The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published!

Price, but 5 cents each.

 
: I o a u "I '~"l7"1-I v .9" "u. u ,. u ‘ l o
l- I ~  hilt s ... hl‘v 

 
o l l. ' ll- It
', y- 1| ,u ..| ..u.
o 't-"uh IAll '- 1 it

 
\\\ ‘ ”.’

.  '2 ,ll.”
7'“ 0....IOUIIQCUOOOI

IIOOIIOII.

 
“ﬁmm u.—

 
. ( '
~\\
 1,} K ,\ ,/ 

in

 : ,'x'|,-ii .ng  ,E.:' [4 try. n
xxx-.1 ““ " \ \\
\ ‘\\\\\ 
\ Ii  ‘ 

DOIDCIII..III~.U

 
',.!l.,ll|m-,l lab? 1 , . '.7,u“.ln I},

 
 ‘

‘_ “ has. ,5. .xu .. um ,
' 'i‘lfll':llgg!!';;,l:'.uu'""”' ll .1 ‘m! rill" M l ll" l

I . .. u ll!
.. W31” mum .nl. '2!”an

 
$2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Oiﬂce at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. Copyrighted in 1881 by BEADLE nun ADAMS. August 23, lil81.‘
NO. 93. VOL. IV. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS
’ ' th Ch 11 h ’dth' 't th, d h
Loves thnry, cﬁappelié’p‘ivﬁosf 30353516,, ﬁttitﬁ°t§€§tybriﬁti“ie rhetoﬁt), $8.3

 , been aired by the worms, and sifted into dust long years ago.

As time rolled on, the feathers of another pompous Chappell

B Y B. L. F ARJ E’ 0N . were ﬂedged, and he, with a similar laudable desire for the recognition

,3 . g ” g SCENE THE FIRST.
e: g IN THE BANKING-HOUSE.

of his individuality, insisted that his name should be added to the ﬁrm,
which therefore became Chappell, Chappell, and Cbappell. And so, in
accordance with the ambition of successive pomposities, Chappell might,
to use a metaphor, have been piled on Chappell till the crack of doom
——supposing the ﬁrm to last to that indeﬁnite period-th for a glim-

CHAPTER I. mering idea that the thing was already overdOne, and that a farther
CHAPPELL’ CHAPPELL, AND CHAPPELL, BANKERS. redundancy of Chappells might pos51bly cast a shadow of ridicule over

the great House.

Which, almost above every other consideration, was

THE great banking-house of Chappell, Chappell, and Chappell, was a possibility to be jealously guarded against. I
known, and favorably known, far and wide, and had been established Almost, but not quite above every other consideration; there was
for as many scores of years as you can count upon your ﬁngers. In one other which was sacredly paramount; the honor and credit of the
the money world it was famous, and outside the boundaries of that House. That a Word should be whispered against the good name which

 
Tom Tiddler’s ground it; commanded respect and admiration. Not only the House had home from the ﬁrst

where the English language is
spoken was the name known
and honored, but where French,
Dutch, Prussian, Italian, and
German are the native vernacu-
lars. 0n the Exchange it was
all-powerful; in bank and. mart
it was regarded almost with
affection; and foreign tongues,
after their respective fashions,
murmured it with veneration.
It had taken root, as it were,
and Chappell, Chappell, and
Chappell across or at the foot
of an oblong slip of paper, was
a thing to conjure with. So
potent was it, that one might
have been pardoned for the
fancy that if he had traveled
with it into the bowels of the
earth, and presented it to the WM
genii who reign where the lllllllmmnlm
rough, bright gold lies hidden 1‘
in reef of quartz and soil allu-
vial, he would have been re-
ceived with obsequious atten-
tion, instantly loaded with bags
of treasure, and sent up to
earth rejoicing. Time was
when the ﬁrm was known by
the one simple name of Chap.»
poll; but as the business grew
and increased, so the import.
ance of its proprietors grew and
increased. It was, therefore,
quite consistent, with this
growth of personal importance
that when a descendant more
pompous and self-impressed
than those who preceded him
came into the ﬁrm, he should 
desire that his name should be ‘

added to the old one; and this
being done, the ﬁrm became
Chappeu and Chappell. It is to
be heped that common persons
had a sense sufﬁciently delicate

n"-
\ :l,’ ;

‘_',.‘"/

and ﬁne to distinguish between 4 I I ' “one RIGBY.

 
year of its existence would
have tortured the souls of the
living Chappells, and might
have animated with serious un-
easiness the very dust of the
departed. Above all other
considerations was the good
name to be maintained, un-
shaken, untarnished. And this
was done religiously. If a word
had ever been whispered
against it, it had faded as utter—
ly and eﬁectually as the breath
which might have beenbreath—
ed upon the polished door-
plates which .bore the magic

' title of‘the ﬁrm. The House '

had played its part in troub-
lous times, and had played it
with unfaltering credit. Older
ﬁrms than it, wealthier ﬁrms
than it, had tottered and talk
len, and passed out of eXistence';f
but'nothing had ever shaken
the credit ofﬂChappell', Chap
pell, and Chappell. Thrones
had crumbled into dust, dynas-g
ties had“ been destroyed, the
liberties of people had been.
juggled with; the scaffold had
been busy with the high and’
mighty, but Chappell, Chap-
pen, and Chappell remained
unscathed, unsullied’. It stood
ﬁrm and erect through all‘
these changes. Those whose
worldly wealth its coffers
guarded, slept in their beds;
with easy minds as to its safe-
ty. So thoroughly imbued
were the members of the ﬁrm.
with a nice and strict sense of
honor, that the judgment
they passed upon men whose
business conduct would not
bear the light is easy of come
prehension- A. defaulter ‘in
money was, in their eyes, a
vile and. abhorrent creature.

 
L0 VE'S VICTORY.

“V N. I, I.
:

 
Eighty had written the ﬁfth commandment, i

   
would;  ,, . “Hanoi- the'billswhteh
Oh], I  m 11; and  have 
ed fog ~ 3’. my days may be long on the

earth'which ﬁrefimd thy God giveth thee."
To lighten the intense and somewhat ponder;
ous respectability of this description, and to,
show how jealous the House was of its name
down to the very smallest detail, a circumstance
may be  mentioned. At the death of one
of the Chappells a tradesmanwas employed to
cut the record of hisrirtues on  tembstone.
To the indi ation of the, living members of the
ﬁrm, he spe the name with One L, and there
was not room on the stone ior another. The
stone was returned ,to him, and when he ap-
plied for payment it was refused, on the ground
that the order had not been properly executed.
With some show of humor he oifered to deduct
from his account a proportionate sum for the
omitted L, and when, even with this deduction,
payment wasstill refused, he in his turn grew
indignant, and'revenged himself by in'dulging
in the grim and not original joke that surely
one Lwas enough for any man. Needless to
say that from that moment the ﬁrm looked up-
on' him as a pestilent member of society.
_ ‘It had happened in the course of the ﬁrm’s
long business career that men whose names
Were not Ohappell had been admitted into part-
nership, but not one of them was ever known
to the world, in his business connection, by any
, other name than 'Chappell. Now and again
than had taken place in the proprietorship,
hut‘lgeee' , were few and far between, and had not
 the character Or the stability of the
House.’ At one time a great Ohappell had
swallowed up all the lesser Chappells, after the.
fashion of the old Egyptian serpent; at an-
other, half a dozen Ohappells held nearly equal,
interests, but the business. was conducted
steadily and safely through all these variations,
and at the opening of this history there were
but twore  Natives of the .name——Chappe11
tsunami  . .son. , ,
  notyetbeen admitted. into the
 ' It  a long-established custom with
theHouse not to. give the younger  of
the, name a  in the business they
 sages! _ . by which?“ 
‘ . "  .that ' ” Wildcats Winch 
I , sheen: in the

a‘ completely sown. 

 
years before;

 00m . I the acquisition out  -

 
n, g i , I  y.- ' ~. I
.   sup 7‘ with money his
_  ro-

w... wen {hm 3h _ roe calling,
'atthebahking». ‘ housee‘v day andidlmg' m
  or  there, w: the’air of 

wasneeoe‘sery to its wewbm
. ye

 has“ masts.“  t"

circleg‘mpied the fashion?! 
was ’ every respect an eegan y , «mm
much - 't after by mothers 

' cabledauggters, mg m ,

with indulgmat ears, an receive luau}.
ent smiles, accounts, of certain youthful follies
a‘less pleasant term might be used, butane
'mightss well be out of the worldasout of
the fashion) of which he was the hero.
“Youth must have its ﬂing,” theymiéwith
amiable looks, and with a ecided disposition
to sympathize with youth, if in the course “of its
ﬂing it was put to any inconvenience. '

.—.—.—-——— Cr

 
/ rooms were accessible only

nation: the men 

 ., , ' was but event's ht‘  #5W3ireuptosemeet
a'mpﬁim- a y 8 Items ‘

. haddock.

senior during business hears, was awaiting the
arrivalof his master in the easiest rivate room
of which the bank could boast. a smaller
_ _ from this private
sanctum of the head of the .House, and? when

trade upon his privacy. V Possibly he! kept his
skeleton there. Outside the bank, in the social
circle of which he was an ornament, Trail was
known as Mr. Reginald Trail, and was a person
of some importance, and letters written to-him
by friends and 1 uaintanoes were invariably
addressed .Begi Trail, Esq. Once upon a’
time an esqm're was a shield-bearer, bore arms
on' his escutcheon, and frequently ﬂowered
into knight; in these commoner day she may be
a greengrocer. Inside-the bank  Reginald
Trail was a person of no social importance; he
was simply Trail. Reginald was out of the
question ; Mr. equally so; Trail served the
purpose well and appropriately. '

The room was handsomely and comfortably
furnished, and the modern character of the fur—
niture was an indication that the ﬁrm of Chap-
pell, Chappell, and Choppell was moving with
the times. Indeed, within the last ten years,
the building in which the bank transacted its
business had been entirely rebuilt, and, in no—
table contradictinctiOn to its former dusty and
old wooden appurtenances, was now decorated
with marble pillars and polished counters. Ev—
ery thing in the room Was in, its proper lace.
The newspapers were carefully arrange and
unfolded, so as to show the Money article; Mr.
Ghappell’s correspondence was on the writing-
table m'two Symmetrical piles; Mr. Chappell’s
chair was in its usual exact position; and the
black-marble clock on the mantel-piece ticked
the moments soberly and respectably, as if
aware that time was money—as it really is in
the matter of interest. The clock marked at
this moment ten minutes to eleven.

Although, ‘therewasmhreinthe ,Truil,
from foivoothahig’stood ﬁth-hismto the
one 3“ ,handstolein-

  
'Eurtriekﬂﬂﬂsﬁr.
, p I must take letter, I supgise.
 name? Jermain}; Miss u-
,  ‘ young l tare my
Miss Inura willte at rehearsal at
, y _ and! amt-agate the stage-
 say  the letter is to be delivered
We}; *

  
MI ac.

_ .tolbsslaura. Iamto waitfer
 Ifthe young «herself comes
out, queshons, I'am to lead her-to
letter; isfroimﬂte old gentle-
 .Yuywenverywell. .  ,
 . . prettygirll. If werea
yeimg man—mu , vermindwen’tea‘tyonr
g,andhaveyourpie. Ishallgotothethea.

to» htandseeMasterljred’sMssLam-a.
lam-kw ura. Ihadacousmnamed”~n r

. ... sneak“ rum
V - are, an a , point,
whgther by accident or design, the envelope
became untestened. He looked  and
inatoneofgentleremonstranoesai:
“Dearinel How careless some rooms are
insealingtheirletters! Therecan noharm
in looking. H’ml Only two or'three lines.

er.‘0ha 11 will feel obliged if Mss'Laura
‘ ‘ win PP“

call upon hﬁn at the bank. at one o’clock
this morning, on a matter of importance."

  
and what not, who waited upon Mr. Chappell

 ,Chappell senior was closeted in one of these, "
[his mostintimate friend was not allowed to in-

than. ,
it“ well, hwhnuedéjagdn, ,
” notto. Thenheasked me if I'

poll’s hat and overcoat. V -

“ Has any one cancel?” asked Mr. Chappell,
seating himself at the table, and beginning to
open  letters. ' 7 ’ ' ’

‘ “Your son, sir, Mr. Frederick." ;. V ,
“Not forms; he knews that I am never here

until: eleven o’clockg” . , ,

“No, sir not for you; he merely looked in
and glanced over the papers.” '

“Any one else?” ' '

“ A young gentleman, who seemed very anx—
ious to see you, sir.” '- , ‘

, “ On business ?” _

“He did not say, sir. When I told him you
would be here at eleven o’clock, he said he
would call agzun. He left that letter" (point-
ing to a letter which Mr. Chappell had not yet
opened), “ and his card.”

’ Mr. Chappell glanced at the letter carelessly,
and then at the card. with closer attention.
Above the name written on the cardtwas a
rough pen-and-ink sketch of two ﬁgures. ‘

“Mr. Richard Barton. I do not know the
man. Has he been here before ?"

“ I have not seen him, sir.”

“‘ What do these ﬁgures mean ?”

Trail looked at the sketch with a properly se-
vere air. It represented a god and goddess, in
native costume. As a man with a family, Trail
had a proper respect~within limits———for mili-
ners and dfessmakers.

’ “ When I asked the gentleman ”——-—

, ->"“A gentleman, then?”  i

“ Well, yes, sir; middlingish. When I asked
him for his name, he sat dowu and wrote it
upon‘a blank card, and drew the ﬁguresthere.”

“Saying nothing ?” ' r , '

“ 0h, he was very chatable, sir, and very free
in his ways. He said ﬁrst, ‘I think I’ll wait,’
and he sat down for a moment. Then he
jumped'up, and said, “I think ,I’ll «go.’ Then
he asked me how old I was, and how many
years I had been in'the bank; then he asked me

if Ihad ever traveled, and vs a whistle whenI
said, " Yes, I’ve been to to.” I asked his

pardon, and beg ‘   to whistle here
and he said; begs:th till the next time:
Then he asked mellow, Ilikedvnotbein farther
; and-when redid! lik it very

gh I ‘ 'ged him
' breathe
well in London; and I said yes, pretty well, I
thanked  But I beg your pardOn, air, for
telling you these things.” ' ’ " "
“You had better ﬁnish, Trail,” said Mr.
Men, with a‘frown at‘the card. “an inso-
lenth I§should say. Didpyou not attain t
w,,,~»%m échattering? This is scarcely, t e
phoe such a conversation;” “ ' g ‘ "
“[1thde so, sir; Itried to s ' him, but
I ,v gﬂWllhave triedtostopa illby
to it. I madeboldtotryand as
him Mr found out whathe was; at he

80*- wmaaaaegotﬁaar. Bela edatme,and

Red m in the ribs—he Sir. though I
. him not to. His manners were very
' ﬂit. Idon’tthink hewas quite right

here 3’-.—~'1‘rai1~ touched his forehead~“ his man-

ners were that familiar. ‘Then, what he said.

One ' in One breath, another  in an-
other. , e asked me what I thought of West-

Abbey'  whlen I said it was a nice
p e, e ’s g orio glorious lori-
one? Three tunes, sir, andusiiery excitédgiike.
He asked me if I would like to be'bm'iedthere;
I BaldI had no wish tobeburiod;andhe
laughed that loud, though I begged him not to,
that I felt ashamed and uncomfortable. He
882d London was a ﬁne 2131*“!811 he'said it
was a dreadful city. He , he would like to
live here all his lifenthen he said he’d like to
go away to~mornow.” -‘

narrates II. Show. politeami mysterious,” continued  “Not an, m then,”

I ‘  ‘ ‘  the we” m the .‘bome.’ “I “Ch, 0%, nit; an‘Englishman but

an. enema SENIOR anomvns LN 1.00001?! thought he was upte one of. tricks again, swank. 38,53de whatthose ﬁgm’m on
- or 1‘ ‘3qu m0“ ,5   N0 busian cinemathos _ ,' lnever trouble themim,» .
Os'acertainmminsinmiintes hastens“? WV“ erri’mm meme  asses" .' .

V when thechestnut—treeswerexmb ' " I 4    '  ‘   He said they were Venus and

 
s

 
3 0%va 

a;

 
  a has

_u~

“r askediftheyw'eronot-good like-

 
 Ihaid I had never seen-am WM

.pocket,  submissively received My Chap-


Lo vs's VICTORY.

I x . ’

 
Love and jollity he said they were, with another
laugh, and was p ‘ to. go on in exempli-
' ﬁcation~in exempliﬁcation, air," repeated Trail,
with an air or do, “ when I begged him not
to; and he di ’15, and bld me good-morning,
quite enable, and said he would come in again
in an hour or so.” ‘
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Mr. Che. pell, tossing
the card and the letter aside. “ ’llthe ﬁgures are
. yilely drawn. When he cells, do not show him
. “Yes, sir." .

“ He can leave word with you what his busi-
‘ ness is.” ~
. ‘ “Very well, sir,” said Trail, walking to the

door; but suddenly remembering something he
had omitted from his budget, he turned back.
“Oh,- I forgot, sir, in the excitement of this
young man. Mr. Armstrong called.”

' The name did not act as a sedative upon Mr.
Chappell’s nerves. “What did he want ?” he
inquired, abruptly.

“He came to know, sir, if we had received
any news of the Golden Mariner.” '

Mr. Chappell turned upon Trail with—in that
gentleman’s Opinionwunaccountable irritation.

“And of course you told him there was no
news.” . '
u “ Of course, sir,” replied Trail.

“Of coursc, I sir ” echoed Mr. Chappell, his
irritation increasing. “What do you mean by
that-1’”.

“I told him, as you said, sir,” said'Trail,

submissively, “that of course there was no
news or the Golden Mariner. That is all, sir.
' This is the third morning that Mr. Armstrong
' has calledtomakelthesame inquiry. ' ' ..
 Known? It. appeared as though Mn:
‘, olives-e about to give further vent tohis-
lpgssion, but. he   by a strong
  y' ‘4.;. v) F'.Z,'
. “ That will do,” he said,me calmly; “you:
.cango. And be good' enough to indulge inn’o'i
morsoonversetions in:  such asyou
have described." 7‘ ' I ‘~
. *With a servile bend of the head, fair ' indica-
tive of the. relationship which exists etween
English master’and English servant, Trail left
the room, and Mr. Chsppeil proceeded to look
over ande his correspondence. But his mut.
feted words denoted the: uneasiness of his mind
‘ »‘,‘, councillors is no news, and  knows
for sixty
but th is ‘ " ty'éﬁgaqumt
,‘ " 3.; t  ,.  , eyet."
 should hech 'Fmonths
'93P“: the  a! unﬁt: intent
 em . ,upon , accuses
session at ,iE‘QMy.2 Iheerd them—
m‘orlo: eirsttimeggsterday. ' 
shoes, for reasons of.

.1

  vegetativan the . ;
  ' ~ em teen 5’?

k

atom  _ themes;
' ii emapﬂdﬁ m  ~—
 ' and I tremble before ' Some-

 I'hsve a. fear thathepuspects iner

W . ‘ he sees the precipice upon‘ which
 Pshowl It can be butcher; there
Who imam: for it. Yet ifthe ship be
low, 101' him a haul; for me"-—-—-~ Mr,
Che ll and covered hiseyes with his
boogie. ugh by that action he could see his
way more clearly; presently he removed. 
hand and  impatiently “ I must not think
edit; it unner'ves me.” ' hand at this mo-
ment fell upon the letter which Mr. Richard
Barton had  for him. Mechanically he
openeditandcommencedtoreadlistl ;' but
he had not read a dozen hues before his ' ﬂees
manner changed to one of. .mess, and his
eyes brightened. f‘ What 18 1’” he cried.
“,‘And now we have much pleasure in 
duoing to your favorable attention a friend and
.ymmg client of ours, Mr. Richard Burton, one
of- our most. wealthy colonists. We have for
many years had large and important transits,
W   father. wh0.'diedlbut.htelyt 1%”?-
1ﬁg this only-son the whole of  :Pmpﬁ‘tyls.

-  . gentlemmentmwtoourigdmew
for 1m; :wpeopsnyhere;is§dsilyxzme in

is, tobiir certain owledgepwoﬂhfat least .3,

OanArm- _
own, heve’sejt  ,

 
hundred thousand pounds. ‘Having; been bornlaltogether a: worn and broken Imam “tho
and educated in the colony, he 15 an utter time of his entranée, his features homuncu-

stranger "in London, and it is with ,much pressionof mingled shame andu'i

pleasure we introduce him to you.’ ”

The letter was from valued correspondents of , long been deferred.

the House in Australia, and Mr. Chappell read
it a second time with a heightened color in‘his

face.

{ speak.

0th!»
miliation, and, of a he s fulﬁlled w “ch had
is lips trembled, and he
i could scarcely utter the words he attempted to

“ Mr. Chappell-—-sir,” he said, and then was

“Mr. Richard Barton!” he exclaimed. “Why, ‘1 silent from agitation.

that’s young Venus and Bacchus 1” He took up
the card again which the young man had left,
and examined it with interest. “Beautifully
drawn, tool A stranger in London, and a.
youngmaul—inexperienced,impulsive,generous
probably. A hundred thousand pounds l” He
touched the bell, and in his excitement rose,
and paced the room. Trail presented himself
almost immediately. “ Oh, Trail, said Mr.
Chappell, “when Mr. Barton calls, do not let
him wait. Show him in at once. Do you
hear?” , ’

“ Yes, sir,” replied Trail, much mystiﬁed by
this change, but too good a, servant to exhibit
astonishment. -

“ Admit him the moment he arrives.” Trail
bowed, and closed the door behind him, and

r. Chappell continued to pace the room.
“ Good I’ ' he; murmured, rub ing his hands.
“Fortune smiles upon me still. This young
colonist, with his hundred thousand pounds,
will be of use to me. ‘He comes just when he
is most needed. Icon advise. him, speculate
for him. At all hazards the credit of the House
must’ be sustained. 7 Great Peruvians fell yes-
terday one and a-half, and I dare not make a
move. Lynx eyes are watching me on every
side, and closer than all am I watched by this
Armstrong the American, because of the stake
he has with me. But time-h—timeis all I want.
Itis to me what courage is to a soldier, what
virtue-is to a woman. Peruvians mt rise
again; the Golden Mariner mustiget‘ s'efel' into
port. Yet if ‘it should ‘noF—if:,every chance
Should melt away~—if every hope!» which I
cling" should slip-hem me into ‘the 16nd 01’
dreams~failure must come, dis must
come, and then“ Tut !, 'tutl I am’growingold,
and am frightened at every passin «’clou ; - If
the world were to see me like ’th’ , how low
should I fall!” He looked about him 'f'ear-
somely, and wiped the beads of tspiration
from his forehead; but he could not wrest his
thoughts from the gloomy groove ante which
his fears had driven them». and he sank into
his chair‘with a; has 1 . sigh.“ “llyigood'ner'ne
trembles as at bangs; stuns: spot a, par
of wind-em n: a chance minaret: ‘ “a word
song i ; ’ a 1m hopeless-ta inspe-
tent,‘ 6111ng at. the ghosts which rise from
thegrave of my ambitious schemes!” " ’ '

Hf ,CHAPTER III.»  g
’ must, run min-roams. ‘
So absorbed was Mr. Chappell in his reﬂec-
tionsthst he did not? hear a soft knock at the
deer. It was a knock of timidlty~a knock
deferential and submissiveaand ,it was re-
.. . several tinses before thesmmd reached
r. Chap ell's care; when it did, he raised his
head, with the air of one to whom the uncer-
tain and hesitating plea for admission was fa-
miliar. He did not reply immediately. and
the timid knock was again repeated. 0cm.
sionally a man’s heart gets _1nto his very
knuckles. » ” ‘
“Come in,” said  Chappell. . .
There entered Bigby, the hall-porter of the
establishment, whose spare and ‘ ﬁgure
wasrfamiliar to all the customers of the bank.
Amanwho, as'he mtuponhiastool. pale, and
sad, and bent, Seemed ever tobe wra in the
retrospection eta. life out OfWhich , ho had
been crushedloog years, ; Between ‘
andhis masterthere couldnot have heena year s
diﬁerenoe, in, 33 but .3. greater contrast than
that while; endegi ' .. bftwgenlégthe two me; could
native. ;  - »  i looked , l- 
ﬁfteen years his master’s  W788
we‘emﬁmeesdeepmw bore
 masks at 1 ' ‘h.«-3si& «eyes

dwelt a ‘ ' ‘t of suresngg‘uis'tlothewm

 
   anxiously _ 

g “ Well, Rigby ?” replied Mr. GhﬁPPeIL

“ I took the liberty-Aha liberty, sir”-——~—

Mr. Chappell wheeled his chair suddenly to.
ward the hall-porter, and after a moment’s
stern observance of him exclaimed in a severe
tone: ,

“I am sorry to see you in this condition,
Rigby. Are you not ashamed of yourself ?

“Yes, sir. But you are mistaken; I am not
—~not sir.”

The laugh to which Mr. Ohappell gave utter— .
ance plainly expressed his disbelief in his ser—
vant’s sobriety. The old man’s cheek ﬂushed,
but in a moment was white again.

.“Itistrue, sir. Iarhnot drunk.” .

“ You have been drinking; and yet are not
drunk, eh ? That is what youwish me to be—
lieve.” .
“ I had one glass before I came in, sir—only}
one.” A ' ’

The banker, sleek and smooth, carefully.
dressed and trim, a churchogoing man who oo—
cupied one of the best pews (which pews are
nearest to heaven, I wonder ?)—in brief, a gem ‘
tleman, as all the world and his wife knew and

acknowl d—threw himself back in his mum 
chair, and u had again—~a laugh which would r'

have raised t e anger of any person but one
thoroughly crushed and' broken down.
ﬁéﬂfigg diddind respoglie =1was 
' so an , n ' g , as o ’ {’40
ward off a blow, ,andestglead tkﬂy. '
‘ “ You may  me, sir, you may indeed.”
“ As I have believed you before, eh. Rigby, ‘
andwiththesameresult?” ’ ‘ ' ‘ 
I “ No,“  r I‘kno‘w‘my failings, notwithstand.

age." I was opmpelled to take}; .1:
not have been able to stand in your“ "

tie  new and then, I. 
been”uble to bear my'load. ' Inhould 

-- “You would wish me to helluva}
sder. Chame inst:   ‘ 
tomedtoneor"*‘ ‘ rimsty, “Mamegoodi
sedawisethinsoryoutotakesﬁnﬂf’, 

“Itwas’neither ' nor winch," replied

, good
'  very humbly. “Ids notwish you to 

anything, sire-that is”,( him.
quickly)“an ' git displeases 
Ifthereise erenceo! '

any pointwperdon me arr, for placing " '
by your side even in way—~you must be
right and I wrong. I kno‘wit, to ~
sorrow. Our lives are the best proofs of it.”

“ThatI am right and on are“ l ' enthis
pettioular int could no betmoreovi than

it is.” said . . Cheppell, complacent‘ly. “Why,

look at the diﬂerenee betweenvusA—you seem,

old annual: to be my father." I I \ r
“Yet, sir. we were born in the same year.

don me.” (Mr, Chap 11 received the record
of this coincidence With a lolthmOtion of the
hand, which expressed : 'j are really are
some circumstances in our lives for which we
Itare not accountable") Rig‘by proceeded: “I
wish "to speak to you on slums: of import-
“Beasbriefas on can,,lligby;,’," ' 7 ,
“Iwill, sir." eoldlmanplacedhishana.
on the back of a. chairgto  ;. he
was in a state of great  Q . Eeyordsef
did not come freely. , 21w. :1 has of: son to;
carry your mind back to a MllWMy;

 
years, 0 lmwhen . ngimd 3’1! lime” "*1"
Maudhsppeﬂ mtbometed hiss mill “was. r

ing thatI have been unable to conquer them. i l
I had One little drop of brandy togivemo cour-’ '

” deny whatI have to say, enema. You?
askme’iflamnot-ashamed90f in ’, "‘1' '-
six. Butlhavebeen-tshamed‘h  ' ’
formerly yearsmndiflthadnot " ‘ derailed

and vent to the sense school, if you win par. ‘

magma-4mm. .. . z. '

W5 e ' ism-Mg.

 
’ ' replacethamone . Itwas a

 
_ «- «lanmvwwmr ‘

 
(1

Lo {rs-s VICTOR r.

 
newness. “How dare you refer to him, Rig-
by i’hheicrifed‘. ‘ “How dare you i”

.“iI doubtif Ishould have had the courage
to do so, sir," replied Rigby, meekly, " if I had
not taken a glass of brandy. Now you can
understand why)". did it, sir. But I must say
what I have come to say.”

“. Go on, then,” said Mr. Chappell haughtily.
“ Well, sir, at that time we three oung men
——-yeu, I, and my brother—were fellow-clerks
in this bank. We were all equal thenmwere
equally trusted—were equally ambitious to
ma had equal chances 1n the world. I
had my day-dreams, then, sir ; I built my cas—
tles, if you will _ deign to remember, for we
sometimes talked together of the future. My
castles soonvdissolved—yours were built upon
a surer foundation, _ Yet I have since thought
that mine might have proved to be something
more than car had a dread misfortune not
fallen upon me. I loved my brother, and he
loved me, I think. Whatever good fortune
came to either of us, the other was to share.
In my mind, at that time, there was no one
com arable to my brother—~shrewd, clever, and
good: as we believed, I saw his future clear and
right before him. You know how it all turned
out, sir.” , , , _
' “Shaniefullyl shamefully l” exclaimed Mr.
Chef};de
‘( s

on so , sir, shamefully, shamefully!
Onefata
to him

da -— atelto‘ me and to my hopes, fatal
I his ambition—adefalcations were
discovered inhis department, and shortly after-
ward he stood in a felon’s dock, charged with
embezzling money of the bank. The evidence
against him was clear, and he was transported
for life.” v

“Disgraceful circumstance I”

“It was, so, sir ; and his offense was aggra-
vated by his after conduct.”

“Inwhat way, Rigby,” in uired Mr. Chap-
pell, With the air of one who ad but an indis-
tinct recollection of the details.

“In this very rooms—you were not present,
sir, and may. not have heard of it, althon h it
was known to many—the head of the case
 to: on; my brother, or rather not to
 wifhe would make a full and

 ot the crime. I ed him to
accept: the merciful offer. He re bed with a
strange ,mdbltterjia ,
machines, eadthepc cowerecalled in. Wh
 otthe man no one knew, and he
smears  Hod dnot drink, he did not
gamble "la-- ‘ '

.“Sth as We know, Rigby," interrupted
Mir. Chppelliin gentle correction. f‘ A , man
may have  which he conceals fro'm‘his

"ﬂit is true, sir. - He might have speculated,
to  afortune‘quickl , when he could
go sum, sir, if
ton'mt; ‘  ’tnigng'd evfrfellérom his

, . same seas  owvi was is as
~ .At  time hearse engaged to 9. 'rl gonna
father’s circumstances were not 00 , but it is

' . certainthet they did not beneﬁt y hiscrime.”

Issuable 01141913611 gently interposed; ..,
“scan we be certain of that 2 .Does my
memOryserye me aright when Isay that this
girl disappeared short y after the trial '1’; or is
it a fancy? There Were so I .many- rumors
aﬂoat.” >37 , I. g . ; 1‘ r ‘

,“You are correct, sit; the girl did disap-
pear after the trial, "but she may have been
glad-fro ﬂy from a spot fraught'with su‘ch bit-
ter memoriasﬁo I think that she and her father

were  of the crime until 111 brother
‘ was mesa." ‘- ’ ‘ ‘ ‘ y '

. ‘1 Wensver know, Rigby, we never know. It
is so easyto‘assume a semblance of innocence.
Do we not see this every. day of our lives? "
“You are, nght._sir, unfortunately. But I
have never forgotten the despair and agony of
the poor girl when She came to know if the
news was true- «She had a sincere love for
hlm~bnt»ail who knew him loved him. They
couldnothelp it. hisnstsremsofrank, so
Barren. m h 5,. Ch  r ‘ ’ 
eon ,‘w’o . appecastun
 him here ; be corrected himgglt

 
that he ad nothitg,

 
swiftly, and with increased humbleness pro-

. ceeded :

“Iam not pleading for him, sir; I have
nothing to say in extenuation. . He wrecked
his own happiness—hemminewand I, his
brother, admit that his punishment was just.
He was banished for life from the country-in
which he he ed to win a name and position ;
I remained, roken down by his crime and his
disgrace—for who would associate with the
brother of a felon ?—and you, sir, the only one
of the three, rose, as you deserved to rise, and
became the head of theHouse which my brother
and I, through him, had wronged.”

“My good Rigby,” said Mr. Chappell, in a
softened tone, and with a gracious wave of his
hand, in token that his servant had amply
stoned for his previous warmth.

“After the trial,” proceeded Rigby, “the
principals consulted as to their course of action
with respect to me. I understood that no sus-
picion existed in their minds that I was im-
phcated in my brother’s crime: others were
not as just in their opinions. But although
the partners might not have sus ected me, I
was a dis aced man, and they ecided that
they could! not retain my services. I was on
the point of being dismissed from the bank
with deserved ignominy, when, in charitable
memory of old times, you begged that I should
not be thrown upon the world. At your in-
tercession the ners were merciful. It was
impossible that I should be allowed to remain
in a position of trust, where money would ass
through 111 hands. They removed me mm
the o co esk and gave me the position of
hall-‘prclilrterf

“ ich you have held over ‘ since," observ-
ed Mr. Che ell, cheerfully.

“ Which have held ever since, as you say,
sir. Which I might hold, I have no doubt,
until death took the poor hall-porter from your
bank door. I have come now, sir, to resign
that situation.”

Mr. Chappell sat bolt upright in his chair,
in astonishment. I

“Resign, ,Rig‘gy l” he exclaimed. “ Nay,
nay, I am perfe y satisﬁed with elyou. If I
have spoken irritably, to you let y+-I have
been _ much worried, and I mayhem done so
unconscious! -~forget it, and do not do a fool.
ish th' you must not th yourself u n
the wor at your age. Think . tter ofit» on
are not yourself just nova". ) V ‘ ‘

“I have thought well over it, sir; I place
my resignation in your hands, andI .110 9 you
will ﬁn ,a faithful man to ﬁll my lace.’

': Mr. Chap ell shrugged his shou ders. You
know best, suppose. How are you to live?”

“ That isyprovidedfor, sir.” . ,, j ,

“Well,” said Mr. Che poll, in a tone of in-
diﬂerence, ‘Fif it must x it must be. You
have good reasons, doubtless, for your ac.
ion." ‘ ‘ I

*"I have, sir.” -' . ., '.
The banker turned to his papers with a‘busy

air, es‘r‘though the matter was settled, and-the

interview at an ‘end. But Rigby still lingered,
waiting for‘Mr. Choppell to give him his atten-

tion.

7 H You have said .11 you me to say, I pm.

sume," “observed Mr. Chappen presently. in-
,the midst of his occupation. ‘

~ "No, sir. There is. something more, if you
will kindly hear me.”

“ Be speedy, then ; I am busy” r

“I will not detain you long, 811’. I want you
to believe that I have never forgotten your
kindness to me. After my brother left this
country, a felon, I had but one purpose 1n life

-t0 repay the money he had embezzled, and

thus redeem, in some measure, the honor of

our family—for it was an honored name, as

you know, sir, until that fatal time." p I

It wasimpossible' for Mr. Chapﬁiell to as.
sumo..indiﬁ‘erence in resence of t 9 simple
earnestness of his 01 ' servant's words and
manner, and it was in a kinder and more sym-
pathﬁtictone that m: d t

“ ay' nay, m‘ , o no say any-
thing  {he s'ulzojeicgtl,y It is buried and
forgotten”: - j ' ‘_ _ _. I~ .
. ' ‘ It is neither, airfresponded Bigby, sol-

   
emnly. “ Shame sleeps sometimes, but never
dies. We cannot bury it out of sight. It rises

from the grave like the ghost of remorse, and

com ls us to look into its eyes. In the dead

of ht, when no sound can be heard, when.
no being can be seen, it steals to our side, and.

whis ers to us. I have heard it—I hays heard.

it! have seen it, with darkness all around

me. My brother’s shame cast it shadow over-
me, and made me———what I  Condemned

to bear the burden of this shame, with all eyes

gazing at me. I was strengthened by one in-

tense and earnest desire ; a desire to pay the

debt, if I may be pardoned for calling it so.

Animated by this resolve, I pinched, I lived

sparely, I almost starved myself to save. But

what could I lay by out of the wages of
a hall-porter? It , would have needed

ten lifetimes to save the money. I was in de-

spair ; but still I contrlved to save a little—ea

very little—and had the intention of leaving it.
to the bank when I died. Suddenly, as though

in answer to my prayers, help has come—how

and from whom I am not at liberty to say; and .
before twenty—four hours have passed over my

head—this very morning, perhaps—I shall be

able to pay into your hands the sum which my

brother em ezzled.”

'Mr. Chappell reﬂected in silence upon this
unexpected statement. The money would be
useful to him, but the manner of acquiring it.
was‘so strange, and he had, in truth, been so
much aﬁ'ected by his old servant’s story, that
he was moved to an act of magnanimit ——-—for it
was magnanimous even to jeopardize, y a few
words so easily not spoken, the receipt of this
unexpected Windfall. '

“There is no occasion for the payment of
the money,” he said ; “it is not you who owe
it. Besides, the debt is canceled—it was writ.
ten 011‘ the books a score of ears ago.”

“ But it is not written 0 my heart l” cried
Rigby, with ﬁerce eagerness, “ Do you think
I have not suffered during my service to the
bank? Do you thinkI can enjoy peace, if it
ever come to me, until the bank books show,
that there is nothing standing against the name
I bear, and until it is known that I, a broken-
down ,old man, have wasted my life in endeav-
oringto make reparation? If youwin notpr‘ee,
ceive the money, I will tekefitto the counter
and pay it in, as, having the means! would V
pay any just debt. I ‘will not be robbed of
what is my due! There are men in the bank.
at this present time who were boys when we _'
were‘bo s, and who know the story'of my dis-
grace. ' ‘ey have "talked of it to then-wires
and children, over their ﬁreside; the have;
whis ed itabout in public  : have
not card them, butrthe words Which neverl
reached my ears have burned t  ' into
my heart! I have been pointed out“ the-
young elerks as the tin-Whose brother robbed
the bank. p The s afraid lmygflook ; they?
shrink from, me, whispering to each ethanm a;
creature unworthy of association. {viamust be
cleared of this-«I  endure itgntflongerz ' I?
must be able to 1001;. these youngsters in the?
face, and sa to them, ‘I,hav'e stoned for my,
brother’s crime by the wreck of m ambition,
of my. happiness, of all my dearest o es.:1>a.y
me now the respect which is my. duel ' , ‘

The pent-up passion of the man was 9. won-
derful revelation. It was as though all his life:
he had been compelled to keep“ it under re.
straint, and now for the ﬁrst time could give it
free play. ' But it had a singularlydistiueﬁve
characteristic of its-own in the circumstance
that the man‘never once raised his voice=ali0ve
its ordinary level—due, doubtless, to long hob--
its of humbleness on his part. -’ ' Mr, »
Chappell paused before replying, and it was
ﬁerha s from a motive of e icacy'that when

e di 8 ' ak, he averted his eyes from the hall»
porter’s  » " _ . _
“Very well Rigby.” he said: “let it boas
you have decided.’ - , 1

' All the eager ﬁre I! d out of the old man’s
manner; all his petites glans, ﬁne. " 

“Imyouvmi m ,9 6mm“
‘cforthu'anhdall your otherhkinﬁﬁimﬂ ' 

newts s uﬂing. mgr en .01“, m
voice arrested his steps. ~ , p / '

 
wish to leave, Rigby ?”
. This wool: if you can ﬁnd a
‘ rson to ﬁll place."
pa“ I know  Youcanleave to—morrow.”
" It i. ﬁts you,” said Bi by, with a grateful
bend of the head; “ ever kin ever considerate.”
Mr, rose, and held out his hand to
his old servant; Bigby gazed at it fora moment,
in doubt whether this market courtesy and sym-
was intended for him. The next moment
'. 9 took the hand, and bowed over it; then, with
a \ andgrateful sob, as though the simple
, repaid him forallhisyearsofshame and
adoring, he left the room. '

“ When do you
“ Soon-«soon.

 
CHAPTER Iv.
310w BARTON PRESENTS menu.

As recalling a remarkable incident presumably
long forgotten, it was naturalthat this interview
:should leave a powerful ' ression upon Mr.

0 ’smind. Itwas ural,also,thatthe
to which it ndered should be of a

melanc nature. ' be suddenly wrested
from the realities of the ‘nt to the contem~
‘plationofatimeinthe when life was
:at its fairest, and when the p were quickened

by hopeful anticipation, is something of a shock
to a man. Great philosophy or strong faith is
required to enable oneto bear sucha shock with
equanimity or resignation. Mr. Che. was
:re 9 for neither, and his contem ’ of
themast was in its nature most melan oly and
sad. And yet he had been a successful man.
In his youth he had thirsted for wealth and o-
sition; he had gained both, and after the st

.ﬂush of chic ant, allthe light andcolor had
died onto! Pridewas stilllefttohim,
but the ensure which is comprised in this

“We, m htmmhi‘al
A ‘ ostpa rw c igy eftu nthe
table attractedpgdr. Che. poll’s attention. pgie re-
membered that Rigby ad placedit there, and
had made no reference to it; there was writing
on it which he had glanced at carelessly, but his
attention had been 'verted from it at the time.
Now he took it up and read it; the words were
few, and were simply to the effect that on the
15th}; 0;) gay me 6&187ti1 there‘ wogd be
jpa‘ _ ‘8' _ _ p e , Chappe and
Chapel! the sum of‘two gousand eight hun-
Idre and Wenty-two'nfounds, in settlement 'of a
liab ' ‘ incurredin ay, 1836. ~
“ , re must be some mistake, "thought Mr.
O touching the bell; “ the sum was but
tw .ve hundred ounds. Bringme," he said to
the clerk whom a hadsummcned. “ the ledger
for the your 1896, letter 1).” ’ 
legion mﬁrlnuéii the-1’ clerk entered with the
r,‘ . ppe 'o enin it found the
record of the embezﬂemenLangexhct sum of
twelve hundred Kaunds, duly written off, and
consignedto the mbo of the proﬁt and less ac»
count. With his ﬁnger upon the record, the
sight oflwhich brought a frown to his face, he
consideredfora little while, and then, taking a
book from One of the drawers of his writing-
table, turned to the interest tables. He found
what he searched‘for. Twelve hundred pounds
:at four percent. simple interest for thirty-four
years, swelledto the exact sum of two thousand
eight hundred and thirty-two pounds. V

“And Rigby has been scheming all his’life
to repay this money,”’he thought; “ singular
infatuation!” " » ' .

The money really would be useful to him,
great banker as he was; .He had been spe-
culating heavily lately, having moved with the
times, and he was In Some fear as to the result
of his speculations. He would have justiﬁed
himself readin enough to anyone who ques.

tioned the Wisdom of his conduct, if anyper.'

son had been in his, conﬁdence. The liouse of
Chap 11, ‘  and Chappell could not
:1?) to be.’ Is t behind in t‘liie 
' ewoddwasrunmng" ' .Ifit esire 0 its
iPIPIOG and notbe jostled aside, it must move
with themes, and moving with the times
meant , 0n, increased risks, the keeping
1119.018 greater establishment than had hitherto
been 4368de necessary. For Mr. Chappell had

It  [be dune; it will cost money,

 
LOVES VICTORY.

a grand and fashionable lady for his wife, who

also felt it to be her impemive duty to move
with the times.

So many common persons had grown rich
within the last few years, and were spending
their money lavishly' in ostentatious displa
that it behooved a lady in Mrs. Gimp 's

’tion—-a position to which she had n
, and which she had not illched, as it were
-—to teach these presumptuous persons a lesson,
and to show them they could not have it all
their own way. Not very long since, Mr. Mer-
cer had bought the lease of cheese immediate '-
adjoinin hers, and was now living there '
his fam' y in great style, giving magniﬁcent
and frequent entertainments, and receiving the
best inthe land. Sixyears ago
kept a milliner’ssho ,and'was lad of Mrs.
Choppell’s custom. . Mercer made his
money by speculation, and now his wife sonic-
what looks down upon Stirs. (lbs and
tookaprideineclipsingherinthel’ar andin
the drawingmm. This was not to be uietly
borne. Mr. Chappell, who was ruled his
wife, agreed with her, and with her

also in the declaration that the ﬁrm of Chap-V

pell, Cha 11, and Chappell haddone a great
deal for ﬁr?couniry, by its name and unblem-
ished reputation, to say nothing of its vast
monetary operations, and that it was high time
its princi a1 representative received a be-
ronecty. {he accomplishment of this ambitious
desire required e enditure; political inﬂuence
was necessary, on political inﬂuence could not
be acquired by one who kept his purse-strings
closed.

Never in the world‘s history was money more
potent than in the present decade; it simply
accomplished all things, and with fair tact and
preseverance, and a certain amount of of.
fmtery, could purchase all thin This fact
was recognized by Mrs. Oha and it was
probably ,ow‘ to conﬁden ' ou’ 7 of
,erso‘ u n his subject toherhusban that
he had  into Speculation. ‘
there was no doubting his wife’s declaration,
that no persons had a right to hold their heads
higher In society than those who re resented
the House of Chappell, Chappell and ' ppell.
This, in brief, was the position of affairs at the
openingof this 

On, Mr. Che. ell’s writing-table was a later
edition of the mes than that he had perused
over, his breakfast-table at home. ‘ He looked
throu the paper for fresh items of news, . and
soon 11ng upon one which he read with fever-
ish haste: ‘ ’ '

“Tun Gowns Mailman—Certain rumors
with? reference to the safet of this ship have
been ﬂyin about the city uring the last day
or two. pon inquiry We ﬁnd there is not the

slightest foundation for them. The vessel is

not yet due at its destination, and there is no
cause for alarm in the, circumstance that she
has not been spoken with. The rumors have
most probably been circulated by insurance
speculators; it is diﬂlcult otherwise to account
for them. The car 0 of the Gelden Mariner is
exceptionally valuab e, but that is not a. reasom
able ground for fears regarding the safety of
the vessel, which Is one of the ﬁnest 'now
aﬂoat.” , . ' .

Mr. Chappell read these lines with intense
satisfaction, and e. si h of rehef’escaped him as
he laid the aper asi e. - _ _

“ Certai y there is no cause for fear," he
mused, “ notwithstanding Mr. Armstrong’s
anxious inquiries. This morning promises to
be a fortunate one.” i ,

There was. still one letter unopened, and he
turned his attention to 1t. His sparkling eyes
proved the truth of the adage that it never rains

at it pours. .

“At last l” he exclaimed. “ From Mr. Walte-
ﬁeld. An invitation to stand for Burlingham;
Conservative representative not e acted to live
many hpurs. Sharp workwbut eke-ﬁeld is a
shrewdf’man, always takes time by the foreloch,
but the
is a safe
I 1311 con.

chance must not be lost.
man, too; his judgment is sound.

Mrs. Mercer *

Certainly '

km

A

suit Mrs. Chopped. Member of Parliament foi
Burlinng !’ ‘
Helennedhockin hischsir, andindulgedin
pleasant  with a smile on 
For a second time this morninghe  hear.
aknookathis door. Thai-ewes WWOI"
case forlnsuothearingit, for thoqu
loud one ;. there was something chew and
bustling In the sonnd. It was not 
The door was opened, ands . gallium
entered, and it was notunﬁlhe was; ‘ in the
room, and wasspeaking,  Wm
aware of the intrusion. ' _ ;
“ I expect you did not hear my W" said
the intruder, in a brisk, conﬁdent one, .“so I
took the liberty”—-——- . a ' '
“Itisa ' , sir,” interrupted lira-Gimp—
poll, haughta’ly. “ You should have, spoken to
the attendant outside.” ‘
“Noonethere, I assureyou; but if itisa
liberty, I’ll say good morning. and go away.
First, though—are you Mr. Chappell ‘1‘”
.“Iam, sir. Andyon 1'”. v
“ My name is Richard Barton. Habakk-
in

ter”———-——— .

“ My dear sir,” cried Hr. ‘p ' '
haste, and cordiall holding 0ft ' W. “1
thousand thousan pardons l ‘ , mm“
see you—delighted to see you 1’” _ .

CHAPTER Y. _

mmm‘mm mom's re run was.

“Wasatch my dearth welcome
to London!” continued in. Chappe‘h, baron
bisvisitorhadtimetoutter another word." “I
am ashamed to have given you 10th
trouble." , V -
. “Don’t mention it,” said Richard 
seeming atalcss toknow_wbettmublemre—‘
ferredto. ,“Notroublalassure oul" »

“Pm! sit down. A  whoa-sea.
 Choppenwinhecharmedtokww wow

He. gazed. at his “visitor with such an on»
premonas might come to one. whose on d
happiness was” ﬁlled to the brim. 
Barton was delighted with his recepﬁon. and
shook the banker’s hand cordth and
a ' TheentranceOt‘thisﬂoniiQme-uwu
'eapuifoftreshoountryair aphosrhich
had been pent up for years. There/venom“
of cit life about Mme-neither “that do.
spongsncy, nor care. His sunubrowried, hand-
excitement;

some faceeperkledwith

 clear, outspoken, brgvm eyes

honours-nature dweltin  Eli 

were emphatically laughing routines. if  had
a trick 0 looking pleasant, which was natural
to him. His was a face which women and
children would trust instinctively. - .
“Well, now," he said, “ this ishcai'ty off-you;
I like you." A v »
“Thatisright, my dear sir,” rejoined Mr;
(lhappell, with a frank smile; “we mtyou to
hke us. We'll make you like us more'before
we’ve done with you." . - ‘ ' ,
“_Why,” exclaimed Richard  “until
this morning I was beginningtothinkthstihm
traveled sixteen thousand miles over ﬁe  to
be frozen into an icicle not conventionalwgz' lite.
ness, and to have every drop of  ” lity
squeezed clean out of me. Tell mes—Joyce see
anything strange in my mention?" ’ ' I p
“ ’n the contrary, my dear sit, on (the cone,

ry- . .

‘ ‘ Then whaton earth makespe‘ople stareat me
so ? I go into ashop topurchase som ‘ , 5mg
directly I make a remark to the shop-man, the
other persons in, the Shop #11111 and store '33 the.
If I smile at them, they shru their 
and turn. away again. ' I l‘ ' 
man 121 the crowd, with an idea thathev’would
like-me to do so, and he seems  as
me In return. I tread u on a genderhaﬁ’ié too
by accident, and When apologize to him 310'
ymagome- (Elle uncivilizedﬁlgarﬂ 1* :MT

. ex 6 I someth' ' eront' IV "_

told that thep , 16 with most " ‘m

 
and will“. V35 I Who‘would‘be found  
and unchanged ‘ c You must be on- your , .

 
behavior,’ said a friend to me over the water;

‘ you must mind your pa and q’s.’ I havehad

one or two experiences, though, for I have de-

layedrathor in delivering my, letter of intra-
ductionﬁb you. I have been in London a week.

Ivanth totaste the sensation of" being in a

great city where there were hundretk' of thou-

iands‘wpeople, and where your very nuns was

 Would you like to hear one of m

pleasant . encesl’r’ ..

t..-t‘:-.Iishall deli h ” -

i..:.'.‘.‘ Wed—~131Mb ha! Ican’t help laughing,

for the life of me, when lthink of it. I’vehad

hiy ’ ’ ct picked.” ‘ , » '

 . could not exactly understand
what pleasure there could be in thisreminis—
cence ;. butashe was-annious to please and con—
 his visitor, he smiled, as if he really ea

it. . . . :
-. “The cleverest trick,’~’" continued Richard
Barton. ,“1 was walking along the Strand
quite comfortably, when a- gentleman tapped
me on the shoulder. ‘ I b your pardon,’ he
“id; ﬁbutthis is curhand erchief, Ibelieve.’
It was mine, an  took it £2311 1him some;
what, ohm tl . ‘ youngras ’ esa_.1',no
noticiagimgradeaesa ‘wae Picking It from

or pocket when Innatched itfrom‘his hand.

, e made off at once. These common pick-
pocket’s know howyto make 00d use of their

so

.4

’ He raised his hat, an almost before I D

had time to thank him and-apologize he turn~
eddcwaa streetandl lost s' ht ofhim. I was
so for it, for I felt that I behaved un-

 y. Then comes a policeman—:- By—theg
my  you ever see a London policeman
 “There never remarked it.”

“ They do smile sometimes, I suppose, when
nobody’s looking. W ell, then comes a police-
man, and points- toImy watch-chain. It was
hangin ‘ I clapped my hand to my

' “' t pocket, toﬁn‘ that my watch. Was
one; The clever rascal—quite a gentleman,
? assure you—had ﬁrst taken my hankerchief
«from and while he handed it back
to sue, “:21 watch. sharp trick, wasn't it?
13130:! my w I’ve almost made up my mind
ﬁlmeethim agaim'to make him a present of
the'chain.” ‘
e, t! Certai'nl ,” thought Mr. Chappell, when .he
heard the venture related as a pleasant ex-
perience, “this yOung gentleman is an oddity,
and requires a friend. ” ’
“You have had other leasant adventures,
you say,” he obeerved wit a slight cough.
3 ‘t Not adventures—experiences.” But here
some Barton blushed, and said, “Ah, well,

paths Iliad better not tell you. You will
only" ' I at me. You won’t? It’s only a
' "as; face!” ,

- “ The!“ I ought not to have s kenof it.
Why not, though? I There is no arm in lt.j
It was shoe 1 saw in a theatre.” , . «

"A  f l’s face, of course,” observed Mr.
Cha '  withan indulgent smile.” ‘ ,

“ as, a girl’s face, fair and beautiful.” _,

“Dan axons places, the theatres——ﬁlled with
sirens. Wars of them."

