. Phantom Horseman. 487. Jo aviess’ Client.
. Winona. 488. Ruth Harland.

_ 878. Silent Shot, Sla er. 489. The Gulch Miners.

‘ 379. The Phantom hip. 490. Captain Molly.
I380..The Red Rider. 491. Win enund.
 TheGrizzl -Hunters. 492. The artisan Spy.

w . he Mad ne'er. 493. The Peon Prince.
383. The Specter Skipper. 494. The Sea Captain.
 The Red 00 ote. 495 Graybeard

I . 385. The Hunch ack. 496 The Border Rivals.
386. The Black Wizard. 497 The Unknown

" 387.. The Mad Horseman. 498. Sagamore of Saco.

_ 88. The Privateer’sBride 499 The King’s Man

. . 9. The Jaguar Queen. 500 Afloat and Ashore

. , . Shadow Jack. 501 The Wron Man.
391. Eagle Plume. erso Mohawk
392. The Ocean Outlaw. 503. Dou 1e Hero.

- 393. Red Slayer. 504. Alice Wilde.

894. The Phantom Foe. 505. Ruth Margerie.

, 895‘. The Blue Anchor. 506. Privateer’s Cruise.
396. Red-Skin’s Pled e. 507. The Indian Queen.

' 397. The adroon py. 508. The Wrecker’s Prize.
398. The lack Rover. 509. The Slave Sculptor.
899. Red-Belt. 510. The Backwoods Bride
400.\The Two Trails. 511. Chip, the Cave Child.
401. The Ice Fiend. 512. Bill Biddon.Tra per.
402 The Red Prince.

4032 The First Trail.
404. Sheet-Anchor Tom.
405. Old Avoirdupois.

_ 516.. The Forest Spy.
. 406. .White Gladiator.

517. Graylock, the Guide.

.407. Blue Clipper. 518. Off and On.
408. Red Dan. 519. Seth Jones.
409. The Fire-Eater. 520. Emerald Necklace.
519. Blackhawk. 521. Malaeska.
411., The Lost Ship. 522. Burt Bunker.
12. Black Arrow. 523. Pale—Face Squaw.
White Se ent. . 524. Winifred Winthrop.
I I 14. The Lost aptain. 525. Wrecker’s Daughter.
:7 15. The Twm Trailers. 526. Hearts Forever.
' I 416, Death’s-head Ranger 527. The Frontier Angel.
r 417. Captain of Captains. 528. Florida. A
f .418. Warrior Princess. 529. The Maid of Esopus.
419. The Blue Band. 530. Ahmo’s Plot.
420. The new Chief. 531. The Water Wait.
~ .421. The ‘ g Scout. 532: The Hunter’s Cabin.
 Sonora Ben. 533. Hates and Loves.

534. Oonomoo, the Huron

' 424. Mountain 61 . 535. White-Faced Pacer.
425 Death Trailer.  Wetzel, the Scout.
 Crested Serpent. 537. The Quakeress Spy.

,1 427. Arkansas Kit. 538. Vaii‘ed Benefactress.

, 428’. The Corsair Prince. 539. Uncle Ezekiel.

429. Ethan Allen’s Rifles. 540. Westward Bound.

 Little Thunderbolt. 541. Wild Raven, Ranger.

, 431. The Falcon Rover. 542. Agnes Falk.and.

43.2; Honest Hand. 543. Nathan Todd.
433. The Stone Chief. 544. Myrtle, the Child of
434. The Gold Demon. the Forest.
. I 435! Eutawan the Slayer 545. Lightning Jo.
 inde- 546. The Blacksmith of
.437. e Conspirators. Antweipl.
. wxftwin . 547. Mad e lde.

548. The reo e Sisters.

549. Star Eyes.

550. Myra, the Child of
Ado Lion.

p.

is

_  .The Black 
442. The Doome unter.

 

443. Burden, the Ranger. 551. Haw eye Harry.
. 444. The ray Scalp. 552. Dead S ot.
445.2113 eddler Spy. 553. The Boy Miners.
 446. e 'te Canoe. 554. Blue Dick.
447. hPeters. 1 - _ 555. Nat Wolfe.
o Hunters.

556. \The White Tracker.

I

 

 

. The Outlaw’s Wife.
. The Tall Trapper.

. The Island Pirate.

. The Boy Ranger.

. Bess, the Trapper.
. The French Spy.

