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1882.

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“LEAP YEAR

71

98 WILLIAM ST}, N. Y.

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Copyrighted in 1882 by BEADLE AND ADAMS.

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A’l‘he Gleam or American and Foreign Novels- for Five (Vents!
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AUTHOR OF “ WHICH WAS THE WOMAN!” “FOR HER DEAR SAKE,

 

nugcal’IIA'D-ltlcooa-

  

PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS

‘heapest and Best Library
VII.

2

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Entered at the Post Office at New York. N. Y.

The

 

 

 

$2.50 a year.

 

 

 

 

 

A FATEFUL G

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No 162. VOL

 

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Game; 
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BY SARA. CLAXTON.

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. CHAPTER .1.
, * I A mutant) m mm .
' in ,Was sunset; the March winds blew raw
and cold from the East River/from whose turu
 bosom, swollen by recent rains, floated
"j m an! various sizes, imparting to its loneli-
nesskmur of cheat-sultan and life. , ‘ ,
' 125..ng girl, fair and fragile, stood gazing
. ovler the Brooklyn Bridge with an unmistakable
7 air‘of gentility and refinement pervading her
” whole appearance, albeit she was clad 'in gar-
- meats so threadbare and meager that she might
 3129 mistaken for some "poor outcast, a
‘ mere waif upon the ocean of life, buffeted by
its storms, destitute and fallen, driven here to
die in sight of mansions, warehouses, and com:
f, ls dwellings- .. r- _ .. ;

- a  of; she had not fallen, but had simply been
7 id , ,rted by one who had sworn at the altar to
love and cher‘ish‘her until death parted them

‘ Her face was wan, but even its wanness did
not destroy its beautiful contour, and over her
“shapely shoulders fell curling locks of jetty
hair, black as midnight, or as the sable hue of
the raven’s wing. " ’
Her blue eyes, looking now their wanted
luster-for she was, weak and ill, and the
' March winds chilled her feeble frame with an
7‘ icy' chilliness like‘that of death itself—were
' \ bent ugot'ithe river, the last home of many a
despairing-soul, wistfully, ‘oh, so wistfullyl
\  . She girl in years, but a woman in suf-
‘ itering, had stamped itself in her pallid

- o

 

1 " ,  face, mesons time and filtered circumstances
' ' . could alone ethos.

She yearned for some haven ,of rest, for
loving, 'syiupathizing words, the gift‘ of sweet

f charity, audibad failed to obtain anything. ,
‘~ ? Down there in that rush of water she might
rfind rest, and feel no more the pangs of, cold

' ' 'and'hunger, and of utter wretchednessa . ' '

~  from a neighboring steeple psal-
ingg tgrthét

  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  

lathe long 'ago- when things were
happier, awoke her
‘ ‘ ',lfifies. n
Plaid

shawl about her;

 

tonaptation and the gatej

  

 5% was no  in the world;

 
 
   

'  brunt haters/tisbsre’misst-bshers if 8 your .
t   mug-glad brayély withjpresentfiadversit  ‘ r. :

L ’ urfifi'glorious hopeié-ohoicest , and.   99 .
Imminent gifts to poor humanit l :flovfjha‘ny

hast,
.m! V ,' .  
’ ‘f‘Vg‘here. can I sol/"LiWheiem;1i9 , .. .
»  isrich,_but"she is cold andipl‘flflai but mu
3 ,’ I amiiher sister’s child,  will make  V ei‘fort

- to obtain from her-W and protection,

  
 

    theat-

- i

   
  

 

'éeyening hymn, one she had often '

to a‘ sense of;

  
   
  
 
 
   

 to and fro. in the winds

all-“lighted streets, and  , ,
est '

thou snatched from g .
I ta“ 'M’y. -'

I . ' v "v,  , . _ ,  ,2; y .
afford a'orushafld a warm soul: to  to in
 you eroded who is tat-“woman like-herself;
, So sit‘you downydear, and warm your cold
hands over theatre.” ,   ,
f Dora. Mertonegefor such was her name—-

wuld grasp the cup... - I .
A. Never did meal taste so delicious as that plain
fare of‘which she ,now partook; it seemed to

and to warm her benumbed frame.

Mary ’Frostappeared in her eyes an angel of
mercy, who had been sénno her'aid in this her
‘ dire extremity, and neVer to her dying day
would she forgot the generous deed.

The gift did not cost the donor much; but it
wasnot like the alms of the rich man who
gives out of his abundance, and is praised and
flattered by his fellow-man for his muniflcence.

There wasznot even any one present to note
the kindly act, or to say, “ Heaven bless your
kind heart 1”

But the angels—those bright messengers of
love elooked down with approving eyes and
beaming smiles upon Mary Frost. ‘

Taking Dora’s thin hands between her coarse,
rough. ones, she chafed them gently, and spoke
words of hope and comfort, which' sunk deep
into the soul of the listener, and seemed to her
like a message of comfort from above.

As Mary gazed on that wan face, it struck
her suddenly that she had seen it somewhere
before. , ‘ I

“ Weren’t you attire lying—in ward at Bella-
vuei—aud wer'n't; ' ouiinrthe seine room with
me?” she asked" ‘ Bloome you moral, Don’t
you remember your ralittle baby died. and you
lost something that hung about your neék?” ‘ '

to say, in a toneo‘l! real contrition, “It was
cruel of. mate remind you of that! You’ll,
forgive me, won’t you 3” .

Dora pressed her hand, and, smiling through
her tears, said; ‘51 have often wept for my'lit-
tie one without being reminded of (my less.
You have too kind. a heart to .wi'iiflng‘lygive
 to anybody. You are rightijin your} con-
jecture"; ,1» was there, and an} 

You mfg.” ,  ‘ 4  I I
Before‘parting Mary made Dora"  to)
call her at her home in Brooklyn, adding,

It

I jg’Fofissuch anus know 1» _
  consented, and left her kind friend to

v doubtful of her‘rec‘eptiOn. ,1 I .
ve her fresh courage to think that the"
quiteslone in the world; that a‘home
. ter had been oflered her by :Ma'ry
I  and saw her friend smiling,
andznoddlngand waving her hand ffip‘hex‘;

   

and toil.th prayer went up 1min her
hall;  ,One who understood how geimt‘ne it,
 who would be pleased to recefie it,

 

 git told [of the kindness of a loving,
symf“,  ng heart for another who 
late and oppressed. * .'

  
 
  

  fibehaddonewellfgln‘mkingMdecision; ,’ , ;  ‘3’003 nuuamrr. \ - ‘.
 i.  the first  her FMS  . " ,mious to the opening of this
life, and flung "‘7;   the old. story,  \ stealing? York hospital,
"liter _ , I A   ‘ , gym  ,1 {and fragile, was~
3’“ Painted  bdrm, Muses 9t  0r mm that
resting occasionally eugni; ]      .v . I, -' .
T regain strength. 1'      ' '   from .1118,
 'Ehe passed by an  b, a neighbor'ybyptafiuitielslyiwhitecurtains; ~nor_
-_ [buxom young woman, whopltiedxher‘ forum w, k /  I _ ' I, .
condition, and who a _ ‘ ,_ 1mm her totter- («who apartment“, into _which light was ad—
,ing, ,1; that she was ~   ,throughvdlm windows, gave the ob-
, “, V re, dear, drink this!"_ shexsaiijl"~’hund ‘_  an idea of cheerfulnees and comfort,
, thefiwayfarer a large cap of,      dispeiledfby 30b! of “will: flesh and
’ and Wank and 9mm MS.   .. ,_  a! tiling WBHHEWW- ' ' ‘
" , mound vigor to the poor on to whom'it’traa , _ V ,_ a) lying-in ward, and the “patients
 «flared. ~ ’ ' * “"  P _17the howitzer class—women who,
. , “Thanks!” she said, faintly; “ you are very, through povertyer had sought re.

kind, but I cannot pay for'it; [have no,
a p ,» TmOIle'y'Jt  _   . . , g u
. _:.  . I. «New mind that. flurer Mary Frost can

 

 
    
  

 

the bed-clothéiu whit less clean.

      

tuge‘ therein the time other trouble,
And‘some 0! them had seen, better

One look at the beautiful yous: me with.

 

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thankfully accepted the proffered hospitality,;
and warmed her shiveringhands before she

Seeing the tears in Dora’s eyes, she ., hastened ‘

‘gEoulii‘ be pleasedfto See my little darling, he”

" "diher, way to, a mansion where she‘svasy

I

bring her back to life, to quicken her pulsss, "

i * alu’tno‘tear

4...

   

I,
 we have just been, mAde 
would be sumcient to convince nspf this.” .

, Thedelirium or‘fever was in her blue eyes,

- rwhich, shone. with unnatural brightness, and

vspiritualized her fade, and made her appear

like a being of'lanother world. .»
_ Her child lay on her'arm, and she pressed it

' closely to her bosom, as if‘ taught by instinct
.«to ’do so, reason being fast merging into mad-f
ness. ‘ - ' '
Occasionally. a-gleam of intelligence came ‘
to her countenance, and she looked about, as
if watching for the arrival of somebody, p05-
sibly a relative or friend, ' .

In these lucid intervals she groped feebly for
a silken bag which hung around her neck, and
on finding it smiled joyfully. , ',

It was DoraMerton, who awaited the "com4
ing of a rich aunt, whom the nurse had been
sent for, by permission of the matro'h, as the"
patient was thought to be dying;

r It was a kindly act this, and robbed death

of its worst sting; for to die alone and among

strangers, with no loving hand to touch ours

or to smooth our pillow,’adds to the torture of
la Mary F

our last moments. ‘7
in an adjoining bed i  
Poor Dora little knew hat: her ‘ Int wtbuld

refuse to attend her bedside, or 'totwgive her a

promise that she would care for her infant at

her death. Hope buoyed her up, and was so
strongly fixed in her breast. that even in her
delirium she clung to it. '

The nurse had executed her mission, and he
seen Mrs. Blandford in all her splendor. '_

She was admitted by a footman in gorgeous
livery, who looked her‘up and down with cool
efl’rontery, and gave a contemptuous toes of
the head at her dress.an general appearance;

“You thought to have gone to the horse,
young person,” he said, with m‘agieterial se-
verity, and with a look of indignation before
which she ought to haVe quailed, but didn’t.

“ Is your mistress at home?’? she 

.“Not to you,”he answered. “You had bet- ,
tereee the housekeeper.” ' '

“ltwould be worse for
business to anyone but
mast?!» , L ..

« [During this altercation the lady whom she

on if I told my”
Mrs: landford, young

the conversation, and having called the-foot»,
1111311 ‘50 befrnsked him why he permitted such

an unseemly disturbance to go on. ,
He explained; and being curious

she joined her.

“ What is your
imperiously.

“My name is 8,
I am a nurse at "

“ Indeed!” :.
‘see how your u ;
no pauper relatv

“ Your niece ',
said Susan, insole.
the disdainful way
ceived. ' ’ ~  ,_ .

," My niece? impossible!” ’ said» Mrs. Bland~
ford, sun'tled out other haughtin‘eos by this as-
tonishing statement. ‘ ‘- ’ '

‘,‘ Is your niece’s name Dora Merton
the nurse, with a milicious twinkle in her gray
eye. 1,}! , . - ' - /
“It is. But how come she there?”
“ You had better. ask . her. fihe wants it
see you.” ‘ '

    
   
 
  
  
   
    

Prat," she monogram.
I have

y; forehe was mottled at
in which she had been re-

c;

rm186d face. “ ants-could she th
visit her there!” "

“Wen, mum,” .
suppose she  ought to love yourown‘ ,

ink I would

311?. We take-in nobody
wi 31115610 babies." ' .
' Susanrrat hated her superiors simply be",

 

.i’

v I

joyed the occasion greatly.

l’
4

“sought had-overheard. her‘uame and a. part of f

to know -‘
,the woman’s business. told him to show herfi
 7-into the ante-room, wheres few minuteslater /

business with me!" alienated," g

. [I 1“ l‘can’t '

 this moment; madam !”1 ’

an

i" asked h

«Mepa___this'wmh‘a look of “horror on her 

said Susan, demurely, -“_I 

19M But don’t be afraid; there! ’
0.: ‘m‘u'asion. My ward“ is clean, 
there but poor soul's "

cause they were such, and now that she had an} ,
opportunity of humiliating one bf them, on; :-

 

 

 

 

 
 
   
 

  

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’3" a, -

 

 

Mrs. Blandford sunk into a chair, andrmur-

mured,_“ Wretched girl, what ‘a disgrace !" .

r Sheforgot, that: it was owing to her this
““ wretched girl,” as she styled her, was com-
pelled to seek an asylum in a hospital.

Dora had written to her a most piteous let—
ter, begging, for. her dead mother’s sake, that
she would, take pity on her forlorn condition,
and help her. . _

' This, in common with other letters from the
same source, Was consigned to the flaxhes un—
opened. ' '
' “It ain’t no disgrace in her case,"-said ,Su—

'1 sea, bluntly; “ she’s a married woman—I saw

the ring on her finger. Will you come to her?
I am afraid she’s dying, poor thing!”

“Dying!—-I am so glad!” said Mrs. Bland—

ford, unable to conceal the joy _which this in- ’

telligence afl’orded her. .

“But she may recover,” said Susan, mali-
ciously, ~" so don’t count your chickens before
they’re hatched, madam. I may be poor, and
only a hospital nurse, but I’d scorn to say what
you have just said.” ,

“ You mistake me,” said Mrs. Blan’lford,
hastily. “ But tell me; you say you are poor;
Would money be of any use to you? Would
you refuse a present?” ~

' “Would a hungry man
«replied. —“I love money, a
’ vied those who possess, it.

be rich in the/ambition of my life.
. anything for sold.” I

“ Anything?” echoed Mrs. Blandford.

“Anything, except risk my neck.”

, ’ “Of course—oi course," said Mrs. Bland
iord. «- ‘i I would never ask you to do that.
,Now let us understand each other. I haVe a
niece who has evidently married beneath her,
 brought disgrace upon her family; you
say the is dying, but may perchance, recover.
Is that so?” ‘ '

“She is young, and our doctor is a skillful
man; why shouldn’t she recover?”

"‘ Exactly,” said Mrs? Blaudiord, blandly.
.“ No doubt a. great deal depends upon you?”
“ Yes; everything does. If I forgot to give

have always en-
oney is power; to
I would do

her her medicine, or let her take a chill, or,

‘neglected her in any way, adoctor’s skill—and
for that. matter a thousand doctors’——could not
Save her.” \ » a l

“ And you say she may die?” '
'4“ Yes; the doctor has almost given her up,

 me to help him'to pull her through; V

I * but have}, lot to. attend to, my hands are
' prhtty full at the present momenttandl might
forget to look after [her suiflciently.‘ A little
money is veryacceptable to a nurse, and does
a lot in a case like your niece’s.” A

 ,Blandliord gave a sharehiug look at "'

’ emu, and said: “Net a penny of my money
Mill bigiven to you to gain her more atterh
« float-“films  disgraced our familyfand I
Would'lwilllngly pay you moneys—ay, a large
 sums-slit)  {rom your lips that she was
 dead!” ' - , f r
' SW' fret fiddled from her seat,'and looked
earnestly at , speaker, as she asked, in a
4 WM, hoarse With emotion, “What 'do‘ you

' : {mean} How much wouldyou give?” .
I 1 There was a look of. trith in Mrs. Bland-
" toms soak! eyes- as, She. listened to these
words... ' .  . ‘
; “ 11,? she said, careleSSly, " how much shall

4 we put it at ~five hundred dollars??? ,
.1, “ Hist! speak low;.walls have ears. we are
’ talkingof murder.” ,. J ,
 , “ Nonsense! the doctor has given her up; you
, , “have other patients, and need not pay her par-

_ ticular,attention;—all this I leavo to you.”

  Susan Prat ’played nervouslywith the back,
' __ of the chhir, as, with blanched cheeks and ter-‘

, rer-laden eyes, she looked. at her temptress,

and muttered, “ Make it six hundred! There’s"

" thechild, you know!” . ,

 Ah,” said Mrs. Blandfor'd, witha smile. “I
had forgetten, that! It‘ would be a pity it
should outlive its mother!
Ldred and fiftyl”. ,. , l
‘ j .“ Gare mean  'youwillpay me.

 

‘ . i

',  went money news”

refuse bread 2” she '

I will say. five hun— ~

, ‘ V‘I‘J, __ ;, ,.,,

And she stretched out her-along, lean ‘ fingers
as if to‘grasp the filthy lucre her, soul thirsted
after.  ; x _, ‘ U . - ~

,Mrs. Blandi‘ordcounted outvtwenty-five dole
lar gold pieces, which the other clutched tight-
ly, and placed hastilyin her pocket. _

“Mind,” said Mrs. Blandford, “great cau—
tiOn will be needed not to compromise yourself
in any way.” , ’ ,

She opened the door, and Susan Prat passed
through, just as Thomas, the footman. came up.

Neither of the guilty pair attached any im-
portance to this; but they little knew or dreamt
that he had been playing the eavesdropper.

He let the nurse out, muttering, “ Thomas
Sutton, you’re a made man if you only play
your cards well!”

Meanwhile, Dora. Merton and her. infant
hovered ’twixt life and death, little racking of
the foul conspiracy designed to rob them of
their chances of recovery,

And the shadOWS grew deeper and‘length-
ened, as a solitary woman made her way, with
cat-like tread, keeping within‘the shadows, and
avoiding busy. thoroughfares, in the direction
.of Bellevue,Hospital. , ’

CHAPTER 111. ,
ro‘UL PLAY. ‘

DURING 'Susan Prat’s absence, Dora’s deliri
um increased. It was a mercy she did not
destroy her baby in her struggle with an im-
aginary enemy.

The little creature slipped off her arm, ahd
layxin safety, while‘ "she, arose, and murmured
hoarsely, “Give me water! I thirst —-I diel”

Mary Ernst had kindly looked in upon her
from time to time, and on hearing her mutter-
_, ings did so again. ‘ r '

 

l

taken. what she saw ’for something super-
natural. ‘  ,

A thin, child likejace, sowhite at the tem-
ples and forehead; the burning red of the
cheeks; the wild feverish eyes, 1(flashing like
stars; the long, thick treeses sweeping down
like is thick vail tothe covarlet; the thin, white
hands and arms, (uplifted in wild grace; the

tall 'flower that threatens to "break with the
iirstblast of winde—all these; were enough to
freeze the blood in Mary’sfv’einsg and‘ “send her
frightened speech in fragments to 1lei; lips.

"‘ What is the matter?“ she, asked at last. 3
g  “1am parched—‘4 went-drink; my head
throbs, my'bosom kin“, of aching fire; my
hands—put them in cold water, they are .so
hot! They will not let me touch while they
burn sol’? . ; ' x

Mary ran to her own bed, seizsd a basin of
‘cold tea, and held it to Dora’s parched lips, who
drank it down as if it had been nectar. ' ,

Then she coaxedher to return to her bed,

and by a hundred

soothed her delirium. . _ , ._
Susan Prat returned at this juncture, and

chided Mary sharply for beingkout ht 'bed.

gentle womanly caresses

to keep Watch upon the nurse’s movements.

tions from being carried into 'efiect,’and She
slept soundly and sweetly, with pleasant
dreams. ,  f“, 

It was midnight, and the whole apartment

occasional wailing of an infant, ' . _
Ah, me! and those who now slept _ I
ly and peacefully would have to wakevone day

in the busy world, to battle against poverty

 distress, with aching hearts and 'tired

hands and trains, to win bread for themselves
and their ofispring. .
It was indeed a haven of rest and peace for
“16869001: marinate ' v ‘ -'
‘Yonder something dark, shadowy “in the dim
.th , Stoops like ’a. ‘vampirejoy'er a .. Sleeping

 

 

feebly and moves’restlessly: ,

l V -  v , 

A less superstitious person might have 

slender form, waving like the stalk of some '

smoothed down herlong tresses with her hands, ;

There, was something in the woman’s lacks that
roused Mary’s suspicions, and determined her‘ H g > ,
, a sor§§°ii§ “seamed ‘herfififiniiafi" 

ghet- iuisery“ " .‘ijc‘uld‘thesV - ‘” e wielded  r *

But tired nature preventedher good resioiu? V  V,  ‘ _ _ g . 
sled lions‘have a‘ tetaémaestpeyrssaa hers , ;,

Was steeped in profound silence, broker! only,"
by the regular, breathing of the sleepers, or the

so souhd- ,

-done no wrong: poverty is no crime?

 

form; endgdisturtis‘ the?siéoperawhefmoans’

 

, .b
. 'y r- ‘

, v ., i
x I, ‘ y, a, BX. . -.

. m, we hung... a-

’Twas Susan Prat, who ’with a  sensors
cuts the ribbon, and detaches  
from Dora’s neck, and
Bight-~8.' r s - .
ngwas a cruel; shameful ct, for it "deprived
Dora of the badge of her manly honor—41er-
marriagycertificat‘e. " ' . " ’

“Twenty golden pieces,” ‘she muttered, '

hoarsely,' like the creaking of some bird of
evil omen, “and more to come when you are
dead!” '  ‘

With the soft tread 01 var panther she stole

from behind the curtains, and mo‘ved meant 

and with oblique glances to her own dormi—
tory, where an array of bottles, c
labeled, stood on a table. ‘ .

