anouaoa

 

o‘obouaunnnn

 

 

 

(‘ream of American and Foreign Novels for Five ('enlu!

 

 

   

 

         
 

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“flit: ‘lhtfi‘wdlihf' W,“

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32.50 a year.

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

Mall Rates.

 

No.145. VOL. VI. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND A

 

 

Two Girls’ Lives.

BY MRS. MARY REED CROW'ELL.

 

 

CHAPTER I.
THE wrra‘s rLor.

AN apartment in a residence on Madison
avenue; an hour before the early winter sunset;
and a regall -beautiful woman, alone amid the
elegance an luxury and style of the palatial ,
abode. A woman whose matchless grace well .
accorded with her beauty of face and form, and
whose elegance of toilette suited perfectly the
surroundings.

Just now, her fringing lashes, black as mid-
night skies, swe t their curving fringe over her
marble-white c eeks; and as she eagerly read
and re-read the short, coarsely-penned letter
that she held in her jeweled hands, there was
just the faintest possible expression of anxiety ‘
on the full, red lips that were ever so slightly .
parted. ’

“Fifty thousand dollars, in own private fortune,
to go to my adopted chih, Edna Silvester, pro-
vided she is not married before her twentieth birth—
day. Her death or marriage before that time will
revert the legacy to my husband, (lraudon Saxton.“ ,

“YOU TELL, lF YUL‘ DARE!

l

  
  
  
   

i . “ , ,
filth-:7  - - ,» .4

‘ Copyrighted in 1882 by BEADLE AND ADAMS.

    
 
 
   

; .

  

August 2'2. 1562.

ST., N. Y.

 

 

That was what Mrs. Grandon Saxton was
reading as she sat there among the fast-gather-
in shadows of that November day; this beau-
ti ul woman, Grandon Saxton’s second wife,

. who was reading her predecessor’s informal

‘ her pocket-book, then leaned

testament.

She folded away the paper and placed it in

‘ and twisted a diamond ring on her finger, her
' eyes gazing through the plate-glass windows
‘ into the bloom of the conservatory beyond. ,
“ Fifty thousand dollars " to be Edna Silves-

ter’s—the girl she hated more than any mortal

: on earth: the frank, hi h-bred girl whom her

’ you enjoying a cozy half-hour by

t husband’s first wife ha , in her own childless-

ness, so cherished: Edna who was forever prov-
in a rival to her own daughter, Lenore.

t was a very annoying thought to Mrs. Sax-
ton that this interloper should be thus favored,
and not only in this one instance, but in another
that laid especially near her heart.

She was deep in her reverie, when her hus-
band came into the dim room.

“ Isidore! I had no idea you were here. W'ere
yourself, with
your thoughts for good com ny. ’

“ I was thinking of our Lenore, and Mr. Air
dre , and—Edna.”

S e looked up at him as she spoke, and she

MAW-w W at "gm" ‘1 

til i
a

DAMS, 98 WILLIAM

 

PRICE, 5 CENTS

 

l
saw reflected in his eyes some of the anxiety

hack in her chair '

she knew was in her own; and then she arose
from her low hassock, and swept over the car-
)et, her trailing skirts making a shimmer of.
ri htness, and seated herself in a chair whose
cus ions served as a foil for her beauty, then
bade Mr. Suxton draw his chair near her.

“Let us talk it over,” she said. “There re-
mains an hour, nearly, before dinner, and we
may as well dispose of the question."

“It seems to me there can be very little to
settle. The case is simpl this,” and Mr. Sax-
ton cr0§sed his legs. an leaned back in his
chair, with his elbows on the arms of it, and his
finger tips lightly touching each other. “ First,
it is our desire that Irnore, our only child,

‘ shall marry Oberdon Audrey, which, on account
, of the superior attractions of Miss Edna Silves-

ter. seems very improbable.”

Mrs. Saxton’s reply came eagerly. quickly:

“ I am sure Lenore is much prettier than your
first wife’s protege, Mr. Sexton. Lenore is a :

‘ perfect brunette, a most exquisite little Hebe. It‘
‘ is not Edna’s beauty that attracted Mr. Audrey.”

“ Edna is very pretty; though I am free to
confess it is less her appearance than a nameless
charm that somehow seems always about her.
(luly yesterday Mr. Audrey remarked to me
‘ what a fascinating girl Edna was.”

 

\‘UC'LI. an: THE DAY IF—"

 

 

 

2

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

 

“ Andllr. Audrey will neverbe ableto appre-
ciate Lenore so lon as Edna is before his eyes,
beget thongh he thinks she is, and a nameless
w . Did you ever care for her?"

Mr Sexton shru ged his shoulders. ‘

“Not particular , I am afraid. The truth is,
Isidore, there has ways been too much candor
frankness, independenCe about Edna for me. I
infinite] , )refer Lenore's style.”

' “Aan nore is our own—~and Edna Sylves-
ter shall not thwart her nor me, Mr. Sexton,”
and her voice took in its cadence a peculiarly
low, intense key, that alwa s meant she was
very much in earnest. and e rested her eyes
freely on his face. “ Mr. Saxton, Edna shall not
again have the opportunity to outshine- our

daughter as she has done in times past, ‘ uncon- I

sciously,’ I presume she would say, in that
haughty way of hers, if I would condescend to
take her to task.”

“Well, and what are you going to do?” ‘

Mrs. Sexton met his inqulring eyes, smiled, ’
and answered: 5

"It will be a very simple thing to do, Mr. 1
Sexton, considering whom we have to deal.
with.
Miss Edna another year’s schooling at Mount ,
Eden, which, thou h we know it is unnecessary, {
and which she wil doubtless dislike, she Will .
consent to in accordance with her ideas of duty. ;
Once there, Mr. Saxton, my word for it, she ,‘
will not darken our doors again. How I shall ‘
accomplish this I may tell you." '

Mrs. Saxton’s eyes were sparkling with a'
brillianc strangely at variance with or quiet, ,
represset tones and her husband knew by the ‘
wav she twirl her rings, that there was more 1
inside that scheming head of hers than she saw 1
fit to tell him. ,1

He smiled approvingly as she ceased speaking. a
It was a very sensible matter-of—fact wayrof‘
removing Edna and her attractions from Le- ;
nore’s way as well as from Mr. Audrey’s atten-
tion and admiration, and he signified his entire 3
willingness to assist to bring about the greatly 1
hoped for state of affairs between Lenore and ,
Mr. Audrey.

But—an an unpleasant sensation occurred to 1‘
him as he deliberated upon it—what did his wife 1

mean by as ' “ Edna would not darken their 1
doors a 'n ” ’
Did . Sexton mean to close them on the .

l forever, when she sent her of! to Mt. Eden? l

e hardly felt comfortabl about that. He al- l
ways intended to do we by his dead wife’s l
pistege; he had always done well by her until g
' own daughter, Lenore, suddenl -—it seemed I
suddenly to im as he thought 0 it now—(le-

velo into a fa’shionable oung lad .
Amen rlhood days Edna and Lenore had ,

been like steam—so far as their intercourse was E

considered. They never could have been like
sisters on the grounds of similarity of tastes,
views, appearances or actions; and the Very
c ristics that made Edna so different
from Lenore were those that made Mr. Saxton
not onllyfigislibe her, but, what inwardly an-

‘ , feel acontem of himself
anda forherandhersw we,er

we

{I Edna should W tent. Eden. He
knew wife spoke - whensheuid there i
would be no trouble gig!“ ‘ km

a princ refuse
a " And er. Sexton
Whfiflomsoience, which

so anno l

that Edna should have acomplete rene .gi
her wardrobe, and s princely supply of pin-

money. ;

Hrs. hm, who sat watchmg
ed thesefleeting Wt! we have
penn werec throng mind. . .

“Oh. mostwnly. t I would advise
yonrmhidoftheideaofthe
slaughter.”

a little oddly and it made m.
queuiy.. ‘How did she

   
 
 
 
 
 

Saxtonfoel
his

“m “MW-grant Es: Si"er h.
00 r ea go. as
me yilo

the table, some
_Ionltsntly recurring to him,
 unhiswifesug-

It is just this: you will decide to give  .

 

Runaboutituihe‘

ow what
was! Was there any I: Wrong: childless wife,

WW‘

I
her husband had one, with a slow, the tful
tread, that was so and noiseless as a cat 8.

She locked her door after she entered, and
then went to the pier glass that was let in the
wall between two of the front windows, and
stood looking
did reflection.

“Can you do it, Isidore Sexton? Are you
as brave of heart, as strong of soul, as you are
fair of face?"

She was asking the question of herself, and
for ansWer a mocking light brightened her eyes,
as if defying all weakness.

“I can 0 it through. I will carry it
throu h; and Edna SiIVester doesn’t rue the
day s e was born, then I am no prophetess!”

She be an removing the golden pendants from

just occurred to her, walked to the spealn'ng
tube, and called through it:

" Is Rachelle there? Send her to me."

Then she returned to the dressing—bureau, and
contined what she had been doing.

It was not more than five minutes before a
low, respectful knock sounded on the door.

“ It is you, Rachelle? Come in; I am wait-
mg."

A small, thin woman, with a footfall as soft
as snowflakes; with deepest, coal—black eyes,
that produced the strangest effect as they glow-
ed and smoldered under eyebrows of densest
whiteness. Her hair. fine, and soft as corn silk,
and white like her brows, was handed plainlv
and smoothly from her face, and drawn to 3
French knot at the back.

Her attire was senipulousl ' neat; a black al-
paca, made plainly fashionable; a white linen
collar, cuffs and milled apron.

1
her hand, and sat looking out on the leafless

earnestly, criti<~ally at the Splen- 3

her dain ears; then, as if the thought had ‘

trees of the park. ‘

What made Lenore «dislike .her so? Sure] .
she never had given her ocmsion, unless, c
it be fpossible, Lenorewas jealous of Mr Audrey?

A aint smile curled her Ii ' at the utter ri-
diculousness of the idea. e knew that Mr.
Audrey' was nothing to her, and never would
be, in all dprobability; certainly neyer, unless
she learne to carefor him more and very dif-
ferently than she did then.

To be sure she thoroughly liked him, and. ud-
mired him for qualities that should command
every true Woman’s respect; and they were
great friends too, sutficientl intimateto call
each other “Edna” and “O rdon," when to—
gether alone.

But she was heart free as yet, and that was
why she could not make herself believe Lenore

‘ was jealous on account of Oberdon Andre .

1

Her manner ,

was quiet, ladylike, but it somehow sug estod ,

a. suppressed excitement. She seemed ike a
woman who had seen terrible scenes, or who
kept feariul secrets, or who would be a danger-

J .
, ous enemy.

This was Rachelle: who was Mrs. Saxton‘s 3

maid, so far as public position in the family

Her reverie was beginnin to develop mto a
weariness of soul, when tiere came a light,
sprmgy ste along the hall, then a tap at the
door and t en an entrance.

“ knew I‘d find on here, Edna, so I came
up. It’s awfully onesomo down-stairs, with
inanmm busy over her stupid housekee ' ac-
counts, und )8. )a not yet in (mm his 0 06. ’

A clear, girlish voice it was, with a shade of
impatient recklessness in its tones, that con-
trasted ver foreiny with Edna’s, so quiet,
frank, lady ike.

Edna offered no especial welcome, nor did she
manifest an articular dis leasure at the in-
trusion; aniir Ignore chatte and laughed and
looked out the window with an exuberance of
spirit very delightful to experience, judging by
her bright, piquant face.

“ I presume on will be very gay, this Winter,
while I am at t. Eden,” Edna remarked, half-
bitterly, half-anxiously. "

Lenore did not seem to note the spirit of the

i remark.
“Ga 5 Indeed I shall be! Why, there’s no
end 0 fun in New York, in winter, and papa

went; who was an old friend and confidante ac— ‘

tually.

Rachelle knew Isidore Saxton as no human
being, not even Mr. Saxton, knew her.

As a girl, Isidorp Raleigh‘s dreams of am—
bition were confided to Rachelle Hunt. Her
later struggles to war a man who could sur-
round hcr with the weal h her soul ashedfor its
price of happiness; her quiet, thoughtfully plan—
ned, skillfully executed efforts to secure what

she desired; these, each in their turn, had been ‘

confided to Rachelle, and Rachelle had been
ever the discreet, far—seeing friend, whose as-
sistance was invaluable, whose advice was not
to be scorned.

And so when Isidore Raleigh married Mr.
! Sexton, e kept her promise to her friend, and
‘got her the position of maid; a ition Ra-
chelle quietl accepted, with no f pride, or
‘with no foo ish env that Isidore, as r as

. made her fairly shiver.

saVs I shall do exactly what I want to."
Edna made no reply, but Lenore’s words
For her to do asshe

1 chose, involved a series of madcap escapadeS.
‘ that not even Mr. or Mrs. Saxton dreamed of ;

5 on the cars, or more cul

silly adventures, foolish fliitin at the matinee,
. be nusdemeanors
when traveling, that Edna had both seen and
been told by Lenore, in moments of enthusiastic

, confidence.

3 hersel}, had manage to secure all the e egance ;

of the Saxton mansion.

 

CHAPTER II.
THE wavwaun BEAUTY.

A swanrsn-racnn girl than Edna Sylvaster
was rarely to be found: and yet, with a beauty
for below that of Miss Lenore Sexton, as Mrs.
Sexton had truly and proudly declared, Edna’s
attractiveness d ed on a certain charm of
mannerand f independence of character,
that were as native to her as her dainty, high-
bred wa that Mrs. Sexton would have given
Worlds or her do ter Lenore to possess. .

Who she was, no had wearied herself ask-
ing and wondering about. That she was a
l born lady was evident toothe if not to her-

self; that she was the object o ealous perse-
cution by Mrs. Sexton, and letter y by Len re,
5 she knew; that she had been picked u by .
' Sexton, a miserable waif in t c stree 0 Lou-
, don, and lovedand cared for by him and his
' she had both been told and re-
: mmmmw, since!“d whirthoxitéon, m her
,plemant w. , or was con-
sidered best that my to Mt. Eden toen-

flr a course of ext will“ been thinking
‘hlf-sorrowfully,  01 her past and
,mm Illa. Was rather weary

  

 
   
   
  
    
     

of hool : gladly boon-t. Ii,» had
flgnioyod her  as much “drum
’. ' V on. f
K ’ W. ‘1 had W her as-
”fi‘ “to 'W‘? if"
_ Joe 0' was
her. Edna leaned her find my:

Quaker
. taken, that‘s hll.

.Often Edna had remonstrated with pretty,
piquant Lenore, when she would insist on wav
mg her handkerchief at some dashing young
man with bold, ' ' eyes; and once when
Lenore was actually in t c act of answering an
admiring stranger who plead for the honor of
her acquaintance by letter, Edna had, b her
unwonted ehemency and resolute w' , so
frightened ore, that she had desisted, and so
saved herself—ah! only one knew what.

And now, her one safeguard was to be torn
away, and Lenore Sexton, with her Witching

beauty, her recklem care of co her
impulsive eagerness for excitement m

w .
mance, was to have her own way! 'a
It was little wonder Edna’s burdened
thou h it was with troubles of it; own, felt yam

add g of sick
“Lam, 0h, be care

  
   
 
      
   

fir 13$: orO I re.”
er 9 m . :_
herchoeks yy”  '39
that on] rare excitemust could». and

Lenore, coking in wonderment ,
crctly amazed at her earnest ' _
merely laughed. Thiamine h  . .

“ Promises are not for me. I" V
a moment I intend to give up  

why, you’re , .

3h hcfming do ' fir le

6 8 li t y mm m‘ ‘ 300‘ ‘5
cushionspgltlfie bgell rung, berm “mm It 9
as a child’s; her shiny brown 0y. dueling wi
merriment. .

Edna turned away from her With a thrill that
w” 81mm; contempt, for her carelessness. »»
a} am going in a moment. Den’t wait for

me.
Lem ymppedinthemiddlsofthe

add-m .
her the. losing its archness, her eyes

room,
even slier
g «3" £an Signal know what 011
'Yfl intend to wa 3'

“soil! {it “it for.
as W: and cattle mo.

,4;
Winn

  

“I have no idea 0 ‘way



’your father. ‘

  
 

S

 

 

.,

. .;Z"‘.,J..:. 5;...4'. ‘. .

    

 

TWO GIRL/S LIVrES.

 
 

 

Lendre,” Edna returned, in quiet hauteur. “If
I choose to warn him against your conduct, I
certainly shall do so, whenever and however I
d .

Lenore‘s fm fairly paled.
“you tell if you dare! You’ll rue the day
if_)

But Edna walked quietl past her, into the
hall and descended to the ' ' g-room. ..
' Lenore, trembling with rage, stood
looking after her, vowin terrible revenge in a
vague way; and so of two women who sat
down to reak bread at the same table with
Edna, both were enemies; and the man who
should have protected and cherished her, gazed
at her e, high‘bred face, and cursed the hour
she ha fallen in his hands and home.

 

CHAPTER III.
wno was run srv!

THE lights in Mr. Saxton’s parlor were turned
down to a delicious twilight radiance; the warm
atmosphere was laden with faint perfume from
the conservatory adjoining; while from the dis-
tant music-room came strains of sweetest melo—
\ dy, conjured b Lenore’s skillful fingers, who, as
she played, lit 6 thought whom she entertained,
and ow.
Edna Silvester had  herself in her black
silk trav ' dress for that last, formal evening
at home. 0 was attired ver ’ plainly, almost
to severi , and yet Oberdon udrey, when he
looked at er from the opposite end of the large
oriel window, thought never had she looked
fairer than in her plain costume of black, en-
livened only by the narrow embroidered linen
collar and cuffs, and the set of heavy gold jew-
elr she wore.
e was looki at her veryl earnestly as she
sat, half-wearied , leanin er head against
the curveof the way-Meta t t nestled so cosily
within the window. She had drawn one scarlet
satin curtain so that any one entering the room
would scarcely see her; and there she sat, so
fair, so  utterly alone. They had been
conversing 0n indiflerent topics, listening to the
witchery of the music, and en 'oying, uncon—
sciously, the quiet of the hour. ow, when Ed-
na’s e, proud face sunk back against the
vi ‘ -hued cushion, and Mr. Audrey noted the
sad longing in her wistful e es, there came such
tenderness in his heart for or that moved him
to lean suddenly forward and kiss her.

‘ Edna started; her cheek surged with blushes;
then she turned her grave eyes in full inquiry

11 n
p31 could not hel it, Edna!" out of the full-
ness of the heart—‘ and I can’t bear to see you
igniting so and; especially when—whlein I_ would
so supremely ha y if you won give me
Eermksi‘on to kim :33; as often as I pleased.
dnai dear, haven’t you seen for a long while
how love you?”

He his seat for one on the fete-o-
tete beside her; he took one of her hands in his,
and waited for her to answer him.

tAt first Edna waned bewildered: she looked
at him with surprise in her eyles, and a question-
ing expre-ion on her parted 'ps.

f?:,Oh, Ohsrdonl what can you be thinking
0

The words came half unwillingly. He smiled
at her sweet sh »

“ Ito you Whatlamthinking of?
That Edna Silvester is the sweetest darling in
allthoworld,a.mitb5§1wmbethehaicst
manli ifshewillgiveherselftome. na,
1001: at me, and tell me you Will be my wife!”

‘ tears sprung to her eyes. j‘ on, Oberdon,
has don’t! Indeed I can not! indeed I never

V6 thought of such a thing!”

“Think of it now! Oh, Edna, surely youwi‘ll
not disappoint me so?”

For a moment she snatched a glance, and saw
how white his face was.

- “YouwonldnothavemesayI cuedfor on
when I don’t—I mean the way you Wish? a
fride can lovs you, Oberdon, but oh! forget
you asked me to be our wife.”
_h of weiganl sympathy, was
or handful eyes, ir r-pearl
lashes, looked amt _
He made no answer for a moment; his mouth
twitched m the heavy black mmtache that
covegted it, and Edna saw how his eyes seamed

full
“I—-—sao Inn.me lean not com-
prehflldmi - wuss-unymwonld

acceptmyk"; wanted. so;lknswyou
werenot 1", DWfli

thhila - 
“Estonia-WWW“ .ditpyiaa

 

 

thrill of an ish when she saw the wer her
simple wo had over this lover of iers. She
knew he had a grand heart; she knew he was a
thorough nobleman in rinci 1e and action; she
knew—now that he sai so—t t he loved her;
she wanted some one to care for her so. __

It suddenly came upon her—this temptation
to accept Oberdon Audrey‘s offer of marriage—
not because she loved him, for she did not, but
because his arms would be such a quiet retreat
for her whom no one else seemed to want.

Should she ive herself to him, and let his
great love for ier'suflice for both? Perhaps in
time to come she would learn to care for him as
he cared for her; should she risk it?

Audrey saw the flush come to her face, usual-
lyso pale; he saw the glitter in her eyes, the
stern compression of the dainty red lips. '

“Oh, Ei na, you are reconsidering? You will
let me take you? Edna, my darling, only let
me prove how good I will be to you!”

' “Oberdon,” and his name sounded almost in
a, gasp from the sorely tempted irl, “ I can not.
If I loved you I would say so; ut I dare not

h I wish I could, for our sake.”

fhen he know—he w 0 had studied her so—
that his sweet dream of love with Edna Silves-
ter was over.

“Let me say good-by, then, and go away
where I can fight down this horrid trouble.
And, Edna, Srflllllse me if ever trouble comes,
and you nee me for any thing, you will send or
tell me. Promise, Edna!”

He drew her face down to his breast, and held
it there while he looked, as if he never could
sto , down in her pure, sad e '05, at her red
quivering lips. Then he kis. her over and
over: on cheek and brow and hair; then he held
her of! at arm’s length, with that hungry, pitiful
gaze in his black eyes.

“ You romise me, Edna, that if ever 'ou
garlign f end, a protector, a counselor, it s all

“ Indeed dear Oberdon, it shall be you.”

He suddenly strained her closely to him,
pressed 9. Ion , lon kiss on her mouth, and as
abruptly left er. till the strains of the music
went on; still the warm, perfumed air floated
around her, but Edna was not the same Edna.

A master-hand had touched the sealed fountain z

in her heart, that, true to its all-unconscious al-
legiance, sprung forth at the summons. \

A lover’s kisses had touched her lips; a lover’s
clingin arms had embraced her, and passionful
words alien on her awe-struck ears.

She sat there, in the twilight stunned, dazed
by it all. Oberdon, her friend, her brother-
Olga-don, her lover—Oberdon, her discarded
sui r.

Then a swift, sha n went shootin
thro h her newly-awrapkelhaedfiieart; poor, poog
Oben on! how it wounded her to grieve him so,
who had alwa 3 been so gentle, so kind to her.

Poor, dear berdon! how splendid he looked
with his face all love—li hted, pleading his cause
so eloquently; and w ien he held her against
him, raining kisses on her flushing face, how his
palertb'eauty had gone straight to her woman’s

ea .

And Edna felt her heart throbbing with a
sensation that was painfully delicious; while
away down deep, came softly slowl , the won-
derin uestion, self-asked, ‘ coul she have
possib y n mistaken? Then, of a sudden, the
music ceased, the gas was turned on in blinding
brilliancy, and Mr. and Mrs. Sexton and Lenore
were there with her.

So the e isode ended—it was the first actual
event in na Silvester's pure, ' lish life: she
had acted as her conscience toI her was best,
at the moment of decision: and now, after the
moment had , and her decision had gone
irrecoverably forth, if her woman’s heart sud-
denly awoke from its eighteen years of slumber,
it was hardly her fault. _

And yet, had Edna Silvester acted con
to her pure, noble instincts; had she accepted
Oberdon Audrey because of the restfulness he
could give ‘her, and she so wanted, this romance
would never have been; for on her refusal hug
the ha ess and misery of others beside her.
5611, W osewoof andw of lifewassosingu—
Iharly and fatefully to be woven in the webs of

are

Now that Mr. Saxton and hiswife, andLe-
nom come, in upon her, Edna resolutely banished
her reverie, and be talking gayl as she
grid, than she no cedawhitewra .onMrs.

plainly, in Mr. Satan’s, and indicated by lur-
prise on Lenoie's. ' , ,

Shemastonished, but-had notiongtowflt
to have it explained.

ve my hand where I can not lay my heart. 1

‘ whether she were happ

thatwas mirrored'almostas'

 

Ilewmwammw

“Perhaps you will allow us to congratulate
you on your remarkable good luck in Securing
an offer of marriage from Mr. Oberdon Au-
dre ?’

The offensive tones jarred on Edna’s ears;

‘ she lifted her head proudly, and looked Mrs.

Saxton full in the eyes—full of malicious anger.

“I do not comprehend you,” she returned,
quietly.

" No? One would think a person so capable
of maneuvering—"

A sudden, loud, sneering laugh from Lenore
interru ted her mother.

" An she said, only this afternoon, that she
and Mr. Audrey were only friends!”

Edna inet Leiiore’s gaze with the same roud
silence that scorned to ex ain a truth she w
was sacredly confident' ; and yet, her eyes
began to flash at the vile insinuation of “ man—
ngin ' to secure an offer!”

“ 'e will let the subject dro ,” said Mr. Sax-
ton, stiffly. “And we will ina ’e our adicus to-
night, as the carriage will take you away before
we rise in the morning." .

He extended his hand, and said “good-by;”
his wife bowed coldly: and Lenore laughed and
nodded. And that was her "good-by!” while
her thou hts were rov' here and there won-

5 derin w o told of Ober on’s offer; wondering

who ' ew.

 

CHAPTER IV.
THE BEAUTIFUL niuoox’s man.

No one in the grand house on Madison avenue
 Edna 'when she had gone or cared
or miserable at Mt.
Eden: if ible, Mrs. ton’s dislike of her
had ac um fresh impetus from the hour she
heard Edna had received an offer of mar—
riage from Oberdon Audrey. "

Rachelle had heard Edna and Oberdon; not
accidentallyeeeither, because she was constantly
at Edna's ls, consequent upon Mr. Saxton's
commands. _

Edna’s refusal of Mr. Audrey’s offer did not
in the least ameliorate Mrs. Saxton's unfriendli-
ness; rather, it fired her jealousy stillhotter to
think Edna had the opportunity to react what
it was her ambition to secure for Lenore.

Now, after Mr. Audrey’s pro the very
cantretempsshe had tried to prevent, Saxton
was more convinced than ever that was

well out of sight, because she knew, with her
keen, intuitive perception, that even if Edna
had refused Mr. Audrey she could not but help
regret the rejection, and in all probability re.
ceive another which she would accept. .

It was a very thing, then, that Edna
Silvester was we away from the handsome
house on Madison avenue, where there was so
much and to spare—except for her; that she
was so well removed, not only from sight but
from hearing; for at Mt. Eden no correspond-
ence was allowed whatever.

It certainly seemed that all things were work-
ing for good; and Mrs. Saxton, as she sat before
the grate in her dressing-room, toasting bet
slippered feet, smiled triumphantly in 811de
tion of the time when her ambitions Wouldbe
crowned with gratifying success.

She was very anxious to secure Oberdon An-
drey for Lenore; she and her husband had com-
pacted to leave no stone untamed to accomplish
the desirable parti; but, knowin the girl’s Will-
fulness, her waywa ‘ and ow there
wasalwaysastrcm ' 'tyofherne usalto
marry the lover of Silvester Mrs. Barton
had long ago decided on another eligible gentle-
man—and one of the two suitors Lenore should
accept, giving the preference to Oberdon ‘An-

re .

oranhouersSaxtonhadheensitting
there, absently caressing her shapely white
hands, or twirling the flashing jewels. on her
fingers; and Rachelle Hunt, from the side win-
dow where she sat mendin one of Lenmfe’s late
master-skirts, occasionally g _ up In curious
w
“ Has Mr. Andra called to-dayi”
MmSaxtonbi-oethesilence atlastb the
guestion that plainly indicath the tenor 0 her

hts. v .
“ attic-dang; Ithinkhehardlycanestooom
sinceMiss wentaway.” , .
A‘hsem'exptenion croaad Mrs. Saxton’lfaoo
ere e

“We’lltsachhimthatlanurekasgoodu
Bushman Ishalltallhimm _, 
ofall ’s 

With my eye- how   _

   

  

I,» , .

 

 

 

4

“ You are incredulous?”

“ I am. I know Mr. Audrey too well to think
he will be swayed from his alle 'ance to Edna
Silvester for a moment. I thin he will attri-
bute your language to the true motive.”

Mrs. Saxton flushed a trifle.

“Well, I think not, and at all events I shall
leave no stone unturned to abuse Edna to him.
He shall forget her, or——”

Her suddenly com ressed lips finished her
threat quite as form ly as any words could
have done.

Rachelle carefully went on with her delicate
task; and Mrs. Saxton leaned back in her chair
again for several minutes. Then a low laugh,
as if suggested by some sudden recollection, es-
caped her.

‘ I was so amused to see Mr. Saxton the day
I su gested we should send Edna to Mt. Eden

Her bright eyes were in them an expression
strangel at variance with her light pleasantry.
She stu ied Rachelle’s face so intently that
when Rachelle looked sudden] up and con—
fronted her, she started and fins ed as if detect-
ed in a ilty act.

“Per aps Mr. Saxton thinks, as I do that
there are more reasons than one for sending a
charming oung girl oi! to boardmg-school.”_

She it so uietly, with such exasperatmg
suggestiveness, (that Mrs. Saxton cou d have
struck her.

“ I am not sure I comprehend you, Rachelle,”
she returned, hau htil . “You do not mean
to insinuate any th ngl

She spoke rapidly, eagerly, and seemed to
fairly hang upon t 9 answer so long comm .
For Rachelle folded up the completed task,
wrap its dainty filmy whiteness in a satin
damask napkin, and laid the precious parcel in
the boudoir safe under lock and key, before she
ventured on a reply.

“ I do not mean to insinuate anything, Mrs.
Sexton. You have known me, and I you, long
enou to warrant plain speaking between us.
Wha I mean-rather wha I know is, that Edna
Silvester is not to inherit her fortune, or have a
chance to secure her a lover, if you can help It."

She looked Mrs. fully in the face as
she spoke in her low, unexcited voice; and Mrs.
Saxton’s face never changed a muscle as she lis-
tened, Only 1? a loomfi'wred light that seem-
ed to emanate rom in eyes did she give
token of the intense interest she felt.

“ And you, Rachelle, will help me win both
for Ifiy child?" .

“ ave I ever refused you any thing? What
shall I doll I have spied on her up toher depart-
ure, and now—what

“I hardly know what, myself. I know or
care nothing :beyond the fact that I would Eve
athonsand dollars to know Lenore was
811st trium hant rival.”

zMrs. Saxton s vered a little, and held out her ,

hands over the blaze.

“You would have forty-nine thousand left.
Rather an unequal division.”

Rachelle looked steadily in Mrs. Saxton’s eyes
as the awaited the answer.

“ I will give you a check for five thousand in
return for an oath of secrecy—on the day my
plans mature.”

She laid her cool hand on Rachelle’s; her eyes
were full of a concentrated light that made them
appear as if they radiated instead of receiving
it.

Her breast heaved in short, quick motions, and
Rachelle felt a muscular spasm of the clinging

fingers.
' Y will give me a vacation when I ask for
it, fiay my expenses?”

A am e accompanied her uiet request.

“ Whenever you ask it, as ong as you please,
and as much money as you want.”

Rachelle nodded er head carelessly, in accept-

mice.

“ Consider it mttled; and the subject dis-
missed until—"

A call from below summoned Rachelle. to
Lenore° and Isidore Saxton sat in the darkening
Ewilight, singing a sort of mute jubilate in her

cart.

CHAPTER V.
m mmn HEART.
’1‘!!! long winter evenings
Flyaway’s study-table were slipping by, slowly
and not very delightqu , at least to Mix 811-
vector, who, as head £11: in the Mt. Eden In-
0

 

Ifltnte,,had enough in asaistingleas fort -
Mofiu,whoweremore§mmpttcav

 , 'di'pr _ , , todisoover
«mum haddlecoveredfpr

,   now. am unr- :5-

around Madame a

"Two GIRL’S LIVES.

i turn to Mt. Eden, two long, weary) months since 1
had 1 his

the night Oberdon Audre d her of I
love for her and she had 1d him she could not l
accept it. Since then, Edna had passed through
strange experiences and not the least distress- 2
ing was the news t Mrs. Saxton positively .
made a point of telling in her short, periodical ‘
letters, of Mr. Audreys continual intimacy at 1
l the house; of his drives and rides with Lenore ‘
of their on gements for theater and opera, and
of the on it that somehow was rumored of its
looking ver ' like “ a match.”

At first, .dna smiled in contempt. She, who
knew Oberdon so well, would never credit him _
with forgetting her so soon, so easil . She felt ,
a satisfied sort of comtcmpt in be ieving that
Mrs. Saxton was tr ing, and very vainly, to
heap added insult to he one pe trated before
she left home. Then there gra< uall be to
develo in her feelings, one of dull, um pain
that O rdon could even ay the least attention
to any one, after he had eclared he loved only
horse f. Then, somehow or other, she wished
she could for at hi and Lenore and every-
body; she wis ed she ad only one friend in all
the wide world to whom she could go with her
home—sick, heart—sick cares. True, she had
promised Oberdon tolet him be her friend, al-
ways and ever, but if it was true that he was
becomin devoted to Lenore Sexton, what need
had he 0 her friendship?

But was he reallg; attentive to Lenore? Mrs.
Saxton’s statemen she could not believe; and
so between doubt and fear she alternated until
one day, in her usual weekly letter from home.
Sherelcame wedding-cards—Lenore’s and Ober-

on s

It was hardly what one might call a blow to
Edna; and yet it hurt her, wounded her to her
heart’s core, that Oberdon Audrey had forgotten
her so soon.

After that Edna sought to for t it all; and
she succeeded, she thought, aide b a certain
goggleman who lived very near Mt. en Insti-
u .

This Garnett Fay was the nephew of the court-
ly old lady who lived on the adjoining pro$rty
to Mme. lyaway; a stylish, handsome f ow,
whose blue eyes and handsome hair, added to a
genial air and gallant devotedness, attracted
attention.

For several weeks he had passed the window
of Edna‘s room, night and morning, on his way
to and from the rural depot. At first he had
only lanced carelessly in, and Edna had merely
thoug t “ what a handsome man.” Later, his
gaze was a trifle more marked, while rfectly
respectful; and then, one bri ht align-noon,
when Mme. Flyaway and her e1 or u ils were
pla ng croquet on the lawn, and 013 Mrs. Fa
am Garnett had b and paused to watch
the game what 0 coal Mme. do than intro-
duce the ladies and gentlemen?

And so it began. _ Day after day the two had
met; ,from acquaintance to friendship, and
now—

On Edna’s la ,as she sat by the window,
looking out on t e wintry landscape, there was
1 a letter from Garnett Fay, and this is
wha it said:

“ Miss Emu: You will not censure me for being
too precipitate in offering you my truest affection
and asking in return, your consent to love me, and
be in own? Ever since lknew on, Edna, l have
. love you, and while 1 know you ave expressed no
preference particularly for me, stilll am presump-

uous enough to hope you will make me proud and
happy by accepting me."

To Edna, this letter seemed very manly, very
I straightforward; and, as it lay in her passive ‘
7 ban 3, shewondered what her duty was in re- ,
| gard to it. . l
5 'Once before she had refused an offer of mar-

, na ; and though now, as she watched the cold
I twmkhng of the stars, and she was constrained
. to admit it_ had been an unwise thing, she knew
i that With 1t, and him who offered it, she was
‘ forever done.

3' She was so lonely; never before had she
l realized it as here at school a 'n; other ls
‘ had parents, houses, friends; 8 had less an
i nothing. She so wanted one—only one near one,

 

 

 

dear one, with whom to talk, to whom to go,
who would make her interest theirs.

Did she love Garnett Fayi It seemed as if the
Fates were making a pla hing of her heart;
casting) it first toward rdon Audrey, then :
back her again; then at Garnett Fay, this
. handsome lover «Whose blue eyes could
‘ hold such intense ' this lover, who wu
' all , all tendons-I, all adoration. «j
! lie; sheanewered the nation bravelyanho r
lhadanewered itoncehe Ore. She did notlove
GM!» aavnmthan shehadlovedObcp;

l

l
I

~ woman always possessed

. your betrothed e.

 

don Audrey. At least, not asshe firmlyth ht.
a woman should love, who gave herself to er
husband for aye.

Would she ever experience such a thorough»
ness of affection? Had she not pomhizlg becOme
cold-hearted? More uprobably never a warm
affectionate, woma y nature, such as her ideal
. as her test glo ?

Agfijn, was it likel she shou d have ano er
offer of marriage, an was it not better for her['
to change her condition while she might? for‘
the very contemplation of going on through life,
as she was then going, made her heart sink.

So she reasoned—she, who was earning so
for a soul mate. And then when 9 had con-

! eluded her logic,,it was‘with the verdict—“I

willmarryhiml

CHAPTER VI.
NETTING m man.

“How can I thank you, Edna! how can I
rove my dell ht at your consent? Dearest a
' etime can on contain the gratitude I feel.”
Gamett Fay met her, very une y
to her, on the road between the Insti te and
the village, whither she had gone to make pur-

chases.

He caught her hand and drew her to his side
as they walked along.

“ Your note, though short,
less sweet than yourself, ,

He looked down in her pure eyes, and on her
flasks, that flushed under the ardor of his gaze

language.
M: IF could, only tell you my final conclusions,
. ay—

“Ednal I am never again “ Mr. Fay” to on.
Remember!” y

He smiled at her, disarming thus his assump-
tion of t ranny.

“I try to remember; only first, let me
tell you my reasons for accepting your efier of
marriage. After you learn them you may reject
me

She smiled at her own words, and looked up,
half-timidly to him. It was so , so
sweet, to have some one to talk towho really

H Reject you, my darling! never, the you
acknowledged you took me to get rid effigy im.
portunities.” _

As he spoke hestooped hishead and kissed
her white orehead.

“ But when I tell on I want to learn to-love
you very, ee dear y' when I confess I am
marrying you ausel am so lonely, so miser-
able—you do not  what you have said!”

“Not a word of it! You are still just the;
sweetest, truest, bravest little girl! I ever saw,
and your frank confessmn only makes me ad-
mire Tg'ou more, and love you the better.”

“ on, Mr. —- then, Garnett,” and shou-1906‘
her shy, swoet 6 es truthfully to: his, “I m
and I am sure you will never haveoecuion
find fault with me.”

Her voice was softly solemn, and “leaned
her light form more heavil on him "if,
those words. once spoken e “"3110?
there and pmned her faith forever

In silence they walked slow] on under the
bare, leafless avenue of ehns tent on their
private thou hts; and When they 19001104 the
gamut l to Mrs. Fay’s grounds, Garnett
P3

“ Edna, when shall we be married? You will
not make me wait long, will you? There isno
reasonwhyitneed be edatall.”

