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Copyrighted in 1882 by'BEADLE AND ADAMS. October 17. 1882.

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO. 153. VOL. VI. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS

 

 

 

SH SIN? GAME.

DID WEE  

WYW

 

CBY MRS. leARY REED 0130 TVELL,

AUTHOR OF “Two GIRLS' LIVES,” “SISTER AGAINST SISTER,” “THE EBON MASK,” “A DAUGHTER ()F EVE,” ETC., ETC.

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“WITH A UASI’ING MUAN ON HER LII‘S, SHE 'I‘UT'IERED DUVVN THE STEPS AND (AT ISTU '1le SNOW CUMBERED PATHS.”

 

 

 

DID SHE SIN ?

 

 

 

Did She Sin?

A Man’s Desperate Game.

A Romance of a Young Wife’s
Fight with Pate.

BY MRS. MARY REED CROWELL,
AUTHOR or “ ans or warm,” “ sowmo 'rnl
WIND,” “rwo Gian’ mm,” are.

 

CHAPTER I.
a Bums-UL wow up A oaiwr sonow.

IT was at the close of a sno December d_a .
All day long, and all the night fore, the thic ,
steady storm of snow-flakes had been coming
down until to-ni ht it seemed as if all the
world was lying out under the high heaping
softness.

Marchbrook Park looked like some enchanted
place, with its hundreds of tree-branches swa -
in softly and silently with their burden of t e
wgite coldness. There had been scarcely no
wind since the storm had commenced, so that
every tiny twig, every leafless vine, bore its full-
est capac1t of the beautifying snow.

Here an there were dotted the evergreens,
looming vividly dark from out the white arms
that seemed caressing them; the fountain was
piled with graceful precision in different rows
rom base to apex; the-roofs of the summer-
houses looked like peaks of crystal—there seem—
ed no aths, no way out of the beautiful limit-
less w1 demess that stretched away from the
windows of Marchbrook, and melted into the
tender dunness of the fast-coming ni ht.

At one of the satin-draped win ows of the
drawing-room at Marchbrook a young girl
stood, looking out into the quiet beauty of the
storm; a young girl whose ex uisite contour of
figure and poise of head, an lissom ace of
carria e was apparent at the slightest ance.

She ad been standing there some iine, the
amber satin curtains lined with warm dusk
red velvet sweeping each side of her. The tWi-
light had deepened since she had been standin
there; a footman had come silently in an
lighted the gas; the roaring fire in the open
grate had been brightened and replenished, and
now was a bed of solid golden red comfort; a
package of newspapers and letters had been 193d
on a center-table of inlaid mosaic, and the tall
liveried man-servant had left the room and yet
the- girl did not stir from her place.

Outside the darkness deepened, and a long
lance of light from between the curtains parte
by her resence, streamed warmly out on the
snow; t e darkness deepened, until even her
youn eyes could see nothing beyond that bar
of li t, and at last she turned awayfrom the
win ow, into the brilliance and luxurious mag-
nificence of the room.

She fulfilled the exlpectation her graceful
shoulder and back an proudly—carried head
had promised. She was exquisitel beautiful,
of that rare type of perfect blon e loveliness
that is not often seen.

Her face was delicate and high-bred, pure
and lovely beyond expression, such a face, such
a countenance as one would instinctively know
accompanied fine intellectual qualities and a
sweet, sensitive nature.

The complexion of this face was as dainty as
a blossom—pure ivory with the merest warmth ,
of a blush pink, that contrasted gloriously with I
her large velvety blue eyes, full of Spiritedness
mid fearlessness and innocence, radiant as stars
on a frosty night. Her mouth was small, with
warm scarlet lips—a. temptineg beautiful
mouth, with the possibilities of deep passion in
its tender curves, and with equal possibilities
of firide and self—control.

er lovely hair that had gleams of burnished
field allthrough it when the sunshine or the gas-

'ght fell on it, that was of a richly palhd shade,
and grew low on her fair white forehead, was
arran ed in a becomin and fashionable calf-
fure o uffs and flossy rifles.

Her ress was a simple dinner toilet of black
silk, trimmed with velvet and fringes, its dark-
ness only relieved by the old yellow lace at her
throat and wrists, and the delicate hue of a blue
silken tie above the heavy gold necklace and
cross she wore.

She was a beautiful, intelligent cultured girl,
accustomed to the c'réme de la créme of societ ;
she had lived all her life in the midst of t 6
most extrava t luxury; she was of a warm,
ardent disposition, sunn and joyous, high prin-
niplml, "'ld Hm be? 0 her v-idnwpd n" ‘-

 

Judge May. who had retired from active lifel

at the advanced of seventy and was peace-
full , happily, en 'n his days in his magnifi-
een country-seat— archbrook.

This one daughter of his—fair Cecil May——
was not the only child. Besides her there was
a son, Oscar, as unlike Cecil in appearance and
disposition as it was possible for two human be-
ings to be. Peo le said he was more like Mrs.
May, while Ceci was one of those freaks of Na-
ture who resembled nobody, was like nobody
but her own sweet ielf.
from the window and under
the searching lig t of the one could have
seen there was a look of ful anxiety among
the shadows of her blue e es, as if her youneg
heart had some weight of rouble. She walk
up to a cushioned spring loungin -chair that
stood before the glowing coals an sat down,
her elbow on its arm, her chin resting on her
grad, her blue eyes looking in the hot-hearted

Cecil came awa

e.

“ I wonder what fiapa will say when I tell
him about—about— r. Valence?

Her thoughts brought a slight increase of that
clear blush-bloom to her cheeks, and a gravity
to her 6 es; then, as she remembered afresh the
words ydney Valence had spoken to her not
three hours before—words he had braved the
storm to ride to her and say, the flush deepened,
and her look of gravity gave place to a smile of
girlish deli ht.

Her brie recalling of her lover’s words was
ended by the entrance into the room of Judge
May, and Cecil arose to meet him, going for—
ward and linking her arm affectionately in his.

“ Pa a, I am so glad you feel well enough to
come own for dinner to-ni ht. You cannot
imagine how lonely it is for Just Oscar and I.”

He smiled indulgently down in her sweet up-
lifted face.

“ So my little irl misses me, does she? Well,
Cecil, I am glad I am strong enough to  down
tonight, if only for your sake. It Wlll seem
quite like old times for you and I to have a chat
together before dinner. Sit down, dear, where
I can see you; tell me all about everything.

"if you say,no, papa,

 

What have you been doing today?” .

Judge May had taken his accustomed chair I
to the left of the open fire, and Cool] drew a I
low hassock near him and seated herself on it, :
and then it was, that, looking at .her face, as 1
both firelight and gaslight flooded it, the Judge
saw the traces of care and anXlety on the per-
fect features.

“I am especially glad .
01d place to-night, pa in, for I have somet mg
verznparticular to tel 011. Papa, you wanted
to ow what I had on doing to-day—Mr.
Valence called this afternoon.”

Her voice dr0p ‘d to a low, exquisite key, and
she turned her ead paitially away from the
grave eyes upon her.

“Yes, my darling, Sydney Valence called,
and he came for what?”

The pink flush deepened on her forehead as
she went 01), with drooping eyes and averted

to have you in our

face: ,

“He told me‘he—loved—mc, and wanted me

—-'tlohmarry hlrfil.”dl 111
e grave, in e es were restin at on
the fair droopcd lleiyithy g

“And you told him what, Cecil?”

N0 immediate answer came to the kindl ques-
tion, asked in that peculiar tone that in icated
Judge Ma ’3 anxiety as to the uality of her
reply—an Cecil knew, before s is answered,
that Sydney Valence’s suit would not be favored
by her father, while at the same time she was
equally certain he would not positively prohibit

the fortune you will take him; that I think he
is presumptuous in paying his addresses to you
when he is such mauve stranger. Don’t
think me hard-h darling, when I talk so
to 3011. Remember, if you find you love him,
an his character and standing bear the investi-
Efififi‘ 33319313“ I “gum” “2%” “mm’
. ow ou . oven 0

own discretion. ” y . g by y W

Cecil’s fair face grew shadowed and thought-

ful.

“ Page, I never would marry any one of whom
0011 di not up rove. I am not sure I—care for
Mr. Valence ;' thought—perhap‘s—I did. But

know it will be for my

own

“ darling! Now let me tell on somethin
else. {my morning, while ou wire busy witE
your duties, I had a call n my room—a long

nterview and you were the topic of interest.
Little iri, it isn’t every young maiden who has
two 0 or. of Marv-age in. one day—but you
have had. Clyde Carriscourt was my caller
and your suitor.” '

Her forehead, cheeks, even her neck flushed
warmly.

“ Mr. Carriscourt, papa! I did not know Mr.
Carriscourt cared for me, at all. He has never
intimated such a thing. How stran e that he
whom I have always been accustom to rever-
ence and re ct and love as a dear friend of
yours and mine, should—want to—marry me.”

Judge May smiled.

“ Then you have always liked him, dear? He
is older than you are, considerably—about twice
as old—and you are seventeen. e is one whom
I have known all his life, have watched him
grow from boy to man, and know him thor-
oughly—his mental and moral worth, his in-
creasing popularity as a lawyer of repute and
keen, conscxentious intelligence, his comfort-
able, yes, his large fortune. Clyde Carriscourt
is a man to whom I would dearly love to see you
give yourself—yet not unless ou loved him.

em], you have your choice. ake time to de—
cxde, and I can promise you that if it is in my
power to. make you happy, you shall be so.”

He smiled lovingly at her, but she saw how
pale and weary he looked, and instantly her
own face was all eager reproach of her own
thoughtlessness in thus allowing the very first
night of his convalescence to be so burdened as
it ad been.

_“ I have been cruel to let you become so ex—
Citcll and exhausted, papa! You are pale and
faint—you were not able to be down, I am
afraid. Lie down on the couch, papa, do!”

But he smiled her fears away.

.“Nonsense, girlie! Droop your head nearer
me, so I may ean against you. I am a little
tired, but that is perfectly natural after the
unusual exertion of getting down-stairs. There
tomes Oscar.”

The entrance of his son of course. at an end
to all further affectionate little con dences be-
tween them.

He was a tall, severe-faced man, with intense—
1y. dark eyes that were piercing in their regard;
With a cleaIi-shaven face that displayed the
firm, compressed lips—that Cecil often thou ht
were almost cruc in their expression. is
hair was Jetty black, and cut closely to his
head. He dreamed elegantly, and always looked
the gentleman.

Now he came in the room with a bow and a
smile. '

_ ‘_‘ I am very glad to see you down, sir. Cecil,
it 15 four minutes past seven; will you see why-
dinner is delayed? ’ y

1 _ She instantly obeyed. All her life Omar had

“I told him, papa—I was not sure I—loved ,
him; that I had not thought much about him—
that—that—he had better 5 ak to on.”

Judge May stroked the so t, silky curls fondly,
his keen frosty eyes lookin intently into the
fire as  there he could fin a solution for the
dificultia that seemed to anno and pcrplex
him, that made his forehead wrii 6 into heavy,
thoughtful frowns. . i

A silence so long that it made Cecil almost
restless] .im tient, followed her shy, halting
explana ion, roken after several long minutes
by J linge May:

“ We ,dau hter, you acted suitably and mai-
denl under t e circumstances. Let Mr. Syd-
ney alence come to me. I will tell you, frank—
] , that I_do not think he will come; but, if he .

cos, I Will receive him for your sake.” 1

Cecil looked up, surprisedly.  W
I

“ Ycfl think he will not Come! Papa, why!”

There was a flush of mortiflcation on her '
cheeks as she lifted her face. i

“Because. dear. I hardly think Mr. Sydnev 1,
Valence will relish what I feel it will be my ‘
duty to tell him—that I think he has an eye to .

3 or severity, but by some power .
‘ over her, and which, amiable and gracrously

ruled her, not by affection, not b unkindness
e possessed

sweet as she was, she never resisted.

That very moment the butler entered—grave,
P0111 us. _

“ iss Cecil, dinner is served.”

She turned with a laugh to Oscar.

“We are ready! Come! Come, pa
haven’t taken me out for so lupg, an
good to have on with us again.

She stoo her lovely, la hing face so she
might see is. “85128116 st ghtened up mm
a look of horror an ear.

“Pa ! Whatisthe matter! Oscarl—Osca“
What 3 the matter with him?”

In an instant Mr. May was at his father’s
side—lookin g at the placid, kind] face that was
e and set—at the face the would never

, you
it’s so

smile more, at the eyes that would never see
them I!- /
For in the pulsation of a heart-throb, in the
twin ' g of an eye, J edge May had died!

And bending frantically over him, calling
him everv tender. imnloring name. this fair

 

 

 

 

vn

 

.n.  a» —M:/. w--.  .._

DID SHE SIN ’2

3

 

 

giriwas simmeonscicus’of the terrible com lice.-
tion‘saf Fate in store for her, that his eath
mean , __ _

enema II.
A matures m AND A GREAT WRONG.

FOB da Marchbrook had been wra in
that terri silence and gloom that to owe a
death and precedes a funeral. Without, the

storm had fallen steadily, until it seemed as if
the heavens above were snperloaded with snow
whose abundance would never cease. Within,
shut out from the light of even the dumny
skies, with Judge May lying dead in his m-
with the servants going about with quiet tread
andsolemn ; with people comin and go-
ing on business connected with the l cere-
monies; with desolation and gloom, crushing
sorrow and numbing woe reigning over her,
Cecil somehow lived through those days, some-
how got over the torture of the funeral cere-
monies, and somehow found herself settled into
the caste routine of daily life and duty.

The tune was over; the deer, kindly face
wasgone forever- the chair he used would be
forever vacant 0 his resence; but the house
was rid ofits tokens o woe, the shutters were
opened, the servants’ voices were less lugu-
brious,  tread less oppressiver slow and
solemn. e storm had ceased, and the lad
sunshine ured in a flood from a cloudless lue
sky ovar e expanse of dazzlineg white earth
asif adding its share to the cheerfulnees that
Cecil realised was best for them all.

In the large, cheerful morning-room she had
Drought her work, and was sitting there, brave-
] mix) feel resigned to the terrible aillic—
tIon had befallen her. She was dressed in
deedp m ' and her sweet face was pale
an piteous. or blue eyes bore unmistakable
signs of tears, and her lips occasionally quivered
in spite of her resolute efforts.

She had been there alone, sitting between the

lowing grate-fire and the window, when Mr.

y entered and came across the room toward
her with a deliberate plurpose in his step and
manner that reminded er at once his presence
was not accidental.

She looked up, smiling faintly.

“I thought perhaps on would come here.
You remember you to d me yesterday you
wanted to see me. ”
he:e&;’es, I did say so. I expected to find you

He did not seat himself,1 but walked slowly
up and down the long, peasant room, where
everything betokened nn imited indulgence in
taste and wealth. His shrewd, keen eyes roam-
ed over the elegant articles of furniture and
decorations, from them into the conservatory
beyond, where such rare flowers bloomed, where
fountains played.

He looked out of the heavy plate glass win-
dows, from which the silken draperies were
drawn back, into the wide-reaching, snow-bound
‘park, whose boundaries were be 0in his vision
and a slow smile gathered on is compressed
lips, and gleamed in his cold, calculatin" eyes.

“It is a glorious inheritance” he t ought,
jubilant! . ‘It is mine, too mine, by the
death 0 my father. It was a pity that he
should have died and left it all, bu since he did
die, ithascomeinto rightful,ap reciative pains-
taking hands. Marchbrookisa eritageo which
re lty would have no need to be ashamed!”

e was not pleasant to look at as he walked
slowly to and fro, occasionally sending a keen
look at Cecil’s drooped face and golden head.
He was a man who one would istinctively
know was not given to fine generous impulses,
a man whose heart was cold as ice, whose brain
was keen and calculating, whose temper was
well under control whose nature was merciless,
grasping—as mplete an oo‘pp‘osite to his genial,

warm-hes , whole-soul ther as it was hu-
manly possible to be.
Presently he sat down, and it cut Cecil to the

heartto see him cooll draw up Judge May’s.
favorite easy-chair to t e are, and ocCupy it.
“Yes, I certainly wanted to see yo Cecil.
Of course you know that death in a y oft-
en neceuitates while in some instances,
as tlzis, for a:me t imperativer demands

grea.
Shelistened asherfairhandstremblingl ee-
ea edtoeettliestitches. I
I have not thought much about it, Oscar. I
have’peen “William-about—

! fihhszbdhnahnoetimpatisntl.
‘ “ you ,gingtocry Ishallleevzyouat
Ifyou ve

once. any delicaciea‘bout you, re

serve your feeling for times w

no one will

 

'0

see the display. I'have come todiscussbminess 1
matters With yon—im rtant mattersthat con-
ccrii you intimately. n the first pml have
151 statnehment to make, whlilcl;h will 13 y star-
te a surprise you,w i per psyou may
not 1believe but which I plan’substantiate by
am e roo samo m a erspapers.

 n’iyflerious fill-(13.711115 cold, hard manner
sent vague thrills of dismay and bewilderment
throu h her. Her hands dropped to her is ,
l ke lilies on her mourning dress; her leg,
won ering eyes looked up in his face.

“ You puzzle me, already. What have you
we". M... m .

e 00 e. er amom scrue

hmdmhgifing him a seoond. Butpgnly, for a
secon

“Are on reparedtohearitl Doyouthink
youcanbearpitl

Her heart was beating fiercely by this time.
Her face, even her lips, were pale.

“ Yes! yes! Whatever it i tell me at once!”

“ You are a brave girl, Cec' I will tell on.
You are not my sister, you are not J u e ay’s
daughter, you are not my mother‘s chil When
you were in infant you wiret adopted by my

nts;wo ouare,orwa your n

is, we never knyew. You werea ammoun -
ling’, taken from povorty by my father’s chari-
t

yll: almost frightened him to see how she heard
him. She did not a word—of horror, or

rotest, or surprise. he did not move a muscle,
but the most deathly expression of dumb
wilderment and agony and wild fear crossed
her white face, and stared mutely from her blue

e es.
y“I know it comes like a shock to on; I re-
t very much having been ob ' to break

is newsto you. But it wasan imperative dut ,
and one which ustice to us both demanded
be rformed. ou understand?”

e had changed her “position by this time,
but there was most aw! , unspeakable anguish
and bewilderment in her face.

“Not pa’s child! not papa’s daughteri"

She ost gasped the words in a piteous

w ' r.
“15:, Cecil, you are not. Consequently, you
are in no wa related to me. Do you yet com-
prehend all t at it means? Do you understand
now what I said when I told you that my fa-
ther’s death demands great changes?”

Then, it all ocrurred to her. Then the full
force of the terrible truth came home to her.
She was an alien in the home where she had
been so loved and cherished where she had
been so happy, where care and trouble and sor-
row had never b10wn their Cold breath on her.
She was suddenly come to the end of all that be-
cause she had been there onl on suficruncc, as
it were, only because Judge ayhad loved her,
and now, her one dear friend and benefactor
dead, she was an intruder whose presence was
“él°“’a“3‘e‘ t presu to tryto u

re i no me reason it a
out; how it was that she was not a daugh-
ter of the May’s whose name she bore—such
pitiful, shaking surprises cannot be reasoned
out until the bitter sting of anguished revela-
tion has worn away.

But, she realized' t; she accer it as a truth,
recallin , with wonderful fide 'ty, little things
that ha hap edin the course of gears past,
at which she en had vaguely, brie y wonder-

but which now, in t e searching light of
this revealed truth, e lained themselvss, and
added truthful force to his cruel testimony.

Not a May! The words rung in her ears,
through her soul and brain. No Judge May’s
child—not his natural offspring as she had al-
ways thought but—oh, zes, yes, the child of
his cart t e daughter 0 his love, to whom she
owed all her happy, beautiful life.

She would never forget that, never! And a

at gush of tears came springin to her sad
lue eyes, tears that relieved the s on her
nerves the t' ht crushing agony at her heart.

She looked rough her tears at Mr. May.

“He loved me, though; he was always so
good, so good to me! To me he was father, to
me he always will be my dear beloved father 1”

It would have touched wigs; steely heart
than Oscar Ma ’5 to have her tender
tribute. I hefrowned.

“Of course you should be grateful. Now,
further on the subject. You may, or may not,
know that the judg§left no will, so that every-
thing gpes to me. on are entirely unprovided
for. ow I come to the pith of the entire
 PWhatisityouproposetodol"

o

 

ltd!” pitiful-that surprised reacho of his

“Precisely. You are—let me seventeen
ears old, and conseth able look at
{hinge in a sensible, p light. Of course,
your remaining here, in what will be my bach-
elor establishment, is out of the question. While
my father lived, of course it was diiferent, but
now remarks would be made-”

Ahot ushsurgedover the marble or of
her chee —the rst ti? of colorths had vis-
ited there since J n ey’s

“Remarks! Oh, ar, how can you speak
suchaword to me; Remarksi When no one
in all ”the world knows I am not your—your

r.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I am noteosureof that. Beeid we both
know it, and so longas I am not your ther, I
can see no satisfactoryreasonfor amming that
relationship. As your friend, you may rest as-
sured I will never see you want for any-

thm .” _

“ vflien—thenn-Oscar, I am turned out of
Marchbrook, because you don't want me here!”
Her voice quivered Wendy, and the pain in
her blue eyes touch him—even him.

“It is nonsense to call th' by such hard
names. Youwilladmitit is visable foryou
toseek ahome elsewhere where, as I I: you
shall want nothing. ow, you ve
borne all this unpleasantness like resolute
woman I knew you to be, and I know you will
look your future in the face with equal bravery.
Consider me your friend to command r
me your friend to advise, and in]? here, I want
to speak of another matter. you engaged
to marry Sydney Valence l” I

There came a faint flush over her face.

“No. I am not.” _

“ Because,” he went on, with a little frown at
her uncommunicativen “it seems to me that
a withhimwo dbeaverygloodw‘ay
out of your difllculties. Mr. Valence a fine
gentlemanly, handsome fellow, and althoughl

c not know exactly the state of his money sf-
fairs, yet I would not hesitate to advise m to
marry him—if he asks you.”

His cool, calculatin ,‘heartless words emit a
feeling of utter hom ck longing over her. She

' keenly how less than a friend he was-—
this man whom all her life she had regarded as
a brother, althou never feeling fraternal] at-
tached to him. e realized her utter frien
nessiowhen she heard him deliberately advise
her marry to et out of the difficulties that
presented themse ves—to take the first chance
that oflered itself for securing a position for
herself. Utterly, wholly desolate and friend-
less, all her sad, sad heart looked out of her
beautiful, pitiful blue eyes.

“Papa—yes, I shall always call him 1-
had spoken to me about Mr. Valence, an I shall
tré to follow his advice.”

be flushed a little, remembering her lover’s
ardent words, remembering how they had
thrilled her own heart; rememberir' lg Judge
May’s injunction never to marryan ' one, under
an Circumstances, unlem she lovedIiim.

nd.she wondered, with another tremor, that
was mingled with pain' and bliss, if she did not
love Sydney Valence.

Her momentarflindulgence in her thoughts
was cut short by r. May’s address" her.

‘ ‘ You will want money, Cecil; here a check
for two hundred dollars which you will under-
stand I am under no 0 ligations to give you,
bug.th so of m own free will.”

e refused t, almosthau til .

“ Thank on; I do not will:  kept
inc plain, y suppllod' Wifll money. I ve all

nee .

He half-smiled at her spiriteunaasI and re.
pinged thecheckinhirbook. nowayslothso

to o.

“Imore than half admire your motive. It
means you are proud and independent—two
god qualifications for are in your position.

ouwill atleast let me oifer mygoodwishes
for our future hep ”

S e looked at him earnestly dress-i1

) Y-
“ It seems to me that I have f otten what
he. iness is. Oscar, you have b me sorely
y,buthilltrytofa-giveyou. Iwillim-

mediatel is away. My trunks can be packed
and me an hour-will you have them sent
totheeta l Iprefertowalkmyeelfglwent
to 15 away at once."

enoddedhishead approvingl .
“Saunders wan see a. mi m.
thenisfarewelhlpresume. B somber
Cecil, Ihevevolunhriloy vet to let
outfim fir want m
Shealmsdsllfled.

.4“ , A x

 

4

“DID SHE SIN?

  

 

M-

“ I shall never forgetanything you have said.
Oscar good-by.”

An hour am, a tly-faced, wild-eyed girl,
dressed in dee mourning, stood 0n the
thresholdin d ofb ignookulhouse; 'thert; hwists

um earn g a an agon o a -
earful despair’ih her face as she lookeld around
on the dear happy home from which she was
ejected. There came a swif sudden look of
puzzled bewilderment when s a saw Saunders
take her trunks awa , as if, even now, she did
not comprehend it Then, with a. sobbing,
gasping can on her lips, she tattered down the
ste an, intothesnow-cumbered aths—started
on er hidden journey through 1i e, unconscious
ofthe future or the fate that was lurking in wait
for her gir ' footsteps.

CHAPTER 111.
human m as near.

11- was four o’clock of the same afternoon on
which Cecil left Marchbrook—and the wide
vementa and can'iage-wa of th avenue
e snow la in deep and amost undisturbed
, for t e unusual and extended severity of
e storm had great] interfered with travel
throu that aristocra c thoroughfare.

Alt ough not later than four o’clock, it was

man dark; the street lamps were lighted, and
qéet and gloom of a stormy winter night
was settlligf do on palatial

enshrdi ave e.

nand snow-
In one of the handsomest houses on the ave-
nue—ahi h, broad double house of elegance of
finish artistic design—lights were gleam~
in warmly from man‘yof the windows into the
co d, white shadows outside. 0n the lower
floor, every one of the six long French windows
glowed like stars from the illumination within,
while on the upper floors there was suflcient in-
dication of the occupancy, or anticipated oc-
cuggcyno; the brilliantly lighted rooms, to give
to d c hce passer-by its own tale of gladness
an food c eer. -
thi it was a scene of luxurious magnifi-
cence an almost extravagantly oriental splen-
dor Fires glowed in “all the rates, sending
goldenly warm red lances of lig t over Aubus-
son carpets; dozens of as—jets burned inside
their delicately tinted g obes; luxuriant vines
were trailed over pictures, around pillars, on the
chandeliers' gorgeous flow rs and rare tropical
foliage had been rifled from the conservatories
and were banked in the windows, on the mala-
chite mantles, around the balustrade in the ball
over the doorways; rarely elegant laces floated
in the deep, long windows, over sheeny-sniin
- costly, unique furniture decorated the
rooms, ntings adorned the lofty walls,- scr-
vants in livery moved to and fro—eyerything
was unrivaled for delicious, luxuriant elegance,
and refined, almost sensuous comfort.

 

 

It was the residence of Grifilth Pemberton, and ‘
here he lived in bachelor loneliness, amid all his 1

licence and embarrassing wealth with
only his co
his frien is or his companions.

He was a, singularly flnc-looking man, past fif-
ty {2n cf age, but grandly dignified and erect

w ring, with very much the mien of a mili-
la man—tall, commanding, ea le-eyed.

’ e was flue-looking, with a 0 car, fair com-

lexion that was its own witness of the simplici-
ty and purity of his life; with keen, frosty blue
eyes, laughing when he was leased, gent e
woman’s when he was so w' ed, terrible in their
lightning gloama when he was offended and
leoked straight at one from under his bushy
white brows; with luxuriant loose-curling hair
white as snow through which he had a trick oi
threadin his large, white era when he was
disturbed or displeased, or inpatient; with a
hen. , drooping, frost-white mustache, no hair
of w ich human e e had ever seen discolored or
one iota removed rom its snowypurit .

He stood before th grate in he din -room
that snow winter ernoon, his hands hind
him, his een, pleasant eyes lancing around
the elegant appointments of t e room—a tall
handsome, finely-proportioned gentleman of

and refinement, to whom fate and for-

tune been very unusually kind—at least so
all’th world'said.
At one side of the fire, seated in a leather re-
clining-chair web a gentleman perha thirty-
iive ears old, with a dark, haughiface, a

I

!

 

whom an. Pemberton need be, as he is, justly
proud.” But of whom, if one were a. keen,
close observer of human nature—if one were so
customed to the magic meanin of certain pe-
culiarities of manner, and habx of e on,
and trick of speech, would be unh totineg

“ A man utterl devoid of principle; a
mean, vain, selfish ;a soaring ambition and

unbridled passions put into a fair bod ; a man

who only lacks the opportunity to owe a
deepr-dyed villain capab e of Wounding his dear-
est 'end; and whose capacit for treachery is
only exceeded by his wonder ul duplicity in be-
ing able to conceal it.” And the nine essers out
of ten would be wrong: for the tru is told of
Cuthbert Pemberton when it is recorded that
never a. more deliberate villain lived than he-
never a more successful one ever hoodwinkeci
mAvggizfill li ' 1 th' d

n ving e is an nerous-
hearted, whoieeouiedlonmthgremsegrlm, his
distantly related cousin by marriage, loved,

trusted and admired him.
They did not live together—Cuthbert had
said he preferred his own way best, boardin at

a hotel—but he often passed days at the Fifth
avenue mansion, where he was always wel-
comed. He knew, for Mr. Pemberton had told
him, that he was to be the main heir to the
Pemberton riches; he accepted from Mr. Pem-
berton an allowance that was princely, and
lived on it in his own wa . He kc t horscs and
a yacht, and was “ hail ellow! we 1 met,” with
young bloods of his own style; he was regarded
as an all his parti by Murra Hill youn
ladies an altogether his star of satiny seem
brightly in the ascendant.

‘ It is so good to be at home again, Cuthbert,
and so thoughtful of you to arrange such a wel-
come for me! Homesick as I’ll confess I was all
the six months of my tour abroad I think it
was worth it to get back again—to all this!”

Mr. Pemberton looked around with leased
glances that finally settled kindly on b s rela-
tive’s handsome, aristocratic face—the face that
alwa s were a mask for him.

“ \ ell—yes—it does look rather nice. I gave
Frost carte blam-he and he’s rather up in such
things. So far as Iam personally concerned I
am glad to see you again—for all I am totally
in the dark as to whether the result of your mis-
sion abroad will affect me pleasantly or the re-
verse.”

He had a pleasant, well-modulated voice, with
a slight lan id draw] in it; and no one now
would have etocted the keenly intense interest
and almost unendnrable suspense hidden behind
the low, well-bred tones.

Mr. Pemberton’s face lighted instant] .
“ My mission, yes! I thought of eferring
report until we were Comfortable over our
idow Cliquot. But I will tell you now, Cuth-
bert. I was as nearly successful as I could have
hoped to be in my search for the young irl. I
have discovered she is living and be on doubt
the child I am looking for. l eft Nelson

m

have

of servants for his househofd, and 1' in Florence to arrange for her coming to me—

and then ruby boy, I will be the happiest man in
the world— agy for the first time since poor
Gene’vieve di , and left her daughter to my
care. ~

He was not watching Cuthbert very closely,
or he could hardly have failed to see the shadow
that crept in the you man’s dark eyes. But
he went on, almost in irect answer to the un-

ns 9, l spoken question Cuthbert would have asked. ,
“ Of course my finding Genevieve’s child will

make no difference to you or your prospects,
my dear boy. I have enou h for us all. The

rl will come to us to brigh up the u at old
ouse, and, Cuthbert, I have thought, we and
again since I heard she was seventeen y are 0
and remarkably
thing it would be on should marry her

Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders.

“ The bait is a tem
I’ll admit but I’m ob '
ion until have seen the can lady. S e ma
not suit me, or I her. e ot er on men,
have my standard of ' lish beau y an
lence and if this forgilnste ounglady should
fall s art of what my idealy

1d, * Mr.
Eretty, what a grand ,good

one, Mr. Pemberton,
to reserve m opin— has never passed m li ,it never shall be spo—

excel-

is, certainly any

“You make me of so dear *
the woman whom mu {3:}ng wifehvgfii
be honored and blast. Cuthbert, you are right.
Although I cannot imagine in sister Gene-

vieve’s child as wanting in any 0 the requisites:
of dgirlish sweetness and purit of character, I
an nobility of soul still when take into con-

 

sideration the fact that she may have been ne-
glected or misdirected since her mother’s early

eath, it ma be true that she will not be quitol”
all I could h. However, with the Pamberton
blood in her veins she cannot be altogether,
amiss. She ought to be ve Sretty, too—her
mother was the most “quills-1y y 10 y girl
ever saw—fair as a lily, with glorious lack.
eyes and hair like a raven’s wing. ’

Cuthbert listened y.
gh“l;’erhaps the young lady resembles her fa—

er

Mr. Pemberton’s face darkened wrathfull .

“ Ah, her father! If I could only forget
—my poor, poor Genevieve! Never mention
him to me, Cuthbert; amass on his beauty
that—”

His voice choked, and he left the sentence um
said, while a. little demoniac smile was cree in
under Cuthbert’s mustache—that mask ha ,
served him so Well, that so corn )letel covered
his cruel, itiless, sensuous mout , which, alone
of all his eatures, would have betrayed his true
nature.

A silence followed, broken almost abruptly by -
Mr. Pemberton.

“ By the way, Cuthbert, I have been going to
ask you several times since I came home if on
have heard anything of that rascal of a her
of yours lately! The last I heard he had been
up to alterin some bank-hills, and was particu-v
larly wan .”

Cuthbert lau hed.

“ Oh, Syd! o, I haven’t heard from him in
a dog’s age, nor have I any desire to hear. If‘
he keeps out of my way it is all I ask; if he
should bother me often I don’t know what I
wouldn’t be tempted to do. The remarkable!
likeness between us would make it extremely
awkward for me.”

Mr. Pemberton stood gazing thoughtfully at
the glowing coals.

“As you say, the resemblance hysically,
between you and your brother gy cy is re—
markable. I think I never was able to distin-
guish you when you were children. The vex *
trick of voice, earn 6 of body, were identic .

I But, Cuthbert, I than God N. e resemblance is

i only outwardly. When I think of on, brother
to a. forger gambler, and Tomi, sometimes
wonder if ature has not exceeded herself in
the comparison she has made. You are allI

1 can ask, my dear, noble, considerate boy i”

I Cuthbert took the hand extended so warmly
—took it with a close, affectionate

! “ You overrate me, Mr. Pemberton. Yet, in
1 my heart I know you have no truer friend no
! warmer defender, no more honest well-wisther
‘ than I—who am a dependent on your bounty.”
‘ He looked so genuinely true and good as he-
, spoke. Inwardly, he thought, “Blind old idiot,
j to be so helplessly twisted around my flu er!”
Just then the butler came in the room, ollow-
! ed by his assistant, and in a. very few minutes
I dinner was scrved.
Then, over the wine and walnuts, the two dis-
cussed the coming of the young irl whom
i neither had evor seen the young gir whose fu-
ture would be a. rosy ream.
I “But you have not told me her name, Mr.
I Pemberton. What name. did your sister give
5 this fortunate little heiress?”
! . Cuthbert was scientifically peeling a walnut
I as he s ke.
emberton’s forehead thered into a
dark frown for amoment, an his frost blue
. eyes shot out lightning gleams from un erthe
I hang, bushy white brows.
' “ er father’s name she shall never bear; it

ken in this house. 0 worse than dead to me
—he and his memor are accursed for my dead
Genovieve’s sake. er name shall be the name
her mother bore, the name I bear— our name.
‘ She will be Miss Pemberton, Grifl‘ith emberton’s

fortune she might bring could not compensate. , niece and heiress.”

Or if she  eve
lovie her, would not in?

her.”

He uttered his admirab e sentiments with a
quiet conviction that would havo been extreme- ‘

virtue, and I did not !

Cuthbert wi g mustache ngtfly with
‘ snowy na dame!”
i on his white, Elan er han —-thn hanch

be, that had been so strongly cruelhso pitilesa—

- 1 1y diflcult to have realised were totally at va- that would be merciless yet . .
Pfiwyfihmfigffiflfi‘gflggbfi ‘23.} riance with his true principles. But, it was by “But her m9. - Parallel-ton—
mmly M 0 ch. A “Imam of oner the display of just such mock views that Cuth- 1 what is that!” _
th mewammd eof baggembertonhelpedkeepuphisenviableredt“finame1donotpartimllfloarefor—M

‘  - p on. l or as mother, a Who“ rem ,

a” . ' 0‘ wfldlg figfifi mr. Pembertqn’sflne face glowed with appro- ' fancy w W it. we  3"-

cases ant bf ten. “ a splendid young fellow. of. 0M!" “Pistacth . Elma.” , . ‘ ’ ’

\

 

 

 

DID SHE SIN?

5

 

11' v x

 

Oathbert it.
“‘Ellnal’ We ‘Elma Pombertoul' It
Mweli. Iwonderhowitwillallendl"
All—if he had known!
CHAPTER IV.
a woman. am.

Cmmrwalked alongtowardthelittle
sechided de t bel exclusively to March-

' hrookaswe assheco forthcsnow thathad
been ' along the way. Her
pride and tion had revolted too thor-

ough] .to allow be courail'ortall)1 cog

vey manycarriage onging Marc roo ,

and had it been ble for her to have taken
her trunks awa erself she would have done it.

She had not trusthemelf to say ood-
by to any of the servants whom she had n
mistress over so long—with the exce tion of
Kitty, her own maid—a bright, sensib e, intel-
ligent girl of Cecil’s own age, and in whom
Cecil had a warm, kindly interest, based on the
excellence and honesty and integrity of the

'rl’s character; and who, in turn, fairly wor-

ipcd her yOung mistress with a fervor of de-
votion and a discreet observance of the wide
difference in their positions that attested to her
good Edgment.

To ‘tty Cecil had briefly told her sto , and
her intention of at once leaving March rook
and had felt that she had at least one true friend
left when she heard Kitty’s indignant protests
and sorrowingosympathy and eager entreatics
to be allowed go wherever her mistress went.
But Cecil had told her how im ‘ible it was
that she should go and the gir had tearfull
submitted to the wiser judgment; and the
ted darling for whom every path had hereto ore
been so carefully smoothed, went out into the
new, untried future, verily a lamb among ra-
vening wolves.

She had gone perhaps half the distance be-
tween Marchbrook and Marchka station,
when she saw a horseman coming along the
road she was taking, swiftl as the condition of
the snow would allow—8y ey Valence, whom
she had not seen since that never-to-be-forgot-
ten da when he had oflered her his love and
begfij hers in return—that dreadful day when
dea k‘had come and her Fate had commenced its
war

A quick conscious flush stained her face as
she recognised him; a look of perfect astonish-
ment was on his dark, handsome features as he

beside her.

‘ ! What are you doing here! On foot,
in the snow—in your traveling dress! What is
the matter!”

He dismounted, and took her hand with un-
difipised ess and delight.

a look gravely at him, with an uncon-
scious, sweet, y tenderness in her pure eyes.

“I am going away, Mr. Valence. Sinw
—since Judge May s death, I have learneg. or
the first time I am not his daughter, and that
conséd'usutly, Marchbrook is not my rightful
home.

Her voice quivsred a little but it was brave

~ and grand in its fearless truthfulne.

The {oung man looked at her in blank amaze-
ment or a moment; then, he suddenly grasped
her hand again. '

“It seems incredible—and yet, stran e as it
is, Ibelieve it. I always thought you fferent
from the rest of your people—better nobler,
purer—every way superior; far too high and

00d for me Cecil! But I am almost glad it
as happened so—I can prove to you it is, your-
self I want, and not your money. My darling!
I have been waitinng impatiently to hear
from on, and now was on my wayto see
vou. ave you an answer for me now? Did

' you k to your—to Judge May?"

A ittle flush crept to the ge of her hat

again.

“Yes, Mr. Valence; I told him what you
said and—he—he—”

“ understand,” he broke in, bitterly. “He
naturally enough said his consent was impos-
sible—that I had nothing to recommend me—
that you were as far above me as a star above
the gutter—that his hopes of your future were
for a grandly brilliant marriage—that I was
nobody or nothing, and that we must part!
And, Cecil, if he said all that, he only did his
dug bf: you, and me the truth i”

s cewasii ;herspaleasthe snow
around her.

“Oh, Hr. Valence! You must not speak so
limb}; of ourself! besi —he
didn e’yousocrue y. Hetodmehe
feared w ambition, and not love thatwas

yourm e.
it! Young Valence’s eyes looked eagerly into
ers.

 

 

“Bu; y; know it disunot ambition? You
know on m ' wan as
mam-1.3.3: w'ben’you 211-1: hmdmig‘nni-

lem,aswhsnI tyou Judge Kay’s
ter and heiress! my love, will you
me! You must—you must, for I cannot give
you up !”
Hewasso r, soearnest, sotho y

2°33“  5:33;.“ imam:
erown 11 me see

edz near , his pl eyes searching her
very' soul.

He loved her—he certainly, certainly loved
also why his renewal of his offer made when all
was sunshin prosperity? And—try though she
did with a! her girlish strength, to remember
Jud e May’s counsel—try though she did to
hargen her heart against love, against this
lover—to act accordin to the dictates of stem
duty—to think that ud 0 May would have
chosen Cl de Carriscourt or her husband even
while be ad left her unfetteer to make her
Shoice—try as she did, Sydney Valence won the

a

v.
“ You will not 0 cut into the cold wicked
world alone, my darling! I will not let you!
Look at me, Cecil, and tell me you will be my
wife—at once! Don’t refuse me! You are
lonely, friendless, homeless—give me the right
goacare for and protect you! Cecil! Dearest!
yes!
e girl’s heart was beating tumultuously.
It was passing sweet to be so wooed, to have
such blessed promises made her, to hear such a
pamionful voice leading with her. But—was
it right that she s ould yield! Despite her posi-
tion which Mr. Valence truly described, ought
she to consent to this sudden marriage? ,
Hestood in suspense beside her, caring his
own heart throb with quick, mighty strokes
while he watched the conflict going on in the
girl’s heart, the momentarily changing result of
yhich was distinctly mirrored on pure pale

ace.

And the final result!

It could have ended but one way.

With the girl’s er, passionate nature; her
natural cravmg for ove, protection; her utter,
utter friendlessness; her conscientious belief in
her love for this bold, handsome young fellow, it
could not have resulted different y.

She lifted her lorious blue eyes, and looked
into his leading ce—and he read a shy, sweet
consent hat thrilled his very soul.

“ Oh, my darling!”

Then, in the lonely gloom of the early twi-
light, he took her to heart, and kimed her

y.

‘I cannot say more to you now dearest.
You have been out in the snow and cold too lon
already. Listen, while I tell you what is has:
for us todo. You could not ride Dan r—no
woman could ride him, so that you will ve to
walk to the Marchka chapel—it is much
nearer than the depOt, you know. I will meet

on there in ten minutes; we will be married

here or in the rector’s rlor’, and we will take
the next train for New ork.

Ordina as were the directions, no music
ever soun ed sweeter to the girl’s ears; and as
he kissed her again, then s rung on his horse’s
back, and she went on i seemed to her the
world had changed in all its aspects.

It was not a long walk to Marchbrook cha i,
not fifteen minutes’ walk even in that went er,
and Cecil found her lover in impatient waiting
when she reached it, her face flushed with shy,
sweet happiness, her blue eyes wearing a min-
gled expression of grave thoughtfulness and rest-

u ness. .

“Everything is ready and waiting, to dar-
lin ,” he said as he met her eagerly. “ anger
an I fairly dew over the snow—drifts through
which these poor little feet had to pileod; I have
seen the rector—an old, not altoget r pleasant
gentleman dear, but he will answer our pur-

as w l as any other. Come, Cecil-coma,
ove!’ .

There was sudden, eager entreaty in his voice
again, for there had come into the girl’s face a
swift terrified look, as if she had suddenly re-
alize the awful solemnity of the position in
which she was about to lace herself. Her blue
eyes look teens] in r. Valence’s face, as if
searching or ad ea or relief. ‘

“Come, Cecil, darli ! 3.0a, the lor is
lighted, and the maid is olding the our 0 n
for us. Everything is in readiness; only a 11 e
cour dear, and then a life of happiness.
Come, i1 ”

Be t00k her trembling chilled hands in his ‘
own; and led her into the home. into the warm, ,
com ortable parlor, where wine stwd on the ‘

table, and where the old rector stood awaiting
them.

     

\ AI;

I '.

.theact she wasaboutto

 

MGMWWMMMMM
hits gripe. Shef tthat she must lyfrom
theplace. Shefeltthecrush'

mg importance of

perform, and her
guardian angel was urginghertoretreat before
t was foreVer toqlate.

Yet—she did not fly. She did not rein-eat.
She looked wistfully, eagerly, into her lover’s
face to read there only love and devotion and
entreaty; and then, as if in a dream, she stood
there by his side and the ceremony went on.
Asifin a trance she heard the questions and
Enrompt responses of her lover. Almo‘ without

ow edge or Volition of her own she answered
suitabl . And then Sydney Valence turned to
her wit a smile and a kiss.

“My wife! M dear, dear wife !"

It was done. tever had prompted her—
folly, loneliness, over-persuasion, thou tless-
ness, it was done! Inamoment she ha sown
the seeds from which was to spri up a bar-
vest of woe so terrible that even r wildest
imagination could not have realized it. In a
moment had been performed the act whose re-
sult would envelop her in the most utter dark-
ness—whose shadow already cast its gray
gloom of vague presentiment over her.

Once out of doors again, in the carriage
which her husband’s thoughtfulness hall pro-
vided, Cecil turned solemn] to him.

“ Oh, Sydney, have .we one right! Every-
thing seems so changed to me in these last few
minutes that I cannot think it has been right.
Sydney, tell me!”

He smiled in her grave, wistful blue eyes.

“ It has been right, my darling. As you say,
everything has changed—you and I are all the
world to each other n0w, and from this hour I
swear to you to love and protect and cherish
you as you deserve. You will make a better
man 0 me now come er

f , Cecil, that I shall und
your sweet, pure influence. Hereafter, my life
shall contain nothing your plum, sweet eyefi
should not see. From today, shall snub m
naiinenone of which you shall be pond, ll 9
w e.

His voice was tender and grave, and his face
was earnest and honest.

She listened, wonderingly.