“,Thisone isno siren,” said Richard Bar-
 lnasoft tone, “in the sense that you
mean. She is as good as she is beautiful;
{Glam sure of it. You will understand me bet-

whsn I tell you that I lost my mother when
I was Very young, and that I have but a dim,
sweet remembrance of her face. This girl’s
{stumbles hers. That is all. I hope you
'  not think me foolish for mentioning so triv-
‘ a} a circumuanee."
“ “Think you foolish, my dear sir I” exclaimed
Mr. Choppell. with ready aymgathy, pressing
his visitor’s hand warmly. “ our sentiments
do you honor. as a father, I am proud to
hear them from the ll of a oung man.”
7 «Thank you." said
:gndqgietly; ',‘I am glad you did not laug
0

m . . -
~‘ Hr. ‘Ghappell chan ed the sub ect. “Then
»ycubegintolikeLon on. otter ?"
~ a" "‘1 am not nits sure. There areant
many people in t, but they are allstrangers.
Bayou ever ﬁnd it lonely ’

 
lobar Barton,’ simply ' ,,
,. Mr. 

 
LOVE’S VICTORY.

“Lonely! Why, the streets are crowded!
Where you come from”-— i -

“Ay, where I come from, the streets compare
to your London streets, are deserted. Yet here I
walk amo the crowd, and feel lonelg devil-
ish lonely. , e I come from it is, ‘ ow;a,re
you, Dicklig b ‘Good day, Bargain.’ ‘Ffine
morning,_o I o 1’ and I receive 9 gri o a
friend’s hand eveZy hundred yards-éhaml; with
hearts in them, mind you. But here nobody
gives anybody a pleasant, look; evorybody
looks upon every other body as an interloper,
as something to be hustled about and pushed
 everybody is in every other body s way.
Why, to me the very houses seem to be jealous
of their neighbors, and to. be oking their el-
bows into each other’sribs. l’am glad to be
here, though. ‘I Wanted to look with my own
eyes: upon St. Paul’s, and Westminster Abbey,
and HamPton Court, and the Crystal Palace,
and all the other wonders, so that I might be
able to talkof them by-and-by‘. I wanted, .to
see the theatres and. the. great actors I’ve read
so much about. I wand give much for the
privilege of shaking by the hand some great
authorswhom I could name, and for the opporg
tunityof thanking them fer the many hours
they have made pleasant for me. I want to
see if they are like their works. But they must
be, they must be; they could not write else.
0 you know any of them, sir?”
“ Yes, and. so will on when youmix in.soci-
ety.”,  Che ' e had it on his lips to say,
“You” will ﬁn them very ordinary persons,
afterall; ’but he thought it wiser notto at
tempt to dispel the oung man’s illusions, ' He
had a feeling of, 0th admiration and con-
tempt for risitor’s freshness.) “Mrs.
Chappell will be; most happy to study your
wishes in this respect. Eon will come to my
house tomorrow evening to dinner-«a few
friends after—a little music—quite a simple
aﬂair. My wife will‘be deli ted; she has a
passion for celebrities, and‘ , dare so, one or
two lions will drop in in the cours ' of seven.
ing.z Then my son Frederick show you
about; he knows every‘ inch of London. I
 not wonder to hear you say, after a little
while,  it is the only City in the world‘worth

livmfm.

“ ensurelam quite readytothinkso; it
has brightened considerabl since I have been
in this room. Now, what 0 you think I came
to London for?”

Somewhat surprised at the question, after
the young man’s enthusiastic outburst, Mr.
Chappell replied, “ To see its wonders, and to
enjo life as a oung man of means should do.”

“ 0,” said ichard Barton, with a different
kind of earnestness ; there were both sorrow and
stemness in his tonesnow. “ Notwithstandin
what I have said, it is doubtful Whether
should have crossed the seas, but for one other
settled and speciﬁc purpose. Born in the 0010-
nies,:and livin ,the free life many men lead

there, I think should have been content there
' to live and die.

It is only Englishmen who
yearn for En land, and it is right they should.

Four—ﬁfths 0 those who are now in the'colonies '

ask of the Old Country as home, sim 1y for
6 reason that they were born here, thou-
sands look forward tothe time when they will
be able to return. This feeling is growing
weaker, certainl , every car, and 18 not shared
in at all’by us w 0 were m in the fair South.
We taste pleasures that on in crowded cities
do not dream of. No; I ave cometoEngland
to perform a task in which justice made a
sllg t mistake; but a mistake which” blighted
the hopes of a life. When I send in my card
to the person I am in search of, it will not be
embellished with the ﬁgures of Venus? and
Bacchus. Inthe performance of my task Imay‘
ask for your assistance.”
“ You may depend u nit, my dear sir,” said
y; “ you may depend
upon it.’

“Thankybu. In the mean time, as I do not
wishmymoneyto lieidle, I shall be glad to
take your advice in the matter of investments.”

“ I shall be most ha py to give it,” replied
Mr. 'ChapPelL rubbing hands. r~

 
*littleim

‘lamaohus was advised to go

 
While these last words were being exchanged,
at short ' was taking place outside the
door, Frederick Chappell, Mr. Ghapp’ell‘s eldest
:23. hadhsauntered into the hall, and before on.
ring t e room, paused to exchange" in few
words with Trail. Mr. Frederick justiﬁed" the
conﬁdence which the young clerks'of 
placed in him in the matter of dress. 
the very pink of fashion, a model of ease and
elegance. A handsome young genﬂemanval‘no,
with fair hair scrupulously arranged, and the-
skin as white andllsmooth as a lady’s. ' Some»
what of a contrast to the young gentlemannow
closeted with his father: Richard Barton had
brown hair and an embrowned skin, and was
nothing of a dandy. , . ,
“ My father in, Trail '1’” asked the young ex—
quisite. ‘ ’ ' -' -« ‘ 
‘ “Yes, sir.” . , . .. -
. A, shadow expressive of disappointment
passed into the young man’s lace. _  t  ,j
“There’s a gentleman with; him, sir? pro,
cecded Trail; .“ a singular gentlemauﬁvery
singular. . . Fram' foreign parts, I behpvdﬁ, €53“;
This'being' a matter of small im ’"  f 
Frederick Cha'ppell, he made no comment, it,
With'his hand upon the handle of the dengue
was about to enter the reom, but paused  Sail?
carelessly. ‘ f  ‘
“ You delivered my letter i” . ‘ 
“To the young lady, Miss Laura, sire- Oh,
yes.’ I . '
“ Did you see the young lady herself?"
“ Yes, sir.” I _
“ Was there any answer to the letter '1’", , .
These questions Were put in a tone of utter
indifference. _  ' , 
. “The oung lady seemed surprised, sir, but. .
she said 9 would come.” . . ’ , 1
“ Very good. Seemed surprised '1’ .Whatelse
did she say, then I” i 7 ‘ , '
ri“ liothing else, sir. I meant she‘look sure
p  n r ‘
Frederick Chappell nodded, and again was, on
the point of entering the room; but although.
he made a show of turning the handle, it re—_
malned motionless within his hand. I '
“ Oh, bthhaway, Trail,” said Merle]:
Chappem, as though about to say something‘ot

 
.‘tl

him, “if she happens to call when

is in, you will say that he is busy. If

you will admit her. You understand ?”
Trail’s understanding being strengthened

through his palm by contact with 9. pkg of 

rtance which had accidentally , p (1
“Po my falg or
am in,

ver, he replied that he understoodr'ﬁn 
that the young ladyhad said 8.1148 might . aﬁew,
minutes etc. as she had a long" rehearsal toga.
through. Then Frederick  I I a
handle of the door andentcred; e   1

“Ah, here is my son,”  the banker.
“Let me introduce you to each  ' ed.
erick, this is Mr. Richard  Just arrived
from the colonies, with a peck ul or moneyh
and in sad need of a friend to pioneer him
thro the mysterious labyrinths of Lemma~
life. want you youngsters to be friends.”

The young men shoo hands. ‘_ '

“With such an introduction," said Freda...
ick, with a light laugh. “_I shall be very happy
Ki b3 Mr. Barton’s guide, philosopher, and _

en .” , , , -

“ That’s right, that’s right," said the banker,
briskly. “ Mr. Barton is quite a stranger in
London, unused to London ways and man-
ners, which are somewhat strange to him. ’ You
must show him about, Fred.” . 3 _

“I shall be very ha' py to do so.”re lied
Frederick, airily. “ at do you say? hall
I be your courier? A kind of index, to which
you shall refer in all your diﬂoulties? "You
must provide me with a pro or arm. I

“ No, no," cried Richard n, laughmg ,
“a friend in real, rightde earnpst. That’s
what I want, and shall be of.

“It’s a bargain, than. I am to be your?

5‘

'mentor, I should dub you Telemachus.”

' ‘ Let me see,” observed Richard Bath 11, with
a certain air of thoughtfulness upon him «Te.
to S rtato seek

information of his father. Well, shall wan
assistance.» We are triends, than." ,'. Vwith’

L0 VE’S VICTORY.

 
a cordial look toward Frederick Ghappell.
u  is a. D. _ , . ‘

“Though,” cheer-red Frederick, “you have
noneed to desirexfnmwhﬂe your pockets
are lined with gold. ' guarantees you a
welcome everywhere. Friends will ﬂy to you
like iron to a magnet, and W111 stick to you as
close while the attraction lasts.” a

, “ That is true in many senses,” said Rich-
ard Barton, somewhat sententiously; uit is
the way of the world, I know.” .

«1‘ There’s no danger of Mr. Barton losing
his attraction, " said the banker, entering into
the humor of the conversation; “ hehas too
much of i .” '

. “ Can’t have, dad. I wishI were in his place.
Loo ” With an air of comical distress, he
pulled out the lining of an empty pocket, and
extended it for observation between two ﬁng-
ers. .“ For the credit of my name you might
give me some money, dad. If I were to be
searched it would be a'lasting disgrace to the
House, forI haven’t a shilling.”_

“You forget,” interposed Bachard Barton,
that I have a pocketful. ’ ’ ' ~
“No, I, don’t. I’ll borrow of you by-and—

yAt which, all the gentlemen laughed in com
cert. 'Mr. Chappell senior sat down and wrote

a check, and gave it to his son, saying good-
humoredly, ‘

“ Here, you extravagant scamp.”

“Thank you, dad. Now my mind. is easy.
Ifall fathers were like you, and all sons like
me, what a happy world this would be l”

_ “For the sons,” replied the banker, dryly.

“You lads can amuse yourselves, I have no
doubt. I have business elsewhere. Help me
on with my coat, Fred. Good—day, Mr. Bare
ton, You  excuse me. Do not forget to
come to-morrow evening. e my house
your home while you are here. . We dine at
six, and you will always ﬁnd a knife and fork
read ”

» Add with these and other words as cordial,
Mr. Chappell senior, shaking hands with, Rich-
ardBarton, and bestowing upon him many a
kindly look, took his departure, and hailing a
cab, was whirled in the direction of the Stock
Exchange.

 
warms VI.

cwrsm. use are vmws on m
summer or “woman.”

Fannmcx Own-1.1. was by no means in-
clined to disregard an introduction, ‘under' such
favorable circumstances, to a wealthy, inexpe-
rienced, and impulsively generous young gen-
tleman. Some two or three years older than
Richard Barton, he was immeasurably older in
experience in the world’s ways and mice, in all
that savored of life’s wisdom. He had matricu-
lated in the crooked the, and was learned in
, them. When he sai he would borrow of Rich.
 Barton) by-and-by, he made the statement
inﬁll sincerity. He was not averse to borrow-
ing,"bein'g nearly always in need, notwithstand-
ing the handsome allowance his father, made
him. To be in debt did not trouble him, it
was fashionable. He owed with an easy mind
—the very reverse of Richard Barton, with
whom to owe what he had not present expect.
ancy of paying Would have been torture. But
I need not proceed with my analysis; the char-
acters of these young men and of others in this
story will be developed by themselves, through
their words and actions. Having an hour to
s are, Frederick Chopped was quite willing to
f evote it to his new friend. . I.

The ﬁrst thing he did when .1118 father left
them was to examine the outside . of Richard

Berle ' a critical e e.
“ dualism is respdnsible ?” .he asked.
W“For my clothes?” replied BIchard Berta
Who noticed the observance, and was. an’i’usdz
by iE ,, “They was” made 'll'ligle colonies. ”
‘r‘th'_-;are,o _.
, ought so, y i i ” mid . H
mm “was; “I ammutch attached to 1 ”
“ I m ready to believe‘that it 18 the happiest
minder the sun; but they can’t cut newsers

martian

 
"How splendile epigrammaticl', It
strikemeintha way. I must confess. As for '

 
and coats there. Abuse yournative land I will
not; abuse your tailorI must.” ' v ' l
I “Are theyso bad?” asked Richard,
athis despised garments..~ P
“ My dear fellow, you mustnot go into 80-'
eietywith such surroundings; You have a po-
sition to  I shall take you to my tai-
lor, who willmake a man of you. Where are
You “0153118 " ’ -
“At a otel.”
“ Bad form. You intend to stay in London ?”
“for some time at least. Twelve months

sa .
“ Probability is, if you stay twelve, you will
stay tWelve twelves.~ I make an appointment
with you. To—morrow at twelve we goto my
tailor”~——- -

“ Can I exist till that time?”

“ Try. It’s-a bore I know. Any special
grief on your mind?”

“A. terrible one—just ﬂedged.” Richard
struck his breast dramatically. “ Have beem
hatching it all my life, and it has only now pop-
ped its head out. A grief full-feathered.”

' “ Conﬁde in me, Telemachusﬂ’ .

“ I ask you,” said Richard, with a sly smile,
“ can I exist until twelve to-morrow to be made
a man of ?”

“ I will help you—with my society.”

“ Do. Heaven knows what will occur to me
if I am thrown upon the burden of myself, with

this new grief to weigh me down.”

Richard: Barton was evidently devoid neither
of animal s irits nora certainkindofhumor;
and Frederick ’Chappell was disposed to be
tolerant of any eccentricity in one so well ac-
credited.

“Be consoled,” he said, ashe lolled in his
father’s arm-chair; “I will cometo youthis
afternoon, we will dine tggether, and go to the
theater afterward Agre tel”. '

‘_‘ With leasure.” -

“ Ever en behind the scenes?”

“Never,” replied Richard,  g V

“ I will take ”‘you;””-~said Frédenck, calmly.
“We will go and see the mysteries and the
glories of the new burlesque, ‘ Mythology in a
Stew.’ I’ll introduce you to the author, with
whom you will be disappointed, and to the ac-
tress who plays the leading part. with whom
you will be enchanted. I promise—what with
grandees in paste, and milkmaids, and feathers
and silk tights and high-heeled boots, and other
modern p easanu-ies, to say nothing of a de-
ﬁciency of drapery-40 show you a very pretty
congregation of sinners. ' tellthem on
are worth a million a ear, and they ‘ all
worship you. They w' prostrate themselves
before your Moneyed Highness, and lick the
dust from your feet.”

Richard Barton, delighted at the programme
prepared for him, laughed heartily at his com-
pamon’s vivaciousness, which, it must be stated,
was displayed only in the matter, and‘not at all
in the manner, of his words. On occasions

such as this, Frederick Chappell all’ected ‘a slight talk

drawl, though he could be earnest enough when
occasion demanded.

“ You have been to the theater, of course ?"
he asked. .

“ Oh yes, but not to see the burlesque you.

speak of. I have been to two or three. On 53;

the ﬁrst night I wash London I wentto see a
new modern comedy, and I must confess to being
somewhat surprised at its fans. Everybody
said and unkind things of everybody
else. It was as though an assembly of cynics
were speaking, who had no belief in goodness.
All that was bestinhumsnnaturewassetup as
a target, at which every actor in the play shot
arrows of ridicule and densmn. The people in
the theater seemed amused, certainly, for they
laughed and applauded; and a lady near to
me observed more than once to her com 'on,
not

the drawin -room conversation, I y if such
Were  zed in insocietycd the stagethe
would be shown to the door with very

scant ceremony.” ’ ’ -
“My dear fellow, in society we are never

looking *

l

rude. ..We do unitde ngﬁhr
they srealwaysdcnepoh’telyazliYou»m.mlde.
me ahndst “forget curatoemermw’s appoint»:
ment. At twelve, thereto  tailor, to be
made a manor; 'sxterwardgto look :atisemr
chambers  know of. »~ Theynre‘inﬂslllall,“
and willsmt you exactly; hey are very close
tomYownse ”.‘ f - - ,  a - '
“You don’tliveathnnie,'&en?” - > .
“Occasmnally; notaasva rule. Gan’tbe
bored. Wevnlldropinupma lriendofmine
on the I ——-one , an 
Eccentric f w, Armstrong. Americunsgnim
for eccentricity,it seemsto , . . yriehe
ones. Look at Peabody. 'But money 00v
a multitude of sins, social and other; : md Arms“.
strangle asrich as Croesus.” " ~  - ,v : v1
“A common mistake that,I take it 
was not arich man.” I  r  a I ~
:‘gonsens‘eﬂ’ * ' y
‘ ct  Come now - a» llogrsm,‘ 
Whatmanisrich?” ’ »’ 8y, r. v
“ That man who has enough ”
“Has aman enough who is not  .
ll‘airplay.new]:e m  ,  .  x
(“Qt  hasn’t,”   .‘r.
little surlily, seeingtheizap. : ._ ' q I, , __
“Croesus was not content... Theme 
suswasnot’a rich'man. A man with 
pennds a year andeontentis richer thanOrcssus
was withallhismilliena” ,, - .
“A colonial philospher, r by Jove!” cried;
Frederick, with ‘ust a: shade of sarcasminhis;
tone. “You ‘ be a success—when you are.
properly dressed. wImpu'ophesy that in a month,
from this day you be (meet the chief 
inLondon. Allthe girls will be 
after cu.” ~ - r . . ,
.“Whatfor? my‘philosoph'y ’ , . r ,
“No,” saidll'rederick, witha laugh. « “Your
money.” , ' ' - . ,
:ildavthe  Ibégtheir" I ‘
man -— : We?
Bachard' Barton'notrllmmediateb' " .
Some cynical chord in his mgpinion’s 
jarred upon his nerves. When he spoke it was
slowly,1 and in a soft ton , , i
‘ on’t believe in ﬂippant expressiom 
ward women. That kindof talk is too common
nowadays, unfortunately.” . ,
bathe.

“ Verdantyouthl” thoughtFrederick;
did riot utter his the t, aloud.

“ ouwillnot ' my sayingthis,Ihope,
proceeded ' . “Put itdnwn
tomyhavinglivedoutodtheglw M a 
my being 01 Jashionedﬁ’    

“au‘ t,old 
easy 00 ' ,  ou‘wﬂldihﬂ‘WbM
atteryouhavebeeninLcndonafewweeh” ‘

“I sincerely hope not. I think I shouldn-
gretmytriptoEnglandallmylifeif 
of knowledge were to come to me, and I W
tobelieve init.” ~ I  ’.

“ Upon my soul,” exclaimed Fredeﬁckgs “row
hke a married man, with atasnilyof virtue,
ous daughters. Are you?” a v ~

“Ne,’replied Richard. withamuile.  ‘

“Inlove, perhaps! Ihaveheerd it m
some men in the same waypyou have been
speaking. You caught me not ,now with a

llogism. Answer me. In of sum-

,” ‘

Richard Barton partied skillfully.
cate question. Confess; yourself, ﬁrst;
“My dear fellow ” said the sung exquisite
of twenty-eight, “I common to love so long
ago that I cannot remember. the date. I have
been in love a thousand times. ” I
23111:: if you  married 821110 your loves you-
wo ve more wrvesthan awn—.03 3mm '
have had.” , , ' I"
“What anawful r‘eﬂectionl And whats col":
lection they  make! Dark and fair, tall
and short, ﬁlm: and otherwise. Evan MW
wouldbetoohotforme withsueh’a ". "?

“Form 'part,’ _ ” said"Richard,‘   ' '.
“Ithmki apity men don’t so “I '3
ﬁght... more...“ 

. aloudlaug “Keeptoyourpm‘gramm ‘
audmy‘ hecywill come truetothelettezi:

v

 
3! Jove! thewomw will horned aboutyeua

 
8 LOVES VICTORY.
g _
com the single Is. You will be heldu power can make their opposing natures hnr- ca, represented by Armstrong; you”st for
  Kmmmwcg monks; Theme ‘ crane '  ' y 3’   ;?,g  ‘4
Wamoﬂoqﬁ _ win» seem the other, and itmi almostbe sai Mwith' “And I venture to maﬁwrmmm.
instantiate: ;~ will bereams then'cyesehsednthey mulddetect the balefnl mung, “thaws ' ’  of ’ dis
 Mother-smiths inﬂuence. It is often a singular feature thonnlym¢cltheﬂneowho won! need
m-mmmwhﬂeyonmsinﬂe. in this  clarion, that the parties  ‘ ‘ rcfgoodmanners."
,Dmﬁmxilim for you, cndnniieupon knewneillodeach . Alinthe presentin; Frederick-(Shapde mghed 
'yousnlimthqyﬂadoreyoui’i‘hoywmmte. stance. Here were twomenOfeqeal-formnc, andtoohth'ehint. . I t  
,youoatstno; ondevery single daughterotﬁvc unneny o! commanding in ' , who “Mr. \Bichard. ' Mr. Amok-cog.”
‘ ' '  'utaqunrterod an hour since were . etc,» "‘Woreallyhnvesomething.ineon2m i’eoid

anamme
 thutions. d‘heywilifestomtiseststue
 and ohignom, andwoekinyellow
ihair, devioc,p‘hohﬂd.theﬁaiden’sfriendl’
 Mm happen ’toﬁyoumwhile. .3”! you are
‘: " ._ . , ‘- verso, ' mayyom:
shadowneyer mfg!" Frederick laughed
Wan... damp 7
insinuate wbwtone: “Booed-course, nime
«nutrient, you‘wonld not havathmmen
who can’t aﬂord it.” ‘ . , ..
“ not." said Richard, mocly
mmmhwtoifeel amused or oﬂen‘ded'at
this at badinage "

. i‘msmm question,” continued Fred-
eﬁoﬁ,‘ "the; sit-momentmzs question, theques-
unsee- ~« to... to. t.
e: an ' .g’ we ‘
for WW  serious mug-Ion
 ,Z‘hen diner-co is {BO-I'de 41f mowed
indie  whwolshnreoeed youscan
so! Editor“ not in? dollars, the nii'air would

wears diﬂercnt  Bother-his no
  w.
’ 21' '4' : calm“ ' 4 :EWD fan
mandooiﬁm  up to ieasc
eye; she is '  endpoivder, , stum-
g-ishe Selim  cotton prints which
we    thorny ﬁrst trial,

5?

‘ all the color comescut of them." ,

  hid meninges  up his
mind as to his new Aﬁiend’o 'ogmion, supposing
hiswordstebee faithful r exoi' them. He
contented himself, howeyer,  saying :L‘ .. --
.3114YNW 1&1" ._  j  I: ‘I ‘ .
“Fact, upon mgord," Said Eretgerick
for yet, ' Med, ,was emu y n
  it. You willsoon ﬁnd
  AK modern woman has gone
' ’ She isms a 1311M

, other goalinrity. I ‘ I I
  311a puh‘tdg‘ether‘agmu , 

x «we; mnan Vsome‘ day I he...»
meetWithQ"-M, , ,, '1‘ g ' .
.   Frederick, mtemzpt-

- ‘sa‘SWithz‘ewman, replied Riohard,1n'sn

‘I'F‘who will not need to be wart
 antihwho cannot be taken to,
' in: . “H9 etuerasaim’ v .

1:3"  age he for,_my dear fellow,
andnhn'eotusgots ‘ th'money, of course?”-
“sset Mm:  although I
  ’  who, having aired his
' ' now gave her the benefit of

   
m“ when I nxnrry'lmust man-y
7- A ‘ he too? internally incont'en-
é “ love, “115319: smess‘,"+—~—— r '

ft ﬁnallvbeihought withvrnioney, myxd‘ear
.n Then the m or money must indeed henn-
‘iﬂccnwehienceﬂ‘said Richard Barton. somewhat-
, ﬁgmy, K‘Bju‘bthﬁe issomething worse than

“cent  it.  is it?”

‘

.    I L“; or weeps. .
y  turn'which/ the conversation between the.
“£05  . _ .hsdiaken did not‘promisewell

 
for,   .31» 1&8 ﬂasks ' ,rthere,
  s. .ﬂxsiolenq? ﬁdme‘w ether.
martinis.» anemia to .ﬁnsthem together:

some , 5 8 meme _u.re.:‘natiur9Which it is im-'
poseshie to irate  -;Even Wesson
omens some    weethem
toward each etﬁmtheversice. they ‘me,
inseam

    
021"; _ 61‘, to‘menecxne'f   their  -

  any. sweeter invariably: failure-g ,0

tics, and said presently, -

Who can sﬂoiﬁ-tommx? A;

 
strangers to each other’s existence ; andaltthh
they mctunfriendly grounduwith. no. known
motivator anythinghut friendliness, and with
every outward circumstance favorable for" the
consenting of cordial relations, they were, with-
inthose few minutes, very, nearly on the brink

can , . . r . . ..
Perhapsitisunneeessarytobeprecise. Ifthey
had a quarrel, RichardBarton'would haw been
the canon aggressor. He wasthe more impulsive
and hot-blooded of the two-ribs more sincere
ahdo'uht‘ipok’en, the'more inexperienced. Fred.-
exick Chapde was too wellverscd in the usages
of polite  to commits breachofgood
manners when his  were not man 3?
excited; and as, mmﬁmoe of a doc
lentil:th Marmara! nature, was not so quick

to. Richard. Berton. to take, chance in encha-

manner as this, his one for aversion was some,
whatuncenain. . 'e l ' ' -

' The 'tnation may be thus brieﬂy described.
Richard Berton, hurt and indignant at the ﬂip-
fmncy and apparent hesrtléssnoss at his compon-
on, was yotamangry with himself  show-
ing temper; ' *beingin a new world, ofth
social iawa he considered himself ignorant. .w
not. sure» thatihe. himself was not in the
wrong. Then, his innate love and sense of
justice ivh'hqiereii to him that he was un-
gcnerous anduncharitable.- Thisovermioe sense
or the moral attentions his great tonnent to
a. man. It is like . ' a porcupine’u skin,
with the points turn inward A kind
of accusing conscience is its-ever on the
alert to prick the soul with doubts and to make
every nerve quivm'u Frederick Che was
not thus ' ted. 0761’ the velvet s
moral aﬁeoﬁons all questims of morality and

its opposite glided smoothly, no notch being in

the. way to f-discompoee him.
thing,» unused at Richard V ,
ﬁancegg’gﬂ‘ hmédbhavehterﬁzd it, uni-was

w; y cit er, , companion’s
tone or woz'ds. ‘He had decidedly the .best of
the situation.

The danger Wasavexted byatimely, diversion.
A visitor was announced in the person of Mr.
Armstrong. ' v - .

“The, ver man I was speaking of,” said
Frederick‘ p oil to Richard Barton “Mr.
Amnstrongﬁthe eﬁcan- I can introduce you
here ;. you will like him." a

Mr. Armstrong entered';ra tall, spare. man,
with clear, 3 ' '-out features, sh'sﬁlgtly fun-owed

He was, if any.
Barton's “

by thought, 6 eyes, largo, poly hands
andvﬁthinohair  face. I mentioning

hands, because they were all ucntly expressive,
and Were in some sense an in ex to his charac-
ter. Everything about him was indicative ,of
power ahd'self-possession.

I “Mr. Chappellnot in?”.he asked, as he eu-
tered, lookin faround for the banker. '

j “No,” rep fed Frederick; “ I am left in pos:
I Session.l .i .... I

Mr. Armstrong, nodded carelessly, and his
eyes rested'upon‘Richax-d Barton, who was re-
gardinghim with some curiosity.

“I re ' this meeting as a very interesting
cine ” said Frederick, in his drawling manner.
“' are we are, representatives of three eat
constituencies, accidentally brought toga her,-
all speekin the same 1911311336, and havin at
least some ' g in common. 'I represent ng:

land, which I place ﬁrst, as the most important
"censtituenoﬁr 01 the three.” ’ ’ ' ‘

' “ ensued-ije to be pmud of its re ‘-
sentetive.” observedaMr. Armstrong, causﬁcg;

"‘ I ought to have named. you,” snile’reder-T '

icbaddressins' himself to BMW}? threw;
ﬁrmstrong is a wit, and is'priirile ed to in
smart things. Next to England, I p We 

u-

. Frederick, in a “centering

n of his)

111110..

strong could say, seemed to

 
Mr. 'Annmﬁg, shaking'hmdscordinﬁ with
Richard—the young‘teilow’a bright face an
attraction for Wf‘wuwe f‘hsii: mm new'
worlds. Eateyouheeii long inL‘mdon 1‘”

“Onlyafewdoys.”  ) v ,3 r

“ Youltwowill suit enchlother capita‘ﬂy,” said
tone. “Ihavo already
discovered  young  beiieve

an  ." ‘ ‘ I .. . I
gotoverv ’ sore feeling! “£0,110; not any

“glib? n’mn‘n‘ who believes-,Woaid Hr. Ann.
strong. “Iwould sandallskv mam
technich theirown, where 
Belch otherto death.” ' . ' “1  ‘ ,

Frederick held up his hand; as thought-.0,
protect himself from the words. His manner
throughout the“ conversation ‘wes thepmsnner
of a man who" wes'indoiently conscious of his
0'an superiority. ‘ ‘ ' ~ *

“Don't bovindictive," helsaid. ’ “Before
you came in, Iwaa sounding your praises. Tell
us aim “it.” u. o Lana-om" ' gain I I F
u  .'  ' » 
night. I didn’t See you there." - '

‘f The Out-and-Oomeot ” said Mei-loll,
in explanation, “ is one o ourhighucleu the“.
ters’ ; ﬁr. Armstrong is an enthusiast oaths
subject of the drama. 'What did you see, 1" ’

"Ewes the ﬁrst night of an original drama
wﬂttenby,Mr.Glip” " ,. .- ~  9

Frodemck again played the part c! Chorus.»
“Clip is one-of our best authors. 
(1:13.?! That, is news indeed. My origi—
n H I q‘ ‘ A , ‘ m; .‘

“ Without a shadow of doubt. ~ Clip took it
from the French, who took it from the Spain--
ish. The French had no right to it, so ip
attached it; ‘ It is Clip‘s clearly. Clever fellow,
Chg—a genius. He has produced one hundred
an ninety original plays. Long live paste and
scissors l" ’ v ‘

"(We , were speaking of the theaters," said.
Richard. “Mr. Chappell has promised to
take me behind the scenes to-night.” '

"Indeed !" exclaimed Mr. Arxhstrong,‘ with
a keen look at Frederick, who, in this” instance

at least, did not seem'quite at his‘ecse'; if what

theater?" ‘ ,

“ I don’t know," repliedltichard ' “where 9.

new burlesqueis beingpieyedgi "where he"

premises to show niea very  

tion of sinners,” ' ‘ ,.  1 .

"By which‘he meansiezxieies'innets:
Chapp‘ell, I believe, _¢ . Yie‘Ws with
respect to actresses. __Y why should Isa *
peculiar? He holds them in-oomnion’ xvi '

man ‘ other young gentlemen ” ‘

“ porcine! spare me!" cried   L

a tone of mock appeal. ,

 Armstrong paid no. attention to the} 59;.
casm. ,“I never neglect an opportunity to”
s eel: in. defense of the maligned, V _,
.. aspen. says. I take  interest:- ‘in the
drama, I love theaters, and am “gamma

1 with a' number of good women on tho-stoke. I‘ '

know more than one who. in the "‘illness‘orin-l
capacity of their husbands. work hard and
cheerfully for feed for their children,.for the’
warm clothin which protects them from the‘

cold. for the 1x tle boots. whiChjcovelj their ten;

der feet. Shall I‘be silent. then. .,when 1 then

them spoken of in at body as 8, prett 0011318833

tionv of sinners? The words themsetes cchvey

' a reproach which would, hqt‘be‘lesse'ned'b

uttering/thaws." v. , 7 .    »

.. Fredeﬂuk‘ laughed ; nethingithatvmr 
, giscomrm 

Mr. AnnettOn continued. and ncwaediessed

the tone in which Chappell is cepshle o);

' himself spec ly to'Richard Burton! " ~

 
. a",

- ‘,  If  an .siaer‘maca

r 1...».

:. "a, uniting; and; managing-

. \.
f .
s-cr . ‘\

l
r

20 ms image. ,

 
. ,_ a d h t, 1d,;3§y6uld*m§y
ears. an .1:  on me o;  formalise -
boldenstnetbidke‘htﬁigty’   thé
World'yoiraresbonlrtoienm‘youfwill!sobnlearn,
if you havenotlearn§d1t already,how common
it is to wristwatch ‘pﬁly‘fo'r' those qualities
which are,_reast"creeitable to them {you will
soon t'learnmliow common it isto holdup their

‘ small follies and magnifythem into great vices,

and. utterly ignore their- sweet and noble vir-
tues. Eat-mot fall into the fashion. -Pay no’
heeditottte utterances of our cynics and shal-‘
.bw—pate‘di 9butterﬂies; for the world is ful‘ of
goodwomen.” - ' n 7

“By i‘Jove l” exclaimed Frederick. * “ It’s
enough to take one’s breath away. Whatacap-
ital moral exordiuml Mr. Barton, beware of
the example of the Bad Boy of this little-comedy,
if you wish to make a friend of Mr. Armstrong.
Be virtuous, my son, and you will be happy.
And now, if your": schoolmaster has ﬁnished his
sermon, perhaps he  some more news.
You  never ﬁnd our .Schoolmaster at a loss,
Mr. Barton ; he has alway‘something ready. ‘ I

I shall begin soon to think that he is ubiquitous,

for he is everywhere and sees everything. A

’ " _ month ago I had occasionto visit Bow Street po~

lice "com-tn; as a witness? in an assault case——

deucedhard lines it was, for I was not mixed
up  it in any way—~and there was our

l . schoolmaster 'sitting on a bench, watching the

poor wretches who were before the magistrate
for being drunk and disorderly with as much
interest as he would watch the performance of
the lastopera bouﬁe.” ‘
p “I went into a police I

“ There? I  did I not tell you?
N W listen to his experiences.”

3 It was in the country, and one of your beau-
tiful adnn‘ziistrators of justice, in the shape of a

court last week.”( ,

‘ justiceof the peace, who knows as much of law

‘ men andmanners.

as my little ﬁnger, was on the bench.” ,
‘.‘ Understand,” interposed Frederick, “that,

as an American, Mr. Armstrong has a profound

contempt for our English institutions, and in-

deed for all institutions that are not Ameri-

can.” .

“ Understand,” rejoined Mr. Armstrong, with

l a slight frown, “that I have a profound con-

tempt for in‘ustice, wherever it be practised.
 m es no didarence to me; I judge by
, Some 0 your justices of
the peace wouldbe adisgrace to 'any civilized
 ” , ' ‘ a ' K _

_ "“Yofliavenot been to  Bar- A

ton?’?asEedFrederick., )

. .‘fNﬁWrepliod Richard, who followed with

‘  battle of words between his new

acquaintances. “ I hope to go one day)
“ There”, said Frederick, ironically, “ you

‘ will ﬂnd"justice admimstered by [immacuhte

, omen—men above reproach, beyond corruption.

Unhappy me! Why was I born an». English-
man ?” . g '
if?! We‘liave deep blots upon our systems,”

, said Mnlrmstrong, “ but. we have the excuse,

atoll events, that we are comparatively a new
 you must bear in mind that we

,‘ hays anchormousnumber of men of ~mixed

. 3-0 V
three Great Britains in a corner of
, and never  the space 1!! _.

v .a insect of the
“The  I heard was that of a gentleman
_ why-rap r ,

nationalities, and tan; enormous territory .to
item. ; Why, sir, we: 0on play. dice wrth
, America,
“ Bravo! bravo'l’" cried Frederick.
“ You have no suchﬁekcuse’for misgoverment
in‘this‘ country,.”contmucd Mr. Armstrong, “ as
those I have adduced. You haYe had time, ripe

V) . experience, great hitellefstS. aﬁéttled population,
_.:to perfect your institutions, which yet do not

.meare too favorably with curs. But I must

-  pick up the thread of my story- As I said. I

wéntinto a country police court last week, where
peace was dispensing- justice.

to answer a charge of assault ripen
9' woman. Re denied the charge, and said that
th‘?  accosted him in the street—at seems
uni“  a previous acquaintance be-
tween them 0,? not the most reputable kind-e

that he  psath , her aside, and she

 
r much. .”

 
chosethon  w 7’  that‘shé mes
bring «him: i ’d‘ '  ‘ibéfdre timepieces:
newscasts were w hileitiiﬂé‘m,‘ 
as adherent venison tlie gramme-whewe
thatthe maul  ’stmck lien ms was not:
victéd,‘ and to‘prison for, a month without
the option of a ﬁne.  The next case‘was that or
s miserable—looking man in rags, 'who’wa’s
charged" with stéaling a turnip from" a ﬁeldi’
The man'Was munching "the turnip when the
policeman pounced upon him, and‘he’was' taken
red-handed to the station. 'In his‘defense the
man pleaded that he Was starving, and from his
appearance this 'was probably true. To my
mind his statement carried conviction with it.

 
He' leaded, mereover, that the turnip' was not .

in ,e ﬁeld, that it had tilted o‘ver-—'—as naughty
turnips sometimes  do—into the common
road, and that it'was damaged. ‘ Anyway, he
was'sta‘rving, and the' temptation was not to be
resisted. The "stomach is a stern tyrant. He
was convicted and the justice ﬁned him six-
pence for the oifense.”' '

-' “Which you paid!” exclaimed Richard;
eagerly. ' - '

“I did not say so,” replied Mr. Armstrong,

vel . ‘

“We ,” said Richard, “these é'xamples do
not prove that this justice of the peace was un-
worthy of his position. The sentgnces wore
just ones." r ’ '

“ You believe that I have spoken the truth i’”

‘ ‘ Certainly. ”

“Then you will believe anything. You are
a living miracle. I made a slight mistake, and
transposed the sentenccs. The gentleman was
ﬁned ﬁve. shillings for the brutal assault on the
woman, and he paid the money with a smile,
and walked out of the court with his friends.
And the starving man was sent to prison for
three months for the brutal assault on the tur-

nip. Long live . that justice of the peace, and

long may he reignl‘ And now I should like to
ask what subject you young gentlemen were dis-
cussing when I entered. You ap to me
to have arrived at an awkward base ofi ”

Richard Barton turned re at the remem-
brance of his irritability.

“A great subject, a wonderful subject,” re-
plied Frederick; “ two, indeed‘ money and
woman.” , .

“ You lace them in the order of merit ?” ob-
served ., '  .

“ Undoubtedly. 6 ﬁrst is the most stupen-

dousatheme thatl am acquainted with.” .
“I am greatly Gigi)on to agreewith you.
The theme is stupe us.~ Honesty, virtue,
charity, and. all-the vices I that lie beneath it.
Truly, such anargument is inimitable. V
commenced it on a day that would last for ﬁve
thousand years, and talked till the sun was
wrinkled and the mean come out on crutches,
you could “notdo it justice.”

Fredeﬁckahappellyawned lazily, and said :

"‘ It is a good job for some ofr'us, that we
don’t live in the times when the devil used to
tempt menwith money-bags.” '

. “You would have made a bargain with him.”
~“ No doubt of it," said Frederick, very read-
ily. “ For twenty thousand a year, and twenty
thousand to bolster it up, I would sacriﬁce

“ Principles, even '1’” _ »

“ Yes ; and every other Virtue I may happen
to possess”, ‘ '

“ Strange,” said Mr. Armstrong, who for a;
reason of his own took Frederick. at; his word,
and appeared to be not dismclined to wrangle
with himm‘mtrange that men live who are not
subscribers to your faith! Here is a case
within my own experience. A ﬁrm (say in
India), established for half a century—hon-
ored, respected. reputed to be wealthy—suds
dcnly stops payment: Johnson, head of the
ﬁrm, has grown old In honorable commerce.
His partner. who has the “direction of alfairs,
has for years been playing Old Harry with
them to support his. extravagance. Crisis
comes; . the defaulter ﬂies, and is not heard of
again. . Johnson, the White-headed, sells every
bit of property he possesses, and, with his

x

Ifyou‘

 
We     ,, 
i‘ﬁéﬁt Which ‘Eﬁé'ﬁt j  ’ "
pays every "liability enthalpies dad‘id‘df  
seventy, weer age, a “beggar, ~Wout¢fdtﬁs 5i;- -'
ling, burner- dishenored."  “r opiﬁi’

ion‘oi‘him?”  '-     - 

9 E‘eder‘iCIc-(shtu‘g‘ging his 8‘ " ’rsl‘er ' Q"  "
a stupid old Sept Hermighthave: stubﬁtohis

   
"rev

wife‘s settlement; No one  have thohght‘ .
the worse of him.” ‘ 5    it!  r

f Richardwnthusiiistiehllpaé“: “He
follow. I should like to  ..
Mr. Armstrong turned his back“ 
erick,-q.nd held out his hand {Egon
 ' ."‘ ,i:
eer verdict's a good one; sir,th I‘il‘ilre ,
for it.“ r r I  NT;    
 Frederick glanced at the clack. 
that his visitors would go. ' Mr; 
however, showednodisposition to:leave.._  g,
“You two fellows,”. said-Frederick, ﬂows"
me eternal gratitude for making: you known ,-
to each other. You run capitally together;
But it’s rather good, Mr.Armstromg, to hear
you speak in that way of money-«Pyoutwho, have ~
the advantage over us poor Englishmen, x You, 
Americans are the smartest men in. the world;
for making money.” _  .. ,_ . ’ ~ ,

‘ “ I understand you. - It is the fashion tqsay'
of my countrymen that they are; BMW“;
is, that they will do any mean thing to make '
money, ’but do it in such a way that the law.
can’t get hold-of them.‘ That is your interper-

tation of the word ‘smart,’ as it is applied to. ‘ V

us. It is the fashion to say- of Americans,“
‘They’re cute, they arel’ V'They’rezsmart men,
they are l’ ' They now how  beans make.
ﬁve, they do 1’ And we  ' .what sort of.
praise that is—such as m'  7 e a new ice!
as mean as a acock in I thunder-shower.” : '

  
“ Or a don ey sitting on‘ea rainbow,” added ,

Frederick, who, in his, calm imperturbabilig,
proved himself very in match for! I.
Armstrong. " But y can to say’ that
you are not fond of ‘
"No, sir, I don’t mean to say
so fond of money that I believe’ th‘d nun,
moon, and stars are all cut of the wrong 
tern." r 
“ Why, what patternrwould you have them i” '
asked Richard.  ‘  ' ‘
u The

mighty do lar.” _, 4» 
“ That would do’ for the States,”
crick.
‘,‘ I would have the sunﬁand the  ‘
fashioned to the shape of anti" " - ‘

,I r'. .

 
all the stars should be out into little rehash}?  4 r

to represent the shilllings and the pence.‘"~

Both the young .men hughetgat the extrava-
gant absurdity of the notion,and Frederick <
said thatg'as the Americans W'e‘i‘e‘strong on
ents, Mr. Armstrong ‘ought to take out a patent
for his new scheme of the ’

lations. In the midst of en laughter, 

appeared at the door and announced,  \:

Visitor. ‘
“ Mr. Fangle, Sir.”

/ .

Mr. Fangle, upon entering, looked  Lg
0 .4“ .
well dressed, whose joints    ._

around. He was a shed, spare 

»

upon wires.

H Ah, Fangle.” said Frederick, ﬁne were 5...; '
Armstrong: to takeontfa patents .. 

advising Mr.
And then . the young gentleman
at the clock and rose nervously:
anxiety now was to get rid of 1118 usitors.

“ Patent i” cried Mr. Bangle, who was .. a, ,
humble hanger—on to the skirts of the rich, into
whose society he had by some means warmed, '.
himself. “ lPatent for what?” " ‘

 
Mr. Armstrong anSWered him. tiller  r ‘

coming in at the.ka of time—for causing 
fruits to grow in the jam.pot5 for the

market—for drawing , people together at 

act moment they want to see one’anotheree-loi‘,
bringing .fumre .gienerationsl'into
upon a new rmci e”————.

“ Goodnesps p

a

 
  ‘
git-,2 ~-:;’ : '

“d;  ‘

1

pattern in which it was Originallyin; 
tended the should be Shaped-s, __  of 

 What. would you do tor. Emma? * ' x .  i   . ' ‘

mats. andgconagglrft "

ithe‘ .wnrld 5*
ions!” cried 1a,; '
reﬁning everything andevery. 

\
e
x i

r .33
l 21
l

a

i.

.«i

I

,a ‘ ,.

\, ,

 
‘l.

 
,4


r

some newer.

 
Wombastate of perfection,;that the only
_ hilgeamwﬂlhaveinthsworldxs

“Bless  . lyou are joking, surely!
Wh ,, that-Many invention. I have it in my
 —-— Ho, no; what did I say?" And
‘  Med rather wildly around and

 hand to his wailtitcoat.ll , m (1.
1 is» ‘ , Our 'pocke’ t!” t ey a exc 'me
M chm it, show a x"

ea“ I daren’t, I daren't; I’m under a bond.
 it isn't quite complete yet—Wants one
littlescrew.”

“ A screw loose, ch '1’” said. Frederick, ,with a

r“I:-—41_shall astonish the world, gentmzlii” ,
‘not desire their authors to be too much in

proceeded Mr. Fangle, ﬂushed and 

f “And youwill all be here to see it, I‘hdpe.

',~

Thon+then I can show my friends that I know
'how to apprecla, ‘ to past kindnesses.‘~ Fangle
,hesaheart. ‘Steamisnothingtoit.” '

 “To your heart?” inquired Mr. Armstrong

y ’ i  of the little man, in a kinder tone than Freder-

 
Ht
\

r‘
y

\

*1,

V

 had need. ,

v ‘fNo, Mr. Armstrong, no—-—to my invention.
Steam is nothing to it; electricity is nothing to
it. ‘When it is completed ’I shall be a million-

, aire,’ gentlemen—a millionaire! Mr. Arm-
strong,” he w ' cred, “will you give me half
a minute of .y9 time ? Our friends will ex-
 us: a ' matter of importance—~of conﬂ-
asses." . '
> "‘"Oh‘," certainly,” said Frederick Chappell;
ﬁnd he and Richard turned aside. f

“Then, with a look of deep anxiety, Mr. Fan-
, gle said to Mr. Armstrong: :

V  ""I’ won‘t t6 y’ ,oﬁlce, and I heard you were
here. _ I tookltﬁﬁ rty of following you. You

“will pardon me; " r "Armerng’s hand stole

‘ Itmﬁ’) hig’pocket, and ‘ r. Fangle observed the

  action with a sigh. of satisfaction.
v ,féoverei‘gn ?"

  a 
' 2'    V 1 ﬁg ’

“May I
u nyourkindness? I am
' ‘ you lend me half , a

  
 'A sli ht smile  out  Armstrong’s
6 said: '

v lips as; , \ .
” ,And you a million-

 f 'f‘ Somaday, some day,,perhaps-——but till then

-‘ guarantees of struggling genius”-——

: is 

,, “de no more, Mr. Bangle. Here is a- sov-

  Owe me the change.”

' " As Mr. Fangle received the money, upon

 "which ; his lingers! closed" greedily, Trail once
 _ “moremade his,appearance at the door.
I   ($399611 Went hastily to his side.

Fred-
 lady,, sir,’ said Trail-“Miss

 
“I. .a u,

.g . w

crimes VIII.

.1“...

V , menswear AND A wmmr-

 
 a " pearls” are. distilled from. the tango
:, r- (I was; gonna, as you would be on the lookout
" 

* e...

.  v _ agile mummies.
“   who pla their parts in this
storyare' b’ut little, if at ‘a . removed from the

r ' common run of men and women. 0f wonder-

ful characters the world has but few ; you can
’oount them upon your ﬁngers, and the chances
 , that, if you met one of these rare birds in

,  1 and conversed with him, you would be
, \w , y

disappointed. Very seldom is it that

e——such

the tongue of such a man. That man
in p  who lives through his life with-

: y ffoiitf‘lipavmg, his ideals shattered; and be assured,

 that man breathes, he lives not in a crowded

e" and emotions which animate
characters in this story, and direct their

 
‘ ‘ words and actibns, are also of the common or»

 f,dsr,‘theref6re it is unlikely that you will have

. the pleasure” of reading in these pages any rec;
bids of ' amazing adventures or'hair-breadth

' ‘Ieseapes.. Here and there a surprise may occur

, are». one ted tum "may/be given to the in.-
 cidents, but‘of these the author can not claim

y.“to;be  invener they are butthe natural
,  of the ordinary passions

. . . ﬁtld'rbmoticns
v _ erred to, which. in; their wax-hi ‘gs amsumly
,Went for any literary craftsman  There is

oi».

 2",

no need even in a story ofcity life, such as this
is, to encroach u the land of Ioniance. The
chemboard of t e” ‘Mmmohem lives“ presents
strange and. startling variations, and the old
storiesare being played over and over again,
every day in the year-“with «instantly new
eﬁect, because the actors in them are new.
Romance glows in courts and narrow streets,
and those who gaze from a Superior stand-
point upon the common scenes from which
the are removed, see not the mediate lights
an shades which make up the sum of the hves
of the dwallers therein. A strong light and a
deep shadow they have the power to discern,
and these, presented in an airy, attractive fash-
ion, are alluring to a mass of readers who do

earnest. To them, earnestness, apart from the
serious occupation of life—to wit, the making
of m'Oney—is a bugbear; and business men
out of business hours avoid it as, if they had
the power, they would avoid a nightmare. We
require our dramatists and writers of ﬁction to
amuse us, they say; we do not wish to be bored
with an overabundance of earnestness. They
may be simple, if they please; they may tickle
us with a mystery; but they must not make our
heads ache with their earnestness. We have
.enough of that in our ofﬁces; we want sedatives
in our leisure. ,

Notwithgtanding which remonstrance, they
are sometimes deluded into swallowing sugar-
coated pills.

And it is 'to be noted that many stories,
simple in their construction, are found to con-
tain tragic elements. t, Simplicity, I know, is
out ofvogue, and yet howoften do we, who, for
the most part, live artiﬁcial lives, and poison
life’s best and brightest leaves with fashion’s
follies—how often do we tired-out men and
women sigh for that simplicity which we turn
so. religiously from our doors! There, we say
when ,we are wearied with tasteless hours,-
there is: true happiness unalloyed. With few
wants and fewer cares, that one from the
country, with the roses in'her cheeks, with
sunlight dancing in her eyes, tastes the sweet—
est sweets of life, and .gnjoys them. MThey:
pall not on her tongue; daisies and. sweet-
smelling ﬂowers are strewn among her days,
and she gathers joy and gladness from them.

For, it is always in the'country, and from the
country, that simplicity is said to live and
spring. I myself have grown to believe that
in crowded cities, where we knock each other
down as we hurry along, where we push and
squeeze with merciless disregard of our neigh-
bor’s ribs, there is no room for simplicity, and
that only .in the country does it ﬁnd a dwelling-
place. ' - - '

How often have we heard that God made the
country, and 'man made the town! . In plays.
the country maiden ‘is brought to the fevered
city, and the sweet, modest primrose is in-
variably transformed into the gaudy, ﬂaunting
sunﬂower. Before you were thought of, this
view of simplicity was preached and behaved
in. Being in a variable'mood, I should begin
to waver in my belief if I wars to ask myself
if this view is true ; for the subjectais many.
sided, and presents diﬁ'erent aspects from dif-
ferent points of view. In this age of selﬁshly
inﬂuenced action, the mental faculty is put to
base uses, prostrated, degraded, as it were. I
belong to such and such an order, therefore I
believe that a certain thing is true; you belong
to such’ and such an order, therefore you be-
lieve that this same thing is false. I am work-
ing for such and such an end, therefore I see
clearly that this is white; you are working for
such and such an end, therefore you see clearly
that it is black. This man is high-minded,
noble, virtuous, I say; he is meamsouled,
base, vicious, you say. What you holdto be
sacred, I de ise; what I admire, you con—
demn. r ‘ And in the main our judgments are
inﬂuenced, not by calm consideration, but
by the circumstances which“ surround our
selﬁsh aims; and the pesitions in whioh we are
placed. -  ‘ 1
Which induces me to remark that, although

‘ ,

 
’w0uld shake hands with a lord, and the ,
haiLfellow-well-met to portions of very, doubtful , ‘
reputation. He was known on every race-‘ ‘

 
 n 5pm digression from the  it yet
on bemade to apply ; for numbem of persoiis
would hold ,
and esteem for the very qualities which render

himObiedzionabletoMr. anemones 

 is so full of astonishing contrasts-4Wed,
dad m many instancesmthat you Can evolvefrém
1tnoth1ng more startling than the  imag-
ination can invent. , . , ‘ I _

And it is suggested to me that in a certain
newspaper of yesterday’s date, I read of a deed
perpetrated in a quiet, happy-lookin little :vil-
lags which turned'my blood cold. ﬁns modest
little village, imbosomed in green hills, far away
from the hot breath of cities, is just the lace

where, according to popular belief, simp fcity »

should have its home; yet the worst passions
have found their worst development there, and

the place is poisoned by more than one foul
deed. ' 

Again: it was but the other night that I
was walking home after a happy interview. It

was a . cold night, and the snow was falling, ,
I had.- occasion
to pass a quaint old church, standing/by an r ,

but my blood was in a glow.

ancient cemetery ~—strangely out of place in the
locality in which it was situated-and attracted

by its beauty and peacefulness, which seemed ‘ I

to be in harmony with my condition, I lingered
there, and walked around it twice *or thrice,
indulging in happy thought. The next day I
heard that a poor outcast woman had been
found in this churchyard, lying. dead in the
snow, and that she must have diedwithin a

few minutes of the time I had lingeredthere‘

so happily.. _,  ,_   . >
One "thought suggests another, and, like dogs

in the leash, they are comrades following the
I, remember meeting one when] I ‘

same trail.
knew and liked with a fair liking. An old man
was he,‘ with ruddy face, merry tongue, aﬁvays

blithe and joyous, with a cheery. laugh and a“
1

strong and sympathizing friends p in his horny
ﬁngers. For years I knew him, and went, reg—

ularly into the country, where he had lived
since,his, boyhood, to see him and those lie-had ‘
.gathered about him. “Dear, simplehold man I” v ‘
.I thought, as-I‘gazed upon his },tvvhit9:- hair, and '
venerable, honest face; “ You at leasthave 

Frederick Chappell in'high regard

the talisman with you all your days; you at least  l
have enjoyed through all your seasons the hap- a

and character." _ - .1
He died when he was seventy-eightyehrs of

piness which comes from sluiplicity. of habits 

age, and among his papers I, who was privileged ,

to search, found letters with which :this man’s
hfe was enwoven, so terrible intheirrevelations,

so overwhelmingly shocking, that  mywadmﬂ :-

ration was turned to horror.- If the seal“of sea

crecy were not uponmy tengue; I‘ couldia‘ tale , I I

unfold respecting this  , onestyevereblithe
and cheery old man, in the ' ht. of which the
most startlingand unreal I have
pale to insigniﬁcance.

