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Entered at the Post Office at New York. N. Y.. at Second Class Mail Rates. k‘ July 10. 1883.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

REE-739:1??LQWW a M-
N0191. VOL. VIII. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS
I g 9 .I , I ‘ T "I g
A W0  [AN S IANEW ER'  PURSE, NOT HEART.
I, * i M 9
.5 Y  A :LJIGITO  ‘
AUTHOR OF “ SIKNED AGAINST,” “HONOR BOUND,” “A STRANGE MARRIAGE,” ETC., ETC.


- .flw.>~_‘r'7<<_-  wanna.

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~ A Woman’s Maneuver:
, . ‘ OR.
PURSE, NOT HEART.

BY LILLIAN LOV'EJOY,
nurses or “A POINT or HONOR,” “mur'rnn
THROUGH LOVE,” ETC., ETC. '

 

CHAPTER I.’
WAITING BY THE RIVER.

“ IT’S really too bad of him; here have I been
waiting fully twenty minutes,'and he has failed
me,” said a girl just dawning into womanhood,

one she stood on the bank of a little stream
which wound itself along the valley of the
Ramapo hills.

There was a charm in her every look, and a
grace that bespoke refinement, as she gazed
meditativer into the crystal water glistening

’ at her feet. ‘

She was dressed in a simple but becoming
style, which displayed her figure to great ad
vantage; a soft gray shade of cashmere with

‘ ‘ snowy cuffs and collar, and a dainty little

crimson knot at her throat.

Her hair, of a rich golden brown, was
gathered in a knot at the back of her dainty lit-
tle head, which was uncovered and allowed the
rays of the setting sun to nestle lovingly on it,
and to play with varying shades of color
among her tresses, casting quite an aureole
around her.

She was about eighteen. Her small, full

. red lips were slightly parted, exposing a set of
regular teeth as white as pearls.

She had taken off her hat to allow the soft
evening breeze to cool her flushed face, for she
had hurried to the trysting-place afraid of

’ \ being too late.

i Above, a lurk soared, chanting its vesper
,hymn of praise, and the girl’s sweet, thrilling
notes joined those of the little warbler, as she
sung...

, , \ “ Nobody knows as I know, as I know, as I know.

How goodly my heart can-beat with a lover at my
ee .” «

The trees upon the bank formed an impene-
trable screen, and concealed her from the eas-
ual gaze of any passer-by. .

\ Stooping, she picked up some pebbles and
threw them into the stream, watchingeagerly
for the eddies as, with ever-widening circles,
they reached the‘ bank. -

“ He will’come,” she murmured. “I know
I shall get my wish, for the river always
speaksthe truth.” . _

She was not aware that a pair 'of dark eyes
were watching her, their owner being con-

, (healed‘from view by a mass of intervening

‘. \ /

foliage, or she wopld not have felt so much at
her ease. , " '
While hejwatched, whether from design 'or
passin curiosity to feast his eyes upon her
beauty, footsteps attracted her attention
and madether give vent to a subdued cry of
joy. , ~ ~
In another moment she was folded in the
arms of Oswald Wyncott, and her blushing
face was upturned to his to receive quite-a
showsr of kisses upon her brow, eyes, and
lips, ‘as'he murmured, “My darling Jessie, do
not chide me for a truant. My uncle detained

me over the mine, or I should not have been.

behind time.”

“Now that you are here, dear Oswald, I
take no count of time, either past or present;
but you look worried. Has anything unpleas-

' ant happened?” '

“ No, my darling, except that my uncle has
been treating me to one of his usual lectures
about settling in life, and of choosing a wife
from among quite a list of eligibles. I cannot
understand why he has been so stem “with

y me of late.” ‘

' “ Perhaps he has heard of our meetings,” she
said, with a little sigh. “ Ah, me! I believe in
“the old saying, ‘that the course of true love
never did‘run’ Inseam} ”' .

. , “But it shall in our case, darling. What
.,, , 1 ,

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,A WOMAN’S MANEUVER. I  r,  .1 

care I for any inheritance he may leave me?
I am young, and flatter myself that I have
some talents, which will enable me to make
my way in the world, with you by side to
cheer and aid me.”

“ I do not wish you to make such a sacrifice
for my sake, dear Oswald. Perhaps if your
uncle knew the truth he would not be
angry with us. Why do y0u not ask your
brother Bertram to mediate for you?"

“I must be frank with you, Jessie; I cannot
trust Bertram, and have kept our love a secret
from him.”

“ Whyl—he speaks kindly to me when We
meet;” and, looking down with a blush, added:
“ You will not be angry, he —”

“ Has he dared to speak to you of love?”
he asked, passionately, while his dark eyes
flashed and his brow darkened.

“ He only said he liked me very much, and
wanted me to meet him Do not think un-
kindly of him, Oswald; he believes me free,
and as you wish our engagement to be kept
secret, I dared- not undeceive him.”

“He is a traitor!” he said bitterly, “and
has been poisoning my uncle’s mind against
me; you do not know him as I do, or you
would avoid him. If he knew our secret he
would make use of it to ruin me.”

“What is to be done?” she asked, looking
into his face tenderly. “ I will be guided en-
tirely by you, and wait until difiiculties can be
smoothed away.” '

“You are an angel, Jessie,” he said, “and
fit to be the wife of an emperor. I am sure
my uncle would love you if he only knew
you.”

“I do not wish you to be rash,” she said,
“ and offend him; to drag you down to com-
parative poverty would be a sorry recompense
for having bestowed your love upon me. I
have felt its cruel stings, and even now my
father and I are not free from its vexations.
You have a bright future before you, Oswald;
we are both young, and can afford to wait;
neither would I like to trust my father to the
care of strangers.” ,

“ We could all live together,” he said, “ and
be so happy.”

“You do not know my father, dear Oswald.
He is the best of men, but his mania about
finding a rich seam of coal upon his land makes
him very irritable and trying; my great love
for him alone helps me to bear with him.”

“ He may yet succeed, J essie.” . .

“ He has spent all his fortune,” she mplied,

sadly, “and has no means to continue the

search. I have given up all hope myself, and
wish he would do the same before we are com-
pletely impoverished.”

“I would aid him were it in my power,
dearest,” he said, “ and claim as my reward
his best treasure—yourself.” ,

They spent some further‘time in love’s sweet
dream, perfectly oblivious of the presence of
Bertram Wyncott, who had 'been listening to
all that passed between the lovers.

“ So, so!" he muttered; “this accounts
for her rejection of my advances! Not
that I evsr thought of making a penni-
less girl my wife. My uncle shall know
of this latest freak of .my mad—brained
brother, which will about settle him in his esti-
mation; as he has robbed me of her, I shall
have my revenge. I have hated him since our
boyhood. .He stole my father’s love, and
wormed his way into our uncle’s affection; but
I Apve thwarted him in the latter, and now
I will not spare him; but he shall never
know who is his enemy, although he may sus-
pect _me as much as he likes.”

The brothers were the offspring of diflerent
mothers, both of whom, together with the
father, were dead, leaving them to the care of
a rich bachelor uncle, Charles Dinton by name.
- The sun went dewn in splendor behind the
hills, and the gray shadows of night stole o‘er
the earth ere the lovers parted, full of courage
and hope, little dreaming that their paradise
was to be invaded by’ a serpent, full ’of the
venom of hatred, envy and jealousy.

 

CHAPTER II.
ANGLING.

DINTON HALL was picturesquer situated on
the brow of a hill, standing sentinel-like, look-
ing down upon the valley, with its wealth of
orchards and golden grain, which rustled in the
breeze, to the accompaniment of the mountain
brook, as it rushed over rocks and other natu-
ral barriers.

It was the finest and most imposing country
residence for miles around, and was quite cele-
brated as such.

The morning following the meeting’of Jessie
and Oswald, Mr. Dinton was seated in his li~
brary, with anything but a pleased expression
on his face as he glanced at the contents of a
letter which he held in his hand.

Though well-stricken in years he still pos-
sessed a vigorous frame, and his eyes were
bright and full of intelligence.

His mouth bespoke a firmness and decision of
character arguing ill for those who thwarted
his wishes or disobeyed his commands.

Yet, although stern, he possessed a kind
heart, and was never known to press hardly on
the many indebted to him for help willingly
given in time of need.

He had ambitious notions about his nephews,
more especially about Oswald, for whom he had
projected a brilliant marriage and a political
career, as he had the highest opinion of his
talents.

“ Good—morning, Dinton, my boy,” said a
cheery voice. “ You see I am using the privi-
lege of an old friend in looking you up un-
awares.” ~

“My dear general, you are just the man I
wish to see of all others! Just read that ”—
tossing the letter over to him. “That favorite
of yours is running his head into a pretty
noose. Really, the responsibility is getting too
much for an old fellow like me, who wants to
settle down and not be bothered by the vaga-
ries of a mad-brained youth. Thank Heaven,
Bertram runs straight enough! Jove, I’ll
marry, and disappoint the pair of them!”

While his friend was rattling on in this pet-
ulant style, General Pringle perused the
letter. . v

“ You are never going to notice such a con-
temptible thing as that? The writer hasn’t the
courage to put his name to it.”

“ I dare say it’s true enough, though,”
growled the other. “There’s never smoke
without a little fire.”

“ Oswald is a manly, honest fellow, and is
sure to do you credit. Granted that he has
conceived an affection for this lady—he is too
proud to bestow his love on any woman who
is not a lady—isn’t it natural at his age?”

“ Not at all,” blurted out Mr. Dinton.
“Marriage, indeed! I have had to do without
the luxury of a wife, although I could have
had a score or more. What business has Os-
wald to think of supporting some extra'vagant
hussy on next to nothing? Humph! my house
would be overrun with squalling brats, who
would insist upon making me go down on my
hands and knees to give them something to
ride on I”

So terrible a picture of an invasion in future
quite nonplused the old gentleman, who threw

himseu back’ in his chair and frowned and ‘ 

scowled at imaginary grand¢nieces and neph-
ews.
The general laughed heartily, and said:
“Depend on’t, my boy, when the young-

. sters do marry they would like separate estab-

lishments, and not to all dwell together like a
happy family. Besides, if any mischief has
been d " 6, you are alone to blame.”

“ Confound it, Pringle! what do you mean?
Do you take me for a lunatic? My fault,
indeed! What have I donei”-this with a
defiant snort.

“It’s what you haven’t done, Dinton, I am
referring to.”

“ Please explain.” , ‘  I
. “ You keep the lads mowed up here without r,
society, and the consequence is that they fall I:
in love, or think they do, with the that pretty \. ""

 

 

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' ' milkmaid they run across, Why don’t. you
:fill the house with young people, particularly

of the fair sex, and give the lads a chance
of making a choice that would receive your
approval?”

" By Jove, Pringle, you are a veritable Sol-
omon, and I’ll follow your advice; but that
young rascal sha’n’t escape a lecture. I’ll have
him in, and we’ll both give it him in a style he
won’t soon forget.”

“No, thank you, Dinton. If you wish Os-
Wald to listen to your advice, don’t let a third
party be present, or humiliate his pride unne-

‘ . cessarily. Such a course would drive him into

open rebellion. I' will take a fishing-rod, and
go down to the river till lunc .”

When the general had left, Mr. Dinton sent
for Oswald, who was not in the best frame of
mind to listen patiently to a lecture, for he
had just had a stormy interview with his
brother Bertram, thus increasing their enmity.

“ You have sent, for me, siri”

“Of course I have! Just read that letter.
I trust to your honor as a gentleman to tell me
the truth.”

Oswald turned pale as he glanced o’er the
venomous epistle, which meant the beginning
of misery for himself and Jessie.

“ Well, sir, what have you to say?” his uncle
asked, somewhat eagerly.

“That it is true; I love Miss Paget, and
have promised to make her my wife; but not
without your consent, uncle.”

“That you will never get, then; I would
rather you’d marry a milkmaid.”

“ Sir, I beg you will not speak so disparag-
ingly of a lady whom I respect and love.”

“Respect! fiddlesticks! Do you know that
her father is a confirmed lunatic, who has
ruined himself by sheer obstinacy? and, al-
though nothing better than a pauper, has
dared to insult me because I offered to buy his
land.”

“I am sorry to hear that, sir; but Jessie
cannot be held responsible for what her father
has done. We do not wish to marry until I
am in a position to keep her in comfort. Do
not be angry, uncle; if you only knew her you
would love her.”

“ Mere sentiment—boshl You must relin-
quish all idea of marrying Miss Paget; I have
other views regarding your future, and expect
you will, in your own interest, if not out of
respect for my wishes, aid and not thwart me.
Remember, my will is inflexible, and that I
can be stern and unyielding if you disobey.
You will find General Pringle down at the
river; he wishes to see you.”

“Poor boy," his uncle soliloquized, “ I have
always loved him, and would be sorry to have
to treat him harshly; but I cannot allow my
substance to be wasted on such an old fool as
Puget, who would ruin a millionaire with his
whims. I’ll follow Pringle’s advice, and write
my invitations to-day. ' ,

Meanwhile, General Pringle had wandered
down to the river side to kill time, and to get
away from a scene of unpleasantness.

He was successful in catching several flne
trout, which lay in his basket, their silvery
scales bright with the rays of a mid-day sun.

“I am sure I beg your pardon, sir,” said a.
sweet, girlish voice. “I am afraid I have
overturned your basket,”—stooping down to
remedy the accident, with a. rosy blush on her
fair young face.

He was fairly spellbound with silent admi-
ration of the lovely vision which had burst
upon him so suddenly.

‘ ‘ Pray do not mention it,” he said, at last;
“it was my fault for having obstructed the
footpath.”

“And I was very clumsy,” she said, with a
merry laugh, quite at her ease in the presence
of such a genial old gentleman, who wore one
of the most benign smiles she had ever had the
good fortune to see. “You seem to have had

x r , some capital sport this morning.”

“I 'am indeed fortunate,” be said, with a

significant smile; “ and am trying to replenish

my friend Dinton’s larder.” .

l

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“I think you have succeeded already,” she
said, with an arch smile. “ I am a bit of an
angler myself.”

Offering her his rod, he said, gallantly:

“ Would you favor me by trying your luck?
Surely no fish could resist your skill, when
backed up by so much beauty. ”

She blushed prettily, when he hastened to add:

“ Pardon the liberty, and forgive me on the
score of age; but I am an old soldier, and
have a habit of speaking out my thoughts. But
I see you have been laying nature under con-
tributions.” '

“Are they not pretty?” she asked. “And
this is a very rare specimen,”——holding up a
delicate spiral-leaf fern for his admiration—
“will you accept it?"

“I do not wish to deprive you of it, but
will accept it with pleasure, if you will per-
mit me to give it to a young friend of mine,
who is a great judge of such things——Mr.
Oswald Wyncott.”

“ Pray do,” she replied, with animation;
“and let me add another. I am sure he will
like these.”

“ Many thanks; but I do not know the name
of the fair donor.”

“Miss Puget,” she replied. ._
“And mine is General Pringle; and I ho
this will not be the last time I shall have the

pleasure of meeting Miss Paget.”

“ You are. very kind; but my father’s state
of health does not permit us visiting or receiv-
ing visits. I spend most of my time here and
in the woods.”

“A veritable wood nymph,” he thought.
“I only wish I was twenty years younger to
gather such a sweet flower, and treasure. it as
my very own.”

Aloud he said, “I shall haunt these beauti-
ful solitudes, Miss Paget, when I visit Dinton
Hall. But will you not take the rod for a few
minutes?” '

“ I thank you very much, but I cannot stay
now, as my father will be waiting lunch, and
he never likes to be alone, so pray excuse me.
I shall be pleased to meet you again, and ac-
cept your kind offer then.” '

And. saying which she b0wed, and offered
her pretty little hand, with its circlet of dia-
monds and pearls, that had only been placed
there a few days back by her aflianced hus-
band, which caught the eye of the general, as
he admired the shape and delicacy of the
tapering fingers.

A sense of loneliness took possession of him
when the sunlight of her prescnce vanished,
and his interest in his favorite amusement
ceased.

He was just leaving the spot, when Oswald
came up and shook hands with him heartily,
saying, “ I have been looking everywhere but
the right place for you. Allow me to carry
your basket, which Seems pretty full.”

“ My dear boy, I am 10th to leave a spot
where I have seen a charming vision, such a
one as would tempt a man to follow her into
the middle of that stream.”

“ You have been highly favored, my dear
general, and have the advantage of us natives.
But who captivated you?”

“ And see,” remarked the general. “she
actually made me a present of these rare ferns,
which I accepted on your behalf.”

“ They are fine specimens, general; but you
have not told me yet to whom We are indebted
for the gift.”

“ To one of the most charming, unaffected,
lady-like girls I have ever met. Ah, my boy,
I had the advantage of you this morning!
Egad, I think I shall enter the lists against all
comers, you includedl”

“ I am very patient, general, but I can’t re—
strain my curiosity much longer.”

“ I thought I had told you,” he said, with a

merry twinkle in his eye. “ I will nowlrepair
the omission, but I tell you frankly that the
information will, be of little use to you. She
is already appropriated by some lucky dog, as

I saw for myself by“ the golden badge on her;

' sweet littlefinger.”

V

 

ANEUVERT 7 «1‘?

 

 

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“ You seem to have taken in every detail at
a glance; but, of course, that is" your profes-
sion. But what is the name of this fair un-
known?”

“ Miss Paget.” .

“ What, Jessie, my own sweet wood-violet?”

“ Come, come,” said the general, “you have
got into one scrape already, so don’t, please, ~
tumble into another. Your uncle confided a ,
certain matter to me this morning.” I

“ To which I pleaded guilty, and Miss Paget
is the lady in question.”

“Then, by Jove, you are a
and I quite approve of your choice, and will
help you to overcome your uncle’s scruples.”

Now that Oswald hadawilling listener, he . 

did not tire of the one theme—Jessie.

 

CHAPTER III.
A CURE ma TRUE LOVE.

lucky fellow; ‘~ '

AFTER luncheon Mr. Dinton called Bertram“! 'V

aside, saying:

“ Join me in the library; I wish you to
assist me in writing invitations.”

“Certainly, sir,” he replied, respectfully; but
thought, “ What’s in the wind now?”as he fol-
lowed him, full of curiosity.

\

“Just write to Mrs. Clevedon, and to the

others in this list.”

“ We are to have company then?”

“Yes, Bertram; you will take kindly to the
arrangement, and throw aside your books for
a time to join me in entertaining our guests.” .

“ Your will is always my pleasure,” was the.
soft, oily reply; “ and I hope Oswald Will'-
spare some time from rambling down by the
river-side, where he is to be met, but not‘
alone.” n ‘~ 1

This artfully worded remark had the desired

effect of eliciting a question from his uncle, ‘ I

who said, “ I suppose it was Miss Paget?”

“Yes, sir; I unintentionally overheard their
conversation. I am afraid that poor Oswald
has wandered from his duty past recall. 'I
would not have mentioned this matter if I had ;
not heard you express abhorrence at the

thought of either of us contracting a mesale   '

Nance.”

“ I have put a stop to that, Bertram; let his
case be a warning to you. And now.you get
on with your task, while I join. the general.

We are going to the stables to see the stock . 115‘

and won’t be back for some time.” ' _
“My letter has done its work,” Bertram;

muttered; “the fair Jessie will be lonely and ,

want comforting. I will try to do that, es- ‘»

pecially as I cannot marry without the uncle’s”
consent. Besides, Jessie might turn out ‘a.

great catch one of these days, when her fathe'r' ' . I

finds this wonderful seam of coal he is always
raving about. The woman I marry must 
well dowered. Perhaps, after all, Oswald's
love is not so disinterested as he would have
her suppose.” ‘ . -
He finished the letters and dispatched them,
little dreaming that they would bring to the
Hall some one who would influence his whole
future to an extent that he would have
deemed impossible. ' ‘

In a week’s time Dinton Hall was trans~ w .-
formed from a sedate bachelor’s home into‘a  g

mansion of mirth and gayety.  -

Silvery laughter floated through the corri- ,~

I‘

dors, and mingled with the sounds of music,. V

both vocal and instrumental. ,
Elegantly dressed women and pretty girls

fiitted about the house and grounds, imparting ' ‘ A.

a nameless charm to a grand old spot that ha
rarely been so invaded. »

Lawn tennis, archery, and the old-fashioned; 

but favorite game of croquet came in for their
share of attention, and helped the guests to while
away many an hour. ’ . , .
One wet morning they were assembled in the.
billiard room, chatting gany and watching the '

progress of a game between Bertram and the,  2

fascinating Mrs. Everest, a wealthy young

widow, who had taken all New York by storm j  A

on her arrival from England with letters of in. 1* »

troduction to eminent bankers
the elite of society. - .I ‘

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,, Here was a dark, beld type of beauty, with ‘
I .‘ brilliant, flashing eyes that seemed too restless

v to remain fixed on any object more than a few
seconds together.
Teeth of dazzling whiteness gave a charm to
a mouth that, to be perfectly beautiful, should
, have been smaller and less sensuous, the lips
being full, though as ripe as cherries.
.1 Her figure was graceful, though plump, and

. ' she took great pains to display it to the greatest

advantage.
Worth, the man-milliner, had put forth all
his skill, backed by the resources of his staff, to

' , make her cestumeawork of art, and she looked

‘ ' as Cleopatra might have done when she capti-

/

‘, » vated Antony.