“ You make 6 afraid; your gust life has not
been what it do 'd have beenh‘yldneyl"

He flushed finally as he he slander,
chill hands in own.

“I will be frankwith ,littbgirl. Hy
has not been what should havehsen.
,Ihavebeenwild,andfast,and ,

at times—when you look at me like that you
make me feel how wickedly wrong and selfish I
have been in persuadénfiznou to marryme;it
waswrong,andyet owsyouuamn
me and makes dman of magic” you,
Cecil, 08 my, ID filmy, “mg '3
ever a woman was loved—howth. an be
all, utterly had! Oh, my darling,

me for what I did before ever I knew pram
trust meand he! me,and Isweu'yul
never regret this y !”

Hisdark handsomefacewaspadonfalinits
eager alluding; hislowtonsswanthaneioha‘
“a” mam... . ..... ,..’ ,...

. y 0% you, "1
believein you! IwillnotsayIdonotcamhe—
cause of the record of your past, but I will my
Iwillnotask youto confessittome. us the
future atone for it.”

Hisvoicewas huskywith emotion as bean-
“?st herlizall. kuo erything

on s w ev , m generous
little w fe. You shall know that drizkmg occa-
sional! and gambling were my besetting sins.
I have an adventurer, Cecil, shiftless and
lazy, but I swear to you that women have never
been my prey. Weak I have been, and despe-
rately wicked, but never—that way. And once
Cecil—look at me with your sweet, shocked eyes
that will lead me to goodnam and virtue again
—oncc, I committed a crime—don’t start, don’t!

—once I forged my uncle’s name, and rioted on ‘

the proceeds. Then it was that I was kicked
out of house and home, and my twin-brother
my teacher in vice, my su rior in magnificent
treachery, who could do deeds with an
innocent face and plausible ton e, took my

‘ place—my brother, Cuthbett, w on I "would

curse but for your sorrowful eyes,

She sat hatching white is death. ‘

“ Now tell you utter! abhor me! I
bageleftigo‘ain unom . onseemejgrsty
fl am,- in wok”, Woe,
hopefulness. fl my ' or

castmeoti Canyou‘ll your in
lmlntséandf verme,andtlndma,ullhad
me a

His lips were firm and set. His handsome

I face touchiugly appealing, his eyes full of mtg. V

 

  

6

passionate, despan-ln love. And Cecil sud-
denlysmiledand herhandoahisshoul-

“ ydney, my husband, we will trust God for
the future! '

Andhe leanedhis head on her shoulder and
sobbed—strong man that he was.

 

-—_———

CHAPTER v.
A GLIHPSI OF PARADISE LOST.

Tm: litt e depot at Marchbrook was lonely
and desola enotieigh when Sydney .Valence sad
his bride aligh from the carriage, and e
paid and dismissed the driver.

0n the lattorm were Cecil’s trunks, labeled
in full wit the name to which she nevermorc
could lay claim. Around, as far as one could
see in the semi-darkness of the early dusk, lay
the unbroken fields of snow, through which the
railway tracks wound blaokIy like twin ser-
pents writhing their way along. Inside the

small building a {youth was sitting in the ticket-
oflioe waiti or any chance traveler who
m' ht require servi

ces.
ydney Valence bou ht two tickets for New
York and secured chec s for the luggnge, and
then they walked up and d0wn the latform
waiting or the train that was to ta 9 them
into the new life that had opened so suddenly
before them.

It was only a few minutes before the train
came along; only a moment’s delay while the
trunks were tossed aboard, and then Cecil
realized, as she had not even yet realized, that
of a truth the old life was done, the new one be-
ginning.

Through the darkness the train dashed along,
never once haltin in its s , until, away on
toward the ay wn of )8 morning, the cit
was reach and the sse ers went their
various ways and By ney alence and his
bride started or a hotel where rest and break-

 shad-m... m. m...
‘ ' a on w e you ere
in the waistein -room. I will not be long, and

soon you will comfortable once more.’

Hemiled bright] in her pale, tired, lovely
face as he enscon her in a quiet corner of
the big half-lighted room, then went on his er-
rand.

It seemed as if he never would come back.
Cecil was itive he had been. no a long,
long while yond what was need for his pur-
pose; she looked at her watch again and again,
and. at length, in a vs no, wondering terror
want to the street door the depOt-to meet a

icemin on his way in, who instantly ad-
er:

“If you are the lady who, is looking for Mr.
Valence, you will find him in the druggist’s half
a block up. It’s a great ity, madam that it
he pened just as it did. aybe you’d rather

see him just now i”

Her white wondering face seemed suddenly
to: whin'wm has h ppened to- M

a a r.
Valence What do you mean?’

He looked compmsionately at her.

“ It was a street scrimmage, lady—the oung
man met some of his old companions rig t out
here, and it seems he wanted to give them the
by, but th wouldn’t allow it, and some
h words fo wed, and then somebody said
something about ‘it had been all found out,’ and
the first an one knew, the young gentle-
man out w1t his revolver and shot himself,
and they carried him into the drug store.”

Cecil stood like a dazed creature, listening to
the almost incredible story. Shot himself! Syd-
ney Valence dead, rhaps or dying! A cold
slow terror athere at her very heart as
she tried to ink of it.

“ Is—is he—dead ?”

She faltered at the words, rememberin as
she did so, that it must have been some 0 his
earlier sins that had thus caused whatever had
ha‘ppened—poor fellow, those sins he had so hon-
es yconfessed, so penitently promised to for-

swear!

The officer looked pityingly at the white, hor-
rifled face.

“ ma’am, beyond the shadow of a

Dad:
And then, with those words ringing their ca-
dence throng: her bewildered brain, she sunk
in a has to floor, completely prostrated by
this blowfrom the hand of a cruel Fate.
What followed immediate] in that dreadful
' W then- or not there
her and she
when, weeks and afterward,

news
she aw

to conscicumeu thital
which she had been taken. usual-s. friendlel.

 

p113 SHE SIN ‘2

 

sick unto death, utterly desolate—she, the t ‘
ofwealifh

013 lovely home, the caressed darling i
an D

At the n her return to consciousn '
she remembe nothing but ually sheare-

alised it all, and compre end her tion—
the wife of a man who had commitmuicide
for a reason she would never know.
“ But to save me,” she persisted in telling her-
self. “It was to save me from some ' see
that be sacrificed his life; it-was the thong t of
how those bitterly repented sins would rum and
blight me, that decided him to sacrifice himself
to spare me] I know it, I feel it! Oh, Sydney,
m poor, lovincg, brave Sydney 1” .

ey were ecil’s first consecutive thoughts
in the days when, a Weak, trembling convales—
cent from the terrible brain fever, she sat in
her eas -chair and began anew to bear the bur-
den of ife.

And her pale face would grow still more piti-
fully fiale, and her lips more resolute, as she
thou t out thafuture that lay before her.

“ .0 one ever need know of that hasty secret
marriage. My conscience told me then it was
imprudent, if not wicked: now I know wh
those dark forebodings chilled my very soul:
But no one need over now it. It would do no
one any good—it can do me no harm to keep
my own pitiful secret. I will retain my name
—ahl what is my name? not Valence, not May
—what is my name?” '

The sudden little self-questionin cut her to
Elbe yery heart. Of a truth, wha name was

ers

Her lips quivered as her sad meditation went

on.

“ I will try to forget I was Sydne Valence’s
wife, even in name, for those few s ort hours.
I will take back the name I have alwa s borne
and, with my secret my own, I wil go out
alone into the world, tryin to find what my
duty to myself is, aifli trusting God to care for
me. ’

Renewed health and increasing strength con-
firmed her judgment in the decision she had
formed. She was resolved to bury the episode
in her life, the knowledge of which could never
affect any one for the better or wiser. As the
days went on, and her naturally keen mind re-
covered all its clearness and com rehensiveness,
she was more and more convinced that her
hasty marriage had been a dangerous experi-
ment, and that Sydney Valence’s death was a
deliverance. She cameto understand that his I
was not the character she could love truly, and
honor and reverence; she came to fully appre-
ciate all tile msery that would have come to
her, as his wife, in all human probabilit , and
when the time came for her to 0 out in the w
world, with health and stren h restored, she
was satisfied that she had esca )ed, almost provi-
dentially, from a life she shu dared to contem-

late.
p And yet there were none but kindly, pitiful
feelings in her heart for the dead man, who,
whatever his faults, certainly had loved her.

“ I can never forget that—never, and how be
trusted me so unreserVedlyl And [althou h I
do not regret his death for my Own sake be-
lieve I cared for him enough to make it impos-
sible for me to ever love again.” r _ .

So, with her youn heart burdened With its
strange, unyouthful oad, fair Cecnl went forth
from the friendly walls of the hospital where
she had been not unhappy and so kindly cared
for, where her means had nished her many a
luxury, and aIWays privac and exolusive at-
tention—out into the war] ,with twenty dol-
lars in her pocketbook between her and hunger
and homelessness.

It was a lovely day when she started forth on
her brave, determined quest for something to
do which should kee her from encroaching on
her recions little und. A lovely day even
for ew York, where it takes a great deal of '
balmy air and olden sunshine even in spring-
time, to make gfiad and bright its dusty, crow -
edthoroughfares. And the da was exquisite]
beautiful—a day in earliest spr ng, with a clan -
less sky blue as the’ girl’s eyes, and sunshine .
flooding everywhere, golden as her hair. I

She was passing fair to see as she walked.
along Broadway, ,bonnd for an Intelligence
Bureau she had seen advertised in that morn-
ing’s Herald. Her long, 10 illness had left
her even more delicate] love y than before, if
tiini‘ixte were his dz! e the gouble she had
u rgone a swee r, graver par.
dance to her proud, m eyes. ‘

She was modest] in black cashm
and she wore a 41ng little black felt hat, .

 

 

drooped h overtheshort ldenhair
‘0 Menuhin-airline orehead. sheaves",

and straight and fair, the ve ideal of lovelF
ness and, girlish grace, a sweet newt fit
to bloom highest places.

She Walked along, neither leisurely nor bur ~
[ riedly, all unconscious of the glances of admira-
' tion that met and followed, until so suddenly it

almost startled her, she heard er name ro—
nounced, and saw a gentleman halt imm te-
ly in front of her.

“Miss Ma?! Isit possible! Canit really be-
you, or am mistaken?”

And a faint little flush, half surprise, half de-
light at sight of a familiar face, tinged her
cheeks as she extended her hand to his own ea.
gerl oflered one.

” r. Carriscourt it is really I myself.”

He looked searching] in her face.

“I am not so sure 0 that Miss Cecil. Have
you been ill? Or, will you my me to ask you,
where have you been a 1 these months since you
left Marchbrook so unceremoniously?”

The kindl solicitude in his tones touched a
tender chor in the girl’s heart, so lon unused
had she been to sympathetic words. er lips
quivered, and tears sprung to her eyes, both of
which emotions she quickly, bravely con-
trolled.

Mr. Carriscourt led her quietl to the edge of
the pavement, and opened the cor of a coupé
standing there.

‘fI want to talk with you, Miss Cecil. Get
insuli‘ekand we will take a quiet drive to Central

ar .

He assisted her in, and ve his order to the
acachman, and then took he seat beside her.

“Now, consider me our friend and confes-
sor. Tell me—why di you leave Marchka
directly after your father’s death, and where
have you been all this while? Trust me, wholly,
will you not?”

His andly-handsome face was thoughtful,
yet r iant with the delight of having so unex-
pected] met this girl whom he loved better

han his own life. His splendid eyes, darkly-
y, tender as a woman’s, yet full of a master-

, strengthful consciousness, were bent on
her pure pale face. His strong, firm hands had
taken her trembling fingers in awarm, friendly
grasp, and so he waited for his answer, that
came in low, tremulous tones:

"I. am well aware you are. my friend, Mr.
Carriscourt, and that you Were one of pope’s--
Judge May s—dearest friends. I do not hesi-

tate to answer your kindly (Executions for any
reason except that it—it—hur me to the-
' reasons why I left dear Marchbroo Mr.‘
Carriscourt, I am not what you me to

be—I am not Jud e May’s own  I do not
know who or wha I am. I am—nobody, home.
less, friendless and nameless.”

Her voice failed in a husky whisper, and she
involuntari‘lly shrunk away from him.

His sple id eyes sgrew misty and tender as
he listlen courteou , then smiled caressineg
u n er.

Willy dear little girl, did nyoou think to horrify
me wi h your pitiful little ry? I have known
f« ;r years you were on] an adopted daughter of
the ju e. Do you t ink it would make the
least d fl’erence in the regard of any true
friend? Listen .to me. You remember I spoke to

‘ J udggMay before his death of my love for you,

and sought him to give his consent to my ad-
dresses to you. I lOVed you, Cecil, better than
any woman I ever had seen. I feared lest 1
might be too precipitate in my wooing of you,
an yet I ventured to lay my dearest wishes be—
fore the judge, for I ho it might be possible

on loved me, or could ove me. If I loved you
{hen I love you a thousandfold more now in

our friendlessness and loneliness. If I had a

housand lives to give you I would do it! Ce-
cil, I love you, I love you! I want you to come
30 {2%, my darling, and be my wife! Will you

0 1

His eager voice broke through all restraint of
will, an thrilled in a fervor of intensest pas-
sion on the girl’s ears. He reached out his arms
to caress her, but her blue e es made him heel-
tate, so full of angish and espair were they.

“ 0h, Mr. Carr urt, no, not House, no!”

She whispered her answer huskily.

“Cecil! Then I am repulsive to you! The
one darling this world holds for me you ‘tell
me ‘no, no,’ with nivering lips and horror-
stricken eyes! 0h, ecil!” '

His voice fairly vibrated with sudden heart-
sick doubt that smoteher to the very soul.

“Not that, Mr. Carriscourtl How could I be

.fipselled, when you msogood, sogoed to me!

not that, but—but——”

A slow ecstasy
her, almth her. find: a

ovu-
mean!
Was it—could it potable the We base

 

 

 

\

1:511) SHE SIN ’2

7

 

in his impassioned voice the deep intensity of
feeling in his eyes had touched a chord in
her heart she ne er knew had existed and not
onl touched that unknown, hidden chord, but
sen it  in blimful unison with the mas-
ter no

In her very utteimost soul she had not dreamed
she ever had cared for Mr. Carriscourt. For
years she had known him as a friend; she had
always admired him for his qualities which
coul not have failed to command admiration;
she had known and seen him the handsome, dis-
tinguished-looking gentleman he was, with his
clear,‘ keen principles of right, his bright grand
intelligence, his brave nobility of soul, is ten-
der chivalrcusness of heart and exquisitely win-
ning race of manner.

An yet, never once, in all the years of his
acquaintance at Judge May’s house had it ever
occurred to her to love him—not even when to
her surprise, she heard he had roposed for er
in marriage. But now—a su den, strange, in-
explicable sweetness seized her, and in all the
honestglof her young soul, the truth shone out
of her ue eyes for one’startlingly blessed min-
ute, while r. Carriscourt’s anxxous face and
pleading eyes were bent upon her.

Then her quick, faltering answer was spoken,
and as by some divination, he read all the truth
of lier heart, and his countenance lighted radi-
ant .

“ y darling! You do love me! Come to me,
Cecil! ’

And as his arms opened to receive her, all her
new sudden happiness glowed in her face and
smiled from her lue eyes. Her beautiful head
drooped nearer him, almost touchin his breast,
and then, all of a sudden she recoi ed, and the
smile vanished from her eyes and lips, and de-
spair and pain took their place.

“ Mr. Carriscourt—I—I—love you, but I can-
not—:1 must not—oh, I must not let you love
me!

“ You must not, darlin ? But if you cannot
help it? Listen. Your ather—he whom you
loved and obeyed as your father—gave me his
cordial consent and God-speed to my wooing
of you. You, dear, admit you love me—your
sweet eyes would have told me that even had
not our tongue confessed. You are alone,
frien ess, homeless. Ihave a beautiful home
waiting for you; is it reasonable for you to de-
clare I must not hope to have you for my be-
loved wife! If‘you think I care for the few
months of your absence, where you Were—so
that dyou Were well cared for—you are mistaken.
My arling, if those months hold an secret, it
is your own, and you shall religiou y keep it.
Iknow you never did an act or entertained a
thought that was not purity and nobleness itself.
I am satisfied—I love you, oh, my lovely little

I. You are all life holds of worth to me, my
ling. You love me—you do! Now, my
dearest, my love—look up and tell me you are
all my very, ve own from this moment!”
face was g oriously alight with the tender
mighty passion hatswayed her soul equally with
his own. He moved nearer her, and placed his
arms around her waist, and drew her head to
his‘shoulder, despite her piteous efforts to resist
him. He ushed off her hat, and gently ca-
ressed her orehead.

“My own darling]! I am waiting for your
answer. Ah, Cecil, shall take this sweet si—
lence for consent—that ou are my betrothed
wife. Dearest, lift your ace!”

He stooped to kiss her lips inpassionateea r-
ness, but she suddenly broke from his circ in
arms, and retreated to the furthest corner 0
thecarrla e, her blue eyes agonized. her hands
wringing opelessly, as the memory of that
other rose up between them.

“Oh, Mr. arriscourt—no—nol I cannot, I
cannot! I should not have rmitted myself to
admit I loved you, but-— never, never can
marry you! Oh, neverl”

 

CHAPTER VI.
mrmsrmxmrnncnmorura.

TH! library in Mr. Griffith Pemberton’s Fifth
avenue mansion was brilliantly l' hted, and
mun, and temptigidgly cosey, an thbert
Pemberton, stretch at full len h on a green
damask sofa, with his bold, andsome eyes
steadily r ing a middle-aged man who sat
opposite was thin of the leasant
p ass in which his lines of had fallen.

The middleéa‘g’eid maner. Pembglrrin’s

agen cord! in sex-van ram
Betcha, who had been in his mastei‘st’emfiy
emineehehadbeenaboyfindGrifllth -
a few years

He was a quiet.

older.
intelligent, rather good-look-

 

ing man, who always dressed suitabl ard well,
andwhohad in me long course of is service
amassed quite a little sum of money which, by
prudence and shrewdness in speculation, had
increased of late earsuntil it was very gene-
rally understood t unless he had' so chosen,
it was not in the least necessary for him to con-
tinue in Mr. Pemberton’s emgloy.

But—he quickly put asi 9 all suggestions
from any source, and told his em lotyer, with
whom he was on those trusted, frgn ly terms
that only long years of patient servitude can
warrant, that so long as his services were ac-
ce table and useful, he preferred to remain. l

ether or not it was for a reason that he
never had uttered, or would wish to have be—
tra ed, will remain to be seen.
letcher and Cuthbert Pemberton were on
excellent terms. More than once the young
man had borrowed mone to tide him over a
“streak of ill-luck,” and Fletcher knew the
character and life of fast young gentlemen, he
certainly kept his knowledge to himself, and
was always tful, without being Servile.

“Tell me all about her, Fletcher,” young Pem-
berton said, stretching his supple handsome
figure lazil on the sofa. “The old gentleman
will be in irectly, and I want to hear all about
it before he comes.”

Fletcher looked thou htfully in the glowing
bed of coals just beside Elm.

“ \Vell, Mr. Cuthbert, there isn’t so very much
to tell, after all. You know your uncle and I
'ourneyed to Italy on the same apparently hope-
ess (guest that has occu ied so much of our time
—an you have heard r. Pemberton say that,
very strangely ver miraculously, I may say
it turned out thatt e last clew was a correct
one, and we traced it, in and out, until—we
have found the object of the search of years—
the living daughter of Mr. Pembcrton’s dead
sister, the young girl who will be the heiress of
the noblest fortune, one of the finest estates in
America.”

Cuthbert lay 1guietly watching the keen, intel-
ligent face 0 ' letchcrasit lighted 11 almost
triumphantly—doubtless at the thoug t of the
success “that had crowned so many hitherto
futile efforts.”

“ But how did you find her, Fletcher? Have
you seen her? Are you sure, absolutely sure,
she J’s the child of Mr. Pemberton’s deceased sis-
ter.

Fletcher‘s face relaxed into a slow smile, and
he caressed his well-trimmed whiskers com-
placent] .

“ There is not the shadow of a doubt Mr.
Cuthbert. We have always known that Mr.
Pemberton’s sister died at Florence, leaving a
child about two or three years old, and from
that city every clew has started, only to prove
cruelly false. This time, however I myself
struck a sudden and unexpected trail, for which
I had been hoping for years. I discovered an
old woman who remem red the dead lady. and
who put me on the right track, after so many,
many years. Step by etc I traced my way,
unt' , a week after Mr. emberton sailed for
home, I found the girl, made all the nec .
arrangements to have her sent to us, and fo -
lowed in the very next steamer.”

The gleam of intense interest deepened in
Cuthbert's eyes. »

“Tell me about her! Is she prettyi Is she
well-bred or has she been brought up in igno-
rance an vul rity?”

Fletcher‘s low cheeks flushed a trifle under
the inted questions.

“ he has been fortunate in the extreme.
From papers and letters her mother left, it was
evident to the woman to whose cha she was
given—a Miss Ogden, a very wort y middle—
aged lady, who will accompany her as maid
hereafter—that the child belonged to a family
of note and wealth although no name was given
an where amou the memoranda. Acting u
that belief, an the child being remarks ly
bright, and attractive and pretty, and perhaps
also from motives of policy, extra care was

'ven her, and the result is that Mr. Pember-
gn's niece and heiress is amply fitted by educa-.
tion and manners to take the position to which
her birth entitles her.”

During the deliberate recital of the details,
Fletcher s keen eyes had never once left young
Pemberton’s face, and all the increasing inter-
est and mess was plainly evident to him.

“ Yes! ell—spare me any more particulars,
fletcher: I want to know how she looks. How

old is she?”
“She is between seventeen and ei teen, Mr.
that will en-

tire. “mummy...
as a e, o
chah't you. She has blacgeyyes. liquid andlove-

 

 

 

ly, nd a creamy fair skin, and fair hair—a
combination of personal charmsas rare as beau-
tiful. She sings and 9%s and dances, and al-
fiether, I think you not find it vertygtifii-

ttoreconcile ourselftothefact a
moond cousin has in between on and
the fortune you , dently ex ."

A dark, malignant look swept acrom the

young man’s face. .
gain of the most
thus set aside,

“ It would go against the
patient man in the world to
although the old ntleman assures me it will
make no mate ' diflerence to me. And, b
Jove, it shall not make much difference, a -
though the remedy is almost as bad as the com-
plaint, for I detest the idea of matrimonial
shackles. All the same, Fletcher—I‘m deter-
mined to marry my beautiful cousin, and thus
secure the fortune in the family, at least.”

An odd, swift smile played on Fletcher’s thin

11 .

If I see I have succeeded in awakening your ad-
miration for the heiress, Mr. Cuthbert. Well,
in my opinion, if you will allow its expresioiii

‘ it is j'lSt and natural, and right that you shou

take the view you do. I, myself, would like to
see the property remain in the family, and if I
can be of any service to you-you have only to
command me.”

Cuthbert laughed.

“Thanks, Fletcher. I suppose the young lady
is heart-whole? And yet, with such beauty and!
attractiveness, it would be rather astonish-

in .”

%‘She is entirel heart-whole, Miss 0 en as-
sures me. I thin you have a fair fie d, and,
sir, on ought to win.”

V “One question more: when is my cousin ex—

. pected to arrive?”

Firm, prompt footsteps just outside the libra-
ry door prevented Fletcher’s reply, and both
he and Cuthbert arose as Mr. Griffith Pember-
ton entered the room.

His grand face was alight with excitement,
and his fro blue eyes were shining with an
agitation tha was very unusual.

“The cablegram has just arrived Fletcher.
Your arran ments were perfect. Cuthbert—4
congratula . ons are in order. Your cousin
Elma, my niece and heiress, has to-day sail
from Liverpool. In a few more days she will
have arrived at her htful home, and this

eat house will know w at it is to be if!!!

y a girl’s voice and merry laugh. Fletcher,
never can repay you for what you have done
for me, in this aflair. You have lightened my

later yea and lifted aburden I never dared
hope woul be lifted, in finding my sister’s
child !” '

He extended his hand in an impulse of warm
friendliness and gratitude, and Fletcher respect-
full took it, then drapped it, courteously.

“Ialways try to serve you, Mr. Pemberton.
Duty brings its own. reward. Do I under
you that Miss Pemberton sails tcrdayi”

“In the Scythia. And there is very much to
be done before she arrives. I want the western
suit of rooms on the second floor thoroughly
overhauled and refurnished. Go to Puniun to-
morrow, Fletcher, and have him come and look
at them, and 've him carte blanche to decorate
them in the ndsomest manner imaginable.
Give him a description of my nicce's personnel,
and let him be strictly particular as to the colors

and style most becoming to her.”

Fletcher quietly too the elaborate order
down in his memorandum—book.

“ Will there be anything further!” he asked,
pausing. pencil in hand.

“ Yes,’ laughed Cuthbert, as he leaned

st the low silver mantel, “ I am sure Mr.
mberton will never forgive himself if he hasn’t
the wardrobe full of toilet: when our fan-v
princess comes. Honest] , sir, you ought to get
a modiste to make some dresses for my cousin.
A description of her Is and re can be
very accurately obtain from F1 her here I
am sure.”

Mr. Pemberton smiled.

“ A good idea, my boy. Yeshll'leteher, see a
fashioinable artiste, algal have a“ is neceso
ear ora oung ys on :nu ,every-
thigg from  toe—arranged and delivered
here by next ursday.
thing else you can think of that Wln servo to
show my niece how thoroughly welcome she is,
see to 1t—any little delicate attention in the
way of flowemnor jewelry, or anything that

on lslike. ;
y A3583, very were made
to receive this ortunate young giltwhenit
hardly seemed poedblethatimprovemsuteudd

Itwasalovelysuftofroomshtawaited

 

 

8

DID SHE SIN ’?

 

 

Elma Pemberton’s comin rooms that would
have been exquisite eaoug for royalty.

There were three en suite—the front one be-

designed for her sitting—room, with lofty
ce painted a delicious. pallid ink relieved
by a narrow silver cornice. A nk-and- l
Aubumon carpet covered the floor. ce
curtains and pink silk subdued the light from
the balconied windows. Level pictures hung
on the walls, suspended by s' ver cords. Lit-
tle brackets su ported statuettes in Parian
and bronze: 0d little marble-ix) tables
held books: an inlaid writing-des , superb-I
l supplied; silver and crystal vases for flowers:
t e mantle-shelf was ornamented with two or
three little articles of bijouten'e ; a pink silken
couch protected with a white swiss cover, a
couple of low eas chairs, a small piano and ac-
com nying wel -fllled music portfolio, made
the urge a artment magnificent and luxurious
as the mos cultured taste would wish.

Ad joinin was the dressin -room—with mar-
ble bath an every imagine. e toilet luxury, its
floor covered by a thick, snow-white rug into
which the feet sunkdeeply.

And at the rear of the suite, looking out on
the elegant garden was the large, commodious

coping-room, with its dressing-suit of ivory-
white celluloid, its carpet of white just touched
with faint blush-pink, its snowy lace and silk
draperies, its pink-and-silver dressing-case orna—
ments, its beautiful cushioned prie-dinu in a
dusky corner draped off by a. silken canopy.

Luxury and magnificence unlimited, awaiting
the girl whose life was unfolding like a wild ro—
mance, whose warp and woof of destin were
already becomingl strangely; entangled thh the

'v o w

 

 

threads of other es om she never even
had heard. ’
CHAPTER VII.
a swan mmsnox.
T!!! in which Clyde Carriscourt and

Cecil were si ting went easil , steadil on into
the fresh beauty of Central ark—an yet, de-
spite the perfection of the day, the exhilaration
of the sweet, ure air, the loveliness of every-
thing about them, poor Cecil’s face was full of
the pain and miser that were busy at work.

Since she had u red her piteous, ssionate
answer to Mr. Carriscourt’s appeal, e had not
said another word, but sat back in a corner of
the , with her Is, sweet face and
dreamy eyes making his eart ache to take her
inlhis arms, and kiss away the wretchedness she
e t. '

For several minutes he did not speak, but sat
lookinglthoughtfull y through the open window,
until, ‘rectl‘y, he turned toward her a ‘ , his
face full 0 tenderest compassion, hIs voice
thril' with sweetness an gentleness that
made a Cecil’s quicken in response.

“I cannot eat fy myself with our answer,
Cecil. Will I annoy you if Ias you two or

3: questions! Can you be forbearing, and
er me?” !

Questions! Her face grew a shade paler. It I
seemed to her as if he was about to uncover the ’
secret she would guard with her life. i

She bowed in silent assent. Yes, he might I
ask her, but it never must pass her lips. I

“You have let me know you loved me, Cecil.
Answer me this—are you sure you do? You .
do not mistake friendshi r possiny a feelin
of impulsive titude— or the true eep loveI
ask in return or mimi' Because it seems to me ‘
little one, that if you truly loved me, yOu woul
not with the next breath refuse to give yourself ,
to me. (

He had sug ested the only means of escape.
for her—to a , 't she mignt have mistaken a}
grateful impulse for affection. 1

She looked at him a second, and her sweet‘
voice uivered as she answered: '

“ I— —am afraid it is not as you wish, Mr.
Cari-iscourt. I—do not—” 

But, truthful to the soul as Cecil was, she
could not utter the falsehood. She hesitatedh
and his eager, kindly face shadowed.

‘ Well then, dear, I will accept your answer
—you do not love me, after all. But, Cecxl—do
you care for any one else?" 1

Her answer came prompt enough.

“Oh, no, no. I do not I”

A part of that grave shadow lifted of his

“Thank God for that! Cecil again—as hon- ,
eetly as was you spoke a word in your life-—.
do you feel any repulsion or dislike, or indifler-l

I

once toward me

And he could not restrain the eager anxiety 1
in his tans-while he spoke, watching her lovely,
expressive face.

 

l
i

"Uh, Mr. Carriscourt howtvoulditbepossible ‘
for me to have any such feelings toward you?
Indeed, indeed, “you are the nearest, dearest ‘
friend to me in the worl and—”

A smile of exultation b ' tenedall over his

face.

“It is not a step from there to the love that
will come, Cecil’, to the love that must come,
persuaded b such love as I can give you. You
admit you ike me better than any one else-— J
and, now that I come to think of it, how do you
know but that the sweet pure friendship you
can ive me is not love itself? What should a .
mai en like you know of the mighty passion -
that I feel for you, that sways and controls In ,
whole heart, and governs my very life? Cec' , 1,
without knowing it, I believe you do love me, =
my honest, darling little girl.”

6 was caressing her hand now, smiling,
pleadin with his eyes as he looked at her y
droope face—a look she felt, though she dared
not meet it.

She sat and listened—such tumult of thought g
sur in over her.

“ V t shallI say? Whatou ht I to do?” she .
asked herself, confusedly. “ e lovcs me—I ;
know he loves me, and it would be so sweet, so ,
restful, to accept the protection and cherishing j
affection such a home would offer to me in my ,
utter loneliness. I know I could make him
he. py. I know I would be as happy as his wife !
asI ever can expect to be with the secret I~must 1
carr with me as long as I live. I wonder—” ‘
and er heart gave a fierce, suffocating throb—
“I wonder what he would say if I were to tell
him?”

'She dared not lift her eyes for so much as a
shy glance at his face.

And 'ust at that moment he spoke.

“Wei 8.111in darling? Shall I tempt
theri Sh I tell you of the bright, utiful
life you shall have at Carris Court with every
surrounding as congenial as your lovely home
at Marchka was? I am a rich man, Cecil,
and can amply afford to indul all your fancies ‘
and wishes, and it will be the ensure of my life
to make you happy. We w' travel if you pre—
fer, or occupy my city residence in winter and
spend the summer between Carris Court and the
fashionable resorts. Come to me, my darlin ;
share what I have; honor me b being my wige
—for it is an honor, a great onor that you
would bestow.”

An honor—and she the wife cit—2

Some protest trembled on her 1i , but he si-
lenced her, authoritatively, loving y:

“ Do not say me nay, Cecil! Because you are
a fpoor girl—because on are not the daughter
0 an aristocratic, in uential man, is less than 1
nothing to me. Of course I deeply, trulyre-
spect an honest, decent lineage, and your man-
ner, our a pearance, prove on are of such,
my 1 ttle gir . Nothin but ce, or a vile

 

ou fur-

 

,connection, would ma e me respect and love;

ou less, my pure little star-eyes, and those, we

th know, are as incom tible with you as .
d dation with an ange. Cecil—” and of a
an den his patient, reasoning tone changed into
quick, passionate eagemem, “ I must have my .
answer. And it must be es!” i

And she had thought confess to him, for '
one insane moment!

For one minute her thoughts ran confusedly:

“Papa wished it to be so—have I an reason-
able grounds for persisting in making r. Car-
riscourt unhappy, and myself lonely and wretch-
ed? Poor By my is dead; the marria e was
but in name; it will never he discovers ; there
is really nothing but my own sentiment to pre«
vent my marrying Mr. Carriscourt. I dare not
test him—I dare not go to him with the fact in
my heart that I am—’

A look of d ration was in her blue eyes as ‘
she sudden] ra them. 1

“ I canno ,” she wailed out, sharply. “ I am
not worthy—I am too faulty—I—"

And he silenced the anguished outcry of her
poor, struggling heart, by folding her in his
arms.

“ Your self-styled unworthiness is perfectionto ,
me, and your sweet! ronfessed faultiness jii‘st
what I want. My ecil, you are mine! y!
little betrothed bride.” 3

And, overcome by her own arguments, over- ‘
whelmed by this lover‘s mighty passion, Cecil
suffered him to kiss her quivering lips over and
over again. .
f “If ever you should repent,” she said, wist-

ll

11 .

Hz smiled, confidently.

“ Repent? Oh, my, darling, my Own dar

you have, yet to un erstan how dearly I love
on! There is no repentance for us—we will
i too happy." 1

, soft as velvet an

And so Cecil put away that dark, yet guiltlem
episode of her girtgsh heart, and, as was perfect-
ly natural. after e tempest of unrest and“

certainty through which she had passed was
over, there came a new, sweet calm and peace
to her that rejoiced her own heart and delighted
her lover’s in those few days that intervened be-
tween the betrothal and the immediate mar-
ri e on which Mr. Carriscourt insisted.

efound a pleasant, retired boarding- e
for her, whose price she was able to pay from
her own tiny und, and while she remained
there those intervening days Mr. Carriscourt
went back to Carris Court to prepare for the
coming of his bride—with his heart swelling
with re turous delight and sweetest antici ‘
tions as e went from room to room suggesting
here, altering there, so that everything might
be as nearly rfect as possible for this dainty
little girl he oved so truly so texderly.

While Cecil stayed quietly in the pleasant lit-
tle home prepared for her—a charming room
frontin on one of the avenues, where she could
see all t at was sing, and where more than
one )asser-by ha involuntarily glanced the se-
cont time at the pure, dainty face at the lace«
draped window—and among them was Cuthbert
Pemberton.

“ She’s the most superb creature I ever saw in
my life,” he said, enthusiast'cally at dinner, the
very first day of Cecil’s abode in her temporary
home, and Mr. Pemberton had smiled at the un-
usual animation in this blasé young gentleman’s
tone and manner.

“Reserve your heart until to-morrow,” he
said, as he pushed his tiny glass for the spark-
lin Moselle. “ To-morrow Elma arrives.

uthbert filled the glass slowly. ~

‘I wish you could see this exquisite girl,” he
went on; “she is the most superb creature I
ever saw in my life, and that is saying a great
deal. She is a perfect pronounced b onde, sir,
with the most entrancing face I can imagine.
I have already driven ast several times pur-
posely to see her—I wou d like you to go your-
self, simply to have the pleasure of seeing the
most rfect face in the world. ”

“ ou infect me with your enthusiasm, Cuth-
bert. Suppose we drive past to-uorrow, simply,
as on say, to $2M? in eyes by such a vision
of oveliuess. ut w lconfess I have only
eyes for the girl who is coming to-morrow,
whom Fletcher pronounces rarel ovely.”

The next day, at the same our at which
Cuthbert Pemberton had several times before
seen Cecil’s face at the window, and alwa s

over some book she was readin , t e

rton carriage drove slow? by, Mr.

Griiiiiith Pemberton fully indorse his nephew’s
n on.

op“ It is the most perfect face I ever mw

Cuthbert! I would give half I possess to find

aims as beautiful as that girl! Who can she

i

githbert sinned. i i th

was no exaggerat ve n myreport, en?
She must be a stranger, for I am sure I should
have known such a face anywhere the second
time. I have made inquiries, but as et lbarn-
ed nothing. But I do not despair of g out
her name. ’

Cuthbert had leaned back in his seat after his
one eager admiring look at the pure, hi h-bred
face, wit its  long-lashed 1i His
face was momen y averted, and in that one
secontli, while M31] (1}rimthi Pembgrton was still

ave,r§)ect nat erCedlsu-
guly fool: up, and “81:2qu ht of her glori-
ous eyes met his, in one firefight, steady

glance.

And the carriage passed on, ever nerve in
Mr. Pemberton’s frame vibrating rom that
glance.

“ My boy—it is the sweetest, purest. face I
ever saw! Her e es are blue as a sapphire 'and
full of a wistfulness an en-
chanting modest that went straight to my old
heart as no eyes have done this many a year.”

Cuthbert laughed.

“Take care, sir!”

Mr. Pemberton looked gravely at him.

“It is not that,”' he said, quietly. “I feel
that I would like to know more of her, hear her
speak. I could worship such a girl, and I have
no higher ho than that Elma. may be like her.
My dear lit e Elma! In two hours I'shall see
her—to think of it! And yet I am full of a
shrinking fear lest Fletcher’s report has been

Pom

overcolored and the child I am p to love
and cherish better than 111 own i 9 may prove
nfifidw’hat I want. Ye is Gen, ’1!
c .

“‘And I shall marry her,”'Cuthbert laid; in
his own heart. as the carriage rolled on. “I

“was-” .. -2“ -

l
“,
¢
3:
. l
Ed.

 

1

human“, ~17 <~a«

3  A... m.
~L* ,,._..

Ln’w

an
_ death he died after the life of

 

snail marry her, no matter What she is—nnrl
yet m y pulses stirred—as the never stirred l c-
forc*at sight of thatiwoman s other face at the
window yonder. I have loved many Women—
but—this glorious creature has somehow made
me feel that all other loves would be a. farce
compared with what I could feel for her. I
must find out all about her! I must know who
she is! And then—" .

There was an eager look in his dark eyes, and
a complainant smile on his dusk-mustached

li .

p\s‘Vhile Cecil, sitting still beside the window,
had dropped her book and was gazing thought-
fullv out. not seeing the passing pronienaders.

“ What a magnificent face that was! Can I
ever have seen it before, I wonder? Such no-
bility, such haughtincss and Vet such gentleness
seems somehow strangely amiliar to me. I
suppose I have seen such a face before on the
strcct.

And it was a long while before she could on-
tirely dismiss the sensation of which she had
bcen conscious when Mr. Pemberwn had looked
her in the eyes with his own.

CHAPTER VIII.
WAS SHE 1113 men?

THE beauty of the bright, mild. mid-Winter
day had changed suddcnly into the gloomy
cloudiness that a sharp. biting north-cast wind
brings. The bank of somber clouds that had
been slowly gathering and lying low in the hori—
Zon hail ovcrspi‘ead all the sky. and the lowly
sunshine and genial south wind had vanished as
if at command of a magician’s wand.

The Pembcrton mansion was all ablaze with
lights at the earliest dusk. W'ithin its walls
was no sign or suspicion of the raw, blcak
weather outside.

Flowers from the conservator were placed in
costly vases about the room, an banked in rich,
fragrant profusion on low tables. in circular
form on the magnificent mantle-pieces: vincs,
tl swayed their tender green leaves and tiny
st ry flowers, hung from brackets and crystal
globes, and were artistically wreathcd about
the massive frames of pictures and several ex-
quisite statuettes in shadowy niches.

magnificent suit of drawing-rooms had all
been thrown into one continuous apartment, di-
vided into the three proper, by the velvet per-
tie‘res that draped so gracefully and artistically.
Floods of light streamed from the great (-lustcr
of chandeliers over the pale blue and lemon vel-
vet carpet, that covered the cntiresuit, and that
was in one entire piece. The coverings from
the furniture were removed, revealin the lus-
trous magnificence of the blue velvet up olstery
ed With lemon satin that was in the front
wing-room, the lemon damask that was in
the middle room. and the elegant, odd ieccs of
French and Italian styles, whose prevai ng tints
were an wife with the others.

The blue satin golden-linul curtainsdraped the
plate- use windows that opened on awide, iron-
railod cony that, in early summer days. be-
fore the house was closed for the fashionable
season abroad, was handsomely ornamented
with grewin giants, and vines, with wimp-
chairs in sec u ed recesses, and over a gay,
wide awning.

Mr. Griffith Pemberton, in full evening dress,
walked up and down the 10 suit of rooms,
waiting to receive the child of is dead sister
the. fortunate girl who was coming to a life of
elegance and luxur such as even her wildest
imagination had no supposed possible in real,
everyday life.

An hour before, the clarean had been sent,
in charge of Fletcher, to meet the travelers at
the steamship wharf, and it was reasonable to ex-
pect them at any moment now.

Everything was in readines, and Mr. Pem-
berton’s frosty, handsome blue eyes were full
ol eager impatience as he walked slowly up and
down, hatching for the roll of carriage-wheels
at his door.

“I wonder what aha will be likei”.he asked
himself, in those last moments of ex tetion
and uncertainty. “ Will she be anot er Gene-
vieve lovely and amiable, h' h-spiritod and
proud with the genuine old emberton pride
that rears on] to do wrou i ’ Will she be igh-
bred and distinguished an loving and charm-
ing as my ulster was, or—” and a sav e, bitter
look cams into his face, and he invo antarin
quickened his steps, and stroked his white mus-
tache inflame agitation—“ or will she be like—
her father. a. smil , treacherous scoundrel,
lazy and principl who richly deserved the

' on he led
—nfter the life of heart-broken pa n he ceased
my sister? ‘ One look at her face. one syllable of

 

DID SI—IE A SIN?

 

a v.'. v' D ' n'hetherlshall takch'rto. . ,
m r “ um “I” r (mm ‘ t ‘ comp“ 2001], and the lustrous brightintss (~: bcr

m‘.’ heal t. or only endure her.”

. . . l
The minutes tickcd rapidly ofl"; the wind': urangd; from the

heeled dismally around the statel mansion,
and surged with a shrill wail throng 1 the park
Opposite. Mr. Peniberton rew more im )8.-
tient, and a look of vexation came into '

e 'es.

y“ Cuthbert should have been here to receive
my niece—no business, no engagement should
have been too pressing to have kept him on this
occasion. Ah!’ .

The little sharp ejaculation escaped him in-
voluntarily, for the unmistakable sound of car-
riage—wheels stop )ing at his door made his eyes
lighten and his cart beat faster for a mo-
nicnt.

Then, the door was opened widely by the hall
porter, and Mr. l’cmbcrton caug t a. passing
glimpse of two vailed ladies, in plain traveling
1'; tire, escorted by Fletcher, who said a. icw
words to the housekeeper and a young maid-
servant, who were in res ccti‘ul waiting in the
little reception-room on t e 01: ositc side of the
hall, and who immediatcly l. i the way to the
rooms in readiness. followed by the young
stranger heiress and hcr uttcudant.

A Hcond lutcr Fletchcr I'l('(‘IV(‘i] his order
from Mr. Pemberton to come into the urawing-
room. '

" She has come, I see. Fletcher,” were his
first Words, spoken with an agitation unusual to
him. “lint why did she not at once come to
me:
once.”

i

You should have brought her to inc at ,

" It would have been not quite. suitable. sir, I 

think. Miss Pcmbcrton is ti'nvcl-stumcd and
somewhat fati ued, and, as she nuturall ' pre-

fers that your ,rst im lrcizsiou should be avoro .

able, she requestedio c allowed to rest a few’
moments and make a change in her toilet.”

“Oh, ver well,” Mr. Pcmbcrton returned. a
little impatiently, “ l dare say it is all cxcccd-
ingly right and proper but I should have
thought Genevieve‘s child Would have come
straight to my arms.”

Fletcher saw the slight frown on the stern,
handsome face, and hastened to dissipate it.

“Pardon me, Mr. Pembcrton, but a house-
hold of men, such as this is, cannot le expcctcd
to know the necessities and requisites of your g

ladies. It will be a glorious thing for you, sir, . E
1

that Miss Pemberton has come. It wi be like
living to have a young girl’s fair face to look at,
her voice to hear to have the charming token
a woman's actua presence all over this great,
magnificent place. It will make a young man
of you again, sir, to be entertaining and escort-
ing your beautiful niece, to be her confidant in
her girlish bye and iefs.”
Mr. Fem rton smiled briefly.

“Yes, and you put it very soeticall . Evi-
dently my niece has infatuate ou, latcher.
Well—how much longer will I e obl' 'ed to

wait before I have the pleasure of seeing xer?”

Fletcher instantly arose to bring her; that
sarcasm of impatience in Mr. Pemberton’s voice
warned him that it was time to effectually ap-

se the rising vexation.
be“ She must be ready now, sir. I will bring

I‘—

“ And her attendant, too. I want to see this
Miss Ogden at the same time.”

Fletcher went direct] up the stairs to the
door of the front room Miss Pemberton’s suit.
Hi- knock was at once answered by Miss Ogden,
a tall, lad ylike woman, with fairly good-looking
face, intelligent, shrewd, resolute. Her hair
was gly and fashionably arranged her
traveling ress had alread been exchan for
a stylish, modest toilet of rk-brown sil . She
wore laces at her neck and wrists, and carried a
watch and chain. She was quiet, and pcrfectl
self— d—a lady who Was apparently a -
mire ly fitted to occup the 'tion she held.

She met Fletcher Wit a. slight, plea: ant bow.