Nothing so tragic will be found in this ,
although it will comprise something unusual in

this prosy‘ world, in the shape of an act of hero- .

ism-———I think I may call it sc~the natural evolve;

ment of a splendid self-sacriﬁce. And now, my ,

digression being at an end, I can proceed to a

pertinent explanation of the state of mans at 7

this juncture.

As a man of fashion, and one possessed of
means and'a good standing in society, Fred-
erick Chappell was everywhere welcomed
Being a young gentleman of liberal ideas,
he was not very particular as to the society
in which he mixed; and one hour ‘.,he
next lie

course of England, and all the bookmakers
were ready and eager "to lay him them,
Among his acquaintances he numbered‘twotor
three theatrical managers and lessees, and he

gained admission to certain greemrooms, and 

behindthe scenes of certain- V , whom;

as he spent his money freely, he Was a favorite.
“or two, whose
 for 

Here he picked: up an author
vanityhe tickled by obtaining ,

 
ever road would

'.
a

 
~ r

.3, .

a e
'.lm‘

‘ l

I

 {if

L....s, jet; f“.
Love's wetter. _- 

\

 
x. . g

 
on mm " a... t. he  * new.
wwwho as.  stated,  fond
Ifaltis probable,  in these places he

mulation drwhich he was so zealous an adept.

' He made jokes with the men, and indulged in

(souveer o! a kind very common nowadays

was itwas m da s gone by when

wits and  assembled: but which is

scarcly ﬁt. to put on paper; he ﬂattered the

' actresses'bndlpsid court to them; even, in his
 -, to the lesser stars, who wore

d  by his attentions; and for these and
other.’ reasons he was re  as a welcome
 and Was never enied admittance by
the hunters who sit in those queer little

’ boxes by the stagadoors. Being. in his way

semething ,of a hero, and accustomed to tn—
umphs,he Was 'nettled and worked mto a state
of interesting despair by a series of rebuﬁs

‘- which he received from a verylneOphyte in the

~ histrionic art. ,
With a liking for new faces, he Was attracted
one night," as ~ he, lounged in the stalls of his
favorite theater, by a pretty girl who played a.

 small partgwithgrace and effect” Going behind
/ . the soon

.he, learned that she .‘was new tothe
stage, had only played for ayfew nights.
The stage manager said he thought she would
develop into 'a’good' actress. - It was sufﬁcient
for Frederick Ghappell that she was young and.

V pretty, and he paid court to her. His atten.

tions were at ﬁrst received with politeness, and.
I even with gratitude, as it seemed: to him, but
when herbecame bolder in, his Words,,he met
‘With a! check which hurt his: pride.  is the
way of men under such circumstances, her in-
difference warmed his passion, and he. became
*more ardent-towardg hen - But he never ads.
vanced a step in her aﬁections. He oﬂfered her
presents '; ésh'e refused them. He threw ﬂowers

‘ . to hernpon the stage, andshe allowedthem to.

. "V

1

ii“-

.  someway afraid of ‘
* betrayed her feelings towsrd him to any or her
, professional acquaintances. He took poms to

_ lie at her feet-L When:they “were brought to her
, to the side-scenes, she received them with cold-
«mess; and invariably left them. in the, theater-

Y He made various attempts to discover where she

lived, and every attempt was” repulsed. He

 thought of her more than he would have cared

‘to own, for nothing but mortiﬁcation had

re-
suited from his persuit of her. . n 2 - r .

Them wag 9‘0 doubt that he was Wﬂdly‘Mm' pursuit ,of' the girl-who‘had‘so infatuated him ;* »

ore‘djol’ her) he’ committed many extmvagdnces
in hisimad infatuation, Land without any-idea
the/tilist disgracing his manhood by sodoing
(solar were his morals); he wrote her a letter
whitih‘inade rherFtr‘emble with shame. It was

;- returned to  torn to pieces, and without a
word-in reply.’ ' v r ‘-  ' L

For most men'these continued defeats would
have'been suﬁicient, and they might have been»
suﬁoient for Frederick ’Ohappell but far one

- singular feature. ' In the midst of all her abhor-
' reuse of him, she yet forced herself'to be civil

to  and evinced a distinct desire notto
 too deeply. She appeared, indeed,
‘ him, and never

make himself acquainted with this strange fea-

' ‘ ture inthoirintﬁoeursmand as the cogitations

 
 GlﬁSiOns ’  ' that simple circumstance.

of such like ’yoimg gentlemen are invariably
ﬂattering to themselves, he construed her be-

‘ havior in a way which-would have dismayed

her had she suspected it. ‘ During all this time

/ she was rising steadily in her-profession, and
‘ really bade fair to make her mark. The con—

' ctr-notion he placed upon her conduct was this :
. “She is playing with me; she has no real dis.
dike for me, or she Would show it to others;

  whereas she carefully avoids saying an ill word

of use-lest it should come to my ears, and cause
m550tcease my attentionsn ung crea-
iil‘” He did not credit her With any true,

, >    I {eating of modesty and virtue. '

  , however, it will be more correct to
myrtliﬁt , ,6 never gave this p _ e of the matter

» .  ’  ‘sas‘ was an" actress;.' that was
enough ohhiiin’snd he arrived at his own con;
Wm “Pay  in her Own coin,” he thought;

‘1»

     
\

end he did not'epeakto her "for a week. This
 and 81:-
though  he went nearly every
night behind the scenes, and ﬂirted with others
to muse her jealousy. she never 9906 spoke to
him,neyer oneelooked toward  She could
not more «edeetually have ted his passiom
Every comparison he made between her and
other young ladies of his acquaintance was in
her favor; she Was well educated, and a lady
in her manners, although it was no secret that
shelled adopted the stage. purely for. the sake
of money. \ He resumed his old tactics, and
was received with even greater coldness. “I
do not'bicl high encugh,” he thought; and in
the ardor of his pursuit he. bought her a very
costly present~nothing leasthan a brooch and
earrings of diamonds. , ' ' ,

In this altering on the altar of  passion be
sacriﬁced a hundred guineas. He wrote a senti-
mental letter, and left; that and the case con-
taining the, jewels with the deer-keeper, who
Was in his pay, with instructions that they should
be given-to the young. lady when she was alone.
He argued that, if only from womanly curiosity,
she would be certain to open the case 5 and he
felt assured that she would be won by the mag-
niﬁcence of the offering. The doort‘keeper was
faithful to the instructions given, him, ‘ and
_when Frederick in the course of the night
strolled into the theater with an expression of
calm satisfaction on his? face—res, ofone who
came to receive homage and looks. and per-
haps Words, of regard which had hitherto been
held from him—#1211947 jewehcase and the letter
were returned to him. The letter had-’notbeen
:opened, nor: the“ dainty case taken out of its
covering. With a feeling of mortiﬁcation
which it wasimpossible. for him to conceal, he
asked for an, explanation and receivedit. . When
the young Edi/aweshessins .w,her'dressihe~

room the door-keeper; had offered 'herjﬂthe

tokens; she asked who had leftthem, and reg
fused to touch themiuntil'gshe learned? and.
when"she,'heardthe name ‘ of Frederick Chap-
,‘peu. sue, simply desired, that they ' shbuld be. Te“.
turned to him. , "Within a few days Of this reg
' j ection' hefheard that She‘was about to leave the
theater. _ ' ’ . ' ‘

decordingfto the way in which'he argued out

, thematter .with himself, it'became almost a

oint of honor with him not to relinquish his

.his passion was mow stronger than ever; she
grew daily more beautiful andx'moregraoei‘ul in
his eyes, and he wasvresdy .to .commitany.
extravagance for her. He was certain, if he
could, obtain an interview with her, thatshe

Would at least listento him ; and he trustedgtc.

his good-looks, his position in soci , and his
money, to do the rest. Excited into t is. belief,
he committed the indiscretion of sending her
a note by Trail, in handwriting slightly dis-
guised, asking her to call at the bank, on. a
matter of, importance, at a, tinie,when' he was
aware that his father would be absent. He had
scarcely an idea asto what he should say to
gher; he acted on the imglulse of passion, with—
out looking to the end ; e wished to see her,
and speak with her privatelywthat was all.
This was preciselythe posltion of We when
Trail opened the door, and whisperedto Fred-
erick Ohappell : _/
“The young lady, sir—M188 Laura."

 
CHAPTER IX;
FREDERICK CHAPPELL’S LOVEMAEING.

, FREDERICK CHAPPM received Trail’s an.
nouncement with a. feeling of bitter exaspera-
tion toward his companions. It was a. most
unfortunate moment for. him, and, he was mad

with himself for not having got rid of his

friends. before the *arrival of the young lady.
He had tried in a dozen diﬂ‘erent .wayer—by
yawning.- ‘ by pretending-Etc be busy withthe
papers on his father’s desk. by rising nowand
then andlookih toward the door. wztho
‘in expectation 0 an important visitor, even, y
an occasional insolence of tense—tot. induce

 
them to leave, but, as has been seen, without,

. young gentleman-was, neither

h.

.auccass.“  these;  at '
Mnmstronabut 
whom ' end: in hihgheart  ,
[dislikedydeclincd to, accept them;  ’ v
tions that existed between these two  were

of a somewhat s' ” nature ; fromv‘theﬂrst

day-cf their mwmmnceship there  

no friendship ' tween them, “and each .zwasf-«F‘ I
aware of. the other’s, feelings. Hadfit not  i " “
for Mr. Chappell‘s strict  to his   -
notrto quarrel; with, Mr. Armstro'n ,Frederick's " d -
sentiments would have been 0 - y expressed; as
but Mr. Chagpell’s directions on this point 
were stern an very distinct, and he? even in.
sisted upon his son paying marked__attention

to Mr. Armstrong. It IS probable that Mr.
Armstrong had his own special  
adhering to this silent compact of simulated \ ‘
friendliness; otherwise it 18 scarcely  ‘- .
that so outspoken a man, and one who 
Frederick’s senior by ten or twelve yearn; '
would have been a consenting party to ’itg; :

The younglady was at the door, and‘Fred-
erick had no time for hesitation. She must be, .
admitted at once, or told * that Mr. Chappéll "‘M
Was (engaged. For one moment Frederick I "
thought of adopting the latter course; the ‘
next, "it was rejected. He might not“»h,avo
another opportunity of seeing her grivatelyf,  '
indeed; this Was the ﬁrst‘that hado cred itself  " ‘
in the wholeterm of their acquaintanceship,d~_ v
and such a-passion as his was not amenablefio' » _ ,
reason. But how to dispose of his friends? ’

,.

Under no circumstanCes muSt Mr.  .

I

; be allowed to discover who his visitor m , On   V

more than one occasion Frederick hadscén theiil
American behind the scenes of the theater-Tin. .
which the young actress was playing; and sheil- , V
must be kept nowfrom his  The;  ‘ ,
modest to be ashamed offa‘n adventure; g ,

‘_description,,'but he had“ a sensible-phj'eosigm, ,. 1

against putting a weapon into Mrs-Armﬁmng’s ,
hands; which;- from  experiences”  ;,
knew Would be'meroilesslﬁiﬁsedz?’ So, iwithﬂgj *“
not-ill-assnmed air «oﬁcaxeless cease. he turned  .
to his companions, and-said, blandly; ,,  ”  
“Gentlemen, I throw myself upbn your coax? ’ "
sideration.' I'haveavisitOr’L—v:    ‘ 
‘fAnd we are in the wayﬁ’saidv-Mréﬁrmccl M. f
strong. ‘fOome along, Mr. .Bartont.:..ifiymr 
have nothing better. in view, .I propose. ,_ " 3:: l “f, >
you with my company for anhox’xrfzv ﬂ:  V r '.
Richard Barton, having nothing better‘infs ~ 3 :

view, expressed his pleasureat the {imposing _,  u L ,
1- TL» 

‘andy the gentlemen were abdut to’deparjt;
door by I which they entered,  :by ‘1?
Trail was standing, when Frederickmhﬁ; , d '1»
thatinthat'case they cenld  ; g'g. ,
the young lady, said-hurriedly :. 1; l  a v a _-  »
“ No, no; not that way. Itlvis a matterpg; ,,
delicacy—of priVate importance—and the-«tho ”
gentleman dees not Wish to be seen. Bryon .«
would not mind amusin yourselves in, this 
reom ”—-(throwing open t e door of onedf the  ‘ .
innerrooms)——“rfor a quarter of an. hour," ,,
would be rendering me-——and‘   7‘
great service. Really, I am very sorry}? .   ’
~“ Well,” said Mr. Armstrong, ‘fwe  only ‘
ourselves to blame for being made, ' W
Don't keep us long.” ' 4  ‘ - ‘ 5
“Not a moment more than  n, j ,V _ _.
You will ﬁnd books and papers, and‘h slit; 1 i  
persuasion you may induce   a3.  .7,  
plain the nature of his invention to'you.” , " ‘ “ 
“A capital idea. Come along, MrfFangIs.” . 
“Not for worlds l”,cr1ed‘ ML; Fangle; "not;  
for worlds ! Wouldn't dr0p a hm‘t of it for an; , ‘  ’
told old, until that little screw is right.” »  ,
u 9 Win amuse ourselves somehow,” said
Mr. Armstro ‘ . “ If we grew dull or quarrels}
some, we wi ; knock for you to release 
Does the—the gentleman wear a veil, Mr. '
Chappe'n‘?" V g V -\ . I  3 ‘ 
,Frederick Chappell turned scarlet 7st  ,,
perfectly random‘ 'shot, and Mr.  ‘-  '
looked at h1m_keenly, andshrug edys’hﬁfﬂl’ I J. ’
ders, In the midst of Freda-rah  
reply the. three gentlemenireti’redr'toﬂthe   ‘
room. ., Then Frederick, making sure that'thu

    
,. x >

 
' o

 
door was closed, said, was sign-art’eiiéft  "
‘ "You mellow resume; felt". '"' 

' " Yes, sir,

 
' ' 12. m5

L...‘ .._.,,,,my...,.a...‘..y.  .y.-,.,,..v...,. .,.. ,... J. .. ,...  . In...  _  Law. , .   n.2,”, WW  M, W...

‘ L073§.V1€T08Y2,., ,  ,

 
“ ' ‘ In another momentlhia visitor entered. In
that,  “W31   éonlﬁved' i0

' gouid‘liot be seen by her. 7 I
g  ‘ 7 heroine: of thiss ', she is, by

a  tentjitledto a detaileddeScrip-
_ .tibny ‘hptifpursuance of a certain rule which
I have, 3de for» myself infthese pages, I
shall through established custom, and

I shall  myself._bysayins that she. was
' pretty, graceful, and lady-like, and scarcely
twe‘ntyygars ofa e; Ashandsome is as hand-

' ' sameness. it wil be hereafter seen whether
'. -~ sheiisworthy‘of the position I. have assigned

m‘himsslf" metastasis“ " Oil‘thal‘mipfm'

«it ‘  I v y
' ‘ Shev'app’roached Frederick with timid steps,
and said, in slow, anxious tone:
/ ‘ , “it received (your note, sir, and I hastened
“ * here at the'earliest opportunity.”
‘ ” ,Ainot‘ement ‘on the partof Frederick brought
hisfface to“ herview, and at the sight of it she re-
-* coiled‘in confusmn.’ There’Was nothing in his
» 'mannert'e alarm her ;» it was eminently leasant
. andfgragéu ‘ ,.' He held out his handto er, but
in  , ‘tiOn she‘did not notice the action.
. ' ‘lI-‘F- "beg "yourp‘ardon. I came to see your
; , father.” , . i
" / €9.33. isnot in, Laura‘" said Frederick; “will
'I not do as Well ?” H
' *  was more decision, but still some anx-
ietyiriher manner, as she answered:
7 1 €330,  I  not, unless you can explain
 sent for. I received a note from
s g  :mggmying that he wished to speak to
memo a of 1m rtance.” .
‘  Frederick for some time forgotten
thatthe note he hadsent to her was written in
, shorthand ‘ ' andhehadplacedaoonstruc-
ration? aivor'able to hiznself on her ready accept-
, ‘ , .ance of the invitation “She cannot or a mo-
’ a ' meat suppose," he thought, “that my father
,r 3 ’  have any business with her. She is play-
é'r  ing’ with me still, the little witch.” He was
  ’ armed for this interisw, his weapons being the
 g 3  brooch and which in their
j  scram now lay  desk by his side.
- Bio had a' steady r ' on their efﬁcacy.
..,  rests,  only to see them,” he thought.
'i‘ 7' "  stmdingemodestly before him, gazed at
 f -  agitation, and did not in the
, least j‘ ’thenatureofﬁsthohugslétﬁ With
. u alook. poem ' teadmxra' .‘on, e ':
3 " _ _f?‘0anryou not  Laura, why you were
' scatter ‘ '
’ . ’ The tenderness of his tone was lost upon her;
 - the 'ue'stion, indeed, seemed to bring terror
  -‘ , g I, , to her, and she answered, humbly
\  lormgl’ ' :
V r w ‘5‘ Kangaroer dare to think what matter of im-
=   your father can have to communicate
‘ items“; b‘ltt he said so much in his note.”
‘ ; ‘iijf'fhe  little actress!" he than t.
ﬁe. ‘ stands not to know thatIshoul be
' , vs her; but she can’t deceive

 
If

    
‘I‘Yﬁthe‘la seat, Laura,” he said, pleasantly,
fiandrest for a few minutes.” ,
.. “I cannot stay, sir, if your father is not
, knead $139 paused, and them said, with re-
p " newédfsarnes‘tness, “ Do you know why he sent
it)? met”? ' . 
if vﬁév‘answered her question by another: “And
 er '_ ctedto see him here, Laura ?”
i "i For who other reason have I come, sir?
 o'cl, ' was the hour named in his note.
" ‘,:Itz"’~‘yaiy,f,, ’_ gel The attendant gave me to
‘  ‘ ,dthat he was in.” '
"i  "You asked for Mr. Ohappell, I presume,
. {Laura and as I am my father’s son, we bear
. , " ' the: some hams. If there is any mistake it is a
i I? 'Yel'y' natural one; but there is no. mistake,
 ’r ' Laura I  be frank with you. It was I
I" who‘wro'telthe note.” ' . r
w , . r  liYouJ’” She tookthe note from her pocket
 and glanced ’at‘ 'lt'u “This, sir, is not your
1 : :3 HA1 isfgiripllovg and {wiarfgriirid Fregeriplllr,
W‘iwith am iariy. ‘ re wroe e
2 note; disguised my hand. was afraid
 I mightvnot come if you recognized my
3'  ‘ (Theselast words were. prompted
 by {the thought that it would be wise to ﬂatter

    
‘plicit belief in mystatement.

 
ﬁnite. )4

4

“Yea thought I would n’bt come l’l‘sli’e are:

claimed “shornfully‘. " “ You I would not:

A

come.” " ‘

His conﬁdent air did not desert "him; he, ,

Was satisﬁed thatshe wasaactingra part, and the
circumstance of her not having shown, up to
this point of the interview, any desire to leave
the room, conﬁrmed him in his belief. ' With
histh on the jewel-ease, he felt that the vie;
tory was certain. ‘ - ' ‘ '

“ One word, sir,” she said. “ Can I believe
you? Can I believe that your father does not
desire to see me '2” ~ 1 ~
‘ As amen of honor, he placed his hand upon
his heart, and bowed. . “ You can place im-
I should say
that my father would not ./ know you if you
stood before him, and, as he is not aplay-goer,
I doubt if .he has ever heard your name.”

This assurance appeared to afford her great
relief, and the expression of I anxiety died out
of her face. " ’ _

“ I was told that you are about to leave the
theater,” he continued, “and I was desirous
pf hearing from your own lips that it is not

rue. ’ ‘ ‘

“It is true,” she replied, with an uneasy
glance around. '

““Have you another engagement—and at
what theater, Laura ?’-’

“ I hope not to act again.”

“aThe stage can ill afford to lose one so.

beautiful and talented. I did not know how
soon you might leave, and I was most anxious
to speakto you. You are not frightened ?” ‘

She gave him a disdainful look. " Oh no
am not frightened."

“I knew of no other way of seeing you pri-
vately. Your assumed coldness toward me
latel when I came to the theater”-———-

“ sumed, sir 1" she exclaimed, witha slight
trembling in her voice.

He waived the point, as became a man of
gallantry. “——And the number of prying
eyes around us made it diﬁcult for me to ad-
dress you with calmness. When a man’s feel-
ings are as deep and sincere as mine are, the
are not easy to control ; and you must admit
that I showed every consideration for you.”

” I fail to see, sir,” said Laura, proudly, “in
what way that consideration has been shown.”

“ There you are ungrateful, Laura. Did I
not respect the quiet intimation of your wish
that I should not be too conspicuous in my at-
tentions? It was for this reason, and for this

reason only, that sometimes when I was be-

hind the scenes I paid attention to other ladies
in the company; but I never‘ wavered in my
devotion.” . .

“ You were free to do so for me, sir; you

cannot be ignorant of my sentiments toward
on." .

With blind infatuation, he attributed these
words to jealousy, and congratulated himself.

“ It pained me exceedinglyto do so, I assure
you. I held off entirely out of consideration
for you, and waited for a favorable opportunity
to address you. I v

She turned’toward thedoor, but he placed
himself in v her way. . "‘ Nay,”_he said, with
some show of entreaty, and in 1118 own opinion
with a magnanimous exhibition of good nature,
“you must not go until you have given me the
opportunity of justifying myself.” He held the
jewel-case in his hand, and glanced at it 00m—
placently. '

“Why did you return my note to the door-
keeper the other night ?”

“Ihad nowishto read it, sir.” .

“ Cruel!” he said, his selﬂeonﬁdence bemg
but slightly disturbed by her, .persrstently cold
manner. “‘ And not even to deign to receive
the parcel that accompanied it! That was
scarcely like you, Laura, for it contamed my
justiﬁcation. I know that Ihave not behaved
to you exactly as ‘1 en t to have done; but you
should not throw a‘ fe ow over without 
him a chance of setting himself right. W111 you
read my note/now?” ’ ’ ~

 
her by a seeming belief in her assumed 33sz

r. ohm“... .nvnr , .....~ziau.‘..1u _

Heheld  retaining: lgiythe jewel; 

,y..:; gr/N6;;rsif’ar gig:- repﬁed ﬁfmly, basin great; W
secret distress, for the way to the    ~ '

'barred'by‘hlm: ~

fense. T I

and I want to give you’reparation in deeds, not

inwards. The is yoursgr-accep’t itwith my, 

love, and maké’ me the happiest of’mtm.” .

He opened the "jewelsc‘as‘e, and oﬁered its); ~-_.
her, He expected looks-and words of delight ' .
and admiration’from her ; "he received,ain3tead, ' 

a. look of scorn andwords of contempt. The

girl, young as she was, was not weak, nor was ’
she afraid of him for her own sake. ; Still he Zr
kept his patience, and laid the case closetoher, ' ‘

saying as he did so: ' .

“Perhaps my way of offering it displeases-
you. Well,» accept it in your own Way, to
that we are friends, Even, if yourglike—thOiigh

it grieves me to speak so coldly—-as a mark of . .
 . I 1

simple respect. ”

“What respect can you have for me,"’sherer ;  .y .
‘torted, with ﬂashing eyes, “when you lure me - "

here under a false pretense, knowing that 'I have
no wish to see you? What respect can ou have

for me when‘you detain me here ag inst my: '

will?” , ,,
‘Somewhat 'sullenly he replied, “You'might'

have gone before were you sincere in what you > "
u . .“ ,

say.
“I could not,” she said, with her-hand upon

her heart, which was beating violently. “ I was \ I

deceived into the belief that your father wished.

show  I

“Still obstinate!» But you cannotin‘com.’ ‘
mon fairness, refuse to hear me in myvown as- v
have already- said‘ that I thayefnot. 
behaved 'eractly right to'yOuJ—Jz'own it frankly, I '

to speak to me on a matter of importance,» and . ’ i

it was for that reason I came.”

Then he gave expression to the thought which. ~
had dwelt in his mind when Laura ﬁrst entered
the room. ‘ ' ‘ r

“ Come, come, I am a man of the world, and,
I know some of its ways. You cannot quite
deceive me, Laura. And I am not deceived,
unless y0u assure me of something of which I
am at present ignorant. Are you' personally
acquainted with my father 1’" - ,

“No, sir.” , ‘ ‘ .

“ Has he ever written to you before ?”

“ No, sir." ~ ' ' j

‘ ‘Andas I told you, I am positive he has never
seen you, and would not know you if you stood

before him. Well, then, what possible matter ’- -
of importance could he have to communicate »

to you, when you are utter strangers to“ each
other? No, no, Laura, you cannot quite de-
ceive me. There is no reason inxthe worldwhy

we should not be the best of friends. Really, , . 7’

now,” he said, looking about him as though ap-
peeling to an unseen audience, ?‘ I, don’t, 
I have behaved so badly after . u and I do

think you owe me a debt of gratitu 'e"' for con- ,.
triving to see you in this quiet way, so  (if “
you have any such scruples) you might not ‘ be ' 

compromised.’
“ Have .
promised me 1’” she asked, indlgnantly. “ Your
servant brings me a letter from you making an
appointment .w1th me which I accept ”...,.’.. ‘

He interrupted herteagerly. “You surely do” i
not think that in writing to you I was actuated, 1
by any feelings but those of love and devotion»? ,

No, hang it, Laura! Give .me credit at least
for being a gentleman I My man did not know

you not already suﬁciently com.  ,

what was in the letter, and itis the. ﬁrst tithe he, '~ ‘ ’

has been employed upon such an errand. ’ ‘
need have no fear of him ; he is discretion ' it-
self. I have no desire to detain you against
your will, but I did hope that you , would have

had some feeling for One whose heart is entirely _‘

yours.” ,
She did not hear his words. Her eyes were

ﬁxed upon the windows of the room, which i r
looked out on the street. ~ These windowswm \

ﬁtted with wire-blinds, which enabled those in

the room to see the passers-by Outside, without ,

‘vi the persons in the street 3. correspond. ‘
igrig vantage. Frederick Chappell’s last‘words ’

were not well chosen ; they sounded artiﬁcially, *‘

 
You 

I

even in his ears, and he‘ moved aside so that 

 
, o
r..._u.:¢;sm:.m.. via. . ,‘

 
.MLYMHWWMnIi-mnmm. A, . s

 
I

  
I

 ’porterwasgone.‘

~ . puzzled

 might reach the door, without. obstmc.
stimle .   he foundthat she did
 not take “advantage of this freegasaage, he was

  and e. resumed his,
former " Laura did not observe his
movements.“ ﬁeratteution was centered upon

" ‘ thefofBigbyche old, hall-porter of the

'  could clearly see through the
wire-blinds. ' The old man was lingering in, the

 street, as though undecided whether to enter

the but although his manner betrayed
embarrassment, there was an ex ression of
‘pride and ioy'on his face. Frederi also saw
the old man, and noticed his manner and ex-
‘ression. “ The old reprobate has been drink-
ang,” thOught'Freder-ick; “,I wonder the gov-
jlernor doesn’t  e him. He is a disgrace
w to the hank.” . Then struck by Laura's silence
. he was Surprised to see that she was ‘white an

 ‘rritrembling. and that her hand was resting upon

a». chair'for support. He set it all down to act-
ing 'on her part, and began to think that he was
Winning the game. \

“ You are as ﬁckleas " (Cressida, he was about
“to say, but he reﬂected that Laura would scarce-

. 1y consider it.a.eoxnpliment)——“ as—a woman, ”
.he said; “ one moment hot, one moment cold.
Oome—take'my hand, and let us be friends."

For the second time during the interview she
refused to takehis hand. This girl is diﬁicult
towin, he confessed to himself ;- all the more

“ «credit in winning her. He scarcely had a doubt
of his success,,now that she seemed to be stay-
.ing in the room of her own free-will, bdt his
veice betrayed some slight irritationwhen he
spoke again. ’ g , . .

' “ Wh will you not shake hands? Upon my
soul, it is a little too bad! I remember the

' 'time when you looked upon me as a friend.”

‘ The ﬁghreofthe old hall—porter was still to be
seen throu‘ he the blind. She turned her back
to the win ow, as though fearful that any one
should see hex-in the room.

“ At that time, sir,” she said, slowly and dis.
tmctly, “I regarded you as a, gentleman.’-’

“ And now, he asked bitterly. A

She did not reply. Her silence mortiﬁed him
more than her‘words would have done, but he
:still managed to speak with a certain ease.

I “ May I ask in what'way Ihave forfeited your
opinion? ‘ Ihad'the pleasure of being in.

, 'troduced to you at the theater, and not even

knowing " your‘name-‘é‘for" you yourself told me
3011 played'underan assumed name”--—-
“It was my father's wish." ' I .
p “I paid, you'every attention that devotion
couldpromft»  what unfortunate chance,
then, have ‘ forfeited your conﬁdence “P” g
She’glanced-at the window. The old hall-
' Some spark, of ' remOrs‘e entered the young
mania breast, and he'said,‘ with an earnestness
he hadnot up to thismoment felt": '
" “‘Can I do nothing to’ winyour esteem ?”
' “Nothing, sir,” she replied, her only anxiety
being'to escape from the room, now that Rigby
was #0 Ion rte be seen; “allow me to ass. ’
; But‘he  stood before“ her, scarcely now-
. mg that he] barred the way. Seeing an-
other dobr, “and thinking it would afford her
.meens of’eitfnsa‘she made a step toward it and
turned the ' l, c. It was the door of the room
to which Richard Bar-ten, Mr. Fangle, and the
American had retired, by Frederick Chappell’s
, wish. As she opened the door, she heard sounds
of laughter,and she. shrank back, dismayed atg
. this new danger. At the same moment the three

, ' gentlemen came Out of the inner, room, all

’, laughing and talking together. I

 
CHAPTER X.

/,
3108! mains ms APPEARANCE AT A‘ cement.
,‘  ',  ' MOMENT. I

‘ “ YOU-have released us~ too soon,” Loried Mr.
A  in a merry tone, advancing into the
mom ,Withoutobseuving Laura; f‘one minute
mom'v‘ﬁn'd we should have wormed. the, secret
.01“?  Mr. Fan 7 e.»
“ No! no: 1‘96 ly—~l protest ” expostulnted Mr.

 
' m “m emu

range. holding ' ‘up his so, a;  or Mr.
Armstrong’s words. as thought” were blon

He saw Ioura, but. beluga discreet he
took no notice of her. , “ You must not believe
it, Mayﬂhappell; you must not believe it.”

Frederick Chappel was too agitated to respond
to this appeal. .

“I submit the case to Mr. Barton,” said Mr.
Armstron , still in a laughing mood. “ Wasnot,,
Mr. Fang e on the point of revealing the secret
of that little screw when the door was opened ?"

Richard Barton’s attention was not given to
Mr. Armstrong’s words. He had caught sight
of Laura's white  and he had eyes for noth-
ing else. The young man was experiencing a
keen pang of disappointment. The girl before
himwas the some he had seen at the theater,
and who, he had declared to the elder Mr. Chap—
pell, was, he was certain, as good as she was bean-
tiful. It pained him deeply to see her in the
room with Frederick, after havin . been made
acquainted with that gentleman 8 opinion of
actresses. Mr. Armstrong was standingin such
a position that Laura was hidden from, but

following the direction of Richard’s gaze, he .

turned and saw her. -

“My dear Miss Laura!" he cried, in a tone
of surprise. And then, for a moment, a shadow
rested on his face. But Laura had seized his
outstretched hand with a grateful sigh, and the
shadow disappeared. He retained her hand,
and looked at Frederick, whose manner was
not remarkable for self-possession. ’As if satis.
ﬁed with what was expressed in the young
man’s demeanor, Mr. Armstrong glanced at the
jewel-case which was lying Open on the table.
The glittering gems spoke very plainly to the
American gentleman; they told a tale that was
not strange to him, and the glitter'in his eyes
outshone the glitter of the diamonds.

f‘ Are those yours 3”: he asked of Laura, point.
ing to the jewels.

The girl’s lips shaped “ No." »

Mr. Armstrong smiled contemptuoust as
Frederick, in silent fury, closed the case with a
snap, and pushed it aside. Frederick would
have given much for the power of uttering
words ﬁtting for the occasion—words which
would have placed him 'in a more advantageous
position than that which this sudden discovery
had forced upon‘him; but he was utterly at a
loss; his false ton refused to aid him. He
mentally cursed s ill-luck in not allowing
Laura to quit the room before Mr. Armstrong

appeared. He would not have cared for Barton .

and Fangle; they did not know Laura, and he
could have easily thrown dust into their eyes.

“What brings you here ?” asked MrfArm-
strong, drawing Laura. aside. v

Richard watched the progress of the scene
with almost breathless interest. ’

The young girl made no immediate answer;
she had not yet recovered from her agitation.

“Take courage," said Mr. Armstrong, very
gently. “What brings you here? Thisis no
place for you.” ‘

“ I know it, " she replied, slowly and timidly,
“ and I should not have come. But I was led
to believe. that this gentleman’s father wished to
See me on important business, and I obeyed the
summons." .

"‘ Led to believe I” exclaimed Mr. Armstrong;
“ in what way 3” -

All who were present heard the dialogue, and
Frederick, aroused toaction, addressed himself
to Mr. Armstrong in a tone whichwas, and was
meant/to be, oﬂensive. ' ,
“Allow me to remind you that this is my
room, and that any private matters you may
have so talk about had better be discussed else-
where.” I

“ We will relieve you of our presence present-
ly," said Mr. Arnistrong, with quiet contempt.
“ I was under the impression that your, father’s
room. was used for different purposesthan those
to which you would dethe it. Your father
shares my impression, no doubt. . In what way,
Laura,’were you led to believe that this gentle-
man’s father wishedvto see you '3” . - ’

“Ireceived a note this morning, and I un-
derstood it was from him. You will know why

 
'tonaner. Fa . , y . , 
H1? apparent lack of passion  m f , ‘1};

\ . r ’ 
such a sumInOns wouldvcause me. 
why Iobeyed it.” x . ; . j, “ ~ '

‘3 Yes,..I know gs,th me the note.” , ;
She gave  the note, and'he readit.  _, '
t"11;;111‘. is clear]? and you could _ not 
, come. do not recognise the W ‘ " » .f’

“ It is mine,” said, Frederick,  i '

“ Disguised,” observed Mr.  M 1
poor plot~but worthy of the inventh , I, will

eep the note, if you will allow me, Insure." r‘ J

“ I have no use for it. I can .go  I‘ '
you please see me’to  '

not ? Will
door ?" .. . H,
“ Certainly. But ﬁrst let me  you

to a friend of mine,- Mr. Misha
has just arrived from the Anti , $1333
with him the freshness of anew world. ﬂar—

ton, you will be gondof the 
I tell you that I ve never known a lady whom
I esteem more highly. ” r 3,

Laura gave the American 3 look of 

His words were well chesen, and comforted'her ‘

inexpressibly. Richard’smcehadgu‘ownhﬁghm
at the explanation of Iaura’s presence. 

s‘Ihad the pleasure,” said Rim] . 

bowed to Laura, “ of seeing you last ,‘
“ You were in the theaterl" asked  1
“ Yes,” he replied, softly. ‘ '  >-
Mr. Armstrong had a

"7.9

purpose in introducing

Inura and Richard to each other. at  A

ently inopportune time. He saw that. t ‘
Ghappell could scarcely control his  
he wished to avoid an open quarrel. The intro-

duction served to divert Richard’s and 

attention from £16 prdugfgckbanker. Mr. 

stro stepped ’s side'andgwed

stealdiglyintohisface. . r ‘ ’ -' ' f
“If'you have anything to say,” 

Armstrong “itwillbeaswelltospceklow,so5

thatthey I nothear.” '
“Isth lease myself 88 MM”

Frederick, ut at the saline time i 
voice in a low key. “By what right do you
presume to dictate to me '1’"  ' '

Mr. Armstrong carelessly tapped the pocket;
in which he had pilaced Frederick’s note, and
said, “Keep cool, . Chappell. Wehavenever
been friends, but there is no “reason, notwith-

standing what has occurred, that washouldnpt '

continue on the termswe have. hitherto main.
tained. We will agreetomutuallydespise 
other in a quiet way.” ‘ " ’
this re

for this. ” . . .

“ Nonsense, nonsense 2” said Mr;  d ” V
with imperturbable coolness; “ in We days it
would be considered brutalto  to you
the rough punishment you deserve. .' Yen know
my opinion of your conduct, but I shall not cent
descend to quarrel with you. Take my ad-v'ice;

I am an older man than you, with a pooler head; V

Say as little as possible about this aﬁ‘air. 

u

come to your father’s ears it will causeunﬂegzs.

ant consequences inmore ways than ' lﬁit' ' I
occur to you to make amends byan gpblogf,  ., r
part  your] (

so, like a man, and in some
credit." - ~

But it did not so occur to Frederick  
 bani .

and after a short pause, Mr.
tinned: *

i. 

“Imay ﬁnd another wayw  V

/


“ Understand me clearly. .. Iain   . 1

what has taken place in this room‘sh‘all'n ' be
carried to other ears /

than ours. Itis bulgifbr;

the Young. ladva (sake I consent to hush my. _ « ~ ,

matter up.” ,

“_ So that you may play the
nanimOus hero in her eyes i.
of my misunderstanding you. I know'now the
reason why you were so often behind the scenes.
I have interfered with your game,  .I' " '
you are a sly worker.” I  ”  '-

“Place any construction
conduct, "’ said Mr. Armstrong, with; signiﬁed
temper. ‘ i "
theyonng lady’s name shall; not barmaidch 0c»
casxonfor hght talk. There are only we rain,
and lewxll ansWervfor «the discretion of Mr. 335m

le" '

  
7

part of them;  A
There is no fear ‘

‘5 My only anxiety-at  is’that'

you   H

\l

/ ;,

 
\ \
131' 'f . ’ Love's , microns." “
* (I ‘7 M .' 4 “- ~ ‘ "  w r ‘ * v; e , ’r _
‘ ' i:  Y‘m Wm mi.” 1“ Wm“ "Wm I him ﬁnd uttered an emulsion of mingled a relative. 1r Ihadabmﬂw’? 1.4194141. 

you,” he

. i'oall‘u . I
"  But don’t call upon "me.

. P011,
.“oertamly I
I am not  m of
- , crane." ., era was no possi ' i ’mis—
 the meaning of his words; ey were
_  witha stern earnestness which contrasted
' powerfully with his revious light manner.
 Frederick Ghappe laughed scornfully, and
  Inura. As a stranger Richard Bar-
” ton fell back from her, and Mr. Armstrong also
 35 a few paces away. Mr. Fangle felt him-
, - ’ one}! in adilemma; he desired, for prudential
’ I  -, reasons, to keep friends with all parties, and he
,  Wouldgladly hays given the sovereign he had
i  from Mr. Armstrong if he could have
i“, made a sudden ' ‘ ‘ nce through the pan-
 without an hone-being the wiser. - ‘As he
. could not coca e‘, h’e'was carefulto see very lit;
I .  ﬁle of the awkward scene. -- r ‘ l I
r " v ' “ Be merciful,” whispered Frederick to Lau-
' rs,  that Only she should hear him ; “. and
. ,: donut» further humiliate me. g It was the very
,«ofmy love that caused me‘ to act in a.
" manner so displeasing to you. Say that you
‘ 7,310? ive me. Ve-Take my arm, and let me, see you
* «to door. , Thatia allIask.” .
But sheeturn‘ed her face frOm him, and re-
fused his enema arm. .

/..

‘3

_ $1.
9‘
2w

    
, V eractora pear-e" dupon the scene. Rigb ,,
' “fé’pldehalI—pgrter of the greatﬁrm of Chappeil,
 poll, and Ghappell, had entered the room
 f ‘l ed. “ The cruel'blow which had fallen
on; the old man in his youth . had stamped on
his manner certain charabteristics which it was
getoolate to hope could ever be eﬁ’ac'ed.‘ Every
 “movement bespoke the; humbleness which
' _' '~ from the conviction that one is not
,‘worthy of'rcspeotj .When he walked in the
street, he walkéd close to the wall; when he spoke
-he never. looked into the face of the person
'4 fishomfhe addressed. Q If, by inadvertance he
i I .' * his'é es, he cast them quickly down, as
Q ’  7 boon guilty of an action which
g  {might be reasonalby resented. And yet in his
" . :youﬁ holed been conspicuous for manliness
,» f, _  ; when, howaver, the blow fell,
‘T  lo ‘, ' him asthe brother of a fel-
,  '  position, and yielded with.
” :‘puta'murmur. .‘tBut as he entered'tho room
‘ sates there'wés upon his features the same sin-
;igular expression of mingled triumph and shame,
.. deandhnmjliation, which they had wornwhen
" f a had solicitedan interview with the head of
- ,A  ﬁrm a couple of hours since. It expressed
,‘ ' "a struggle to lift himself out of the depth into
 .  he plunged. , O
‘. . g, f  expected to ﬁnd the banker alone in
f  andi'when he heard Frederick’s voice
v .~.,.i.ae.aen1a have retreated in as silent a manner
l *  he entered, bad he not by chance seen the
,ag‘um of Laura. and Mr. Armstrong. Then he
. stood as though rooted to the spot.
  “Come, Loom.” said Mr. Armstrong, “we
 will go." But/Frederick was between them.
. {‘ lion... _ m to forget, Mr. Chappell, that the
1519.er hasasked for my esco .” . , '
'7 ' “ And I have offered her mine.”
“ Which she refuses. Be careful, sir.

’)
o

    
You

 
'  .m‘ ayt mi atience too far
.  .tsﬁerzitleingn—gentlemenl” cried Richard
.- "an, interposing, while Laura shrank back
.%_'»;ia terror. .

 _  «39 easy, Mr. Barton," said Mr. Armstrong.
.  isonly one person who has forgotten
L  herexr’ : . . .
‘r , “If on mean me, sir,” exclaimed Frederick
,;;,. '  abut: ore another word had passed his lips,
  \ 5‘" T‘ by slid between the disputants. At sight
i  of be old man, Mr. Armstrong took Richard
 ~ Barton’s arm, “and stepped quietly on one side.
_  There'wua something of caution expressed in
 l "1}: ‘5. the American’s action.
'  Frederick ,
> " arson m
155 ,‘on with safet , savagely demand-
.355, by what right e interposed, '
\, Ree an“ you anythmg to say to me ? ” asked
M ‘

v ..  : on!” r lied Bi by. “Re, sir.”
'  , At the? soundégf his voloo Laura. raised her

 
e room upon whom he could

 
as

a .
a
in

A,“

 
.fny, H

, rj. ‘ I I /_ ,.
., I .f. ' .    . '.$‘L:T;&E-

 
_ roused, but when roused I am

 Fiederiok’s lastappeal to Laura, an- - -

011313811 glad that there was'now ..

’ joy and dismay; ‘

" “Then what bri-‘zgs you here?" continued
atement of his passion.

young man an envelope.

ghgctk for yen: father, an; in payment ofan old

6 .9! ‘ \ - I
~ ” ‘ Frederick Chappell angrily took the envelope,
and threw it upon the table. ‘

“I will give it to him. Well (for the old
man showed no disposition to retire); “what
are you waitin for? Leave‘t’he room.”

“ I think; 3 ," said Rigby, with a timid
xglance around, “that just now I have almost

as“ much right here as you.” - ' -

“ You impertinent scoundrel ! Are you in
one of your drunken ﬁts again? " He would
have laid violent hands upon Rigby, but that
Laura stepping swiftly forward, stood by the
sideof the old man and took his arm. .

“ Do you know who that man is,” cried Fred-
erick. ' “Heis a'oommon “porter—4t convict’s
brother? "_ _ » r .

' “He is my father 1” said, Laura,“in a voice
of great tenderness, with her arm around the
old man’s neck. - v r -

z SCENE  snooso.
IN BhiGRAVIA.
CHAPTER I.

RICHARD BARTON IS MADE A HERO or 'AGAINST
Ins WILL.

How Richard Barton got into society was'a

 mystery to himself. Before he had been in

London a fortnight he had made ﬁfty fashion-
able acquaintances, and had exchanged cards
with them. The name of Chappell was as
potent in social as in commercial circles, and it
was chieﬂy to Mr. Ghappell senior that Richard
was indebted for the most important introduc-
tions. This patronage," and the knowledge that
he was wealthy, were suﬁicient recommenda-
tions, and he glided easily into the magic circle,
and was cordially received and welcomed.
Money and a good name will invariably bring
about such a reenlt, if you possess these
requisites and desire to .be so recognized. ‘ Men
with much money, : and not much character
(of the proper sort), make great struggles to
get into society~—are making them today, but
they rarely succeed. Society they get, and
plenty of it, but not of the kind they yearn for.
Poor, wretched mortals! How industrioust
they sow their cards, and what a questionable
crop the reap! How few ears of healthy
corn, an 1what a multitude of taresl Looking
for an unblemished reputation among the guests
who throng their assemblies is like looking for
a needle in a bottle of hay.

To Mr. Armstrong Richard Barton was also

indebted for the cordiality with which he was

everywhere received. From the ﬁrst hour of'

their introduction they seemed to be drawn to-
gather by kindred sympathies, and the founda-
tion of a sincere friendship appearedtobe ﬁrmly
laid. The impulsive, generous. nature of the

oung Australian was a pleasant experienceto
{he more sober and somewhat caustic nature of
the American. '

“You are like spring,” said the American,
when he looked up from the mormng papers
one morning, and saw the bright, beaming face
of Richard Barton. “ It does one good to shake
hands with you.” . .

The youn man blushed ; thiskmdof praise
from a manic had so much admired was very
sweet to him.

“ If but for one thing,” he said, “ I am glad
that I came to England.”

“You are going to pay me a compliment." ‘
 “ I am goingto s the truth. You remind
meet my father, w m I lov .” e -

“ Mr. .Chappoll'tells me your parents are not
living.” , . x

“ My mother died when I was v

young.
It is more than twelve months since

lost my

‘ father. In all’the Australianoolonies~the seven

 
South Sea sisters—r1 have not, to my knowledge,

Wench, with no
’ ,ith a trembling hand Ri by oﬁ‘ered'the'
“'I' ave brought a

 
teresembleyou.” ~  - , ,
enough tovbéryeui- rather.

“‘I'am  old
Come, let us‘stroll.”

Suchdike dialogues were not uncommon be-.
tween them. ‘ -  * :   '

With Frederick Chappell, Richard was still, ,
to outward ‘ observers, upon friendly" terms.
The scene that had taken lace in‘the banker’s
room "had set'the 513de o a cold intimacy upon ,
the relations between the two young ' men. '
Each entertained afcorite’mpt for'the other. But
the open expression of Frederick Ghappel‘s sen—
timents Was (as were his “feelings'towa'rd Mr. 1
Armstrong) restrained  kept incheck by his .
father. Old Mr. Che. . ll, although he was
much engrossed by his special anxieties and
ambitions, was not an unobser'vant man; andilie
saw clearly that there was a lack of genuine cor.

‘ y'ty between his son and the young Australian,»
and he saw, also, that Richard‘lland‘M'r’. Arm...
strong were becoming ﬁrm friends—#3; 1birctnrfi.
stance which was by no means pleasant to him.
He spoke to his son on the matter. " j 7t" " f '

“You and Mr. Barton do not seem’ to get
along well together.” ‘ ‘ ,_ '  ' ' ‘ ',

“He is a cad,” said Frederick,  contempt—
uous emphasis. ’ g' = _' ‘ " 

This is a common ﬁctiod with .many, young
gentlemen in society-éyoung gentlemen was are
looked upon as “swells” in the best, sense of
the word. Every man they do not like is pro-
nounced a. “‘ cad," and this deﬁnition, in ac.’
cordance With their code, effectually disposes of
him, and establishes his character? ' ‘

“He is necessarin ignorant,” remonstrat’ed . '

Mr. Chappell, senior, “ of the usages .pr so-
ciety. I had hopes that you would befriends.
It promised well.” _ . ' 

“ It isn’t my fault, " said Frederick; 9‘ I would
have put myself out of the way to oblige you,
although I don’t care for him. And We might
have got 0n fairly enough if we had not been.
interfered with.” '

“ By whom 1’”

him.” ,

Mr. Chappell senior frowned”?  .K _. _. ‘ , '

“ They seem to hit it better than you have
done, Frederick. Itis mﬁst unfortunate, but it
can’t be helped, I suppose. ‘ But I lay my strict/
injunctions upon you. I 'will have no quarrel‘
mg. This young man is rich, and his connec-s
tion With the bank'may be advantageous. You
must behave well to him.” . . I

gIavill 310 my best, sir.” , .  : ‘

re eric was always ro erl'   ' i've, '

his father. . He used topte  Wilma:
that he never said a word to make the governor
turn rust . In this he waswis’ejn,  
tion, for e-depended entirelyiuponkiséfather,‘
and had the supplies been stopped, even at: a-
short time, it would have been awkward for
him. The young fellow was in constant, diﬁ‘i-
culties about money. Among the misfortunes
by which he was amicted was one which he
had managed to. keep from his father’s knowl-YV
edge, He was an inveterate gambler,.and not,
a fortunate one. What gambler is, unless he
be a thief or a bully ? Place it to Frederick’s.
credit that he was neither of these. A reference
to this unfortunate Inﬁrmity (I use the mildest
terms I can think of) was made by Mr. Ann-
strong in a conversation he had with Richard. 7
Barton two or three days after the scene in the
bank parlor. While Frederick had his father-
at his elbow, warning him not to quarrel with: "
the young Australian, Richard had a similar '
friend, in the person of Mr. Armstrc , at.
his elbow, working‘to the same and: Bi ard ‘
was for breaking, in the most unmistakable
manner, with Frederick Chappell. Mr. Arm» .
strong persuaded him to keep on estensibly
good terms with Endean \ _‘ ’ ' j

“ There are otherOinterests to bear in mind as
well asour own.” said theAmerican. “A ladyfs‘
name is mixed up In the “ﬂair, and the, world
is uncharitable. For her sake. then, we must
be silent. You are not aware that Frederick

 has  her a letter or apology." V‘ , .. V

“Mr. Armstrong. You know my opinion of 

\
A;

“.minnmnmn..-  V I .

  
y

l
-.,.

mew—4m»... ‘ , .. , w , ._
' "mo amend! have He has had
{her grace. She  not have opened'a letter
{we lzpizdk’esbe knows his writing ;‘ he has-writ:
M: 2;: her'frcquently —-—but that I-was by her
side when it was presented, and advised her to
read it. , re has been pestering her with his
attentions for along time. You will take my
advice, also, I hope.” * > v ' v
“Yes ; if it is given seriously.” . w
.  “In all seriousness, believe me. I I don’t ask
on to be intimate with him, for I shc‘mld" not
' e. to see that come about. ,I have a worse
opinion ‘of ' him than you have, and still we
.shake hands when we meet. He'has been to
Julia! 3' Certain way, akind of study, and is
- not by any means a specialt . He is but the
.t‘yperof a class, members of wl’iich you may see.
" 101 in the stalls of fashionable theaters any
night iii the Week. There. arejhousands of
' uSelesagnegatively good and negatively vicious
young: men like him knocking about London
,—-young men whose connections are rich, and
who, b91113 badly reared, do not recognlz‘e that
life has dams.- They are morally behind,and
to be of em you must deride goodness, and
most especially, have a light opinion_‘ of wo-
men. But .Master Frederick is, playin with
edged tools just now in other ways. . e is a
. gambler of such a conﬁrmed type that he would
‘, ,toss up for a ﬁve-pOund note with Tom or
Jerry. The consequence ,is that he is in the
 hands of the money-lenders, and is sometimes
’ dIiVen' to his wits’ ends—not far to go”——(this
was accompanied by a light laugh)—-“to meet
; their demands. There, ou have‘a fair sum-
_ thing-up pf his character. have spoken plain»
‘ , ly be'cauise I like you. and because I think”—
‘ I «here the nmerican looked at Richard with good
I humored frankness and shrewdncss—“ that in
~ the estimate I have formed of your character I
am not mistaken.” ' ’ 1
‘.‘ I: hope you are not,” said Richard, with a
I frank laugh, .“ if your estimate isa good one.
. Thank you for your advice, and I shall follow
it. 7’ I. . , v
“That is right. Perhaps you will wonder
“ why, with these opinions, I keep on, friendly
terms with father or son. Well—I have my
reasons.
you have retaliated. for you have made me cu-
rious about yourself. Since the little difference
we with Frederick Chappell you have been

/ u

to hishOuse ?” .
“ “Yes.” V
‘ “ And have accepted another invitation ?”
“ Yes.”
. “ And, have , opened an account with the
?"

“Yes,” replied Richard, with a little awk-
wardness of manner. “'I have my reasons as
well as you. One day I may conﬁde in you,
but not at present. I have a  to perform

" t Z’ ‘2 “ Well,-I will not intrude upon your confi-
' dance, but I think I may promise that you W111

ﬁnd me your frien ” ' p ‘

.’ u  ou.’ I

_ Fredericlgmp ll’s prediction that Richard
L Batten would, wt in a month of his introduc-
~ tion into society, be one of the principal lions
« ' in Landau, was to some extent veriﬁed. Stories
; - of his wealth were whispered about, and, unhke
the rolling stone, gathered _moss. It grew day
f by day until it was multiplied by ten, at least,
‘and' he was imputed to be the possessor of mil-
liOns. It is wonderful to observe how kind and
v " gracious the world is to the fortunate. It
‘ Smiled upon Richard whichever way he turned.
1  looked at him with aﬁectionate curios-
’ ity.. The interesting millionaire was anorphan.
v ’ Why should they not be a mother to him ?
' ', .I Beauty smiled upon him, and dancedwith him,

 ‘ todinnerswithhimph '. W

” ﬁdﬁiﬁnhb am and pram» with

%9Vers«dight apressure,andd1dall that beauty

. ‘5 Co make him understandhowgoodand

‘   andnoblohﬁwb andhowtread gossips;
 to be his um'eservan 

‘ '  “103$dest it mustbe

'_ f‘ ,dchesa ,
hi: 3:111 2nd brought a sense of the

l

“1- . \
r l l , .