 

 

 Beadle/8; “Adams, Standard Dimel’ublications‘,

563. Long Shot.

564. Gunmaker of Border
565. Red Hand.

566.‘Ben, the Tra r.
567. The Specter ief.

Others in Press.

THE ILLUMINATED DIME

POCKET

The B‘ar~Killer.
Wild Nat.

. Indian Jo, the Guide.
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One-E ed Trapper.

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. The Scout.

p.

Eagle Eye.

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. The Golden Harpoon.
. The Scalp King.

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. Rainbolt, the Ranger.
. The Boy Pioneer.

. Carson, the Guide.

38. The Heart-Eater.

. The Huge Hunter.
. Wild Nat, the Trapper
42. 'hvnx-ca .

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48. The Phantom Tracker

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68. Iron-
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Ham.

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73. The Skeleton Scout.

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5.5%

77. The Scarlet Sho

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r

Death Dea e .

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S cter Horseman.

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The Hunter Hercules.

.Phil Hunter.

The Indian Scout,
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Tom Pintle. the Pilot.

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9 . The Rival Trappers.
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. Dusky

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Colonel Crockett.

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02. Wild Rube.

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Job Dean. ..

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112. The Cro'Ssed
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exas Ti er:
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. Two-Handed Mat.

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. Giant Pete.“ ,

 

 

NOVELS.

1.25
126.
127.

128.’
129.
130.
131.

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Yankee Ep .
Silverspur.
Squatter Dick.
The Child Spy.
Mink Coat.

Red Plume.

. Clyde, the Trailer.
. The Lost Cache.

. The Cannibal Chief.
. Karaibo.

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. Maido the Mountain.
. The Scioto Scouts

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. The Mute Chief.

. Boone, the Hunter.

. Mountain Kate.

. 'l‘thod Scalper.

. The Lone Chief.

. The Silver Bugle.

. Chin athe Cheyenne
. The
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. The Lone Indian.

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. Billy Bowleiés.

. The Valley cout.

. Red Jacket.

. The Jungle Scout.

. The Cherokee Chief.
. The Bandit Hermit.
. The Patriot Scouts.

. The Wood Rangers.

angled Trail.

. The Red Foe.

. Beautiful Unknown.
'. Canebrake Mose.

. Hank, the Guide.

. The Border Scout.

. Wild Nat.

. Maid of Wyoming.

. The Three Ca tives.

The Lost Hun r.
Border Law.

. The Lifted Trail.

. The Trader Spy.

. The Forest S ecter.
. The Border oes.

. Border Vengeance.

. Border Bessie.

. The Sons of Liberty.
77. The Lost Bride.

. Keetsea.

. The Tonkawa Spy.

. The Prairie Scourge.
. Red Li htning.

. Brave
. Night-Hawk Kit.
. Mustang Sam.

. Hurricane Bill.

. The Red Out‘cw.
. The Swamp

. The Shawnee ., -‘oe.
. Mohawk Nat.

. Old Jupe.

eart.

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The Prairie Rifles.

. Old Kyle. the Trailer.
. Big Foot, the Guide.
. The Red Brotherhood

The Man in Green.
Glass Eye.

The Prairie Trappers
Black John.

Keen Knife.

The Mad Ski per.
The Young py.

The Indian Avenger.
Rival Lieutenants.
The Swamp Rifles.
The Balloon Scouts.
Dacotah Scourge.
The Twin Scouts.
Buckskin Bill.
Border Avengers.
Tim Bumble‘s Charge
The Shawnee Scout.
The Silent Slayer.
The Prairie Queen.
The Backwoodsmen.
The Prisoner of La.
Vintresse.

Peleg Smith.

The Witch of the
Wallowish. .

The Prairie Pirates.
The Hussar Captain.
The Red Spy.

Dick Darling.
Mustang Hunters.
Guilty or Not Guilty.
The Outlaw Ranger.
Schuylkill Rangers.
. 0n the Deep. (

\

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BEADLE & ADA

227.“ lrona.

228. The Mountaineer.
229. The Hunter's Escape
230. The Golden Belt.

242. Dashin Dragoons.
243. Will-oh he-Wisp.
244. Dashing Dick. ,
245. Old Crossfire.

  

231. The Swamp Riders. 246. Ben Bramble.
232. J abez Hawk. 247. The Brigand Captain
233. Massasoit‘s Daughter 248. Old Strategy.