I-Ie was caressing her hand W “18 11“Based
in Its thick untlet. - ‘

“Mme. lyaway will Object: 0‘ 00W.
Other than her no one carat"

There was a wail of sadness in her words
that would have tmwhed the heart of her worst
enem .

was so sweet; only

She W1 love
you: and W] h me to stand between youandthe
world, will you care for naught beside i”

Edna’s heart was throbb 8 80 Wildly; it was
Married! married that

all so Strfile'gne act, and thereb ted
ve ' y semi-n.
{02mg loneliness and the uncared-forneel of

or c

It was very sudden this proposal; m had
(tibwghttolleharnmor‘ «Milandhb

igpaiflo character tiring mo-
mma Jumheeeemedtoomucham
lobe-ocean beet, alltoher.z

0f cou-e, the very M13“

‘ at ' ' '5‘!!ny
in: Garnetthad 

i
i
5
a
l

I

/

‘

 

 

sea... 5,. , ~ .

>4 'qumnn._...,u: -

 r ,

J.

 

 

 

 
   

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

 

 

  

the old lady; and Edna had heard Mme. say of
what a remarkably flne family they came.”

While she was mentally discussing all this,
Garnett stooped toward her.

“I am cal, dearest. You shall be m
bride to- ht. Meet me, little one, at this spo ,
at eight o clock, and I will be here to take you
I to the church.”

He her and let her go. She watched
him awa , and then, with strange fore '
. ‘ walked owly up the Institute walks.

Alarge, re rly furnished apartment it was,
upholstered file yellow satin; with a bri ht
. coal-fire b in an illuminated stove t at

“ reflected its ru dy light most cheerily in the
dusk that had already fallen. The red beams
plainly disclosed the o n piano, with its files of
new music; the cozy ounging-chairs an sofas
that were arranged so tastily and invitineg in

, a I fire-' hted nooks, b the lar malachite cen-
ter~ta le that st under t e chandelier, or
dotted here and there beside tiny tables where
one might lay one’s sewmg, play a game of
chess, or examine the_ magm cent revolving
stereoscopes, as fancy dictated.

B3! the long  window that faced the
roa leadi to the Side—entrance, a lady stood,
intently wa hing, as if for the expected ap«
pearance of some one who had been detained
on the way.

‘ . 7 She was not a young woman, neither to be
called old; rhaps the convenient term “old
maid” was 6 best that could be applied to her,
as regarded her appearance, rather than her
manners.

~ 1 ' She was 51?th under the average hight,

 

with a c ul, well-rounded fi ure that was

admirab y dressed in a black ' dinner toi-

lette. Her eyes must have been black, judging
from the 'etty hue of her hair and eyebrows,
whose pe ect smoothness and massiveness sug-
the skillful art of the hair-dealer rather

an that of Nature. The thick, green glasses
she wore—Miss Fa acknowledgei to be grow-
ing near-sighted an weak-e ed as she grew old-
, er—utterly defied investi ation of what was he-
neath them; but one litt e cared to know mire
of Miss Fay, after her charming conversation
once won one; that was enough to engage every

whit of attention. .

Since the Fays had come to’this cious,
elegant place-—“ Sunset View ” they ca ed it—
, it was astonishing what friends they had made,

' what prestige they had $ined in the vicinit '.
Miss Fay—“auntie” er handsome nephew
called her—laughineg and fmnkly admitted
she was too old now ever to get married, and so
, ' , she hadcentered her hopes, ambition and affec-

; tions on “her boy ”—G amett.

, , It was evident they were rich—their sur—
roundings, their servants indicated that. It be-
came very soon patent they were highly re-
; ‘spectable for they bore letters of introduction
‘. ’ to the  minister, the physician, and Mme.

» ' Fiyaway— 6 three magnatcs; and the letters
were from Mr. Grandon Saxton, of Madison
avenue, whose name was as good as gold.

Edna S lyester had only learned this latter
fact very ately; the evening after she parted
from her lover at the gate, and promised to
meet him ateight o'clock.

Quite accidentally, amid all her misgiving,
she heard at the Institute, from Madume‘s own
lips, that Mr. Grandon Sexton indorscd the new
neighbors at “Sunset View.” And then Edna
felt she could trust any one so recommended.

All this while, ever since Garnett Fay had

one ut to meet Edna, on her way home, Miss

ay had waited and watched at the window for

his return. And no“:y after an hour‘s tireless

iatience he was coming; she saw him raise his

‘ at to dna, and watched him hasten up the
path to the entrance. _

He came in quickly. With a bold, vigorous

step‘:i and bringing the freshness of the cool win-

a.“

 

 

  

, ter ay in his rments.
i: He aid asi e his overcoat—a heavy beaver,
 ed with fur, and trimmed with ele ant frog

bu tons—on the hall rack, hung his hat ide it,
and laid his gloves on the tiny shelf befom he
cameinto Miss Fay’s immediate )resence. When
he entered the room, it was wi a smile on his
' face whose triumph could not be mistaken.
, “ Garnett! you are successful! I can read it in\
 , your eyes.”
" ' , “Yes, “lave succeeded. Edna and I'areto
’ 1., ' be married tO-nlght, at eight o’clock."
1; His tones were «gist enough, but beneath was
a suppressed excl ment that for the moment,
seemed to communicate'i to the lady. A
vivid crimson spot suddenly burned on her
cheeks, and she turned abruptly away from the
window and swept up to Gar-aett, standing di-
‘ rectlv in front of him.

.

r 4'
, “fawn-parts“.

 

“ No! You surely do not bring me such glo-
rious news as that? .

A look of anxiety, lighted by hopefulness,
was on her face; and t en she removed her

lasses, that no one in the neighborhood save
er nephew had ever seen her without; and
then one saw how intensely black were her e es,
and how bushy and inky were the brows, ow
Jett the lashes. . u
“ t is lorious news, isn’t it? I never before
earned fty thousand dollars so easin and so
leasantly. ’Pon honor, auntie, I 0031 (1 fall in
ove with my pretty little Edna Without the
least trouble, were it not for my other attrac-
tion—‘ Jessica ’ you know. ”

Miss Fay’s lip curled. _

“Will you never have done with yourboyish
flirtatious? I am tired of hearing of this ‘Jes—
sica.’ How do you know but that she is some
brazen girl—of course she is no lady, or she
never would have made your acquaintance as
she did.”

“Not m
heard of ame Fay.
with ‘ Lord Ulmerstone.’ ” _ _

He lau hed, and leaned back lazily m 1118
chair, looking, as Miss Fay thought, handsome
enough, and graceful enough to win any girl 5
heart. _

“I think my Jessica is rich, auntie, because
she says—”

She waved her hand impatiently.

“ Don’t talk of her again. that will she, _or
anéother irl be to you after you are married
to dna Si vesterl

Garnett smiled oddly. .

“That will make no difference, auntie mine.
You see I must love somebody, and it will notbe
my wife. ”

“ While you willingly accept her fortune.”

Miss Fa said it dryl . .

“Exact y. Fifty t ousand ’11 last qmte a
While, and Edna is a nice little girl enough.”

“She is a noble 'rl; altogether too good for
you, Garnett, and:1 I can’t see why gm don’t
care for her, since you have made her lieveso;
she loves you, I know."

“ No, she don’t,” be returned, quickly. “ She
confessed that, and several other misgivings. So
you see we will be even on no score. ’

Miss Fay walked slowly u and down the lon
room, where the flashes from the fire made weir
shadows of her moving figure. She seemed
thinking deeply; and Garnett watched her lazily
for several minutes before he arose from his

so uaintance, auntie; she neyer
She is corresponding

chair.

“I’d like some dinner: and at a quarteer
ei ht I want Jerry with the brou ham, at the
side door. I’ll bring Edna back ere, auntie.
Her room is ready 1"

Miss Fay bowed assent, and Garnett gave
her his arm into the dinin -parlor.

“Have Marshalls set unch for us, auntie,
will you? and at half~past eight be ready to
con tulate me.”

e threw her a kiss as he went up-stairs to
make some change in his toilette.

He stood before his dressing case, carefully
combing his luxuriant blonde side-whiskers,
whose curling points rested on his broad breast;
he was looking very well be t ought, and hesi-
tated before e exchanged his black vest and
necktie for white.

“ Fifty thousand dollars! Well, I have come
to the conclusion it‘s worth it, if it does come
in Edna Silvester’s hand. I wonder what my
piquant little Jessica would say if she knew

er adoring ‘Vivian’ was reparing, like the
innocent lamb he is, for tie slaughter? But
J essica will not know; and the delightful little
episode can continue as before.”

He arranged his narrow white satin bow to
his satisfaction, and selected his gloves; then
began his colloquy again:

“I wonder where aunt Ella learned all this
regardin Miss Silvester? She knows her well,
and yet dna can not recall my auntie’s name-
she will recognize her, of course, when I pre-
sent them.”

He had drawn on his white glove, and stood i fairs. Mr.

admiring the shapely hand.
“ I’ll take _
thousand—and Edna; li eWise Jessica.”
He sauntered leisurely down-stairs to find the
ooachman awaiting him in the hall. He en-

for three especial reasons, and Lenore herself
recognized them as such.

Edna’s resence had been a sort of ne tive
safeguar over Lenore from the fact that more
was afraid of her father, and she knew Edna
would not shrink from the task, were it ever so
painful, of acquainting him with his da hter’s
conduct if it seemed heinous in Edna’s onest

eyes.
Again, besides the removal of this bridle on

_her recklessness, Lenore missed Edna more

‘ that Edna had been an entertaining

 

l l

i
i

i

‘ egregious

She found
companion
even while she was a fearless mentor; an
Lenore, quite naturally, desired something or
some one to take the place left vacant by Edna.
But the chief reason—the source of Edna’s
eatest apprehension—was her own inherent
ove of excitement; the restless longing after
romance, adventure, that she had drawn in
with her mother‘s milk. And this unfortunate
taste. added to a vanit as deep-rooted as the
breath she drew, and a iking for the society of
gentlemen—a fashionable and deplorable fault
to be met with every day—all this combination
of characteristics had tended to make of Lenore

than she had thought possible.

' Saxton, with her wonderful beauty, her extreme

self-assurance, and her remarkable tact, a most
uette.

So she hm flirted, to her heart’s content:
flirted until the novelty even of breaking v0ws
was an ennu ye pastime, and she sighed for fresh
fields of conquest, new modes of warfare.

And thus it'came about that she “answered
an advertisement" that, to New York’s shame
be it recordedilfippeared in the columns of a
prominent p I per.

It must fig admitated, pityingly, that Lenore
hardly had a thought of what she was doing
beyond the insatiable desire for novelty a
excitement. She, in common with many a
girl who will read this—and for whom this is
written, that .they may accept Lenore’s expe-

l rience for themselves, and avoid the first step

to the pitfall she found; Lenore, as other giddy-
heade( girls, thought there surely was no

in a private correspondence with a strange man
who advertised himself as rich, with plent of
leisure, a disposition for romantic frien ' ,
and an admirer of strictly brunette beauty 5)
whom be appealed for correspondence; and
then signed such an exquisite name—Uhner—

stone.

A vlerycaptigat' nglkhifinm‘e wrote him
—a.rc,piquan,an ge rcharmmg' 'one
that any man could not have helped being
pleased with. She signed her name “Jessica; ’
and so the correspondence was inaugurated a
ggek after Edna Silvester had gone back toMt.

en.

Lenore was deeply interested in Ulmerstone’s
letters, written in such a splendid hand, with
such faultless ca itals, and small, correctly-
shaded running etters. The envelopes and
sheets were stamped with a monogram, V. U. ,”
wreathed in immortelles, and above it was a
crest, the crest of the ancient family of “U1-
merstone-Vivians,” Who had come over with
William the Conqueror, and who lived now in
En land in their palatial castle.

e—this Vivian of hers—was travelin in
America for pleasure: he thankedhis 00d ai
and all presiding deities that he met his
charming Jessica—spiritually met of course—
before he returned to the ham ' halls of his
ancestors; and he hoped the day was not dis-
tant when he would receive her sweet consent
to let him visit her, and physically see what
he had so long known, his dearest friend, Jes-
3108..
About these letters there was just a tinge of

g romance that suited Lenore admirably; an not
‘ for a moment did she doubt the truth of an as-

sertion her ardent admirer made. Daily she
thought of him; hourly I might say, until there
was but one person in all the wide world to her,
and he—a stranger she had never seen.
To do them justice, Mr. and Mrs. Saxton had
not the sli htest idea of the condition of af-
Saxton dele the care of Lenore
to his wife, and she in er immense pride for

precious ood care of that fifty ‘ her daughter, never for a moment supposed she

was not perfection, through and through.
So, unsuspected, un Lenore Sexton
allowed the first loveo her girlish heart to a:

tered the carriage: Jerr mountedthe box, and forth, gradually, it is true, but strong in

t Fay was of! to married to Edna an.
v r.

CHAPTER VII.

blonrvmo urn nncsrvnn.
As EdnaSilvesterhad predicted, horde

nor
are from Mr. Saxton’s house gig: free rem to Whom every one o! ‘

Lenore’s pitiful tendencies.

\

slow growth, toward this lover who had won

her Withhispen.

She hadneverevenseenhis pickup; shehard-
ly thought whatkind of his must be' she,
hadasked him of course t he looked
and when he yreturned that he was

ineither “fair sort of mongrel

prize for ugliness,”

was the tactishe felt. with athrillofsalsfaction. thatho

 
   

    
      
        
        

  
  

\

 

. from the base of which to the roof of the house

I)
v

 

and pineapple fritters.

6

 

A

Imust be handsome to afford such wholesale de-

preciation of his charms.

Contrary to most girls’ habit, Lenore had
taken no one to her confidence; alone she en-
jo ed her deli ht, and alone she risked.

f she was a. sent-minded, it was not sufficient-
ly marked to excite her parents’ remark; but
one evening, when she came down to dinner.
her mother at once noticed her flushed cheeks
and sparklin eyes.

“I suspect r. Audrey has been here while I
was out driving; is that so, Lenore?”

Her mother smiled over the low, silver sugar

m.

A deeper tint darkened her daughter’s cheeks,
and her lip t curled the least in the world.

“Mr. Au rey! How many times must I tell
you, mamma, hat I wouldn't give that for Mr.
Audrey?”

She spoke with a vehemence unusual for her, ‘
and then lifted a tiny chip of egg-shell in her

flnfier.

r. Saxton just glanced up from his coffee he
was slow] sipping; and her i‘nother’s face in-
stantly re axed from the fond arch smile into a.
cold reproof.

“You need not be so emphatic, Lenore. Be-
sides, I’am not sure that Mr. Audrey car 5 suf—
ficiently for you to warrant such a rash ( isplay .
of temper.”

If Mrs. Saxton thought to surprise Lenore into
a confession of any act, she was disap ointcd,
for Lenore said not a word further on he sub-
ject, but went on quietly with her fried ortolan ‘

But Mrs. Sexton observed the excitement, so
intense and still kept so determinedly down,
that manifested itsel in Lenore’s scarlet checks
and bright eyes, and as the irl gracefully but
decisively excused erself rom dessert, her
mother wondered what was the occasion of it

To tell the truth, such demeanor rather an-
noyed Mrs. Saxton. She referred the cold,
impassive behavior that ice ed within its unde- i
monstrative arms the emotions that were glow-
ing and kindling beneath; she liked, for in-
stance Edna Silvester’s cool manner that so ef— i
fectimlly misled one. ‘

To be sure she had no idea of what it was that 3
was so working on Lenore; or, if she gave it a
thought, beyond the one that it was not Ober~ ‘

l
>

don Audrey after all, Mrs. Saxton charitablyi t

ascribed it to some passincr girlish flirtation;-
smiled serenely at thought of Lenore’s beautiful 1
face and Hebe form—and for rot it all in thel
all-absorbing interest she took in another direc- :
tion. i

‘ Affairs were progressing flnel regarding Ed- i
na Silvester; Rachelle. Hunt ha asked and been ,
granted a three months’ vacation. The sum of ,
mone she demanded—large, unseemly lar e
thoug it was—Mrs. Sexton had unhesitating y y
given her for current expenses. And now, ,
when Rachelle had been gone nearly the entire ,
three months, when letters came regularly stat- 
ing that all was Well, and especial] when Ra— ‘.
chelle had written in her last, most {leavin un- E
derscored, that “ EDNA SILVEst would never ‘
trouble Mrs. Saxton again,” it was little wonder 1
that in her satisfaction on that account, other ‘
and minor matters slipped by; even if it con:
earned her darling Lenore. 3

And Lenore? i

Her step was quicker than was wont as she ‘
went up the velvet-covered grand staircase, ;
was a large, octagonal opening, whose. covering
was richly-tinted glass, thatlent subdued luster v
over the costly paintings and statuary that l
Here arranged in the gallery on the secondf

oor. 

A rosewood railing surrounded and closedI
in the alle , and against the carved panels}
Lenore can . , in flushed fatigue, after her hur-
ried ascent. I

She stood there a moment, then drew from i,
her pocket 8. letter. so short that it seemed im- 3
pessnble to be the cause of her agitation. !

She read it the twentieth time. I

“ My dear little Jessica,“ it snid,in its elegant
handwriting, “how deli bted l am that Fate has 
ordained our meeting. ery unexpectedly I find I r
have urgent occasion to be passing through Jersey 
City on Thursday night- will my charming little ,
unknown meet me at ei to'cloc at the depot of r
the Penns lvania R. 1 Wear a suit of entire l
black- lwllknow you thereby it a dozen others 1
wore the same. And I little Jessica, will make :
brown to you your admiring VIVIAN."

And this was Thursday and it was six o’clock
by the diamond-crusted ttle watch at her belt!
And he was so near! u

Was a an tho fairly trembled with
nervous exc temcnti And. knowing her as we ,

 

 

l
v

lar'ound the IOng green—baize—covere

other lesson ha

 
    

TWO, VGIRflL’S LIVES.

 

 

do, was it any wonder that she donned herhlack
cashmere street suit, rich in its elegant adorn-
ment of costly lace?

She were her jetty boa and muff; she fastened
a black lace vail ovor her velvet turban, with its
shiny ebon feather—and went to her fate.

Not secretly or silently either.

She did not creep out the grand entrance, as
though a thousand avenging angels were on
her track, or skulk guiltily past the open parlor

oor.

She deliberately summoned Satan to her aid,
ilnd went in to her parents with a lie on her
1ps.
“ Mamma, I want the carriage this evening.
I am going to Jennie Slater’s.”

Mrs. Saxton looked up in languid surprise.

“ To Jennie Slater’s? to J erscy City this bitter
night? What for, Lenore?"

“ Oh, tableaux, I think she said.”

So she went oil', through the illuminated vesti-
bule, down the marble steps, and into the warm,

! standing when she dcterminedly crushed it un-

der foot—might not the same lesson come to her
after her marriage? ‘ .

Edna knew that, if titude and admlration
and respect on her pa , as she felt for her lover,
were as promptly and constantly met by the
same affection, thoughtfulness and considera—
tion he had evinced since she knew him, she
would, in all robability, be won b him.

And so, in t 6 still and quiet of the darkening
winter night, with the wind wailing bleakly
around the bare school building, Edna solved the
knotty problem of her destiny; and While her
inmost heart, her noblest, best nature arose in a

. revolt, the tumult was prom tly met and sub-

dued by the otent forces of on and Duty.
That the ays—especially Garnett—were re—
commended by her ado ted father was a

j weighty influence. in her ever; and so, with a
long sigh of positive rehef that her decision was

close carriage, whose lanterns were almost-

shamed by the glitter in her black eyes.

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE srar IN THE DARK.

made, Edna. arose from her seat to prepare for
her marriage.

Once or twice the unusually plaintive moan of
the wind compelled her to instinctively use
and listen to its dirge-like cries. She had eard

“ the legend that lost souls ride the Winds of dry

AT Mt. Eden the pupils, with one exception, '

were assembled in their various stud -rooms,
tables,
guarded at both ends by watchful, silent
teachers.

Throughout the building, aside from these

: class—rooms, the lights were burning dimly, with
‘ two exceptions-one was in Mme. Flyaway’s
‘ private parlor, where, this evenin , she was en- ,

tertaining two or three friends, an the other in
the window of Edna Silvester’s room, in the
third floor of the massive brick edifice.

Edna, being a pupil of the “ extra "class, that
only numbered a half-dozen, bad easily secured
an excuse from attendance on Prof. Ell’o’ uente‘s
lecture that evening: and, sitting all a one in
her room, she was thinking and planning, and
wondering, till her head fairly ached.

This step she was on the verge of taking wor-
ried her, while at the same time it offered the
only release from her lonely, loveless life.

She knew in the depths of her heart, that she
did not entertain for (lamett fly the feeling
she wanted to entertain toward her husband.
But, she ar ed to herself, should she permit
hat romantic creed of hers to step, a second
time, between her and the new hfe she so wanted
to be ' , sim ly and only because she knew it
woul be an line, and could be no worse than
the old.

If Oberdon Audrey had only been true to the
protestations he had made! If he only had
waited a little; but he had not really loved her,
or he would have waited, if for years, in the
he of her changing her verdict.

Vell—and now, sitting so deliberately down,
and facing her future, With all its probabilities
and possibilities, things she would stretch out
her hands, of her own free will, to take or re—
ject—Edna realized, more keenly than she had
done before, that she committed a mistake when
she refused Oberdon Audrey.

It was a consolation, however, to know she
had erred on the side of judgment, and what
she conscientiously behaved was duty to herself
and him.

Now, for the last time, provided she married
Garnett Fa. , Edna permitted herself to acknow»
ledge that s e cared more for Oberdon than she
wanted to, under the circumstances; he, Lenore
Saxton’s betrothed; she, Garnett Fa ’s,

She did not love him yet with al the vital

intensity she believed herself capable of exert- 3

mg toward the ideal some one, somewhere—and
a vision of Oberdon’s pleading face and earnest,
impassioned eyes was conjured unexpectedly to

her; but, by the dull, dcspairin pain that
thrilled around her heart as she rea " what a

gulf separated them, and what a wide chasm

that gulf would be in a few hours, in all human

probability, she knew she had trifled—and so 111-

fiocently—with the good that Fate had offered
or.

Then, taking it for an example, ought she re-
{loot the,present, perhaps last c ance of redemp-
on from her pitiful bondage? ,

She knew she could take to Gamett Fay 8- me
as pure as the. fresh-fallen snow from heaven.
She was prepared to render him all the 
all the great friendliness she reall felt for
She knew she would be a true, Oxal, Wlfe to
him, and in his protection, his chenshmg cam.
his thoughtful aflection, she

t.

conten
And then, mi ht she .not learn, later, as an-
bezunl to come to her under-

must, aureLv, be 1
l some time, in some form—only

Wu”
‘ made with a train and overskirt, e egantl

i

 

storms, and by their pitiful voices seek to warn
erring mortals to avoid the path they followed
and were led to everlasting unrest.

But Edna was not superstitious. The only
thought that occurred to her was that it would
be well for her to dresswarmly, as the night
promised to be intensely cold.

She put on a light—gray Irish dress
y and

elaborately trimmed. Over the waist she wore
a black lace basque; she egracefulliiknotted a.
black silk velvet sash, lin with w to silk, at
her side; a set of rare int lace lay in filmy

beauty at throat and wrists; and the beautiful '

darkly-golden hair was combed back of! her
low forehead, over a Pompadour roll, falling in
a dozen thick looose curls at the back, toch
her shapely waist.

She was so fair to see; so inexpnressibly lovely
with that grave, troubled h t her eyes that.
would gloom there despite t 0 firm, set expres~
sion on her mouth; and as she stood several
minutes before the small glmfihat hung over
the washstand, it seemed as if the gradual
stormy wistfulness that gathered and darkened
in her eyes was the token of the blackness of
the darkness that was soon to overtake her,

But no one was there to tell her. No one
was near to warn her, and only the wildly
shriekin wind, whose burden she could not un-
derstan , bore her compan on her fatal wg.

Her hands were cold an trembling as e
wrote a line on a sheet of French note, perfum-
ed with heliotrope, and bearing the initial .“ S.”
in a maze of ivyleaves.

It was only this she said to Mme. Flyaway:

“ l was married at eight o’clock. Mr. Fay 5nd I
will be pleased to see you at ‘ Sunset View.’ . _

I Eon. '

She knew madame would not see it until the
hour came to v351t the dormito , when, 9861115
the gleam of light under thergoor, she won]
come in, and—learn all. . .

By her watch, Edna. saw it was five minutes
of the trystmg time; she had arransed her
room before she dressed, and left her tum]:

ked to be in readiness when Sent for; 80, all

that remained was to wrap her scarlet blanket-

‘ shawl around her, and tie a white cloud over

her hair.

She was not nervous now; her hour 01 "9310?
and indecision was past, and she Walked down
the three pair of stairs as firmly and carele

; as when the bell summoned her to dinner..

. class-rooms, separated one

NO one met her in corridor or room; 1f 3113’

0116 had. even madame herself, it would not,
' have mattered, for it was not

un for 
Silvester to spend an evening in the village 9c-
casmnally. .

At the door that commanded a view of the
fargm the other by
lass partitions, Edna d 83"9 3 yearn-
igng look, with that fee 'ng at heart that all stu~
dents will remember, when they bade 800d'by
to school.

Dim and ghostl the Class-rooms lay in the
uncertain moonlig t, for the scudding clouds
now revealed the round silver globe; and, phan-
tom-like as well, the memory of the sharp strug-
FleS, the little disappomtments, the unsatisfied
ongings, the impatient teachers, the imperfect
rec tauons glided silently and forever from the
halls of ’8 memory
. Now, when she was caving it for-an untried
mathemcameto her—it has come to “I In,

of brightest ts greenest r0088 .
and. with ambit filled with tears. she step

‘ ceo,
inthOdeIert'r

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.

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"TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

 
 

 

 

 

out from Mt. Eden’s sheltering roof—into What?

If she only had not! if she only had staid,
and waited! And yet, she meant to do right;
afterward, it was her one comfort to lmow, be-
yond the shadow of a doubt, that she meant
/ well.

Now, drawing a long breath, full of wintry
keenness she hurried on tomeet her lover. She
had no thought for any one in the wide world
now, but Gamett Fay. She had left everything
for him, and for him, now that all things were
left, she would bring all her sweet youth and
its wealth of purity and trustfulness.

Just outside the rustic gate that defined the
limits of Mme. Flyawa ’s grounds, Edna saw a

carriage standing, and card the im tient paw-
ing of horses’ hoofs. And then, warnett Fay
walked rapidly out of the shadow to meet her.

CHAPTER IX.
THE REVELATION.

“ I BEGAN to fear you would not come. I
was afraid you had repented. You are very
cold, dearest. ” '

He drew her gloved hand through his arm,
and clasped it With his own.

“We will hurry to the carriage. I wish now I
had ordered the close coach, but I did not think
it would blow up and so soon. But we will be
home before long.”

He was hastemn her to the brougham; and
as he talked, he loo ed down in her face, so pure
and fair in the moonlight,

“Have I kept you waiting very long?” she
asked. “I did not mean to.”

Garnett iled at her earnest inchiiiry.

“ Waiting! I should as. you d keep me

'anageitseem . Isupposeitwas
m' five minutes, and that is why I won-

 

dered you had repented. You do not regret
your decision, in darling?” _ .
They were in t e brougham now, r1 rap

idl over the frozen road; and as Edna. ooked
in er lover’s face, when he asked the question,
she wondered if he loved her so entirely as to
worry over the idea of losi her? If it was not
his love his anxiety on er account, what
caused that expression in his eyes, that eager-
ness for an answer that was denoted by his im-
patient waiting.

A little blush crept up on her face before she
answered him.

“ I'did-not repent, Garnett. I hOpe I never
shall.” '

She bent her grave, sweet eyes on him with
such utter, pleading confession in their depths,
that a twinge of positive remorse swe t across
his mind as he thought. how much he ew she
would regret it; how little, personally, she had
won him.

But now, strange thoughts were bus ' at work
within his brain as he rode beside his trothed
bride to the altar. He marveled that he had
never before thoroughly appreciated her sweet,
woman] refinement. her childlike confidence in
 e would forget " Jessica ”—if he could,
and there was no doubt of that—and make him-
self worth this girl bride, who, all unconscious,
was bringing to him a means of living in the
comfort he so liked.

So. when they alighted at the door of the
small village church. and walked up the aisle to
the humble altar, Garnett Fay felt a better
man, for the silent influence of this girl who
leaned on his arm, than he had felt in many a

da . -

It was only the work of a few minutes, and
the marriage ceremony had united them. Only
a few solemn words, but it forged a bond
stronger than iron, heavier than lead.

The certificate, previously made out. needed
only the name_of the one'witness—Jerry, the
coachman.’ This was bunglineg made; the re—
cious paper consigned to Garnett’s vest poc st,
and they were ready to return.

The coachman whipped his horses into a gal-
lop;  brou ham rattled  bounced over
the frown and in teaminqu they drew

at the brilliantly—illuminated entrance of

unset View. , ,

From within, glowing in the bright light,
Edna could see the ele rant adornments and the
wamth, and the coin ort; and a thrill of sud-

den, sweet content stole over her.

‘ In an unusual impulse—she was not a person
0! mm, generally—she turned to Garnett as

be out to mist her down.
‘Wu, 1 will try, indeed I will, to do-
i .
He bent over, and W her lips lightly.
“ My wife!”
answer he made, but the

weenie- of the name touched

 

 

She brushed away the springing tears, and
accepted her husband’s offered arm up the steps,
and into the warm hall.

“ You had better let me show you your dress-
ing-room my dear, before we a pear in the
parlor. Take ofl your shawl an nubia, and
arrange some flowers in your hair you will find
there. I want aunt Ella s first impression to be

7’

Edna assented willingly. She, too referred
her husband’s relative to see her 9. er best;
and, how inexpressibl sweet it was, to be com-
manded so lovingly; ow it suited her whole
nature to obey such commands.

Garnett conducted her up the velvet carpeted
stairs, through the wide, warm, lighted hall,
and showed her the suite of rooms intended for
their use. _

Then, with a parting kim, and an injunction
to wait till he came for her, he left her to pre-

herself for the introduction to his aunt

Left alone, Edna drew a low-cushioned rock-
ing-chair beside the open fireplace, and sat
down to warm herself, and (give herself ufinto
the new, strange thoughts an feelings that d
taken possession of her. .

Was it possible she was his Wife? could she
really be married? and this was her home, and
his? she mistress of so much elegance, who an
hour be ore, was a poor school-girl, educated by
the charit of Grandon Saxton!

True, her life long she had been accus-
tomed to luxury in its most luxuriant forms;
true, this house these surroundings were infe-
rior to those at Madison avenue, but then, there
she was made to feel she enjoyed them merely
on sufferance; here, they were hers and her
husband’s.

Sitting by the fire in the center of the front
room, she could loo through the three apart-
ments that constituted the suit.

The furthest was the bedroom, and Edna saw
how freshly white was the linen ruflled and
braided so elaboratel ; a gilt an white china
set was on the marb e-topped washstand, and
on the dressing-case eac side the swinging

r, on the marble-slabs, were rfumes
glove-boxes, and a jewel casket. e
was li ht green—perfectly plain, like a sh of
emera (1 ve vet.

The central room, small and covered with a
Persian drugget, was the bath-room; the one
she was occupying and the largest of the three,
was her sitting an dredsin -room.

A velvet carpet of brigh rose-pink and gray
covered the floor; chairs of gray damask wit

ink puffings, low footstools, a small book-case
filled with new publications an upright sewing
stand of bamboo, vases o hot-house flowers
pictures of beautiful landscapes, curtains of
pink, made this room a little gem of rooms.

Happ tears were su 'ng to Edna’s eyes as
she thought how she cou d enjoy it all; how she
would love Garnett, so handsome, so gentleman-
ly, so kind. And then, fearful lest he -would
come and find her still unprepared for accom-
panying him down-stairs, s e at once began ar—
ranging the flowcrs she selected from t e bou—
quets on the mantel. ‘

She was still standing before the fire, idly ar-
ran 'ng the tuberoses and oran e buds, when
she card her name pronounc in a voice at
once strangely familiar.

She looked around, but there was no one in
the room; she walked throu h to the last room

of the suit, but failed to fin any one; then, re- 1

turning to the mantel again, listened for its re-
petition.

In a second she heard voices; undoubtedly
from below; and her name di‘inctly uttered in
that same familiarly strange tone.

“There has been a horrible blunder, Garnett.
I shiver with sick dread when I think, that or
nothin , you have irrevocably joined your ate
and Eil7na Silvester’s.”

Her husband’s voice made answer Quickly,
eager] .

“ What do you mean, aunt Ella? Do you
call the dower of fifty thousand dollars she
brin me ‘nothin i’” _

“ at, it is a earful mistake, Garnett. I
never knew till too late—not ten minutes ago—-
that the money reverts to Mr. Saxton in case of
Edna’s marriage. Fool, dolt that I was not to
be suitably informed on that one all-important
point, when all minor matters have been so feli—
citously arran , even to the forging, of the
letter of in action from Mr. Sexton. '

An inarticulate sound that resembled ingled

Iriage and disappointment, came from Garnett’s ;

IF
‘Howdid ou dthisedif' t
theeleventh  you Imowlttobesoil’

 

 

I
news out a !

    

‘ “I can show you a copy of Mrs. Grandon
Saxton’s will—the first Mrs. Saxton, of course.

She left lar properties in various places, and
a number 0 bequests and legacies; Edna had
fifty thousand for her share so long as she re-

mained single. I su the condition arose
from the fact that as Saxton was not happ
in her marriage relatio she feared her adop

ed daughter would bar y be. Hence the at-
tempt to keep her a spinster.” .

“And on swear you never knew of this curi-
ous condition until too late to save me from a
fate it alone reconciled me to?” ~

“I swear it, and I’ll prove it. Yesterday I
tele raphed to my lawyer, M’Cowan, for a copy
of t 0 will, intending, so soon as Edna was
your wife, to prove her identity, and enter into
negotiations to have the money—even more
than fifty thousand, since interest has been add-
ifllllf fer eighteen years—paid to ‘you, as her law-

re resentative. Then. an only then, I
learn the true state of aifairs, when the docu-
ment came, tonight, when I knew the ceremony
was already said.”

Garnett walked rapidly up and down the
room, several seconds, while an ominous silence
reigned.

“So it seems the promise you made to the
resent Mrs. Sexton, that you would dispose of
or predecessor’s adopted foundling, will be

nuIlIl and Z0id.” f b

es eintoneso itingscorn.

“ Ed‘s; Sylvester is no more, Garnett. Mrs.
Garnett Fay is another personage altogether.
Money or no money, I have kept my part of the
wfitirracw ha bea full 1 It ' ty

es, ou ve, uti isa i on
did not literally follow Mrs. , n’s digectiyons
and‘ ' ’of her somethingastheflrstMrs.
S. was—- ’

“Garnett! remember walls have ears. Be~
sides, now is not the time to bewail what has
been stu idly and unfortunately done; it is the
n;oment or ggcuisgleo action as to the fukture. I,
0 course 5 p my pretty mas ycle t
‘Aunt Ella Fay,’ and return to New York In
file  attire usually worn by Rachelle

unt.

“And I, I presume, must endure the honey-
moon with my charming bride! By Jupiter,
what an ass I have made of myself!"

“Edna is a lady, Garnett, if she does not
know it, and the fortune she haswould carry
her anagwhere; only, you see, Mrs. Saxton in-
tends appropriate it, through her husband,
agilill’enore, now that she will believe Edna is

“ I wish to heaven she was dead!” he retorted
fiercely. “The idea of my being tied to her,
when could have barely endured her for the
money’s sake!”

Evidently his good thoughts had fled before
his disap intment, and he and Rachelle sunk
into m y silence.

While tip-stairs, where. through the ventila-
ting apparatus covered over with only the Brus
sels drugget, Edna heard every word!

At first a wild bewilderment had seized her,
that be with the sound of Rachelle Hunt’s
voice; t en a deadly pain in head and heart—a
sickening, shivering despair, mortiflcation,
righteous wrath—held every power and faculty,
every nerve, in a tense, straining grasp.

She heard of her fortune for the first time;
she learned how Mrs. Saxton wanted her dead;
she learned the suspicious suggestion of her dear
dead ado ted mother’s murder; she found what
a fearfu chasm of bottomless mire she had
stepped in. He hated her, despised her, recoiled
from her because she was poor; lie—and the
name seemed scorched in letters of molten fire
on her brain—he was her husband!

But never-never would he have it in his pow-
er to taunt her with it: never would she be
more to him than she was at that moment. She
would fly from him in utter horror, contempt,

shame.
With trembling fingers she ed her shawl
around her and tied the bride ' e scarf around

her head. With softest footfall she lided dawn
the stairway, and past the parlor oor where '
she heard his footsteps as he paced  to
and fro in the long room. She opened ehall \
door and stepped out in the eerie night, where
the wild east wind was blowing, and the heavy
clouds went scudding weirdly over the setting
moon.

Out on the frozen ground, in the bitter cold-—
and where should shag“

te lying the and 0t flush of
no on a
crimson shame rose on her face, from forehead

toohin. .
Mtherufic fleshede est-dath

 

\‘

   

 

 

undertook. Now that she is di

_. 8 \‘

Two GIRL’S LIVES.

 

 

 

 

...n

feet would carry her: down the narrow road I
toward the little village station. She knew the
train for New York was due in a few minutes:
she m, once in the great city, she was at
home and comparatively safe. ,

There was no one in the dimly-lighted little
room, save the ticket-agent nodding behind his
window; so Edna sat down and counted her
money. She was a prudent girl, and as Mr.
Sexton, in addition to an excellent wardrobe,
had added a handful of bills as a sort of salve ;
to his twingin conscience, Edna found she had

lenty to last er until she could form her plans
for the future. Now her one object was to get
away from Sunset View; away from her hus-
ban , who, she knew and rea ‘ with a shiver
of terror, could claim her anywhere if he so
chose. And suppose, after all, the money—and
Edna had ave doubts of this—could be inher-
ifsid as wefir married as single, and he should
want her again?

The firm way she compressed her lips, the
flash of her quiet eyes, the flush on her face, he-
tokened her new—born aversion to him who had
caused the sudden change in her sentiments.
She hated him with the stron est feeling she ev-
er had experienced; and by he uick choking
way her heart beat, and the way 6 started at
every sound, she knew she feared him and the
power he could undoubtedly exert over her.

If he missed her before the train came! 0h,
w0uld it ever come? and then, just as she be an
despairing lest he would go up-stairs and nd
her flown, and, so natural , seek her at the de-
pot the train came thundering by.

She would not buy a ticket at the omce; she
dreaded lest the agent might remember her,
while now he had not even seen her. She pre-
ferred to pay double fare to the conductor, and,
with her mane in her hand, to a cent so there
need be no par eying‘ about change and thereby
draw momentary attention to her, Edna sprung
into the car, and walked down the aisle to a
gloomy half-seat, occupied by a big burly wo-

mflna had ‘ust cowered down between the
window and t e woman’s shadow, when the car
door ogened and in the flickering ra of light
from t e solita kerosene burner t at hung
near the door, na recognized—Garnett Fay!

l

 

CHAPTER X.
m noon or A NIGHT.

“ WELL, what are you going to do? You prom—
ised Mrs. Fay you woul ca 1 for her in a few
minutes to escort her down-stairs. She is wait-
mfi’goubtless, impatiently.”

. . Fay—we will drop the mask, and call 2
her by her name—Rachelle Hunt, fixed her |
bright eyes on her nephew’s face, so white with ‘
conflictin emotions, and so set and stem under ‘
the new evelopments that had occurred.