 
If I make you curious on this point


v. .' ‘ \ ’

, 3 ,, -,§orsu amour.

exaltedhoaor-jntOhisi’aca' He was asked 
Imanuerof quantum  to Annualia'sslo‘lﬁs
 there, as to {how many hundreds
of, ousands ct horned catﬂe~he had; and
“when last \' 1y answered that he had no
property‘an no horned cattle and nosheep
“there, his denial was set down to modesty. so.
ciety settled it all for him, and'conferred upon,
him cattle stations, with hundreds of miles of
wow! froutage, ovar which roamed and ros-
pered and multiplied vast herds and lie of
living beef and mutton. He Was puzzled to
know how all these unreal p'OSSessions came to
be believed in, and was not aware that it was to
Mr. Chappell, senior, he was indebted for this
great increase of wealth. Even had he become
aware that‘it was Mr. Chappell who set these
stories a-rolling,»he would have been puzzled to
know the reason why. But we who are behind
the scenes are not so. ignorant, and we know
that it was of immense service to the great
banker. ~‘I‘he young millionaire had deposited
all his money with Chappell, Ghappell, and
Chap‘pell—eat least, so went the rumor, Mr,
'Ohappell was his-cenﬁdential adviser in all
his speculations,'for rumor had it that Rich-
ard Barton was a speculator, and a. shrew
one, and that he I scorned to wrap up his
money and keep it warm in the invalid blank-
ets ,of the "three-and-aahalfper-oents. He was
a man of mettle and enterprise, and fashion
bowed and intellecto'pened its armsto him.
When the world sets up an idol, it paints it in
rare colors, and invests it with rare virtues.
Every day some new grace was betowed upon
the young Australian; e’Very day some n‘ew
story was circulated to shed fresh luster upon
him.

He himself was notaware of the extent of
his popularity, and was blind to the traps which
beauty set for him. It was for this reason, per-
haps, that he esca ed the snares. Had he seen
them he would ave been intensel uncom-
fortable; as it was, he was intense y'happy.
Mr. Armstrong laughed at him and with him
about the stones that were set aﬂoat.

“I contradict them,” said Richard, “but I
am not believed.”

“All the better for you,” replied Mr. Arm-
strong. “ Never dispute with the world when
it speaks well of on. Time enough to do that
when it 3 cake i1 . Though then it is breath
wasted. he world will have its way.”

But excited and pleased as Richard Barton
,was with these new and ﬂattering experiences,
he found his sweetest leasures outside the
charmed circle of the ashionable world. He
was in love, and not with one of the darlings of
the upper ten. ,-

 
CHAPTER 11.

IN WHICH SOME COMMON PERSONS ARE INTRO-
DUCED, AND SUMMARIUZ DISMISSED.

Or course you know with whom. There has
been. as yet but one‘lady introduced in these
pages, and I do not mtend that there shall be
any mystery in the aﬂ'alr. He was in love with
Laura. These were early days to speak of his
passion, and he had not yet deliberately ques-
tinned his heart. That he became a fre uent
visitor at the house_1n which Lauraan her
father lived was due 1111116 ﬁrst instance to the
friendly oﬁices of ’ Mr. Armstron . Independ-
ent, however, of the mediation o the American
gentleman, he would have found his way there,
for another reason which will before long be
made apparent. but it was the American who
ﬁrst introduced him, and ‘who behind his back
spoke good words of hrs to Laura, and who
behind her back spoke goodwords of her to
Richard. To me, many of our most popular

reason, most likely, that they are the outcome
of cynicism and illsnature. ' That listeners
never hear good of themselves would have been
in this case falsiﬁed had either Laura or Rich-
ard, played the part when'klr. Armstrong spoke
ofaoneto the other. You «’may be dis ' to
give the American gentleman the credit of being

 
proverbs have always appeared false~for the 

 
more than. ustﬁslly generous, and to set 

fairwayotmngl' $5113}th ‘

, ' i - - 1
the falsif ing of the proeerbtothisexcepﬁoul
pomaforilikemynmeriean. ~ '  '

'I'n “tram'hewas moot'onxicus to prove to l
Ric srd how thoroughly blameless Insure. was
in the mount of the monogram hermd
Frederick .Chappell‘, and .veryisoon after the a
occurrence he proposed to tabs Rich to her
house, intending-{that  should: see 
in her domestie "capacity. .  was de—
lighted at the .- portunity, and received a‘
modest and kin ywelcnmo'fmm both Innis.
and her father. ’ hey  iota Myhﬁm
in the suburbs of London,  ,ev thing in
and about itwas neat  homely;
as is always the case when,  is»,
woman in a home. I on ht.to;_m the last
sentence, for I intended hat Lam’s-character _ .-
‘should speak for itself; but not much  .
done, so I shall let the words stand.»  . ~ 

“Mr. Armstrong’s friends are- sum." 
Laura, looking with aﬁ‘ection upon theAmeri-
can, who never, in her presence, indulgedjin .
caustic speech. . .  '  e ‘

“ If I were a great

x.

 ands. vain one,” said
Mr. Armstrong, “ _I should ask Laura. to be in . .:
gioigrapher. My vanitywoulgl be amply grati.‘i ,
e '1" 1 ,"V 5?; .‘L 4 : V, :
Laura smiled sweetly yet gmyely/and' the .
conversationdiverged into othcr‘th‘a‘njpersonal
matters. .4 i  .  j' i, 7
Before he left, Richard askedto be allng ‘ '
to; call ‘ sin. He did not'rneet with a 
qual, an after that he ‘found his-way‘to the V .‘

housefrequently. He made  acquaint.
ance there—Mrs. Fangle,~a pale, sad-e ' ‘flitq;
tle woman, who, Richard-learned, was ’ ‘s

constant companion when she-wentato, the _
theater. , - ‘ s  - - ' .,

“I have had the pleasure of your
husband,” said Biohard’to Mrs. Fanng 7 ' -

Mrs. Fangle sighed, and. sighed the more
when RichardBaslieed how the inv ' was ,
progressing. t ‘ mores}; accident\ho,_dis~ '
covered where’ilrs Fangle" lived. ~ Haj saw 7
her come out of a mean-looking house, and to " -
her evident confusion he asked her if she lived  '
there. She {answered in the museum; 7 '
she seemed So much distressed and so, anxious
not to pursue the subject, that BicMout
of pity for her, did not continuehis in, 
But it surprised him to know that Mn, angle,
who talked so conﬁdently of b ' ‘ ~ a milhonw
airs, should reside in such a‘locali yam! sﬂhh
ahouse. He thought of the many ‘ 7 tonnes,- ' 
he had read of genius to  
wayedin the midst, of po m ,    
tain a sincere pit or V e   
‘wom'an. Wishing to A , 'énd honheinquiredl 
of the neighborly-in a delicate way; you ‘ may
be sure (but Iam inclined to , _  coa- ‘-
duct as somewhat mean, for what  ineshhhd '
he to be poking his nose into other people’s, ,
aﬁ‘airs ?)——as to her condition, and Wes  ’ ‘
at the information he received. The househth
seemed,was Mr. Fangle’s, and Mrs. ,8 “let a - “
to lodgers,” as a neighbor said. sue {dot 
lodgers" to such an extent, and there“ ap- .
parently so greats. demand r'for‘   ,7
houso, that she, and Mr. Fangle,_‘nnd the  3,, ,
dren, all lived in the kitchen.  The cement 
the little Fangles was legion.  never “ ‘7
seemed to get to the end'of'them. Theyiwere , 
all little, and all dirty, and were falmys I play; V. ’j" ’1'
ing in the street~choosing the gutter, of? g; 1
course, as aﬁ‘ording the most, scope for e  
enjoyment. Ithink Providence must have in- '  
vented gutters solely for the amusement  7i:
the poor children of civilized nations; spree. ', 
digious amount of infantile pleasure £85319“? v 9,
tracted from mud. Which induces the rodeo; , .
tion (not original that nothing in the women 
made in vain. verything has itsch '
use and purpose. ' I h."   

Bichard‘_ ﬁnds the    ,
Reggie children in this wise:   
visit to, the neighborhood,   
street, in commotion. ‘

. , ., A ohildfhodsfby
mysterious and ingenious ,ms, ,  

,/

 
her head .under a ' _. 
locked. Havmg thus  ‘
farther, and ‘ f nct‘draw' -' mamas 

. ' 1V." 

r n, ~ V , . x,
, , A .

‘16 

\

x mm: wrou-

 
7—.—

' upon the scene, the excitement; was
r- as i.ng Semeetﬂzecﬁéwwhadtriedt?

, £18125!) the child   triedjto draw
 the hm!» and hand Gifts Little
thide  lathe'wattempts. ,Goolerand
.;more sensible  the. welhmeaning crowd
which  round the child, Richards
.sentatonceforablacksmith; thisartisan soon

‘1 pried up the but which imprisoned the child,
3whowas released, after all, with very little dam-
age. Richard thenlearned that the child was

a Fangle, and seeing her soon afterward 1n the
,“M a group of small children who were

- listening to an enjoyable recital of her woes,
and  from her hands inﬁnitesimal por-
 ofsweet stuﬂ which Richard had bought

‘  her, he, learned that they were all Fangles.
, ' F‘fdlord knows how many there is of ’em I”. said
) » g ' ‘ the  woman. '* When Mrs. Fangle
 .  Richard was in the house with
‘ 1,519} children, when: he. had made happy, all
«  him. Mrs. Fangle turned red and white
at sight of him, and her eyes reproached him

, ,forintruding upon her poverty. ’

b ’. w “Iliopégou will forgive me," he said, with
 a smile, an in a tone which Mrs. Fan e after~
ward declaredto Iaura,‘when she re the
incident, were the sweetest and gentlest she had

, ever-seen and heard. “ It is not out of imper-

- tinent curiosity that I am here.”

' , Thenho narrated the particulars of the juve-
w, ‘ nile Fangle’s perils with such effect that the

', littls‘ouesgwho followed his words with staring
eyes and open mouths, did not know whether

to bush or to cry. His kindness and delicacy

during this interview made so deep an impres.
sionupon Mrs. Fangle, that within a few min-

’ f . utes she was sobbing for joy; and all the little

 x F' werehowling in sympath . From that
3 ' any Fangle‘. washound to him heart and
- soul, and never missed an opportunity to sound

praises. . - r
g I feel that an apology is due from me for in-
 troducing such low" and common persons as
i' MrarFangle’s dirty children in a story which
 treats of rank and fashion. I have no intention
  r of- coutinuing their history, and I make the best
" ' ramends in my ‘19on by dismissing them at
’  from the scene, and by promising that

 shall be heard of no more. I take the op-
" 1f

nity'of reinarking that you would be sur-
' ' ouw‘ere made acquainted with the
,‘mesticlives of many of the men of genius
(you see that I take Mr. Fangle at his own val-
 uation) Whom possibly you may admire. Be-
} fore Ibecame as wise as I am at this present
 ‘ . ,- time of writing, 'I used to wonder why the great
‘ 1 author, Kr. Dash, and the great dramatist, Mr.
5:;  ,BlfanEWith‘ whom I am ver intimate, never
:g‘ ~ *'  mete their houses, an never introduced
-’   to their wives. I meet them at clubs, enter—
,” I ’ and cosy little dinners, but I am
  speaking» terms with their wives and
 I wonder now no, more. I have heard

: ’ ' r  and Inf-holdmy tongue.
‘15  ’V j Well, then, I promise that you shall see no
 ' more of the Fangle children ’But I cannot
.make the same promise with respect to Mrs.
 , Fangle. She has to lay her part, and. we shall
' 7 3' .gmeet her infashipna le circles. For her appear-
,1 ; anesthere Mr. Armstrong is responsible. Be, as
  “Well as Richard, was her friend, and presently,
  ,when Laura received an unexpected Invitation
g  to a grand entertainment, Mrs. Fangle was in-
;  i“. Tvited to accoxnpany her. Mr. Armstrong de-
f" ’ i , Ii; hted to, throw dust into the eyes of Mr. and
'  "  Ghappell, for it was from this lady that the
. invitation came toLaura and her father. That
F; p Y ‘ anyone of these three persons should have been
‘ Iv I invited to, one of Mrs. Che pell’s assemblies was
it" .ingilbelfu'surprising, but 6 expression of Mr.
'..: ‘ “ Amdttong’s Wish that cards should be sent to
f '.  ‘ them was not to be disregarded; When the sub-
, 1 < jest  mooted, Frederiokﬂhappell supported
. it wamly, for it Would give him anopportunity

E ,
E H _
i1 ,
é .
s

l,

r If

 
 I  r suin- ennmored- .' Mrs. Chap was inclined «to
' '~.refuse,? but her. husband , promised Mr.
 'annhat ill-should be done; and-he Was

  '  Emsj‘angle’s, home-Mm  would

'5 I ' ’ 
’r . .4 .y " ‘

 
. .,  Laura, of whomyhe wasmore than;

an  .furioushand justly.  so

,MirtArmstrong discreetly Medallion to. 
in blissful ignorance upon the point; in Veecret,
he hadmany a sly lau hover it. _ , I

I have said that I Fangle was;-bound,to
Richard heart and soul, and it was not long be-
fore she discovered that he was ,in love with
Laura. , Like agood andkindwoman she as-
sisted him by every means in her power, without
his knowing it, without his even suspecting that
any person could V 'bly have a suspicion of
the state of his feelmgs—/ pol-hag; before he was
fully aware of them himsdf. . Eangle was
constantly at Laura‘s house, being indeed paid
secretly by Mr. Armstrong to act as a kind of
companion to the young girl, and she gave
Laura and Ilichard eve opportunity being
alone together. WhenRichard called, she always
had something to do in another part of the
house, and when he. was gone she was never
weary of talking about him—~about his good-
ness, his love for children, his manliness, his
good looks, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.‘ She
never spoke Of his money; she knew Laura too
well to introduce that as a favorable feature.
She noted Laura’s silence and Laura’s blushes
with delight, and was satisﬁed that all was going
along splendidly, and that the young cou le
would soon be avowed lovers. “I know t e
signs,” she thought, to herself. But although
she did ,not speak of Richard’s wealth, Laura
did once to her, in conﬁdence.

“ He’s very rich,” said Laura, “is he not ?”

“I have heard sonny. dear,” replied Mrs.
Fangle, cautiously. -

“ And very generous,” added Laura.

“That I am sure of, my dear. A more gener-
ous heart does not beat.”

“Generous enough, 'do you think, to do a
strangaand noble action ?”

“Nothing would be too good and noble for
him to do," said Mrs. Fangle, with secret won-
der. She did not know in what current Laura’s
thoughts were Wandering. . > '

“ A wonderful iece of good fortune has come
to my father late y,” said Laura, “and I have
thought—J have hoped "-——-—‘ '

What she thought and hoped she did not ex-
plain in words. Yet presently when she looked

»up,. somewhat shyly, into Mrs. Fangle’s face,

that worth woman said, with a signiﬁcant and
tender’sm' e. ' < ‘

“I shouldn’t wonder, my dear, if you were
 n . .

And then she kissed Laura. What caused
Laura to blush is beyond my ken ;‘ but Women
often speak to each other in this kind of lan—
guage.

Mrs. Fangle knew from personal observation
that a great change for the better had taken

lace in the circumstances of, her friends, and,

eing a curious little body, had speculated as
to the means b which the change had been
brought about. he was not able to arrive at a
satisfactory solution, and as she could not re—
press her curiosity, she threw out hints to
Laura’s father that she was prepared to receive
his conﬁdence. But Rigby shook his head.

‘5 It is a secret between me and another per;

son,” he said. '

Even after/the conversation with Laura, Mrs.
Fah'gle was no wiser as to the particulars; but
she had discovered who the hero was, and she
became more than ever enthusiastic on the sub-
ject of Richard Barton.

 
CHAPTER III. -
“wno ocean HAVE SENT 'ME THESE BEAUTIFUL
FLOWERS l"

I AM temptedjo introduce still a few more
words which passed between Mr. Armstron

and Richard Barton on the ﬁrst day of their

acquaintance. . It  be remembered that on
that day Frederick Chappeli had proposed to
take Richard behind the scenes of a theater,

and. that Richard had eagerly accepted the me.  ,  V 7 _ I. I»  I 
« This kind of conversation strength-3,183,“.

Offer. Savage and sullen, however, at the-um

favorable light in which he had been placed in'

 
 .x  his lady knownmthe eractci‘rcum»

the scene with Laura, Frederick did not'makc

his appearance at Richard’s hotel in the after.

A

noon.   Arm8trong and Mr. Fangle
 “we, ,mmsnmng, ' invited them to
dinner. Over the dinner the subject was intro—
duced, and Richard expressed his disappoint-

, ment.

“ You would really {like to go ?” questioned
the American; \ -
“ Indeed I should,” was Richard’s reply.
“I will take you, then.” ' ,
“ Behind the scenes l” cried Mr. Fangle.
“ y I come ?” i I
Y “ch,” Said Mr. Armstrong. Who knows?
on
present style of acting.” r- . . ,
“ Certainly I might. I1%ank you for the hint.
It will bear 1m roving. plendid ideal ” .
“ Don’t say t
Fangle, or they’ll box your earsJ’

read to agree with his patron on any  that
he simme knew what he said; ‘,.‘ Gang-31p;—
certainly. Splendid ideal” I. . a ,. g - ,

Whereat they all had a merry in which
Mr. Fangle, primed with wine and a ‘ good
dinner, was not the least animated participa

Mr. Armstrong took them behindtheseenes
of the theater in which Laura was acting. " 

“Queer lace l” said Mr. Fangle, after alittle
,while. , “ ery- kind of you,-upon my .word,t0
be so obliging as tobring me here. I- never was
behind the scenes before in all my  Queer
people, toohvery queen”, (Mr. Fangle was not
aware thathis wrfe acted as Laura’s companion.
Mrs. Fangle was compelled to do many 

port her too-numerOus brood, and it was fortu-
nate for her that she was out of the we on this
occasion of his visit behind the scenes... ' '

strong, in his usual vein of irony. V _ ..
“Quite so—quite so,” assented Mr; Fangle,
with enthusiastic enjoyment, not seeing the
trap which was open to receiVe him. r
“As to their morals, I mean”, . I '
“ Certainly~certainly. That’s my meaning,
too. Our views are the same.” ,
“ But, ’7 Said Mr. Armistrong, ‘.‘ I am 'bound‘to
confess that there are a. few good persons to
be'met with occasionally upon the stage, and
that there is a little goodness and virtue still
remaining among them.” . 7
Then Richard said, very earnestly, “ Mr. Arm-

are serious ?”

be found among these people "Pi Certainly I
am ” ‘ ‘ '*

in your manner that puzzles me,’and Iconic:
times doubt whether you really mean what you

world, and eXcuse my freedom in putting so
bluntaquestion toyou." , h -‘ ‘- '

youngAustralian had their effect upon Mr. Arm-

——there was no irony in his words. _
On, another occasion, when the subject of
conversation was the difference of manners in
national character, Richard remarked that, were
it not for the slightest peculiarity in the modu-
lation of Mr. Armstrong s voice, he should scarce—
ly take him for an American. (Mr. Armstrong
replied, with. apparent carelessness, but with
smcere meaning : . _ - .

what I have heard from many Englishmen, who

do not swear; that I do not comport myself in
some absurd, eccentric fashion, and who truly
believe thatI am not a genuine specimen of my
race because I behavein a rational manner, and
have a hearty contempt for hum-bug and .injug.

 union between the two men, and itwas

 
standingtand.vappreciation of eac other.“ ,

\ .
.mm 3“an . m...

might introduce some improvement in the.

t to any of the actresses,  '
“Box my ears!” exclaimed m was,  "

without the knowledge of her husband, to sup- ,

“A kind of loose ﬁsh, eh?” said Misrm- 

strong, may I take the liberty of asking; if you _
“ In saying that there is still a little, virtue to;

‘.‘ No, not alone in that; ' but serious in your." -
remarks generally ? There isa vein of sarcasm '

say. Remember that I am a stranger in; a new V

The genuine earnestness and simplicity of the 1

strong, and thereafter—,durhrg that night at least >

“You have repeated in a more  form ‘

are [astonished that I do notvchew tobacco, tli’at ’
I do not make a spittoon of the carpet, that I '

not longvb'efore they arrived at .agropernnder‘ , I,
:To a

\ ..
s.- .w‘ M.“

 
k

 
' date-day?"

‘ , “Dear me!” 4 she said. h t
. i ' C s ‘ W
speaking of you. Now I know V; 5’ You 0

. and-they adored her their congratu}  1mm

,g,’

f  '

3n 7

 
,, known Er.

» he found  swims,   t , 0.11 8 33.11 Wave Of P09.”
" 1mm is owed sand who new new
‘ and acquaintances pressed about him ‘with'their
, ﬁattom‘es  hments, and he was surround-
ed by glare and g 'tter, he gave himself up to
the. chem, as‘youth does naturally and inVari-

   the ¢Pp0rtunity beers. The world

_ y ‘ never boon so. bright to him, and he freely
 the enjoyments it held out to‘him.
Mr.  took note, with aﬁectionate in.

were“. (1. the experiences through which Rich-
 was ﬂeeing, and of his manner of receiving

> them. ' ﬁrst he was douth whether the
adulation ,which. was showered” upon the young
fellow would, not turn his head; but after a time
be We, more satisﬁed, and contented 
self with gentle miller-y, which Richard took in
 part, ,Itwas usual tor  to‘call
upon Mr. Armstrong in the meaning three or
four times during the week. U n one of
these occasigns,%hen Richard had invited him-
selfto  Mr. Armstro asked him if
hehadanythin particular to oror thegnext
few hours." Ric answered, No. .

W I» did not know,’_’ said the, American, “what
demands upon his time the spoiled child of
fashion might have.” I ,

"‘Not spoiled yet," said Richard with a

smile.
’; ‘fBocie is somewhat of a t t, and jealous

withal. on still ﬁnd its bon pleasant ‘1’"
"*“Xgiy loasant.” _ .
“ vs no cravings for the age of sim-

licity to come over again '1’” Richard shook

hishead. “You will be wiser when you are
thirty years older. You will then discover the
vanity of things.”

‘  “ I  wait till then.”

. “I heard yesterday that
large number’of? shares in the Great Extended
Copper Mine. Is it a fact, or merely rumor ?”

. H‘AI have taken ﬁve hundred shares}? f
“ By  Ghappell’s advice 1’”
‘ “Be introducedthe company to my notice.
I canlt”exactly say that he advised me to take

' ";‘Yciufhave‘been guided by me in many mat-

‘.   guidedin this. ' The shares will be at

a premium today and to—morrow. Sell out to-
- morrow.” , H , ‘
“I havenlt the _‘ slightest objection. I know
you never speak without reason.” ‘
“Why do you speculate at all just now,

” , Richard ?”

"‘ Why does Frederick Chappell bet on horse-
racing? , His 111 my blood,» I Suppose. But
have’no team, My eyes, are open." . » .
 (“I wish you would make a conﬁdant of me
. in your speculation?” '
'. ;‘I will do so Wlth pleasure: .Why did you
want to know if I had any t11mgparticiﬂmr to

“I am, going to See a young friend of ours,

Y and“: shall be glad of your company. It isa

‘ ﬁne morning, and we can walk.”
" Richard’s heartbeat more quickly; he knew
that the young friend was Laura. yr
‘ 0n ' heir ' waytheyfspoke of her, and Mr.

Arnistrong' mentioned that he had received a
note from Laura’s father, which he made the
pretext for this visit. Mrs. Fangle Opened the

door-for them: ,
“We were, just

gentlemen have come in. company. . ﬁ .

‘ “Then you are indeed a We woman, [sald
'Mr:' Armstrong. ‘ v  '

 -“ You have come to wish her many happy
returns of the day." “ ’ -
' ’ “ Why of this particular day P” ,

. “Because, it is Laura’s birthday,
Ltwmﬁyito‘day’h ,  ‘- g I L  ' j. .
'  .“I 38811113 you we were ignoan of; If:wa
‘Wéiﬁi‘e'both’glad we have come”: ' ‘ ”'   __

' The? W  and hermther together,

a ,“It is an inlportant day to us in more re-

, _ _, ,1 g

., w .    Fed’s?”
reassuredew ttersalso claimed in; men-._
' #tion. .Withinamaxith of hisarrival In London

you had taken a I

had taken their departure, a be,

She! is ‘

‘ "f‘/Very beautiful.
,my‘dearz?“ .

 
spects-‘thangonee", xf‘We have re;

“Wed;  _. .
answertoroturntoi.” ., 7. _ ,_ k

‘“ I you wantmy opiniomf’said Mr.
Armatrong. “ Be thankful  I am note law-
yer.~ What invitation is it. and from; whom 2”

"‘ From Mrs. Chappell, and to a grand party.
For papa and me." > v _ s

‘.‘ And you wish me to tell you whetherjyou
shall; accept it ? ” ’ i

u es " ‘ ' ‘

“Acce it by all means.” ‘

Had s ‘63 only her own feelings to consult,
Laura would have been thankful if MnArm—
strong had advised her to decline the invite-
tion. She had many reasons for wishing this;
she ‘was anxious not to meet Frederick Chap.
poll, and she knew how wide a gulf there was

etweeu. her position and that of  Cha

nclined to go, but, to her surprise, when she
spoke of the matter to him, he showed 9'. nor-
vous eagerness to be received as a guest in the
house of his late employer. It was, indeed,
to him in some sense a Vindication in the eyes
of the world; he preposed, however, that it
should be left to.Mr. Armstrong’s decision,
and when that decision was given unhesitat-
ingly in accordance with his wish, he gazod
with love and pride upon his daughter. It
was-for her sake, as well as for his own, that
he desired to go ; it had been agonizing to him
to think that. his shame was reﬂected upon her.
Now all this was cleared away. and he and the
child who had been his only solace durin his
long years of suffering, would be able to old
up-Vtheir heads with the best. Laura was no
longer an actress; she had, under the more
favorable circumstances of their position, left
the stage, intending never to return to it.

‘fOf course I shall do as ou advise,” she
said to Mr. Armstrong. “ W‘ v you be there ?"

E‘Yes, and Mr. Barton also.” I

“ Then I shall not be without friends ; yet it
seems sostrange to me to receive such an in—
vitation, that I cannot help thinking there
must be some mistake.”

“That’s scarcely probable. Perhaps they know
that Mr. Barton and you are friends, and are

anxious in this way to show their respect for

him. Mr. Barton, let me tell you, is a person
of some importance in society.” He said this
in a very kind tone. ‘

Laura looked gratefully at Richard, and the
American gentleman was quite contented that
she should believe that it waste Richard’s good
ofﬁce she owed this mark of respect. It did
not matter that Richard disclaimed anypre-
vious knowledge of it; he was not believed——
by one of the party at least.

Some little while after the two gentlemen
not of choice
ﬂowers was left at the house of laum; Mrs.
Fangle‘ran into the room with them in a state of

' great excitement, holdingthe ﬂewers behind her.

rdinarily, Mrs.Fangle was a sad and quiet little
woman; she had reached this state gradually
but very surely, for when she was yOun she
was a merry-hearted girl, full of lifean ani-
mation ; but an overdose of Fangle had changed
her nature completely. Occasioan , however,
the old lively spirité—Which lay buried beneath
the cares and worries of the World—pooped out
as in the present instance. She held the ﬂowers
behind her, and merrily asked Laura to guess
what she had brought her. Laura’s" delight
was unbounded when she saw the ﬂowers. It
was a day of glad' surprises for‘her.
A ‘f Who could have sent them ‘3" she said.
“Papa,” suggesteers. Fangle, slyly,
“ Of course—papa," cried Laura.
“ Of course—papa l” repeated Mrs. Fangle,

mockingly. ‘ “Papa is in the garden. Go and
ask him.’ . - ‘

“Thank you, papa]? said Laura, kissing the
old man. ' '

I “‘Forwhat, my (1681'?  w C  -:
‘ “ Fer these ﬂowers: Are they notbeautiful .9”
But they are notirom me,

4

Later in the for  regenerates

' young girl gaZing at the ﬂowers, with a «soft and”

tender light‘of happiness in her eyes.

a,

n  andwa   what.

‘paper carfully into very Small pieces, after

‘home; “Believe me, very namely,

 
the

\ ‘ ‘3 I, \-

Y

__ “Who  _have» sent me the”  . . .
,ﬂévéém?”lemlalmed. j  Mrs. Female (grain quot v
 “lady of Lyons.“ ~2htd~.forthe
 tune din-lug the wcekshekissedhnra
318m .  agin‘laaura blusheé axon”).
pierlgeart; . n hers beat thatday'inullthe wide
 , _ .y . " - “ I . ‘ ; .

 
nus. mm’emnwr.~ -‘ . .
Rm, fashion, and intellect were  to ,
be found at Mrs- Chappell's parties, and at the
party to which Laura and her. father were in;
vited there wasa more than usmlly, select and; ,,
brilliant gathering The oecasioir‘was an 
portant one, for Mr. Chappell could  wrﬁe , ‘
M. P. after his name, having been clashedﬂ'

811- She thought her father would "he did: Burlingham‘ The“ had been 3 “V915 

for the representation of the boron h, but 
the ﬁrstMr. Wakeﬁeld, the Parliamgntary 

had been conﬁdent of victory. “ Leave every-
thingtome.” Mr. wakeﬁeld had said, “"and‘I
will pull you through. " Mr. Chappell had left
eve 'ngto his agent, and was duly 
thrOugh; allthat he had todo was toaskno
questions, to advance money” it was. uiroﬂ,

anal at]? 1;nliake a few egregiichesﬁ Mr. w '

' ereshand . e ' thd ' ”.'
When he footed up the ﬁ pp gawas p or
serious, but he cheered up presently, and m
soled himself with the reﬂection that the money
was well spent. To his wife the triumph was
greater-than it was to him. Theo!)ng
candidate was her next door neighbor, . no.

cer, to whom slight reference has been made  ._ . 'L ‘

the earlypart ofthestory “and who had ' f";
from nothing. “Anobody, ,” said Hrs.‘ 

poll, “ whose wife used to sell caps ander
and who has made his money Heavan knows
howl We must teach these persons a lesson."
The lesson had been taught, at a somewhat en-

pensive rate, but Mr. Mercer did notseem much   V,

the worse oi it. No doubt, however, The suﬁetéd
in’secret, said Mrs. Chappell. The wives took
much more interest in the contest than their
husbands. They looked daggers at each other,
but spoke none, not being on ‘ ' ‘ 
There was talk of a petition against “the new
member on the usual grounds of bribery 
corruption; Mr. Wakeﬁeld snapped his ﬁngers -
and deﬁed the defeated candidate. ' whose?
wisely saved his time and hispurse. ,, "‘ 
Mrs. Chappell was not only a fashionable but
an ambitious woman, and she then 1:, 
her husband was a member of P   r
she saw her way clear'to  Body  '
pell. In secret, she wrote the name frequently;
to see how it looked, always "up 

2

she-

had ind ed in this airy realization of her, 
bitlon. n the day that Mr. Choppens was 

turned for Burlingham, when she ﬁreCeived ﬂi’é’:

telegram announcing his victory, she j',  

her desk and began to scribble, “ may .
pell presents her compliments ;” “ 
poll has much pleasure ;” "‘ Lady Chopped! At
’ are, “My .
Harriet Ghappell ”-—-no, that  That“ do"; 1
why should she. not put M. R’s after-her name?
It was not right that custom should deprive -

 
her of her honors. She destroyed two or three.

quires of note—paper in this way, and when, the .
footman came into the room, was inclined to be
angry with him because he did not say “ My  I
lady.” ' _ ‘, v A
With Mr. Chappell aﬁ’airdhad been going an 
in the usual way since our introduction to 
He suffered a great deal, but‘ did not, let. the V V

A

world see it.

sionally came to him, and kept up his 

VHis chief concern was still the safety: at "the

Golden Mariner .in which h
Nothing had been e had so
ominous  06 that prevailed regarding”  it 
 ‘73:: than bad news; .Heghad tried 
, _ ‘9‘ , nay, the whole, of  
hadfailed, 80;that he  compelledto stand or ’ v 
fall b the Ship. The extent of Mei-interest  '
olden Mariner was not; generally known; 2 1,»

large a stake. ‘

‘ His speculations Were not turn— '  '
ing out fortunately, but little bitsof luck W“  L.  ' '

heard of. the vessel,   II ~

 
\.

'mms mm "as: 

11

 
sonswhoknewthevfull. his trans-
actions in that direction, and he hoped that the
American, for his own sake, would not ak'of
r thematter. Mr. Chappell was very pohte, and
I " j,» attended .to'Mr. Arrestrong, and not, even
‘ to his wife, exhibit aversion to 
Chappell herself liked the American gentleman,
and was strongly attracted toward him for one
' special reason. She was much interested in
l ’ , spiritualism, and she believed in her heart that
 ‘ NIL-Armstrong was a spiritualist,’ and oculd
' enlighten her on the subject. ’When she, re-
. fared to it, he generally evaded it; in-truth,
1 she waste a, certain extent a believer inmes-
 merism, but he, did not parade his belief.
There were other reasons for 7 Mrs. Chappell‘s
1 , liking’fOrlhim; he was-rich” handsome, clever
-" ,"and most attentiye to ladies; besides the tone
"of  remarks gave apiquancy generally to the
conversation, and she knew how important it
  . ’ jwas that hercomp’any should be amused. Then,
' 1 “_ ‘ .; again, she likedall personswho were both clever
 'ia‘ndrichﬁ' ,, . _. , _
3 'f’When Richard Barton made his appearance
_  “Mrs. Chappell’s’ brilliant. reception-rooms,
' the guests ‘Were' arriving in quick succession,
“and ,tﬁe‘scene was very animated. He. looked
a " about'him fer ‘Mr. Armstrong and Laura, but
‘ 'neithe‘r had yet arrived. ' 'Mrs. Chappell was
 with Lady. Barebbnes, who, with
 'fhggjh‘reé‘” marriageable daughters, had. a re-
‘ .markab’lé regard for eligible single young men.
  “Here is a great favorite of mine,” said Mrs.
‘ . QGhappell, “ a young Australian, enormously
V  . 7; rich, only lately arrived home.” ,
- - ‘f' ‘ "‘ I‘have heard of him,” observed Lady Bare-
 bOnes, putting up her eyeglass at Richard, who-
. ‘\ , ,[was slowly making hisway toward the lady of
4. {we house. “ Singée ?” '
a , _:"Yes,”replied .1 rs. Chappell, who, having no
 , daughters of her own, could afford to be gener-
,‘;.,ous. ‘6 “Single and disengaged. I do not know
 ‘J‘I‘how many thousands of» miles of sheep runs and
, excattle‘stations he is the owner of.- I am told
 no end to his money.”
' Z .‘The hearts of the three honorable Misses
 y ' L‘Barebones ﬂuttered in their breasts, and when
/’ ’ t  was introduced to them, they made the
' "I :jmost‘ ,' us bf courtesies. Lady Barebones
v f _.' ’_’ .;took lime in at a glance, and settled his fate for
. , ‘ him; . us should marry Millicent. I should be
- t :~ ' ‘I afraid to say how many ,men Lady Barebones
' ‘   settled should marry Millicent; yet Milli—
f'fg'oent was still a spinster. Lady Barebones was
' ., *  'iiot‘a 900d general; she took possession of the
 - I ,_  at‘ once, and frightened them by her
' Violent, method. She would have married them
._ , V to her  by force if she had had the power.
 f  who had experience of her took care to
t .  their distance. The young ladies were
.-  notr‘emarkable for beauty, nor were they rich
 . f . in thewm'ld’s goods. Richard, however, was
  ' ‘_ unconscious of Lady Barebones’s intentions,

/' ‘ .Aimﬁrongland  wet-atheionly per-
I. l. of .

  
' ' ‘ , and gesentlyfound himself in conversation‘with
 ~‘357’Mr. orinan, with whom he had some slight
. , . “acquaintance. Mr. Ferman was a rising lawyer,
a ' »  a brother in the colonies, and the conver—

  was therefore interesting to both the

K ‘3’ ' gentlemen; Richard was satisﬁed to be ,thu‘s
, ‘ . , employed until the arrival of his friends, and he
stationed himself near the door, so that he might
 them enter. ' _
15M?  . WA strange caSe has come under my notice
~, g},   lately ” said Mr. Forman, “in connection with
'  new uth Wales. A very wealthy gentleman
‘ , there, whose name it is not necessary to men-
 " tion, being'anxious to visit England, for the
r,  settling here with his family, I be-
 ave,‘icéhsnlted my brother—knowing that I am
ale w  to‘the best means of accomplishing
 You will understand that when he
.i, ‘ wasay, manhe was transported-101‘ life.
’;  He isnow'o d‘andv“ wealthy, and the desire
  vtegcomehomeishkea aseinhim. Forthe last
  ears letters have been ' between
,.  Fusion e subject", butfof coursen , ‘ canbe
 _.   I believe the pld manwould give ﬁfty
-.    if it couldbe ed. To

."mx'.
,

 
 nor‘successful result: From/ax. ‘1'


Mrs. so?

 s him, I. have made inquiriesi'an up lica-'

 
which reached mes‘lastfweek, I‘learnr'thstthe
disappointment is likely to be the death of the
man. ‘ Stone walls do not a prison make, her
iron bars a 0353‘s,? and yet a  as large
as Europe ma become-a hateful when
younare forbid on to move out of it. Is , it not

H   so. 1! _ >

Richard Barton moved away‘with a strange
thoughtfulness upon him. The . words, the
lawyer had spoken recalled him to the duty
which lay before him. He had, not forgotten
the purpose which had brought him to
England—it was impossible that he could
ever lose sight of, it; but during the ﬁve
weeks he had been in the oeuntry he had
not prosecuted his inquiries with energy. He
reproached himself for it now. Certainly he
had not been idle , something he'had discovered,
and it had brought a sweet pleasure to him in
the promise it held forth. And. there' was an
excuse for him in the temptations by which
he had been surrounded.“ But he Would waste
no more time in idle pIeasures. A great duty
was before him, and he wculd setto Work upon
it at once. 'V

In themidst of these reﬂections, a hand was

placed upOn his shoulder. He turned, andlsaw

Mr. Armstrong. . , .

“ I have. been looking ,for you,” said. the
American. “Have you been here long?”

“ About half an hour.” ' _

“ We have a grand company .here tonight.
But two-thirds of them will be gone in an- hour
or so. i There are two great balls elsewhere to
which most of those present are invited, I ex-
pect. See—a few are clearing away already.”

‘f Laura has not arrived yet?”

“ No; she and her father will come in a few
minutes. I thought it best that they should not
be here too early. It is a tryin ordeal for the
old man to pass thrOugh, an Laura herself
has been very nervous over the 'adair. Hark!
the Hungarian band is playingin the garden.
Mrs. Chappell’s parties are always worth attend—
ing. You may be sure of the best of every-
thing—the best wines, the best company, the

best singing. The Swedish quartette ‘music, ~

are here; some of their glees are very sug—
gestive. It was a good idea of Mrs. Chappell s
to station the Hungarian musicians in the
gardens. It is a lovely night; let us walk into
the grounds. The music of these Hungarians
is very distinctive. There is something wild
and heroic in it, and if you look upon the
musicians while they are playing, its character
is not destroyed. See how the leader stem 3
his feet, and ﬂourishes his bow. His bo y
sways in unison with the strains. He feels
what he is playing. Confess, my young barba-
rian. Is not this worth coming to London for?
The lights, the music, the beauty, the murmur
of soft voices, the thousand and one fascina-
tions that conspire to lure one’s senses, and.
steep them in a heaven of happiness. Pre-
sented to us in such a scene are all the brilliant
facets of human nature, shining and sparkling
like stars. Not to be seen and not to be enjOyed
anywhere but in a large city. You are silent.
Do you not agree with me i’”

“ Yes,” replied Richard, abstractedly. “ You
are righ ._” ,

He scarcely followed his friend’s words; his
mind was ﬁlled’with but one subject. His
thoughtfulness and abstraction were not lost
upon Mr. Armstrong, who, however, made no
open comment upon it.

“YOu see dark clouds in the. picture, pro-
bably,” proceeded Mr. Armstrong, “but why
should the disturb us? Let us enjoy the out-
side of ngs. ~ I confess that there are oc-
casions when it pleases me to look no dee r.
There are peris and worse than peris stan ‘ng
on the outskirts of this paradise, we know; but
we are here-—let us enjoy it. I like to see
human nature dressed-in its best, as it is to-
ui ht. I like to see it when it is on its good
be vior, nestling, prettin in smiles and bri ht
looks and pleasant ppeech. These fascinating

experiences must have brought a new sensation/
to you.” » ‘ , * v

 
'"rh‘jy have, and one so 6 that! ‘

gginfo fear I have been  
f “ You? will sings yourwingsy to a if
you have not done ‘so . I, Be thankful if
you do not burn them on. Listen—the 

(v.

' girls are singing.” ‘ 
' They  ~in silencer ‘until the glee was en- ‘

ished. . i

“ Neither lof us understands word cf theilan—
guage,” said the American, “ and yet I'mahe' a
story out of the song. Standing herein” the gar-

den, I imagine‘lhat at a little distance from use-— :

there where the shadows ares—stands'a'belea-
guered city. The inhabitants have risen inits
defense, and every  is a soldier, armed with
rude weapons. The besieg'ing amy lies before it,

. and around it. The defenders watch “throughthq
night. It is dark, and they pass their signals ,

from one to the other. ' The women the

city listen to. the sOunds of’tnen, men’s vei'ces; ,

the children in their beds hold their? breath.

‘How goesit?’ asks a acitiz‘en-Soldieﬁw “All. is

still, " answers another; ‘ our fee sleeps"; we hear

no sounds. 5 Pass the word.’ ‘ Sentinel-speaks’to

sentinel, and the words, ‘  is  yehear-
no sounds ;«o'ui'fo‘e is sleeping,’ travel-1 onward,

until they die away in the distance. f The glad

tidings breathe comfort into  of the"
women and children ; their protectors are".on.tlie

alert, and all may yet bewell'. . The‘brief silence

that fellows the last dying strains ofthe sentinels

is broken by the sweet night-song of the yVOmen,

praying for their men ahd their landiTlie' wives

pray for their husbands ;* the girls for their lov-

ers. The citizenssoldiers, intheirturn,"listento

the prayer. ‘Sleep in peace,’ they sing, when)~
the prayer is ended; ‘we watch overyou' and

our children.’ ‘ God protect you,’ - reply the

women. ‘ Good-night.’ , ‘ Good-night.”  -'

CHArrnn'v. ', {  If "
, sncnnr r03 snonnr. ‘ f; , ‘;
RICHARD listenedto this description with won-

 
der and delight. It was to him a new revelation / >

in the character of his friend. , . V,

“ You hays charmed ‘me out of! myself;" he
said. ‘€ I am ashamed; to confess that while
those girls were singing I paid no heed to them.

My'thoughts were wandering to past timesde ‘

distant lands, but your words brought ev’er‘y'note
of the song back to me.” I r "

“ I charmed you out of yourselfﬂ repeated
Mr. Armstrong. “ Do you believe in mesmer-
ism ‘3”

6‘ N0. ’7 r » I, I _

“ At least in animal magnetism—a moré corn-
prehensible term ?” ‘ ' '

“ I believe in nothing of the kind. [Do you 7” . V

“ Yes; to a certain extent, I havesome‘ faith
in it.” " - ' ‘
“ Had any person but yourself
should have doubted him.” V r
‘ “ Why ? Perhaps you have not ven any se-
rious thought to the subject. . en Ispeak
with more than usual earnestness, do yOu not '
listen with more than usual attention ?” i
“ Undoubtedly.” "

“That isanimal magnetism. Iimpress‘you I ‘

with my earnestness. I did so b my descﬁp-

tion of the Swedish girls’ glee, an I succeeded ' l i

in my distinct intention to divert your thoughts
from the current in which the. were 
Iydon’t go far; table-talking, spiﬁmppmg; and
spiritualism~which are at resent 
of charlatans and dupes—I ave no belief in."

“ Nor I, in those or any other swipes. My

wonder is that sensible men are V ._ r.  '
“All sensible men are not ed; some few

are.- There never yetwasa d usion‘without its
followers. I have seen cleverer, men than
either you or I sent mto a mesmeric slee ,

/

about the genuinean which there could ‘  5'

no question.” ', . . . . . y ’
“I stand by my opinion: It la a delusion
from’ﬁrst to last-’8 ’

nity of convincing you. 2’ ~

.. You prick me. ' I should magma;

 
have.”

a.“ (Ana Awﬁén a“: evgvv “Wei... .

“ Ioffer it 'to' yew"; said Richard ; ""l‘imes‘nier" u 

 
I ' » are not from your heart.”

.1

\4

H,

  
.I

(

\'
x

I , .f‘Iﬁ there has    
m g with a. smnle,‘ ‘ ' \ our,,wunaint-a
' hiancegihen’you would .be- a favorable subject

=. for  some! I see plainly that 

, ' you are counted.1 I ,But I doubt if under any cir-
 on Wuldbe affected according to

thé  You are too full of healthy

,,"blood; yam: mind is not suﬁiciently‘ diseased;

. you in; not morbid. I, know of no especial

. weaknesspinyou that could be worked upon.”

. ' 7'?‘Ah,'you,Want something of that sort. Ig~
nmdnce,.icredulity, imbecility—these are your
menswear foundations.”

, , , .Mr.’ ,' trong looked at, Richard with closer
1  anything gone wrong with you ?”
 o.,’.’,  , 

 “:ﬁou have heard no bad news ?”
n o. ’7

,, . ' J‘you' said just now that you feared you were
gunwlse in yielding to the, attractions which soci-
 ety has 'V held out to you. Have you not found
' them pleasant 2"" k t j
“Very'pleasaht.” . ' , ,
U “Yet you; are disturbed and elicited, appar—
A ently without caﬁse.‘ I am almost tempted to
' make a shrewd guess that you are in love. Are
' "cu?”'»"  'r ("w . . T , >
I :kﬁtichardstammered confusedly,‘ “Yes—no—
 t, _,_;_ p _
 ‘ Mr.':hrm5trong laughed in a kindly manner.
“A sure” sign,"he said, and added, earnestly,
"‘ whoever she is, may she be worthy of .you i”

“She’s more than my equal,” replied” Rich-.-

ard, softly; “ wish rather that I may be worthy
 of , her. -And you, Armstrong? I have read
r somewhere that love comes to all men. I You
“ havemoved much in the World. How is it that

you have esca ed ?” I

1' “Phrha s,’ said Mr. Armstrong, sententious—
1‘ ,lyi, “itis cause I have moved much .in the
‘~~world that I have escaped.”
~'~ “ No, it is not because of that. “I am begin-,
~ning to know you, Armstrong. Those words

I  Armstrong did not immediately \reply,
' t, and when he spoke his voice was low-and ten—
ggder. “I am corrected; the subject is too sa-

 for light speech. Secret for secret, Rich- V.

ard; I have not escaped. Love'comes to all
amenwyou say.‘ After all these years it has
.':come to me, and, cynic and ad wcrldling as I
 am, it has brought into my life its sweetest
‘ sprawled like in the hope of a happy future
,zwith th’c best and purest woman I have ever

known. v .
Richard held cut his hand with cordial aﬁec-
,rtion. “ Lam rejoicedto hear it. But I must
.zv'not allowmy dream of love to cause me to for-

;  get the task, to perform which I came to this
‘  world. A fast/words which were addressed »

‘ 3a; me tonight suddenly recalled me to a sense

 ‘ ,,-;of:my duty—a sternand sacred duty, Armstrong

, sec—ﬁnd I was 'reproachi-ng‘ myself for neglecting
git-when. you came upon me.” .
J‘Can I assist you in any way ?” ,
‘-‘ You] can; I think. With the exception of
a a feiw words which passed between me and Mr.
:"Ghappell, this is the only time that I have spok-
en openly’since my arrival. in England, and
“you must forgive me for my excitement. You
. shall know all, Armstrong; I can trust youand
dependu'pon you, for you are a just man. Be-
 fore we part to-night Ipwill tell you my story. It
 f is a story of bitter, cruel injustice committed
upon-upon my father, 7 a man whom, if you
,lmdknown, you weald have loved and respected,
as all did whoknew him. It is to remove a
stain from his memory—for he is dead—~that I
.- am in England. Smgulerly enough, the story
,‘of'this bitter wrong is connected with the very
,5 bank of which Mr. Ghappell IS the head. When
.I “Was ‘ making arrangements for leaving the
H 7 colony, itseemed to me like a decree of fate
< that]; should be advised by my best friend
 to come straight to Mr. 'Gbappell’s. bank):
“You have had some conversation Wlth; Mr.
053919641 upon thesubject ? , He knows your"
story. than. and your Pug?!” ?”  -
' . f‘He knowsnothing. ct sword of airpla—
 has passed my lips," and the secret 18
mine'end willbe mine until We leave to-mght.

W I

v  I _\"«>: _-_"

a

  
shall commence.

 
\

no we Werner.
K ‘ - '

Thedrstthinglhavetodo somewhat.

hasbecomeogfamanwho ma clerk in
Che ell’s bank.” -
it. ishis name?
E.“ Charles Davidge.”i ' , .
.In hisexcitement, Richard did not see the
startled look that ﬂashed into Mr. Armstrong’s
3:3: nor hear the exclamation that escaped
s. , .

“ must ﬁnd this Charles Davidge, if he be
alive. My fear is that he may be dead. Arm-
strong, thereare good reasons why I carmot go
to Mr. Chappell and ask him openly for infor-
mation concerning this man. In return he
Would ask me far particulars which must not
be known until I have accomplished my task.
But if this Davidge be alive, I Will track him.
I would give half my fortune to meet, him face
to face! I would give all my fortune to wring

‘COnfessibn from his lips ! , You will help me ?”

articulars of
never work

“Yes, when I hear the full
your story. Not until then, for
in the dark"? ' ‘

‘f‘I do not ask you to do so until you hear
my story. But that I have‘a purpose in re-
maining here for a little while, I would beg of
Lou to come away at once, so that I might re-

,te it to you. I would tell it to you, now if it
were not too long; and 'I musttell it my own
way, and without fear 0f interruption.” ‘

“ What was the nature of the conversation
that .passed‘between you and Mr. Chappell ?”

“I simply told him that my principal reason
for coming to England was to correct a mistake
which Justice made. I told him also, that in
the performance of my task I might ask for his
assistance, and he promised to give it to me.”

“That is all?” v  p '

" That is all. Now advise me in what way I
I thought of putting the mat-
ter into the hands of private'detectives, but the
idea seemed to me revolting. It is a degrada-
tionto haVe to do with hired spies. And I had
another objection: I did .not wish to tell my

. storyto strangers. , This is atask I am per.

forming for a dear father, and it will be more
truly a labor of love to perform it myself and
in my own way. If I knew a man who had in-
terest and inﬂuence in a newspaper"—-—

Mr. Armstrong interrupted him with a smile.
“ You do know such a man. ‘He stands before

ou;” ’
""You, Armstrongl What newspaper?”

“ The Moon. . The little Moon. Price .one
half-penny, with all the latest intelligence, and
unknown corr ndents in every part of » the
world. But this is a secret between us; it must
not be known that I am a proprietor.” I

“There is nothing that you are not, Arm-
strong. I have bought the little paper”———— ‘

“Of dirty little boys and girls, who deal in
Moons and matches. Both the same price. A
box of Vesuvians and a Moon for a penny.
There is a belief among some of our small rag-
ged merchants that the Vesuvians are manufac-
tured in the editor’s rooms; hence the connec-
tion. When the Moon was ﬁrst started, people
thought it a strange name for a newspaper; I
considered it appropriate, by inference. They
dedicate morning and evening sheets to the
Sun ; they also sacriﬁce to the Stars. Why
should not the Moon have its literary altar?
We publish a dozen editions a day, and the
Moon shines by day as well as by night Now,
in what way can the Moon serve you 2”

“ I propose to insert an advertisement in the
paper, without its being known that I am the
advertiser, oifering a reward of ﬁve hundred
pounds for information concerning Charles Da-
vidge, (3.16813: (geeﬁk  31111: banking-house of
Chap , p , an ell. ”

“ Apghell,” thought Mr. Ari’riistrong, “straight
into the enemy’s camp.” And said aloud, ‘ “I
will manage it for you, Richard, but yo must
leave it to me to choose the proper time or its

insertion. I promise that it shall a y be;

fore many days have passed, In _ mean.
Whitey ﬁle fact that, Iqam a proprietor of the pa-
per must not be divulged. It is time we made
our appearance in the house. Mrs. Chappell
will remark our absence, and I dare say bye-this
time  andherfather have arrived.”

Mr. .doorofthe  _

 
_ .19

The ' entered the    ‘r

y- ,   

“As I, told you}?   “the
company isthinn'mg, but there 
table persons present. :You see that old gent
tleman, withthestaronhisbreest. 
Lord Beaumorris, an old gentleman whose em
ciety is eagerly  He was agreat buck
in his younger days, and—the reputation 33.x
taching tolnm is that hole a manot: honor,
whose word islaw upon doubtful To ' .
be ‘cut’byhim  '
with him, issuﬁ‘ilciient to  a meme.
ing in society. e is a. ’ , ‘ , perm ' _. '
highepirited old lord, progtd 0g   said
his dignity. - Mrs. Chappell’s  Mm.