5
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A

. “as he thought:

’\

4.

,‘ ,  "This is a lovely fern, Mr. Wyncott.

She quite charmed Bertram, whose eyes
g‘reedily followed her every movement during
the game, and dwelt admirineg on her face,

3 with its eyer-vHrying expression.

I "Mr. Oswald, do look! I declare the sun is

I actually coming out at last, and we shall be
able to have our ride to the glen."

: The speaker was Miss Agnes Clevedon, a

charming blonde, with a sweet, clear—cut pro-

. file, and an elegant figure, above the medium

hight.
‘ Her turquoise satin negligee robe suited her

V style of beauty to perfection, while her ani-

mated expression. toned down by her soft;

 - languishing eyes, made a very beautiful pic-

ture.

Oswald joined her, and, evidently e joying
her Society, chatted freely.
. "Allow me to show you my feru~ry. Miss
Clevedon. I, should like your opinion upon'my

, ’ collection before we start.”

“I shall be delighted; I like ferns very
much.”
‘ "Mr. Dinton smiled with inward satisfaction

“The general was right: Oswald has found

" " out already that there are beautiful women

’_ in his own ‘set.’ They will soon efi'ace Miss
'Paget.”
Is it
' indigenous to this part of the country i"

' -“Yes, it is; and is a gift from a dear
friend.”

' “It must be from a lady, then,” she said,
archly. :

'y'“  “To tell you would be breaking confidence,”

’« ,

f ,

' sex when once aroused.

‘ {he said, gayly; “but I will not keep you in

suspense, as I knew the curiosity of the fair
It was presented to

’ .. me, by General Pringle, who, no doubt, could

:3 obtain others from the same source.”

l V‘,‘ I should like One of the same kind. I have

-\ 'a'mind. to make desperate low to the general.

‘and enlist him in the ranks of my fern-gather—

 ers, who, by the by, are nearly all enthusiasts.

a.

3.

 

  Before he could reply Mrs. Clevedon entered

dy I not enroll you under my banner?”——this
r démurely, though with a swift glance at him.

:,~  But, with the quick instinct of hdr sex, she
‘ (saw that the shaft did not strike home.

  

 
 

a!

 

« 44911 the arm of Mr. Dinton.

 ‘ “So we have found the runaways,” she said,
1,, *with a significant smile.

r- v

' f‘It would, give me great pleasure,” he whis-
” pared, “Mrs. Clevedon, to see them always to-
" gether. May I rely upon you offering no op-

; position?”

“Nothing would afl‘ord me greater happi-
"ness,"as my daughter greatly admires your

j}: ‘ mephew. ”

4- 4'

Other guests trooped in, among whom was

L the Reverend Edward Sewell, curate—a use-

P

,
a}.

‘ i r sighted as to be nearly blind.

ful pet among the ladies—who talked learnedly

 of the flora of various countries until his com-
 panions deserted him one by one—a fact which

escaped his observation, as he was so short-

s “This, my dearest Mrs. Everest,” he said, “is

‘a’famous cactus. I am afraid you cannot see

:_ its beauties in that light; permit me to lead

  
 
 
  

 

‘ '  you closer.”

. fie mistook one of the limbs of this spiky
plant for the dashing widow, and fancied he
“awaagrasping her hand, being undeceived only

i [When his fingers were badly PierCBd-

i

 

" Oh!” he exclaimed. “I beg your pardon!
I am so short-sighted, I hopel did not dis-
turb the beads on” your dress?”

Receiving no reply, and thinking it very
odd, he peered through his glasses, and quickly
learned that he was alone.

Meanwhile, Oswald and Miss Clevedon had
started for their ride through the pleasant val-
ley, past the river and up a slight incline in
the direction of Jessie’s cottage, over which
roses and honeysuckle climbed, seenting the air
with their delicate perfume.

“ What a sweet, pretty place, Mr. Wyn-
cott!” exclaimed Miss Clevedon. “ How I
should like to halt awhile, and make a sketch
of it! Do you know them?”

“Yes; they are old friends; but I think you
will find objects of greater interest a little fur-
ther on—a deserted church, for instance, cov-
ered with lichen and ivy.”

“ Thanks; I prefer this. Ah! here is a lady,
I declare! She is very pretty, but a little too
rustic.”

Oswald hit his lip with vexation at this open
criticism of his fiancee, who, in his eyes, was
perfection itself.

Raising his hat, he bade Jessie a courteous
“ Good-day,” a thrill of tenderness underlying
his tone which did not escape the acute percep-
tion of Miss Clevedon.

After a formal introduction had taken place,
Oswald said, “Miss Clevedon wishes to make a
sketch of your house, she admires it so. May
she?”

“Certainly,” she replied; but inwardly she
wondered what motive could have prompted
her lover to bring this aristocratic woman to
pry into her poverty.

The situation was becoming awkward, when
some dark, heavy, overhanging clouds over-
head hurried Miss Clevedon’s departure.

Oswald found an opportunity to Whisper to
Jessie:

“My darling, you must trust me, and have
faith in my undying love, however appear-
ances may be against me.”

Their homeward ride was a silent one, each
being occupied with their own thoughts.

Oswald was vexed at his companion’s way-
wardness in calling at the cottage, as he could
not help seeing how it had pained his darling.

On reaching the Hall, Miss Clevadon, when
alone with the ladies, spoke of their visit to the
Pagets, and said, “How nice it is for them to
have such a friend as Mr. Wyncottl I declare
the girl seemed positively in love with him!”

“Perhaps her affection is only platonic, and
quite sisterly. There’s a good deal of that
kind of thing being carried on in society now-
adays—don’t you think so, Mrs. Clevedon?”
asked Mrs. Everest.

“I am no authority upon such matters, my
dear; but things are very much changed since
I was a girl,” replied Mrs. Clevedon. “My
opinion is that no gentleman has any right to
even flirt outside the pale of his own set; but I
think Oswald is heart-whole as yet. ”

“But will not remain long so, eh, Agnes?”

remarked the pretty widow.

“ I have no wish to captivate any man,” the
girl replied.

“Then you are a perfect Tara auis, my
dear, and a model that should be held up for
an example to all young damsels. You are
too good for this sublunary sphere of ours. I
could not exist if I abandoned all hopes of
making a conquest.”

“ Has a Woman no more important duties in
life, my dear Meliora, than to spend her time
in spreading a net-'vfor eligibles? If a man
could not love me for my own sake alone, and
wanted leading on by a succession of wiles and
artifices. then I ever that he is not worth the
winning.”

The first dressing-bell rung for dinner, and
ended the discmsion.

 

CHAPTER lV.
MANEUVER‘ING.
THE next day' the weather was all that
could be desired. The sun had come out and

 Magma I “

{dried the earth, making it in every way suit-

 

 

able for the picnic that had been arranged for
that morning.

There were some glorious woods, shady
nooks, and fairy-like dells near, into which
lovers could ramble and talk sweet nonsense to
their hearts’ content.

While preparing for the serious business of
the day, which with ladies means making
themselves attractive and as pretty as may be
(a commendable effort on their part, and one
which seciety sternly claims at their hands),
Mrs. Clevedon and her daughter enjoyed one
of those delicious tete-a-tetes which have
been known before now to decide the fate not
only of individuals, but of empires.

“But, dear mamma, he makes no sign,”
Agnes said. “ I have led him on according to
your wishes. He talks pleasantly, and plays
the part of cavalier to perfection; but, beyond
that, he is ice itself.”

“My dear Agnes, a skillful tactician never
considers difficulties, except to overcome them;
the campaign has only commenced, and you
cannot expect the citadel to surrender too
quickly, especially when he has an ally so
potent as that artful minx to make his resis-
tance more determined than it could otherwise
be. But all the chances are in your favor.
His uncle is favorable to the match. You are
young, and as my daughter, very beautiful.”

This with a smile of self-satisfaction, and a
haughty glance, as if challenging the verdict of
the world. ’

“ I wish, mamma, you could persuade
Oswald to pay us a visit at Clevedon; I could
have him all to myself then; and I know so
many pretty spots where I could entice him
which are so delightful, that love seems to
lurk everywhere, ready to spring out upon the
unwary loiterers.”

“ The period of romance has passed in your
life, my dear, and that of the practical should
take its place. Oswald will have a very hand-
some fortune at his uncle’s death, which cannot
in the ordinary course of events fail to happen
soon. Not that I wish the dear old gentleman
to die, but business is business, and however
much we may dislike it, it forces itself upon
our serious attention, especially when you are
as well aware as I am that, owing to your
papa’s expensive tastes and your brother’s ex-
travagances, [we are heavily in debt, and
creditors won’t be content to wait forever I”

“All this is very sad, mamma; but I cannot
force Oswald to declare himself. However, I
will do my best to-day to win.” .

“ Spoken like a sensible girl, my dear You
will have him all to yourself, and from what I
can perceive of his character, his heart is not so
impenetrable as you may imagine, for I have
seen him gazing admiringly at you when in
your society. Under skillful management his
admiration might be made to develop into a
tenderer passion. What do you propose wear-
ing to-day, Agnes? I am anxious you should
look your best and brightest.”

“What do you say to the last garden cos-
tume from Madame Elise’s, mamma?”

“ Just the thing, my love; but make haste,
as time presses!”

In a short while Agnes Clevedon appeared
before her mother for inspection and approval.

“ Simply charming,” Mrs. Clevedon ex—
claimed, admiringly. “And now run down-
stairs, my dear, as I see the guests are arriving
and Oswald is giving orders for the carriages,
and you must contrive to ride with him.”

As Miss Clevedon sailed toward the party
who were fast collecting, a hushed murmur of
admiration followed her; and no wonder, for
she looked superbly handsome in her floating
robes of coma lace, with its knots of wild flowers
gleaming here and there: a Gainsboro’ hat,
with its wreath of the same simple flowers;
and parasol whose color harmonized so well
with her attire, and gave her face so piquant
and coquettish an expression.

Mr. Dinton was the first who addressed her,
saying: ‘ ,

“ You look as Sweet and fresh, my dear, as V

  

 

 

  

, i,.
I ‘I

‘ t

  If “i KIWOMAN’S'fMANEUVER. 

’1' ’

 

-— I

, the morning itself, and will turn the brains of
half the young sparks of our party; but be
merciful, pray, for remember my nephew may
require, before to-morrow morning, to order
pistols for two and coffee for one, if you use
those pretty bright eyes of yours too freely.”

A smile of satisfied vanity passed over her
pretty patrician face at the praise and com-
pliments from Oswald’s uncle, for she thought:

“I am sure to win him, especially as Mr.
Dinton is on our side; besides, I love him, and
am far prettier than Miss Puget, and have
wealth and position,too; but this day must de-
cide my fate. Other men have wooed me, but
none have touched my heart like Oswald.”

The gay party Were about to start, seated to
their satisfaction.

Bertram had contrived to have the charming
widow in the carriage with him; and his
brother was requested to drive the basket
phaeton and ponies, as his uncle laughingly said
he had no room for youngsters.

Nothing loth, Agnes seated herself by Os-
wald’s side, his uncle saying slyly:

“ No loitering on the road, my boy; for re-
member you have a long drive before you get
'to Burley Woods, and I shall time you.”

“I shall not be far behind, sir,” he replied,
as he touched the thoroughbred ponies with his
whip and drove out of the gates.

Mrs. Clevedon looked serenely happy as she
saw them drive past their carriage in a few
minutes’ time, at a smart, steady pace, and
mused:

“How clever of Mr. Dinton to contriva their
going together. Dear Agnes is really inimitable
today. I shall be quite surprised if Oswald
does not declare himself.”

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by
Mr. Dinton, saying:

“ What do you think of our couple of turtle-
doves?—-—they make a handsome pair.”

‘- Yes indeed, I was thinking the same when
you spoke.”

“They would do credit to any family, my
dear Mrs. Clevedon; and I don’t mind candidly
confessing thatit is the one wish of my life to
see them united.”

“I esteem and admire Oswald,” said Mrs.
Clevedon, “for his high and noble qualities,
independently of his bein g your nephew, which,
‘in itself, is sufficient in my eyes to be a pass-
port to a mother’s favor. ’

At last they reached Burley Woods, and
were both surprised to find that Oswald and his
companion had arrived before them.

Agnes was seated on the trunk of a tree,
looking very sweet and happy, with Oswald
lying full length beside her on the grass, talk-
ing animatedly.

As they were summoned to the rustic
luncheon, General Pringle approached the group
with Jessie and an elderly lady on his arm.

Had a bomb-shell fallen among the turf-
spread banquet, there could not have been
greater consternation and disappointment to a
few members of the party.

A look of anger and hauteur passed over
Agnes Clevedon’s face as she turned to her mo-
ther after having bewed to the new-comers,
and said: “ Mamma, my day is spoilt entirely

10W that Miss Puget has been forced on our no-

ice by that eccentric General Pringle. I was
so happy a few minutes sincc: he so gentle, so~
But there!” she added, impatiently; “I detest
her, and feel sure that her coming here to-day
has no other meaning than to try and wrest
him from me.”

“ Hush, my dearestvchild; have more confi-
dence in yourself! Iknow he likes and admires
you; show this girl that such is the case, and
all may yet be well. Never despair!”

General Pringle was determined to gain Jes-
sie’s consent to make one of the party at the
picnic, as he wished to bring his new beautiful
favorite before the notice of his friend Dinton,
thinking that her sweet face and simple allur-
ingways would charm his friend and win his
consent to‘his nephew’s union.

. Many had been his visits to the cottage, al—

\ ways with some excuse—a fern or orchid to be

' 1

 

examined and named, as Jessie was an oracle
upon matters of botany; but his true motives
were to become acquainted with her real senti-
ments toward Oswald.

At last he prevailed upon her to come, and
he was exceedingly pleased to see how bright
and happy she appeared.

A look of displeasure crossed the face of Mr.
Dinton when he was introduced to her—a look
which she could not help noticing, with a sad
feeling at her heart, as she thought, “He will
never lib me or give his consent. Why should
he be so hard and stern? What have Idone to
cause him to dislike me? I cannot help poor
papa having peculiar crotchets.”

And she strolled away out into the woods
under the shade of the old forest trees, to think
and ponder.

The scent of the new~mown hay was wafted
toward her by the summer breeze, and she
could hear, at a distance, the voices of hay-
makers. .

She had been alone about half an hour under
the gentle pines, strolling sometimes, seated at
others, in lazy lotus-eating fashion, building
castles, and then toppling them down, as- her
imagination would conjure up hopes and fears.

Her meditations were suddenly aroused by
the crackling of brambles and leaves close at
hand, which told her that footsteps were ap-
proaching, and she saw, to her dismay and dis~
appointment, Bertram Wyncott coming to
ward her, saying, “ How is it that I find the
charming Miss Paget a wanderer in the woods,
instead of giving us the sunshine of her pre-
sence this glorious afternoon?”

“Because, at times, I like solitude,
Wyncott."

“But there are claims that sometimes over.
rule your own inclinations and tastes, which
force themselves upon one, especially when
one’s society is so valued as—” he was about to
add ‘ yours,’ but Jessie interrupted him by
saying, coldly—

“ I am not one of the valued few, Mr. Wyn-
cott, as I know only two among your party,
and they will excuse my absence, I doubt
not.”

“Are you sure, Miss Puget?” he said, mean—
ingly.

“I cannot say for certain,” she stammered,
as the warm blood suffused her brow and face;
“there may be another; but among so large a
party I could not be certain.”

“ Oh, that I could dare win her for my own,
and throw my ambition to the winds 1” he
thought, as he gazed into the limpid. depths of
her eyes, at the neatly braided little golden
head, which was bare. “If she would only
love me, as she evidently does my hated bro.
ther, I would throw myself at her feet and risk
all.” ,

He drank in her sweet, artless presence, and
contrasted it with the bold, voluptuous beauty
of the woman whom he knew he could gain
for a wife, and an irresistible feeling seized
him to possess himself of this treasure at any
cost.

He watched her slim, ungloved hands and
rounded finger-tips, and frowned with hate as
his eyes caught the jeweled circlet that
gleamed in the sun, and said, bitterly, “I sup-
pose you were waiting for some favored, happy
mortal, who, doubtless, is close at hand?”

“No, no; indeed I am quite alone,” she re-
plied, gently, for she thought, “Perhaps he
may be my brother some day, and I . must be
kind and patient with him.”

She little dreamt in her innocent heart that
a torrent of passion was hearing him away
from reason and prudence as he stood alone in
her presence, intoxicated, entranced.

A dangerous silence ensued, which she broke
by saying, a little timidly, as she glanced at
his features, “I think I must be getting back;
but I want to get this root of ivy up if I can.
Is it not pretty?”

As she bent down to loosen the roots, the
mad ’i'mpulse which would not be quenched,
possessed him, and he caught her in his arms
in one mad embrace as he poured forth a tor-

Mr.

   
 
 

 

rent of wild endearments, saying, “ My beauti- \5;
ful—my own! if you will but give me one, I 
word of encouragement, I will forfeit all
chance of fortune from my uncle, and face the, ,
world, for I love you, ayl and would do 'or  .
dare anything to win you, my sweet one, my "
darling!” 
She felt his hot breath and his clinging arms, , ‘
about her, and saw his passion-lit eyes burning
with eager fire; and with one supreme effort, .
born of mad fear and horror, wrested herself‘ ‘ ‘
from his grasp, and struck him with her hand
across the cheek, which received a severe
scratch from the diamonds that glittered in her , _
ring of betrothal. , 
“How dare you speak to me of love,” she“; y, ,
cried, “and outrage all sense of manly honor, ‘ ,~
when you must know I am the aflianced wife 1 f“
of your brorher? I scorn you, and tell you, ‘ '
that were I free, and had never given my love, 1v,
as I have, to Oswald, I should never listen to ,_ {-1
your offer, and would die rather than become
your wife!” I _, a ‘v
“ I am not aware that I ever asked you to 
fill that position, Miss Pagetl” he replied, with " ‘13:»
a vindictive, malignant smile, enraged by." a. .
the pain that she had inflicted and the awk~ x,  ,i
ward position he was placed in to account for  :' I
his absence to his friends, especially Meliora ‘1 v w
Everest, who he knew would ask him in—r  ”
numerable questions. . ' "1.3,,
“ I will make you, pay for your scorn and. ._ ',
hate, Jessie!” he murmured, as he tried to stop "  ,3
the bleeding with his cambric handkerchief.. ‘ ' 
Miss Paget watchedwith pain and regret the I .‘
mischief she had done, and with her own little '
hands, forgetful of the great provocation she " 1,,“
had received, ran to a little rivulet that was " ' ‘
trickling its pellucid water over moss and ‘yl’ 
lichen, bowlders of stone and wild grasses, .‘1 j
dipped her handkerchief in, and soaking it with, ,  »
the cool water, returned, and offered it to him,  vi .;
saying, “We have both of us acted very . .
wrongly. I am deeply sorry I hurt you. i»  3
Pray let us forget, if possible, what has passed, .“
and remember that we may some day be ‘
brother and sister. I would wish to blot w; _
out what has occurred rather than two bro- ‘1‘.“
there should be enemies.” 1. , . I _ _
~ The fearful thrught of Oswald and his brother . ,‘ 1‘;
acting, perhaps, the vei y role over again 01;. ,‘
Cain and Abel alarmed her, and she fanciidffl; 
she saw them locked in one deathly embrace"
that would only end in the victory of the
stronger; and she burst into a flood of teams ,-
she held cut her hand, and pleaded for forgive- ' 32’?
ness, which he reluctantly gave at last. ,   '
“I forgive all, everything,” she added, as , " \
she left him to riach the picnic party by“~ ,
another path, “ because you are his brother.” \ ‘
“Yes, and I will let you have him, vixen";* 7
but you shall have a beggar for a husband—an, - " ‘ _
outcast—a felon l” he muttered, as he gn undr I  
his heel in the soft, yielding turf, and walked;
quickly toward the revelers. ‘ , . ,3 y ..
Oswald missed the sweet face of Jessie, and? r"... 4 i
had wandered through the woods, but‘had net, 1 
caught a glimpse of her white-robed litile 
figure. . . p \I 
He was therefore thrown entirely 'uponj,‘
Agnes’s society, as all the party had strolled‘
away on different explorations. I I
“ I should so like to see that deserted’ .
church," she said, archly. “Will you litak'ef‘r r
me, Mr. Wyncottl” ‘ “"‘i
“ Certainly,” he replied, gallantly. “ Your": - if

wishes, Miss Clevedon, are my commands,”'as 3, .91.: i.
he offered her his arm, and they strolled inite  “l '
direction. * ,1 , 
“How silent he is!” she thought, as they“
wended their way through the rich verdu're, out,~
through the flowering glades, and beneath the ’
shadowy trees, which glinted in the warm'eunc .j
shine, and made a cool hade for lingering
lovers. ‘ 
Presently Agnes broke the calm silence by ‘
exclaiming, “How charming! Do look, Mr. ‘,
Wyncottl There is~ the dear old ruin just:
peeping through the foliage.‘ 'How beautiful: ‘.
and picturesque-it looks from here!” \ " 

/

  
 
    
    
    
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
   
 
    
  
   
  
   
   
   
    
   
  
  
    
   
  
   
  
    
     
  
    
  
   
   
 

 

 

 

Ji-
x).
ls,

 

, .; very poor companion,” he said,,apologetically.