He scowled at the title his aunt had given Ed~
na. Yet, how could he gainsay it? She was his 1
wife, and no war short of Death or a Divorce 5
Court—twin k angels—could undo it. 3

Yes, Mrs. Fay was waiting], and, no doubt, 
impatient of his delay; while e, what exquisite 1
meditations were his! !

“You want to know what I am going to do? i

r

Listen, and I’ll tell you, and then I am going to .
introduce in bride to you. I am going to leave 7
her here at unset View, and I am oing to pur- 1
sue the same course I should have one if I nev- ,

or had seen her. ” !

 

“ And will you tell me what course that is?"  9d

‘ Certainly,” and Garnett smiled 'ml .
“For one thing, I am ing to see my litt e ‘Jes- ’
.’ If Ilike her w —-’
Rachelle frowned, and was about to answer,

. when he prevented b further words.

. “ There s no need 0 you manifesting any holy ,
horror, ma tame; you have got me into a ‘
scrape and I am goingto get out of it the best I
can. You sent for me from Philadelphia to aid .
{tan in ‘ disposing’ of Edna Silvester, which for ;

little consideration of her fortune, I gladly,

of by ;

her into Edna Fa ,and bus strictly ‘1

kee ng the letter of the w with yourogre I
although mighty different from the

we she meant-you very coolly ask me, after
g me in trouble, howI am goigg to get
outof it? then, on hear-in my math , which
is far less hensible your way of in- ,

 

vei ling me, you seem petrified with horror.”
tt’s self-emu, ce was mmmlgfi With
every wordhelpoke' hose-ted ,andi
lasily back

in cushioned .‘ l
“ ‘ todesertEdnaisheisnsoreflned,so

dainty, so proud—it will kill her.

“Somuehthehetter”heretam coo .
' ’“It'llsavethemofthellwyss‘m”ny l

l.

w
v.

" But howcan ou bedivorced! what possible i and 0 on and on, till I find her. I‘veril he-
{ahei Besi hate y

gonad can you des, Garnett, surer
3 .e is the same as before you found she was pen-

“Which makes a vast difl‘erence,” he said, . a itiless ave

lightly. “ Well, I’ll go up, I ess.”

Carelessly, slowly, Game t ascended the
stairs. He went slog? the corridor and tade
ii ht‘ly on the door the room where be ad
e t er.

Hearing no noise and receiving no answer, he
ushed t e door slightly ajar, and entered the
' hted apartment.

e low chair stood unoccupied by the fire-
place; on the mantel lay several flowers, select-
ed from amon those in the crystal vases, but
Edna was not here.

Thinking she probably had stepped into one
or the other of the remaining rooms, he called
her name.

No answer following, he stepped hastily
through—to find them empty.

He paused, in utter amazement. Edna flown
-why? where?

Then he sat down inthe little rocking-chair she
had so lately occupied, to unravel this new, sin-
gular mystery

He knew s 10 had not gone down-stairs; she
would have come to the lor had such been
the case; then, what was 0 to make of it! .and
with a sharp, queer ng, returned for a second

‘the same sensation o unworthiness of her he had

experienced in the carriage, oplxisite her pure,
sweet face.

Of course, had she dreamed of what had tran—
spired below, it would have been an all-sufficient
excuse for her to take French leave. But she
had not heard. How could she?

And at that identical moment there came
from regions somewhere below, apparently from
the floor between his very feet, a sentence that
startled him, from the sharp distinctness with
which it sounded.

It was only his aunt Rachelle 'vin a triflin
command tothe parlor maid; ut t e fact 0
his hearing it, up there, set Garnett’s wits to
work.

He tore u the Brussels rug; there lay, what
he never ha suspected the existence of, a
circular ventilator, that disclosed the fancy cen-
ter piece on the ceiling below.

And thus, Edna had heard; consequently,
naturally, had fled from him.

He was both relieved and cha ' . He was

lad and mortified—the one t at the present

' cult of either plainly stating the case to
her, or Kirther acting a he for her benefit, was
so summarily dispensed with; the other, that
Edna had received such an impression of him
from his own testimony.

Not that he cared especially that it was Edna;
had any woman heard him, t
the same, so great was his self-esteem.

She had gone—of that there was little doubt:
and now that he came to think of it, of course

she had returned to Mt. Eden. In fact, where ,

else had she to 0?
He unfolded he marriage-certificate from its
new, fresh creases, read it over, and carefully

laced it among his papers in his memorandum- |

k.

“There’s no telling what may ha pen,” he
said, with a grim smile. “It may worth
diamonds some day, to me.” .

He turned down the light, and sauntered
down-stairs to the parlor w ere Rachelle await-

“She’s flitted, auntie.
that passed between us.”

Rachelle’s face turned a shade paler.

“ N 0! And all in plans have come to nothing!
What shall I tell rs. Saxton?”

She seemed to be talking to herself, as she

She heard every word

walked to and fro before the fire her silken train ;

rustling softly, her bright, terrihle eyes flashing

Garnett watched her a moment, keen] , then
went to the hat-rack in the hall, and onned
overcoat and fur cap.

“ Choose your own way, my astute auntie. I
amigoing to catch the train, if I can, and of! to
the city. Shall I say good-by?
see me in a hurry. ”

it Yes, _by!n

Rache e spoke mechanically, hurriedly; She
was thinkigg of other things. '

He walk , almost ran to the station.

“Choose in way? Then before I will 0
back and to Mrs. SaxtonIhave failed I
trail Edna Silvester and trackher tothe death!”

She walked slowléaway from the window to
the fire, then back the window again.

“ To-mon'ow I'll start. She’s not at Mt. Eden,
whatever Garnett thinks:\bnt I’ll begin there.

r‘ ,
, ..
\, _' I'

. - ‘. i
1‘, .,,,,,i.a,..,..an.n.l....,/.. ;. . . .. .. . . ., . ,,  .  0....-.

 
 

would have been ,

You‘ll not -

 

lieve her, myself, when I think how she’s
vexed us all.”

Poor Edna! no home or friends to fly to, and
r on her track!

rouching, most cowering in the dull loom
: of the car, she watched, fascinated the and-
' some blonde countenance of her husband, as he
v stood chattin to the conductor. Would he see
i her? was he ter her? The thought was horror,
yet if he saw her, and chose to claim her, how
co (1 she help herself? She was his by law—his
pro rty-_—his possession.

e train was slowing up as it reached a way
station, and as several passengers hustled inand
out, it occurred  Edna to leave the cars here.
True she had paid her passage to New York,
but the loss of the money was no consideration
compared. With the still horror she experienced
in riding in the same car with him whom she de<

ised so

She slipped out between two men and reached
the platform, crowded and jostled bv eager, im-
patient travelerszshe hurried into the warmth
and light of the ladies’ waiting-room, and heard
the train move slowly, heavily on.

She drew a lon breath of relief when the last
car, with its red anteins on the rear platform
gleaming like two lurid eyes, disappearedin the
distance; she entered the waiting-room again,
and learned for the first time that the town in
which she had sto ped was a large one.

It mattered litt e to Edna; she was a str er
in a strange land whose one hope was to cut e
bonds that bound her to Garnett Fay. .She sat
quietly down to wait until the next train came
which would carry her on to New York; sat
down wearily in the now-deserted waiting-room,
:0 Ian and wonder what she had better do.

he wondered if she really was the heiress of
fifty thousand dollars, with its accumulated com-
pound interest. If so, how could she get it?

She remembered the name of the lawyer who
had furnished Rachelle Hunt with argcgiy of the
will; it was M’Gowan, and she sto it care-
fully on a. shelf in Memo ’5 hall for future use.

But, ad interim, shoul she seek employment
as teacher, child’s nurse, companion? what
would be best suited to her? She felt there was
no need of immediate action; only she_ did not

much before she began to reple
How w and heart—sick she was as she sat
, there! How revengeful Destiny seemed tobe to
; her who always strove to do n t? .
Was this sore trial a judgmen for her man-y-
ing a man for whom she had not entertained
true, abiding affection?

 

 

‘ - A fee p at her side aroused her. She turned
1 and met berdon Audrey’s eyes!

‘ CHAPTER XI.

I ran: s'ronics imaamw. _
1 TH]: carriage that bore Lenore Saxton

‘ through the crOWded streets threaded its way
the vehicles that filled the streets. Dm

. comfort, maight down to the gates, that,
Opened, led to the ferry-house.
Lenore spoke to the coachman as they entered

them. ‘ -

“We will drive over to JerseyCi , Miles.
| You can let the horses stand in Mon mery
. street at the depot. I want to see a nd a
5 moment.”

That ride over the river was an eventful
though quiet one to the gidd girl, who 
back among the chocolate cus 'ons with the au-
of a queen. She was gomg to meet Vimn Ul—
mcrstone, this stranger who had won her heart!
Would his face follow up the impression his let-
ters had made?

She was fairly trembling with nervousness
when Mike Opened the ca ' oor for her .to
ali ht; but, she called all her pride to her aid,
an i knowing she was lookin her very best
‘ and he must be an exac ' 0V6? Who would

r not admire her she walk across_ the.

i from the ferry ’entrance to the ladies’ mm
room.

1 Several ladies were there, and one little child

' Was playing on the oilclothed floor. Lenore
! drew the rocking-chair near the la;- “0",
‘ and tried to be patient until the train an be

i m. .
She had waited several minutes, and than.
When there had come no train as yet, and whm

‘ aha w” 1M3 it,agent1emmcame
WIN : and wanna upm, extending hisglova
hand am} ' his “map. to ‘
u m” am sure ow me W
‘m —-§r. Ulmerstone.” ‘

dmhfi" pture we...
ofra Imam-he
18$, threw back hervaihandsswthe‘hand-

intend to let her heard of money-dwmdle too \

. amon
‘ Broarfwa to Courtlandt it went, in
y .

 

H... w.—

 

 

 
 

TWO Glass LIVES-

 "crave;

 

 

Sine face, and elegant figure of her correspon-
out!

A flush. of genuine pleasure surged over her
face.

“And you are Vivian? I am so pleased to
meet you.” _

He retained her hand a second, while he care
fully scrutinized hcr piquant face. .

“'Shall we promenade the latform, Mm Jes-
sica? I regret I onl ' have a lf—hour to spare,
but I take the Washington Express at 9:15. You
received my letter. I see.”

“Oh, yes, and so surprised and glad. But I
understood you were coming in to Jersey City
by train. I was waiting for it when you came.”

They were saunteriiig to and fro on the long
platform. and Lenore was leanin ‘ on his arm.
with a sensation of exquisrte dc ight she had
never known bcfore.

“ Did you not observe the date of my letter?
I wrote it ver hastily on the train coming
from up the river, down. and maile it at a
wav-station.”

He leaned his handsome head nearer to Le-
norc‘s flushed, brilliant face than was necessary
for him to do in order that she might hear.

“Then you are going on to—where did you
83 ?”

nore asked so innocently; and he smiled
because he instantly fathomod her. He had
not said where he was going; but he told her
now.

“To Philadelphia. How much pleasantcr it
would be if we were both going, instead of my
enduring the long ride alone.”

“I should be lad if it had happened that
papa and I were graveling that way. We often

0.

But the dos ni glow on her cheek intimat-
ed how slight y  “ pope’s” company
would

be.
“ We must make the best of this precious half-
hour, little friend,” and he pressed lightly the

tiny hand on his arm.
, ‘ You romised long to tell me all about
your real’ name and Midence, so that I may

come and see you—and bend your dainty head
lower, little Jessica, while I whisper if my ad-
dresses would be agreeable to you!”

“ I would so like to have you come, Vivian—-
Madison avenue, number—’

The sudden esoapin of steam near them
drowned the number more spoke. But, he
ca ht the aristocratic locality, and smiled un-
der ' mustache.

“ And your name?”

His voice was so sweet, so gen
full of that upeculiar g10w Lenore fancied
his eyes sho d wear. And yet a good angel
warned her not to disclose her name.

“ I' would rather not tell you, indeed, Vivian.
Wait, and I surely will some day; and then—”

Lenore laughed, and her cavalier saw a blush
on her pretty face. .

“ on have a doubt about somethi , Jessica?
If \want it relieved or verified, to me.”

Well, I was oing tosay, how doI know you
3rd not  Are you, Vivian?”

Her foolish heart was  at a rapid rate
asshe ventured the uestion. f he was, Lenore
felt all the  ess of life was forever
dimmed to her: if he was not, she might win
him for her own. She knew she could, and she

would.

A sharp glance shot from her eyes as she
:asked the question; then a laugh he intended
should be very mirthful but which, to less in-
o rienced ears than Lenore’s, sounded forced

oyless. ,
“ lilarried! what elf plit such a notion in your
? If I wasmarried, do you think, Jesica,
I would dare trifle $9 With on?”
And Lenore believed im—this handsome
stranger, who had sworn vows of sacred fideli-
ty to Edna Silvester not twenty-four hours

agone. ‘
. She believed him, because he looked so
shocked at her sus _icious query because he an-
swored her so readily, so gravely so earnestly.
The interview was not prolonged further after
this than mutually exchanged promises of fur-
-‘ cerre ndence, and _a readily-complied
Wm! invitazlzh to meet n, this time in Con-
tralPar attheRink,w on he returned from
Philadel ' .
” The 11 Express was fast flllin with
My“, Vivian only had time to wiisper
Jpn gwordinhercharmed ear.
‘Li Images-by: I shall notsoonfor-
g‘W'niEM- No time, when I come, I shall
we sweet to tell you.”
hand warmly, gave an ar-
too-comcm eyes, add left

his eyes so

Hepmsed
dutlookinherall—
her.

 

Seated in.the_ Pullman car with his seal—skin
cap pulled over his eyes, and comfortabme
for a voyage, Vivian Ulmerstone, alias iett
Fay, smi , and thought: '

‘ A little managing and I’ll fix it. She’s my
style to a T. ' on avenue, hey?”

 

CHAPTER XII.
A wom’s HEART AND A MAN’S HONOR.

Ma. AUDREY’S first sensation upon coming so
i suddenly in Edna’s rescnce, was genuine aston-
' ishment; his next, t t depicted itself on-every
feature of his face, was keen delight.
, “Edna Silvester! Is it possible? What kind
fairy summoned you from Mt. Eden to meet me
? here?”

He had walked rapidly across the space that
intervened between them, and extended his
hand in warmest cordiality. His handsome
face-Edna recognized with a nameless, ago-

‘ nized thrill of her heart how very fine it was—
iwas all alight with a joyousness that
,beyond cavil, how truly glad he was to see

her.
I Perhaps his face was a little paler than when

t
l

.
l
i
|
4
y
1

Then, all the astounded enthusiasm fl
bumhrsvoace, heieanedguite closetoher,“
spoke in a low, confidential tone, whose persua-
sivecommand Edna'feltinbrainandheart.

“My dear Edna, what is it that is am
That Something is, I see in every word, every
look of yours. Tell me, and I will help y ‘
you know you can trust rue—who neverg

‘ cease lovin you so.”

The wo s' leaped on her ear like abotava
lanche. He loved her 30/ ire—another woman’s
betrothed. She—another man’s wife!

For a moment her blood rushed in mad frenzy
through her veins. Her heart pulsed in a verv
delirium of joyful agony when his voice, his
dear voice said those words; then-a horrid,
blinding, deafening sense of her utter inability
to listen came over her.

Surely, this intense ecstasy blended with such
exquisite pain—surely, this was the sudden up-

, rising of the water from their long—sealed foun-

proved, i

iEdna saw him last, or it mi ht have been the .

l flare of the lamp that made t e pallor. No mat-
l ter which it was, what business had Edna tonote

it with such solicitous care? What was Oberdon
Audrey, the betrothed of Lenore Sexton to her,
the wi e of Garnett Fay?

A dreadful sinking at her heart, a dizziness in
her head a deathl trembling in her limbs—~all
answered the piti ul question; and the interpre-
tation was she had discovered too late—oh, too
late, who was the keeper of her affections; and
every fiber of her being rebelled against her hor-
rid bonds, as against her will, against her reason
—but in such sweet accord With all her pure
heart, she acknowledged this man her lord and
maste

r.

And he called her Edna Silvester! She was
not Edna Silvester—Lshe was Mrs. Fay; and fora
second she felt like screami at him that by
so doing, she mi ht relieve he awful pent-up
misery in her sou . \

She had not spoken a Word, save necessitaus
inquiries, since she fled from her husband, al-
most frOm the altar railin . And now, when
this dear, only friend was ding before her,
holding her cold, shrinking hand in his own,
whose close-clasping fingers were so full of ex-
uberant vitality—this best, dearest friend, who
was looking at her with eyes that somehow re-
minded her of a scene, not so long oreally,
but that seemed es back, counting e hours
by their burden o misery; now, should she con-
fide it all to him, from first tolast?

What a fool she was to harbor such a sug es-
tionl what did Oberdon Audrey care for er
now, or for anybody, but Lenore Sexton, with
her black eyes and scarlet lips?

And so when, aftera moment of uncertainty,
while he held her hand so kindly, she spoke, it
was With a low weary voice she could not, for
the life of her, 233).

“ It was no g fairy, I fear, Mr. Audrey. I
am very tired, and, I fear, going to have one of
m lheadaches.”

_ e withdrew her hand and leaned back again'
in the hard seat. '

Oberdon had stared at her a secondin conster-
nation. She had called him “Mr. Audrey 1” a
name had never before heard on her lips.
Tins she an with him still for his Presump'
tron one evening, not so very long since?

He saw how excessively e she was, and
whata fire was glowin in or blue eyes; her
hand, too hadbeen so c amrn . And, what had
brought her from Madame yaway’s to that
place at ten o’clock at night, and the wind ris-
ing, and a storm fast brewing?

‘Ihope you are not going to be ill, Edna,”
he answered, so gently, that she could hardl
hold her lips from uivering. “ I am glad I
hap ned here .so for unately,” he went on, seat
in iniself beside her; “if you have any com
mission in which I could be of the least servrce’ ,
I beg you will command me.”

kind, how considerate he was, and she had, by
her own dumb act, put all his kindness and con
sideration away from her forever.

No, he had helped forgo the bars that divided
them; Edna kept constantly forgetting, and
ceaselwslfy remembering that he was bound to
Lenoreo his own free will. ,

“ ” she returned quietly. “ But I have
nofurther usiness herethan towait for the
train to New York. I am going tothe city.”

spoke very quietly, very decidedly, at

1 tonight! alone I”

 

Ilse know how 0 uld takei
“ To New mm w° it

She turned her head slightly away. How .

‘ away,

taiIn. lThis was loge, at last, at last. too latel
nvo untarily, s e turned her white, '
stricken face toward him.’ Wh-
“ Oberdon! for Lenore’s sake, don’t talk so to
me please.” '
She put forth her hand, as if to thrusthirn
. at he would not be re .iulsed. He {mic
soned it and made her look at him.

“And what has Lenore to do with me, tr
you, Edna?”

“ Aren’t you engaged V”

Irider 1it forn‘iifii the question of their $11 ao-
co . soun as unexpected! in own
wstas it did ,tohOberdon. y

ngaged! e repeated, incredulously; then
a brief, half-amused smile flitted over hisfnoe,

‘ and he leaned his head to Edna’s mouth.

 

“ I never was, and never will be engaged to
any woman in the world until my one only dar-
lm takes me for her own. Will she?”

’s breath came. in short, quick jerks. He
was yet free to win her, and she—oh! Heaven,

“ what had she done? Why, why had she not

wanted?”

“Oh, Oberdon! Oberdon!”

She wailed forth his name in a piteous cry,
whose burden he could not but know was love.”

Wonderingly, et with a sudden radiance d
new-born hope ighting his face and eyes, be
searched her face inquiringly.

“My Edna, my darling! knew I was notto
lose you 1”

She was looking so pale so rigidly
set in every feature mm he grasped
her arm.

.“Come out on the platform, dearest! You
Will faint; the room is very warm and close.”

She felt his strong, gentle hold of her; she '

knew the keen night air was b10wing a refresh-
ineg cold gale on her, and she realized, too,
with a pang worse than death that she had no
right to be leanin against Oberdon Audrey-—
that she was Mrs. arnefi Fay. .

Shestruggledupfrom ' encirclinng that
was so 10th to let her go. But she broke from
him; and then, urged by one wild resolve to tell
it, and lessen thelpain of the blow b itssharp
quickness, she w eeled round so eir faces
might meet. His, overflowin with love, all ra-
diant and glorified by the den sweet revola—
tion that had come to him; hers, and
white, as if sore sickness had set a thereon;
with wild weird eyes, whose blue gleams were
shot with lurid light.

“ Oberdon—don’t, for God’s sake! I am a
married woman!”

The voice was gasping; the words came quick
8 ° and then, With an inarticulate cry, as '
stungliy a dart, Oberdon receded a pace from
her, echoing her words:

“ A married woman 1”

She bowed her head, in all its golden lglory, as
if to accept the torrent of reproach s e knew
she deserved at his lips.

But the reproach never came. He only stood

‘ quite still a moment, lookin as with fascinated

j’ and, wrapt so oomplutel ' in the stunnii
‘ derment of his sorrow, Edna

eyes on her proud, beaut' ul head. Then his
anSWer came, low, quivering, agonized:
“ May God ‘mlp us both!”

.-

For several hunches he seemed to forget her; '

bewil-
lifted her ace and

3 watched him battling with his murdered love.

How wonderfully strange it was, this awaken.-
ing from a sleep that now proved not to have
been a sleep at all—rather a nightmare full of

that she,

- troublous Visions! How fateful it was,

who with her woman’s heart so yearned liter

, companionship and pzppreciative love, should

cast away the cup to hp lips for amfier
whichlwas so bitter and than, When the Int,
resweetened, came to her thirsty

‘ldmnotdrlnkl

.-

 

 
  

it  F»-.. _. .., ,..

:5

.map... «en-g 

' g The train

 - And then, walkin up

" H i. ‘ "and took up Oberdon Audrey and

'vr-r— ‘,.~..‘~ -...g_ . Y- .E

_10

 

TWQWGIRVL’S LIVES.

 

 

 

 

 

'- ’ l
;, - nowbravehewaslhowgrandhewasland
‘5‘ hewherwholesoul teitsshackles,went
 outincne wild worship him. To thus love;
 ' hbothuslovedflothnsknowshehadaheart,
“ as other le had, seemed for a moment worth
 the pain he knowledge brought. She was wan-
dering away in a labyrinth of reveries when his
voice recalled her.
“I want to ask on a question or so. Will
tell me, Edna, t you forgive me for of-
, mug you an affection you did not need i"
3‘ His voice was low, but it never faltered.
- “ I will not tell an any untruth. I did need
3’ -—I do—oh—ohl 0 rdon, if you onlg knew!”
Now, the tears once unstopped, s e clung to
’ his armin apleading passion of sorrow w ose
violence shook her frame as the rough Wind
7 , ' hends'the delicate reed.
’ ‘ “ Tell me, Edna. I am your best friend.”
» If he felt any has ualm, his even, kindly
’2 tone did not play the traitor. ‘
and down the long
cold platform, with t e shrill sough of the wind
in their ears, and the wintry landscape now i
dim and looniy, now spectrally wan in t cc- 1
casional g 'mpses of ghastly moonlight before 1
their eyes, and with a chil , heavy des 'r in
their hearts, Edna told him all, and O rdon ‘

Then when she had finished, he paused in,
their Weary promenade. They were at the ex- ;
treme end of the platform, that looked afar into ‘
the open country where they could see, a mile w
awa , the scintillating gleam of the headlight 
on c ' locomotive that would take .

to or new e. . l

' “ want you to tell me this—only this, Edna.

: ’ I swear to you never to mention t again until I

‘ the time comes when I can do so in honor; I ask :
you—once for all, Edna—do you love me?”

It was almost solemn, this appeal, direct to,
her inmost soul. There was noldpasion in his,

" tones, or in his eyes; Edna re aright when,

i. she saw the roud intention of the man who'

, would know, in principles of purest motive, ;
if he had a ri ht to work for this one he loved. I

“ I behevefiod will not misjudge me when I |
my with all my heart, I do. But this must
an ce forever.” .
She drew a long breath, as if the subject were I
I done with, as she said, forever.

’ “ Thank ou, Edna. From this hour I shall ,j
be the best rother sister ever had. You shall
tell me your plans, and I will help you, and.
Heaven will help us both, I know.”

The train slowed up, disgorged its assengelris, ‘
. 8
his

;  W.

secured her a seat, and then was arranging

tra ' blanket for himself, beside her, when
; her M h touch fell on his overcoat sleeve.
“ ease, Oberdon, go in the smoking-car; I

wish you would.” . .

Her pure e es were very earnest in the)!“
pleading wist .

. ‘ “If ou say so,” he said, after a moment.
’ “ Only wanted to hear where vou were going ‘
when we reached New York.”

She shook her head sadly, firmly.

He gathered up his luggage, smiled brightly,

nd down the ai o.

“ I’ll see you on the ferry-boat.” .

She watched him throu rh the door With a
proud, pitiful smile; and t en, when the dark-
ness had hidden him, she drew down her head
beside the window and let the hot tears drop

, unrestrainedly. ,
‘ “It is best, it is for the best,” she said, inly. ;
I ' ‘It will be hard at first, and he ma censure
 w . me but I dare not risk it. I must fly rom him
' . as I did from another; not in utter horror, .in
intensest hate, but because—because I love him
too well to stay.” ‘

\

t

 

l

on through the darkness, and
-' when it thun cred into J arse! city, Edna sli ped
out ere it had fairly steppe . And when her-

don Afidil‘ley vgeiit tlookin throulgh lhert car

throng t ew 09 rain t enintietepo an
. finall in hot haste, a mm the ferry-host,l
‘ whic was just startin off, Edna Fay was rld~
I ing u Pavonia avenue n the horse car that was‘
to tags her to a hotel at the other end of the
town, where she could stay until she positively,

made her new arrangements.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
mu m recs sr m nan.
Luann met the coachman in the ticket oiiice
ouwarmi Iamreadyto goup
glean: now, Nc. — Jersey avenue, ‘
use: W , you remember.” '

new beck me the .
-:-mi hersulf tof intoamost

v
l

'1' “1,21% 8““
s
“5%
5

i) D‘

\
Inner-e [
em] . attention.

reverie. At last she had seen Vivian Ulmei'stone,
and he had come up to her wildest expectations.
He was handsome, refined; stylish and chival- ,
rous; what else was there for her to desire? She I
never knew, nor gave a thought, to the - 3
blhty of his being an adventurer beyon the
one suggestive question she had so hluntly asked
him, and so honestly believed. Even when he
had asked her for her real name, and seemed to 3
take it quite as a matter of fact that “ Jessica”
was an assumed one, it never occurred to her
that his—“ Vivian Ulmerstone ”-—was assumed
as well, for the simple reason that he had told ‘
her, in one of his letters, that he had given her
his true name at first. A gentleman had little
to lose, in comparison with a lady in such esca- ,
pades as their corres ndence, an while he ad- ‘
mired and honored er for her ladylike delica- :
cy in suppressing her true name, he would glad- i
ly acquaint her with his. i
Thus it came to pass that she accepted and 
l
l

' trusted his name; and of him and his name she

sat and thought through the gayly-lighted aVe- 1
nue, as they drove up it, turning at length into
flieeXide, aristocratic street where Jennie Slater ,
V . E
Lenore made her call; marvelously short,
considering the importance she attached to it in 1
her nt 5 presence; and then, with the single 1
wor , “home,” to patient Mike, lapsed back
anion the warm cushions, and never moved, ;
scarce y, until the horses stopped in Madison ?
avenue.
She descended, and would have no straight ,
to her room; but her mother me her as she ‘
passed the drawing-room door. ‘
“Come in just as you are Lenore. We have
a guest, and I am especially anxious that he i
should see you at your best.‘
The implied compliment that she was looking
so well and the fact that Vivian had seen her
as she looked then, helped to make Lenore ac-
ce t the situation gracefully. Besides she nev~ 1
er ost an opportun t of making as in elible an
im ression as possib e on the gentlemen gene-

ra .

. 8K8 followed her mother in; all sparkle in her
eyes, and her Witching, gipsy face eloquent
with beauty. With a g ow o pardonable pride,
Mrs. Saxton presented her. ,

“This is our daughter, Mr. Carlingford. You
would hardly recognize her?”

Lenore bowed, and looked up to see a nd-
ly-handsome gentleman regarding her wit eyes
wherein evident admiration was blended with
sadness.

He bowed in a grave, courtly way, and then
extended his hand cordially. ,

“ Can it be possible little Lenore has grown so?
The promise of her baby days has been more i
than fulfilled”

He looked from her beautiful face to Mrs,
Saxton’s, so like it in its maturer perfection.

“ I can hardly realize that my oldest Igirl
would have been a young ladg' like you, iss
Lenore. You remember my aby, Mrs. Sax- :
ton l” '

His voice was just a little choked, and Lenore,
with a curl of her upper lip, thought what a de-
lightful topic for a drawing-room a dead bab
was, who, from what Mr. Carlingford said: 1
must have been dead almost as many years as
she had been alive.

What had her mother meant when she whis-
pered so enthusiastically and confidentially at i

he door of the drawing-room? Who or what ‘
was this undeniably elegant gentleman?

Ienore watched him as he conversed with
Mrs. Sexton; and she thought to herself what a
glory there was in his heavy gray hair, brushed ,
over his forehead in a loose, graceful way, and '
off his temples, and then c ustering in short
waves around his finely-shaped head. His heard
(a full suit he wore, mustache and hes , long ‘
whiskers) was silver like his hair, and 1mm
saw what proud gravit ,mingled with tender
firmness, was expressed h his mouth. His eyes
were dark, expressive, {noughtfuh his attire
that of a well-to-do man. _ ' _

Mrs. Saxton’s leasant, iminuating vmce dis-
pelled the mcnta inventory Lenore was taking-

“ After you lay aside flour Wm , my dear, I
wish ou to play for r. Carl ngford. and
then am sure he will be so kind as to continue

his charming narration of his life at his beauti-
ful suburban residence.”

Lenore quietly removed her hat and sacque,
and to have them carried away. Then, in
her inim table way, so graceful, so thoroughly
self-possessed, she sat down at the iano, and
yed, without furtha'solicltation, a u.

“Oberon " '

in. Carlingford listened with keen, critical

 

‘ a splendid place up the river—
cal

‘ Saxton preceded

“I would like to hear that at home, Miss Le.
nore. Tome, music mustbeeno ed as every
thin else is; and only at home 0 really, thor-
o h y e by anything.”

nore ho ht it would be exceedin ly stupid
to play for suc a curious listener; and, bowing
carelessly, began tumbling over a pile of operatic
selections.

But a li ht kindled in Mrs Saxton’s eyes, that
was refiec on her round cheek.

“ Lenore would on] be too happy to please
her father’s friend. y dear, are you in tune?
I would like to hear this.”

She had risen from her seat on the low French .

lounge, and rustled across the M uet carpet to
the music-stand, where, from a high heap, she
selected one and laid it before Lenore.

It was “ Dearest,” and Lenore’s especial aver—
sion; nevertheless she sung it, and sung it well:
and then vacated the piano-stool, and retired to
the bay window, to scan Mr. Carlingford and
think of Ulmerstone.

At nine o’clock the footman brought in coffee
and lemonade, and some dainty Charlotte Russe,
and while Mr. Saxton and Mr. Carlingford dis-
cussed their refreshments by the grate, Mrs Sax-
ton and Lenore conversed, in their low, cooing
whisper. \

“ My dear child, since you positively have de-
clared you would have nothing to do with Mr.
Audrey—”

“ You also mean since Mr. Oberdon Audrey

‘ has ceased his calls here, even after the rumor

you set afloat of an engage—”

Lenore hadplayfull interrupted her mother:
and now, quite stem y, Mrs. Saxton brought
her sentence to a close.

“Since, I say, You refused to accept Mr. Aud-
rey as a suitor, your father and I have bet-n ar-
ran 'ng another affair that promises a thousand
felt better than the first. And you must be
obedient, Lenore.”

It was seldom Mrs. Sexton troubled herself
to insist on any thing, and Lenore knew how
ve much in earnest she was, and how utterly
foo hardy it would be in her to thwart, from
:11: gutset, the plans she guessed at with quick

n m 1011.

So she nodded yes, and daintily sipped her'

lemonade while she listened.
“ This Mr. Carlingford is very well off, owns
Ellenwood,’ he
s it—and is a widower. He has several
times e ressed a desire to see you. which leads
your fat er and I to think you can manage it
all our own way.” ‘
rs. Sexton, though speaking in her law,
pleasant way, was scanning Lenore’s face
eagerly.
Then, my dear mamma, my wa will!» a

. ver short and easy one—to have no hing to do
, wit him.’

7
_ \

And deli eringthls resumptuouslittleopinion,
Lenore lifted her b ack eyes half defiantly to
her mother. _ ‘

A little gasp of incredulous s rise from Mrs.

her prompt r33}: '

“What can you be thinking of? Did I not
may, if Mr. Qarlmgford honored you with an
0 er of marriage, you must accept it?”

A something horribl

. suggestive of her own
werlessness in such an '

s asthosefairones

; that ttlyled with the icing on the cake,
across t

e girl’s mind.
“ You said he is a widower—he has children?”

It was her consummate tact that led her to in~
stantly divert from the main subject. _

“ He has two little girls, two beautiful chil-
dren. That would make no difference, Lenore.”

Lenore laughed outri ht.

“ Fancy me playing t e devoted steP‘mOthfl‘l
Oh, mammal”

Mrs. Sexton looked annoyed.

“ You could do it, my dear. It WOUId not be
a qtléarter the trouble I had Wlth Edna 811-
vcs ,r.”

Lenore was thinking of the vast difference
between becoming the wife of Mr. Carliugford,
or Vivian Ulmerstone: she hardly could h‘VO
heard Mrs. Saxton’s remark, 101‘ 811° flaked &
question quite forei from it.

u What is there a ut a child of Mr. Carling-

ford’s that is dead that still affects him so? You ‘

were talking about it ust after I came in.”
Mrs. ' Saxton glanc across the spacious room

and saw that her husband and guest were deep-

ly evi‘irgaged in discussing the condition of air '

s

in all street. ' -

“It was his oldest; it didn’t die, itwas lost ‘

when it was only a baby. Mr. Carli ford sa

ithad just lemed to walk, and elui‘tghm ted-y.
died out of the yard, and wandered away.
The never heard 01' her afterward, W.
small fortune was leGJC. and no stone left!!!-

 

 

~ stone

is

. was yards from

- .r_,.(.'»- - a..-“

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

..—.’.a. A .-_._. >‘41'I‘n‘

 

. ‘li

 

turned. course, it was a worse blothn
death;it $113.0” ordtgzoadecline,
thatend en rtwin washers,
inherdeeadth"

“Mr. Car 0rd is unfortunate,” re ined
Leuore,lightl ' “but it offersno excuse orhis
boringuswit hisaifairs.”

She walked over to the speaking-tube and
summoned a servant to remove the remains of
the refreshments. so that Mrs. Saxton hadno
opportunity to ofler the demur on the end of
her e.

For half an hour, perhags, Lenore remained
in the room, laughing an chatting with Mr.
Carlingford, and reco ed—with a thrill of

mud elation, that was so natural to her—that

or bright eyes and Witching ways .were insnar—
ing him, as they had captivated Vivian Ulmer-
before him.

Not that she cared for enslaving this elderly
lover—for he was rafidly grown: to be that
beneath the charmso her beau face. Mere-
ly for the leasurable excitement of the task,
and the umphant satisfaction it gave her to
have demonstrated again and again the fact
that she was irresistible. .

That was all, but it was enough to set his
nerves all a-tingle; and when he retired to the
grand guest-chamber, an hour later, he could
not sleep fbr thinking of Lenore Saxton’s bright,
dark face, with its haunting, dusk eyes.

And so unfolded a new leaf in he volume of
their fate that was one day to terrify them all
who read it.

 

CHAPTER XIV.

A RAFFLE!) QUEST.

As the train that had conveyed Edna Silvester
—we shall call her so still, despite the Fate that
had changed it—and Oberdon Audreyto Jersey
City crawled slowly into the depot, t was Mr.
Audrey’s first duty as well as de ight to ther
his in hastily in his hands and e his
way mthe smokinficar to the ladies' car,
where he had seen dna comfortably on-
sconced. .

He had arisen fromhis seat a little in advance
of any other passenger, and was well out of the
car before the aisle was jammed; but in the
second car, throuth which he heped to as
easily, he found imself wedged in, an com~
pelled to make his exit as slowly as the others.

He did not mind on any other account than
his im atience to get to Edna; and when, after
severe minutes, he succeeded  reaching the
third car he found it, too, had disgorged its pas-
sen rs, and among them Edna.

e felt somewhat astonished that she had not
waited for him; then he experienced a sensa-
tion of chagrin that he had not been more
gran t; and, actuated by these combined mo-

'ves e hurried out upon the platform to over-
take her amon the crowd hastening, as if
(rivery individual life depended on it, to the

erry.

He could not discern her amongsthe throng,
and he knew how soon he could ve told her
by her queenly, rapid walk, even if she had not
worn so odd an attire—a scarlet and a white
blanket shawl, and a white cloud over her head.

He began to feel . How could he have
missed herso awkwardly? of course she was on
the ferry.boat, b this time; thre uartels of
the train was ead aboard; so e dashed
down his little green t cket, rushed through the
narrow entrance to the big barn that led to the
slip, and into the ladies’ cabin of the “Hudson

Cit ."

Rye scanned every face as he walked more
leisurely through the aft saloon; then, not see—
ing her, and becomin more anxious with each
moment, he quickene his pace, resolved, if she
were not somewhere forward, that he would re-
trace his ste .

He lookedpilown the row of faces, on either
side, every one of which was turned toward the
handsome young fellow; he Stlll did not see her,
and he was beginning to growpositlvely sick
With a vague fear, when the bright glow of a
scarlet shawl on the forward deck caught his
eye. Just as some gentlemen passed through the
swinging doors.

His face li hted u ; he felt such a horrid load
lifted from [5: he

, and he p through the
gnu of men inside the doors, and toward the
rig t beacon of his hopes. ‘

A pace ram-am him from the lady, when she
turned Ind I to avoid a keen, sharp blast, as
wellastospea toherescort. ' '

AndthenMr. Andre sawitwasnotEdna.

‘Adumb him “Hominid
through. Hecouldnot back,for bolt
endgame-the

the d
'knew by the “ thrill " of fire engine.

\

, laid d0wn for a fitful, uneasy slumber till day-

 

Where was she!
He asked the uestion and again, and
answ itas n and erentl every time.

He concluded she must have been eft in Jersey
0’ , babl while waiting for him. In the
ladies room, oubtless. He roached himself
bitterly for not having look in there, as he

so near the door; and by the time the
boat had landed her passengers at Courtlandt

street, he had determined to return on her, and ‘

certainly a logize to Edna for his stupidig.

It seem an a before the “Hudson 'ty”
was off again, an in reality it had been an hour
and was now midnight. The lights burned
ghostly as they sway to and fro; there were
only a few passengers on that trip, all men, and
not a dozen of them.