_Mercer, who occupies the houseineitfhotiM, v— a
’ and whose husband made  In

 éy‘axryhow; ,
would give‘her little ﬁngerif otd' Beams , i 'x.
would attend one of . her assemblies;  '

is one of Mrs. Chappell’striumph‘s’ and console.-
tions. Observe that young exquisite, 
as though he had just step dfrom'themodeler’s

t»

hands. That’s Mr. Fr erick De. Vere Saint *

Fitzfaddle, a great young  very rich,
thirty thousand a year, andabout twenty 
of conversation. Such young men as,he,¢with

their weak faces and their hair _ ‘l‘in‘the '
middle, inspire me with profund admirationfor

my species. There is Mr. Wakeﬁeld, the ..
mentary agent, and there is  Huntly, 
ing scandal; see how the heads clusteriaround ’
her. Mrs. Chappell’s looking toward us {let 
go to her": .y . . , i f ,  .3,

j CHAPTER v1;    i‘ '
mas. CHAPPELL mosses Prisms;
AMERICAN.  ..

r ﬂ

\'

Mus. Cnarrnnn held up a abiding  as his?

the two gentlemen approached her.
“ Throw your ‘aegis before me, s Bioha "

Whispered Mr; Armstrong; “mine is  “I

and full of holes.”   '
“ You need no shield,” replied Richard, with ’ x
a smile. “Your/ weapons are quite 
enough for self-defense, and you knower to  '
use them.” " A ‘ ‘ w '
“ I have been consulting some of ,
said Mrs. Chappell, “as to which 0
gentlemen I shall visit with my '
She/op

maled to Mr. Frederick  '

Saint Fitzfaddle, who was standing by her 3753,. p a 

for conﬁrmation of her "statement,  559, 
ﬁnding nothin to say in his W ' 'Wn
lary, elevated

'3 fair eyebrowe,_and bowed. ,1
vacantly. ' ..  ~ ' . , '

“As you are strong,”  

“be merciful; yet if you must ,rstrike, strike

my friend. I am weak andold. But you have ' I A
not explained, my dear madam, inth ‘way' ‘ ' 

we have been unfortunate enough to displaces

‘.
n ‘1 _ x 
Ou. \ .»-"/ e 1. .

“In what way? By absentingiyourselm

from my rooms, of which you 

the non
brilliant ornaments.” ,  v

a

Mrs. Chappell, like a diplomatic,   " 
Wide 7 

careful that these words 
ears of the gentlemen she addresSed. ‘ _
“I make you a present of. that;  '

w «

said Mr. Armstrong. “My humble  . i

is to be useful.” v

“Lady 'Barebones has been most  “ if.”

abOut you, Mr. Barton, and I haveﬂsent into =
every room to ﬁnd you, withom: success, She"
herself peeped into the conservatory; yam.
have made a conquest in that
need not look around;'she and,
haveFleft; dam th _ _  

“ 0; ese an ‘ 0 ermercies”—mrmﬂ 7 '  Le; 
eer. Armstrong. _ .. i ,, < ~:  " r'

“.Husa'youmugmymxw' ,v <

“But three, my dear Mrs,
monstrated Mr. Arm ' . V I
The triple blessing is too  
of women born.” " ” '

“ You . are incorrigible,”_li’lii    I
0 r _ . , ' e , _  V  jg,
«a

pell,é.lways disposed {7&va  _
eooentncu  . only. ‘» .. r. - "  ,   
'«‘ We'were  teningin theg‘arden to the  

,e. -e

x

* .7, n

,v,

carter. You. v.»

 
“if?  ‘ 'lfad“

,1“.

' 3.

,.y/
e:
. r ., V. 3; " , *J'

  
if;  .

toms morons:

< ,  n. - . , .. ,. .. ._ .swdé"

 
.é  :  mussel you? new bans «It is!
g r  ‘ 1y“~«‘yon-who*aretohhm' odor-"providingsu’chﬁ

attractionsat your entertainmen _.” , - ,
5593 "“   ’3,  Ohappelhr “did you
  ‘  was at ,a‘loss for
‘ an excuse‘fora compliment? ”. ' -

 at least,” replied Richard,

   
 l . “Mr. '
,  mas am “nu-reply may." I .
“hut, ’ continued Mr. Armstron , “after all,
' 'I am responsible for keeping Mr. ~ arton away
. ,. ’ from you. To tell truth, I am jealous of him.
 4 lie is anattraction so : werful that it mortiﬁes
it his tube thrown comp etely in the shade."
 .1 . "Ah,”said Mr. ,Saint Fitzfaddle, at length
; . I a ‘ ﬁnding something to say. “Very good!”
 '  v “Gurfriend Armstnon ," said Richard, “in-
" dulges in satireoccasiona y."
.g “I cannot say,” obsorved Mrs. Chappell,
.; ' playing with her fan, “ that I am an admirer of
“* Wire.  it, Mr. Armstrong.”
' f r '  ‘ “Itipan'overdose of bitters" m the glass of

 
‘l en as good sherry is spoiled by bitters,
Whirl injured by satire.”
 .“I am on your side my dear Mrs. Chap-
pell,”said Richard. “Trut requires no ﬂavor-
.‘ . ' Flt is awkwardly biting. . sometimes," said
’ .Armstrong, “ when administered neat.”
_ “ That depends upon the character of the pa-
' ﬂout,"  Chappell, turning to Lord
.  and her; husband, who came up to-
  “LordBeaumorris, allow me to intro—
7 ', not you to our very intimate friend, Mr. Rich:
 ardiBurton, a friend of whom we are all very
rou ”
P Lord Beaumorris,‘ who spoke in jerks, paus-
ing :between every ,two or three words, and
omitting a preposition and an adverb now and
“then, received the introduction with remarkable
" odndescension.‘ " V I
 j',;-.‘_‘Deli.ghted,," he said, “delighted. Have
' -  lama—entrancing stories—Mr. Barton. Lady
5 ' BarehGnesw-enthueiastic. ., Millions of sheep—
» ’he~?—-millionsl Wonderful. Greditable, too——
 . veryl’ .Mr. Barten’s reputation—in everybody’s
» .Jnouth. (L'harmed—té)l make wﬁguaintance~
 dung  tlemane—so 'stin ' .".
1‘ “Doggone Qld bore!” glittered Mr. Arm-
 breath; and as a relief, said to
 ﬁaint ,Fitzfaddle, “ Distinguished—dbn’t
\‘ ‘ Wealth-401‘ money. . Heaps of-itl” , p
, ‘  5?" Don’t say so!” exclaim d Mr; Saint Fitz-
 ,,  much,”‘sa1d Mr. Armstrong, gravely,
‘t‘  *that he really does. not know what todo w1th
"    thosemillionsof sheep, and a hundred
f thousand horses ”-——— '
:  "desert cried Mr. Saint Fitzfaddle.
“ 9;};afatable if Introduce me.” 
.  '9’“! 9Wﬂhggeasure. Richard, allow ‘me. Mr.
4 '  '_  I b ' , e Vere Saint Fitzfaddle, one of our
 ‘ paigrshrismom» ‘ ' I
V , '. ‘ J.“ hl’isimpered Mr. Saint Fitzfaddle. “Very
.33, 'r ‘  \u ,r‘ ' 7 ,
f"  Bichard Barton, a Croesus from the
r ' th Seas. The place he comes from is rather
, ':_,,v~1bu3ﬁ:a.,..n  ‘
r» " 7"": “one would not supposeiso," intelrposed hire.
’ ' .Cha ‘ ‘shakin her ea in ent e reproo at
 A v i  , ‘g‘ﬁom’Mr. Bagrton’s manners.
 , "*They’have just‘that dash of openrhearted free—
 dom'“which would give a rare charm to the
‘-  masters (at our too-ceremonious and somewhat
-   “aﬁected. English gentlemen.” Richard bowed
'  ,andtsmiled. “I really must protect you from
the satire of your friend.”

   
i

 
“What

 
_= jg; iﬁo'not mind it,” said Richard, with a
-f l'rijleasapflbok‘at'theAmerican. “It does not

 
‘ 3"” persisted  Chappell, “is because

‘ Fyou are-so full of  nature. ’f
 N. ‘,“,Then,” said - p’ d‘, Beaumorris, statelily,
  f“. whatis 001m 2 '1’, What does it,matter—-born
 broiler-that's 1‘ oodliloml—xtobesure—a great
i ' I "*’£3‘deal9in its—:great deal; But gobfd na'meaevery-
 a; ' ' MEngHsh gentlemener-réadyito receiye—

   
9

“u '
Mg

,  . I. 
‘”:an;"  *<  1  .

i . ,0. l
. I f, V i

V .

‘9'.
l

z"

 ' - Vogpenmmse—worthy representatives—rand
 ,'¥  ..-" (I ’  J.  'bmﬁc.” 

 
v digs—worries yang-land nourishingéeoloni‘es.“

r  Ie‘pr‘c's'oeowhieh Lord” Beaumorris presented”

his hand for Richard to shake.   - ,1 =
“I have at hopes, my hard,” said, Mr.
Ghappell,  part in the conversation for the

ﬁn“? time,T “4 of inducing- Mr. Barton to purchase

.aﬁrestatein'the country, so that he may remain‘ _
' ; m the secret.”

ahd'becOme optirely One of us.”

“ Shall, be happy—40 hear, sir—you have
done 'so.” 1 ) - _ ' ~

“ To a gentleman of Mr. Barton’s wealth and
ability,” proceeded Mr. Chappell, “ no position
is unattainable. The Australian colonies have.
already supplied us with very able statesmen; in-
Mr. Barton’s person, one might be added to the
number.”

“ He would have to enter Parliament ﬁrst,”
observed Mr. Armstrong. _

“ It would not be difﬁcult, ” said Mr. Chap ell;
that is, not very difﬁcult. Mr. , Wakeﬁeld ere
would ut him in the way.”

Mr;
Parliamentary agent, who had joined the a .
When these men met, which was but solids-lg,
they always crossed lances.

“Mr. Wakeﬁeld will put him in the way! ”
repeated Mr. Armstrong. “How?” ,

“Sir,” said Mr. Wakeﬁeld, pulling out his
snuff-box, an invariable habit with him when he
was about to declare war or accept it, “these
things are not to be spoken of too freely. They

are understood without explanation.”

“Like the shrugs and inuendos which some-
times accompany a speech, making what sounds
fair objectionable.”

“ I don’t quite understand you,” said Mr.
Wakeﬁeld, offering his snuﬁ-box.

“I am. very sorry, really,” returned Mr. Arm-
strong, accepting the courtesy, and secretly ad-
miring the Parliamentary agent’s coolness.

“Don’t apologize, I beg. There are other
persons besides yourself who make a clear com-
prehensibn of their words desperately diﬂicult
by expressing their views in ambiguous lan-
guage" ' ‘ ' ?

Impartial in his advocacy, Mr. Saint Fitz-
faddle exclaimed, “Ah, Very good!”

“You perceive, sir,” said Mr. Armstrong,
“that Mr. " Saint Fitzfaddle’s inclined to rival
you in your want of comprehension.”

“Let me compliment you,” returned Mr.

Wakeﬁeld, with perfect- urbanity, “upon the P

skill you display in concealing your wit. One

would be a long time discovering that you pos-r
sessed suﬂicient of it to make a tolerany good

repartee. ”

“Well-answered. I admire the wit you dis-1

play in endeavoring to convert a defeat into a
victory.”

“ Well parried. Compliment for bompliment, *-

you know. I shall be happy to fence With
again.”

“ The pleasure, sir,” said Mr. Armstron ,
whom something in the Parliamentary agent s
manner drove to the verge of madness, “ will
be entirely on your side." ,

“ I haven’t the slightest doubt of it,” returned
Mr. Wakeﬁeld, with unruﬂled temper; “those
laugh who win. Mr. Armstrong,” he said, ad---
dressing himsslf to the others, “ has good rea-
son for being a purist in politics, for he hails
from the country of political morality.”

Mr. Armstrong did not wince at the blow,
“ From which you may ‘be assured,” he said. to
Richard, “ that if you really wish to enter Par-
liament, it will be—for you-e—the easiest thing
in the world. ” '

“‘ But why the easiest thing in the world for
me P” e , ' ‘

Mr- Armstrong rapped Richard’s breast-pock-
et lightly. ‘ “ You have a check-book, my dear
friend.” ‘ I '

Lord Beaumorris took up the ball. and said,
with some asperity, “Yes sir—~happily——itcos’ts
money. * happily, I say, demOcracy  not a
large bankin account.” 7 ’ , ' , '

“If it h: , my lord,” remarked Mr.‘Wake-

you

(ﬁeld, “democracywould no lenger be demo—y

-  Chappell deeming it prudent to

V chair?
the subject of «centersatioh, questioned j .p —

a. . u.‘

new“  dedvte "ve.’ *

strong "glanced at Mr. Wakeﬁeld, the

\we on sufﬁcient friendlywna'y, I w'

you are an American.

 
 W  as’toaife'tewliich'it  I A

«an, more ' women'vaemwm.

actuany talked about : manyvpersons‘hare asked :
gme total} them all the museum

scarcely believe me," she added, 'with'aimeina-
ting smile, when I- answered; that: 1'  not

v “You shall be my conﬁdante," said an. 
strong, “ and my only one at present. Rumor,
for once, is close to the truth. “I “do intend to
give a kind of garden entertainment, and the
arrangements are very nearly completed. “In
two or three days the cards will be out,- idld I
hope to have the ﬁleasur'e of your corn ' .”"

“Indeed, I she. be de ' htedto be are. A
garden entertainment! W at a  idea!
Tell me more.” \ l  *

“ y house andgrounds will be c 'to'my
friends from three or four o’.,c{ock‘ un 'anyhour
in the night that they may p ease to honor me
with their company. There will be a variety of
entertainments—croquet, music, singing,.-co’n.
juring, ﬂirtation, and a few surprises; ~In the
evening the ardens will be lighted up with ten
thousand co ored lamps—(see advertisement).
I propose to have dinneratables spread in'the
gardens, and all I wish my friends todo’isto
make themselves at home and enjoy themselves
without restraint. I am not sure whethethhe
entertainment will be a success, it is so entirely
new, and out of the conventional order of things,
put I shall do my best to make it a pleasant af—

alr. ” ‘ ‘ ' A g ‘ ‘ p .
“ It must be a. success,it is so. churning" 1
original, and so like yen, Mr. Armstro .. Iyt
will be the eVent of the season. May “me - ‘-
tion it to my friends '3" V _ '

“I shall be proud to have it known that you
approve of my idea. Do not speak plainly of ,
it, however. Surround it with a halo of mys~
tery——it will make the aﬁair all the more suc-
cessful. I frankly confess, my dear Mrs. Chap-
pell, that I am vain enough to wish that society
shall be curious about it." I v 

“Mr. Armstrong,” said Mrs. Chalpfell, .“nre

. say,  ‘
mate terms, to warrant me in putting a delicate \
questionto you?”  ,, : L  i“ .'

“To be permitted,” replied Mr. Armstrong
“to reply in the aﬂ'irmative is the
liment you can pay me.”

“Flattered 1” she exclaimed, its
lightly with her fan. “ I shall“ take t
then? Why do you not‘marry ?” 1 r.

The American paused before replyin .. “ Even I
that wonder,” he said gravely, “ may. aka place
one day; but I am not in aposition to  more
at present.”  r - y 

“ Thank you for stomach of your-conﬁdence.
And now, as I am full of Questions tonight, ‘
and as success makes evens woman bold, -I am
going to ask you a very particular favor. you
have been very satirical within the last quarter
of an hour to more than one of my friends,
and I insist that you shall make reparation to

me.” « ,
may {thinkl “

“ Inﬂict any penance upon me you
I think I my *

highest com-

ing = him
6 liberty ,

ﬁt, my dear madam,” he said, gayly.
“You promise to perform it 2”
“Yes, if it is within reason.
trust you. ” , ,_ . ._ _ ,
“America is the land of spiritualism, and 1'
One of myfriends
whispered in my ear that she was certain you
are a Spiritualist, and I'am‘quite curious on- the .

I point.”

“A lady has scarcely need to tell me that. ‘ ,
Nevertheless, your friend is wrong- I am‘ note; *
Spiritualist. Curiously enough, Mr. Barton
and I have had a conversatibn this evening upon
mesmeriSm.” ' ' i 

“I do not know the difference between them,

and I have had‘myouriosity excited so strongly \ a

that I am dyingrto seesomething of it,» ’u a: yr
ﬁg}:th or mesmerism 3”   " r '

«*0 ﬁber. ‘ Ifdo not care,’in‘what  is I
shows. mad I farm? ’ésnsmands upon you to

{give‘m‘e‘some proof, at your delightful v'garden
m. , ~

: bf one Df'the other.”
u I cannot lend myselfth trickery.  A.“
; l a 3 , '

'\

1 ,

 
1' ’_ ‘I /

\

‘ n.
l

 
, nouns. .17an ;.
Mi}? ' 4 av ‘ r. I I , . {V/L_  I» l. .
i ' a I ' ‘ ' ‘ ‘ -~ ~with-M1'. Fannie. ~ Mr.  washable glory. last: edition; of The loss margaritas: some. I’ll:
: '2   I “7‘? “t9”?   animal mag gﬁmumhadsmnhim.me ‘infomstionswhich’ 80“?”   1‘. '  1 -‘   -‘ i    *
’  t , . ‘ ‘ v - he was burning nowtoimpartto Mr.-Qhappell, W,mrsght.inhisconjeetun imam.
' “What’s that? " ‘ ing’lt would ,beWereable to  Mr. Fanglswua wish’edtoppmkso him. She watdeeply total 1»

., ‘fAfonnotnesmerism” « - ' w ' - -,

< “ Then my ﬁend  right notwithstanding
- , humanist   things will Peep out Now.
I nund’;,‘1ihaie‘yoiuipr6mise.i  V V ,v . z

. .“ Indeedsmiyadear madam,” said Mr. Arm-
strong, much “perplexed at Mrs. Chappell’s
Pertiﬁasiiyi 3-? .1710 1101: see my way.”

"“And on .an American! As though you
could';no ‘- do an ivthing yOu 'set your mind
upon 3"  no be denied, and I shall keep
you to your promise.” . _

'Mrghrmstrong was glad, at this juncture, to
 an‘dher, father in the room; they had
just deiﬁed, and Were looking around in search
of Mr. Armstrong and Richard.

‘ ,“ What a pretty girl i” exclaimed Mrs. Chap-
pell, putting up her eye-glass. ’
I  Armstrong seized the favorable oppora
, trinity.  - v - '
‘ “ She and‘her father are particular friends of
V mine,” he said; “‘I shallvesteem it a favor if
you will welcome them for my sake.” v

And advancing to meet Laura and Rigby, he

presented them to Mrs. Chappell.

I I

/

 
CHAPTER v11.
' , H3. FANGLE TELLS THE LATEST NEWS.

Mn. 03mm. took advantage of the conversation
between his wife and Mr. Armstrong to draw Richard
away. Lord Beaumorris chatted with Mr. Wakeﬁeld
won the deplorable spread of democracy, and Mr.

. akeﬂeld, who was in the Conservative interest, agreed,
with his lordship. He propounded a theory that the
. spread of democracy was due to the discovery of the
. gold ﬁelds. It has made money more plentiful, and
the workingiaman, reveling in high wages, set himself
t‘ ‘ up against employer.
« -v ‘ ". It is a had state of thin ," said Mr. Wakeﬁeld,
" when no: cons as good as his master."
 Mr. Saint B‘ltzfaddle. being left to himself. took refuge
before a. mirror, wherein he contemplated without
 wesriness the parting of his hair.
“- ‘ "This is scarcely a time tospeak of business," said
 Mr. Choppell to Richard, "but I me. as well remind you
thatthe share list ofrtho United heal closes at noon
‘* tomorrow. Haste you decided how many shares you
will take 1‘" '
" What do. you advise i" asked Richard. »
.“ldy dear  Barton," said Mr. Chappell, with a
funk smile, I must not directly advise in a matter in
which, as you are aware, I am so intimately interested.
I could not conscientiously do so. Where my own in-
. tcrest is not at stake, I am always ready to counsel a
nd. But you can see for yourself; the shares this
afternoon are quoted at one premium. I have investi-
gated the of the company, and the prospects are
really wonderful. The nose I give horn twelve to
eighteen, per cent. That is I can say, and I would
not say is ,much to any person but yourself. I shall
invest _l ely in it; Now, {on have a considerable sum
of money ying idle, and t e United Wheel guarantees
six per cent. for ten years.”
V_ 0 Upon your recommendation, then,” said Richard;
but Mr. Ohsppcll interrupted him.

“110,110,; not in this instance.- I am Chairman of
Directors, and am in a delicate position. I can only say
#1131; if-I had ahundred thousand pounds lying idle, I
wouldwith perfect conﬁdence invest it in the United
Wheel. From present appearances, the shares will be

 
, - ate high mium in amonth, and were it otherwise,
«,3» - the investment is a good one.” I V ' ._-
Y . ":I should not put any money into it as an invest.

men ; :I should sell out in a week or two." .
~ _" Youhave a famous head for business ; but I should
hold on.» However, I’ll not advise.”

“ The shares are at a‘hundred pounds ?" ,

~ ,, v."'¥es, you might take a hundred or a hundred and

r“ \ dirty with safety. I will use my interest. and any num-
' ’ ber you‘spplyefor‘ Shall be allotted."

T “Thanltyouj; I will take shundred." _ ~

.'.‘ That‘s right. Come into another room, and I will

fill in the application paper. I am. glad that you act on

. your own judgment in this matter.’

» , ; They went rotations of thesmall retiring-rooms, and

Mr. Chappell-wrote the application.

7“ Sign your name here. That’s right. You can let
mg have the check in the morning. I see you are
anxious to join‘the-ladies. I will excuse you.”

When Richard entered the room with Mr. Chappell,
he caught, sight of Mrs. Fangle, and observing in her
manner a desire to speak to him, henow went in search

other. A-few steps from the door he came upon Mr,

-' I Fa la. , -
>  you know where Mrs. Fangle is ? " '

. "Do you know where, Mr. Chappell is '2’

.g.“ These questions crossed one another. Mr. Fan 19
ii ‘ . , answered in the negative. Richard pointed to _ t e
'  '- room in which he had left the banker, and passed on.

-* ' ‘_ “What can he want Etta my Wife? thought Mr.
3 Bushman, aﬁerﬁic a».

3'? no wasso‘ Elie}! in the habit of neglecting his wife,

.5
r»
’a

 
:

 
..  to. him. t in the li t of a more important matter,
"5". ' M11 Fangghded’frogihhis‘mind. He had not hula

   
term , with Mr. Magn” nin, enmember the Stock
’ ‘E’xchsuce, inmﬁnding no other person to talk with,
, V ,1 t x
‘ _ ‘ .» t ,

'4' thst'for‘onyoneto want her was a matter of surprise -

 
worshiper of rich men, andliked tomb against rich

men’s coats. f It, was not as goodas being rich himself,
but itiwas almost next doorto it. . " Bankers antimon-
chants,” he said (to himself,‘after his interview With

_ Mr. Magnum, -‘ are always eager to hear the latest news

+especially about ships”, . r ,

Mr. Chapp'ell had at this period of his life arrived at
a. pass which compelled melancholy brooding whenever
hetwas-alone. He was, continually engaged in some
fresh venture, such as the United Wheel—desperate
ventures many of them, as he tOo well know. He
could not escape.me them. ; he snatched eagerly at
every chance that presented itself, in thehope that one
of them might turn up trumps. and that hemight ro-
cover' his losses. He shuddered as he contemplated
the risks which had accumulated about him“ he scarce-
ly knew how. Not one of them had as yet turnsdup
trumps, and he saw the sword of ruin hanging over his
head. Always, now, when he was alone, his skeleton

made itself visible to him, and whispering warnings of.

discovery. He was amiserable, unhappy man. If he
could have poured his troubles into a- sympathizing
ear, it would have been a rare comfort to him ; but he
dared not conﬁde even in his wife, and his torture was
the more intense because he was compelled towear a
false face to the world. He envied many a man in his
service who envied him, and thought how happy he
would be if he could change places with this one and
that one. In this very company of the United Wheel,
in which he had induced Richard to take shares. he had
no real conﬁdence. He stood to win a great stake in
it. but, as a principal, he would be compelled to hold
on to his shares, and he knew that the venture was not
sound at the bottom. The strain was becoming al-
most too terrible for his strength.

Mr. Fangle had to cough two or three timesbefore
he could attract Mr. Chappell’s attention. Mr. Fangle’s
0011 h was an index to the relations between the two
me —-it was a cough deferential, which expressed,
" Excuse me for doing it; I really feel it a great liber-
ty. " The expression of care in Mr. Chappell's face
vanished instantly when.- the sound aroused him ;‘.he
looked warily up. and his countenance cleared entire-
ly when he saw who it was that had entered the room.

“ Ah, Mr. Fangle. I am glad to see you. Mrs. Fan-
gle’s with you, I hope." ~ ~-

" She is here, sir,” replied Mr. Fangle ; " thanks to
Mrs. Chappell's kindness and condescension. It is a
great privilege to come among the great and noble."
Mr. Chappell waved his hand with condescension.
“ M only desire is to live long enough to show my
gra itude for all your generosity. en gentlemen in
such a lofty position as yours, Mr. Chgppell, stretch
out the hand of friendshipto struggling genius ”——,

Not knowing exactly how to complete the sentence,
Mr. Fangle passed his hand across his eyes. It was
unfortunate that it did not occur to him to borrow
half a sovereign of Mr. Chappell, for this sort of
homage was so agreeable to the banker, that he would
have advanced the money withouthesitation.

“'It'sapleasure to us as Well as to you,” said Mr.
Chappell. " Is your invention progressing i” V

“ It’s getting along slowly, sir, but there isstill some-
thing wanting.” .

" Capital. I should say. If your invention be prac-
tical, and likely to be valuable, I might induce some
person to put a little money in it, subject, of course,
to his approval of the idea." '

Mr. Fangle did not jump at the offer; the proposition
that he should part with any share in the invention
seemed to make him nervous.

“ I think we shall be able to manage as it is, sir; I
have a partner who is very jealous. Nothing can move
him. A little more time, a little more time." Then he
changed the subject. “ I came to ﬁnd you, sir. I have
been conversing with Mr. Magnum, of the Stock Ex-
change, and thought you would like tohear the latest
news.”

“ You are very kind,” said Mr. Chappell, with an easy
air. “ Concerning stocks '3" V ,

“ Stocks! No—yes,“ cried Mr. Fangle, correcting
himself. “ Ships come off stocks." A

Mr. Fangle considered this rathera goodjokc.

"Ships 1" exclaimed Mr. Chappell. V“ What ships?”

"The Golden Mafiner. Some few w ago, if you
remember, there was a rumor concerning her; and now
the rumor is revived—but it is not authenticated, Mr.
Magnum said.” ,

“ To what effect is this rumor?” asked Mr. Cheppell,
with difﬁculty repressing his agitation, _

“ They say the ship has laundered.” Mr. Fangle did
not see Mr. Chappell’s haggard face. or he mirht not
have proceeded so glibly. “Terrible news, is t not?
It is reported that not a soul is saved. Think of the
widows and orphans ."-—-—

“Widows and orphans i" cried Mr. Chappell, unable
now to restrain ‘ his passion. " Think of the money
lost, and what its 1053 brings with it! The sacriﬁce of
position, reputation ”———

The startled look of amazement in Mr. Fangle's eyes
warned him that he Was betraying himself. and by a
great effort he controlled hisagitation, and spoke in a
more subdued tone. “ Forgive me ; you must be aware
in what kind of groove the thoughts of bankers are
always running. Foramoment I was thinking‘only
of those who mightbe ruined by the catastrophe. But
what is their loss compared to the suﬂ‘ering of those

who are gone, and the women andchildren who are left

behind? Only arumor; yousay. Let us hope it is
not true. Poor creatures! Poor creatures!”
h_And he left the room, with his handkerchief before
is eyes. , l a
"Sin ularl" mused Mr. Bangle. “Very singular!
I coul‘ have sworn he was. in earnest. I’llvgo and
see if I can pick. up anymore informuiom The

.,,' [,1

 
“his kindness to her and her children: ands ‘ t ‘iiko "
a mother to him, notwithstanding ti. it he was so rich,

and she so humble. she had, long ago discovered the '
secret of Richard’s love for Laura, and knowing that I '
Laura loved him,olie settled it with heroelf that she

ought to do something to hasten matters between ‘
them. So that when she =md Richard came tOgether\ \
on this night, she soon found; way-to revert to the . ' '
subject nearest to his heart.: She spoke only of Laura. -

How beautiful she was. how’rgood, how ykind,«what an
admirable daughter, what anuns'elﬂshﬁ'iend. Richard.

would have been content'to listen for hours, to, the

theme upon which Mrs. Fangle strung her tender at.
terances,and he drew Mrs.Fangleon to ofizaurs‘o
childhood. Mrs. Fangle had much to: say, and shapes.“
formed her love task in a manneréth't would 

made Laura blush had she heard. ' ‘ ' » s -

“No woman ever had atrue‘r friend  Laura hat
been to me. The children dots on her; sndwhen they: ,, V V ,
see her -oomlng are wild with delight.‘ Sometimes that, _ ‘
say, ‘Here comes. Mamma Laura 1’ or ﬁlm comedy
Sunshine!" 8 r » - ~ I *‘ i ‘M‘

In this way did Mrs. Fangle debate upon Inura’o.
virtues with perfect sincerity, believing every word she
uttered. She spokemu‘ch of Laura’s devotion to her;
father, and of her sympathy with him. Mrs. Fangie’,’
as you know, was ignorant of the actual story of Bigby‘s 
life, but she had made one for herself out 01’ a. patch- ‘
work of guesses. t ‘ ' ‘ .

“They were always poor,” said Mrs. Fangle; “but
you don’t mind that.” - V ' ‘ ' '

” Not I,” replied Richard. “I esteem her the more“
because of that."  r t -

“What an angel of amen!" thought Mrs. Fangle; ’ r '
and continued aloud, “Andfor a good many Item‘s;
great trouble has been hangin over her tether. 
is all over now. I shouldn’ wonder” (this with a
sly look at him) " if you knew something of thé' ‘

s .1) '  »
“ Yes," said Richard, with ‘a little' reserve, “ I know;
something of it.” V

" Of course you do,” rejoined Mrs.Fangle, with a,
knowing smile. V ' ' ' ' i

" But not of Laura's part in it. What inducedhet .
to go on the tags, Mrs. Fangle 2” ' ' t g .,

" Love your soul! What else but to"  ~ —
her father out of his difﬁculties? 'Mrs. lie/“she ‘33" a
said to me, ‘I want to earn some money—dear, dear! *
money always is at the bottom of all these troubles... / ,

‘ I want to earn some money, and 'I am going to be 
actress.’ I went to the theater with her every night” .‘

and used toencourage her, for show‘as dreadfully non-3:5 ;, __ -
one, although she seldom showed it. But she  1 i "i
never in love with the stage, and when-‘tbrongh s5“
friend who shall benameless-her father got over his :
trouble, she left it." '

Then the kind-hearted gossip went
often she and Laura spoke of Richard.

" After she was dressed for the party this evening.- ‘  ¥ - . ‘ -
she said to me, ‘ Mr. Barton willnot know me when  _ ,
sees me.’ ' My dear,’ I answered, “Mr. moronic! ' . - .
know you anywhere,and in any dress.’ Andyou would.  ' J
wouldn't you 1' There, now! I think I have said 
-—more than enough, perhaps. Laursewould never tor-Q 9
give me if she knew ".-—- ' ' _ ,

“ One moment, Mrs. Fangle.. I am sure you have »
spoken with a kind purpose, and I thank you heel-ﬁlly: 
gen ills? given me hope and courage, If you are. not

see ve "—-— . -- _ ‘ .

"Deceived, my dear I" The familiar; woods 
from her unawares, but she was not staid. the: would
be resented. “ Shall I whisper something to you 1" also .-
asked, looking up at him with shrewd kindness. 

He inclined his head, and she whispered a few words
in his ear. When he raised his face it’ was  The 
appearance of Mr. Armstrong put an end to the convex} * -
sation, and Mrs. Fangle hustled away to ﬁnd Laura.  , .

“ A good little woman that,“ observed Mr. Armstrong:
“ You are a great favorite of hers. You haven't seen' .- ~ ' i v, ,
Lang. yet1 ; she 1glass been asking after you}: ’ V ‘ q l;

" mm s ano or person I am s ris not to, see-v1 4
Frederick Chappell." urp  ' * “    T V, N
“V He will come in later, I expect. ram no doubt; if " —
he had known that Laura was invited, hominid  '
put in an appearance before this.” _  -  r, H

“ He will be surprised to see her. “fan itnot through  . __,
you, Armstrong. she obtainedthe invitation V2” 7  v V V. “
" Yes ; I had more than one purpose to some in: she  ‘

taining it. It is in a certain. sense-Va line revmgsfor ' 

Frederick Chappell's behavior toward her. Then it is ; 

a great triumph for Laura’s father. :‘It'weuld move you ; 

to pity to hear that old man's history. Laura is behave »

ing bravely. In all this ﬁne company of born ladies,

there is not one to compete with her. s Mrs.Chappell -

has been most kind to her, and when Lord Beaumorrls 

asked who that pretty girl was. and Mrs. Choppeil pro. 3

scnted her, I saw her father’s face light up with Joy.

Lord Beaumorris talked to Laura for quitenve minutes; ~ » .

you would have been amused to have heard whatho   

said to me afterward about her. The old lord mumbled  

out that he was fresh and sweet,and hunting about for 

a simile, hit upon the original one of a ﬂower,and called", . _

her a fresh~gathered rose. From th t moment 1,303.1 ’ ‘

gave him for his. grand sire and pomposity, and I .shall " .

now forevar look upon him as a, ﬁne m'gumm  "

gentleman." ‘ .  / - -
The American was very animated, and his

on to say how,

[:7

 i. '1 I
ally so grave was brighter than Richard had ever beheld 
it. With singular earnestness, he said to  after ‘
“hi‘éiéhpﬁ‘t‘ih. mm. ‘ our“  l
u ' ni c ‘ 
era in my life.” 8h m” ,l t‘» ma ‘ y; ' 
‘V‘ In mine, also," thought Richard; is he strolled? 
through the reomsby the side of his Mend. He» had a“. ‘
fully made up his mind-to speak to    v, x

v

 
\

3,,

Lows: woman '

 
. , .
 v I ii be his wife, it he could widths opportunity. Mrs.
: V , Me’s words were not to be mistaken. Laura loved
 , him. lite pulses were charged with Joy and happiness.
l y, me: Marlowe me." he thought. Row
'ymetandbsautifulhmwtohiml _ :

r'f

. , insvns’s nnnsu.

’ - l l . * ~. . , .
I Suns rationals conversation with Laura, after her in-
. willow with Richard, was short and to the purpose.
 ' ‘ Indeed, it can'soaroely be called a conversation, for the
.V " - good little woman had all the talk to herself. . The
. arrangement of Mrs. Chappell’s rooms aﬂorded ample
opportunities for private conversation, and there were
runny convenient neoks~ and corners inwhich those
\ who Were disposed for ﬂirtation could carry out their
, wishes. Mrs. Fang-tee drew Laura into aretired nook,
~ where theywere _ from observation. They stood
new by the side of a window which opened out into
 the garden. and a pair of heavy curtains concealed
" them. from the eyes of the guests. The recess was a
. . largo/one, and that t of it which was farthest from
' ‘ ',  thewindow was in , eshade. At thatendof the recess
‘ ' ‘ ‘ there was a private door, which led into private rooms
lathe house.~  Fangle and Laura, standing by the
 -window, could plainly see each other, for the night
 Nils clear-and the moon was shining. Laura's face was
tightens happiness. "Can it be true?" she asked
, , y "2 Ease“. “ Can it be true that he loves me 2’" She felt
‘ 'v that she was unworthy of him; how could she make
herself worthy of one so” good and noble? She had
thought of him, dreamed of him, from the ﬁrst hour
she saw him ; his presence had always brought delight
‘ ,~  Her father had not told her the name of he
friend who, suddenly and unexpectedly, had so 150ny
assistedmim and reinstated him An society. “I will
on you‘soon,-my darlin ,” he had said: " at present my
' ups are sealed.” She d1 not need him to tell her ; her
~he’a‘rt‘rtqld . her very surely who was their benefactor.
.  thejmysterywhich surrounded the aﬂ'alr had at
frat engendered doubts, but these were soon dispelled
by Mrs. Fan Is. "A man in love will do anything, my
dear," Mrs. angle said, and in a hundred ways the
. little woman encoura ed Laura in the belief to which
_‘  she was only too willing to yield. And now, when
- ', .mi's. Fangle spoke out plainly, and told Laura all that
had passed between her and Richard, the young girl
’ felt thatcher happiness was almost too great to believe

5.}

 
in. . . - 4
- “I can hardly believe it," she murmured. " Are you
sure. Mrs. Fanng ? ” .

.. .“ Pop sure, my dear, unless there are two Lauras and
two Richards. know the signs well enough, although
it is along, time since Fangle, and I courted. What a

wormergul man I_ used to think him !——Fang1e, I mean,

 any dear”. Ah! courting is the happiest time!”

. ’  3;“: You must not say that, Mrs. Fangle.” I. V

s... i a (a " “Well, no, my dear; but it is for some of us. Not

  gregyeu, Laura, for every thing is bright before you ;

. bill: “you were to ask for my advice whether you
" V shepld'marrya poor man, I should say, No.” (Laura
*tlihu lit: “If he had not a penn' in the world, and
y, I mejto’he his wife,'I .woul gladly say,‘Yes.")

 ,0- Is  I might havebeexf, happy if ballad Only a

’_ s, I . "V more :Voan’t liveal our lives upon air, my

‘ "  '  But, is ere! thy shouldlmake you unhappy with

. . I »w‘_tmb1esr And your case is so different. It is a
-‘ " , romance, my dear. Only think of his coming over the

 q  such- thous‘ands and thousands of miles, and y'ou

' ’ H '  fallin V in love with each other! It is like a play."
’  ’ . Hush§Mrs.Fang1e,” said Laura, placingherﬁngers

k- dandrufan 1e’s lips. " Some one is coming.”

- Fang e pooped out of the curtains. . _

, inﬁlt'isr'onl‘y- y' ur father, my dear. Ishall tell him

 « you hrs, here, andthen I'll go and look for Fangle. Ah,

’ whatadiﬂetentmanhewas cforehe was married! Quite

_ I handmmdmy‘dear. But men do alter so after mar-
‘. > z“   mom’ways than one. Laura is here, Mr.
I ' ’ rye " .

 .._. ﬁfégiﬂvinto the recess. She did not gain search of

* , I h 3 “should. She kept watch outside the curtains, so
v ‘_ ‘ itﬁhtt‘hpse'withih the recess should not be disturbed;

 yth kept watch, also, for Richard, to give him the o por-

; . tunfty she knew he was seeking for, of speaking to aura

‘ *- rwhen shewas one.

litigbyggaze with love and admiration upon his

’ daughter, who, asshe stood by the window, bathed in

’ (“asst light, might have inspired a painter with a theme.

«  if; idiihave‘been looking for you, my dear,” he said.

 . '2 “ﬁrs. Fangle and! ave een talking here for quite
' ten" minutes, Iishould sa , papa. Is it not peaceful and

beautiful here?" She w him to her side, and he

"V .  his arm around her. "What do you think of

"mggapa. dressed as a grand lady t" ‘ ,

‘  * on are a good r1; my_darling-that’s better.”

 - ~;¥'Everybody mm s to spoil me with ﬂattery—awn

" ,~ ~ ‘ ’ I‘never thought I should live to be ﬂat-

 
_ .r

   
"  , a'lo '; you have no idea what compliments
rel-a Beaumorris has paid me tonight. ’But I am de-
termined notto be spoiled, so I shall only believe iust
  . half whatis said to me."
L n ,' 153ml maybelieve every word I speak. my darling.
‘ norm-yon have been a great blessing to me." '
>"_,_,=I.l g , sdyou love me.papa."
' The tenderness inzher voice caused him to look
2 either more closely; . - '
. “ Why, unﬁthere are tears in your eyes!”
 1 ' #‘They-are tears ofrhsppiness, dear papa~forIam,
‘ abyggbgppy! No.1Vcannot tell you why. except that
evqmthing seems _~ﬁurer ' than it used to be. I am not
eory‘lngnowl . dud so you areiproud of me, papa!”

 
' her; ,, p , -

I ,  ,gow diner-est everythin ~_ is with! us new, papal
1.33w3digerent,,and how muc brighter.
.Anvﬁed here, and your being received upon an
' ' , , _ 7) amongslithis gay cempanyi And butalittle
.ccsemcm -  .-  ~ :2  , w

   
,.,~:-,
t,‘ , z

   
And Mrs. Fangle slipped away as the old man ,

smug ‘9: you, my darling l" he said, softly, kissing.

Think of our '

his word is sufﬁcient.’

came swiftly.

 
 ﬁned, and in thesentence that followed mused

pen happy future which she saw before her. The
current of lovers' mueins’is forever the same. As.
Biohardhadnerived the most exquisite pleasure ﬂoor
the 'th light thatLam'a loved him, so she found the
s est inese and purest delight she had over
'nthe whisperings of her heart that she
was loved by her hero. Ber father's voice broke upon
her dream. but did not disturb it. . .
th‘i‘slgg you know, my dear child, to whom we owe all

" Ah," she thought, “ do I not know?” but her words
did not betray her. V". You promised to tell me, papa."V

“I have come to tell you, dear child. My lips are
unsealed now, and I am authorized to speak. I can tell
you to whom I owe it that I am able to raise my head,
after all these years and look honest men in the face
once more. It has come to me very late in life, my
darling, but I thank God that I have lived until this
time. Laura, my child, it is but seldom that we have
spoken on thetheme that has weighed me down duru
mg all these years, but it is necessary that I should
speak f it now. Even you, my child, who have been
my onl companion and solace, can scarcely know the
daily agony I have suffered; even you can scarcely
compass the depth of my gratitude to the noble friend
who enabled me to pay the debt of shame and disgrace
which blackened my name and stained my honor."

“ Do not think of . it, dear papa 1" she entreated, see-
ing how strongly he was moved. .

“ Not think of it, childl" he exclaimed, unable to
stem the current of these bitter memories. “Before
you were born, it poisoned my life. My hair has grown
white in the one long thought of it which has ﬁlled
my mind for more than a generation, to the exclusion
of every other subject of human interest "-—-

She checked him gently here. “ Dear papa, you
thought of me." '

“Forgive me, child; you have been my light. But
for you I should not have been able to live through it.
Although so many years have passed, all is as fresh to
me as though it had occurred but yesterday. I see
him now, my brother, standing in the dock, calm and
cold, not oppressed by a sense of his uilt—"-—- Hush,
child! he was guilty. Notaperson in t e court who did
not pronounce him so. Everybody whispered it round
about me, and commented upon the brazen effront-
ery, as they termed it, with which he bore himself.
His own lawyer broke down in the defense. > Denfense !
there was no defense. His bare word that he was in~
nocent—of what avail was that ?”

“If he were innocent, papa," pleaded Laura, pity-
ingly, " that were enough.” _

“Dear child, while my head was bowad down by

shame, anddarkness encompassed me, I tried hardto

believe him. I fought with my reason, with my sense
of right and wrong, and said, ‘He cannot be guilty;
But the missing key'was found
in his oﬂige coat—the missing book. at his lodgings ;
and ,when these proofs were brought forward, and I
heard the damning testimony of a fellow-clerk, the
comments of the people, the reluctant admission of his
own counsel that he did not see how, he could resist
the evidenCe, and thht allxhe could do was to plead

the extenuating circumstances of youth. and indiscre—

‘tion—When I heard'the summing up of the judge, and

the rapid decision of V the jury, ‘Guilt ’—hope died
utterly away, and I eculd no longer don t the guilt of
thebrother I had loved so dearly." "

. “Even then he declared his innocence ‘2”

“To the last. Before sentence was passed, he said
proudly, in reply to an observation made by the judge
with reference to the plea of his counsel for mercy, ‘ I
do not ask for mercy, my lord, for that would carry
with it an admission of guilt. I am as one in a web,
and I am powerless. But I am innocent, as I hope for
future mercy. The judge rebuked him for his obsti-
nacy, and sentenced him to transportation for, life. I
gage him good-bye as though he were on his death-

6 ..____ V

“Oh, father, it was hard!" , .

“ It was just. His last words to me were, ‘Brother,
the day may come when you will repent your injus-
tice; ’ and I told him that theobject ‘of in life should
be the restitution of the money he had em zzled. He
made a gesture of despair, and we parted forever.
Until that day I did not realize how terrible was the
blow that had fallen upon me; but the knowledge
The moment I stepped out from the
prison~door, after that last interview with my brother,
the world was chan ed to me. Every friend and-ac-
quaintance fell away om me, and would know me no
more. Not one merciful word, not one kind look was
given to me; not a hand clasped mine in friendship: I
was tainted and disgraced; my brother’s infamy had
made me infamous. You know the rest: you know
how vainly I strove to save; and though you tried to
help me, poor child, I might have died with the debt
of shame still clinging to me had it not been for the
noble-hearted man who, for your sake, supplied me
with the means to repay the money my brother had
stolen."

Both her sympathy with her father and her joy at
the conﬁrmation of her dearest hope kept Laura silent;
but the unspoken words were in her mind, " For my
sake! Be still, my heart. For my sake!" Over the
despairing'story, what bright clouds were stealing to

blot it out forever!

" Never again, dear child,” continued her father, in a
quieter tone, “ shall this story, with my own consent,
pass my lips. I should not have told it now but that
it seemed to me necessary to show the generous kind,-
ness and nobility of our best friend in Its. true li ht.
No words of mine on cypress my gratitude. t

week, for the ﬁrst time since I left the bank, I passed

the baniodoor as the clerks cameout. and then I knew
that the story of the restitution was known, and that
my shame was wiped away. They raised their hats to
Inc-«to m, the poor hall-porter ! The youngsters who

used to avoid the clustered around me, and heldout

I ’ 
v

\t‘... I ' ' V I.

«4 I."

- and respected. He hasrrea

 
their bandage me. With thepressureof their routs:
lingers upon mine, with the music of their kind voices
singing in my heart, I—I could not help lt-V—I cried for

50 H .

There were tears in his eyes new: ~ Brighter grew the
oloudsinlnura'sdrelun.’ : j,  . e ,
“All this has our noble friend done for  your .
sake, dear child. Through him we are here, hhnored '
to me my youth, for ~
your dear sake. I'm his debtor now, and, you} can
repay him.” V ' ’ 

" How ?” asked Laura, sh ly, and in avvoice so low
that, had her head not rest on his breast, he could .\
not have heard 'it. , . l , . . r ‘

“ That is his secret, which he wishes to tell you him- .
self. But can you not guess how you can repay him 7 "

" I think I can," she whispered. V

" And you will, dear child ? "

" Yes," she sighed, happily.

,1. "

I

u Lord bless you 1 Whatjoy it brings to m. to know  ‘

that your heart is in your words. I have not“ endorse! ‘
in vein." The curtains were gently drawn apart, and 2'
another person entered, the recess. “gee, he is here-—~
our friend and benefacton— the restorer of my honor.”
He kissed her with great tenderness, and releasin
himself from her embrace, left the place. Laura stoo .
in blissful silence for a few moments. with night’s 80ft ,
light shining on her face. Then turning her head, she I
saw standing by her side—Mr. Armstrong; ‘ I V ,

CHAPTER IX.
A DECLARATION or Lovn.

Iris not often that the dream of a life is shattered in
an instant of time. Generally, the conviction that we

have been living in a shadow-land made bright by‘ ;'

hopes which are never to be realized, comes _only by
gradual stages, and in such a manner as to lessen the
bitterness of the shock. We ﬁght against our reason’; '
we question and doubt; we find and invent excuses;
we are so tenacious of our treasure, so unwilling to be
robbed and disenchanted, that we obstinately close our
eyes to the fact. The woman we love is false. Who L
dares to say so ? We look with anger Onthe' erson who ‘
ﬁrst whispers the treason in our ears, an were it in ‘
our power to' inﬂict a mortal injury upon him, We

\

would do it without compunction, and ﬁndjustiﬁcation " ,

for the act in his baseness. He was our friend ;~ he is
no longer so. “’0 used to conﬁde in him; he is no
longer worthy of our conﬁdence. Why, it, whorls this
very man that we ﬁrst confessed our love for the best
and purest being the world, contained; it was to him‘
we poured out our grief when,ungrateful.that we were,
we fancied she was cold -to us—to him we poured cut
our joy when she spoke the-dear aud_precious'~words ,

a which made the days fairer and the ﬂowersmorebeaw
tiful, and which kindled in our. heartaéstar‘ot‘ love, , ’

and faith and truth, the light of which could never, :’
never be dimmed. And now this false trien‘d: hasplay-
ed the traitor, and has muttered black. treason tons.

. Out upon him 1 Never again'shall our handsbe clasped

in friendship; the mask has dropped from his treacherlv ‘

one face. .He goes from our presence witha and mum t
touches, and when nextwe‘meet we are strata ewe .
we should always have been but for our to ly and 5‘
trusti‘ulness. Yet his words have left his sting and we “
feel the smart. They recur to us during the sleepless ‘
night that follows his disclosure, and our brain is alive '
with uneasy doubts. But ever and anon through the: 
restless hours they pale in the light of the star of, love ~
that shines in’our- heart. Her face, with a 
it, rises to his imagination, and gives "him the lie.“ I
“ Can you mistrust me ‘2" it expresses. . ‘
eyes for truth.” We lookland ﬁnd it. Butthedou a
arise again. We throw the blame of our suffering upon -
the false lriend, and it intensiﬁes the wrong he has done
us. When we see her again, her face seems
us; but she smiles as she did yesterday; and her' "em.
brace is not less warm ; her hand lies in ours. her lips-
are soft and. willing. 4 * a .r r. .- : ‘
The doubts have ﬂed; we have lost a mend, but: 1
love andfaith and truth remain. The star shines bright- ‘
1y. Yet-within a week we are conscious of a change in

' her; what change and how it came we know not. but/it "

is there. (It is not only with the leaves of a ﬂower that V
“ He loves met—loves me not,” is played; and men and

women are seldom so single—hearted as 'Margnret.
as to play it but once in life.) The doubts revive, ' d '
the sting which we thought her constancy had plus ed
out, smarts again. And we hear other whisper” ’ We
ﬁght and struggle against them ; the fault 'is in our.I

\

4

I .

/

ileupon g _' ‘
“Lookin » y": ‘

toreproach 3  I.

i

selves, not in her. Yet we cannot avoid seein that her ’ ' r L

She is more beau, ‘ than
ever, but her lips smile less frequent! . The grateful
and kindly feelings. toWard our kin which’our love i
brought Prominently into play, are weakeningiia beg-
gar who stands at the corner of the/streetfn w ch ,she
dwells suffers from this. We used to give time to the
beggar; to—day we pass him by withoutVatIiought. We 1
stu y. the history of our acquaintancesh and our '
love; we dwell on the memory of words, an looks, and

manner is not the same.

kisses which we have treasured in our hearthf hearts. ' I 1

Undoubtedly she is colder thanehe was; her enthusiasm
in our ambitions is fainter; our conversation does not
ﬂow as in the old days—already and unconsciously'we
adopt the phrase, " The old days."
gradually and surely, w Iea’rhthe truth. Thewomau
we loved is false, as all men are; truth and constancy
are things of air; delusions, mockeries‘L-to’be found
only in the dictionaries. Fool thetie'Werd‘to believe ’

woman?“ The star of love shines no‘ ion any,

And so, and so“,

in them! Life is tasteless.»§“‘li‘ra’ilty, 'thy‘na gels 5  V
gar. .

heart.“ The days are notas fair, *the flowers  not; a" ,. "

beautiml'as they Were. The world is o

singing forthe :.
worse.   ....r,;~

Our dream ‘is shattered. ~

And es With love, so with menses”, so “mm; mgng ff '

human nature, so with other hopes-undress,  

x i . _ \

/

i

1 a" A’

\'

5 \

 
‘g.

A};

toms ricochet; ‘

f l - , / 2

 
w. .

tions that animate Worm-land "we conjure up
aroundns.‘ , - . _ , i

, But to laurel  not given a slow and merciful

, , awakenin from her dream... The presence of Mr. Arm.

'  my in he piece’otthe man she loved, and whom she

x ' god to see, were her suddenly and mercilessly.

‘ aﬁegomprehended “illuminant. and in that instant

, she understood  the brightest chapter in’ her life

was" closed; never to be continued to the happy end-

‘1 ' ing which her fdndinuhing had written for her in her

 heart. The shockwas very terrible, and it was well for

her, that she was so- need that she could turn her white

and terror-strictka from Mr. Armstrong, and hide

- " ht, the anguish depicted there. It faded

'  soon, and 1e ' ‘ her sad.land in a measure resi nod. The

x, L im '0! her that rose before her—her fat or whose

. ' life been one long despairmrose and stren thened

'7 her re: what was to come. Could she plunge him back

' into theabyss from which he had been raised ? It Was

through her, and for love of her, that his honor had

‘becﬁfrestomd and his life brightened. By whom? By

ammwnom’ she had long esteemed and admired, and

whom she knew to be good and just and noble. And

this man came now'to ask for his reward, and she had

promised to give it to him. At this crisis in her life

giro, came to Laura 9. coura of which no one who

wher would have believe her capable, but it is

only on such occasions that the exercise of great quell.

ties is called for. On one side stood Love; on the other
DutY. It was for her to choose betwaen them.

Mr. Armstrong, when he entered the recess, was
not the: bold, outspeakin‘g man we have hitherto
seen. He had come to play his great stake, and
his manner, now displayed much tenderness and
Some timidity. His love for Laura had not been a sud-
den passion; it had grown out of his acquaintanceship
with her, and it wasbased upon a sure foundation.
'thn it suggested itself to him that he was growing to
love’he'r, it suggested itself also to him that he should
oithsristruggle against the feelin , or see Laura no
more. Then he asked of himsel ,for what reason?