“ Will you come in! Elma is not quite ready ,

et.”
over his face.

to?) down to see Mr. Pemberton

look of concern tea

“ It will not do to

Already his patience is exhausted. He is a man

accustomed 0 have everythin his own we , as

I have told you, and Miss Pcm erton cannoztoo
soon be thoroughly instructed so.”

Th 1 k t l
o oo o anxiety on his face was reflected : care and gupefflsi

in Miss Ogden’s as she rapped on the door of the

dressing and toiletrmm.
It was opened by the young girl herself,.and
as many times as letcher ha seen her since he

had discovered her, he actually started in as-
tonishmant at the red t vision of youth and

‘ she inaii Hit “death I i full
a mum es: er in event
dress of white as is: and shitejilk. that Ld‘re- .‘

eep him waiting longer. .

velously_enhanc(d the ivory fairness of her

large dark eyes. her golden hair was stylishly
rmcely collection of 'cw-
els in the casket Mr. cmberton had 'lace for
her acccptance on the dressin -ca:e, s e bad se-
lected a diamond cross suspen ed from a black
velvet band. nd similar ornaments for her
beautiful half-cared arms.

She bestowed a little nod of recognition on
Fletcher as she entered.

“ I will go down now, but I wish you to have
a lunch in readiness for me when I come back.
I shall not stay very long, for I am tired and
prefer to be in my Own rooms."

Her voice was sweet, but there was a super—
ciliousness in it that made Fletcher tremble with
consternation.

“ Mr. Pemberton is very anxious to see you,

Miss Elma. I am waiting to take you to
him."
“You arel Well, in a moment, I shall be

ready myself. Mr. Pemberton can affoi d to
wait a few minutes longer, When he has waitcd
so many years."

Fletcher‘s face paled.

“ It will not do to keep him waiting Mi.<s—"

She turned imperiously toward him.

“ Be so good as to understand I allow no dic-
tation whatcver. I fully undcrstand my posi-
tion here, and I also fully understand ynirs.
.Inrc than once you have atil-mptcd to me an
ilii\'l:,()l y Illallllil‘ toward me; once for all, I
shall not permit it.” ‘

Miss Ogden looked despairing‘y at Fletcher,
whose face slowly flushed under the girl’s
haughty manner.

“ I am sorry, Mr. Fletcher,” she began, (lepre-
catingly, “but Elma is willful and imperious,
and she will have her own way in spite of every
thing.”

Elma laughed.

“Of course I will. Get me my fan. M'ss
Ogden, and then I’ll go down. Only. I shall not
have an ' more of your uncomplimentary re-
marks. lYUnderstand that.”

Miss Ogden quietly handed her the fan. he:
calm face wearing a strange inscrutable look
as she gave Fletcher one rapid, curious clancc. ‘

Then the party went down-stairs, Fletcher
learlling, and Miss Ogden following the young
'11- .

Mr. Pemberton came forward to meet them,
his grand, handsome face full of pale agitation,

‘ his keen blue eyes shining lik'e stars as'his glance

'in his, and kissed her on her

 

fell on E
Fletcher briefl presented Elma and for the
first time. in Mr. emberton’s knowledge of him,

Fletcher’s voice trembled painfully, and a look
of swift. furtive fear gleamed in his eye._

“Sir,I have the honor and pleasure of pre-
seating your niece, Miss Elma Pemberton, the
dim;- hter of our deceased sister.”

Elma had alied, in a ful, i‘cspcctl.‘ at-
titude at the beginning 0 the address, her beau-
tiful lips half-parted in a smile of glad, shy
greeting, her lovely head r. ' tly drooped—a
picture' f )erfect maidcnh .

Miss 0 en, with her shrewdiriuilitelligent eyes
lookin rom Mr. Pemberton’s  dlin , critical,
impass ve face to Fletcher’s agita one, was
herself a trifle paler than usual.

And so, for a moment, this quartette stood, a
tableau which the hand of Fate had arranged.

Then a smile deepened on Mr. Pembertan’s
face. he stepped up to E took her hands
r brow.

“ At first I felt strangely sure you were not my
sister’s child, for although you have the same
dark eyes and fair hair, there is no look of re-
semblance hetween on. But, for your own
sake, it would be not to love on. You are
verybeau ' child—and,“ after have driven
forever away his sudden, inexplicable suspicion
that seized me the moment I saw you, I can—”
He mused abruptly.and then, all the stern-
nesst twasin his nature dame surgin into
his im rious voice, as he turned and edge
Miss gden. I

“ Miss Ogden, I believe!” and he bowed, cold-
ly; “ I have one or two questions to ask you.

efore the God who will one day be your jud re,
will (you swear that this girl before on is t e
iden cal child inn-listed to your care ymy dy-
ing sister? Has she nfiver been from under your
on

His frosty blue eyes tuned to pierce her very
soul as the solemn words left is lips. And
even Fletcher, himself, poled as he heard them,
andsawflio tationonherface,

But her nine, must, colvinclng.

::  with: proofs!"

w

Shehanedmacopyoftherezkterod

ssed

 

 

I

'  SHE wSIN?

 

 

birth of “Elma, daughter of Roswell Vernald
Fairfax, and Genevieve Pembeiton Fairfax,_at
San Delano, on Tuesday, Oct. 30th 1858.”

n He read it with flashing eyes and compressed i

s. .
13‘ That name is never to be whi ered inside
these walls ” he said, pointing to t e name of
his sister’s usband. ‘ And on swear this is a
genuine Verbatim copy of t e official register
of this girl’s birth?”

“I swear it.”

“Very well,” and he t the document in his
memorandum-book. “ accept your testimo-
n . I have every reason to think Fletcher is
himself conscientiously satisfied. And,”——he al-
lowed a moment of impiessive silence to pre-
cede his announcemen “I acknowledge this
young girl to be my sister’s child, my awful
niece, and the heiress of my name and estates.”

 

CHAPTER IX.
AT (mom’s snconn MARRIAGE.

Tm: few intervening days between the time
when Cecil en aged her board and room tempo-
rarily at Mrs. yre’s, and the day she had con-
sented should be her wedding day—the early
day to which Mr. Carriscourt had so impetuous-
ly and impassioned] persuaded her to afiee,

ed rapidly and p easantly. Cecil found rs.
ayre to be a genial, cultivated lady, who at
once proved an admirable counselor and friend,
and who passed asmuch of her time as was de-
sirably necessa with the lonely young girl.

Every one o the few days, there came a
charming letter from her lover, and once
he came to see her for an hour or so, and it
was then, in that really first interview Cecil
ever had had with him, that she saw whata
grand, masterful man he was, what a tower of
strength he Would be to her, what an upright,
hi h-principled man he was, on whom one could
refy implicitly and em >hatically, and who
would be a friend better t an all friends beside.

And yet—realizing all that, and knowing in
her heart of hearts that she loved him—yet,
Cecil could not bring herself to entirel recover
from the scar of that cruel stroke 0 fate she
had received in that other marriage, to be hap—
pv in Mr. Carriscourt’s love, or to make him as
Absolutely happy as she knew she could make
him by speaking just two or three passionful
words which were always in her heart.

“ It was such a silly fancy,” she thought, one1
day—the day before the wedding-day. “As Ig
look back now, I cannot see why f even thowght'
I cared for poor Sydney Valence. I shiver
when I think—if he had lived! HOW foolish
and wicked I was—and yet, in such innocence
and unconsciousness! And my punishment is
the sick pain and fear I feel because of the se-
cret with which I must go to Mr. Carrisccurt,
which must remain ever ike an unseen yet un-
bridged chasm between us." And he is so noble, ,
so. smud, so honorable, that, although he is‘
ten or and gentle as a woman in his love to me
he would be terrible in his anger and contempt
and'scorn if he thought me unworthy and e!
Would, he would, for I am! I—the w dcw of a ‘

ambler a forger, a suicide! 0h, Heaven! 11

are no think, or I surely must retract my

 

‘ the vows made, the wedding-rm

Nevertheless, he desired to have Mr. May at-
tend Cecil’s marria e ceremony, and so the two
gentlemen, and the r portmanteaus, containing
their wedding suits, arrived at the Fifth Ave-
nue Hotel several hours before the time fixed
for the ceremony, which, at Mrs. Sayre’s warm
invitation was to be solemnized in her parlors,
at high noon. .

At a little before twelve the coach containing
the minister arrived, and almost immediawa
another in which were Mr. Carriscourt and Mr.
May, who, after being shown to a dressing-
room for any possible retouching of toilet, pro-
ceeded to the elegant parlors to await the bride.
Cecil came down promptly, attended by Mrs.
Sayre, and Mr. Carriscourt’s heart fairl leap-
ed to his eyes at sight of her, so pure, so ain'._ ',
so sweet, in all her royal dower of maiden
modesty and grace, and wealth of beauty.

She was dressed very simply, for she had had
no money to buy bridal finery, and would have
stood up in her street suit rather than have
asked Oscar Ma for money or to have accept-
ed the delicate, oving offer Mr. Carriscourt had
made her. So, with the out-..y ' f a mere trifle
for white satin ribbon. and gloves, she had
madea snowy swiss dress that was in her
answer admirably for her wedding-dress.

She were no jew.:ls, but from the magnificent
bouquet Mr. Carriscourt I' "d sent her that mom-
ing, she had selected the white and blush roses
and buds, and wore them at her throat, in her
lovely gleamin hair, at her side.

And a fairer ride never greeted groom at the
altar than Cecil, as she went into the room, to
be met near the door b Mr. Carriscourt, who
pressed her hand fervent y and ave her a look
of passionate adoration and pri e that thrilled
through her.

Mr. May ste ped u and extended his hand
effusively,sm' ing and) bowing as if their art-
ing had been not the hard, cruel thin i had
been, and Cecil quietly accepted his amiliar

eeting, returnin it with a charmingly indif-

erent race that elighred her lover.

Mr. arriscourt then presented the minister,
and then intnxluved Mrs. Sayre and Mr. May.
And then—the bridal air took their places, and
the solemn, beautifu ceremony began—Mr.
Carrisccurt looking handsome, and satisfied
and proud as he stood there in all the glory of

rfect manhood; Cecil, with drooped head and

ace pale as her dress, listenin to theso emn
words, and thinking with a pl 11 that was al-
most unendurable, of that 0t er ceremony in
the dusk of the day, in the dim little arlor of
the Marchbrook Vicarage; of that ct er mar-
riage and the brie! bridal tom, and—the awful
tragedy, but for which, she would not have been
standing at Cl (16 Carriscourt’s side—this len-
did man wit all his superb virtues, his
noble principles, all the rese-hued promises of
the life into which he would take her.

And she remembered Sydney Valence, with
his dark rec-0rd, his impulsive sins, his bitter
confession, and—the life from which he had
saved her—for this!

The service went on, and the words were said,
put on her
cold, fair finger, and Cecil was ' lyde Carria—
court’s wife at last. ‘

Th Mr. Car-riscourt leaned toward her, as
the last impressive words were said, and kissed

promise et!” en
The di not again allow herself to give way!
to such morbidity of reflection. She endeavor- her lips

ed to decide positively and finally, th t the se-
cret was securely hid en, that no poss ble harm
could ever come to Mr. Carriscourt through
that one little hour of mistaken folly—that it.
was only herself who would ever sufler or be:
the wiser.

And with those final resolutions Cecil’s wed-j
ding-day dawned on her—as glorious a da as:
ever was blessed with nial winter sunsh e,;
and a balmy westerly d. '

In the m  Mr. Can-iscourt took an earlyl
train from??? 3 Court, in com y with Mr.‘
Oscar May from Marchbrook w om Cecil had
expressed her willingness to have witness the
marriage ceremon , although she knew she.
never could be on t e old friendly terms again. i
The bitter in of the merciless blow he had
inflicted settled down into a grief that with k
such a tem rament as Cecil’s would never be
forgotten though she forgave him and bore,
not the all htest malice or revenge. Yet—tho.
scar woul never be effaced. i

What had paced between Cecil and Oscar
Ma Mr. Carriscourt never exactly knew, and1

wh le he honored Cecil for koala: her own1
counsel and not  , and while1
bewas womng ask imwha the trouble,
was, Mr urt knew that something!
serious had which never would be en-'
tinlv righted. . I

“ Cecil, my wife!”
tulations followed, and Cecil ted
them in her sh ,sweet, gracious way. en
Mrs. Sayre con ucted them to the dining-room
where a superb wedding breakfast awai

them.

Afterward, Cecil was escorted to her room
to change her drew for her traveling dress, and
3 her especial, gentle request, she was left

one.

And the first thing she did was to lock her
door, and down on her knees at her bedside,
in grayer at God would bles this marriage
in make her worthy the love tint was given

er. I
Then she went to‘her dressing-case, on which
lay a little tin box, which she unlocked, takin
therefrom a golden locket—a su rb  o
workmanship, hearing her ini “C’ in tiny
sparkling diamonds.

“I wonder what I ought to do with it! I
wonder if I had better keep it? It is all that
Sydne ever gave me—and now it seems to me
I s d not kee it any longer.”

She looked at t in grave t oghtfulnea, then

it in the box and rel ed it, and at
trunk lock andstra the .
decidb now; but a one thin I
God helping me, when the t 0
am assured have secured such a

it er
“ I cannot

know, thati
comes that

l hold in Mr. Carriscourt’s love and esteem that

' flothi’ng can alter it—that then I will tell
1m.

I And a sweet, peaceful smile was on her face

as she made her change of toilet. r

A moment afterward, a servant tapped on her
door to deliver a m e.

“ The gentleman down-stairs, Mr. May, please,
sends his compliments and would like to know
if it would beagreeable for you to see him a
few minutes before you and Mr. Carriscourt

, goes. v
I Cecil sent her answer back to Oscar May,

waltin in the arlors below:
“I Will see r. May, Catherine, in a few min-
] ates. Tell him he may step up to my sitting-
room, please.”
“ He wants to be m

 

friend again, now that I
am to be mistress of arriscourt, and the near—
‘ est neighbor to Marchbrook,” she thought bit-
} terly, all her pride revolting at the idea. Then

her natural sweetness and gentleness overcame,
I and she thought:
. “It is right that I should accept any over-
‘ tures Oscar may make. 1 can afford to for ive
E him—I will forgive him, although it won] be
beyond human power to for at what he did in
my hour of greatest need. cs, I want to be

ood.”and just—for Clyde’s sake—to every-

Her lovely lips quivered, and there were susp
picions of tears, that were not sorrowful tears,
on her eyelashes.

She heard Mr. Ma ’3 steps on the stairs, and
she waited to open t e door, little imagining all
that was to come crushing ,down on her heart
‘ before she left the room again.

He came forward promptly, pleasantly, and
took the chair Cecil indicated, one opposite her

own.

“I thank you very much for this mark of
your confidence and feelin , Cecil,” he be-

n. “And as Carriscourt wi be back with
the coach to convey you to the depot in a Very
few minutes I shal say what I came to say, \
briefly. First of all, that I congratulate you
sincere] on your new relations, and that, as
far as am concerned, any unpleasant mem-
ories shall be forever buried and the oldotime
delightful interchangt‘ of courtesy between Car-
risd Court and Marchbrook shall be contin-

‘ ue .

He waited for her reply, that came, in Cecil’s
; low, sweet voice, with just a little accession of
color to her face.

“ I am sure it will be best as on say, Oscar,
and I think—my husband—woqu indorse your
words. His wishes are my law.”

Mr. May bowed.

“Thanks. Then that is settled. And there
1 in another point, which I think is due to you to
i, mention. You remember, Cecil, when you
i learned that 1you were not Judge May’s child,

‘ that beyond t at bare fact you learned nothing.
1 At that time I knew no more to tell you. Since
! then, from examinations of my father’s pa rs,
I I have learned some facts relative to our irth
1 and hie antecedent to my mother’s a option of
‘ you, an infant, of two years of age. ”

Cecfl had suddme strai htened in her seat,

her face full of painful ingermt, her hands in~

i voluntarily dasped in a nervous .

“0h.0scarl Canitbe b l
myhmother and my father ’

. May went on. lucidly: ‘

, “ To make a long story short, Cecil‘ one
5 day while in Florence, sixteen years ago,
i or tiiembouts, my mother came acres a
? beautiful child. gust old enough to run about

I and be entertain n in it: baby ways—a love-

“1'0

 

1 1y $1}, mil fathers record says, with 1d-
1 en 1 e woven sunshine, and eyes Inc
as the Italian skies—an aristocratic, spirited,

intelligréfi' aflectionate baby of two years—
05; dead, lwhose mothehr; and farther were
e. on care 0 a yeun

married woman w cytold my mother she had
promised your d g mother to watch you and
care for you as or her Own little one who was
about the same helpless age—and a t, will-
ful saucy little gir . Briefly—my er pre-‘
'vd’ledonthewoman to give you to her. Le-
gal documents were drawn up; and you be-
came the adopted daughter of m patents, and
although your mother neverdi her maid-
en name, your own name my fa-
ther’s memory, you see, Cecil, that you have no
robable cause to blush for your birth, even
though you never learn ,who KR.” parents
were. Andthis, whichwu care yes-led in
m fatigue-sf ’iuflnhykwed Joyou
e that your

dead mother.” you

He handed her an exquisitelde por-

 

l

— “man”, “We .. -

 

 

 

 

11-

 

trait on ivory—a woman’s face, fair and sweet,
8 irited and gracious, with eyes that awoke all
the sleeping want of motherhood in Cecil’s
heart, as she reverently kissed it with her eager

1i .

FEM}? mother! My darling angel mother!
Oscar, I can forgive and forget everything for
the sake of this blessed treasure. ”

He smiled as he arose to go.

“ That is all, Cecil. I hear a ,carriage at the
door, which is for you—and there is only time
to catch the train. Good-by, Cecil.”

He shook her hand and left her alone. She
went over to the window to look a sin at the
angelic face that was already so ear to her;
she kissed "t warmly, whispering sweet words
toit and then, casually lamed u out of the
win ow—to he suddenly rozen wit horror—to
besuddenly paralyzed with awful terror and
fear! For Lherz, opposite the window, looking
straight in her eyes—God! she scarcely breath-
ed in that one a onizing second before she fell
faintin , to the cor, with a gasping whisper on
her 1 id lips.

“ od be merciful! It is Sydney Valence!
Sydney Valence is alive!”

 

CHAPTER X.
A. FIGHT WITH ram.

Czch. had just slidden quietly to the floor,
with the horrified words on her lips that sud-
denly ewso blue and cold, as her husband
rappetftpntly on the door, having passed Mr.
May in an , " ll be] AV and knowing from him
that his wine was in readiness to depart.

He had hastened through the few necessary
duties devolving upon him for the time, and
now ought his bride, to link in her shy, sweet
ey , e moment, to tak her to his heart, to
hear her whisper a name that would go thrilling
along his veins.

N 0 answer coming to his summons, he turned
the handle of the door, which instantly yielded,
and 1‘.) ~ first glance in the room showed him
Cecil, "ing prone on the floor, in a dead faint,
so like death itself, that a cold chill of horror
sei7ed him.

He sprun'r forward to her, calling her name
in agonize tenderd'ess and dismay; then, he
caught up a toilette bottle of ammonia and
cologne t at stood on the dressing-case. and
bathed her ra idly and gently on her death-
white face, an almost pulseless wrists, in doing,r
which he saw the ' 5 oval painting that still

was clas tightly in her rigid fingers.
“Can it be that it has anythin to do with
this?” he thought, as wisely an uietly he

ate back to the door and turned t e keg.

t is perha s only natural that my little ecil
should faint ike this, after ;'_.e long strain and
tension on her nervous system that the past few
weeks have been. My beautiful, precious wife!
in lamb, my treasure!”

{Io leaned over her, and kissed her tenderly
on her mouth, that yielded no r . use to his
swift, loving caress but. b the faint warmth
be detected on herfiesh, an a slight of
that ghastly, ashen pallor into a more life- ike
tinge, he was convinced that the swoon was not
at all alarming, and that he had acted well and

rudentlyin not alarming the house, and per-
Eaps create an un leasant ossi won the
servants, who woul be sure ink an say
there was another lOVer in the case.

Mr. Carriscourt was still bending over her
when she suddenly gave a  sigh, and

o ne

\

stirred uneasily an er eyes, that
fairly apfilled in with lack of terror and
ir t t was in them.

‘ My darling! You are better! You have
been in a swoon, dear but it is all over, now.
Let me put you on the lounge until you feel

It er.”

rI‘Iislfiiftedhoraseasilynsth shehadboen
a haby,and carried her tothe lit e silken couch,
placing the lace-ruffled pillow under her head,
and the brilliant Afghan over her, as tenderly
as a woman could have done.

“.What was the matter, Cecil! Were you

frightened at anything? Or did Oscar commu-
nicate any unpleasant newsi”
Shelaw the lookofgs dbpleuuroin

hiaeyec at the bare thought 0 any one’s pre-
sumi to anno her with anything unpleasant.
She ared no k, even if she could lave
domed“;th toherthaitflaire 9:23:
never a we again; as t o
handsome w had

.Cu'rriscourtlatbeddohu

horrified eves.

,Myca—
hcoold little hand,onwhich thawed-
Efigwwmm‘. Bo mild ne-

' yinhcrwearv.

 

DID SHE SIN ?

and yet Cecil never said a word in all those ter-
rible minutes in which she was trying to bring
reason and judgment to her aid.

“You must tell me, dear, what this means,”
he said, directly, and there was a quiet com-
mand in his tones that Cecil knew she dared not
disobey. “If you have been frightened, dear
somebody must be punished; if on are ill, I
shall send for a physician, and efer our trip
until you are able to bearit. Are you suffer-
ing, my darling?”

he nodded, dumbly, her lips quivering at
sound of his tenderly solicitous voice.

Then she gathered all her strength and will by
a desperate effort.

“ It—it is nothing, Mr. Carriscourt. I will be
better soon, I think. Only—if you would—
plleasp—leave me for a few moments, until—un-
ti —

She looked wistfully at him, with that same
pitiful, affrighted stare frozen into her blue eyes.

He looked at her a moment, gravel .

“ If you wish to be left, Cecil. Shall I send
Mrs. Sayre, or a servant?”

She shrunk back into the lounge. -

“ Oh, no! I want to be alone—only a few
minutes, please.” _

And, the instant the door closed behind him
she sprung wildly to her feet, trembling and
reeling with every labored step she took toward
the window.

She saw with one staring glance that the face
had disappeared, and, the reaction setting in,
she staggered back to the lounge, covering her
white, despairing face with her cold hands.

“ 1 saw iirn, I saw him, alive, and he saw me'
he looked at me with just the same look he used
to have! Oh, great God—what am I to do
what am I to do? Sydney Valence-is not dead
—not dead—and I am married to two husbands.
Can’t I (Be? Can’t I die?”

Her fierce prayer was accompanied by sobs
that shook the lounge she was on; and then, as
if the fearfulness o the situation was unendu-
rable, she s rung up again, and, turning the
k , of her oor with trembling hands, walked
over to the low marble mantle and leaned her
head upon it, pressing herhands upon the heat-
ing temples.

‘ I cannot 'leit": fast enough,” she though“ in
a confused, desperate attempt at calmness. “ I
must instantly decide what to do—instantly.
He is down there—I saw him, and he saw me,
and knows I am here, knows in all probability,
or will very soon know, that I am again mar-
ried——I-——married, and both husbands living! Is
it any wonder mfy senses seem leaving me? Is
it any wonder i eel that it would be justifiable
to take my life in my hands? Oh! 1 know I
ought not to have married Mr. Carriscourt; I
felt all the time it was not right—and now—oh
into what a horrible mire of disgrace have I
dragged him! The scandal—the sensation, the
cruel gossip that will drive him mad with their
stings! Oh, why did I not die in that lon , lon
sickness when l was so willing to die? W y di
I live for this, for this i’” ‘

She straightened herself in an agony of agita-
tion, wringing her hands in utter espair.

“ But I am not deciding, I am not deciding,"
she told herself, in a dazed, frozen way. ‘I
must not waste another thought, or sentiment,
or re t: it is unavailing. For Mr. Carris-
courts sake, what must I do? I cannot fly, I
cannot get away from the house unknown or
unseen, or knows I would bury myself and
my pitiful secret be 0nd all human finding.
That is impossible. cannot get away, leaving
him in ignorance. Then—what?”

Bhedrewharbreathinlong,hard ira-
tions, as if the cfort were almost beyo her

war. .
pa“ I must not live with him,” she whbpered, in
a wild, piteous voice. “Before—before this, I
thought it almost a sin to be his wife, but now
—uow—-the crime~oh! God be me and
show me my an; through this more of horror!”

Poor Cecil! cor, desperate lonely, strug-

lingchildl Allthis cruel l ofdreadbear-

ng on her shoulders, crushin her girlish hearh

' her young life, an she so innocent,

111,10 arither blamelew yet such a plaything‘ of
a

She stood a second, ashen ugoniaed.

“I wonder,” she said to herself, in a hoarse,
hollow undertone, “I wonder—can I have been
mistaken! Would not Sydne have sent to me
come tome? Wouldhe not veclaimodmoi
Can it be a mistake—can it be?”

ltwutholntlincof reasoningof which her
town-ainhadhaanccpable; andtheblouo
gal-ope grown-ho more reasonablycondden-

“Yes,”sho aid. slovdy. “I think if Sydney

were alive he would never have left me in ig-

norance. Even if he lost all clew to my where-

abouts, he surely, surely would have come now,

or sent a message, or stayed where I could see

him again. No—” and a ray of pitiful hope

flashed faintly in her eyes—“‘ it must have been .
either a strong resemblance that startled me,

or a hallucination, perhaps not improbable un.

der the circumstances.”

It seemed as if a Merciful Father sent the in-
spiration to her poor tortured soul. For, sure-
ly, although her prayer was so fierce and wild
and confused, He read the eager want for help
and light and guidance.

“ For Mr. Carriscourt’s sake I am bound to
avoid the cruel scandal my refusing to go with.
him as his wife would bring upon im. I dare
not take the responsibility of mining his name,
his hopes, with one sudden blow. I must go
with him as though nothing had happened, and
while in the eyes of the world I will be his wife,
yet, it mustbe between us as though no mar-
ria e ceremony had been said. I must be a
wi e to him in the em tiness of its sacred name
only. And the kind ather who has directed
.me thus far will open still wider the path for
me to tread.”

Her face had lost nearly all its trace of a '-
tation, although it was still pale when s e
touched the bell, and directed the servant to
tell Mr. Carriscourt she was ready to start for
the train.

He came immediately up to her, his face
showin his anxiety on her account, and his
eyes lig iting with gladness as he saw the change
on her countenance.

“ You are better, my darling! You must tell
me all about it when we are on our journey, Ce—
cil. I am afraid I shall have to hurry you,
dear, if we intend to take this train. Can I be
of any assistance to you ?”

She thanked him gently, saying that every—
thing was in entire readiness.

Just then MI‘S. Sayre came in the room, to of-
fer her last services, and then her vail over her
sweet, pale face, Cecil walked down to the car-
id'iage in waiting, and started off on her wed-

in -trip.
or second wedding-tour; and even as her
first had ended in a tragedy, this had begun
with a complication of pitiful misery that sort
darkgst forebodings over her. And—how would
it en

 

CHAPTER XI.
DIAMOND our DIAMOND.

AN hour had passed sian Mr. Pcmbcrton had
dismissed Elma upon Miss Ogden’s r nest that
she might be allowed to seek rest an refresh-
ment in her own room. Mr. Pemberton had re-
tired to his libra and was in consultation with
one of his men 0 business. The servants were
gathered in a gossiping conclave in the house-

eeper’s sitting—room, eagerly discussing the
manner and appearance and
heiress—so that the great, d house was un-
usual] deserted when Cnth rt Pemberton let
him in at the front entrance, and walked
thmfih the brilliantly lighted room.

“ ss Pemberton has arrived, beyond a
doubt,” he thought, “ and I have timed my pur-
posely late arrival well. She has had the all-
im rtant interview with the old entleman,
an retired in state. I wonderwhat mpression
she made on him! I wonder what impression
she will make on me? I rather think a not very
forcible one—es y just at present, for I am
haunted by that gloriom face at the wmdew; .it
makes my veins tingle to think of her.‘ To look
in her eyes must be heaven—but she never has
raised her lovely-lashed lids for me, yet.”

His handsome, sinister faceth at thought
of Cecil May.

“ But—now to the task of winning this fortu-
na youngaeaturewhohusteppedinbe
tween me and the inheritance I have always
looked forwad to with double interest since Syd
mortally offended the old ntleman, and was

prospects of the

cut a in a moment fury and pmsion.
Well—perha it wusswell; certai itisbct— ,
tor for no t he was detected, 1, the
Poor Syd! Wonder
bug while

master-brain, escaped.
what became of him? It’s a danced
since I’ve heard of him.”

 

 

41 2

Dip SHE SIN?

 

 

He turned instantly around, with a look 01
expectant eagerness in his eyes, and went swift-
ly toward her, taking in all her grace and st 1e
and independence 3. one rapid lance, durihg
which his face lighted up, and ' handsome
dark eyes smiled satisfied]

It was indeed Elma. w o. in one of her inde.

dent impulses, had come down-stairs again
after she had partaken of the delicious lunch
Fletcher had ordered up to her room. She had
not changed her dress, and had simply gone
down again, knowing, from what Fletc or said,
that Mr. Pemberton was busily enga ed in the
library, and therefore supposing t e parlor
would be unoccupied, for the ex ress p ose of
looking critically and exultintg y about or to
revel in anticipation of all this an? fortune that

’ had come to er, to gloat over t e prospect of

ssions that Were promised her.

She had gone half-wakacross the room be—
fore being aware of Cuth rt Pemberton’s pres-
ence, and, upon seeing him, halted and bowed
slightl ', her black eyes showing not the faintest
sign 0 embarrassment at this sudden rcncontre
with a stranger.

While he, whom nothing could have embar-
rassed or confusnd, advanced, smiling and cour-
teous.

“My cousin Elma, I am sure! If it is not
tardy, allow me to welcome you to your new
home, and hope you will be as ha py in it and
among us as we—as I—am delig ited to have
you with us.”

He spoke in his soft, mellow voice that held a
peculiar Well-bred deliberateness, especially

ascina rig to women, and that did not fail to
charm th 3 cool critical
inclined her head gracious
hand to his own.

“ I am very led to see you, cousin; of course
on are Mr. uthbert Pemberton, of whom I
ave heard so much, and-rso favorably.”

She parted her red lips in a. bewitching little
smile, and Cuthbert’s fingers closed over her
hand in an impulsive, caressing pressure.

“ I hope the impression you may have of me
will corroborate Fletcher’s friendly report,
cousin Elma. I sincerely wish we may become
ve dear friends.”

r “ here’s not the least doubt of it, on m
part,” she said, lightly, disengaging her han ,
and movin across the room to a specially lux-
urious-leoking divan. “ Come, talk to me, and
tell me all about everything.”

He had watched her graceful, gliding walk

acrossth {909, big  ghrewd 6 es full of
£3385 terest; w en 0 seated rself he

e yresumed his déooté,cavalier atte‘ngisgn,
and followed her, taking u his position dc
foe low mantle-piece, an leaning his elbow
upon it, and watching her as one watches a
face, or manner, for the temperament, the char-

octet-honest

“ I would much rather talk about our-elf,
oouainElma. let motellyou how tiful
you are, what a genuine sensation you are

to make in society, and how extreme-
ly fortunate I consider myself to have the
honor and pleasure of introducin you. Only ”
—and he leaned nearer her and vein deep-
ened into a persuasive tone—“ you must prom-
isomgnottobetoofalcma' tingto theotherfel-
own.

Elma laughed—a melodious little laugh that
thawed her dimples, and the grotty curves of
her mouth, and her pearl -whi teeth.

“Do you really mom t 1 Of course, I ex-
pectto a sensation! Why shouldn’t I?

he niece and heir-em of Mr. Griffith Pember-
ton ought to make a sensation. Besides I am
young; and new to New York society an —yes,

mig t ustas well be frank about it—l know
I am qu to pretty, and I am resolved to have a
glorious time. ” »

A look of new interest deepened in Cuthbert’s

eager eyes. .

‘ She is Just what in first in on told
me”hewasthinking, w e he' nedto her.
“ lie in vain as a peacock, and elated with her

fortune. She does not passes: a remark-
able depth of character, and, am equally sure,
her principles are not what one would suppose
the old wflem’s sister’s child would be. I
take her be shallow and stubborn, willful and
and—not quite the well-bred lady Fletcher
reprcaeptod her. All the same—she shall nar-
J‘ me. ,
y“'l‘heu'ehoue thin ,"Elma resumed, after a
second of silence, an she leaned back against

irl, who smiled and
y and extended her

the shining lemon-satin chair-back, twistin her
diamond cro- slowly, “ and that ie—Mr. em-
ber (mole Griflth I I shall call him

,l. between you I, count. Cum
I’m not going to like him. He is too severe an

-.berton chara

 

stern and aristocratic for me, and he must know
from the very first that 1 am not a baby in his
hands. I have a will and a mind of my own,
and I intend using them to my own satisfac-
tion. And besides——”

‘She hesitated, looking a little distrlistfully at

m.

“ I suppose what I say to you is confidential?
It certame should be, cousin Cuthbert.”

“ It is sacred. You may class me first on
our list of friends—a friend who will devote
imself to you and your interests and your hap-

piness.” I

She rewarded him with a coquettish little
glance and a smile.

“All right, then; I will tell you one reason
why I particularly dislike uncle Griffith: be-
cause he actually doubted whether or not I was
his heiress—actually insisted “""“ ""“ “"den’s
swearing that I was his sister’s child! As if I
were some fraud whom they Were attempting to
palm off on him!” .

A curious little light glittered a moment In
Cuthbert Pemberton s dark eye. _

“I 0 not wonder the suspicion distressed
you. ut you will forgive it,LI am. sure, when
you see how we shall make your hfe a bright
rose-colored dream of hnp iness.” ' _

She had turned her he toward the glowmg

fire and sat gazing meditativel at it, and Cuth- ‘

bert stood watching her, his t oughts running
briskly on: .

“It is strange that I momentarily enter-
tained the same sus icion,” he mused, With
intense, though quie interest. ‘fSomehow,
I had always imagined this cousm of mine
would be. a dainty, ure, high-bred creature,
as different from t is girl as a star from
a gas—jet. Elma is undeniably pretty—yes,
unquestionably handsome and brilliant, but
there is a pronnncfi way With her, a.lack of
maidenly reserve, that grates on one, involun-
tarilv—that reminds one of a paste gem. _ And
yet, it is absurd in the extreme to entertain the
suspicion, for the proof is induhltable. She 18
um

onbtedly my cousin, with a strain of some ;

foreign blood marring the purity of the P -
to istics. But, I’d give my sou if
she was like t SE {Ti-e- acen, angelic creature I
cannot forget, night or day.”

Elma abruptly scattere his roaming reverie.

“And I erfectly hate that man Fletcher.
never saw iim in all my life until afew weeks
ago, but the way he attempted to establish a I
footing of actual friend! famiharity was m- l
ply disgusting. Miss 0g en took to him at once
—1nd I shOuld havo thought they were old
friends ” -

on ESPN‘ C
Cuthbertiistened attentively. l

“Miss Ogden? ’You have mentioned her

twice, cousin Elma. She is your companion, I I

understand.”
“0h, yes—I sup

herself. She is good enough when she wants to

be, but of course she doesn’t presume to dictate

to me. She is the nurse to whom momma left

me in char 0 when she died.” !
Her flippint words jarred on his senses—bold, '

desi ning manthat he was.

“ admire your spiri cousin Elma. Ifore-
see that you and I wil become fast friends.
And now, I will presume to give you just one
word of counsel. May I?”

He smiled persuasively in her curious, hand-
some e es.

“ Ohyof course, you may give me all the ad-
vice you choose—but you know I may not fol-

’

low i cousin Cuthbert!”
“1 ho you wi “he said, witha ve can
mess nhistonet t had reciaely eeflect
ointended it should have— at of riveting the

rl‘s attention, and pleasin her desire for flat-

ry. “I hope you will,” c said, “for your
own sake—for my sake, cousin Elma, for am
sure you could succeed in making me vex—£3:
happy if you chose. It is this—one of Mr. -
berton’s resolutions in to you, is, that
you entertain no lover, no offer of m ,
suchuyouwillbesmptohave,withou
sanction.”

She smiled, and flushed under his bold, land-
Iome 6 es.
“ Wliat nonsense! Come, cousin Cuthbert
take me find s’l’iow me some of the beauties of
m newhome.

in hour or more was spent in looking 
the conservatories, the picture- lery the bi - ;
iardm music-room, and then had. him

good-ni h .
“ Ho gertainly is the Very

W e-
manIovei-uwinmylife. Romans tit
wouldbebcstfcrmtomarryandkoeptho

money in the family—es if it
meat to understan

d. that. He k handsome. .

I W?) orful rarity

that is what she calls ‘;

‘ months

took anydxsce' ”? reh

l well—bred, aristocratic and elegant, and I think?
‘ I shall like him amazingly well. Ard if it.
wasn’t for my promise to horsby—poor Thors—

: by! he was heart-broken when I eft him—I be-
! lieve I’d win my handsome cousin at my own.
good leasure. wonder what they’d all say if

hey ew about Thorsby and I?”

And then Elma allowed Miss Ogden and the
maid to prepare her toilet for the night. ’

CHAPTER XII.
A VILLAIN’s GOOD LUCK. .
TWO days had passed since Mr. Griffith Pem-
, berton and his promising nephew had driven
i past Mrs. Sayre
, coveted glance of Cecil a ’s bewitchingly
i lovely face; two days since lma Pemberton
, had arrived at her uncle’s Fifth avenue man--
! sion, and, notwithstanding the exceedingly good
,‘ terms on which the two cousins had already es-
, tablished themselv it was impossible for
I Cuthbert Pemberton divest his mind and im-
, agination of the fair face which perpetually
l haunted him.

1 Two or three times daily he had made it his
business to drive or walk past the windows of
‘ Cecil’s room, but never had it been his good.

l fortune to catch a glance from her eye.

It was the evening of the second day of El»
ma’s arrival at her new home—the ni ht be-
fore Cecil’s marriage-and after she an Cuth-
bert had given some very fair specimens of par-
lor music, that entleman had, with apparent.
reluctance, torn imself away from her society
—-in reality, glad to go, for her vivacity and
pronom-i? style were not at all in accordance
with his critical taste. So he had pleaded a.
pressing, unfortunate prior engagement, much
to Elma’s boldl expressed dissatisfaction, and.
‘, betaken hiinsel , with a few choice cigars to a.
‘ quiet little room on the upper floor of the onse

where he was quite sure of finding Fletcher—
l and of whom he wanted to ask a special favor.

I _He found Fletcher, enjoyin his after-dinner

Cigar with as much ease and 'reedom as thought
‘ he_ were himself lord of the manor. He re»
, g ived a quiet welcome, and took a big loungm

lug-chair near the o n fire, and the two men
I pre red fm‘ a egg? ' ‘tdlk which, fora

. u .

If its ,
“ I have been waiting sever days or an o _‘

 

l
l

l

I ‘ portunity of seeing you, Mr. Cuthbert, an I

am especially glad you took the notion to come
up to my den to-night. I accidentally stumbled
upon news of your brother Sydney a short
time agp, and supposed you would want to

“ The poor devil! Oh, yes of course—tell me
what you know, Fletcher. Only I hope he isn’t
again from you.”
at bert himself had cometo Fletch»
‘ or for a ver similar purpose.
“ No ” etcher answered, guavely. “8vd~
‘ my will not trouble any one for more money or
anything else again. He has been dead. for-
months.
Not the slightest suspicion of di or re~
t or emot on showed itself on . bert’s
ace. He knocked the little cap of ashes of! his:
cigar, into a convenient neh-mceivor, with. as.
little concern, and as accuratea touch, and: b:
, Fletcher had remarked on the chimne- of .

! May evening.
! ‘ Dead,ishe! Well, I amnot sure it’sthe
1 worst thing that could have happened to him.
1 He must have lived in constant fear of the de-
‘ tection of his crime, poor, unfortunate misera-
l. ble fool. Dead! How do you know, Fl erl’"
“It was in the papers at the time, Ihave~
since learned and by looking at a Herald of the
given date, I’ found a brie account of a mo—
mentary encounter at early daybreak, near the
Grand antral depdt, between -a young man, on
whose person were cards bearing the name of‘
‘Sydney Valence,’—your brother’s first and
middle names, from which he ped the fami-
ly name for reasons that are 0 vlous—and a
sudden act of suicide on his That is all
the (paper say; There was v little attention
' to it. e coroner granting a permit for
' on the attest of several who swore his
death was suicidal, and no one u blame but
himself. This was in December on the 17th.”
“And now it’s May the séth. live
we. And you never heardof it until
recent!

“ Un a week ago, when, having ocmeion to-
requixt: the services of a couple of extra police-
men
to the manufactory, the eonvermflou, during
atom houn’ drive with-the officers on the in.

bed, last winter,
and which interested him in 0mm of the,

'hearit.

' after mone
Because

9 boardin -house to catch the "

 

 

thefundsinu-andtfrcnthebank' "

 

 

 

 

 

 

DID SHE SIN ?

 

‘13

 

romance connected with it-for there was a wo-
man in the case.” ‘

Cuthbert smiled.

“I never suspected Syd of that style of mis-
chief " he‘said, rather contemptuously.

“ She was with him, and they had come in on
the down-train. Your brother had left her in
the ladies’ room, presumably to calla carriage,
and the scrimmage occurred outside. It seems
one of the rty said something to the effect

’ that ‘it won d all come out, now,’ whereupon,
like a flash, S dney put his revolver to his tem-
ple, fired, an fell dead.”

Cuthbert looked thoughtfully into the dying
embers.

“ Syd wasn’t a coward, either. He had some
good reason for shooting himself. \Vell—what
else? What about the girl?”

“Larkins isof the opinion that she was his
'wife. She was a thoroughbred lady in manner,
a pearancc, dress and voice, and, Larkins says,
t is most beautiful girl he ever saw in his life.
She was a rfect blonde—wifh a bewitchin
face as fair a lily and lovely blue ex es, an
bright, waving gold-colored hair. he was
slender and graceful.”

Fletcher had pictured the girl at the window,
and Cuthbert’s eart gave an involuntary throb.
although with the next breath he realized the
absurdity of the vague thought he had enter--
tained.

"' There are hundreds of beautiful blondes in
this city,” he thought, “and men’s estimates
differ.”

“ When Larkins found her still wai tin in the
ladies’ room, some little time after, an asked
her if she was looking for Sydney, and told her
what had happened, she fainted, and the swoon
becoming dangerously prolonged, he had her
sent in an ambulance to the hospital, where she
remained ill with brain fever for weeks and
weeks.”

“Did she divulge nothing during her dew
.‘lirium’r If that police-officer was so interested,
he should have made all possible inquiries.”

“ He did, he says, ” Fletcher returned, quietly.

' “ Among the few words they could understand
during her unintelligible fever raving. were the
names ‘Sydney’ and ‘ Cecil’ and ‘ May,’ and
the theory is that the latter was her own name,
and Cecil rhaps another lover, or a brother.”

“May !" How strange it was that the name
of “May ” would so completely suit the fair
. irl at the window, and, des ite himself, Cuth-

rt Pemberton began to fee an eager interest
in this romance of his dead brother.

. “Well—when she recovered. what?”

“ When she recovered she left the hospital;
that was less than a wee ago, and Larkins con-
femd to bei actually grieved at having com-
plete] lost trace of her.”

Cut bert sneered.

“ Larkins is a superannuated old fossil! What
the deuce has a pretty rl to do with him?”

I“ Until to—day,” Fletc er went on. gravel ig-
noring the impetuous interruption. “An to-
day, while he was going through Madison ave-
nuhxnfar as street, he lanced u at a window
of Sayre’s rivate rding- ease to look
at some lovely p ants blooming on the balcony,
and saw the young girl again.

Cuthbert sprung excitedly from his chair, his
dark eyes flashing eagerly.

“ At Mrs. Sayre’s! The ex uisite girl with
the fair ure face and the hair ike liquid sun-
shine! y the great Olympus. Fletcher, if it
isn’t the most astonishin thing 1 ever heard of!
\Vhy, she’s the ver girl ’ve been raving about;
that I made the ol ntleman drive past to see
——the most dainty, g oriously beautiful creature
I ever saw!” - l

A look of swift displeasure criossed Fletcher’s
face at Cuthbert’s impetuosity.

" Excepting .your lovely cousin, Mr. Cnth-

Bert; Don’t forget your intentions regarding

er.’

Cuth'oert laughed shortly.

“ You‘re suspicious] anxious to have me
marry her, Fletcher! {)ne would almost think
there Was policy at bottom.”

For one swift second, Fletcher’s eyes dropped.
The next, he looked straight in the young fel-
iow’sj'eyes.

“ it es. I’ll admit there is policy at bottom.
I dont want to see the prop! rty leavo the
family. "

I Quthbert flung his half-smoked cigar in the

cuspidore, and began a restless promenade of the
room.

“ I wonder who the deuce she is? Do

II
on
really an pose they were married, Fletcth I

can‘t um rstand h
Syd, but then—4’
Fletcher waited a moment for him to con-

ow suchan angel could fancy

 

tinue, then took up the thread himself, with a
patient indiflerence that was like gall and
wormwood to the other:

“The were married—that I happen to know,
partly rom a letter your brother wrote me last
winter, in which he describes this young 'rl,
saying he hoped to marry her, telling me 0 his
faith and trust that she would effectually re-
claim him. The letter, askincIr for funds laid
before your uncle and rece ved my orders to
pa no attention to it.” '

thbert listened, almost fiercely.

“ What was the postmark?”

“ Marchbrook, a. village up the Hudson.”

“ Marchbrook! Marchbrook! The name
sounds somewhat familiar. I remember, Car-
ris Court is near there, and there is another es-
tate belonging to the May family, after which
the village is named. By Jove, Fletcher!
There's the name for you—that girl is a May!”