Mr. Audrey looked at his watch several times
crossing the river. It was such an uncanny
hour for Edna, all alone, to be waiting for him,
but he consoled himself with the thou ht that
she was a brave, ladylike 'rl, who 3 too en-
tirely on her dignity to or ill.

e sprung impatiently over the chain, and on
the dock before the boat bum ' he almost
ran across the lonely, dimly-1i . , and
into the inclosure, and then into t e ladies’

in.
To his utter consternation it was vacant.
Then and only then, it rushed across his mind
that Edna had purposely fled with her quixotic
notions of what was proper.

At the first realization of this fact, Oberdon
was inclined to resent Edna‘s conduct; there in
the overflowing tide of love and compassion t

sur over his heart, he sunk down in one of
the ther-cushioned seats, completely smitten
by this unexpected blow.

5 drew up beside the marble

. momentary, ecstasy that, between the two
‘ salttion lm
‘ se

 

For perhaps twen minutes he sat there
thinking over, as cal y as he could, the mar-
velous chain of events in which he had been
prisoned that night since the sun went down.

He was very heart-sick over Edna, lost then
found and as suddenly lost ain. And yet,
why should he grieve over ano her man’s wife? f
Ah, the uestion was answered in the same
breath wit which it was asked; and the answer
was that Edna was not, should not be the wife
of Garnett Fay.

True, a moment’s ceremony had given her the ‘
privilege of wearin ' name, and him the
ri ht to claim her be ore and in defiance of the
whole world. But—if once he should set his
leyee on this villain; if once he was within arm’s
e —l

e never could forget the name, as melodious
as the owner was vicious. It was not acommon
name; “Garnett Fay,” it was burned on his
memory until the da of-reckoning.

He arose from his nel seat slewly, as a man
does who is worn from atigue; he wearilere-
géltellr'ed the ferry-boat and returned to ew

or .

He had decided to be§xl3 his quest for Edna
when the dawn broke. first etc would be
to the Saxton mansion, to learn if ere could
be, by any strange chance, news of her; and, at
all events, he would acquaint the famiby with
her unhappy misfortune.

He stopped at the first hotel he found, the
“ Merchants’ ” and ordered a room and fire; and
then, when t e city clocks were tolling three, he

light
he arose and, after a careful

peaceful, so
. after the storm of wind that

.md

 

At sights
toilette, his breakfast, and then a smoke.
By that tim6 it was ten o’clock, and he ordered _
a coupe, and was driven to Madison avenue. v y
The morning was clear, and fearfully cold, nd
as he rode alon , in the fresh, bracing air, he t
encouraged an even fly. ‘
Of course he could d Edna; it was only a
matter of time, and not a fortnight at furthest.
All he need do, if the Saxtons had no informs: ,
tion to offer, was to get a good private detective
on her track. i
Then, while one-half of the business was goin
nicely on, Oberdon thought that he himse
would attend to severing by a divorce the bonds
that bound her to a villain. And another task .
he must assume; he Would find out about that ,
money. To say the least, it was a most sin .
will, and if there was law  two in ew
York, Edna should have her rig ts. _
Altogether Oberdon was very hopeful and
quite enthusiastic in the joyous Winter sunlight, '
and the onl that marred his bu

was the t ‘flghtgought that, in all  ‘

ity, it would be days before he could see Edna 
n. ,

awasimpatient;allloveisareim tientun-
' , and, deringthe

mm otaflairs thatthen existed, itwasthemostj
natural thing intheworld that this impatience i

shouldbetheonlyacuialcloudthatmamdthe
hes-ism. ‘

Of course, Ohu'den wondered when ab wu,
withallthepaincnriosityiscapahledfilfloo—
$1 with wonderment, mthe positive knowl-

that she was perfectly competent to ink.
care of herself.

He was in a glowof excitement as the
' mount.

“ You may wait,” he said to coachman;
and then went up the high flight of brown steps,
and rung the silver gong.

 

CHAPTER XV.
a sinus assonvns.

THANKS to a very slight acquaintance with
the proprietor, Edna Silvester had no difi‘lculty
in procurin a room with light and fire at the
American ones, in Jersey City, despite the
rather hour—it then was almost mid-
ni ht—at which she a plied.

nce safely lock  her room, she
turned down the gas, and, drawing aside the
maroon-colored curtains, sat down beside the
window in the brilliant moonlight that flooded
the tall houses and dingy sidewalks of Mont-
gomery street with actual beauty. But the
airness of the night was lost, to an extent, upon
Edna; her exciting series of adventure since she
ate her tea in the refectory of Mt. Eden had 50
thoroughly stricken her, first with intensest
pain and horror, then with a great, though
Sen-
she hardly ew how to compose her-
ciently to sit quietly down. ‘

In the train, the szft, jarring motion was in
such perfect unison with her nerves, that she

. calmly endured the ride; but now, when all

Nature was so unnaturally quiet
had raged in the
early evening, that for the moment, under the
relaxative condition of both mind and body,
Edna was strangely, fanciftu restlem.

To slee was simplg impossible, tempting as
the low with i marseilles counterpane
square linen pillows looked; and though
her head was achin in a dull, distressful way
Edna knew it we d be better toobtainwhat
restshe could in the low, cushioned arm-chair

2, she had drawn to the window. 80 she removed

her dress, and undid he hair, and then, wra ‘
in her shawl about or bare shoulders, cug:
Slog herself in the most comfortable position.

On the morrow, she must literally begin her
new life; and already she had concluded to ex-
amine into the situations oflered in the Herald
the ensuing morning' and as that was the first
step decided on, and on the issue of which she
was obliged to wait before she could tell what
elsedto do, she dismissed the subject from her
min .

Then, there were all her clothes at Mt. Eden;
an'dupoor Edna’s cheeks flamed as she remem-
be the little note left on her dressing-stand.
What tantalising demon had impelled her to
thus flaunt her misfortlme in the eyes of the
whole world?

But, it was done irrevocably. She could not
recall it. Fllyaway knew, ere this, that
she was the wife 0 Garnett Fa , the niece-in-
law of Mrs. Saxton’s servan I And Edna
smiled involuntarily to think how Rachelle
Hunt would resent such a title.

She must have her clothes, and she saw no
way to get them but to telegraph for them to
be sent—where!

If she waited until she entered on her new
duties, it was obvious that her whereabouts
would not remain a secret, as she fully in‘
tended. No one—noteven Oberdon Audrey—
should know where she was; her fate was to
hide fr'ganlhegd fate; tofi fgom ha; lover, be-
cause e ov ' to y rom husband,
because she despised im.

It was hard on poor Oberdon, and it was hard
onEdna,thatitmustbeso; but if it hadbeen
a pang severe meg); to have sundered soul and
body, Edna Silv r would have borne that

g, because it was duty: and we have seen
ow sternly conscientious she always aimed to
be

Therefore she must not wait to have her
trunks sent to her new locality. Better to have
them sent at once, to the hotel, where no re-
mark would be , and from which place
she would have em conve 'ed at her

On the then—tat 1llle boil: when 11:;
Fl awa w abou ca it e ‘
cohgratzlations, on the bride :f’htmur—
Edna's telegram would be received. What
mit herself to imgina , mahs no du-
ference, and Edna wanted trunks. .
.‘M-lvd‘ “um I’ t". a:

 she arran.ul t'n ) _

 

  

 
 
 
 

1.
b;
r,

*TW‘V‘w‘w»: v' -»
“a w

.153 .v‘: .-

4/

' ' L 1
A ,gm,y..,-..

112'

y ‘ V !
‘sideration: the only remaining one to decide

was, should she, or should she not, go home be-
fore she left the'vicinityl

If she went, what good could come of her
visit! She knew Madame Flyaway would not
fail to inform the Saxtons; no one could know
whether she Were single, married, or dead; she
sup , from what she overheard at “Sunset
View,” that the fact of her forfeiting her for—
inc—supposing there was any to forfeit, which
she was inclined to t ' must be true, on ac-
count of the trouble Garnett had taken to marry
her, and the chagrin be manifested at learning his
blunder, as well as the fact that if any one knew,
it would be Rachelle Hunt. who nursed her
adopted mother on her dying bed; granting that
the money had been hers, and was legally lost
by her marriage—bitter mocke though it
was—Edna knew Mrs. Saxton wel enough to

. 'TWO GIRLiis

be confident that lady would secret] rejOlce at -

the fact, and regard it as the next t thing—
after the runawa “ d' 1” she had commis-
sioned Rachelle
happen. By this marriage, rs.

nut to accom lish—that could ,
Saxton was , P6

directly benefited, though that was the last in- i
centive to Rachelle Hunt when she accepted her '

mission; by it, she secured the money for Le.
here, through Mr. Sexton, and at the same
time removed forever out of Lenore's way 9.
ve probable rival.

rs. Sarton,'both from policy and motives
that were perfectly natural and correct, would
acknowledge the marriage. Just as naturally
she would politely inform Edna she would not,
of course, regard the mansion on Madison ave~
nue as her home any longer; and that she must,
of course, look to her husband for future sup~

rt.
p0And all the world would maintain Mrs. Sax-
ton’s o inion.

If E a asked about the money, Mrs. Sexton,
now that affairs were unaltcrable, would tell
her it was true she had been heiress to the fifty
thousand dollars, and that it was always ill-
tended for a pleasant surprise on Edna‘s twenty-
first birthday; that it was expected that Edna
as a dutiful young girl, would have notifi
them of any enga ment of marriage, and then

n warned of w t she would lose; but now
as the deed was done, the die castr—ltdna could
see Mrs. Saxton in ima. ' ation, and knew the
line of defense she woul take.

So then, since Edna knew she would leave the
house no better than she had entered it, she do-
cided, after very little meditation, to stay away
from it. She had made u her mind to visit

lawyer M’Cowan’s oflice fore she left New
York: he would know at once, probably, the
nature of her affairs.

And thus Edna systematically disposed of her
stumbling blocks, the best she could, with no
one to guide her but Him to whom she more
than once lifted her heart in entreaty for light
through the darknws, for strength to bear the
heavy burden laid on her young life. And the
light was given her; and t e strength to endure,
and endure bravely.

Her long train of thought had made her more
calm and quiet; now, when all need of mental
effort Was over, a pleasant restfulness stole over
her; her sad brave eyes closed and a slumber
sweet as a baby’s on its mother’s arm sealed
them until the sunshine brilliant as liquid gold,
bathed her into a. refreshed wakefulness again.

 

CHAPTER XVI.
a woman‘s TRIUMPH.
As Mr. Audrey anticipated, both Mr. and

‘Mrs. Saxton were at home when he handed his 5
‘ gemely indifferent to the en ire affair; never

card to the footmiin, and was shown into the

warm, sunshiny morning room, where Lenore ‘

and her mother, in faultless breakfast wrap rs,
figith some pretty, trifling work in eir

They greeted him warmly, and Mrs. Sexton
cordially insisted upon his removing his over-
coat and remainin to lunch.

“ Mr. Saxtcn wi be delighted to seeyou; and

we have a friend with us, whom I am sure you ,

would be leased to know. He is in the library
xvii-:1. xton now. Mr. Carlmgford of Ellen-
‘w r

Oberdon bowed; he felt bound to listen to ,

lfrs. Saxton’s light gossip talk, although .he

was im tient to introduce is own sub ect.
“He not the honor of knowin r. Car—
lin ord, of Ellenwood,” he assured Saxton,

lymdding this “he would  ha y, at

 “future time, to make his

  

moral hel. mhour’s ul ceof
 gamma; partlcuulu'ly
are

“a” 

‘ ished; I thought I hoped she might be hero—J’ :
. casional remarks and appeared quite uninter—

‘ far in his remarks
‘ was certainly due. i

 

 

 

" Then, mamma, 1 suppose 1 must beg to be
excused since Mr. Audrey desires a private in-
terview.” g

She gathered up her work, and bowed to
Oberdon; but he hastily restrained her.

“You will be as interested as an one, Miss
Lenore. You, as well as your mot er, will be
astonished to learn that—Edna is married.”

He gave his information in a tone of voice
that did not betray to the two listeners a tithe
of what he felt; and he, in turn, was surprised
to see the way in which his news was received.

“0h!” said Lenore, as she languidly let her-
self sink into her chair, and then glanced at
her mother.

Mrs. Suxton’s lip curled.

“So I learned, ten minutes ago. Madame
Flyaway has sent Mr. Saxtnn a telegram an-
nouncing the marriage of Miss Edna Silvester
and Mr. Gamett Fay. I assure you I had noth-
in whatever to do with it.”

She assumed her most frigid tone' and Au-
drey, nonplusscd for the moment by the unex- g
ctcd turn affairs had taken, only wondered if
she thought he accused her of complicity.

“It was very sudden; I was terribly aston— l

l

He paused su denly, wondering if it were

prudent thus to divulge all facts; and then, i

rom the curious glances of the eyes so closely
searching his face he realized he had goneso ,
t some sort of explanation f

And Mrs. Saxton hel (1 him to make it.

“Mrs. Fa here? 0, Mr. Audrey, when t
she so unfee ingl took advantage of us all, and !
married, withou advice or consent, a stranger,
a perfect stran r, she forfeited all right to this
house forever. am sorry, very sorry that since i
you wished to see her so very much—’

There was a smilin scorn in Mrs. Saxton’s

LIVES-

: seemed ully occupiel

' followed, and the

Eiivering voice would, despite the foreign
oughts, riSe somehow, eve second before
her e es; and the question t at, self-formed,
had n whispering in her ears for cars,
would repeat, again and again: “ Wou d she
ever meet a retribution, for the crime she caused
Rachelle Hunt to perform?”

So Mrs. Saxton s thoughts ran on in their pe-
culiar groove, none suspecting them.

Oberdon sat gloomy and still. By some sin»
gularly sudden influence he had lost all the
spirits with which he had started on his call an
hour earlier; and the only reason he could or
did assign was the chilling effect of Mrs. Sax-

: tons and Lcnore’s demeanor.

A lon silence reigned in which the ladies

with their ovm thoughts,

and ill which Oberdon felt he had nothing more
say.

He was about to make his adieu, anti be!1r an
excuse from lunch when Mr. Saxton and r-
Carlingford entered from the librar .

f course, salutations and an introduction
. ntlemen naturally discussed
the principal sub ect under present considera—
tion—~Edna’s marriage.

Mr. Carlingford listened politely, offered 00.

ested. In ten minutes he joined the ladies at

3 the windows, where Lenore greeted him with

her most winning smile. It was second nature
to her to ut forth every effort to attract gen--
tlemen, an in this particular case she was suc-
ceeding admirably.

“ 1 am glad you don’t wish to discuss sucha
stupid sub'ect. NOW that Edna is married,
what possi 10 good or ill can come of talking

, about it l”

“That is very true, Miss Lenore, and ct.
when you remember what a blow it is min.
Andre , surely you. can suffer him to com:

fier black eyes that did not altogether suit Mr. , plain.’

A y. i
“ You need not insinuate any thing, In dear

madam. If you choose, on may say, on ri ht

and with crfect truthf ess, that I am crus ed

to eaith y this marriage of the only woman I |
ever loved, or ever can love; and when I tell 1 am very, very cruel.

you she has been entrapped b a villain, whose
'fe were I to meet him, wo d not be worth a
snap of m thumb and fin er and from whom
my poor Edna fled within fl teen minutes of the
ceremony, rhaps you can imagine a hund-
redth lartic e of what I feel.”

If 0 rdon had intended to produce a stupe-
fying effect on the ladies by his first announce-
men , he was more than successful now.
nore‘s sewing drop from her hands, her
shiny-bright e es too in a perfect storm of as-
tonishment. rs. Saxton was too deep to per-
..mlt such unmistakable signs of her utter amaze-
ment, but Oberdon saw in her face plain tokens
of it, and a gleam of malicious satisfaction as
well. She was the first to break the silence;
she did it in a cold, indifferent voice.

“ Well, Edna can censure no one but herse .”

And.that was all the sympaththdna ever re-
ceived; and Oberdon resented e implied ac-
cusation, hotly.

“ She can not censure herself, because she has
not been to blame. She acted, as she has alwa s
done, from highest, purest motives; and e
punishment should rest, and will one day rest,
where it belongs, on Garnett Fay’s head.’

Oberdon was so thoroughl in earnest that his
very enthusiasm but serv to silence the two
Women; and in thevsilence that ensued, broken

only by a soft rustle of the curtains that divided 1

beyond,
nore su-

the a cat from the conservato
each thought their own thou hts.

Owing, never fearing the terrible complica-
tions the Furies were weaving for her.

How she would have shrunk and shivered had
she seen the future—her future—spread before
herasit was to be; and instead, she sat in the
sunli ht, dressed in her regal purple dress, and
sewe , and smiled, and cared nau ht-

“So Edna was married, and t 0 money se-
cured, and the witching face forever removed
from 'ealous, hating 0 es. It was very good,”
Mrs. ‘ xton was say ng thather and over,
during that five minutes of silence; and her
face, so proud so beautiful to ace, lighted with
a radiance almost dazzling. Everything was

Jfalr sailing now. All at once, the ’sk .had

Rachelle was not returned yet from her 1111- ~’ Mk” he turned

known trip, and Mrs. Sexton was impatient to
tell her news that would so astound her.

“Emma good that Mum

was
do—only. a white face and week.

Mr. Carlingford watched her facn while she
'stened, and saw a swift shadow pass over it.

en she raised her eyes, full of softness and
sweetness, to him.

“ You are right, dear Mr. Carlingford, and I
I think I know, if I were
1 in poor Oberdon’s place, I s ould die with an-
‘ guish. Mustn’t it be terrible to have one 5 love
crushed out so?"

She was thinking of Vivian Ulmemtolle and
hence her dark e es grew hazy With the cluth
of her affection or him, _et she cast sum a
fleeting glance at Mr. Car ingford‘s face that
sent his noble heart beatingl faster than was its
wont, that lighted his gran face with a proud;
tender radiance. _ -

Could it be posmble she could care for him?
she, this young, graceful, Witching girl—he,
with his gray hairs, and his fifty years? He was.
so humble in his estimate .of himself, so utterly
unconscious of. his splendid attractiveness, that
it filled him With awe and bliss to entertain the
idea that Lenore might possibly learn to love
himns hehnd alread learned towershi her.
Here at least, Would e a wife for him, ' so be
the Estes granted it, who would not marry him
for his money, for she had plenty herself; it
would be all for pure affection s sake, and on her
side such wonderful condescension.

.A httle melodious laugh from Mrs. Sexton
disturbed his delicious reverie.

“AP9 3', Mr. Carlingford foryourthou hm:
lemme he must be of enwood, an the
little girls. (I that reminds me, have you
, sent to the office yet for answers to your adver-
, tlsement? I presume all impecumous governess
; es for miles will respond.”

I “ Surcl , then, my chances of a selection will

i be good he returned, yly. “I shall not

I learn w o wants to teen my little Ma and

’ June until I return toEllenwood. I had t e let-

, ters directed there.” .

I “What splendid fun it Will be to read them,
Mr. Carlingfordl I envy yqu t1)? t85k."

‘ “ I wish on would share It, Miss Lenore.”

I The cha en e and its acceptance occurred so
moldy that nore’s exquiSlte blush and Mr.

garlingford’s ardent lap e happened simul-

taneousl ' and then, Wit her wonderfully hap—
y tact, rs Saxton covered the confusion that.

go” med hieildshe too h to t

“ e we WPY acce ourv
kind invitation to Ellenwood. lfyfk I nit;
ugly  you a week, in July coming.”

r

l
l
l

 

‘ cleared of every cloud' and she felt re 'eved, ‘ . lingford bowed.
actually delighted, that her and Rachelle Hunt’s  “I shall bear it in mind: I shall beverymuch
plans had been thwarted { honored and 1 know Ellenwood Wm New you.

. wOLenore,“Iamsnxious-
, for you to see my darlings, and et themes}:
lkyngw ‘gando- Theygetsoittlemsn-

I “Yourzovernesswmseetothnt.lr.0u-

   

l
I
3
l
i

 

 

 

 

 

ll
, .
TWO GIRL’S "LIVES. '13
[iii 0rd doubtless. It is uite 3 send to'a says) in a divorce followed by a wedding. As at, oneth cratic En fishers poor‘ Jerry
’oung girl—the position a Ellenwood however. 811913 wrapped in 3 Perfect mil-80 01 lg!!!- declared was so and of him,g’ca.use it was way

you 0 er,’a.nd the head of the house so very

Mrs. Sexton laughed; she intended ve pleas-
ant] and proper y to “sound” Mr. ,arling-
for , and when he became very grave all at

- once, she knew, with a delight she could hardly

restrain, that there was little danger of any
one’s gaining an ascendency over him while he
believed Lenore was eligible.

His answer, so quiet y expresSed, so gentle-
manl , strengthened her opinion, even if it
slight y re roved her.

I shal endeavor to secure a lady for my
children’s instructor, who would thoroughly re-
spect my wife when I take her to Ellenwood.”

And, while rs. Sexton swallowed, for her
daughter’s sake, the nox10us rebuke, Mr. (‘ar-
lin 0rd looked at Lenore’s sweet face, with its
flus ed cheeks, and downcast eyelids, whose
silken lashes lay on the pearl cheek.

Just then Mr. Saxtonand berdon arose, and
despite their urgent invitation, Oberdon refused
to remain to luncheon.

He bade them a_ courteous adieu, and left their

romance with a bitter vow recorded in his heart
hm never again would he break bread with
them until circumstances so changed that Edna
Silvesterms an equall honored guest. And,
as he realized h0w mat a chasm divided the
possible time from the .miserable present, he
smiled drearily.

A morning one and no nearer Edna or Ed-
na’s interests han when he started forth; but,
as he re-entered his coupe, he resolved never to
give it up, and in a tone almost tyrannical he
gave the order “ To ——.”

It was the headquarters of a noted divorce
lawyer.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
covnmNG ms man“.

“VIVIAN [Umnsrosnfl’ or preferable, Mr.
Garnett Fay, was en oying a quiet smoke in his
room at the Girard ouse, the evening after his
personal interview with Lenore Sexton at the
railroad depot.

He had arrived at Philadelphia near midnight,
the night before, attendedto some triflin busi—
ness that awaited him, and then, towa even-
ing, returned to his hotel to o to the theateper
the billiard saloon, as his inc ' ation led him.

But, to-ni ht there was no evidence of his
going out c ear and fair though the evening
was. He ad removed his boots and dress-coat,
substitutin slippers and a dreming-gown' he
had li h sugar, and placed several ct ers
oonve ent; he had drawn the one entleman’s
chair his room afforded in front 0 the table
underneath the gas, and near the register; and
thus fortified, commenced his evening’s work.

The task was—to readthe thick letter that lay
unopened on the marble-topped table, and to de-
n “me We...  “is;

n y ' ' e u essica,
sweetheart ’

He carefully slit the envelope with his pen-
snite, and opened the daintily~perfumed sheet,
settled bk head comfortably ' st the cush-
ion“ 13°" 91 his Chair. crossed E legs, smoked
his ci r, and read.

this is the letter:

i “ NADin Anm. Tuesday Night.
“Mr Dun Naranwz— on wm be .mmed 1
ho" 'hen Y0“ “99 “‘0 “0 of in letter to be
‘home:‘ I arrived since dinner.havgg left ‘Sun-
In View” at noon- Why I write is to tell you,
first, that I warn y--u to be cautlo ; your name
has come to be a ho isehold word wi the Butane.
and the sooner you and and use another, the better
it will be. not only for yourself. in case of unfore-
seen emer easy, but on m account—if it ever
comes to re. Sexton learnt tyoumthe nephew
she knows I have! ,
“ 30. my dear bo , I shall anxiously await than”,
ohristenixigyou be sureto give mum”; then
and only on you are free to go to the world
again. 'Happily, no one knows your arsenal de-
teription but myself and Edna. ow nephew
Jilin what shall you do about Edna! duppogm.
on 0 not know an ht of her, I will tell you that,
null probability, a e is hiding; how I know
beam on the night of her flight, she fatefully m.
on old lover—Oberdon And by name—to who
'11! he! extremity, she confide all her troubl 11::
'hoo ‘ flther from y informant—Mrs. of
course—swears eternallfhalty. (By theb ,m dear
Ni. You would hu ely enjoy hearing re. re-
h t ac story for my benefit; yen
Wm see her listen to and ac-
t Iii-mt of my oifortr to ‘dispose' of
$31111 so kindly forgive my ineffectual air
“ “'- W In! “'03.. It looms Mr. Audrey‘hu lost

t or non m
I. {In ejewel

sigh I - my
word for it.
oney or no money nd hunt...

on havey lost,
oi! hot foot,

l
on Uromentlc Quest in: her. which will and (Ira. S.

 

tery.

“ So much for Edna. Re rding ‘ Sunset View.’
Mrs. ‘Ella Fay’ has been 0 ii ed to start at once
for England, and paid the land 0rd :1 quarter‘s re'nt
to be released from the year‘s lease, he to sell the
furniture that I fully intended as your bridal pres-
ant, and retain half for his alas, the other half to
be deposited in the Mt. on bank, subject to my
order at an future time.

“ So muc then, for ‘ Sunset View,‘ as well as
Edna. Every tie is severed, even to Madame Fly-
away, who came on the morning after the event,
dressed in her robes of ceremony, to rebuke or con-
gratulate as she perceived best. I wish you could

ave seen her when I coolly informed her the bridal
pair had gone;—-(I did not specifB how, or when or
where, you may rest. asaured.) id 1 say every tie
was sundered? You can cut the last knot yourself
by assumln another name, and destroying the cer-
tificate iyou ave. Why should you not destroy the
only ev dence that binds you to one from whom it
is advisable to be unloosed? Why should you not
start anew, afresh, and make a lace and a position
for yourself as Smith, Jones or town! You have
a busmess—a paying business if only you will
stick to it' take my advice, my boy, and start over
again, and when you achieve success again, through
my advi e, instead of giving me the credit, remove
the blame for what has been unfortunately done (as
we thought for the best), from (for the last time),

“ Your Amer ‘ELLA.’ "

Garnett read Rachelle Hunt’s letter over the
second time; only his smile of self-satisfaction
notin his approval of the worldly wisdom she
gave ‘ , without stint.

It pleased him, every thing but one in this let—
ter; and that was, that Oberdon Audrey was in
love with—his wife. It was a stran commix-
ture of sensations, thou hts, views amett Fay
experienced as he laid own the letter after he
had'thoroughly read and di ted it.

First, granted Edna was ' wife, what busi-
ness had she and this Audre with each other?
He felt a pan of genuine j ousy shoot through
his  as e remembered Edna’s sweetness,
purity womanhness—everything that a man
on h to ask

hen he curled his lip with scorn to think how
he could compare her with “ Jessica,” his bright,
sparklingfnend, who, unless he was mistaken,
had sufficnency of wealth if he only could sectue
her—and it.

Of course he would destro the certificate'
and in a strong impulse of the greedom he would
thereby obtain, he took it from his memorans
dum—book, tore it in ieces, and then held them
in the gas-flame till t ey burned to ashes. '

He smiled as he sat down again.

“ A free man—after I’ve attended to the child-
ish old minister, and bribed Jerry, the coach-
man, never to disclose the secret he had wit-
nessed.”

He took a lead-oencil from his pocket, and
wrote on the envelope of his aunts letter the
name Vivian Ulm-‘.stone in his elegant hand—
writing.

“ W y not?" he said, inwardly. “ Why isnot
that as a name as any my kind aunt su -
ms? rtainly more euphonious, if lem brie .

nett Fay, good—by foreverl Mr. Vivian Ul-
merstone, entre!”

He bowed to the handsome, triumphant face
that smiled at him, with its brilliant, conscious
blue eyes from the mirror of the dressing-case;
and then as calmly, as indifferently as if he
had decided what coat to wear, resumed his
smokm .

His Cl finished, be unlocked his portable
desk, an , after several minutes’ thought, dashed
OR a letter. '

“ Gmnn Bowen, Friday Night.

" My astute auntie will be hop to learn she can
command her dutiful nephew. E‘he deed is done
or, rather undone; G. F. made his exit; advice all
accepted and heartily thanked for

‘ Moot obedient Vrvnx unneron."

He lenghed as he signed his name.

“A thing my beauty at the depot did
notm eme admitminewasan name
h—gh’e’ll be Mrs. U. of a verity if I can persuade

He sealed and directed his envolope, and rung
to have it mailed, at the same time ordering a
brandy “strai ht.”

“ I need a stiffener,” he th ht', as he leaned

y back amen the bu cushions until
the man came wi h the tumbler of the liquor.
nggfiank it, thzflndrused and merit to bed.

awn? on programme, 0 went back
to Sunset iew, so in his Spanish skin
and get-black hair and eavy whiskers that Ed-
na erself would not have known ' He
hunted for Jerry, the ooachman who ad been
hired 1mm the Village & prepared to si-
lence him. But, when m' of the inn,

with a co , and a perceptible lengthe '

ofthe face. “ oped as the sentleman wash

suddint, indeed, and the ’pothecary said it was
around a good deal, and hardly anybody got
over it—leastwise, it took Jerry Camachan of!
in less ’n a day, notwithstand—’

It flashed over Vivian (we will follow his bent)

like a lightning streak; for once, Destiny was

favoring him—the one witness was dead!

He could have shouted for joy in his moment
of unexpected triumph. Jerry dead! his hush-
money a clear gainl and the main thought in
his mind, next to gratitude for this chea ly-ar-
ran escape in one direction was,
mig t learn that this disease, “that wasaround
a good deal,” might find, if it had not found al-
ready a victim in the doors it old minister.

Such, however, was not e case, as Vivian
found when he called at the parsonage to nes-
tion the clergyman, whom he found '
with his cane in the winter sunshine.

In replyhtc his oily questions Vivian learned
that ol . Robbins renéembered the marriage
without the shadow of a oubt; he remembered

, the handsome bridegroom, and the statel , reti-

 

cent bride who had sighed when the wor were

, said; and he had kept his own private mpg“?!
' Jerry -

the marriage-certificate, signed by
hachan.

Vivian asked to be allowed, as a great rivi.
lege, to see “ his friend’s" wedding-ce ' cats;
he could hardly believe i unless he saw it; he
was astounded, astonished, wonder-stricken, to
think Garnett was married: he must see for.
himself, ere he carried the news to his friend:
at home. What more natural than that?

Mr. Robbins would permit this gentleman to
see his little book wherein he kept his private
certificates? and what more easy to do, than,
when Vivian, book in hand, open at the ‘
that records the fact of his marriage with
Silvester, suddenly called the old man’s atten‘
tion to some passing ob'ect out of doors, talking
volubly the while, wit one sharp jerk, to re
move the leaf and thrust it in his vest pocket?

Then he looked at the page opposite, when
Mr. Robbins turned his head, shook his own as
if he almost doubted the evidence of his own
senses, and gently closed the book, and res
strapped it, holding it in his hand while be ex»
pressed h' great obligation, and only laying it.
down wh£ he said good-morninifi.

He insisted on accompan ' . Robbins to
the sunny walk where he foun him, and, pay‘
in him a last compliment and biddingalast

u, rushed of! in time, and not a second too
soon, for the down train that carried him and
his theft safely awa from Sunset View. ‘ ’

Once in the smo ' g—car,‘ he carelessly tore
the precious pap? into pieces, first assuring
himself it was t one; then he thrust the frag-‘
ments in the stove near his seat, and watched
them burn.

He had done it—or undone it, which was it?
It made no diflerence, so lon as he had suc-
ceededinwhatheundertook. ewalfree,free
astheair, that blow in his hot face; his brain
fairly whirled as he there was never

revent him from '

more an ’ to marrying

moneym if had money, w her

pretty face had bewitched him, es of
He resolved to follow this last

Nimitz;
andseewhatitwbuldleadto, and so erode
New York, with the dye on his face on] a little

money.

lighterthanthedyeinhisheart,tow oflthe
one, to deepen the other.

At the City he changed his identi with his
clothes and ‘ ' Vivian intone

wrote a note to “Jessfcnj’ whom he proposed to

marry While, strange] paradoxical as it ma
seem, ’he kepgdwonderyfing what Memes! flag

Mr. _Audrey to care for Edna Silvester.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
m ANSWER 10 AN anvnn'nsnnm. .
Ir was nearly nine o’clock when Edna awoke
from the sleep that greatly refreshed her, both
bodilyand mentally; she stirred theflre,
one oftgimnd' owe frpmaghie top to let. an
ure in air, that
games... h... ' v
e r ' without an
excegoeits cwn lustrtms richnem; 
the trill and minesfmmdnutandm
ofhergraydress,andtookofltbe
overshrt. Then, she rung for the

and her d to her .
was an: new...“ mm “3......”

ms. - -

W ,shewnited for-thenecennry
tohertollette sheonleredbrquast her
room.andsat down besidetheflre

 

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TWOWQIBEEEWES-

 

 

her mind again the programme she had planned,
moral hours before.

“ Yes, it was prudent] arranged; she was
content, after the test of s eeping on it to adopt
and carry out her self-proposed ine of conduct.
And first, she would read the Herald; without
a moment’s dela , she rung for it.

She took it 0st eagerly from the boy’s
hand. Amen all those columns of “ Help
wanted” was it ible no one wanted her he] 1
Her hands fair y trembled as she opened t 0
sheet and sought what she needed.

There were plenty of seamstresses wanted;
and children’s names, and lady's maids, and in-
valid’s com anions, but over all these Edna
gassed, looking for something nearer her wishes.

0t that she would have scorned the humblest
position, when once she realized none hi her
could be obtained: but her first effort shoul be
for what she felt most congenial to her.

Her courage flagged just a little to find no ad~
vertisement suiting her among the three col-
umns; and then, her eyes suddenly caught the
last of~them all.

It was a short, terse notice, asking for a resi-
dent governess, for two ' ls of seven; the sal-
ary was good—five hum ed dollars; reference
required, and the letter to be addressed to “ Mr.
Carlingford, Elleiiwm Kl-Ol’l-thO-HudSOIl. ”

It was just what Edna wanted, exactly; “ El-
lenwood,” she had never heard of it before, and
if it was unknown to her, why not as well un-
Eigwn to the two men from whom she must

' e?

But—the references! Edna smiled bitterly at
the idea of her having no references; she, who.
was so capable, morally and intellectually, to
guide these two little girls.

But, references or no references she would not
let the chance Sllé) by; she would ro, personally
and see this Mr. ‘ar ingford, and lie might—and
Edna realized as well that he might not—give
her the ition.

This ecided, Edna felt quite like eating the
toast, and the coffee, the broiled chicken, the
omelette and Guard jelly she had ordered.

Breakfast over, she found it was ten o’clock
by her watch; she put on her linen set, and sent
for an Appleton’s Railway Guide by the cham-
bermaid who had done her errand.

By the Guide, she learned the location of El-
lenwood, and found it was an elegait private
place, with a depot of its own; it was thirty
miles up the river, and the next train would
leave in an hour. .

It gave her barely time to meet it, for she had

one or two imperative errands todo; so she con— ';

eluded it was advisable to hire a close carriage
1both for the privacy and speed it Would affor
er.

Leaving word that she would want her room
again that evening, Edna started off in the cab
that awaited her, to perform her errands. The
first was to the Western Union Tele aph office,
in Exchange place, where she sent t e message
for her trunksto Madame Flyaway— iving her
name With a trembling tongue, and a ter a mo-
inent's thought, as simply, “Edna, American
mouse, Jersey City.”

Mme. Flyaway mi ht use her own discretion
: ~ to the surname; a Edna wanted of her was
i or luggage. .

Then she drove to a millinery store on New-
ark avenue where she bought a plain, becom-

iiith
an a silver
conspicuous t an the white cloud she had fled
in: Then the purchased a waterproof cloak,
"'1th round cape, and hard-lined with blue
iuinne ands ' of gauntlets.

Thus attir , and vs much altered in ap-
pearance she re—ente

I

By the time the brakeman shouted “Ellen‘
wood!” Edna’s nervousneu had flown; she was
her own quiet, self- ‘ self again, and she
sprun lightly down the steps to t

Of t e passen rs on the train she was the
only one who ahghted at Ellenwood. The little
sta ion was desolate, save for a lad of sixteen
who was locking the door, and .was about to
hurry away until the next train, which was
three or four hours distant.

Of him Edna inquired the way to Mr. Carling-
ford’s, and the time the next train down stopped

: at Ellenwood.

 

l

He pointed to a large, imposin mansion, built '

of white marble, standing on a s ight eminence
that extended, in a succession of low terraces, to
the river’s edge. I

Large trees, now leafless and weird-looking,
surrounded the house on all sides; a broad gra-
veled walk extended from the Wide iron gates,
that stood hospitably open, to the foot of the
flight of griffin—guarded marble steps that led to
the long, wide, columiied piazza.

W'ide—spreading grounds, laid out in lawns,

ves, promenades; fountains, sealed by the
icy breath of winter; choice floral treasures,
risoned in thick straw protectors: rustic ar-
rs, covered with leafless vines; stat stand-
ing cold and ghostly in the sunli lit; little sum-
mer-houses, and a picturesque c l, modeled
like a Chinese mosque, all told E iia what a
very paradise of beauty Ellenwood was in the
summer-time.

At first she thought no one could be at home,
so desolate and still it all lay under the wintry
sk ; then, like a sudden flush of warmth into
bi ter coldness, she saw the inside shutters of
one of the wind0ws of the second floor 0 n, and
between the brilliant crimson curtains t ere ap-
peared a face and a warm-hued dress.

Of course, then, some one was home, and
ladies; and so Edna started briskly up the foot-

th that led from the depot steps to the en-

rance to the Ellenwood grounds.

She was conscious of unceasing espionage
from the face at the window; once she glanced
that way, and saw, what she had not discerned
atadistaiice, that the lady was very pretty
and as refined as fair. Edna at once concluded
it was the mistress of Ellenwood; and, with the
softening blue e es impressed on her memory,
hoped she woul have the important interView
with her rather than the advertiser.

She walked up the imposingr flight of steps,
and rung the silver bell, and t en stepped inside
the lar e, square vestibule, which was div1ded
from t e hell by double walnut doors, With
stained glass panels.

In a second, a pompous man-servant, in plain,
unmistakable livery, opened the door in answer
to her summons.

“Can I see Mr. Carlingford? I have called
upon business. ”

Her sweet, clear voice, her frank address
her lady-like presence, her thoroughl refined
face was not without its effect upon t 9 know-
in footman. _ '

e bowed, and showed her into a room on .the
left side of the immense hall.

Edna found herself in a small reception-room
very similar to the one at Madisouavenue; it
was deliciousl warm, rather dimly lighted,

and was slight y redolent of hot-house flowers. i

It was pleasant and seemed so natural toher

k velvet witlia silver-grep wing, 1 that she hardly knew how long it was before ,
y tissue vail, that was far less 1 she heard steps approaching. _
She certainly supposed it was Mr. Carling- ,

ford; but the footman entered alone. .
“Mr. Carlingford begs you will see him in
the library.”
Of course Edna acquiesced, and followed

the carriage, leaving again through the hall, with its soft warmth,
.er acaret shawl and white nubia with the thepristine-hued light that came from daintily- ‘

obligin shopwonian, until called for in the even- stained windows, up the broad walnut stairs,

in .
driven over the ferry and up to the Grand Cen—
tral Depot, which she reached none toosoon.