\

/

Why should ‘he shut the gates of happiness upon him- ’

Belt? Leading a busy life, and surrounded by aquaint—
ances, he was still a lonely man; and. of a night when
he entered his rooms, their silence polled upon him.
‘4» If Laura was sitting in that chair 1" he often thought,
when he was alone.‘ “If I could hear Laura’s voice
about the lace!" His thoughts did not end there;
. I he carried’i tar her on into the years, and drew pic-
’ hires which 6  heart beat with new thrills of
' hap 'nees. .,These sensations coming to him when the
, he day of his youth was past, were all the more pow-
. .erful because of that. ,
r , I lie was emphatically an‘eernest man; in everything
'  he undertookpthis great uality displayed itself; all
his beliefs and ‘opinions, al his impressions of men and
manners, were founded upon a ﬁrm rock of earnest-
ness, and this, in conjunction with a strong love for
justicein, small things as well as great, formed the
nucleus pf a character which the few admired, and the
\ than either disliked or did not understand. It was a
note; is feature in connection with his growing love for
, Laura that he found interest in a certain kind of litera-
' ture which-he had hitherto disregarded. If he chanced
to meet with a story in which children and good women
 aware, depicted with tenderness and effect, he. read it
, more, thanonce, and invariably in some way associated
 witli’gt.‘. Of this vein of newly developed senti-
ment he made no 'lparade; he:enjoyed it in secret, and
,t I wonderedwhy be; ad not discovered it before. , So he
" t allbl’ved thin to take, their regular course, not oppos-
" - ingtliein, an giving himself up to the pleasant beguile-
ment. {He couldnot fail to see that Laura derived
, leas‘n‘reifrom his‘ society, and bishops grow with his
ford. ' He was curious to discover the reason of Laura’s
go Ton the stage, for he perceived in her none of
that ambition which actresses display in one way or
another. By this timehe had established himself as
I her”fa.ther’s friendas well as here, and so considerate
” " was he toward the old man that he won his conﬁdence.
' ’He questioned Mr. Ohappell concerning Rigby, and
learned that the old man had been in the bank since he
 was 1a, lad, but from the banker he learned nothing more.
, Atlength, however, he heardlthe story from Rigby him-
$61ff47 than he saw a way to perform an act in per-
‘techiconsist'encywith hi9 character. All this occurred
‘ ‘ beforefﬁehsrd Barton's appearance upon the scene.
\ ~  ’ ; and downs. Armstrong stood before Laura, prepared
3 ’ to a his great stake. Havin spoken to the father,
 «obtain .' dyhls delighted an grateful consent, he.
 .cameto the den ter to make his confession. That
(i she should turn or face from him when she saw him
 waste himeanatural and modest action, for he knew
ya that her fatherhad pre ared her for the interview.
I: . ‘That‘she shouldbs silengvas also natural. It was for
v. ,'“ himtoepeak. ,
' For a few moments. however, no word was spoken.
.. ' Fro uently, when we are most deeply in earnest, the
a, 1370: do not‘ﬂow too readily. But during the brief
, ' . ‘ silence strength came to both.
' if? . ,"’ Your father has spigot! *0 you. Iaura," said,» Mr.
 ' .“Armstrong, somewhat dentist. I
r _ ~. ‘9 Yes,”. she replied. a
.  be com you everything ?_
7 , , age has tom me much—oh, so much of your good.
friikﬁhéfgtmpﬁi, Laura. I have been actuated by
selﬁshness in much that I have done.

/

 
I

 
[ﬁrm '1' ; her dut was becoming clearer to her ever

' megaphﬁqetug speak plainly. ,Nay, hear me ﬁrs ,
'7‘ '. has thetime we havezknown each other you have
f / treatgg imam-gm such, unwavering kindness that I

.2: , :shduldhave been ungrateful, indeed, if I had not
-  1m“! $048126,me , you. 8-11
“994811113” 1 v : - . . . ' .i-

I ~ "The morning in you, not in roe-Laura-
v  “were am introduced. I was“
' ‘ comﬁeacing’~ my profession.

d tobe proud of your

00:: actress,

= A

and your kin

 
esteem—4t was not long before es
love.

es~ﬁo,ldm Mendy said Laura, her voice growing,

 
words an-

\

com-aged me. Your counsel waslike wine'to  Ion '

gave mortrength to-battlewith, e militias—end
hey  great chose-that surroun a young actress.
Bntforvyon. Imightnot have had the «smote coir
timet work, well was grateml indeed that I had
wonso e a friend. "But during those dayslsome-
times ask myself, ‘ Why does he do all this? What
motive can induce him to set so generously to one do
humble as I i' " . 4

15,1, do .not deserve your eulogy, Laura; but your
questioning was just." I -

“ Then you became acquainted with my father, and
came to our poor dwelling. I was happy and satisﬁed
-more than satisﬁed, when I saw how your kindness
affected my father, and what comfort you brought to
him. He was never so ha py as when you were with
us. So time went on untii; wonderful thing occurred.
My father was enabled to pay a debt”—Lanra’s voice fal-
tered here-“_a debt of shame, and to hold up his head
once more. A change came over our life—suddenly
and unexpectedly to me—and I left the stage, there be-
ing no longer any occasion for me to remain upon it.
But these were not the only happy events that occured.
Here, in this very house, to w 039 master my father
was for years a servant, we ﬁnd ourselves invited
guests, honored and respected."

“ As you deserve." .

“ It is but a few minutes since," continued Laura,
with deep emotion, “ that I learned to whom we owe
all this—to you, most noble of hiendsl It is you who
have renewed my father's youth, and who have given
to me the happiness of seeing him I love as Ilove to
see him." I

" Then you are happy, Laura ?"

She did not hesitate in her answer.
change that has come upon us? Yes."

“ It makes me glad to hear you say so.
your father told you nothing else 2"

“No,” she faltered, “except—except”—

“Except,” be repeated, with tender encouragement.

Her head drooped-“ That you had a secret.”

" You shall hearit. I have come to tell it
to you, hoping that you guess it, and not
now for the ﬁrst time. You said that during the
ﬁrst days of our acquaintanceship you some-
times questioned yourself as to my motive for
my conduct. Laura, I had but one. It was not
long before the interest I took in fyou deepened into

eem_ ripened into
I confess it is for you, and for youf'sake, that I
have helped your father. Selﬁsh as it may sound, and

“ Happy in the

Laura, has

‘selﬂsh as it is, it is to this moment'lhave looked for-—

may I say my reward? No, reward is a wrong term.
I ask for no sacriﬁce—although ” he said thoughtfully,

(in his determination to be just, " it is a sacrificefor

you to accept a man so much older than yourself.
Laura, I love you i Yen know me, and knew what those
words mean when I speak them, as I do, in full sincer-
ity and earnestness. . They are from my heart.
Believing that I can make you happy as you can make
me, Iask you to be my wife.”

She knew, indeed, what the words meant from him.
She knew that she could trust him,that he would be
faithful, true, and kind to her. “ Duty, gratitude. honor,
my father’s peace of mind, all call me to him—and yet,
oh,'my heart ?” The words were not spokenshe thOught
them only; she could not muster sufﬁcient self-control
to speak aloud. ’ '

“ It has been in my mind fora long time," ‘110 con- .

tinned, tenderly, “ to make .the confession to you—to
ask you to bestow upon me the greatest happiness
which can ever be mine. Believe me, I would not ask
you if I were not conﬁdent of the future—but that
shall speak for itself. I have lived a lonely life, Laura,
and have seen my youth slip past me without love,
Without thought of love. , But when I saw you. a new
light dawned upon me. and I thanked God for it. I
saw my life spreadin out before me, fairer and more

beautiful than I con 6. ever have hoped it would be, ,

with one by my side whom I could love and cherish.
Still, if I had not some ﬂattering expectation, I should
have been silent. I haven lover's feeling, although I
am not a young man, and whenupon your last birth-
day—but a few days since—I sent you some ﬂowers,
and saw on the next day and the next that you seemed
to ﬁnd a pleasure in wearing them, I—forgive me for so
doing—took it as a sign, and it made me happy."

With pain she learned that it was he, not Richard,
who had sent her the ﬂowers she had prized so highly.
They were lying in her desk now. She had said to her-
self that she would never part with them. .What bright
garlands for the future had she not woven out of the
faded leaves ? She had spoken to them, and kissed
them, blushing as she did so.

“ May I say more, Laura l" g

In a low tone she answered his question by another.
" Have you considered the diﬁ‘erence in our posi-
tions ?" r

“ I know,” he replied, simply, “ that you are far
above me." ' .

“ You know the story of our dishonor." said she, in
the same low tone. _. ' '

"Your father has made me fully acquainted with the
story of his life. I know that his brother was guilty of
a. crime, and that that crime blighted your father’s
career. Your dishonor i It is mockery to call it so.
Does justice demand more than its due ‘9 Because my
father Committed a crime for which I was not account-
able, shall men shrink from mic and avoid me as though
my presence were contamination '2"

“ It is thoworld’s faﬁhlon," said Laura,
herfather's sufferings in her mind. ,

," It is cruelait is unjust,” exclaimed Mr._Armstrong,’
(warmly: ‘- “If. Ilive a pure life I am entitledto the re«

spect of men. Not in this we shall the sins of the
father be visited upon the chil cum "gee, Lauraghow
your only'objection'has‘ meltedmway. Never was my
life’so bright as n'ow. ‘ You will be my wii'eli's f' '-

nothing, I assure you. Mum’s the word i "

_,Fangle, nodding his head toward tbe'cuttain-
discretion. I saw nothing, believe Mum's the, .

sadly, with ,

 
Rat reluctantly, births it seemed; to him  
Y , as he would have hadit, themweceame: "

u V “‘n ,1 _ - I v ,

On her

partthesacrince todutywas Wraith '.*
part, the most precious; ‘ae the world contained was .

won. Rs inclined «tow ‘ " ‘
and pressed his lips u
heard a slight con h
Fangle, whose h was between the curtains, and who /

saw the simplecaress. Mr. Armstron went at once to

him, and closed the V curtains upon are, who. our;
come by emotion. sank into a seat by the whdow. ' Es"
felt that at such a moment she would wish to 
alone. . .- , ’
" Beg pardon,’_’ said Mr. Fangle, with another cough,
“ but I thought you might be there, and I poppedrmy a ‘
treats} in. Hope you don't think I intended to in- ‘
ru e." “ ' , ‘
“flat at all,” replied Mr. Armstrong, with a bright
smi e. . ’ g ' .
“ Shouldn’t have done it, if! had known; but I saw .

“ If you did see anything,I am sure you will not
mention it." "  i '

Mr. Armstrong had no desire that what '  '
place should for the present be known. He had settled
his plans, and had decided how and in what way: he,
would make the engagement public. The en- ,
tertainment of which Mr. Chappell had spoken would, “ '
he considered, afford him a tittin opportunity of prey
senting Laura as his future Wife, and he resolved 
await until then. ' , ., "

“ Mention it I " repeated Mr. Fanglo, with fewer; it
was a fine thing to be taken into Mr.Armstrong's' con-
ﬁdence. ‘.‘ Net for worlds! Not for worlds!" ~ V -

A few yards from them stood Richard and Mrs. Fan-  '
gle in earnest conversation. Richard’s face was radiant,
and Mrs. Fangle was furtively watching her husband
and Mr. Armstrong. She was anxious th at they should 
move away from the curtains, so that Richard might
speak to Laura without attracting observation. «  V,
thing in Richard's manner appeared to nettle Mr. Fani ,-
gle, and he said. fretfully : r _ 2

“Mr. Armstrong, oblige me, and look at that young ‘
gentleman." .

“ Who? Mr. Barton ?" , , ~  

“ Yes, sir. Have you observed how he has been 4
ﬁourged—idolized—how everybody here bows downto L.’

1m )1 — ' I V w.

“ He is a great favorite,” said Mr. Armstrong, ,with an
amused observance of Mrs. Fangle. ' ] " ,1 I ’ . l

"I know it—Lsee it. Tell me, then, where justice is i ‘ i,

to befound.” ' ‘ a.»

“ Not commonly in a ball-room, I should say. Beat 1 . w y
do not quite understand you." v , . .. ,. ’
"Compare us. There ——- Money. ’ Rene—«Braing'fml '

Money is smiling, well—dressed, courted, idolized, while ,' ‘

Brains is reduced to its dress-coat. It is a fact, sir: I ‘

am reduced to it. I haven't another in the world. Be. _ ,.

ing the least Worn, it has outlived the others." I , I " 
" I regret to hear it; but surely, when your invention ; ‘

is completed ”-——- , ‘  . ”
" Ah, then, of course—but ‘that little screw. still

bothers me I I almost forgot. Mr. Ghappell asked 1 if; ,

I knew where you were; that’s why Ipopped my,   - ' f , »

between the curtains. I. think he wishes to speak to r

you concerning a rumor about a ship called the  _

Mariner.” - i ‘ '   if ' '
“ If there is any information about the ship,“ should: .\ " L“,

be in thelast edition of to-night’s M ." _ ~. g. ' -' ' V

1 ‘:'I have sent for the paper; it will be here present:

in , , a one} 1
“ I will go to Mr. Chappell.” ~ A; 5,»,  '
“ You vnll excuse me for that. little aﬁ'air.">aaid 
I3, ’ 0. "'
Armstrong was walking away. - ‘3 You? may rely- oii nigh-
word.” _ . .
. 1‘ V ., «:‘l‘, ’
CHAPTER-X. \
A DECLARATION cr'wan. _. \

THE revulsions of feeling through which Laura  v ‘ 7*
paswd during the last hour were so stun and  -, 
ling that she was grateful to be alone with    ,  I”.
They were sad enough, and'her heart was '_ ,'  V '
sorely, but she did not doubt that shehad ' _   ‘I
1y. This was the ﬁrst great snoriﬂ‘ceshe had  
called upon to make, and she had made. it freely: . , »
willingldy‘, from astrong sense of duty. Bitmap it“; ‘
was, it 'd notcompletely crush  Her dream  * , 3 ,
over. and love had gone out of her life; but she would '5 q  
be stron , and live through her days bravely. and. no ' '
one but creelf should know the truth. She would a", ‘
her duty by the noble gentleman towhomehewae'no’w‘. ,, . _ ~—
irrevocably pledged, as she had done :her duty by her: '
father, whom he had raised from shame. The thought '_ 
of that generous act, and of herfather's Joy lit-"the.  1"
union, brought some comfort to her. Her rest that  ’
was that she should not be strong enough, an that her . . 
weakness would betray her. She determined to school i '
and keep watch over herself, for‘her father’s we ma; -‘ , I
for the sake of the man to whom she had given her '.- 5
hand. Her honor demanded that she should do   ..
She would cast aside all thought of self, ma,~W
her part in the and drama with .. courage and resigns '

boiler ‘-

   
tion. Yet with all these hi h resolves, t was to L .
given 1191’ that 511981103151 9: low ' her thoughts!» dwell  *2
or abrief space upon the dream in which gm m ,1“, r, - 13%

dulsed- Questioning herself,she was coax-stumble:  . 
todecide whether she heapedﬁth“ Mrs. pmalwmm . a I » 
wrong in the idea that Richard loved her. Iguana-id be" - -. ““ 
best so, she said, after some and self-cummnan.‘and

yetitpamedherte think it might be’eo. anemone ' ,  v
was angry and indignant with herself that she should , i 

feel painedteknew this. Why should‘she'wish him to  -  ', . ,, 
“mull”? Why should ehehotbegratefni to  » -  ~
her heart and whispered tales hopes to her-gas.“ up ‘

 
324;: ’

supposingthey were true;‘they were u... impossible

filled with. tears, and that, had any person seen her fa‘ce,
' he would havetseeu'harmser V there. She was fighting
* shard'bsttlewith him-sen: an Was‘ﬁghtin'g‘it bravely-9
‘ but-adeep Woundhadbee‘ﬁ inflicted upon her, and sire"
could‘not heip--feeling‘-the an uish of it." She placed
e  the ‘two men: iside‘z byside : -" ey ware egually good,
equally noble slid generous; but she‘ loved he one, and
did notfloy'e theptlie‘r: “She shuddered at this treason;
md'ropm‘ ‘ herself for" her wretchedness, resolved
, to think‘of'ﬂiéhard no more. And at this moment, her'
. *. ' name, “uttered softly by the man she loved, almost
stopped the beatingof her heart. She made no move:
ment, undiagain-Richard spoke her name.
“mum” ' » v ' I
' The tenderness orpr'essed in his voice brought such
mingled joy and sorrow to her that for a moment her
, strength deserted lier. 'Only for'armoment; the next, a
» sudden flame came into her face, a sudden strength
, oa’meinto he‘r'soul. ' I " * .
Q' .. “ Laura, I have a word to say to you.”
- - sue turned her tear-stained face toward him, and said,
' 71" - Almost fiercely : , ,
- '  , “no not :speak'it 1” And then, imploringly, “Have
me ,on’ me. and do not speak it i”
" ‘,‘~ ' any i” exclaimed Richard, bewildered by the an—
» gulch-other appeal.
, “Yeah—mercy,” she replied, pressing her hand to
her hcprt.‘ " There is a lesson in life I am trying to
. learn?

“ What lesson '9”, he asked, in a gentle tone.
* Another actor appeared upon the scene, hearing and
*saein’ allyunheeded and unseen by Laura and Richard.
The ,oor at the farthermost end of the recess, which
led toth‘e private rooms in the house, was noiselesst
opened, and Frederick Chappell entered through it. He
- was generally a late comer at his mother’sparties, and
' ‘nerally made his appearance by this entrance, so that
_ ﬁmight mix with theguests without causing it to be
,7 observed that he haijust arrived. Hearing voices, and
recognizing them, he paused and listened. It was quite
dirk where he steed, and he could not be seen.

 
~ ' “(smut-lesson?
 “Duty ?" replie Laura, bravely.‘ “It makes life
‘ sweet. Before inc mation, selﬁsh passion, heart-yearn-
ings‘often, stands Duty, the pale teacher, whose smile
of agprobation’is a lasting recompense ior present

sun‘s ngs, hard though it may be to bear 1"
rﬁmfhara came close to Laura's side, and took her

in .1 v
» " murmmay not love and duty go together ?"

  
u'fr

J , "g ‘ ~“Imust not-I dare not listen. Sir-Mr. Barton—J
. entreatyou "-—
' ‘ She tore her hand from his grasp, and glided swiftly
_ intoihe recess. -

Richard axed in bewilderment upon the curtains as
they ‘claoeg behind her. He could not follow her; his
” own ' tion wastoogreat. His first thought was that
she d not love him; he flung it from him as he would
have flung from him a treacherous friend. His second
. 'vwas’more consoling. - ,
- 1“ She dares-not listen to me 1" he said, in his excite-
. [meat to his thoughts. " Is it because
  there a s ,nupon her name? Is there not,-also, a
' '. stain upon nuns ? She thinks I am not acquainted with
‘ the story; but italic knew—if she knew the tie that
‘ bindsyus l‘ ,_ Was not my father a criminal by the law's
‘7 , justice? *Ah, Laura, we are 8 119.1 there, at all events.
.1 f ' , I'will see her again, and con ess what I should have
’  confessed earlier—but not to-night, not to-night.”

 
, , ' . Then he resolved that in the morning he would go to
  _ her fathers house, and tell her his secret. He was in
named for empty conversation, and he would have

3;, . ' "Ian‘tth'eparty atonoe, but that, in accordance with his
’3 . promise-to Mr. Armstrong, he desired to do so in the

" ‘ America's company. Seeinng. Fangle, he seized the

    
*  investor’sarm, and said, excitedly:
“W. Bugle, let us go and get some champagne."
"Witluploasnre, my dear sir, with pleasure," replied

the deli hted Fangle. «

l ,- ‘ To-ob game-rich a man, Mr. Fangle would have
'  pledged. him in salts and senna, or anything as dis-

~ WEB/«~77?  ,~ I
, weenie nonmgme along.” said Richard, hooking his
 “arm in Mr. Fang ’s, and hurrying him on.
V , "He seemein a generous human”, thought Mr. Fan-
, 'gle; "ti’ll venture to tap him,"
 ‘ “Ydul‘ health, Mr. Fangleif ' \‘
, ' "Yoggysir, yours/7 , ,
 > I . And. .Eangle, draining his glass, set it down, and
=3 I j gelled along face, and sighed. Mr. Armstrong would
: ‘ ,. r avennderstood instantly what was in the wind.
, 1 ,, "Another i" cried Richard, clapping Mr. Fangle on
‘  the a colder. " At such a time as this, away withmel-
, . , ,. such 1;! Drownldull care l'? ‘
 ‘ .‘Mr. angle sigheda sin. ’ ,
 "Whittle yourtrou lo ?” asked Richard.
‘ » _-“‘~-"Money. air. money,”said Mr. Fangle, plaintively.
 “Ally-sir, happily for on, you are spared such cares."
 w“, 09mg, come; can- do anything ?”
 p -' "-" If?! might takothe libert , sir—I came out without
v  ,  , Would youmin lending me halfa sover-
,, e K ,

 
Jer a; m

 
' “Of-coursel wouldn’t mind. Glad tovoblige," said
iiticl‘liard,‘ mwmzasovereign into Mr. Fangle’s ready

an . . v . . .

. . . “Model of a as ltallst,” thought Mr. Fangle, feelin
. .  thickness ,of he coinwith satisfaction. “ Why di

f . ' 'Inotaskhim for 3191‘s?” ' ’

'5, ' _ , , “And the invention. Manama”—

: ' "fﬂetting- along splendidly, sir. Only that

  screwito set right."-~ -' ’ r

. . “And when t facet right”-—-—+ , a

. _ “ Then, lira-then lIl slialltistonish a]; world I"

 ‘ traded. ,, cl: happe . n omens a was still in

.  , as was too [much'oocupiod by Richard’s

I ,

  
1 little

 
of realiinati‘oufﬁsix‘e wasn‘ot aware that her eyes“ werev '1

lsio‘n" Previved «again; and he longed» to obtain rivate
9 speech with her"; Herpresenee Was-sfproofthat chad
inot‘too deeply mended her, and that thermal was
'for cordial relations between them.‘
"way, she would listen to him. ~ TOWard these two men
them, he had hitherto had no 0 portunity of repaying

called the words he had overhear :

seized her hand in the most insulting manner, and she

"peared to him as though she needed and was glad of

 
, mounted, roads, and‘ y the appearance of Laura
his mother’s subsets, to quit it immediately.

 
x

_ I, LOVES mortar;

r .

Eel-was surprised to- see: Laura ‘ there. Since insist: =
tlietheater he had attempted in vain tO”d18c0V9r'whel'§‘ ‘

she lived, and his passion for her bad someWhat cooled.
Butno’w that moms in his “mother’s house, his pass

open
He had nodoubt:
now that, were Richard and Mr. Armstrong out of the

he entertained a deep hatred. Compelled by his fath-
er’s-warnings to keep on ostensibly good terms with

theirslighting behavior towar him. Now ,he sawla
way to revenge himself at least 11 on Richard. He re-

“Is there not a stain also upon my name? Was not
my father a criminal by the law’s judgment ‘9" I

These words were in themselves sufﬁcient to dis ace
and confound Richard, and to cause his dismissal rom
society; but how to carry them to their. legitimate
conclusion? " Was not my father a criminal by the
law’s judgment '3” Frederick Chappell knew that Rich-i
ard’s father had died in the colonies, and he made a
shrewd guess that, as Richard came from a penal set-
tlement, his father was a convict. He had ' heard and
read of cases of men being transported, and making
large fortunes in' theland to which they had been ex-
iled. This, doubtless, was one of such cases. “ I'll
ﬁnd a means this very night,” thought Frederick, “ to
expose him. If I could manage, at the same time, to
b‘reak the friendship between him and Mr. ’Arm-
3 rong ”-—-- V " .,

Straight upon this thought, the American gentleman
himself drew the curtains aside, and looked earnestly
within.

"Whom does he expect to see ‘2" was Frederick’s
thought, and went direct to the truth. “Laura!” He
sauntered indolently toward Mr. Armstrong.

“ Were you looking for Miss Rigby ?” he asked. “ She
was here a moment since. as I entered by the door at
the farther end. It‘was fortunate for her that I entered
when I did." ‘

“ Fortunate for her i” repeated Mr. Armstrong, with
a suspicious glance at Frederick.

“ Those were my words,” drawled Frederick. “For
it gave her the opportunity of making her escape. She
was much agitated."

“ By what? Have you dared ”-—-

" Gently, Mr. Armstrong—gently, it you please. I
have not had the opportunity of exchanging a word
with Miss Rigby. You may convince yourself of the
truth of this by asking her the simple question. I did
not know until this moment that she was among the
guests.”

" He speaks the truth,” said Mr. Armstrong under
his breath.

"When I entered, Mr. Barton was with her, and was
passing a gross insult upon her. You may well look
surprised. I am quite aware that you I have a poor
opinion of my veracity—for which, although it is a
matter of perfect indiﬂ‘erence to me, I take the oppor-
tunity of making you my acknowledgments—but you
may believe what say in this instance. Mr. Barton

was compelled to release herself by force. It was, as
I said, fortunate that I came in at that moment, but as
it was I was too late to interfere.”

" Surely you jest l" ‘

“ I am not in the habit," said Frederick, coldly, and
not without dignity, " of jesting in this fashion. There
is Miss Rigby."

Loath as Mr. Armstrong was to believe anything
against his friend, the marks of agitation on Laura’s
face were in his eyes a conﬁrmation of Frederick’s
statement. He went hastily to her, and it really ap-

his protection. other guests were strolling in their
direction~Mr. and Mrs. Cha pell. Lord Beaumorris,
Mr. Saint Fitzi’addle,‘ and chard, who eagerly ad-
vanced toward Laura. Mr. Armstrong, however, step.
ped before him, and with a cold look drew Laura away.
Before Richard had time to ask for an explanation, his
attention was diverted by Frederick Chappell, who
said, almost in a whisper : '

"Let me have a word with you. It will be as well
that the others shall not hear."

“ What is it you have to say to me ?” asked Richard;
. "What it is necessary you should listen to. You in-
sulted Miss Rigby just now ”-—- ' ‘

“You lie 1" said Richard, restraining his passion with
difﬁculty. . r ’

Frederick shrugged his shoulders; he was willing to
wait for his revenge.
for you know that I love her——loved her before
came "~—

“ You do not suppose," said Richard, in a tone of con-
tempt, ” that I am notcognizant of your behavior to-
ward her. It is worthy of you.”

“You cannot induce me to notice your insults. We
are not equals." »  ,

" We are not, indeed.”

" You are far beneath me," said Frederick. still per-
fectly cool " and beneath all here. Listen to me.
know your secret; I have you in my power, and can
expose you—and will, unless. you give me your word
of honor—no, your word will do, without the honor—
never to address Miss Rigby again." ~ -

“ Were we alone," said Richard, scornfully, " I would
not answer you with my tongue. I am ignorant of
what you mean when you say you have me in your
power; but pursue this subject by but another word,
andIt will disgrace you in the presence cryour father’s
sues a." ‘ . q ' ‘ _

“ That is your answer 7 Be warned;” ’ Richard, with

you

time out, and nothing has been heard of it.

‘f I have a certain right to speak, '

I .

' lord.”

 
s disdainful look, turned his back upon Frederick.
“ Then take the consequences.” .

 
Mrs. Chappell, with a ﬂattcri ‘sm I
had listen as “‘6

 
.
.x‘: ‘ ,1“;


«$2213

3  ' imam,“ f}...   K
501513“ mass moons: ores muggy-“(Q‘Mignd  fa:
. was the exceptiouoriur. Pangaea Siligwpgsggipmf

 
persons’wno play their parts in this story,” d wh
were, by, 15,111.! “311,6 “#13th by WImanY‘eoyﬂict ,8 61,13.
“9118, were new mammals the pinto: that" ' sen “
room. Mr. Fanglehimselfywith 'a‘paper Fin?“ ' land "

hustled toward them, and” completed j the list  '
dramatzspersonge. ,I-Ie hadyobtaineda cepyﬁof‘the'last“ ~,
edition of The H can, andwas glancing through it as- he '

approached'the group. , ’ ’ £ " ' T ‘ .

"You seem interested in that paper, Mt. Fangleﬁ‘  2»
observed Mrs. ﬁOhappell, with condescension. ’ It was»
but seldom she noticed so small a personage *a’s'Mr. "
Fangle. “What.paper is it ‘2" ‘ . , v ‘ " I .

_“The Moon, madam, The Meow—most extraordinary" 3
little paper? Comes: out every hour With ‘a phiz-z; .
Ought to be called the Little Splutterer.” ' ' "

" Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Saint Fitzi‘addle, "with hié~t _ :
usugl' contribution to the conversation. ‘ “ Very : I f
goo  '

‘.‘ Is there anything particular in it '2” , , ' ‘

Mr. Armstrong took the paper fromMr. Fangle, and
running his eye over the columns, said: I f ‘ . ’

“This appears to be the most important paragraph:- I.
‘ At the last moment of going to press, we are informed, 
updn the best authority, that there is not the slightest ‘
foundation for the rumor concerning the foundering of ,
the ship, the Golden Mariner} ” ’ ’ " _  "

He -‘han'ded the paper to Mr. Chappell, who read the
paragraph with afeeling of intense relief and satis-‘ 
faction. ‘  ‘ ~ ‘ '

“ Is there any reason, Mr. Armstrong,“ inquired
bilge.?0happell, " for special anxiety concerning thids‘ ,2
s l p u ‘ «v 

“ Some reason, my dear madam. It has been a long
Its cargo

emu). choose»... A ..._._‘_k ;

is 'very valuable, and it is heavily insured." ,
" I have heard,” said Mrs. Chappell, “ that these ‘ " »
small papers occasionally print the wildest things. To, 3' i
make them sell, I suppose.” x v. ‘ ‘r v
“ They certainly like to‘spioe their dishes. They are - ‘
the people’s papers, you must bear in mind." '
th' I canglpnderstzlzdtgvlggt Ithiaipeo 1eD want with such’ l
mgs. ey oug a 0 sh . 0‘ on no ‘ " ' *
with me, Lord Beaumorris ?” ‘  I name
“ They do no harm, madam,” sald’the old lord; "they
do—uo harm. So long as society—keeps ‘ itself Within
bounds—everybody in his proper place—such papers
as The Moon do no harm. The people—the peopie’ re- ’
quire—to be amused.”  v ' . 
Frederick Chappell saw his opportunity. '  1
“ Everybody in his proper place, in lord. ,And if ‘2' '
when a person gets into the wrong carr age ‘9" . ‘ ' , ‘
" Turn him out—turn him out. He has no Ibusidsss
there. If I got into a third-class carriageol should deé
servleﬁojbe—tulrnfd out.“ ‘ ’ ‘ ' ‘
" e ourna is s of such upon as The M " said ‘ "
Frederick, "are continuallyphunting after tween“: 7,
tional, and, as Mr. Armstrong say they like to..spice"
their dishes. I know ‘of a dishf‘kowever, which re» v‘
gﬁiirespno spice to make it palatable'when it gets into
e a ers." "' ' ‘ 

u deed. Frederick " said Mrs. ' n > * - 
the story i" ’ Ch‘ppeu' Wk“ 15 V » I
“ You will admit that it is an interestln on " o‘ »
plied Frederick, who, by his pointed manger, 13d 2%.  ’ '

tracted the full attention of the circle. It is the story -

of a person—a young man—who came to London from 1 r "

a colony which was once a nal settlement. Having. "

money—how gained is not nown—Jle managed to in—‘"-

trude himself into fashionable society. By his plauei- ",

ble manners he made himself a favorite, andlwas much 9 3

courted for atime, until—and here comes the point of, '» r .

the story—until it was suddenly discovered that he was

thoggn ofactonvict”-—— W ' \ 4 a  V
" e son 0 a convict ?" exclaimed Era. in .‘ '

" How shocking I" ' » ’  spy/$1? i~ .
“ Ah l” said Mr. Saintritzfaddle. -" Verybad 1:”: “l  . a ,ﬁ
“He had concealed this fact," continued Frederick,’, ->

"from his new friends, dreading the cons ' cheers, 15'  w "

haps. Possibly he thought, because be h a Wendi ed- 3‘ LJ

purse, that, even it' discovered, sooicty would overlook ‘~ g ' '
his degraded position. At length exposure came, and ‘ ’
then—but I am not privileged o disclose more at pres» ‘ ‘ ’ ’
out. I am waiting with curiosity to learn the and of 3 '
the swig, which has just reached the stage at which I ‘
breako .” . . « 

“ You know this person, Frederick?" asked Mrs. '»
Chappell. . A , ,
" 01;, yes;; and so do most of those present."

“ In parliamentary fashion, then. we call,

name 1’; I ' , i. ,
“Wai . am curious to hear ur i’ .i ‘-

will the story end ‘3" I W or, mans .v How:
“ There can be but one result of the exposure," said ‘ ".

Mrs. Chappell. “Sucha person must be at once-,ex- ' ‘ '

polled from the society of ladies and gentlemen: Eh, ' “-

Mr. Ghappell ?”  ' ,. tr >
"Undoubtedly," asserted the banker; "- no lady or

gentleman can associate with the son of acon’vict.” _ r .
Laura placed her hand on her father’s arm. The old ‘ \

man at these words looked nervously around, and then

cast his eyes to the around as in days 80118 by. ‘ 5
Mrs. Chappell spo e again. " What is your opinion, ~-

Mr. Armstrong?" , _ ' ’ A -

“ I reserve it,” replied the American ; " there one two‘ i ' . -
sides to every question. I like to hear both before 

passingjudgmentf.’ > v i'r'
"There is but one side," said Lord Beaumorris, with L ' ~
an air of great dignity, "to‘such aquestion as this. ~ '
Mr. Frederick Chennai-11: my opinion—bound to dis- i
close name—mi this person." , .‘ _, ' .
"The story will soon become common enough, my : ,

Name, "Z :‘
\ .

“£0118 net’s?! '1'
I manna ’ [I ,l
“a m we?“ ‘99 the conveussoahd 2*", ,

“ We have ‘ at least one gentleman

, .

 
LOVES VICTORY.

 
was “noggin suchl a position the: hisniece
tisll hi nn'omtecom ."wow no is
m’mmoe 9%.mnoo

. g‘s reserve. ' m the
colonies. His opinion will be vaiusble." I
‘ met this direct was! all eyes were directed toward

chord. \
"Inﬁll be d,”dtid Frederick Chap 11, with
distinct and 0113 011193153“. "if anenalston’l

opinion this idem is not as curiousesit
is sure to vol

0’
No one broke the silence that followed until Richard
. , .

"What," he asked, in a and tone,.“i.r this young
men's tether was. innocent i”
a mess, sin—ominous I“ cried Lord Beaumorris.
"Did you not hour—what Mr. 0 ll has told us?
. 1. "s ratheruwss s convio convict, sir—-

lty must have been W “P031
count—no man-site: o  found

raised his head proudly, and looking steadily
nonunion-is said .

at . .

" Hy tether was, my lord !

"Your Miner! stammered Lord Baumorris.

“Y”. my lord, my rather. The story you have
heard—though told for an unworthy end—is my story.
1* 1‘ I Who. coming to and under some such cir-
cumstances as those narrated—with the axes tion of
the liethst my father was dilly—have been mitted
into society. But I did no force myself into it; un-
uked. it wooed and welcomed ms. No man is in-
nocent after he is iohnd . lltyl Fitting axiom, my
10111. for the law‘s mom . when on justice is
sometimes administered by a isllible u . Com
damned to. articles scrlme he did not com His was
anthem ementi'rom Er. poll’s bruit he was charged
With-whey father lived and god in a distant land, torn
from-the deer associations of his youth. dead to friends.
to mu -e victim to pitiless injustice! He lived
there s eases lite, and when upon his death-bed he
tale me his tilsssrs’tory, I swore to right his door

mory I
‘ Rotwithstsnding the manly though sorrowful tone in
which this confession was made, the guests, one by
one. tell beet from the speaker, and stood sport from

Laird turned. sobbing, to her father.

" Hush. child 1” he murmured. "It is of my brother
he is spanking.”

" Armstrong,” uid Richard. addressing himseli to the
American. “ when I promised to tell u my story be-
fore we ported tic-night. I did not t ink on would
hesrlt thusstrsngely." Mr. Armstrong no move
ment toward him, and a sad smile came upon Richard's
lips. “Lord unlorris "~—

" Sir," said the old lord, haughtily, “ we are strong-
a".!! y ‘
“ You tool: in hand s moment ago, my lord. It is an
honest hand. y father was innocent." _

" Prove him so. sir, and I will take your hand again.
Until then, do not persume to address me."

" Mrs. chap ll—slr ”——--

Mrs. Ohappe . with a freezing look. said:

“ You must be aware, sir, that your presence here is
an intrusion."

“ I will not trouble you much longer, madam,” re-

Iﬁliieg Richard, bravely restraining his emotion. " Mr.
. 8 yes-“~— ’

“ I share your humiliation," responded the old man.
“ Your father was my brother."

" I know it, sir; but I had resolved not to disclose
myself until i hedostablished his, innocence. Even

on. sir. his brother, wronged him in your thoughts.

urs, you know all new; we are cousins." v

He partly held out his arms to her, and in her love
and pity she would have gone to him, but that Mr. Arm-
, Strong's restraining hand recalled her to herself.

"Mr. Armstrong," said Richard, his courage now al-
most ving sway. “ You promised to help me. Are
you ll o the rest of them?

Still the American made no res use. He was at war
with himself. Themsnlinees or cherd’s conduct, and
the manifest honesty of his words, no less than the po-_
sition in which he was placed, appealed strongly to Mr.
Armstrong's just and onerous nature, and he could
not help entertaining s eeling of deep admiration tor
the young man; but Frederick Chappell s statement
regardiu the insult which Richard had. passed upon
Laura he d him back. In the midst of his doubts, Laura's
soft voice stole upon his senses, and he started as he
heard his own words used against himself. . ,

“ Because his father,” said Laura. “ committed a
crime for which he was not accountable, shell men
shrink from him and avoid him, as though his presence
was contamination t”

“ You plead for him. Laura 1" exclaimed Mr. Arm-
strong, with a keen and earnest observance oi her.
“ You i”

" Ah, yes," she replied. taking his hand, “for my
sake you will help him—for the love you here to me 1"
She pointed to Richard. who, deﬁant and des airing,
was standing alone. He could. have home all at the
loss of his friend—the man he loved and honored above

‘ all others in the world. . ,That he could desert him in
this crisis, brou ht bitter pain and desolation to Rich.
Dad’s heart. “ Egan the sin of the father, continued
Laura. “ in that way be visited upon the children? 11
be live spurs life, is he not entitled tothe respect of
men i If on love me, «help him to prove his father s in-
nocence—a r m e I"

h She would hive knelt to him but that be prevented

or.
Ric ' end scornfully around. __

“ nglﬁegoﬁgg! Will not one stand by me 'I
The American ﬂung sway hisdoubts. ' > J .de ‘
‘aYes. 13111;" 13.1.33, guppm to  s 81 . t

.A gasp o: .1 joy escaped roxn Richard s brass .
But that ‘ 3’“ were upon him, he would h‘Ve
found it insomnia to halfback his tam.

 
Lsurs bowed her head over Mr. Armstrong’s hand
and kissed it, sobe :
“ Bless you, noble out i”

SOENETHE THIRD.
AT. rue GARDEN-PARTY.
cameo 1.
LIva IX CEAMBE’BS.

BAD Mr. Armstrongedbeen uniformly polite enable
and suave, had he on the bitin cynic sun which he
siloWed to iorce itself into express on, he would have
been client the most polar men in society. Butult
ms. many were high nod of him, and many absolutely
disliked him. These latter Were all men. and th dis-
liked him boceuse he maplein speaker. Wit the
women he got on better; he was nearly always gentle
with them. But although he was not s general favor-
ite,overybody was curious concerning him- and his
doings. He wss reputed to be enormously rich; he
was known to be exceedingly eccentric; and these were
sudlcient to csnsehim to be talked about. Then he
was s bachelor, and sgreat prizein the lottery in which
every sin is youn lady in society had a share. Had
he been: und times more eccentric than he was,
had he squinted, been deformed, been hideous instead
of good-look , black instead of white. it would not
have mntiere —-he would still hove been a prize in the
lottery. and the ugly demo Would luvs bod plenty of
pretty moths ilutterin Mound it. Whetsm
s money, and what i _ are we who pretend to des-
piseitl ‘Asii’those who srerich do not see throu h
us! Corpus we may. money it the only thing in e.
World worth ii for. It you do not believe me. ssh
Mr. Million, to w on). everybody‘bows and scrapes.
80, my son (I should say if I had one), I hove but one
piece of edvicc to give yon-mske money, and keep on
the right side of the hedge. That is the only true
philosophy. All the rest is fudge. -

A fortnight elapsed between the evening on which
Richard Berton was exposed by Frederick Obsppell
and virtually. expelled from society. and that ﬁxed for
Mr. Armstrong's garden-party. The public announce-
ment of this forthcoming entertainment crested
a great sensation. The most extraordinary ru-
mors were circulated concerning it; it was to be
brilliant. unique. it kind of festival, the likeof.
whichhadnever yet been seen. twes certainly, in
society, the most important event of the your, and
everybody who was anybodysighed for an invitation.
Persons oi consequence who were not invited condes-
cended to intrigue for a card, and Hrs. Chappell, who
was known to be on conﬁdentially intimate terms
with Mr. Armstron . was besieged by friends and
acquaintances beseec ing her to use her inﬂuence with
him. The task was congenial to her. and when she
aska she did not ask in vain ; Mr. Armstrong readily.
complied with every request she made to him. The
house and grounds in which the entertainment was to
be given had only lately come into his possession, and
rumor was busy as to his motive for setting up so large
an establishment. ‘

“ He’s going to marry,” said one.

"Nonsense," said another, “ be is not a marrying
man. Knows a trick worth two of that. He has taken
the house for show, and only for the purpose of cut-
ting out everybody else. Just like an American.”

“ You know nothing about it,” said a third; “ he has
bought the place on speculation. He’ll sell it to Lord
Slapdssh before the end of the month, and will make a
pretty penny out of it. That‘s more like an Amer;

can."

*

These were men’s opinions; the women leaned
decidedly to the matrimonial view of the question, and
a score or two of mothers. who, with their daughters,
were invited, were hourly and daily thinking of the
mom attentions Mr. Armstrong had paid their girls
atsuc -and-such or such-mdvsuch sporty. As hey
viewed these small items through very powerful msg-
nit’yingnglasses, they one and a1 decided that Mr. Arm-
strong “meant something." Lady Barebones looked
upon the matter as good as settled. After what had
taken place, she quite-gave up Richard Barton-she
would. have been monstroust indignant had any per-
son ventured to hint that she ever entertained views
in that direction—and the honor she had intended for
him she now transferred to the American gentleman.
She arranged everythingl comfortably as to the settle
ments, and resolved to ave a good look through Mr.
Armstrong's establishment, to see that nothing was
wanting. Of course it was the eldest Miss Borebones—
amamen of thirty-ﬂVe-r-Mrs Armstrong meant to pro-
pose to, and Lady Berebones schooled herself to re
51 nation at the idea of losing her daughter, “ But I
wil not desert her,“ thought Lady Bareboncs; “he
will have s. mother-in-law.” She would have preferred
amember of the English aristocracy but the eldest
Miss Barebones was “ getting on,” on one could not
have all one wished for in t is world; and Lady Bare.
bones made up her mind that Mr. Armstron should
pay for the honor of entering such a family as ere.

Other ladies who were , invited, and who lied
no matrimonial designs. upon Mr. Armstrong, looked
forwerd with eagerness to the pleasure of running over
a bachelor’s establishment. I, believe that a bachelor
cannot give a greater pleasure to such of his lady Menus
as haveseen nothing of boobs or life than to invite
them to his chambers—dict to such on establishment as
Mr. Armstro s. but to one of much more modest pre-
tensions. con ting, soy. of three or rem-or nve rooms.
Three. I think. would be better than live, and should
the invitation be, given in London, I wouldﬁx the lo-
cality somewhere between the Longhorn notei and

w

Fleet Street. How often have the ladies talked over-the
life of their becheior {ﬁends whom they like so much.
and whose talk about this and that is such 3 delight to
them! Renews everything about literary men. and

sctonendwuesumandis entermso! intimscywith
mm! of those mdpersons. Retails themelithslittls
tidbits. not a mouldv as s three-days' echo in s

confectioncr’s shop, but fresh from the oven, with the
loss on the fruit. They retail these tidbits to their
nds, who euvgg‘thcn their source of information.
He belch tech: and moctsﬁo-end—so and 3mm
there. lady Meatless-snot sure he is not junta
little wicked or naughty, but they do not like him the
worse for that. " Last night." lie says, ” I went to the
Cut and Come Again to see the new comedy. and after-
£321.!!! strogeir‘i inéo mkmgﬁmmwgm I. sign.
r. c an r. op, . g . were
there. pornsty, the dramatic critic for em
Seeder, was there, and Bluster. the new author. who,
thinks himself superior to Sheridan. and who was so.
fully cut up in the Sharla, happened to come in Is
Crusty was holding forth. They had a rose let-to.
Blaster is slweys a bully with his tongue. nudveryrude
and ‘ tights! no can occasionally write s nest epi-
grsm. t he never can utter one. He has to sit down
to it, and trim it 01, and polish it up. He would not
admit this. He tries to make people believe thst he
has but to strike his ibrehesd. and the sparks rush out.
Young qudhre came in and old sugar. We had quite
s room . ’

In this way he entertains them. nursin his knee, II
isthehabitofmsn clever men. and at stints an
oﬂ-hcnd andvery {assent war. he asks . idiom to come
up tohis placesn ' bevescnp sites with him. "You
aren’t expect anything." he says, with an ' »
look at 191nm. whose face has ﬂushed oi; the invitation
(he thinks very often of Emma, and
not). “You musn't expect snyth ; only I
too." When the girls. with their in her and , =

though-he has been in s fever 0 expectation tbs whole
of the day. He could have with the mother

mar—but thmmthnes! As the girlsstsndbefone him,
with theirbright eyes end pret “combo isslsss though
“$23111” “5‘3: 31% e. m “it? W
an em. symus .
however. They stand, and look at the chsigssnd tables
with curiosity. They are not like other chairs and
tables; there is an air about them that tunes
them out of the common run of tare.
The knlchhnscks in the room. the pee, the pictures,

pictures. As to: the cupboards, and the corner when

somethi
knows w st she supgoses the cupboards to contain,
whet she suspects is bind the screen; but the mother
is not quite sure, as she glances toward them, whether
she was quite right in allowing her daughter to come
to such as place. The girls have no such doubts ; they
are in a glow of delight and Wonder, and he, sexing
upon them, says to himself that his rooms have never
presented so bright an appearance. 'no the girls the
room is like a temple, ﬁlled with strange relics ; they
idealize the most familiar articles.

The bachelor gives them I hearty welcome in well~
chosen words. "Go in there," he says,” and take of
your things.” " There,” is another room, mgrly
prepared for its visitors, you maybe sure, a
dubious pause for which the mother is “bio-«(it
behooves her to becareiul, forth-ere “mm
may happen in so strange it place. where the s '
are so dark 1nd the house so musty—the hustle bind to
into the roommrhik the boy'brother standswith his

hem the girls giggling. They have found on the
drawers pins, hairpins. and s pull and owder box, all
now, which the bachelor has thoughtfu Igulps-curlclothin
his im tension/that females. cannot su ‘n existence
for on our without them. The motheris compelled
to check the exuberance of her daughtens'spirits. {She
questions herself as to whether the bachelor. on t to:
know anything of pud-and~powder boxes. The ‘ W»
curtains in the retirin -room are tied up d decorated
with blue ribbon, and ma gives their 031: credit for
exquisite taste. The‘girls are a ion time in the room.
The mother comes out first, staid on serious, and agent
glances suspiciously at the screen; the girls follow. It;
ready fori‘un and frolic. "This is Liberty annual:
the host, and ilshes out from odd corners picture-boo
and curiosities which never come to an end. he has so
many of them. He does this carelessly. so though it
has just come into his mind that they would like some-
thing to look over and pull about before too; but the
truth is that all these things have been armilly or.
ran ed beforehand. _
on tea is ready (while the servant is laying the

' cloth, they stnnd at the window, which looks out upon
some gardens), he, half unconoewedly, half tenderly,
asks Emma to preside and ponr out the tea. If overs.
proposal was nmdeto a girl in a. roundabout fashion.
this is regarded as one by Emma’s sisters and mother,
who exchange signiﬁcant lsnces which Emma. does
not see. She is happy, and s y. and a little bit nervous.
and is altogether a very pretty picture as she sits M: the
header the table. Such wonderinl tea, such month
jellies, such swoot bread-and-butter. such rich coke .
iresh truinwere never set on her tablegbei’ore. and
never will be inter these ls. There are there

ith " manic 1 kn ht
w 011' ,6 Res- ow how the happy
ends. hi I donot know yet how the story ends, tor,
Dirty I have been betrayed into describing was given
only s i‘ew evenings sgo, , 1,351.“; hope that it ends as
most stories of this kind o—with Emma often pouring
out the tea for the host, whogises up living in chun-

 
bers. and settles down into I
society. ' , '

 
she at him, I doubt -
knock at his door, he opens it nits unconcernodly. Il- ,

and brother. notwithstanding at he is fond of the for- '

resemble no other hulckknsoks, no 0 her pipes. no other .

the screen stands,the mystery attached to these has .
Bluebeardish in its nature. Haven onlyl .

bend in his pocketand plays the mo. one bachelor

one. and no all oflthecn “clinched

ble member of I

H... o... AAA/Awim“_...M_m.m..inlw_ml._‘mmm

 
96

L0 ms VICTORY;

 
_ (NAPIER II.‘
m. mm minimums 3m.

Kama as was the interest evinced in. Mr. Armstrong's
party. Richard Barton? W35 not allowed to pass
over in silence. It became, indeed, a fruitful theme of
conversation, and formed almost a nine daysf wonder.
It wasdlao’ussed in fashionable circles, and spoken of at
every dinner-party and “At Home” in Belgians, and
not an hour passed without a new light being thrown
upon imm- a new apiece of information being contrib-
uted to the gener stock. Many, among whom was
‘ Lord Beaumorris’, regarded it from a very serious paint
of vievs. That such aperson as Richard, Barton should
have forced himself into society, knowing howmle he
was, was .a soaan magnum, on. clause not to be
lightly regarded. When Lord Beaumorris left Mrs.
Choppell’s house on, the eventful evening, he left with
a dreaded conviction that Mr. and Mrs. Qhappell’s con-

duct in placing him and-theson of a convict on a. fa»

miltar footin required explanation. He was very in-
dignant. and is parting bow to ,Mrspcmppell was a
very stately one, .After all the guests had taken. their
departmeJomething like a scene had occurred between
Mr. Qhappell and his wife and son. , -

" What do you mean, sir,” cried MnChappell, glanc-
ingvfhastily‘ around to assure himself that they were
alone, “ by bringing disgrace upon this house—upon
m name't'm; .. ' 

p r. C appellfs face was very white, and .ms manner
agita. as! he spoke, _ » .. . » a '

, "you take; me by surprise. air.” drawlod Frederick,
quite satisﬁed with the part hehad played. “ I am not

aware , that I have brought disgrace upon either the
house or cal-name." - .v V , v . .

1 "You vs done so," cried Mr. Chappell, Violently,
“.by reviving this shameful story publicly. . Would not
a. vats explanation between ourselVes—between our-
s vests-have contented you ‘2 Then all possible miscon-
struotion sud implication would have been avoided."

. “ Implication, sir i" .

,“1 tell you, Frederick, you do not know what you
have doneuyou do not know what you have done l’“

.“Ifyou were to say that I do not know what u
mean, you would be nearer the mark. Until to-ni t I
was as ignorant of the story asycu were yourself. It
came to my knowledge that a person Was in this house
whose presence was an insult to my mother and her
guests, and I considered it my duty to warn him that
his true character was discovered. . I. take some credit-
tomyself for the way in which I warned him. Had he
retired without joining): the conversation, no one but
ourselves would have ,
brazen“ out. You will bear in mind, sir, that I did not
mention Mr. Barton’s name, and I had no, intention of
doin so. Afew minutes before the exposure I spoke
170:.th privately, and gave him the opportunity or
leaving the house. He refused, and grossly insulted
me. at course I could take no notice of an insult from
ocean in his position. The man is a cad and a black-

1 saw it from the first day you; introduced him.

me, and I was astonished at your opinion of him. I
forced myself to be civil to him only out of deference
to your wishes.”

Mrs. Chappell sided with her son.

” “ Frederick is notto blame," she said. “ It is a most
unfortunate aifair, and vcr awkward, and I wish it had
tsken'place in some other cuss, and with some other
young man. It is such a pity 1 But I do not see how
Frederick could have acted otherwise. Your good name,
Mr. Ghappell, is the ﬁrst consideration, and you are
properly sensitive concerning it. As for any disgrace
attaching to it from this “fair. it is enter the usetlon.
Frederic has vindicated it by his conduct, an we have
all dons what wecould. The unhappy young man intro-
ducedhimself to you under false retenses, and you
were deceived by him—shamefully eceived—-as we all
were- The moment he is unmasked, you renounce
him, as we all dl "--—-- -

.“t‘With the exception of Mr. Armstrong,” put in

. “Mr. Armstrong is an eccentric character. I
don’t think gen are on very good terms with him,
Frederick?" * ' ‘

. .*!I certainly am not in love with him."

: “Men never will understand," said Mrs. Chappell,

with an air of superior wisdom. “ how necessary it is

to toe on d terms with one another"...—

. “1 heartily dislike one another,” inter.

rupted Freda k. somewhat maliciously. " No, men

don’t understand it. It is only women who are

thoroughly up to that game.”

' ‘?lt‘ ows how much more sensible women are than

men. I cannot take your side, Frederick, in the cool-

uses that exists between you and Mr. Armstrong. He

is a gentleman, despite his eccentricities. And for-
innater very few saw him shake hands with Mr. Bar-

‘ ‘ touafter the exposure. What was it he said to him i"

, , :v 1 did not hear."

. “Well, you will see that be will cast this unhappy
you man off, as we have done. ' Barebones.”
she Kﬁdod, with a laugh, although she was not in the
humor “for laughing, '9 will be horrified when she

:w t has occurred ”

been he _.

' day Lord. Beaumorris called upon
More drama“ $.25? it? 3“?"
' vs. ., no rgo s er-
ﬁf ’ 11$;th tothe old lord on the re-

.ﬁgus evening in very; terms. and she (11 nod
, immediately that he had ed for an explanation.
Snowing how imth an: ally be was, and how
my it was that she should let his sympathies
‘gamudamhc did not wait for him to throw down

«9 minor , am named-to nee yamm lord; I
treads? M you would cease.
I want to: consult you. and to talk to you about we.“

mt his in . ‘ ‘ n
“ It was—worse than Madam, , me, Lord

‘ip...

11 the wiser ; but he chose to.

 
,

Beaumorris, stilily. “ It. is a circumstance—,4 hope
never again to see repeated—never again—in society."
“ It grieves me more than I. can ex ress. That such
a person should, by his deceit and p ausible manners,
obtain admission into my house, is a shock from which
I shall not soon recover. But it is not for myself I
feel—it is for you, mylord. .Thatl should __.have been
the means of introducing this person to‘your lord-

. ship"——— .