Selecting one of these marked “morphia,’3

plenty.”

she murmured, “This ,will bring 'memnney in ’ ‘

Then she stole swiftly and Silently'to Dora’s '1

side, and, rousing her by gentle force, put a

spoonful of the deadly drug to her lips; but I
the girl struggled, and some portion of it was  f

l

spilt.

doctor had
draught.
When

cheeks and bloodless lips"

. g y ,d system‘de
and cowered beneath their /

lashes. i I

The morning broke, and-’tliee'paijédiflit of 

day, streamed into the  'fa'way
night shadoWs. Dora Merton“ lay’li‘e 

pearance dead, and fouli-y slain by

 

hastily “thrusts it out” of _ '

I '96; and  

Susan Prat did» not fear detection as'f‘the'filc
[ordered her patient "a; sleeping; 
, she emerged from behind an slang:- ‘ ‘ i v
‘she looked the guilty thing-she was; with'ashy < -\

 

 

duty it was to keep burning,"they'lliekefieg  V

 

lamp of life by every effort in her was”; ._  \

r  'Cusrrsa n59; r. a 
IT  be apparent 

by the morphia.‘

She'made her way in safety *Biaed-  1

tom weed it"weu‘sqnmr;  ' “tired.
anci weary; to, geese to“ jest: out: 

W' '_  ~- 4, ,. was
She anus; ‘t’o’thle iron railings with , .,

and looked up earnestly at‘p'lthe hon?

building,,whlcii loomed aboVeilier 

‘dihg grandeur. ' '

   

fl *3“:

And gazsd at the sculptured, lions'crouk  x

0*; tiié stbnepeaefimstwhich erected"%.iw
guardin “the entrance and to! trawl:

Her, izzy=briiin ’r’eéldii,  " '
about herin’ hazy contusion: but she’heigd‘jnn 1

firmly to the iron supports, whosetouchfigéfi’ed.

to penetrate to her inmost soul, and  ear 
writhe and” shiver as if in mortal ago,   g7,” ‘

 

“Oh, Heaven!” she murmured, ‘1 K
and comfort me!" ’ ‘ " " ' "" 

And as: it in answer to ’herjprsydl‘,   '

came a bright flash,“ which  Wei“!

through‘ her. dim eyes. to ‘lier headset;  .
' strengthen her.x"““” ‘w‘  ‘ ‘    :-

  

It was only. the _ I I hich had"  , ' 
.  “papa, of, 

 

 

within} “1°: 561"”, j  9, _ ., . »

nevi summits I “ conscience my v

Window;  it failure as oinfin’df*§60 furs“
 7d

'soothi

 

to whomtdlieiwas eschew amp: if,

3 .

sea looked‘at'the‘bas‘ement sienna"  T'e— : 2‘
ly feeling, that in her present circnmskltérs . 
'she oughtjtbiiadmit‘tdneE'thére.‘ ; '   ,7 a,
‘_ “Roasts unseen prices: has  "
- am poor and friendless,"but' her fist‘er‘is‘ehild ‘ 
”~—-loclfing‘ aeflshe , ‘

still, and will enter the

spoke, at the broadent ’ no.3" ’ __ H
There was no irresolutfon  in  Steps;

She seconded bravely, and rung 17115  ms-

gling heroically against her Weakness, tea tea, 
at moral courage Which is‘theiiniy ' 

tained by th,

true bravery of womanhood. I V , .
“‘Why'shoold Hear?" she. thought. ’iflilhavew

‘her r .
email? I die ether“ teen” ' a

; The dOt, 1' 't‘rzu opened} fly! 

 ~\ A

  

 our smegma I .
.Merton, escaped death as by a mirage,  g ,_ 
had only been thrown into 3'   ,’

W634. 

7 I ‘ ’ r   
equai'by birth, and will dare, Egg seem, «

   
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
  
    
  
   
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
    
  
   
   
  
   
 
   
    
   
 
  
  
    
 
 
 
 
 

 

/
m .

 

 

“dam, m4“.

 

 

, \made a man of rural"

. a-

 

I!

, - fished  she must, perforce, sit+nay, crouch"
, ,like‘ a‘ beggar waiting for alms, while a menial
‘ toothegrggnessage to her aunt.

'»
‘u

' ’. he waste/bed her. I
‘ .  tux-nodes pale as a ghost when I told her.
 .Itgfismm (

‘Wrshe’llsmnrt for it.” .

r   _ or,
a  whose sgemlgh

r l' ,. . I .'

{'31

 

1" x . \ _ . ' ‘ ’ v- v ‘
,-. w v. '  r - r

V _ , , , u
o a , , '—

‘ same: when we” have met before—'nsmelyf

retinas Sutton“, with whom life seemed to

’ have gone'well, judging by his‘visage, which

was flushed, and hadalook of contented pride.
‘ “Now, then,” he said, with a supercilious
stare, which conveyed more .of insolence than
words could, have done; “go down to the base-
ment; that’s the sort or place for folks that
come with bundles. Can’t answer any ques-

, tions here. ”

Dom pushed, or, rather, tattered, past him,
andsat dovvn with the'light of a tinted lan-

’ ' _ tern overhead falling directly upon her.

In spite of her shabby attire, Thomas Sut-
tOn,’ it was plain, perCeived something [in her
311‘, and the pure loveliness of her! features,
that checked his rising impertinence.

‘ “Tell your mistress that her niece wishes to
speak With her.”

’ - “ What name, please, miss?” he asked, with
more, deference than lie/usually showed to per-
sensing her  class.

,; , “Take my message,”‘she said; “it will suf-
. _ fies,” 1, ,

 walked away ‘up;stairs, muttering,

L 3131‘“ m9, h'efe’s a go! ' Didn’t know she had

a niece! Can’t look down upon me in future!

 w, musinust ,be another piece, then! Got any

(moron! wonder? The last disappeared in an
ugly way. But there, I can’t grumble; it

xPoorDora thought every'second an hour,
and conjured up all kinds oi unpleasant things,
,andffancied that the door would be shut against

“ , her, and she be made to encounter the world
 and friendless.

It flashed across her brain how different and
been her reception in daysgone by. Then, arv

 
 

' rays/din silks and velvets, and with, her dear

‘- as a companion, she had been received ‘
’ ;‘,no.w chad aslowly as the lowest in

y _ libs , _ ld neyergunderstand why it was that
 death should haye plunged her
I from I name into comparative poverty, es-

 asshehad been told that her aunt was

 to be  tune guardian-

. .v poor mether’ hind died suddenly, and

rueverything became wretched in her. young

-   » 7 mliiulrséi‘ciiens were cut short by
 ’0! ,the'1009mD, who said, “You
my

 r to Migrfilandford’s meme-she will see I
1 your, _,_,,let me.  you, she don’t look too
 “31.9mm”,

 tgmm‘s-somethiug wrpng,”“he muttered, as
"The missus looked scared,

Prat has been playing any game {or

I

l ~ ,. . 7;- ngmmndg her way to her aunt’s bed~cham4
f in”,  was fitted up in a style of grandeur
centres-led strangely with, her own mean

I 7  I  life‘is 11er but, a series of contrasts
r   wmeuntéin‘aud m : ey, tears and

smiles, woods
and  poverty and riches, splendor and
vice and  . _

On 9!: elegant In men satin lounge sat a tall
. t be computedat fifty-
’flVe with a Blight frown on-her forehead, and a

; ~ 7? i via-age a White a the curtains surrounding her

‘ ammo evidently been disturbed while com-

: 1 , piecing? her evening toilet, for although her

 rich Velvet and satin robe fell arbund her in’
'  wgluminous folds, ,her headdress’of cream satin

   
    
  

.,i.

r.

 oaths, table. ‘

~V _

I , ‘ . andgolden acorns hung upon a branch of her

toiletnglass, while several diamond ornaments

2 «Be eyes-had been fixed with terror upon

-' the dune through which Dora must enter. and

'6}: seeing her she gave delight scream,'and

» l '  her feet, grasping the back of her
alounge. '

, “ Away/l” she said, hoarsely, waving Dora
back with her disengaged hand. “I did not}
noiitl. It was another!” ’ ,

chair." “Now listen box-me, Dora. .1 do' not:

perturbed, and mistook her for an apparition;
but 'Why she could not imagine. * ‘ I

.WTis I—Dora, your sister’s child. Do not
drive me away, aunt.
they thought me dead; but I survived, and am
here to ask. you to help me.”

Mrs. Blandford sunk down upon the lounge
trembling violently, and saying, in hoarse
gasps, “Give me water! Quick!” ‘

Dora’s hand was on the hell to summou as-
sistance, when her aunt said, “ No, no! Let
us be alone! Water!” ‘

’Dora poured some from a carafe into a glass,
and held it to her aunt’s lips, who quickly re-
vived, and motioned her to a seat.

Neither spoke fer some moments. Dora felt
puzzled "how to break the chilling silence, while
her aunt was striving to regain her scattered
senses. ‘

Had Susan Prat been there at that moment
she would have trembled, for over Mrs. ,Blaud-
ford’s face came an expression of hate and re—
venge at the perfidy practiced on her.

"Well," she said, at last, “why have you
come here? I thought you were still With
Madame Josephine in Sixth avenue. ' I had
been dozing and dreaming of the past when
you entered, and thought my poor sister had
returned from the grave to visit me; hence my
' alarm and confusion.” _

Dora, although she could not well under-
stand why her aunt had mistaken her for the
apparition of her mother, was compelled to ac-
cept the explanation, ‘and‘merely said: “ I left
Madame’s to” be married: Don’t be angry,
aunt. V I wrote you several letters, asking your
permission, but received no answer; and, as
you know, you forbade me to come here.” ‘

‘Mrs. Bla‘ndford remembered having received
the letters and also: her injunction; but she
wanted a pretext for being angry with her
niece, and said: “Why have you disébeyed
me? ' Why did you not write now?” '

“Because I am desperate. Look At my
clothes! I have not one. penny in my pocket
or hardly a shoe to my foot. My baby is dead,
or its sweet smiles and kisses would have made
me feel that I. was uot'alone in the world. My
husband has gone away I know not whither.
Will you help met” 

s“ I will answer that question presently.
First let me ask you who is this man?”

“ I dare, not tell you his name; he wishes it
to be kept secret.”

“ Ah, I can quite understand, that,” was the
sneering’reply.
deserted you?”

“It is false,” slh answered, hotly; then re.
collecting that it would be unwise to vex her
aunt, .she added, quickly: "‘ Oh, aunt, pray
forgive me! You do not know him, or you
would not think so badly of him. He is noble,
and good, and, oh, so kind! And he lovas me,
and I love him. He found me alone and
friendless, and took me to his heart because he
thought me good and beautiful. Ay, and I
will be true to him! on, aunt, for mercy’s
sake, do not be unkind to me! I have endured
much—enough to turn these locks gray. I
have wandered about the streets and envied
‘ the beggar the hard crust or the pennies given
him in charity; but I dared not ask for aims—-
my pride would not allow me, for am I not my
mother’s child and his wife?”

There was something so touching, so full of
pathos, in what she listened to, that, hard-
hearted and indifferent as this woman was, she
could not refrain from a feeling of pity, al-
though she struggled hard against the emotion
blistering her. ,

“ Where is your marriage certificate?” she
asked. . ‘ '

“ Alas! it was taken from me in the hospital.
But see; here is the ring which his dear hand
placed or my finger.” (and she kissed the ring
passionately). “ I have often wanted broad,
but would rather starve than part with it!”

,‘ The woman to whom,she was speaking knew
"too’well that she spokethe truth, for the mine-

 iug certificate was then in her possession.

 

A.

   

1‘f’The poor; “girl perceived that herrwagunt was I,

, “Thisismere romance!” she said, wit”. a

s

 

- t. . .a'
em, ,. y'1 f)“.

I was ilk-very ill, and"

“He first deceived and then”

 

forget the relationship in which you stand to
me, or the disgrace you have brought upon it.”
Here Dora made a gesture ofgdissent.‘

“Pray donot interrupt,” her aunt. said; -

severely. “I wish to help’you.” , i .

“ Oh, thank you, aunt!” she said, Seizing-an
kissing her hand in the exuberance of her
gratitude.
last, she thought. v I .

" I am a member of the Charity Organization
Society,” Mrs. Blandford said, with dignity,
“and do not believe in indiscriminate alms-
giving.” ' '

“ Alms!"——,und the hot blood suffused Dora’s
face and neck. . g

“ It is a noble society, but I cannot sandy-cu
there, as you are my niece If you behave
yourself to my satisfaction, I will allow you ’
three dollars a week. Here is the first install- v
ment in advance,” taking ‘out the money from
her costly purse, and dropping it into Dora’s-
hand. " ‘

“Thank you, aunt,” she said. “Ann I to:
call here every week?" f V

“ Certainly not ; let me know your address,
and the money will be sent.” ‘

Dora offered her hand on saying gammy,
but her aunt chose not to see it, and, with a'
majestic wave of her hand, intimated that the,
interview was at an end.

The poor girl left with tears in her eyes——
tears of bitter humiliation. The hills which!
she held tightly in her hand seemed to burn
into the flesh like calcined iron, and in the hall
she let them drop, and Walked to the door.

A hand touched her gentlyson the-shoulder,
and turning, she saw Thomas Sutton, who
said, “ Please, miss, you have dropped this;and
pray don’t be oflended if I ask you to, accept.
this trifle as a loan; I had .a sister, but she
gied’. Allow me to be your friend. Good ‘

yl

He closed the door gently, but not before he:
had caught sight of Susan ‘Prat’s well-known
face in the area; \ ‘ ' g: I ‘

. o

CHAPI‘EB v. ‘ ,
AN niraon'mrr HATCH.

“ I won‘r stand this any longer," saw
Thomas Button, to himself. “I resigns my
place on the spot. I ain’t going to be a 
man and tbcother thing too, a-hopening and s-
shutting doors like a nobody, when I um some-—
body, .blest if I am! Here goes for a regular
scrimmage.” ' '

A bell rung to summon Hrs. Blandford’s ,

maid, but Thomas stopped her‘trom going up,
and ascending the stairs, himselt, gave a single?
knock at the bedroom door, and. entered un- ‘
hidden, saying, “ You’re looking positively

lovely this evening, Clara; haven’t you got a» K

kiss for me?” . I
“Have done with this nonsense!” she 
angrily. “Have, you no respect for my p037
sitionl” ‘ . ' '
“You ain’t got much for mine, madam !”
,“ Ain’t!” she said, with a sneer of contempt.

'He looked at her angrily, and seating him- ‘
self on the lounge with every familiarity, and .
thrusting his hands into how 900119“, began

to whistle softly. ' , ’ .
She tossed her head, and gave him a look of:
defiance as 'she put the fin shing touches to heir »

toilet.

‘y‘ when you have come to your senses, you will:
order my carriage.”

9‘ Our carriage yon menu! You mockedme ’5
just now, I ain’t educated, I know; but don’t 

forget that I am your husbandn—not your ser-
vantl" ' ‘

Her bosom swelled with rage, and herpes ,
sion seemed to exude m flashes of light through , u i
the glittering diamonds which adornedher bust ;r 7' ‘

but she remained contemptuously silent. ; » .

“‘I- took you i'or better or Worse,  and,  '

to'cheri'eh until death doue- part. 80 m it:

I

If ., I I " \ A 1.9,? If,
t ; - . > ‘ ,V»‘ '..i ‘ ‘.’

She had feund a haven of rest at '

“Perhaps, sir,” she said, 'wlth "aspefity; I

l

 

 

 
     

gnu—«MW -.

'l  , stopped?

    

.
\ .

’ . «exposure of our folly.

' ‘ «.me.”

5 g shall not "hesitate new.” ; ‘

 

:* t..j‘.._ ‘ ’ .‘V ' ll  I, 4 ‘n 

 

V .l

 

‘ .-  hasten .n' jwcrsegf.‘ but .1 seasons ous-
r what do you thicket that'l'? I’ll be y'our'foot-
man no longer, madam; I mean to dress like a.

swell, and goou't with you this evening!”
1, “Sir, you forget yourself; if I have madea

V ' gentleman of'you, act as one!”

“You are klnd—doocld kind; but

‘I don't
mean to ask your, permission l” ’ ,

' ‘ He rose, and approached the hell. i;

fiWhat are you going to do?” she asked, in
“atone of alarm. ‘ '
‘ “To ring for your maid.”
,“ My , maid? Do be decent!”
” “ Don’t be afeered; I ain’t a-going to ask her
to dress me; I ain’t a fine gentleman. I want
to tell her who’s master in this house.”
He looked her steadily in theeyes, and she
quailed before his gaze.
Placing her hand on his arm, she said, coax-
,lngly,"“For heaven’s sake, Thomas, be careful
:for both our sakes! Do not—do not make an
We shall go abroad
‘presently, and then we can appear before the
world as man and wife—it will be a nine days’
wonder; and when We return, people will take
:to the new state of things quite naturally.
She kissed him, and patted his cheek with
.her perfumed hand. ‘
- He did not return the caress,

but looked sul-
' lenly defiant.

‘f See here, Clara,” he said; “ I ain‘t a going ,

to be coaxed as if I was a little child. I’m a
man with a‘ lmhn’s feelings, and I don’t like
‘ :how things are going on. Why did you let
your niece'and mine go out of this house like a

7 7 beggar?”

“I suppose you are taken with henpretty
face?" she said, withasneer; “and perhaps you
saw her crying?” A

“ I did!” he said huskily; “ and felt ashamed

, of myself. 'I ought to have taken her ‘ by the
c hand, and said: ‘You stay here, miss; this is
your home, and I’m your uncle.’ Icould punch

‘ myown head for not a—doing of it.” ,

She felt ineffable disgust for the honest fel-
low because he dared to espouse the cause of
the weak, and was a little vulgar in the way

' he expressed himself. ‘

. ‘ But, in spite of her advantages of wealth and

education, he wasdinflnitely her. superior; a
ro'ugh’diamond—one of nature's gentlemen,
“who, with~ a little of society’s polish, would
have .been admired and respected.

 “ It is very good "of you,” she said,‘ “my
«dear, to take such an interest in a worthless
' rson like Dora Merton. She has disgraced

“ I wpn’lrbelieve its-there!” I

 “ Your “heart is too good !” she said, suavely, I

'while inwardly she felt as if she could strangle
him. r“ I ‘ tell you she is worse than bad! It
.ymakes me blush even to mention it to you! A
girl ,who’s not married ” (she winced a little as
' she'tol‘d this untruth), “but has had a child,
cannotbe called respectable",

' “' It is not her fault; some scoundrel tempted
'her.» I wish Ihad him here, and I’d show him
~what I think of his conductl' What you have

told me makes me her friend all the more.
But enough of this; Susan Prat is down-stairs.”
The mere mention of that hateful name filled

‘her‘breast with rage; and she inwardly swore I

' to be revenged.

. “swim. to me,” she: said. “I shall not

‘ . go out this evening, and shall not want the car-

xia e.” , ’ * ,
x e was leaving, when she called him back,

i  and said: »

a, Thomas, you promise me to let thingsng
on 1 between us as they are a little while
- longer?” ‘

‘7“Yes,”.he replied; “if you promise to be

kind to our niece.” ' ,
“iYes,yes; of course!” she replied hastily.
 When he had gone, she, muttered,“ as her
ihands worked convulsively: ,

“ He isinsolent’, contemptible, and must be
He little‘knows he woman he has to
deal with. I have risked ch already, and
 There was shock at thedoor; and at her

,7 ,1

.v‘
3,

, 7‘ .' V\
‘5 

bidding, Susan Prat entered with a smirking
smile and a coat
madam! 'I hope see you well?” _ V
' “ Yes, thank you, Susan,” she'replied, ‘7‘ Iam
~ve‘ry well. Have you any news? But stay;
you can tell ~nae while you help me to undress.
Hang your cloak up yonder, and make your-
self at home. If you Would like any refresh-
ment, you will‘find sbme brandy in yonder
sideboard. ”
With many a smile and thanks, the victim

« hung her cloak up, and went to the sideboard.

ick as thought, Mrs. Blandford slipped off

a d amond bracelet, and placed it in the pocket
of the cloak. - '

' “ I won’t disrobe just now ” the said. “Take
a seat, and let’s have a chat. ’ '  ‘

' Nowise 10th, Susan obeyed; and after a few

way, where were mymniece and her baby,
buried? I want to put a head-stone up, to
mark the spot.” - ' ‘

And she looked steadily at Susan Prat, to”
see if she winced at the question.

In nowise discomposed, she replied, “I can’t
tell you just now, madam, but I’ll find out.”

“ Oh, of course. Thank you. You are sure
she is dead?” ..

“Quite. You saw a copy of the doctor’s
certificate.” ' "

“Iknow I did; but I have been dreaming:
of her lately, and seem to think that she is
still alive.”

“Dreams ain’t of no consequence, madam;
they won’t bring people to life again.”

f.‘ Of course not! It’s silly of me to indulge
in such fancies, Susan, so we’ll let that pass.
The child is dead, too, eh?”

“Dead as dead‘can be!” said Susan. “ But
it makes‘ me nervous to talk of such things. I
try to forget them.” »

“Let me help you to some more brandy; it
will do you good. Don‘t say no.”

“ Well, marmfjust a wee drop more; sperits
agrees with me, as I has spasms in the chest’
which keeps me from going to sleep, and makes
'mesee awful visions. I sees her a—following
me in the streets at darkyand ' she’s always at

'my bedside; but, bless you, them’s mere fan-

cies and vapors, in fact, like thin air. In my
opinion, there ain’t such things as ghosts.”