2‘34. The Mad Hunter. 249.. Gray Hair, the Chief.

 

235. The Reefer of ’76. 250. The Prairie Tigers.
236. Antelope Abe. 251. The Rival Hunters.
‘ 237. The Hunter’s Vow. 252. The Texan Scout.
238. The Hunter’sPledge. 253. Zebra Zack.
239. Rattlepate. 254. Masked Messen er. '
240. The Pijairie Bride. 255. Brethren of the oast
241. Old Grizzly. 256. The Boy Spy.
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8. Patriotic Speaker. 15. Komikal Speaker. .
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5. Elocutionist. 17. E10 uent eaker.
6. Humorous Speaker. 18. Hai Colum ia Speak-
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8. Stump Speaker. 19. Serio-Comic Speaker.
9. Juvenile Speaker. 20. Select S eaker.
10. Spread-Eagle Speaker 21. Funny peaker.
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These books are re lete with choice pieces for the
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The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages. em
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Dialogues No. One. Dialogues No. Sixteen.
Dialogues No. Two. Dialogues No. Seventeen.
Dialogues No. Three. Dialogues No. Eighteen.
Dialogues No. Four. 'Dialogues No. Nineteen.
Dialogues No. Five. Dialogues No. Twenty.

Dialogues No. Six. [Dialogues No. Twentyrone.

Dialogues N 0. Seven. Dialogues No. Twenty-two.
Dialogues N0. Eight. Dialogues No. Twenty-three.
Dialogues No. Nine. lDialogues No. Twenty-four.
Dialogues No. Ten. lDialogues No. Twenty-five.
Dialogues No. Eleven. lDialogues No. Twenty-six.
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1
I

 

 

l Adventures of Buffalo Bill. From Boy-
hood to Manhood. Deeds of Daring and Roman-
tic Incidents in the early life of William F. Cody.
By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.

2 The Ocean Hunters; or, The Chase of
Leviathan. A Romance of Perilous Adven-
ture. By Captain Mayne Reid.

WAN. Extra Large Number.‘@

3 Adventures of Wild Bill, the Pistol
Prince. Remarkable career of J. B. Hikok,
(known to the world as “ Wild Bill,”) giving the
true story of his adventures and acts. By Col.
Prentiss Ingraham.

4 The Prairie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle
Herders. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

5 Texas Jack, the lVIustaug King. Thrill-
ing Adventures in the Life of J. B. Omohundro,
“ Texas Jack.” By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

6 Cruise of the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys
in Ceylon. By C. Dunning Clark.

‘7 Roving Joe : The History of a. Young “ Bor-
der Ruffian.” Brief Scenes from the Life of
Joseph E. Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post.

8 The Flyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys
’Round the World. By C. Dunning Clark.

9 Bruin Adalns, 01d Grizzly Adams’
Boy Pard. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

10 The Snow-Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of
Fur-Land. By T. C. Harbaugh.

11 Old Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tamer;
or, The Monarch of the Mountain. By Dr.
Frank Powell.

12 Woods and Waters; or, The Exploits of
the Littleton Gun Club. By Capt. F. Whittaker.

13 A Rolling Stone : Incidents in the Career
on Sea and Land as Boy and Man of Colonel
Prentiss Ingraham. By Prof. Wm. R. Eyster.

14 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur
Hunters on the Buii‘alo Range. By
011 Coomes.

15 Kit Carson, King of the Guides; or
Mountain Paths and Prairie Trails. By A. W.
Aiken. ‘

16 Red River Rovers; or, Life and Adven-
tures in the Northwest. By C. Dunning Clark.

17 Plaza and Plain; or, Wild Adventures of
“Buckskin Sam,” (Major Sam S. Hall.) By
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

‘8 Rifle and Revolver; or, The Littleton
Gun Club on the Bufialo Range. By Captain
Frederick Whittaker.

19 Wide-Awake George, The Boy Pioneer;
0!, Life in 3. Log Cabin. Incidents and Adven-
tures in the Backwoods. By Edward Willett.

0 The Dashing Dragoon; or, The Story of
General George A. Custer, from West Pointto
the Big Horn. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

21 Deadwood Dick as a Boy; or, Why
Wild Ned Harris, the N ew-England Farm-lad, be-
came the Western Prince of the Road. By Ed-
ward L. Wheeler.

2 The Boy Exiles of Siberia; or, The

~ Watch-Dog of Russia. By T. C. Harbaugh.