As the train whirled along through the sun-
nhiny, wint landscape, Edna began to grow
nervous. t reason had she for sup

y this time she had only time to be covered with Persian velvet carpet, through a

uare corridor, where the foot sunk in the rich

I pile of the carpeting, and into a room in the
l center, and front of the house.

1

ing ‘ not a whit less
thhHr.'Carlingford Would hire her wit out a of Ellenwood.

Edna saw at one lance that the library was
len id than the other portions
he saw a green car t, like a

refmee, save the honesty that shone in her , sheet of moss, on the floor; shelves lled with
racer It was a romantic goose-chase ifagoose- 3 books from floor to ceiling on every side, with

chase can be romantic; of course there were
dam, scores of worthyvyoung girls
glvemost satisfactory

  ’ lng ’ l to
woman, as a
this situation! 80 En.

deep French windows at short intervals dividing

who could j the shelves; she saw the dark gleam of bronzes,
dances of capability, t the white  of statuettes; she saw a lo
9’

oval study
with pa

with a student’s lamp, litters
and beside it, in a. swinging green

iroparmc - .
In“ cheeks flamed Hid her as edwith ‘ Mr. Carlingford, mm.”
1&1li —-—-—

saltyt‘nnrltuxu

a clear conscience, and she would not let such
' thwart her when she was,

' craven

honestly attempting to honestly gain a living. I

. CHAPTER XIX.-
rwo owns or LIGHT.

e platform. ‘

“ lady when I came.
Emu bewed. gravely, as the 10W men’ 1

l tioned the ntleman‘s name. Ir. Uar ord
rose, with t e instinctive reverence a gentleman
, always pays to a lady.

“I am an applicant for the position of gov-
erness; I saw your advertisement, and came to
ofler my services.” .

Her voice was perfectly toned and she threw
aside her vail as she spoke. ith a curious

start, as he casually glanced at her, Mr. Car-

lingford stc nearer her.
‘ A little b ush at his pointed consternation on
beholding her brought an instantaneous apology.
“I sincerely begl your pardon. I was so—so
—astonished, so 5 ocked at a resemblance be—
tween you and a dear one that isdead. I ma

.
r

ask on to be seated; and our name, please ’
na gracefully seated erself in a chair
near her. Her name? should it be her own or,

for safety’s sake an assumed one? A second de-
cided it.

“You may have my name, certainly. I am
Miss Vandeleur.”

He bowed, and Edna, with a thrill of delight,
was glad she could so conscientiously accept the
consent of her truthfulness that his courteous
bow implied.

Her name was Vandeleur by just as good a
right as SiIVester and surely more her rightful
one than Fa . he had been christened Edna
Vaiideleur Silvester, by her adopted mother,
who would not own her own name, Sexton,
: from some odd vaga ; and Edna, never ad-

niiring the long, thoug musical title, had drop-
' ped the center one when she was yet a little girl.

Not a soul in the world knew her name was
Vandeleur; what then more appro riate, more
‘ truthful than that she should ungiesitatingly
ado t it in her time of need?

r. Carlingl‘ord resumed his seat, still keep-
in his eyes, as if fascinated, on Edna‘s pure,
pa 0 face; yet their scrutiny was so grave, so
respectful, and withal, so intense, that she could
not feel insulted by it.

“Miss Vandeleur,” be repeated, after a mo-
, ment, “I expected to be ap )lied to by letter,
i and I came down from New ork last night for
. my anticipated mail. My advertisement has
. been in three suCCessive days, and you see the
. result.”

He smiled and pointed to the scores of opened
I letters scattered on the study table.

A little pang of despair shot through Edna’s
' heart; and it mirrored itself on her face.

“ There can be no chance for me then: and no
one needs it more than I.”

Her eyes were full of tears that she would not.
* let fall; and Mr. Carlingford saw the tight, al—
L most fierce clasp of her gloved fingers.

He was interested, deeply, in this beautiful
; girl, who seemed more annous than his corres-
g ndents—for she had come personally--and who
' ooked so like—yet unlike, as he saw her longer
1 —some one “who was dead.”

“ Perha your chances are better, Miss Van-
: deleur. think a personal interview is decided—
[ 21y best, but I dreaded it. What would I have
1 0

 

ne  I been obliged to see the writers of all‘

these!
i .But Edna could not reflect the merr smile on

his nobly chiseled face; she was thi g, bit-
. terl , sadly, of the “ references” there must bb
; in a that mass of correspondence.
‘ “A personal interview is best, Mr. Carling.
ford, and I came to Ellenwood because I knew,
if I depended on a letter alone, my one hi?»
, was he less. I want the tion—ohl r,
Carlin ord, you, in the mi , of comfort, of
\ shelter, of friends, at home, can not know how I
‘ want it. And I haven’t a reference in the world,
but I am honest, I am decent, I am a good schol—
ar. 0h, sir, what will I doif I am refused,
when l have not a friend, no parents, no home?

Now, the tears stood on her 10 , thick lashes;
and she half arose from her chair in her eager
pleading for this haven of rest, this asylum of
security. Her face was pale as. death and her
e es shone, even through the mist that clouded

em, like the bri htest stars. _'

Mr. Carlinng listened gravely; his hand
trembled on the arm of the .chair, and he
watched the motion of her red lips, the involun-
tary bending of her queeiily head and remem-
bered that once, years and years before anoth-
er, as fair, as sweet, as ure as he could have
 s“ t:  metastases...“

g a avor 0 . uc _ ' d
his stern silence

“Miss Vandeleur it would be $311!;ng
 I were to’placemy little mo rises
Eghe interrupted him with a sharp 

n. >

“Have they no mother? I thought I saw a

No mother!”
A faint flush crept from her shapely throat to

/

 

 

’ from this moment.

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

‘15

 

 

her white temples. What construction could be

placed on her ardent language? could Mr. Car-
inng for a moment—oh! could he, possibl ,

think she was interested because-because t 0

children were motherless? And a quick, angry
 came almost simultaneously With the

It did not escape Mr. Carlingford’s keen e es;
and, With a rare, delicate intuition, it was p '
as dayli ht to him.

And t eagleam of mortified anger, the blush
of wound delicacy, won the ggsition of gov-
erness for Edna against the yar of references
on the table!

“ Miss Vandeleur,” he said, in his pleasant,
winning way, that was a stran e mixture of
sweetness and sternum “ you w1 allow me to
speak very Plainly to you? You are a child,
compared w th my fifty years and a word from
me can do no harm, sure y. I see just what you
are; a lady, whom Fate or Fortune has thrown
into the crucible to make a more perfect cre-
ation of. I know you are suitable to guide and
teach my little girls; they are your charges
And I also know, Miss Van—
deleur, that on have a trouble, a secret trouble.
Rest assure that never, until you have roven
us to bé friends to you, and you a frien to us,
will we seek to know it; and then, I can prom-
ise sympathy at least.”

He held out his hand, cordially' and Edna
took it, silently, and with a dumb t ankfulness
she never forgot.

A second after, her voice, low and sweet,
found utterance.

“ I can on] prove in obligations by my ser—
vices. I will lie faithf to the little ones’ minds
and bodies and souls, and because of my great,
dreadful trouble, I shall the more apprecmte
your kindness.” ,

Thus the m sterious hand of Destiny forged
a new link in t e chain that one day would bind
in crushin fetters-who?

Mr. Car ingford walked over to the silver
8 *aking-tube and said Something in a low tone
f} at escaped Edna. Then he turned around to

er.

“I will take on to see my little girls, Miss
Vandeleur, and introduce my sister. You will
stay with us, I su pose, from now?”

“ I must go bac for my trunk and settle my
hotel bill before I berg: my duties here. ”

Somehow, Mr. Car ' gford was loth to have

er 0.

“ Eut one of my men can go for the luggage
and do your business. It looks like a snow-
storm; you had better remain.”

They had one across the large square corri-
dor, hung With numerous oil portraits of the
Carlingfords, for generations past, and Mr.
Carlingford tap )ed lightly on a door that was
8331', and then, gollowed by Edna, entered.

It was the largest room she had seen yet at
Ellenwood, with a floor of inlaid wood, polished
brightly, and covered with gay druggets in
various places. _

A small piano occupied one alcove; a raised
dais. three steps high, ran across the rear end,
On Which were a large desk, and an arm-chair.
TWO 51118-11 duh and two tiny chairs were
placed 0 to the platform; on the walls were
maps: Pic , 39d venile drawings. Crim-
son moreen curtains ung at the four windows,
and  recognized, sitting beside the cheeri-
ly-blazing fire, the lady she had seen at the
window. _ _

BeSide her, one 0,11 either knee, were two little
grls, so exactly alike” at so entirely different,

at Edna involuntari y stopped in the center
of the room. Mr. Carlingfor smiled,

“ You are not the first, Miss Vandelenr, who
finds it difficult to reconcile the fact that blue
eyes and yellow hair can_80 Deflectltyhreeemble
brown eyes and brown hair. Annie, is is Miss
Vandeleur the new governess. Miss Vandeleur,

m sister, iss Carlingford.”
bowed, then glanced up at the raceful,
deli to Woman who ad come toward er,

- “ y dear Miss Vandeleur, I am glad to know
you. You will make 'ourself perfectly at
, I trust, with us. _ay come here gal-1-
1118'; come, June, and see Miss Yandeleur. ‘on’t
YO“ kiss her?” _
Edna put out her hands to the beautiful chil-
dren, W 0 came to her unhesitatingly to be
h'afid- And Edna kissedthem'mth anti-rings
e
As

81' at her heart.
i139 released little blue—e ed May, she
turned toward Miss Carlingf
her \fiyes intently fixed on her
we qua-ti
hadevineed.
Her
seeing

, and caught
with almost as
as in, Carlingford

face lubed,

 

' accompanied by Mr. Carlingford.

 

" I did not mean to embarrass you, Miss Van-
deleur; but you are so ve like—”

What she would have said Mr. Carhngford
prevented.

“ Ring for some one to show Miss Vandeleur
her room. She will want to rest before lunch-
eon.

Edna had only a second in which to decide
before Miss Carlmgford pulled the tassel at her
elbow. Should she return for her trimks or s
not? would it not be best to settle her own busi-
ness with the landlord? besides, she wanted her ‘
bundle she left at the store, and she wanted,
tgo, tosfie Lawyer M‘Cowan about that legacy, i
i l e.

he turned toward Miss Carlingford, just as
that lad ’3 hand touched the tassel.

“I w' not trouble on. I would much rather
return,” she said to r. Carlingford, sweetly.
“ I have several little commissions to attend to
and to-morrow I will come to stay.”

The answer, so quiet, was decisive; and Edna
said her adieux, and descended to the entrance,

“ You will not disap int us, child?” he said,
almost leadingly, at t e door of the vestibule.

And dna turned her bright, thankful eyes to
him as she answered him:

“ I would be disappointed far more than you
Easiny could be. Already, Ellenwood seems
' e home.” .

“ And, so singularly, it seems to me we have
always known you, Miss Vandeleur.”

Edna’s step was light and free as she returned
to the little depot, where the boy was again,
and where she elt so peculiarly at home. She
bought her ticket, lOWered her vail over her
face, now flushed with the quick frosty walk,
and entered the train when it stop .

In less than an hour she arrive at 42d street
and 4th avenue, where she hired a. hack, and
was driven direct to Lawyer M‘Cowan’s office.

She found it to be a dull, cheerless place, on
the shady side of a dingy street; with ugly
furniture, and two homely clerks, copying or
dear life. Indeed the one and only bright spot
was Mr. M‘Cowan himself, whese twinkhn

eon-blue eyes and jolly rmmd face inspi
Edna with confidence at a glance.

WithOut reserve, she told him her story—that
is, all exce t her future intentions. She asked
him regar ing the legacy, and found to her in—
tense amazement that the mone was not for-
feited in case of her marriage. . M‘Cowan
had informed a Mrs. Fay to the contrary; he
would inform any one as well, for such were
the conditions of the will. Every one was to
suppose Edna Silvester would lose her fortune
by marr ing, and then the man who married
her wo d certainly be no fortune-hunter; she
would thus secure a husband who would value
her for herself.

Mr. M‘Cowan had received orders, years and
years ago, before the first Mrs. Saxton died, to
never disclose the secret exce t to Edna. herself
on her own inquiring; and ere she- was, led
throu h strange we. 9, to unravel another
thre in the web of ate that was slowly clos—
ing around her.

‘And you know me so well?" she remarked
to the lawyer, as she was about departing.

“Ever since Mrs. Saxton brought you here
from where she actually bought you of an old
hag for a hundred dollars cash. The Saxtons
lived in the country then.”

Somehow, it seemed to Edna she had found a
friend; and when she had arranged with him to
still keep her fortune as he had for years, until
she came to claim it, she went away, lighter of
heart than she had been for days.

 

CHAPTER XX.
VIVIAN’S DISCOVERY.

 

ARRIVED at New York and a. note dispatched ,
to “Jessica, Station D,” Vivran Ulmerstone re- l
si ed himself Katiently to await the end of the ‘
:0 eme he ha fully arranged in his fertile:

rain. ’ l

He was not a very patient man; apt not only ‘I
to rush at conclusions, but fully as given to hur- '
rying to an accomplishment whatever project he

in view.

To him, obstacles offered no im ' ent in
fact. The greater the hindrancas t more he
enjoyed combatin them; and, what to most
men would have been insuperable difficulties,
Vivian Ulmerstone easily accomplished. ,

Such characteristics as Vivian Ulmerstone
possessed while they made a deplorany un-.
anncipled man of him, could they have been ,

unedand carriedfromtheir perverted uses,‘
would haveotslvo'n their pouessor high rank
among men- skill.'uid largeexacutive ability. '

\

But Vivian Ulmerstone had covered up his
back-tracks, and now,  free-footed,
ex for a queer little Jealousy, that some-
how pt rising in his memory, he swore to 
the retty iquant girl, who, he knew, With
his shrewd, een insight into human nature,

wasonlywaitingtobeasked to share his des- '

tin .

fessica was ve pretty—very; he decided
that languidly, as e rode up Broadway in a
Madison avenue stage ; she was styhsh, educated,
and belonged to the “upper ten, most assured-

Then, even his calloused heart beat a little
faster than was its wont, as he saw,
carelessly through the window, Jessica . _-
ing the brown—stone steps of an imposing resi-
dence, 'ust as the stage rode by. -

She did not see him, but he watched her close—
ly. He saw her consult her tablets, that she held
so daintily in her kidded rs; he saw
her sp ' lightly into the little coupe, and be
driven 0g; and he saw, too, on the silver door-
plate, the name: “ Gammon Sums.”

Then he ulled the check-stra , and was
aboutto alig t, when a sentence one of
his fellow-passengers caused him to change his
mind very suddenly.

“You saw Miss Sexton, Carroll? What a
pretty irl she is.”

“ An as rich, or will be, when the old man
dies as she is pretty.”

“She‘ll not inherit it all, will she? I think I
heard M’Cowan telling a young lady client this
morning that a Miss lfdna Silvester came in for
fifty thousand or so. A curious case that of
Lenore Saxton’s adopted sister.

, ly. But who was she?

“I resume you ought to know, if any one
does, ing buried alive in old M’Cowan’s ofi‘lce,
these ten years.”

“\Vell, I do flatter myself I know a little.

At any rate there will be a decidedly agreeable

5 surprise somewhere, for the legacy, supposed to

be forfeited by Miss Silvester’s marria , is not
forfeited at all; a queer trick of the t Mrs.
Saxton‘s, they say. And the bonds and consid-
erable ready money on] await the lad ’s sig.”

i“ Her husband’s 9. Inc y dog—hey? ing to
get out here are you?”
And the two'men alighted, leaving Ulmer-

stofne in a state between rage, hope, and unbe-
le . l
Granting it was so, what had he done? De-
liberatel torn to atoms a fortune of fifty thou-
sand dol are!

He bit his lip fiercely at the bare supposition,
and rode on and on, not knowing where he was

7... Wat—.4. 1... _ I. > v A M. x” ,Mu, A II... ,.. .

going, until the stage brought up at the termi- .
nus

Again, as long as he was free of her, here was
as fine a chance as ever a fellow had; a beauti-
ful girl, of an aristocratic family, with en
pf wealth to back her, and her husband, oub

ess.

“ Lenore Sexton ” her name was, then, daugh—
ter of Grandon Sexton, the rich Wall street
banker and adopted sister of—no, not his wife
—of na Silvester.

Surely there was a visible finger of Fate here;
Surely an unusual commingling of parts that
crossed and unch ve st 1 .

He walked down Madison avenue, past Mr.
Saxton’s mansion, and back to his hotel where
a note awaited him, brief, but very sweet.

“ Dear Mr. Ulmerstone,” it said, in its beauti—
ful handwriting, and Ulmerstone smiled as he
thought be detected a slight uncertainty in the
letters, “ I just received your unexpectedand
welcome letter, begging an interview for this
evening. I shall be in papa’s box at Niblo’s to-
night, alone.
Saxton’s. Yours, L. S.

It was the first time “ Jessica ” had intimated
her name, and here, at once she mentioned her
father‘s and subscribed her own initials.

There was no decision nece in the case;
without the shadow of a doubt he would go to
Niblo‘s, and, amid the crash of the music, the

litter pf the lights, ask Lenore Saxton to be his
ride. ‘

Precipitate, was he? impulsive? perhaps; but
an acquaintance, even by mail, of a few short

: weeks, seemed a lifetime of knowledge and

friendship to such a disposition as he possessed.
He flattered himself, and truthqu , that be
thoroughly knew Lenore Sexton; all her roman-
tic ideas, all her gritty weaknesses, childish vau-
ities, as Well as er virtues of strong, constant
affectionatenees, when she had bestowed it.
That she had alreath bestowed it, and W1
him, Ulmerstone little doubt, and t,
when she was once heart and soul, in

m, she WWW whim, despite even

Will you come? Ask for Mr.

oar-

 

 

 

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 TWO GIRLEilVES?

Yel,‘he would  her; there was  a  only late. or altogether absent, the pla had no

'soulinthebroaduniversetouttera 3
voice, and with the Sexton money, and allied to
the Sexton name, he would find the position he
had 1 looked for.

And think his acute aunt Rachelle had
never hinted of the existence of a young, beau-
tiful girl in the famil of her mis! ressi tothink,
when they had 'este about “J ossica,” neither
of them dreame who it was!

Rachelle Hunt would not offer any objection'
indeed, Ulmerstone rather supposw she would
secretly rejoice over an alliance of the house. of
Saxton with one of her kin; and as long as there
never would be a word lisped regarding the re-
lationship, no one but themselves Would, or need
be, the wiser.

it was necessary for Vivian to see Rachelle
Hunt, and explain the existin condition of af-
fairs; so, before he started for l iblo's that night
he ed a not», merely requesting her to call
at is hotel, the ensuing day.

Then, after careful] arranging his toilette,
and mailing his letter, ’ivian filmerstone light-
ed his cigar, and walked Up Broadway, to the
decisive interview with Lenore Saxton.

CHAPTER XXI.

t. WOOING BEHIND THE GAS-LIGHTS.

IN her room, flooded with brilliant light, Lo-
nore Sexton stood behind her dressing-case,
carefully, criticall surveying herself, from the
elegzuitly-arrang hair, that was a marvel of .
crc )0 puffs, braids, and curls, black as Egyptian i
m' lit, to the train of her (lai‘k-cordml,‘ )lum-l
c0 cred silk, that was relieved, at three
wrists, by narrow linen collar and cuffs. ,

Her 0 'es were bright as diamonds as they met
their reflection in the mirror, in approving sat— .
isfaction of her appearance: and what wonder .
was it that the were bri ht? to-night was to be 1
a crisis in her ate, and s 0 know 1t, felt it in‘
every nerve of her body. Had he not said 1
when he parted from her at their first personal ,
interview, that at the next he had somethin to
tell her? And what could he have to tell er
but his love, that she was so blessed with?

True, she had never seen him but once; but i
she felt that she had known him for years; and, ,
whether or not, Lenore decided deliberately she
would accept him and marry him, trusting to
time to gain the necessaryaparental blessmg; ‘1
and she meant money by t t. 1

Yes, she loved him, heart and soul; she had i
liked him remarkably well when she read his 
first letter; there was a vim, a dash, a tinge of 7
the man-of—the—world in it, that suited her curi-
ous temperament remarkabl . Even his hand—
writing attracted her, and e was a girl to be
won by just such trifling things.

Then, when her own eyes—eyes that were
keen to criticise, to apprecxate beauty of form,
and e—when she really saw him, it needed
no more than Vivian Ulmemtone’s handsome
blonde face, and elegantly worn clothing, and
courtl air to complete the conquest.

An now, all this perfection was waiting to
be laid at her feet- unknown, an entire stranger,
though he was to her and hers, it made no dif-
ference to Lenore, she was oing to marry him.

Of course, there would a fearful storm
about it; Lenore knew how more than anxious
her 1{iizrents were that she should marry Mr.

lowed

and 1

0rd; and while she had deliberately al- '

e gentleman to suppose his attentions

were a eeable to her, and while she actually

enjoy her flirtation with Mr. Carlingford, she

had never for a moment for otten Ulmerstone,

never for a second Swerved rom her self-sworn
eflance.

8 fastened her purple kid gloves adjusted
the narrow gold bands on her small, plump
wrists took up her fan, her 0 ra-glass, and her
fl'lmy handkerchief, and wen down the grand
staircase.

The doors on either side the hall stood open,
and she lanced carelessly in seeing that Mr. ,
and Mrs. Caxton had already departed to a. stu— ‘

 

It was nearly time for the curtain to rise, and i
the loud, sweet music of the orchestra made
eve nerve tingle as she swept up the aisle to §
Mr. ton’s box. ,

She fled barely timeatgd htefiself 13r-
range or programme us erskirts a
mogul daglélfloud astound her, before the bell

. e curtain rose.
, And light: not h l' ‘

m I
" The‘ at hearttoldherhommndl lh
loved  w ' y 8

thus to suffer at a tardiness that

might only be momentary: but. whether he was | me,”

attraction for Lenore. Pretty faces witch-
ing smiles, and charming toilettes, did not com-
mand her attention any more than the glances
from the actors, who were not slow to recognize
her own beauty.

The curtain had fallen on the first act, and
Lenore sat there, still alone, with a feverish
glow on her cheeks and a red gleam in her dusky
9 es; she sat nervous] ta ping on the edge of
t 6 box with her kir dc fingers, wondering,
hoping, fearing, praying.

1 m then—a voice directly over her shoulder
sent the bloml fairly leaping along every vein.

“ Lenore l”

“Oh, Mr. Ulmcrstonei”

A mutual smile, a warm pressure of clinging
fingers, and, happy almost to ecstasy, Lenore
leaned back in her chair. ~

“I was so afraid you would not come,” she
said, ingenuously, with a glance at him from the
dark eyes she vailed so quickly.

“ And would you have cared if I had not
come?”

The sudden paling of her face answered him;
then the warm blood surged over it again.

“ You know best,” she said, half laughingly.
“ But how did you learn my name—Vivian?

She added his Own in a sweet, timid way that
was irresistible.

“ Did you not subscribe ‘ L. S. ?’ And I knew
it was not Lillie, or Louise, or Laurie, or an of
those utterly characteristic names young la< ies
delight in. Then I remembered the maiden in
the poem— ,

“ ‘ Whom the angels call Lenore.‘ “

He smiled down in her happy eyes as he re-
peated in a 10w, thrilling tone, this retty piece
of romance, so very different from he matter-
of—fact truth of having heard her name mention-
ed in a ’bus by two 01mg fellows.

But Lenore did not, know that.

so improbable. In truth, the nearer ideality and
romance he reached in his conversation, the more
Lenore admired and appreciated.

“ You are very correct at drawing conclu-
sions,” she said, when he finished with the line
from Poe’s “Raven.”

“ 1’ know I am; and there is another conclusion
which, thou h I dare not say I have actually ar-
rived at, still, I am more than hopeful it is cor-
rect. "

The piccalo in the orchestra was tinkling the
sweetest music Lenore thought she had ever
heard; else why the strange bllBS that was brood-
ing so calmly over her?

‘ And you, Lenore, are the oracle I shall con-
sult. Tell me if a certain darling Jessica loves
me as I love her?”

It was well that the sudden crash of music
came just then, for it drowned the little ecstatic
cry that burst involuntarily from Lenore’s li
Vivian did not hear the sound but he saw 0
red lips breathlessly apart. and the radiant as
sent in her dusky eyes.

“ Oh, Vivian! you know she loves you dearly,
dearl I”

“ y darling!”

Their hands met in a lover’s clasp, below the
level of the box; and, when the curtain rose
again, Lenore Sexton was engaged to Edna
Silvester’s husband.

“ and when may I come to ask Mr. Sexton for

011'! ,

y Ulmerstone waited for her tardy answer With
more anxiety than he displayed. Not so much
to hear that he might come as soon as be ($089.
but because by her answer he could tell if his
0 inion of her was correct; that she would brave
a l for the man she loved, even the just wrath of
her parents. ' B the kindling of the black eyes,
and the slowly wning smile on her mouth, he
forecasted her answer. . .

“ What use would there bein coming, Vivmn?
I am sure papa will refuse me to you, because—”

“Because what, dearest? That I am an un-

known, a va rabond, who dare aspire to the hand ,

of Grandon Saxton's daughter?”

' pid reading at Steinway Hall. At the door the  “ 0h, Vivianl you a Va bond! Indeed, you 1
031'” Waited, into Wh-Wh “he “'33 W =' are more than worthy of lpapa could give you,
and van to the theater. i

onl -only— on know-4’
9 see unable to utter the grand objec-

She blushed rosy-red.
“That’s the veryreasmi. Papa and mama
mbothdeterminedtohavememarryflr. Car-
lingford° [We very rich, you know.”

‘ Ididn‘t how..le notwant to know
anything but whether my Lenore will marry

A"

.g “My own darlingl 1'

She believed ‘
every syllable this lover of hch said be it ever ‘

A therefrom.

I she would with flowers;
, suddenl known fortune that we hen,
; Edna f t her hen the tighter, and the 11de
. hiding from her fate all the keener.

 

‘ She stole her warm gloved hand to his own,

‘ and let it remain there in so perfectly restful a

; repose that there was no need of a verbal an—
swer.

“In ite of pa a, and mamma, and this rich
Mr‘} Casxgin fordig 1 t1 hall

ivian's lue eyes weree oquen c en
her for the answer ' low, tenderEvoice 
and the vehement reply actually startled him
for a second.

“ In spite of all the world, Vivian! I love you,
and no one, nothing, shall hinder me hem being
your wife, if you wish it.”

I wish it! As if I

j would not risk my very ife to win you; and to
1 rove it, Lenore, I am goin openly, boldly, to
r. Sexton, tell him that I ove you, that you

i love me, and ask your hand in marriage.”
; Lenore’s bright face paled.
! “But he’s sure to say not All the induce-
. merits you could offer would not persuade him.”
i I Vivian seemed fairly to revel in the conster—
‘ nation on her piquant face; he smiled proudly
at his utter conquest of this girl.

“Well, and granting all that, my dar
: there remains but one course open to us. I sh
’ have done all an honorable man can do; and
1 then, if your father refuses it, we must take our
j ha piness in our own hands.”
1 XS he looked at her, his meaning occurred to
‘; her forcibly. He loved her so truly that he
. would marry her clandestinely; she would on-

jo the romance of an out-and-out elopement;
‘ co lect her jewels and perhaps be obliged to sell
1 them, true novel fashion, to pay the expenses
i of the honeymoon; probably be immortalized
E in the columns of a certain sensational paper
= whose re rter on such topics she knew, and

who wou d not fail to describe Miss S—‘s
‘ beauty, etc., etc.

It would be too delightful! and a smile of an-

‘ ticipatory delight fiitted over her face. Vivian
saw it, and read it at a glance, and Lenore did
not think the mutual smile from his eyes meant
: anythin different from her own tho hts.
‘ Really merstone was deciding that an “ ion—
, orable” oifcr for Lenore‘s hand although he
, knew he would be refused, wo d be the best
‘ course to ursue, for the reason that the Sex—
} tons woul be all the more likely to for 've
i them (and Whenever, in song or story, di an
‘ only child sue in vain for the parental blessing,
1 forgiveness and—the inheritance?) and receive
: them with open arms.
“I will see Mr. Sexton to-morrow,” Ulmer-

; stone said as he bade Lenore good-night at the

 

‘ carriage oor. “You will hear from med

{ the day.”

1 And Lenore rode home in a perfect ecstasy of
! delight. A

 

CHAPTER XXII.
rm: NEW urn.

Ir was nearly dusk when Edna reached her
hotel 111 Jersey City, and entered her room, so
warm and cozy and quiet. She sunk into the
10W 1'00 chair before the fire to think over
the stran e y unexpected success that had come
to her in e hours of that short winter 

0n the table still lay that mornin ’s ‘ Her-
old,” from which she had out Mr. Car ' ord’s
advertisement' and as she remembered er en-
gagement at enwood, and the ile of letters
she. had seen on the lib tab e, she felt a
thrill of happiness in on fl r of her frame.

She thoroughly lik llenwood; its air of
elegance, style, quiet, med as native as the
, air she breathed. She liked Mr. Carlingford,
; with his grave, sweet courtesy of manner. equal-
L lty removed from famthanty or coldness; and
,‘ ere was something, a Vague, half-painful, half-

pleasurable emotion that she experienced new,
. sitting by her lonely fireside as whendn the
I apartments at Ellenwood, both Mr. Carlmgford

and his ’sister had dropped such stro , ye evi-
: dently distressful hints of her resem lance to
1 some one.
ceased Mrs. Carlingford she unfortunatelv, for
i them, was so like; and Edna, while she felt she
owed no little of her good fortune to that fact,
, hoped and intended as far asshe was able, that
I no uncomfortable recollections should arise

 

% tion: and Ulmerstoue came to the rescue. It was very leasant for Ed to think, that,

" Is 1 then, that some other finally appreci- like Ellenwood‘ as she did, and e Carlingfords,
Eative tor Whom Papa 001m y approves. is still, there was no positive need for her going.
'in the way?” - I It was now very sweet, too, for her to realise

she was free to—

]. loamehomdnomcheinsw

Free
would burn into her very soul, com I'm as
and. bee-nu- of the

It seemed to Edna it must be the de—‘

.-- .4

 

mass. M

“4.10‘A m at :‘5‘

 

 

TWO GI‘RL’S LIVES.

.4,.- ,. -

i 7

 

 

 

_..__..:...__..~_h. no __

. Jun-5‘.

:

 

I

.316“?

w as. ,tnatnerrordandmas-
targetokhgr he ,mrnett Fay, and alwa
would be—gladas he might be to have so y

otten rid of her under circumstances supposed
a exist, would be fully as delighted to plan
her, before, and by means of, any court in the
land, since she would, as he first expected, brmg
inher hands so fair a freight. .

But the chances were that he would not learn
the exact condition of affairs; yet, she was not
sure; and not sure, surely unsafe. And Ellen-
wood, in its aristocratic exclusrveness, was a
better retreat than the wilds of an African
fingle, Were Fay or Oberdon to attempt to seek

r.
A ‘Poor Oberdonl she felt she would have given
worlds to see him, hear him k, tell him all
her ood news. But it cool not be; as from
her usband, so from her lover she must hide
herself; and while safe and comparatively con-
tent in her school-room, let them both seek her
near and far, if so they Wflled to do,

Her reverie lasted ong into the darkness of
the evenin ; then she rung for dinner in her
room, and learned from the waiter that trunks
for a “ Mrs. Garnett Fay” had arrived.

“ I will re—label them, ’ she said, uietly, while
her cheeks flamed at the innocent eception she
felt it necessa ' to repeat. “The are for a
friend of mine, iss Vandeleur at .llenwood.”

She quickly wrote the labels, had them pasted
over {flue old ones, and at once expressed to her

ome.

She seemed to breathe more freely when they
had actually gone, and ate her dinner of roast
turkey, cranberry—sauce, fried egg-plant, and
grapes, with a healthy relish long a stranger to

er.

After dinner she sent the chambermaid for
the parcel she had left at the furmshlng store in
the morning, then undressed and retired, and
slept soundly until morning.

fter breakfast in her room she ordered and
paid her bill, and called a hack to carry her to
the Grand Central.

It seemed to her that now she had severed
every tie that bound her to her old life; even 1n
name—and she asked herself whether, in the
sight of God and hurnani , she was not better
entitled to the name she h decided tebe called
by, than the one given her by a ceremony that
was on] a ceremony.

And e had cut adrift from the leaden-footed
past, the immediate met, that was none the less
weighty that it had heen so short. She thought
in her pure nobility of mind, that she could
learn to be content with what goods the gods
Eave her; she wanted to drink the en given to

or lips without, like a nausea chi (1 egg
an ugly face over it. She believed,  hon
truth, she could learn to regard her life as a
Reculiarly isolated one, even from the tempta-
tion of friendship with Oberdon Andre ,

And there hung the only lingering oubt she

W“, into,her new life. Could she for-
get him so ugterl as to insure herself the calm

P0808 she wan so to feel? Yes; she thought,
she hoped—

And Just itgominute, glancing carelessly
through the w of her  she law a
face hat sent her blood boun 3 mad1
throughher veins, that made her r-en
fwrlyt tingle. her heart almost leap to her

Alas,ffor her brave heart! alas, for the 5::-

uesto Mover  land Edna, r
gist brief  'Oberdon Audrey‘s
worried,th t . wd th gags, asdhe hum-13g
along wr ecro roug roa way su
back 'amon the cushions and cried for, very

ass 0 ony and love.
'mghgndid lovzfirim; she did: no matter whether

‘ she were bound or free; and, in the letters, or

unshackled, her soul’s lord was Oberdon Au-

y.

Andtohavetoburythislove once so freel
oflered, and so lainly whim—’1’!) bury it and
carry her dead Ellenwood with her!

Butthe cab rattled Omand Edna dried her

 and doubled her vail over her f fearful
m bright morning sunlight w betray

' 'tatron. I
the tapes of her agl and rode
no mis-

gained her seat in the train
my to the new life; this time With

an to her success in the great, grand
case that lay,  a monster castle, in the win-
.  haughtheladwhodincted
M31193”?! an pamedthroughtheopen
yttthefimcettg Fillenwggd‘.’ the m.
 "a “no I I H g
' . «7 die-sod in sought me-

dressed,

lookimr like “We winter

fairiuastheycfme

 

\ _
bounding toward Edna, seemed to her a very
of welcome to home.

She stooped and kissed them, and took them
bothby the hand, walkin slowly up the wide
walk, smilin in her swee , grave way, and be-
ing enterta nod by the ‘tnerry laughter and
childish remarks of the little girls.

Half-way up the walk, a sharp turn round a
low gfiaceful arbor, brou ht them face to face
with r. Carlliingford, w 0 was giving direc-

ener.

tions to his
' ghted at sight of Edna; he raised
his hat conrteously.

“Miss Vandeleuri I am glad you have ar-
rived. May and June have been expecting you
since breakfast when your luggage came. If
you will take Mira Vandeleur to the house, chil--
dren it will be the best thing on can do. She
is‘coid, and aunt Annie has h coffee ready. ”

Edna thanked him, and told him that though
she had already breakfasted, a cup of hot cof-
fee with Miss Carlin and was to be desired.
And then, she and t 6 children want to the

house.

At the entrance Miss Carlingford met her
with a warm of the hands and a kiss full of
sisterly ad on.

“ My dear child, welcome to Ellenwoodl Come
right in, and take 03 your wraps.”

Andb the blazing fire in her own room, so
large, e egant, convenient, Edna actually rea-
lized to what a haven of rest she had, in God’s
providence, been directed.

The Carlin ords Were her friends. She knew
it, else why eir delicate, kindly attentions? or 3
was it the way of the world for ple to treat ‘
their employees the We she had n treated?

It was very sweet to dna to be thus regarded.
Hers had been an empty life, until of very re-
cent days; altogether void of those charming
home courtesies that make life so attractive, so i
worth cultivating. Here at Ellenwood, it
seemed, even from the few brief glimpses as if
a subtle charm held every member of he house-
hold in a sweet embrace; a sense of refinement,
purest affection, self—sacrifice from Mr. Car-

rngford to May, characteriy them, and Edna
knew, in the quiet, calm and serenity, the best
balm for her wounded spirit was to be found.

Very pleasantly the days came and went.
Duties in the school-room, romps out of study
hours, long walks in the grounds, delicious even-
ings among the books in the library, where she
was welcome as birds in spring.

These innocent amusements constituted Ed-
na’s life at Ellenwood. She did not care to go
out with Miss Carlingford;,she had- no inten-
tion of seeing, or bein seen by, two pairs of
eyes, she felt were on t e lookout for her, in all
probabil . ‘

Aside to her exclusiveness, there was a
great deal of gayety at Ellenwood. Dinners,
evening dances, grand sleighing parties, and en-
tertainments for the children; and, in her room
Edna would listen to the music, and the sound
of footsteps, and wonder if it was possible she
had every cared enou h to participate in such
frivolity, and—this th a certain tightening of
her heart-strings—was it possible she ever
again could dance from very lightness of heart!

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
rwo animus m A mmssn.

LINORE came down to the nine-o’clock break-
fast on the morning after the memorable even-
ing in the theater-box, with a radiance on her
face that was noticeable, piquant and gay as she
always was.

As she entered the room, looking so beautiful
in her pale  cashmere morning-robe, that
swept from hroat to feet in a l ,graceful
train, buttoned its entire length 'th arge gold
squares Mr. Sexton arose from his chair beside
the re r, and laid down his morning paper.

“ I have not kept you waiting, have ~ papa,
mammal I am so I am sure. ’

She lanced from r. Baxtonto Mrs.
who 815 . _
side her usband; the two had evrdently been .

in conversation, and the subject seemed 
the 0 letter that lay in Mrs. Saxton’s hand. ,

 

“ ot because on were a trifle : finds
e waited’ n y wood whom aniwornan in America ‘
use first wife was an lish

turd , but on account of the sud .aoquimd v
impo’i‘tance Miss Lenore has a nod. My 
dalufhter, with'all my heart I congratulate you, ,
r. Barton bent toward her, and hghtly kissed ‘
her forehead. v
Lenore looked lnquiringly at him, than at Mrs. .
Saxton’s gamut, a proving face. I
_"Yes, r,‘we ghly approve ym choice.
You ' t ’l’nve known our-consent was readily
Obtains. lo, ~ ‘ I
Armh of vivid color surgedpver Lemon’s,

faoei ‘Vivi'an hadnct been‘tardy
herhand;and.stra.ngetosay,hissuitm m

favorably granted!

hap y tears; this sudden
muc bliss; what would
saw her? ‘ -

m .

Ienore’s eyes filléd with

ood fortune was too
ivlan say when be

“Oh, mammal howcanwe ever-thank you?
Papa, you dear, darling old papal" .

bhe wound her arms 

kissed his check again and

a .

gain
“ You see we knew what was for the best, Io
nore, n0w. But the coffee will not improve by

further wai '
suitor’s model etter.”

Sit down, and

baton to your

Lenoreteok herseat, almost inamazeot as-
tonishment. Even Vivian’s letter—and how
delicate of him to consult her father by letter l-—-
was a model. She could not eat; jov and an

appetite often are at variance; but» she 'srilgped
hersteamingcolfee, andtoyed with am0‘ o

broiled salmon.

f

Mr. Saxton drank his cup of coffee, and while
his egg was boiling, read the short, gentlemzmly
note

“ My dear Mr. Saxton,” it said, “ you will be

surprised, doubtle
I make for the ban

at this unexpected proposal
of your daughter Lenore.
I think I do not flatter myself when

say she

loves me; I know I am correct when I affirm I

love her.