Susan Prat became garrulous over her bran:
dy, and Mrs. Blandford got rid of her as
quickly as possible by saying, “.You can go
into the kitchen and have some; supper, Susan.
Good-night; much thanks for calling.” V

Susan Prat put on her cloak, and with deep
courtesies, retired. '

After the lapse of ten minutes Mrs. Bland-

for a diamond bracelet; adding, “I took it 03
while Susan Prat was here, and must have mis-
laid it. Has she gone?” , v
“ No, my lady; she is down-stairs.” ,
.The search for the ,brac‘elet proved fruitless,
of course. . , ‘
"‘This is a serious affair,” said Mrs. Bland-
ford. “ I' have no alternative but to have
Susan Prat searched. Tell Thomas to sendfor
a policeman, but on no account must you say a
word about what has happened to anybody.”
When her maid left, she swept majestically
down-stairs into the drawing-room, secretly
exciting over the success [of her foul plot. ‘ '
She saw the policeman‘in' the ante-room“, and
told him of her loss; adding, “I don't accuse
this person of theft. If she is innocent, no
harm will have been done; but it is clear that
the bracelet could not have disappeared with.-
out somebody having, taken it. I “believe she
is now down-stairs at the present moment.”
Accompanied by Thomas, the guardian of
the, law descended into the lewer regions. and
after saluting, said, very artfully, “The lady
upstairs has missed something, and wishes me
to search youall. If you hate no objection .I
Will coinmenoejwith, the lady in the cloak
there l”-porluting to Susan Prat. ‘
“ 0h, ’ _h mepnd welcome!” she said, with~
unleash-3: “rm to thief!“ :  ' r ' '

 

. . p .: r < .s. \/
 fibeltoodgup, and-to her herror, and, the

 

y’,  a it Goodfifieningz< _.

preliminaries, Mrs. Blandford said, “By the r

1 change!”

ford ru ng for her maid, and asked her to Search ,

 

  

'57.,'i\. ’
n

abatement of all .preeeet...héi prod.  .. elm; 
. -, f‘ You: most ' cone: upstairs  merges ,.

said, clutching her lfir’t’heaxm. '  

 

Speechless with assesses was'fel! way 

among sundry “songs or the shoulder, unseen ‘” '

of the eyebrows,vand,exclariations.ofy“Well, ,
I never!” “ Who‘d havethclught‘ it?”  found
herself in Mrs, ‘Blandfprd’s presence, ‘ 7 ' J
In vain she protested her innoopnce, .‘ " 
was formally charged, andtplaoe'd’ ii! 
cells. " 4  j V , V 7"‘1,’ ,' ,
Thomas Sutton, as we'shalljstillcgll tam,
thought deeply over‘the matter; anchdin‘ef‘to a
conclusion, which, however, he , wisely to
himself. ' ‘ '  '


lice

‘ CHAPTERVI. !
A rumor. 

.1,

WHEN Dora left her aunt’s she  

by ten dollars than when she entered'there',

Thomas Sutton’s kindness, so nnbxpeotbd  

and so generous, made her heart dance with
joy, not because of the money, though her
needy circumstances she, did not «spawns.
but because it shewed her that there weravstill‘
people in the world who had hearts that could

feel for the desolate and oppressed.
Gladness seemed tolchan'ge thewjloleappfir.

ance of things; to-bri'ghten up the dingy'by- I
streets and stbres, and to make evehfthe  ‘

\

common objects beautiful. - 7

She wanted food; so going into a respectable ‘ ,

eatinghouse, she gave a modest order. .

At an opposite table sat a gentlemauiy lock; ’3
ing youth, who eyed~ her with respectful 

curiosity, wondering greatly why such a beauti—
fuland modest-looking girl should be so poorly"
clad. ‘ '  s ' r ' '2,
.\ His interest in her increased-when he per:
céived how she ate and drank, which she 'di‘l
with all thegrace
good breeding. , _
The meal ended, she gave the waiter a bill;

 

and ease imparted‘only  

'x‘. ,
“may '

and waited patieptly for the change; but" the 

fellow‘see'med in no hurry to give‘it to her. 
Raising his hat, and L approaching "her," “the

young gentleman asked, politely,__l“Can,yl
of ‘service to you? I am afraid the waiter has 
forgotten your change; you gave him twodolei. >

lets: I belieVel” , r __ . I, I ,
“ Yes,” she modestly replied. ‘V ' t " " *
Turning round, he called the ‘wai

1:, and. ' .

833d, sharply. “ You have forgotten this lady‘s :4“

, . new,
likes or her satisfies ,

,.“‘Change?” said the fellow,
“Lady, indeed! the
nose herel’,’ , , . , _,  ,,

“ Silence, fellow! You are impennmgssit
a bill. Send the proprietor'toimélf”   _

‘The waiter hesitated, and then went  ,
to do his bidding. " -‘ ” ' " '

I will not permit it! Ifsaw this  .y I  ,_

 in».

"0b," and Dora. tremulofisly.   

not 'take any trouble on my account. fl ,
give him two dollars, but, ‘ it doesn’t matterfi
Willgo without the change.}{    1
“Allow me to conduct this matter tomes," ;
he said; kindly. “I should bejunworifiy or
respect if I allowed you, tobe ~ yr,
,.'The proprietor now come ' "
'when the gentleman gave him”

his cart}; 

~explained the matter to him, at the

complaining Of the waiter’s rudenessL,‘,
Dora received her change, guesses rag,

and then left the placa. , a    
She did not know how‘ to reach the; 

and was on the point 'of inquiring 'ofa pullers"

‘

did.

upon as. .1

“a.

man, when the gentleman who  l *

h” “me “P, and, seating her. site.

could be of any further service.

p

He was so kind, and lookod’so 1111mm ‘1

the gentlemen, “that she unhesitatin‘gly

him where she wished to no. , _ g _ g, ,1
I shall cross over to ,Brooklyn,” he rigid”; 
“and, with your permission, 'will mayonnaise: '
1y home.” ' ,  ‘
She consented
her against insult. , , , , ;. ,   
 On their, way to gen omnibus" they passed that

4'

gnaw. as 'he  

{

     

 

’i \, 
V'. j. i. ‘  ,. .
fl"

5

fl .

 

 

 

  
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
    
 
    
    
 
  
    
   
   
   
 
    
  
  
 
   
  
  
    
   
   
   
   
  
  
 
   
  
 
   
   
 
    
 

my , I: Y
 ,  did not overhear

‘: 41.:  I

not pay  _ or deference ; to

.   lathe person of one mean-

i’r"  ' 
waiter.  ‘ I,
.,  ‘nkirhaill
 *jceieay‘s’atnt itself in silks and satins, and
' pets juiiheeded; \but. true modesty in‘shabby
:ottire is unrecognizable, ‘and is condemned

withqntah, , . . ‘ s
V ..  the ferry with her, saw her to
'  Frost’s door, and bade her good-night as
   as it she had been , a lady of rank

.  ., . . ~
"  ‘KhOcked timidly at the door, fearful lest
 ‘she had'come to the wrong address; but when
*  was openedby Mary herself, and she was
, ,  , warmly welcomed, all her fears banished.
1' . . 1'“,I am so '. pleased to seeyou,” said Mary.
,_;fe‘,fii§youfldown; supper’s ready. And as soon
 as my  man comes in—it’s his turn out to—
1511i lite-lure will begin.” , _
  took “oi! her shawl and bonnet, tidied
 and then turning to her friend, said:
  'arethe children? I should so like
guy-399mm.” : ‘
:‘f‘fl’lj'hey’refiin- bed, but you can} see them if
 This way!” I
\ ,Talrin _ up a candle, she led the way into the
f  be room, where three rosy, chubby-faced
“vychildren lay asleep. , ' _ ‘ e . ‘
 r "‘ And now come into the other room and
. see, the baby,” said Mary, as she led the way.
‘ 7“?He is such a darling, and grows every 'day
, _, morelike.ncither"of 'usg Iamsure the fairies
‘ _ , must have changed him.” " .
 5  Dora saw a beautiful little boy, and stooping
down, kissed; him repeatedly, while the tears
entree 'eéoh other down her’ cheeks, and fell
like; raindrops on the sleeper’s , cherub-like

       

 

».3‘@§lf w M m .
“ tide” is’ indeed beautiful,” she murmured.

".my..-‘w9n’t you?" . _ .

 “loan understand all,” said Mary, kissing
 “‘You are thinking of’your poor "little
. ,‘

 ohyn Frost there. , .
'He h d an honest, open, countenance, and

 quite took to him on‘the spot.

~'*’;,’They sat and chatted, and found Dora 8.
 Wmmnion; and she in her turn had
 so; happy ‘for many a month. This
radiator day in the calendar or her life,
 had been all black, with nothing
 on the horizon. . ‘
 ,% Was up betimes in the morning, making
 among the children, with whom
 becomes great favorffss'etd in help-
 sissy, who Was this to go out with her
' ' to" turn ‘an’ honest penny, as‘s’he

(g .‘ proof of the vicissitudes which
,   through could have been given
 the contentment which now possessed

  in,thefllapv,of luxury, and eddcdmd to
,  society, shevyetvfou'nd peace and rest
intsisfhsnwlehomeu r
‘   ulcf’herpromise, Dora wrote to her
 let her know‘oi her address, ior the
I if  '_ {allowance was of_ great importance
to henespeclally‘ asshe did not intend to be a"
lymph her kind friends”  ' ' i
A. «Fr-om her scanty store‘she, purch ed a i'ew
arti'les‘of clothing indispensably necessary to
fiercom'fort:  , ' . p ‘ _~ '
{one day, “during her friend’s absence from
 was surprised at seeing a carriage
 hp’at’ihe' door, and a fashionably-attired
 '. stop irom it. ‘ ‘

 

verse“';te' converse about herself, was obliged
epugteg-usly, to. answer several questions of , a
new  ; resumes. , ’  .
,rhutsn this was done sokiudly 'and with
’i that sheecoshlnot feslvoifepded: ,
  ~ivisiter promised to callisgeiu with pros;
Qinggliclothing for-the ., children,» and; some
{or Del-soon» readies-4" '  ‘  ‘

t

 -'
 is:  haters. ‘

hills silly crime to cry. You will forgive.

ringing that’s gone!”
' - e went into the living‘room together, and V

‘3},élimilted her, and although much ad—.

_ sutth paid her a, visit.
a grateful recollection of his kindness. .

Hewas dressed in gorgeous livery, andhad
‘héen‘the admiration of a party of small be 8,
who were unused to 868 a gentleman of: is
splendor taking. his walks abroad in, their
neighborhood. , ’ ’

,They escorted him to the very door, and
cheered him to the echo when he threw them a
handful or coppers to scramble for.

Mary’s children hurried aWay aflrighted
at so much magnificence, and peeped timidly
at him from ’time to, time, as if doubtful
whether he Was a being of this world.

He took his seat, with great care, on one of
the rickety chairs, and said, “My—«I mean,
your aunt has sent me with the money; here
it is ’7-——handing her a sealed envelope.

. “ Thank you very much; you are very kind.
Will you be good enough to convey my thanks
to your mistress for hergreat kindness to a poor
girl.”

He turned his head aside, [lest she should see
the wry face which he made, for the extent of
her kindness amounted to three dollars, which
he had supplemented with five.

' “Ah. yes; she is‘ kind, isn’t she? Wouldn’t
she make a good wifel~I beg pardon! I
mean a good grandmother; no, that isn’t it-I
dont know what I do mean.” ‘ ’

She smiled at his confusion, and said, “ My
’ thanks are due to you, too, Mr.——”

“Thomas Sutton, at your Service, missz
mean, madam. I have Ventured to take the
liberty ot'bringing a few, things—will you ac-
cept them? You said said .I might be your
friend]; you know it would be sucn an. honor.”

He handed her a goodl‘y-sized basket, and
looked as sheepish as if he had been a, lover on
the eve of making a declaration.

It contained all sorts of nice things—grapes,
cakes, jellies, and abottle of port wine".

She made him some tea, and the children,
growing lesstimid, gathered round the table to
partake of the good cheer. '

to many hearts, but to‘none more than to
Dora’s. ' ' - f - ‘

The same party of ragged little urchins
escorted him on his way home, and he only got
rid of them by turning into the first confec.
tioner’s shop he met and treating them all
round. '

 

-~ CHAPTER VII.
‘unsps, .1. ms; urns, YOU LOSE.”

A YOUNG man, shabby and travel—stained,
stood before the mansion in Madison Square
the morning after the events recorded in the
preceding chapter.

‘ , It would have puzzled the beholder to guess,
with any degree of certainty, the age of the
individual in question.

He might have been twenty or thirty, ac—
cording to the mood he was in. . , »
, I‘Iis real age was twenty-tWO, but’ as, he
lounged on the opposite sidewalk‘and' surveyed
Mrs. Blandford’s house, he might have been
taken for thirty. v ’

His face was drawn and puckered, and deep
blacklines underlaid his eyes, which were half,

‘ closed, as if he were in deep meditation on some

important step of his life. .

His hat, a slouched one, had seen some’wear,
his dress was threadbare his boots patched, b t
he wore an abundance of collar and wristban s
which were scrupuloust clean. _
 Ififi'hair was out very short, and altogether
he ooked a kindof man yon'would not care to
meet on a dark, night or in a lonely spot,
especially when ' you saw the thin. compressed
lips. the massive'under-jaW, the shert, thick-set
neck, and the lurking air oi 161‘9056’» and cun—
ning, all' of which stamped him 85. one who,
when passions of cupidity and" revenge wer
aroused, wooid not;stiok,at'trlfles.,, , -

*‘ To be. or not to‘hel’v-v-‘Ishat’s the question ,1”

 

V I be sanctioned, quotingthé; words oi the-1m-

'-r _  .’ ...""

3.x,

She was truly pleased to  him, for she 

He left, having dispensed joy and gladnessv’

,  Nicene thanhonestfiomsa .,

.1

, had a long

  Afters, pause, he continued:
“‘ This’coiu’shall'decide; heads, Iwiu-women,
Ilose. Egadl I have generally lost in that
quarter. Here goes—a man or a moose! ‘ I
may be dining with the she-wolf today, or be
on the lookout for an unwary pedestrian to- "
night. ‘ a .

The coin spun in the air, and he caughtit '
in his outstretched palm. . ‘

“ Heads, by Jovell Here goes! If the worst
comes to the worst, and she won't give me any
cOin, I may be able to borrow a brooch, a
ring, or a few tablespoons to deposit with my
uncle, with whom I have done a good deal of
business.” ‘

Sauntering across the street. and meeting a .
poor little beggar boy, ragged, dirty, and for.
lorn, who was trying in a quavering voice to
sing the first verse of “In the Gleaming,” he
threw him a penny—~the only coin he had in
the world—and ascended the broad flight of
steps.

He laughed at the stone lions, and said, jest—
ingly, as he patted one of them on the head,
“ Hillca, you caricatures of Landseer, how is,
the she-dragon? Her heart is as stony as,
yours. which isxa bad job for me, especially as
I want to reach her pocket." _ I . . ‘ .

He looked at the knocker, then at the bell.
as if undecided which to use. Giving the lat»,
ter a sharp pull, he thrust his hands into his
pockets, and standing astride, awaited the
opening of the door. '

Our’frieud Thomas Sutton opened it, and j

looked at him in silence.

“ I hope you are quite well?” said the strum
ger, offering his hand. “You have grown"
stouter Since I saw you last; but your general
appearance has improved, I must say.”

“I don’t shake hands with my hinteriors,
young man,” said Thomas, folding his armsowar
his broad chest, and leaning against the door. 
‘ ‘Are you a hartlst?” I

The stranger smiled grimly, and said, “Not ~ ,
exactly, although I have spoiled a few figure-- ‘ '
heads in my day.” ‘ _ .

“Oh. eh, I see you’re a carver!” - ' .

_“ I’d. like to be at the present ‘moment, for, ,
between you and I and“ the gate-post, I feel
precious hungry, and could” do , justic‘e to a
joint.”  

“‘If you "apply at the harea,” said
pompously, pointing below,
some broken victuals.” , ,

“ Throw in a pint of beer, and I don‘t mind- _
Won’t you join me, old fellow?“ I like to dine ‘
with gentlemen’s gentlemen, you. known I
was in your line once myself ;: I was lootman,
harbor, and Chief S'cretsry ofTState to, the
Governor General of Elephal'lta.'in the Canary ~
islands; and didn’t we keep a line table! We
had roast kangaroo, camels’ bumps, and other ’
delicacies; but I will tell you more about it
when I see you" presently. Ta, ta!”

“What might your nhme. be?" said Thomas.“

“ Of course, a natural question. Everybody
ought to have a name, oughtn‘t they now? I,
have had so many that I don’t know which to ‘ ‘
Choose for the moment. However, Bob Blond. ~ '
ford will do as well as any.” ‘-  v

“ Why, that’s the missus’s name!”

“You mean your wife’s?! ” . . , ’ .

Thomas nodded; then, fearml ct-the mistake ‘ ’
he hadmade, said, with some confusion. “My
name 18 Sutton; the lady of this I house, is"

_ Thomas, 7
“ you can have

named Blaudiord. Here’s my card screw 3  I

service. ” ,

His cigar-case dropped out, when Bob Bland.
ford coolly picked' it up, and helped himself, 7
saying, “I don’t mind if 'I, do, ,ol'd fellow.
Have one? No? Too early for you, Isuppose; ‘
then I’ll take another for you? _ ' ‘ 

Our friend Thomas was rather amused Ethan \

otherwise at the fellow’s cool impudenge’ and g, ' “ r .

resolved to see more of him, especially as he

had a project in view, and Bob Blandford was, 2 i 

in ' his opinion, the“ Very man to help him in' j
carrying itlout. ,2 v ‘  ,.

So he joined him in hisown nanotunn'and } .
chatwith him. lent himfmoney uhe‘ , " f

 

til his remittances arrived from. abroad, and?

 

 

 

1

 

 

V '; uDora',” she said.

 

    
 

 

.Jl

 

  

.37,

   

. s
I? 'i 
I.
I i ‘
 w

J- ,

 

thoughthim one or   renewshe 

r.ev‘er"met. , ‘ I r r ,
' 3 They were looking out of the window, when
Bob Blandford stepped back with an oath, and
cann’omed. against his newly-made friend.
It was- a, significant fact that Pinkerton, the
famous NewYork detractive', passed by at the
moment.‘ '

 

CHAPTER VIII,
is hnnnracrnnss.

Lm went smoothly with Dona Merton at
the home of the Frosts, each day bringing
» with it increased peace and contentment, not-
withstanding her. homely surroundings.
The baby was a constant source of pleasure
to her. No mother could have been more
i, watchful or attentive, and she loved to imag-
ine she could trace in its infantine’ features the
lineaments of her missing husband. ’
She struggled against conviction that he had
, deserted her, and many were the bitter tears
she shed "at the more thought of his unkind-
ness. .
She had often called at Madame Josephine’s
to ask if there was a letter fer her, or if any

‘ t , inquiries had been made.

But the invariable answer was,“ No,”
v, Her pride would not permit her to leave her
‘ own address, for she had occupied the pOSition
of a lady in the establishment, and shrunk
from an avowal of her present humble circum-
stances.» ‘
 She was not ashamed of her humble dwell-
ing, which was the only one whose doors had
been open to her in her distress; but she knew
the World’s estimate of poverty, and therefore
kept the matter a secret. I
1 She was always sad when she returned from
‘: these journeys; and it was on such an occasion

that the lady—a Mrs. Tyrrel—vwho visited her ,

r on a previous occasion called again, and ofler‘ed
-’ disposition of companion in her household. A

thrill of delight ran through the girl’s frame. 3

' It quickened every pulse,vevery sense; for the

‘ u wi’fer would reinstate her in her former respects

able position, and enable her to dispense with
her aunt’s aims, for in no other light could she
view her~weekly allowance. ‘

. ‘f'l‘here is no rose without a thorn,” as the
poet sings; and vDora, notwithstanding her
present’joy, felt ‘ a sharp pang of regret at
V having to part with her kind friends, who of
- .all‘the world had alone stretchedout a helping
"hand to her in her dire extremity. I ‘

How could she forgot that terrible day when,
iwealr and ill, and sick of life, and with- the
. east wind searching her Weary frame, she
,‘ stood on the Brooklyn Bridge contemplating

I suicidal. *

" ThenMary Frost’s beaming face shone on
.her like an angel’s, and saved her from death,
 tor her timely assistance, she must
have joined that great army that has gone
before." -. ,. - ‘ .
a g .It consoled her “know that she would be in
-' .a position to help oer hiends even more than
V at present; so she gladlyaccepted the otter,
’ - arid the matter was settled. . 3
After taking leave 0: the household, and

i ’ .. kissing the baby rapturously, she was driven

to'her' new abode at Ravenswood, where on
. . ) .the‘vhanks of the Sonnd the Tymls reamed in

'f .a mansion which stood in its own grounds. ,

1 ~ The caniage swept along the drive, past
, magnificent shrubberies, to the ball door, I
' . Dora was ushered in, and received 5. kindly
 welcome from Mrs. Tyrrel, who too her at
. once to her rooms. ..
“I hope you .will be very happy with us,
» “ We are only two in family
*  -——'myself and my son Gerald, who will be home
presently. To-day youwill be my guest. It
 will! be 0111‘ pleasure to entertain you. ,To-
.3 marrow we shall settle down into our every-

:‘5, day life; and new that We have some time to
‘  ,ourseIVes, let me ask you-to confide in me
. ,, always as you would your, mother.”

‘ p; This was what 130

pausing heart to tell her fad story to, and ask

re yearned .for«-—a sym- L,

 

    

I... advice. when secluded, m7

perplexing candition.’ g . r >
. She was a gwite, yet not a'wite. Earlene.
band might be dead. A mother, yet childless,
and without a single relative to whom she
could turn for guidance or suppert. v .
So, with Mrs. .Tyrrel’s arm embracing her, '
and the soft April breezes fanning her cheeks
and toying with her rich, dark tresses, she told
the history of: her sad young life, withholding
nothing but the name of her husband.
~“. Let us hope that a bright future is before

you. It is darkest ever before the dawn; and .

the blackest clouds have, a silvery lining.»
Tempest-tossed, and almost wrecked, a kind
fortune has shaped your path for you, and
given you to me, at last, as a dear companion,
and, let me hope, as a daughter.”

“I shall always endeavor to be worthy of
your affection. ” . ‘

“I am quite sure of that,” said Mrs, Tyrrel;
“ and now it is time to dress for dinner, or we
shall have my dear boy home before we are
ready for him.” v , »

A delightful surprise was in store for Dora,
who found in her bedroom many beautiful ar.
ticles necessary to her altered position; a dress-
ing-case, fitted with every requisite for the.
toilet; dainty cut bottles,- fllled with rare pcr-
fumes; ivory-backed brushes“ and a box of
delicate and fine handkerchiefs; another, filled
with gloves of every tint; these were on her
dressing-table. V .

Her wardrobe contained many articles of
clothing which she herself could not‘have pro-
vided out of her scanty means.