23 Paul De Lacy, The French Beast Charmer;
01‘, New York Boys in the Jungles. A Story of
Adventure, Peril and Sport in Africa. By C.
Dunning Clark.

24 The Sword Prince : The Romantic Life

' 0f Colonel Monstery, (American Champion-at-

a'I'Ins.) By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

I{ound the Camp Fire; or, Snow-Bound

at "Freeze-out Camp.” By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

sllovv-Shoe Tom; or, New York Boys in
the Wilderness. A Narrative of Sport and Peril
in Maine. By T. C. Harbaugh.

Yellow Hair, the Boy Chief of the

I’awnees. The Adventurous Career of Eddie

Burgess of Nebraska. By Colonel Prentiss In-

21 graham.

8 The Chase of the Great White Stag

26

'27

 C 9'“! Camp and Canoe. By C. Dunning

  
 

*    

 

29 The Fortune-Hunter; or, Roving Joe

as Miner, Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter. By
A. H. Post.
30 ‘Valt Ferguson’s Cruise. ATale of the

Antarctic Sea. By C. Dunning Clark.

31 The Boy Crusader; or, How a Page and a
Fool Saved a King. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

32 “flute Beaver, the Indian Medicine
Chief; or, The Romantic and Adventurous
Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell. By Col. Ingraham.

33 Captain Ralph, the Young Explorer; or,
The Centipede Among the Floes. By C. Dunning
Clark.

34 The Young Bear Hunters. A Story of
the Haps and Mishaps of a Party of Boys in
the Wilds of Northern Michigan. By Morris
Redwing.

35 The Lost Boy Whalers; or, In the Shadow
of the North Pole. By T. C. Harbaugh.

36 Smart Sim, the Lad with a Level Head.
By Edward Willett.

37 Old Tar Knuckle and His Boy Chums; or,
The Monsters of the Esquimaux Border. By
Roger Sta rbuck.

38 The Settler’s Son; or, Adventures in the
Wilderness and Clearing. By Edward S. Ellis.

39 Night-Hawk George, and His Daring
Deeds and Adventures in the Wilds of the South
and West. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

40 The Ice Elephant; or, The Castaways of
the Lone Coast. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

41 The Pampas Hunters; or, New York
Boys in Buenos Ayres. By T. C. Harbaugh.

42 The Young Land-Lubber; or, Prince
Porter’s First Cruise. By C. Dunning Clark.
43 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince. By Col.

Prentiss Ingraham.

44 The Snoxv Hunters; or, Winter in the
Woods. By Barry De Forest.

45 Jack, Harry and Tom. The Three
Champion Brothers; or, Adventures of Three
Brave Boys with the Tattooed Pirate. By Capt.
Frederick Whittaker.

46 The Condor Killers; or, Wild Adventures
at the Equator. By T. C. Harbaugh.

47 The Boy Coral-Fishers; or, The Sea-
Cavern Scourge. By Roger Starbuck.

48 Dick, the Stowawa ; or, A Yankee Boy’s
Strange Cruise. By Char es Morris.

49 Tip Tressell, the Floater; or, Fortunes and
Misfortunes on the Mississippi. By Edward
Willett.

50 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska
Charlie, (Charles E. Burgess.) By Colonel
Prentiss Ingraham.

51 The Colorado Boys; or, Life on an Indigo
Plantation. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

52 Honest Harry; or, The Country Boy Adrift
in the City. By Charles Morris.

53 The Boy Detectives; or, The Young Cali-
fornians in Shanghai. By T. C. Harbaugh.

54 California Joe, The Mysterious Plainsman.
By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. '

55 Harry Somers, The Sailor-Boy Magician.
By S. W. Pearce.

56 Nobody9s Boys; or, Life Am0ng the Gipsies-
By J. M. Hoffman.

57 The Menagerie Hunter; or, Fanny Ho-
bart, the Animal Queen. By Major H. Grenville.

58 Lame Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mines; or,
Life Among the Black Diamonds. By Charles
Morris.

59 Lud Lionhecls, the Young Tiger Fighter.
By Roger Starbuck.

60 The Young Trail Hunters; or, New
York Boys in Grizzly Land. By T. C. Harbaugh.

61 The Young Mustangers. ByC. D. Clark.

62 The Tiger Hunters ; or, The Colorado Boys
in Tiger-Land. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. ’

!.’ /_ .
‘I'. 21’3‘,‘

 

63 The Adventurous Life of Captain
Jack, the Border Boy.
the Poet Scout.) By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

64 The Young Moose-Hunters; or, Tran
and Camp-fire in the New Brunswick Woods. BK
Wm. H. Manning. ‘ .

65 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker; or, . ”

Two Brave Boys to the Rescue.
Starbuck.