“ I was in a kind of brown study; but I pro—
mise to be a better cicerone if you will pardon
1 me,” he added, laughingly. ‘

V “I will forgive you, certainly,” she re-
turned, archly; “ but under one condition—
that you tell me what scientific subject en-
gaged your thoughts, for you know I feel sure
it was a very interesting one.”

“Indeed, I crave your mercy, fair lady.
My mind was lost in vain dreams and fantasies
that I could not bore you by relating.”

“Are you sure that it would bore me, Mr.
Wyncott?” she replied softly. “ I think I may
say that your thoughts would interest In
somewhat.” ~

And the delicate gloved hand pressed his arm

V firmer as she looked bewitchingly up into his
face for his reply.

I “She is certainly a dazzling and beautiful
girl,” he thought; “but my heart is steeled
against even her fascinations, which are great.
How I wish Bertram would make her his wife;
I should like her immensely for a sister,” as he
replied to her tremulous little speech somewhat
coldly.

“My thoughts, dear Miss Clevedon, are
mere vagaries, empty ones, devoid of interest,
and not worthy so much honor as you may

j deem fit to bestow upon them.”

She lit her lip with vexation, since his tone
and manner gave her no little heart fluttering,
and brought a conscious blush to her cheek.

As she murmured, “It is useless; he does

not care for me; my affection is wasted anl
lost upon one who thinks more of the rustic, cold,
passiouless girl who forced her society upon us
to—day than of me, who have been the acknowl-

-. edged belle of the New York season. What

. infatuation!”

They had reached the old church at last, and
knocked at the door of a little cottage close by,
which was at last opened by a deaf old dame,
who looked askance at the visitors, as if debat-
ing whether to grant their request to enter the

, church or not.
But a douceur in the shape of some silver
'had the desired effect, and she opened a heavy,

' I fliron-girded door with a key from a. rusty

, bunch, and presented it to Oswald, saying:
“You can guide yourSelves, as I am suffering
‘ from the rheumatism in my old bones, and
these damp stones make me worse, yer

‘ ' ,’ honor.”

 

 

After pointing the way to the belfry, she

' ' {hobbled off.

 They went up the gloomy, musty-smelling
opening, and then came to another dark, heavy
"door, which was clamped with nails that were
rusty, and had held together a thick cloth for
years. ‘
_ He turned the key, and they walked into a
. dimly-lighted chamber, from the windows of
‘ which they could get a magnificent view of
the country for miles around.

“Why, this is the chamber I have heard so
much about,” exclaimed Agnes. “What a
dear, delightful old place! Why, you could
cenjure up any amount of ghostly stories in

. II: \this antiquated placc, with the sun just giving

us a faint light through those heavy-barred

:, .windows.”

“You are right,” he said, “ it is well worth

I‘ ' coming tosee; but we have left it rather too
'. ' late,jI fear, for the sun is not powerful enough

‘ at this time of the evening to see all the beau-

) ., ties of the landscape.”

' They leaned leisurely against the windows,
admiring first one view and then another, till
Miss Clevedon suggested they should return,

(I
.' , as time was fleeting and the shades of evening

Were, deepening.
Theyapproached the door, but to their dis-
may found it had closed upon them softly, but

' " .not the less efl’ectually.

Elf?  i ,- / Oswald knocked lustily at it with his stick,
« S w and tried to shake it, but it would not yield to

    

 a,"  knocking and shouting.

all his force, neither wasthere any response to

"‘»By Jove!” he exclaimed, “we are ina

» /

 

 

eadful» fix, Miss Clevedon; one that I ,would'

it“,-‘“A‘jWoMAN’s'MANEUVERW  '  -. 

not have had happened for the world, as we
may be penned up here for-” !

But he did not finish his sentence when he
caught sight of the white face and trembling
figure of his companion in misfortune.

Again and again he struggled with the door
and shouted till the moldy walls rung again,
but with no better success.

“It is no use, Mr. Wyncott,” she gasped,
with pallid lips, as she thought: “ Perhaps we
shall be immured in this cold, damp tomb all
night. The woman is deaf and thinks we have
left the church, and we are lost.‘ What will
mamma and all of them think?”

The poor girl was in an agony of terror which
went to Oswald’s heart.

’The light grew dimmer and dimmer, and she
shivered in the thin lace dress, the chill, damp
moldy air penetrating its delicate texture.

Every now and again Oswald would knock
and thump at the door, and then shout, but not
a sound—only his own voice, which echoed
weirdly round the apartment. I

“Let me wrap you in this coat,” he said,
with a serious entreating air, as she sat with
her face buried in her hands, crouched in a
corner.

f‘No, no: not your coat!” said the huddled-
up‘ figure. “ I am not very cold ”—- shivering
as she spoke—“ but I am so anxious about
mamma and the others. They will be so alarm-
ed. and I am so unhappy in this place, it is so
dark.”

“Pray don’t refuse it, Miss Clevedon,” he
urged, pleadingly.

“I think I could bear even this place with

him,” she thought, as the formal “Miss Cleve-
‘don” jarred upon her heart.

“Why does he
not call me Agnes?”

But, alas for her dream of hope! not a trace
of affection was in his eyes as he wrapped her
gently and tenderly as a brother would a loved
sister in his coat, and then paced to and fro to
keep warmth in his frame.

“ I must insist that you wear this now,” she
said presently, “ for I am much warmer, and
you must be dreadfully cold.”

“ I beg you will not take it of! for the world,
as it would only be in my way I assure you,
:61- I am thinking of piling up that old furni-
ture to see if I cannot drop on the outside, and
go and get aid and let you out.”

“ I fear it will not be possible,” she said, in
a hopeless tone.

“ I beg to differ, Miss Clevedon, and 'now am
going to prove to you that my boyhood’s
penchant for climbing and jumping will, per-
haps, prove of service.”

By the light of a silver- crested young moon
he collected together some loose timbers to
stand on, and at last reached an unbarred win-
dow, just the size of his body.

Agnes wasaroused from her thoughts by a
cheery shout from Oswald, saying:

“Dear Miss Clevedon, take heart of grace;
all will soon be right, for I can easily get down
from here, as the drop is not more than 1?. teen
feet, which a climber of these mountains does
not heed. Keep up your courage; I shall not
be long before I return.”

He soon accomplished his task, though it was
more difficult than he had guessed, as he had to
hoist himself by his hands on to the window-
ledge to break his descent, which was more
than twenty feet, and which stunned him for
some minutes. But he soon recovered himself
and ran to obtain assistance.

Poor Miss Clevedon was crouched up in the
gloomy place, wondering what would be said
of her strange absence, and with him.

“ Why did I ever come here?” she murmured.
“It was all my fault, and mamma will think
that all is settled between us, and he has not
spoken one word of love, though we have been
alone. They will twit me, and she will look
horrified when she hears we disappeared to-
gether; perhaps may even taunt me by making
remarks in her simple, artless way upon my in-
‘discretionlx Oh, why did this Paget girl come

 

here to witness my humiliation?” . ‘ ,
The slow minutiae dragged by, bringing her j

 

v}« -l p , , . |«.. ,,,
l‘_ , 

n

    
 

only misery and fear, and she fancied now that ‘
ghostly shapes and unearthly sounds were sur—
rounding her, grinning at her unhappiness.

At last a, crashing sound, mingled with many
voices, was heard, and she knew that Oswald
had returned with help.

“Thank Heaven!” she said; “ he has come
at last!”

The door was opened, and amid the glare of
lanterns she saw the welcome face of Oswald,
and, tottering toward him, would have fallen, ;
had he not caught her in his arms and sup. "
ported her.

She soon recovered, for he had brought from
a house near by some brandy, and in a short
time they were riding at fast as their borrowed
horse and vehicle would take them to the Hall.

In the mean time, Mrs. Clevedon and Mr.
Dinton were marveling at the absence of the
two missing truants.

“It is my belief, Mrs. Clevedon, that the

ir have stolen a march upon us and taken it
i their heads to walk back.”

4“ Surely dear Agnes would not be so impru-
dent as to fatigue herself so unnecessarily!” re-
turned her mother, somewhat impatiently.

“ Is any one missing?” inquired a fussy,
short-sighted old maid.

“ Oh, no; only Mr. Wyncott and Miss Cleve-
don I” replied a sour young spinster, who had
been dangling after the two nephews of Dinton
Hall for three years, and was quite pleased at
the chance of saying. something spiteful about
the lovely girl who she thought had won the
long-coveted prize.

“ It is no use waiting any longer,” said Ber—
tram. “ I have no doubt that Oswald and Miss
Clevedon are perfectly safe and will be home
when we arrive,” giving a hasty glance at Jes-
sie to see lf tl e shaft had taken effect.

“You are right,” replied his uncle. “ We
will start. as the evening dews are getting any.
thing but pleasant.”

In a very short time they started; but there
was a silence among most of the party, Very
different to the gay and cheerful nor nda y
drive.

General Pringle had cunningly contrive-d to
sit behind his favorite, who was in anything
but a happy mood, as she thought:

“ Yes, this lovely, fair, graceful girl has at
last won him. Why else has he stayed away
for hours? And I had such faith in his love
and constancy! Alas! his vows were traced
in the sand!” ‘

“This is a glorious night, Miss Paget,” said
the general, cheerily, as they drove briskly
along.

“Yes, it is very lovely,” she replied, ab-
sently.

“ 1 fear you are not quite so happy as I should
wish you to be. but don’t mind an old soldier
like me,” pressing her hand tenderly. “ Cheer
up and trust your lover. He is as true as steel,
though appearances are against him; I would
stake my sword on his honor and faith.”

“You are so kind, dear general,” she said,
“and I am grateful!” And she pressed his
hand, and raised it to her lips, and he felt a
warm little tear drop as she released it.

And he thought: “Dear, sweet little Wo-
man, one of Heaven’s greatest treasures, who
could be hard enough to cause that drop of
crystal to flow from one so pure, so gentle’tl
By Heaven, I would never look upon his lace
again if he played her false!”

Meanwhile Agnes shrunk back shivering, ex—
claiming every now and then:

“Oh, make him drive faster, faster! We '
are going so slow, Mr. Wyncott!”
“We shall soon be there now. My only

fear is that you will take cold,” he returned,
in a concerned tone.

“It is not that I fear, but of what poor
mamma will think.” This with a spice of bit-
terness. “Will the road nevar end? It did
not seem half so long and dreary this morn-
ing.”

At last they arrived at, Dinton Ball, and .
/Were greeted with alvolley of inquiries, and
condolences and light chaff were showered upon

  
 
 

I l

   
 

 

£1

,.

It ‘1,
x‘ R

r .

, l I q
Oswald as he [made his appearance in the draw-
ing-room to explain matters.

Agnes escaped to her apartment, followed
by her mother, where she indulged in a true
feminine flood of tears.

“My dearest girl, confide in me; I can see
that all is we .”

“What do you mean, mammal
mock me in my sorrow?”

“ Mock you, my child? Explain yourself.
You and Oswald having been away from our
party for five hours, there is but one conclu-
sion to come to, and that is, that you are his

I

Do you

‘ affianced wife. ”

“ Do not torture me further, mamma, for
indeed your child is sick at heart. I admit I
have been alone with Mr. Wyncott, but not
one word of love has escaped his lips.” And
she buried her face in her mother’s bosom.

“This, my darling, must be seen to. I will
see that my daughter is not made the laughing-
stock of the neighborhood,” she said, kissing
her tenderly and disengaging her damp robes
from the trembling, graceful form. i

“ If you ever loved me, do not, I implore
you, blame Oswald! It was all my fault, and
mine alone! He was honor itself! You prom-
ise me, mother mine?”—looking beseechingly
into the proud aristocratic face, which softened
as she looked down upon the pure features of
her loved child.

“Yes; for your sake I promise!” But it
was a hard battle that proud woman had to
fight with her haughty nature to see her child
cast aside unnoticed by the man to whom she
had given her young affections.

 

CHAPTER V.
A cmsrs.

THANKS to the mediation of General Pringle,
what promised to be a very unpleasant affair
for Oswald turned out the reverse.

Jessie was mollified, Mr. Dinton talked over,
and Mrs. Clevedon out-maneuvered by this
clever old soldier, aided by the proud spirit of
Agnes, who, however, felt imbittered against
Oswald for being the cause of an esclandre
which might have compromised her in the
eyesof society.

“No man of feeling would have seen a lady
placed in such a position without offering her
the only reparation that lay in his power,” she
mused, when she had time to look the matter
in the face. “ How I hate that designing Miss
Paget, who certainly is angling for Oswald;
but I shalltake the first opportunity of forcing
him to give her up, and shall talk the matter
ovar seriously with mamma.”

The girl’s pride had come to her aid in the
first instance, hence her appeal to her mother
not to take advantage of Oswald’s delicate
position toward her.

“ I was a little simpleton,” she soliloquized,
“not to allow mamma to manage the affair,
and have therefore played into the hands of
my rival, not to mention that I am now
laughed at and forced to listen to spiteful re-
marks made under cover of harmless raillery.

A few days after the picnic Mr. Dinton and

i all his guests were invited to a ball to be held

at the club rooms in the village.

Thanks to General Pringle, Jessie received
tickets for herself and friend. v

The ball-room presented a magnificent spec-
tacle, with its banners of all nations, its choice
exotics, and its array of fair women and hand-
some men. ‘

Jessie was glad of an opportunity to meet
her lovar in public, because she felt that her
beauty must command admiration and hoped
that he would feel piqued at the attentions of
other men. She was too much a woman to
forget the little episode of the picnic. .

Oswald was certainly proud of being the ac-
cepted lover of such a beautiful woman as Jes-
sie, but not a little jealous of the attentions she

' , ‘met with at the hands of men of wealth and
" position. _ .

 

 

H

2 "A WOMAN’S ' MANEUVER;  

Jessie’s claim to be considered the queen of '

beauty could not be challenged.

Her chaperon, Mrs. Williams, the wife of a
leading medical practitioner, was proud of her
lovely charge and the attention which she her-
self received. ’ .

Jessie was dressed in floating robes of white
tulle and lace. Her only ornaments were
white roses and myrtle leaves, which she wore
in clusters on her dress, bosom, and in her rich
braids of glossy hair.

A nameless charm pervaded her every move-
ment; and the one inquiry that went round
the rooms was: “ Who is she?”

Miss Clevedon was perfectly eclipsed by the
girl she termed a “ rustic,” and her enjoyment
was spoilt for the evening.

She felt piqued, too, at Oswald’s abstraction
when conversing or dancing with her, for she
plainly perccived that his eyes were constantly
following Jessie wherever she moved.

Mrs. Everest, who looked like an Eastern
princess, came in for her fair share of attention;
but Bertram was constantly in attendance up-
on her, and greatly pleased his uncle, who put
it all down to politeness, little dreaming that it
had a deeper meaning.

The general sought out his favorite, Jessie,
and talked to her of Oswald as they sat in a
recess, screened by some very fine azaleas.

“You must trust Oswald, my dear, for he
has a difficult part to play. He is true to the
core, and does not care one jot for Miss Cleve-
don. You both have a friend in me, and must
not be cast down.”

“ I cannot bear being placed in a false posi-
tion. He dare not claim me openly, and my
heart is eaten out with suspense, knowing the
temptations which surround him in the shape
of wealth and position, both of which he would
lose by wedding me. There are times when I
wish we had never met.”

“ Come,‘comel you must not succumb to
such gloomy thoughts, especially to—nighti But
here comes Oswald, to claim you for the next
dance, I suppose. Be kind to him, for be sadly
needs comforting.”

A blush of pleasure and a brilliant love.lit
gleam flashed from her eyes as he led her for-
ward to join in the mazes of the delightful
waltz.

Agnes Clevedon looked on with bitterness,
wondering how he could prefer a penniless girl
to her—she, with her attractions of wealth,
station and acknowledged beauty.

Bertram smiled sardonically, and thought:
“ He little knows of the storm which must
burst over his head before long, through thus
openly defying his uncle. I take good care
not to show my cards, or I, too, might share
in his ignominy.”

Oswald, when they had finished dancing,
led his darling to one of the balconies where
they were comparatively free from intrusion.

“ Take me in, Oswald,” she said, “ I do not
wish to get you into trouble with your uncle,
who has not deigned to notice me at all to-
night.”

" He is prejudiced, darling, and knows not
your worth, or he would be the first to ac-
knowledge it.

“My father has offended him, and there is
no hope for us, dear Oswald.”

“ There is every hope, sweet one, in the
strength of our love, which increases every
hour. Rather than give you up, I would
sacrifice, ay, even my uncle’s affection, which
I prize dearly.”

“ You would i” she said, with eyes that
glistened with unshed tears of happiness. “I
wish that I could be more worthy of your de-
voted love, for I must tell you that I have
lately doubted it. I knew you cared for me,
but I feared that the beauty of Miss Clevedon
and her fascinations would chase my image
from your heart.”

“ No woman can or ever will do that,
Jessie,” he said solemnly, as be pressed her
yielding form 'to his heart and kissed those
warm ripe lips that trembled with love’s emo-
tion beneath his passion-laden eyes.

 

 

, w." 7.. "TV—m“.

 

y...  I
r

 a 1“;
At this moment the heavy curtains were \
hastily thrown open, and Mr. Dinton stood be- ' "/_ ‘
fore them, his suppressed passion for the mo- 
ment depriving him of speech. .
“Sir,” he said, at last, “ you are free to
continue in your disobedience and to defy me,
as from this moment you are no nephew of
mine.” ‘( . '
“ This is neither the time nor place, uncle,
to put me on my defense. Some respect is, I I
think, due to this lady. Come, Jessie, I will I
conduct you to your chaperon.” " . . .1
Mr. Dinton stood aside to permit them to - l‘
pass, half-regretful when he looked at the '
sweet, sad facs which his unkind words had { '
overshadowed with pain and humiliation, and "
inclined to relent, if Oswald would but show
some deference to his wishes. ,
Mrs. Clevedon stood close by with her ,
daughter, well pleased that she had put him on 
the lovers’ track. . “ ' ‘
When they returned to the gay assembly,
the lights bewildered Jessie’s brain to an ex-
tent that made further enjoyment impossible,
and in a few" minutes she left with her chape-
ron, who could see that her lovely charge was, - ,
really ill and upset, and shrewdly guessed that . ‘
Oswald was in some way the cause of it all. . «
Next morning Mr. Dinton summoned Oswald ,. 
to his presence. , . . 
“ I suppose you know what I wish to speak ’ 
. _ _,

 

to you about?”