Tears were’ in her eyes, but . they wore tears
of deep gratitude; and a quiet rest and peace
crept into her young heart, and nestled there like
doves... 1

She was aroused from this pleasing reverie by
a tap at the door, and a smart maid entered
with a tray, on which was a cup‘of fragrant
tea and light refreshment, a convincing proof
of Mrs. Tyrrel‘s kind thoughtfulness for her
protegee’s comfort. ‘

The maid offered to assist her to dress; but
Dora declined in a gentle tone, as she did not
wish the humble contents of her box to be seen.

Thanks to the knOWIedge of the art of dress-
making gained at Madame Josephine’s, she had
been enabled to provide herself with a few
dresses of cheap materials, which, owing to her
skill, looked as if, they had pa-SSed through the
hands of a fashionable milliner.

From, her scanty wardrobe she selected a
black grenadine, charmingly trimmed with
cheap cream lace and satin bows.

Her magnificent hair. needed not the prac-

ticed hand of a maid to make it look beautiful.

it was twisted andcoiled round her shapely
head, end adorned with a single rose, 5 Glory
of Dijon, the tintsof which contrasted with the
sable hue of her tresses. , 

A sculptor would have been enrapiured with
the perfect outlines of her neck, bust and
rounded arms, which shone like satin.

Arrayed simply, and in all the freshness and
bloom of her youth and beauty, she descended
and joined Mrs. Tyrrel in the drawing~room.

Could this be the girl she had met in a
humble tenement? —-,could that client face
ever have looked sad and wistful, and that vo.
luptuous form ’been meanly clad? These were'
the thoughts which spoke 1mm out Mrs. Tyrrel’s
eyes as she looked at Dora, but to which she was
too well bred to give utterance.

Kissing her, she said, with charming {rank-
ness. ,“ My'dear, you are indeed lovely l”

Dora blushed prettily, and wished in her
heart that some one. else-mar husband—had
been there to compliment her.

“You play, do you not, Dora? You will find
that. a good instrumente—om of the best. I
it?! 8,0 fond of music! Have you any favorite
1318068? You will find, a choice selection”.

Seating; herself 'at the‘piano,’ one of Weber‘s'
grands. she playeda rewrie from Beethozen.

Under, her, touch . the, instrument seemed to'

spehk. ’ Grand “chordsswept “maigefisttcallynlongi

like the. triuui

i,
’ -,

 

      

 

thermos  a vmfimswmngieérs

that  'V " h
 ,, mg“,
an

to be tailored one: 1
soul in agony, them, _ w
to sadness, like? the checkered face of _ _ ‘ \
sky. ‘ r . ,w  9 
Dora's soul seemed to drink in the  ’ ' '
scunds; and, insensibly, she burst forth into. . * ‘
song—“ The king of my heart is coining.” I i v i ‘-   7,.
A gentleman entered with nui‘selesstread,‘ , 
and stood listening with“ rapt expression to  ' . 
beautiful'smgstress, wondering‘ much who she
was, and how she came to be his mother’s
guest. ‘ A}  '.
“Oh, Gerald,” said Mrs. T-yrrel, “I am so I
glad you have come! Allow me to’intruduoe ‘
you to my friend Miss Dora Merton.” ; 7
The introduction over, the conversation be ,
came general, and as dinner was not yet an»  ,
nuanced,- Gerald did all in his, power to enter- ' '
taiu their guest. I '. 
Dora had given an imperceptible start, not 
of guilt, but of surprise, upon. seeing Gerald,  ~ ,i
whom she instantly recognized as the gentle- '
man who had [befi iended her. _ .,  ..
It was not». such an easy task for him ’ 
to. see in her the girl who was indebted to him :1 ‘
for her present position. ,, ‘ ,
The features were the same, but the framing ’
was so diflerent; , She looked the lady now;_
formerly, he'had. thought her one, a .
Her image had haunted him in his sleep, and
he knew instinctively that hers was a sad his- I -~
tory, and sympathized With her. ' ‘ " . ‘ J
h He had interested his mother ‘in ,Iihe. Ernst " ‘
family, knowing well that her kind heart' ,
would be touched byllie sight of the beauty,» .9 .
gentleness, modesty and povsrty of Dara. .« x « - ,
His generous, scheme had succeeded well, and ' ~ ,
h8,h8d thesatisfaction of Seeinga brightyoung ‘
life rescued from possible degradation. r , , r '3
He sat near her as they turned over...4,he , ~
leaves of the album together. and. felt an, or? , -' »‘
quisite thrill of delight when hisfingers’ elected _ .-
hers. v» r ' ' s u’
Without being aware of it, he loved  ~ 
friendless girl who had fallenacross his patina , ,3
life most mysteriously.  ' J»  
Hitherto he had not known whatit  ,.  i. _
love deeply and passionately, although he was  “M
the amenon husband of Edith Markham,  
cousin, who had loved him dearly ever since ' 5
they had roamed the Woods and fields together - '
as boy and girl. 9 . . . r  .
“Are you ill, Miss Merton?” he suddenly ex;  "
claimed on noticing how agitated she became. " ,
“Thanks, no!” she murmured, many. , ""1  '
am far from strong, and have beensuh‘kct  .
late to feelings of faintness.” ‘ ’ ' ' V

 

 

She Was looking at the photograph odfl'a j 
handsome man ----»her own husband, sari-rehab: 
some one who resembled him very  T_ 1 -

“That is my cousin,” Gerald remarked; 3  ,'
“ have you other met him?, Pardon "they" . 1
question. but the sight of a well-knuwuiate'  
often affects us.” - ‘ _ . .   

Mrs. Tyrrel, without betraylag’herselfgliss
toned eagerly. for her reply. * x _ U r 

“ There «are ,countenances so much mgr-4;,
said ‘Dcra. “thatwe areisometimes desalted

 

into a belief of their identity.” , 
Luckily for Dora, the dinner-hell mm:
Geraldled her in todinner. ' r ‘ vr    :,
'~ CHAPTER IX. ,  ,

DIAMOth our muons).  _ ._
SUSAN Paar, in her cell, chaled undersea;

injustice with which. she had been treatedshys

one for whom she had risked not only was. " "7
butlife itselfw ' r . » _  ""5""
She firmly believed that Dora was denies.
she had given up hex-position ofnurseiimmedi-J‘ ‘
ater after that supposed event, hopes, she 

could not understand why it was M's; mud‘f ' .

ford should hays treated her so badly. _ Y _ -
She knew the child was . living,rand in this ’:
'i’act lay her safety, for she shrewdly is.qu "
that; «her employer would not have  so
anxious for its death, without full andsdfi

 

cloutreason. »;  ~ _  “we
1: ism emailednmdxio  age
 modernise; theconsequences of];

4.. .r ,,. _.

 

   

 

  

\



j,

 

    
 
   
    
   
  
    
  
 
 
   
   
   
   
    
     
 
    
    
   
   
  
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
    
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
 

  '   «‘ whim has better-re:
 - muscle-oblivion " "  » ’ "
l  '/ Ratio wrote‘a letlerito hermnd

\ bribed a
' ‘l‘iceman' tocarry it to the address. \  .  V
 :‘Th'e‘ccnth‘nts‘ of the letter were as follows!
 ,, "Susan Prat. is not spiteful, although she has
' 3 every reason to be so, especially as she has been un-
: i just ' accused of theft which Mrs. ‘Blandford can-‘
not . The child 0 Dora Merton still lives and
thrives. Susan Prat is well aWare that certain in-
 terests are bound'up in this child, and that Mrs.
 , Blandtoz-d would not care‘to have it reduced, es-
pecially as property isinvolved in ques lon.’
' This cunningly concocted 'espistle duly
reached‘M‘rs. Blandford, to whom its contents
gave gre’at'concern. ‘ ‘ 1 * l
4 f ,MoreoVer, her troubles "were increasing.
 - ~1‘Dora had disappeared from her address, and
" ' left no trace:4f-at least, the Frosts would not
give any information concerning her.
" ,“She had found a note on the dressing-table
from ‘ her step-son, Robert Blandford, asking
. r for money, and threatening to make disclosures
‘ ' "~ of an unpleasant nature it she refused. V
' ,. Her husband, too, was becoming more un-
_ ‘l [manageable daily, and wanted the marriage
' .tobe madepublic. ' ' , a
, Auden the top of all these vexatious trou-
, bios" came this communication from Susan
if. Prat, who had evidently gained from some
 Quarter or another information of a serious
» character; -
.I _ ' It behooved her, therefore, to be careful .how
, Sshe actedtoward one “who could, ’and evidently
I  would, if she were not cautious, do her a mis-
‘ . chief» ' H '
.. ' .' She had much bettér make a friend of her,
 . ; for a clever, unscrupulous associate was what
it ' ‘ne‘élied‘in her precent'difliculties, which
  of no ordinary character.
‘ .3' So the lustmcted her solicitor to withdraw
 thc'véharge against Susan Prat, who was ac-
_ ', jcciidingly released. V,
.5  .1 ifi‘I-Ier. next difficulty was how to deal with
' ".,,her husband, and step-sou, who were likely to
'r‘;’prcire more thau‘tr'oublesome. - ,
1 mile mpre galling yoke could have been put
5 :Iu'pon a proud woman than that she now wore.
*  'qfiuitors by'the dozen had asked for her hand
3 in marriage—needy men most of them—who
aware willing to sell themselves at Mammon’s
.; But she had been too ambitions to fall into
'   She wanted ’youth and riches;
Wtherc wins not the slightest chance of her
wish being gratified. , * r
’7  and December,” “may, and ‘do, unite
( ,in'the‘bonds of holy wedlock;'but it rarely hap-
 Eens. that a sprig of blue blood, young, and
' spatula th‘e vfuture, is» willing to throw his
,.ti,tlc~atéthe-v feet of a rich widow old enough,
‘ ‘ ft,qu his grandmother.
 line rule without an eXception, as
 ' recent marriage which has excited

:3 I, , “lithe word gelling that she should
thrtugh fgar haVe made the fearful mistake of
g' her scotman, who did not prove so
, jlimxailhe had. expected. ’

 "was about to given grand dinner party,
1 of  the consideration of her future
 310 W . r
 , thatoVeuthad come 03. ‘

lulu-.Ipeculiar stalls played about the mouth of
Themes Sutton,.and be frequently broke into
. , hearty and uneXpIained laughter when alone.

2  ,  fellow! honest as the day, and without
gulls, be little knew that he stood on the brink
of’a‘girecipice over Which he might be hurled

,by, f ul' treachery at any moment. ' a
; Allie, eventful night came, and found the

mmigseembled. v  , ‘ , ,
 , mansion wasnbhze with lights, and the
 and said plate and costly glass glittered-
on the tablea'which contained rare flowers and
,g exotics, the wealthy hostess having spared no
'  ‘ , to make the afl’air a success.

 ’ g  of herestablis‘hment had been

famous Delmouico, and everything promised

  go as “merry as amarfi'sge bell.” .,

ficrowd, m . '

 fly, the culinary skill of the , ‘
and several mantel-'Wasaybo enjoyed the j
fun or Seeing a‘ yulgar fellow seated with them

 

  
  

5."
i .

 f  rolled up to the door-Vin quick sued

:K:

r

Midsummer ~  " "canteen negates-

'le‘dles" and gentlemenéwell-dremem scented,
the admiration . of a“ large. ~

and jeweled—'40

“There Was'n buzz of conversation in the
drawing-rooms, and the silvery laugh of beau-

‘tiful women rung out like the chimes of «fairy

bells. ' \

Mrs. Blandford, arrayed in costly jevcrels' and
rare velvet and lace, did» the-honors of the oc«
‘casion with the air of a well-bred lady of
fashion. V 1 ' -

The guests were seated, when a servant an-
nounced the arrival of another and unexpected
visitor—Mr. Thomas Sutton.

Our friend, arrayed in a Well-fitting dress
suit, and with diamond studs and links in his
spotless linen, and avaluable emerald ring on his
finger, sauntered in with the air of a swell of
the first water, and after bowing to the hostess,
and taking a general survey of the table, seated
himself close to her, in a chair which had been
reserved for a favorite guest. "

It was lucky for her that she was in the
habit of keeping her feelings well under con-
trol, otherwise there would have beep a
scene. '

She merely bowed to him, and the
proceeded. '

Bob Blandford, who had acted as Sutton’s
deputy, now appeared on the scene as a wai—
ter, and paid particular attention to his friend’s
wants, which brought, him prominently before ,
his step~mother’s eyes, which flashed fire at this
double insult to her. ’ ' ’ .

Banquo’s ghost at the banquet could not have
been a more unwelcome sight to. Macbeth than
was the. presence of these two to the bestess.

Thomas drank more wine than, was good for
him at an early stage of the. dinner, and be-
came talkative and assertive in his words and
actions.

“ This is from bin nineteen, my dear Mrs.
Blandford,” he said, with, a flushed visage,
holding up the glass critically;~ “ and a very
good sound wine it is. I don’t mind if I do
have another glass, Bob. ” ‘

This was too much for'her feelings; and as
he sat closeto her, she attempted to admonish
him to be on his good behavior by kicking his
legs, but unfortunately her satined foot came
into contact with the shins of a learned judge,
who, with a grimace, said, “Can I be of any
service to you, madam?’ '

" Allow me to take wine with you,” she re-
plied, nervously, wishing the guests, and her
husband in particular, at the deuce.

“I shall have great pleasure,” said Thomas
and the judge in concert, to her great mortifi-
cation. ' , '

That learned judge never quite understood
why Mrs. Blandford had been so familiar as to
not press his toe, but to vigorously kick his
shin. He mentally resolved to decline all fu-
ture invitations from such a quarter. . 

Thomas, ‘who knew him by sight very well,
would insist on arguing the question of private
bezecutions, as he termed them, with him, and
stuck to his point with bull-dog tenacity. ,

Perceiving that one of the waiters was not
serving to his satisfaction, he pulled Bob
Blandrord’s sleeve, and said, in aloud whisper:
“Tell that hidiot of a Jim to mind what he’s
about, cr,1’ll turn him out i” ,

Mrs. Blandford was to be pitied, for her
feelings—which, todo her justice, were! those
of a lady-were lacerated to the highest de-
gree, for she must be blind indeed if she had
not noticed the looks of astonishment and sup—
pressed litters which every blunder of her hus-

dinner

"‘ba 6 elicited. ' “

e was having‘ his revenge nowz hers was

to come. ' - ‘ y l ,

She breathed more ‘frwly“when‘ she gave

the signal for the ladies to retire; and the

gentlemen were-lefthlone tosip their wine and.
chat. ' , r ' ‘~ , ’ ' ‘

Our friend Thomas was the admiredof all;

4E‘fi’ 
. M. V. , :

 

33.1.F33215 drew him. s»u.h.lo‘§he1r.heaws can-

\.,

.tent, and insisted upon his“ taking? wine with
His laughVWas the loudest when auyrwitti-
elem went thelround of’ the table, and bacon:
stantly nudged the learned judge with ’his
elbow to show his appreciation, and to wake
him up, as he thought him “rather slow.”  .

‘ The gentlemen joined the ladies in the draw—
ing room, when music and
while away the hours. " ~

’ >

   
 

cards helped to ‘ ‘

The irrepressible Thomas was everywhere; ‘ l

at the card~tables, the piano, and in superin-
tending the waiters; ‘in fact, he thought v him?
self a Very agreeable, useful “fel ow, and lwas

determined that the' affair shoul go of! with ,~ 

splendor, so far as he himself was concerned.

Whenever any song or piece of music pleased
him, he clapped his hands, and shouted,
“Bravo! ‘hencore l” and at the suggestion of a
wag, accompanied a nervous, elderly lady to
the piano, and Spoiled her performance by
turning 'over in the wrong place, which Was .
to be expected, as he did not understand a note
of music. ‘ ‘

The feelings of his wretched wife can be. be!— .

ter imagined than described; but she proVed ' -

herself equal to the occasion by circulating a
report that he had come into a large fortune,
and she had tried the experiment of introducl'
ing him into polite society, but would
peatrit.

The gloss of wealth. smOOthe‘d away his vul-
garities, which were termed “eccentricities,”
and several old gentlemen and dowagers,‘
whose love of cards was a-passion, invited him
to join their set, but he was too excited to sit
down quietly anywhere. ' ' -

The wag of the company artfully suggested

not re- 5'

/

to him that he should sing, offering to accom- V 

pany him on the piano. 1 ,

Nothing.,loth, and anxious to display his
vocal‘powers, which were of no mean order
so far as strength of lung was concerned, he
conéented, and. commenced “The Mulligan
Guards,” amid suppressed laiighter, which
broke into an open roar when, at the end ‘of. "
the first verse, with every sense. of self-satisfac— '

a

tiou, he called upon the company to join in the ‘ _

\

chorus. \ '

When the guests dispersed, Thomas Sutton /_ 

was sleeping the sleep of the just; his'wife was
in strong hysterics, and Bob Blandl'ord was ,

“making hay while the sun shone,”in more, » '

ways than one. v \

 

CHAPTER X.
THE RETURN or run waunmn. v ‘
IT was a lovely moonlight night ln’the'
month of May, when a pedestrian above the"

middle slight, and as handsome as an Adonis, »' '

made his way alOng a shady lane wherevjbe'
scent of apple-blossoms and wild roses stole
upOn-lhe senses imperceptibly. 

The hum of insect life“ Was not=quite hushed
into repose, and the squirrels mailed the
branches as they climbed nimbly from b‘ou‘gh
to bough. I ' . . ;

l

\r .

The ripple of a brooklet which sleeps neither _ I \

byday nor bynight gave forth its cadence,

...,

musical, albeit monotonous, as it wooded its 5 .2

way toward its outlet. V -
The traveler at this early hour Could not

surely expect to be a welcome guest “yonder " 

mansion nestling among the trees.‘ ’ r
Nor did he expect to be, although he was the

heir; not only to that estate, but to hthers of

greater magnitude. 1 " .

He was Douglas Markham, son of Edwaud I. ~,

Markham, and the husband of Dora Merton. ’_
He had incurred his father’s displeasure'by
refusing the hand of a rich heiress, whose lands,
and wealth would have swollen the ’
possessions of the family; ' >
But Douglas had seen and loved Dora, for
whom he was ready to sacrifice wealth‘ahd'
station, and whom he married secretly, thus
making the breach between
self wider still; ‘
He had-gone abroadin the hopes
a livrl’ihood through the influence
and had succeeded in part.-

,vh l
x

'. V ‘-.

his fathe‘randhim~  '

of ‘ehmingl  j
of friends, ,j 

worldly ‘  A

    
   

 

 

 

  
 

 

 

 

 have
'21-"  {he ouemmtnodoegm
' “-‘ Obit one 1- Wei":-
~I‘iand I will; .eontess  although/my I
may hreahwith shame and sorrow,” 
Douglas went, over to her side. end'drew her
support her; saying, with a

 had transmittediriiriouaieiims of money.
 f to ion old'schoolef‘ellow, whom he'thoughte _
' ‘ trustg‘fiiend, or his Willie’s eubeieienoewbut '1.

 had played him false

, m: exit in;   V
 Good“ l”

g g mypimpioengifl
and Ibetmyed‘himf to.

, 5 I neeeountuble and painfnh ‘
couldbe borne by him. no longer, so hesthrew
up his appointment, and came beckto the land

' (xi-this birth in’ the‘hope

‘fiore’s silo-memo
arm thfibugh his? be
gentle tenderness:
 ‘i-Deari Cissy, ’I am sure youlhp.
f sinned against than shining.” .
, . “ Don’t tell me, sister,” said John
in a voice husky with emotion; t‘ MLDonglas,
my more» than brother, If beg «your pardon
' Here in my gun; take it-and shoot.

of solving themysq.
.: ‘ _ vfle'ealled at Madame Josephine’s, sand to his
’ , great dismay found that Dora had been there,

' asking for lelters, looking ill, and evidently

 A This was all the information they 5
could give him, for she had leftrno address,
been near the piece for several

 

‘,‘ No, John, I walnut take your life, but I
will your hand.” . ‘ / '

They shook hands. Leaning his head against,
the door, John Clayton burst intoe flood of
tears such as only strong men shed in the dark
hour of their soul’s agony.- ~

Cissy knelt at his feet, and begged him to
forgiveher, and she would tell him all a.

 

0 had so miserably betrayed
, his trust, had left the East, audiwas not ex-
' peoted to return for some considerable time, ‘

Where to find her, or how to not, he knew
not. ~One might ,be-seeking foreveryin’ the

‘ huge metropolis of New York

the object sought for;
‘ He resolved to try the elfect of advertising

' in the daily papers, butthat failed also.

Driven to his wit’s end, he resolved to re-
,visit the scenes of his childhood, thinking the
ht might revive his drooping gspirits and‘
givo him fresh courage. ' ’
0o reaching the gates

‘ The friend wh

, without finding

 

s. grief, Bangles plied him with
questioneahout the inmates of the mansion,
and all three were seen seated at the upper?
table, discussing substantial farefi which was
very welcome to Douglas after his long walk,
when» aknock came to the door, and an ’ nder‘
gardener entered: but. being anew man, he
he did not recognize Douglas, much to his re-

 

 

he did not enter, but
skirting the grounds, made his way through
 e‘v‘v‘ood’in the direction of the gardener’s cot—

 . which looked very picturesque in the “Sneak thieves are out,” he said.
come to tell you.”

Clayton started up and seized his gun, when
Douglas drew him aside, and whispered:

" Do not say who I am.
puny you»; it won’t be the first time, John.”