66 Little Dan Books; or, The Mountain Kid’s
Mission. By Morris Redwing.

67 ’Longshore Lije; or, How a Rough Boy
Won His Way. By C. Dunning Clark.

68 Flatboat Fred; or, The Voyage of the “ Ext»
periment.” By Edward Willett.

69 The Deer-Hunters; or, Life in the Ottawa.
Country. By John J. Marshall.

70 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle of the Plains;
or, The Boy Trappers of Oregon. By Roger
Starbuck.

By Roger

71 The Boy Pilot; or, The ISland Wreckers.

By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ,
’72 Young Dick Talbot. By Albert W. Aiken
73 Pat Mulloney’s Adventures; or, Silver
Tongue, the Dacotah Queen. By C. L. Edwards.
’74 The Desert Rover; or. Stowaway Dick
Among the Arabs. By Charles Morris. ‘

.7 5 The Border Gunmaker; or, The Hunted

Maiden. By James L. Bowen. ,
’76 The Kit Carson Club; or, Young Hawk-l
eyes in the Northwest. By T. C. Harbaugh. ‘

77 Left-Handed Pete, the Double-Knife. 
Jos. E. Badger, Jr. , r

78 The Boy Prospector; or, The Scout of the y‘

Gold Ravine. By Roger Starbuck.

'79 Minonee, the Wood Witch; or, the Squatter’s,

Secret. By Edwin Emerson.

80 The Boy Cruisers; or, Joe and Jap’s Big
Find. By Edward Willett. "’j,.'

81 The Border Rovers; or, Lost on the Over-
land Trail.

82 Alaska, the Wolf Queen; or, The‘Girty
Brothers’ Double Crime.
Howard.

83 The Young Nihilist; or, A Yankee 1307‘
Among the Russians. By Charles Morris. ‘

84 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters; 2 ~ 3
\

By Capt. “ Bruin ” Adams.

85 Fighting Fred; or, The Castaways of
Grizzly Camp. By T. C. Harbaugh.

86 Dr. Carver, the “Evil Spirit ” of the Plains;

(John W. Crawford. V

By J. Milton Hoflman. ' ' ‘

By Captain Charles H

 

(

\‘.
,

 

I) (/l.

0’» The Champion Shot of the World. ’ByGOL/ .  V; 

Prentiss Ingraham. '
8'1 Rufi‘ Robsart and His Bear. ByCapt.
“ Bruin ” Adams. ‘ ‘

88 Pony, the Cowboy. ByMajor H. B. Stod. ,' '

89 Gaspar, the Gaucho; or, Lost on the '

Pampas. By Captain Mayne Reid.
WAn Extra Large Number.‘@

90 Texas Charlie, the Boy Ranger. By 00); I. 

Prentiss Ingraham. ,

91 Moscow to Siberia; or, A Yankee Boy
to the Rescue. By Charles Morris. /
92 Boone, the Hunter; or, The Backwoods
Brothers. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. '
93 Oregon Josh, the Wizard Rifle; or, The
Young Trapper Champion. By Roger Stare
buck.  ‘.
A new issue every week. . ' r
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American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS!
The Cheapest Library Ever Published!

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l The Masked Bride' or Will She Many
Him? By Mrs. Reed Growéll.

2 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet-
hearts. By Wm. on Turner M. D.

a £11; Girl winet By Bagtley T. Cauglbeu.
( rave ' ear ° or tart‘ 1 range.
_ By Arabella Southw‘orthf lmgy t
o Bessie Raynor, the “fork Girl. By

illiam Mason Turner, M. D.
(I; 'i‘hle; Srelrit Margage. B Sara Claxton.
aug 1 er 0 ' ve' or linded .
By Mrs. Reed Crovz'ell.’ by Love
3 fienrt ito I cart.
one u t re World' or The Youn Ma ’
Ward. By the author 0% “ Clifton,” e53. n s
10 A Pair of Gray Eyes. By Rose Kenned .
11 Entan led; or, A Dangerous Game. y
12 “fiean ta. Thackeray.
s aw u ‘Vife' or M the Ch'ld of
Adoption. By Mrs. Arln S.’Ste)gl?ens. 1
13 llIadca , the Little uakeress' or, The
Naval adet’s Wooin . y Corinne ushman.
l-l “fhy I Married inn. B Sara Claxton.
15 A Fair Face. By Bartle .Campbell.
16 Trust Her Not; or,A rue Knight. By
Arabella Southworth.