“Yes; and I regret that my affection for a _, i
lady should cause you such offense, sir. In all ‘ ".3
other matters you are entitled to, and would ‘ "
always receive, my most implicit obedience, , ,_
but where my future happines is involved I 
must claim exemption.” " ‘ , 

“ Then all I can say is that it is in this par- 
ticular that I claim your submission, ahd tell ' ‘ ' W
you once for all that if you marry this girl
without my consent you will be beggars; not ,
one cent of my money shall go toward the sup-_
port of paupers and their progeny.” , W

Enough, sir; forbear. My Wife will be no ,
beggar as long as l have arms, and hands, and
brain. To work is, after all, better and nobler
than to wait for the fruits of another’s industry
and thrift.” '. j' if;

“Hands and brainsl—fiddle de-de'e! What _
can you do to support yourself, much less a
wife and her madman of a father?” ,

“ Sir, let this interview be brief, as I can see
we shall not agree. How could you expect‘me fa:

 

 

to continue to submit to threats whenever I \f,
incurred your displeasure, and be liable to be 3,155
turned adrift upon the world at a time, per? 
haps, when my energies might fail me? I thank ‘4’”
you for all your past kindness and evidence of . :5?
affection, and shall continue to think of you as». a '- 
my best friend and benefactor. Do not let us " ‘2. 

part in anger, sir ”-this as he held out his ‘
hand. , _ A
“When you have returned to your proper .. 2,.
senses I will take your hand; but not till then. '
The sooner you relieve me of your presence,» " '2‘).
the better.” f C”
Oswald left the room with a feeling of in-T, ’_ at,
dignation rankling in his heart at the unjusti' 5",: u
treatment he had received from one whom he ,  
had always revered and looked up to’as a”. ‘
father. , I
“ Obstinate young rascal, to upset me like "
this!” his uncle soliloquized. as he dashed a tear it
away impatiently. “ He will neVer be, mad ,
enough to leave the home that has sheltered , 
him in his childhood and carry his. ,Quioxtic.  -
ideas into practice! If I thought he would,;- ‘
why, by Jove, I would let him marry the girl.  
Iwish my old friend Pringle was here. ‘He  g“. ‘
knows now to manage the boy better than \I  
ever did.” _ . 9:. .. 
His reflections were cut short by a tap at the '3  ‘
library door, which was followed by the, en- 
trance of Mrs. Clevedon, saying: ‘ , '
“Good-morning, Mr. DintOn; I fear that , ‘f
we must take our leave to-day.” " ,. ,
“ So soon, my dear lady?” he said,. placing a I.  4'
chair. “.I hope nothing has occurred during . L
your'brief stay to render such a step necess"  I; '
sary?” . I ,  " ,-. '

“Adam! 1:"!
x“ a I”? a?“

v
.55).,

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

' uncle.

 

, “ Oh, dear, no; we have been very happy;
but since last evening dear Agnes has felt very
indisposed, as she was an unintentional obser-
ver of the little scene on the balcony._ We
Were quite sorry for you, and wondered how
your nephew could carry on at such a rate
in a public place; but what else could be ex-
pected of such an upstart as Miss Paget?”

“ Believe me, no one has tried harder to cure
him of this mad passion than I have, or regret
more that your daughter should have been an

eye-witness of so unpleasant an affair; but.

Oswald leaves the Hall to-day, and will not
further offend.”
These words decided Mrs. Clevedon to leave

- at once, as she was too good a general to re-

main when the game was up. -

No persuasions on the part of Mr. Dinton
could alter her determination to depart at once,
which decision was carried into efiect with
what appeared to be undue haste.

But Mrs. Everest did not accompany them,
pleading fatigue and indisposition as her rea-
sons for trespassing for a further, period on her
host’s hospitality.

. He was only too pleased, as the house got
very dull and lonely now that nearly all his
guests had follOWed the example of Mrs. Cleve‘
don and taken their leave.

‘ Notwithstanding the opinion of Mr. Dinton,
Oswald lost no time in packing up and leaving

’V the Hall, as he thought, forever.

His uncle was almost mad when he found
that Oswald had taken him at his word and
departed without a line of farewell, or leaving

, \ his address.

Ringing his bell furiously, be summoned

1 Bertram, and said:

“ Where is that ingrate of a brother of
yours?”

“ I was not even aware he had left till a few
minutes ago; but the only wonder to me is that
he did not take the step before.”

“ What do you mean? Do you mean to
infer, sir, that I have been unjust or harsh to
you or your brother?”

“Nothing was further from my thoughts,
We owe everything to you. What I
meant to convey was, that his mad infatuation
for Miss Puget would induce him to brave
your anger and risk all consequences.”

“ Whatever he has done will not affect you;
but he must be found, for with all his faults I
cannot forget his many noble qualities; if he

, has erred, it is for love’s sake.”

“I shall take no trouble to find Oswald,”
Bertram thought, as he walked away; “ he
. has made his bed and must lie on it.”

The dinner passed ofi’ that evening in almost

. solemn silence, and Bertram and Mrs. Everest

were glad to escape.

The pair adjourned to the drawing-room,
leaving Mr. Dinton over his Wine.

“Sing me that lovely favorite of mine,
dearest, now that we are alone.”

"’ Which, Bertram?”

,“ ‘ Love’s Request.’ ”

" I will; but it will be for the last time,”—
lifting her eyes inquiringly to his face as if to

‘ ascertain the effect of her words.

“You cannot mean to leave me,” he said,
hoarsely. “ Do you know; Meliora, that I
love you so dearly that to part with you would
be worse than death.”

’He trembled in every limb as he spoke, and
looked ashen and careworn, like a prisoner

-, who awaited his sentence.

“I would do or dare anything for your
sake. Wealth will eventually be mine; but
even now I have money in plenty to lay at
your feet!”

A look of triumph passed over her face, but
she controlled herself the next moment, and
said, coldly, “You forget that you have such
a person as an uncle, who can be stern and un-
beuding. Have you spoken to him of your
love for me?”

' ' ' a “No, darling; it would be simple madness
=  {9n my part, and would restore Oswald to favor

again. We can be married secretly in New

:York. Perhaps uncle will not live long; then ‘

 

. I , r.
you will take your place in society and receive
the homage due to your beauty and talents.
Say that you will consent, my own darling,
and make me the happiest of men.”

He took her unresisting hand and drew her
toward him, pressing rapturous kissos on her
voluptuous lips, sighiug for very delight as he
felt the pressure of her warm embrace, which
was heaven to him.

“It would be mere affectation of me, dear
Bertram, to keep you in suspense. I liked and
admired you from the very first moment we
met, and now 10ve you very dearly.”

“And you agree to my proposition, dar-
ling?”

“Yes; to anything that can add to your
happiness, even to uniting my fate with
yours.”

His love for her had touched her cold, selfish
nature and aroused a passion she did not even
guess she was capable of.

She, like him, was not overscrupulous, and
having found a congenial spirit, resolved to co-
operate in all his schemes.

He, on his part, was delighted at the prospect
which her acceptance of him opened up, for in
point of wealth she far exceeded all his expec-
tations.

They were aroused from their blissful dreams
by the unexpected and somewhat rude entrance
of Mr. Dinton, who said, excitedly: “Who’s
been to my escritoire? My money has been
stolen, together with some papers of value.

“Come, Bertram; I want you to place the
matter in the hands of a detective at once.”
Turning to Mrs. Everest, he said: “I must
apologize for my apparent rudeness; but I
hope, under the circumstances, you will excuse
me.”

“Certainly, my dear Mr. Dinton.” she re-
plied, suavely; but fixing her eyes on Bertram,
whose face expressed great alarm. “ Perhaps
the thief will be traced quickly if you take im-
mediate steps.”

Bertram accompanied his uncle to an adjoin-
ing room, and after closing the door, said: “I
did not wish to say anything before a third
party; but have you no suspicion of the cul-
prit, uncle?”

“None. But you cannot mean your
brother?”
“Providence,” Bertram thought, “has

thrown this opportunity in my way. Oswald
is under a cloud, and unless I convince uncle
that he is guilty of this, he will reinstate him
in his favor.”

“Why do you hesitate?" his uncle asked.
“Why don’t you speak out? Whom do you
suspect? In Heaven’s name, don’t say it’s Os-
wald! I could bear all but that! I would have
trusted him-ay, with life itselfl”

“Heaven knows, uncle, how it wrings my
heart to be his accuser; but his hasty flight,
coupled with his admission to me that he was
in possession of a large sum of money, which
he showed me, and part of which was in
notes, leaves no doubt as to his guilt. Recol-
lect, too, that he has left no clew to his where-
abouts.”

Mr. Dinton clasped his hand to his brow and
staggered, under the conviction of 05wald’s
depravity.

“Shall I communicate with a detective
now?” Bertram asked, with a cunning leer on
his half-averted face.

“No! ten thousand times no! Dare but to
breathe a word of his dishonor to a living soul,
and, by Heaven! you will be no longer nephew
of mine!”

“Your slightest wish will always be a com-
mand to me. sir; and I thank you for your
clemency to my poor, misguided brother.”

“Do not name him in my presence again;

he is cut out of my heart, as he will be out (Sf
my will, and may Heaven forgive him the an-
guish he has caused me! Go, leave me; Iwish
to be alone.”

Bertram was only too pleased at the turn
affairs had taken, and chuckled over the
clever manner in which he had gulled his
uncle.

 

A ,—

CHAPTER VI.
~THE BROTHERS MEET.
A YEAR has passed since Oswald Wyncott

left his home to fight the battle ‘of life,‘ with ‘
only Jessie’s sweet companionship to aid him in a

his efforts.
She was now his wife—happy, though poor,

and with a little one to call forth all her ma-

ternal instincts, and to deepen her love for its
father.

They resided in the upper part of New York
near the park, as Oswald thought the shaded
walks and the lovely sheet of water would some-
what compensate his darling for her lost home
in the country.

Owing to General Pringle’s liberality to the
young couple, Oswald was enabled to carry
out his professional bent, and was studying
hard at the Columbia School of Mines, where
be bid fair to become a skilled engineer.

He was quite sure that his uncle had cut him
out of his will, and that he had only his own ex-
ertions to depend upon to secure a competency
for those dear to him.

He bad faith in Mr. Paget’s prediction that
coal would be found on his land, and he was
working hard to fit himself to aid the 01d
gentleman in his search.

One evening Jessie met him after his studies
were over, and they went together to the Opera
House to see Booth as Hamlet.

They sat in the balcony, and between the
acts caught sight of Bertram and Mrs. Everest
in a box.

Oswald's heart yearned toward his brother,
for he could not forget the happy days of their
childhood, or the pleasant times they had spent
together at Dinton Hall.

He and Jessie made their way to the box,
sent in their names, and Were at once admit-
ted.

“ Why, Oswald, you are looking well.” said
Bertram, offering his hand; “and your wife
is positively more charming than ever. Why
have you not written? But, pardon me, you
need no introduction to this lady, whom you
met at the Hall.”

“Are you, too, a happy man, Bertram?
Poor uncle has got over his scruples at last, I
suppose? May l congratulate you?”

A swift glance of intelligence paSSed be-
tween Bertram and Mrs. Everest ere a reply
was given to this rather pointed question.

“ No, by Jove! old fellow; I could not afford
to pay the price for my freedom that you did.
He is still awfully savage, but I try hard to
bring about a reconciliation between you.
Nothing would make me happier than to see
you back at the Hall again.”

The time passed very pleasantly for the
brothers, but Jessie wished herself at home, as
Mrs. Everest was too patronizing in her man-
ner, and made her feel uncomfortable.

Upon the commencement of the second act,
avisitor entered the box, to whom Bertram
said a few hasty words, to which he nodded
assent. »

The new-comer was introduced as Mr. Cadv
dle, and seemed on the easiest terms with Mrs.
Everest and Bertram, much to the surprise of
Oswald, considering the man’s appearance and
general deportment.

Jessie was glad when Oswald led her from
the theater, for she had conceived a great
dislike, amounting to aversion, for Mrs. Ever-
est.

Bertram called alone at his brother’s, and

made himself very agreeable, even to nursing v '

the baby, thereby greatly ingratiating himself
with the mother.

In his heart he envied Oswald his quiet, do-
mestic happiness, and was forced to admit that
Jessie would graCe a ducal palace.

It was a pretty picture, that of Jessie pre-
siding at the tea-table, with its snowy cloth,
its few choice flowers, and the delicate china
and hissing silver urn—the‘general’s present to
the young couple.

Bertram could not help admiring the sweet:

hostess as she glided gracefully abontthe rooml "2
dispensing smiles and cheerfulness, making her 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
  
   

 

.,, ,.

\.A ~-* ,n \, -.

.l

 

presence felt in a way that many a more‘
\sretentious hostess might have copiediwitfi ad-
, \ antage.

Her husband’s eyes lit up with pleasure when
he saw Jessie had donned his favorite tea-robe
in honor of the occasion. ‘

This was not to be wondered at, for a pret-
tier picture than she presented, in pale blue
cashmere, trimmed with delicate lace, which
clustered round her fair bosom and arms, half-
concealing them, could not be conceived.

Crimson rosebuds nestled in her hair, fas-
tened to her square bodice, emitting a delicate

_ perfume, and harmonizing well with her creamy
white skin.

When the tea cquipage was removed, Os-
wald said:

“Now, my darling wifey, give us a little
music. Bertram has never heard you sing.”

She seated herself at the piano and sung the
plaintive but beautiful song, “In the Gloam~
ing,” completely astonishing Bertram, who was
himself no mean musician.

Feelings of envy, hatred, and malice worked
in his mind, completely poisoning the spring of
his enjoyment.

He took his leave with many expressions of
brotherly good-will and friendship, which, how-
ever, were meaningless.

On reaching his palatial home in Fifth avenue

he found no one there to welcome him; but on the '

table was a note from his legal adviser, Mr.
Josiah Caddle, making an appointment for nine
that evening.

“More worries! What the deuce does he
want? The old story—must meet some infer-
nal bill that has come due, or give another at
a ruinous rate. By Jove! things can’t go on
like this much longer, or I shall be in the
Tombs! Instead of my lady being of help to
me, she is plunging me hopelessly into difii.
culties. I must draw upon her resources now,
or know the reason why.”

Pouring himself out a tumbler of wine, he
drank it OE, and threw himself upon a lounge
in no very amiable frame of mind.

“ Oswald has the best of it,” he soliloquized.
“ He is unembarrassed, has an unselfish, loving
Wife, a bright, happy home, and a profession
that will stand him in good stead when I, per-
haps, am ruined and disgraced.”

"Mr. Caddle, sir,” announccd a servant in
gorgeous livery, as he threw open the door.

“ Ah, Wyncott, I am especially fortunate in
catching you in. You have read my note, of
course. What do you propose doing about the
bill which comes due to-morrow?”

“Why, you will meet it, Caddle. It’s im—
possible for me to do so, as you well know.”

! “My dear sir,” the lawyer replied, rubbing
, his hands, “I am sorry to say that I cannot
see my way. Where’s my security?"

“In Heaven’s name, what security do you
now require?” asked Bertram with a heavy
frown. .

“ Why Dinton Hall and its contents.”

“ What! would you ruin me with my uncle?
No, no, Caddie; I am not such a flat as to do
that, especially as my wife is a wealthy wo-

- man.”

“And prudent withel,” sneered the lawyer.
“ Why don’t you influence her to pay your
debts? I must tell you that Mr Dinton is bound
to hear of your difficulties sooner or later, un-
less you make an effort to meet them.”

In the middle of an angry discussion Mrs.
Wyncott sailed in, dressed magnificently, and
literally ablaze with jewels.

V Both the disputans ceased wrangling, and
after a little conversation Mr. Caddle took his
eave, promising to aid his client if possible.

“Your visit to Oswald has not improved
your temper, Bertram. I suppose you were

.- humiliated by their shabby-genteel appearance?
can sympathize with you. Poor relations

are always a great bore.”
. “At all events, they are not hopelessly in-
VOlVPd like we are. Caddle is getting insolent
. 111.113 demands, and I am growing weary of all
. this tins We had better give up

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
    

a

 

’ “ Take apartments with your pauper brother,
I suppose? I did not marry you for that,
Bertram; but had we not better change the
subject?” ‘

“ I must speak, Melly, before, it is too late.
If you are to be a woman of position and my
future estates are to remain unincumbered, it
is time that you came to the rescue with your
colossal fortune, about which I am always
hearing so much, but have seen so little.”

“Mr. Wyncott, remember that I have no
debts, and that my fortune is in securities that
must not be touched, unless at a ruinous sacri-
fice. I am not going to enrich money-lenders
out of my fortune, nor will anything you may
urge shake my resolution. I will now retire.
You may join me when you wish.”

“Fool that I was,” he muttered, “to run
my head into this noose! She will not help
me, and I dare not confess my embarrassments
to my uncle. Why dees he persist in living to
impoverish me? Oswald may gain possession of
my secret and turn the tables with a ven-
geance. I am standing on the brink of a
precipice, over which I may be hurled at any
moment. I’ll go to my club and try my luck
at cards. If I win, I shall not supply Melly
with unlimited pin-money. By Jovel I begin
to suspect she has sold me after all, and that
her large fortune exists only in her imagina-
tion.”

He walked out of the house in a great rage,
calling forth the comments of the footman,
who said to the butler, “The governor is in an
awful temper tonight—worse than ever! Mr.
Caddle knows how to work him up. Shouldn’t
be surprised if things came to grand smash
one of these days. I think I shall give warn-
ing in time. It ain’t respectable to leave a
house what’s tumbled down like a pack of
cards.”

“Well, James, my boy, there is truth in
what you u'rge, but our reputation would not
be involved in any crash, except that of glass
and china. Let the airystocracy take care of
themselves; it is our duty to feather our
nests.”

After this exchange. of professsional ideas,
the two servants solaced themselves with sev-
eral glasses of their master’s best port, “just to
keep up the reputation of the house, you
know.”

 

CHAPTER VII.
MR. nmrou‘s paomcr.

BERTRAM, to further hoodwink his uncle, had
taken rooms down—town, where he pretended
to study hard to fit himself for the bar, to
which legal eminence Mr. Dinton fondly hoped
his obedient, hard-working, plodding nephew
would eventually attain.

“ Ah,” thought the old gentleman, “ I have
one nephew who does me credit, and who lives
within the income I allow him, and will no
doubt marry in accordance with my wishes.
As for Oswald, he does not even condescend to
write to me, or to make any overtures for re-
conciliation. I’ll just run up to town and
call upon Bertram unawares. It will be so
nice to see him immersed in his studies, and
actually have to drag him away from them to
indulge in a little mild dissipation.

“Besides, I have a fine project in _view, of
which the lucky dog little dreams. I mean to
marry him to the sweet Agnes. I like her,
should be proud to see her here as mistress of
Dinton Hall—she would brighten the place by
her charms. In the meanwhile I could, per-
haps, by a little diplomacy and tact win the
lovely widow for myself, for I am not such a
confirmed old bachelor as they suppose. I may
yet havs an heir to my property, for, by Jove,
I feel twenty years younger.”

As if to remind him of his age, a rheumatic
twinge ‘made him moan with pain.

Meanwhile, Bertram, ignorant of his uncle’s
schemes, was enjoying himself like a gilded

butterfly of fashion, regardless of how money

was raised so long as. be obtained it. ~
When too late, he discovered that he had

v »- . " ‘ ", v , ,. ,.,_
. .  x _ -\ '32,.  v ,1} A,

‘ regret is that I cannot make you as comforts ‘

 

married an artful, designing woman, who, if
she had a fertune, knew how to keep it. ‘

One sunny day Mr. Dinton arrived in New
York, and put up at his hotel, which‘was close
to the park.

After refreshing himself, he strolled into the
park, as he was hardly ready to go down-town I
to see his nephew, and so thought he would, 3 
amuse himself by watching the riding and ‘
driving for a short time. 7 - _‘

Two gentlemen standing near began to "criti- « \ ' ;
cise the fair equestrians.  ‘3"

“ Whatalucky fellow Wyncott is! He must' . , 
be immensely rich, for he lives up to the tune
of twenty thousand a year at least!”