John consented, and after a. draught of good
old ale, they sallied torthyfully‘ armed, to trap
the evildoers. ‘

« Douglas liked the exciteme
. for the fray." ’ It was a change from the bum-
drum life he had been leading of lete.’_ ,

The trio crept softly through the under—
growth, careful lest the mapping of-
should‘betrey their approach. '

It was a glorioué night; the 'moonbeams
 everything ln-a bathe! burnished sill
ver, melting even theoomm’onest object look

I There was alight iu the window, and

could see a woman’s form flitting to and fro.
.He knocked, and the door was opened by

themen’s sister. ‘
“ Well, Cissy,’_’ he so

I want to accom-

id, “how have you and
your brother been all this whileewell, I hope?”
' “ This is indeede surprise, Mr. Douglas, won’t «
' [expect my brother everyuxho- nt, and was eager
V A .will,” he replied, as he bowed

his head and entered thereon: in whi
. table Was laid for supper. ~
1 Douglas Markham had been
-, Cissy in the past-too tend, the brother thought ,
‘ floriher peaee oE mind; but be Was an lumen
able than, and would have scorned to take all ,
. _ ' or her preference for him to further I
 inymnse ends.- ' r r
i Itglwes only a. harmless flirtation
, . while eway an idle hour with a very pretty

~ girl, but one muchbeneeth himain station. I
’ There was a. sad, ,wistful look about the girl,
3 end hereyesfilled with tears as she. somep-
., positehim, which made him thin]; 01} his de
‘ dearly loved wife, and of her many heartaches
"  of the tears she must have shed
  ifimmingly cruel desertion.

" , ‘ her hand, he said, gently: ,
' thing-troubles on, Cissy. Won‘t you tell me
 what‘ltfiei’j Is ohn unkind to you? ‘ If so, he
,   mend his wag s, or he will be no
longergteeterhrother of minefi’ '
Belem‘bhe could

 and John elaymu entered.

I “Have you nO'Welcome for me?” asked
nthe held aloof from
. ‘ w l

 

very: fond of

“ There-they, are l’f Clayton Whispered, pm
ing to several dark object's. .“Itwwe move
round to the left, we shall take them on:

ided, a‘nd they follovted, and when
neer’enoug‘h, dashed out upon thepoachers,
who, although taken by surprise, made a‘des-
,pera‘te resistance, blows being freely given and I
‘received'on'either side, but no firearms/rheing -

 

1 Douglas collared: a. man 0th i; own eine and
weight,"eed ‘ithey wrestled for it, swaying to
and fit, like’sturdyi elves in a high wind. '

_ Douglas was thrown, and at the, other’s ,
money, and the man snatching up his gun, Wins
in the act Vof dealing him a blow with the butt,

when; ohn’ knockedhim‘ senseless. ’ ‘- i ‘

‘ Douglas wee-now

in heating oil" the others, who, fearing capture,

took to their heels, and escaped. ’ ' -
‘ Taking-some cord from his peck
after having brought the fellow to by adminie

v tering  some brandy _ from his flesh, tied his
hands behind him, and led him oi! in 'thedi:

,recticin of the cottage. ' ' ' “ '

‘ Arrived there, the gardener w
for the police, into

’“wes to be given. ,

Cissy came out, and .
brother and Douglas on their safe return, as
she had good reason to do, for such alfrays es
in not: frequently tel»

 

,jneWer, the door opened,

free to didvhia wmpeeions'

 

 ~.'Dougl'es, per-caving a;
I , hiepxofl’ered  ,. . \
eserve one?” was the r rough ' au-

 

vé} done-T Have you, too
 I me because I heme quarr‘eled
9 : iwith my fathérr—you, my own-_fOster~brother?”
 j «none wrong me, Mr. Drmglas.‘ Heaven
 , knows I could lay down my life for you; but
 , therei‘jgm some, things which i cannot forgiye
’ evenzra brother. My faniily for generations
,_ hue, yours faithfully and well, end
never esteihhas‘reeted upon us. My steter’s
honor is clear to, me, and I would slay the man
' ,iv'hoirohhedherof ice—ay, wereyhe a' prince!” I
sold Cissy, in a voice 'or ter-
., I “He-it lemma.”  ' I I v
 _ ,  I“ “hell? it!” ’ uhfiwm, then, is gui

turned against,

 

whose ousted y' theprieouer

 congratulated V her _

they hadbeen‘engaged

this you  hemli’i‘slfielusked.’ _
,souer‘turned his  toward hor'ttull ‘
, g , inthemoonlig  ' /   '
, ._ w , in diamond confusion. ' Sh V ' ‘
ur'waewoeyene one  gooey, in:
’ ' re 1 {would you retract-

‘  John? ’



  
  
 
  

 

 

  

         

Dom gmeelen we  null masher,  .
found her Wpfif. ‘ Whitetail. tether-Made ‘”
 seaming: of  new,» j_
for: sneh'it was in the strictest-Whittle .»
words W.     ,» ,_
Shut outlrom the bueyrsmeitAkadg: ‘ /
pleasures,“ was lumen haven of meringue V
who, like-.hersem-hed. fiaeeed my)"
vicissitudes:  r . . , 'r > ,1   ;  =

The house and grounds were eimplyydeliuhtr ’
fol, withrthe avenues otzstetely trees,  
ere. fruit-blossoms and shrubheries. « '    

There was-e oonservatory,_aleo filled  ,,
the choicest exotics, end climbing overboard 
were sturdy tines. which fgeveupromiso 0t   '
abundant crop of luscious grapes. . A; 1  _-

A spacious lawn led, to a fish-pongin whioh 
many‘oi the. filmy tribe «disported.themuelm, » *4
some being so tame as to eat from the  ‘ > ’ '

Peacocks and peahens strutted‘ aboutvinznll _ 
the Splendor ‘of their gaudy plumege, lacking» a
superbly beautiful in the sunlight. ,  I y ‘ .

Doves andrplgeons flew. in and out of thick,
cotes, making the place cheerful with their «59% ’ k
muszc. ‘ s . ” r J - ‘

She-often accompanied Mrs. Ty v. leaner,
carriage to visit the fiber .and siekpame'ng '
whom was included the Frost family, who, 
may he supposedywere, pleased to  5‘  ' .

Of course,'she new a, greetdcealot 
with whom she passed many delightful We, ,
without once forgetting her absent huebene or”
her obligations as a wife. i ,,  » 5 i 

‘At heart and soul she was as pure as snow.

Gerald r cognized this, and respected herfor
it, althoug he hungered for oue'word from
her rosy lips tosatisfy his love, ‘ V, a ”  ‘

It was impoSeible that she _ eenld be blind to"
the admiration which he expressed ;for«her.in'
. his every look, and this made her  ,_~

ed in her conduct toward him. 7 ‘ ' f . 

 He lied seen the wedding-ring on her finger;
bedgeot her honor, but knewnotiwhethershe ’
waswife or widow; etiquette forbadeshiteefir \
ingthequeetlon, nor had:  L, ‘  

Oneldey, never to be 
its misery and anguish, she received it 

upOn  which she burst times. 

It announced the death  
abroad, and ainclosed were tjfiehtyfinfleflfl‘s,

all he'couldleave her. n r «I;   ,
flhe showed the letter to r s. 

    
   
    
   
    
   
   
  
   
 
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
    
    
  
   
   
  
  
   
   
  
 
    
   
   
    
    
   
  
  
     
  
 
      
    
  
  
   
  
   
  
     
    
  
 

 

 

[if

tried by every means in  '
andconsole her, but linvainlr, :1 ,  l “
 :l‘he letter was socirchmt’flnfifi in $8

  

Her husband had met with-n "
. and had only time to tell his  _ I
name, and thenemoeeher meow" ‘ 1 
pim.. ‘  "r. f, y‘ r ,7 _> ‘ far.
This ,mindM-idesolefiongabemgzfi  i 
hand and child, she eoiildglmhy hate  ’
buried her sorrows inthegruim 4 xx,  ,
Gerald bound atelieumwtmon;  ,
- home, anew: Wedthyuhemgrhfi "
gledet who knuwthatehea  ~
V His motherhadneverdenied- lemming
r that could uddto his happiness,
gum her consent to. hifi‘illnifln wee  
withstanding he was already;  Chi
cousin-Edith. , :  
“The course of tm'.»lfm%e 
smooth,” We know, endlthe pretent 
an exempliflc‘ation' or it, he he would "
the end, tfiost likely}   1 ,  ,_ ,, V ,
But he did not despair one,“ 

 

 

 

    

 

 
 

 

 
 

     
     

anchorof menlslife, buoyed  

No brother could have hem  
momma hie motherencoimedihluxluithie,
for she loved the  more 

   

    
  
  
    

Dom-hm, been like  
brightening avowed?“ ll? lam-WV; 
’   annihilate 
\ ‘Wa‘ $555 mandala“: “‘3‘: mt 
' r"  theme Which  fl

’   $91; “59” Whercompenioes. 

 
  
    

   
 

  
  
   
  
 
 
 

  
 

   
    

,fl

 

 

T

'5" .‘eemeswse. grafindéh his

»  played toberfifind by a hundred kindly

"  games one to em m- m m “an”,

'.  . in the end, for shewas a brave
' heat-walnut and knew that the greatest roe,
spout she could show to the memory of the de~
, V _, perform her allotted tasks
.y‘ln Messiah cheerfulness. V , . ~ 
> ' And in doing so she found the highestfwm
ofoomfort and an assuagement of her grief.

parted would be to

‘ 7  :Gerald noticed this with pleasure, and- loved

3 her more clearly for it. 42 ‘
 What would he not»
, ‘ ', being for his wife? -
‘ ‘ Edith Markham paid the Tyrrels a visit, and

’ ..;Dora was charmed with her, ~‘ for she could

\trace in her features the/lineaments of her hus-
81 7 ‘ She, was tall and graceful; had charming
1 eyes of‘adeep hazeltint, and a

j def, golden hair. " . . ’

 ’But Edith, with the instincts of a woman,
.  had no sort oflikiug for- her.

'- ’ Ayoung and pretty widow,loharming, ele-
gant; and. accomplished, v as not the companion
" she-would have chosen for her aflianced has;

66

 

“  emblems Vof grief, her sable widow’s
weeds, made her lookinterestingmnd then there

washer clinging, lovab‘e manner, which. ape

"peeled to the sterner sex for pity

‘ and sym—
 pathy, which are akin to, love. ‘ v

" ' ."‘~Besides, Gerald made no secret of his admiw'

" ration for her. Edith oeuld trace. it in his every

orificeto wlnsucha.

rich abundance

look and action, and could not be blamedfor.

dieliliiug this sort of thing to go on under his
veryeyes. ‘
. _  Hehad never been half so attentive toher, al—
‘ thoughtless was not a whit less beautiful than
"hor‘ri‘fifl, whom she considered to be nothing
 than an adventu rose, and intended to put

 Tyrrel onher guard on the very first op».

pertunity. - , ‘ .
 {7, “viola, Gerald,”she said, playfully, “youhave

lfibha-‘liadftruant of late! W'hyhave you not

hgnfiamgiwp 4. . .

.“To be frank with you, Edith, I do not like
the way in which Douglas has been treated.
 he be forced to marry against his
w  _ . ,

 showing it, was listening in-
tently {or was not the conversation about her

:3 1  not to blame for that state of things,
 Does your dislike extend to mei'? _

 little goose, you know it does not!
 reached yourof him?" .
3.553“, but I sincerely hope [it is not true.
3‘ ’ lay my’darlln‘g brother is dead.

74 ' ,v ’s tears were telling 'fast. and she

 her head adds, lest they should be seen '

 -' ‘ - r ~
gifiefijrmatien was’made doubly sure by these
words: Her idol, the king, of her heart, would
" ,_j  when? more. 3 He had gone,.with—
 a parting kiss~to seal their, love
W" , ll. fitsmity. ‘ .‘
  to no more, for her thoughts
 the anhen all was re-
 andshe had been folded to
his  10;”, and had: felt his warm kisses
 deeply absorbed was she that she started
osmium Harka bade her goodvby.
 his betrothed had; leit, Gerald ape
 Dora, and begged her to allow him
toka her into the air. '
-. .-Tenderl7y wrapping her in a light shawl, he
 her lagging footsteps, and Walked at
 in the grounds, where the birds
om “cabling and bees humming, as they hur—
aower to flower. I“ at bé & dad
"Him who. ' m. yon'wi n 0 ,en ,
, name, will yank—confide in
 a brother. I, think I have already
   at the  of your distress. My
commands!“ Markham, was your husband?”

-' is

 

 

 

 ', f  comment"

  of. year ,atflanoedwifafi
' 4.» “Yes; you are right. Isee no

 delightedto'hear ltl. hiayl not f,

 

 

know she loves and esteem you highly. « .
“ You are very: kind,” she" replied, “ but .I
would rather, that, she esteemed me as the
humble girlshe snatched from poverty than as
the widow of Douglas Markham, who was
driven forth to die.” x - , ’ v
. “But he may not be dead‘, and if he beyit,
is all the more imperative that Mr. Markham
and his family should réoognize and. provide
for you suitably.” ~ I ~ ‘
“Gerald,” she said-Land the word thrilled
him through every nerve—“ you have offered.
to be my brother, and as that I freely accept
you, for I am greatly in need of a true heart
and clear braintu help me on through life’s
perils. You were good enough to say that Mr.
Markham would no doubt make a suitable pro-
vision for me as‘bis son’s widow; butlet me tell

r .
y

   

=It ~wduldpgive her ‘ Mame for ,1:
,, , .

anifl

you frankly and honestly that I would rather .

work with, these two hands”~she held them.
forward, and Gerald thought them very shape-
ly—-—“‘ than be dependent on him for a penny.”

He longed to take her to his heart—to tell
her how- brave, how beautiful she was, how
much he loved her; but be resisted the-impulse,
and said, “ I think you are right; you may
rely on my not “mentioning the subject again.”

“Thank you,’.’ she said. “And now let me
talk to you-of Edith.” _.  . ‘

He turned his head aside to prevent her
seeing by the expression of his countenance how
distasteful the subject was to him.  ; - r

“I think her very beautiful and charming;
and see very-plainly that she lovss you truly.
And you love her in return, I‘ am sure,
Gerald.” . .

“ Oh, yesl~of course!” he said nonchalantly.

“i shall he so gratified to see your happi-
ness"-—.-looking at him and. smiling. “Your.
mother and yourself have been so kind to me
that I feel that I cannot wish you, too much
felicity. ” - ; . .

Every word she uttered was like astab to his
heart. I. ' .  ,

“ Do you believe in the union of hands with—
out hearts?” he asked. “Is one to be sacrificed
to the conventional?” I ;
’ Dora was silent; his words pained her, and
she began to perceive the danger of the situa-
tion. , I

He had not positively said that he loved her,
and she hoped he would not ever pain her by
doing so. «

It would be dishonorable of her to repay her
heuefactress by‘listening to an, avowal of love
from one who was the afiianced husband of an-
other, and that other his mother’s choice.

“ You do not answer me,” he said. “ Par.
don me for being so pressing; but I am deeply
interested in your reply." , ,

“I believe in honor and duty,” she said,
quietly. , “Depend upon it, true napping“ fies
only in that direction both for yourself and
others.”  , = . , .

3‘ 0h, Dora!” he said; “ why did we meet-,3
I wish youcould see lnto,my inmost soul; one
image only is centered there, and that J's—y” . 

“Your cousin Edith’s,” she said. , “I feel
better now, and would like to go indoors. The
air gets very chilly.” , Yr '

.He hit his lip with vexation, and. led her to
the hall where Mrs. Tyrrel was standing. ’ ,

“Why, Gerald,” she said, with \a beaming
smile, “ what is the matter! You Jock vexed.
I hope youptwn have not been quarreling; but
come in. I laws 9. requeSt from Mr. and M??-
Markham to visit them to-morrow, and Dow 13
included in the invitation.” .. 1- I I ‘

‘~.‘.0l;i;"nol do, not take me,’f Dora 8815: Plefid‘
ingly,{ with a look of terror; in he? mut‘fu‘
eyes. , * ’ L - g ,,
I Mrs. Tyrrel drew toward her and kissed
Dora tenderly, as she whispered, “ P09”. smqken
darling, I have guessed all. Your tears have

.fallen daily'ruponrhiiapicl‘mee' Yarn-’9 one 0‘

us henceforth.” .

Dora was satisfied benefit W313 limwn .

     X11. '1-  

ies-urns narras.  

W

) V5.5  r , I 3, {,3
v ON, the evening dollowmg the .thieviuggb

,freygBoh’ ,Blandford, who had been allowed/
,to escape through the, intercession of Cissy and:
Bangles, ‘made his promised visit to Madison
Square, and was admitted, not by Thomas
Sutton, who had thrown 06 his livery forever,
andwas living like a gentleman at his ease, but
(by a new footman. . r

Mrs. Blandford saw her step-son without de—
lay. She had been expectinghim, and was
glad that he had come, as she had a projectin
'hand, and wanted his assistancein carryingit:
out. .

y K'. V 7‘ . .
'AJ.LJ..

-' He was ushered into the sitting-r0011: where /

she was, looking pale and ill; but she had not V,

forgotten to array herself be‘comi-ngly, for of all ‘ - ‘

women in the world she always went in for r

effect. . ‘ p . I
Her fingers sparkled with gems, and the at
mosphere- of the room was heavy with pore
fume. , ‘ I

He expected an unpleasant reception from
her for the part he had taken in assisting
Thomas Sutton, and was delighted when she
welcomed him cordially, and asked him to be
seated. ' 4 - ‘ ‘ I '

She surveyed him coolly for some minutes,
during Which time she used her gold-stoppered
smelling-bottle. frequently, and said, at ’last:
“ Let me are, when did we meet last? 1 have
a bad momory!’ ’ . /
 “ Thank goodness, I have not!” :he replied.

“ If you wish to know, it was at the Criminal, 

Court, where your evidence convicted me of I

forgery, and I was sentenced to three years’
imprisonment unjustly.” » - .

“ Ah,” sheisaid, nonchalantly; “now that you
mention it, I do recollect something of the cir~
cumstauces.
about that time, were you not?”

“ Perhaps so,” he replied. “And you kept
me quiet by having we sent to prison for a
crime which I never committed.” 

“ Is it worth while discussing that now? May,
I ask how it is you are at large, your sentence
not yet having expired?” 1 _ , 

He was silent, and looked at her uneasily.

“Ah,” she remarked, coolly, as she. toyed
with the tassels of her robe, “it is. an inoenm

ivenient question to answer.
press it; let the past be buried between us. I:

' suppose you want money?"

a.

You were rather troublesome "

Well, I shall I not i

l 
.

,s

“Very badly ;' Ilwas never more in Wantof _ . ’r

it in'my life.” .

.> “Can you tell me why I should be your ‘3 ,

banker? What claim have yOu upon moi”.  ,
“You inherited my father’s property."  
“That is'true. Pray go on!” , y ._ , .
‘f And I was cast adrift on the world with»

out a shilling, because you . paisoned—”

She started from her chair, and said, hoarse /

Iy,»“It is false! .I did not do it! No one.
thought of charging me with the crime!" '

“No; it was an open verdict. But he  ,

isoued, as you well know. some 0 e, t.
hpzve done it. Sarah Blake knows who?" mus
_ “She is dead I” said Mrs. anaemia, 
ciously. v, ‘ .-
“I kn9w that; but before she died she made
*1 confess”?! in Writing, which was dulywit-g

nessed by two persous—~myself’and another.” I

. Mrs. Blandford sunk into a chair, deathly,
pale, and With beads of perspiration on her

[I],

forehead, which she wiped away with her perf ' r

fumed handkerchief.

“It is a base fabricationl~a conspiracy to;

ruin and extort money from 11101" .

_“ A jury win be the best judges of that,” "he
said, coolly.’ “However, I‘ do not wish to .be
hard upon you. Let us come to “M” V,-

‘th “ How much do you want,” she asked, .“ fer-
at__n , ' I ,
She paused; and he laid, quackly, "We;

sion, I suppose you mean. :I am willing to

take twenty-five himdred dollars today. 'Tofi

morrow I shall want five thousand. ”

 

Ate twotme,  {tamifl mm“!
and to; Ggraldqpyrfil“? ‘f  I y j 

 

. hate and. fear,“

  

_ A -, i '
r . ,

      

/’ ,.  .‘V'P ‘) ,

I .

I

   
 

/‘w

/

i '2'!

'3».

\

 

Going to the hen, and placing hey-‘hmd/nébn'  11.: _ ,
it, she said, With an expression or concentrawd, )
.lx‘ffiear, my answer,  figwg ., .7

  
    

 

 

 

 

    

 

 have a memory, if you have not.

 

I hers.

. in; me as a felon!
r troublesome people were treated in that fashion,

1 hold.

WM-M,;;_,...-.,. ,:.,; ..   _'

.' ,Blaadvtordl '   giye  nptliatdocu’
museum ,"and‘da,

K

meat, I.’ shall send for a‘ _
munco you as an escaped convictl”, , ,

He laughed mockingly; and said, with a
sneer, “I shall have the satisfaction of knowing

that you will be serving out your time with v

me. Send for a policeman by all means; but
don’t blame me for the consequences that will
certainly ensue.” ,

“Fiend!” she hissed, as she snatched up a
kniteand threatened him, with murder in her
eyes, which glittered like those of a serpent.

“One crime makes another easy,” he said,
coolly, as he crossed his feet, and leaned back
in his chair, keeping his eyes steadily fixed on
“Have the goodness to remember,
madam, that there are witnesses who can
prove my coming here—no jury would find an
open Ever-dict in this case; and think of the
penalty the law would exact for—”

Replacing the knife on the table, she sunk
into her chair, trembling all over, and too ex—

, cited to speak.

“Is it to be peace or war, madaml”.
She glared at him, but remained‘silent.
“Shall I summon your maid?” he asked.
\ “ Perhaps you are ill. I am in no hurry, and
can wait your pleasure.”
’ “Do you want the money now?" she asked. '
. “Yes,” was the laconic reply. g
“Ido not keep so large a sum aboutmeH

. but"... drawing 03 two valuable gold rings as 1

she spoke—4‘ you can hold these in pledge until
, I redeem them. . Take them, and give me the
' document.” ' ‘
He smiled derisively, and said, “My dear
madam, do you take me for a fool? It" I took
Lthem, .and gave you Sarah Blake’s confession,
you would say I had stolen them, in addition
to denouncing me as an escaped convict. No,

_ no; Robert Blandford is too sharp for' even

such a cleverwoman as yourself.”