May I, with your consent, ask of her

her consent to be my Wife? I need not say with

what anxiety I await your
“ ’I‘hat’s what I call

answer. ”

a model letter. Short,

terse, and to the point. Any girl might be

proud of such a lover.”

Lenore was trembling with actual debit);
“Shall you say yes, pa ? Oh, I love ' so,
it would kill me if on. re used!”

Saxton'rnd

ulgently.

“ My darling, you ‘shall not be refused. You
have won for your husband the man of all men

we preferred; and whom an

feel roudtomarry. You

YOUII g

0 VOIII'SO

' 1 should
justice,

my ear, in loving Mr. Carlingfbrd so truly.”
A sharp, sudden cry burst from Lenore’s lips,

that turned ely blue.

“ Mr. Car ingford! Mr. Carlingford! Isthat

letter from him?"

She arose from her chair, and pointed to the

open sheet.
fei

wi e’s silent 5 rise.

Mr. Saxton gazed at her in un-
bewilderment that was equaled by his

“ Of course it s from Mr. Carlingford, and it's
the grandest compliment you ever had paid you

in your life.
Mr. Carlingford?"

Who would it be from, if not from

Lenore sunk back in her chair, so pale it
Saxton.

alarmed Mrs

“ What docs it all mean?” she asked Lenore,
sternly, as she handed her her smelli v-salts.

“ It looks ve
“ Another r ’
wife’s words angrily.

sus ioiously like another
Mr. Saxton repeated his
“ And if thereis another ,

ver. ”

lover, what possible didarence can it make? Le»

norersto

Mr. Carlin ford.”

Lenore’s color mil bac at the threatenin

words. All her

and sorrow fled before the antagonism
produced.

ton’s

Mr. Sam

“ No,” she returned, very quietly, but wiflr a

certain decisivness
learned free folllly to com

to w .I am
A ' , gradual litter
eyes as she delivered her
lef
her dignified do
Then Mr. Saxton broke it.

Carngfmdl
encased,

rents had
t. “No;I
have another-lover
and whom I shall

'80
not

thcred in Lenorc’s
t; and than, having

y vedttafoway for Vivian Ulmerstone's

parturaasilencere -
edinthebreakfastparlcr forsovemlmomeiri‘g.

“Whocanitbei Whatshallwedoaboutiti

You know as well as I that
coerceLenorewill result inthemost

wife sawtlnt b
ihhishanduwe
herself, was

one failure.”

Mr. Barton was -
the way he crushed the 
uietly, patiently, on a‘ low hamock be- t as by his harsh language. She,

vexedternb' 1y.
“0fcoursesheshall
tothinkwhatMr.Gar'
himselfrefusod.

mudto
.3.“

say

his

mm, to
W-

y of , Lord Cambridge’s (brighter, ms

she not?”
There was a

hadfuledto
Mama:

“Wer

who Jone-pd

r

tar.

pufect wail'in Mrs. Saxton‘s
voice as she enumerated the
input-her

that

hrsneck,and-

/

\

  

 

 

 

l 8
and board to make Iona-e (snag
found the one thin desirable! ’d like ten min-
utes” interview wi the young chap; he’d find
the Saxton name and Saxton money wasn’t to
boiled for the asking ”

id as if some fateful fairy had dovetailed
affairs that mornin , there came that moment a

trihlzgtat the door, to owed, two minutes later, by i

, with a card on a silvor salver.
Mr. Sexton read it aloud, gruffly.

“ ‘ VIVIAN Umasrosn.’

shehad atlast i He had previously decided to

“Two GIRL’S LIVES.

 

Lenore

Saxton even before he knew, tiv y, of the

3 Wishes of her father regarding it; but now, with

the remembrance of Mr. Saxton’s manner of so

summarily  of him, Ulmerstone deter-

mined that twenty- our hours should not elapse
before Lenore was his wife.

He took it for granted, with the easy self-as-
surance of aman of the world, that even the
: pompous father of his only daughter would be

lad, some day, to come to terms with a son-in-
! aw, who, after suitably asking for his child

u Sounds like the rascal worm talking about,»  lgved her enough to make a runaway match of

he said, as he withdrew from the room, polish-

ing his glasses on his white silk handkerchief,
and wearing on his countenance an expression
of severest virtue.

As he crossed the threshold, he saw a well~
d self-amured youn man arise promptly
from a dos-a—dos, and vance, with a suave
courtesy bowing.

“ Mr. Sexton—Mr. Grandon Sexton?”

“ Yes, that’s my name. And you are-3’

He was determined to give this fellow no van-

und; so he would not even renounce
his name, but pointed, with a mil! 0 su reme
indifference, to the card he had with
11m.

“ I am Vivian Ulmerstone, sir. I have called
on an errand of gravest importance, and I beg
yg’ indulgence for only a very few min-
u .

He politely placed a chair for Mr. Saxton’s
convenience, but it was almost rudely scorned.

“ I have five minutes to spare, exactly.
ceed, air."

He opened his watch, and laid it in his hand;
then fixed his cold eyes on Vivian’s face. Vivi-
an could have knocked him down, so insolently
patronizing was his air, but he remembered his
role, and began to play it precisely as he had re-
hearsed it.

“ Miss Lenore has, perhaps, spoken of me.
On her account and my own I have come, as an
honorable man, and a suppliant to you for the
great favor of your consent to our marriage. I
lpve” her, and am prepared to do my duty. by
er.

He never blushed, even under Mr. Saxton’s

rolongcd, unwinkin stare, followed b an om-
:gously unpleasant Silence, broken by . Sax-

n.

"fils thlalt all i” .

\ e or c , terse question, so urposel t to
insult, almost made Vivian fogm. y p“

“ That is all,” he said. curbing his pride with
an almost superhuman power.

Mr. Sexton peered over his glasses a full sec-
ond, then slowly mapped his watch-case shut
and returned it to his kct.

“ Time is up, sir. ou can’t have her. Good-
morning.”

He gave a little nod, that Vivian could not
brook. His face suddenly filed, and he step d
immediately in the way of' r. Saxton’s exi .

“I have made my claim as any gentleman
should, and I demand to be treated as a rentle—
man. I am a recognized suitor for our daugh-
ter’s hand; and, as the man she honored

l

by her own free choice, I consider myself en- [

titled to more cou than you have deemed
‘ expedient to show. our daughter’s happiness
involves more than you seem to realize.”

He looked worthy any cause, thus bravely
urging his claims; and even Mr. Saxton, behind
his lasses, saw that Lenore’s choice did credit to

8
her taste, at any rate.

‘éSir, you have my answer. My daughterhis
no in a position to any young man w o
happens to take a fanc h) her prett face and
her father’s mone . don’t know w 0 you are,
and I don’t want You may be agambler or
a. tract distributor; it’s all the same to me. You
can’t have Lenore. She is to be married ve
short! to a tleman in eve way her equal. ’

\Vit whic partin shaft, r. Saxton walked
unconcernedly from he (room.
haYliVlan' heard the quiet order he gave in the

“ Attend Mr. Vivian Ulmerstone to the door,

, at once.” .

And Vivian took his hat and walked to the
door, with a smile on his handsome face he in—
tended should mask his feelings.

And it did completely, and when he thrust a
dollar green -k in the footman’s palm, he knew
he had made a powerful friend, to be reserved
for a not far-off future contingency

he
, agile expected the same re-
. e‘aceom
ignite, the o hick medan was

Pro-

1 .

But, looking on the very darkest side, Ulmer-
stone could see in a life with Lenore Saxton no
,such blank future as he had antici ted with
Edna Silvester, for the reason tha he liked
‘ Lenore better, so far, than any woman he ever

seen.

Yes, thinking of Lenore and her father, as he

walked leisurely down Madison avenue, he

Lenore within an hour, with entreaties—he
smiled as he thought how needless tbs}; would
be—and instructions to meet him f y pre-
pared, at the place he should designate, hat
very evenin .

And Mr. (grandon Saxton should have the de-
lightful satisfaction of knowin how very au-
thoritatively his mpously inso ent treatment
had been regard .

He had said to himself, a half-hour a 0, that,
even if Mr. Saxton never relented, a 'fe with
Lenore would not be so uncongenial as one with
Edna, whose pure, sweet refinement was so far
. above his appreciation. But, he found himself
[suddenly wondering how could he and Lenére
live on nothilllgilc

His aunt belle had said, truly, he was
master of a well-paying trade; as a superior
draughtsman, Vivian Ulmerstone could earn his
hundred dollars a week, by expending only a
healthful amount of labor; but a life of tread-
mill routine, even for so fair a remuneration,
was not what Mr. Ulmerstone liked, and what
he did not like, he was morally sure not to do.

Hence, this difficult . rose, mountain-high,
when once he gave so r thought to it; and,
naturally co—existent with this reflectio came
lthe one that he had let all as good so ance,
imonetaril , as Lenore, on t e.day he had de-

stroyeda proof of his marriage toEdna Sil-
vefler.
en, at the time, he was elated over his coup
de main; now, when no human power could gig
Edna in his power he, like a spoiled child,
gan to long for his forfeited toy. _
i A stin 'ng memory that she loved not him—
! who co (1 not endure to be second in any one’s
; affections—even when transient—but this auda-
i cious Oberdon Audrey made him feel jealously
'uncomfortable, and the remembrance of her
ure, fair face, with its wistful 9 es, its proud,
| high-bred expression, came Vivi y before _him,
,w1th the mental query, had he done Wisely,
i after all?”
i He wondered where she was—she and her
i fifty thousand dollars ; whether she utterly
' hated him; whether he could possibly find her.

 

 

. And with these thou hts, this oddly-com-
' pounded man—a genius his way, capable of

so much better things, doomed to such a bitter
. end—went on his way to arrange his ent
; with his wife’s adopted sister!

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
ran WARNING wean.

made up his mind that he would post a letter to ‘

 

l Shewalkedin, with an airthetmedetheold

i eyes.

‘ gentleman’s cheeks redder than ever, that
tvokedastillmoresteely limintilie is
She tookavacant c r near the door,
i and seated herself, with dainty deliberation, on
the extreme edge; she folded her hands demure-
and waited for the opening of the attack.

1y
i Mr. Saxton pointed to a freshly-written letter
{ on one of the desks; and Lenore looked cheer-

 

Tm: doors of the Saxton mansion had barely i

, closed after Vivian’s departure, when Lenore
! was summoned, more peremptorily than she re-
. membered ever to have been called for before.
She recognized her father’s hand on the hell, by
I the series of short angry jerks that madethe
cord fairly sna ; but, justl wrathful then b
she knew Mr. ton 'woul be, judging b0
from his manner at the breakfast—table, and the
! unfavorably short interview he had with her
llover, Lenore was in nowise abashed or dis-
, couraged. She had made up her mind to m
i, Vivian Ulmerstone, and she determinedly, -
lplost doggedly, went down the stairs to the
ibra .
P The enemy Were in full force; that is, Mrs.
ton—whose cool, contemptuous indifference
. Lenore disliked even more than her father’s
Iplain, blunt manner—end Mr. Sexton sat in

, anything, it shall as it is; and, acco

was not disapponited with his 1 their customary places, in silence and ironical 

at it.
tis a replyto the letter I read you this
morning. If you desire it I will read it.”

He made a motion to take it; but Lenore ges-
tured a ne tive.

“There is no need, apa. I resume you have
said what you pie , and t 6 simple fact at
my knowing it can make no difference.” ‘

“Exactly, m dear.” This was said in Mrs.
Saxton’s smoot , pleasant tones. “You could
not have e remd the fact m0re correctl .
The replIv]r to r. Carlin 0rd is what, in b0
your fat er’s and my ju gment, is the very best
decision we could make, for your future happi-
ness and welfare.”

A little white spot began to gleam on each of
Lenore’s cheeks; she tapped the floor with her
sli pered foot somewhat saucily.

‘ And all we need, Lenore, is for you to sign
Knur name below my signature, that Mr. Car—

' gford shall know you freely accept his ofler.”

She felt their eyes fairly burning on her face;
she knew this was the gauntlet, thrown direct]
at her; she knew, now, her colors must be bol -
ly unfurled, for good and all. She experienced
a slight thrill o excitement that made every
nerve quiver, and then—she drew the line be-
tween good and evil; she cast the die that made
her choice between parents, who, if perha too
heroic in their treatment of Lenore's ' tua-
tion, were, in their own way, indulgent and
kindl thoughth; a thousandfold more deserv—
ing er loyal obedience than the man, the
stranger, and still the lover, for whom, with
whom she would risk her future, for weal or

woe.

When she spoke, her tones were fairly elec—
trio with suppressed, well-controlled nervous,
excitement; she ad her father, directly:

“You might have known I would not have
signed any such document. Even if I did, what
a burlesque it would be! You know I would
not marry Mr. Carlingford with my free will
and consent; if you do not yet know that fact,
I tell you now.” _

As she finished, she compressed her lips reso-
lutely and 00olly awaited an outburst; it came,
from Mr. Saxton: ‘

“ Then, by Jupiter, ou shall marry him with-
out your consent! an if there is law enough
and war enough, in New York city, ou shall
see but skulking, adventurous scoun el, who
has dared to cause this domestic difficulty, put
where he can trouble neither you nor me, again.
You hear that?”

“I hear,” she said, quietly- then Mrs. Sax-
ton’s voice, such a contrast to her husband’s, in
its sweet, me cadences, but so fraught
with mallgnant rage that, for a second, ore
actually shivered:

“ You forget my dear, how our refusal will
appear to Mr. ar ingford. e are all aware
how you encouraged him; indeed at the time,
your marked appreciation of his attentions was
a source of expressed congratulation among us
all. Surely on will not wish to lower yourself
in his estima ion.”

Mrs. Saxton smiled; she had laid her snare,
and now triumphantly waited for her daughter
to be caught in it.

But Lenore was as wise as her astute
mother—thanks to tha mother’s training.

“ I remember on did advise me to secure
this eligible mid le party, mills; and
if my innocent little flirtation with him was lit-
eral! acce ted, why ”——with a shrug of her
she ders— ‘I cannot see that I am to blame.
I have flirted often enough before, and no one
ob'ected.” >

rs. Saxton hit her lip.

“ That’s neither here nor the .
ton, gruiily. “ Keeptothego t. ‘ As Isaidbe-
fore, you are to marry Mr. arlingford; and if
you will not sign your name—even your initials,
rding to

” said Mr. Sax-

my urgent wisht . Carhngford shall see you

to-morrow.”
Lenore’s lips curled; she arose plroudly from

her chair, and looked her fatherfu in the face.

.“You maysenditor not, as you choose. It

ire t. vwillmakenodiflerencetomeforlshall,
! ficlommwenknewbefomhmmshefoundimarryllr.0ar _ ordmdlehwmu-ry .
'herfatherrestl angry, eager for the inevit- ? Ulmerstone notm the ungentlehnm
;able fray;Mrs. xton calm, collectedhcourte-rlymfianner inwhieh youtreetedh'lm an how;

i ‘80

one, but with an inexhaustible fund of combat-

ive Dollar stored in reserve.

 

i (Ban

 

 

 

.. mam—.44...

_,...,;Li‘_.u......._...._._..u.-_..~ i... .- .. 

 

 

'W'wv—

.LS‘TA 'yfii

_ _.._._. “Nash‘swa .

.-.i...;\_ ,

a...“ .

. .. -,_.._.W win—14>; 2;, .~

~,... mum... A ,

 

 

calmlly interrupted his

 

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

.19

 

Ir. Sexton rose excitedly to his feet; Lenore
' remark:
ere is no need to lprolong this interview.
At" breakfast I supposed had full decided the
matter; now, I must em hatica refuse any
further discussion on the istaste subJect.”
Like a ueen of traged on a Broadway stage,

' she lite swept from be room, her veiay r-
ments .ling angril as they brushe ir
rich drapery over t e oquet carpet.

“ I’ll see! I’ll see if a child of mine dare u t
all my well-laid plans. She shall marry
Ennis-0rd, or—” .

. Saxton paused for want of a sufficiently
threatening alternative.

“Shall you send the acceptance 1” Mrs. Saxton
asked, sug estively. '

He snatc ed up the letter, put it in the en-
velo , and ning the bell violently.

“ ere, have this mailed at once.
(1’ e hear?” . _

en, when the footinan, With stolid face, and
Wily in uisitive mind as to what was up, h
gone wit the precious letter, Mr. Saxton nodded
emphaticall to his wife. .

‘ That’s t 0 way to do busmess, and, m word
for it, when she sees Carlingford here, f ly ex—
pecting her to regard him as her husband, she'll

've in. Depend upon it, she’ll give in when she
Earns we mean what we say.”

But the lad smiled, almost ceiitemptuously.

“ Is it possi le you know Lenore no better? My
word for it, unless she changes her mind from
some external influences, you nor I can ever
make her marry him.” . _

Mr. Saxton nodded again, sagaciously.

“ Very well, we’ll see.” .
“ Yes,” returned she, oracularly, “we will
see.”

“ LENORE, xv DARLING: I need hardly tell on
the success—or rather the failure—of my in r-
view with our father; in a few words, dearest
Witive y refused your dear hand to me, an

ered me fi/om his roof, under which I knew
you were waiting for the verdict.

“ But, Lenore, you remember we on
our plan in case of this anticipated result; on
know you promised to be my own come w t
might. And now, dearest, I shall keep you to
i . ‘ promise, at once, because, by waiting, what
will be gained?

“ To—night, then—does my promptness startle
you, darlingl—will you come to me? I shall be
in readiness, at the place where we met, to claim
my bride.

‘ You will come, Lenore? At the Pennsylvae
nia Railroad depot, to—night, at eight o’clock?

“ I need not ask, I know, for you Will be
there; and we will take the through train. to
Washington, be married the hour we amve,
and start on our blissful bridal tour.

our own preparations, dearest, you can
make Without hint of mine. Your good com-
;mm 561186 Will teach you what to take, what to
cave.

H Then, my own, till eight o’clock to-niglit. au
revon'. ' V. U.”

Ulm9rfit‘m6 read the note hastily over after he
wrote 1“, Placed 1'5 m the envelope, and sent it
to the mail.

“ It is Very 800d. uite to the point, and cer-
tainly devoted If s a only takes the hint re-

ardirig her Share 0‘3 the preparations, all will
fie 0. . I fear my miserable hundred dollars,
the remains 9f $1891 ‘ auntie Fay’s’ noble ner-
osity in providing f0? Edna Silvester‘s w ding-
tour, Will not make very luxurious Lenores

At once,

 

bridal tri .”
He lighlied, his “"3111? '3" cent cigar, with as
much nonchalance as ough he were sole heir

to Stewart’s little fortune.

“ By-the-b '," behind—316 had a way of solilo-
qulzing, ha] aiidibly— I Wonder what‘s the
reason I haven‘t heard from aunt Rachelle on
the subject under consideration! I should have
had an answer to-dfly. at latest. although what
she can have to say can make no diii'erence, un-
less she has the forethought *0 "101088 a comfort-
able-sized check on the Broadway Bank, payable

\ at sight.” .

He seemed determined to enjoy the last of his
bachelor rivileges, for he remained in _ room
during, 6 day, reading. SDlOkmg', Padang 
flowimnteau, making some change8 In his tox-

tte.

. t four o’cl the hail-boy tapped at his
‘dofir, with a 3310:, which. When he read,
laid a curious ease: on him. It ran:

"an no account an L. Sure‘to be dilinheritg
0d. It can be made lllrg'ght with L—-—-. 1 was 001-.
boot from the first.“ be

It was signed “ R. H. ” and when read
he uttered somefllinz likes curse; M “313%

.i

 

vexedly to and fro for an hour. with knitted
brow sullen face.
CHAPTER XXV.
m ARRISTING HAND.-

“OK no account ma L.”; the telegram
from Rachelle Hunt said that, and Vivian natur-
ally wondered why she was so peremptory in
her commands. ’

She gaVe her reason—that Lenore was sure to
be cut off from the parental legacy which, to
both Rachelle and Vivian, was a mighty reason,
potent to do or undo, any thi .

.Of course—and Vivian uttexilfy forgot his lofty
flights of romantic duty—of course, he would
not be annous to marry Lenore, with all her
beauty, and style, an%(position, without her for-
tune, an more than na, minus her small por-
tion. en, granted that Rachelle’s informa-
tion was correct, and that she alwa was correct
was plainl implied in the conclu ing sentences
of her  egram, Vivian Ulmerstone had ot
himself in a fix, out of which he saw no possi 1e
extrication.

He was en ged to run oi! with Grandon Sax-
ton, the mil ionaire’s, daughter, to whom the
penitent Wanderers would ultimate] return, to
Wide-open doors arms, hearts, and c OCk-bOOkS'
but to elope with merely a pretty, disinheri
girl, simp y because they fancied they cared for
each other—ewes folly without measure. Even
Edna, and a life with Edna, could not have been
much worse.

But “it can be made all ri ht with E.”; and
“ E,” had the money after a l—Edna, his own
bashful wife, whom, but for his confounded
blunder in so effectually destroying the only
proof of his marriage, he might have that hour
claimed.

What an intricate labyrinth he seemed (grop-
ing through! How, at every turn, new ev l-
opments upstarted, utterly confounding all past
revelations relentlessly preventing future confi-
dence. Who was he, anyhow? or, as he asked
himself more plainly, who did he wish himself
to be? Edna Silvester’s husband, or Lenore
Saxton’s lover?

And then, with a rush of Satanic suggestion,
there occurred to him a thou ht, that, in its
sudden force, its full measure 0 utter pitiless-
ness, its bold, plausible, horrible front, made
him callous man of the world though he was,
blush redly in sheer shame.

And yet, and yet, why not? Edna’s husband,
when he found her; in the interim, Lenore’s
lover. What easier? What more natural? the
one would not interfere with the other; the
elopement could proceed as arranged, onlv—
the difference tha “only” made, was a differ-
ence that, force itself as t might upon his sym-
pathy, his rinciple his honor, Vivian Ulmer-
stone _wou1 not contem late. He had made up
his mind, suddenly, as e always did; he was
aided by all the worst ambitions of a naturally
depraved soul; he would act as pleased him
alone, and the consequences must take care of
themselves. It was almost frightful—the ease
the care, the indifference with which he finished
his few preparations for this journey of his,
that, bad as it was according to his first arrange-
ments was unflic compared to the later ones;
then, his hotel ill paid, his luggage sent by an-
expressman, he started forth, him some smilin ,
to take a foolish headstrong girl by t e ban
and lead her in the first steps of the path that
ke it on to his own destruction and hers.

‘ow, that this clearly-defined purpose had ob-
tained possession of him, Ulmerstone began, in-
voluntarily, to lose his respect for Lenore—this
girl who was riskin so much more, so infinite]
much more than s e knew, for hissake. e
began to think none too well of her; he looked
at her through his own morally perverted
vision, and found her what she was—a silly ro-
mantic, headstronghpassionate girl, not a o-
lutely, literally unprinCipled, but who reckless]
trified with all t at a modest woman hol s
sacred, that a severe critic would hard] he at
fault in callin 1her, atkleasthcliftunenlyia le dis-
position mora y s a ing; a , wit a, roper
guiding’handLmig t have been trained, ike a
wayward vine, into all that was fair, useful,
admirable.

Strange thoughts, these, to have bad place in
his heart, as he walked to and fro on the for-
ward deck of the ferry~boat, wai till it
should touch the dock,  he might
chain and go to Lenore.

. He was sure he would see her within the sta-
tion waiting-room; he was so confident of her
obe his commands, that there was not a

f1<1nligtodisturhhiscalinIlei'eliityefmindashol And

1‘

i

Theflrstfacehesawashedelivesedhistioht
—-he had purchased two fares, to
Washington, in New York—was Lenore’s,
diant, piquant, beautiful.

Heraised hishat with acourtly grace that
sent Lenore‘s ulses bounding—she was so af-
fected by such trivial accomplishments—then
hastened toward her, offering her his arm.

“ My darling! you are true as steel. I knew
you would not repent, an more than mysel .”

“Re twhat? That am to be your wife?
How go it would be if I could not surmount
all difficulties for that! I shall never repent,
Vivian.”

She was singularly calm and com ; she

m-

leaned on his arm With a perfect res lness, a
complete mergingvof herself into his ial
protection; and ivian Ulmerstone fe t the

pressure of her fin rs on his arm, the slight
we' ht of her bodyggside him: he saw the dark,
ten er light in her eyes; he heard her aver her
confidence in, her great love for, him; and yet,
he. never repented.

For fifteen or twenty minutes the
naded beside the train; and ViVian su
membered Lenore‘s luggage. I

“ I brought nothing—but myself,” she'said
bri htly. “ I have some money with which I
shall buy what I need; papa gave me my quar~
ter’s allowance yesterda . ’

Vivian Would have given ntlilililything to have
learned the amount of the ' ionaire’s indul-
gence to his only child.

“How fortunate for you! and how little he
expected what use you would make of it. I
presume he is the soul of finerosity to you."

It was a sly hint, and nore accepted it, una-
consciously.

“ Papa t8 generous; he has given me five hun—
dred dollars a (Hiiarter for a year or two, and I
never spend it a . I had over a thousand dol-
lars in the bank when I drew it this morning.”

Vivian’s cheeks glowed with delight. A
thousand dollars! a trip to Euro that meant,
after the tour to “'ashington. e was in luck,
after all, even to the comparatively small num—
ber of ~ n ers on the cars; in the coach he
took—tge nan palace car “ Starucca ”—
there were only three beside themselves—a
young man in traveling attire, almost dis iised
in his  cap and high, fur-trimm over—
coat collar; the others, two elderly ladies, one
of whom seemed quite an invalid.

Ulmerstone’s qinck, scrutinizing glance on the
occupants of the car was satisfactory to him—
self, for, with a look of relief that no acquaint-
ance was on hand to play the spy, he gave Le-
nore a seat, in the center of the car on a com-
fortable, low, velvet-cushioned rocking-chair,
beside a marble-top table. ,

He was sure of a delightful tete-a-tete, at all
events, during the long ride. The ladies were
entirely occupied with themselves, and he saw
at a glance would trouble no one. The youn
man, wrapped so closely in his heavy cloak,
somewhat closer than Ulmerstone wed for;
yet, he seemed fatigued, and even sleepy—look—
ing, for all there was a gleam in his black eyes
U inerstone noticed the moment he saw them.

However, he was a perfect stranger, and
strangers never paid much attention to other
strangers’ affairs. And so Ulmerstone dismissed
the thought, and settled himself in his chair, to
entertain and be entertained.

The train started, sped on faster and faster,
through Jersey City, the Deep Cut, out on the
dreary meadows, into Newark, off aggln, past
scattered farm-houses, isolated subur resi-
dences, into Elizabeth, Rahway. New Bruns—
wxck, and then of! into a long, swift ride before
the next sto ing— lace—Trenton.

All this w ' e, I}

enly re-

Lenore’s chair; a low, murmuring conversation
kept continually u , varied by 81190088101181:
low, melodious laug from Lenore’s lips.

 

PM;

She was very happy; perfectl content with
this lover of hers, w om she 'eved tube as
loyal as she was. She had proved, implicitly,
her confidence in him never, for a moment,
dreamii he was so foully untrue; never doubt-
in but t he was (pleased and proud to marry
a 'hter of Gran. on Saxton, for whose hand
“is” liesuen “$33; to h ‘ ht.

er u was as r er, as

; Of course they would be forgiven' vim
' ever a novel where they were not?
go back to ‘ avenue, and her father
would be so sorry for the ward: which he ,had
spoken to her husband, and Sexton would
at once appreciate his style, his handsome face,
his addrea. The would be so 
intone  radiant nee, wi

“medicinal-Id across’thedarkfenyhouseto “3mm, wasn'vimicnm
fy .soncheelni.' hershini‘reye's. 'thoughtshe

theme-ance o the depot.

prome- .

lmerstone’s handsome head,
had been bent in close proximity to the back of

They would ‘

;. is ,. . ,
I. ~  .i . '
y We; :1"&$‘»"4' a

 

really was a retty little thing, only he rather
feared he mig t tire of such exuberant beauty
and spirit by and by.

For the present, he thought Washington a.

Very retty lace and Willard’s a good hotel' ‘
after-g ’ '

hat, urope for six months, on a modest
scale. The train was slowing up at Trenton as
he arrived at that conclusion, and he leaned
toward Lenore to tell her his plans for the con—
tinental tour, when the car—door opened, and a
policeman in full uniform, walked through the
car up to im, and laid his gloved hand heavily
on his shoulder.
“You are arrested sir by order of a tele-

gram from Mr. Gran on Saxton, Madison ave- ‘

nue on charge of abduction of his daughter.”

U’lmerstone muttered an oath, and sprung to
his feet, while Lenore, white as death, sat mo-
tionless in her chair.

The young gentleman in the seal-skin cap
arose and bowed courteously to Lenore.

“ Miss Sexton—if I can be of any assist—
ance—”

She started at the familiar tones.

“ Oh, Mr. Audrey! Oh, what shall I do?”

CHAPTER XXVI.
surname TRAIL.

Ir Lenore had been thunderstricken to hear
Oberdon Audrey’s voice, Vivian Ulmcrstone
was no less astonished and chagrined and en~
ra ed to discover their traveling-companion.

e turned with a scowl to Audrey—this
man who had crossed his path at such an in-
auspicious moment, this man he had heard of

 

iTWO iGIRL’S LIVES,_

; own accord rather than rim the risk agaln.
, He would start off, now, on a new track; he
; would find Edna. '

So he bought his ticket, took his seat in the
train when it steamed into the station; fixed
himself cozily in a seat, leaned his back a inst
the cushions, and thought over his affair, ' l he
fell into a doze, only awakening when the cars
entered the gloom of the Jersey City depot at
midni ht.

He ad bestowed scarcely a thought on Le-
nore, he was so thoroughly selfish, and he was
, so completely used to caring only for himself.
Besides, with all his wickedness, if he had really
‘ loved her, he would not have 'ven her up thus
, easily. But, sentimental as 0 had felt about
: her, at various times, he had never actually

loved her, with an afl‘cction stronger than

, death. It was his misfortune-—this inability to
. attach himself constantly to any one; this same

deplorable trait of character was manifested as
we 1 in his roving, rambling habits that led him
such a vagabond existence, as in the remarkable

ease with which he first won Edna, then al— -

lowed her to escape him' then flirt with Lenore,
and give her 11 as readily; and then, because
circumstances avorcd, to seek out Edna again.
Not that he loved her a whit more than he ever
did. Reall , he always experienced a sense of
abashed in eriori when he contrasted himself
with her, that of i s very nature was proof posi-
tive that he did not love her; for love knows
nothin r but equality; and Vivian Ulmerstone
knew Ldna Silvester was too good for him.

But this very knowledge, added to the fact

 

before as the lover of his wife. He had hated

him with an unreasoninfi jealousy before; now, i
i

he could have throttled m where he stood. ,
There was a marked difference between these I
two men, whose paths had indeed crossed in 5
such strange intricacy. One the husband of Ed— I
na Silvester, handsome as an Apollo, with ama— I
lignant devilishness stamped on every perfect
feature; with a cold glitter in his blue eyes, and
a dumb wrath on his mouth. The other, in his
superior moral strength, his calm, dignified do- ’
meanor, his proud assumption of the rights of I
a true ntleman as he offered his servicesto;
the stric en, mortified girl. i

It was only a second they confronted each=
other; Ulmerstone looking on Andre as his ,
rival in one case his witness to his 8111 in this!

resent one; whiie Audrey, to whom Lenoro’si

over was a perfect stranger, vieWed him as such,
never dreamin him to be the Garnett Fay who
had wrecked dna‘s hap )iness, who was the
one, only barrier between 'm and earthl bliss.
Onl a brief second of silence; and lmer-
stone liroke it:

‘y‘ I understand I am your prisoner? Have '
the laws beenchanged for my individual benefit, !
or have previous elopements been winked at f"

A shadow of a smile flitted over Audrey’s I

 

ace.

“ Neither, Mr—i You have no one to censure
or give credit to but myself. At Newark, I
telegra hedto Mr. Saxton, bidding him send
instruc ions to the police at Trenton.”

“ You on? By heavens, you shall pay for
this! You shall answer for this—you-—’

But the train moved slowly on, and the firm
hold on his arm by the officer warned him of
the inglorious termination of his schemes.

“Lively, if you please,” the policeman said,
and Ulmerstone had only time to s ring from
the platform, and the train, with nore and
Audr , glided on, away.

“I ve instructions to detain you only so
long as the young lady requires to get beBond
your reach. When the train crosses the ela-
ware bridge, you can consider yourself at
libert ."1

Evidently the omcer’s sympathies were on
the side of the lovers, for he smiled and winked
as he spoke; but both these pleasantries were
lost on Ulmerstone, who was looking at the
darkness into which the train had disappeared,
with a from on his forehead, and astern, set

look in his eyes.

He see to recover himself at the sound of
the friendly voice.

“ Thank you. It is rather a disa intment,
to both the young lady and in se . Do ou
think the tram is over in Pennsy vania yetl’

The man consulted his watch.

“ Hardly. Howowr, as you want to return
to New York doubtlessly, you had better pur-
chase your ticket inside now; the Kemington !
ex recs is due in several minutes. ” I

hnentone decided itwas best toreturn to

 

before
more.
1'.

hugaudhowmtedmmhmonl!
’Bukleanow thattheflrlt all

rhehadta

tune when he should have found
New York. Ohm-don Audrey would be them, i made it up with hm-

that she had eluded him, gave him a fictitious
enthusiasm regarding her; and as a 8
child, accustomed to cr ' for, and get w at is
especially intended it shall, on no account, have,

so he wanted to claim Edna as his wife, and en- ,
joy, for his reward, not only her wealth, but 1
the triumph he knew he would be obliged to ,

achieve before he did claim her.

He had not the slightest idea where she was.
He had never caught sight of her since the
moment he left her in her dressing-room on
their marriage-night. She had vanished as of-
fectually as if the earth had opened and swal-
lowed her.

How to be in his quest he could not tell; but
he determine( on consulting Rachelle Hunt; she

Would know; she knew every thing, it seemed .

to him. ‘

Arrived at Jersey City, the thought occurred :
to him that perha s the friendlyipolice-ofllcer ;

at Trenton had to egruphed to r. Saxton of
his return, despite his apparent sympath , and
the parting cigar at the car door; and liner-
stone according] revcnted an such possible
contretempsb a ig ting from the rear end of
the train, an quietly makin his way across
several railroad tracks, throng I’r0spect street

and so came into Montgomery street, without 3

having passed the ticket-taker at the lawful
exit.

He walked up to the American House, and,
bya strange comcidence, was shown the room
occupiedlliy Edna Silvester only a few nights
before. e was in no mood for sleep when he
locked the door after him, his nap in the cars
having sufficed for the time being. He walked
aimlessly f111p and down, from the windows to
the bedste at the rear end of the room; from
the bureau to the rocking-chair, where Edna
had sat through those dreary hours of mental

contest.
lle plunged his hands in his kets, stretched

his legs at full length, and do ivered himself to ,
the utter loneliness of the hour; thinking what v

that rascal Audrey, would have to say to Le-
nore, and wondering if, now he was off the
carpet, she would not be made to marry that
elderly party she had told him of. It seemed to
him very probable that such would be the case;
and he wondered wh it was he did not feel as
hatcfully jealous of t t Mr. —— Mr. -— he forgot
the name—as he did of Oberdon Audrey. There
was not much dun r of his forgetting that
name; and he decired the reason he was not
'calous of him, was, not that he loved Edna

tter than Lenore, but simply because he had
a claim on Edna that no man on earth could

lover! His wtch He had f on into a fashion,
very lateliy, 0 regarding as his wife one whom

on such pains should never be able to
prove her relationshi to him. Of very late
days, he had caught 'mself antici ting the
' Edna, and

And yet, with this Oberdon Audrey in the

once way, he hardly hoped to have her reconciled:
"IQ p m had. Q0310 W Web 3 Nd 9‘1 l0!“ this man Audney, who seemed a very spirit of 1

I mination, he thought he would give it up_of his

iled ‘
‘ saw, but they could be of no use, possibly.

3 further satisfy

any, 1 was not a
And this Oberdon Andre was his wife’s

revenge. who had won his wife’s affections, who
had delivered Lenore Sexton from a fate she
never had dreamed of. \Vell, even this bold
unscrupulous man of the world reall thought
it was the best thing that could have ap ened
to Lenore, anyhow. She‘d cry a little, ( oubt—
less and miss a few meals, and then—marry
that other suitor and settle down into a model
matron.

So Ulmerstone thought, and yawncd, and
stretched his shapely limbs, and then his listless,
roving eyes caught a glance of a bit of bright
ribbon under the edge of the bureau.

It was pretty; it was gay, it was his favorite
color, and he remembered once tellin Edna
Silvester she looked so remarkably wel in this
ver self-same shade of ink.

S 0 had had little das es of pink on the night
of her wedding; he especially remembered a
small loop of pink satin, lined with black lace,
with a tiny oval button of gold in the center;
she had worn it in her hair, am()ng{—

He stoo d carelessly to pic it up, and
started as e saw it fully.

It was precisely the same he had been men-
tally recalling; lace, gold button and all.

V\ as it the identical article? had Edna been
here—in this very room?
possible, more natural. Had he alighted al-
ready on a clue?

He was not listless now. With the ribbon
bow in his hand, he resolved to search the room
as if for a lost treasure.

He ransacked the drawers, the wash-stand,
the wardrobe, but no trace of any presence ex—

Nothing was more

- cept that of the laundress in the shape of freshly-

ironcd towels, rewarded him.

Yes—there were one or two other itemsohe

ne
was a hair—pin another a button off a boot,
another a Hm'aid, rumpled, and a week old.

He sat down again in the chair, thinking
earnestly. Like a flash it occurred to him—the
paper; why not? some advertisement marked,
perhaps that might direct him; some personal,
addressed to—mayha himself!

He eagerl searched the columns through, and
all he foum —or did not find—was the adver-
tisement Edna had cut therefrom.

But, anted she left it—and it was more than
likely e was the last occupant of the room, or
the hair ornament would have been discovered
and appropriated—it was a clue.

He copied the date on his tablets, resdved to
purchase a copy of the same morning at his
earliest opportunity. and then follow it up and
learn what came 0 it.

Early the next day he sent for the required

! paper; and he found the missifig advertisement
to r.

)e for a governess, for a Carlingford‘s
family, at a place called “ Ellenwood.”

He was morall sure it meant Edna. But, to
mself, he learned of the cham-
bermaid, for the consideration of a dollar,
enough to unmis bly convince him he was on
the right trail.

CHAPTER XXVII.
CAUGHT FROM THE GULF.

THE train bearing Lenore Sexton and Ober~
don Andre had gone miles before Lenore broke
the painful yoawkward silence; and then, with
a face blanched to a frightful whiteness, as she
lifted it from the marble-topped stand, she
looked up at Oberdon. still standing in respect-
ful silence, where Ulmorstone had left him.