She put her handkerchief to her eyes. Lord Beau-
morris was softened. _ . ,

" It is that that griesz me,” continued Mrs. Chappell.
“ What can I do to, obtain younlordshipfs do ' riVeness 1*
I knew nothing, absolutely nothing, nor did r. Chap-e
poll. The unfortunate young man came? from , the
colonies with letters of recommendation from persons
of high standing " there. ‘Mr. Chappell‘ had every
reason to believe these letters to be genuine, and
neither he nor I entertained the slightest doubt of the
young man’s respectability. It shows how careful we
should be. I be e you approve of my son Frederick’s
conduct my 101‘ , His suspicions were aroused, and
he was determined that this person should not for one
moment longer‘continueto occupy a false position in:
society : he was determined that the exposure should
be complete. It was a bold course to pursue, but a
manly and honorable one. Frederick is somewhat im-
petuous, and very sensitive on all points of honor.”

It did not require a great deal more to entirely
satisfy Lord Beaumorris.
him to leave her until she was” assured of his support
and apgroval. Before the day was over be publicly ex.
presse his sympathy for Mrs. Choppell"; his lead was
followed even by those who were inclined to waver,
and Mrs. Chappell did not lose caste because .she had
been the . means of introducing Richard Barton" into
the best circles. Society declared that she was much
to be pitied, and that under the circumstances she had
behaved admirably. . 2 > r

CHAPTER III.

FROM MCBARD BARTON TOMB. ARMSTRONG, WRITTEN 0!!
V THE NIGHT OF THE EXPOBUBE. »

“ DEA-B Aunsro‘ua,—The events of this night have so
agitated me that I ﬁnd it impossible to sleep. As a
relief I take up my pen to write to you, intending to
post my letter when it is ﬁnished, so that you may red
celve it early in the morning. The emotions under
which I am laboring are not all due to the scene which
Mr. Frederick Chappell seems to have carefully pre-
pared and cunningly lead up to. My mind is agitated

y other passions and doubts, which I refrain from ex-
pressin at this moment. But apart from these, I
earnest y ask you to believe that the memory of your

whole conduct will never leave me while I have life,»
and that in the midst of more than one bitter sorrow dr

and disappointment, I and comfort in the conviction
that you are still my friend. Were you to desert me,
I should indeed. be surrounded bydarkness. I cannot
express to you the riot I experiencedas Istood alone
in the midst of all hose false friends and did not hear
your voice; and but that I wasprevented by pride, I
should have subbed for joy when I felt the pressure 'of
your hand, and knew I had not lost you. I depend en-
tirely‘ upon you ; I will be guided entirely by you.
I seem myself to be utterly powerless.

“ When I resolved to come home, I foolishly supposed
that my task would not be a difficult one. It presents
itself now to me in a very different aspect. I realize the
difﬁculty of the task, and I see no way to its successful
accomplishment. Even ifIdiscovered Charles Davi e,
I‘should scarcely know what to do. He must, if he 6
alive, he an old, man by this time, and beyond my
father's bare word, ’I have no atom of proof. But is not
that sacred assertion of innocence sufﬁcient for me?
Would it not' be sumcient for you? But who would
take My word now? 'Who would listen to me i That
you will really stand by me as you so generumlide-
clared, I do most sincerely believe; but if you don ted
my truth or my mther's innocence, I would rather that
you, like the others, should renounce me.

" Forgive me for the apparent inconsistency of my
words. I think'that no greater grief has ever fallen u -
on a man than has fallen upon me to-night. You a
not know all. My dearest hope is shattered, I fear.

“It occurs to me that I can give a distinct urpose to
my letter, " I shall not see , . Rigtby or ura for a
little while-perhaps never again. could not meet
and converse calmly with the old man while he ’be-
lieves in my father’s guilt. Is it not incredible that he
should entertain this belief? But although he fell 01$
from his brother, and follOWed the fashion of other men
in raising his voice against the innocent, there was one
—-—thank God! there was one—who clung to my father
through evil as she had done through good report, and
whose faith in him was never shaken. I refer to my
mother. She loved my father, and was true to him.
The story is a strange and romantic one, and I should
wish Mr. Rigby to hear it from your lips. He was well
acquainted with her when she was a girl, but I think he
does not know what became of her. When my father
was unjustly convicted and sent into penal servitude,
he and this dear Creature were engaged to one another.
I am telling you the story now as my father has told it
to me more than once, with tearflu voice and over"
charged heart. A day for thelrman'lage hadbeen ﬁxed,
and he were loom forward to it with hope and love.
Before hat , day ved, my father’s career in this
country mutated. In his sell, my father's thoughts,
day and night. were all of her. Did she believe him to

be guilty? ‘Wlwt would become of her if he was com.

vioted ? ﬁllould he ever hold her in his arms 1
Ah. dear friend, I know how he suffered! Goal you
baseboard ulna Mellie story you would have felt
very tender toward him. On the day of the trial, he
dreaded and hoped to see her in court; she was not

 
Mrs. Chappell did not allow:

 
there. ' She afterwards told him that she strove .hard'tci
obtain admittance, but failed. , , v, I “ ;

':I pass over the sto of the trial; thelyinggevidence’
Was ‘g’iv‘en‘, the unjus verdict was pronounced. and
sentencewas passed. The ship my father; ,as sent out“

, to the colonies in he deacribed as leaky an, rotten, and v

on the day he stepped on board of her, and cg its con«'
dition. he rayed fervently that it might go {own‘and
put an e I tohis misery. What stung him more than’
all was that his brother should believe him guilty, and.
that the little girl he loved should desert him. . As he'
and the other prisoners Were driven on board.
like a ﬂock of dangerous cattle, chained to each other,
he looked wistfully and v anxiously about for . her.
ihce,and not 'seeing it, so “deep a despair settled upon.
him that it was a mercy he did not gonad. He prayed.
that hemight die—prade mightily, with all  heart.
and sou‘l‘that the morn 5 light ’would ﬁnd hill). death:
Let me here relatean incident. which. I , fatheroft'en‘
dwelt upon. He was chained, to a com ct; w 0 was,;
justly punished, being, according to his own'contfesaion,
a cold-blooded villain. The man had  born in
crime, and had lived a life of crime. My father. witha
distinct intention in hls'rmind tom? for.death,;§tro_vey
to kneel i but he. could ‘not' kneel w thin“ thatcnsent;
of his companion, being chained to him,” poringr
panion resisted. My, father was the strange , and pulg
led him down»; and one prayed while the other-durum.
" The ship that was taking them . o twee ‘t Lug out,
also a German, surveying party, ‘ 0 been}!  “e,
saloons, andwhohad stewards ands lash-b9 s  w 1;;
upon them. ' When the ship hadme U tith , ,‘ 1- four;
weeks one of the stewards spoke tomyfatheiv n mad ‘
as though he would like to enter into conversation ;,
my father turned from. him. and refusedto snot/er him...
He said that, at that timehe had made up his mind never .
again to hold friendly cenverse with any ofjiis species;

I

In such dire'straits men must often .make' strange re»,
solves. But my father’s lips were unsealedby ‘a cir—.

, cumstauce which rendered his life on board‘smﬁewhat j.

more tolerable during the remainder; of"
Not only ameng the convicts but amo

were there some dangerous ohm-ac , an ace bande,
ed themselves together’in a plot to murder 1; 6 Captain.

and the survey party and seize the ship. . That thecon- '

the passage. ‘
the sailors. ,

‘ spiracy would have succeeded but for my'fath’er‘ there

is no reason to doubt. He waited for a favorable opp
portunity to reveal the plot, and when it arrived be
dragged his companion by main force to the ca, lain,
and told what he knew. The danger was averte , and
my father was taken from the convicts. and had a bet-
ter berth assigned to him, and was better cared for. I
think this saved my father’s reason ; his self-respect

was restored to him, and he found he could; still (be of I

use. '

" And now comes the sin ular ‘ t of the star ., My
father dreamed one ni ht t at t, egir‘l. he lay came/
and bent over him an kissed him. He awokein great
agitation, thinking for a moment that it wasnot 15-;
earn ; he saw nothinggo convince him to theoontmy.’
and he passed the who of the n, tt of her.
The ship “same menths reaching, ts de’stina on, and
then my, father dreaded that the real actual misery of,
his life would commence. But within a week he was’
allotted as a servant to. a newlyarrived settler, and he ,
was taken with his papers to the log but which his
master had built. How often has my father spoke of‘
this wonderful day! The first person he saw was his.
new master, who proved to be the steward who had
spoken to him on board ship, and whom he hadrepulsed. , .
and ‘the ﬁrst thin the steward did was to take offhist
whiskers and bear Then my father saw thatthia man -
was his girl’s father. ' 4 ‘

“ You can almost guess the rest. Mice—thatwas my
dear mother’s name—and her father hadcome out in "
the same ship asrthe convicts her father as a stem .
ard, Alice as a cabin-boy. They had to beieamful
on board ship, and not disclose themselves, lion-my fa- :
ther's sake. If the truth had . leakedmuhtherer'wmild:
have been t difﬁculty in getting him allotted to
them as the r servant. The next minute my mother»
appeared, and thus strangely and under such adverse :
circumstances the lovers were united. What myfathbr
thought was a dream on board ship was a reality; my .
mother, in her boy's clothes, actually went to him
while he was asleep and kissed him. She and her father 9
watched over this cruelly wronged man during the
whole of that sad time.-

“ Do you think that a man capable of inspiring such
love and devotion could have been guilty attach a
crime? My father’s life was irreproachnblHH who
knew him loved him; and when he died no man in the
South Sea colonies was more highlyesteemed. Was
not a life thus spent a sufﬁcient answer to the lyin
char 9 that was brought against him in his youthg
But oved and respected as he was. he was not py;
the stain that rested upon his name poisoned his aye.
It might have been otherwise had my dear mother
lived; her sweet nature and inﬂuence might have
brought permanent peace to him. Ibeheve that it
was chieﬂy for my sake he grieved, and (that the fear
was upon him that he had transmitted to me a legacy
which at some time or other in my‘liﬁs might be used
against me to my shame. ' ‘ s , A » l

“ I leave it to you tomake Laura and 'her father w.
quainted with these details; 1“! right that-they should.
know them. Perhaps it will induce the brother to .
Judge the dead more charitably. Your uuha py friend.

 £11m" -

—-—_—

CHAPTER IV.
m mam or up! 
Tn reputations made "by Mr. em"
enter meat of his guests were so 
dime {at “

o
notary that'the event did not V m
tattoos. For once ins my realizationgm. 7 a.
patlon. The great charm of the ty was 1t. en.
tire absence of formality; everybody was free to “do a.

 
e,

 
I indefatigable in promoting their enjoyment.

I Q 6!.
e. » “ You. have ins

. It awoke

{some Homer. 1

_27

 
he pleased, to come and o as he wished, without awk-
wardness, and to enJoy  in the way that pleased
him best. Mr. Armstrong, indeed, had done wonders,
andhsd proved himself‘a  general. ,
“ It is like something out of a book,” said one.
“Itis regularly, Jelly and Bohemian”. said another.
This last remark became popular, especially among
the young ladies,;who declared that if this was the
kind of life Bohemian! led, they would like to become
Bohemims at once. and forever.- Wherever the guests
wandered, in the house or the grounds, they found
some no its amuse» them. Here were fountains
and gmttoes: here's cave with a gipsy who told for-
tunes; here a theatrical booth. with a dramatic per-
 by. really good actors; and other attrac-
titans, ,w -‘ Jequired seeking out, being.placcd in
asthma-wast nooks and corners: It was» certainly
open torthe objection that it resembled a public
mow ﬁlm 0, Vite entertainment, but the guests
nonmetauno table enough I to pause and discuss
the point; they accepted their host‘s hOBpitallty as
30%;;th was adored, and entered into the spirit
otxt .aifair with. thorough enjoyment. Lady Bae-
hones was critical and aﬂ'able: she saw that such an en-
tertainment could not be 'ven by any but agentleman
biwtm; and having settﬂdithst a certain event was
too 11er _ :family before. the daywas over. was in
estate of big satisfaction. She instructed her eldest
newts behaVe; told her (bums to‘hold 'oﬁ'. just a
,but not sumciently. to jeopardize the, proposal
which Mr. Armstron intended to make; u _ . t
" It is. in pointoigbirthm luminance/f said" Lady
Bamhones to her daughter. " for nobody seems to know
who was the man's father; but he mustrbe enormously
rich Wemmconsoleourselvesrwlth,thaw   ‘,
To the consummation of this important event Lady
cell-examiner ﬁercest energies, “and she was
forever on the trail of Mr. Armstrong, telling her
daughtertolook interesting, and now to stand here,
man'sttﬂtdthere. and wait for the impatient
lover to  had been her daughters
Want that their mother would not allow matters
totahe. er course, but would insist upon
ﬂinging them at the men’s heads. _ And: the men
wouldn’t stand it; she had become a laughing-stuck.
The girls might have married fairly well but for their
mother's cleverness. All the men saw through, her.

Certain bachelors who were in the habit of amusing Bi

themselves by observinﬁrher maneuvers. laughineg
said to one another that . Armstrong would be mar.
tied, before heknew where he was. -

v “Iv-believe.” said one of these heartless bachelors,
-" that she has: Common Prayer-book, turned down at
the rvice, in her pocket, ready to swear
him ” ,

Another continued the theme. ' r

" You now, before these witnesses, say ' I do ' and- ‘ I
will; and do you swear and declare that you will marry
my virgin of thirty-ﬁve, and-that you will endow her
.wlth— By the Lord! let's get out of 'the way. Here
the lswith her virgin, looking for him i”
~ Quite unconscious of the peril which threatened him,
5dr. Armstrong devoted himself to his guests, and was
He was
and Mrs. Chappell was loud in her

rated something entirely new,"
him said “ verybody is speaking with delight

. Theyan ladies say you are a
maouut'ntnontepriste. Ishouldbe maidto'shuese
dashes many matches on will be responsible. one
is a dreadful mount a ﬂirtation going on." I ,

" Then the mothers at lent," - he replied, “ will have
house to be grateml to ms.’ ;

Hrs. Ghappell’s prediction that m. Armstrong would
3.13. .‘the acquaintance of Richard Barton seemed al-
re y ed. homeland was nowhere to be seen.
3““ “3mm  “MW” "iii?" ft. “m
o , more P . won pa for

eggs? remain, after what occurred. Not having been
chlorth make up her mind; she“ resolved to be gum.
edbyeircumstmces. but 45116?th was setided ibr her
by Richard’s absence. For this: reason she was more
stun. usually gracious to the American ' gentleman.
and more favorably disposed than she otherwise
would have been to look leniently open the " presence
of Laura and her tether. he observed that Mr.
Aronstrong paid marked attention to Ianrs, who was
pale and sedated whom no eﬁ‘ort. on his part could
sense to r 11. Laura, indeed. Was suifering very
keenly. When the blow had ﬁrst fallen upon her she
thought that its bitterness would be lessened by time,
but up to the present she had iailed to realize that
slope. She had not seen Richard since the n ht of Mrs.
Oha poll's party, but Mr. Armstrong had fai fully ful-
 the» task imposed upon him, and had read Rich-
.u'd’s letter to Laura and her father. Hurriedly and
nervously written as it was. it made a deep impression
upon both, and their tears i'reei as they heard
the son’s onerous vindication ofhis d father’s honor.

in the old man's mind the love which he had
borne toward his brother; it recalled. with something of
their old sweetness, the memories ofsunny da 3 in his
until, 1: in theoompanionsiup of the man slaved:
it down: into a reconsideration of his belief in his
brother’s guilt, and he felt that his own lite would have
been mind he been able to believe in his inno-

sntirely successtu
rais

was no room to doubt Richard’s truth :‘

£18” Wthatevery word the oung man had written
all? from mixﬁl'ﬁd that htigd in the land to which
a” ’ I! ‘ . , res c ‘
he 13d bosom exiled as he?“ been in England bolero
“9 “page was brought against him.

The canola words of Bichud’s letter merlett
the old man's r a: a rel-hap- it will induce the bro-
‘Wtdlsegsnie dead more charltsblg." Had be in.
mm Wtsbh and not to i- 0 dead through
WWI”? Ins tongue notbeen silent. To
h'Wv-tﬂtr.mtroag. to bison daughter,

other had madehlm- ‘

 
he had, then. viliﬁed the man whose suﬁ'ering soul was
now at rest. It he hsdju ed unjustly, what numerit-
ed torture had he indie , uponhimeelt—whst cause-
less shmevhnd darkened his days 1 But the reﬂection
that most deeply pained ; him was this -: Supposing
Richard’s father to have been innocent, what must have
been the nuibrtunste man's feelian toward his broth er,
his nearest of kin. the one who should have been true
,to him in his great grief, but—who Ideserted him when
most he needed and most deserved comfort and. sup-
port? “Conscious of his innocence.” thought Bigby,
“ how bitterly he must have felt towards me! How he
must have despised me! _ And n03?» he is, dead, and;
live uni‘orgiven for my crime.” It..qu a I to con.
demn the innocent ; his brother’s indignant denials of
the charge came back to ,him_ with terrible Juice, and
seemed to bring conviction with them. Mr. Armstrong
saw the old man’s misery, and led him gently to un-
burden himself, but he co uld give Rigby no consolation.
Even when Rigby eagerly pressed him to say whether
he believed in the innocence ongichard's father, Mr.
Armstrong did not express, himself ‘Clearly., ,

“ In such a case.” he said, {‘9v9ry (man must decide
for himself. His judgment depends upon his own na-
ture and character, upon his sympathies, upon whether
he is prone to believe, upon whether. rheps in other
ways his faith has been shaken. The Richard Barton
is thoroughly sincere in his belief is certain, but then
all his sympathies are enlisted in the case; and besides.
he is naturally generous, and prone .totake the side of
the weak against the strong.”- ,  ‘ . . . , a

" Laura suffers with .me," said .Bigby; " you have
goticied how sorrowful she has been growing these last

cw s." . ., . , H _ '

“ Yes,” plied Mr. Arnistrong, . gravely; “ I;hsve
noticed it.” i

, “ Yet you do not know the extent of her sud‘ering. «1‘

have striven to induce her to open her heart to me,
but she will not do so. Last night I stood at, her bed-
roomdoor tor many minutes, and heard.- her sobbing.
Eben?l called to her, she was silent. Can nothing be

as (’7! s

“ We must wait. and hope. What do you suppose
would restore Laura to happiness?"

“ To remove the cloud which hangs over her cousin
—to prove my brother an innocent man.”
“ It is difﬁcult—so dimcult that I do not see a way.
chard was oversanguine when he came to England
upon such a mission. 80 many years have passed—the
man, who sudered, justly or unlustly, is dead—no
proofs exist—no
be obtained. , ' are is not an honest lawyerin, the
.country whp would take thecase in hand; and . even it
one could be found, no_ 00d and would be served. “I
have said, we must wai and hope." , , , .
 Upon'llaura.lliohardfsletter mad-can impression of a
diner-entkind. She had. asked Mr. nmstrong to leave

the letter with horror), day or two, and she read it »

so often that she could have repeated it word for word.
Her thoughts dwelt almost solely upon the truth and
constancy of the women who had loved Richard's father.
Loving him, she had sacriﬁced every thing for him.
She had stood iearlessly before the world, saying,
“ You have declared him guilty; I know him to be
innocent.” -’ ﬂhe had given that wounded heart the
shelter of her faithful love; it was true womanhood,
true heroism. “ I am not capable ofsuch an not of sac-
riﬁce,”- thought Laure. “ Richard hasheard that I am
engaged to be married to Mr. Armstrong: he contracts
my conduct with that or his mother, and he despises
me.” .I‘rom certain hints drop .by ﬁre. Bangle,
Laura more than suspected that lcha‘rd‘ believed she
had loved him, and, continuing her and musin‘ , she
said toherself that he would” think she hsdj r-
ately played with his feelings, and, had east him off
becauee'oi‘ the disgrace which was attached to his
name. And yet how‘ proud she would be to share it 1
She longed, yet dreaded, to see him. She doubted, if
she odered him her sympathy, whether he would
believe in her sincerity. Sheteared even to mention
Richard's name to Mr.Armst1-ong. least he should dis-
c Jver her secret. « , -

.._———-—

CHAPTER V.
man BEAUMOW mass A season.

Tun course of our story leads us to a pretty and
somewhat retired spot inthe gardens. where a party,
composed of Lord Beaumorrls, Mrs. Chappell, Mr. Arm.
strong. and some half a dozen others, had been 
The guests were in the fullheight of enjoymen .
There was dancing in the largest room or the house,
where a famous bmd was stationed. Night was coming
on. and the lamps in the gardens were lighted; The
attraction ofa fountain where illuminated waters were
pllaying had drawn away a large number of the guests,
an the table around which Mr. Armstrong and his
friends were seated was in comparative privacy. Avail.
ing himself of this privacy. Lord Beaumorris did, for
him. an un recedented thing.

“ I take vantage," said t e old lord, rising, “of the
absence of conventionality—so necessary an element.
in all priyate gatherings—but so charmingly conspic-
uous here—by ts absence—to ask you-4s a particular
favohfavor—to charge your asses."

His request being compile with. Lord Basements
absolutely msdea speech. ‘ g V

lie was he said. insg‘lred by the m Meant and
glued  of _ air host's. gen, man 

ends in he was rend to  he bowed in
a courtly manner of . Armstron  grim
was at cocoa cut , suds. plenum. Itvm unusdal. he
was awareyb t. be relied upon their  {all
their s , y to, excuse himdf thereunder-ed e
was com thrash-each Mm,mnm. Esdt’heir
host been an shangentlsmsn he, méght "

ha, _ hesi-
tated, but the ha y opportunity Ghoul notbemow
to 311901"  ﬁlm“) which

pets from which astartingrpolnt can Av

. unders
.chb she wished to seed roofiis moral the
produced by a strongly oling will

 
2

Mr. Armstrong had the, proud privileges! being a citi-
zen—he referred, of-course, to Monica. While he ex-
pressedrhis admiration of the happy thought which
made this delightful gathering so diﬁsrent iron: all
other delightful gatherin he expressed also the hope
that the which—quoting from a song he had heard
in his you -—has braved a" thousand years the battle
and the 'bre‘eZe, and the ﬂag'g'raced, with the emblem

'of stars and stripes, would always wave side by side in

peace and concord. , I , _ ,
Comingnom any lips on‘such an occasion, these sen-
timents would have been we'll received; coming from
such a personage as Lord Beaumo‘rris,’ their reception
was enthusiastic. The toast was drunk with cordislity,
and Mr. Armstrong brieﬂy expressed his acknowledge—
ments. . ' ’ ; 'L ‘  
‘ ‘“ How eloquently you expressed all on:; feelings, 11;
lord i” said Mrs. Chappell, as the little party me
from the table. “Ah, what a happy privile e itisz
be a man, if only for the purpose of being flowed to
speakas you have done.” ’ v v a ',  '~
‘fThe happiest privilege,” replied Lord Beaumorrli,
gently, ‘1' a man—that is, agentlem‘an possedhesJ—m
:- madam-4s the being allowed—to pay devotion g
the sex—without whose presence we should ' v L, ‘
nothing at allﬁ", And Lord Beaumorris really lookedas
if kg 1though}: 1;: had 831d something ver Iwise. adj;
“ , my‘ 0 l" si r ed ers. C appe , respon ’
for her sex, and making a profound courtesy. ' ‘ 
“ I cannot sufficiently,” said Lord Beaumoi'ris, tum-
ingm‘to Mr. Armstrong, andi looking around upon the
an ated scene, “ express my admrrstion of this gather-
ing. There is a—a—a halo—ii I may be allowed to'usb
thetermuabout it—which rendersit pleasant to a do»
lightful—delighti‘ul degree." - - . " ~ ""
‘ “A very novel part of the entertainment is to come,
my lord,” remarked Mrs. Chap ell. r it"s”
“ Indeed, my dear madam, in eedl” - ‘ . A v.
* “Mr. Armstrong has promised to give us some 
of his powers as a mesmerist.” . '«v 
_ Mr. Armstrong could not avoid looking annoyed at
this reference; he had given no farther thought to the

matter. . , , .
” Ishall be deli hted," said Lord Beaumon‘is.‘ “5 
"I thought,” 8 (I Mr. Armstron , addressing himself

to Mrs. Chappell, “ you had forgot u that", ‘  '.
“ Forgotten apromisei And I a woman-l" ' ' 
"They‘do sometimes‘forget, do they not?” _ ’ ’

“ As the lawyers say, they reserve apoint.” {they 
ibrget when it does not lease them to remember.",

“You can scarcely c it a promise. You extras
“from me under compulsion. and as IhaVe inno w

mental reserve on." - ,.

mm. Chap'pel shook her head. 'Mr. Armstrong en-
deayored to chan e the subject; 1 ' ’ s

" Mr. Chappell as not come yet, has he '9"

“He sent me a note saying it was an important day
with him, and that he woui' be late. But indeed,'ins
deed, I will not be diverted from the subject." '

“Let it drop, I beg of you." .. .

“No,” replied Mrs. om pen, with remarkable perti-
naticy; “ I intend to insis upon the fulﬁllmentofyour
promise. My lord, I appeal to on. When agentlemm
gives}: promise, however ligh ly, should he not per-

orm l " ”

“ Undoubtedly, my deu- msdsm—undoubtedly.” .

"Unless," said Mr. Armstrong, “ the lady or gentle-
113:1? whom he unwittingly gave the promise releases

m can“ or Becomes
e y e won ave van a oe '
honor, “ he is absolved certainly." ' , w, ,
“But I do not absolve you,” said ﬁrs. 
pleasantly. “We ladies like to exercise our powerwhssi
we havethe opportunity." ‘ I ' ' ’
Mr. Armstrong was nettled at her pertinacity, but a
had the good breeding to conceal his annoyance. _
was not aware that Mrs. Chapp’el had privately in—

.fomied two of her most distinguished lady friends who

were present that Mr. Armstrong had,“ her earnest
solicitation, consented to ive some exhibition of the
power which she persists in ascrib to him." .~
" Remember, my dear madam,"eal Mr. Armstrong,
" that I lay no claim to bein a mesmerist. When I
have spoken of the subject—4v ichtshutrarcl swim
merely stated thatI have some sort of a of in it.
You give me credit for what I do not in the least do-
serve." "
“You are too modest.” I . ,
“You iorget that Iam an American." 4 , , ‘
“And cannot resist the temptation o! turning the
shaft of ridicule even against Errol; I romeo to
release you irom your promise. most of my sex,
the more didiculties there are in the way the more I am
resolved. Mr. Armstrong is quite a magician. my

lord."

“ I might startle you."

“That convinces me," said Mrs. Chappell, with an
agreealilehslmile, slitting her guitar at, him. “that you
are no ennous our e 0 our w ,
am in the 1181006. to be sigma." _ y 9° em I

Lord Beaumorrls. by this tline. had become intercom
in *ii“l?§h‘.§ifi‘ '11 said, a th t

“ o n B.‘ ‘ e a on
our faiririend. Will you be kind engughﬁom

ulte

the matter to me? I do not quitej 

it. Didlnotread—some $316.80: 0 “1'14, *
to a 1.339353%?” mu”, 01' own he!!!

-_ . , wo - ,

sir-chair. ‘ wall 1" a“? tad though sh.

“Those are the stories and tricks etch-ﬂatter,

lord, which dupes are led tobelieve in. rig?- M

Ismsumﬁoea not believe me capable was
in such mammary. As I ' tend, the m at
m; “’3‘
e
weak or disturbed mental condition of another .
Given. circumstances favorable to such In «sum;

prepared, for it, I am" sufﬁciently i‘esuit’ical to plead a '

 
"3
at

 
' an arch smile.

. 0539‘“

 
:8

mm rumor:

 
t g .
his is not very didlcult of accomplishment. In a more 1
, or less

powerful ‘ almost over person can be

" But then my guests must not see you sad and, mel-
’mcholy. I should like them to see you looking bright

degree so
im seed. To that extent I am a be ever, but I should and a

If an nity

to edge myself farther.
lipindeavor to oblige Mrs. Dhappgﬂ."

no are
odorsti

' "lend if it does not oﬁer," said Mrs. Chappell, "you
{must really make one beiore the night is over." ‘

Kr. Amt shrugged his shoulders; he felt that
it would ‘ he one an ungracious to continue the
en ‘t. It's. Choppeli came close to him.

" angle? require a friend " she said soitly.

lie loo at her inguirin ly.

"Not tor yourself, ' contlnued Mrs. Cheppell. with

“ For some one else, perhaps.

a " I do not understand you."

She tapped his arm with her fan reproachi‘ully.

"You should conﬁde in me. Very little escapes en
observi'ant lady‘s eyes. What makes that young lady
so sad "

She pointed to Laura, who was sitting ‘alone. with
her hands cleaned in her lap, and her eyes toward the

8”.
"I ask you because I have noticed you have paid her
masousyfttentiou. Have you really lost your
ere

Mr.
Ithad lct intention to intro uoe Laura
.8 his intended wife to Mrs. Ohappell, and, through
that lady, to make it known to his guests; but some-

had held him back. ‘

" would it be received,” he asked, “ it it were so
We are speaking in rtect conﬁdence now." Mrs.
nodded. “ . atweuldsoeiet say?" ,

t, you will regulmstriend. {ady Barebonss
would furious. But it seen: so i”

“ You shall know berm the, night is over. - In the
memtime"——~ ,

" In the meantime I am discretion itself. I have two
things to look forward to now. ' Will you give me your
“mum, mm” b a La Sh a t

. rose e um. estarte almos
will: as he .333 before her. She had not been
- of him. The night was very lovely. soft

strains of music hosted from the ball-room.

"Does nothing here give you pleasure, Laura ?"

Her e as ﬁlled with tears at the, tenderness at his
tone. e was in that state of tremuious sensitiveness
that a kind word was sumcient to arouse emotion
within her.

" When I planned this entertainment,” he continued,
“I was Very anxious to know what you would think or
“this orthat. But nothing seems to interest you. I am
airsld my labor has been thrown away."

,“ Not thrown away,” she said gently. “ There is
not s person here who does not appreciate your shorts.
hither? enjoying themselves as much as you could
w .’ .

" All but one," he rejoined, in atone as gentle as her
'ewn. “ Ishould be content to see trowns on m
faceii’l could see a smile on ours. I have been
a magician tonight. I we d I were one, for then I
not ht be able toexercise my art to make you cheerful,
“in coin-in the roses to your -Cheeks. Perhaps you
hate not 3 , learned to fully trust me. Believe me,

 there is nothing in my power I Would. not do to '
, nukeyou happy." ' ‘ ' '- 7 gr
"Jam not worthy ogour goodness," she said, hold-

ing out her hand to h
f Ray, nay  -
"be not think me ungrateful. I am not well-I have
mot—been well since that dreadiul night; I get tired so
soon. But you must not be anxious about me.” I
"Since that dreadful ni ht,” he repeated. “ Your
tetherhes told me how you ave suﬂ‘ered. Is there any-
thinxjn your mind in connection with that night that
I oughtto know. Be frank with me, my dear;
She could not, she dared not, open her heart to him.
" It grieves me to believe "—-— “ But she paused, and
hon her head.
' “. , 'oogmy dear."
," It grieve: me to believe that people will think
Thousands a mistake "-4 Again she feltered.
"itmillnut street to misunderstand you. That Iheve
mad; i mistake in asking you to be my wife ?” 4
" es." ~
His-countenance brightened. “ I know that I have
made no mistake. What shall you and I care for what
. ople believe, so lon as we believe in each other?
y, my dear,” he said with animation, “ if you felt
the slightest uneasiness on that account, we three-you,
your father, and I—-w0uld settle in America after we
were married; We can be as happy there as here-
happier, perhaps. In a new country your lather would
her new manyIcan realize what a weight would be
Jilted tremble heart if he moved among people every
one of whom would be glad and proud to shake hands
"with him, for his own sake and mine. You did not
know that I have land and a house on the Hudson,
1 where theecenery is at once the grandest and the most
lovely in the world. It is the house in which I was
thorn, and‘my family is honored and respected there;
Om‘fi'lendswould cluster around us, and give a hearty
welcome to my En lish wife: and we Would live our
hives there peacefn y and happily. I see it all, and you
have but tosogghe word. I know what your father's
"ensue!" forum if the progosition were made to him,
{ “a $031,133er he would e to bid good-bye forever
:to the‘plooe in; which he has passed so many unhappy
~years.’f;v He spoke like a be ; the prospect was, indeed,
‘Ia'pleaesnt one to him. " his isno dream that I an:
“indulginginﬁﬂ‘lﬂ; say that you would like it to be
reality, d we will make it so. h! heart glows as I
users or t. But we can talk over ,is soberly by-snd-
.by.‘ that us come back to the recent. With regard to
ﬁrm “ "it Would say. than t in my mind to make

you

get public twilight. but it occurs to me

  
do so? , r
.3, any; @‘mwu it pleases you.“

x.

h .'
“ I wl’lll strive to be cheerful."
She called up a smile to her face; he regarded her

.dued when he spoke again.
v “ I have only your happiness at heart, child. You
are thinking}, perhaps, of your cousin."

£151 have t ought much of him," she said, almost in a
w .
' " i it will comfort you in any way, let me assure
you I have not (matter: my promise to him. This
very day a step has on taken in the direction that
he wished. I ask but this—let there be no cloud be-
tween yon and me, no doubt. no mistrust.”

 
Armatro scarcely knew what re 1 to make. an,“
beenyhisnsstix pg

paper caused him to pause. ~

" The last edition of The Moon, sir," said the man,
“ and some letters which I was told to give you at
once."

Mr. Armstrong Opened one of the letters, the writing

on which was familiar to him, and read : “ I have fol-
lowed out your instructions. Today I have closed my
account with Mr. Chappell's bank.” Then he glanced
hastily down the columns 0! TM Moon. and a peculiar
e came to his lips. -
" I must leave yen, Laura he said, " Ah, here is our
friend. Mrs. Fsugle." Recalled to her. " Mrs. Fangle,
come and see what you can do to drive melancholy
from our bird here. I give her into your charge; I will
return in a few minutes."

“ A little this way, my dear,” said Mrs. Fangle to
Ilium. with a cautious air. “ There’s that dreadful
Lady Barebones—no, she has turned oii‘, than]: good-
nein She is following Mr. Annetrong. my dear, he is
here. You know who.

enticman i it wasI who deceived him; I told him you
cued him”—— i ,

“ Hush!” interrupted Laura, with an entreoting mo-
tion of her hands. “ Do not torture me, Mrs. Fangle,
if you love me i”

“ You know I love you, my dear. Torture you. after
all your kindness to use! But he has been kind to me,
too—it“ you knew all he has done for moi Poor dear!
Be is so heart-broken that I could not tell him the
fresh trouble that has fallen upon me." 4

" A fresh trouble, Mrs. Bangle! The world seems
mu of nothing but unha iness."

" I have found it so. on on come to my age, I
hope your cup will not be so {u of sorrow as mine is.
But there! we must hope for the best. I didn’t come
'here to speak of myself. Mr. Barton is determined to
see you. It isn't for me to interfere, but I must say I
think he has been badly treated. He asked 'me to give
you this note."

Laura took the» note mechanically, and with a sob
which she could not suppress turned from Mrs. Fan-
gle, and left‘thst worthy woman standing alone, in a
state of utter amazement.

4.....—

OEAPTER VI.
am. Imam: ruins umsnnr Ill a morhsn‘rosrnon.

Ir Mrs. Fangle’s amazement had found expression in
, words, she would have soliloquized in the following
- fashion: _ , - > .

" I can't make it out. The whole thing is in a tangle,
and everybody appears to be playing at cross-purposes.
If ever a woman was led to suppose that a girl loved a
man, I was led to suppose that Laura loved Mr. Bar-
ton. It was as lain as a pikestaﬂ, and everything
seemed to be sett ed and likely to go on as merrily as
marriage-bells. I tell him she loves him, and he is
ready tojump out of his skin for joy. I tell her that
he intends to pro cue to her, and no girl in the world
could look. hspp er. Then all of a sudden, within a
few minutes. everything is at sixes and sevens, and the
poor young fellow is as good as Jilted. There is some-
thing oiug on betWeen‘ Laura and Mr, Armstrong, but
Laura as not conﬁded in me; and when I have gently
intimated that I would like to‘know, I get no satisfac
tion. Mr. Armstron is as cod a man as ever wore
shoeleather, but he sn‘t to 6 compared to the other.
He is rich; so is the other. He is a gentleman ; sois the
other. There they are equal enotﬁh. But Mr. Barton
is a handsome youn fellow, and 1‘. Armstrong is old
enough to be his other. Why should she prefer Mr.
Armstrong, then, when I know—yes, I am conﬁdent of
it—thet she loves Mr. Barton '1’ He called her his‘ Bird;'
that sounds plain. I can't make it out. Does the girl
know her own mind, or doesn't she—or are girls dif-
ferent nowada s to what they were when I was a girl?
I am afraid t ey are—I am afraid they are. The world
isn’t-as good as it was. But I have enough troubles of
my own, I am sure, without bothering myself about
the troubles of others. I don’t know which way to turn.
Thinge‘have come now to such a pass that it would be
a mercy if I could go to sleep, and not wake up again.
But, then, what would the poor children do? It isn't
their fault, the innocent desrs! Since Fahgle went
away this afternoon abeilii‘l’ has been put into the house
torrent. What am I to do? There’s the man sitting
at home. there, with his pet of beer and his pips, an

.the children crying, and al the lodgers threatening to
leave. I told Tangle, weeks and weeks ago, that he
must give me some money for the landlord and he told
me, as usual; to wait for his invention. ill
Where does he keep it? I've never seen it. What is it

’.all about? Nobod knows, and Fangle won’t say. He
keeps on' saying bet “he can't e that little screw
right. I wonder if everybody int e World has a lime

'screw that he cent at right—tilts.

comes, looking“ it, had ten thousand a, car.”

 
eveno’right to do so withoutyour sanction.

At this p at, other musings. and wind e she’va
 hereyes. forehehad worked herself into ssts
¢.,cin1neirvseu°rumuwh Mateo. .d were

r

   
The appearance oi a servant with letters and a newsn.

He wants to see you. ’l’oot| '

we.
" No, Fangle."

s intention 1’

We! Here he betWeen _ x dinsry- as, , ,’ he,
turned white, he trembl and seems £1: ‘ he
ﬁisndm - of; 6"

 
her, with a paper in his hand—his favorite paper. The
“  Fangle 1" he exclaimed, romantically. " In
Mrs. Fangle, not being able to and her voice, went on

with earnest attention, and his voice was more sub- crying

“ Good heavens, madam!" blustcred Mr. Fangle.
“ What would people say if they saw you t” .

" I—I don't know, Fangle," gasped the little woman.

" You don't know 1‘ But I do know. They would say
Fangle has been ill-treating his wife. Think of that,
madam."

He looked virtuously and star-hilly indignant. Meek.
ness itself when absent tom the domestic nest, he was
a. perfect tyrant in it. This dual character, in the
aspect here presented and its op te, is played suc
cessfully by many of our scquain ances. And yet Mr.
Fangle considered himself one oi the bestof husbands,
and he had so so. ed Mrs. Bangle that she never

dared to say in his presence what she had been heard to.

say in his absence—that she couldn't call. her soul her
own while Fangle was in the house.

“My character is at stake, madam.” he continued.
“ Dry your eyes, and look pleasant before any one
comes. If you don't do it instantly, lie-I must run
away." ‘

He would have put his throat into execution it His.
Fangle had not mustered courage to lay hold at his

coat-tail.
"I can't help it, I e,"»she said. "I can‘t look
assent it I don't reel t. Ion don't know whet
occurred at home.’

bumoddown‘t"

Mr. gangle put his hand before his mouth, and stiﬂed
con . i
“ Isgthst all i" he exclaimed, with assumed Wet-

" No. e-no, Eagle 1” heith “Uh can‘t
you speak y, instead otdri it out 1 t it's
your way—it always was your way.
dribblsr. You're enough to m a saint, “Tangle.
With what I have in my head. can]! be! ted‘to
worrymysolsaboutthesesrnallmattm! worthe
invention. The landlord has called for his 
Is that a cause tor tears ? You told him to wait, of
course.”

“ Yes, Fanglc.”

“ And he promised to wait, of course.”

“No, Fangle. He said he had called so anonymous
that he would be—you know what, Jingle—if huddled
again. He brought a man with him, and saidtm the
same way as before) that he wouldn't wait snot
hour. He went away, and left the man." .

Mr. Fangle stared at her. v

“ The mantras a bailiff, Fangle."

“Abailiﬂ'l Gracious powers l“ But did
to prevent this-this inconvenience?” t“ Dis
the ﬁrst word that occurred to him, but he substituted
“inconvenience ” as less 0 actionable). " mayors not
tell him about the inven can-and that throws: only
one little screw— 2” ’ ., '
"I did, Fangle; I begged and implored his; not to
put the man in. I’ll all you exactly what, he said.
‘I'll wait another week,’ he said, ‘if you will given.
an idea what Mr. Fangle’s' invention is like. I have
heard him say ’—-the man’s own words, Fangle~' I
have heard him say that it will bring in, millions some
day; butI can't wait so long ISiWs; Still,“ such
a big. thing I don‘t mind waiting anotherweeh, it you
will give me an idea to live upon.’ “What could I say to
that, Fengle? I don’t know what the‘invention is, any
more than the man in the moon. And when Ian‘swersd
that I couldn’t tell him, he said that—that "——- .- '

“ That—that what, Mrs. Fangle I" cried Ir. Eagle,
glaring at his wile. " This is no time for‘stlittering l”

" I am afraid to tell you what the man satd,.Iangle."

“ Tell it. madam, tell it." And his. Wield“ his

arms sternly.

"Don't be with me, Faugle. He said he be!
lieved you were azliumbug, my dear, and he didn’t be-
lieve a word about that little acre .” r

A gull)? look shot into Mnangle’s eyes; but stillhs
contriv to say, with acompoenre in his manner which
he strove to make stately : ‘ '

“ He called me a Humbug l" -

" Yes, Fanglez” . . - ‘

Mr.“Fangle drew a deep breath, after the manner or
one who has received an indignity. and who has no
means of resenting it.

“ And you permitted it i"

l " What could I do,*Fangle ? I have begged of you to
let me have some money for the rent-and there are
the children running about almost barefoot ”---

“Money. madam. money!" exclaimed Mr. Faugle.
looking arod‘nd to make sure he was not overheard.
" Money is not the question. Is it possible that when
this—this person said I wasa Humbug. you did not ask
him how he dared—yes, dared, Mrs. Bangleﬁto vilify a
man of genius, and your husband, behind his back '1'"

“NO. Fangle, I didn’t ask him." . ~

“ And may I inquire, madam.” said Mr» ‘Fmgle. pok-
ing his head forward, and glarin atvhis wife more in.
tensely, “ as your husband and t e father oi your chil.
dren, may I inquire why you didn’tnsk him g?"

" Because, Fangle." replied Mrs. Bangle. now com-
pletely overcome, and in. sheer deepen on speaking
what was in her mind. “ Willie. Finglo-Zk-beginn-to
--sus ect—«that—the—man—w‘ssvnrl ht." ,

An then, afraid of what would low this deems.-
tion of treason, Mrs. Dangle ﬂed. ' r

The edector' her words n . our. Fannie—distilled”
theywem. onerbr one. like» “.6: drops. with a. use

' esch-wes . e tract "
38.2.?!) 33;?“ Elm“ him. fie w, , est. Imme-

ist c. y 'ore im,.ou a 129 s  gm 4-01,“.
seating, a with $149 ﬂours airmen, 

i
i
i
3
i
i

youanot try a
v” was

 
29

 
with outstretched arm. and mocking linger. There we
an ugly grin on the countenance of the statue, and Mr.
Faugie, unconscious of the appropriate expression,
looked str ht into the face of the satyr, and uttered
these remnr his words i

“ SHE ass room) ME our.

u

 
' CHAPTER VII.
039m: comssxos 13 soon run run SOUL. ‘

n » tinged Mr. Fengle, addressing the stone
ﬁmig' nigﬁrit‘e has found me out. I am a Humbug, and
my invention is amyth, little screw and all! I haven’t m-
vented anything. miserable men that I am! If the world
makes the discovery as well as Mrs. Fangle and the land«
lord, I am a ruined man. For the world will iorgive you
for being a Humbug, and if you are successful W11} ad-
mire you for it; but it will never forgive you for
beih found out. That is the world's morality. The
haul is in the housel I mustget‘some money, some-
how. But howuhow—how? ” The grin on the
set '5 {we seemed to broaden, and to become more
disgrted as Mr. Fangle gave utterance to his perplex-
ity. “"What is the meaning of the advertisement in
to-nights Moon offering a reward of ﬁve hundred
pounds for information concerning Charles Davidge?
Five hundred pounds 1 A fortune! Now I know who
Charles Davidge is, and if the advertisement 18 not a
hoax, I might earn the money, and with it hoodwmk
my wife, defy the bailiﬂ‘. and snap my ﬁngers in the
landlord's-face? What does the advertisement say?’
He referred to thepeper: “ ‘ A. toward of ﬁve hundred
pounds will be paid to the ﬁrst person who Will 1V6
information as :to whethera man, named Charles ev-
ldge, many years ago a. clerk in the bank of Chuppell,
Chappell, and (amnion, is still livingyand where he is
tobe found. Apply by letter, to Vindicator, oﬁice of
this paper.’ Vindicatori who is Vindicator, and what
does he want to vindicate ‘i I have always suspected
that Mr. Armstrong has something to do with The

Moon. Perhaps he knows something about the adver- '

tisemcut, and would advise me."
he was debating whether he should go at

once in search of Mr. Armstrong, that gentleman him-
self appeared. and laid his hand familiarly on Mr. Fun-
gle’s shoulder. -, v 1 s , ' _ ,

“ﬁttidying. iitics, Hr.- Fangle?" ,

" Rom-no, not exactly politics.” "

Being thus taken by surpriseng. Bangle scarcely

knew wtooommence.  - , 
"gig?! I’ what is in your mind ‘2” Mr; Fangle
looked at ‘ a ‘rehe’nsi‘vely. * “Aweightier subject

than politics hi ' it, doubtless. You
been: our your invention." - -
4‘" to

"And _ ow  it reall - getting along, Mr. Fangle?
. Does that litle screw sti refuseto come right?" ,

J it.de leer tookpossession of Mr. Fangle. " Has
he. too,‘i’oundme out? ’ “he thought. “ Would it be ad-
visable to make a clean breast oflt l‘,’ , He spoke cloud,
in his perplexity, ’ comely knowing what he said.
" The footie, Mr. Armstrong, money is wanting, Iam
short-3t;lew have been short, from my cradle up-

was in: muting. With the air ate
it? y e 'e inch: slew of an interesting question
‘ " nyei’purstggdmli‘engle “alwaysare

“   3&0‘0110’2873”  * ' "

are puzzling your

_, ~ ’I _"
‘t H

mm to

        
“Elliot mums be conﬁnedto men of genius.
 nstfbem abundant maulonpposed.” . -. '

'i   position, m.Armstroug.". ‘ .

“Not a novel position to you. I fear.” said Mr. Arms.
strongest}: tech simultaqu of irony in his tone.
soothe doubtth

: .ermstzougehau made the
same discovery“ as;  landlord recurred
“gun ‘30 M13. I l  I' ' r J . "1 '

,‘V‘Unhmeily,’ - , it is not, I have beeniu estate of
lmheounioei‘ty for more years than! would care to
f e.” 11:} thought you would befriending”?
“ileum” regard me as your friend. MrlFangle. in
an reuse 'ew ." '  .

ngianggyéu, gr, thank 3701b Ah. there, 'urerfew
heartsliilzo yours in the world 1 You see 1113,81}; “with,

The lithe lumy hand. A great paper—e madam in pmfoo.‘
The Williusil‘. have adopted this Paper Is their I own.
It is wit in their reach?” ; _ y , ,. 

"Truly. than,” interim ted Mr.‘Armstrong,w1th
ve 3mm, 'i'theohild. g father to the man. Chi].

- ten, _ ou linemcrytocthemoon.”. « . _
Mr. angle laughed... asmas advisable, at Mr. Arm-
strongis'teoettousness§_ \ lie was always ready. to laugh
attue lowest-jokes intern the tongue ofa nah man.

"When you come acroas me. sir. I was reading an ad-.

vertisement' indie Moos. ﬂora itris, sir. A. reward of
,ﬁvehundred pounasm— .  :n ,e, , ., , V ‘ ,

3'1hhvepeen the advertisemen . ~ , » ,

«we arein conﬁdence,M1‘- Armstrong. . I pledge my.
self that wag; images shell, not be divulged by me. I
have, 1me heard that you have an, interest in the
Pillar—99th“ 'ou are in some way connected with it." ,

1"‘1', “tam nuance with the other. if you. mean
that.” . . _ . , . ,,
 that. Nomsirhwho ie,‘Yindicator, and
'  "vertisement for, t o ,
Eglddgé genuine ?, 'I know who Charles Devidge

 up,   ' We suddenly interested. harms
lsuawmm” ' '

‘ . C‘” 'V x L: L

a: m ~ one. an». Perseus W a” “9" 1””
Mm, ._ . . _ v 53,6311. ofthe slightest W
I m ageJntInWBl‘Iﬁa my my hendaonhim at

 
 -  we)" humorous
 m‘mﬁmwﬂ

4 scarcely knewuhow to net: ﬁliouid he my , ‘
V p ‘3 V . .
r muttersbymakingamotion as

discovery of Charles -’

thus.th till  r :' tm selfinto trouble. up
  fwgéertizementis a hoax m

 
t. V . _ 2
? athlete: genius’to be always;
Mime“ ,'

“But ﬁve hundred pounds”---—'

" Is temptinﬁmto~me~3nst now. A man, is occa‘
sicnelly compo ed to be mercenary. That little screw
is still bothering nae—to say nothing of Mrs. Fengle
audthe children.” v, ,

" Of what importance can they be, compared with
the screw ?” . , v

" Of no importance whatever,” replied Mr. Faugle,
hastily, and as hastily correcting himself. “ That is, of
none comparatively.” '

“ It appears, Mr. Fangle, that you would like my ad-
vice in this matter.” '

“ I should, sir—4f you will give it.
your ability 1" _

«“Not to be spoken of in the same breath as yours.
Mr. Fangle.”

“ You ﬂatter me, sir," said Mr. Fangle, 0011111180811“? ;
" you ﬂatter me.” ’

_“ Not at all. How can Iﬂatter you? What am I ? A
simple speculator, a. mere moneydzag. What are you ?
A man of genius, who will soon give to the world the
result of years of thought. No wonder that, under
such circumstance, you are oblivious of wife and
children. What laurels will you earn when you make
your invention known, Mr. Fangle! I have always
thoughtit an injustice that the poet should monopolize
the bay-lea .”

Mr. Fangle listened with no pleasant feelings to this
speech, for it was impossible even for him not to detect
its ridicule'and sarcasm. But at the word " bay-leaf,”
which in his agitation he construed into beiliﬂ", he
:turted back as though a. pistol were presented at his

6 ,

“ The bailiff l" he muttered in dismay. “ I have the
bailiﬂ at home, in possession of m chairs and tables.
The post does not monopolize the ailiﬂ’. I see it all.”

He was no longer in doubt. Mr. Armstrong had
“ found him out,” There was but one course open to
him. He would make a. clean breast of it, and would
throw himself upon Mr. Armstrong’s mercy. He acted
upon his resolution with feverish hate.

” Mr. Armstrong, I want to make a confession."

" But my advice ﬁrst.” interposed Mr. Armstrong.

" No, sir, no. I beg of you ; my confession ﬁrst.”

" As you please. I am all attention.”

" You are c humane mane-you are a rich man. Ah,
what a thing itis to be rich and removed from tempte-
tion 1 You do not know what poverty is, and to what
lengths it drives amen. ' The confession I am shout to
make has been on my li a dozen times, but I hiive not
had the courage to . May I beg you will keep the
secret I am about to conﬁde to you?” ,

“ Certainly): will, if you desire it.” ,

“ You see ' tore you, sir,”eaid Mir. Walnuts“!!!-
ing voice, “a miserable man, with a with and children
in a chronic state of want. ,I pity them, air, but I om
not hel them. Mrs. Fanger has given me the distress:
ing lute igenoe that at th
in my houee.f' . ‘

“I am truly sorry—for your wife and children."

It is for them I feel, not for myself, for I alone am to
blame. The ihct is, sir "—he glanced aroundcautiously,
and approached closer to Mr. Armstrong—" I make the
confession with humiliation~the fact is, sir, I am a
Humbug."

“ A what. to. Fun 1e !" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong,
with an amusedtwin 19 in his 8‘ es. . ' V ’
" A Humbug, sin-«e Humbug! ’ ' , ' L
“.The position was a new one tour. mingle, and new

that he; had“ i unburaeeeo himself of  be

A gentleman of

his handily» clutch at hi heir?  , ‘ ,
I thong: he would test

his  Stir. semen-unmatched im with is cousin

air of chic ‘ "

out. ~ ._ _.
",It, is n, gt, sir,” continued, the sinner. . “ Do"th
despise meal-do not betray nee—~60 not forsaken“; I
donut remember how my inventions ﬁrst emote be
spoken of, butlkuew thatit’ was ﬁrst spoken, of in a
small 'wuy,j~which Woolly, grew into abigjone. .1
traded upOn it, I am .hamed‘tony. ThereWﬂc

_ harm
about it; at ﬁrst, bu j when it was  late I found‘l 

created emonster from which ’I could not  it
will be the ruin of me, sir; 1131838 3,, 8001,” grail $004
luck falls to my share, for I cannot top up he decep-

tion 7 much: longer. ﬂy lendiordhus lost mm in. me,
my wife and you have foundrme out.”l.nd I can we now"
that other ‘v'persous besides yourself must be getting
doubtful ofimy little screw.“ “ ‘ h - ‘ '  ,-
‘Be (lid not one it so unpleasant“ he had anticipated.
It seemed actually usthough a weight were lifted from

his heernd. then, his now of words was a consolation ‘

to him. _ » . .
“You astonish meﬂ’ said Mr. Armstrong. -. . ,
“ When I discovered that I was, as it were, chained to
my monsten-when I- found out that without loss of

' credit and. reputation it was impossible for me toes~

cape i’rom'it, I tried to invent something- Ibougm;
some little magnets, and expemueu‘ted wit " them upon

asmall iron wheel, thinkin ‘1 mightidiscover a new ‘

motor,aor'pjerhapa perpet motion. Persons sew 111
ms. etso-emy monster led me on to exhibit them in at):
011- and manner—and they gave a fatal color to my
professions. I need not tell you I did not discover
perpetual motion, not anything else. It will surprise
you to learn, air. that I am not a clever men.” " ’
“‘,Wonders_ 1 never cease.” said Mr. Armstrong,-
who could nothelp feeling amused at Hr. Fmgle’s
“ I have conﬁded in you, air. and I foelrelteved. see
new,  mmg. as uproot that you do not/entirely
despise me, will youlend me Museum? “glam
tor-my W18._IM give to my wife. expel: Whitman“.
in some measure,- on Imminent. .- r i went . '
ganggahmded :- ahonid not  to loot  

Mir. Armstrong. without    .'

pieo‘eof . _ - u ., ‘ x. ._ .. . _.,
"Ah. ‘ all-th m spoons  pastel
Mirangle‘sdremmnewatmeodﬂ

o

3 present moment a. ban!!! is r

 , 3%.
,, had uotmded msny, habit, I
:mrsmhenhe new  g  
,,have,eyoided the Jones man could, e  i; a
: ha.” i  , t we

teller-r
‘ .himselfintot alooic , and!” ma; '
'goee‘gyfother  

f. _ w “it. unions" %
,‘smokedtebyhxihingthuﬁzom. in which

"Not quite all, perhaps, Mr. Fangle- You have not.
listened to my advice yet." - z r

Mr.Fangle's,manner became more  “Ah,
yes, sir ; about that advertisement.” '

" You want to put the beiliil’ out of the house ‘2 ’s’

“Yes, yes.” _

" And you say you know who Charles Davidge is i" _

“ I am certain I do, morally certammthat is, if such.
an impostor as I can be moi-all any thing.”