“Yes; but don’t you know that his old,. ‘ ‘
shallow-pated uncle finds the coin, while he
shuts himself up like an owl in his old rookery ‘
somewhere out in the country?” . i j

“ I only wish to Heaven that I was in Wyn— 5  1
cott’s shoes, and had a confiding old party to C. 
draw upon, for I shall have to pay a visit Very
shortly to some money-broker.” . _ 

Mr. Dinton glared at the speakers, and men- r, 3 ~r
tally shook his stick at them. l " ‘

His rage so engrossed his attention that he _,
failed to see Bertram and his wife, although ’ 
they rode past his very eyes.  "

“Melly, dear,” said Bertram, leaning across-
his horse, “there’s my uncle. For Heaven’s. .
sake, let‘s get out of this at once, or I’m 
ruined!” ' , ,3:

They managed their escape very cleverly, \ a;
and Bertram hastened down-town, to take up . 
the role of a student, inwardly quaking lest he
should have been seen by his uncle “doing the ,
grand seignior.” ‘ 

Meanwhile, that “shallow-pated individual,” :, ~' '
as he had been irreverently described, Was in-
dulging in invectives against his detractors,
whom he designated “puppies,” and who“! 3‘
ignorant of his presence or his wrath, strolled '  I  -,
away from the spot. ‘ , x - ;  

“This accounts for Oswald’s independence, ,  ’3:
and gives a coloring to Bertram’s suspicions ' 95;
about the theft. Poor misguided boy! I sup— ‘ 7;“:
pose he is raising money, thinking I will re- ' y,-
lent at last. I will go and see Bertram at his ,
rooms. It will be a refreshing change after
all this display of fashionable and artificial ‘1
life.” ‘ . . , "as
He walked out of the park, and hailing a ‘_ 
hack, drove down-town, but found Bertram \
was not in, though he was expected every min-p, V
ute. ‘ ' _;
He glanced hastily at the array of musty .1;
old law-books that littered the apartment, and ‘ f‘ “3
thought: ‘ _ ',

“ What a studious turn of mind the lad must ) i -'
have to wade through those formidable and
uninteresting volumes! Well, well, I never ' . '
thought it of him. I should not have been sur-,
prised if the other one had chosen such a pro-, 
fession.” ; _\

His meditations were suddenly interrupted, ’  ,
by the hurried entrance of Bertram, who was 'I  .
profuse in apologies for his abscnce.

“You see, sir, in my profession, I amxcom- ,
pelled to run out at any time to attend my \' 
brother students when any knOtty and com- .. . ‘i.’ 
plicated point is to be decided.” ‘ ' V 'v v .

“Oh, no apologies are necessary, Bertram. “

I am heartily pleased to see you workin'gs’o *
assiduously, and congratulate you upon your
energy. I should have apprised you of my
visit, but I thought, as you are a merrybache-
lor, it would not matter if I took you sud—'
denly. You see, I get rather lonely now" that '

  
     
   
  
   
  

. x .

 

you and your brother are gone.” \
“ I am sure I am very pleased to‘ Welcome 
you to my dingy Quarters, uncle. My only v,

able as I should wish .” 

“ Oh, I am staying at the ‘ Hudson,’ so you
must put aside your books and dine with me
to-night. I have much to talk to you about, ,
but shall not detain you any longer, for I see \
you wish to get rid of me at this buSy time of . 
the day.” ' - x"

After a little more conversation they  ', {
till seven in the evening. ' -, 

   

‘r ', . i

  ~ 'I

/

 

“Help yourself, Bertram, and then pass the
decanter. This is capital wine. I could not
' better it at Dinton,” said Mr. Dinton, when the
cloth was cleared. “ By the by, I was seated
in the park to-day, and overheard something
, that very much surprised me.”
i  “Indeed, sir!” in an alarmed tone.
could it have been?”

“Well, I heard that your brother was living
at an extravagant rate, spending not less than
twenty thousand a year. Now, what puzzles
me is, how he manages to raise the money, as
I he has never applied to me for any help. Can
‘2‘ you throw any light upon the mystery?”

" “ I fear not, as I know very little of his
movements. I sometimes hear of him,” this
evasively.

"‘ Well, suppose we change the subject to one
more agreeable? Have you ever thought of
settling in life, Bertram?” remarked his uncle;
“ because that is one of the subjects I wished to
speak to you about to-night.”

“I have had neither the time nor the inclina-
tion to think about it as yet,” he returned.

‘4 But I have, and have a proposal to make
~ ' ' l . to you that I think will meet with your appro-

bation. What do you say to the charming
Miss Clevedon for a wife? She is young, pret—
ty, amiable and of noble birth.”
“ I grant all you say, but she does not care
, ,for me, I am sure.”
,“ Tut, tut! you know nothing about it! I

’ know her mother would approve of an alliance
I” ‘ v with us. She told me so when speaking about

that scamp Oswald. If she would give her

child to him, why should she object to you,

who are also a nephew, and the eldest to boot ?”

“ You forget, sir, that the lady may not care

totransfer her affections from one brother to the

‘other, however desirable the connection may

' : be, and I should not care to sue in vain for her
smiles.” \

“ You will not object to call upon the ladies,

.7; ' Bertram, and see if your case is hopeless, now

’ that you know that it is my wish? At all

i " events, should you find that Miss Agnes con-

} ceives a distaste for your society, you could re-
5 ‘, tire from the field, and no harm would be done
' , ‘ either way.”
“‘ i ‘ “I will do what you wish, uncle; but I tell
you beforehand I have no hope of success,”
Bertram replied, as he thought, “I am in a.

‘ ‘ What

\f

I

f  \ pretty fix. I must get him away back to Din-

‘ ,ton, and that sharp, or all will be lost. What
Y‘ x " an unfortunate thing that he should turn up
 ‘ , ' just now! If he were to meet Oswald, I should

be utterly ruined.”
“,By the by, I wish'to call upon Mrs. Ever-
est, now I am in New York. ' She lives on
, V . ‘Fifth Avenue, I believe! A charming woman,
. j ' full of life and spirit, and what I admire most,
‘ ‘ a proficient in the art of ‘ how to, dress.’ Few
of our women, Bertram, understand that art,
I. am sorry to say. Ahemldo you know, I
fancied she would not object to exchange her
, I name of Everest for another. She would
 ~ make a handsome Mrs. Dinton; what do you
NM ' . say?” ’
  ' “I am so taken by surprise, uncle, that I
’ ' have no answer to give you,” he stammered.
v “What is there to cause such astonishment,
"I should like to know? Is it because I am a
 \ few years older than the "lady? That
A V makes very little difference where a sensible
woman is concerned, and that is undoubtedly
. ‘ what I take Mrs. Everest to be; and you would
a  A ,’ not be much the loser, you know, after all.”
“Pardon me, sir; I do not presume to ques~
tion your motives. I only wish to suggest
‘ that of course I did not reasonably expect you
would think of entering the married state at
, this period—3’ ‘
“ Of my life,” I suppose \you were going to
say, “and that you consider I am an old fool
7. . . fordesiring to make my declining years brighter
 ' " and happier. It was ever so with young men;
' ,‘ they always begrudge their elders a few of the
’pleasures, so that they themselves indulge to
if. ‘ ,’ their heart’s content. Jove, you are a selfish
v 7 ’ _ 5 set, the best of you,” he said, gloomily.
/‘ “ I am sorry you should think so, uncle. . I

1v, " '

 

 

I
~ 7

 

“n .,,., .N.
a “r y

.wo'MAN’svmsuvsa; «  ; -   + .x,‘

spoke on the spur of the moment, without
wishing to dictate to you in any way; and as
you have told me so much of your intentions,
perhaps I should be wise to tell you that Mrs.
Everest is reported to have an attachment
already, which would be a bar to your views
and wishes, if true.”

“Reports are generally false, and I shall
give them no credit. I shall go and look her
up, and come to the point at once—no beating
about the bush for me! I have no time at my
age to waste needlessly; I merely want yea or
nay. I like her, and think she would grace
my table, and make me Very happy. I have a
name and position; she has beauty, which,
combined with wealth, will make her the envy
of many. That’s the order of my campaign,
and these are the reasons that brought me
here today.”

" I can only wish you success,” Bertram
said, as he muttered, “ Why, he’s mad——in his
dotage—a fit inmate for Blackwell’s, to talk
about marrying Melly, my wife! What on
earth I should do, is more than Ican ever
think. I must do something; she will have to
keep our secret and play a part!”

“When do you propose calling, sir?” Ber-
tram exclaimed.

“ Why, to-morrow, of course; while I am in
the humor. There’s nothing like knowing
your fate. No suspense for me!”

Bertram soon took his leave, and returned
with all haste to his home, where he found his
wife dressed ready to attend a ball with a
party of friends.

“How ill-tempered you do look, Bertrami”
said his wife, inaudibly to the rest of the com-
pany.

“Enough to make me, when I find myself
standing on the brink of a precipice.”

“ I don’t comprehend,” she returned.

“Perhaps it would be better, then, if you
were to retire, and permit me to explain,” he
answered, somewhat bitterly, as he looked
around the apartment, and saw the votaries of
fashion lounging about listlessly, while waiting
for his Wife.

Excusing herself for a few minutes, she fol-
lowed her husband to her boudoir, where he
told her the strange events that had occurred.

“ You need have no fear,” she said, merrily,
as a few minutes afterward they returned to
their friends; “ I will play my cards in such a
manner that even you will admire my diplo-
macy.”

“Yes, I can thoroughly understand you are
a mistress in the art of deceit,” he thought;
but said aloud, “I can trust you, Melly, for
you are a clever little woman.”

The next day Mr. Dinton presented himself
at the mansion. ’

After sending up his card he had time to
take notice of the surroundings.

“Dear me!” he thought; “she’s wealthier
than I imagined.”

As he entered the room he was struck with
admiration on seeing Meliora come toward
him, holding out her jeweled fingers to Wel-
come him.

“This is indeed an unexpected pleasure,” she
said; “and I am more than pleased to see you,
Mr. Dinton.”

She looked bewilderingly handsome in a
magnificent ruby velvet dress, which fitted
her to perfection, and gave a rich tone to her
warm, brunette complexion. Costly diamonds
glistened on her fingers, and a priceless brooch
fastened the lace rufiies‘ at her throat.

“ Shall I ever have courage to make an offer
to such a magnificent creature?” be thought.
“It is one thing to plan a campaign of this
kind, but another to carry it out. I wish I
was twenty years younger; I might have a
little more courage.”

“Have you been long in town?” she asked,
sweetly.

“ N o; I only arrived yesterday,” he replied,
rather nervously.

“Then it was very kind to call upon me so
soon, my lord,”——this archly, “I doubt not,

 

though, you will soon tire of Our close, gloomy

,m ,.,,, H I... ._‘,.:y_,.,_r.,.  .
v. ‘er ~V. r;  “i . V {I ,‘r in 
l‘ i ‘l x ., _

atmosphere, and hasten back to your dear, de-

lightful mountains.” _,

“No place could be gloomy where one“ so .

bright existed,” he ventured to remark, gal-
lantly. “ Dinton Hallo has never been the
same place since you left, dear Mrs. Everest.”

(“This is getting awkward,” she thought.
“I do believe the old gentleman is going to
propose to me! What a situation for a niece-
in -law to be placed in! I must temporize.”)

“ It is very kind of you to think so highly
of me; but then you place too great a value on
poor me.”

“That would be impossible! Do you know
I have come to tell you that I missed you, and
wish you to return as Mrs. Dinton?”

(“ What have I lost by my precipitancy?
What answer can I give? Oh, that I were
free to accept such an offerl”)

 

“You take me by surprise, my dear sir,”

she returned; and had I known this before, my
reply might have been different.”

“ Dear Mrs. Everest, that in point of years
I am hardlya suitable match, I admit; but to
be frank with you, I wish to teach my neph-
ews a lesson. This may appear a poor compli-
ment to you, but when I tell you that I ad—
mired you from the first, and now that I am
resolved to marry I come to you and ask you
to be my wife, you will see I have no wish to
offend your sensibilities.”

She inclined her head, to intimate that he
had not offended her by his plain speaking.
Besides she was anxious to learn the nature of
the threatened lesson, especially on Bertram’s
account.

“You are very good,” he said, “ to listen so
patiently to a garrulous old fellow like me.
My nephews are becoming unmanageable; one
has married against my wishes, and even Ber-
tram half refuses to pay his addresses to Miss

Clevedon, whom I wish him to marry out of _

hand.”

She nearly laughed in his face at the little
comedy he had so cleverly planned, and which
he thought could be played with her help, of
all women in the world.

“Mr. Dinton, I think you will find it dim-
cult to induce Mr. Bertram Wyncott to
marry.”

“ Why, may I ask?”

“ Because when at Dinton Hall he opened
his mind to me on the subject; and from what
I then gathered, he is almost a woman-hater.
He saw how his brother OSWald had estranged
your affections by falling in love, and has
taken the lesson to heart, 1 am afraid.”

“But the case is Very different, my dear
madam. I am in favor of his marrying some-
body, if not Miss Clevsdon. I hope he has
not been forgetful in paying his respects to
you.”

“ Oh, no! I see him frequently.”

This with a lurking smile in her eyes.

“Jove!” soliloquized his uncle; “this may
account for the young dog‘s aversion to mar-
riage. The charming widow has, perhaps, re-
jected him.”

Aloud he remarked:

“Might I beg of you to influence Bertram
to accede to my wishes? You, I am sure,
could succeed where I should fail.”

“You overrate the power of my persuasive
charms; but I will do my best, though I am
still of opinion that he is a misogamist.”

“ I am content to abide the issue. But what
answer am I to have from your sweet lips,
fairest and most bewitching of your sex?”

This as he rose, and took her hand and raised
it to his lips, with the courtly grace of a gal—
lant of the old school.

“What shall I do to end this farce?” she
thought. “ If Bertram becomes aware of this,
he may spoil all by confessing everything.”

Some day the mask would drop from her
face, and men would know her for what she
was; but at present she was too much of a
diplomatist to show her hand.

“Alas! I can hold out no hopes, Mr. Din-'
ton. Pray do not press me for a reason for
having to decline the honor you propose.”

~

     
 
 

  

 

A",

71‘ \v ‘. >y.

, WOMAN’S ' 

    f 

 

 

Bending over her hand, he said:

“Pardon my temerity, dear madam, and
accept my thanks for your frankness. I shall
not admire you the less because I have been
unsuccessful.”

He took his leave, much to her relief, and
she hastened to join her husband, whom she
found closeted with Mr. Caddie, and whose
face was pale, as if from suppressed passion.

He had just signed a document, which the,
lawyer was carefully blotting, with a self-
satisfied smile and a. side-glance of triumph at
the haughty woman who now entered the
room.

“What new folly is this, Bertram?” she
asked. “I am sure you have been induced by
that man to do something you will regret.”

“Madam, I thank you for your good opinion
of me. ‘That man,’ as you term me, has
found the money to keep your expensive es—
tablishment going. Let me beg of you to con-
trol your temper, as to vent it upon me might
be ruinous.”

“Bertram, do you permit this fellow to in-
sult me in my own house?” she asked, trembling
with passion.

“For Heaven’s sake, be calm, Melly! We
have placed ourselves in Mr. Caddle’s pOWer,
and must not take umbrage at his plain speak-
ing.”

“You may have placed yourself in his
power, but I am at liberty to speak—and I
shall!”

Turning to the money-lender, for he was
that and nothing else, she said, with an im-
perious gesture:

“ Leave this house, or my menials shall eject
you! And in future, Bertram, let your busi-
ness be transaCted elsewhere, for I shall not
permit this man to enter my house again!”

“ You need not turn me out, Mrs. Wyncott,
because Mr. Dinton might be at your door,
and learn a few secrets which would imperil
your prospects. I shall go quietly; but re-
member, I may have the power some day to
Felallate; and when I do, I shall not forget
your treatment of me today !”

Taking up the papers that Bertram had just
signed, he made a profound obeisance to Mrs.
W yncott, and said, with a covert sneer:

“Good-day, madam! When next we meet,
you may treat me more civilly. Let me give
you one word of advice. Never quarrel with
your legal adviser, for he usually holds dan-
gerous secrets.”

When he left, she turned to her husband, and
(ALL:

" In marrying you, Bertram Wyncott, I did
a very foolish act.”

‘* Why, what’s in the wind now, Melly?”—
m he threw himself upon a lounge, with a look
of vacation on his Mephistophelian face.

“Because I need not have embarrassed my-
self by marrying the future heir to the Dinton
}:i'(-.p'-*rty.”

" I am in no humor to listen to jests,” he
said, bitterly. “Pray come to the point. I
suppose my uncle has been saying something
that has upset you!" «

“Oh, dear, no; quite the reverse!” she re-
plied, with quiet raillery in her tones. “He
was everything that was nice! Pray when
are you going to propose to the lovely Miss
Uievedon?”

“For Heaven’s sake, stop this banter,” he
said, almost savagely. “ I wish the old fellow
had never left his dingy home to come up
here and torment me. Does he suspect any-
thing?”

“Oh, dear, no! What do you think he said
to me?” ’

“Something puerile, if gallant. He is fa-
mous for paying vapid compliments,”——this
with a sneer.

“He is simply charming!” she remarked,
with a provoking laugh. “ It is a distinctive
trait in the family, eh?”

, “ I think I shall go to the club, for I am in

110 humorto stand much more of this inane

nonsense.” ‘ '

5‘-

 

: “Nonsense, indeed! Let me tell you that,

but for you I could be mistress of Dinton
Hall.” r

“Then he carried out his intention! What
an egregious old dotard, to make love to my
wife!” he thought. “It was a mercy he
chose her, though, for bad he proposed to a
woman that was free, good-by to my chance
of ever coming into the property—though what
good it will be to me if he persists in living
many more years I fail to see; for every year
I become more hopelessly involved, and the
future owner of Dinton Hall bids fair to be-
come the tenant of some tenement in the region
of Five Points, and the daily customer of one of
those shady restaurants which abound in that
salubrious neighborhood l—What answer did
you give my worthy uncle, Mrs. Wyncott?”

“ What answer could I give ?”

“That is what I desire to know,” he
turned, reddening with anger.

“I told him it was impossible, that was all.
You surely never thought I was mad enough
to tell him the truth?”

“I really cannot say what I thought,” he
said, somewhat relieved. “ You women are so
headstrong and precipitate, that nothing would
surprise me." ,

“Certainly your opinion of us is not very
flattering,” she returned, with a curl of the lip,
“especially to me; for I could scarcely have
secured a colossal fortune unless I had been
gifted with tact and a clear brain.”

“I wish to Heaven yon would extricate us
from our difficulties by sparing some of that
“colossal fortune ’ which you are forever talk-
ing about. I have nothing but my paltry al-
lowance to exist upon, suflicient only to keep
me decently in apartments, and by no means
enough to support a lady of your expensive
tastes. I am in the hands of money-lenders,
and you know it."

“Did you marry me for my fortune, Ber—
tram Wyncott?” ‘

“If I did, I made a great mistake, asyou
will admit. Come, act sensibly; we must sink
or swim together.”

“ Not at all. I mean to swim, whoever
sinks.”

“A wifely sentiment, is it not?” he said,
with a sneer. “Surely the match you have
made ought to be worth spending money
for—on your side I mean, my dear, not on
mine.”

The discussion was getting very bitter, and
must have ended in a serious quarrel, when,
luckily, General Pringle was announced.

In a moment the pair resumed their society
smiles; Mrs. Wyncott, as the fascinating widow,
received the general with blandishments, and
played the part of hostess to perfection, while
Bertram as readily dropped the position of
master and assumed that of visitor.

After the footman ushered General Pringle
into the drawing-room, he placed his finger sig.
niflcantly to his nose, and muttered: “An-
other swell to see Mrs. Everest; I shall
lose my karacter if I stay here much longer;
there’s too much of the variety line of business
about all this to please a highly respectable
gentleman’s gentleman like me, as has been
brought up full of virtue that shines in my
countenance. I must see the butler, and talk
to him over a glass of Madeira.”

Meanwhile, General Pringle had taken his
place near the supposed widow, and was enter-
taining her with a history of his recent tour.

Turning to Bertram, he said: “ By the way,
how is your uncle? I think of running out to
the Hall soon.”

“He is in town, and as Mrs. Everest will tell
you, paid her a visit not an hour ago."

“ Indeed! Where is he staying !”

“ At the Hudson Hotel.”

Bertram could now have bitten his tongue
with vexation, for his wife’s eyes told him he
had been guilty of great imprudence.

She hastened, however, to avert the mischief
she saw might happen through the general
bringing Oswald and his uncle face to face, by
saying:

re-

"‘ I am afraid, dear general, that you will i

_/ i _ 1..