She perceived that the trap which she had so
artfully laid for him was of no avail, and
(said, “You wrong me; I had no such inten-

tions.” . . _ .

“Perhaps. not,” he said ironically; “ but I
I remember
the trick you played me before, when I acted
as your secretary, and used to prepare checks
for you to sign. ,You asked me to practice
imitating your. signature, to save you trouble,

I, I and when proficient I- was to sign them for

yen. #ldid so: and the first check so signed
sylou denounced as a forgery. You know the
'rest.’ ' '
‘ “You were,ruining me,” she said; “and to
save myself from beggary, I had no other al-
ternative,-—” ,

.‘f Than to blast my young life by brand-
Really, madam, if all

our prisons would be full to repletion."
' “You are so unreasonable,” she said depre-
catingl’y. \ I
r. »“'Unneadonable  I wish to guard
against treachery. I think I am Very reason-
able, and not at all spiteful. Make me your
friend." * .
«You cannot expect to drain‘me of my for-
tune, " for the poseemion of which I have fought

, and plotted — ay, and even sinned~—‘at least, so

yousay.” _

“I piomise not to trouble you again,» he
“ Surely the sum I askwm not 8mm,“ I
 you. Give me a check for the amount,

' . and a’written declaration that I am innocent, of

the crime for which I have been convicted, which
I will not use unless compelled. and I'win set
sail for England in a few days.” .
“I see no objection to that, and shall ar-.
range matters with you presently. I wish—to
speak‘with you on a subject which will benefit
you materially.” ‘ *
“I am always ready to listen to such a
gpleasant topic; ‘ but "qeying the sideboard,-

‘ on; whiCh were several decanters-“may

I notmisb sweet: to some refreshment? You

 ,mustfallow‘that my interview with you ,up to
 . the present 1361!“? hasth very trying.”

' before she reveals it.”

saw paranoia the breast,  other
light overheat, Which   over the
back of a chair. ’ »» ‘ 11 v

Sarah Blake’s confession might be among
them, and with one bold stroke be“ hers. She
would risk it. If he was violent, she could
summon assistance, and defy him. 

All this passed through her brain in an in-
stant. With a cat-like spring, she snatched
the papers away, hut\ heard a mocking laugh.

“I Cleverly attempted,” he said; “ but let
me tell you, madam, I never carry important
documents in the pocket of my overcoat. I
drink to your success next time; you have
failed on this occasion.” , i v

He drained half a‘ tumbler of brandy at a
draught, and resumed his seat with a spiteful
gleam in his eyes, saying, “ You are welcome
to the contents or that envelope, which con-
tains, among othér trifles not werth mention.
ing, a number of pawn.tickets. As I do not
intend redeeming the articles, I shall make
you a present of them. Possibly some of your
property might have been pledged." '

Hislbadinage coming ‘fresh upon her disap-

pointment, made her furious, and she looked
longingly at the knife which stilllay uponthe
table. ‘ ‘
' Why should she not rid herself of him‘for-
ever with one blow, and allege that shedid
the act in self~defense against his attempt to
rob hen? “

He seemed to guess her thoughts, for he said,
as he took up the knife and placed it out of her
reach, “In doing this I am once more acting
the part of your friend. Come, let us not
rationally, and talk agiver the project you spoke
spoke of.” 5‘ V r

She took a deep draught of water, which
seemed to calm her, and then resumed her
seat, and said, abruptly, “ You have met my
niece, Dora Merton!” .

“Yes; butit’s some time since.”

‘ “ She has been married; but her husband is
dead.” '

“I am sorry for that,” he said.
has all this todo with me?”

“You will see. The issue of that marriage
was a son. I inherited the bulk of my pro-
perty from my family, and not from your
father. At my death, and failing legitimate.
heirs, the money in the funds descends to he
or her oil’spring.’ , ,

“ I don’t suppose I have“ any reason to feel
interested in your will,” he said, in a tone of
indifference. ' ‘ '

“ You are mistaken; you/have an interest
in it. Ido not forget that your late father
left me all he had: as a mere matter of justice
you'will inherit this at my death. And now
let me add, while I am on this subject, you
must think it strange Ishould speak so coolly
of your lather, whom you believe I poisoned.

“ But what

I swear, however, that I aminnocentwat least

in intention.’ ‘ I changed ., the medicine by mis-
take in the nurse’s absence, and she met me at
the door when I was leaving. He was a kind,
good husband to me, and I had no motive for
desiring that he should die.” 9

“None, except that he threatened to alter
his will in my favor. But let that pass;
you are not or. your, trial, nor" need ever
be, it you are reasonable.. And now to begin
,again where we left off: what“ dolyou want
me to d0? I am a man of few words, and
would wish you to come to the point at once.”

“ I want you to help me to trace the child.
The" secret at present rests with a woman
named.Suaan Prat, Who wants paying heavily

“If Iflud-the child,'what than?” he asked,
_ looking at her suspiciously. ' _
“ Take it ,with you .to England, let it be well

' cared for, at my expense, but be kept in igno-

rance. of its parentage.” ,
“Why should you he so bitter against
your niece?" he asked, pointedly. “ What
does it. matter to you whether they inherit the
mosey?"  .- I ~  ‘ " 
“Myislster, ‘b‘yiguile and deceit—4y, even,

 

 

,  encasement: and while his task wasturned

esC,«

by onscreen: the directions or  only

i s; r.

.. mass of undulating foliage which boundledthe-xl ,:

- husband, who had grown up to manhood amid. -

 

. breast, close to that teartwhichthrobheda‘iese; "

   

raver loved'cnd'to‘whém I‘w‘s‘wwije ' ‘
en‘ gaged tohemarriedé’ A women never    I." ~-

v '.\

   
   
   
 
   
    
    
    
   
  
   
   
    
  

gets such a wrong hathatl” \ v 'V'  , 
“ Give me the check andthe comment Indra V 
asked for, and I will use every snort to to»
‘ther your object.” ' ' ‘ _, ' i
As she had placed herself more deeply in his 2
power by this revelation, she could. not best» 
tate to comply with his demands. . . v .7 ,v ‘ ,
Hatred of Dora'because of her mother’s er- ‘ I ‘
tense had clouded iher' reason and prudence, . .
which were usually so bright. ‘ l l . . ~
In fact, this ruling peasion of her life—a6!- ,
sire for revenge—efully accounts for her harsh  g. _,
~nay, brutal treatment of her niece,  g '
loveliness and many amiable qualities might ’
well have disarmed resentment. . , V l
She handed him the check and her declare»
tion of his innocence, and in return -. he gave  ,
herSar ah Blake’s confession, which, after gleam". , 
ing through, she committed to the'flamcs'. '1 r "   "
, If she could have read the thoughts“ that. I
were passing through Robert Blandford’s mind.
(who had only her to thank for being in his
present unfortunate position), she would not
have relied so fully on his promise. v ' ‘ '

x _

70HAPTER“‘XII'I.
a'r Chose-PURPOSES.

MR. EDWARD Mannuan’s seat, to which .  .
Tyrrels and Dora had been invited, was ins ' I
closed in a delightful park, ornamented  
gardens, shrubberies, and pleasure grounds. ‘ , ‘ f;

The approach to the mansion ‘itsel' was by a I "l, ‘
winding avenue more than a mile in length, ‘ ».
leading through stately elms, and as the e e I
wandered over this scene of natural yet, not 1-; 4 ‘ ‘
together inartificiai beauty, it was. arrested    ’, .
a lofty embattled tower rising out from the * ‘

 

distance, and which had been
servatory. . ~ .
In front of the mansion, a soft, smooth lam;  j. -
spread out a carpet of exquisite enamel to  
upon.’ , .. .  “' r ‘
‘A few scattered trees here and there  _ i;
the difle'rent walks, which led ‘now to)  ’
woods, anon on to. a sheet otwater,  
whose clear surface swans were  ' ' 
stately grandeur. ' V
The broad pathway led up to the , 3 , 2 .
entrance in the center of the building, .~  
sisted of a gable, with a large pointed’windfew.‘ I!
On entering, you found yourself in 
hall adorned with classic figures and:  
works of art. . , ~~ ' 
From this hall the visitor  a 
stone staircase, leading along  
several spacious and elegant “mama,  -
principal of which—~the\ saloon or   f 
room—was originally intended for a picture; ‘_
gallery. , ' -- " ’ '  “ *7
Here ,the ceilings, which were grained, .»
supported ,by clustered columns, added  ‘ g g
to the beauty of the apartment. ‘ ;  h j " "
The drawing-room led to slight and: pdctnr- . L
esque conservatory, thmugh whichtheittrn'
Was reached; . L " 7  L 
Such was the beautiful spot‘towhich  '
was driven. , '    .75. «;
Eagerly she gazed, and sad at heurtss share
membered that it had been the home of‘ her:

built as an   V»

‘1 .

 

these glorious surroundings. _ _, : 
Mrs. Tyrrel was pleased to see that  ',
promised to arouse her comma-ion, 
Gerald, but neither of them made anyccmmem »
upon the subject, teasing lest, she might.  6
called to a sense of’her desolate position.-   ~“
From his station in a clump ‘01 '
las Markham saw the carriage-roll up to-
mansion,'but never dreamt that it 
the idol of his heart, whom he was mourning:
Nor did she suspect that he was in her'viel
cinity, or she would have flown to him. on  \
wings. pilots, and headed  head‘an his

 

t

,7 5w 2‘,- ,2

 

   

‘ys

 

 

   
  
  
   
   
    
   
    
  
  
   
 
    
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
   
 
   
  
 
    
    
  
   
     
    
   
  
   
 
    
   

 i   » {Tm  ushered ,.'i£:t§9..ihe also é
9.  . by. in; and MN.'Mal‘kham, and their daughter

 herghprand, whose face seemed to beam upon
1 lierxfroin the canvas, and whose eyes, appeared
1,5.) follow her wherever;she went. , . i
 5,  life—like was it, that she, felt tempted to
r  oil-ow herself upon her knees before it, and im—
plore" it to speak to her. ' 
~  Herbrainhad' been weakened by the cruel

.shecthe had sustained, and it was only b 9.
~ greutxmental effort that she restrained herse f.
r‘  She was agreeably surprised at'flnding that
both 'Mr. and Mrs. Markham were charming
’ and kind, ffor. sheuhad expected to meet a
 I’ haughty imperious pair. . , ,
.ghey quite took 'to her, from the very first,
>  lair. Markham especially, and while Gerald Was
'- tempted into the grounds by Edith, and his
' wife and Mrs. Tyrrel chatted confidentially, he
 Dora under his special care and explained
-. ’_ "to earths many objects of interest with which
I , ,t’he houseabounded and which dated back to
 ’ithQTWar of the Revolution. , . a
: .  old man looked with pleasure upon Edith
,hnd Gerald, as they sauntered arm in arm in
,e-arnest conversation, and heaved a deep sigh
.- ~_ as hexthought over what might have been if
 his dear boy, Douglas, had not provedsodis;
_ ‘ obedient to his Wishes. Dora, tec, was delighted
' itcsee Gerhld paying proper“ attention to his
 betrothed. ' ' ' , ‘ '
 ': He‘ had not spoken or even hinted that he
Q ‘anedher, since she had checked his rashne'ss
, V, n lib so much tact. ‘ , »
’  “1 They will make a handsome couple,” said
. Calif,- ,Maifkham, confidentially, to Dora. “ I
” wrist: my son Douglas was here; he would be a
“nice companion for you, my dear. I fear Ger-
_,,.ald is so engaged with Edith, who likes to have
" him all to herself, the little fuss, that we shall
" have very little ‘cf their society. Ah,‘Welll I
'ii-muet not complain, for I was quite as had my-
- (sell in my youthful days.” '
 :“Mr8.‘Tyrrel often speaks of your son,”—

 

fyking tim‘idly, up at him. , “ But pardon the;
perhaps ought not to refer to a subject which
7  gife you pain, if - what I have heard be

iv 1‘.‘  ask'to what you allude?”
 rumOrio! his death.” ‘
  the subject for a motive. She

 

V t  “that {he family were not .in
   thiawaa‘ st ange, for the same friend

had apprised h r of her husbandlsdeath
*1 ought to havesent unintimation to his parents.
 eagerly fOr his reply, and averted
f  face"_;1est “its expression of deep anx'ety
   suspicions, as it might well

 ’ ,ering that she and Douglas were sup-

7,"(  .l, 
, 49‘

  

 

 

be strangers to each other. '
l Heaven, the rumor, is untrue,” he
w,  .;- T,“ but hehas alienated himself from
the bye raahiiiaxjxiage.” , p ' L
1 was'atill averted, and its expression
, final-anxiety to joy, and the tears
1' ‘wél ed into her eyes—tears of gratitude that a
3391' $0.39“wa been spared to her;
' ’ if’ij’may ,Séeni strange'to you,’,’he continued,
lint  speak on such a matta at our
33$? weather/but. ,Wmi-‘de'Cand I .hOpe you
"2331 mi, deem .me presumptuous) 1.1061‘ upon
probes a dear friend—415.3 daughter, in fact;
for logging tell. you, Mrs. Tyrrel’s "letters have
‘" beenffull of acconnta of your sufferings, and
j ,, the heroic way in [Whichryou haVe' borne
mob}; Mr; Markham? she said, kissing his
;  “_ on, are indeed kind; , ‘Let me plead for
 ” What will not Jovefiare and suflfer
rampage sake}? ,‘ , ,_ , p ' . ‘ ‘
',teo,‘much,” he said sadly. “1

ii

16‘
r

' You ask
:' ».‘wcuid willingly forgive him, and take his wife
  my heart, if she were worthy of his loveanél
Lot myappx'oval; but he has chosen not to, con- ,

- \

a LLLL .,

 metal, where they were’recéivenmost gonna - y, ;

yours, and my cup or

 

mammalivémrss Md MWbW ed him.
 “emission mafia): . I . a

,,   {i a. hatches“: taunt; 
    1. .  love; prompted her to
give hl‘in‘her has ; not from unworthy motives,

_  - ‘ I _ , - ,but‘ because she/had chosen him for her idol‘on
 ,. ‘  {looked around, furtively, at the.
,. l, - pictures, and her glance fell upon a. portrait of.

which to lavish rich treasures of afiection,” .

"‘ If you were pleading for yourself,” he said,
smiling at her kindly, “ you could not be more
eloquent orj'persuasive. Ega'd! when the young

. dog does come. to his senses, it would answer

his ‘purpose to retain you as his advocate. I
have heard from a friend of his that‘his wife is
poor. 1 would not mind that‘at all if she Were
a. lady by birth and education.”

She felt prompted to throw herself on her
knees before him, and confess all—how dearly
she loved his son, her husband, how much she
had suffered, and how her affection for him had
strengthened now that he had risen like one
from the grave, /

But she resisted the impulse, and said in-

stead, “I would stake my existence that your
son, whose nobility of soul is stamped. on his
brow even on painted canvas, would not de—
grade himself and his family by an alliance
with one’unworthy of the honor of being con- l
nected with them.”
‘ “ Nobly spoken and well!” he replied, plac-
ing his hand tenderly on her head. “ Would
that his choice had fallen upon such as you! I
could be content l”

“Oh, that Douglas had not restricted me
from contessin‘g alll” she thought, as her heart
leaped with joy, which spread to hencDunte-
nance, and made her more beautiful than ever.

They were now joined by Mrs. Markham
and Mrs. Tyrrel, the, latter of whom was de-
lighted to perceive the favorable impression her
protegee had made upon hf old friend.

‘ And all the while'that Dora was pleading his
cause, Douglas Markham, almost broken-
hearted "andpan outcast from the home of his
ancestors,’ stood, with folded arms and yearn-
ing looks, gazing mistily through his tears on,
the scene of his many joys and his one great
sorrow. '

CHAPTER XIV. .
A TRAITOR TO LOVE.

LET us now turn” to Edith and Gerald, and
join them in their ramble ’as they walk handin-
hand in the shady avenue, guarded by mighty
trees, hoary with age, which had defied the de-
caying hand of time. ' _

If these leafy boughs, whispering and wav-
ing so gently in the breeze, could speak, what
tales, they ,would' tell of_ joys, sorrows, and
disappointed hopes! ' ‘

Edith was brimful of happiness, and all nat-
ure, both animate and inanimate, seemed sur—
rounded with ah'alo of glory such as it had
never before Worn for her. ‘

r “ Her Gerald,” as she loved to call him a
hundred times each“day, Was with her—'was
all her own, and she could gaze into his hand-
some facefand his eyes full of the. fire of intel-
lect and health, and cling to his, arm, andipress
his hand gently; and, oh, ecstasy of bliss, listen
" to his voice, which to her sounded sweeter than
the sweetest musicl " ,

He had been a little -. cold certainly, but had
thaWed under the influence of her winning,
gentle ways. ' ' r - '

“ And you will always be kind and gentle to
your Edie, Ge ‘ald, darling?” she said pleading-
ly. ' “ It won d break my heart if I thought
you did not love me. 'My love for you is such
a passion as to be idolatrous. I, live only for
you; I dream of you; my waking thoughts are
happiness overflows when
you are near mel 01}, Gerald, do not think
me unmaidenly because I speak out of the full-
ness 5: my heart! ‘ And let me tell you a
little secret, dear: I have not been happy
lately.” ’ . ,’ I

" “Yen sorroived, for your brother, perhaps,”
he said; “3 but heis safe now, and we shall all
be gladdened soon brasain beholding Him.”-

, " No, Gerald; it was not that. _ I sorrowed
niost for myself.”. ' r W ‘  V V I 

‘i- 1!; 1'

1’1 '. , V 2-.

 

 

"f‘Whthdie, dearest?“ ;   ’ ' ‘ .
-’  stubborn Wtuhbo‘m in itfloye for: '
another-um touched and Softener! by the ‘
geintle pleadings of the lovely maiden by his
51 e. . l I I , a 

“You will not be angry with me if ‘I tel
you why?” she said. '

’ “Angry-410! Why should I?” , -

“Because I thought I had a‘rival; because I
thought Dora Merton was trying to win your
love, and to office my image‘ from your
heart.” , .

“Edie,” he said, kindly but firmly, “ you
must not speak of her so; she is the ‘fountain of
purity and honor. You little know her noble
nature: I Were I free tomorrow, I would lay
my fortune, my love at her feet, and ask her to
honor me by accepting me.” ‘ 

A shade of displeasure passed over Edith’s
countenance; bar. it was quickly chased away,
and she smiled as swsetly as if his words had I
not stung her very‘ soul. She Would not chide
or anger him, but would try by ways of love
and gentle words to win back. his truant heart
to its allegiance. ' . , ,

“I am sure she is all that you say.” she 'said‘
sweetly; “but you are not free, Gerald; I
hold you with silken reins of love, and do not
fear that you will ever snap them."

“You are a dear, kind Edie,” he said,’pat—
ting her hand gently. “I hope I may be wor-
thy of you, my poor little Edie!” . )

' “I hope, Gerald, that we may be worthy of
each other. Let me whisper to. you a secret,” '-
she continued, blushing pretlily. "‘But no; I’
must keep it. It Will be a surprise for you"
,when we return to the house.” r

’Ge'rald, desirous of turning the conversation
into‘ another channel, said, “Have you any.
suspicion, Edie?” ~‘ l

“ or you?” she asked. “Oh, no. Suspicion
engenders doubts and fears; while love is con-
flding and trusting.” ' ' ’

“ I meant not that, but referred to your
brother’s wife. Have you any idea of whom
she is?” , . r ‘ ,

“None whatever; nor do I care to know,
If my brother has so far forgotten himself and
the honor of the family as to contract amino!-
liance with some unknown creature, I form
would never, recognize or meether.” \

“ls not that a harsh decision?” he asked.
“You say you love me;
through circumstances 'over which I had no
control, 1‘ became poor, would you‘lov‘e .me
still? ---wonld you marry me?” , ' ‘ r : ~

There was a ring of earnestness in his tone
which frightened her, and she'd-spilled; ’ “But v
you are not likely to‘ become poor, 
Why do you ask me such a question?“  '

f‘ Because Douglas’s wife is probably-$9 cir— ,
cumstanced. A lady by birth and dalmatian,
and possessed Tot beauty andtaccomplishr‘nents
of no mean'drder—wnefltted, in fact, to be an-
ornament of society, she is plunged suddenly
into poverty, but not into, disgriice, I would
act .to-mOrrow as he has done, and wed! the
woman I love, even were she in rage; ay, and:
I would be more gentle and tender to her be-
Cause of her past trials, and my lo‘veshollld .'
shield her from every earthly trouble. » Yet. a
5’0“ 355’ you WOUId not meet such .a‘ one, ior- e.
getting probably that [she would have too "
much spirit to force her society upon you.”

“ But, Gerald,’dear, I am only acting up to
the principles instilled into my mind from my .
birth. Don’t be too hard upon me. For your-
sake I would meet anybody, do'anything, face
poverty itself—even death—so ong as you
were near me, dearestl" And "she threw’her
arms around. his neck, and pressed her lips t’o
hi8, as it to ratify her words. » v , '

Traitor thongh‘he had been to herlovthe '
felt a return of' his aflection forher, and re»
turned her caresse with a. warmth that thrill- ,
ed her very soul, and caused,h_er to forget
earth, sky, everything in the great bliss 0f the
moment.’ . , ' l . 2‘, ,_
’V Dora and Mrs. Tyrrel, were approaching, and  
,the lovers relapsed intoa state 01 “away, v ;

‘ i

. I ,

 

‘ mortals;

,‘I'

 

    
 
  
 

If to-mon-ow,‘ . ‘ ,1

 

A. —

i

 

 

’ CHAPTER 
V . spear. \ . ,
“The day following that of Robert Biandford’s’
interview I with his step—mother. she and

. Thomas Sutton were seated in the dining-room
“she with a cloud upon her brow, harbinger

\ \

i i «its; coming storm; he busily engaged in read-

‘\ i pay 'thmpenoe a week for my schooling! ’

/ ing a sporting paper about the tips of a notable

race.