Margaret Leicester.

18 His Idol. By Mrs. ary Reed Crowell. '

19 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus
Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine.

20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, The
Lost Heir. By Agile Penne.

21 Now_and Forever; or, Why Did She Mar-
rfi Him? By Henrietta Thackeray.

22 '1‘ e Bride of an Actor. By the author
of “ Alone in the World ” “ Clifton,” etc.

23 L812; Year; or, Why She Proposed. By Sara

ton.
24 Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Elea.
nor Blame.
25 Only a Schoolmistress; or, Her Untold
‘ Secret. By Arabella Southworth.
26 \Vithout a Heart. By Col. P. Ingraham.
27 Was She a Coquette ? or, A Strange
Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray.

.128 Silbil Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By

/

' 33 The Three

‘ 45 Her-Hidden Foe.

37 The Country Cousin.

‘ 3,9 Flirtation; or, A Young

'43 The Baronet’s Secret.

rs. Ann S. Stephens.

33 gar filer Dear Sake.
‘ ' e on net Girl. By Agile Penne.

31 A Mad ll arria e. ByMary A. Denison
32 Mariana, the rima Donna or, Roses

and Llhes. B iA‘rabella lSgouthwort .
s ers. yAlice Fleml' .
4 A Marriage of Convenience; eggWas

:72

By Sara Claxton.

‘Illie a‘Couint?t 1;; Sara Claxton.
l _ ga ns er. By Clara Augusta.
Sir Archer’s Bride' or, The e fH‘
Heart. By Arabella So’uthworth.Qu en 0 13
Rose Kennedy.
38‘His Own A ain' or, Trust H N .
Arabella Sout wort’h. G er 0t By
irl’s Good Name.
, By Jacob Abarbanell, (E ph Royal.)
40 Pledfied to~Marry. By Sara Claxton.
i; gill; “Deygtitfin. By Alice Fleming.
ea r e e eautiful- or His Second
Love. I By, Arabella Southworth. ’
B Sara Claxton.
Dan hter; or, rother against
yAlice leming.
By A. Southwortll.

44 The 0111
Lover.

' 46 The Little Heiress; or, Under a Cloud.

4

~53.;

' 5,9
.60

, ht
to T1113
La

y Mrs. Mag A. Denison. «
47 Because S e Loved Him; or, How Will
. It End? By Alice Fleming.
«[8 In Spite of Herself; or, Jeannette’s Reps:
49 Ilrliltioil.I Byg. Rhslherwood.
, s ear 1: stress' or Love at First
W . By Arabella Southavortll.
Cuban Heiress' or, The Prisoner of
Vlntresse. By} SEW  Denison, '
r r s. y ice Fleml .
52 The Win e Messenger; or, RiskinggAll
for 3. Hear . By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
fines Hope, the Actress. By William
on Turner, M. D. ’
54;. One Woman’s Heart; or. Saved from the
Street. By George S. Kaime.
55 She Did Not Love Him; or, Stooping to
Conquer. By Arabella Southworth.
56 Love-Mad; or Betrothed Married Divorced
and —-—. B m..Masen urner, . D
57 A Brave irl. B Alice Fleming.
58 The _Ebon Mas ; or, The Mysterious
Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
A Widow’s Wiles. By Rachel Bernhardt.
Cecil’s Deceit. By Mrs. Jennie D. Burton.
61 A _Wieked Heart. By Sara Claxton.
02 The Maniac Bride. By Margaret Blount
63 The'Creole Sisters. By Anna E. Porter.
64 “'hat Jealousy Did. By Alice Fleming.
65 The Wife’s Secret. By 901. Juan Lewis.
66 A Brother’s Sin. By Rachel Bernhardt.
67 Forbidden Bans. By Arabella Southworth.
68 Weavers and Weft. By M. E. Braddon.
69 Camille. By Alexandre Dumas.
70 T e Two 0 hans. By D’Enery.
ife. By My Young

51 Two Youn

Wife’s
72 The Two Widows. By Annie Thom
73. Rose Michel. By Maud Hilton.