“Yes. Ihave learned that during these last
two days, sir. I wrote to Marchbrook to learn
if there had been a. marriage solemnizcd there

tweena Sydney Valence, or a S dney l’em-
berton, and a young girl whom I described.
And the answer came—yes. By the rector of
the parish, on Dec. 16th, and the names of the
parties were Sydney Valence and Cecil May.”

“Great Jupiter, what a brain you possess,
Fletcher! I don’t know whether you are most
to be admired or dreaded.”

Fletcher smiled slightly.

“There is but one link now in this curious

chain to bring us to the present time, and while-
t

I have been workin at e furthest end, Larkins
has made another iscovery here. Miss May—
or properly speaking Mrs. Sydney Valence—is
staying temporarily at Mrs. Sayre’s, and is to
be married to-morrow noon to a Mr. Clyde Car-
riscourt.”

Cuthbert uttered a curse between his li s.
His forehead corrugated into a. frown, and Ere
turned sharply away from the espionage of
Fletcher’s eyes.

_ “Ixfarried! My brother’s widow! M beau-
tiful sister-in-law! That glorious girl w om of
all the world I could love as I could love no
other living creature! What a curious Fate!
And to marr Carriscourt of all men—that
haughty, high- ed aristocrat who, as she Foes
by the name of M58 Cecil May at the boar mg-
house, can know othin of that former mar-
mgiaé ,ztknd from lwliafiflh 0w of Catarilsfigurt he
wonmarryer esuste'bnde'
was what we know she is.” pee

His face slowly took an expression of exalt-
ant malignity as his thoughts ran on:

“ Married, to Carriscourt, who knows me for
—well, perhaps pretty nearly what I’m worth!
Consequently "—and the exultant look in his
eyes deepen into an evil basenesw—“I shall
c ange my tactics somewhat. I still propose to
cultivate the fair Cecil’s acquaintance, but,
hardly as a lover. If my theory, that has come
like an inspiration, is correct, Carriscourt’s love-
1y bride has deceived him, and keeps her own
counsel—do riding, of course, upon her belief
that her first husband is dead. Now—Carrier
court is a rich man, and able to supply his wife
with a magnificent allowance. I aminperp‘etu-
11 need of the same desirable medicine. I am a
counterpart of my dead brother—why not trade
on that fact, and—raise the needful by showing
myself to my charming siSter-in-law, and then
purchase her secret on m own terms?”

Hisface was alight wrth satanic triumphas
be mentally resolved to ursue that bent of
thought evolved from his iabolical brain.

The very next day—the do. of Cecil’s second
marriage, he put his Inn in operation, with
the success that atten s Satan’s own.

“She saw me, she recognized me!” he told
himself, exultantly, as he went away from op-
posite Mrs. Sayre’s house, and from the cur-
tained window of his carriage watched the wed-
ding coach leave the door. “She is playing
straight into my hands! I saw the look of fear
and horror in her blue eyes when she saw me,
and I have fully convinced her that her first
husband is yet alive! I saw'her reel and sud-
dcnly drop—of course in a. swoon. Evidently
she has never heard of Syd’s twin-brother, Iind
she never need. Enjoy your wedding tour as
Well as you can, fair Cecil—for, after you ar-
rive home~”

And his dark face glowed with the merciless
wickedness of his heart, as he leaned back
against the cushions of the carriage.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
80 NEAR, AND YET so FAR.
Tm: short drive to the depot was passed in al-

 

 

most rfect silence b Cecil, who sat back
again the cushions wit her vail closely con-
cealin the expression of her face.

Mr. arriscourt, with a delicacy and thought-
fulness so characteristic of him, did not press
herto converse, even on the most trivial sub-
?ects, but chatted péeasantly and freely on s-
hng topics that required but few answers In

er.

Upon the train, bound to Niagara, where they
were to make their first stop, Mr. Carriscourt
secured an entire compartment in a palace car,
where he left undone no effort that could con-
duce to Cecil‘s comfort. He su plied her with
books, and the daily pa rs, am the magazines
which the train-boy died. He arranged her
a cose seat with head~rest and footstool in the
shade( corner, and then seated himself op site,
and looked at her while she read, her ovelv
face bearing traces of her recent struggle with
fate.

After a. while, he softly laid his hand on the
open magazine she was examining, and Cecil
looked u i to meet his tender, passionful eyes.

“You ave not yet said one word to me, my
darling, beyond a few syllables of everydayr
conversation. I am yearning to hear you speak 4
as my precious wife should speak to me. I want
to to 1 you how dearly I love 3 ou, and how it is
henceforth the business of my life to make you.
happy. My darling, lay, down your book and
let me look in your sweet eyes.”

His grand, noble face was full of affectionate
yearning over her, and Cecil gave a little in-
voluntary gasp of pain, and her face whitened
with agitation as she tremblineg lifted her vail
—revealing all the pitiful misery, all the sharp
distress which she could not longer restrain from.
his loving espionage.

_ He straightened instantly into eager attention
of attitude his face'betraying his astonishment
at sight of ers. .

“ Cecil! What have you been doing with
yourself i What does this mean?”

His voice was pained and rave, and it made
her poor crushed heart ' ', and her mouth
quiver with distress.

Then she suddenly covered her cold, nerveless
hands over her face, and he saw the desperalo
effort all over her slender frame, to keep from.
yielding to the storm of 'onate tears that
threatened to overwhelm er.

She dared not speak; she felt she had no con-
trol over her voice; and so he waited vainly a
moment for her answer, before he spoke again.

“My darling, tell me what is the matter with

cu? Do you feel ill again? Do you feel the
aintness you had this noon coming again!

Speak, Cecil; pu alarm me.”

She shook er h in a pitiful little dumb
dissent, and reached on her hand to detain him
as he sprung from his seat.

“ No—no ’ she whispered, with an effort. “I
am not sick; do not be so terrified, Mr. Car-ris-
court. Wait—a minute.” Hervoice, constrained
though it was, reassured him, and he sat down
again, watching her closely, his face full of
tenderest solicitude and jealous alarm.

Cecil leaned her head back a ainst the cush.
ions again, in a weary, dejectefi attitude that
sent a vague thrill of concern through him.

What could it mean? What was it that ailed
Cecil, on this her weddin day! Just after the
ceremony she had fain and now, what did
this pained, blanched face, with its pallid, quiv-
erin;r lips, its agonizcd eyes mean?

What could it portend? He asked himself the
question only once, with a. thrill of dismay,
and then, banished it from his mind as an.
worthy attention. ‘

“It can mean but one thing,” he assured him.
self, positively. “ Cecil is in a. state of nervous
depression, and that comes from physical weak.
ness. She has not full recovered from the ill-
ness she tells me she en ured; she is excited un-
duly, as is natural under the circumstances, and'
this is the result. My poor little girl. What
care I shall take of her, now thatshe has given
herself to me.”

Those were his thoughts, as he rapidly un-
locked Cecil’s travelin satchel and found the
little crystal and go! smelling bottle he had
been told by Mrs. Sa me was there, for any
possible emergency. 9 removed the tiny stop-

r and held it for her to scent, and then chafed
ligr cold hands tenderl and wrapped her shawl
about her. for, despite the leveliness and warm“:
of the May afternoon, Cecil was chilly with
mzveifilhessccepted h’ d r to many at-

n e a is e rca wo

tentions, with an increasing out’wardcalmne.

that effectually reassured him, while within the

woe was keener than ever because of thisnei'
, proof of his goodness and tenderness.

 

 

  

 

14

DID SHE ' SIN ?

 

 

 

For half an hour or more she lay with her
head against the cushions, her white eyelids
drooped, scarcely daring to move, lest the 31' ht
Control she had secured over'herself should give
wav again.

. en, as the appalling uncertainty, the heart-
sickening realization of her position came fresh—
1 over her, Cecil uttered a little sighing moan
she vainly tried to stifle.

Mr. Carriscourt’s face shadowed again, not
with alarm, this time, but with a slow, sorrow-
ing gravity of pain.

‘(Jecih you must tell me what this means. It
is not physical distress your are suii'erin : of
that I am convinced. W iatevcr the troul) e is,
share it with me, dear. I am correct, am I not,
that your grief is mental ?”

She whispered “ yes,” in a low, almost inaudi-
ble murmur.

“ And I may help you bear it, dearest?”

She shook her head, and he noticml the pitiful
restless motion of her hands. His eyes darkeuet
with distress.

“I think I already know the cause of your
distress, Cecil. I will spare you the evident
pain of telling me that—you regret having given
yourself to me, to be my wife. ’ Ho command-
ed his voice ierfectly, but there was an anguish
in the brie words that cut Cecil to the very
soul.

And yet—ho had spared her the telling!

She looked at him, a touching, appealing ex-
pression in her sad blue eyes.

“It has been a. mistake, Mr. Carriscourt. I—
did not know—until—”

The desperate confession was actually trem-
bling on her lips—the confession which would
at once have corrected all the mistaken ideas
that were doomed to cause them both such suf-
fering in the coming days.

But—she hesitated, in fear and dismay, and
Mr. Carriscourt, entirely misconstruing‘ the
broken sentence, took it up and finished it ac-
cordingto his own im ression.

“ I see,” he said, wit a gentle, itying gravit
that nobly concealed the crue anguish wit
which eac of her halting words had hurt him
“my poor child, 1 perfectly understand it all
now. I over-persuaded ou, thinking such love
as I could give yo coul not fail in com elling
love in return, an it was not until the irrevo-
cable words were said, not until you actually
realized you were married to me, that on dis—
00' a. on what a pitiful mistake you b made.”

She dared not lift her eyes to his, or she would
have seen a deeper sorrow and unspoken rav-
ity of suffering there than she would ave
thought possible. As it was, every one of his
pityingly, infinitely tender words, each one of
which was brimmingwith heart-sick disappoint-
ment, stabbed her to the soul, that she thus had
to wound such a. spirit as this. She did not an-
swer, but sat gazing wistfully through the win-

ow.
“M rllttle r1 "he went on “I do not
wondgrgttoyour disges’s It must bé a terrible

situation for a woman to find herself in—only you
told me, you assured me, Cecil,” and his voice
thrillgd eagerly, “that you cared for no other
man.

“ I do not—oh, indeed I do not!” she whisper-
ed, eagerly as he had put the words.

‘Still you feel you have done that which
causes you re et in marryingme, Cecil. Cecill”
and shefelt t e migh. throb in his low, intense
tones, “ do you wish to be free again? Do you
wish me to ve you your freedom?”

'A little iteous cry came from her li , more
91 uent han any words Cecil con (1 have
spo en. Mr. Carriscourt was astonished. What
was the mystery of Cecil’s conduct? He out the
question to her plainly.

“ Cecil what is the meaning of all thisl—for
that you have some reason for this unaccount-
able duct is positive. My dear little girl,
tell all about it—no matter how hard vou
may hit me.”

9 turned impetuously toward him the
tears rushing to her eyes.

“I cannot, Mr. Carriscourt, I cannot! I feel
so strangely—I am so unworth of such perfect
love as on give me—I do not are acce t it—it
was a ‘so sudden—eo—so unexpec ——and I
_must have more time to—to make up my mind
--to-—to decide—oh, Mr. Carriscourt, I dare not
speak of it—please wait a little while!”

6 was incoherent, and she knew she must
be. He listened patiently, tryin to, put her
pitiful little protest into a ooheren story.

“You uzzle me, Cecil, I will admit that
much. on told me frankly you feared you
did not love me well enough to in me,
and dear, I to accept the frlen ly re-
gard you con eased you entertained for me.

in the sweet, sure hope that the love I desired
would come. Now—you tell me you re cut our
marriage even on those perfectly un erstood
terms, Cecil! Something. has occurred to bring
about this state of affairs. You fainted just

anything to do with the cause of this condition
of affairs?”

He was looking straight in her eyes. command-
ing her attention by his earnest, resolute man—
her.
fear.

“ I—cannot tell you.”

“ You cannot tell me?”

She nodded dumbly.

“Then, it is apparent that something has
happened of which I am not to be the con-
fidant. That must be 'ust as you lease, Cecil,
for 1 shall not demam your confit once. Then
-—what renmins to be done? You are my wife,
and I cannot give you our freedom. The
scandal would be more t um I could well en—
endure. \Vhat shall I do, Cecil? You cannot
leave me—I would not let on go out all alone
in the world again, even i you wished.”

His voice suddenly changed from its quiet
sternness into tender compassion.

“I am not deserving of such devotion,” she
said, brokenl . “011, Mr. Carriscourt, what
must I say“!l If—if—I might go with you—just
the same—to everybody—but ourselves.”

She could not utter the words that were the
death-warrant to Clyde Carriscourt’s happi-
ness. And he, with his rand face pale and
grave, his eyes showing Ihe keen distress he
was experiencing, supplied the words himself.

“ I understand,” he said, gently. “The world
must never know of this worm in the bud of our
life. To the world, society and our friends we
owe the duty of concealing the misfortune that
has fallen u )on us; to them you will be what

ou will not to me—my wife. I understand,
ccil; it shall be—” and he suddenly hesitated,
looking at her with all his great ove, all his
great sorrow in his eyes, and drawing a lon
reath, with stem, compressed lips—‘ it she.
be as you suggest—until the time comes when
yeou can come to me and say you are read to
my wife in truth as well as name. Till t en,
Cecil, look upon me gsdyour best, nearest earth-
ly friend, your devo brother.”

The tears dropped slowly of! Cecil’s lashes.

“If I could only tell you !” she burst forth,
in a little agonized im ulse then adding, dreari-
lsy and hopelessly, “ at I cannot, I cannot!

omething has happened but it is only I who
It is on] I who ought

should carry the secret.
shall suffer!

to suffer, and to my dying day
But I cannot tell you i”

The train swept on, and this fated pairsat
there, busy with their distressful thouilzgs, a
gainful silence fallen between them, bro y

arriscourt:

“ It seems advisable for us to alter our plans
somewhat, Cecil. I think it preferable that, in-
stead of going to Niagara and Montreal, as we
intended, we go directly home to Carri: Court,
which we wil reach in twenty minutes or so.”

She gave him a grateful little smile.

“It would be best.”

And so, they began the new life.

 

CHAPTER XIV ,
BWINNING THE NEW LIFE.

CARnIs Coun'r, although not in the la attire
of lad welcome in which it would ave been
h the master and his bride returned at the a
pointed time, was still lookin as it alwaysdi ,
magnificent and grand, an as the carriage
for which Mr. Carriscourt had telegra bed at
the station ahead, rolled up through t 9 wide-
open gates and into the spacious grounds, it was
a beautifi si ht to see.

The May a ternoon was at its zenith, and a
flood of sunshine lay on the well-trimmed lawn,
where the grass was vivid as emeralds. The
stately old trees were just bursting into leafage,
{ and swayed their branches in the light westerly
‘brceze. Back of the mansion, clouds of snowy
and roseate blossnms were on the fruit trees of
lthc immense orchards for which Carris Court
1 was famous, while reaching far and wide were
i the superny cultivated acres of vegetable gar-
‘ den, pineries, nurseries, gm Vines.

It was a fair home, at sig t of which Cecil’s
1 heart gave a. thrilling throb of delight despite
.the heaviness of her spirits, and her husband
i saw the interested look she gave ~ everything as
i the carriage rolled smoothly along the beau iful
, wide drive, on either side of which were scores
10f wide-s readin trees which would afford an
, avenue 0 oxquimtc coolness and shade in the
lsultry summer weather. On one side was the

 

She shrunk away from him in a panic of -

after the ceremony.‘ Had that sudden illness 1

l lakelet, its blue bosom rippling and shining un-
l der the sunshine; on the other a gently descend-

; ing slope, green and velvety, terminating in ufi

1 deer park, where the graceful creatures were
lazily browsing. Through glimpses in the bud-
ding shrubbery and from turns in the road, Ce-

! cilcau ht sightof lovely summer-houses,stately
. fountains, beautiful rustic seats in spots that

 

commanded vistas, and an airy elevated Chi-
nese pagoda, that served for a music stand upon
occasions of festivity.

It was all perfect. It was a home upon which

cultivated taste and unlimited means had left ,

their im )I‘OSSIODS everywhere—a home to which
a bride s ould have been so proud, so pleased to
come.

And, des ite the trouble that had fallen upon
them, Ceci could not keep the sparkle of proud
delight from shining in her blue 9 '68.

“It is more beautiful than I reamed any—
thing earthly could be,” she said, in a little
burst of admiration that went very far toward
rall iug Mr. Carriscourt’s depressed spirits.

“ t is all yours, Cecil. If devotion and atten»
tion to your welfare can make you happy here,
you shall be so.”

A few minutes’ longer ride brought them to
the grand entrance to Carris Court, and with
the sunshine glittering on the dozens of plate-
glass windows, the gay show of striped awnings
and the rich luster of silken curtains inside, the
ex uisite s mmetr of the huge buildiu r with
its way an oriel wmdows, its towers, an (:him--
neys, its piazzas and marble-paved courts, Cecil
thought that it wasa veritable palace transport—
ed from fairyland.

The promise of Carrie Court as given from the
outside was more than fulfilled within. The
rooms were numerous, as cious and luxuriously
fitted up. There were a l the appliances of art
and wealth, and clingin ' to everything was
that air of refinement an naturalness and ele-
gance that is so often missing in decorations and
adornments.

Mr. Carriscourt’s unexpected arrival had
found everythin just as a well - regulated
household should found, and in the time that
intervened between the receipt of the telegram
ordering the carriage to the depOt, and the ar—
rival of the bridal pair, Mrs. Siddons, the house-
keeper, had arranged an elegant lunch.

As the cal-rig drove up to the door, Mrs.
Siddons and B , the butler, were in respect-
ful readiness to receive their young mistress,
and Rollins, the rter, flung the massive door
open with a. my obeisance to welcome her.

In the magnificent hall—c. spacious square
a artment opened to the dome of Carris Court,
tfirwgh which the sunshine fell thro h tinted

lass that made brilliant shadows on c tease-
ated marble floor—Mr. Can-incoth stopped a
moment to introduce Cecil to Mrs. Siddons and
Blake and to so a pleasant word to them.

Then, when a 0 had received their respectful I

courtesies and stately words of welcome and
con atulation, young Mrs. Carriecourt was
con: ucted by her husband into a delightful lit-
tle reception-room o nin from the main hall
—a gem ofa room, ut w ose beauties seemed
lcilstpn Cecil, who sunk wearin in the nearest
c air.

“ You are tired, Cecil; you had better retire
to your own room, and seek rest and quiet. If
you prefer, I will ring for Mrs. Siddons to show
you our a rtments, but as it is a pleasure to
whic I h been looking veryea erly forward,
I would like to be permitted to s ow you there
in self.”

or pale cheeks flushed slightly under his eyes,
that were full of cold bitterness of disa point-
ment, but onl for one brief second; t on he
held out his and, and led her through the
grand, majestic hall again, chatting pleasantly,
and inting out specially interesting or beauti-
MHO 'gfimh 11 grand sta' th t

o tewayupte . ircase, a
besides being am 1; wide or three or four per-
sons to comfort; ly walk abreast, aflorded
equally ample accommodation at both ends of
each stair for the rare potted palms and fern that
thus double lined the entire flight, while the
center of the stairs was covered with mossy
velvet carpet.

Cecil walked silently beside him, seeing all
the luxury and beauty to which he had brought
her, and asking herself, over and over, wh it
was that she could not have been left alone y a
merciless Fate, and have spent her contented
quiet life in this fairy home or lover’s love had
given er.

“This suit is to be devoted entirely toyour
private use, Cecil,” he said. opening a door-at

he end of a lon wing on the western side or
the building. “ f course I had intended—dif-

V I” ' n” A  I like? i 

 

‘M“‘ul..m.‘.~\wx.; .

 

 

a

handout. ‘

 

 

DID SHE SIN ?

’15

 

 

ferently, but you will find it very convenient for
you own separate use.”

Cecil crossed the threshold as he spoke, and a
little involuntary cry of rapturous admiration
escaped her lips as her eyes kindled at the
beauty of the four apartments all spacious,
lofty, sunshiny, icturesque. I‘rom the en-
trance, she could ook through the entire suit,
the rear room of which was the sleeping :11er
ment. the next the bath-room, the third the
dressing-room. and the fourth in which she
stood, her boudoir. All were furnished en suite.
the prevailing tint a dainty cream. reliev
with dashes of luscious crimson and shining
silver.

There was absolutely nothing lacking that
could have been imagined. Every luxury that
a connoisseur could have selected was there,
every dainty elegance, everv extravagant lux-
my. beauty in every form of statuary. flowers,
paintings, laces, deep s ringy couches, soft
snowy rugs, rare crysta ornaments—not 'an
elegance missing which the most covetous llll-
agination could desire. . _

I She turned to Mr. Carriscourt with quivering
111:8 and humid eyes:

“ Oh, how can I thank youl
and I am not worthy of it.” .

Ho utterly ignored her last half-whispered
sentence. '.

“I thought you would be satisfied. See this,
Cecil—this is your own private garden. Ihad
it made hopin you won (1 find many hours of
delight in it. he flowers are.thriv1ng finely,
and under Hyssop’s care it Will be a perfect
bower shortly. See. Cecil.”

He ointed to a lovely, partly shaded plot of
ground), just beneath the windovvs of her rooms.
that was terraced in wide parterres, and inclosed
with a thick shrubbery, just beginning to blos-
som. in the soft May weather.

“ You can see the turrets of our old home,
you see, Cecil, from our win ows—that will,
of course, be a ver p easant source of contem-

lation for you. ad here, leading to the gar-
den and terraces below is the private flight of
stairs which communicates wit no other part
of the house. The key is always on the inside,
and you can let yourself in and out at your
pleasure.” .

He was so solicitous for her welfare and her
comfort and happiness, and somehow Cecil felt
as if she were an intruder among all this beauty
he had arranged for her.

“I thank you,” she said, simply; it was all she
could say, and then, be escorted her to a large
easy-chair in the bay window that commanded
sue a glorious view of lawn and park, just as
Mrs. Siddons tapped on the door, and on being
hidden, entered, followed by a couple of ser-
vants bearing lunch, which was deft ', rapidly

“I will attendto Mrs. Carrisconrt myself,
Mrs. Siddons,” Mr. Carriscourt said, pleasantly,
and the housekeeper withdrew, leaving them to
partake of the tcfc-d-téte lunch.

He was pleasant, friendly in his manner, cour-
teens and attentive. Cecil was ve and charm-
ing in her gracious reserve; on y once, when she
had‘been taking_a long, w’stful look at him, as
he sat, slowl stirring his tea his gaze fixed far
outside on he fair scene—once, Cecil almost
cried aloud,a§ she saw the change that had
come over his handsome face in these few
little hours. Helooked so much older, and so
grave, so unspeakany troubled. All the glad

ight was gone from his eyes, all the debonnaire
cheeriness from his face, and—it was her work,
her blighting work.

She sat looking at him, all her heart in her
eyes, and as if he elt m_ etically, the power of
her lance, he turned his ead towqd her, meet,
high er intense, pitying eyes.

e flushed, painful y, and dropped her lids,
but he made no remark.

After lunch was partaken, he excused him-
self, bidding Cecil take an hour’s rest, and
telling her he would send Mrs. Siddons up
with the new maid he had 0110561} for her. 80
that her young mistress might be m reedinem
With her toilet when she arose to dress for the

ht o’clock dinner. .
. hen, when ‘he had left her, CeCil walked
31°,le through the luxurious rooms, her pure,
daint face full of deepest pit and hopelessness.

“ ow will it end? Oh, if only were sure-

sure—how can I learmwhether it was a mistake,
01' a terrible truth i” .
n then, with a lad little exclamation
Cectil's old friend ancfhgiaid Kigyt,x trim on
Dre 3'; came thr h rooms er-

“0h, Mug 08311511” Ca ' ourt, I'meanl”

And while Cecil greeted thmung girl kind-

It is so perfect—

15, her heart was full of thankfulness that was
a pain at her husband’s kindness.

 

She anewed Kitty to arrange the couch for a
short siesta. Later, she arose, bathed and
dressed, ready for the elaborate dinner that was
always served at Carris Court.

After dinner she and Mr. Carriscourt went
into one of the rawing-rooms, where he showed
her many of its marvelous attractions. She
played and sung for him while he leaned back in
a shadowy corner, watching her in all her love-
ly girlish beauty and grace, that was so en
hanced by the pale blue silk nrincesse dress she ,

wore—one of the many elegant toilets she had ;
found in her wardro another proof of his ,
k'nid thoughtfulness and delicacy, and thinking
how pitifully life was beginning for them.

As it struck eleven, Cecil arose to retire. Mr.
Oarriscourt offered her his arm, and escorted ,
her through the quiet, silent halls to the door of ‘;
her room, and there, turned toward her with a l
grave face.

“Good-night, Cecil. My duty ends here. Be-
fore I leave you 1 will give you this—it locks the
door of communication between your apart-
ments and those which, to avnid gossip among :
the servants, I have been obliged to take for my 1
own. The door is locked, Cecil: this is the on] 7
key in the house that will unlock that door. )1
givo it to you.” .

She took the key with her hand'trembling,
her lovely face paling at thought of the sorrow
she had brought upon this noble, generous man.
She bowed, not daring to trust herself to speak,
and retired to her room. while Mr. Carriscourt
returned to the library below.

And that was the way life began at Carris
Court for them.

Add between the beginning and the end—if
either had but foreseen the misery of the way!

!

 

 

CHAPTER XV.
m MAN THAT was mtsmn.

Tm: addition to the Pemberton household of
Elma Pemberton was certainly marked by the
novelty of several new departures from the
hitherto bachelor character of the family.

Mr. Griffith Pemberton spent a portion of
every evening in the patlor, listening to Elma
plag and sing, which she did very creditany
an With a perfect consciousness of her own
abilit that more than once amused and puzzled
Mr. emberton.

“You are not in the least like your mother,”
he said to her. “My sister Genevieve was re-
served and shy almost to coldness, and yet she
had a heart warm and loving as ever beat.
You certainly are not like her in some re-
s >cts.”

:Ehua had gone on softly striking chords while
as ke.

“l’odare say I am like mgfather,” she said,

gareleissly, when Mr. Pember n interrupted her
erce :

“ \l 6 never mention that rson within these
walls, either directly or in ' ectly', remember
that, Elma.”

A little gust of temper shone in her black
By and she arose from the piano-stool angrily.

“ am sure that no ODu has the right to for—
bid me speaking of "iy own—”

She involuntaril “tapped on the threshold of
the offensive wor , for Mr. Pemberton’s face
was white with scarcel -restrained passion that
actually terrified the gK‘I.

“It is not necessary to‘discuss the subject.
You understand my command, you have only
to obey it.”

And after that Elma was a little particular
whatuse she made of her independent whims
before her uncle although in her heart she re-
belled, and ha because she feared him.

That same evening, while Elma and ‘Mr.
Pemberton and Cuthbert were together in the
parlors, Hiram Fletcher and Miss Ogden were
discussing the girl, in Miss Ogdens sittin -
room, a pleasant, comfortable :1pr ,
which, with a bedroom, had been asmgned to
her s ial use by the housekeeper.

“ will never do for Elma to act as she

 

does,” Fletcher was saying, almost severely,
and Miss Ogden sat with cold, impassive face
listening. “ I have already explained, over and
over again, how exceedingly im ortant it is i
that she should seek to please an attract Mr. ;
Pemberfon by sweetness and obedience, rather
than 89 persistently demand her own way, and
give him such sharp answers. It doesn’t

well for the way on have brought her up.’ '

Miss Ogden’s ow cheeks flushed.

“ How could you know all the trouble she has
given me? You were never with—I mean Elma :
is headstrong and willful and from her baby- i
hood shehasbeen so. I ve devoted m lifef
to her. 'I.have sacrificed—you knew afi the
sweet privileges l have sacrificed—and now. ;

 

this very day, she became angry with me be-

cause I reproved her for expressing her aversion

to ou, and she threatened fo—discharge me!”

‘ letcher’s pale eyes flashed, then a still more

impassive lock settled on his shrewd face.
“That is part of what was to be expected.

So she has an aversion for me, has she, and

threatens to dischn‘ge you? IVell—J’ and a lit-

tle, slow, cold smile crept to his thin li s, and
he caressed his long, carefully-trimm whis-
kers, in a meditative sort of way while Miss
Ogden watched him anxiously—“I cannot see
that there remains anything for either you or
I but to acce t the young heiress’s opinion and
treatment. ut—this one thin must be under—
stOod, and that is, that Elma s all change her
treatment of her uncle. I happen to know that
he is not as well pleased as he expected to be,
and, if she continues to make an unfavorable
impression upon him, it would be just like him
to alter all his plans, and refuse to make her his
heiress ”

“In such a case, Mr. Cuthbert Pemherton
would be the heir?”

“Undoubtedly. And therefore you will ap-

reciate wth I wish further to speak of. H113
lma left any lover behind her?”

Miss Ogden looked confused for one brief min-
ute. Her face paled before this man of whom
she evidently was in some fear.

“ Elma has never entertained an idea of love
or marriage,” she said, hastily. “She has no
affection in her heart for any one. She is not
capable of love or even ardent friendship. I am
sorry to say it, but you must already have seen
she cares for no one besides herself. No, there
never was a lover. Elma is ambitious, and I
dare say would be glad to make a grand mar-
riage, and certainly there was no one in Flor-
ence to attract her.”

“Then—she must be distinctly told that a

rand marria e is possible. She must marry

uthbert Pem rton. He is disposed to rather
admire her, and has frankly told me he would
marry her for her money, if for nothing else.
You see how it will be? In case—anything
happens—such a marriage ' be extremely
convenient.”

His shrewd pale eyes glittered excitedly as he
ex lained himself in a low, ed tone; and
Miss Ogden listened intently.

“Yes,” she almost whispered, “Elma must
marry him.”

Fletcher arose to %, bidding her an indifler-
ent good-evening. e went quickly 13hr h
the diml ~1ighted, silent corridor, until 6
reached t e main hall, and then slackened his
walk looking about him with keen, gloating in-

te in his eyes. _
a“ It will be a inheritance,” he thou ht,
jubilantly. “A rincess might be glad to are

'v well as Elma the o portunity of doing.
There are riches unlimited? and all that riches
can command. Thereis ition that cannot be
ta.an from her—as Cuth rt Pemberton’s wife.
She will reign here, and be respected and luppy
—she will occupy just such a. position as I would
like to occupy were I a woman. But—” and his
pale eyes gleamed red] as he heard the girlish
sound of her laughter eating up from the par-
lors—“since it is not possible, in the course of
human evmts, that I should ever possess a tithe
of a title to the Pemberton estate, or the Pem-
berton ition, or the Pemberton name—the
next best thin is that-c-C. uthbert Pemherton
should marry— is cousin Elma!”

And with a curious little mirthless laugh he
entered the hall leadingnto Mr. Pember’wn’s
office, where, a moment fore, Mr. Pemberton
himself had conic directly from the lor. ,

His face was clouded and gloomy, and in his
blue e es were traces of the smothered he
had fe t a little while before upon exhibition of
Elma’s insolent inde ndence.

He answered Fletc er’s light tap preparatory
to his entrance.

“Come in! I have just left the young people
togfither in the parlor. Fletcher ”—and he
sigI e’d heavily—‘ I am disappointed in that
gir

Fletcher’s face twitched under cover of the
hand he sudden] put before it.

“Disappoin , sir? I am dee ly grieved to
hear you express yourself so. S e is certain]
33y pretty and elegant and well educa ,

“Yes yes, pretty and elegant and in a mee-

“ sure we 1 enough book-learned,”  Pemberton

interrupted, impatiently pulling at his frosty
mustache. “But it isa prettinem that is not
soul beauty and an elegance that comes rather
from the set rules of some fashionable finishing
institute for young ladies than the true com-r
tesy that arises from a refined nature. Y

Fletcher. I am disappointed—end yet, when

 

 

 

r

   

l

i776

DID SHE SIN"?

 

 

consider that her father was just such a bold,
dashing, superflcialnperaon, I ought not to be
disappointed so kee y.” ,

He walked slowly up and down the room, his
eyes bent thoughtfully on the floor. ’

“I have been cross-ailestioning her,” he re-
sumed, gloomily, “and have discovered that
she has a soul no higher than delight in pretty
dresses and show and gayety. She cannot
converse intelligently on art or literature, al-
thou h she has all the pular trashy novels of
the ay b heart. S e o nly confesses she
never stu ies, declaring s 9 has finished her
education. She says she never sews, or makes
charity visits, or engages herself in any occn a-
tion but that of enjoying herself selfish y.
There is ver , very ittle of the Pemberton
blood in her ’ and be contracted his brow in dis-
pleasure. . ‘ And yet—she is my niece,” he add-

ed homily

z‘gifes, r. Pemberton, she is your own sis—
ter’s child; nothing can alter that fact. If, as
you think, she has inherited more of the Fair—
more of her father’s traits than her mother’s, I
am sure you cannot blame the girl for it. You
can educate her and elevate her to yourrown
standard, and make her just what you wish.”

He was looking almost anxiously at Mr. Pem-
berton’s cold, stern face, that was momentarily
growing more stern and cold.

“I am not sure of that,” he returned, bitter-
ly. “She is willful and—insolcnt, yes, actually
msoleut, Fletcher. Less than an hour ago she
answered me saucily and defiantly—and I as
sure you, Fletcher. she is the only woman who
ever presumed to set me at defiance, and "—and
his eyes rained menacing lightning—“ she must
not attempt it again.”

Fletcher’s thin lips compressed themselves as
he listened, an enraged light gleaming in his
pale eyes.

“I will see that she does not oflend ain, sir.
I will speak to Miss Ogden, and Miss i’lma will
doubtless understand her thoughtless error as
she should understand it.”

Mr. Pemberton’s lips curled beneath his droop-
ing white mustache that he still pulled almost
vindictivelg. ,

“In con dence, Fletcher—as I have man a
time spoken to on before—I am convinced that
I never shall able to take that girlto in
heart as I had hoped so man years to do. I
dare say I have placed my ide too high, which
is one reason of my keen disappointment in her.
But—there is somethin about her that, from
the bottom of my son I wish was'different—
something that dissatisfles me almost to a dis-
like, almost to a repulsion. Strange, too, that
in such a short time' she should leave such an un-
fortunate impression upon me.”

He knithis brows as he walked and talked,
and Fletcher’s own face was unusual] impas-
sive and inscrutable as he followed 'h with
watchful eyes. .

“ I am more than ever determined that Cuth-
bert Pemberton shall marry her,” he told him-
self. “ They shall all play into my hands, at my

ood pleasure. The object for which I have

ved for eighteen years, worked, saved and
schemed, is approac ing its crisis. Fate itself
isin league w1th me—and even were it not, I
would defy it to thwart me i”

CHAPT R XVI.
rscs race.

 

LIFE at Carrie Court went on jmt as it had be-
gun. The beautiful 3 ring days came and went
when the fair estate ay bathed in sunshine an
was radiant with life and loveliness. The birds
caroled among the blossoms, that showered their ,
fragrant snow to give place to the lad young
leaves. The flowers b oomed, and ccil’s own‘
private garden. shut in by the tall budding syr- i
inga bushes Hyssop had transplanted daily i
grew to a most lovely spot where Cecil spent‘
much of her time.

But—all the ecstasy of life, all the revelry of ‘
glladness was without the walls of Carrie Court.

0 joy or happiness found its way within to
the fated two who were each going their a
pointed way, so severed, yet so fatefully unite . i

Yet, there was no sharp, piercing misery to
endure. It was rather a quiet accéptance of the :
trouble that had come—es ially to Mr. Can,
riscourt, who, while he fai ed to )enctrate the.
secret of Cecil’s actions, did not lose his hope
that soon it would be righted. 3

The had been married just a month, and
Cecil ,in that little while. come to know and
to love every inch of ground at- Carris Court. ,
During those few wecksshe had become thor- }
oughly familiarized with her new home, and,
ha it not been for the abyss between them, she
would have been perfectly happy,

The arran ement which Cecil had made be-
tween hersel and Mr. Carriscourt remained the
same. No brother could have been more do-
voted than Mr. Carriscourt was to her; indeed,
a brother would have been more affectionately
demonstrative. He never kissed her—she often .
thought of it with bitter intentness—he never
had issed her since the wedding ceremony had
been said.

He always conducted her to her apartments ‘
with the same grave courtesy, never visiting
her rooms, unless, as Cecil sometimes did, she
invited him to take lunch in her boudoir.

He never annoyed her by reference to their
strangely divide life, and was in all things "
just exactly what Cecil wished him to be.

But he never forgot for one moment the dull
heartache be ex erienced, although Cecil failed
to read any suc signs. He never for ot the
pitiful fact that the woman he loved ha of her
own accord preferred to erect this barrier be
tween thcm. ‘

So their life went on, not unpleasantly, and
certainly marked by many enjoymcnts which
Cecil felt not the slightest compunction to re-
Ceive and give. They had their daily drives
and walks. They received their guests, entcr- f
taining elegantly. They wrformcd their social
duties promptly, and servants and guests united
in emphatically regarding them as a model

air, so thoroughly, devoicdly, unosicntatious-

y and undemonstratively attached ‘to each
other.

This es ecial day was in early June, one of
that royal month‘s most royal days, and dcs am
the beauty of the summer Weather Cccil ad
been unusually weary and dejected all day.

In the morning she had driven Mr. Carris-
court over to the depi‘it in her haEton, making
a long dt‘tour home, retuming in time for
lunch. In the afternoon she had studied her
German awhile, in which she was rapidly per-
fectin herself. Then she had devoted an hour
to her practice on one of Beethoven’s sofiatas,
but even the music did not rest or comfort her,
and almost in sheer despair she retired to her
rooms.

“ I am unusually weary and depressed to-day.
I wonder why it is so? am not sick, or ener-
vated by the warm weather, but there is a ter-
rible weight upon me, mentally and hysically,
that Sven with all my experience 0 trouble is
new. .

She walked u and down through her rooms,
her lovely hea d despondently on her
breast, her hands clasped behind her.

“It must be because I have nothing especial-
ly depending upon ‘me, because I am wastin
all my time in solflshness. Yes! I believe the
is why I am depressed. I need actual occupa-
tion for my head and my hands. I will begm
this ve ay, and, with Kitty’s assistance, I
will fin my charit women and sick parish
children for whom used to interest myself
when I was at Marchbrook. ”

She summoned Kitty, and finding there was
no material in the house suitable for the chari-
table sewing contemplated, she had her ponies
and carriage again bro‘pight to the door, and ‘
drove to the adjoining lage for a supply of !
muslins, flannels and calicoes. ‘

It was sunset before she returned and she had :
only time to take her bath, and make her toilet, !
before Mr. Carriscourt should return from the !

 

cit .
She dressed With unusual care that evening '
and Kitty ra turously insisted sne never had

. looked so love y before as in the delicate silver— ,‘

green silk princesse dress, with its moss fringes, f
sprinkled with dewdrop beads of cut crystal.

At dinner, Mr. Carriscourt watched her in-
tently, thinking what a perfect creature she
was, in all her girlish beauty and grace, and
thinking that it was a dut he owed her to take
her out into the gay worl where she might, if
possible, forget at least some of her trials and
rriots.

b “ I saw a friend of mine to-day, Cecil, who is
very anxious to see—my wife. He had read
the announcement of the—mairiage in the pa,-
pers, and his congratulations were delightful
and genuine. He has sent a pressing invitation
to you to make a visit at his home. His name .
is Mr. Griffith Pcrnberton, and he lives in the .
city. You may have heard me mention him

before.”

“ I danot remember; If he is your friend, I
would be glad to have him for mine as well. I
We will'accept Mr. Pemberton’s invitation, if
you wish.”

“ I think you would enjoy such a visit, Cecil.
Mr. Pem berton’s niece is with him, his dead sis-
tcr's daughter. for whom he searched for years F
before he discovered her. She is a remarkably

handsome girl, I have heard, and destined by
birth, education and beauty, no less than the

,1 immense fortune to which she will be heir, to

become a star in society.” '

And so, by casual mention, these two Women
began to gravitate toward each other, all un-
conscious of the Fate that so ordained it.

After dinner, Mr. Carriscourt and Cecil ad-

} I0urned to the parlor, where, as usual, there

Was music, and, to—night, a game of chess.
Cecil told him of her plans for the poor about
Carris Court, and received his cordial indorse—

‘ ment, and offers of assistance at any time.

They arranged for one or two dinner-parties,
and then, the hour being nearly eleven, Cecil,

i as usual, arose to go, and Mr. Carriscourt es-

corted her to her room, leaving her at the door
with a uiet good-night.

Usual y he returned to the parlor, or library,
but to—night he went directly to his own apart—
ments, from where he could hear the soft
strains of music from Cecil’s bouxloir piano, at
which, in her unusual s .11 of restlessness, s‘ie
seated herself, after she ad dismissed Kitty for
the night. '

He stood and listened, as one would hearken
to melody from the heaven to which he was de
nied admittance, his whole passionate heart in
his eyes, in the very attitude of his listening.

And while he stood listening the music stop-
ped, and he turned away from the silence, his

ace grave and pale and troubled.

Cecil did not think of sleep, yet. The rest-
‘lessness that had been partly assuaged came
back upon her in full force, and she walked to
and fro in a nervous excitement entirely new to
her.

“I feel as if I never should sleep again! I
feel as if something was about to happen to me.
I am alarmed, I know not why. I—’

She had that instant turned in her rapid, ner-
vous walk at the extreme rear of the suit of
rooms, and, as she raised her head to glance at
the clock that hung on the wall, a sudden para-
lyzing horror seized her in a powerlessness of
fear, for, standin in the middle of the room

.whose threshold s e was passing, was a man,

with menacing, uplifted hand, looking her
strai ht in the eye.

“ ush! If you value your safety, bush 2”

And, with a low, agonized moan of horror
Cecil the name that almost refused to
leave er stammering tongue.

“ Sydney!”

It sounded like a whisper from a vault, so hol-
low, so horrified, so heart-pitiful.

It was enough. That reception of Cuthbert
Pemberton told him all he wanted to be told;
It at once allayed any misgiving he may have
had as to the practicableness of carrying out his
diabolical schemes.

The undisguised fear and horror told him that
Cecil believed that it was Sydney Valence who
stood before her—Sydney ValenCe, the man she’
had married—under the roof with her, and she,
the wife of another husband!

A merciless smile stirred beneath his heavy
mustache, a smile of satisfaction in anticipation
of his easy victory;

All this while ecil stood there as if trans-
formed to marble, her face death] white her
blue eyes full of frozen horror, her ands clasp-
ed in iteous dismay.

“ O , Sydney] I—I—thought you were-
dead! They said you were dead !”

She whispered the words that freshly eon-
flrmed his assurance that he had nothing fur-
ther to fear from her disbelief in his identity.
Her pitiful, gasping words effectual] y settled the
affair for him.

“But on see it was a mistake. Don’t look so
horrifi , Cecil. Control yourself.”

She walked uncertainly to the nearest chair,
and actually fell upon it, trembling in every
limb, gazing at the bold, handsome face that
seemed to fascinate her with such strange terror.

He glanced toward the inner rooms.

“ Is our maid yonder?”

Ceci shook her head in speechless terror.

“ You are entirely alone—but for, me?”

She drew a little quivering breath as she nod-
ded a ain, realizing that she was so awfully,
awful y alone. And ct he was her husband;
and yet, she would no , if she could, have arous-
ed the household.

Poor Cecil! Her heart almost seemed to etc
as l’cmberton stepped to the door through whic
ho had come—the door that opened on the pri-
vate fli ht of stairs to the garden below, and
which ecil, in a confused sort of way supposed
she must have no lected to secure—and ed
the key in the loc . -

“ You need not be alarmed, Cecil. I have ‘

been waiting for an opportunity to see you pri-

 

 

 

 

 

'rupt question.

DID SHE SIN ?

..a....-.....- .,_..__ ..

‘17

 

 

‘vatel ever since that day you saw me on the
stree . I have much I wish to say to on.
First. answer me this one question, Cecil, ve
you ceased to love me?”

 

CHAPTER XVII.
a MAN’S PRICE.
CECIL recoiled with perfect horror at the ab-

vae you—love you!” she sped, in tones
that thrilled with pitiful scornfu ness. “ I never
loyed ou, never! I was a child bound down
With 1: e crushing Weight of sorrow, and I
thought because you urged me to—to marry
you, that—that it was love that made me con-
sent. But, I never, never loved you, Sydney!
Oh, What have I not sufiered from that one
fatal act! And now, now you Come to—drive
me insane—and I was sure you were dead l”

“ And, from present appearancesJ very so
that it 1s not as you thought. 'VV ell, Cecil-TI
was only seriously hurt, and although it was
given out that I was killed, my friend, the coro-
ner, obligingly received ahundred-dollar bill to
help keep up the delusion. I had friends, you
see, who hated to see me surrendered to justice.
In realit I was ill a Ion time, delirious and
weak. hen I recnvere my senses and my
strength, my first business was to seek you,
Which I did—only to find you-married to an-
other man.”

He looked re roach'at her, his low, intense
words curdling er very blood.

“ Yes. yes, married to another husband,” she
said, wildly, clasping her hands in an ecstasy
of awful, realizing terror, “ married, and you
alive!”

“You have stated the case exactly, Cecil;
how do you suppose I feel—to come back al-
most from the grave, another Enoqh Arden—
for, since I discovered you, I have haunted you
continually. How do on think I feel Cecil,
not only to find you C yde Carriscourtzs wife,
but, to hear you openly declare, almost with
loathing, tha you do not love me. that you
never loved me And yet—you are my wife.”

Cecil threw up her hands in a gesture of de-
spair that was heartbreaking to see.

“Don’t! Don’t! I cannot bear it! Oh, my
God, my God, be merciful and show me some
way—any wa —of escape from this terrible
co, sequence 0 my unconscious wrong-doing!”