“Mr. Audrey, will you explain it to me?
Didn’t you say it was your doing? Why did
you come between us?” .

Audrey had prepared himself for a perfect
tempest of furious wrath, and was confinently

stolid

‘ astonished at Lenore’s unnatural, alm

calmness. But that beneath her composed ex-
tcrior there boiled a sea of fire he knew by the
occasional quiver of her blue hps, the dart from
her black eyes.

He had risked all that he expected would be
hurled upon him, for Lenore’s own . As
he had ex lained, though not freely, to War-
stone, he (1 telegraphed from Newark, feeling
very sure this escapade of Lenore’s was an es-
capade of the very Worst type; feelin con.
vinced from Vivian Ulmerstone’s looks at be
good man, and therefore, his being
with Lenore Saxton, at that time, in that place,
boded no ood to any one.

Graan there was to be a marriage—even at
the first stepping place—Audrey reasoned such
a marria e would be offensive to the Suxtons,
and thatienore and her lover knew such to be
the case; hence the elopement. He knew there
hadheen nomarriage; he knew the wishes of
Lenore’s parents re rding Mr. Carlingford’s
suit, and, althou h re was no special love be-
tween him and 0 Samuel. yet be deemed it

 

 

an import“?
snare mto '
was fast 01C
Thus, ati
of Lenore, 1
self under
lover,
concisely I:
for instruc

Oberdon A
'rl until ‘
ork to ]

thority fr

arrived.

And all

what she
he did or;

W'hen
li s.

p“ And
Audrey.
as to giV

Oberd
taken a
everv f6

“i an
when yl

I assure

entice a

would

proof l!
ria 9”
so:

u M!

As if lr
Her

 

as! Who
ate she
8 bold,
bought
3Pened
doubt-
marry
model

, and
stless,
)right
'orite
Edna
I this
light
 a
‘ace
iter;
and
ten-
con
ore

ton
)lll

TWO GIRL/S LIVES.

2:.

 

 

an imperative duty to save Lenore from the
snare into which she was walking, and which
was fast closing around her feet.

Thus, at the risk of making a harmless enemy
of Lenore, and the greater liability he laid him-
self under of being hated dangerously by her
lover, Mr. Audrey interfered; telegraphed in
concisely plain language to Mr. Saxton, asking
for instructions.

The result has been seen. Vivian Ulmerstone
defrauded of his iniquitous expectation, Lenore
snatched like a brand from the burning, and
Oberdon Audrey the ap )ointed guardian of the

'rl until the arrival of t e first train from New

ork to Philadelphia, where Oberdon had. au-
thority from Mr. Saxton to detain her until he
arrived.

And all this was what Lenore wanted to know,
what she asked Audrey to ex lain, and which
he did explain, kindly, prompt y.

\Vhen he had finished, he saw a sneer on her
lips.

“ And you really sup . , for a moment, Mr.
Audrey, that I care so little for Mr. Ulmerstone
as to give him up for this?”

Oberdon answered her very gravely; he had
taken a seat opposite her, where he could watch
every feature of her expressive face. _

“ I am sum you will not regard him so highly
when you take time and coolly think it all over.
I assure you, Miss Sexton, no_man who would
entice a young girl away as this man has you,
would make 9. 00d husband. BeSides, what
proof have you t at he intended honorable mar-

ria l”

f8 scarlet stain flew over her face.

“Mr. Audre l how dare you insult me so?
As if his word is not as good as gold. ”

Her voice rung high and loud, and at the
sound of it a pained, pitiful look crept into Au-
drey’s eyes; pain and pity for this foolish, ro—
mantic gi l. _

“ I would not say a word to wound you, Miss
Saxton, and I think you know me well enough
for that. I put a plain question, and a very
natural one, and m motive was to show you
how very im robab o it was that this man real-
ly meant all 6 said. If he wanted you for his
wife, Miss Saxton, how easily he could have
had the ceremony performed before he left the

city.”
Andre spoke ently, almost tenderly, and
even to nore, w 0 was so averse to listening,

his words carried conviction.

But she would defend him to the last. .

“He did not want to be discovered; we did
not dream of this—tbis—cruel interference, and

in ca.”

“But, Miss Saxton, had you been his Wlfe
for only five minutes, you need not have 1'
detection. As his wife, you might have defied
other authority than , our husband’s.”

Was that true? uld Vivian have known
that, and, knowing—

Lenore felt the force of Audrey’s quiet, Strong
argument, in spite of herself; she wondered:
then began to doubt. And when a woman once
mummy doubts her lover, he may as W811 Bay
good-by to her.

For miles and miles neither of them SPOkB-
Oberdon thought it best, now that he had Bald
whathe felt he should an ,to trust to any latent
$21110 19 Of, 11ng in {chore to develo his

men y adwoeunto a lesson for her wefiare,
and Lenore, driven into self-communion, rode
on in silent sorrow, shame, wounded pride that
it had ended so ingloriousl , and et recogniz-
ing vaguely within her sou , that t was better
than what Audrey had intimated.

Oh! ten thousand times better than to have
been caught in a snare, even if held b Vivian
U lmerstone’s dear hands. Much as s e loved
him, im licitly as she trusted him, blindlyas
she had Followed his guidance, and with all her
wildly romantic ideas, she would never have
willingl lent herself to such a crime as now be-

to awn on her mind. With all her repre-

ensible faults, Lenore Saxtou deserved some
credit, and it shall not be withheld.

d yet, she was unutterably miserable, un—
spea bl disappointed. In a moment, at once
cut off rom being the wife of the man she
19V“, deprived forcibly and ignominiously of
hls society, transferred to the care of one she
once had so lit to enslave, and riding on to
meet 1‘ justly-indignant father—what combina-
tion of circumstances could be imagined more
calculated to depress her?

It was after eleven o’clock when the train
reached Philadel hia, and Oberdon escorted
Lenore to the 'eI’ waiting-room, where he

roVidletd hher with a comfortable seat, and
mug erucu ofcoffeeadasteammg'
oyster stew. . p n
The next train in from New York was due at

one in the morning, and to relieve the tedium of
the interval till Mr. Saxton should arrive, Ober-
don bought several papers from the news—stand
for her to read.

Thus, as pleasantly as circumstances admit-
ted, Lenore and her “jailer,” she mentally an~
athematized him, waited till her father should

come.

Should she reserve the cool, half-sarcastic
defiance that ad characterized her interview
with him onl that very morning? It seemed
weeks ago to pore, measuring the time, as she
did, by the de tli of her suffering. Or would it
be better for er to be penitent, and meet him
as a wayward child should, who is sorry and
wants to be forgiven?

Lenore was looking at the subject from all
sides. lVas she defiant, in her ve heart? and
the self-forced answer was, that
the untoward circumstances that had over-
whelmed her, she yearned for sympathy, though
she knew she would not get it. And yet, a real
kind word would have sufficed.

She asked herself if she was penitent? if she
loved Vivian Ulinerstone, how could she be
sorry that she had given up all things for him?
and was it within the range ofillpossibility that
a love so strong, so devoted, CO d die so soon?

No, she was not sorry that she had loved him
-—that she still loved him; she would not regret
that.
thrilled her—she was glad if she had been saved
by Oberdon Audrey; she did repent that she
had been so bitter] mistaken.

To think be h deceived her! But, had be
deceived her? how 'did Audrey know—and then
she felt herself forced to adopt his argument,
even though it gave her such a heai't—wmnching

i

n.
p8Taking it all and in all, she was anxious to see
her father, whose very presence would be such
a strong, stanch protection: and she inly decided
to be governed by his greeting to her.

She heard the train steam in, and saw the
throng-in crowd of bustling passengers, and she
heard, a r a moment, her father’s voice, in
low, quick tones, as he addressed Audrey, just
beside the door.

“ Lenore is here safe?"

“ Here, and safe," Andre returned, cheerily.

“ Thank God! My boy, ’11 never forget your
kindness, never. ”

His agitated voice touched Lenore; she forgot
his harshness, his sternness; in her utter loneli-
nem, her wild, doubting fears, her sudden cut-
ting off from the supports she had leaned so
fondly on, his familiar tones sounded like a
burst of music.

She sprung from her chair to meet him, with
hands outstretched.

“ Papal oh, papal”

He caught her almost fiercely, and kissed her.

“ You naughty girl 1”

But the rigiroof was not very severe, and Le-
nore know 6 was forgiven.

CHAPTER XXVII
THE NEW raom

Sounwnsr to the su rise both of Lenore
and Mr. Andre , Mr. axton expressed his
determination o returning to New York by
the first train: but both Lenore and Mr. Sexton
only knew the lemon, which it was not neces-
sary to explain even to the friend who had
proved himself so serviceable. ,

Mr. Sexton was determined as ever that Le-
nore should accept Mr. Carlingford; he had
himself given his written consent, and intend—
ed, in the face of Lenore’s attempt to frustrate

0f pardon. He had told her
moments they had privately, promenadin
gloomy waitin -room. He assured her er-
meant marryin her: else why his disposition to
wait until at

terms only. ' .
would be the Wlsel‘ regarding her in lorious es-

mn to bruit it about. That if she refusedto

agree to see Mr. Carlingford that morning, and f

refused to accept him suitably, in a manner
with which his fastidious taste could find no
ible fault, which should give rise to not the

discarded her forever. Unless she gave him
her word, then and there, to do as he required,
then and there he would wash his hands of her
forever: then and there, at that lonely midnight
hour, at a railroad depot. n stranger in a strange

 

cit '. he would leave her there to herself.
Strange as it seemed. '1 ,ui'ental as it sound-

umbled by ‘

But—but—and a little shiver of pain '

his design, to make her final obedience the price ,
so, plainly, the few ,
the ;
stone was a, v1 lain, an adventurer who never ‘
ashington? He told her both :
himself and her mother were ready and anxious ‘
to forgive and forget—on these terms, and these .
That no one in all the wide world 1

capsule, and Mr. Audrey was too muc a gentle- ,

almost shadow of a suspicion—then, Mr. Sexton '

ed, horrible as it was. Lenore knew he meant.
everv word he said. She knew almost as strong
as life. certainly stronger than love, was Mr.
iSaxton’s determination to marry her to Mr.
3 Carlin 0rd. She was w ,heart—sick, heartr
:sore; eserted by the only love on earth she
cared for, and realizing, so keenly, her situa—
{tion; with golden romises on one side. luring
'her to a destinyt at, while she compared it
f unfavorany in love’s light, yet charmed her,
i almost unconsciously, when she viewed it dis»
‘ passionately, reasonably; on the other side.
vague horror, vague fear, vague thankfulness.
She was torn with conflicting emotions. She
knew she did not love Mr. Carlingford; she
, wondered if it were possible she could care for
1 Vivian Ulmerstone, when both her father and
1 Mr. Audrey described him, without any collu-
sion, such an undeserving rascal, and when she
l herself was somehow bound to look at his con»
duct in the same lights presented her. Of two
o_)inions she was confident: with two ends in
View she resolved to act. The one opinion was,
there was nothing repulsive in the idea of ac-—
oepting Mr. Carlingford as her betrothed lover.
He was a man any woman might have been
proud to win, and had not Ulnierstone taken
previous possession of her affections. Lenore
I told herself she very dlsrobably would have
. loved thisgrand, len ' man.

But, with these 'stinct views concemin Mr.
Carlingford, and directly on the back of all that
Vivian had done—or rather had not done—in
opposition to all that had been said in his disfa-
vor, Lenore felt, deeply, that she loved him;
she realized that his old on her had been too-
strong, too powerful for her to throw lightly
off; and, no matter how he had acted, or how
wicked his in had been, she had been hon—
orgblel,1 she 11% bean loyal.

uc were er ecisions regardin the dispo-

sal of her affections; the way ingwhich she
should bestow them, for good and all-the ends
she had in view when her plans should have ma»
tured were these:

In consideration of her impleasant position;

the threats if she continued self-willed; the ad-
vantage to be gained in one way if she yielded,
induced her to decide to agree fully to Mr.
Saxton’s prescribed code of action, with one ad-
ditional favor—that the marriage might not oc-
, cur within three months.
I To this Mr. Saxtonconcurred joyfully; three
‘ months’ time was short enough to prepare a
l Madison avenue belle for her wedding With one
of the wealthiest and most influential of New
York’s retired business men.

That point decided and secured, Lenore had
nothing more to say: all that was left her for
consolation was the other end she had in view,
the mental reservation that if, during the three
months of probation, she heard from Vivian
Ulnieistone, of his unabated love, his undying
loyalty—if he made her, and insisted on the im,
mediate solemnization of, an offer of marriage,
she would accept him, and throw Mr. Carlings
ford, be the results what they would.

Not a very laudable reservation, nor very
truthful, Lenore admitted bitterly; but under
the circumstances the best she was capable of.
And with a still more bitter soul, she Wished she
would learn that Ulmerstone was true. It was
a trying thin for her to havetodoubt him; and
the doubt, though she did not know it, was
. parent to the decrease of love.

I The ride home again, alone with her father,
l after they had hidden Mr. Audrey cod—b

,' was more chee than Lenore thought cou
have been possi le. But Mr. Saxton, having
accomplished his double purpose, that of mscu-~
ing his daughter from U moi-stone’s hands, and
pledging her word to be Carlingford’s bride,
was overflowin with quiet jollity, and his infec-
, tious, satisfied elight more than once made Le-
nore smile.

, At home, Mrs. Sexton received them in her
dressing-room by gasli‘ght, with a dain break-
fast waiting on a littlgggas-stove, and nore’s
wrapper and slippers r y for the traveler.

Lenore had braved herself for one, at least.
sneer; but to her satisfaction, Mrs. Saxton met
her as coolly asif she was belated from the orera.
; “Lenore, dear, come by the fire. Are you
not ready to rish from the cold 9’”

That was ; and it was enough. Mrs. Sax-
ton knew it was suitably arranged. and Lenore
knew her subjection was su sed to be com-

Iete. And it was—unless merstone came to

er rescue; if he loved her, he would. If no
. word came, then she would know it was all true
of him.

Lenore laid aside her wra , and tipped the
chocolate, and ate the hot each bread, and
then retired to her room to catch anap tobe

, fresh and blooming at nine o’clock.

 

 

 

 

 

22

-vTWQWWGIRELEEIVESH:

 

 

“Fresh and bloomin !” Lenore wondered if
she ever would be the. again; she thought, as
she crossed the threshold of her elegant room
how different her return was to what she ha
ictured it; how vastly altered her return from
er going out. Her cheeks were fairly scarlet
with shame; big tears, drawn from the wells of
mortified, outraged pride, no less than the foun-
tain of wounded love, stood in her eyes as she

looked at the piteous traces of her preparation ‘

and flight not twelve hours before.

On the dressin -case lay a hair-pin—she re- ‘

membered how 5 e had originally intended to
fasten a curl a trifle higher, and desisted in the
act, recalling a remark from her lover, that she
became so well a low coiffure.

She saw, through misty tears, a tiny scarlet
bow, discarded, last by its varied beauty in her
dark hair, she might attract notice that would
be distasteful to her lover; and now—now—he
for whom she had dared all things, was as wide-
ly d from her as earth and sky!

omanlike, and tired, and discoura , Le-
nore threw herself on the outside of t e bed
and gave herself u to the luxury of a good
cry, in which all or feelings found copious
vent, and which relieved and even lightened
her burden.

Ulmerstone would write! She knew it, she
felt it, and in the meantime she would not carry
.a long face and have no enjo ment. She would
have a ood flirtation with . Carlingford, she
would 0 this, and that, and the other, all the
while waiting, watching, hoping.

So this singular 'rl reasoned; this girl whose
faults were so glaring whose bottommost prin-
ciples alone redeem , in some light measure,
her grievous errors.

The full light of the winter’s morning fell
athwart her bed when she arose, undressed, took
her customary bath and repared a bewitehing
mornin toilette in whic to receive Mr. Car-

linrlgfor .

he early breakfast at half-past eight was
partaken of as usual. By no word, or sign, or
slightest reminder was Lenore made to remem-
ber what she was not likely ever to for t.

Mr. Saxton sipped his coffee an ate his
broiled quail on toast with a tranquillity that
was beautiful to behold, speaking occasionally
10f the desirability of Ellenwood as a residence,
and the improvements, where such were possi-
ble, that the owner contemplated making.

Mrs. Saxton, while she utterly ignored the
faintest hint of actual affairs. arranged with
Lenore for a long, delightful shop ing tour at
noon‘ azpecially to look at the set 0 rubies Le-
nore ha admired in vain, at Jewel’s.

Lenore was secretly amused at the diplomacy
of her parents; but she never signified aught
but teful satisfaction at their kindness; and
ate er toasted cheese and tomato-sauce with
quiet relish.

Breakfast over, Mr. Saxton adjourned to his
library, and Mrs. Saxton retired to her house-
keeping accounts, that so conveniently needed
attention at suitable times.

To Lenore was left the task—the privilege
she was supposed to consider it-of receiving
and disposing of Mr. Carlingford. Not that
there could have existed in his mind any pos-
sible doubt of his fate, since Mr. Sexton ad
signified his consent; but, of course, the ratifi-
cation of her father’s wishes by Lenore herself
would be very leasant.

Yes, Lenore etermined it should be pleasant.
Her share of this business should be the rfect
semblance of maidenly demeanor; Mr. Carling-
ford should never dream that what he got in
return for his devotion was the ashes of a hope
deferred of another.

So Lenore, in a black silk wrapper, trimmed
with palest blue velvet, with a tiny blue bow in
her jetty hair, sat down with idly—folded hands
to await “his” coming.

He came just at nine. Lenore heard the
$110k, manly tread, the cheerful, bold voice at

9 door; her heart gave a strange throb of ,

jealous rage as she thrust away a thought of
another’s reception, and then—she arose grace-
fully from her low divan beside the register,
and went half-timidly, half-hurriedly, across
the c t to meet him. He had extended his
hands he moment he crossed the threshold;
his 8 lendid face lit up with a glow far too
wort y its object; he took her hands in one of

his warm uivering with healthful vitality
and passed (the other arm around her slender
waist.

She raised her dark eyes to his asecond; he
bent his face with mute, solemn questioning
toward her; then, as if seeing all he looked for
in the’ dainty, radiant features, he drew her
closely to him and kissed her mouth.

 

“ My own darling! How could I ever have

, doubted you were so entirely mine?”

 Lenore averted her face. How could he be
so blind, she asked herself; then thought how
strange she never had seen such intensity in his
eyes; what splendid eyes he had!

And so he took her; he, so grand so good;
she, so utterly unworth , who was destined to
lead him down to such ark wastes of waters.

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
rm: CLOSING or THE COILS.

Tm: days of Lenore‘s self-appointed probation
came an went with what seemed to her, in-
credible swiftness. The cost] cluster diamond
ring on her forefinger had telri' its story to those
, whom Mrs. Saxton had not told, and con ratu—
, lations were forever on the ta is, plentifu l in-
1termingled with visits from r. Carlingfhrd,
iwho brought messages of love from his sister,

respect from t
deleur.

Lenore should have been happy. She ad-
mitted to herself that, kind as every one was,
attentive and thoughtfully considerate as Mr.
Carlingford was, it was worse than ungrateful
in her not to attem t, at least, a reciprocity of
feeling, She had earned of many admirable
traits in her lover’s character; she found him
to be very far above her ideal, so that at times
his superiority of worth was almost painful to
contem late. Under other circumstances, than
the foo nly morbid determination to be true to
Viv1an .Jlmerstone, Lenore could not have
helped givmg the whole love of her heart to Mr.
Carhngford, and by so doing, and thus raising
her standard so far beyond its ordinary level,
she would have made, or been made, a better
woman with such a one as Mr. Carlingford in
sympathy with her.

But she would not love him because of her
foolish adherence to her idea that Vivian was
not the base, false man his conduct and his
silence proved him to be, for out of the three
months she ave herself, two had flown on, and
brought no idings of her derelict suitor.

She had become discouraged; she had very
gradually arrived at the mournful conclusion
hat he was a deceiver; she had given 11 all
hopes of him, even when she went re arly
every day and inquired for a dro letter for
“Jessica ’-——thinking he would pre er the old
name, for various reasons She had fully as
slowly come to regard Mr. Carlingford as actu-
ally to be her husband—simply because Vivian
would not let her be his wife; while relatives,
friends and lover dreamed on in blissful igno-
rance that Lenore was not perfectly content.

So the winter, with its merr making at the
Christmas-tide, and its social jo lity at the New
Year, and its sleighing-parties, and dancing-
parties and skatin -partics wore on and away,
‘Iand melted into t e very lap of early sprin ;
and still in forlorn misery that one Word won (1

‘ have altered, Lenore lived on and on, until—-
It came one bleak, gloomy morning, when the
.avenue was sheeted with glairy ice, and the
; frozen rain beat stingineg in luckless pedestri—
‘ ans” faces.

It came—a. letter addressed in Vivian Ulmer-
stone’s well-known handwriting, that made her
‘ heart lea to her throat as she almost snatched
it from ike’s salver, and flew to her room.

She sat down to regain some composure be-
? fore she opened it. Was it redem tion for her,
,or—slavery? Whichever, it was its hand who
signed the warrant. She never would forget
‘ that.

After several minutes she summoned courage
E to read it, and she read this:

I "Mr Dana-3r Lamas—Have you been wonder-
ing, and watching, and waiting? 1 have been fight-
! ing and trying to conquer all these weeks, and the
{victory I have achieved is—to write a farewell
‘ word to her who is nearest and dearest, who once
was-
, “My darling, you never will see me again. Be-
:yond the signature of this letter, you never will
; ear of me again. I shall hide my diminished head,
gwhile ou, whom I ever shall love better than
life, wi forget me when you are the wife of an-
! other.
1 " 1 do not reproach you—how can I? You will
‘not censure me that I sever all ties between us,
i when I think of you being the wife of any one not

e resident governess,  Van-

 

 

 

! “ But, the past is irreclaimable, the future utterly
. out of our hands. Only the resent is ours—mine,
. to do with, and I use it in w ting this short, inco-
, herent good-by and a blessing from

“ Yours, ever and only,
"Vim."

And Lenore, poor. erring child. cried till her

1 her last maiden days.

      

 

head ached over his soft effusions; and she be- invents
out.

lieved every syllable that came from his ready
pen as truly as she had loved and trusted the
words from his oil tongue.

But it was only he topmoststone in the sar-
cophagus she had been building for nearly
three months aback for her woun ed love; and
now, when she read the “ ood-by forever ” it

was the suitable death-kne ,she thought, t
corresponded with the wild, weird day.
After that, she lunged almost madl into

the inevitable whir of gaxeties that cele rated
fter that, she cared
more to talk seriously with her lover, and hear

all about Ellenwood, and Miss Carlingford, and

3 the beautiful twins, and their stately gover-
‘ nose.

It pleased Mr. Carlingford, this sweet, half-
shyl interest Lenore took, and he never tired of-
te 'ng her every trivial little gossip of the home

1 so soon to be hers.

if childish regard from the children of polite i
i lin

9, And litt 9 Ma

 

“ You will love sister Annie—every one does,
and ,she is so anxious to greet you, my dar-

‘gl ho she will care for me, if only a little.
and June, no one has attempted
to prejudice t em against me. Their overness
would not, would she? Miss—Miss—W ois she,
Mr. Carlingford?”

‘ Miss Vandeleur is too thoroughly a lady to
inculcate such principles. 1 am sure her mo-
tives are to secure for you a deep hold in their
hearts; and if they love you as they do her, my
darling, one of on will surely be jealous.”

“Jealous! of iss Vandeleur?”

Lenore laughed scornfully, and Mr. Carling-
ford at once understood what she meant.

“ You will find Miss Vandeleur a rfect lady
my dear. She is at once refined, e ucated, and
very beautiful in her own way. You need have
no ea

r regarding accepting her as a friend and ‘

com anion.”

A ittle flush came to Lenore’s cheek.

“ I shall be jealous, Mr. Carlingford, on your
account, rather than the children’s, unless you
cease praising this ragon. The surest way to
make one woman ate another is to hear her
praises eternally sung.”

_It was Mr. Carling 0rd whose turn it was to
crimson.

“ You cannot mean I care for Miss Vandeleur
as I care for you, Lenore i”

He spoke so frankly that she felt herself com‘
pelled to smile.

“Certainly not, Mr. Carlingford, only-”

“ Certainly not,” he repeated, uietl . “ I re~
gard Miss Vandeleur as a valua lea dition to
our family circle; sister Annie loves her dearly,
and the little ones regard her as an elder sister.
She seems to me like a daughter.”

Lenore lifted her bewitehin face.

“ Now you want me to tel you you are not
so very venerable, don’t ou? ”

But this subject of this wonderful
who rejoiced in the good races of t e fainil
at Ellenwood rather preye on Lenore’s min ,
and at length she came to dislike the queenly,
graceful girl, whose calm, statuesque beauty
was as provoking to her to contem late, as the
sound of her patrician name—Miss andeleur—
was to hear.

Mr. Carlingford had said, too, there was the
usual little romantic mystery around her. She

overness

‘ courteously refused their confidence, and had

never even offered to tell them her Christian

‘ name; and the Carlingfords were not people to

j iiidecorously press upon such reserve.

So long
as Miss Vandeleur performed her duties as satis-
factorin as she had been doing, and certainly

. not when they all respected and loved her so,
; would she be discharged from Ellenwood, be-
- cause she was reticent on the subject of her own

affairs.

Lenore felt a little thrill of contemptuous
scorn as she recalled this, that she had gathered
from Mr. Carlingford, from time to time; and

A in her heart she made up her mind that this
: Miss Vandeleur should never ride over her, as

she seemed to have done over the others.

It would be no rapid task, nor an easy one, to
dethrone Miss Vandeleur, after three months’
triumphant reign at Ellenwood, but Lenore

‘ made up her mind determinedly that she should

be uncrowned; and herself, the bride, the fu-
ture head of the house, would make it her es -
cial business to see that she was not superse ed
by this governess, who always wore black——
Lenore at once declared, simply because it was
becoming to the artful minx.
She would not declare war to the knife—not
she. Her policy was very different from most
ple’s; and her tactics those an outspoken,
onest-niinded woman would scarcely have :fir-
proved; but they suited Lenore. because. a

!

 

No, s!

and ins
comple‘
fling he

 

 

 

was.“

 

 

l

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

 

..._..V .. .,_,_, l

invented them, and could admirablycarrythem
n with smiles and kisses

.1 out.

No, she would

‘ and insinuating con dances, and when she had

completely wrapped the girl around her finger,

her of, as one would a viper.

was perfectly natural, very easy, and
llely ve quite a zest to the future of her
life at enwood; and somehow it seemed to
Gunponsate Lenore for some of her own griev-
ances to know there was another woman who
had ttroubles, whom she intended to tor-

m

If she had known how 1y their paths
crossed and recrossedl If she ad on] been
permitted the most fleeting glim se of w 17 her
uture, and his future, would , because of
those crossed and recrossed paths!

But, in blind ignorance, she went up to her
marriage; laid her hand in Mr. Carlingford's,
and swore to be true till death did part them.
In after years she‘ remembered how mocking
the solemn charge was, and how literally, aw-
fully true it came to be; true—she true l—she
Who away, away down in the sanctuary of her

_rt, dared marry one man and love another.
philosophize as she might about it.

 

CHAPTER XXX.
nor. TO nos.

Eniu’a three months at Ellenwood had flown
bgeas if on enchanted pinions. In many respects
8 regarded them as the happiest she had ever
3M, and had' it not been for the hanging cloud
forever over her head, she would have been care-
free as a child.

an  Ellenwood thoroughly; its appoint-
ments. its liberal hospitality, its friendly kind-
ness: and until she had learned that Mr. Car-
lmgf‘ufd’s was very close at hand, and
that his bride was Lenore Sexton, it had seemed
to her that Ellenwood would forever be her
home. Not that there was anan of her
1am “0"; Mr. Carlin 0rd d positively
for another word on t if! subject, with that
sweet authoritative way of his that delighted
Edna,”-' Mill! Annie had begged her to let the
mlfie make no difference; young Mrs. Car-
11nng \would doubtless be only too glad to
11"" her rem-med. and would learn to love her
as they did. I

Edna smiled to think of Lenore’s loving her;
but she  not urge her departure against
“Ch 0P tion, and so she decided to remain
and see if Lenore Would turn her out.-

'She had known of Lenore’s probable coming
to Ellenwood as Mr. Carlingford’s wife, before
she had been a fortnight among them.

At first, she was stricken speechless with the
dh’o'ledg fl!“ Mr. Carlingford could ever con-

escsnd carefor a girl as shallowandvain,
and, in a measure, unprincipledz as she knew
Lenore ‘0 be; hilt, incredible as it agpeared to
110133119 1031“! It was a fact, and s e hardly
knew Whether  pity Mr. Carlingford or feel a
contempt for him.

,Buc When .3110 humid, later, from his own
lips. how Pomliiveelg , and modest, and wo-
manly. he bellev , his betrothed to be;
when she saw the hundred little silent tokens of
a true attachment to his girl-bride. Edna pitied
him from the depths of her woman's man

She longed to save him; to have him see her
as she was; but it was hardly her province to
appoint herself disenchanter; and so the days
were on and on, until this grandl glorious day,
when Lenore had been Mr..Car ingford‘s bride
a month, and the bridal pair were expected at
Ellenwood by the next train.

The home-coming was desired to be rfectly
private; only one carriage was orde to drive

he travelers the few yards from the depot to
the entrance; two days later the grand recep.
tion would occur.

From the schoolroom window Edna could see
the horses to the Ellenwood barouohe, pawing
and rearing their heads in proud impatience;
and she thou ht of the trium )h, the wonder she
would lee infienore’s eyes w on she rec '

1“ “‘8 Vandeleur the foster-sister who had
lived under the same roof so many years. .

“ had counted the cost of Lenore’s coming

before she decided to remain and meet her. As
m once, Lenore would explain

rself. As to the Carling-
ort knowing new] story, she was willing
MchdOD; hadoften felt itwas their

ill-“gingham- dlthelr mam and

that they loved hsr for-mild that no

 

 

ous mistakes and misfortunes could freak
friendship that existed.

She knew the Carlingfords would be aston-
ished that she never had said she knew Miss
Saxton, when her name had been so often dis-
cussed; but Edna knew they would appreciate
her reticence on that point as on others. This

uiet confidence of hers made her content; and
s e sat watching for the train, with only a sad

yearnin at her heart that her life as young ,
and h thful as Lenore’s, was so wi ely differ- :

ent—the one apportioned to lonely self-reliance
perpetual self-restraint; the other, to all that
was desirable and enjoyable.

There were times, and this was one, when ,

every fiber in Edna’s being cried out for Ober-
don Audrey; the contemplation of Lenore’s
happiness With Mr. Carlingford awoke a tender-
1 sad envy, and forced the question—why was

e so fated to walk such gloomy ways?

She would not 've war to her consuming
thoughts. She h her duties to attend to, for
the reception of Mr. Carlingford. She was to
see that May and June were properly attired in
their white cashmere dresses, trimmed, one in
pink, the other in blue; she had promised to at-
tend to the removal of any withered flowers in
the bridal-chamber, and replenish with fresh
ones from the conservato . ,

She threw off her spiriItlhss Ian or with an
eflort, and with a woman’s par onable pride
paused before the little glass to take a critical
survey of her toilet.

She saw a tall, graceful girl, whose slender,
faultles figure was well dressed in a black silk
of rich elegance, whose dainty laces and queen-
1 train lent a genuine style to her toilet: whose
_ k-gray eyes, with their heavy lashes and
Jetty, curving eyebrows, were in odd, pictur-

esque contrast to the marble-white face, with  my
, and yet,

its scarlet lips—the only dash of vivid color
about her; whose small, proud head, with its
code of glossy hair, its one long, thick, half-
curled tress trailing below her waist, set firmly
on her round, white throat.

She saw that she looked well, and she experi-
enced a thrill of pride that it was so.

She looked in at the nursery, and saw that
Bessie, the maid, was performing her toilet du-
ties satisfactoril ; then went into the id-
centiy-appoin apartment Mr. Carhngford
had arranged for his bride.

_ It was hung in daint , creamy white silk, with
silver fringe, over a lig t blue damask, and Edna
realized how like a queen Lenore could feel as
she entered this saloon, royal in its elegance and
costliness

The flowers, late plucked, were still fresh and
fragrant; there was not a yellowing leaf or a

loosening tel to remove, and Edna knew the
gig-Inge act performed would be to greet the

She had heard the whistle of the on he sev-
eral minutes before; then the hasty ml of the
09111338 Wheels; and now she knew Mr. Car-
lingford and his bride were within, judgin
from the monotonous flow of conversationfi
murmur.

Should she down, or wait till she should be
sent for, like 1: e rest of the servants, to pay her
respects to the new mistress?

\ es, she would wait, she decided, a little scorn-
fully. She would not exceed her prerogative;
she was a hired servant, and Lenore Carhngford
should not find her ashamed of herself or of her
position. ' -

She had only a few minutes to wait. Bessie,
the nursery maid, had taken the children down,
several minutes before, and now returned With
Mr. Carlingford’s respects, and would she be so
kind as to come down?

Very slowly, calmly, without a ruffle on her
silent, rave face, or a faster motion of .her
heart, us. went down, and into the deing-
room, where Miss Anna was waiting at the
door. I

Mr. Carlmgford crossed the floor to meet and
welcome her. He shook her hand warmly, and
smiled - at her earnest, low, congratu atory
words. Then he drew her disengaged arm
through his, and thus conveyed she went up to
Lenore, Who arose, half languidly, Without rais-
ing her eyes. _

f  Vandeleur, my dear. Mrs. Carling-
o .

h Lenore made a tiny bow, and Edna extended
or _

“ Mrs. Carlingford—Lenore—you have my best
wishes.”

Then Lenore looked hastily up: her ladyll'ke
languor vanished; and the hand with‘which she
 little May‘s curls, paused as if she were

“goal semen-.1 mun Mrs. Fay—you has,
you

 

l

1

 

l
l

Edna’s face flushed scarlet at thehated, lawful

name.
“I am here, Mrs. Carlingford; an in 
woman, who had no home until she found a."
Mr. Carlingford looked on in hle-_sur«
' . The recognition of the two, so out
unsus ted, the partial revealin of thesecre
so su den, so mysterious, had on him oom-
letely aback; while Miss Anna looked from
Edna to Lenore in perfect amazement.

 

CHAPTER XXXI.
iins. FAY.

LENOR! was the first to break the silence'
and her voice was almost harsh as she 
that this was the girl she intended to crush,
this the girl who had won Ellenwood in three
months.

"-I cannot trace any analogy between Miss
Vandeleur, the governess of m husband’s chil-
dren, and the Wife of Garnett a , who left him
within an hour of the ceremony.

Edna‘s head was slightl bowed while Lenore
spoke. Now, she raised i , in grave digit .

“Because in the seventeen ears I 've un-
der your father’s roof, endu simply because
I was a beloved adopted child of his dead wife,
you never knew that my middle name was Van-
deleur—Edna Vandeleur Silvester.”

Her simple explanation was a relief, even to

Carlingford, who had felt unpleasantly at

the curious t affairs suddenly assumed.
iii: turned to with a pitying sympathy in

face.
“ My poor child, we feel you have more claim
on our love than ever. I had long ago heard of

5 my wife‘s family misfortune, but never for a
1 moment supposed you Were the one. Lenore,

, amurc MissVan— no, Miss Ed—
ardly miss; we will call her Edna,

; may we? Please tell Edna, my dear, how we

 

sympathize with her. ”

He stooped and kissed his little ones, and then
asked them and “Auntie Annie” to come and
examine sundry tempting packages he had car-
ried to the library.

It was a delicate managementof the aflair,
this leaving Edna and Lenore together to settle
their explanations, and as Edna saw him do-
part she thought how more than good he was.

While Lenore had revolved the subject in her
mind with her usual impulsive t1"):(ilindity, she saw
that her husband fully e her and Edna
to be friends, even as he mm she andHiss
Vandeleur would have hem. She rec
the position Edna had gained in the f ' y, ex—
actly as she had pictured Miss Vandeleur’s situa-
tion, but there was not this jealous dislike of
“ only Edna ” that there had been of the “ beau-
tiful, statuesque girl;” to Lenore she was only
Edna, and never could be more. Besides, she
rather liked Edna, in spite of their girlish an-
tipathies: it would be lonely at Ellenwood until
she w accustomed to suburban life, and Edna
we (1 really be a comfort to her. . .'

Again, she scented the romance With a rehab;
this romantic history of Edna’s that she knew
Edna would some day tell her; she knew, too,
that in Edna’s ears she might some day pour her
own sad story, and thus sympathue With, and
comfort each other—these women whose life in—
terest centered on one man; whom one hated,
whom one loved! In a second with her quick in-
tuition, Lenore dncided on this course; and the
moment they were alone she reached out her
hands to Edna. ,

“ Edna, sister! Mr. Carlingford is ri t! we
do love you, and sympathize deeply. was so
taken aback, so completel surprised, that I
hardly knew what I said. on will forgive me.
Edna, and please love me a little.”

She spoke in her sweetest tone; Edna listened
gravely, Wondering what , great change had
come over Lenore, that she was so mild, so gen-
tie; and little faith as she had in the inexplica-
ble change, she was not one who could resist it.

“ Lenore, I have nothing to to 've. I have
had everythi to endure, and I ve learned
to take gratef y any kindness offered me.”

“I wouldn‘t have you leave me, leave Ellen:
wood, for any thing. I wouldn’t have dreaded
coming half as much had I expected to seea fa‘
miliar face.”

“ Dreaded coming to Ellenwood!” and when

l Mr. Carlingfosd was with her, and it was her

home, her very own, for all her life! It seemed
an eguivalent to saylng she dreaded ' with
her usband and that certainly mean
did not love him.

Edna had repeated Lenore’s words in aniao
audible tone of voice that made her blush un-

easd . . . .
“ gea‘t put henchmen
or misconstrue mymeaning, I beg’m



 

24'

 GIRL’S

LIVES.

 

 

 

 

laughingly. “_I dare sa I shall like it well
enough when i get use to it. Suppose you
show me my room?”

Together they ascended the stairs, covered ‘

with a pile of velvet, so deep, it seemed like
walking on heaps of moss; through long, wide
corridors, with some rare statuette in every
niche; past huge windows, whose tinted panes
made gorgeous shadows on the floor as the sun—
shine glinted through.

Lenore admired everything with a languid,
listless politeness that was a new trait in her

character; and even the splendid silver and ‘

cream bedroom suite elicited nothing beyond 9.
raising of her eyebrows, and a murmurous little
ex ression of satisfaction.

,es, Edna knew there had come a great
change over Lenore; her actions, her peculiar
admission, her odd offer of friendship to herself,
all told Edna that Lenore Carlingford was very,
wry different from Lenore Saxton.

What was the cause of this alteration in a dis-
losition so exuberant, piquant, independent?
Surely the married life of a month had not so
tonal her down; certame the fatigue and ex-
citement of a four-weeks’ traveling tour could
not account for it' and above all Edna knew
Lenore was not disappointed in r. Carling-
iord, for the simple reason that he was not the
man to come short of any expectations placed
upon him.

So Edna found herself thrown almost violent-
ly back upon-a suspicion that had rushed over
l.er the moment Lenore remarked she had
dreaded coming to Ellenwood, as the only rea-
son she could 've to account for Lenore’s cu—
rious views an actions.