/
j: vi I \

 

By Arabella Southwerthd

 

74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gave' or, The Story
ofa Bro’idered Shield. By (fur a. r

75 Tfihe Black Lady of Duna. By J. S. Le

sun.

76 Charlotte Tem le. B Mrs. Rowson.

77 Christian Oak e ’s istake. By the
author of “ John Ha 'fax, Gentleman,” etc..

78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in
the Family. By Myself. ‘

79 A ueen Amongst ‘Women. By the
ant or of “ Dora Thorne,” etc., etc.

80 Her Lord and Master. By Florence
Marryat.

81 Lucy Tem_ple, Sister of Charlotte.

82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred.

83 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie
Thomas.

84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of
“John Halifax, Gentleman.”

85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet.

86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot.

87 The Romance ofa Poor Young Man.
By Octave Feuillet.

88 A Terrible Deed; or, All for Gold. By
Emma Garrison Jones.

89 A Gilded Sin. By the author of “Dora
,. Thorn,” etc.
90 The Author’s Daughter. By Mary

Hewitt.
91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade.
92 Eileen Alanna. By Dennis O’Sullivan.
93 Love’s Victory. By B. L. Far'eon.
91 The Quiet IIcart. By Mrs. O iphant.
95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh.
96 Haunted Hearts. By Rachel Bernhardt.
97 Hugh Melton. By Katharine King.
98 Alice Learmont. By Miss Mulock.
99 llIarjorie Brucefs Lovers. By Mary

Patrick.
100 Through Fire and Water. By Fred-

erick Talbot.
101 Hannah. By Mss Mnllock.
102 Peg Womngton. B CharlesReade.
103 A Desperate Deed. yErskine Be (1.

104 Shadows on the Snow. By B. .Far-
3801'].

105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By
W. M. Thackeray.

106 From Dreams to “faking. By E.

L n Linton.
107 oor Zeph! By F. W. Robinson.

108 The Sad Fortunes ofthe Rev. Amos

Barton. By George Eliot.
109 Bread-and-Checse and Kisses. By
B. L. Fsrjeon.
Wandering Heir. By Charles

1 10 The
Reade.

111 The Brother’s Bet; or, Within Six
Weeks. By Emilie Figgare Carlen. '

112 A Hero. By Miss ulock.

113 Paul and Vir inia. From the French of
Bernardin De St. ierre.

114 ’Twas In Trafalgar’s Bay. By Wal-
ter Blesant and James Rice.
1 1 5 The Maid of Killoena. By Wm. Black.

116 Hett . By Henry Kingsley.

117 The ayside Cross' or, The Raid of

. mez. By Captain E. A. man.

118 The Vicar of “’akeileld. By Oliver
Goldsmith. ‘ '

119 Maud Mohair. By Anme Thomas. _

120 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss Jane

Porter.
121 The King of No-Land. By B. L. Far-

» eon. , , ..
122 ovcl, the \Vidower. By W. M. Thack-
eray. . .

123 An Island Pearl. By B. L. Fameon.

124 Cousin Phillis.

125 Leila; or. The Siege of Grenada. By Ed-
ward Bulwer (Lord Ly ton).

126 When the Shi Comes Home. By
Walter Besant and ames Rice.

127 One of the Famil . By, James Payn.

128 The Birthright. y‘Mrs. Gore. '

129 Motherless; or, The armer’s Sweetheart.
B Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

130 Ifomelcss; or. Two Orphan Girls in New
York. By Albert W. Aiken. . .

131 Sister against Sister; or The Rivalry of
Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Growell.

132 Sold for Gold. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.

133 Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Dickens.

34  He Love Her ? By Bartley T. Camp-
? .

3i; Sinned Against. DyLillian Lovejoy.

36 Was She His \Vii‘e ? By Mrs. Mary Reed

Crowell. I
7 The Village on. the Clifl. By Miss
Thackeray.

8 Poor Valeria. By Mar aret Blount.

9 Margaret Graham. y G. P. B. James.

0 Without Mercy. B Bartle T.Campbell.

1 Honor Bound. By illian ovejoy. _

2 Fleeing from Love. By Mrs. Harriet

Irving. , ‘
3 Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman’s Work.
By Rett Winwood. , .
4 A Stran c Marriage. By Lillian Lovejoy.
5 awo‘uG rl’s Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed
owe .