. emberton's vile heart involuntarilythrobbed
in sw1ft sympathy for the assionate, despair-
ing an m her voice. ut only for a sec-
ond. next be repeated his quiet, cruel
words: cod

1, you are my wife—you—”

on to be silent! I cannot, I cannot
endure th s! 1—”

He interrupted her coolly:

“  do not see how you can help enduring it,
Coon. It is through no fault of mine that you
have placed yourself in the unenviable position
of a woman with two husbands—placed your-
self so that, if, in case I claim you as—”

She shrunk away in quivering horror, her
sweet face ashen, her blue eyes almost '
from her I!

“Claim rue—claim me! You dare not do
that-oh, you could not be so cruel, so awfully
cruel!”

He smiled; that made her shivor with re ul-
sion. and he, the man she had been so ma , so
mad as to marry, imagining she loved him!

“ If you call i cruelty for a man to desire to
have his wife,” he said. “ I call it very natural
and roper, apd the laws. you have violated
would) agree With me. Beanies—you are a very
Charming woman, Cecil: any man would be
proud of you for his wife.” '

Her blue eyes were dilating in agony and fear
as she listened; then she suddenly sprung from

I her chair and confronted him.

I

. “You shall never claim me! I will take my
lfe in my own harms. and die before your eyes
before I would go you as our W} ‘e! Yes—I
would let them arrest me or—the crime you
say I have committed against the laws of. the
country—but not against the law of my God,
tslytirxigy valencel—remember that—remember

a

All her womanly courage had run to the
brief contest. Her face glowed pa cly, er blue
eyes shot out files of desperate determination
asshe stood before him in all her Sweetness and
spirit megrgrace,
His h thrilled under her intensit of word
and dramatic strength of manner. or spirit

and menacing audacity delighted and fascin-
~ ated him as even her beauty had not done.

“ She is a royal creature," he thought: “ a

I foeman worthy of my steel. Refined sensitive

pure as an angel. brave yet completely crushed

 

by the circumstances she thinks are genuine:
Just what my ideal woman should be. By the
great Jupiter Pluvius, if m cousin Elma were
such a creature, I’d marry er off-hand to-mor-
row, without a dollar to call her own !”

He was the picture of insolent coolness as he
sat there, in the vex; chair Mr. Carriscourt pre-
ferred to use on h friendly formal accepta-
ggn of Cecil’s sisterly invitation to lunch or

“ Very well, then, ” he retorted, an evil gleam
in his black eyes as he softly caressed his long,
luxuriant side-whiskers, “since you prefer ei-
ther death or disgrace to returning to me as my
wife, I will select for you—and then, claim you
still. Cecil—” '

She interrupted him with an imperious ges-
ture of her hand.

“ Please to remember that I prefer to be ad-
dressed b the honorable name by which I am
known. rs. Carriscourt, if you please.”

He smiled, sneeringly.

“Yes? It is very immaterial by what name
you are called, especially since. you have no
more claim to this one than any other you
might select at random. But to please vou—
Mrs. Carriscourt’f— and the sneer in liiswoice
appalled’her—“I will leave you, for the pre-
sent, and seek—Mr. Cal-riscourt. I dare say he
has not retired, or, if he has, he will see me, I
think. Rather romantic, isn’t it?"

And this the man she had imagined she loved!

Ho Would arouse the house, see Mr. Carris-
court, and thereby bring down upon their heads
the terrible ruin she would gladly have given
her life to avert.

All her courage forsook her, asZthe pitiable con-
se uences came faceto face with her. The ashen
pa or athered on her face again, and the un-
speaka le anguish toher blue e es.

Pembcrton saw it, and smiled, wickedly.

“I thought you would reconsider your de-
cision,” he said, coolly. “It is not such a li ht
thing for a woman who has deceived and
trayed one husband by.representing herself a
maiden, when she imagmed herself the widow
of a criminal, and in reality was his wife-«to
deliberate! brave him.”

“But I t ought you were dead. Everybody
thought so. It was a mistake any one under the
same circumstances would have made. Be-
sides "—and again that unuaunted spirit flamed
up in her ngonized oun g voice—“ I never really
was your wife! on know it was so—that, be-
yond the simple marriage ceremony, there was
no marriagp.

“Yes,” emberton said, shrewdly followin
the lead she was unconscious] giving him, “I
know that. But I also kn0w t is—that u de-
liberately prefer Mr. Clyde Carriscourt, gecause
he is rich and noted, but to whom you have no
shadow of a right, for our reputed husband,
rather than the crimin whose wife you really

are.”
prefer Mr. Carriscourt because he is a
noble, true-hearted gentleman, whom no one
could help respecting and revering. Oh, go
away, go away now! I have only such bitter,
deathless dislike and aversion for you.”
He smiled slowly—that smile that made her
Eilood change, in feeling, to creeping drops of

co. «
ti “ Ira, that all! Are you not omitting one emo-
on
lie-straightened from the lazy insolence of his
men, and looked smilelessly, mercilessly, at

er.

She did not answer but sat there wond ’

wagging? could he pén I an] guns

on ear me, es .ld, s owly em haticall .
i‘Andit is right a- .. natural vdu should 1'le
me. 1 am guiltless in this afl'air, while you ”-—'
and his voice was as stern and reproachful as
though he had been indeed in solemn earnest-
“you have laid a. terrible sin on your con-
scxence, sullied our fair honor, deceived and
cruelly outrag the trust re osed in you by
two men—your two husban ‘! Yes, you do
well to fear.”

She had drooped her lovelv head on her
breast, his words sweeping over or like a storm
over a swaying lily. Then she lifted her face,
gray to alarmingness.

“ I am not afraid—of what you can do to me.
My heart was crushed long ago—it needs a very
little more—and I would Welcome it, I would
welcome itl. But for him—him! innocent, no-
ble, unconscious“ he is—the man to whom I
gave my latest, truest vows, he shall be spared
-—becaus_c—bec6use—I love him, I love him!
And 1 Will spare him if I die to do it!”

There was a look in her eyes, a. ring to her
voice. a. wild, passionate d ir in her manner,
that told this villain he had gone nearly to the
end of his tether for that occasiOn.

“She’s the gamest little creature I ever saw,
bfiJove! and the truest woman that ever lived,
I’ swear l” he thought, hastily; then aloud:

“I would not like to drive you to despera-
tion,” he said, with thoughtful and admirably
assumed gravity. “You do not spare me by
hefitatingto express your feelings toward me,
nor do I see any necessi on my part for con-
cealing the motive that rought me here. Ce-
cil, you will not deny that you are my wife.
You will honestly admit that Mr. Carriseourt
has not the shadow of a claim upon you. I will
so. this—that, while I will never give you up,
w ile I shall insist upon being afforded the
privilege of seeing you when and where I
choose, I will consent that affairs remain in
siatu co—provided—”

Cec ’s lips curled in hot scorn and contempt.

“It is 1i 'e film! You will buy our silence
with money! y God! To think ever even
cared for this man! Here! Here is money—
the price of my peace, the price of his peace!
Take it, and go—oh, leave me before I go
mad!”

She snatched a handful of bills from the little
safe near her, and thrust them in his hand, and
then, her hands clasping her throat, clutching
as if for breath, she saw him how, coolly, smil~
liiigly, as he stood at the head of the flight of
; stairs.

I “You have saved yourself until I see you
lagain, Cecil, my dear! Until the next time—-
cu recoirl”

 

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
WILL sun or. WILL sun nor?

CUTEZBERT PEMBERTON’S evil, handsome face
worea smile of elated delight as he hurried
down the inclosed fli ht of stairs leading to Co—
cil’s arden, throug which he could readily
and Silently escape, to the main grounds, and
from thence to the small side—gate of whose ex—
istence and infrequent use, and great privacy,
he had learned during the few hours of close
espionage he had given to Cecil’s surroundings,
find a still closer study of the way of reaching

er.

As has been seen, he was successful—so suc-
cessful that he went leisurely down the stair-
way, and through the garden, little imagining
theta ir of astonished eyes were watchti‘rlifi
himas e went—Clyde Carriscourt’s eyes,
of a piteous passionate pain.

Outside the gate, on the quiet mum
road, his horse was picketed—one he had '
from the neighbor-in village upon his arrival
in the afternoon. e spnmg upon him, cram-
med the money in his vest-pockets, and galloped
back to the tavern, where e told the ndlord
how charming his romantic ride had been, how
beautiful the countrywas in the solemn mid-
night hush. 'l'ue“ “ovoid liberal] for his ac-
commodations, letting. ‘ word or o dro , ap-
parentl ve inadvertent] , about it be ng a
farcwe visi ton. neighbor oodthat held pain»
ful recollections, but which he never
to see again' si ed his name on the travelers’
register as Sy ey Valence, shook hands with
mine host and caught the owl train for the

city.

Three hours later, he was comfortabl en-
sconced in his easy-chair in his room at h ho-
tel, a cigar between his li a pile of bills on the
Elm? beside him, on whic hiseyes gloatcd jubi-

ni . '

“ ly have stumbled upon a veritable gold
mine,” he thought, triumphantly; “but it was
a deuced close risk to take. I was not mre die
would not detect the truth that I am not Syd,
butitoould not have turned out more to my
summation than it did. She honestlybelievua
I am her husband, and—( luthhert, my boy, 11:
will be because you’ve parted with a large por-
tion of your mother-wit if she discovers hermis-
take in a hurrv.”

He leaned back in his chair, expiring tiny
smoke-wreaths from his mouth, watching them
resolve and fade, with a look of intense satis-
faction and triumphant self—gratulation on his

face. I
5 “It’s a risky business,” he thought—“ deuced
I «iskv: but I am one of the sort who. firmly be;
I lieve that ‘nothing venture, nothing hav .
‘1 TVhat a charming sensation it would make if it
1, were known in social circles that I Pemberton
I of the clubs, Pemberton of the th avenue,
l‘ncphew of the Grand Mogul, was u to this
' business! (1 Carriscourt and the o d gentle-
? man on friendly terms, too! By Jove, my boy,
! you’vetgot to be precious careful, and wise as a
1 sex n .
e laughed lightly, as he tomed his cigar-end
away, and caretully counted the money over
again. ~
I “ Seven hundred dollars will do very well for

 

 

 

 SHE SIN ’2

 

 

 

 

 

 

one ni ht’s work,.very well. I doubt if the fair ,Iproperties in this count are entailed. Men (10
Cecil ad the slightest idea of how much she i as they please With t ir .own—very often
gave me. What a grand creature she is,” he jbequeathing immense legaCIes in most erratic
thought, his face growing eager and admiring, fdirgectrons, to the 1m over-ishment of near re—
“the most rfect girl I ever saw! And,” and ; latlves. Of course suc Wills are often contested,
a. uzzled, t oughtful ex ression came to his " but-” I
b0 (1 black eyes ”—I ver' y believe she is con- HO shrugged hls shoulders eloquently. .
scientious enough to insist upon occup 'in g sepa- , “I know all that," she returned, impatiently.
rate rooms from Carriseourt, since s e believes , “ But What I do Want to know ls—lf there IS a
that poordcvil ofa Syd is stillalive. Itinugt be doubt about my being uncle Griffith’s he1ressi
so, for I saw no si as of a man‘s occupancy of Fletcher and that disagreeable MISS Ogden are
the apartments. t’s rather puritanical, to my 1 continually telling me I shall be more careful
thinking, but it’s deuced lucky for me, because in éicleasmg my uncle, for-fear, after all I fall
I am at far less risk in visiting her, which, by 1n ing hls heiress. Cousm Cuthbert—(lo you
Jove, I shall not be slow in doing.” I think I shall be disappomtcd? I want to know.
He put away Cecil’s hush-moneyandprepared 2 I have a specml reason for wantmg to know
for a few hours’slee . l whether the wealth is to be mine, or—yours, for
At nine o’clock e breakfasted and than, in :thcre is no one else.”
irreproachable morning toilet, went to call i ‘ Pemberton’s black eyes sparkled at her earn-
upon Elma Pemberton, with the determination ,est uCStlon.

in his mind to lose no time in making love to5
her and persuading her to marry him. i
6 found her just preparing to 0 on a shop- ‘
ping expedition. The Coach and orses, with
servants in livery, were awaiting her at the door,
and Elma. Was 'ust stuffing her )ortemonnuie '
with the bills r. Pemberton ha given her, as ‘
Cuthhert stepped into the morning parlor with l
a. rraceful, familiar “ Good—morning.”
he was looking var handsome and stylish l
in her toilet of black sil ', heavily trimmed w ith ;
jet fringes. A massiVo gold nee lace and locket "
was suspended from her neck, and instead of
white lace there Was a profusion of black lace at
her throat and wrists—an effect which was re- 
markably becoming to her pronoum-ed beauty. f
Her sleeves were several inches shorter than I

 

“ t will certainlybe one pf us. For your own
sake—I hope, most sincerely, to see you own the
Pemberton possessions.”

“ You speak as if you had misgivings.”

She leaned forward toward him, intent and
earnest. He pretended an admirable embarrass-
ment.

“You should not press me, Elma, to sav any-
thing which can vex or disappoint you. let me
chanve the topic somewhat and tell you of a
way in which you may become as rich as you
are beautiful.”

She binshed slightly, and shot him a furtive
glance, and he saw the swift, ale confusion
that had been on her face at his rst words, dis"
appear into intent curiosity.

‘ I hope you will not think I am hasty or ab

her arms, and her plump wrists were circled ,1 rupt, or that‘so shortan acquaintance does not
with wide heavy bracelets just where her gloves warrant me in telling you that you have com‘
ended. Her hair was a golden err‘vpe mass of pletely capt1vated me, Lima. hour he: uty,
puffs and fringe over her forehead, and she your grace, your sweetness, have charmed me
were a fashionable bonnet of black lace and jet. ! as 110 other woman ever has been able to do. 1

Pemberton took in her elegance of appearance
,at a lance.

“ ‘ e is handsome—there is not a doubt of it,
and Will attract attention and incite admiration
wherever she goes. I would never have need to
blush for her, as my wife—and yet, she lacks all
that patrician elegance and absolutely high-
bred air that she assuredly should possess con-
sidering her an ierior birth. Cecil ssesses all
those characteristics, which even in ier distress
are so marked—the nd, roud, beautiful
spirited creature! By 515%, there only could
be a. fairy transformationl”

Elma. snapped her portemonnaie with a
pleased, self-satisfied air—unlimited supplies of
money, a credit account at Stewart’s and com-
mand of all the luxury she desired, was such a
deligli tfully novel ex ‘ence to her.

“ on are very we come, cousin, but you will
have to excuse me,” she said, graciously as she
Eithered up her train scienti cally. ‘I really

veto leave you, and I am afraid I shall be
gone until its late.” ‘

“ That is cruel of you! Couldn’t you tem-
permercy with—perhaps deserved Pustice, and
-—let me go with you on your shopp ng tom-ll I
am a, capital escort— tient and a. connoisseur
in laces and silks. e will have a. delightful
lunch somewhere, quite této-a-tc‘te, and go to
the matinee afterward.”

Her black e es sparkled.

"That we d be lovely! Yes—you may go.
Besides, I want to talk to you.”

“ You are an angel,” he said,in a low intense

tone that was full of the broad flattery he knew
Elma liked. '
“ ad I particularl wished for the opportu-
nit of having a. quie talk with you, Elma,” he
sai , after they had taken their seats in the car-
riage and the order was 'ven to Stewart’s.

‘ So we are both su' ” she said, gayly. “I
want to know if on can ell me whether or not
my uncle Grifflt is obliged to make me his
heiress, or—if he chooses, can he leave his pro-
perty and money elsewhere—to you, for in-
stance?”

The boldness of her int-blank question
would have appalled any 0 her man. As it was,
the want of elicacy grated unpleasantly u on
him, even while it instantly ocomred to im
that she had given him the very best possible
one to the attainment of his own ends.

139‘ softly stroked his long, jett million whis-
kers—a habit he had when somet ing was spe-
ciallv at stake.

“ Since you have seen fit to confide in me suf-

, flcientl to ask me such a. direct famil, ques-

tion, me, I will be equal] frank wit you,

and tell on the precise tru h. I an mitive

that Mr. emberton Will use his discret on and

judgment and inclination in willing his immense

Irv-«\Vyrv“ »_ 5 -' 1« .‘vvv'. '. n 14.4.. “pry few
/

l have never considered myself a marrying man
for all the man chances that have been offered

me. But, you ave made me change my mind.

You made me love you the moment I saw on.

1 I can think of noth ng but you; Elma, will you

1' marry me?”

He was in intense earnest so far as wanting

I her for her money. He was competent to per-

!fectly simulate a passion he did not feel. He

,knew the irl’s inordinate love for undiluted

l complimen , and be measured his length in her

I favor exactly.

' She sat looking at him smilingly, pleased
with his flOWer speech, an thinking it sounded

i just like anove .

; Instead of acce ting him, or log or blush-

,ing in the orth ox way, as e certainly ex-

‘ pected, Elma looked thoughtfully at him.

1 “ Then, it is by marrying you that I may be-

[ come rich? Then, you are the heir and not the

l heiress?”

: “Do not make me utter such cruel words,
Elma. Tell me you love me, and will share the

‘ riches with me. Such a marria 0 will be very

‘ acceptable to Mr. Pemberton.

? an enviable position in society. We will on 'ofy

 ourselves as we lease, and I will devote my  e

i to on, Elma. ill you marry me?”

he twisted her heavy bracelets in thought-
fulness. He was not specially flattered at her
manner, and a new fresh feeling of repulsion
flashed over him beautiful though she was; and.
ran involuntary thought of Cecil Carriscourt

, and her loveliness accompanied it.

' “You must let me consider the boner you
have paid me. I like you—very well, cousin
Cnthbert, but I am not sure I—care to—marry.
\Vait a few days and I will tell you.”

I And, for the first time, Cuthbert Pemberton

, respected this girl he was so ready to marry for

' her money.

i “I must see what I can (11 tenun Thorsby,”

, Elma told herself as she tumb ed the silks on

? Stewart’s counter.

‘ And Pemberton, lounging easily behind her,
was congratulating himself on the success of oil;

5, clever little finesse.

CHAPTER XIX.
mo DEEPER WATERS.

 

THAT night, after Mr. Carriscourt had seen4

t the departure of Cuthbert Pemberton from

} Cecil’s room, he had not as much as thought of

,-' sleeping or retiring to bed. His first thought
had been that a. burglar had forced hiewa into
the house, but a second glance during he
had matched his istols from his dressing-bin

, reau, had shown him the utter absence of an

{appearance of rufflanism in the well-dressed,
fintleutianly fellow who wore a boutom'ére in

s coa .

on will have v

l His second thought was one of sickening de-
spair. A sudden, swift storm of jealousy and
rage and all the passion of love he had for is
wife, surged hotly over him, and it was only y
a violent effort at self-control that be restrained
himself from rushing to Ce‘cil’s room, demand-

‘ ing to know who it was and what it meant, de-
manding and upbraidin g her, for this secret
that, although he had known lay between them,
he had never dreamed was—like this! '

It was onbf for one brief moment that he per-
nittod himself to entertain such a suspicion of
the woman he loved so truly.

“It is not that—it is not that,” he assured

j himself, passionately, while his splendid face
grew white and haggard with the pitiful vigil

j e kept all through the gray night.

3 “There is a secret, a mystery, but my darling
;‘ is true and pure as the angels! I will not even
i think of such a cruel thing—but it is so hard, so
i hard upon me!”

. He went down to breakfast, his fair face
‘ showing that he had passed a sleepless night,
. and his eyes full of a gravity that was deeper
. than their usual expression but his manner to-
? ward Cecil was michangcd—friendly pleasant
1 1nd dCVoted as usual, despite the look 1e saw in.
‘ her eyes that betokened the mis ivings of her
“ mind—tho natural consequence 0 the events of
lhe preceding night.

Several times during breakfast Cecil ha pen-
rd to meet his glance—and it made her s rink
with fear and pain, so full‘of a wistful, passion—
Itcly stern inquiry it was. ,

Could he have an suspicion? Was it possible
that he had gUE‘SSC( the truth? Was it .sible
that he had obtained a clew to her pitifu secret?
And her heart beat fast and wildlv as she strug-
gled to maintain a composure s e was so far

‘om feeling.

Mr. Carriscourt did not intimate by any sign
his knowledge of her visitor of the evening pre-
viously, but after breakfast was over he ordered
the horses and carriage as usual for their morn-
lng drive, and was in ever respect the same
devoted brother, so that Cec‘ ’s horrible, momen-
tary misgivings vanished, and, in s ite of the
, actual misery that confronted her, er ' lish
‘ hope and spirits rose, and she was more oyous
than usual, bewitching Mr. Carriscourt With her
loveliness and graciousness into even deeper love
for her than ever.

“If only I can succeed in keepi the truth
from him, if only I am able to spare 'm,” Cecil
told herself; “ something may happen—some—
Kiinfi must he pen, to bring about my escape.
I w 1 try to patient and trustful in
who knows I never meant to offend Him.”

And so, from noble, sweet conscientiousness,
Cecil strove to do the best she could, and the
intercourse between herself and Mr. Carriscourt
', ew daily into a. more beautiful and abiding
glandship, that had in it nothing of restraint in
their brotherly and sisterly relations.

As the days went on, and Mr. Carrisoourt,
‘ watching her still closely, saw her exquisite wo-
v manliness and tender graciousness of manner
that only befitted the truest and best of women,
he became more and more convinced that al-
though it had been ill-advised in Cecil to have
received her guest in her private 'tting-room,
get she certainly had some good n for it.

till, he could not but feel sore at knowing how
debarred he was from her confidence. .

“She does not confide in me because I have
not yet gained her trust and her affection. She
perhaps incdrred some little bills reparatory
50 our (pier-dag? (trad the tradesminndas beentre-

ueste to a ) y us secret y. yet—i is
dot like to do even that. ”

The days passed—in the usual routine of light
lluties and social obl' ations. There was a.

nd dinner-part at arr-is Court, at which
iecil was unusua Charmin and attractive,

l and Mr. CarriscourgY noted wit new, eager de—
light, how sweet, and innocently guy she was,
 her guests just as she fascinated

m.
After they had no, late that night, they two
stood alone beside be open French window, look-
ing out into the exquisite summer night—Mr.
Carriscourt thinking how he loved this ' l at
his side, despite everything, how he woul have
I.loved to take her to his heart and caress her and
kiss her as be was so wishfully yearning to do.
And Cecil, looking out into the starlighted

 

such happiness as, somehow, this night’s influ-
ence stirred within her ever be verified? 0r,
Would that terrible unclOSed chasm ever yawn
between her and this man whose tones  looks
stirred her pulses so fiercely. ‘
Almost suddenly, Cmiscourt stepped close up

 

warmth and fragrance was wondering—would .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A munrrli'm' ‘

 

 

DID SHE SIN ’2

"19

 

to her, looking down at her face that was so
palely radiant in the dusk.

“Cecil, little wife? Is it always to go on
thus? I have tried to be patient—but is there
no hope for me—yett" . .

She blushed, vividly, and gave him Just one
swift glance before she dropped her lids over her
blue eyes. Then he saw the blush fade into a set-
tled pain, of pallor that, for a day or two'had
somewhat lifted from her sweet face. He lifted
her hand that lay on the little inlaid table, Just
inside the curtains, and touched it to his h )s—a
tender, devoted affection that made her cart
throb.

Then she drew her hand gently away, and
then—she glanced up with an expression in her
face that delighted and puzzled him, so full of a
passion she could not control, yet so eloquent of
pitiful, wistful pain.

“ It is late,” she said, gentlv.
‘ My Cai‘riscourt. Good-night.” .

All the sweet sudden hope faded from his face,
but he accepted her gentle little reproof, and as
usual, escorted her to her d'v‘r‘. 3W1 .lh’“; "fill
feeling in the least like retiring, extinguished
all the gas-jets but one, and, turning that down
to a tiny yellow point he drew an easy—chair to
the open window, and among the dini shadoWs,
and alone with the starlight and the silence and
the f rzisxi'ance of the night, suffered his thoughts
to dwell upon Cecil.

While Cecil, retired to her rooms, found
them in charge of Kitty, whom, as had been her
custom of late, she dismiSsed as soon as she en-
tered her apartments for the night. . .

As usual, to-night, she expected a Visit from
the man she believed to be her husband-11s she
had expected every night in a sort of terror,
ever since he had been there.

“ If I only had never been so mad!” she told
herself, bitterly, as she sat wearin down in a
little low silken easy-chair.

“ I cannot undo the past, but, I can spare
him,” and a. SWift, passionate look flashed into
her 0 es as she impulsively lifted them to a
splen 'd portrait of Mr. Carriscourt that hung
over her mantle-shelf, a picture whose eyes
seemed to pierce to her very soul. She arose
from her chair, and stood beneath the portrait,
her hands clasped in a dumb eloquence of tender-
ness, her whole gesture full of adoration—just
as Pemberton’s voice startled her, in a. sneering,
freezi toner .

“ Afi I hope I am not de trap, Coed!”

1 Although she had schooled erself tobe pre-
d to meet him at any time, still thesound of
voice startled her, at the door she urposely
left unlocked till a late hour every nig t, rather
than perhaps disturb the servants or Mr. Garris-
court b aaummons however faint. She did not
.him, but left her position in front of
re Carriscourt’s picture, for the same one she
him OCCUPM‘ u n the occasion of his former
Visit—the little ow chair immediately near the
locked door of the rooms occu ied b Mr. Car-
riseourt, the key of which was in her and. For
she was afraid of Pemberton, for all she honest-
ly thought 1105"” Sydney Valence. There had
some strange me 1 cable difference taken place
in him durum t 030 months since she had
thought him end. Whether it was really a
change for the worse, or whether she simply
saw him as he was, in the li ht of her assmia-
tion with a man so infiniwa is superior, Cecil
could not satisfy herself. She only understood
more and more keenly the utter insanity of
which she had been capable, the terrible, h
less work of endurance before her, and he
unreasoning fear and repulsion which she en-
tertained for him. He came forward, toasin
his cane and hat familiarly on the lounge, an

“ I must go,

. took a chair somewhat nearer her than he had

ventured upon before. .

“ You were expecting me, .I' see,” he said,
easily, taking a ,lin ering, admiring 100k at her
elaborate dinner tailette of white Silk and costly
lace. “ You are dressed fit to see a prince,
Cecil; may I venture to thank you for compli.
mentimz me so charmingly?”

His half insolent, wholly free language en-
ragml her. Her Ii 3 curled in a scorn that he
felt to his very sou . ,

“ Any such remarks are entirer unnecessary.
And I will inform you now, once for all, 811‘,
that if you utter a syllable that, by the smallest
construction I can place upon it, is other than
courteous, I will arouse the house, utterly re-
gidless of the cons uences. You will remem-

you are here on y on sufferance, and that,
35 my P18881111), your visits cease.”

She was glorious in her spirit and beauty, and

Ifeinberton eyed her with  admira-
lUn. .

“ Every different mood suits vou better and

NOW vml‘wmm: .” he said. but there was a look
\

\

 

 

of fury in his black eyes Cecil saw was very
widely at variance with his words. “ You had
beith weigh your words, Cecil.” he went on:

CHAPTER XX.
A MAN‘s LOVE.
THAT was a night of the keenest agony of de~

“you will allow me to suggest that a husband 5 Spa-if Clyde (imiwourt ever coum have even;

has a perfect right to say to his wife just—3’

“I am not your wife 1’ she flashed out fiercely.
” I am not your wife! Never, for one moment
did I occupy that
law, to-day, I am rec of you; you are dead to
the law, you are an escaped criminal, you do
not dare—”

Ho interrupted her, eoldly:

“ Enough—please, Cecil! “*0 have been over
that same ground before, and settled it. You
say I do not dare; let me assure you again—I
dare do anything—and if you defy me with
your threats, and tantalize me by your capri-
ciousness, on will learn that I am a man whose
will is my aw.” ‘ '

N 0 man could have appeared more absolutely
in earnest than Pemberton was, and he thorough-

l

osition. In the eyes of the '

ima 'ned. All through its silent darkness he
sat t ere, trying to reason his way out of the
pitiful maze into which he had come, but there
was no wayo ened to him. All argument with
himself endei where it began, in sharp, sicken—
in dismay, and the gray morning of a dull,
su try summer day broug t him no hope or re-

‘ lief or even respite from this woe that had set-

tl upon him. Of course, it was imperative
that he should speak to Cecil about it—it would
have been more or less unhuman had he kept si-

lence longer, even as it was, now unnatural to,

longer give. Cecil the benefit of his former
doubt, that her midnight visitor was a creditor

, —which was the worst construction Mr. (.‘arris-

l y succeeded in making Cecil feel that such was ‘

the case.

“' I would rather my occasional visits would be ‘
of a more pleasant nature,”he added, more gent— , _
i above its haggard pallor.

ly, as he leaned Comfortably back in the chair.
“ It rests entirely with you, Cecil, to make them
so. It seems difficult for me to reconcile you
with the gentle loving girl who married me."
If she disliked and was repulsed by him when
he was defiant and sarcastic she was filled with
si'ck horror and fear when he assumed the Tide
of the affectionate, disappointed lover. Her
blue eyes fairl dilated with anguishful alarm,

: whclming

and she cluto ied tho key to Mr. Cari-iscourt’s ,1
room with the desperation of a drowning man ‘

gras ing the one safely within reach.

“ 7ou must not remain any longer,” she said.
struggling bravely with herself. “You hau-
come—for money, of course. I have only 1:
var little, but you may have it—to go. ”

e frowned.

“Onlyalittle! I must have what I want,
understand, Cecil. You are the ostensible wife
of a Very rich man, and I expect you to hand
somer indemnify me for the privilege he enjoys
through my good will. You must be prepared
for me at all times, Cecil—if you cannot raise
the cash by one means then use another. I
leave it to your woman’s wit. To-night I will
take what you have, but, remember, I s all ex-
pect five hundred dollars when I come again—
say in a couple of weeks.”

‘ccil gave a little involuntary exclamation of
astonishment.

“ It will be impossible—absolutely impossible!
You ask of me what no woman could grant.
have already used my allowance for the uarter
up on on, and it is absolutely impossi le for
me to o tuin more money.”

“Very well,” he returned, quietly. “Just
as you please of course. Only, you will have
five hun red dollars ready for me in just—say,
three weeks from to-ni rht, or I will demand you
of Mr. Carriseourt an compel you to go with
me as my wife.”

She managed to control the desperate stru 16
within her, and handed him the small rol of
bills—the last dollar of the rincely amount Mr.
Carriscourt  ut in her ittle safe, with the
Carriscourt Jewe , the day they arrived at Car-
ris Court.

He took them, and coolly counted them, be-
fore he put them in his vest-pocket.

“ Thanks. Three Weeks, please remember. I
have fastidious_ tastes which Mr. Carriscourt
must gratify if he prefers to possess you
rather—”

“ Hush! Hushl”she said, gaspingly. “You
are a heartless, atrocious villain-too outrageous
and depraved to let livel Leave my room, or
in sheer desperation I will ring for—my hus-
band 1”

She flung the words defiantly at him quiver-
ing from head to foot, and, as before I’cinber-
ton saw it was the better part of valor to re-

9.

“Do not excite ourself,” he said, with a
smile that curdled er bleed, as he leisurely
reached for his hat and cane, and walked over
to the door leading to the flight of stairs—di-
rectly over'the Window at which Mr. Carris«
court was sitting in the quiet darkness.

A lorious night, my dear Cecil—although
not '0 ehshtful as our lovely room and your
company. Au rwotr, Cecil.” '

And a numb, hideous nightmare seemed to
paralyze every nerve and muscle in Mr. Carrie
court a body, as, distinctly as he had hem-d the
easy, dewté V0109, he saw the tall, ele t fig-
ure depart—the ver, same he had seen more!

 

court had dreamed of placing upon the affair.
But—tho second visit, the easy, familiar part-
ing on the side of her caller, her own quict re-

‘ ception and acceptance of his light, half—endear—

ing words—and the memory made his hand«
some face grow sterner and more desperate

He bathed, and made a fresh toilet. and then
went down to the breakfast-parlor, where Cecil
was already before him, arrangirg cut flowers
on the table, and he noticed the weary anxiety
on her sweet face. with a pang of fierce, overw
earning.

“Great ‘od—how can I think ill of her? I
will not—I will not—and yet—”

It all rushed pitifully over him again, and he
could not restrain the coldness that crept into
his voice as he bade her good-morning, bowing
gravely as he took his seat opposite her.

The servants attended them, and Mr. Canis-
court went through the pretense of eefinghis
egg and muflin and coffee, and reading his mail,
while Cecil, as was her custom, chatted a little,
and was racious and lovely.

Then, t ie servants retired, and breakfast fin
ished, Mr. Carriseourt, instead of his usual cus‘
tom of ordering Cecil’s ponies and phaiilnn aw!
inviting her to drive him to the Marchbrook

depOt, walked up beside her, as she stood before

a lovely vase of roses and ferns.

“Cecil, I would like you to give me an hour
of your time, at home, this morning, whenever
it is convenient for you.”

His quiet, cold gravity struck a chill of terror
to her very soul, and with a fresh thrill of dis-
may, he saw the look expressed on her face as
she bowed. ‘

“I am at liberty any time Mr. Carriscourt.
Will you remain here, or I see you in my
own sitting-room 3”

“ Thank you—in your private room, immedi-
ately, since one hour is as convenient to you as
another.”

The bitterness in his tone was so plainly evi-
dent to Cecil it seemed to her her muscles and
nerves would refuse to carry her to her boudoir,
so deathly weak and faint she suddenly felt—
for, of course, Mr. Carriscourt must have
known of her visitor the night before, or 613%
why this portentous sternness and displeasure?

And it was this she had dreaded so fearfully—
'this for which she had lived in constant fear and
trembling all these weeks since her Wedding day.

Silently they walked through the hall and u
the stairs to Cecil’s room, her cart sinking wi
every step, until, when she finally entered the
room, she sunk down in the nearest chair, pros—
trated and pale.

What was about to happen? What would he
say to her? Would he reproach her, scorn her,
and then—spum her from the house, from his
heart, asone all unworthy to associate with him?

Great, fierce, scorching angs seemed wrench-
ing her heart asunder in t e few minutes that
she sat there in perfect silence, while Mr.
Carriscourt stood leaning against the mantle,
looking at the lovely pallid face, on which was
so plainly written a. weary despair and anguish,
\‘cr greatly at variance from the confusion,
Dllf fear, and shame that would have been per»
f ectl natural. Nor was there lebold defiance
on , -il’s sweet drag)“ taco, t a._ patient
hopelessness that rea strangely to his stern
cold eves.

“ ltlis better that I come straight to the gist
of the matter at once. Coed, as the man you
promised to love, honor and obey, I resigned my
share of the former in compliance with your

’

3 request, which, at the time, 1 was at somewhat

l

I

of a loss tocomprehend. But, as your husband,
and with the ant honty of your husband, I come
to y on this morning to insist that you end this

And all through t e rest of the hours of dark- 3 mystery between “3‘ and give Inez-“1° MO 0‘

neg:i Mr. Carriseourt kept his lonely, agonized
V'l .

u_.

l

the-gentleman—whom you dimmed at mid-
hight, yesterday.” '

\

I

 

20

on; SHE SIN?

 

 

 

, His veice was sharp With cold, bitter stern-
ness, and it cut poor Cecil to her very soul.
She shrunk further back in her chair, and he

saw the deathly pallor deepen on her face, and ,

the agonized fluttering of her hands at his words.

Then he had seen Pemberton leave her room,
and he thought—l

The sharp agony of being for an instant un-
der his suspicion was like death to her pure,

1 sweet pride, and yet—what else would any one
' have t iought?
“It is part of the price I have to pay, part of
/ my pumshment,” she thou ht, in a confused,
desperate way. Then she ifted her piteous
face and sorrowful, beautiful eyes in a gaze that,
despite himself, went thrilling hotly to his very
sou .

“Mr. Carriscourt! You look as though you
thought—as though you thought—I—I—had—
had—

She faltered pitifully.

“ Tell me the name of the man whom you ad—
mitted to your rooms, at midnight, your private
rooms to which I am denied admittance!”

There was no use trying to preVi-nt the deter- ‘

mination Mr. Carriscourt showed for an answer
to his pointed question, so full of stem, cold pns-
sion, and yet, with a shiver of pain. Cecil knew
she could not give him his answer~the answer
that would forever blast liis happiness and crush
him into hopeless disgrace.

“ I cannot tell you, Mr. Carriscourt,” she said,
simply. yet with more couragein the cll‘ort than
she had ever in all her life before, used.

His face darkened in a sudden wrathfulne.

“ I demand your answer.”

Then Cecil lifted up her head with the first de-
fiance she had shown—but in which a great, de-
spairing woe was strange] y mingled.

“ And I refuse, positively, to answer you.”

Their eyes met in a lock such as had never oc—
curred before, and the anger and ic sternness
and itllessness in his face frightener her into a
duml; terror—and yet—she would suffer every-
tning rather than let him know his own posi—
tion. She would die, under the withering scorn
of his su icions, rather than not spare him—this
man she oved better than life.

And yet if she only might save herself in his
sightl If only she might succeed in making
him know the pitiful mystery was not what he
v—thoughtl

Her thoughts were taking more intelligible
form of decision when his quiet, awfully pas-
sionless tones addressed her:

“ Cecil, last night was the second time I saw
this man leave your rooms at midnight. The
first time I said nothing to you of it, thinking it
might have merely been—well, that is of no con-
sequence. But last night I heard him bid you

might, as no man un rivileged has a n ht
bid on good-night. Cecil—it can mean ut
one thiyng. Do on know what it means?”

Her face di not flush under his cold stern
eyes, but a heart-breaking quiver trembled on
her lips as she looked pleadingly, sorrowfully at

him.
“ 0h, y I know what you must think,” she

said, in a opeless, touchm way, “but—it is
not; so! As m Makerlilili eaven hsars 3:3
udges me as speak— ave never isgrac
like name you have ven me. That is untrue
.as that I am alive a speakin to you.”

His es suddenly darken with sharp an-
guime misery.

“ Cecil, then what am I to think? For God’s
sake, I beg, I pray you to tell me what you
mean? GiVe me the name of the man who dares
come to your room.”

She s 00k her head sorrowfully _ .
straightly, steadily at him with such despairing
e

es.
y“I cannot tell on, I cannot explain. Oh,
Mr. Carriscourt, lieve me, believe me—that
although I cannot defend myself—although
dare not tell on the miserable secret that
' separates us-o , for God’s sake, believe me
that, although I am not worthy of you, as I
have told you before, I am as innocent of—what
ou think, as pure as the day I was born—oh,
{in Carriscourt, for God’s sake, believe me 1”
Her voice rung out with thrilling, assionate
energy, truth stam d on every sy lable, and
on ev feature of or sweet, eager face.
“I do believe it,” he answered, vehemently;
“I do not think I really for a second thong t
differently in my very heart. Bpt the mystery

looking

-the damni suspicion—”
“Yes, es, ’ she interrupted, hastily; “I
know, if you knew all, on would turn me

And
mlli your name, or, evon in thought, sinned
against you or Your honor. ” ,

I

He stood looking at her. believin every syl-'
lable she uttered as though an ange from Hea-
ven had visibly dictated it.

But, she confessed hcr unworthincss, admitted
'the unexplainable mystery, and his own eyes

had seen and his own ears ad heardl

Cecil sat, waiting for him to speak, her lovely
head drooped, her hands clasped on her lap,
wonderin if it would be—praying it mi ht not
be, that t e Verdict he would give wo d—kill
her, because it thrust her from him.

His voice was full of sharp an ish when he

kc, and hoarse with suppress feeling.

“It is a terrible position in which you place
me, Cecil. I cannot accept your declaration of
unworthiness, and of: I know there is some
in story connecte with you. I cannot set
aSIde our marriage vows further than I have
done; the wretched farce must continue, more
wretched than ever. I must let you go on, just

ilease, keeping the barrier still between us—
liecause, (Tech, I believe you as I believe in
God’s angels. I deny the evidence of my own
senses, the promptings of my jealous heart, and
take your word—because, Cecil,
l woman 1 love, the wife to whom

 

shall cling,

to idolatry, to blind madness!”

His voice quivered with the great passion he
could not restrain, and Cecil, in a swift, pas-
sionate impulse, sprung to him, and caught his
hand and pressed it to her lips.

tome!’

hastily, and drawing his hand away from her,
as if the unusual caress were more than he felt
he could endure calm] '.

“ The life that is be ore us must be made the
best of, and I once told you it would be my
duty as well as highest privilege to make it as
pleasant to you as possible. So,”and the weari-
ness and gravity cre t back to the tones again,
“if you would ike,
vitation I told you my friend Pemberton gave
us, to visit him, or go for a few weeks to the
seaside. The warm weather is actually on us,
now, and you need the change.”

She looked troubled at his kindly suggestion.
She was thinking how impossible it would
for her to leave Carris Court, lest her tormentor
should find her gone, on one of his visits, and in
his disappointment and anger reveal himself to
Mr. Carriscourt.

And Mr. Carriscourt, seein the anxious,
troubled look on her face, attri uted it to an-
other cause.

“If you fear there would be any awkward-
ness in our visiting, Cecil, owing to our—pecul-
i iar relations, you are at perfect liberty to sub-
,stitute your own plans for mine. If you refer
:to remain here, and invite guests to ‘ rris
, Court—”

i A leok of relief flashed into her eyes, and as

 

“Oh how good you are, how good you are 3 ' , , , , ,
l 1 his lositive intention to make his grand-nephew

as you choose, carrying your secret as you i

CHAPTER XXI.
WHO WAS sun?

ALTHOUGH some little time had been allowed
by Cutlibert Pem berton to pass b since he had
made his proposal of marriage to lma, he had
not been unimproving the time.

He had been the very model of a suitor— a-
tient, with a suppressed intensity of mingled
doubt and ho that worked very favorably
u on Elma, w o thoroughly en 'oycd this state
0 passionate suspense in which 5 e 511 posed her
lever was suffering all the pangs ofp the occa-
SlOl‘l.

lie had once or twice made delicate allusions
to the answer he wanted, and at the same time
that he expressed his regret at the trying delay
to him in learning his ha ipiness or his wretch-
cdness, he fincl and aintily complimented
Elma on the discretion of her judgment in
weighing the matter so seriously. .

. eanwhile. his other equally important ufl‘air
at (‘iirris Court was progressing perfectly to his

‘ satisfaction, and on the money (‘ccil had given
‘ 1.1m he was living like a lord, therebv adding si-

ou are the ‘

lent evidence to what he had told Elma, that he
was already a rich man, as well as prospective

. heir of the I’cinbcrtou estate.

in whom I shall trust to the end—-whom I love 1

llcspite Elmo's tardy resolve on the matter

3 she had thought of little else since (‘uthbert hill

made his offer. She knew she had failed to
nrvlm a desirable impression upon her uncle
Gi'illilh, she had learned that the money iiced

; not be left to her except at that gentleman‘s op-

“No—I am ghod to myself,” he went on, .

et us either accept the in- i

 

‘ eyes holding an unn

,she suddenly comprehended his thoughts, she i

l flushed Warmly.

l “Thank on. That would suit me much bet-
ter. I w d like on to invite your friend Mr.
Pemberton and h s niece to come to us for a
fortnight and I will send for Mr. May, and one

, or two other friends.”

‘ “Very well,” he said gravely. “We will
consider that arranged.

will see Mr. Pember- ?

ton and include his no how also in the invita- ;

, tion. We will ente 11 our guests as best we

i can, and perhaps can somewhat forget our m ‘

, sonal troubles in the duties of hos itality.
; there is just one other matter. i1.”
, She looked up at sound of the tender pleading
‘ in his tone as he called her name.
“ I want you to promise me this one favor—
you will not see that man again? You value
4 my good opinionl You care to please me!
‘ Then promise me.”
; Her face kindled as she met his look.
i “I would rather die than lese your good 0 in-
: ion, Mr. Carriscourt,” she said, ardently: t en
the old pitiful pallor crossed her face again, as
.‘ she added wearily—“ but I cannot promise you.
, If—lie comes, I must—see him. I am—obliged
tie—whenever he chooses.” I
i, He looked at her a second, a perfect stem of
: emotion in his soul. .
“Very well,” he said, coldly. “And I shall

make it my businessto see that he comes but .

. once more.”
1, And when he had gone, leaving Cecil alone
,1 with this new burden on her poor crushed heart,

, she walked up and down her room in intensest ;
from your door in contemp and bitter hatredl ; nervous exoitenient, her hands clasped her

at, I Wear before my God, I have never‘ streaming eyes full of woe and wretch, ness

1 wandering where or how or when it would all
; en .

1

lion, and she had been frankly told that it was

his ll‘lI‘.

ivcrything, so far as judgment went, pointed
her to accept Cuthbert’s offer, and, had she had
only her ambition and pride and vanity to con-
splt, she would have landed her fish long before
t iis.

But—there was Thorsby, and whatever influ-
ence the girl was under, it manifested itself by
a look of dismay, and a feelin of mingled fear
and rage whenever she thong t of him.

She was thinking of him, wonderin whether
or not she would dare rise up in de ance, and
by one bold grasp secure to herself all the golden
goods the gods were profl'ering.

The summer day was deepening into twilight,
and all the windows were open to welcome the
fresh north - west breeze that stirred lazily
through the rooms, swaying the lace draperies
in slow, graceful motions.

Outside on the balcon , the flowers bloomed v

and gave forth their elicate fragrance, the
awnings were drawn up, and Elma could see
from her bamboo rocker across the wide ave-
nue, and to the o‘pallne sky above.

She was fully ressed for dinner, and sat la-
zily rocking and playin with her fan, her black
thoughtful look; and
Miss Ogden, apparently busy with some trifle
of lace crocheting, wondered, as she glanced oc-
casionally at her, what it was that so engrossed

her. .
A ta on the door answered promp
Miss ngden’s “ Enter,” was followed by glye 

trance of Fletcher, sleek, gentleman] as usual.
Elma looked impatient y from h in to Miss
Ogden, wholly ignoring his suave bow.
‘Howoften am I to intimate that I do not
want this man coming to my room?”
Fletcher’s lips and enly compressed, and a
flash shot from his eyes.
“Elma!” Miss Ogden exclaimed, entreatin -
liy, but the girl only fixed her bright eyes d
ainfully on Fletcher’s inscrutable face.