“ Very well. Now, listen. 3 advertisement is not
a hoax. Presently, when you, see me, Mr. and Mrs.-
Chappell, Lord Beaumorris, old Mr. Rigby, uni ptllm‘s
together-I will cohtrivo ‘the meetin mpuhlicly y"
claim who Charles Davidge is, and I, wi linsurc you ..._
reward.” - '

“ You advise this seriously '2”

“ Seriously. You will have to take mv cue for the
proper time for the disclosure." _

“ I’ll do it, sir. I will watch my opportunity, an
will do it. You are, indeed, a friend. And then, sir,
then,"'he said, with a. jubilant air, " when I r t the-
ﬁve hundred pounds, no one but ourselves nee know
that I am tie-you know what.” ‘ f

“ No one shall know it from me, Mr. Fengle."

Mr. Fangle rubbed his hands. “ A million thanks...
my more than- benefactor.” -

“Although I shrewdly suspect,” said Mr.Armstrong,
looking around cautiously, in imitation of Mr. Fangle,
“ that it is known to many others as well as ourselves.”

“ You don’t say so i .IL is a mystery how they could
have discovered it. But it does not matter. If I get
themoney, I shall be able to bear the shock. Imnst
go to Mrs Fangle and tell her the grand news.” ,

—-———‘-

\

CHAPTER VIII.
NEWS or was “GOLDEN mm, .

Mn. Futons: went one way in search of his wife, 35:.
Armstrong went another in 86833011 of Laura. The re- ‘
membranes of his young life in his paneuts’ house on
the banks of theHudson-remembrsnces celled u by
gas llast gonvlersetliﬁn fstvﬁth stirred

eep y. et oug o oscpoaoc‘
something of yearning; for he had aim is qui
up his mind to settle again in the, old 'p , otter
marriage. London was ﬁlled with distressin associa- '
tions to Laura. and her father, and they wool be W N V
pier in anew count}: . “I shell is used ﬁo‘it’oﬁerh
while,” he said, “ an shall be a ml to be smitten: ,
the whirl and whim- of the, cured only.” Ea drew
and ictures‘o! the future. whlc immune to
sweet“. on make beautiful. He felt like a boy main,
and his heart lowed with gratitude and 
toward. the whohad brought this sweet loyiaho
hull“. 17a he met Laura 3 had neverindulged V
in, the which new animatedhim; sometimes he
sighed to ,that his life, to the and, would be
utterly lonely, but he used to thrust such ' , ht:
sternlyi'mm his mind. It, itwasto be. itimto be.
uudhe must bear it the bestﬁway he Harald.  e
of marrying a woman hedid not ova  this ‘
might be «companion to him hover {cumin} pincean
mind. It is. probable that. he quest; 'rhim‘eelf, he ,
would have decided that he was inost e “levee—with .
what... deep in ustice those who ' . ' ' '
_ understand, unless
Love had come

(slug  inhiarlito Waite ' ‘

_ to
about,”

   
th nto ‘ntlonpbutiﬁ'rederio losing. 4.
Ewaghedi  . {himﬁtlltheintenﬂouot'zpeskih 
ereceived the yo

 H unﬁmancourteously: r, . suture:
two was ﬂushed, and i sppeatedto Mr. WW‘w
thoughts hadbeendrinking. , ,.

I -“ Imrgladlheve come‘ecross yeri‘,”:said Frederick I.
1me . I‘Tho governorcsluedmei Ihndseen you."
" I 6.1 not know your father me here.” r . . - _ '4
“ He has been here for a (gutter of an hour, and antes _
to , er he is in.‘ I oou'l’dn understand whet was tﬁe
.mut er with him, until! found out for myself, tithe: ,1 ,
out me telling me.’,,’ . , . ,  ' , w :  -:
“Nothing has gonewrong, Ih’ope ?” V s V ~  
" 1 am in doubt us to what you call wrong?!) pr ’  ,,
Frederick inun arrogant tone; “outpatient are some- “ ‘
whatat variance.” . I l H .  v '   '
Mum-matron bent his head gravely. Standing‘ih _
, the relation of a host to his guest, his monster 
Frederick was ve 'diii-‘erent from what it'wenlu'hswe- 
been in any house 'ut his own; ' g ,   _ -  ' I
" Will you be kind enoughb-Vtoexpluin‘ Who asked,  '
with grave politeness. '  H ' '  1' 'r
" Itis we who ought to ashlar-an explanation: sold '
Frederick. “I suppose this is not :a‘public garden, ’
where anybody can enter by payingat-«the gates".  ,
“I suppose; it is natty-returnede; ‘Armstrong,
calml‘. '  'f , ‘ ‘
" Itslooks something like it; I‘m“? “Y.”de '7
ick, withoysneer. g r ‘ - , w a '
“Have you been drinking, Mr. Choppenr' , _ .7
“That is a nice nestion‘ for you to “kw-here. Ii  '

have tastedyour e.” v , ._ _ , ,
Armstrong, 

V “I beg your pani- on," said » hi2.
maps; “lam ‘reperly rebuked. But really anew? ..
uer‘is so excl ,- , mil your'words so I f  ‘ .
amigo excuse form forgetting myselﬁr; ‘- lac‘g  , _
' "ﬁf‘ ‘ ‘ . V V ' . ‘ J‘ 3;“ 
.“t‘ﬁu whemgeregﬁhoreh by invitation, lane; ,3.
1 "‘, 9WD!” on . ere uninvited. ' ' :1
“Thanks nherewhohesno‘mm
‘ ' _V limp
, v' '19”?

   
taken: youwiiineethat he touch one”, : ', 
“Give them! We. 31. .” slid 

 
39

L9 VE’S VICTORY.

 
Armstrong, with a slight l‘rown. “Then We shall bet-
ter understand each other." ‘

“ The person's name is Richard. Barton,"

" on, Mr. Barton. He didn’t sneak in. I invited

'iii."

In“ Before or since the night of his exposure?" 'de-
manded Frederick, insolently.

"Really, Mr. Choppell,_l cannot see that I am bound
to answer all your questions." _

“ You are bound, as a gentleman, to answer this, for
it is a question affecting one's honor and character.
Remember, if you please, that Mr. and Mrs Chappell
are here, and that it was in my mother's house this

rson was unmasked.”
p8“ Well, sir, I yield. I invited Mr. Barton after that
ni ht.”

‘g‘And do you intend to allow him to remain l"

"Certainly, if he wishes it."

" What i The son of a convicted thief”——-—

"Nay, nay," interrupted Mr. Armstrong, in a most
decided tone. “There is no occasion for words over
it. ‘ This is not the ﬁrst time you and I have disagreed.

I pray you to remember that you are my guest."

on its

V meant last, beyond the
' Lion in the memory of some 01 my guests."

bins! seeing

 
‘otandin by her side;

here is an insult to your guests."

Hm presence Those who do not

“ I lay restrictions on no one.
wish to stay are tree to go.”

" I understand the hint.
of the matter which perhaps escapes you.
is here also.”

" Well, sir.” I "_

“Since my arrival I have heard whispers ——

" I decline further conversation, Mr. Chappell. There
are some subjects I will not permit inyseli to discuss

But there is another view
Miss Rigby

, with you. This is one."

“As you please,” said Frederick, with a light laugh,
“ I know, however, that I would not allow the preVious
lover of the young lady‘to whom it was reported I was
paying my addresses to prowl about my grounds for
the purpose of making love to her. ,

He would have said more, but Mr. Armstrong 3 man.
nor warned him to desist, '

“‘Sir," said the American, in a tone of suppressed
passion, “you forget that the laws of hospitality are
binding no less upon the guest than upon the host.
Were it not for that-——” But his emotion was so great
that he could not proceed.

Frederick Clntppell took up his words. " Were it not
for that, or the scandal attaching to it, you would
probably commit some act in harmony With your
character and that of your friend. on, you cannot
frighten me. I shall acquaint Mr. and Mrs. Chappell
with the fact‘which I considered it necessary ﬁrst to
communicate to you—hardly believing that you were
an accessory to it—nnd We shall then see whether they
ﬂuid other ladies and entlemen who are here Will con-
tinue to' accept hospi ality accompanied by so gross an
insult.” He was about to turn away, but checked him-
self to say deliberately, " On another occasion within
your remembrance I was succesle in placislg society

' ‘ard. It may be that to-night Ish ' have to
remnt he lesson." -

‘ ' was ,cwedto depart in silence. So agitated was
Mr.   tumultuous thought that he could
not trust’himse to The reference which Fred-
click had‘ made to chard as Laura's lever was the
cause of this; and he found himself suddenl battling
in a see or doubt, into which he had been 1) un d by
two or three light words spoken by an enemy. at his
nature was hot such as could icing harbor un neroua
a trident. Believed'of Frederick's resenoe, ﬂung
ea c the doubt as unworthy of im, unworthy of
14min. Then came indignation at the other portion of
E’sdel‘lék’s'words: “ It may be that to-night I shall
hi e to repeat the lesson.” A disdaian smile curved
“grip-asks thought it might be in his own power
this veryrnight to turn the tables on the insolent

‘ ' A servant interrupted his musings by hand-

hints telegram. He tore it open, and read:

" boathaabeen icked u at sea with two sailors in it,
sole survivon if! the aside» tanner. Their narrative
ms the rumors which were current some time since.

vessel was lost in a storm."

 
,1

Vi  eagerness he replaced the telegram
in  envelo , ,

_ taking a pencil from his
pocket, re-addresse it.

"You know Mr. Chappell ?" he said to the servant.

" Yes sir.” .

(3‘ The elder gentleman, I means-mot the son."

“I know him, sir.”

“Go and seek him out. You will ﬁnd him in the

‘ houaeorabout the grounds. Give him this telegram,

lake: to see me, tell him I am here."
‘nghigggrgant bowed. and went on his errand.
“80,” soliloquited Mr. Armstrong, " the blow has
' ts‘i’giigtykofta doubt. Igor
he bear the shock ? s an s rong enoug o
Xanadu? I doubt it-I doubt it. This day may live

1: hts were wrested from their groove b the
h ” bonsai Laura. He would have gone towa her,
that she was weeping, he did not carry out
his intention. Another circumstance restrained him.
He saw Richard Barton following her. Not wishing to
lay. the spy upon them, he turned into a small em-
wered summer-house, one of many which dotted the
garden. thinking he should, ﬁnd an egress on the
other side. Moat oi the guests were in the ball-room.
the young Earle dancing, and the elder ones lookin
on. so that on persons who have played the prineip
parts inpur story were in compara ive retirement.

at

 
1 Mix.
ammonium:

that Richard hadth  and was
but she did not dare to raise nei-

hmknsw
eyegto Mace. -
 ‘ aw,

Ly“) ‘ ,..i':, ., ., .l .a . 4' *L‘ ,

 
 s’s'." {gr 4.4

" We are alone now," he said ; " may I speak '1’"

He paused for a reply, but none came. "

"In what way have I oﬂ’ended you ‘2” he asked, sadly,
“ that you refuse to answer me."

s " You have not oh‘ended me," she sighed.

“The more, then, does your conduct need explana-
tion—unless, indeed," he added, drawing his breath
quickly, " you with the others, believe that the verdict
which condemned my father to banishment and threat-
ens to darken my life was ajust one."

“ I pity and sympathize with you,” she said. “ I feel
with you that your father was innocent.” ,

His countenance brightened somewhat.

" Why, then, have you avoided me to-night? My note
implored you to give me an opportunity of seeing and
speaking to you: and I have, as it were, been pompelled
to thrust myself upon you. Was this generolls ?"

" I had my reasons," she answered. “ I did it for
your sake, for mine—for the sake of another whom I
must not name."

” It will be for me to name him presently,” he said,
bitterly. “ Your words give color to what I have heard,
and yet to me it is so incredible that I will not, I cannot
believe it unless I have it from your own lips. Laura—
nay, we are cousins, and I may call you so—you do not
forget the day we ﬁrst met ; it is not long ago. I told
you then that I had seen you on the previous night;
but until now I have not told you that, had we not
met in the way we did, I should have been impelled,
by the hope your face raised in my heart. to seek you
out. But when we met, and when, to my delight and
astonishment, I learned your name, I blessed the
unhappy chance which brought me to this country. I
knew that my father had a brother in England. In
those sad days before his death, during which he re-
lated to me his pitiful story, he spoke of his brother
frequently, and of the love which had existed between
them when they were boys ; but he had no expectation
that we should ever meet, or he would, I am certain—
knowing that he had not long to live, and out of his
own heart's tenderness—have given me a message of
love and forgiveness for him. Until that time I was
ignorant of my father’s history. By his just and gen-
tle life he had wiped out all memory of the stain, and
no ungenerous word with reference to his past ever
reached my ears even froma stranger's lips. When,
then, in pursuance of my resolve to prove my father
innocent of the crime for which he sun‘ered, I came to
this country and so strangely met you, I determined to
keep my secret until I had accomplished my purpose.
Then I would say to on, ‘Laura, I am your cousin,
and I love you iaith y, honestly, sincerely.’ I would
say to your father, ‘You did my father an injustice by

daughter, whom I love. as an atonement.’ Iimagined
myselt relating to you the story of my mother’s devo-
tion to the man she loved, and sayin , ' There is but one
woman in the world worthy to be p seed by her side-
that woman is yourself.’ It seemed to me that there
was a fate in it, and I prayed and hoped—believing in
my Vanity, that I had reason for egg hope—that all this
' would come to sea. Ihave ask in self since if I
error? in notvte 3 "you the story y at ﬁrs "—-

“ o, no '

" But, now it is known, if there is a tie that should
draw us together, it is that. Laura, I have come now
to speak to‘ you e‘rhaps lot the last tune, and there-
fore I must speak) plainly. What} say now, I say with
all the earnestness ofmy soul. Asyou value truth
and virtue, and all'that is most precious to man and
woman, I implore you to deal honestly by me. If after
this interview you ask me never to see you more, I
promise never, unless pure accident compels me, to
locﬁupon your face again. You believe me, do you
no N

“ Yes." I

" My conduct in your eyes must be open to no
misconstruction. The world must misjudge me if it
will; one man's weak word againstits judgment avails
Bttle,asIhave learned to my sorrow. But you, the
only woman I ever loved, the only woman I ever shall
love, must not doubt my truth and my honor. You

. of all others must not do me that injustice.”

" I have not done so," she filtered, trembling at his
passionate earnestness.

" In your thoughts you may not have done so ; but
then they are at variance with your words and actions.
0n the last night we met, airs. Tangle and I spoke of
you,inconildence, not for the ﬁrst time. That good
woman, who. I was led to suppose, was your
conﬁdante, had some knowledge of the ioel~
lags I entertained towards you. and in
the kindness of her heart. and in perfect sine”.
ity, gave me encouragement. She knew that on that
night—which commenced so happily for me, and ended
so itterly—I intendedto ask you to become my wife.
I came toyou. and ior amoment was confounded by
your changed manner. Hitherto you had invariably
received me with bright looks, and as thou h my res-
ence were not displeasing to you ; sudde y, ,wi out
any cause or reason that I could discover, you re ulsed
me, and refused to listen to me. You a he 0 Duty,
and gave me to understand that it stood. the way of
Love. How—and in what way '1 Laura, you, must deal
plainl with me. All the hairpins“ of my life is in
your ands. You knew that loved ou—yon could
not fail toknow it. No woman is bill; to a man’s de-
votion ; few women can fail to discover when that de-
lvagiiion is are engage frog toadint—als mine was. You

ems ve on v me. -—-

She held out her hagds,‘ as though imploring him to
spare her, but he went on.

". Every time we met you told me so~not in ‘ words,
for you never oversteppedthe boundary
And yet you told'me so, and in love w known to

you. as yours was believed in an hoped f r by me."
no pausedthere, for he‘oould not but perceive. that

 
her emotion was overcoming her. The moon was ris-
ing. and the grioion her face was plainly visible to.

 
leaguing with the world against him; give me your hi

of modesty. .

 
him. He gazed steadily and earnestly at her ; but his
purpose was ﬁxed, and his heart was so deeply charged
with earnestness that he could not rest until he had
convinced himseli‘ of her truth or falsehood. He
knew that he might never have another opportunity at
addressing her without reserve. '

“ You have given me the right to speak, and I must
speak. I may never see you more. 1! what I fear is
true, I shall soon bid good-bye to England, leaving my
happiness behind mo.‘ Let me take away with methe
comfort of knowing that you are not like some women
I have read of—women who have no regard for truth
and honesty; who will play with a man’s heart, and
plant therein the seed of love only to poison it. and rob
it forever of it i freshness. Let me at least continue to
respect you.” .

U What would you have me say ?” she asked, faintly.

He answered her with cruel directness. “That you
do or do not love me.”

The words roused her to strength. They brought
her duty clearly before her. She thought of‘the man
who loved her, and trusted her, and to whom she had
given her promise. With soft passion, and yet in
as clear a tone as Richard had. spoken, she asked,
tfis for the ﬁrst time she raised her tearful eyes to his
ace! “

"Knowing what you know, can I in honor ?"

It may be forgiven him that this appeal to his manlio
ness did not touch him as it should have done. other
passions deadened for a time the better, higher feelings,
of his nature. '

°' Knowing what I know !" be repeated, slowly. "In
what way am I to understand that? That u love
me, and dare not say so; or that you do not ove me,
gnediare gearful of confessing you have played with my

6 ngs " ~-

Silence was his answer. Had he been aware of the
agony she was suii‘ering, of the hard battle she was
ﬁghting with her heart, he would have pitied and
spared her.” ' .

“ Then all is over between us,” he said in a hard
tone, which it pained him as much to use as it did her
to hear, “and m life is embittered to the last day.
But before I‘go, here is something to say. It will be
the best that nothing shall remain in doubt. You told
me that you avoided me for my sake and your own,
and ior the sake of another you must not. name. I
will name him. Mr. Armstrong. Answer me in
honesty." ' »

" It was he I meant."

“Then what I heard by accident is true. "He-
is your lover. You are engaged to be married to
m D, .

" Yes."

“Once,” said Richard gently, after’a pause, “ when
he and I were speaking together, and opening our
hearts to each other, he said that love had come to him,
and that it had brought into his life its sweetest “hope;
Knowing him, I know of what kind of love he is capes
ble.’ He is a true, earnest maan She looked at Rich.
ard gratemlly; be Iplanted a dagger in her bosom in“

,ove him i" - . ’ ' '

return. “Do you , , , I , ’
in"? it generous of ‘you to ask?” she saidi‘appeal-

“ did not think of that,” here ,bitfarl . " '
heard enough, and! lnot berg;d bu. ‘ 1:31:
false love to one whose every action bespoaks the no-:

bility of his nature—to one whom any 'man ini t be
proud to call friend, whom any woman t be
mad towinand blessed to love, if she l ' 

areweli." .‘ -

She laid her hands upon . his arm with tle

frmnesa. She looked into hishoawith pitying,mplead-
ng eyes. , r r *

" Stay," she said; " you have sought me, and have
spoken bitter worth. You must not leave me with,
t on his in your mind which wrong no "

He wed, and stood before her in silence. 5

“Do not harden your heart to me," she said: “ listen,
to me with it, and pity and respect me. » Thanh-any
thin due to me as well as to you. All you said7
right y when you spoke of him to whom I have given
my word. Any men might be prond to call him Mend?
Any woman loving him might be blessed in his love.
But, dear friend, love, bright and beautiful thong it
be is not the most feeling of our nature. ty
is re us. Blght-doingis before us lie savodiuym
that from disgrace—hem shame for my sake. no nobly *

d the debt which my father believed to be owing,

ut which we know now was never due—for the wrong
was not committed by one ofour blood. Not knowing
it wee he who had performed this noble act, believing
it was you Trained to reward with my love the
man w 0 ii removed the stain iron my athsr's
name, and the shame tom my father's lite. To break
that promise now would break my father's hon-t ; my
father, whose life, until the present, has been a life of
misery and humiliation. Can I do thk 1 Date I do
this ? Should I not rather sacriﬁce my passion,
and strive not to think of the happiness which might
have been mine in the consciousness that I am ' r.
forming a sacred duty? Aid me in this, as yang?”
mel Assist me in this, as you know and lee my heart I
From this moment we must be strangers to each other.
As you take awago'with you the know edge that she oi:
loved is parted in you by s hither duty thanvtha 0
love, so give me the consolation of thinking that you
ap rave, in the midst of your own unhappiness, * the
tea I ‘am pl to rm, the duty dare not ,
shrink from! ey ah I never know. Striving to do
right, will come at last to you and to me. Now
go, on may heaven bless and reward you 1”, ~

she held out her hand. to him, and he _ it, with .
alook of love and reverence. Then she turned than:.
him, and sank into a seat .eahausted by emotion. Ea
$0 tamed to go, when hindrmstrong'svoiee arrested

' P",   , , . . 

 
., 
‘ a,»

 
3833191 w

 
CHAPrEIt X.
unsecured BAY.

111on had he means of-asoertaining1 from what di-
rection Mr. Armstrong had approached im. He would
have escaped if he could, but Mr. Armstrong was too

nick for him: the American might have risen from
t e ground, so suddenly and silently did he appear
upon the scene. . i i

“ Where have you been hiding yourself all the even-
ing, Richard?” said Mr. Armstrong. “1 have been
hunting everywhere for you."

He did not appear to notice Laura, whose face Was
buriedin her hands. As he spoke, he took Richard’s

 arm, and in a natural, unconstrained manner drew him

a few steps from where Laura was sitting.
" Iliad no wish tobe seen,” replied Richard, not look-

' ing at his friend. Had he done so, he would have been

startled at the expression on the American's face, and
puzzled to account for it. The hard lines—which, in
the light of the glowing hope that animated him, had
lately softened somewhat—had come out again, with
more than their old intensity, the lips were ﬁrmly
compressed. the forehead was wrinkled, and the eye-
lids were contracted andxalmost hidden in their upward
curve to the eyebrows ; the entire face bore the im-
Press of stem, inﬂexible resolution, not devoid of a cer-
tain sad sweetness. , . '

“I have news for you, Richard. Mr. Fangle intends
to earn the reward you have oii‘ered for the discovery of
Charles Davidge.” ,

Probably, in his state of mind, no other theme would
have roused an active interest in Richard’s breast.

“ 3Iris is alive, then i" he cried, excitedly.

U 88.))

Richard’s nostrils dilated, and he looked around rest-

- , lessly. “Where is Mr. Fangle ?"

‘ “ He will be here presently; we shall have a better
chance of seeing him if we remain near this spot than
if we went in search of him. What will you do if you
meet this man, as you desired, face to face 7”

“ Acouse him-denounce him ! Oh, that I knew of a
charm to wring confession from his guilty lips in your

presence! How—how is it to be done? If his fears

could be worked upon—if in some way I could strike
terror to his uilty heart I”
- " Be calm, ﬁlehard.”

“Ah, itis easy for you to say that." Mr. Armstrong
smiled sadly. “ No," no, Armstrong, 1 did not mean
it. Not from me to you should come words that imply
reproach. But to see this man, whose\ false life has
been-one long shameful lie, and to hear him den the
charge! bring ainst' him, although heaven an ~jus.
tice arson my lv—it will madden me! it will mad~
den moi” ’ , V . ,

-' You will live these feelings down," said the Ameri—
can, " or you will learn by-and—by to bear grief with
resignation. Life is full of disappointments, Richard.
When allseems lair before us comes the storm, in which
our happiness is wrecked. Beneath the beautiful wa-
ters over which our boat is calmly gliding. we see
bright ﬂowers and grasses, and we smile securely as we
pass over'them. But within that waving mass of color
a rock lies concealed; we strike upon it, and our boat
is shivered to pieces. Dismayed, we look back-tho
ﬂowers have vanished. They were never there. Richard;
our vanity and blindness comm-ed them up. The peace-
ful, days are gone ibrever. never to return, and
nothing“a lea us hug?ng or ta: cellulortwgicg
cm 7 _ on: cold coop . or e ope w lo

.  thereto in chin

ttertime lnthe here-g

 not» one brought teat-eta Richard's

° eyes, he continued the theme. but ins dimer-ant
animatedhisklend. ‘

wirgrhomthese d. were shaped, in col pain
‘9  0 one are
fate, toli r Itwoere wrecked believing 1:33:63:

“thematic not ours. ,It was neither our vanity nor

our blindness that conjured them up. I have not the

tience “resignation. noroan I ﬁnd comfort in hi-
_ . Butmyheartistootullto . Iamlsjiok
* of the world. Iwould that! hadlimi my experience

out tothainrawayoonntryiu whichle born, and
to whichlshall soon return. Wannabe-touches,
robbedutall that could make life dear to me."

"riot: would have found your experience there,

' had you never felt it. And you armredly go.

 inanimate w”

 wonder at it? Have I not proved that
sweet words have a bitter taste, and the hand at n-iend-

ship has: sting in it i"
You are too

" No.7 You kennel yet proved that.
gusto!» Wﬂth the world, and I was wrong

“00W.£°“l 3 I more out of my own heart, not
out of 3m.  .

"9° 1‘“ “55%!” me» ,trong. I behave inyour
triendship and truth. But when tell you that my
dearest hopes have been crushed, and that "on in
you I dare not conﬁde, you will pity, although you
cannot console me. . , r

“ Suﬁ'erln is our heritage. To suitor bravely shows
truest nobihty- Again I 883'. take courage. I promised
to be your friend, and I will not fail you."
gras ed Richard's hand, and beckoned to Mr,

be was standin at a little dictum m
them and whom Richard id not for the moment see. ‘

u I ’did not like tointrude upon you,’ said Mr. Fan le,
“ but I wished to tell you that Mr. Chappell is com
this way. Perhaps you have not glanced throg‘h me
Moon. Itis ositively true that the Golden x m,- 1.,
lost. Every yis speakin of the disaster, and Mr
Ghagpell is almost distracts . I never saw a man in
8110 “audition—talking to himself. and glaring about
him, really as though he were alittle bit '—-Mr. Fangle
touched his forehead signiﬁcant}!-

Mr.Fan le’s words seemsdto inspire Mr. Armstrong
With. ’ ‘ “solution. Ea thought of what 'Bich-
ardh‘adsitid; "Ithistears could be worked upon-mi:

' "1 “mm 1 could we terror tohis guilty heart 1"

3

 
LOVES VICTORY.
" Hasten away, Mr. Fangle,” he said, in a very strange-
ly stern tone, "and instantly bring as many of our
friends here as you can ﬁnd. The earning of that ﬁve
hundred pounds depends upon your promptitude."
Mr. Fangle did not wait for another word. s
“ Richard," then said Mr. Armstrong to his friend,
"I am tempted to make a strange experiment in your
interest. lt may fail, but it is worth the trial. The
time seems ripe for it. Do not be surprised at any-
thingyou may see or hear, and speak-,pnly when, in
our judgment, the proper moment has arrived. I
earn from what you have told me that your father-be-
lieved that this Charles Davzdge. his fellow-clerk, was
guilty of the crime for which he suﬁ‘ered.”

" Hedeclared it most solemnly," réplied Richard,

"You will see Charles Davidge presently,” added Mr.
Armstrong, “ and the opportunity will present itself of
eliciting the truth."

He waved Richard back upon the entrance of Mr.
Chappell, whose sight was so blurred by excitement
that he did not perceive that other actors than
himself and Mr, Armstrong were present. His
face was wild and haggard, and he looked about
with the air ofa hunted animal. He had ample cause
for his excitement. Before twenty-four hours passed
over his head it would be known that he was a ruined
man. The sudden withdrawal of Richard Barton's ac-
count, in conjunction with the disastrous collapse of
an extreme venture in which he had been for some
time engaged, Were suﬁicient in themselves to bring
about the result ; and even had there been a loop-hole
through which he might have escaped, the confirma-
tion of the rumors respecting the loss of the Golden
Mariner was suﬁicient to eﬁ‘ectually close it up. . To-
morrow he would be not only a ruined but a disgraced
man, for he had tampered with money and securities
upon which he had no claim, and there was no possible
way of avoiding exposure. He had been playing this
game secretly for years, trading upon the credit and
honorable name which the ﬁrm had earned in its long
and hitherto unblemihed career ; but now the game
was up, and he was bankrupt and dishonored. He had
still another cause for fear. He had seen the advertise-
ment in Mr. Armstrong’s newspaper respecting Charles
Davidge, and the shadow of a great crime committed in
his youth stole over his soul like a funeral pail, and
seemed to shut out all hope. In a voice thick more
ﬁgom fear than from passion, he accosted Mr. Arm.
s rong. ‘

“ What is the meaning of this telegram ynu sent me,

“sir ?” he cried, holding out the paper with a shaking

hand. “ Is it true that the sill s lost ? You ought to
know, sir, for you as well as I ave a heavy stake in it.
And what is meant by that advertisement in your
paper, for it is yours, notwithstanding your
silence ”-—-—- _ " ' ’ V ,

His voice suddenly failed him. Mr. Armstrong's
stern gaze struck terror to his heart, and beneath its
compelling power and his mental ony his strength
gave way. He staggered and almos fell into a seat,
seeing nothing distinctly with the exce tion of those
glittering, accusing eyes which never eft him, and
upon which his own were ﬁxed in speechless fear.
Every moment that passed intensiﬁed the spell which
seemed to be cast upon him, but which for the most
part he really createdfor himself out at his own fears
and despair. ,_ He was not aware that others had by this
time appeared upon the scene, amongfhem his wife,
Lord Beaumorris Mr. Fangle, and y, who, seeing

Laura standin a named md ﬁnale, asteued to her
side and, t 5 his arm around . Lord, Beaumorris
was s . ‘ - .

“Deplorable news—deplorabl l’f he said, We

$131611? 1m: b 1-. em“ “ uhhi 
o , as u wo—paragrap ,n

ploh‘ble! There is no doubt-4h, Mr. Armstrong—its

 The newspapers don’t tell-«hem l—stories, do

6 i) I ‘ .

' "glot‘intentionally, my lord, I believe,” replied Mr.
Amati-on . "I am afraid that the news is too true,
and that a Golden Karim is really lost."

Mr. Fangle sidled close to Mr. Armstrong.

“ Wonderiul paper, The Room? he said, " the people's
paper. Always something extraordinary in it. On the
very age containing the announcement of the loss of
the s p, is that curious advertisement ”-——- Check-

ing hiniself, he w to Mr. Armstron , " Is this
the or time? all I tell it now, an earn the
mono '* ‘ ‘ '

“Yes,” said Mr. Armstrong, not stirring from his
position in front of Mr. Chappell; "you can speak
now."

“That curious advertisement altering a reward of
ﬁgﬁémndred pounds for the discovery or Clinics

38.), '

Mrs. Choppell started forward indignantly. " Waring
areward," she cried, “for the discovery of Charles
Davidge ; Who has dared to be guilty ofsnch an act of
insolence? Do you hear, Mr. happen? You must
discover the person who has presumed to ut in such
an advertisement and punish him. The vernment
shoal:1 not allow these slanderous papers to be

rint ."

P But Mr.0happell did not heed her; his features
were set, and almost rigid, and he did not appear to
have the power to remove his eyes from Mr. EArmstrong.
Mrs. Chappell would have approached him closer, but
lgi‘srmstron g, by gently interposing his arm, restrain.
e , er. _

“ wry does'he not answer me i" she asked in alarm.
"111'. Armstrong, why does he ﬁx his eyes so strangely
upon you?’ ' ‘ ' _ . V
, attracted the strangeness of the scene, some
tirenty'orthirtypersons‘were new gathered together.
and stood in anemicircle ‘aroundlthggunclpal actors,

\ "I request all here to be silent," d Mr. Armstrong,
in slow. measured tones, “ with the exec ionof those

.. i.

whoareimin’ediately interested ‘inwha is about to

 DW‘DI \

81

" The’spectators obeyed him, and kept   in
silent and curious expectation. _

 
- CHAPTER XI.
MB. anemone means 318 muss.

" Cmrmu," continued Mr. Armstrong. " you
pledged me to give you a proof of the power of astrong
will over a disturbed mind. I am about to redeem my

led e.” ‘
p “ gut not upon my husband, surely ‘9”

“ Yes, upon your husband. Without premeditation
on my part, the opportunity has most strangely pre-
sented itself of fulﬁlling the unwilling promise you
extracted from me.”

“You frighten me,” said Mrs. Chappell, imploringly,
in an undertone; “I entreat you to release my hus-
band from the spell you have placed upon him."

“ Reﬂect before you ask me again. It may be out of
my power to release him. 01' what has actually brought
him to this pass I have my suspicions, but no
positive knowledge. But it is my duty to tell you
that his honor and good name may suﬂer ifiyou are
not careiui."

“His honor 1” she exclaimed, proudly and scornfully;
“ who can touch that ?”

“ Himself only. Are you afraid that he can say any~
thing to cast suspicion upon it ?"

“ You proclaim yourself not to be my friend by the
question. I have been deceived in you."

“ l have a duty to perform, and I must perform it.“

“ I do not understand you. I also have a duty to
perform. I see a person here"-—she glanced at Richard.
whom she now perceived for the ﬁrst time-“ whose
presence is an insult. I absolve you from your pro-
mise. If you will allow me, my husband and I will
now take our leave.” ~'

" You are my guest,” said Mr. Armstrong. court-
eonsly, yet ﬁrmly, “ and I am bound to obey you if you
insist. But take heed ; a shadow—a shame-rests
upon the honor of your house. I state this publicly.
At this time, and at this time .only, your husband can
remove it by a word. If he and you depart from this
assembly without the opportunity for denial belziﬁ
given to him, that shame may rest there forever. v
that I shall do will be to ask him two or three aim is
questions, to which he must-En 111731: lureturn tru h~
ful replies." . .

" You shall answer to me for this I " exclaimed Redo
erick Chapp'ell, furiously. He had but justpushed his
way through the crowd.  ,

“I distinctly declare." said Mr.Armstron ,not notic-
ing the threat, “ to those ladies and gent on ’who'
have honored me. with their presence tonight, and who
have heard what has passed, that it is imperativer
necessary for the credit of Mr. Chappell’s good name
that these questions should 'be asked. It is for you,
madam, now to decide." .

Mrs. Chappell saw in the faces of those who surround-
ed her, and whose curiosity had reached the 11 heat
pitch, that she would be compromised if she di ' I1:):
yieId. Why shonld she hesitate, indeed ? She
nothing to fear. ,k ‘

“My lord,” she said to Lord Besumcrris. “ you.» a

entleman and a man of onor. will decide to: me.
digit a weak woman,an——aine. Whats.qu
0 ’l 7‘
" You say, sir." said Lord Beaumorris tour. Arm-
strong, " that this strange scene—is unmannele
onyour  I ,, _ . 

“Entirely so, my‘lord.‘ _. . V,
" You give me your words—upon this as H gentle;
man." . ~. . »  ,

“I veyoumy word,m lama. ', _ L 3
_, Beaumorrls bowel; “And ygfm the
honor—tho honor or Mr. one «who, 
utthgkghprlomething extrao , nary—had or was about
— o e ace”,—-—-— ' ’

Frederick Choppell interrupted him violently. “ I
aim not,",he cried, “ allow this to proceed any fur-

er." , 1

“Sir,” said Lord Boaumorris, with a stately-air, ‘
" Mrs. Chap 11 has placed herselfin my hands."

",li'rederlc ." into coed Mrs. Chappcll. “I cum-

. Our honor innate with Lord

mand you to be silos
Beanmorris." _ V ,,
> “ Exactly Mom! Itisapointof‘honor. You  ,
Mr. Armatrongl-that Hr. (mappell’l honor , _ 7 
ooncernedin t equations—you wish to  hhngff _

“Those were my words, my lord, and 11m, _ -
that your lordship shall alterward be thejudsp u to
whether sufﬁcient grounds exists for the present pro-
ceeding. If you decide that I have  an error,
I will make any public apology or reparation your
lordship may suggest." I. j

" In that case, madam,” saidLord Beaumorris to ﬁre.
Chapfmll, " and as the matter—has (mom far-.1
shou d, were 1 in your place—31mm. Emltrong-a- .
mission. -Thep —-ceriaiuly-—an eccentric on.

   
-—but Mr.Armstrong-— hewill pardon me, himself
eccentric-and his statement—seems 1:19.40 rem
itn vely necessary-4nd e should boa.
lowed—to at these nestions." _, I
" e ,sir,”, Mrs. Chappell, taint , . v ‘-
" Rice,” said Mr. Armstrong, addressing ' f in;

star-hand hard tone to linens ii, “and mm to
wliglsbeingﬁaid. myou lieu g?” b  -‘ ‘

,Chsw e rose, eons nadream.and aﬂigh‘
motion Jofpbis head indicated that his, strongman“,

‘ "Yon-have a statement to make, Hr. 

the’American. ' ,
“With reference to the ular slim, . t ’3 ‘9'-
night's Hoon. I supposed i was a hoax. for! did not
see what is to come out of it.» But I amateur-ed 
the advertisement 8 g

 
averse to earningﬁ e hundred  W. M.
Now. ' lmeét‘ewmwm m

.o "ﬁx y“
:9}!

 
 may

 
 f.ig’.':.'..";‘.n= .j  ‘A ., ,r .
has swallowed up all my available capital, and that ﬁve ‘

hundred pounds will about. ﬁnish my little screw.
Well, then—4nd I see no harm in making the statement
—-Charles Davidge, of courser our friend, if he will
permit me to call him, so, and to yo me for the liberty!
~Charles David a item friend, r. Chappell;”

“ Ha I” cried ichard, coming now to the front, and

standing by“, the side ofer. Armstrong, who made room ~

for him. His appearance, trembling as he was under
the'inﬂuenoc of passionate excitement, added a new fea-
ture of interest to the scene to those who had not pre-
viously observed him. “ This man, Charles Davidgel ”

"Insolent ! " exclaimed Mrs. Cnappell. " You, then,
are the author of the advertisement ! My 10rd. I claim
your protection. There never has been any mystery
about the previous name of my husband. Had I sup-
gosed this person wished to know; I would have told

im myself, upon his asking. When Mr. Chappell mar-
ried, he took my father‘s name. It was the desire of
my father, who had no sons, that the family name
should be preserved and home by the head of the bank.
You shall be punished, sir, for this trick."

.“ Then here I denounce him l " cried Richard, in a
ringing tone. " My father suﬁ‘ered for his crime 1"

Frederick Chappell would have thrown himself upon
11:33am, but that one of the by-standers held him

“It is false i” cried Mrs. Chappell. " Mr. Chappell !
Charles! Say that this vile accusation is false 1”

No word passed Mr. Chappell’s lips.

" Have you heard !" asked Mr. Armstrong, in a voice
so steady and cold and stern as to afford a startling con-
trast to the voices of the other speakers. It was like
marble by the side of molten metal. ’

With diiﬁculty the lips of Mr. Chappell shaped an
answer. "Yes." Only those who were close to him
I could hear the word.

"Upon his death-bed,” then said Richard, solemnly,
"soon ‘tovbe summoned by the Supreme Judge of men,
and by Him tobe judged, my father swore to his lung-
cence, and to his belief that this man was guilty 1”

“ his ails i" cried Mrs. Cha poll. “ A wicked lie 1”

" Speak you the truth," sai Mr. Armstrong to the
banker. “ As you hope for a merciful judgment your-
I self, was this man's father innocent or guilty '2 Tan
‘ 7 Tantra, as you value (your soul !" ' ‘

eff Mr. Chappell shud ered, and the ansiver he
vﬂvniost indistinctly and with dimculty, appaare
 from him by an independent power.
. "Innocent!" ‘ '
Richard uttered a cry of joy. and turned his head
aside to hide his grateful emotion. ,
= But now mum’s father came forward. and spoke.
“Who, than, was guilty ? Speak! Who was guilty 7”
7 Not a sound was ear in re ly. He stood there,
self-convicted by his silence. ’1‘ en,‘ after a short pause,
Mr. Armstrong turned his back upon the banker, as
_ mm; misusing him from any powor he might have
‘ over ' ' " ' ‘ ‘

.

ave, al-
to be

  
 duaabiztw tons, "to punish me ‘ml‘ my wilful-
, . I *2 Say that you have done so, ilycu, have a grain
“News: restraint!” I ‘ ' ‘ .v '
' ‘3. “You in traction “him yourself now, madam,”. re-

m. Iii

MOW ‘ theair ofa‘man who had been, sud-

den! rousedfrom’slcep. ' ’ ' . ,'
"What has happened?” he. said. passing his hand

acrgsshis eyes. “Why do you ,look‘ so strangely,“

n was :11me fearfulthat he had betrayed himself,” _

own ;

V a? ' "frets-sad dis race had already become .
' no

 magniﬁes co, ’ edand disturbed that he
' clear mismas'orwhst had occurred. g h-
. Wand-masrmstron , he shrunk back irom th mg
. were standing. eby side, and he knew that ey
mineraliisenemies. : y . ’ ;. 1‘. ~  " .
’ " -1 "ﬂame? he said to‘his wife; “ let us go."  . ‘
-"Yon,lh_ust unsayhrstwhat you havebeen-cajoled
 n. >, ‘ . .

into“ . ..
“  hi Ideals-red? 'Why are’youso exalted ?’,',
.4, give declared here; before, our friends-40h, I can
" scarce it'l‘e—that this person’s father, against
’ .svhom you wer_e,the, rinciéial witness, was innocent.‘ of
.zthsorime for which“ can creed; “ , > v ,
~ Nansenseif’lreylied‘y-Mt.‘C‘hdppell,’ striving to'be
, brave. “You must be dreaming, or I must have been.’
-' W“: We?" k... «-
 3‘"  7, ‘v r sumo r,s,spea g with statel ,
-‘  ."I believe it; strangely as it has beers;
brought'about, you have spoken the truth. and your
can condemnation. For the future we are strangers.
,1, here declare," he said, raising his voice, “my entire
battens the innocence of this young man’s father. Sir,
ﬁahort time since I refused to take your hand. 1 ask

   
_ V trough society;
W}. inc x us injustices inﬂictedo'n your father."
  pngrae 0 you, my‘ lord,” re lied

. g  hoards to ﬂagging t3 remove aIstain Ii’rom
.. 0.12.311 ' o‘smrc eh -

cesded. atraoedntsy y 0 y rhyfavggfs

and I tender to you my sympathy

> are” how”, at I can do no more.
pow , r - " rmevormy cause. I leave it ‘ to. on
. nee» memommmm my 
-  Z «my, ﬁﬁndy’dep'ebd  on me: I remiss that the
, Written be made Dublich the waypyou would most
. V . 20’? are agood son. and I am honored in your
‘ _ {'lelyou for ve me." than we b ,h ' ;
Wits-ward.ng the unjust thouggtg i but?
 them»: I lewd. and who once loved me?
. hot and to my punishmonti-it is altosdybittcr
,  .v-I limb! ask pardon of the dead undo!
 mania“ I “if? overmmman' ’I aggro“;
V g v we avse on“ bad
.  ibis-day}! ’ '

it

 
V  “f'You havsmade him utter this lie," said ﬁrs. Chap»

j";h?‘9,§9‘i‘m"‘?°’°'t° “Y.” A
star. thpPeiIin the meantime gazed. around in agvai =

none take mine. I welcome you to“ your preper’

toms mm

Rigby pressed Richard to his breast and subbed.
‘i Whenhe and I last met we were almost boys, and
now he is dead ; and I—what can repay me for my years
of shame '2" r _

“ The sympathies of all just menvivill be yours, sir,”
said, Richard, gently. “ Do not let the injustice of the
past poison the sweets of the future.” _ .

He sighed heavily as the words passed his lips. What
Was the future to be?

“ The future l" subbed Righy, with a despairing ges-
ture. “ I stand upon its brink 1”

Laura, seeing her father’s agitation, drew him away,
and spoke soothingly to him.

“ I am ungrateful,” he murmured, kissing her. “ This
day has made‘your future bright, and I repine. Dear
child, forgive me." ,

His tears prevented him from noting the signs of un-
happiness on her face. -

CHAPTER XII.
Lova’s vrcronr.

In the meantime, the guests who had witnessed this
strange scene hurried away in search~oir friends and ac-
quaintances to circulate the news, which very soon was
in evorybody’s mouth. The Chappell’s had disap.
peared ; Lord Beaumorris had also taken his departure;
only Laura, her father, Richard, and Mr. Armstron re-
mained upon the spot where the innocence of the said
had been established. Mr. Fangle and his wife stood at
alittle distance from these four, and, in obedience to
certain whispered instructions given to them by Mr.
Armstrong as the spectators moved away, prevented
strangers irom intruding upon the party.

“ How can I thank you ‘2" said Richard to Mr. Arm-
stron .

The8 American grasped Richard’s hand. " Has the
grasp of friendship a stin in it i"

“ You have been to me t e truest, noblest friend. You
have taught me a lesson, Armstrong, which I shall re-
member with gratitude to my dying day."

“ I will teach you another. After what has occurred,
do you still intend to leave us '9”

“ No power can induce‘me to remain in England."

" No power ? Laura !" he called. " You have not yet
spoken to your cousin. Have you nothing to say to
him ?" Laura came forward at Mr. Armstrong’s bid-
ding, but did not raise her eyes to Richard’s face. Mr.
Armstrong, standing between them, regarded them
e'arnestly, and taking a hand in each of his, joined them
and held them together.’ " Thus I join you," he said ;
" you can at least wish your cousin well, Laura."

. " I wish you well. Richard,” she said, softly.

“That being said," continued Mr. Armstrong, " the

comedy is over; and thus I partyou.” _

jwith a heavy heart. . _ r

-' You know, Laura", said Mr. Armstrong, drawi
her aside out of the he
benign intends to leave ring and?”

" es.f’.  _‘  .‘
, "When did you learn this? ", ’
'f Tonith very short time since." '
" gnu have hidden him’tarewell,then i” '
"' es." ' ’ ‘ ‘ ” ‘

" Laura, when I asked you to be my wife, you believed
in the sincerity of my love 7",. _.‘.
1' How, knowing you,” she replied timidly, " could I
believe otherwise i” . , t. 1? "
8 il '

"ﬁlm you belieVe in it .

u 0'” r ‘ _
_ 'onu may, my child. ’ I love you very truJ y—so truly
that I would part with my life rather than make you
unhappy." ’ ‘ ‘ " 
. “. Lam sure you would: Iwill strive to repay you for
your goodness to, rue—indeed, indeed, Igwil 1” . -
L “ Yet yountone throws a shadow‘of sadness u on the
words. Not thus should the amanced wife sp‘e to the
atﬂanced husband.” . .' ‘ , . '
’ ," For ive me ,”—she pleaded, and would have pro-
ceeded, ut he gently checked her. ‘ g _ ‘
' " Ohild,‘ there is n‘othin to, forgive. , In your slight
knowledge of inc—slight, accuse it isonly When per-
sons live together that their, inner natures are reyealed
to each othereehave you eye'r known me tos‘werve‘ from
truth or honor i”, . ~

" Why do you ask

me these questions ?" she said,

enshrined in my'heart as the most fai hful and truthful
omen.'f.,.  ,

He hidhis face‘from her for amoment. _

“ There is no merit in me, my dear, 61:06 i: that which
belongs to sincerity. I may claim. that, (think. All
the rest springs ﬁ‘om your generosity and unselﬁshneas.
Whenwe spoke together an hour ago, I asked that there
:hotzld 'be no cloud between us, no doubt, no mis-

rus . ’ ‘

“ I do: not mistrust you ;‘ I believe with all my heart
in your taith and truth.” , r ‘ .

“ So would I believe in yours.” ,

The words brought a chill to her. soul. She dared
not ask him, ,“ And do you not 7’ She trembled before
him, not know us ;what was tocome. ' I.

. " Child. chil ,‘f he said, "when I wooed you, I did
not require a sacriﬁce from cu. I believed that your
heart was mine: I want to bring love’s sunshine into
your life, not to - blot it out forever. - It?! were to ask

on what passed between you and your cousin at your

astintei'view, on this very spot”—-—-— '

"Do not as): me!" she implored. “I dare not tell.
you.” > V . .' ,
, , up, my dear," he said, in a kind .voics. " Nay,
look me ‘stcadily in'the ace.” ’

 
She obs ed him, and her eyes. swimming with tears.
rested on . . g

 
He unclasped their hands, and Richard turned away _

oi" the others, " that yeti}: ' a

gathering‘stren th, as it were; from the sadness of his .
manner ; she! t that he was'suﬁering, and it'was her L75
duty to comfort him ifgit lay in her ower. “Yousre ‘j

l

" God bless you, my dear,” he said, “ and make your
life a bright and ha 37 one i” 4 ~
‘ He went to Richer ,and brought him to where Lam-a
wass ding. , I ._ . g . I .
“ Richard, this child, droopin before 31s, has promise
ed to be my wife. Iraise her ace ,to mine, and ive
her the ﬁrst kiss my lips have ever impressed u on er
cheek. And with that kiss—the ﬁrst and. hag-I re
lease her from her promise! I have learned he: secret
and yours, and Imake now the hardest sacriﬁce of my
life—yet in that sacriﬁce there is a victory. Bear with
me both, for there is unutterable gain in my heart. I
think of the words she addresses to you, Richard-—
yes, I overheard them—4 Strivin to do right, peace
will come at last to me.’ As this ear child seemed to
see her duty before her, and. did not shrink from per-
forming it, so do I see mine. Take her. Richard. She
is yours!”

was: END.

Waverley Library. ‘

8 HEART ro HEART. By Arabella So'uthworth.
9 Anon: m rm: WORLD. By Author of “Clifton.”
10 A Pam or GRAY Eras” By Rose Kennedy.
11 EN’I‘ANGLED. By Henrietta Thackera . I
12 Hrs Lawson WIFE. Mrs. Ann 8. Svtephens.
13 Manon, res: LITTLE censuses. Cushman.
l4 Wm: I MARRIED Hm. By Sara 0 on. _
15 A Fun FACE. By Bartley T. Cam hell. 1
1? Terror Han Nor. By Margaret Le caster. V v .
1 ALOYAL Lem. By Arabella Southworth. ‘ ‘i
18 Hrs IDOL. B Mrs. Mary Crowell. -
19 Ten Broom mama By Mary Grace Halpine.
30 Oman Nana. run ORANGE Gran. By Agile ,Penne.
21 Now AND Foaavan. By Henrietta Thackeray.
22 Tux: Baron or an Acres. By Author of “Clifton.”
28 LEAP Yuan. Big Sara Claxton. A ' 4
24 Has FACE Was an Foarmaa B Eleanor Blaine.
ONLYAScsooams'r-nags; 1P 1mm.
. » . rent as to.
By E mi

COW? e etta'l‘hackera .
Bran. Cnass. Mrs. Ann S. Ste hens. y
For. Han Dean ass. By Sara canon -*
Tar. BOUQUET Gran. BKIAgile Peime.
A Man MARRIAGE. B ary A. Dennison.

MIRIANNA. ran Puma omu. BﬁA. Southworth.
Tm: Tunas SISTERS. By Alice eming. ,
A Mans.an or Cosvnmof. By Sara Gluten.

Arabella South worth.
his ' .

 
ass
a
m
5%
in.
i

E‘SEEESESSQ

m

Tan

A Wmow‘a Wm.

Gnarls . .By- Jennie Deva Burton.
A‘Wmmiﬂm'r. ' . - ‘ g
The SUle  I‘ rumor-E; Plotter
Warmest  sB . I .

Tun WirI’s Smears . Col. Juanita" a
A Bumm’sﬁm ‘ yv - ;
Foreman»: Bans y Arabella South ‘

gm "ﬁ‘nﬁma r
“Inna. xan e . , 1
Two Organics. ﬁyD'Ennel-&~ ~: . 
 ignY'guwseme Yoxégfh ife’sHusband..
. . 0 , ' c
By Meade Hilton. m I
CASTLEKAINE’S GAGE. By Ouida.
r or guns. B J. 8.1m
y

eseeseaeeesesasssseseeas

ma 1 4

Ma Yours Hessian. ByMyself.    »
AucNos'r Women. By  0t

'80 dingo?) “min '3 ram-en '   
an AND am. my , z .

g; lief: Ta'Iit‘PLa.A By“ yo _  .v x“
no run so. eta mad. 

88 Pumo'Fon HIGH S'raxas. Annie Thomas.
d4 Tun: 'Lmnni. B By thﬂuthor or “John

EI‘ 78
.79

89 A Guano Sm. .

31" i3 3W Strum 3’ "m We

1'. , a ; ‘

a edema tite‘itiiém”m~ * i- y

, 0 a 0011. , ' 

9t Inseam EBA". By Mrs. Oilphant. ‘
A new {was «my teeth.

so...“ abli‘ewnd‘ s. «- “I
amtmwpfmmvggdm ";

 
BEADLEANDADAKB  ~ '