'HI-I H l-Il-dl-Il-n-i H Hl-I l-l
this lb lblbllhww ea

 

 

worth.

146 A Desperate Venture
Own Sake.
By Corinne Cush-

By Arabella Son
147 The War of Hearts.

man.
148 Which Was the Woman ? or, Strangely

Misjudged. By Sara Glaxton.

Ambitious Girl ' or, She Would Be
By Frances elen Daven ext.

150 Love Lord ofAll. ByAlice Ma , eming.
l 5 1 A Wild Girl. By Corinne One man.
152 A Man’s Sacrifice. By Harriet Irving.

153 Did She Sin. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
154 He Loves Me Not. By Lillian Lovejoy.
155 Winning \Vays. By Margaret Blount.

1 56 What She Cost Him; or, Crooked Paths.
By Arabella Southworth.

157 A Girl’s Heart. By Rett Winwood.
158 A Bitter Mistake' or, A Young Girl’s
Folly. By Agnes Mary Shelton.
Lady Helen’s Vow' or, The Mother's
Secret. By the Late Mrs. is. F. Ellet.
Buying a Ileart. By Lillian Lovejoy.
Pearl ofPearls. By A. P. Morris. Jr.
A Fatr-i'ul Game. By Sara Claxton.
The Creole Cousins; or, False as Fair.
By Philip S. Wal'ne.
A Seathing Ordeal; or, May Lan ley's
Mad Marriage. By Mrs. Georgiana Dic ens.
A Strange Girl. By Albert W. Aiken.
A Man’s Sin. By Rett Winwood.
The Hand of Fate; or, The Wreck of
Two Lives. By Arabella Southworth.
Two Fair \Vonren. By Wm. M. Turner.
Tempted Through Love; or, One:
Woman’s Error. By Lillian Lovejoy.
Blind Barbara’s Secret. By Mary
Grace Halpine.
A Woman’s Witchery.
Black Eyes and Blue.
Cushrnan.
The Cost of a Folly.
Dickens.
ThePretty Puritan.
Daughter.
175 Is Loiw‘a Meeker ? or, Revenge is
Sweet. By Arabella Sout worth.
176 Adria,-the Adopted: By Jennie Davis
Burton. .
7 For the Woman He Loved; or, Fate'

159

160
161
162
163

164

165
166
167

168
169

170

171
172

173
174

By S. Claxton.
By Corinne

By Georgiana
By A Parson’s,

ful Links. By Agnes Mary Shelton.
178 The Locked Heart. By Corinne Cushman.
1 79 Parted by Treachery. By Harriet Irving.
180 Was She a Wifo? By Rett Winwood.
181 Under a Cloud. By 8am. Claxton.
182 An American Queen. By G. Mortimer. ’
183 A Point of Honor. By Lillian Lovejoy-
1 84 Pursued to the Altar. By Corinne
Cushman.
185 Put to a Test. By Georgiana Dickens.
186 The Terrible Truth; or, The ThomhurS‘
. Mystery. By Jennie Davis Burton. \
187 Outwitted by Herself; or, A Mother”
‘ Scheme. By ArabellaSouthworth.
188 Flasrette Child of the Street' or, A peer!
_ Beyond Price. By Col. Prentiss sham.
189 Her Guardian’s Sacrifice; or, A Nan”
' in the Balance. By Sara C on.
190 Pretty and Proud. By Corinne Cushman-
191 A Woman’s Maneuver; or, Purse, not
.  Heart. By Lilliah Lovejoy. » ‘
192 The Bitter, Feud. By Jennie D. Bum?-
193 Breaking the Fett, s; or, TheGypBys.
Secret. Y By Georgiana Dl ens.
194 The Mysterious Guardian; or, Lim‘
' Claire, the Opera Singer. By Corinne Cushman‘
195 In the Balance; or, A Shadowed LOW!
By Arabella Southworth.

196 Jule, the Jewess' or, the Miser 1111110"
aire. By Dr. Noel Dun ar. 1
197 1A Sister’s Crime. By Agnes Mary 8119"

on.

198 wumli wude - or The Inheritance 0‘
Hate. By Jennie D’avis Burton.

199 The Beautiful Demon.

Helen Davenport. ‘
200 Morle Beeches; or, Girlish Charms 3’

Golden were. By Corinne Cushmall.
A new issue every week.

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oeipt of six cents each.

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