'.. '\  I.‘ . » .k‘  M,” I‘I‘hw"

but there!
the place, it is so dull.” ' ., ~ . ,,

 

not find him at the hotel. He told me he was I I
leaving for home to-night.” V
“ I am sorry for/that,” said General Pringle, .
“for I long to get him to meet Oswald, and ‘ at
the prescnt was a capital opportunity. By the ’ \-

way, Bertram, I was glad to learn you called 1 \
upon your brother and his dear little wife—m '
HeaVen bless them!” , - , '
“ Yes, we are still friendly; indeed, no one i i. v“. ‘
regrets what has happened more than i!” ‘ -
“Mr. Wyncott has often spoken to me of
his brother most affectionately. Iam sure he » .
has no sincerer friend than him, except your- ,
self, general.” , 
The general’s eyes happened to fall upon a. , .
mirror, and he saw a glance pass between the
pair which aroused his suspicions that their re- 1
lationship was somewhat closer than that of" 1 gr,
mere friends. \ ‘ "
After a little further conversation he took _
his leave, more resolved than ever to gain Mr. . , 
Dinton’s consent to a project he had conceived, ,
and thereby unravel the mystery which he wan 
sure existed in the lives of Bertram and Mrs. ' 1‘.
Everest. , "
“I detest the part of spy,” he murmured, as. ,v ;
he strolled toward the “St. Denis,” “and have.  " 
no relish for retailing scandal in any shape, a 
but my love for dear Oswald entitles me ton i“;
take his part. The boy has been cruelly treated , v' .1 =j
by Bertram, and my old friend Dinton has not _.
the sense to see through it all. I loved the ladle: ,. 
mother, and although she refused me, yet I l' ‘1'
feel all the affection of a parent for him, “and. l ‘ 
no woman has been able to fill her place in my' _ , i 
heart.” ' '  
He took the earliest opportunity of traveling ‘  7"
out to Dinton Hall, anxious to commence his» 
task of opening the eyes of his old friend. " -

 

CHAPTER VIII. ,
a NOVEL EXPERIMENT. , ‘ \ {7,
MR. DINTON was closeted with General.   "2!
Pringle, who was persuading him to adopt ’a. . 
rather novel plan by which to discover the; .7. 
truth about his nephews. [ ‘
“I would stake my life,” said Mr. Dinton,
“that Bertram is leading a very quiet, studi-I I '
one life up in town, to fit himself for a judge '
on the bench.” . . ' _ I
“ It will do no harm, at least, Dinton.- You. ,-, .
have cut Oswald out of your will, and cannot. > .
think that anything but affection would induce,
him to mourn over your supposed death. The 3;, _ ,
experiment is worth trying. As it is, you are '
racked by doubts and suspicions that would, '
soon he laid at rest. Do consent, and leave me‘
to carry out the project.” ‘
“But the servants will suspect something,
and if I move about, I might be abet at for a.  .‘ ‘
ghost.” - r v ,_
“ Nonsense!” was the laughing reply. “ We],
had better take Denning' into our confidence. '
He is a trusty fellow, and can manage to keep  . 
the servants’ curiosity within bounds.” 7 r \ 
“But couldn’t I be prosecuted for gaining:.; ‘
informatiOn under false pretenses?” 
What". 3

 

 

 

     
    
   
  

“ False fiddlesticks! Certainly not!
do you say Dinton—yes or no?” . ,,
“Yes; but mind, I’ve booked your bet, and. “
if I win will not let you off.” I ,, "’ .
“I shall be satisfied if I lose. Now], lay 1‘ 
yourself up at once, and to-morrow our old ~'
friend, Doctor Williams, will physio you.” ' ,,
“I’ll be hanged if he does, Pringle; that’s“
not in the compact, you know.” u . . 4
All the necessary arrangements were com-‘
pleted, and after a brief illness the patient was
reported to have died, the announcement  '
ing received with universal regret. is A ; ~7'
Bertram and Oswald were apprised of the» . 
melancholy circumstance, and askeh to return:  ~
to the Hall as quickly as possible. \  ,
When the news reached the Avenue, it”
caused anything but grief. , - i. ,
“Melly, we are saved, my lovel—not by' , 
your colossal fortune, but by my uncle’s very Y ;
timely demise. I am sorry now that I made» 1,
over Dinton Hall to that .shark of a Caddies. ;
I never cared particularly aboutsyu

 

 

I l

\

I i

 12g}

 

 ., \,, w ,-,7  ,v,  ; mum/g. ,. 7,. . A. H  I 
’o I '.'.: ‘v V, .T g ‘_ ',7‘ 1,1,.

A WOMAN’S?"

.w "H y. . ,
.t, ‘, Pl’fl 1 a x )

Mam-tum. » ‘  

 

, » ' “ Perhaps he has made another will, my dar-
 ling'i’L—this with a warm embrace, which he
'91 ' had been a stranger to for many a month.

‘ “I know he has not, for I have the chief
gr ,, e ‘ clerk of our family solicitors in my pay. N o;

, ' - I am all right, and Oswald is all wrongl”

”' - ,- Oswald and his wife received the sad news

1 ‘ with deep grief—he especially, for he loved his
 ,' , ' incle unselfishly.

' l

I “Come, come, what means this unseemly
' noise at such a time as this? Where are your
feelings for our poor dead master?” exclaimed

 r, v r Denning, the butler, to a group of clamoring

 f servants, both male and female, who wished to
see the remains of their late master.

“ Do you think,” said the cook, defiantly, as
she placed her arms akimbo, “that I am no-
body in this ’stablishment, when I have cooked
for the dear master for nigh up five-and-
twenty—years?—-—while you, fine gent as you
may think yourself, are only a fresh impor-
tation, and have no right to dictate to the likes
of usi"

Taking courage from the cook’s example,
they opened upon the unfortunate butler in
'chorus, who stood it all very patiently.

“Indeed, I am not to blame. I should

’ advise you all to have patience, and speak to
the master’s lawyer, who will be here, I hope,
to-day.”

At this juncture a lady entered with slow,
majestic step, attired in dull, dead black silk,
which rustled and switched at every step she
took, and made a peculiar accompaniment to
the large bag of keys which hung from her
Iside.

“Good—day, Mr. Denning,” she said, in a
dignified tone. “I wish to know by whose
authority I am kept from the apartment where
my late master lies? I am perfectly sure it
can be no wish of his, as I was one of his most

.faithful servants and friend,”——this with a.

' stifled sob which would not be subdued.

Wiping her eyes with a fine, snowy handker-
chief, she added, summoning all her courage

‘ and wanted dignity, “I should have thought
that I, as lady housekeeper in this establish

’ment, would have had the ordering of affairs at
this sad time, and not the butler, who has been

, ,but two years in the house.”

" “Dear madam,” he interrupted, “every
word you say gives me pain, for indeed I have
not sought this unpleasant position. I am only

, acting under comands, and those of a most
stringent kind.” ,

, “Well, well, I suppose it is not your fault,
after all; but of course you can understand

,,,my feelings as an old confidential servant of
our dear late master.”,

/“ Madam, say no more; but hold me guiltless

of any cause of offense, I beg,” he said, respect-
vtully. '

, He held out his hand, which was clasped

 

 

    
     

; through her tears: .4
“"I am afraid I have not been too polite to
you,r-and that, after all,~I was wrong. Will
- I ’ you pardon my impatient words, and say no
, «f .  v ~ more about it? I‘ am‘ sure you are only doing
‘ ,, ~your duty, and I have been too impetuous and
' unjust.”
‘  ' “Here comes the general,” said Denning,
 ,- looking through the window. “Now, he will
/  r \ be the gentleman to speak to. Wham—going?”
f .' as, led by the cook, whose courage oozed out of
‘ her finger-ends, they filed out of the room in
hot haste, not caring to stay and face such a
stickler for obedience as the gallant officer who
now came upon the scene. .
/ “ Good-day, Mrs. Warner. I have just
heard from Mr. Oswald, who, with his wife,
will arrive to-morrow. I know you will do all
in your power to make them comfortable.”
“That I will, general. I hope our dear
master has not forgotten him. He is the best
of the two nephews—pardon the liberty I am
taking in speaking so plainly, but lockers-on
see most of the game; and mark. my words,
when Mr. Bertram comes, he will bring tha

' fine lady with him as his wife.” , .

   

warme by Mrs. Warner, .as she said, smiling

 

“ What lady do you mean?” 7 '

“Mrs. Everest. They were billing and
cooing all over the place, and throwing dust in
the eyes of the master. I shall certainly not.
stay if she is to be the future mistress, for she
began to treat every one like dirt before she
left.”

The general took her hand and shook it
warmly, saying, “Mr. Oswald has a. true
friend in you, I see; and I am heartily glad,
for the poor lad sadly needs friends.”

At this juncture the sound of carriage wheels
attracted their attention, and Mrs. Warner ex-
cused herself, and left.

“ Hilloal who can this be?” the general
thought, as a portly individual alighted, fol-
lowed by a man in greasy black clothes and a
napless hat, blue bag in hand. “ Some lawyer
from Bertram, probably. If he doesn’t show
up in his true colors, then I am a Dutchman!”

“ Mr. Caddle, general, is awaiting you in
the library,” said Denning.

“What’s his business with me, I should like
to know?”

Before Denniug could reply, Caddle and his
factotum walked into the apartment.

“Take a note of everything, Scroggs. I’ll
order the butler to give you something to eat
presently; we have stole a march upon Mr.
Bertram.”

Having surveyed the room and its contents,
he condescended to notice the general and
Denning, by bestowing a supercilious nod upon
them.

“Did you wish to see me, sir?” asked the
general, quietly, but in an unmistakable tone
of authority that enforced attention.

“ Beg pardon—presume you are General
Pringle. I am Mr. Caddle, sir, of the firm of
Caddle and Squashem, lawyers of the new
owner of the Hall.”

“ What new owner do you mean?" said the
general, forgetting for the moment that he was
playing a part.

“ Why, Mr. Bertram Wyncott, my client
and friend, who with his wife is coming here;
but not to take possession. I am here for that
purpose.”

“Just as I suspected,” the general thought.
“ This is glorious! I’ll give them rope enough!
A wife, eh! and debts to any amount, I dare
say! This is virtuous Bertram!”

“What service can I render you?” he said,
aloud.

“ I'want rooms for myself and man.”

“There is a capital hotel not far off,” said
the general.

“ Hotel, sirl—hotell
that—~”

“ You will not be accommodated here, cer-
tainly. It is hardly the time for anybody to
expect, a stranger“ especially, to remain in a
house of mourning. :Delicacy ought to have
some place in the heart even ofa representative
of ‘Caddle and Squashem l”

“ Confound it, sir! you don’t seem to know
that the whole place belongs to me—furniture,
carriages, horses, stables, pigsties, hen~houses,
and all; and yet you say I cannot stay in my
on house! Bosh! fiddle-{de-deel Scroggs is in
possession for me; and here, sir, is my author-
ity!”—-handing the general a voluminous docu-
ment.

“This is a very sad business,” replied the
general; “my old friend would rise from the
dead if he knew that his old home was to pass
into the hands of strangers.”

“I like this place,” said Caddle, with all the
airs of proprietorship; “will settle down, and
be happy ever after.” '

“Denning,” said the general, in a sad tone,
“you will be good enough to. attend to the
wantsof Mr. Caddle and his servant.”

Turning to the lawyer, he said:

“Sir, might I beg the favor of your being
silent upon this painful subject until after the
funeral?”

“ You’ll always find me a gentleman, sir; I
shall not intrude legal business unless compelled
to do so.” , _

“Gentleman!” thought Denning; “you and A

Do you know, sir,

 

 

Mr. Bertram are pretty specimens-birds of a ‘.
feather, I am thinking I”

Then the general and lawyer had quitted the ‘
room. '

 

CHAPTER IX.
AND LAST.

  

 

IT was a glorious autumnal morning, and
the woods were painted in golden hues; birds
sung in the branches, and the cattle browsed
in the meadows, making as pretty a picture as
the eye could enjoy.

The domestics of the Hall were on tiptoe of
expectation; a telegram had been received an-
nouncing the speedy arrival of the new master
and his retinue, and giving orders for their ao-
commodation.

“Really, Mr. Denning,” said the housekeeper,
“ I wonder at Mr. Bertram’s thoughtlessness,
not to call it by a harsher term. Everything
will be upset, and the house turned into a
hotel. It’s not paying even the commonest
respect to the memory of the benefactor.”

“ It is deplorable; but we must be patient,
Mrs. Warner. I shall be much mistaken if he
does not have punishment meted out to him.
It would never do to express our dislike openl y,
or the servants would become mutinous and in-
subordinate. Here they come! Now for worry
and trouble; but we have this consolation—it
can’t last forever.”

Bertram and his wife dashed along the noble ‘

avenue in their carriage in grand style, followed
by their luggage and a retinue of domestics.

“Melly, my love,” he said, “allow me to
welcome you to our future home, and con-
gratulate you upon your accession.”

“It will not suffer in my hands, Bertram;
but”—-this in a tone of alarm—“there’s Mr.
Caddle with some horrid man!
rid of them at once.” ,

“ Ah, yes, my love; l’ll attend to that.”

He led her through the line of bowing ser—
vants up the grand staircase; she disdainful
and haughty, be absorbed in unpleasant reflec-
tions respecting Caddle’s motives, especially as
he knew the Hall and its contents had been
assigned to him.

The general received them in the drawing-
room, and said:

“I am sorry we meet under such sad and
mournful circumstances.”

“ Oh, it is but a common debt of nature
which we must all pay sooner or later,” said
Mrs. Wyncott. “ What concerns us most now
is the speedy settlement of business and the
arrangements for our comfort. The old ser-
vants must make room for mine, who are to
conduct everything under the new regime.”

“You perceive, general, what a splendid
woman of business my wife is?”

“I need not to be told of that, Bertram,
although I must confess that I am somewhat
surprised to find you are married.”

“ Ah, yes, we managed it very cleverly, you
know. Pity Oswald made such a mess of it.”

“ Of course you will do something for him?"
said the general.

“ Certainly not!” she replie d. “We live in
style, and they must shift for themselves. I
hope we shall not be bored by them; there will
certainly be no room for all of us 1”

“You are mistress here for the present.”
said the general, with a courtly how, but with
a swift glance of contempt; “to—morrow the
will is to be opened.”

“I am sole heir, I know; trust me for know-
ing that. The deeds and money are in a safe;
have you the keys?”

“Yes; and with your kind permission, will
retain them till to-morrow.”

“Where is my uncle laid?” said Bertram.

“ In yonder room.”

“My dear Bertram, you will not be mad
enOUgh to expose yourself to the risk of conta-
gion—I forbid it!”

“It does not matter, my lady, as by the

doctor’s orders he has been screwed down,” 

said the general, with open contempt“
A sigh of relief escaped Bertram at this an: ‘

 

We must get

i
'3
l

  
 

  

 

N Wald replied.

t

 

   
     

' t

'r, a ‘ ' . I N
y z, , ‘ i ' . ' .\
y  (,9. . . .

 

TA: WOMAN’S MANEUV-ER '

 

 

L»i‘fhounoemen't, as death in any form was diS'
tasteful to him.

Caddle entered the room and extended his

‘ hand tc Bertram, who, however, did not choose

to see it.

“ You have lost no time, Caddle.
you presently.”

“ This is a family council, at which you are

I will see

1", not wanted,” his wife said, haugbtily.

“Very well, madame; but I suspect I shall
be very much wanted presently. Your hus-
band will tell you who is master here.”

Having sent this shaft home, he bowed him-
self out.

“ Insolent fellow!” she remarked. “I won-
der, Bertram, you submit to his liberties. I
shall now retire, and join you at luncheon later
on; but let it be laid as far away as possible
from here, and, Bertram—” '

“Yes, my sweet love!”

“Give instructions for this apartment to be
fumigated; it is getting unpleasant already.”
Saying which, she swept out of the room ma-
Jestically.

“Ta, ta, general, we shall meet you at
lunch,” said Bertram.

“I expect your brother and his wife.
may be here at any moment."

“ The housekeeper will attend to them. My
Wife does not care to associate with Mrs. Os-
Wald Wyncott.”

“Heartless, shameless fellow!” muttered
the general. “Your time of retribution is
hear at hand! You little know that all you
and your fine lady wife have said has been
heard by the supposed dead man! Ah, here
Comes Oswald and his pretty little wife, God
bless them!”

They entered with every expression of
genuine grief depicted on their faces, and were
greeted affectionately by their old friend.

“This is a sad blow,” remarked the gen-
eral.

“And a very bitter and sharp one,”Os-
“I would give worlds to have
een reconciled to him, for I loved him as a
father, and only disobeyed him because my
fippiness and Jessie’s was at stake.”

“Your brother and his wife are here.”

“Married!” he said, in astonishment.

They

H To

, Whom?”

“Mrs. Everest.”

“ Thank Heaven that poor uncle did not

ow of this; he felt my act of disobedience so
eenly, and might havs visited it heavily on
‘ertram, who is not fitted to cope with adver—
my. His future is secure, I know, nor do I
envy him his good fortune.”

Denning announced luncheon, and requested

9 general’s attendance.

“Give my compliments to Mr. Wyncott,
a11d say that I shall lunch alone with Mr. Os-
Wald and his wife.” .

“ We do not intend to intrude,” Oswald
said; “and after we have taken a last look at
dear old uncle, shall go to Mr. Paget’s.”

“Even that last consolation is denied you,
Oswald, for he is fastened down forever.”

“My brother will not refuse me one favor,
Ihone, in letting me have uncle’s portrait; I
2§k for nothing more—he may take everything

‘56.”

“We will talk of that presently; but Mrs.
WS'ncott must wish to be shown to her apart-
InGuts after her long journey.”

He rung for the housekeeper, and said, “ Mrs.

arner, will you kindly conduct Mrs. Wyn-
°0tt to her rooms?”

She hesitated, and looked confused, and said,
fit last, “I regret exceedingly that Mrs. Ber-
,ram and her suite have occupied ovary room
10 the house, even to mine.”

“Oh, it’s of no consequence, my dear gen-
-°"§1,” Jessie hastened to say, with a sweet
81111165 that quite won upon Mrs. Warner, who
thOught her an angel, and contrasted her sim-
ple» ladylike style with the grandiose manner
0‘ her sister-in-law.

,, ,,“,Mrs. Warner. my rooms are at this lady’s
‘ disDosal; will, you attend her?” said the
fifth-era]. , I ~ ‘

,l: «.1 -. ,

/

  

/~‘“

 

 

After luncheon Mrs. Bertram Wyncott sailed
into the drawing» room, not having once inquir-
ed about Jessie, who might as well have been a
nonenity so far as she was concerned.

On one of the occasional-tables lay a magni-
ficent cardcase, studded with jewels, an heir-
loom of the family.

She took it up and examined it admiringly,
little dreaming that Scroggs had his “ eye ”
upon her, as he termed it, and was quitting the
room with it, when, barring her way, he said,
violent] :

“No, you don’t, marml That’s my master’s
property, and I am the man in possession.”

“ Fellow, how dare you?” accompanying the
words with a smart blow from her hand that
made his" ears tingle.

Caddle entered at this moment, and she turn-
ed angrily upon him, saying:

“ Have you dared to put this low fellow in
my drawing-room to be a spy upon me?”

“ Nathan, you can retire for the present,”
said the lawyer. “I will put the blow down
in the bill of costs, for your benefit.”

“You will, will you, you low money-lender!
Leave my house this instant, or I will order my
servants to put you out 1”

“ Put me out!” he gasped. “ Madam, I would
haVe you know that I represent the majesty of
the law, and that every stick and stone about
this mansion is mine, as sure as my name is
Josiah, of the firm of Caddle & Squashem.”

“Ah, this is too much,” she cried, fanning
herself violently, as she paced the room. “13
a lady of my position to be insulted? My hus-
band will' talk to you, fellow, and chastise your
insolence!”

“Talk away, madam Perhaps you are not
aware that I know all about you and your ante-
cedents?”

“ My what, fellow?”

“ Your an-te-ce-dentsl You were the widow
of a bankrupt soap boiler, madam, and reveled
in the not very aristocratic name of Brobbs.”

“ I shall faint,” she cried, tottering t0ward a.
chair. “ You false-speaking, abominable man.
I a Brobbs! I shall go mad! Ring for my maid,
you detestable wretch!”

He took no need of her heroics, but quitted
the room, with a triumphant grin on his rugged
visage, which did not help restore her equa-
nimity.

She literally shrieked with passion, which
brought Jessie to her side, who inquired if she
could be of service to her in any way.

“ Give me my smelling—bottle,” she said,
haughtily, “and admit some fresh air. I be-
lieve that you and your husband have put that
low lawyer up to insult me.”