“Miss Pemberton finds it difficult to adapt ,

herself to her new (position, that is all, Miss Og-
den. I think. un er the circumstances. I can
aflord to overlook her little tempers. Besides,
my object is a purely disinterested one in call-
ing upon you—and before I go I think Miss
Elma will admit it.”

Elma looked coldly at him. but her curiosity
was already somewhat aroused, and she un—
bended to a trifle more maciousness.

“If on have anything to say to me, say it.
I will isten.”

A vestige of a smile crept to Fletcher‘s lips
at her im )erious condesceiision, but he prompt-
ly restrained it, and took a chair at a con-
venient distance 11 )on Miss Ogden’s invitation.

“I came to spea of—Mr. Cuthbert Peinber-
ton, Miss Ehna. He has seen fit to honor me
with his confidence, re rding the one dearest
wish of his life, and alt ough he pledged me to
secrec feel I am better doing my duty to
serve im and his interests, as I have never fail-
ed to serve the interestof his family, by speak-‘
ing to you on the subject of—his attachment for
you, Miss Elma.” ‘

His suave, conciliatory tone had no effect

 

 

 

.;_.—‘i

ti:
3}

 

 

 

 

 

DI_D SHE SIN ?

‘ 2i

 

 

whatever upon her. She colored angrily and
met his cold eves with a furious glance.

“ You woul have saved your reputation as a
person tobe confided in if you had kept your
promise to Mr. Cuthbert Pemberton. What—
ever interests him or myself can by no possi-
bility be any business of yours."

Miss Ogden looked apprehensiver at him, but
his impenetrable expression gave no hint of the
cut the girl’s insolence had given him.

“It is merely a matter of 0 union, Miss
Elma,” he returned, quietly. “ llow me to
continue, that, so far as Mr. Cuthbert is con-
cerned, he is well—born, well-bred, popular,
handsome, and will be the richest young man of
his day when his uncle dies. He will be—as he
is now, in fact—~21 great prize, and—"

Elma tossed her ad in an indiil'erent,ha1f—
coquettish way—the low instinct in her to
herald her triumph being too strong to re-
strain.

“ Oh, you needn‘t trOuble yourself to enume-
rate his charms, or to plead his cause. lie is
amply able to speak for himself. He has al-
ready ropesed to me.”

A g earn of triumph that was actual relief
and ecstatic delight gleamed in his cold, pale
eyes, and he lifted his hand to his mouth to con-
ceal a smile that parted his thin, evil lips. lie
had expected to find much trouble in feeling
his way to the knowledge of whether Cuthlxzrt
Pemberton had asked Elma to marry him: he,
had prepared himself for dilllculties and insull a
before he reached the facts: andhcre—ho was in
possession of what he desire-d to know (111110le
at 1e outset, and, because he had succeeded so
We in arousing the girl’s meancr nature.

'Miss Ogden smiled, jovfully. _, m

“ 0h, Elma, is it possfll e? Mr. Cnthbert has

roamed marriage! What a splendid prospect
ies lie-Eire you as his wife. My dehr, I heartin
congratulate you t”

E ma laughed carelessly.

“Don’t go into theatriCals, Miss Ogden, and

ray don’t make a laughing-stock of yourself,
so Ihaven'tnCCepted Cutlzbert I’cmbel‘ton,

“ But you will, Miss Elma?”

, letcher spoke the few words with a quiet in-
tinuatiou that infuriated the girl, all accusmmed
as the was to utterly ignore the slightest imlo—
vation on her liberty of opinion.

“ What do you mean by speakin to me like
that-wand you a hired servant in t is house of

{oh I shall one day be mistress, whether or
do! Remember your place, and keep your ad-
71g:1 until {Eu are plisked for it.” d

'e was oroug y angry an in ro rtion
to her anger and impudence,  Ogdlzzn Egcame
nervous and frightened.

“Elma, Elma, you must not speak so to Mr.
Fletcher—indeed ou must not! He isa good
friend to yo: an if you—” ,

“ I will not ten to another word! I tell on
I will not be dictated to by either of you. on
are both  servantséfindé will hag: youdis—
chargedi you repeat 6 o ense. an un-
derstand me?” y

Her eyes were flashing like ebony fires, and
unrestrained passion was written on ever fea-
ture of her face. Miss Ogden had pu her
handkerchief to her eyes and was trembling
with dismay; and Fletcher with his impassive
face, and cold, inscruta 19 eyes, suddenly
arose from his chair and Walked over to the
door and turned the key in the lock, and then
returned and took up a ition, standing, di-
in front of Elma w 0, through sheer as—
tonis ment at his peculiar, deliberate manner,
was hushed into a 3 ran expectancy.

“Miss Elma. "—and t ere was something in
the tones of his low, quiet voice that was ter-
rible tohhear—‘t‘ Miss' Elma, we grill haxfia no
more yi a fleas-purposes. ou wi ac-
cept  Chihbert Pemberton’s ofler of mar-
riage, and you will accept it inside of twenty-
four hours.

MiSS Ogden fairly held her breath at sound of

the low-s ken, authoritative words, while El-
ma look at him, nearly speechless with fury
and astOnishment.

“ You—insolent—J’
she. did not proceed any further in her breath-
less defiance of retort, for Fletcher ecoll y inten-

rupted her, a 81W, wily smile creeping to his

mouth.
“You will do exactl as I say, Miss'Elma.
You my spare oursel a great deal that will

be unpleasant you quiet y obey me. Other-
wise—”
She sprung wildly to her feet.

“ Obey you! obey you .'”

She would have sewed the words in‘ her
ungovernable rage had not a look from Fletcher’s
eyes actuallv frightened her.

 

 

“ Besensible, and listen to what I intend you
shall hear, and, as I said, and re t—obey.
You have made a slight mistake in efying me,
youno‘ lady. I hoped and intended to be your
friend and adviser, but since you refuse to ac-
cept me as such, I shall institute myself your
master, and as such, fully intend to be obeyed.”

“Oh—you horrible—creature! I will tell—”

He interrupted her gasping,-vindictive words
again, even more im .riously than before.

“ llushl Not anot lCI' svllable. You will not
tell any one a word of what has passed in this
room, and, you will accept Cuth bert- Pcmberton
for your husband, not only because you are not
to be Mr. Pemberton’s heiress, and Cuthbcrt is
to be, but, because—”

He hesitated, and cast a .rim, penetrating ?

look at Miss Ogden, Whose inndkcrchict‘ had
dropped from her pale, alarmed face. She an-
swered him with a look of etmsterna-tion.

“I am sure Elma will think better of it, and
agree to accept Mr. Cuthbert," she said, almost
tremblingly, and Elma’s lip curled scorn fully.

“ I will never—never be forced into marrying
anybcxly, and neither one of you can make me
consent!”

“Very well, then. I find I am compelled to
tell you something I never intended you should
know——something that, unless I am greatly mis-
taken in my estimate of you, will change your
opinion in regard to marrying a. man of wealth
and 1p )sition.

“ i.~t in. Unless you marry your suitor, all
hope for you is over, for—if Mr. Griilith Pem-
berton knew what I know. and what Miss Ogden
knows, he would drive you out of this house
within an hour. You are not his sister’s child,
you are hot his 13800:” , .

For once in her life, the girl was Completely
taken aback. Her eyes kicked from his terrible,
stern face to Miss Ogden’s pale, ailrightcd one.

“ I—I—don’t know what you mean," she
starmnered.

“ No, you don’t know what I menu, and in all
human probability you never will know the
secret we two have carried man years and will
carry to the end “of our lives. on never will
know, but—you will obey implicitly. You un-
derstand met”

There was no possibility of misdoubting him.
The awful truth was written too plainly on his
grim face, in his firm, resolute words, his quiet,
compelling manner that carried positive convic-
tion with it.

She felt a deathly sinking of her courage, her
ever ready fearlessness and defiance; she grew
cold and quaking in every limb.

“I cannot—seem—to—grasp it. I—I—am—
not able to—say—agything now—”

He smiled, satisfl ly. .

“It is not necessary that you say anything.
The proofs I might give you of the truth of my
assertion areabsolutely undeniable, irrefragable.
You will do well to quietly accept my state-
ment, and—without further dela , accept the
offer of under consideration.”

He withdrew and by the time dinner was an-
nounced Elma. had removed all outward traces
of her emotion, and went down to the table, in
almost her usual manner.

 

CHAPTER XXII.
INTO ml NET, or. our or rr.

DINNER was over in the Pemberton mansion,
ariidt‘lflmlp argd  Sriflitfiggmberltg‘i‘is adjourn-
91 t e ri n '- ' r where
shortly afterward, Chaim-t jogged them, and
still later, Miss G en.

It was the first 'me for a. couple of days that
Cuthbert had called at the house, and Mr. Pem-
berton‘s face ligpetézd gladly at sight of him.

“You have nquite desu'ting us, late] ,
my dear boy, but I am pleased to see you. It
be ' tofeel like gettin away to the seaside,
an I was just about to ll Elma my plans for
the summer, but now that you have come, sup-
Egzs 'you and she arrange what would suit you

An unusually gentle mood was upon Mr. Pem-
berton that evening. He had observed asub-
dued quiet in Elmo’s manner, during dinner,
that p eased him, and he was read and lad to
accept it as a sign that she won d an could
ch e her manner and characteristics. And it
was ust like him to go fully half-way toward
accomplishing such adesirable end—con uent—
1y he had devoted himself particularly to um,
and at, with a strange inconsistence for which
he  himself, he could not help feeling a
sense of relief when his nephew came in to re-
lieve him.

Cuthbert shook hands with him, and then ad-

vanced to Elm whose e eskindled at sight of
him. He took er han , retaining it a second

in a meaning pressure, and then, dropping it,
took a. seat near by.

At Mr. Pemberton's request, Elma laycd for
them, in her usual brilliant style an Cuthlx-rt
leaned comfortably back in his chair, watching
her, and thinking what a glorious stroke of for-
: tune he would accomplish in marrying this girl
l

 

 

and securing all that she represented.

She was lookin extremely handsome this
; evenin , her toiletfiieing a light summer silk of

a pccu iar shade of amethyst that set olf her
black eyes and yellow hair to perfection. Ht r
face was less saucy and independent in exprcs ‘
sion than usual, and a grave, half-puuled
, thoughtfulness in her eyes mellowed their dark-
; ness mest agreeably.

After she had ably executed a Chopin‘s 10-

i liaise, she requested Cuthbert to sing, whic l be

r did, aceompanying himself in a beautiful little
aria from “ Mignon.” that showed the pleasant
quality and admirable cultivation of his tenor
Voice.

Mr. Pemberton and Miss Ogden eonversed
' quietly, listening between times to the 'oung
l people, and then, Mr. Pcmberton excuser him—
! self, as was his usual custom, and retired to his
; library.

Miss Ogden drew a low satin easy-'chair to the
grear balcony and stepped out, to enjoy the
. lovely evening, she would have said, but really

to give Cuthbert Pemberton the opportunity to.
l renew his proposal.
‘ The music over, the two young peo ile saun—
j tered over to the front balcony, that lay all in
shadow. and as they stood there a moment,
Cuthbcrt scizml his oplmrtunity—i'or it was
l with this express purpose in view he had come
' til-night. _ g
“ You must know it is cruel to keep me in sus~
‘, pense any lonrrer, Elma,” he said, taking up the
1 retty plump band whose rings sparkled in the
f ight, and caressing it gcitly. “Nearly two
! weeks ago I laid my heart and hand and name
5 and prospects at your feet, and you romiscd
to consider my suit. Elma, my dar ing, you
must answer me to-night. I am in a state of
uncertainty that renders me unfit for business
or leasure. 1 can think of nothing but you
andjmy love for ou,-night or day. I am in a.
perpetual state 0 torment lest I shall lose you,
i the Only woman in the world I ever loved.
Elma— ou must settle this now. My dearest,
you wil give yourself to me? You will be my
wife?”

His apparently perfectly truthful words were
such an admirable forgery of the nuine as-
sion of which he did not feel a spur , that nm
was pleased and flattered anew, and yet, he;
inherent unrefinement of nature made 1: impos-
sible for her to take her one from him and an~
swer in equally elegant manner.

“ Of course you are in doubt and uncertainty,
cousin Cuthbert and it was my intention you
should be. Anybody that wants mo has got to
be pretty sure of it, I can tell you—and judg-
ing rfr’pm appearances, you want me very
muc . ,

lie involuntarily shrunk from her, despite
her beaut and her golden worth.
ed“ Yes, do bzfant y’cl): more Irhino I Isn‘t-vaunt-

anything ore, smd,‘ i in in ac 'ngs
beneath a smile. “Who could help wanting
you, so lovely, and attractive, and. guilnless as
you are? I have always said and t that.
the girl I married must be oneth 'ps had
never been kissed by a lover until I kissed
themkthat to me should be given the maiden
love of her 'rlish heart. Such a girl I know
you to be, lma.” .

She smilodogain,aeurious little gleam in
her black eyes.

“ Of course I never had a lova- beforo, Cuth—
bert and that is one realon why I have hesi—
ta toacce t the firm off.- I havo received.
I believe I s all have manygood chances if I
wait a little while.”

“ I have no doubt but that on will be able
toboastofoflonbythoacore motheceason

vely, “but, will they

is over,” he said, be
desirable asminei ' noone will over ove
you so well as I do. Second, no marriage
would be such a famil «Ian as one be-
tween us. And—you orce me to my it—there
is not anothgr man  New Ya'ikficity wit% the
prospective ortune can , goo. our
uncle Griffith, whens-ole fl one of the
richest men in ' ”

She liwened aflentivolyl Musing h’u spe-

 

’-

cilouzdmstgnagbgld int die had
ay wn hug-Get.
pltwuadngularenmpliouio-otoflainthat

existed between than. Be, my“:
not Griflth Foam hair, and ' ving
honestly that in would be; was urged by
every possible motive of self-interest to Secure

 

 

 SHE SIN ?

 

 

22

 

her in marriage, regardless of the fact that he
entertained not the slightest affection for her;
while Elma, knowing the insecurit of her po-
sition, believing implicitly whet etcher had
assured her, yet not knowing more than that,
was forced to accept him as her husband, both
by stress of circumstances and the influence of
a man she had begun to Ivar as well as hate.

And, in the direct face of another fate which

she knew fidectly well might any minute pre-
, sent itself her. _ . _

h Cuthbert broke in upon the brief 81161106 With
o fis voice of well-simulated eager passion:

“ Answer me my darling! It will be yes—it
must be yes!” e added, as he passed his arm
around her waist, and attempted to draw her
closer to him.

“ I suppose it must be,” she said. half—reluc-
tantly, yet with a'certain coquettish gracious-
ness in her voice. “But—yes—you may kiss
me, of course; only once, though, for I don’t
care about kissin , Cuthbert. And I do hate
‘having my laces a l disarranged and rumpled.”

She withdrew from his arms, and smoothed
the delicate lisse ruching which her lover’s arm
had slightly mussed. He hit his lip, but refrain-
ed from any further demonstration.

“Your wishes shall always be my law, in
dearest,” he said, allantly. “And now I wi l

0 at once to Mr. gemberton and announce our

trothal and you can tell your friend, Miss
Ogden. We wil arrange for a s eedy wedding,
Elma, and a bridal tour to t e seaside and
mountains. You shall be the ha piest woman
the sun shines on, my dearest. nd you have
already made me the proudest, happiest man in
the world.” '

“That is all nonsense Cuthbert,” she return-
ed, coolly. “Oi‘course lam very glad to mar
' on because you are rich and handsome and a l

hat, and I dare say I shall like you very well.
But there’s one thing—I don’t believe the 01d
ntleman will consent to our marriage. He
Egan’t the most obli 'ng way in the World and
he doesn’t care muc more for me than for
him, and if he thinks it would be a satisfaction
to me to marry you, or any one, he would de-
cline his consent for pure spite.”

Cuthbert smiled at the venom in her tones.

“Then we will marry without his consent,
my dearest. Do you think I would be cheated
of my beautiful bride by him, or any one?”

“ Well,” she assented, graciously, thinking
what a terrible thing for her it would be if by
an means the marria were revcnted, “I
will leaveitto you Cut bert. nd I’ll go tell
Miss 0 den now, while you see the griflln.”

He li her hand to his lips for a good-night,
and went to the library to seek Mr. emberton,
while Elma stepped out upon the balcon where
she aroused Miss Ogden from a little -sleepy
reverie.

“I have promised to marry him,” Elma an-

nounced, abrupt] , asshe seated herself on an- .

other chair near .
Miss Ogden was instantly all eager attention.
“ My dear Elma, I congratulate you- with all
my heart. Your rpm t is glorious. There
is not a l in all ew ork but will env you.
You ' be 'ch and popular and a mired
wherever y go, for, to you, marriage means
emancipation and freedom and independence!
My dear Elma, when I think of what you may
“33'” it“ “1‘ "im' limb?" h
set, eyes t e rug on t e
floor of the balcony amtli'eamy, far-away look
in them very unusual to her to indulge.
“ Yes, I suppose. you do,” she said, presently.
“ I never was so stag ered and put about in all
my life as when that y Fletcher told me I
was not the militia heiress—not Mr. Pember-
ton’snieceas vebeenledtosuppoeeforyeers.
But I shall make myself by marrying
I will secure a itlon second to
n , s e same 0 g
mdbaafteralljutt ‘asthuh
I rea y were his sister’s child. as O den "—
and the black eseuddenly lost their t on ht-
ful look, and fished been and on t t
lady’s face—“it is only just rig t that I
kgnoww’hoendwhetlam. An Iwant youto
me.

mMieeOQdeneompse-edberllpe inpaledeter-
“Thatlannot’atlibertytotell. Iemeworn

tosecrecx‘mma.

'l‘hegir lipean'ledin sneer.
“Much you respect the one of an oath,

whenyoudd eworetoMr.Pemberton

Immu- l WelLthen—don’ttell
me! Idon’tknowthatlneedcaretolearawho

mum deoe it will not interfere with

my re. Cuthbert Pemberton. But
one Immeyoa,”andhervoicegrew
fulqu hatred and cold fury. “and that is

 

l druaset at

—when once I am married, and mistress of this l “End 617, She is his niece,” be repeated,

house, that you and that insufferable wretch of
a Fletcher shall be discharged from the Pember-
ton service and take your miserable secret off
with you. You need to be taught a lemon for
your insolent familiarity with me.”

And she went up—stairs to her rooms, leaving
Miss Ogden to sit crying in the starlight—genu-
lne, pitiful tears that were wrung from her
very cart. '

CHAPTER XXIII.

A MAN TO BE WATCHED.

Curnnna'r ansnaros did not 0 to tne li-
brar where he would have seen r. Griffith
Pem

 

room at the top of the house set apart for Hiram
Fletcher’s special use, and where, as usual, that
individual was found, not leisurely busy over
accounts, and pleasurany engrossed in apers
appertaining to the intricacies of the Pem crton
aflairs, but in the very mood Cuthbert was most
desirous of finding him. ~

He evidently was not surprised when Cuth-
bert rapped and entered.

A brief
lips, and he quietly and deliberately arose and
locked the door.

“ I am glad to see you, Mr. Cuthbert and you
are not entirely unexpected. From little charm:
iiig suggestions Miss Elma let fall I was sure
you would be here to tell me the success of your
wooing. So I locked the door to insure secrecy.”

He returned to his chair, settled himself com-

fortably, and with a slow, calm smile on his l
face very much at variance with the true feel- '
ings at his heart, he waited while Cuthbert took '

two or three restless strides across the room.

Several minutes passed, and Cuthbert con-
tinued his silent, impatient walk, watched nar-
rowly by Fletcher’s cold, shrewd glance.

“ erhaps I am mistaken in the object of your
visit. Mr. Cuthbert ” he said, at last, his eager
curiosit at fever eat to know if Elma had
obe ed is orders. .

“ on are not mistaken,” Cuthbert said,
throwing himself in an easy-chair. “You are
not mistaken. I have repeated my proposal of
marriage to my cousin, and she has acce )ted it.”

Not a shade of more satisfaction I: was
'ust the thing, was permitted to show itself on

letchcr’s face at the news that made his wick-
ed heart triumphant and elated. His voice was
quiet and respectful, and 'ust enthusiastic
enough to suit the occasion as e re lied:

“ I congratulate you, Mr. Cuth rt. Your
cousin is a beautiful, accomplished girl, fit to
mate with the best in the land, and perfectly

calculated to make youavery proud and happy r

man.”

Cuthbert’s lig's curled ever so slightly.

“I doubt it letcher. The truth is, and you
area man of sufficient perception to know it,
that so far as love is concerned, there’s not
much lost between us. I snall marry her for
her money, and when once she is safely my
wife, she may go to the—dickens for all I care.
I don’t like her, Fletcher.

smitten with her dash and uestionable vi-

,vacity. She has the temper of t ie Old Boy him-

self, and is mercenary and heartless. All the
llama—she and I are enga ed to be married.”

His voice held a sneer 1! its low, passionleu
tones that had the effect of making Fletcher’s
impassive face slowly redden.

‘ You are not overcomplimentary to our
future wife Mr. Cuthbert. Unless on t ink
a): can make the oung lady a husband,

e my advice, an re ract your words. Some
consideration is certai ly due her from you.”

There was evident restraint in his words, and
certainly a cold reproof in his manner, and it
made Cuthbert laugh lightly.

"You are unnatural 11 your rblc of virtuous
sentiment, Fletcher. Allow me to say that, if
she were the devil, even, I’d marry her to se-
cure the fortune from which she has ousted
me. To change the subject: I have every rea-
son to believe be old gentleman will oppose the
match. He has ken to me indefln tel on
the subject seve times of late, and each me
he seems more and more determined that Elma
shall not receive'anv marked attentions fora
year or so yet. Before she came, it was. his

earnest desire that if reeabl a ma:
should take place in coau‘ne of etime but h

views have undergone a change—evidently his
opinion of, and affection for h niecenhave not

bee strengthened upon acquaintance.
Fletcher may” looked intentlyetegay

 

rton, and as he told Elma he intended to .
do, but, instead, went directly to the small‘

inscrutable smile sped across his thin .

She’s pretty after a I
. bold, pronounced fashion, and several fel owa are

. follow your advice, and

thoughtfu y, slowly.

“ Oh, yes; and as such he is Quixotic enough
to do his whole duty by her, regardless of his
personal feeling in the matter.”

“But, you are convinced he will refuse to
sanction an immediate marrla e—and in the
event of a long engagement, iss Pemberton
ma lose her heart to some one else.”

‘ Exactly. And I havo come to hear your
advice on the subject.”

Fletcher’s e ebrows drew themselves in a
thoughtful, ha f-puzzled frown, and he sat sev-

1 eral minutes as if in deep consideration of the

sub 'ect, pro and con.

“JWell,”Cuthbert said, after a time, impa-
tiently.

“I see but one way,” Fletcher replied, de-
liberately. “There really is but one way to
see. You fully intend to marry Miss Pember-
ton, your one , as fully intends she shall not
marry—yet. You are resolved not to wait—
with the natural impatience of a lover. From
my knowledge of Miss Pemberton, she hasa vein
of romance and adventure in her temperament
that would render the only available alterna—
tivlcla gasy. Marry her quietly—secretly, if you
w1 .

He sat with his legs easily crossed, speaking
in a quiet matter-of-fact tone that admirably
masked his well-restrained ea erness.

“I’ll do it! Elma will not averse to such
an irregular rocceding, as you say. I'll marry
her inside 0! orty-eifght hours, and then—but,
Fletcher,” and his ace suddenly darkened—
“what could the old gentleman do about the
mqpey in case he was hopelessly angry with

Fletcher smiled briefly, and recrossed his
legs, leaning his head against the back of the
chair, and resting his arms on the sides.

“Being entirel in your uncle’s confidence,
Mr. Cuthbert, an knowing just the sort of man
he is in tern ,rament and principles, I am ccr~
tainly just‘ ed in assuring you that you take
no risk whatever in marrying Miss Pemberton
out of hand. Frankly, as you may have seen, I
am interested in this affair, on your account.
When I first became aware of Mr. Pembeiton’s
intention to make his niece his principal legatee
I felt naturally sorry that your long-ex ected
prospects were so materially changed. mar~
riage with Miss Pemberton suggested itself to
me from the very first, and now, I advise you
to secure both fortune and a beautiful wife as
soon as expedient. Mr. Pemberton will doubt-
less bc angry at {your disre ard for his wishes
but—you can sa ely leave t 0 management of
that part of the affair to me. Marry her—and
my word for it, it will be all right.” ‘

Ciluthbert knit his brows with a sarcastic
sm 0.

“You are an enthudast on the subject, Flet-
cher. Do you know you impress me strongly
with the same sensation I experienced when
you first spoke to me of Miss Pembertonl That
you have some hidden motive at stake—that
you are anxious to serve your own ends, so
ea er are you to bring about this marriage.”

etcher listened gfiently, not a muscle of
his inscrutable face traying how marvelously
nearthethrust hadcome. Then hesmiled eooll .

“I will admit I have a motive—an o
ject to gain. If the heiress marries on, on
will be master here, as your grand-unc e be ore
you. If she marries a stran er, that stranger
Wlll be master. In the first nstence the' rob-
ability is very strong that you will to
continue me in char e of the affairs 1 have man-
aged so long. I m e considerable mone by
it; I have no desire to surrender my tion.
HE “fig” collie?” lders suggesti el

e s on v .

Cuthber mghed. y

“A fair, honest defense. Yes, Fletcher, I’ll
marry in fair cousin
you imp icit yto arrange
theflna of the air—the fo venom and re-
conciliation, ou know. An , in turn, I’ll
agree that so ong as you wish you shall retain
your resent position.” '

“ k you, sir,” he returned, and then
these two mm, each fighting daemme for
their own interest, and thbert was
letting himself out the gun] entrance, ust
as Mr. Pemberton stepped the door of ii-
‘ and called himtil to bet  h
‘ way,onem u , oreyou t-

was;
’

off-hand relyingu

but. To—night’s mail has just b no a
line from my young friend Canisconrt who,
withhiswife, willcall oamynieoe to-morrow
and remain for luncheon. and see Mrs.
Carri-court. You consider \ a con-
noi-eur in beautiful woman, andtheysay‘she is
exquisitely lovely.” ‘

/

 

-‘a‘.- -‘1-

 



 

w—

"Iiil

sop—Issu—

IRI'IH

 

DID SHE SIN ? ,

'23-

 

s

A sudden cold chill struck him. Cecil com-
ing here, under the very roof -of the house he
fre uentcd! And lie—invited to meet her!

’1‘ ie sarcasm of the fatefulness of it occurred
to him with keen force, as he instantly saw
there could no awkward contretem *s happen
since Mr. Pemberton so unconscious y warned
him. But, a chill like ice dripping on him
shivered over him at the narrow escape. Sup-
pose Mr. Pemberton had failed to notify him?

But, Satan doesn’t often desert his own. until
he gets them just where he wants them, and
Cuthbert remembered that fact with a little
triumphant thank ‘ riving.

“You are very ind; thanks!" he said. “ I
will do my best to drop in at luncheon and see
your guest; indeed. I will be quite (lisxppointcd
1f the engagement I have with Lcfilngton keeps
me from seeing the lady I have heard is so
charming.”

He waited a moment longer, undecided
whether or not to broach the subject of his en-
gagement with Elma; then a visitor was an-
nounced, and he bade Mr. Pemberton good-
night—not going directly from the house, but
stepping into the parlor and deliberately re-
moving from a magnificently lambrequined
bracket a photograph of himself in its crimson
velvet and ebony s-e—partuut frame.

He transferred it bodily to his pocket, with a
smile on his face.

“ The only likeness of me in the house, thanks
be to my presiding angel! And the solitary one
of S dney’s was condemned to disgrace and the
ash- cap many a long day ago. So come to
lunch, my fair Cecil, and su rise the old gentle-
man by his recognition of t ie face at the win-
dow, and I think Lefiington will detain me be-
yond the luncheon hour.”

Then he went away, and the silence of the
late evening settled down on the quiet upper
streets of the city. Mr. Pemberton dism1$scd
his visitor a little later, and a servant went
about putting out the lights, and greater silence
and darkness reigned as the solemn midnight
a

CHAPTER XXIV.
ran swear non AGAIN.

Till clear, bright summer mornin was draw-
In nearto noon, and Mr. Griffith emberton’s
F' th avenue residence looked inviting and cool
with its gay fluttering awnings and balconies of
rare plants, and its lace draperies swaying in
the fresh westerly breeze, as the carriage con-
  Carriscourt and Cecil drove up from

e .

 a beautiful, unostentatious toilet of

ay summer silk, that answered equally well

or the short ti’ourney on the train between Car-
ris Court an the city, and the luncheon to
which she had come at Mr. Pemberton’s house.

She looked very lovely and ladylike, and Mr.
Carriscourt felt a. thrill of pride and delight as
he was warmly met and welcomed almost at the
door by his host, who could not conceal his look
of admiration and expression of astonishment

at sight of Cecil’s fair sweet tam.
He-shook her hand warml , and, with a and-
den, tender 'im lee bowed ' handsome gray

head and it her row.
“You will not chide me, my dear Mrs. Car-
riscourt, for such a liberty. But, besides know-
your husband .0 many years, and having
enJoyed o slight acquaintance with the late
Judge May, you remind me of a face I saw once
-—not so long ago, the sweetest face I ever saw
.4: a window on Lexi 11 avenue.”
Carriscourt looked at ' , and then at Mr.
Pemberton, and. was just a little surprised to
notice traces of intenaeat intarest on both their

faces.

“It was I you saw, Mr. Pemberton' I nevor
shall forgeti so long as I live. You drove by
with a gentleman and looked u at my window,
and  seemed to In. that .I always known

on.

yllr. Pemberton still waa looking steadily at
her sweet pure face, with the everlasting aha-
dowsh the blue 6 88, the gravity around the
exquisite mouth, a warm Sunshiny glory of
the lustrous rippling Mr. Ind as he looked a
strange expression thered slow] in his eyes,
andhsgrandface _I0pal dthat itwas
evident some strong emotion had come to him.

“Yes; it ia‘gdhemnaamc 111108 that “tested me
so are ge y, because—because—
you us a dear one long lost. Mrs. Carrie-
Sourt, m thll mystery of manner

car
into the

ouwill .

Cdrrhoouracome;bringyour wife

tosho hu- to - ‘fndlmllidreshizgns‘li:
w a room or an
maytrial:tomakeinhertoilct.x

 

But his voice was husky and his manner full
of a supgressed agitation that could not fail to
comman Carriscourt’s attention.

They remained in the elegant little morning—
r00m until a servant came to escort Cecil up-
stairs, and as she went, Mr. Pemberton took her
hand again, in a tender, wistful way.

“ Let me tell you I am so glad you have come,
mly dear. I want you to see my niece, and use
a your influence to make her ike yourself, if

it be ossible. We will serve luncheon at one .

o’cloc .”
Cecil smiled back in the splendid, troubled
eyes that had such a puzzled, yearning look in

them, and then followed the maid from the :

room, while Mr. Pemberton turned to Carris-
court.

“Do on wonder what is the matter with

me?” he asked, half—smilingly, but with a pale 3

anxiety on his face. “Your lovely wife has
captivated my old heart, in dear boy. She
brings up memories that a most unman me,
and arouses a strange, sickening fear and doubt
that appall me.
let me ask you some questions—or no,” he sud-
denly said. “I will not allow such an emotion
to get the victory over me. It was onl a
thought, a assing thought, born of a sud en,
yearning Wish that my niece were 'ust such a
woman. We won’t speak of it, arriscourt.
Rescmblances are sometimesa little startling,
you know, but there are a thousand cases where
the mean nothing.”

r. Carriscourt istened, and looked almost as
puzzledas Mr. Pemberton had done. But the
stran e brief agitation had one from his face
now, ollowed b its habitu expression, with
perhapsa little eepened pallor.

“ Resemblances are startlin , as you say, sir.
Allow me to ask, does Ceci remind 'ou so
strangely of some one? It willbe a grea plea-
sure to or to know she has any such recom-
mendation to your favor.”

“ Yes, she is very like—my dead sister. You
have doubtless heard the story, Carriscourt,
how in r Genevieve married—a—villain,
and die( 8 ortly after her babe was born—the
young girl up—stairs, for whom I searched for
years and years, and found so very lately
through1 the unceasing, intelligent care of my
man ctcher.”

“ I have heard, sir, something of the story.
And I congratulate you on havin been so suc-
cessful. I have heard that Miss emberton is
gmarkgbly beautiful, and an honor and a pride
'ou.
' r. Pemberton’s face darkened.

“She is handsome—if you admire that style
of heautv. But. (lai'riscourt. Elma is not as I
hoped she would be—like her mother. She is—
she must be her father over again. And I hated
that man with a hatred so bitter that I do not
forgive him to-day as he lies in his rave. He
mined my sister’s ha piness. He ki ed her by
his treatment, and though he has lain in his
five for long years, my curse lies heavily upon

Mr. Pemberton’s blue eyes were dark with the
pain of bitter memories.

“ But—for the young wife’s sake, sir, you
have done our whole duty by the child.”

“I don’t now,” Mr. Pemberton returned, al-
most fiercely. f‘ For in dead Genevieve’s sake
I left no stone unturn _ to find the girl, hoping
and praying it would be another GeneVieve,
noble, enerous loving minted, sweet—but—
she is a 1 her villainous fa er over again, high-
tem , headshung—Cardscourt, don’t let’s

her of it. t is unge

swish nerous in me to

prejudice (you against my niece. Perhaps I am

soured an bittered till I fail to see her good
q  Try to make your lovely wife he
an in her, and make her “as nearl like

herself as he can, for she is ust what had
dared to think Genevieve’s chil would be.”
Their communication was cut suddenly short
by the sound of footsteps approachin from the
up er floor, and in a momen , Elma emborton,
in all house toilette of amethyst-colored silk,

came sw into the room.
The men arose, and Mr. Pemberton pre-
sented or to Mr. Carriscourt.

She bowed, and smiled and extended her hand =

in a retty coquettish welcome.

“ have heard so very much of you from
uncle Griffith,” she said, iously and Mr.
Carriscourt bowed in acce of he implied
com liment.

“ th in and Hrs. Carriaoourth to
have the pleasure of continuing any g im-
Eessioua you may have received of us. Mr.

mberton  aiiinvitaiitoa to visit 1::
Com- Court, can prom
himand younelfandflr. Outhhcrt grub-non
a Dleuan Occasion." ‘

Sit down here a moment and ‘

1‘ Oh, thanks,” she returned, in a (prompt, flip-
pant way that instantly jarred on arriscourt’s
sensitive taste—“ I should love to visit at Car-
ris Courtif ‘it does not interfere with our ar—
rangement to be at Long Branch by the first of

I July. “’e might come a. little later in the sea-
, son, after we return from the sea-shore.”

! A swift displeasure gathered in Mr. Pember-
ton‘s eyes that Carriscourt saw he vainly en-
deavored to hide.

“ We will accept Mr. Carriscourt’s kind invi-
, tation for the date mentioned, Elma. We can

visit Long Branch later just as conveniently.
A mutinous look came over her face.
“ But I (prefer to go to the country later. I
, have deci ed to go to the sea-shore on the first
' of July, and—I am going. I am sure Mr. Car-
, riscourt will accept my reason.”

She sent her most bewitching smiles to Car-
riscourt, who bowed, gravely. He was think-
ing how strangely at variance with the birth
and natural breeding of a Pemberton this little,
coarse passage-at—arms was.

“Elma, I cannot permit such—discourtesy,”
he added, in a cold, an way. “If you are
not able to appreciate the indelicacy of your re—
fusal, I am at the necessity of suggesting to you
that such is the case. Carrisco here is an
intaglio I purchased yesterday. wish you
would look at it and give me your candid
opinion. Elma ”—and he turned to her again,
meeting her unreasoning fury of eyes and man-
ner—“ on will be kind eno h to remain here
until rs. Carriscourt comes own."

He and Mr. Carriscourt went into the library
together, leaving Elma alone with her rufiled
feelings. -

“ I will not be im upon another day,”
she said, hotly to erself. “ Uncle Griffith
treats me as if were a. child in pinafores, dic
tating to me as no living rson shall do. I
will 0 to Long Branch by t e first of Jul , and
if I on’t choose to go to the horrid, p0 y old
country I won’t go at all either.”

She took a letter from her pocket, and settled
herself comfortabl in a luxurious chair to read
it, with a curious, inscrutable look on her face
as for the dozenth time she read it. It was not
long, but very decidedly to the oint, and it was
written in a hold, handsome d, and it was
postmarked London.

And it read:

“ MY DEAREST Emu: This makes the fifth letter I
have written you since you went to America. and
failingto receive a word from you I have made up
my mind to follow you and learn what is the matter.
Icannot—l will not—believe you have made up your
mind to cut me dead, nor do I think you have any
intention of trying to get out of our e azemcnt,
which, taking into account our undoubt love for
each other, and the fact of so many letters, profing
the engagement, being in my possession, would be a
very hand task for you to accomplish.

“I must see on. I shall sail in the steamer next
after the one t iat takesthia letter. I will be at your
fashionable watering-place, Long Branch, from the
first to the fifteenth of J uly—and you must be there.
I am all impatience to see you, to congratulate 3 on -
on the great cod-fortune that came to you, and
also, m dear lma, to claim the fulfillment of your
promise to be my wife. Ever devote'ld;y, ”

Bhehadroadthoominousletteraoman times
that she did not shrink in fear as at first
‘ gending, but a vague dismay showed on her

a. .

“ Poor Thombyl I wonlbr how I will get out
of it! I liked him tE‘ia'ctty well but—I wouldn’t
marry him for all world. Iwill have to go
to Long Branch and mamgehim aawell as!
can, until—I am safely married to Cuthbert,
and then can undo that.”

A defiant look settled around her mouth, as,
hearing the soft rustle of silken skirts and foot-
stegrdescending the stairs, she thrust the letter
in
court.

pockeaandarose tothth-

CHAPTER XXV.
max an! an) BLUI.
Tm: two women, both scarcely more than
girls, approached each other, Just a the gentle-

men reéntered the room. I
Mr. Pemberton forward. I!!! eyes
1 ' eagerly from one fair face with its

ex ‘ to, velvety blue 9 a,» the other, with
itsqbold, hanihome bin; ones, and the same
look of ' flash-d cut: his face Cecil
had seen before, followed by a bitternem.
“This is my niece, Mrs. W.
Elma, Ihavc greatly ’ youtobecomcw
quainted with th lady-and her husband.”
Elma bowed and Cecil extended her hand in

hers graciousway.
“Iamso lad to meetymlthembermn.
Ihaveh muchdymmdidnoenly hope

 

we mav be friends.”

 

’  7

luv." 0». own '4

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‘_ .
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a”, 

 

24

l O

 

Dip SHE SIN ?

 

her voice never had. sounded so pure, so cul' l Carriscourt. My cousin, Mr. Cuthbert Pem-
tured as m the immediate contrast With Elma”! | berton—you have heard of him—and I are be-

flippant answer.

‘There’s not the least doubt of it, Mrs. Car-
riscourt, if you are at all eas to t along with.
I am pleased to see you—she. l I s ow

awaiting lunch?”

I on some 1
of the beauties of my new home wh lo we are l

1 trothed, and after we are married we will see
l who reigns here.”

She compressed her thin lips resolutely, and
her black eyes flashed a pretty defiance.

Cecil delicate] i ored her last clause.

“1 have hear 0 Mr. Cuthbert Pembo" v.—

Cecil accepted the courtesy, and they left the and I most sincerely hope that I can cmmclen-

room together, Elma’s silken train sweeping tiously con

ostentatiously along, her jewels glittering, her

French heels clinking along the marble floor of V
the grand hall, and Cecil, in her modest, pretty, ‘

tulate you. Tell me all about
him—he' is andsome, and elegant, and climate,
of course.”
Her charming little manner flattered Elma

uiet toilet and spotless laces, her slight, per— r greatly.

ect ii are, her graceful, springy walk. I

As t ey disappeared, Mr. Pemberton sighed.

“ I’Vhata contrastl Clyde, do you wonder I ;
am disappointed! There’s just enough of the
Pcmllerton strain in her blood to give her her .
beautiful hair and complexion, but, aside from ‘
that, She is her fathcr’s child. Why is it that i
such a. heartsick disappointment has come to me
in my old a e? Vth couldn’t she have been
like your wi o, with her soulful, truthful face
and refined, dainty ways—just like my sister
was at her best?” -

His grand blue eyes were full of gloomy sha-
dows as he listened to the sound of (‘ccil‘s voice,
coming almost indisdziilctly from the room whi-
ther EIma had escorted her.

“I cannot account for in interest in your
wife,” he went on, hurrie 1y. “but she im-
presses me in the most inexplicable manner.

he stirs mg! old heart so strangely that if I (lid
not know 5 e was the child of a family whose
name stands high in SOClul circles, I should scri-
ously ask myself whether or not there could
have been, by any fatal possibility, a mistake
on Fletcher’s part. And yet there could not be
—of course there could not have been. Every
atom of proof was subjected to the strongest
investigation ; but how my declining years
might have been cheered and comforted if Fate
had only ordered other wise.”

Carriscourt sat back in his chair, a sudden,
inexplicable sensation taking ficssession of him
that quickened the beat of his cart, and stirred
his Pulses strangely.

I Cecil were not the daughter of the Mays,
Mr. Pemberton had said.

And Mr. Carriscourt know she was not a
May. Then—

Only for one moment did that curious, con-
fused emotion master him.

“ It is a rather far-fetched supposition,” he
assured himself, quietly. “ Nevertheless I will
investigate it at my leisure, and in the mean-
time there is no necessity for my mentioning
an thing to Mr. Pemberton.”

othing further was said on the subject be-
tween them, and, the while, Elma and Cecil
were having a little womanly gossip in Elmo’s
marsh .. i i no... i. i .i
vo ng very ova y, a so.
as she «tend the charming apartments.

“Oh yes, and it ought to be, I am sure.
Uncle Griffith is immensely rich and as I am to
be his heiress, it is proper that he should have
everything to suit me. But he isa horrid proud,
cro- old fellbw."

Cocildid notpormithonelf to look the sur~

pr'ne she felt.
“He does not seem crom,” she returned
ntly. “To me he is the embodiment of all
I best and granted in manhood.”

“ That’s because you don’t know him as well
u I do,” Elma retortod in a confidential way.
“ When I first new himIthougbt justu you do
but now—”

She shru her shoulders, rettily.

“lsh think van would ove h m dearly
for all his k'lndne- to you, at least,” Cecil said,
gravely kindly.

u Well, 1 don’t. I can’t see what i kind-
ness he has shown. He suited and p eased him-
self in flndin mo and as I am his own sister’s.

child he inch to make a cat deal of me.
But, can tell {an one thing rs. Carnsco' urt,
if he wasnltrso mensely rich, I shouldn’t stay

under his roof an hour longer so cold and cross 1
and tyrannical lie it. As t is, I expect. to be,
mistress of my own house before long.”

‘ Shosmiled and twirled her fan co uettishly

and Cecil could not restrain I. 0 am
smiloot her vain ostentation—the first smile of !
amusement that had curved her sweet mouth
for many a day

“What a d 1 mystery, [in Pembor-
son. And yet, seems hardly: mystery,_beo
cmyoucanhnrdly mean but one emancipa-
t .

Elma laughed lightly, upping her tiny slip-

 

toot on the-floor.

“ Yew-you know what I mean. loco. In. l ooolofth’o

“Oh! Handsome !—I should think so. He is

l tall and dark, and has the loveliest curly hair,

and whiskers, and black eyes.”

A little sickening memory swe t over Cecil at ‘
the words of the description. all, dark, curl-
ingr black hair, luxuriant black whiskers—it was
so ike Sydney Valence that a deathly faintness
swept swiftl ' over her.

In a secon the sensation was over.

“I am so nervous and childish," she told her-
self, energetically. “Am i never to lose my
fear and ropugnanoo to tall, dark, well‘beardcd 1
men, because such a one is the blight of my
life!” .

Elma, chattering voluny on, had not observed
the fleeting agitation on her guest’s fair face. ,

“I will admit another thin r, however, about ,
my future lord and master, . rs. Carriscourt, 1
and that is: I don’t care very much for him, for
all his gOod looks and distinguished manners.”

Cecil looked gravely rcproachfnl. r

“ You would not seriously think of marrying ‘
where you could give no affection? Oh, surely, I
Miss Pembcrton, on are not in earnest?”

“ Oh, but I am I know somebody else—I—I
:xppct you will be horrificd—bnt it’s true that I _
like somebody else ever so much better; but
I won’t marry him, and I certainly shall mar-
ry Cuthbert.’

CeciLexporienced a sense of pitying repug-
nance toward this girl who was so unrefinedly
blunt in her language and manner and so de-
ficient in delicate Womanly principles.

“You surely do not realize what a terrible
thing it is for a young girl to give herself in l
marriage to a man she does not entirely respect
and love. It—”

I

 

CHAPTER XXVI,
THE FIRST DROPS or THE STORM.

IT was the evening of the day during which.

Mr. Carriscourt an Cecil had taken luncheon

with Mr. Pemberton, and dinner was just about.

to be served when Cuthbert made his appear-
ance, with co'urteously-expressed apologies for
his inability to have appeared at lunch, and
with such a parent honest regrets at the plea-
sure he had 11 so very unfortunately forced
to forch that Mr. Pembcrton accepted his ex-
cuses and sympathized with his well-simulated
disappointment.

“t‘ e is so perfectly lovelv, Cuthbert,”lle
said, enthusiastically, as they discussed the ele-
gant, elaborate dinner. “ I never saw any one
who impressed me so strangely and strongly as
Mrs. Carrisconrt does. or I am actually look-
ing forward with keen” llight to my promis—
ed visit to them. Y_d were so cordially in—
cluded that I insist upon your going with Elma

, and I for at least a day or so.”