She had an open letter in her lap, and looked

angrily at him and then at it, as if they "were
' somehow mnnected; and so they were. '

She had just received a letter from a‘dear
ladyyfrieud of hers- telling her of a scandal
which was abroad in society about her having
married her footynan, whom she had introduced
to her, guest: at the recent dinner—party. The

winter went on to say that if she valued her .

friendship ’and that of her “ own numerous
friends, she would take‘ the earliest opportuni-
ty of refuting the report.
After glaring , at him, she said, harshly,
“ Thomas Sutton l" V .
“Yes, my dear,” he replied. “ What’s the
matter? Heard any disagreeable news? I am
just trying to find out‘what is goingto win the
coming race. I mean to put some money on
it.” _
“ Indeed!" she replied, with a sneer; “pray,
where is the money to come from?”
‘ “out, of my allowance, of course, as your

husband; unless you like to be generous for,

once. and give me a tenner.”

' “Generous, indeed! I think I have been a
fool!” ‘

4 “ It ain’t perlite toronterdict a lady; so
you‘re welcome to your opinion, madam!” l

“ It’s not every lady that marries her foot—
man ” .

A “‘ 'ght you are; it’s not every footman that
gets the chancel” V '

“ I took you out of livery, and made a gen-
tleman of you!” '

“I was more independent as your footman
than I am as your husband; you do. nothing
but bully me. I wasn’t ashamed to take you
to the altar, although there is a slight difl'er-
once in our ages!” '

‘f Dare you insult .me, sir!”

*‘Tmth‘s no insult, madam. You couldn’t
help being bornibefore me, no more than I can
help being younger than you.” '

r “ I wish you had never been born!” she said,
qfitetully. \ ' ‘ ' ,

“ And wish, me dead, too, no doubt. I ain’t
easily soared, though; the law perteets me
against all wiol'enco whatsoever. You “want
to kick up a row,yand drive me away, but 'I
don’t mean to go; I am werry comfortable
where I am, thank you!" ’

 “You can read?” she said, ironically; “if
r to, just tell me your opinion of thatl”-~tossing
. «the letter over to him. ‘

“Icon road, of course; didn’t my pgrents
“Don’t be so vulgarlmshe said,” with dis—

gust: “ but» pray read that letter.” ‘

- , He glanced it through, and said, “ It’sa very

' /

riendly letter, madam, though the writing is
uncommonly bad.”
“ Friendly!" she almost Icrenmed. “ Do

you know what yon have-dwel-lost me all

my friends!” " 7

“A precious good job for you!” he re-
marked. “ Friends! They come hereto eat
your dinners and drink your Wines, but it you

~ werein trouble tomorrow they would be the

 ’ But she stealed

:- *jiaewsi‘imsabzeunarmed»

 

first to turn their backs upon 3011- You de-
spise me, but I would work for you. so that
you should; not soil your hands; carry’coals,
sweep a crossing, or do any kind Of‘honest
work, to support you, simply because you are

V , .» my wife. You are better Without such friends,

I!“ ’8‘“ 80, my dear; one true heart is worth

' a bushel of {anyway  ‘ - .

I There was firing of sincerity in his" tout,

find 'exPrested in hisJook which ‘. touched her

heart." ' ‘ . - l 

herself against thofeeling,
'If you

. y ‘ _

i.»

 

 

 

will leave me and go abroad; promising never
to trouble me again, I will give you five thou-
sand dollarsl”. . ' '

“ SuppOse I say'no what then?” ~ ,

“Perha I have not offered enough?” she
said, with a sneer. ' '

"More than enough,” he. replied, rising.
“As your husband, 1 have claims which you
can‘t set aside; every stick in this house he-
longs, to me by law, for you forgotvto have
things settled on yourself, but-I’d scorn ’Dotake
advantage of that. I may be’ vulgar, but I’m
a men.
free and independent as when I came into it.
Goodby! Before “you see me again, you’ll
have to ask my pardon.”

Putting on his overcoat and but, he opened
the front door.

“Thomas,,come backl” she
not mean what I said.” ‘

“Too late!” he muttered, as he swung the
door to, and walked dow’n the steps, resolved
to face the world again bravely.

“ Hilloa!” said a voice at hiselbow. "‘ Where
are you 011’ to, Tom?"

' “0h, nowhere partickler,”he said. “ I'have
given myself the sack.” ’ ‘  ,

~ “I. see,” said Robert; “she’s ashamed of
you. It was the worst" day’s work my poor
father ever did in marrying her. Never mind;
I dare say everything will come right in the
end." ‘

“She’s seen the last of me, Bob, unless she
alters her line of conduct. I won’t be depend—
ent on any woman while I have two strong
hands and, a willing heart to work fo'r‘myself.
Besides, my wife is as cruel and spiteful as she
can be. I can’t forget how she treated her
niece, Dora Merton.”

. “Ah!” said Robert; “ you know the young
lady? l I have'got something to say about her.”

2‘ Nothing but good; I hope. Seehere, Bob;
the man who says a 'word against an angel
like her will, have to reckon with me. I’d
’ knock him down, if he was as big as a giant.”

“ Come along, Tom; this is no place to
speak of such matters. ‘ I want to do the lady
a service. and upset my step-mother’s plans.” _

“ That’s all right then,” said'I’homas, as they
walked on together to a quiet restaurant, which.
they entered, and where they round themselves
quite alone. , ‘

Robert unfolded Hrs. Blandford’s scheme
respecting the child, and asked Sutton if he
knew where it now was, or anything about
it", , , ,,

“ I don’t, Bob; but Sarah rm dOes.”

“She told me as much,” said Robert.

“ I did

“ De-

pend upon it, if we arevnot quick about it, that r

woman will prevent our seeing the child.”
' Thomas Sutton, who was looking out of the
window, said quickly: ‘
“ Why, there”: Susan Print in a Fulton ferry
’bus. Let’s follow her in a hack!" 5 '
“ Just the thing i” said Bob.
They stopped a hack, and told the driver to
keep the omnibus in view, but not to get ahead
of it, promising to
>trooble.
0n getting near enough, Thomas Sutton

him as she sat near the door, saying;
_ “When that womangets out, tell me.”

Susan alighted at the Fulton market, where
she Was joined by a great, coarse-looking
woman, and both adjourned to entail inside.

. Our friends dismissed the hack; and followed
them. ' I ’

“ She doesn’t know you, Bob,” said Thomas,
“so you had better go in; perhaps you’ll pick
up something that willtbe useful. ’ I’ll be Over
the way, and. will look out for you.”

Bob strolled in. and found the pair in earnest

conversation, and heard the name of Mary
Frost mentioned; but they ceased when he
came in, and lelt and walked in the direction
otfthe terry.

omas'Sutton joined his friend.

l‘im,’ you knbwithe‘ name or; Mary Frost?”

3mm, \
“Yealdo.” 7. 

 

,4.

 U ’

 

Np, I’ll walk out of this house now, as’

:whistleaa Whenym   2

that she was a friend at

“" Come along!” ,

pay him "well for his ‘
’ me; so be named buy your cakes.” _.

spoke to the hackman, and pointed her out to

“I can’t deny it,” she said. ,“Who 
you be? You haven’t any business  ms,

 

‘ blew itthrice, and turning to

x

‘ .-/_“ Has "she anything to :do this business,

do you think?” - , _ f ,
' “No, she’s ’t'oo honest; but she has :1 baby,
and was in the hospital with .Dora.” ' _ I ' '
“Depend upon it then, we are on the right.
scent,” said Bob. “ Shall we follow them?” .
Susan Prat, before entering the ferry-house,
looked carefully about to see if the strange
gentleman who had entered the market'had‘ 
followed her, for like most criminals, she wuss"
suspicious of being watched. ‘ ' ' _
“ Look here,” said Thomas; “ I know where
the Frosts live. Most likely Susan Prat is. . ;
going there.” . .1
" “ I think there can be no doubt of it, Tom. ‘ ~ 
What do you propose to do?” ~ 
"‘ Follow her; it she doesn’t go it won’t
matter; if she does, we can spoil her little
game.” * r .  ,
“ All right,” said Bob; “ I like this detective-
business. It’s quite refreshing to be. looking
after somebody, instead of somebody looking“,
after me,” ’ ' .
“They were soon across the ferry, and tol—
lowing in-the wake of Susan, who, with her K.
companion, quickly reached the tenement where , g
the Frosts lived. ; ,' ,  _  ;
'Robert‘Blandfor-d walked down the street-
past the house and came upon, Susan’s comm. ‘
plioe, who was at the corner, evidently-waiting! ; “;~
for her. _ ‘ ., 'rr’,’ >
Going up to her, he placed his hand "on, .
shoulder, saying, “I am atdetective, and know i 
all about your business: {on are here testes},   .
a child, and. your pal, Susan Prat, is  there ‘ . ~
at work.” : 5 . ~» '* ‘
“ Hesse, sir,.I knew nothing about it, r‘eept~ 
ing that a lady asked meto take a baby to ,- .
nurse.” ‘ - , '  A. v. 
“ Thomas Sutton then came, and Rolmrt;book—- :’ = . ,
oned him forward. .  r . ‘ 
When he Came up, he said, “Police-06mm, I,
just keep your eye on this woman while I go» 
into that homo. .,  _ , ,4  '  V
Sutton winked, ‘and touching his but yrs-t .15
spectfnlly, said, “ All: right, sh“;"hudu’t’l 'beti ,V ’ ‘
terkeepheroutofsighti":  ,. _ ' :.; ,,
“Yes, do; you know my  

V.

 

 
  
 
   
    
  
 
   
  
    
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
    
   
 
     
   
   
 
  
    
    
 
   
   
 

me.” ,. s _ ;
Meanwhile Susan Pratrhad  lat-(stalk,
and commenced it by telling the,  .child‘z  »

his mother‘s; 
asked wheresho was. \

“Hemmy’s out with daddy,”  tel». i
low answered, “and I am to Manure Let [my 
little brothers and sisters. mingle  to“,
bring us cakes homer" ,1   I'; ’3

“ Wouldn’t you us. some marmaladm.’ « .,
“ Suppose you and the other little  ,
and buy some?’——oflering kins ; y 9 

“ Me can’t. Baby is too little:  _ g  
——wouldn’t you, baby‘l—it brothereiogjkft "‘
You!” ‘ ,4 1": 7  »

Baby crowed and hold out his chubby arms 1 ,
when/Susan took him from the ’ V 
nursed him with Mansions! skill. . ' ,   

“lbw 5! you my” “9“”? “   Hithl

v v.

The childrenfien‘t on their ’
and having. watched l-hem’out elf-weight,  
“rapped baby in a  and 
of carrying it of, w _ Robert Blossom,
walked in, and said, “  heme?”

Susan turned pale, (or she recognimd him as
the man. whom she had seenin the} private her,»
and suspected mischief. r- ,  ’ 

“She ‘is not,” Susan replied; “$613033?
know when she wmiboib.” " ~ ‘4'. e7 "

“Let me see,” he said, looking at hex: .reuri—»,
ously; “where did we meet We? ah, I.~
recollect now! You were in custody {01' ml-
ing a diamond bracelet, and War more
Susan Prat, formerly ahwpital nurse.” ,  7

I’m sure!” I . , "  , _.

it You’re mm. ’ kart. ,  fl,  I 
whole-in custody,und_has  . s11; ‘
. Takings. dq’s whistle  his 
her, said, "if 

ll

 

' ' ‘ wuehmatter.’

    

 

.R‘ I;

 

 

 

,;.i,°,’~ g. “'1' l, ‘. x , 
Q. , _- -. . rrv

 

 

 

‘ . a detective.“ g'Youy had rbettefimake' a. clean;

'1'. breast otit if you wish to escape'punishment.”

Thomas Sutton sent the woman in, but re—r

 maimed outside himself,‘not caring to be seen
. by Sultan at this stage of the proceedings.

Mary Frest now came in-— as was her cusv

 tom at this hour'a—to attend to the‘ children;

'  and was surprised to see so many visitors.

I ’, 'Thc“u.psh0t of the» affair was, that Susan
opium; confessed that the child was Dora’s and
'that she had changed it for Mary’s dead baby
ntfthe instigation of a certain ladyp whose

. ’ nameshe declined to giVe, not caring to incur

afresh'the enmity of such a dangerous person

; _, .;'&,Mm Blandford.

/ ’g Shemade this coufession in writing, and it
.  duly signed by Robert Blandford .and
‘ ’  Sutton. ’  ’

Susan and her companion were allowed to

 H '  lays aftervthey had given their addresses,‘
‘ , .‘ Which Robert Blandtord, shrewdly suspected

  false. ‘ »
But as he had gained his point, this did not
 . ,It was arranged that Mary, Thomas Sutton,
“   when Blaudford should take the child to
 whose address was known, as she had
, Written'to the Frosts from Mr. Markham’e.
__   f‘I’ll putit in her arms myself,” said Mary,
.' Nadine glad to do it, for she’s a dear good
friend to. all of us. If it had been anybody
 .  would have fought for the child that I
v . buckled at my breast, and that crept into my
 until I: loved it more dearly than any of

 ether children. It will make Dora. so.

917, peer girl-she’s'suflered muc‘hl”, . ,

‘ I: Thomas’-Suttou«and hie-friend promised to .

 oallfcr he: at “an‘elrl'y- hour next day, and
  '. left the place well satisfied with the success of

 

, CHAPTER XVI.
,.anconcu.rhrxon.

 V  6mm Tynan was an enigma to himself.
  one who loved him madly, and

 title, wealth, and rare beauty, '

 loved another passionately, although she
‘  nu cousin’s wit . ‘

a ' diheeould' purchase peace of mind, he would

:5: parted with half his worldly pcsv

. when, for of all menhe'Was most miserable.
' '  lifebhad gene smoothly with him,
passions had ruffled its surface.
. new eXperiencing what it was to do
7' battle with self, to wrestle and strive like a
'  with a monster which threatened to
 honor as well as his happiness.
‘7 “list him that standeth take heed lest he
in" a." wine maxim, and one which poor
‘Wity'ou‘ght to remember always.
,L .. (With a soul ill at'ease, he took his gun, and
  ' ‘03 intcthe' woods. . l v
“i?  for solitude, and escaped from
 the upon him, feelingthat
Lfiufiffiather charms of refined society, but
,ill accordedmith his present state of mind.
  'wiWnslshut out‘ from human ken, he
 threwlfimselt on a grassy knoll, and gave way
"‘éiwlthe‘despair which gnawed at his heart, and
,  him  thethc‘ur'ot his birth, and also
' jihatothlsineddfi; with Don.
  perfect stillness reigned around him,
. ' Token only byasott rustling or the «leaves in
 film" evening breeze. ‘ .
' i If Raising himself on his elbow, he looked
“aroundand ‘saw 32 ‘wellkuown form, that of
 Douglas, who was standing with his
’ becktownrd him, evidently lost in deep medi-
 fitted.   p  »_ ,
' ‘1' - *Iztbe‘a'fiash of lightning‘in a summer’s sky,
\»  .the mind of Gerald Tyrrell a ter-
\ r tibia” temptation, which appalled him.
/'  .Douglae; and: he had grown up together;
shared each other’s sport and pastimes. They
q  other with adept}: and intensity
 that crusty tine! brotherhood.
 Row Ire-hated him; because he was Dora’s

,r1),
3.: ,

 

.

. \ I I ‘ I V ,4 V >‘Ifi’.

a   You   

y

yearns)? tongue can tell of thedeed which will,
sweep him from your path forever!” ’ ’

his temptation, that cold perspiration [stood in
great beads upon his fevered' brow, and fell
upon his hand like splashes of rain.

rising and approaching Douglas, said, “ Wel—
,come home, cousin! You have been missad by
those'Who love you, and who have been wait-
ing to make merry and kill the ‘fatted calf,’
for the return of one who, like the prodigal
son. had gone away into a far-oil? country."

f‘I am glad to see you, Gerald!” Douglas
said shaking his cousin’s band cordially.
“Will you do me the favor of not mention-
ing our having met?” '

. “Why? If you only knew that, in yonder
mansion there is a woman—~au angel, I should
say—who hangers for a sight of you, you would
fly to her Withouta moment’s delay.” ‘

, “Gerald, I am in no mood for jesting.”

“I was never more serious in my life. I
refer to your wife.” ‘

“Impossible! How came she there? Do
they know who she is? If so, they would cast
her forth, as I have been!”

Leading Douglas by the hand, they seated
themselves on the grassy knoll, when Gerald
told him the sad. story of Dora’s life since hus-
band and wife had parted, of his (Gerald’s)
fateful. meeting with her, of the love his mother
bore her, of her kind reception by his (Dougv
las’e) family, and of the cruel report which had
reached Dora of her husband’s death. , y

The cousins talked long and earnestly, and
made certain arrangements which gladdened
both their hearts.

When Gerald parted from Douglas he was
 old self again. Henceforwa‘i‘d Dora would
be to him as a dear sister; his unholy passion
for her had, fled with the awful temptation
that had agonized his soul. , v
' » On returning to the house he was, so bright
and cheerful, and looked so handsome, that
Edith was ready to fall in love with him over

11. r . .

She, too, was looking radiantly happy, for
their wedding-day had, been-fixed, and he in
two months’ time Would be hers forever-r

Seating himself near her, he pressed her
hand tenderly, and whispered, f‘ Woulddear
Edie like to take ,a. stroll with, me? I Wish to
tell her allttle secret, and she shall tell me. her
promised secret in return.”

She whispered, l‘. Yes, darling. Where you
ere is paradise to me.”

' Under [the moonlight, and with the scent of
sweet flowers periuming the ,air, and the spit,
thrilling notes of the nightingale falling melo-
diously upon'the ear, Gerald, told her of her
brother’s return, and of. Dora being his wife.

“ He is waitmg for her in yonder- thicket,”
he said. “Let us. lead her to him, will you,
Edie darlingl’lw ’ ,   .
. ,_ “Yes,” she said. .“He has chosen me a
sister whom I can love. Leavegthe matter to
me. I will bring her here while you await
‘ my return.” I ~

With womanly tact she beguiled Dora. into
accompanying her to her room with, the
avowed object of showing her a, choice collec-
tion of jewelry. /

you were my own dear sister? Somebody is
waiting for you where the robins sing, to speak
to“ you of level” . ,

“Is it Douglas?” she asked, with a beating

=--heart and bedming eye. .

“Yes,” was the simple answer.. ‘ 
In the gleaming two hearts again met, two
souls were .rejoined,»husbaud and wife were
“once moretogether and in gludness, having
Parted in sorrow. j
“Come, Dora, my
us. ask our. parents’ pardon and their blessing."
. (limped Edith,pneceded5 them, to break

 

“  and the tempts: whispered, ‘j‘SlayJ

his tether and mother. a '

is;

[No eye 

So great was his agony in this hour of,

But he resisted the fearful temptation, and V

. As each as they-entered, she embraced Dora ,
tenderly; saying, “Why did you not tell me, ‘

beloved,” he said; ,“let. .

 

the welcome intelligence   to, x

" Edith did this with consummategjudgment; . ' ‘

'When Mr. Markham went forth to welcome

her happiness, leaning lovingly on his arm.

“Douglas, my “son, how is this? Do you
know this lady?” ' "

“ She is my wife.”

Edward Markham folded her'to his heart.
and kissed her tenderly, saying, “Douglas, you

 

‘
\

his son‘,‘he found Dora, radiantly beautiful m t

have made me the proudest ,and happiest of ‘

men in giving me such a daughter. Come, let
us Share our joy with dear mother.” " '
Impossible to describe the happiness which
followed; it was a. “joy 'with‘ which the
stranger intermeddleth not.” " '
And, when that same‘evening the post
brought a letter 'from rMary 'Frostft'elling

/

Dora that she would restore her child en‘tbe '

morrow, and explaining how the' discovery
had been brought. about, a new joy and cause
of rejoicing was given to the already‘h’appy
family circle.

 

When Susan Prat, more in malice than in

kindness, told Mrs. Blandford of the part which '

her husband and step-son had taken in restor—
ing Dora’s child to its mother, she received
such a shock that medical aid had to be called
in, when it was found that death~that grim

enemy which she so much dreadedéwas close‘ '

upon her! _ ,

She died with no loving hand to close her
eyes when she journeyed along “the valley of
the shadow of death!” '

She was buried with great pomp and coral
mony, but no mourners followed her to the
grave. “As we saw, so do we reap.” '

She had sown tares of hatred, malice, and a '

all uncharitahleness, and found at the 1m that
her life had been altogether unprofitable.

When her will was opened it was found that
she had left her husband a legacy of ten thou?
sand dollars, without acknowledging. their
relationship, simply describing him as “ Thomas
Sutton, my tootman,” ’ , “

After making a few‘ trifling bequests, to

Robert Blandtord among others, she left the,
bulk of her property to Dore, to  indeed

it belonged by right.‘

 

Armonth later, a. little group stood on the
deck of a vessel bound" from New York‘to
Liverpool. ' ‘ ' " "

The central figures were Robert Blandford, ,«

Cissy, his wife, and their infant child, who
were going to make themselves ahome, Where
his past would be forgotten. abd'a future of

toil and. honest industry would‘freinst‘ate inzi in
~ *3. i '

v n.

the good opinidn‘bt his fellowsni’en. _ . _
Douglas, Dora, Thomas "Sutton, and John
Clayton were ‘present'lto {bidf‘thetn farewell. f
When the bell magmas}: signal for t} lendévto
wish the voyager‘s ht 'ir'last"‘good-by, ’ Dora
slipped a sealed envelope into Cissy’s hand, as

nuk Ash.

1

shewhispered, “It 18’»; present for my god-

daughter.” ’ '

. , It "contained a hundred-dollar bill.“ ’ ,

 

Of the other PerSOnages of this story,- SxiSan

Prat faded out .0! knowledge altogether;
Thomas Suttcm was appointed  ,Harkhem‘s _,

stewardand agent, while. theFrcstsiwere in-
stalled in .the cosey lodge whiCh. graced the
entrance to the old estate. " ' . V . 