“Madam, do I hear aright? My husband is
incapable of such conduct as you have imputed
to him. Surely a common misfortune ought to
unite us in a closer bond of sympathy. No
one regrets more than myself that an insult
should have been put upon you at such a
time.”

“Why did you come?’ You are not in the
will, and can feel no interest in my late uncle-
in-law’s affairs.”

“ I will leave you now to pay respect to the
memory of one whom my husband loved as a
father. Perhaps you will feel sorry for having
spoken harshly to me.”

“ The hypocrite!” murmured the other. “ I‘ll
put her in her place! I want no pauper rela-
tives here. Bertram shall tell them this plain-
ly; and as for that fellow Caddie, he shall be
horsewhipped, if I do it myself. Brobbs, in-
deed! I wonder where the fellow got his in-
formation from. But no matter: I am Mrs.
Bertram Wyncott now, in spite of them all.”

 

Night had cast its sable mantle ovar the
earth and shrouded everything in darkness,
while the wind Whistled shrilly through the
branches, and the moon was hidden by heavy
banks of clouds, the harbingers of a storm.

The lamps had been lit at the Hall, and most
of the inmates had retired to rest when Caddie,
flushed with wine and a feeling "of proprietor-

»Ship; went  search of Bertram, and, missing

. - ,,r ,
_\ ‘ 4 .i .« , g, e

L. I. .’ v 5"“ ~ (My. xv....
I r. '

. ~
‘ “a”. T  \u . i.“ r“, . , ‘

 

his way, feund himself in a disuted wing of
the mansion. .

Perceiving a light streaming from under a
door, he opened it and entered, and found him-
self in the presence of an old gentleman, who
looked up inquiringly, as he said:

“.What is your business, sir, and who are
you?” 4
~ “ I am Mr. Caddle, sir, the master of this'
house and its contents.”

“ The deuce you are l”

“ Do you doubt my word, sir? Here is my
authority,” producing the document he had
shown the general. “ And now let me ask -
who you are?” ‘

“ The secretary. Pray be seated.”

“ You are just the man I want to see; I can
put a few dollars in your pocket if you answer '
my questions. Do you think this property is
worth fifty thousand as it stands?”

“ I would give seventy thousand for it my-
self, for the matter of. that. YOu have got a
bargain, Mr. Caddle. But are you quite sure
it is yours? ‘ There’s many a slip ’twixt the,
cup and the lip,’ you know.”

“ Ah, ahl—very good! I am safe enough,
let me tell you, I have only to obtain a ma-
gistrate’s signature as a matter of form, and
give up certain bills to the new master, and the
thing is done. You must have netted a tidy
sum from the old buffer; if so (and I know all
secretaries do it), I can find you investments that I
would bring you in fifty per cent. That’s good 
enough,.isn’t it?”

“ Too good for me; I am afraid I have been
too honest—what you might term an honest
secretary, in fact.”

"That sort of thing never pays, my boy.
Where would I be if I had practiced it. Not I
the possessor of a fine property that was
carefully nursed by the old party who’s turned
up his toes!”

“ It was foolish of him now, wasn’t it, Mr.
Cuddle?” ‘ . ~

“ Foolish isn’t the word for it. I call it idi—
otic, with an extravagant nephew, like my ,
friend Bertram, who humbugged him up to his
very eyes. By jingo! it’s awfully funny to
think he should have disinherited one. nephew
for marrying, when the t’other did the same,
and lived up to the tune of twenty thousand a.
year in New York, without the stupid old owl
of an uncle knowing a word about it!”

“Very funny. wasn’t it? But I suppose it
will all come right in the end.” I ,

“That’s his business. I have made my inn- '
ings, and don’t care a jot for anything else.‘
But you seem honest, and I rather like you, so
you may consider yourself re-engaged. Good»
night. If you should happen to see Mr. Ber-
tram, tell him that his friend Caddie wants '
him.” ~ ~' "

When the fellow had gone, the old man!
placed his head on his hands and groaned aloud
in anguish of spirit. ‘

v“ I might have died in reality, and gone to
my account with a great wrong on my soul to
Oswald. Pringle was right; the unearthing cf "
this nest of villains .has cost me many a sharp
pang, but it has saved much future misery. 1
could forgive Bertram all but parting with the
old homestead. He has married an adventur-
ess, I have no doubt. Heaven has punished .
me for my unjustness to so sweet .a girl as Miss /
Puget.” , ‘

He sat for many hours pondering deeply
over the responsibilities which his discoveries ,
had thrown upon him; and had any of the in- .
mates, save the general, seen his face, Worm
and wan with grief, they would have taken
him for an apparition. « '

 

The following morning the library was the
scene of an interesting event—namely, the
reading of the will by General Pringle. ’ '

Oswald and his wife were there, as were, of
course, Bertram and his. -

After leaving legacies to his servants,’ and
making a few other trifling bequests, his Whole 5

estate, both real and personal, was settled upon -  ,2. 
Bertram and his heirs feroyer, ,. 7 , ..

 

 

 

'14  , L

A.

 

“ *1, ‘i i '7‘ " , V . ,
- r , - ,  A w I ~ v . x,
, x ' ' I :. » " l

1 ‘ ,I‘

e-V.‘ : . ~ w: my 

     

 

~WOMAN’S MANEUVER. W .' '  i ,r  1’

 

. Oswald was told he was forgiven, but that

' . he could not be trusted with property to

use in aiding his father-in-law’s chimerical

schemes.

“ I hand in my claim now,” said Caddie,
bustling to the front with Scroggs at his heels,
like a. terrier following a bulldog; “ it’s signed;
sealed, and delivered! I stand here the proud
possessor of Dinton Hall!”

“Bertram, _ is this true?” asked General
Pringle. “ Have you parted with your inher-
itance?”

He turned on his heel haughtily, and vouch-
‘ sated no reply. - g ,

,  ~ “Bertram, there’s my hand,” said Oswald.

i-j. = “You have my best wishes for your future,

which I hope will be bright and happy. Hea-

, , you has blessed me with health and strength to

 i. é werk fora livelihood; I will strain every nerve

 L to get back this dear old home of our child-

 "  . hood, should you fail to do so!”

~ At this juncture a servant entered with a
letter on a. salver for Oswald, who, excusing
himself, opened and read it, when his face be-
came suffused with joy. .

Turning to Jessie, he kissed her tenderly, and

‘. said: “My darling, this is good news! The
seam of coal has been found at last, and our
father will be as wealthy a man as any in the
country!”

Congratulations poured in upon the fortunate
pair; but every tongue was hushed, every eye

' bent upon a figure that emerged from the
chamber of death.

, “ Do not be alarmed, my friends,” said the
well-known voice of Mr. Dinton, “and forgive

' me for having practiced deceit upon you.” .

“Why, it’s the secretary!” said Caddie.
“One would think he had risen from the dead!”

“SO I have,” was the smiling reply; “just
in time to save Dinton Hall from falling into

the hands of a sharp, money-lending lawyer!
If it’s any satisfaction to you, sir, know that I
am the owner of this place and all its contents.”
' “ Then I have lost my money, for I have put
Bertram Wyncott’s bill into the fire. What
, v ' am I to do?”

‘ z  “Relieve us of your presence,” said General
= 1' ~I’ringle, dryly. “It’s only an exemplification
of, the old moral—‘the biter bit.’ ”

Cuddle rushed from the room, followed by
' .Nathan Scroggs, who received a parting kick
, . from Denning which sent him atop of his mas-
 : .‘ter, and both rolled down the stairs inglo~

' :riously. '

“ I shall not humiliate you, Bertram, by al-
luding to the past in the presence of this com-

'~ ; pany, except to say that I hope you will take

the lesson deeply to heart and profit by it, and

that in the long life which I hope is before you
7f V \your wife will prove a fitting helpmate.”

 Turning to Oswald, he pressed him to his

i u heart and said, with tears in his voice: “My

7‘ »’, darling boy, I crave your forgiveness, and that

,‘of your gentle wife. You will not desert me

‘ as I did you?”

“Never, dear uncle; nor must we be hard
lupon Bertram, or we shall be committing the
" same grave fault over again.”

“ All this happiness is owing to you, dear old
, friend,” said Mr. Dinton, grasping the general’s
v hand. “How can we ever repay you?”

" ' . “By forgiving and forgetting. I have ob
tained an appointment abroad for Bertram,

, where I hope his talents will raise him to a high

‘ position.”

This was heaping coals of fire upon the head
of the man and woman who, in their day of
seeming triumph, had forgotten those who

'\ hall just claims upon them.

 

 

n

 

   
  

 

_ -- ‘. Bertram Wyncott and his wife were seated
’ . together in one of the rooms of the suite that
‘ .r had been allotted to them, both looking pale
and haggard after the severe defeat they had
sustained owing to the success of the novel ex-
periméntv .. . . . . .

I “If you are a man,” said his Wife, With a
 sleek of contempt at him, ‘f you would sheet
7/ _, General Pring‘le as you would a! mad dog!” I ‘ ,

   

 

_,.... V . 7 . \

“And get hanged for my pains! ‘ No, no,
Melly! I don’t mind doing things that will not
place me within the pale of the law. I havo a.
better project in view.”

“ And what might that be, pray?” she
asked, with a sneer. “ Hitherto you have
done nothing but raise money at ruinous inter-

t.”

“ Which I shall never repay. Caddle has
destroyed my bills, and I do not owe him a
cent.” '

“ You cannot take the credit for that,”
she said. “ I was a fool to mate with such
as you; but I suppose we must make the best
of it.”

‘f You are very insulting!” he said. “‘Why
not come to the rescue yourself now, instead of
taunting me? Your fortune can save us, and
put everything straight. I, as your husband,
have a right to expect this much.”

“ I must be frank with you,” she said. “You
heard what General Pringle said to Caddle.
Yours is a similar case—the biter bit.”

“ For goodness’ sake, Melly, do be seri-
ous! This is no time for jesting. Do you
mean to say that in marrying you I wedded a
penniless—”

“ Beggar, I suppose you mean! Don’t mince
your words, Bertram Wyncott. Although not
quite so bad as that, I had no fortune of any
kind, but only sufficient money to enable me to
carry on my campaign, which ended so inglori-
ously for me in marrying you.”

“You’re as frank as your manners are
charming, madam. Perhaps you will be good
enough to tell me how we are to live in any
sort of style in the future? Perhaps your
arts can suggest a Way out of the difil~
culty?”

“ I see but one way,” she replied, “ and that
is to go to your uncle and plead for his entire
forgiveness.”

“ You do not know all, or you would not
advise me to take such a step.”

“ It cannot make matters worse,” she re-
plied. “ What mystery is this?”-

“Simply that to provide me with funds to
marry you, I committed what they term a for-
gery, besides appropriating—which isa genteel
way of putting it—money from my uncle’s
safe and throwing the blame upon my brother.”

“ What! have I descended so low as to be the
wife of a criminal?”

The guilty man hid his face in his hands,
while she continued to reproach him bitterly,
apparently feeling no mercy or compunction
for him, although he had been a weak tool in
her hands.

Raising his head, he said, bitterly: “ I did
not give you credit for much feeling; but I find
you are as heartless as if you were stone.”

“ What you dare not do I shall. Mr. Dinton
has a high opinion of me, or he would not have
done me the honor of selecting me as his future
wife. Be a man, and don’t sink under your
troubles. You have an appointment offered to
you abroad; accept it. Although I have de-
ceived you with regard to my fortune, I have
talents, and will use them for your benefit and
my own.”

She swept out of the room more like an em-
press going to give audience to her ministers
than a woman about to plead for forgiveness at
the hands of a man she had deceived.

Even her audacity failed her at the last mo-
ment when she remembered how insultingly
she had spoken of Mr. DintOn when she thought
he lay dead.

She knocked timidly at the library door, and
entered at his bidding. '

“ To what am I indebted for this visit, Mrs.
Wyncott?”—-rising and placing a chair. “ By
the waYII‘have omitted to congratulate you
upon your marriage. Allow me to do so now.”

“ Oh, my dear Mr. Dinton, I have come as a
supplicant for mercy. Bertram is broken-
hearted, and feels his conduct so keenly that he
cannot face you. It is better to be frank with
you.- I have no fortune, and my husband’s
affairs are seinvolved that unless he receives
pecuniary assistance he cannot take up the ap- ,

l

l

 

 

pointment which General Pringle has obtained
for him.”

“Tell him to give me a list of his debts,”
said the uncle, coldly, “but —let me tell you
that his first step toward repentance must be a
free and frank apology to his brother, whom
he has deeply wronged, and to his wife who
has suffered so‘ unjustly through his machina-
tions.”

“ Are we not humbled sufficiently?”

“ There can be no humiliation in doing what
is right. If you only knew all—how basely he
has acted (not stopping even at crime), you
would be the first to influence him to take such
a step."

She was silent, for this was the bitterest in-
gredient in the cup she and her guilty husband
had to quafl.

“Not content by false representations and
subtle innuendoes to ruin his brother in my esti-
mation, he must needs accuse him of theft and
forgery. It will take years before Bertram
can re-establish himself in my good opinion.
Let him work honestly and he will find in me
his best friend. But I will not encourage ex-
travagance, Mrs. Wyncott, and beyond an al-
lowance which I shall make him, he must de-
pend on his own exertions. I regret I am com-
pelled to speak so plainly toa lady whom I had
every reason once to admire and respect, but it
is better to do so, rather than to raise false
hopes.”

Rising, she said, with an imploring gesture:

“Be merciful to us in this bitter hour of
trouble.”

“ What mercy did you or Bertram show to
others when you thought you had gained your
inheritance? If I did my duty I should not
permit him to remain under my roof, his con-
duct has been so heartless! Although he Owes ‘
everything to me, he expressed no sorrow at
my supposed death, but has brought disgrace
upon a time-honored name by assigning my
dear old home and all its cherished contents to
a mere money-lender. I could forgive him
anything but that. No, madam; if he desires
aid in his difiiculties he must conform to my
wishes. Let OSWald or his wife plead with me,
not you, who have sinned quite as deeply as
Bertram.”

She left the rorm in silence, crushed by his
just rebukes, and sought her husband, whom
she found in a state bordering upon frenzy. .

Facing her with a gleam of madness in his
eyes he asked, hoarsely:

“ Well, what message have you for me? Has
he ordered us to leave his roof?”

“ No, Bertram; but he insists upon your
making a full apology to Oswald and his wife.”
, “Never: There can be only one ending to
all this, and that is—death!”

Snatching a revolver from his breast-pecket,
he placed the weapon to his temple; but before
he could perpetrate the rash deed she sprung
forward and wrested it from him, and. threw
her arms about his neck, exclaiming:

“ Dear Bertram, live for both our sakes, and
let us try to redeem the past. I have been
guilty of deceit and cunning toward you, and
am to blame more than you; but I do love you,
and will be a good wife to you if you will only -
trust me.”

“God bless you, Melly, for those words! I
thought even you had turned against me in my
hcur of adversity! I will be brave, and will
battle with my dimcultles, your love and affec.
tion to aid me.”

She kissed him tenderly, and laying her head
upon his breast, sobbed like a child.

Adversity had touched her heart, while pros-
perity had made her arrogant.

In Oswald and Jessie they found true friends,
who gladly pleaded for them, and succeeded in
obtaining Mr. Dinton’s entire forgiveness.

He only stipulated that they should remain
abroad for some time, until the scandal attach—w
mg to their proceedings should .have blow
over. .

 

, The coal mine proved exceedingly yaluable,

" —» -\‘."  

   

 

 

1"]

  

,. I». MIA 1 

i I
H

and placed Oswald and Jessie in a position of
great affluence.

Many a generous remittance found its way
to his brother, who appeared to be quite re-
formed, but who, owing to the trouble he had
passed through, sunk under ill—health, and died
comparatively young.

His widow rarely visits them, but whenever
she does, she is received with affectionate
warmth.

 

Dinton Hall is full of childish laughter, which
floats through every room and along the cor-
riders, making sweet music in the ears of the
old man, whose chief delight is to watch the
growth of these heaven-sent flowerets.

General Pringle has taken up his abode
there, an honored member of the family.

Oswald and Jessie love each other the more
deeply as the years roll on, and gain increasing
affection and respect from both rich and
poor.

Mrs. Clevedon and her daughter have passed
out of the‘lives of the family, who do not re-
gret the circumstance.

Mrs. Warner has exchanged her name for
that of Mrs. Denning; and he, in turn, has
changed his position of butler for the higher
one of secretary.

The cook still flourishes her want? of oflice
-—the rolling—pin—in the spacious kitchen, and
is a great favorite with Oswald’s children, who
pay her frequent visits, and never return
empty-handed.

Caddie and his man, Nathan Scroggs, still
pursue their old calling of squeezing their vic-
tims dry, but have never chosen to visit the

.vicinity of Dinton Hall again.

There is a song which Jessie sings that Mr.
Dinton is never tired of hearing.

One line in it has a peculiar significance for
him, and he often repeats it—

“ Ring out the false, ring in the true.”

THE END.

 

 

   

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' BEA‘DLE’S 

BOYS’ LIBRARY.

—o4o———-—

l Adventures ofBuii‘alo Bill. From Boy-
hood to Manhood. Deeds of Dari and Roman-
tic Incidents in the early life of Wi iam F. Cody.
By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

2 The Ocean Hunters; or, The Chase of
the Leviathan. A Romance of Perilous Adven-
ture. By Captain Mayne Reid.

@1171 EJ-tra Law/u Namibian—Em

3 Adventures of \Vild Bill, the Pistol
Prince. Remarkable career of J. B. Hikok,
(known to the world as “ Wild Bill,“) giving the
true stor of his adventures and acts. By CoL
Prentiss n raham.

4 The Pra rie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle
Herders. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

5 Texas Jack, the Mustang King. Thrill-
in Adventures in the Life of J. B. Omohundro,
“Texas Jack." By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

6 Cruise of the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys
in Ceylon. By C. Dunning Clark.

7 Roving Joe: The History of a Youn “ Bor-
der Rufi‘ian.” Brief Scenes from the 'e of
Joseph E. Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post.

8 The Flyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys
’Round the World. By C. Dunninv Clark.

9 Bruin Adams, 01d Grizzly Adams,
Boy Pard. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

10 The Snow-Trail' or. The Boy Hunters of
Fur-Land. By T. C. arbaugh.

1 1 01d Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tamer;
or, The Monarch of the Mountain. By Dr.
Frank Powell.

12 \Voods and \Vatcrs; or, The Ex loits of
the Littleton Gun Club. By Capt. F. ittaker.

13 A Rolling Stone: Incidents in the Career
on Sea and Land as Bo and Man of Colonel
Prentiss Ingraham. By rof. Wm. R. Eyster.

l4 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur
Hunters on the Buii‘alo Range. By
011 Coomes.

l5 Kit Carson, King of the Guides; or
glfiuntain Paths and Prairie Trails. By A. W.

1 en.

16 Red River Rovers; or, Life and Adven-
tures in the Northwest By C. Dunning Clark.

17 Plaza. and Plain ' or, Wild Adventures of
“Buckskin Sam,” (M’ajor Sam S. Hall.) By
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

18 Rifle and Revolver; or, The Littleton
Gun Club on the Buffalo Range. By Captain
Frederick Whittaker.

l9 Wide-Awake George, The Boy Pioneer;
or, Life in 3. Log Cabin. Incidents and Adven-
tures in the Backwoods. By Edward Willett.

20 The Dashing Dragoon; or. The Story of
General George A. Custer, from West Point to
the Big Horn. B Captain Frederick Whittaker.

21 Deadwood ick as a Boy; or, Why
Wild Ned Harris, the New-England arm-lad, be-
came the Western Prince 0: the Road. By Ed—
ward L. Wheeler.

22 The Boy Exiles of Siberia; or, The
Watch-Dog of Russia. B T. C. Harbau h. ’

23 Paul De Lacy, The rench Beast C iarmer;
or, New York Boys in the Jungles. A Story of

 

Adventure, Peril and Sport in Africa. By C.

Dunning Clark.

24 The Stvord Prince: The Romantic Life
of Colonel Monster , (American Champion-at-
arms.) By Captain rederick Whittaker.

25 Round the Camp Fire' or, Snow-Bound
at “Freeze~out Camp.” By J’os. E. Bad er, Jr.

26 Snow-Shoe Tom; or. New York eye in
the Wilderness. A Narrative of Sport and Peril
in Maine. By T. C. Harbaugh.

27 Yellow Hair, the Boy Chief of the
Pawnees. The Adventurous Career of Eddie
Burgess of Nebraska. By Colonel Prentiss In-
graham.