A curious, slow smile crept around Cuthbert’s
wicked mouth, as he thoughtfully stirred his
cup of French cofl'ce.

“ So your friend Carriscourt wants me to
visit Liln, docs he! Well-.1 am just a little sur-
prised, for although my acquaintance with him
is very slight, I have alwa) s been under the im-
pression he disliked me. And he wants me to
visit him.”

Ht: spoke inrlifi’crcntly enough, but'in his head
all sorts of ther thoughts were running con-
fusellly.

“ Was there ever such an intricate condition
of affairs? By Jove, what had I better do about
it? To think he wants me—me .’—to visit him l”

Mr. Pemberton did not observe any peculiari-

 ty in his expression of face, for Cut bcrt I’em-

berton was fully comgrctent to permit one ex-
pression to show on 15 face and an entirely

. contrary motive to be actually governing._

“I think your impression is an imaginary
one, Cutllbert. There is no ssible reason why
Mr. Carriscourt should dis ike you, and you
must not allow such a boyish excuse to inter-
fere with our social obligations.”

No possi 1e reason! The irony of the entire
affair, the sarcastic fatefulness of it, occurred

i with keenest intensity to Cuthbert.

“You may be right,” he returnedndeferen-

Elma interrupted her, a bold little smile on ' tinny—“there is no reason, unless it 18 one of

her red lips.
_ “How do you know that Mrs. Carriscourtl
Don’t you love your husban ?”

A flush of sensitive pride and outraged deli-
cac mounted Cecil’s pure face.

“ iss Pemberton, if you were more inti-
mately ac uninted with my husband you would
understa the utter absurdity of your nes-
tion. No woman could be his wifo-d not ove
him. What I wished to impress upon you was
how wrotehedly such mmng as yours must
be always end.” v

‘ I cannot see where the wretchedness will

be. We will have plenty of mono , and go
where we please. I shall have all t e dresses
and jewels I want, and shall do exactl what
lplease independent of him. He can 0 just
as be c oases, regardless of me. We will get
along ve well, and—best of all—it will spite
uncle G ' th so.”
A sternness was gathering on Cecil’s face.
She felt it was impossible for her to listen
longer to Elmo’s remarks, and yet, she hardly
knew how to change the subject. As it was,
she did the best she could.

“I suppose Mr. Cuthbert Pemberton will be
here to luncheon? I would like to see him very

much.”

“ I expect he will ~” Elma lied, carelessly.
“And you will also have the fa icit of. meeting
the hatefulest old maid in Chr' ndom-m
special aversion, my duenna, Miss O don.” l

“The lady who has been your riend since i
your mother died, I presume you mean,” Cecil

 

!

re lied, in a quiet, cold re roof which utterly . are about the same a e.

is led of its impression on lma, for at that in- '
stunt a servant tapped on the door and an-
nounced that luncheon was served, and the l
ladies went dosm to a re
to Mr. Pembertbn’s Franc chef do cuisine.

An hour was spent in social conversation af-
ter the refreshment, at which, of course, Mr.

express /
Cuthbert Pemborton failed to appear, and his subject—I how to confess that my beautiful

i more child, an has not en oy
: or a discipline you woul

twhich did credit . laugh that

those unaccountable prejudices that sometimes
 people. But—I may be mistaken. I cer-
tainly hope I am, and my accepting Mr. Carris-
court’s invitation will effectually prove it one
we or the other.”

. Pemberton looked pleased at the implied
acceptance of Mr. Carriscourt’s invitation, but
before he could again ly, Cuthbert suddenly
chan ed the sub'ect of t e conversation.

“ hv is not lma at dinner, sir? I hope she
is not ill?” -
Mr. Pemberton’s face clouded, and he answer—

ed, sternly:
‘ She is not sick, unless you call an attack or
the sulks illness. She chose to be rather pro-
nounced in her behavior to Mr. Carriscourt this
noon, and when I o to her of it, after my
est’s departure, 9 took offense and refused
come down to dinner. Of course Mia den
ordered dinner for her in her rooms. Cuth rt,
I am greatl disappointed in that 1.”

He sigh heav' v as he almos always did
when speaking confidentth of her.

“She certainly did very wrong,” Cuthbert
said, “but "—in an extenuating voice—“we
should not for b that she is oung, almost a
the advantages
have so strictly en—
joined she been always with you.”

Mr. Pemberton’s lip curled.

“ ‘ Almost a mere child 1’ She. is seventeen—
es, nearlmghteen—and old enou h to behave
erself. at the diflerence tween her

and—Mrs. Carriscourt, for instance, and thev
Don’t make such
films excuses for her thbert.”

Bu Cuthbert stood his ground well, althou h
therewasatracoofun intheligt
ed his answer.

Itisna lIshouldseoktomaboxcuses
for her, air. The truth ls—and my dropping
intodlnnerwas lytoseeyouonthe

. logic, were ma, by the but, and petulant cousin has con uered me. She may be a child

T1ecom laintsbyElma. d red dth pm ,
en t e co ' s or e an e .
drove tb Central for a oeuplo of hours a!
ter which
made for the flat to Carrie Court on the folbw-
in Tuesd- , Hr. Csrriscourt and Cecil were
drIven tot ode fund returned home in th
ul evening.

 

in oars,but ehassucoeededinpls ga
goat deal of havoc with a heart I have {ther-
regarded love-proof ” ’

crow—l insheormnuement. ,
“ bot! Youmeon ouare Win10“

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l The incl-edition!!!

en- in his toueswu not

 

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DID SHE SIN? ‘

 

assent to Cuthbert, whose face flushed slight-
y at the words, and at the blank astonishment
in Mr. Pemberton’s face and manner.

“That is what I mean,” he said, a little vex-
 “Is there anything astonishing‘in the
fan that a beautiful young girl like my cousin
should rank me among her victims?”

Mr. Pemberton’s forehead was corrugated in

.a heavy stern frown as he slowly ate his ice.
. “ I cannot understand how any one could fall
:rn love with her. She is pretty, and stylish
and when you say that you came to the end 0
.her attractions. Cuthbert, it cuts me to the
heartto have to speak such things of in own
.niece, but I cannot conscientiously say tei
things. I would not like to see you marry her1
knowmg, as I do, her ungovemable temper.
You would not be happy, you would regret
your choice and perha reproach me for con.
:senting to allow her to me our wife. ”

Cuthbert’s evil heart was jubilant at the suc-
cess of hissc‘heme thus far, for Mr. Pemberton‘
.had not at once said no, which was what he had
fullyr expected.

“You are mistaken, sir ” he went on, more
eagerly than was his ordinary custom of ad-
dress. “I really and truly love my beautiful

Icousm, and I am confident you have 011] seen
the few faults she sesses, to the ignoring oi
her many admirab e qualities. It could hardly
be exlpected she would allow you to know her
as we as she has permitted me to do. From
the very first I saw a warm, loving heart be-
neath a trifling, (perhaps girlisth vain and
saucy manner, an from the Very first I have
fascmated.”

A thoughtful look gathered in Mr. Pember-
ton’s stern handsome blue eyes as he pushed his
chair slightly back from the table.

“ Have you ken to her about it?”

“ I have told er all about it sir, and she con-
feaes to a reci rocation of affection, and, with
me desires to eave it all to you.”

J’ust a faint sneer curled under Mr. Pember-
ton’s frosty mustache.

“You are very considerate, indeed, consid-
g‘ing till): immensedintemt stake.” Then
e sm' 'n sneer isap and a severit
showed allgover his face. ’ y
“There is just this about it,” he said, ve
quietly. “ According to your own words—E -
ms is too much of a child to know who she
wants to She naturally thinks you are
the one, simp y because she has had, as yet,
very little opportunity of comparing you with
other people. . Not that I mean any discourtesy
toyou, hut-m justice to you both I tell you
that the girl should have a taste of society be-
fore she chooses her husband. Althou h as I
have often said I am sadly disappoin in her
and am fearful I never can love her, yet that
does not alter my dufy toward her as my sis-
ter’s child. Elma wi be a great heiressLbut
her money will not make her happy. I ave
seen so much of uncongenial marriages that I
cannot allow her to assume such solemn obli -
tlons until she has satisfied herself beyond e
possibility of doubt, that she loves you better

han an one else.”
, A loo of contemptuous vexation gathered in
Cuthbert’s eyes as he listened to the noble,
gflncipled defense Mr. Pembertou so frankly
ave.

“Then I understand you refuse to allow me
t0 Claim the hand of your niece? And we both
on would be so pleased
at the mutual union 0 family interests!’

1 Es spoke bitterly, but not as bitterly as he
e

n “ That is perfectly true,”Mr. Pembeiton said;
Iuch a marriage would please me very much
on certain grounds. But there are other sides

 t0the question which I am morallty bound to

eOnsider. I w‘ i tell you what I wil do—and if
your love and hers is as true as you say, it will
d a far more exacting test. I will so to

- Gitwo ears’ private engagement, durin which

‘5 1110 shall go into society free an unfet-
tfifl‘ed. At the end of that time, if you both de-
llre it as you do now, you shall be married.”

A look of fury glowed in Cuthbert‘s eyes as
bo‘th gentlemen arose from the table.

‘ think our conditions are unendurable
bllt I see no hin but to accept them. sir. I
W11th Elma, an let you know whether she
Prefers the unnatural arrangement, or would
father and the engzgement at once.’

u . Pemberton wedlgravely.

There will be no alternativeif she loves you.
A" you 0311!" Will you nhgt spend the evem

1 Then - h .
“do Imed hisfldfna’nd Cuthbert took it,
an made \ my hurryingofltosome other

r

"A two years’ engagement! I think not
Mr. Pergberton, Stu! I will see Elma to-mor1
row, an arrange or a hasty, secret m
and Fletcher shall assist us and intercedm
There is not much doubt but that the old ntle-
man will forgive us after the first he. vent
of indi nation. He has had such a lonely, sor-
rowful e that he will onlybe too glad to make
fnends with us a to brighten up the great
grand house. es, Cuthbert, my boy, you are
playing your cards most successfully- you are
in a fair way to be the richest man out.

He was full of a suppressed exultation when
he reached his hotel.

“I will 'ust drop a line to the fair Cecil to
tell her no to be surprised to See me in another
character, in her husband’s parlor, next Tues-
day. I will say in my note that I will fully ex-

lain when I have an opportunity—I can trust

her woman’s wits to make the best of it un-
der the circumstances.”

He carefully wrote a note of clear conciseness,
without at al destroying the truth of his iden-
titg;S Then be mailed it, and took a coupfi to a
no rious gambling-house on a fashionable up-
t0wn street. I .

“As I can’t see Cecil in time to get the funds
promised on date, I shall have to play with the
dice again,” he soliloquized, leaning back in the
darkness. “By Jove, I be rin to feel quite de-
lightfully excited over t e romantic adven-
tures I’m having. This visit to Carrie Court
will be a literal intrusion into the fiery furnace,
but I shall enjoy it all the more because of the
breathless daring of it. What a picture for the
Furies it will be to see that brave glorious' girl
in the presence of the two men, both of whom
she believes are her husband 1”.

A wicked little laugh was on his lips as his
devilish thoughts ran swiftly on.

“I can trust Cecil to manage her part of the
affair, and I will manage to see her alone, as
any guest could easily do. I’ll trump u some
plausible explanation that will satis y her,
while at the same time I’ll not lose my power
over her—oh, it Will be a grand game to play i”

Ak moment later his thoughts took a fresh
tac

“ Before I go to Carris Court I’ll see Fletcher
and have the marriage take place. I’ll make
that safe and sound, at all risks, and then—for

arosyfuturel”

CHAPTER XXVII.
A WELL-HATED PAIR.

Corinna-r Penna-rows star seemed in the
ascendant, and Fate and Fortune to combine to
lure him on to still more venturesome ths,
from whose leasant. flowery ways he co (1 get
no  o the ap ailing ending.

‘ ’ve been aswic ed as ever man dared to
be,” he told himself, in an exultant, boastful
way, that next morning, as, in accordance with
a note from Fletcher, he went to that worthy’s
private room. ,

“I have known no law but my Own will. I
have never allowed myself to he dies inted
or thwarted. I have ruthlessly remov what-
ever obstacles arose in my way that threatened
the success of any object I had in view—ifI
used unadulterated King’s English, or if I was
speaking of any one else, I should say that un-
principled vile, merciless, would be very apt
words to ascribe the character of the man that
Mr. Pemberton believes has very few faults.
So then, it is not at all like! I shall allow my-
self to fail in these latest, in ambitious achieve-
ments of my curious career—to marr the heir-
ess, and to keep up the delightful ttle affair
with the fair Cecil, as well as maintain in funds
if the old gentleman should prove refractory
temporarily.

A crafty. wicked smile crept to his lips, but
as he heard Fletcher’s steps nearing the door,
be instantly suppressed it. Fletcher met him
grith his usual half-familiar, half-respectful ad<

ess.

“ You are prompt, Mr. Cuthbert,” he said, in-
dicating a chair, which the young man de-
clined briefly.

“ There is so little time to re,” he return~
ed. _“I have been busy all he morning ar-
ranging for the marriage which will take place
to-morrow. I have not hesitated to take your
advice, Fletcher, as on will see. I have on-
fiiiged a room at the. t. Clarence hotel, whither

the course of a morning drive to-morrow I
will take my cousin Elma. Of course you will
be there—perhaps also Miss Ogden, to witness
the ceremon the rector of the church of'the
Lily of the alley will
turn home, as usual. an rmtil such time as cir-

 

 

be the wiser. ”

 

Therewasan eager nervousnem in bismu-
nerthat showed home he realised" at

.0
Fletcher’s inscrutable hoe relaxed into a
curious sort of smfle.
“Your promptness and keen intelligence in

arran 'ng this romantic aflair is a charming.

com lment to Miss Pemberton. I only hope,
Mr. uthbert, that the future will be witness to
as much interest and attention and election on
your part as the premnt sees.”

There was the merest suggestion of feeling in
his tones. Cuthbert frowned impatibntl '.

“ mfithat, Fletcher! Of course I s treat
her we —fully as well as she will treat
me. Our tastes are uite alike, so far as a love
for gayety and fas ionable life and a grand
showing are concerned, and I haven’t the least
doubt but that we will neither one kick in the

Fletcher looked the least bit coldly displeased,
but barely enough to be noticeable even to the
sharp eyes of this man between whom and him-
self suc a desperate game was being played.

“ You on ht to be very happy,” he returned,
slowly. “'éou are both young and good-look-
ing, and hopeful and healthy. There is an im-

, mense fortune waiting to be enjoyed that the

l
l
l

 

i

 

rform. Elma willre- .

cumstances determine no one but we four will i

I Do you

going? because ’m not!”

most extravagant being can hardly embarrass.
Miss Pemberton will be admired wherever she
oes, and you, as her husband, will be a man to
envied. Yes, a fair fate is before you, and

it will be your own fault if it is sporl ”

Cuthbert laughed carelessly.

“I shall not Spoil it, you maybe sure, con-
sidering that my wife will be keeper of the

urse. And judging from our remarkable in-
Eerest in our affairs, Fletc er, you will not be
likely to allow the forgiveness to be riled.
know I cannot rid myself of e pe-
culiar impression your anxiety for the happi—
ness and welfare 0 my uncle’s niece give me?
I never saw such charming devotion; indeed
were you a younger man, or my cousin older, I
could easily imagine you transferrin your—
friendship—or whatever you call it, to er 1”

Fletcher smiled—a slow, sad smile that pus-
zled Cuthbert.

“ You need fan no such absurdities, sir. I
am anxious to see he money remain in the fam—
ily, and you, master, where you belong; and
for reasons I have before given.”

“ Well, I’ll go now, and tell Elma—for as yet
I haven’t consulted her. I had a blind faith 
her acceptance of the pro 1, and I am posi-
tive the end will hear me out in that belief. In
all probability I will not see you before to-
morrow, but you will not forget that the time
and place are half-past nine, and the St.
Clarence Hotel, 1' B.”

He nodded an left the room, leaving Fletcher
standing—the very model of quiet triumph.

“ The pupylilets glafi‘into my hands just as I
swore they s oul o-morrow sees the accom-
plishment of the work for which I have lanned
and worked, lied and per 'ured mysa To-
morrow, to all intent: purposes, sees the
grand estate of the Pembu-tons tranderred
where I want it transferred, to Cuthbert Pem-
berton and Elma, his wife!”

He walked thoughtfull up and down the
room, his hands cromed hind him, his pale
eyes scintillant with sup essed exultation.

“ He thinks I have no dea of what a wretch-
ed villain he is,” he went on, a slow, im ve
smile animating his thin, shrewd lips. ‘ But I
know him like a book—know that there are
very few vices and dissipation which he has not.
committed, from' the ruin of poor, yielding
Sydney, years ago, to last ht’s amuse in a
gambling-hell. And yet in t e very face, eyes
of it all—Elma l marry him—because i is
the only way!”

He remained a short time lon among his
documents, and then went out o the house on
matters of business.

Cuthbert had gone straight to Elma’s room,
but learned from the maid that she was in the
music-room whither he followed, so fortunate
1.8 to find her alone, turnmg over some new
music in a listless, wea fashion. -

Her face brightened .a sight of him, and she
came forward, extending her hand in greetin .

“Iamsogladtigrhavecomel Iama y
blue and cross ’ morning, Outhbert. That

hateful Miss Ogden has been givin me some of
her solemn advice, and I always 1 under it.
Come, talk to me, and make me -humored.
Tell me about mg to Carrie you

She paused from actual breat and
sat down upon a dos-a-dcn, whichumm
upon her invitation.

He took her hand in an elaborate. reverent

t

 

fashi and kissed lg  her an, adoring
look athe saw ple er erweeningevanity.
“We will talk about Carris Court at rward,
my dearest. I have another far more serious,
and to me, interest-mg subject to offer. ”
She looked curious y at him, her black eyes

shining. ,

“ Well, what is it, thberti”

“ I have been to r. Pemberton, my dearest
Elma, and the result is—he forbids our marry-
ing. He is greatly displeased with you for
what he styles your cavalier conduct to Mr.
Carriseourt yesterda , and from- what I can
learn I am positive it his intention to compel
you to a severe course of discipline the next
vegr pr 39. Our marriage he positively for-

e.

Eima’s eyes fairly flamed.

“The mean, disagreeable old tyrant! But,
Cuthbert, I won’t be disciplined l”

“Of course you willnot submit to any such
indi ity, dear, although I could not very well
tell im that. And equality, of course, he can-
not hinder our ma 'ngi we choose to be de-
fiant; and—Elma, choose to be defiant and
make you my wife, in spite of all the obstacles
in the universe.”

He looked at her with a well-simulated pas-
sion in his eyes.

“Oh! A clandestine marriage! It would
serve him just right to prove that we don’t care
a pin for him or what he says,” and her eyes

looked the coarse satisfaction her words ex-I

presst‘d. “Only,” she added, hastily, “he might
disinlzi-rit you, and then—”

He smiled quietly, remembering how he had
so successfully managed to acquaint himself
with Mr. Pemberton’s decision regarding the

mone .

“ Y'Ym may take my word, dearest, that there
is not the smallest ris . Elma, will you consent
to the arrangements I have made, subject to
your sweet a proval ?”

She listen to the lan he had given Fletcher
in detail, her eyes sh ning with mingled delight
at this unexpected way out of her enga emeui
to Thorsby St. Lawrence, and the i ea 01
thwarting and conquering Mr. Pemberton.

“Will you consent, my darling? Will you
make me he proudest, happiest man in all this
cit i Elma, will you marry me—to-morrow'i”

e gave him a. straightforward answer that
could not fail of satisfyin him by its concise
ness, even if it were remar bly devoid of sweet
shy sentiment:

‘I don’t see any reason why I should refuse.
I have made up my mind to marry you, and
one time is gust as good as another to me.
There now, uthbert—there’s no use oing into
ecstat cs, or mussing my laces, for am mo-
mentlg expecting a call.’

He it his lip In momenta chagrin, but he
was easily consoled to realize ow great his tri-
um h was.

‘ our sweet coyness is one of your most in- 1
“ And

toxicating charms ” he said, gallantly.
now we will talk about the vm at Carrie Court.
You are not going on say 1”

“Indeed, I am no going. I am not disposed
mhumor eve whim that the griffin happens to
take. I said (1 not 0, and 1'] not. I don’t at
all admire Mrs. Cangscourt—did you ever see
her, Cuthbert?”

“Sheis a perfect stranger to me, although I
have seen her once or twice but never to have
the easure of speaking to her.”

“ use,” she continued, and not a muscle
of his face betrayed the intense interest he felt
“she seemed unusually interested in you, an
asked ever so many questions, and I am sure
she h on will come to Carris Court.”

He in understood the jd‘lousy at bottom,
and smiled in relief to know tlL e was no other
reason.

“ I can assure you it is a terrible sacrifice for
me to have to go to Carrie Court—I shall not
remain a moment lonienr than is absolutelty
necessary—how could I, owing my sweet wi e
will be here, waitinflor me 7”

“But I shall not here, waiting for vou,”
she retorted, coolly. “ I am oin to 0
Branch the same da you 0 to arr 9 Court.
had wondered how coul openly mutiny, and
go in spite of uncle Griffiths commands, but
now that I shall be your wife, I shall be under
no obligation to him. Miss Ogden and I will go
together, and you can come us, there, and if
the old gentleman scolds, you can just tell him
we are married, and that will settle him.”

He involuntarily shrunk from her vulgar
frankness of speech of intention, but gave no
,signof itto her,“ e arose to go,asohebell
run toadmlt her tor.

“ n’t forget to-morrow’, my darling, and
try to be patient until then.’

121D SHE SIN?

 

 

 

hiOnce away from her, a hotflOOd of rage filled

m.
“ Curse her! I’ll show her who’s master be-
fore a month goes over her head!”

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THUNDER MUTTEBING.

ALL the reliminaries having been arran ed,
it was ectly easy to carry hem out, ends the
next morning, a warm, breeneless summer day
witnessed the secret marriage of Cuthbert Pem-
berton and Elma.

At the usual hour, the carria e had been or-
dered for that young lady’s drive, and it ha
pzned apparen 1 very fortunately, that Cut -

rt siepped on t e brown-stone etc just a mo-
ment or so before Miss Ogden and hue entered
the carriage.

Elma’s invitation to accompany them was ac-
cepted, and Mr. Griffith Pemberton bowed the
pleasant little party away, little thinking of the
treacherous deceit that was being perpetrated
against his patience and kindness and gen-
erosity.

The party drove quickly to the St. Clarence
Hotel, and were shewn to Parlor B, where
Fletcher was already in waiting.

Ffmberton met im with a half-sarcastic
I smi e.

‘ “ Your remarkable interest again, Fletcher!”
“ I am in the habit of being ahead of time,”

, he answered, quietly. “ The clergyman is wait-
'n , sir—he has but to be summoned from the
He was shown in here, but I
of begging him to leave this

 

 

 

1
ila ies' arlor.
P
1 took the libert

f room to the la ies, not knowing but that Miss 3

:" Elma might wish—”

i That young lady cut him short imperious] y.

i “That wil do, Fletcher, since you are not
supposed to know What I wish. Cuthbert, I am
all ready—we might as well get over the cere-

!

mony, as I am in a hurry to do a little shop- 3

l
, proof.

1* “ ()h, Elma, you surely-do not mean that the
solemn serviCe of your marriage is to be—"

Elma looked coolly at her, then interrupted
her, insolently:

“I am in the habit-as some other people are
—of meaning what I say. So, Miss Ogden, just
understand that your position here, on this 0c-
casion, is perfectly similar to Fletcher’s—you

nesses.”

Cuthbert smiled at her impudent unfeeling-
ness, and Miss Ogden flushed ainfully. ,

Just then Fletcher returnet with the clergy-
man, a grave, dignified gentleman, who was in-
troduced to the bride and her attendant.

And then the bridal party took their places,
and the sacred, im rcssivecercmony was said,
1 the responses clear y made, the elegant ring put
l on at ust the right minute, and then the two
‘ were r cclared man and wife and God’s blessing
‘ was asked upon the new union. ‘ . v

And the well-feed clergyman went away, and
the four were left to the ate they had courted.

Of all of them, Hiram Fletcher’s face betrayed
‘ the least oyfulness, but his heart was throbbing

with wil est ecstasy at this actual accom lish-
! ment of the one paramount desire of his li e.

Miss Ogden’s face was ale and nervous, and
more than once during he ceremony she had
cast a troubled, wistful, half-terrified glance at
, Fletcher’s inscrutable face.

i Elma looked partly bored, partly triumphant.
E part1 relieved, and the groom showed a quiet
f satis action at what had been done, and thereby
‘ secured to him, that was the keenest irony of

ate.
1 After the marriage the bridal pair returned
3 to the carriage, whic took Elma on her round
" of shoppin after it had set her husband down
at a desire place, on the route, while Fletcher
Event out to hire a cab to take Miss Ogden
‘ ome.
l Left alone with her a smile of overflowing
satisfaction broadened his face, and his voice
i and manner were those of a man experiencing
i the keenest realization of success.
;' “ Well, it is done at last, and no human pow-
For this we have spent nearl

 

r er'can undo it.
i a score of the ears of our life, but we are pai
amply paid. here will be alittle unpleasant-
ness when Mr. Pemberton discovers the young
people’s escapade, but I have undertaken to re-
concile it all. Then, the bride will be installed
mistress of her magnificent home, and our old
a 0 will be spent in peace and luxury.”
I ‘He had spoken in a slow, meditative way and
. Miss o den listened with that same troubled,
half-f htened look on her face.
“Yes, it has rospercd be and my most san-
, guine hopes,” s e whispcre . “ but. oh. Fletch-

IRE.”
iss Ogden made a faint deprecatory new:

are merely servants, chosen as convenient wit- ,

'er whenI think ofthe’awfu‘ldsks wehave up:

I tremble for fear that even yet—”

3 He hushed her, fiercely:
5 “Don’t be a fool!
secret but you and I—it wil down to our
aves with us, and no one will the worse or

e wiser. If you are oing to be hysterical and
continually ap rehe ve, he added with a
cold cruelt in ' pale eyes, “you had go
back”to urope, and take your fright with
you.

Her 1i quivered as though she were (1 ly
hurt at is unfeeling words, and she lifted r
handkerchief to her eyes.

“ Don’t speak so, Fletcher! Despite her
atrocious treatment of me, you know it would
break my heart to leave Elma, and—”

“ Then learn to display a little common sense!
There’s the cab—you had better go home and
see if on cannot put a permanent restraint on
your anciful fears.”

He escorted her down-stairs to the ladies’ en—
trance and put her in the cab, and then went
about his business.

At luncheon the entire party met again, in—
cluding Mr. Griffith Pemberton, all unconscious
of the condition of affairs, and, it seemed to
them all, more gentle and gracious toward his
niece than he had been of late.

he, too, was in a specially compluisant
mood. The knowledie of her independence,
the fact of her havin ad such a romantic ad-
venture, and, be on all that she was absolute
ly free of Thors St. Lawrence, all Combined
to put her in a 8 ate of jubilant aflabilitythat
exerted its influence on them all.

Luncheon over, Mr. Pemberton arose to re—
tire to his library, his usual‘custom, and mid-
uiay of the floor he paused and turned to his
n ece.

“ It almost escaped me, Elma, to tell you that
to-day I received a note from my friend Garris-
court and his wife, saying that there will be a
lawn party on Tuesday afternoon, in your espe-
cial honor. I answered by return mail that I

Rotated the invitation for you, thanking them
for eir very charming consideration.”

“Yes,” she answered indifferently, “but I
said I was not goin to the country.”

Mr. Pemberton ifted his frosty eyebrows
questioningly.

“ Not gomgi I supposed you understood what
I meant yesterday when I requested your obe-
dience.” .

Her flnfgers were restlesst opening and clos-
ing her an, and Miss Ogden, sitting opposite
her, saw the portentous ash of her eyes, and
the curl of her red lips.

“ I understand that I shall go or day just as
I see fit, uncle Griffith, and I certainly shall not
go. I should think that is explicit enough to
satisfy ou.” .

Mr. emberton’s eyes began to darken, and
he looked steme at her.

“ Elma! You will not
are speakin l”

She t her blonde head contemptuously.

“ There’s not the slightest danger of m or-

etting! And don’t you forget that I wil not
he treated like a baby. I am old enough to
choose my own places to visit and my own
hostesses. I don’t like that haughty, aristo—
cratic Mrs. Carriscourt, and I’ll never cross her
threshold.” '

Miss Ogden was in an agony of fear, and she
tried in vain to catch the girl’s an eyes.
Failing, she called her attention by gaming, in
a tone of entreaty and reproof.

“Elma!”

“You hush, will youl Your da of tyranny
ended in Europe. and no other ving person
shall compel me to do what I do not wish. I
will not go—there now—and I will not hear an-’-
other word from an of you i”

She sentla swiftl, eflanttlcéoht around ti; little

oup, an n so oing me warning ' anees
g; Fletcher and her husband. .

“Oh you needn’t think I care the least for
any of you,” she said, passionate! . “I dare
say you would all hugely enJoy see ng me com-
pletely sat down upon by uncle but
you‘ll not have the satisfaction! You are a
cross, disagreeable, im rious person,” she add-
ed, her fury rising hig er and higher, and she
turned desperately toward Mr. Pemberton, who
stood in icy, haught anger, listening to the
storm of passion an rage—“and the sooner
you once make up your mind to understand I’ll
not submit to our dictation, the better!”

1 Mr. Pembe n still stood silent, his good old

face growing whiter and sterner, Ms us 0 es
, gleaming frostily and in his manner a le
icalm ofrestraintthatsomehowmdsanim-
: ression on all the astounded listeners to Elmo’s

 

forget to whom you

, urst of passion. and particularly upon Flat!

Nolivinfsoulknowsthe‘

 

.n. -Huug.-u_1_

4...“... A ‘As

-HH-HA

 

 

 

27

 

cher, in whose eyes was a look frightful to see,
in its freezing inscrutableness.

Miss 0 en sat, speechless and white, while
Cuthbert in sheer amazement, said not a word.

Then, Mr. Pemberton sli vhtl y bowed his mag-
nificent white head towar the infuriated ' 1.

“You may retire from the room, Miss em-
berton, and consider ourself banished from
my rescues, and the l ving rooms of the house
unti tyou properly acpologize for your unwar-
ranta le language an conduct.”

His eyes fairly shot lightning at her, but she
answered his cold, courteous tones with a fresh
burst of fury.

/ “ Then I’ll never enter either again! Do you
suppose I care whether you are pleased or dis-
pleased?” ‘

And she flounced across the floor, and banged
the door violently after her.

gr. Pemberton looked meanineg at Cuth-

“'And that is the girl you love well enough to
marry, Cuthbert !” _

Then, he turned toward Fletcher wrth a hard,
sha glitter in his frosty blue eyes. .

. “ 0 you know, I sometimes wonder if she
18 my sister’s child i” .

A cold sweat suddenly broke out in huge
beads on Fletcher’s forehead, and for once in his
life, his selfcontrol deserted him. But only for
one horrifying second. .

“It must be a heart-breaking trial for you,
311'. but, try to remember she is young and may
overcome her childish temper.”

A slow, incredulous smile crept under Mr.
Pemberton’s white mustache, and he gravely
etcused himself from the dining—room.

Miss Ogden at once followed Elma to her
room, while Cuthbert and Fletcher left the
house Cuthbert in a state of half-amused, half-
“! excitement the other, with a cold, stolid
face from which the eyes blazed out a perfect
lightning of terrible, et mysterious meaning.

“I knew she had t e reverse of a sweet dis-
Position but I’ll be everlastingly hung if I bar-
gained {or such a devil’s own tern r.

~t'll‘lo his utter surprise, Fletcher ooked sternly
0. im.

“Don’t forget you are_traducing your wife.
Whatever her faults, she is still your wife, with
Whom you are baund to rotect and defend.
She has made a mistake in er unfortunate dis-
PI of tom —that is all.”

uthbert aughed as he turned on his heel.

“And she’ll precious quick learn from me not
to make many more of them. Good-morning,
Fletcher ”

While in her room, Elma was storming and
raging in her fury. ’

I’ go away, and I’ll never, never come back
“tail that horrid old tyrant apologizes to m!
I’ll have my trunks cked this very day, and
1’ eep my room un il he goes to Carris Court
on Tuesday, and then I’ll go to Long Branch,
0nd Cuthbert shall tell him we are married! 1
only wish I had told him—the old tyrant!”

And Miss Ogden cried and entreamd and
coaxed and humored until she succeeded in
aOmewhat restoring calm.

CHAPTER XXIX.
mmmno rm: corms.

Ar Carris Court the two or three intervening
dfl 8 before the arrival of their guests had been
mglbly employed by both Cecd and Mr. Car-
risoourt. Lettershad been written to Mr. 95.
' “I May. at Marchbrook, to Mrs. Sayre, With
Whom a  lensant correspondence had been
main ' that was resulting in a true, warm
Mendship cially grateful to 0:011 who had
‘10 intimate friends, and to severalother

whom . Carriscourt and Cecil hei
chosen to invite. ,
in every one letters of cordial acceptance
ind been received, and Cams Court was look-
mg its best and most lovely and beautiful flri
eats.

its
wry little had been said between Mr. Carrie

 

W and Cecil since the last conversation on

‘ “‘19 “libject of the trouble between them. A

word or two from him had shown Cecd yhow.the

matter weighed upon Mr. Carriscourts mind,

but. the two or three days went by, and hour
occurred to introduce the pitiful

logo.

very

t Cecil had been in fear of another
Vidt from

«aha-ton, and yet, she had fully
resolved she never would permit gig: gather

 

DID SHE SIN?

ment,” she told herself hourly. “ I cannot keep
on this way always—I will not be able to sup-
ply the demands made upon me. I will see him
once more—on] once more and then he shall
not venture inSide of Mr. arrisconrt’s walls-
and I will tell him I will submit no longer to
his extortionate claims. I will agree to give
him a stipulated sum regularly, and he must
agree to t at, or—” '

But the weary, hopeless sigh that came from
lips told how terrible the alternative was.

But, for reasons known to‘the reader, and
known to Pemberton himself, he did not think
it prudent to pay a midnight visit to Cecil at
the appointed time, and, instead, he wrote his
letter to her—a letter that by some strange-
complication of Fate never reached her.

The fateful Tuesday dawned exquisitely fair.
Heavy shawers of rain had fallen during the
previous night, making the foliage fresh and
sparkling as emeralds. Thunder had cleared
all semblance of murkiness from the atmos-
phere, and a cool northerl breeze blew gently
throurrh the grand trees 0 the ark.

Early in the day the Marc brook carria e
brought Mr. May upon his first visit to Cool],
and although there could not have failed to be
a curious constraint upon him, as memory recall-
ed the past, yet both Mr. Carriscourt and Cecil
met and received him with a well-bred courtesy
and welcome that soon obliterated that feel-
in

I

it intervals during the day other guests art
rived and late in the afternoon the party from
New York reached Carrisconrt b train.

At the Grand Central DepOt rs. Sayre had
met Mr. Griffith Pemberton, and the two had
traveled pleasantly together, talking of Cecil
and her rare sweetness and charmingness.

Elma had been true to her word, and has
steadily refused to accompany Mr. Pemberton.
She had steadily refused to leave her rooms, and
commissioned Miss Ogden with various insolent
messages to him, which of course failed to b?
delivered.

Mr. Pemberton had not once mentioned her
name to Miss Ogden. or to Fletcher, or to Cuth~
bert, and when the appointed hour for his do
parture came, he’got into his carriage and wm
driven with his luggage to the depot.

Cuthbert found it impossible—so he cautious-
ly told Mr. Pemberton—to accompany him to

‘arris Court by the afternoon train, but he
would follow during the evening, after he had
dispatched his imperative business—which im-
perative business was, to make sure that if one
mail had not taken his note of warning to Cecil,
another, and the very latest, might have done so.
Also, he knew of Elma’s determination to visit
Long Branch, and, although Miss Ogden was to
accompan and remain with her, he referred
toescort er thither and see her suitably ac-
commodated, which he could comfortabl ac.-
complish and reach Carris Court by hal -past
nine in the evening.

So it happened that only Mr. Pemberton. of
the Pemberton party, received Cecil’s and Mr.
Cnrriscourt’s warm greeting. He shook hands
with his host, and, as on the occasion of Cecil's
visit at his house, he clasped her hands warm-
ly, and kissed her on her lovely white forehead

“ I am glad to see you a sin, my dear—would
you believe me if I say I ave actually missed
you from my home, after the brief sunshine
you brought to it?” '

He looked kindly, and almost gravely, in her
splendid uplifted eyes, that were full of such

sweet interest.
“It isa case of mutual friendship, Mr. Pem-
berton. Cecil looks 11 you, as I am heartily

lad she does, and as look upon you. as a very
r, and honored, and valued friend ” '

Mr. Carriscourt spoke with feeling frankness,
and Cecil’s blue eyes indorsed every word.

Mr. Pemberton smiled.

“The promise of such friendshipl is very plea-
sant to me. and I sincerely hope t e future will
not disappoint me.”

Just a little expression of bitter remembrance
showed in his rand blue eyes as he thou ht of
how sorely he had been disappointed, but 6 did
not say anything about it.

“ I am commissioned to make Mr. Cuthbert
Pemberton‘s excuses,” he went on. “ There
was some business he could scarcely leave this
afternoon, much though he regretted not being
able to come with me. But he will be up on the

traindue at9z35 this eveni —a d xceedin l , »
“8 “ ‘3 flip angruy;then,surprisedhimbyalow,W

anxious to pay his devotions to Mrs. Car

court. ”

 

 

 

signed to MrsBa re and epoyeda leasant.
ll 1e chat, after 27 the 1entire ’of
guests met in the parlor, and mutual recog-
nitions and introductions took place, and
eyerything was delightfully harmonious and

easant. r
p li‘rgmc'fherbdudressied ng-rtoyom deflmhnLeam the
soun s su ye an a - weary
look crept into her F:de hlue eyes as he sub-
mitted her hair to Kitty 3 skillful rs.

“How little the the ghou ish skele-
ton in the closet! ow little they imagine that
one immediate cause of their presence at Car—
ris Court is that Mr. Carriscourt and I are try—
ing to stifle a terrible trouble—tryiu; 4-) seek
tern rary forgetfulness in the duties of hos-
pita ity.”

Her thoughts ran on as she made her toilet,
and seeing the old, weary look in her eyes she
made a desperate effort to drive it away.

“It will not do,” she chided herself, resolute-
ly. “I will struggle, as if for my life, to main-
tain a calmness t at shall pass for contentment
—until the guests are gone—and after that—I
dare not think again!”

She was looking most radiant and beautiful
after her toilet was completed, and by sheer
force of desperate determination she ad ex-
orcised the haunting shadows her eyes.

She wore pure whim—Mr. (‘arriscourt liked
a white toilet better than anything else, and Ge-
cil’s heart had thrilled with passionate love and
longing as she told Kitty to lay out her white
silk and lawn dress, trimmed 'with foamy Bre-
ton lace.

She did not wear much jewelry—a of
small, magnificent solitaircs in her litte pink
ears, and narrow gold bands on her perfect arms

‘ that were bored to just below the dimpled el—

bows. At her throat amid a soft knot of white
lace she wore a bouquet of pale-pink roses, and
another at her belt—and, so attired, went into
the presence of her guests, almost startling
every one by her spirituelle beauty and grace,
and making Mr. Carriscourt’s heart thrill eager-
ly at sight of her, so gracious, so gentle, so
ovel y.

While Mr. Pemberton’s face suddenly paled,
and his frosty eyes grew misty. and his breath
came in labored inspirations as he looked at her.

“My God—what a resemblance—and yet a.
thousand times fairer! What can it mean?
Why is all my heart, all my thought continual-
ly going toward this perfect creature! My
very brain whirls at the fancies that come and
go, so mockin l .”

All unconscrous,Cecil moved amon her guests
the very impersonation of well-bred e egance and
gracious hospitality, smiling and chatting with
one, listening to another putting every one at
their perfect ease, and ifl'using her charming
influence as she went, followed by her husband’s
longing eyes and Mr. Pemberton s grave, bewil-
dered, stormy ones.

b As she moved about, Mr. May stepped up to
er.

“ Cecil, I am es ially anxious to be shown a
wonderful fern arr-iscourt tells me is in the
conservatory. Can you not spare one minute
to show me?”

Cecil took his arm and smiled au moir to the
gentleman with whom she had been conversing
and moved off toward the feme‘ry. Mr. May at
once opening a conversation with her.

“ I want to see the maiden-hair fern, Cecil,
but I could not longer wait for an op rtu—
nityto haves. moment‘s quiet congrat atory
chat with you. Cecil, my dear, you on ht to
be the proudest, happiest woman in a l the
world, with such a princely home, such a prince
for a husband. Surely you safer no ungratified
wish—it is plain to be seen that our husband
warships you, but yet, Cecil—an this is why I

- have ventured to take the liberty—there is a
3 quiet, sad, pitiful look in your eyes that onewho

Cecil smiled and flushed a little, then with a 5

im
. Sayre ‘ m

little bOW. left the lEznlslemen to renew
retired to the room as-

cious welcome to.

Then the two ladies

knows you well cannot fail to see. What is the
matter, Cecil? Are you not happy with your
husband ?”

He looked down on her face, intensely inter-
ested to witness the rapidly-c g exprwsion
that crossed it as he spoke and now, first a sud~
den flaming flush surged from brow to throat,
followed b a paleness all the more startling in
contrast. er head . foresecond. and
he saw her lips quiver, despite her noble eflbrt

atself-contro
up her-head maqfiichpu—

Then, she used
sionateimpulsc,asiftospeakhmg tilyand

answer. '
“Idonotseehowyou canthinksuch'anim-

bility for a moment. You once earned
pomever mde by me my 
mother’s . Our. and orthe mkeo’f'

\

 

 

 

28

DID SHE SIN?

 

 

 

that, I tolerate from {on the question you have
put. And answer it y saying emphatically—
no woman ever had a husband more revered
and loved than mine. If you see shadows in my
eyes, Oscar "—and then camea pitiful little wa
in her sweet voice, “remember all I have gone
through—since—since-Judge May died.”

Hef winced under her touching, patient re-
roo .

p “But we to b all that at Cecil,”
“he said, a 11 e coldly. “ on prom should

be a friend to you, and—I ima ed—”

/ “You are wro , Oscar. . Carriscourt is
my best, dearest fiend—although,” and her
voice lost its brief, spirited ring, and mellowed

' into its usual gentle quiet, “I thank you. New,
I will show you the ferns; then, please take me
back to the drawing-room.”

When she went back, no one would have sup-

there had been anything agitating during
er few minutes’ absence.

A little later dinner was announced, which
lasted until nearly half-past nine, and the party
of young people teok themselves out on the
beautiful rounds, leavin in the drawi g-reom ‘
only Mr. emberten, Ceci , and Mr. Car 'scourt,
sittin in low, luxurious chairs near the open
Frenc window, engaged in delightful conver-
sation.

Just as a servant—like Fate en masquerade—
preceded a gentleman into the room, and, with
a stately bow, announced the latest guest, “ Mr. ,
Cuthbert Pemberton.” |

Mr. Carrisceurt arose and immediately stepped ;
forward, shaking hands with him with quiet :

courtesy.

While, from his easy-chair, Mr. Pemberton
sent a familiar welcome.

“ “'ell, Cuthbert, I am glad you did not dis-
appoint us. My nephew, Mrs. Carriscourt, of
whom-”

He paused sharply in the midst of his presen-
tation, for, Cecil had arisen from her chair, with
eyes wild and dilated, her face whiter than her
dress, her hands clasped in a dumb fear and
horror, her lips ashen and com

Then, a pitiful, wailin agony in her sharp
tones, she cried out, “ 0! No! oh, my God!’
and fell forward, in a deathly swoon, in her
husband’s outstretched arms. ,

CHAPTER XXX.
m BURSTING or was: STORM.
AcconDING to her determination, Elma Pem-
berton had left her uncle’s house for Long

Branch accompanied b Miss 0 en and her
y  Pemberton

husban , within an hour after
had started for Carris Court.

The party reached there before sunset, and
were driven to the Ocean House, where rooms
had been engaged by telegram, and where, af-
ter seeing them safely settled, Cuthbert left
them, just in time to catch the train that should
return him to the city in time to. be transferred
and connect with the evening express for Carris

Court.

An hour later a hotel servant brou ht Elma a
note, in a penciled handwriting she new onliy
too well, making an a pointment on the san s
in gulf an hour, an designating the exact‘
q)9‘0f course it will be easy enough to dispose,
of him, now,” Elma thought, as she crushe the
note in her hand. “No matter what he says, |
orthreatens, he cannot compel me to keep my :
engagement with him. I really believe since i
received that letter from him, and not seeing i
him for so long, and the great change that has .
occurred in my prospects, that I have not only ;
m to care for him, but actually dislike 

She ordered Miss Ogden to get a pale-pink .1
:zephyr shawl from the trunks, and sa g she
was going out by herself for a litt e while,

leisurely to the place of rendezvous, fol-
lowed by many pairs of admiring masculine

eyes.

Half-way between the hotel grounds and the
Ian 9 was me a . rat or man some

ds sh t by tall h l (1

man, of ng manner and dress, into whose ‘
cool ay eyes came an expression of extreme
satisfaxhtion and ised admiration as he ,
went up to her, almost eagerly, and extended his ;

hand. ‘
“Well, Elma! Consider ourself kissed.
My denotest Elma, how glad am to see you

 

 

 

l
|

l
I

laughed lightly, as she laid her hand in. 

“ So, Thereby, you have come all the way to §
_ to see me, have you?”