 

"I ‘In the month of August

8337 procession of carriages.

It was the wedding-day of

Edith Markham, and a union of hearts as well  ,
as hands,” for the trials through which ‘he‘vhud ‘ r '

passed had purified and strengthened his =1on
for her his blushing bride, 1WhOSO beautywas'
the delight of all beholders. , g , " ,
Dora and Douglas were there, looking happy
and ‘at peace with the whole uttering/they no
bad. wedded for love‘e sake. *  - a ‘ x

run as»;

, the'wedding'" bells .
rung merrily pea] after pea], and down the."
grand old avenue a bridal party passed in a"—

Gerald Tyrrel‘hml

 

 

 

 

   

"’". "‘13": I?"

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n 1 Adventures of Buflallo Bill. Prom Boyhood to Man
' hood. Deeds elf-Daring, and Romantic Incidents in the early 3-
- life of ‘William F.-<"Cedy. By Confrontissvlngrahem. '
2 The Ocean Hunters: 013. The Chase b‘f'the Leviathan. ,,
Romance of 'Perilons‘ Adventure.
V' W A”, extra large numbervm V , V V ‘ V |
' 3 Adventures of Wild Bill. the Pistol Prince. Remarkable
‘ . career of J. B.‘ Hikek, (knewn to the world as “ Wild Bill ”), giving.{
the true story of his adventures and acts. By Prentiss Ingraham. 
I 4 The Prairie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle Herders. By Joe. ‘
E. Badger, Jr. ‘
5 Texas Jack. the Mustang
the Life of J , B. Omohundro, ‘
6 Cruise of the
 Dunning Clark. , x V. r
7 Bo Joe: The~History of a Young “ Border, Rhflenfl “Brief ‘
Scenes on the Lite of Joseph-E Badger. Jr. By Post.
~ V 8 The Plyawayrréfimt; or,;Yankee Boysw’Round the! World.
2 IV -ByC.DuunlngCIerkt-,;w -  - VV V '1 V r
r, I ‘9 Bruin Adams. on Grizfly Adm',13oy Paw; ‘ Scenes
,, ‘ ' of Wild Adventure in the Life of itbe'i Boy Ranger of the Rocky
Mountains. By Col. Prentiss Ingrehem.  ' ‘J



KVm’g.‘ ._Thrilling Adventures in
V‘ Vexes J aek.” fly 001. P, lngmham. ,
Plyaway; or, Yankee Boye._.inV (xylem; By C.

10 The Snow Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of Fur-Lend, A Narra-
  « .v , tiveof Sportand Life eronnd Lakewmnipeg. By T., (De/Herbaugh.
’V :\ -11 OldGz-iulyA )theBear’I‘amer: or,TheMmmhof
‘ .  Mountain. , By Dr, Frank Pewellr ‘ _V

V 12 Woods and Waters; or, The Exploits

r"  Club. V By Capt; Frederick Whittakem ‘r V V

 A Rolling Stone: Incidentsjdthe Career“  

.  Boy swimmer 081.1’rentiés In'rhh'eni. By or. V
‘ 714;. Win the" v . , I  Meta; Hwy”
. Bnfl‘olo  By 01! Canines. V V V,   V ;
' 15 Kit V Demon; :Kiilge of Guiaer 01', Mountain Bathe and
.V  Trails: V   Vrp VVV V? 1‘ l  ,. ,V V .V. w,3  < ,

16 Red River Rovers : or, Lifean'd Adventures in the Northwest;

4 » 'By C. Dunning Clark. ‘  ‘ ' " ' v ' ' '
4231333 and Plating,“ or, __ V V
4 (Major Sam S. Hall.) By. C01..PrentlSSi lngraham. ,- _V VV
 Revolver; or, Elkeztmttleflfiil Gun: “Club

 Bnfi‘nIO‘VRange.r By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.  g; _ . V VV
19 Wi‘de-‘Avmke. George, the 3%,; Pioneer: or, Life m; Log

of the Littléton Gun.

  

 

 ' Owing; Incidente‘andfid v'entoreg  the BackwoOds’.“ ‘By-“Ed'; Willem
 20 ’Ihe’  €Dragbon ' or  Story of General’GéErgo A. v
E .V V V~ " “ Custerfifiom mfiinttoftb’e‘fié“ Hem. By Capt. F. Whittelger.
g ‘ v ‘ 21 Deade  a”, 39 mp, Why Wild Ned Harrie-the New _
3 ' V England Farm-leg, pecamezu ,Westerp Prince of   I By} ‘

 . . Edward L. Wheeler.
 2:: The Boy Exiles
, VV By T. C. Harbaquh.‘ V H V V V  V V VV

5' ' L "23 PM“ De..1‘a°y’ the Prélch Beast Charmer; or, New
' , York Beysm theJuagles. By C,»Dumng*C1firk., _ .~; ‘ - .
$34 The Sword Prime? , Th9.Rom'antic Life of Colonel Monetary,

“ ‘7(Ammm'Champmn'ammsd By Captain‘Fred. Whittaker; ' I
86 Round the Campfire : or. SnOw-Beund at «Fremont Cm,an

V . V V V A Tale of Roving Joe and his Hunter Bards. By Jog,- E, 394189an
 33 Sum-Shae Tom: ‘or, New" York“ “Boys in the Wilderness. A,
5 ~  V NarratiVe of sport and Peril ngaino  By '17:. C. Earmueb- ‘ A

pf  g; or; The“iWatch-Dog-'of Russia.

 
 
 

 

V , _  V   so new  ’s Bay’s; or- Life'Amon the minim ‘By.J.~ Rafi»
 _' I 27 Yollow‘Huh-,the Boy Chiefof the I Vawneegnghe ‘Ad.’ ' mail;  ’  lg  I l > r '1 ' " I
 - , V  - ventumns Career of Eddie Burgess 0f NebraSka. B’y Col.‘;fiigrahflm.*  _ A new ‘5339 Marxweek. ‘ 3' v I
 V V 186 The B 9ch the Great  , Stag find Camp uné mom’s Boar’s ‘mem' is for sale bran Newsdenlm, as»: some
 I .Cwl’e' 3’ quwink 9 E , .,  2 per cementum mailon receiptofsixcentfieach-  r r w, “ r.
 an The reflunefflnnter: or. Roving Joe as.    '         
' "Trapper and Hunter. '3; A. H. Fest. y L     .. ’  " '\ 98 William Street; NewYorhf. - . 

  

'~ 9 NOW READY AND V
'30  Perguson’é Cruise. A Tale of the Antarctic   _

4 .31; The  onflowa.
‘ B37 Captain . Mayne Reid. in

‘36 55mm Sim,e_the Lad with a Level new
3? bid: Taxman and His Boy  or, meme

- 39 1Q" %.Hawk‘George,,and Bis. Daringheeds: and; j".
:40.

‘ :42; .  young ,_ manner; or. maceromr’sfrwf 
 exam. ‘ .   w '

'44 The 8n97w
3.15 Jack: Kerry and TMfThe. wretchampiQQEW  ' B
Wild Adventureé of “Buckskin Sim)" ‘1 V , I , ' "   * V 
' I  ",~%¢i:§l’°_¢andoi' Killersslloeewm mew “29h! 

on- the  I? -V '  ‘   ’V W  ’
- l  Vfioyycoral FishersVzr_Or,The8Vea0avjern¢ 

 

 

 

    

‘

 

VIN" PRESS.

0. Running Clam. 'V . V  w o “
Pagéand a Fool Saved mm.

w  

 

V By‘ Captain Frederick Whittaker. ‘ - 
32 Wte'Be‘avér, the Indian Medidne 0139?: or; Be-
' mantic and Adventurous Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell,‘knom;en the ~
_ Border as “ Fancy Frankfl ‘V‘ VIron Face]? etc. VVBy   ‘ ~ 
33 Captain Ralph, the Young Explorer; on,mi  -- 
Among the Flees. By C. Dunning Clark;  V V  V '1'   _, 
34 The Young Bearfixmters. A Story of the flaps end altshaps V ‘- '4
of a Party of Boys in the Wilde of Michigan. , By Morris 
35 The LbstBoy Whalers 3 or. In the Shadow of the Earth Pole.
' »- By T420. Hathangh. *‘ ‘ I » ‘ '  ‘ ’ ‘ -  "

 

gleam. 'Boys , 

V tho'mero -.‘.-‘ Bounced.” By Edward Willett. '

of theflEsanimanx Border. By RogerVStaVrbnck. ‘ .V ‘ VVV V V _ 
38 ’Vfieitler’é Son; or, Adventures in’Wildemefis hhd'Cl'earA ,
ing.“ By EdWard 8. Ellis. f  - Y5 ‘. 4  V. ya :'

 

‘ in: _ Wilde ofthe South and me 331991, Prentiss;me V e
 Ice file” 111: forf’l‘he Castaway;st of the Long way  
‘Captain Frederck Whittaker;  3-; VA - V      V
41'  “Pampas Bantu-'3 or, New York Boys in  ‘ '

“By: 313,0. Harbaugh. ~ , w

  

. V ing V . .. n  V V
13  Billy. the Saddle. Prince. By Colonel- Pxentiss _
 ..In.gre;mm. . _ I - . I V V   
Hunters; or “Winter in‘tne    " '.
" ‘D‘e‘Forrest‘:  , ' ,  .'   

  

AdVehtu'r’es of Three Brats; Boys with the Tattooed,-

‘T ,Captain Frederick Whittaker; '.   7 
:TVgCCHarhaugh. ' 

‘, "»

    

» V  stunner; ,
481Di’clz, the Stony”;
, By Charles Morris. V V“ V , VV    V V  , 
49 Tip Treason, the Floater: or, Fortuneé'eand 
r V ' ’msxf'  By Edward“<Willett. *V are r . ‘5 ~ if.   -
60"1'118' Adirenturoue Life of Nfihfi‘fifikg (n .ij 1°,   a“   
" Bfn‘geéis.) . By Colonel lfrentl‘se Iagrnham;  (    V, V VI,
51 Who: colored 0 30758 01"; “1'00?” “(1135. Plafiafiflfi TB! ' ‘
,JOSepth. Badger, Jr. a; n: ~_—. .- . W.  ,
52 Honest, Harry; or, The Country Boy Ad
' lz’ Charles Morris; V
53 The Boy Detectives:
‘Bj'T; C. ’Harbaugh. ' V V
54 Californida Joe. The‘MysterVieus PlainSmain.
VIanraham. '
55’H'arry Son;

or; A Yank? “We   4

rift m the my. , $5: 9 '

or, The YoungVCalllornlaxjsVip V:
' ‘  'r t 5":«V  , .

 Gel. Prentise'V, .. 

3F

‘rs. The SailorlBoy Magician.  Prime; ‘ '

 

   
    

 

 

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2 “as It Lo .o‘tnor. Collegians

‘ , hearts. By m. 318.8011 Turner,AM.'D. ,

v « 3 The Girl JWle; or, The True and the False.
' :By Bertie-yr Campbell. '

{ll

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‘J
. The Qukxksands [of Life. By William neon

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 3 Heart to . can; 91‘, Fair Phyllis’ Love. .

 "B AiabelkeBonthw , . . .
g. 3%..“ in} he wyrmy ora The Young Men’s
\“ ‘ ,ard’.‘ By the author of ‘Clifton,” “Pride
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~ , 2 Necklace. By Rose Kenn y.
11 Entangled" or, A Dangerous
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2 His Lawful Wife; or, Myra, the Child of
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I l 1 A Loyal over or, The Lastof the Grime-
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' 18 3 like ‘ or, ghe mistemduerrlege. By =
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.319 The Broking; Beyrothal L

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or, Love versus
8.  ., _

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» 22 1%? fiflde of onlActo or,,Driven fro .
j_ ; I» a  hammer". ~ mintheWorld,”
‘ . “ on, ' e . , -r . .
 23 Egg; Year; or. Why She Proposed. By Sore.

24 Her Face Wan Her Fortune. By Elea-

. ‘ “:31 I Sihoolmiureesj or, Her- Untold
. ~ ., . .Arabella Southworth. .
1326' Without a Heart; or, Walking on the
. Brink. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. ‘
‘27 was She a Coq ette’i or,“A
It cannula. By Ben em Thackeray. ..
28  l chase; or, The Gamblers Wife. By
 m m‘fi'enkgngwpgmfl ‘ Se edFro Kim
  , I‘IBQOX',‘V mu -
<301.1,i.i i o, 

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 :1 wager-or. The  a,
 = a” ,y fire? meal-mom
38 m m alters; or. The Mystery of
“  {y no! Go. Variance; or,£Wm
“nonmwmm Pride.

 

ammo

   
 

7 Girl’sGood" Nome." " -

Y ‘ V W mama! Hal!-
.4moni nu hm-‘me

. :5; flamnggwm L:

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l A 'Brave car,“ 21:, Startlineg gauge.
Beat-mic Raynor, the/ “’ork Girl' or, I

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xi. Blinded by Love. ‘

 

4 I , , , .
‘ .54 one ‘Womuws Heart 5 or. Saved from the
3 Street. 3 George S. K'~zihié._  "
55 Shepid' 6t Love-Ills“; yon-Stvaingto
, Conquer. . By Arabella. Southworth. _
& 56 Love-Mad gor, Betrothéd Married Divorced
‘ and ——-. _B Wm. Mason 'l‘urnex', Ill. 1). ,
I 5'1A Brave hr]; or.’Sunshinc at; Last. By
l Alive Fleming. . ’ 
‘ 58 The Ebon Mask;
1 r ’ ‘Guardian, By‘egms. Meaty Reed'crewell. ,
594! Widow’u- lies; or.'A Bitter Vengeance.
By Rachel Bernhardt. r ' ,
y 80 Cecil’s Deceit; or. The Diamond Legacy.
By Mrs. Jon '9. Davis Burton. v , -
i 61 wicked can; or, The False and the
‘ v . By Sara ton. '
62 The Maniac Bride; or, Tue.Dead Secret
of Hollow Ash Hall. By Margaret Blount. ‘
63 The Creole Sisters; or. The Mystery of the
. ‘ . Pea-rye. By Mrs. Anna E. Porter.
64 What Jealousy Bid; or. The Heir of
Worsl‘gy Grange. By Alice Fleming.
65 The new octet; or, ’Twixt Cup and
L3. Col. Juan Lewis.
66 A to er’s Sin; or, Flora‘s Forgiveness.
By Rachel _.Bemhardt.
6'1 Forbidden Bans;
nee. By Arabella Southworth. ,
68 Weavers and Weft; or. “Love That Hath
Us In His Net." By Miss M. E. Breddon.
69 Camille; or, The Fate of a. Coquette. By)
‘Alexandrebumas. ’ '
'70 The Two 01-
71 _ 8mg"
usbendg; ,
72 The ‘ltwo..Wid.owe.
8  he]; or The
Girl. Bycxomd H11 11.

7
7.4 09011 On malne’s  e" or The 
= oivmaleoealrgd Shield. Effie a. ’.

ans. By D‘En .
“‘0. By My 3533 Wiie‘s

Annie Thomas.

 

.. Kate. By ,aeyGrraceEalpi It. 
26 0am N ell, the Orange Girl; or, The
B - ’ ’

._ H . , e.  , arm.
I "~21,   memormymdshe Mungeonapiofiewem le.
mungy ' km ’ i71.'chriuian Oak e ’s

' 84 1:110 Liam-e1» (gush.
_ OJ u’ n

5mm: not Girl {on A, Million oilioney. I

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, o n ry, one u; 0r, . , .
 ,  m. Bfleoefienn  . -'
g 33 ' Trust ‘Her Not. By

15 e Black Lady-of am. By J. 9. Le

Mrs. Roman. .-

istake. By the
author of r‘ixJohn fax, Gentleman,” etc.

78 Mg Yonhg’ Husband; or, A Oontusionin

' t 8 Family. By Myself. I

79 A - neon Amongst Women, B the
out or of “The Cost oi’l‘ler Lava,” “A lkled

Sin,” “ Dora Thome -” etc, etc. V {

-80 Her. Lora. end Master. By Florence

Man-yet. ' _.
81 Lucy Tom 1e, Sister of Charlotte; '
82 A Loner  e Ago. By Me erred. A
,83 Playin?’ tor‘fiig Stacy. . By Annie
M 7 0mm '

T
.the. author 0;
., .o Hallm, flemhn."”*'"~" ' ~
85 lied histrh’ . By Octave Feuillet.

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9‘0 ’Kfiorh Daughter. By Mary
0 .
9'2 ' Ian"?  onthe eanmgoffiheDay.

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an nghigefihmmfi’é Buy. 'By‘ Wel-
1'15.“‘§.§e‘i§'f;fi£do‘¥“‘§£“u§‘§§e .By WM

1:. '- .
‘ 1 1 3‘ may; ‘By Henry Kingsley.

 

 

» “side are“ or, nae-m 9g
1 l qggohrsezysy Captain E. A. I

in

or. The Myetefious‘

or, Alma's Disguised I

rials of 2a Factory”

38 it  A :o 3' .  s or. Allfwflquvi 3!.

.94~1‘he Q‘n . o
95 Letuee lupin . By Marsh.

96 flhuhtetl"flearu or. The Broken Bow
*9. fine-v ~  deem-m... .
as men oi“. mucok'

 

"F

 . . ,, .  :7 .' 1’32; '.  _- My... . . .,._...-
1 1 s The Vicar of Wakefield. By Oliver
Goldsmith. . ~ Vi _
1 l9 lilaufi Mohyau. By Annie Thoma-s. '
l20'l‘lladdcus of Warsaw. By 'Misx June
- _ Porter. v‘ » ‘ ‘

1,21'1‘he‘ King" of Nohhund. f By 3. L. Fm» '_

Jeon. , , \
12:2 Lovely-{the Widowor. .By W. 31.17th
~ R eray.   .1 r 

"123 A in Island Pfarl. ‘By B. L'Qezjepn.

124 Cousin Phillis. _  v. I

:12’ Leila- or.’ The Si oi  By Ed;

’  9 ward Bhlwer (LoydlfilkMp  ,

126 “'hen the Shi Comes 110319;, By
Walter Besant and ames Rice. I

127 One of the Family. By James Payn'.

128 The Birthright. By Mrs. Gore.

129 Motherless; or, The Farmer's Sweetheart.
By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

130 Homelese' or. Two Orphan Girls in New
York. By Al’lwrt W. Aiken.

131 Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry a!

, Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Crowell. {

132 Sold for Gold; or. Almost Lost. By Mrs. v
M. V. Victor. ‘

133 Lor‘d Roth’s Sin; 0!". Betrothedat the.

v ‘ . Cradle. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens.

134  He Love Her 1 By Bartley '1‘. Camp-

185 tinned Agaimt; or, Almost in His Power.
y .

lian Lovejoy.
  a}. Wife ‘1 By Mrs. Mary Reed

6137'  mirage on the cum By mss‘
ackeray.-  - ' . _
138 Poor Valeria! or. The Broken/Prom.

By Margaret Blount. , ,7: ,
‘139 Margaret Graham. By G. P. R. James.
'140 Without Mercy. By Bentley TBoxnpbell.
141 Honor Bound; or, Sealedto  By

Lillian Lovejoy. - r ~

l 149 Fleeing from Love. Hymn. Harriet
Irving.

143 Abducted- or. A Wicked women’s. work.
( ByRettWin ood. . r  ‘
144 A Strange Marriage; or,John>Foeeer’-s
" v E" By Lillian Lovej’ay.  . o
1451‘ o Girl’s Liven. BmeMal'yTReed.

Crowell.

» 14.6 A lie-porno. Venture or, For Love‘s
wn _ .

O . Sake. By Arabelle Sou worth.
141 The War or near“. By Corinne Gus!»
man.

1’18. "Which “We: the Woman '9 or, 3W '
Misjudged. BySaraClaxmn. . ‘ '

149 An Ambitions Girl or, Valid Be
AnActress. By Frances elen avenpofi‘."

150 Love Lord of All; 'or, In Her 013 at
Last. ByAliceMoy  , ' g. 

151 A Wil Girl; or. Love's Glamour. By
Corinne h r .

or. “A; War With

a .
I Cus men. ,
‘ a sacrifice-
1” $11.13;?» Harrth
She mm or A“ in new“;
1.53 ‘3ng :ByMrs.HaryB‘.eed'Ci-owen.f . '

 .e Not! or, A  ~
‘.“fia.“%§ifi an» Lovejoy. 0‘7"“ m”
5 Winninx’ Ways comet Atherton's'
1/5 Double'l’mthh, .- By‘m 3 uretBloznt. »
mass eCostm ,Cmokedm'th.
‘1‘“ ByAmbellaSouthwo  I s

157 A Girl’s Heart. 33' RectWinwood.

.I

158 A Bitter Mistake gem-,A'Young ell-1‘s, ,
gum“. .

Folly. By Agnes Mary. I
159- Lady llelen’ '« r’ w on
Secret. By the nitride E'Ellet ,
160 Buyin a an or, A Fair Martyr. By
menlgwjge , g _ ‘ ‘

161 Penrl'ofl’earis; or. Cloudéend Sunbeams.
By A. P. Morris, Jr. o  V .

162 A Fateiul flame; or. Wedded and Ported.
By Sara. Olaxton. _ ¥

163 The creole coating; or. Falseas Fair.
By Philipfi. Warm:rd 1 M3 '

164 A mum 0 Ni ‘ 01‘ Len 
Mails herring: WNW-hooking: Die "ens.

165 A
Ste

1‘!

. .5 A new {saw every week. .
.m...3.....mfi:°m.w m

(1 ye. . J . ma,

oeipt '81 30h '

Mother's 1‘

xk‘éeé‘lhin AND ADAMS “my
.’ l“ ’ 98 William Sweet, New Yoztlz.

   

' 9 Girl. A New England L0 9‘ f
sf”%’§§snmw.nm. _ ‘, ~ V . .

onto ,, r.