28 The Chase of the Great White Stag
and Camp and Canoe. By C. Dunning

29 The. Fortune-Hunter; or, Roving Joe

as Miner, Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter. By
A. H. Post.
30 Walt Ferguson’s Cruise. A Tale of the

Antarctic Sea. By C. Dunning Clark.

31 The Boy Crusader; or, How a Page and a
Fool Saved 9. King. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

32 White Beaver the Indian Medicine
Chief' or, The Bomantic and Adventurous
Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell By Col. Ingraham.

33 Captain Ralph, the Young Exglorer; or,
at}: lCentipede Among the Floes. By . Dunning

r .

34 The Young Rear Hunters. A Story of
the Haips and Mishaps of a Party of Be. s in
the W' ds of Northern Michigan. By orris

Redwmg.

35 The Lost Boy “‘halers ' or, In the Shadow
of the North Pole. By T. c. Harbaugh.

36 Smart Sim the Lad with a Level Head.
By Edward Willett.

3'! Old Tar Knuckle and His Boy Chums; or,

The Monsters of the Esquimaux Border. By

Roger Sta rbuck.

8 The Settler’s Son; or, Adventures in the

Wilderness and Clearing. .By Edward S. Elli.

39 Night-Hawk Geor e, and His Daring
Deeds and Adventures in t e Wilds of the South
and West. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

40 The Ice Elephant; or, The Castaways of
the Lone Ceast.‘ By (apt. Fred. Whittaker.

/ - V ’
r I . . \
y

 

 

1

41 The Pampas Hunters' or, New York I
Boys in Buenos Ayres. By T.  Harbaugh.

42 The Young Land-Lubber' or, Prince
Porter’s First Cruise. By C. Dunning Clark.

43 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince. By Col.
Prentiss Ingraham. , V

44 The Snow Hunters; or, Winter in the
Woods. By Barry De Forest. ~

45 Jack, Harry and Tom. The Three‘
Champion Brothers; or, Adventures of Three
Brave Boys with the Tattoocd Prince. By Capt.
Frederick Whittaker.

46 The Condor Killers' or, Wild Adventures
at the Equator. By T. C. arbaugh.

4'7 The Boy Coral-Fishers‘ or, The Sea-
Cavern Scourge. By Roger Star uck.

48 Dick, the Stowawa ; or, A Yankee Boy’s
Strange Cruise. By Char es Morris.

49 Ti Tressell, the Floater; or, Fortunes and
I‘iivisuogunes on the Mississippi. By Edward
1 e . -

50 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska
Charlie, (Charles E. Burgess.) By Colonel'
Prentiss Ingraham. .

51 The Colorado Boys ; or Life on an Indigo
Plantation. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

52 Honest Hang ;. or, The Country Boy Adrift
in the City. By harles Morris.

53 The Boy Detectives; or, The Young Cali:
fornians in Shanghai. By T. C. Harbaugh.

54 California Joe, The Mysterious Plainsman. -

By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. .

55 Harry Somers, The Sailor-Boy Magician.
By S. W. Pearce. '

56 Nobody’s Boys ; or, Life Among the Gipsies.

By J. W. Hoffman.

The Menagerie Hunter; or. Fanny ‘He—

ban, the Animal Queen. By Major H. Grenville.

58 Lame Tim the Mule Boy of the Mines; or,
Life Among the Black Diamonds. By Charles
Morris. ,

59'Lud Lionhcels, the Young Tiger Fighter.
By Roger Starbuck. "

60 The Young Trail Hunters;
York Boys in Grizzly Land. By T. C. Harbaugh. '

61 The Young Mustangers. By C. D. Clark.

62 The Tiger Hunters; or The Colorado Boys
in Tiger-Land. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

63 The Adventurous Life of Captain
Jack, the Border Boy. (John W. Crawford,
the Poet Scout.) By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. .

64 The Young llIoose-Hunters ' or, Trail
and Camp-fire in the New Brunswick Woods. By
Wm. H. Manning. ‘

65 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit wrecker; or,
Two Brave Boys to the Rescue.
Starbuck.

66 Little Dan Rocks; or, The Mountain Kid’s
Mission. By Morris Redwing.

67 ’Longshore Lije; or. How a Rough Boy
Won His Way. By C. Dunning Clark.

57

6S Flatboat Fred; or, The Vgtyage of the “ Ex~ A

periment." By Edward Wille

69 The Deer-Hunters; 0r, Life in the Ottawa .

, Country. By John J. Marshall.

70 Kentucky Ben, the Lou Rifle of the Plains;
or, The Boy Trappers of regon. By Roger
Starbuck.

'71 The Boy Pilot
By Col. Prentiss In

72 Yonhg Dick Talbot. By Albert w. Aiken. ”

'73 Pat Mulloney’s Adventures; or, Silver
‘ Tongue, the Dacotah Queen. By C. L. Edwards.
74 The Desert Rover '
Among the Arabs. By Charles Morris.

'15 The Border Gunmaker; or, The Hunted
Maiden. By James L. Bowen.

76 The Kit Carson Club' or, Young Hawk-

eyes in the North-west. By . C. Harbaugh.

77 Left-Handed Pete, the Double-Knife. By .
Joe. E. Badger, Jr. .

'78 The Boy Prospector; or, The Scout of the
Gold Ravine. By Roger Starbuck.

79 Mlnonee, the Wood Witch; or, the Squatter‘s
Secret. By Edwin Emerson.

80 The Boga-ulcers;
Find. By dward Willett.

81 The Border Rovers ficr. Lost on the Over- ,

land Trail. By J . Milton oflman.

82 Alaska, the Wolf Queen; or, The Girty
Brothers’ Double Crime.

Howard.
83 The Young Nihilist’ or, A Yankee Boy'
Among the Russians. By Charles Morris.

84 Little Rifle; or,

. e Young Fur Hunters-
By Capt. “ Bruin " Adams.

A new issue every week.

Bumm’s Bor’s LIBRARY is for sale by all news-

dealers, flve cents per copy, or sent by mail on re»

ceipt of six cents.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PunLrsEEas, / I. ,,-

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or. Stowaway ,Dick, 

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or, Joe and Jap’s Big 

By Captain Charles ‘ _ 

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98 William street. N. Y. I  

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‘ x
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or, New. , A

By Roger ,

 

 

 

    
 
   
 

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Y

 'American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS!
‘ ' x ,- The Cheapest Library Ever Published!

 

 

“ 1 The Masked Bride' or, Will She Marry
Hun? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
2 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet-
hearts. By Win. Mason Turner. M. D.
3 The Girl Wile. By Bartley T. Camgibell.
4 A Brave Heart; or, Startlineg trange.
By Arabella Southworth.
5 Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl. By
' William Mason Turner, M. D.
6 The Secret Marriage. B Sara Claxton.
. 7 A Daughter of Eve; or, linded by Love.
By Mrs. Mar Reed Crowell.
r 8 Heart to cart. B Arabella Southworth.
 , 9 Alone in the Worl ; or, The Young Man’s
 . Ward. By the author of “Clifton,” etc. ‘
f, ‘ 10 A Pair of Gray Eyes. By Rose Kenned .
.:.- ll Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. y
. «v Henrietta Thackeray.
12 His Lawful Wife; or, Myra, the Child of
, Adoption. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens.
. 13 Madcaéi, the Little uakeress' or, The
 :. Naval adet’s Wooin . y Corinne (lushman.
', 14 Why I Married im. By Sara Claxton.
.~ ' 15 A. Fair Face; or, Out in the World. By
, Bartley T. Campbell.
16. Trust' Her Not; or, A True Knight. By

‘ Margaret Leicvster.
. 17 A Loyal Lover. BfiAmbella Southworth.
.18 His ldol‘ or, The Starred Marriage. By
17 ~ Mrs. Mary Bred Crowell.
‘w , ,' 19 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus
‘ Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine.
'20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, The
l. ,, Lost Heir. By Agile Penne.
' _ 21 Now and Forever; or. Why Did She Mar-
» ' " r1}; Him? By Henrietta Thackeray.
' 22 T e'Bride of an Actor. By the author
of “Alone in the World,“ “ Clifton,” etc.
23 Leapt Year; or, Why She Proposed. By Sara

on.
v. 24 Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Elea-
. nor Blame.
. 25 Only a Schoolmistress; or, Her Untold
I : - Secret. By Arabella Southworth.
26 Without a Heart. By Col. P. Ingraham.
27 Was She a Coquette? or, A Strange
. Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray.
‘ '28 S bil Chase; or. The Gambler’s Wife. By

 

 

 

 

rs. Ann S. Stephens.
9 For Her Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton.
‘ 0 The Ben uet Girl. By Agile Penne.

31 A Mad 1' arriwge.

* ByMary A. Denison
'  32 l'Iarlana,

, the Prima Donna° or, Roses
I , . and Lilies. B Arabella Southwort’h.

' 33 The Three isters. By Alice Fleming.
34 A Marriage of Convenience; or, Was

He at Count? By Sara Claxton. .

35 All Against Her. By Clara Augusta.
=36 Sir Archer’s Bride; or, The Queen of His
, Heart. By Arabella Southworth.
. 37 The Country Cousin. Rose Kennedy.

 38 His Own Again; or, Trust Her Not. By ;
. " Arabella Southworth. ;
 3.9 Flirtation ;’ or, A Youn Girl’s Good Name. ‘

. f By Jacob Abarbanell, (Ra pk Royal.)
.' 40 Pled ed to Marry. By Sara Claxton.
“,  ~11 Blin Devotion. By Alice Fleming.
f, 142 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Second
 Love. By- Arabella Southworth.
A‘ 43 The Baronet’s Secret; or, The Rival Half-
. :{ Sisters. By Sara Claxton.
; 44 The only Dau hter; 'or, Brother against
 g, Lover. Alice leming.
 ‘45 Her Hi den Foe; or, Love At All Odds.
' , ‘ , By Arabella Southworth.
_  4.6 The Little Heiress; or, Under a Cloud.
' ‘ V By Mrs. Mary A. Demson.
' 47 Because She Loved Him; or, How Will
is f ’11: End? By Alice Fleming.
’ 48 In Spite of Herself; or, Jeannette‘s Repa-
' ration. y S. R_. Sherwood.
. 4‘9 His ,Heart’s Mistress; or Love at First
.’  ’ Sight. By Arabella Southworr . i
I .50 The Cuban Heiress: or, The Prisoner of
' a ’La Vintresse. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison,
"51 Two Young Girb; or, The Bride of an
'4 Earl. By Alice Fleming.
,\ 52 The ’Winged Messenger; or, Risking All
a i for aHeart. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
, _5‘3.A§nes Hepe, the Actress. By William
 , ason Turner, M. D.
354 One Woman’s Heart; or. Saved from the
‘ Street. By George S. Ka-ime. _
55 fine Did Not Love Him; or, Stoopmg to
1 .‘ Conquer. By Arabella Southworth.
. 6 Love-:Mad; or. Betro'thed Married. Divorced
' .  and —-—. B Wm. Mason Turner. M. D.
 '57 A Brave lrl. B Alice Fleming.
.. 58 The Ebon Mas ; or, The Mysterious
" ’ Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
, ‘59 A Widow’a \Viles; or, ABitter Vengeance.
;. . " By Rachel Bernhardt.
5‘60 Cecil’s Deceit; or, The Diamond Legacy.
. By Mrs. Jennie Dans Burton.
61 A Wicked Heart. By Sara Claxton.
.  62 The Maniac Bride. By Margaret Blount
-- 63 The Creole Sisters. By Anna E. Porter.
w ‘ . ,34’ What Jealousy Did. By Alice Fleming.
. ‘ :65 The Wife’s Secret. By Col. Juan Lewis.
_ , IV I / \

  
    
  
 

. 76 Charlotte Tem

 

 

'l 1 Hannah.

66 A Brother’s Sin' or, Flora‘s Forgiveness.
By Rachel Bernhar t.

67 Forbidden Bans. By Arabella Southworth.

68 ‘Veavers and \Ycit. B M. E. Braddon.

69 Camille; or. The Fate 0 a Coquette. By
Alexandre Dumas.

70 The Ttvo Orphans. By D’Enery.

71 M Young Wife. By My Young Wife’s

usband.

72 The Two Widoxvs. By Annie Thomas.

73 Rose Michel; or, The Trials of a Factory
Girl. By Maud Hilton.

74 Cecil (‘astlemaine’s Gage' or, The Story
of a. Broidered Shield. B Oui a.

75 The Black Lady of una. By J. S. Le

Fanu.
1e. B Mrs. Rowson.
77 Christian Oak e ’s istake. By the
author of “ John Ha ' ax, Gentleman,” etc.
78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in
the Family. By Myself.
79 A tiueen Amongst Women. By the
ant or of “Dora Thorne,” etc, etc
80 Her Lord and Master.
Marryat.
81 Lucy Telnple, Sister of Charlotte.
82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred.
83 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie
Thomas.
84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of
“John Halifax, Gentleman.”
85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet.
86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot.
87 The Romance oi'a Poor Young Man.
By Octave Feuillet.
88 A Terrible Deed; or, All for Gold. By
- Emma Garrison Jones.
89 A Gilded Sin.
Thorn,” etc.
Author’s Daughter.
Hewitt.
91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade.
92 Eileen Alanna; or, the Dawning of the Day.
By Dennis O’Sullivan.
93 Love’s Victory. By B. L. Far’eon.
94 The Quiet Heart. By Mrs. O ’phant.
95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh.
96 Haunted Hearts. By Rachel Bernhardt.
97 Hugh Melton. By Katharine King.
98 Alice Learniont. By Miss Mulock.

By Florence

By the author of “Dora
By Mary

99 .VEDar-jolrie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary
amen
100 Through Fire and “'atcr. By Fred-

erick Talbot.
By Mss Mulloek.
Peg \Vomngton. BV Charles Reade.
A Desperate Deed. By Erskine B0 (1.
Shadows on the Snow. By B. .Far-
Jeon.

The Great Hoggarty Diamond., By
W. M. Thackeray.

From Dreams to “raking. By E.
Lynn Linton.
' Poor Zcph ! By F. W. Robinson.
‘ The Sad Fortunes of the Rev Amos

Ba rton. By George Eliot.

109 Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. By
B.'L. Farjeon.

l 10 ghg \Vandering Heir. By Charles
.ea e. ‘

1 1 1 The Brother’s Bet; or, Within Six
Weeks. By Emilie Flygare Carlen.

1 12 A Hero. By Miss Mulock.

’1 13 Paul and Virginia. From the French of

Bernardin De St. ierre.

114 9Twas In Trafalgar’s Bay. By Wal-
ter Besant and James Rice.

1 1 5 The )Iaid oi‘Killecna. By Wm. Black.

1 l 6 Hetty. By Henry Kingsley.

117 The “'ayside (‘ross' or, The Raid of
Gomez. By Captain E. A.’Milman.

118 The Vicar of “’akeiield. By Oliver
Goldsmith.

119 Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas.

120 glitaddeus of \Yarsaw. By Miss Jane
or yer. '

121 The King of No-Land. By B. L. Far-

eon.
122 JLovel, the \Yidou’er. By W. M. Thack-

may.

1123 An Island Pearl. By B. L. Farjeon.

124 (‘ousin Phillis. ,

125 Leila; or, The Siege of Grenada. By Ed—
ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton).

126 “'hen the S111 Comes Home. By
Walter Besant and ames Rice.

127 One of the Family. By James Payn. '

128 The Birthright. B Mrs. Gore.

129 Motherless; or, The armer’s SWeetheart.
By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. . .

130 Homeless' or, Two Orphan Girls 111 New
York. By Ai’hert W. Aiken. '

131 Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry cf
Hearts. By Mrs. MaryReed Crowell.

132 Soldfor Gold. By Mrs. M. V. .Victor.

1 33 Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Dickens.

134 glad He Love Her ? ByBartley T..Camp-
9 .

» 135 Sinned Against. By Lillian Lovejoy.

 

1 36 alias 11She His Wife 1 By Mrs. Mary Reed

rowe'. .
137 The Village on the Cliff. By Miss

Thackeray. V A
138 Poor Valeria! or, The Broken Troth.
By‘G. P. R. James.

By Margaret Blount.
139 Mar raret Graham.
140 Wit Iout Mercy. By Bartle T.Campbell.
141 Honor Bound. By Lillian ovejoy. V
142 Fleeing from Love. By Mrs. Harriet
rvm .
143 Abdgucted; . or, A Wicked Woman’s Work.

By Rett Winwood. . _ .
1 44 A Stranae Marriage. By Lillian Lovegoy.
1 4 ' ‘

0 Two Gi-rl’s Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed
Crowell.
146 A Desperate Venture; or, For Love’s

Own Sake. By Arabella Southworth.
The \Var of Hearts. By Connne Cush-

man.

Which ‘Vas the Woman ? or, Strangely

Misjudged. By Sara Claxton.

An Ambitious Girl' or, SheWould Be

An Actress. By Frances elen Daven ort.

Love Lord of All. By Alice May leming.

A Wild Girl. Bv Corinne Cus man.

A Man’s Sacrifice. By Harriet Irving.

Did She Sin. By Mrs. Ma Reed Crowe .

He Lov ‘ Me Not. B illian Lovejoy.

\Vinning Ways. By ll argaret Blount.

What She Cost Him; or, Crooked Paths.

By Arabella Southworth.

A Girl’s Heart. By Rett Winwood.

A Bitter Mistake ' or, A Young Girl’s

Folly. By Agnes Mary Shelton.

Lady Helen’s Vow ' or, The Mother’s

Secret. By the Late Mrs.  _F. Ellet.

0 Buying a Heart. By Lillian Lovejoy.

61 Pearl of Pearls. By A. P. Morris, Jr.

1 62 A Fatei‘ul Game; or, Wedded and Parted.
B Sara Claxton.

163 ’ he Creole Cousins; or, Falseas Fair.
By Philip S. Warne.

l 64

1 65

147
148

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we! nominates-O

HH a HH Huuuuua
03 Cu m in
CD

A Scathing Ordeal; or, May Langley’s
Mad Marriage. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens.
A Strange Girl. By Albert W. Aiken.

166 A Man’s Sin. By Rett Winwood.

167 The Hand of Fate; or, The Wreck of
Two Lives. B r Arabella Southwortb.

168 Two Fair omen. By Wm. M. Turner.

169 Tempted Through Love; or, One
Woman’s Error. By 'lian Lovejoy.

170 Blind Barbara’s Secret. By Mary
Grace Halpine.

171 A “’oman’s Witchery; or, Through
Much Tribulation. B Sara Claxton.

172 Black Eyes an Blue. By Corinne
Cushman.

173 The Cost of a Folly. By Georgiana
Dickens.

174 The Pretty Puritan.‘ By A Parson’s
Daughter.

175 Is Love a Blocker-y? or, Revenge is
Sweet. By Arabella Sourhworth.

176 Adria, the Adopted. By Jennie Davis
Burton.

177 For the \Voman He Loved; or, Fate-

By Corinne

ful Links. By Agnes Mary Shelton.
178 The Locked Heart. By Corinne Cushman.
1 79 Partcd by Treachery. By Harriet lrving.
180 \Vas She a Wife 2 or. The Proot of Love.
By Rett Winwood.
181 Under a Cloud; or A Daughter's Sus-
picion. By Sara Claxton.
182 An American Queen; 01-, The Heart of
Gold. By Grace Mortimer.
183 A point of Honor; or. Diamond Cut
Diamond. Bv Lilhan Lovejoy,
184 Pursued to the Altar.
Cushman.
185 Put to a Test; or. A Fortune Hunter’s
Fate. By Georgiana Dickens.
186 The Terrible Truth; oflThe Thornhurst
Mystery. By Jennie Davis Burton.
187 Outwitted by Herselt; or, A Mother‘s-
Scheme. By Arabella Southworth.
188 Florette, Child of the Street' or, A Pearl
Beyond Price. By Col. Prentiss fngraham.
189 ,Her Guardian’s Sacrifice; or, A Name
111 the Balance. By Sara Claxton.
190 Pretty and Proud: or, The Gold-Bug of
Frisco. By Corinne Cushman.
191 A Woman’s Maneuver; or, Purse, not
Heart. By Lillian Lovejoy.
192 ghe Bitter Feud. By Jennie Davis Bur-
n.

A new issue every week.

Tm: WAVERLEY LIBRARY is for sale by all News-
dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on me
ceipt of six cents each. .
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers,

98 William street, New York.