. indifference oftheaddmasseemedtom-

St. Lawrence not a little. There

a

'well.

flashed , ‘Carris Court,’ I think you said—or, better
into his gray eyes she remembered so i ’
. |

“ A man would prove a very miserable sort
of lover. llif hgeircllid not follovtvi his darneetheart—
especia y a so rett an so gerous as
you, Elma. Yes, folfiwved you, and came
over gripeser to see you—because”—and he
smil dl —“lyou may have understood from
my letter t at was growing jealous of our
long silence and fearful lest you should aver
some other luck fellow. ”

She removed er hand that he had retained.

“There wasn’t the least use, Thorsby, of our
coming. If I had wanted you, I would ave
sent for you.”

Her im tience was so hard for her to con-
trol. Al her life she had given way to every
impulse, until she was the very embodiment of
im ulse; and this time she did what she never
be ore had done—she thoroughly angered Thors- ‘
by St. Lawrence. I

“Thank you. You seem remarkably ap re—
ciative of the devotion that actuated me. t is “
rather a curious reception to give the lover to
whom you are betrothed in marriage. You do
not seem at all like yourself. I hope the sud-3
den lpromotion to wealth and position has not
spoi ed you, Elma."

The cool indifference on her face increased.

“ I don’t know thatit has spoiled me, Thorsby, '
butI do know that I have changed my views ,
on very many subjects since I have been in my 1
new home.”

He gazed steadily at her, his sarcastic, pierc-
ing gray eyes never losing the sad smile in them
that made Elma feel just alittle uncomfortable,
but, despite which sensation, she went doggedly

on.

“I have learned one very important thing,”
she said, almost coldly, “and that is, that I was 1
very much mistaken when I thought I cared i
enough for you to promise to marr you. It 1
never can be, Thorsby. Uncle Gri th would ;
never in the world consent that I should marry 1

“Ah! You are quite com limentary and i
equally confident, my dear. on can of course f
understand this welcome is very distressing to ‘
me, and "—and a swift resolute look mingled i
with a passion that told her that he loved her ‘.
desperately despite her coolness, her harshness, 1
swept stermily across his bold, oed-looking :
face as he stepped closer to her in is earnest- '
ness—“and you are equally capable of under-l
standing that I shall not submit to any such ‘r
treatment. You loved me not so very long ago '
before you dreamed you were the niece and ;
heiress of a t man, and I hold your promise |
to be my w' e; and I—loved you 1: en, and love .
you just as well now." I

There was a masterfulness in his tones that ,
would have frightened her bad she not known 1
that she held in reserve a fact that would ut- ‘
terl overthrow all his rsuasions or threats. i

“ on are veryg , indeed; of course any i
one who once loves me always loves me,” she re- 1
turned, complacent] . 
He laughed, but It was not a very amused

15113;]; i
“ our charming conceit is only excelled by I
your frankness, my dear Elma. I’ll indorse ‘
your estimate of ourself most cordially, and
add—that no sen ble man who had secured
your written acceptance of a proposal of mar-
ria e would allow its retraction.’

e began to grow impatient, and he saw a
flash of wrath in her black e es.

“But I tell you I will no? marry you—there
now, romise or no promise, Thersby St. Law-
rence You have come on a fruitless errand,
and you can go back as you came.”

He compressed his lips with wonderful self-
control, but his e es Were fairly scintillant.

“ Ver well, Miss Pemberton. Then my next
proceeding will be to go to the Fifth avenue '
mansion to-morrow, and lay your delightful :
letters before your uncle and claim their prom- ‘
ise. I dare say you have no objection 1”

If he had hoped to intimidate her he failed
most signally. She smiled sneeringl :

“Don t go, please. Uncle Grifllyth would
have the hall porter put you out of the house;
besides, he is not at home; he is at Carris '
Ceurt—"

She could have bitten her impulsive-spoken
tongue of! for the admission, but it had passed
her lips. Fate ordained words that were to
hurry the climax of the terrible tempest about
to burst on so many h —the first mutterin
of which were already about her hushan ’s

ears.
St. Lawrence smiled coldly and lifted his
heavy brows.
“ Indeed? Then I will wait his return from—

 

still, go to him at——‘ Carris Court,”
He seemed to relish the repetition of the

name, and his malicious manner enraged her.
Her eyes flashed like eben star's, and her breast.
heaved an 'ly.

“ You Will not go, you disgraceful adventurer

on! You will not dare go; you would never

received in the drawing-room. You are not

such a looking or appearing! gentleman as I
have become accustomed to ce—"

He stepped up closer to her for one brief sec-
ond: Elma thought he meant to strike her.

“Stop, right there! it will not be well for
you to add insult to injury. Elma, I have this
one tiling to say to you that it will be Well for
you to consider calmly: I came to America be-
cause I loved you better than any woman in the
world, but it would not require much more of
your treatment to turn that love into a hatred
you will rue to the latest hour of your life.
hell we drop this unpleasantness, and be
friends, levers again, or—”

All the evil in the girl’s heart was up in
arms.

“Your hatred! Do you suppose I care for
your hatred any more than for your level L
tell you, Thorsby St. Lawrence, your cowardly
threats are entirely lest upon me. You can
brag and beast of what on will do but I never
will marry because I Just despise you in the
first place, and, in the second place—I am al-
ready married! Thcre now!”

She flung out her feminine climax with a
scornful, tantalizing triumph, expecting to see
him annihilated at the information.

His face gal d for one second, and he bit his
lips beneat his thick mustache, but he looked
unflinchingly, with intensest desperation in his
eyes, straight at her sullen, angry, yet strange-
ly-triumphant face.

“ you are — married! And that is
why you could afford to defy me, is it!
Well, Miss Pemberton, rhaps it is as well
that you are—married. would have married
you for—love," and he smiled peculiarlm
‘ while I dare say the present ha y man
an eye to your prospects. Yes—it s rhaps as
well as it is, for every one but oursel and your
ghuslfand.d And now,fas the first 31f a few

cts am isposed to urnis you ow me,
in offering my sincere co tulations, to in-

form you that on are not t e niece and heiress

of Mr. Griffith emberten."

For the first time durin their interview a
look of dismay came into ma’s eyes. 'l'horsby
St. Lawrence knew the secret that Fletcher had
said would be buried With him and Miss Ogden.

He saw the fear and dismay on her face and
knew he had struck the blow home, despite her
instantly rallied courage.

“What are you talkingaboutl Are you crazy
or—do you consider this a partof your revenge!
Not uncle Griffith’s niece! How rommticl” .

She lau hed—mirthlessly, however. He bow-
ed with e borate mooring courtesy.

“A very romantic stor , indeed, Miss Pem-
berten, and also so refres ingl true. Shall I

ve {an a little history of w t I happanto

ve own these past five years? It ma serve
to prove to you that my declarations anec-
tion were honest and true, seeing that I have
known all those five years, that you were not
the genuine heiress of the great Pemberton
estate. How I learned the wel Tlanned, better.
executed story, I shall not tel you; it will be
eneu h that I convince on that, instead of be-
ing 0 daughter of rs. Genevieve Fairfax,
and the niece of Mr. Griflth Pemberion, you

"a-"

He paused, in tantalizing, smiling scorn,
knewin full well the effect his slow-spoken
truthfu words, and his tormenting‘pause had
upon her.

A sudden, awful dismay that deepened into a
painful nervous fear with every heart—beat, was

visible on her face, as he paused, the secret yet

unspoken.

“ Well—tell me, if you have anythin to tell.
I knew I was not a true Pemberton,” s 0 said,
with reckless sullenness, "but 1 have made
myself safe and sure in marrying Mr. Griffith
Pemberton‘s nephew and heir. ’ '

His face lightened with scoruful satisfaction.

“ So he concluded you were not suitable
to inherit his money, after all, I take it? And
in default of a better legatee, made it over to—
Mr.Cuthbert Pemberten, the man you married 1”

A look of actual fear shot from her eyes.

’ How did St. Lawrence, a total stran , know
of Cuthbert Pemberton? He answ ques-
tion so visilie in her looks.

“I dare say you are dumbfounded, lgt when
Itell you I have been in New York ty evor

since you have been here stud in; u this
charming romance and thdt mertter 3) you
was written note block from your house and

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mayr understand it better. Perhaps. also, on
wil tit as a fact which I can prove w en
I assert t t Mrs. Cuthbert Pemberton is but
the natural daughter of Hiram Fletcher and
Miss Elizabeth Ogttlten.”
Elma vs a le gasping shriek that the
wind an the roar of the surf carried seaward.
“ It is a horrible horrible liei How dare you?”
“Truth cannot be gainsayed,” he answered,
coolly. “I can prove that you were born, out
of wedlock, on the same day that the real
heiress was born; that your mother, later, un-
dertook the care of both children; that, during
one of Hiram Fletcher’s visits from America
the plan was adopted that has worked so well
—you, their own child, were educated as the
heiress, while the sweet little Cecil was given
for ado tion to' a gentleman and wife of the
name 0? May, who were traveling in Europe.
Whether she is alive or not I cannot say, but
if she is, she is the ri htful eirese. She would
be an ex uisitel utiful woman, if her
hahvhood ulflll its rare promise. She was
fair as silly, with filden hair—not yellow like
Email-s, and eyes as us as the Italian skies she
looked upon.” ‘
Abreathleu horror had come over Elma as
she listened, and before he had finished she re-
cognized the description, the name, the circum-
stances that told her Cecil Carriscourt was the
heiress of Pembertoni While she—and a great
fur of rage swept over her—while she—oh, it
co d not, it should not be—that she was—the
child of the two people she detestcd most on

i
I She turned her death-white, desperate face
full toward him—a lion at bay.

“ don’t believe itl I Wlll not listen to
another of your abominable 1;esl It is your
reven , but do you think I care? I will never,
never 00k at you, or s ak to you agpinl”

She instant] walkedxhway from im, trem-
blinfiaso her 'mbs scarcely sufficed to carry
her elf to her room, where she burst in upon
Miss Ogden. like an infuriated (lemoness.

“ Is it true? Is it true, you vile wretch? Am
I your child and—that heast’s—Fletcher’s? If
it .is true, I could kill '03!”

The swift, awful gear in the woman’s face
was enough for the confirmation of the fact.
She fell on her knees in agonized sobs, trying to
clin to the girl’s dress.

“ knows I would have spared you this!
But don’t don’t look at me so—my little Elma,
mEbaby I loved so well i”

lma struck her a brutal blow, that only mi-
raculousl escaped killing her. As it was, she
stagger to the sofa, white and faint, while
Elma, in a raging fury, walked up and down,
up and down, until, in sheer exhaustion from
temper, she threw herself on the floor, desperate
to the end.

thile Mr. Thorsby Flt. Lawrence quietly
stepped into the hotel office, paid his hill, 11 hted
a Cigar inquired for the first train to New ork,
learn where Carrie Court was, and in an hour
wason his way to enact his share in the fast-
coming doom.

CHAPTER XXXI.
A am IN rnn 'cnocn.

A oomnasuron naturally seized Mr. Car-
risoourt and Mr. Pemberton as Cecil fell faint-
ing in her husband’s arms. Mr. Pemberton
sprung to the window, calling Mrs. Sayre, who,
together with Mr. Carriscourt, assisted in re-
storing her to consciousness. each one of them
expressing their astonishment at the stran e oc-
currence—Cuthbert Pemberton alone he ding
the clew to the apparent mystery, and looking
most concerned and kindly solicitous and sur-
prised of any of them, as he stood g‘ravely aside.

“Curses on the stupid blunder t at has some-
how or other been committed! Is it possible she
{died to receive in letter i”

It was several in nutes before Cecil revived,
and it was a. iteous sight to see her lying there,
stillaud whl as the dress she wore, her eyes
closed as if never to open their blue loveliness

in, sending unutterable thrills of anguish
tgough her husband as he hovered anxiously
over or chafing her cold hands, and bathing
her fair femples With the ungent ammonia.

8 she drew a o , sobbing breath,
and theb eyes fluttered open, in an expres—
sion of fear and terror evident to see, an expres
sionthat tonnagonlsed panicashcr

‘ fell upon Pemberton, standing in respect-
gfegrafl surprise, a little aside.

As their glances met, he stepped courteoust

forward, ho .

“Ina-qt, very, muc having been sounth
tunate as, to agitate rs. Garriscourt by my
very evident "semblance to some due else—per-

' have a deceased friend.”

 

\

DID SHE SIN?

His voice thrilled her with chillin horror
and she put up her hand. feebly, asi to war
him off, her anguisth e es gomg to her hus-
band’s face in iteous en reat , then, a gasping
whisper came rom her lips? net as, almost by
inspiration, it occurred to r. May who it was
that Cuthbort Pemberton resembl .

“Hush, Cecil,” he whispered, bending over
her apSarently to remove a tress of hair that
was is ing toward her eyes, “ for God’s sake,
hush! You think itis Sy ug Valence; you are
mistaken; it is only a won rful resemblance.
Don’t speak Sydne ’s name—that silly en e-
ment to him woul anger your husband. 53m

yourself.” 4
His firm, kindly meant tones were like an
elixir to her. The idea that 'bly there were

two people so much like one another, strength-
ened and en her, tem wily—saili-
cicntly to avert for the momen any l-conse-
quences.

Mr. May turned toward Mr. Carriscourt,
smilinng

“ It is r. Pemberton’s extraordinary likenese
to a deceased friend of hers that has 'tated
her—for the moment she thought the d friend
stood before her.”

A look of relief passed over Pemberton’s face.

“ I am exceediiégly sorry to have been so un-
fortunate, Mrs. arriscourt. May I not hope
you will not regard my unlucky presentation as
an omen of evi ?”

He had walked up to her, and courteoust
bowed. extending his hand in ve deference.
looking square in her eyes tha were gathering
their horror ain.

“ Not a we ! I’ll not betray you 1”

He whispered the words rapidly as he held
her hand a second then, he turned away, not
in the least agitate .

Cecil smiled a wan little smile toward her
friends.

“ I am very foolish, I fear, but I am stronger
now. Mr. Pemberton has quite reassured me,
and I hope we will all forget my extreme
awkwardness. ”

Her eyes began to glow with the reaction set-

ting in, and the rich red tint crept back to her
lips, and, as she realized with still more assur-
ance that the miserable secret was yet hidden
from her husband, her courage increased, and
her fears were temporarily allayed, and she was
her 3 t charming self again, except when oc-
casion lly she met Mr. Carriscourt’s grave,
thoughtful eyes, and then it required all her
fortitude to keep up her show of gayety.
The evening grew toward half-past ten before
the arties on t e lawn and terraces and from
the akelet came strollin in in twos and threes.
Then, there was a litt e music, an hour of
dancing, and then lemonade and cake was
served, and the guests retired to their rooms,
where, on her dressing-bureau, Cecil found a
letter from Pcmberton.

“ Evidently you failed to receive my note of warn-
ing and exp anation.“ it began, prompt] ', “and so
I will repeat that. although to fyou I am hydncy Va-
lence, to the world, and in my uniin I am known as
Cuthbert Pembert-on. And the reason why I have
the two names is, that in consequence of there bein
a legacy left me in case I assume my mother‘s malf-
en name—Pemberton, uniting it with the family
Christian name Cuthbert I assumed it for the sake
of the fortune, and have legally adopted it since our
marriage. My true name is, and was, at that tim
the one by which you knew me—Sydney Valence.
hope I have succeeded in maki r this clear to you. I
hope also I shall succeed in ma ’ing you understand
I mean you no ill by this visit that Fate has ordained
——ihat while I am vour guest, I remain as Cuth‘bert
Pemburt on. 1 sha treat 'ou as the hostess, and so
charming: a hostess, shouli be treated, and for your
own sake. you will treat Incas you do other guests
the short time I remain at Cai-ris Court ”

The letter was an infinite relief to Cecil, who
slept more soundly that night than in a long
while before.

The next morning she was down in the break-
fast-parlor before any of her guests, looking
fresh and sweet as a rose in her white morning-
dress and pale-blue ribbons.

_ She was busy at her usual duty of arranging
in vases and 0
flowers the ga ener had his standin
brinfieber every mornin , when
Pam rton came down, t e ver ideal of the
aristocratic old gentleman wi his loss
summer linen, and cool diamond stu s, and
gram:é handsome face whose keen blue eyes

ght warme at the fair picture that Cecil
made bending over the beautiful, fragrant
flowers.

“It is not necemary to in uire after your
health orhaniiness, Mrs. C scourt,” he said,
ashegaveherhlshand audherownuestled in
it for a second; “your looks tell both. Iain
more than ever regretful that my willful niece

order to
r. Grillith

 

 

tal saucers the basket of cut- :

 

29

did not come to see such sweetness and .urity."
Alth his words were chivalrous, Becil 'de-
tected the bitterness in his voice, and she m4

swered veriig-sntly:

“ I wish Pembertcn had come. I would.
have tried to make her contented. Perhaps
another time she will accept my invitation-
Carris will always be open to any of your

household.”

Her heart ave a little sharp thrill as she
thought that ydne Valence, or as she knew
him now, Cuthbert
that household.

“Thank you, my dear child. I fear I shall
wear many welcomes out if you are so hospit-
able. Carris Court is a charming place-finer
than Marchbrook, to my thinking, althou it
has been years since I gid my one bu ess
call there. You must en rtainv sweet sap
cred recollections of your dear old me, Mrs.
Carriscourt, and it must be a great satisfaction;
to have your brother so near you.”

A little impulsive 'ver came to Cecil’s lips.

“I love Marchbroo dearly, dearly,” she said,
touchingly. “But, Mr. Pemberton, you are
mistaken in thinking Mr. May is my brotherhor
that Judge May was my father—although -—
and the tears sprung to her sweet eyes—“IL
loved him just as wel as though he had been.”
f  sudden interest came to Mr. Pembeltcu’e.

ace.

“Is it possible! Judge May not your own
father, my dear?”

“ I was an adepted daughter,” she said, gent-
ly, “but I knew no difference. Who m on
darling mother or who my father was, never
knew. I only now I was a nameless orphan
when Mr. Carriscourt gave me his dear name
and love.”

A subdued passion was in her low, thrilling
voice as she went on arranging her flowers.
Mr. Pemberton stood still as a statue, strange,

ainful emotions almost suffocatin him in alo

rnate fears and doubts. and l

j
I_

‘ nations.

“ But—your mother, child! Don‘t you know,
anything whatever of her? Her—her—namel
and his voice trembled in awful suspense.

Cecil shook her head sorrowfully. . '

“I don’t know even her name. She died.
when I was a baby in Italy, where—”

He laid his hand suddenly, heavily on her'
shoulder. .

“She died—when you were an infant—im—
Italy!” _ '

Cecil looked up) at him, surprised, a little
startled, but held y his strong magnetic glance
that went to her very soul.

“ That is what Mr. May learned from papa:—
from Jud e May’s papers. And I have her pic-
ture—wo d you like to see her picture?”

The a 'tation on Mr. Pemberton’s face was
almost a armi$. His grand old facewas white
as his linen. 18 eyes were full of eager pam‘
ful sus use and excitement. His breat was
laborede and heavy, yet, withal, there was» a
gentleness in his voice and manner that was in-
ex ressibly delicate.

be merciful and grant me this sweet
he i” he said, in suppressed, reverent tones.
“ how me the picture—your mother’s icture.”

Cecil opened a magmficent locket e wore
sus nded from a black velvet ribbon about her
nec , and laid it on his quivering hands, ust as
Mr. Carriscourt entered the lor in . me to
see the look that passed over is lea-lid face,
to hear the mighty sob that shook
hear the passionate cry of ecstatic thankfulness
that went up from hiiiga .

“ 1 thank my God , I thank nazmerciful
God! Carriscourt-your wife is m nevieve‘s
daughter! This is m sister’s acei—I have
been drawn to Cecil mm the first moment I
saw her. My darling, m darling i”

He gnthened Cecil in ' arms, laying her
swaet head against his dear old face, team
streamin from his happy, reverent eyes. as he
gavehis and to Carriseourt in an ecstasyof

They journed to the privacy of Cecil’s bou-
doir, where -a lon mutual conversation was
held during whic Mr. Oarriscourt told Mr.
Pemberton how, upon the owasion of their visit
3  the same mange magician had occurred

m.
“ We will keep our sweet secret to ourselva
00-day,” Mr. Pemherton said, as he sat and

, exultant 'oy.

caressed Cecil’stsirhand,wonderi w there
wasacttherapturous onherh ’sfaes
he s . “Wewnll itb-
day,andto-monwlwfll into mys-
$331M We m
B y
gaunbeasdw ell-n
grinedatfirstatthemistakehehs .1

ember-ton was a member of _

'3 frame, to

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30

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don’t understand it, though,” he said, thought-

full .

Aid then the separated, Cecil to 0 about
her delightful lttle duties in a da sort of
wa , her heart thrilling with delight at thought
of r new happiness, and then sinking w1th
fear as other thoughts came crowding over her.

CHAPTER XXXII.

a INTO THE BUNLIGHT.

Tn da passed delightfully to the guests at
Carrie Cdurt. The morning was devoted to
breakfast, billiards, visits to the stables and
points of interest on the estates. After lunch,
arrangements were made for carri drives,
and with the exception of Cecil, . Carrie-
oourt and Mr. Pemberton the entire party
started, in three or four of the Carriscourt car-
riages, for a drive up the rivar.

Mr. ‘a had a business en ment
with one of his tenants that promised detain
him in his library duringnmost of the afternoon.
Mr. Pemberton leaded ' age and disrelish for
after-luncheon ipation as an excuse, and re-
tired to the western drawing-room to indulge in
asiesta in the cool, breezy gloom, while Cecil
to whom the excitement o the morning had
given a headache retired to her room for rest
and sleep, if pomible.

It was about four o'clock when she arose,
greatly refresh and bathed, dressed and de-
scended to the do i htful little north parlor, her
favorite room on t e ground floor, a small, ele-
gent apartment between the west drawing-
room on one side and Mr. Carriscourt’s library
on the other.

She took with her a dainty little lace trifle of
work, and bad ensconced herself cosin in a cor~
ner window over which luxuriant vines cre t,
their green leaves continually swayed by t e
fresh summer breeze—e tin to have the
afternoon exclusive] to ersel , and eat! y
surprised when Cuth Pemberton wa ed in,
leisurely.

She looked up, showing her dis leasure in her

sweet face, but he came orward, easily
and saililingly, and seated himself in a chair op-
ite er.

“I changed my mind, Cecil, and decided I
would very much 1prefer a quiet little chat with

on, seeing that leave you this evening. I

the privilege of a guest to be entertained a
littfie while.”

She com ressed her li s, as if to restrain
words tha she preferre would remain un-
spoken, and gathered up her strip of lace-work,
and the tiny gold thimble and gold scissors that
were restin on the window-seat, and arose
from her cha .

“You will have to excuse me, Mr. Pember-
ton. I certame expected and desired to spend
this afternoon alone, and will return to my pri-
vate rooms.”

Her voice was cold and di nified, and it an- a

red him greatly. He reac ed out his hand,
itainingly.

“You are not going, Cecil—understand that.
I came back purposely to see gou, and I do not
intend to be disappointed. it down while I
talk to you—and remember that I can call a
most fearful storm upon your head at any mo-
ment.

She looked him steadily in his wicked eyes,
her heart throbbing with the old fear and mis-
erable hopelessness, and yet her veice was full
of intense undauntedness.

“Remove your hand, sir! Whatever you
have to so. to me say quickly. for I shall leave
the room n just ve minutes.”

H smiled

e .
“Only five minutes for your devoted hus-
band! Cecil, that’s too cruel. Don’t be sar-
castic, or too dignified, but allow me to refresh
your memo with the fact that although you
are regar as the hostess of this charming
place, you are mallzasnd truly—m wife.”

If she could only vo known! er blue eyes
looked piteousl into his, withal that a desper-
atefire leam in them.

.“ Wil I ever forget! Oh, my God, if I could
onl forget—for one minute !”

0 ed her admiringly.
“By u iter, Cecil, whata glorious creature

are! on are enciiilgh to make a man lose
s head—see here, Cec ,” and his eyes gleam
with a fire that her as she
the evil, onate glance—“ do you know you

moireehaveailoregmethesgellestof a
husbands vileges' ounever vepermit—
tedsneto you-mywifel Oecil—Iloveyou

thanever— area-ushhorflblycrueh—

mylcngee—H- maCeeil.
lhavelherthodsmand a hiqfor are you
notnivwlfe

den looks.
. “Dare toaddressmeso again, and I will in-
, stantl alarm the house!”
; He ollowed her smilineg and holding out his
arm.
“ No you won’t, my beautiful Cecil. You
won’t betray our charming secret just yet.
1 You are afraid of—Carriscourt, but on need
g not be afraid of me! Come, Cecil! y lovely
! wife—come kiss me!”
1 But he did not advance another step, for there

 

and snow-w to face and tgbtly-shut lips t
told him he had taken just 0 one step he could
have cursed himself for taking.

“I will not be tormented another momsnt by
you, vile, heartless villain that you are! From

his moment I defy you—I defy you! You have
done your worst—now, I take m
Carriscourt! Mr. Carriscourt!
once!”

She suddenly raised her voice in a sharp, im-
perative summons that brought her husband in
alarm to her side and aroused Mr. Pemberton
dozing on the sofa in the adjoining room, and
sent h in also to her in surprise and alarm.

As he entered the room, Cuthbert ave her
one swift, entreating lance she we enough
understood, but refu to notice, as, turning
toward Mr. Carriscourt with a low, passionate
c , she pointed scornfull at her persecutor
w ose face was pale as dea h.

“ There he is—that is he,” she said, gaspingly,
her eyes flashing in defiant desperation; “ he is

turn. Mr.
ome here at

not tell you—who has embittered and burdened
my life—the man you saw leavin my room,
because he had the right to deman it. Cuth-
bert Pemberton—Sydney Valence—whatever
you choose to call him!”

Then, her high, sweet voice ceased, she droop-
ed her golden head on her breast, and folded her
hands in an attitude that touched even Cuth—
bert Pemberton’s vile heart.

Mr. Carriscourt listened, almost dumbfound-
ed and horrified, his gaze freezing both her and
( the discomfited villain, who was inwardly curs—
j ing his luck.

1‘ ‘that does this mean?” Mr. Carriscourt

‘asked, looking from Cecil’s bowed head and

1 drooping form, to Pemberton‘s white, terrified

‘ facile—the face of a rogue caught in his own
no .

i A silence like death followed, broken by the

‘ voice of a servant.

“Mr. Thorsby St. Lawrence, of Florence,

Ital , to see Mr. Griffith Pcmberton, on import-
ant usincss.”
; Of Florence Italy! Mr. Pcmberton looked
1 instant] at Mr. Carriscourt.
] “ Wit your permission, I will see this stran-
ger here.’

 

 

l

I rence entered the room, easy, self-assured, bow-
-‘ ing courteously.

‘ My business will not detain you long, sir,
and, unless I am mistaken, concerns this genth
mun quite as much as yourself._  have infor-
mation in my possession which it is my duty to
lay before you, sir, regard“: —your reputed
niece, or, rather, the Wife 0 your nephew,
there.”

She'shrunkbackappalledflhivu-ing at his ar- l

was something in Cecil’s face he never had seen .
there before something in her blue blazing eyl'lesé J
a

the man, Mr. Carriscourt whose name I dared *

“ You are well served! You married her for
; her money, and I have the pleasure to inform

‘ you that she is less to me than yourself will be, ‘

enceforth. I have always looked u you as
a model young man, free from the suits that
cursed and ruined your twin-brother’s life, but
now I believe you a thousand times worse than
poor Sydney, whose tragic death has stoned for

much—

A little h ric scream from Cecil interrupt-

him. e turned to her, as they all did, to

see her blue eyes full of agonized questioning,
her face uivering With emotion.

“ Mr. emberton, for God’s sake, explain this
terrible mystery to me! You spoke of that
man’s twin-brother—Sydney—and a tragic
death! Who is he I"

She inted her finger at Pemberton, who
quail before the lauces directed at him.

“He is Cuthbert alence Pemberton.”

‘ And he had a brother—”

Cuthbert himself interruptedher ina devilish,
; mocking voice:

: “The game is about played out! He had a

i brother, a twin-brother, and his name was S d-
ney Valence Pemberton, and he drop the
latter name for obvious reasons before mar~
ried you, in charming sister-in-lawl”

Mr. Carr urt steppled forward, ht eyes
fairwlappalling in their ot passion.

‘C‘ .1 a st"do you meg; you vitlhlfnl”

eci p up ween m e com-
, but a ight in her sweet eyes 

is very soul. 4
! “Be patient ust a mu. longer, Hr. Carria-

court, and I wil explain.”

“I will be patient, but first this man must

r leave m house. Mr. Pemberton will you al-
= low me 0 show your no how the door?”

“With pleasure, and will assist you.”

St. Lawrence interrupted the rather summary

* proceedings. ,

“ If on will allow me one word more gentle-
men, fore 1you proceed to business, I would
like to have t e extreme satisfaction of tellin
this young gentleman whom he has married:
would like to inform Mr. Pemberton of the stu-
pendous fraud Hiram Fletcher has been so
nearly successful in perpetratin , in palming of!
u n iim his own and Elizabe h Ogden’s ille-
gitimate child as the true Pemberton heiress.”

A smothered curse burst from young Pember—
ton’s li , and he dashed out of the room,
snatchci his but from the hall-standhand left
the house, to go direct as he could to wreak his
wrath on Fletcher’s unconscious head, and then
to disappear from New York society, a des~
perate. reckh-ss rogue, to live a life of crime
and vileness that has barred him forever from
even third-rate society.

Thorsby St. Lawrence did not ask and would
not receive any remuneration for his inform-
ation; his revenge was complete, and he went

 

, back to England as he came.

Mr. Carriscourt bowed, and Thorsby St. Law- ‘

A smothered curse burst from Cuthbert’s ,

white lips, and a little inurticulate cry from Ce- ‘

cil.
‘ Mr. Pemberton smiled grimly. . '
“Sir, your information comes Just a little
‘ late, since this morning I have learned that this
lady, Mrs. Carriscourt, is my niece, and conse-
quently my heiress, in place of the other young
woman, to whom you refer. You are mistaken,
however, in supposing she is my mece by mar-
ria e.”
1 e looked at Cuthbert, who madea itiable
spectacle standing alone in all the he of the
, tempest his own misdoings had brought upon

‘ him.

’ “I have it from the oung lady: own lips,
air that she is Mrs. Cut bert Pem rton. I do

‘ not think the gentleman will be so ungallant as
to deny it?” I

i Eve eyewne fixed on the discomfited villain

z whose‘ngue clove to the roof of his mouth, in
sheer dismay.

‘ “Whatdoeshe mean sir! Are you married
to Elma Pembertonl bid you dare disregard
myicommands?”d k his I

sullen ar ened ace.
m married last week.”
A l tning scorn shot from Mr. Pemberton’e

I d lueeyeathenasneeringsmilecameto

E mustached mouth.

1

 

Fletcher was uit of Mr. Pemberton’s house
when that gent eman returned, a day or so
later; and joined Miss O den and Elma~
neither wife nor widow—at ng Branch, from
which Since their miserable, purposeless life be-
gan, fu of quarrels and recriminations. Unforv
tunate speculation took all the mono Fletcher
had amassed, and h 3 old age was fu of bitter-
ness and poverty, while Elma’s disposition rew
worse and worse until she was utterly end-
less and desolate.

And so wickedness had its just reWard, and
we dro the dark curtain, to gladly turn to
Carrie ourt and sweet Cecil.

It was the evening of the same day and the
guests were enjoying themselves in their own
way, and Mr. Carriscourt was sitting in his
library, when a servant brought a message that
Cecil wished to see him in her boudoir.

He immediately obeyed the request, and
found her alone, waiting for him.

“I thinkitisbestthattherebenomore
secrets between us, Mr. Carriscourt ” she said,
as, entering the room, he took up his glosition
beside the mantle- lees—just where e had
stood once before, that terrible interview
they had had when it seemed to Cecil herheart
would break.

His face was wistful and weary—not the face
of a man to whom the tidings of great joy were
so soon to come. And Cecil’s own sweet
was troubled, yet not as troubled as it had
habituall been of late.

“It so,too Cecfl,andIhaveaurbedm
iigatiencehsmce e partial revelations of th
a moon, in -—expecting- ouwouldoome
to me, or sen fog me. I

“I told you thatthe «Kn—of
my uncle Griffith, was my ht visitor, the
man in whose power I was. whom I was bound

 

I

 

 

' -'\'w‘- .11

 

Av. .. ;

""“"‘~W
. a... V -
\
l

 

4...?"

to obey. I learned to day, it: the‘hrd' 

that I was under no such obli’ ations to him,
because he is not the person I ave been sup-
posing him—ever since the day—of—our mar-
riage. I—I—thought he was his brother whose
name was Sydney, and—and—f’ .

Her voice faitered, and a sw1ft wave of cum-
son surged acrossher face as she dropped her
head.

Only a second, then her honest, brave soul
went on mechanically. .

“ I will tell you all. I was married to Sydney

Pemberton—’ _
Carriscourt uttered a great agomzed cry.
"Cecil! No! No!"

Her lips quivered at the sight of his pain, but
she went on resolutely:

“Yes. e were married in the Marchbrook
Parsonage late in the aftemoou of one day.
We took the train to the city, and after we left
the train I never saw him ain. He commit-
ted suicide, and—that was he end. I never
was his wife—it was but the mockery of the
ceremony—I never, nevar was his wife in fact.

. arriscourt. an more—than—tbm yours.”

She averted her ovel face, and her mouth
quiver-ed pitifully. She ooked like some beau~
tiful creature awaiting her doom. His eyes
were fastened upon her. the woman he lewd
so madl —the brave, proud, sweet girl whose
life‘ had n so blighted.

He understood the mystery now—th‘t it
was to spare him. that it was because she be—
lieved her first husband was living—that the
barrier had been erected by her own courageous
womanl hands. ‘

ti cm. 1”

She answered him gently, but not turning her
face taward him.

“ Yes Mr. Carriscourt.”

“ Cecil—you loved Sydney Pemberton, or
else—"

She ran from her chair in a sudden p33-
sionate impu se.

“ Oh, no! No! I never loved him, I never—”

He stepped up to her, his eyes shining, his
face losing the shadow it had worn so long.

“You did not love him? Cecil! Then there
is no secret between us now 3"

“None.”

“And there is at last a hope for me? Oh,
my precious wife, is it possible you can learn to
love me, now?”

A rosy flush surged from throat to brow for
one little second. She drooped her lovely head
further away for one second more, then she
shyly lifted her sweet adoring blue eyes to his
face—with a look that fairly took his breath for
rapturous ecstasy.

“ Clyde! My husband, you have not to wait
for my love; I love you now; I always have
hired you!”

And he snatched her in his arms, great tcars
dropping from his eyes on her bright golden
head, and he strained her to his breast, kissing
her over and over again—the happiest pair that
breathed God’s summer air.

And out of the great discipline of sorrow
came the great peace that nothing but death
can end.

 

THE END.

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Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray.
28 sxlbii Chase; or, The Gambler‘s Wife. By
rs. Ann 8. Stephens.
29 For Her Dear Sake; or. Saved From ilim-
self. By' Sara Claxton.
30 The Bouquet Girl; or, A Million of Money.
By Agile Penne.
31 A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By
Mar A. lienison.
32 Mar ana, the Prima Donna; or, Rom-s
and Lilies. By Arabella Southwortli.
33 The Three Sisters; or. The Mystery of
Lord Chalfont. By Ali<.-e Fleming.
34 A Marriage of Convenience; or, Was
Be a (‘ounti By Sara Claxlon.
35 All Armin-t Her; or, The Winthrop Pride.
By Claire. Augusta.
36 Sir Archer’s Bride; or, The. Queen of His
Heart By Arabella Southworth.

7 The Country Cousin; or, All is not. Gold '

that Glitters. B Rose Kennedy.

88 His Own Agu n; or, Trust Her Not. By
Arabella Soutliworth.

89 Flirtation; or, A Young Girl’s Good Name.
By Jacob Aburbanell, ( Ralph Bowl.)

40 Pledged to Marry; or, In Love's Bonds.
By Slim (‘laxton.

41 BI nd‘ Devotion;

World. By Alice Fleming.

42 Beatrice, tlic Beautilul; or, His Second '

Love. By Arabella Soutliwoi'tli.

43 The Baronet’s Secret; or, The Rival Half- I

Sisters. By Sara ('lilelNl.

44 The On! Daughter; or, Brother against
Lover. V Alice Fleming.

45 Her Hidden Foe; 01‘, Love At All Odds.
By Arabella Southwurth.

46 The Little IIelreas;
By Mrs. Mary A. lieiiison.

47 Becauue She Loved Him; or, How Will 

It Bad? By Alice Fleming.
48 In Spite of IIerIu-lf; or, Jeannette's Repa-
rat ion. By S. R. Sherwood.

49 Igiis Heart‘s Mistress; or Love at First >

2hr. Bv Arabella Southwortli.

50 The (‘nban lleireaa' or. The Prisoner of ;

La Vlllll'ursé'. By. Mrs. %. Dealt-ion,

51 Two Young: ‘iris; or, he Bride of an
Earl. By Alice Fleming.

5% The “'iuged Mounenger; or, Risking All
for a Heart. By Mrs. Ma ' Reed Crowell.

68 Agnes Hope, the Ac rea- or. The Ro—
mance of a Ruby Ring. By illiam Manon
Timer, 1!. D 4

The Cheap

 l
D- ide; or, Will She Many 1

By William ll ason ‘

cart; or, Fair Phyllis‘ Love. {

or, A Dangerous Game. By

air Faec' or, Out in the World. By 1

or, Love Against the ‘

or, Under a Cloud. ‘

  

5-1 One “'onian’s Heart; or. Saved from the
Street. By George S. Kaime.

55 She Did Not Love Him; or, Stooping to
Conquer. By Arabella Southworth.

56 Love-Mad; or Betrothed Married Divorced
and —. By in. Mason Turner, M. D.

- 57 A Brave Girl; or, Sunshine at Last.
Alice Fleming.

58 The Ebou Mask; or. The Mysterious
Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed (‘rowelL

59 A “'1dou"s ‘i'iies; or. A Bitter Vengeance.
By Rachel Bernhardt.

60 ('eeil’n Deceit; or. The Diamond Legacy.
By Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton. -

By

‘ 61 .\ “'ieked Heart; or. The False and the ‘

'l‘i'uc. By Sam L‘luxton.
I 62 The Nlaniae Bride; or. T :9. Dead Secret
of Hollow Ash Hull. By Margaret Blount.
63 The (‘l'eole Sisters: or. The Mystery of the
Perry's. By Mrs. Anna  Porter.
6-1 “'lmt Jealousy Did; or. The Heir of
l Worsley Grunge. By Alice Fleming.

 

 

 Novels andrthe Cream of Foreign-Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS!
., - est Library Ever Published!

 

 

 

65 The ‘Vii‘e’s Secret; or, 'Twixt Cup and ‘
‘ 121
66 A Brother’u Sin; or, Flora‘s Forgiveness. ‘
i 122

Lip. By Col. Juan Lewis.
By Rachel Bernhardt.

Forbidden Hams: or,
Prince. By Arabella Southworth.

\Vein’ers and \Velt; or. “Love That Hath
Us In ills Net." By Miss M. E. Briuldon.

69 (Tiunille; or. The Fate of a Coquette. By
Alexandre Dumas.

70 The 'I‘u'o Orphans.

71 My Young: “'ii‘e.
Ilushnnd.

72 The ’I‘u‘o \Vidou‘s. By Annie Thomas.

73 Rose Michel: or, The Trials of a ,Fnctory
Girl. By iliuid Hilton.

'71 (‘eeil ('asllenmine‘n “age; or, The Story
(if u Broilll-l‘wl Hillwlll. i)’ ()llitlti.

75 The Black Lady of Dunn.
li‘nnii.

76 (‘harlotte 'l‘i'ilipii‘. By Mrs, Rowsoii.

77 Christian onkley‘s Mistake. By the
author of “ John llzilil'ax. Gentleman." etc,

78 My Young; Husband; or, A (‘mifusion in
the Filllllly. By Myself.

79 A ( lieen Amongst “'omen. Bv the
out or of “The Post of Her Low," “A Gilded
Sin," “ Dora 'l‘horne." etc, etc.

80 Her Lord and Hunter.

Murryut.

l Lury 'I‘enlple, Sister of ('luirlotte.

‘3 .\ Long Time A20. By Meta Orred.

5

gm
6.9

By D'Enery.
By My Young Wife‘s

By J. S. Le

By Florence

8 Playing: for High Stakes. By Annie
’l‘honutx'.
- Si The Laurel liusli. lly the author of

“John Halifax, Gentleman.“
85 Led Astruy. lij.'(ietii\'e l‘V‘llllll‘L
‘ 86 Janet's Repentance. By (lent-go Eliot.
87 The Romance oi'n Poor Young Man.
‘ By (N‘lilVl' l"1'lllll(’l. _
- 88 A Terrible Deed:
Emma Harrison Joni-s.
89 A illlded Sin. By the author of “Dora
Thorn," etc.
90 The Author’s
} llowitt.
; 91 The Jill. By (‘lizirles Reade.
t 92 Eileen Alan nu ; or, the Dawning of the Day.
By Dennis (l‘Snllivzin.
93 Love’s Victory. By B' L. Fiirjeon.
l 91 The Quiet Heart. ly Mrs. Oliphunt.
95 Lettiee A rnold. ByMrs. Marsh. I

‘96 Haunted "earth; or. The Broken Be-
ti'oihnl. It)“ lizu'lu-l Bernhardt.

97 ling-.1: Melton. lly Katharine King.
. 98 Alice Learn-out. ByMiss Mulock.

or, All for Gold. By

Daughterr By Mary

99 Marjorie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary
Patrick.
1 100 Through Fire and “'ater. ByFred-

I t’l'il'k 'l‘nlhot.

‘ 101 Hannah. ByMiss Mulock.

102 Peg “'ofllngton. By Charles Reade.

103 A Desperate Deed. By Erskine Boyd.

104 Shadows on the Snow. By B. L. Far-
Jl'flll.

105 The (treat Iloggarty Diamond. By
W. M. Thackeray. '

108 From Dream: to “'aking.
Lynn Linton.

; 101 Poor Zeph!

i'y E.

 F. W. Robinson.

 

Alma's Dismiised 

 

108
109
110
111

112
113

114
115

116
117

118'

119
120

1‘23
12-1
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132

133

The Sad Fortunes ofthe Rev. Amou-

Barto It. By George Eliot.
Bread-and-(‘heese and Kisses. By
B. L. Furjeon.

The \Vandering Heir. By Charles
Reade.

The Brother’s Bet; or, Within Six
Weeks. By Emilie Flygare Carlen.
A Hero. By Miss Mulock. '

Paul and Vir inia. From the French of
Bernardin De St. 'erre. .

9Twa~ In Trai‘ai ar’s Day. By Wal-
tcr Besant 8; James ice.

The Maid of Killeena. By William
Black.

Hctty. By Henry Kingsley.

The. Wayside (Tons; or, The Bald of
Gomez. By Captain E. A. Milman. »
The Vicar of \l'akeiieid. By Oliver
Goldsmith.

Maud llIohan. By Annie Thomas.
Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Mi- Jane-
Porter. ‘

The King of No-Land. By B. L. Far-
jeon.

Lovel, the \Vidower. By W. M. Thack-
eray.

.in Island Pearl. By B. L. Farjeon.

(‘onsin Phillis.

Leila; or. The Siege of Grenada. By Ed-
ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton).

“'hen the Shl ) (‘omes Home.
Walter Bl‘Siilll and ames Rice.

One of the Family. By James Payn.
'I‘he liirtliright. By Mrs. Gore.
M’otherlesn; or, The Farmer's Sweetheart.
By Colonel Prentiss Ingralinni.

Homeless; or. Two Orphan Girls in New
York. By Albert W. Aiken.

Sister against Sister; or The Rivalry (‘3
Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed di'owell.

Sold for Gold ; or. Almost Lost. By Mrs.
M. V. Victor.

Lord Roth’s Sin: or. Betrothed at the
Cradle. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens.

By

1 3-D Did He Love Her ? By Bartley T. Camp-
bell.

135
136
137
138
139
1-10
1-11
1-12
1-13
1-1-1

153
15-1

155

sinned .\ gains! ; or, Almost in His Power.
By Lillian Lovejoy.
“an~ She Ilia “'il'e ‘? By Mrs. Mary Reed

(‘rowell

The Village on the Cliti‘. By Miss
Thackeray.

Poor Valeria! or, The Broken Trotli.

By Margaret Blount.
Ma rga ret Graham. By G. P. R. James.
“'ithout Mercy. By Bartley T.Campbell.

lIonor Bound; or, Sealed to Secrecy. By
Lillian l.ovvjoy. '

Flor-inn- from Love. By Mrs. Harriet:
lrving. h
Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman’sWor-k.

By Rett Wlnwood.

A St range Marriage; or, John Foster‘s
llelri-ss. By Lillian LoVejny.

'I‘vvo Girl’s Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed
Crowell. .
.\ Desperate Venture; or, For Love‘s

Own Sake. By Arabella Southworth. ’
The “’ar of Hearts. By Corinne Cush-
lllllll.

\Vlileh \Vns the \Voman ? or, Strangely
Misjullg'ed. By Sara Claxton.

An Ambitious (ii‘rl' or, SheWoiin Be
An Actress. By Frances elen Davenport. _
Love Lord of All; or, In Her'Own at
Last. By Alice May Fleming.

A \Vild Girl; or. Love‘s Glamour. By
(‘orlnne l‘ushinan.

A Man’s Sacrifice;
Himself. By Harriet Irving.
Did She Sin 4' or. A Man‘s Desperate
Game. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crbwell.

He Loves Me Not! or.A Cruel False-

Or, At'War With

hood. By Lillian Lovejoy.
\Vinning “'ayu; or. Kltty'Atherton‘s

Double 'l‘roth. By Margaret Blonnt.
A new ism/e wary uwek.

Tail: leanuzv LIBRARY is for sale by all News-
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of six cents each. .
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