And the ugly suspicion that had occurred to
her was—the remembrance of a stranger Lenore
had hinted of dimly, months ago; a rentleman
correspondent, whose advertisement 518 intend-
ed answering at some future time.

It was barely possible, Edna thought, that
Lenore had become ac uainted with, and fallen
in love with, some sue stranger, and as a hat
ural consequence, felt the disappointment very
keeaily when compelled to marry Mr. Carling~
for .

But all this was on] a suspicion, and Edna
felt she had no right harbor it. If Lenore
had any trouble, and chose to tell Edna, she
would accept the confidence and try to lighten
the burden.

She left Mrs. Carlingford in her room, and
Went up the stairs to her own.

That evenin was passed in quiet rest around
the fires, and he next day Mr. Carlingford oc-
cupied in literally introducing Ellenwood to its
mistress; showing her its beauties, its conve-
niences, its comforts.

The day after was one of bustle and pleasant
excitement. That evening Ellenwood was to
be thrown open to two hundred csts, and all
the festivities incidental to a wed ' g reception
were arran ed for. Mr. and Mrs. Saxton came
up from ew York by an early afternoon
train, attended by a maid and valet, with a
trunk full of toilet finery.

Edna had shrunk from meeting them, with
more of dislike than fear; and even when Le—
nore told her it would occasion no surprise to
her parents to meet her, as she had written and
told them the evening of her arrival, Edna‘
wished herself permitted to avoid them during
their brief stay.

a

1 your presence at Ellenwood, under such very

‘ singular cu'cmnstanccs.
sorrv for you.”

she could not at all ( iminish the blush that
surged over cheek and brow at the half—con-
temptuously-uttered name.

“ l‘hanks, Mrs. Saxton, for your verfi kind
_and certainly unexpected sympathy. ut to
prevent future mistakes, please remember i do
i not, for obvious reasons, respond to the name
‘ you gave me.”

‘ Mrs. Saxton raised her eyebrows with a calm

‘ incredulit that almost crazed Edna.

, “ Ind 2‘ .‘it the same time you can not

:deny any one’s right to address you by your
name—whether ou respond or not, Mrs. Bay.”

She added the ast two words with maliciously
‘ elaborate politeness. Edna flushed, and turned
. abruptly away, to come counter to Mr. Saxton
as he was crossing the room.

He paused, nodded, then—it seemed to Edna
so—made up his mind to do what he had pre-
viously decided not to do—recognize and speak
to her.

“Quite a curious thing eh? How do, Edna?
Glad you’re so comfortahlc. I don’t suppose
you had any news from that husband of yours 1”

His loud, careless tone jarred harsh] on her
ears; but it did not amuse that tiger o hatred
in her as did Mrs. Saxton’s unendurable hau-
tour.

She answered him, in a low, cold tone:

“I know nothing of the person you men-
tioned, sir. I am comfortable, very; thanks to
Mr. and Miss Carlingford.” Then, catching one
of the twins’ attention, she beckoned her.

“June, dear you are looking for me? Am I
wanted in the housekeeper’s room?”

J une put u her hands and drew Edna’s face
down among er golden curls.

“ Bessie sa '3 there has been some one waitin
for you in t e library ten minutes. She tolfi
me to hand you the card.”

Edna took it carelely; she often had casual

l

However, I am very ,

i

Edna could hardly re ress the curl on her lip; ‘l

Edna you left me very unceremoniously; I fol-
lowed within half an hour, and have never
ceased the search night or day till I found you.
And this is the welcome my wife gives me!”

His voice lowered to a mournful key that
only smote her heart with new fright. He did
mean to claim her then; he called her his wife.

She strove to subdue her wild repulsion; she
essa ed, hardly successfully to address him:

“ cannot be your wife, Mr. Fag: The con.
versation I overhear that induce me to flee,
forever put a barrier ween us. You did not
want me, you wanted—‘Jessica;’ you did not
want me, you wanted the money you thought I
had, and learned too late I had no .”

He kept his mocking blue eyes on her face
while she spoke, thinking the while how won-
drously lovely she had grown to be. When she
ceased, he said:

“Am Ito regard it as a favorable sign that

* you are just the least bit jealous of—”

Her eyes fairly blazed then.

“Jealous? I jealous of you? Mr. Fay, do
not add insult to injury.”

Her voice was clear enough now, and rung
out high and sweet in its honest scorn.

He smiled almost sneeringly.

“ Ten thousand pardonsl I might have re-
mcmbered there could be no possible room for
jealousy in a heart so loyal to Mr. Audrey 1”

He watched her narrowly, and his eyes
gleamed with a sudden anger when he saw the

, swift blushes deluge her fair face, neck and

hands.
“ Mr. Audrey has roved himself a true friend
of mine. As such shall always regard him.

3 Besides he or his affairs are not possibly con-
; cerns o yours. ”

“ N 0? Permit me to acquaint you with a fact

‘ of which you seem in total ignorance, that a.

y wife’s friends as his own frien

friendly calls, and mener wondered as she ‘

turned her eyes to read it, who would be so
singular as to call on such a day.

But she gave a little asping cry, away down
in her throat, when are read the name' her

limbs tottered under her asshe slipped out rom '

the crowd to meet—
Garnett Fay!

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE wnuc’s TRIAL.
GARNET? FAY! the man of all men she most

hated, feared, deSpised, from whom she had fled ‘

in outraged womanhood not very long a ,
from whom now, as she stood leaning aginst t e
Neptune in the hall at the foot of the
she shrunk in utter repulsiveness of

Under the same roof with her; an invader of
her privacy, the thief of her only comfort—her
solitary retirement. How had he found her?
how learned her retreat? what had he come for,
what did he want!

She felt a sick, dizzy horror creep over her
as she realized his power over her; that he had
only to proclaim and all the world. even Mr.
Carlingford, could not assist her. She was his
Wife; she said it, over and over again; es, she
was his wife, and all the tears of a lifetime
could not drench out the pitiful fact. She had

 

Of course such a prooeedin could not be,
thought of for a moment. W en Mr. Saxton‘i
and his wife came she must meet them, milk to v
them, and—it was one sweetly bitter rop in}
the cup of dissatisfaction— rhaps hear of ‘
Oberdon Audrey, his wherea uts, his condi-
tion. She had not dared inquire of Lenore;
but, she could bravely ask Mrs. Sexton, who
knew they two had always been such good
friends; never knowing that Oberdon had told|
the Saxtons how he oved her, how her mar-v
riafip had crushed him to earth.

is faint hope of learning a whisper from
Oberdon lent a delicate tinge of rare color to
her face, and made her very fair to see, as, in
her trained silken dress, of lustrous black, reg
lieved b a bow and long ends of pale china-
blue rib n at her throat, she moved through
the grand old house with her watchful step,
seeing that all thin were in readiness.

She met Mr. an Mrs. Saxton in the same
quiet, though more reserved manner, that she
had shown toward Lenore. It was not until the I
customary gathering of the family and 
in the drawing-room, for a half-hour prevmus
to dinner that she saw them.

'l‘hert 9 only bowed to Mrs. Saxton, who
stood nearest the door as she entered.

“ I was quite surprised. Mrs. Fay. to learn of ,

1
l

F—it half-maddened her, so lik

not the slightest idea what she should do or say,
or how to meet him. She seemed, after that
cold thrill of horrid agony, to have been sud
denly petrified; and she walked slowly wearin
up the stairs, twistin his card in her
very bitterness of sou .

At the library door, she never paused to think;
she pushed open the door, and walked in and

fingers in ,

gentleman assumes, generallyhghe affairs of his

1”

Her ruddy flush vanished before the implied
doom of his careless, meaning words.

“ And let me acquaint you with the fact, Mr.
Fay, that no gentleman would attempt to claim
as 3 wife a woman whom he knew, in his very
soul, despised him as—"

She used, fearing to utter the words; but
be cool y took up the incomplete remark.

“ As you despise me, you mean, I presume,
Mrs. Fay? Very well. I regret exceedingly
your unfavorab e opinion of me; but hope,
when time and a more intimate a uaintance
shall lend their aid, to have it Chang .”

A more intimate acquaintance! her heart al-
most sprung to her throat.

“ You do not mean—surely you do not mean
after all this time, to—to—”

She could not frame the language with her

‘ quivering lips.

‘ turn to me the a ection you once

i to a last,

“ I mean, most assuredly, to offer you every
opportunity in my wer to enable you to re-
ave, then
withdrew. You cannot ever for t, dna, that
no power on earth can unmake t e fact, to you
so repellent, that on are my wife.”

It was so terrib y true this that he said, with
such quiet emphas1s, such satisfied asurance.

“But it is not me you want,” she returned,
with the asionate desperation of one reduced
itter extremity; “ you know it is not
me you want; it is the miserable money you
thought was mine; that now, when I have it,
you come back to me for.”

He raised his eyebrows with placid inquiry.

“Then you are the heirem, after all? I oer-l
tainly am glad to find such to be true, although

i you cruelly mistake my motive.”

Edna shivered with utter horror as she lis--
tened, not divining the triumph in his soul, that
she had proved, conclusively, what he had come!

a to Ellenwood to learn.

met him, for the first time since their wedding -

hour, face to face.

He arose from the chair in which he sat with
the same easy grace Edna remembered, looked
steadily at her, then bowed deferentially, while

Edna, with the pasteboard between her cold 4

fingers, her face pale as death, her eyes fairly

glittering with suppressed excitement, only ‘ , ,
= possess, I shall be 0 liged to take with it the

mute, motionless.

“I am very sorr
down, Edna. You ook faint.”

He addressed her so coolly, so naturally, and
e a man wh
knew his ri hts. He even called her Edna.

She woul not sit d0wn' she was not ill; did
he wish to see her particularl ?

He smiled, pityingly as if s 6 were a fractious
child wno writhed under discipline.

“ Then I must conclude ou are very sorry to
see me. I have looked orward to this hour
with an anticipation I see cannot be realized.

if I agitate you so. Sit

“ I know it is the money, and only let me be
in and never see you again, and you shall
have it in welcome.”

He smiled at her honest antipathy to him; a
dark, boding smile.

“I cannot feel flattered by my wife‘s unex-

ted generosity. I am free to confess that,
fight ul as the sun little fortune would be to

generous donor as well.
Edna compressed her lips till they were white

‘ with pain; her eyes grew full of anguish that

o 2

gradually froze into stony defiance. She stood
ust in front of her husband’s chair and looked
him full in the face as she answer him.

“ Mr. Fay, determined as you are in your
purpose to claim me and my miserable money,
you will find me fully as unalterable in my e—~
cision never, under any on' 008, to live

with on, to acknowledge you as more than a.
base eoeiver, through whose unmanly conduct

 l

,1

 

 

 

my earthly
would have
your own 1
chasm, neve
tween us; a
m money,
er ay
she said a
her noble
mortiflcatk
persisted th
or he had
proof to thl
But, he ‘
he resolved
then anotl
So he lisz
independei
solving to
tiently.

“ Indeed
demn me 1
for my wi
“ I shall

gravely.
erstand
vaut will
She bOV
something
I bl ' the in
‘ e aros
‘ change hi
' “ Do n<
would as
l tunity of
l “ It ca
{ cient tha
the anno
\ He hit
fai‘rlxsst;
once, n02
roof that
yet prow

day 11101

by. I v

He re:
stinctivl

, “ Goo
voice as
he wall
through
into the
Her l
lest son

 

 

:Ifol-

9 L

g

err-v p' Ba.ng

. .

I

 

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

25

 

.my earthly happiness is forever wrecked. I
would have been atrue, good wife to you; it is
your own fault, and none of mine, that the
chasm, never to to be bridged, was opened be-
tween us; and it will be my fault, if ever I, or
In money, do you or ours anyg ."
or gray e as flashe forth the ruth of what

an d an meant, and Garnett Fay felt

er noble superiority with an added pang of
Mortification and im tent wrath that, if she
' thus, he ha no power to coerce her,

01' he had, with his own hands, flung every
proof to the flames and wind.

But, he was a man of wondrous assurance;
he resolved to fight gallantly, first on one line,
then another, until he won the fight sonwhow.
$0 he listened, secretly alled by her womanly
independence, admiring er for it, and yet re-
?lvélllg to show no token, but bide his time pa-

ien y.

“Indeed? And in the meantime you con-
demn me to the forlornest of all fates—waiting
for my wife to fall in love with me.” ~

“ I shall never fall in love with you,” she said
Sleevely. “Now, Mr. Fay, that we fully un-

rstand each other, I will leave you. A ser-
vant will show you the door.”

She bowed, courteously, but with a certain
something in her air that made Fay feel forci-
bl the impassable distance between them.

e arose hastily; he saw it was high time to
clip. his tack. I 1

‘ 0 not go just t, I beg. was ioping you
would ask me, orygt least offer me the oppor-
tuni of telling you, how I found you.”

.“ can be of no interest to me. It is suffi-
cient that Iknow I am found, much as I regret
the annoyance it has subjected me to.”

He bit his lips to keep back the words that

. falrlzsstung his tongue for utterance.

“ you please. And I will leave you at
once, not as an intruder ordered from under the
roof that shelters you, but as a friend who will
yet prove his friendship in the he that one
day more will be accorded him. Edna, good-
by. I will see on again.”

‘ He reached hand to take hers, but she in-
stinctively> shrunk away];

; ‘f Good- y,” she said, a strange, constrained

‘ veice as he passed her; and she watched him as
he walked, With his courtly, graceful tread,

t h the 10wer hall, and out the t
we grounds. en mnce

Her heart was throbbing with awful fear
lest some one should come suddenl out of the
rooms and meet him; she dreaded aving peo-
fill; ow him as being aught to her, or she to

;she would rather a thousand times suf-
fer on and on than have had him meet her
friends.

But no one came out; she heard the continued
niurmurous conversation in the moms below.
and he must have heard as he passed the doors:
he was out of theEllenwood gates before Edna

' heard the drawmg-room door open, and saw
Lenore, on Mr. Carlingford’s arm, ascend the
. stairs.

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
rm: wrrs’s connssrox.

TEE rece tion was a success. Lenore was
in her bgeig test mood, for the few hours she
was exci byI the music, the dress, the atten-
tion around er, and won everybody’s admi-

. ration. The following morning, like all morn-
lngs following nights of dissipation and excite-
ment, brought with it the inevitable reaction of
headache, espondency. ennui to Lenore, who,

in her wrapper and slippers, had her toast and
Chocolate served to her at eleven in her dressing-
room.

Afterward, when her arents had returned to
New York, she had little ay and June brought,
to hep while away an hour; then, tiring of
them, other new novels, of her sister-in-law and
her husband by turns, she sent a pleading little

tot dna to come bring her work, what-
°Y°T .n'ill‘fihthe doing, and sit with her until
dinner. 8 invitation found Edna just re-
examming copy-books, and correct-

a‘h 193; and although perhaps as wea

‘ “d IS ore, though from far di -

19”“ mus“, She sent word that she would

com to M"- Cfll‘ in a few minutes.

She 00mg!“ her duties in the school-room,

then to her own room, madersome triflin

CW in h“ motto 0y exc ' her mg

and collars for fresh and ha-

,amhig,lpronbr one of tuned twist; her
“ W ‘  0‘ e u making

ilhe w
for orwear, and went down In “rung.
lord’s boudoir. _ I to

 

 

She fotmd Lenore, with her hair down, her
eyes dull and unutterably weary, lying on the
loun * beside the window.

“ on are so kind,” was her
the low rocking-chair, and sit
see you while we talk.”

Edna brought the little rocker, and sat down
in front of the lounge.

“You don’t seem to mind a night‘s frolic,
do you? You look as fresh as ever. Look at
me.

Edna glanced up critically.

“You are jad , Mrs. Carlingford, which is
new for you. I remember your being up two
ni hts once, and not—”

more interrupted her with an irritation that
both startled am astonished Edna.

“ For mere sake, don’t allude to old timeS'
and don’t, I eg, call me Mrs. Carlingford. I
tell you I hate the very sound of his name!”

The fire was springing to her eyes now, Ed-
na saw, with a strange. tender iity at her heart
for this unhappy woman, who, ikc herself, had
a burden to carry so heavy. And Iyet a thrill
of horror went over Edna to hour 11'. Carling-
ford‘s wife declare she hated the mention of the
name he had given her.

“ You do not mean that, I am sure,” she said,
gently. “Mr. Carlingford would be terribly
grieved if he ,thought such could possibly be
true.”

“ AS if I care! Mr. Carlingford seems to be a
paragon among you at Ellonwood. I tell you I
am heart-sick of Ellenwood and every thing be-
longin to it. Edna! Edna! if I can’t unburden
m 'sel to somebody, I shall go mad! I’ve never
told a soul, and the load is too heavy to carry
another minute.”

Lenore pushed away her black hair from her
flushed face; and Edna, in speechless surprise,
listened and wondered.

“ You don’t say a word,” Lenore added, half
pitcouslv, half spitefully. “I supposed you,
after all you have gone through, would have a
heart to sympathize with me.”

The tours sprung to Edna’s eyes. .

“I can pity any one who has been trampled
on as I have—Lenore. If in sympathy is what
you want, if you havo s cred—you have it
freely. ”

“ Suil‘ered!” echoed Lenore, in a perfect wail
of agony; “and the worst of it is, I can’t get
over it. I thought, honestly and trul , that
when I man’ied'Mr. Carlin rford, I woul learn
to forget him—but I can’t! cent!”

It was so; Lenore did love another; and Edna
saw the explanation of all her strangeness of
manner.

She knew she was expected to converse upon
the distressin subject; she felt that she could
not turn COl( away from Lenore‘s sobbing
confession, painful, wrong that it was; and,
above all, how like to her own weight of sorrow
it was; so like, yet so precisel dissimilar.

Her voice was low and kind when she an-
swered Lenore‘s )assionato complaint.

“It is a dreadful thing to be the wife of a
man you do not love. I am the wife accord-
ing to the law of our land, of a man I dislike,
despise—a villain, a deceiver; you, my 1poor Le-
nore, are treny unfortunate in not 0v1ng a
husband so good, so noble as Mr. Carlingford.
It is terrible for him.” ,

“ He may be good, noble, rfect, if you will.
But I would rather have ivian with all his
faults, a thousand times, because I loved him——
yes, do love him so! I never can he] it!” '

She buried her face in her cold ands, and
Edna felt the hot tears trickle on her own
warm fingers that she clasped over Lenore/’5.

“Yes, you can help it, by God’s help! you
must help it, if it kills you to crush it down!
You must give it up, on your knees, this unholy
affection that will drag you further and further
from purity and wifehood and womanhood the
closer you nourish it! Oh, Lenora remember,
I have felt all this; I have struggled With a
love as stron as life, as mi hty_as death!”

She spoke ike an inspire priestess, and Le-
nore listened as if an oracle had spoken.

“ You have? then you did love Oberdon Au-
driyi after all?” 1 ed _th

‘ nzi‘s face sudden surg over w1 'con—
scious blushes; she had, preached as she believed
was her dot to this misguided woman, who
coldly turned, around and threw her Views in
her face. ~
Not crossly, sneeringly, either; not unkindly,
but aim 1 With plain force. _

“I  lovo Mr. Andre , Lenore, I confess .lt
humbly; and I also ess I have buried it,
night and day, doe and deeper.”

‘ Until—” asked nore, inquiringly.

eetin . “Bring
ere w are I can

“Until.” answered Edna, quiet now. and

...__.

very ave, “1 have learned it is my destiny
not to happy as other women are happy.”

“ As I am ha py,you ought to say,” and Lo-
nore, mocking ‘ I, the mistress of Ellen-
wood, who we d give it all for one look from
Vivian Ulmerstone’s dear eyes.”

She was so deluded, this beautiful reckless
woman, whom her husband had bro t to be a

. mother to his little ones a loyal wi e for him-

 

 

self; Edna’s heart ach , beyond its habitual
pain on her own account.

“ \Ve were so near married,” went on Lenore;
“and if it hadn’t been for Mr. Audrey, I would
have been Vivian’s wife long before this; he
stopped it, and papa took me home, and—and—
I never heard from him again for so long, (1
then he gave me up, so nobly and self~sacrifl -

in l .’

Inya broken lament, full of tearful anguish
and passionate devotion, Lenore told Edna the
story of her love-life; her belief that she had
ceased to care for her love; her knowledge, now,
that it was only the force of circumstances that
deluded her into such belief; her pitiful, repre-
hensible love new, for the man who was not her
husband.

And Edna listened, with pity and reproof,
with admonition and sadness, never fora mo—
ment suspecting it was her own husband—the
man she feared—who had wrought such havoc
in Lenore’s affections.

“ He was so handsome,” Lenore said, tender-
ly, “arid so educated and refined and gentle-
man] .’

“And Mr. Carlin 0rd fulfills the descrip~
tion to the letter,” dna said, cheerily. “ Be-
sides, Lenore—you will pardon my harshness in
saying so—but from your account of your 610
mcnt, it seems to me this Mr. Ulmerstone 'd
not mean to inarry—”

Lenore almost sprung from the lounge, in her
vehement speech of defense.

“ You all say that! and I thought so: but it
is a false insinuation, and I will never hear it
again—never 3"

A silence ensued after her passionate outburst,
broken by herself.

“ Why have you never asked me about Ober-
don Audrey? Why haven’t you wanted to
know where he is, and what he is doin ?”

“I wanted to know,” answered us, and
Lenore wondered at her quiet gravity, never
knowing the wild tumult, surging through her
heart. “Iwanted to know very much,” she
went on, “but I would not permit myself to

‘k 7%

“And that is part of the crushing-out ro-
cess? If it is I never shall suc in crushing
Vivian out o my hea .”

“Yes; it is part of the rocess Ihave begun,
and, Heaven helping me, will finish, no matter
what the end; and you,.Lenore, will either con-
quer this unlawful, unfortunate affection, or be
conquered by a terrible doom.”

So they talked—these women; one so pure, so
wholly high-principled, who would not deviate
a step from the path of duty to purchase a
life of ha piness; and the other, so strangely
contras to her; these two, whose ths so
often strangely cromed, were converging now,
to diverge only once again, where one led to
her just recompense, the other down to depths
of woe unutterable.

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.
A COMING EVENT.

Ir Edna had felt it a severe cross tobeen—
tirely ignorant of the whereabouts of Oberdon
Audrey, it certainly was tenfold more trying to
him to have her so successfully elude him, and
thus leave him in painful uncertainty regard-
 her condition and comfort.

t was far different, he argued with himself.
the fear with which be worried about her, a
lone girl, without home or friends—perhaps
without money—with a husband from whom
she was fleeing, probably on her track.

Edna’s anxiety about him, he argued, was
only a loving woman’s nath solicitude for
any one absent from her; he was a man, able to
take care of mm lf, full?)r comsetent to fight
the battle of life, with t e bol assurance of
Golgith on, Email?“ ha her prospect

ere s , w t .
Iwieiie, were uzzles mver had solved. Her

timate 1e ease from the 
seemed a question only of time—a that
must be indefinitely postman long as Edna
keptherselfsosecmtl ' ,andmdto
come forward and the necessary steps to-

ward£gocuringflndivom
An y had engaged a private detective,
who. for three men he ind beendfliaently prov-

 

‘ .___

 

 

26

ms of how little value detectives are: and
, Audrey  diachar (1 him, after having been
positive] y informed t e young lady was nowhere
on the face of the earth.

After that, he wandered around rather aim-
lessly, it is true, but ever on the alert for de-
velopments that never developed.

Then, on one of his trips to Philadelphia, he
had come across Vivian I'lmerstone and Le-
nore, effectually blocked the little game, made
a life-long enemy—and went on again, hOping,
fearing; now encouraged, now utterly cast
down. '

And all the while never a sign, a word, a
whisper, of Edna, to whom he was so true-—
whom he loved so well.

He had received cards to Lenore Saxton’s‘
wedding, as well as to the rcception at Ellen-l
wood; but he hardly felt in the meod to make
one of a jo ous partly; and his delicacy of feel-
ing forbade as wel, after the trying part he 1
had been obliged to play in a precious affair of
Lenore’s. ’

So, never knowing what he missed, he had rc— 1
mained away, while under the very roof of the
house he refused to enter, Edna was fighting her
we]?! through tears and anguish.

ow, nearly five months from the night Edna
had eluded him at the Pennsylvania railroad
depot, Andre had arrived at the conclusion
that no etfo of his could find her; he knew
Edna was aware of his place of business, and, if
she chose to make herself known, there was
nothing to prevent; so, with this conclusion, he
settled down among his papers, and accounts,
in his rivate office, with a grave, serious con-
tent at ought to have come to him, in the
same way, long before.

He had been restless, discontented, solely on
Edna’s account; now, entirely on her account,
was just the reverse, simply because, having
tried and proved his own impotence to find her,
he now rested on her pure, sound judgment to
come to him whenever she felt she needed him.

Every day stren hened and deepened his
love for her; every our added to his profound
respect and admxration for the way she had
compgrted herself; and while he grew to revere
and ve her more and more, he grewto despise
and almost hate this Gamett Fay, who blighted
Edna’s life and his own.

He had thought and pondered over Edna’s
description of him until he was sure he would
have reco ized him anywhere: and yet when

0 met Vivian Ulmerstone that night on the

ashington train, no thought had been further
from his mind than that Lenore Saxton’s lover
and Edna’s'husband were one and the same

rson.
peHe knew this Vivian Ulmerstone hated him;
it was perfectly natural that he should; Au—
drey would have himself hated the man who
so interfered, only that Audrey’s hatred would
have! been more natural, because his motives
could not have been impugned; and he felt
himself, especially since e had had time to
think of it, an antagonism to this man he could
hardly account for. He did not know it was
the finger of Fate stirring the deepest feelings
of his heart; he was not to know then it was
theman who had stepped between them that
he dislisked so strangely—the man who was the
husband of his only darling. Since then they
had never met, as Audrey had confidently ex-

 

pected the would meet, as the words of U]-
merstone d given him every reason to sup-
pose.

Now another subject, trifling as air, was agi-
tating Audrey’s mind with an intensity’ that
néade him marvel, considering the unimportance
o it.

It was a letter of special invitation to come to
Ellenwood for a fortnight. early in June. Le-
nore seemed to have ignored any unfriendli—,
ness toward him in her invitation, that urged‘;
him kindly to accept it. Ellenwood would beg
very delightful in early summer, and he feltl
what a pleasant change it would be from the.
worry of business. 1

So, even while he only wondered what could j
possess him to want to go, he found himself de- 1
aiding to accept Mrs. Carlingford‘s invitation, 1
and markin it in his memorandum book, little
dreaming w at depended on his decision, little;
knowing what should ha n from his visit. ,

Of course he had not t e remotest idea that.
Edna was at Ellenwood; had he known, he:
lvlvg’uld not have hesitated a moment in going to '

Alim- did Edna havetghgnleutosgl’spicio; twig,
“d”! W“ coming 611W an W

her otuer troubles it was well she did’- not1
know. She would have anything to see .
Oberdon. and talk with m. and yet. with her _

 

 

TWO GIBH§JJVES

l 
‘ sanctioned his coming to give her a year of hap-
pincss.

Lenore had not told Edna of her intention to
write to Audrey
when the intention had grown to be an accom-
plished act, did she inform her. She wanted to
note, )crsonally, the Inccting between the two.
how dnu’s scrmons appeared when put into
rigid practice.

l’crha is not a very laudable motive in begging
Mr. Audrey to become her guest, nor one that

i Mr. Audrey would have appreciated: but, Lc—

nore was not given either to very laudable pur-
)OSOS, or to care what othcr people might think.

he knew well cnough there would be as min-h
pain as )lcnsurc in their sudden rcncontcr: she
'new E na would suffer anew all- she had been
trying to live down, but that knowledge, instead
of restraining her, added fuel to the fire of her
determination to have the two meet under her
roof.

She had written to her narents, as well, to
join the gay party at Ellenwood; and the
)romise had been given for them, with Mrs.
Caxton’s invaluable aid and ally, Rachelle ‘
Hunt, to acccpt the generous invitation. So,
impelled by the guiding hand of inevitalde
Destiny, from so many quarters were gathered
the actors in the (ll‘tlllla-(‘llllitlnllfll that had
been played, that was soon to be transformed
into a tragedy.

And the sun shone on; and Ellenwood lay
under the bright beams, in all the fresh sweet—
ness of blossoms and buds, grceuest grasses
and fairest flowers, waiting for the appointcd
time it could not escape, the doom it could not
avert.

At Ellenwood, Edna was unrestful as much as
was Lenore, who, her secret unburdcned, seemed .
more relieved and able and willing to endure
than before, while Edna, whose views knew no
alteration, whose disposition was not at all
fluctuatin , was in a constant state of nervous
horror an dread regarding the promised visit
of Garnett Fay.

She had not the slightest idea whether he
would come as before, and annoy no one but
herself, or ride bold] ' to Ellenwood’s chief en- ,
trance, and demam an interview with his ‘
wife.

True, he had parted from her in a very friend-
ly, considerate way; but Edna dared not hope,
t erefore, he would show his considerate kind-
ness by staying away from her. She was quite
sure he would come; and coming, present what
new phases of the affair?

From the evening of Mr. Carlin ford’s home-
coming, when his bride recognizet “Miss Van-
deleur,” and from which time the entire family
had ceased calling her so, and addressing her as
Edna, and “Miss Edna,” she had never given
them her confidence, nor asked their protection.
But now, after the sudden and unexpected izy
terview with the man she foresaw would leave
no stone unturned to secure her and her 
sions she determined to inform Mr. Carlingford ‘
and  Annie, in the yearning hope that they
mightbe able to save. her from him; stand be- :
tween her and all future misery.

 

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE COUNCIL IN THE LIBRARY.

IT was very unusual for Edna to act on the
impulse of the moment, but the moment she re—
solved to appeal to Mr. Carlingford. it seemed
to her there was not a moment to be lost.

She had arrived at her decision one evening
late in Ma , when she sat alone in the school-
room, loo ing out on Ellenwood that was so
tranquil and fair in the gathering perfumed .
twilight; her books had just been laid aside, ‘
and, as usual, whenever the occupation for ,
brains and hands was done, her tho hts re- l
vcrtcd to herself, and all that pertaine to her. I

Fay would come, must come soon, for it was
more than six weeks since she had seen him,
since she had begun to live in a nervous dread
of hearing her name called, or the door-bell .
ring. He would come, and in purport, all that
passed between them in the first interview
would have to be repeated, useless] , for she
feared Fay would never ive u , ant go away
and leave her uninolestegi, an she knew she
neXer woultg yield t?) himé‘iir his decisioxii. pm

0' , en,ontesu en, e ' m so
to makotmg a confidential frien an Evian of
Mr. Carlingford, she laid aside her books, and
went at 03:0 to his library, feeling, in her
stran re en usiasm,
her vgrv heels. '

strict sense of honor, would not have ‘-

to come to Ellenwood: nor, ‘

as ifGarnett Faywel'eatitm3

 

l

 

She found Mr. Carlingford doing, as she had
been. enjoying the sweet, warm dusk as it fold-

, ed over the emerald lawns and wide-reaching

trees, from which he turned in his customary
kind] way as she half—timidly entered.

‘ I you are busy—if you don’t Wish to be dis-
turbcd,” she began, but he interrupted her with
his pleasant smile, and arose, and shut the door
after her.

“ I have been waiting weeks for this, In
child. I knew when you were ready, co
would be forthcoming.”

She was so thankful for his assured sympa-

dear
deuce

thy. that she knew he felt; else, why his great v

kimllincss?

“ I should have told you long ago, Mr. Car- ,

lingford; and my onlv reason was, the hope I
indulged that, by my ceping my own counsel,

all knowledgeof who he is—this man who claims ,

to be my husband, who is, I am afraid—would
be 10st. But. Mr. Carlingford, he has not for-

jllcnwood."

“ Been to Ellenwood!
Wood !”

Incrcdulous annoyance was written all over
his face. and in the tones with which he re-
echocd her words.

“ He came the night of the wedding rece tion;
he was shown into this very room, where '
sit. No one. knew who he was, nor what he
wanted. Only I had any words with him.”

“ And he said he wanted—what!”

“ Hc desires me to acknowledge our marriage
as binding upon me; he says I am his wife, and

Mr. Fay been to Ellen-

he insists upon m consenting to be regarded as L

such. This,
less to me t
door.”

Mr. Carlingford was looking at Edna very
closely, with something of the puzzled look in

on now, I never will do. He is
n the footman who opens your

his face she had observed the day she first met 1

him in this very room.
“You are so like her—my sainted wife. I

can not help remarking it, for, when you plead I

or converse unusually earnestly, you are my

dead wife over again, as she was in her sunny '

girlhood. But I am diverging from the int
under consideration; my own feelings ve
made me selfishly forget yours. You do not
care for this man, you are sure you will not live

. with him, and you have good reason for your

opinion?”

Edna’s face flushed.

“I despise him as only one can detest who
has been deceived, insulted when their back was
turned, blighted for a lifetime. Under such
circumstances how could I care for him? and in

our estimation, do not my reasons justify me?

Vould you, Mr. Carlin ord, want for a wife a
woman whom you felt 'd not love you with all
her soul?”

In the eagerness to support her theory, Edna
had innocently put the test-question, forgetting,
for the moment, what she had so often won—
dered if Mr. Carlingford suspected—his wife’s
indifference to him. But the instant the words
left her lips, she regretted them bitterly; for,
by the sharp, swift pallor that 8 read over his
face at her question, no less than y his answer,

she knew Mr. Carlin ford had found something \

amiss already in his rief married life.

“ God forbid a loveless union, my child. No
miser on earth can equal it.
give 'm the wifely love, the womanly subjeca

 tion that makes the husband proud and happy

that he was won, let him be to you and you to
him as the veriest strangers that live.”

His answer, unconsciously eloquent because
of the home truth of what he said, affected
Edna deeply, so that she attempted no reply;
and so they sat silent, miserable, in that sweet,

calm Ma loaming. .
After 2); Enoment or so, Mr. Carlmgford re-
“ Where is the proof of the marriage? who
married you, and where was it done! where is
your certificate?” _
“ I have no proofs, for Mr. Fay put the certi-

ficate in Ins memoran. um-book, and I never
thou ht to ask him for 1t.”

‘ sumed the conversation.

1

. roften me; he has discovered me, and—~been to A

DOW ,

If you can not ':

“ hen the certificate will, as you know, give .

him as full authority over you as a. has

can have. 'I see no way but to buy him of,
meanwhile institutin a gut for divorce on
on

the ound of the
origr

It was a 'tiable alternative for her, with her
sweet, shy prleoerve, her de‘ , her retiring
“whmmm mm“ ““m

f 'voreo
o ‘ shsdgsuon. her face that
th mag Within.
5 tissolieAugusta,too,”henidsor-

upon _

.Co ordnote‘d
rlingf I

 

 

at: Q ‘45

um ntan

.V'

.-..wsrn~lv-IH err-1V BEVEQ‘VC:

AL.

. custom
I absolute

 

 

 

27

 

._..._._r.

rowfully, “ I might almost fancy you were her

younger sister— Heavens!’

He paused suddenly, then added the passion-
ate exclamation that fairly startled Edna.

. “What is it! what do you mean! Mr. Car—
léngfgrd, you frighten me; please explain what
1 IS.

Edna rung from her chair, across the room,
and to ' r. Carlingford’s side. It was no won-
der she was so a 'tated for she reflected only
his own emotion. e had suddenly grown pale
asdeath, and leaned back in his chair, nerve-
less and stricken as by a sudden sharp blow.

Yet hardly a blow; it was only a remem-
brance, a sudden suggestion that was whisper-
ed mysteriously in his very soul. that stagger-
ed him so. He could not explain for several

minutes, the while Edna stood, in mute, anxious,

Wonder, at his side.

Then, when he had shaken off the weakness
as suddenly as it had assailed him, he looked
up in her wistful, pallid face with a smile at
her anxiety.

“My dear child, you will think I am very
foolish and romantic, I dare say.,,but You 1‘6-
member how we have all said how the likeness
struck us when ou first came to Ellenwomu
how Annie and remarked itt and how often
Since I have spoken of it? JUSt now, it occur-
redto me with a. tremendous force that you once
told me you were an adopted child—and my
. born was stolen—Edna! might it not be.
Just possibly be, that you are. my own, my Au~
gusta’s bah ?”

If. Mr. ‘arlingford had been staggered by
the idea, Edna certainly was at tl.c boldan of
his words. Shea ('arlingfordl she a daughter
descended from an English nobleman! slic, who
remembered on] r' sliglits and! slurs, the child of
the owner of El euwood!

And yet, why not?

She remember (1 having it cast at her time
. thats e was a foundling, picked up
in the streets by the first Mrs. Saxton. She
knew,me the very first Mr. Cnrlingford had
remarked her strange, str' in likeness to Lady
Augusta; even Miss Annie har observed it, and
one day taken her to the dead wife’s portrait
and compared her and it, feature by feature,
onllgy ttiowdeclareit alnfiisflstartlcd her.

u i was im roaie after a

told Mr. Carlingfgrd so. u’ 8"“ Edna
“ ‘1 Presume It is.’_’ he returned, a little sadly;

only in eonSideration of the likeness you must
be my oldest daughter and leave your affairs to
be guided by me. As to buying off this rascal
of a husband With your little fifty'thousand-dol-
lar fortune, it must be at once declared infeasi-
blfb- Keep our mone , Edna, and let me deal
With this . Fay; w en he comes again, Send
for me.” *

Thus though no definite plan of action was
formed, Edna felt stronger and braver than she
had for many .days; while the strange, wild
theory Mr. Carhngford had advanced regarding
her ntage, set her vigorously thinking and
won ering- who she really was.

Up to this time Edna had never troubled her-
self much to learn who she was; it was enough
that she knew that'she was considered an
usurper and intruder in the only house on which
she had the slightest claim.

But now, with memory sharpened by the dis-

ition to unravel the mystery of her child-
00d, Edna remembered a tiny little cross she
had seen Mrs. Saxton—her Mrs. Saxton, often
examine minutely, then hang on her neck for a
While and then remove and carefully put away
in a. little green box that had been carelessly

kissed, over to Edna a year or so before Mr. l

Saxton’s second marriage. Her curiosity never
having been excited to learn the summsably
Valueless contents of the box. it had lain locked
and tied for years, in Edna‘s trunk, never
thought of until now; and now. suddenly in-
vefited With perhaps undue inniortance._ And
the morrow would see if the box could disclose
“1860mm.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
To Le TOYING wrrn run SERPENT.

dismal “9’9, the days at Ellcnwood were as
as 1! Passed in a prison. Entirely unac-
to Suburban residence, the quiet, the
almost Move] from bustle and excitement
the we ‘1‘ ted her. nature so illy suited for

:m attempted to lead.

an, to mend” was company, much of it;

receive; the poetry of house-
um h to take, and shop mg
was very miserable

that not only Mr.rgarlingrldmle:me)

PM
to

 

 

 

 

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

know her discontent, but the rest of the family
and the servants.

It was horribly mortifying to Mr. Carling-
ford at first; simply mortifying, for he had no
idea of the true state of his wife’s feelings, and
believed all her troublesa rose merely from an
unfortunately disagreeable disposition.

but, gradually, as Lenore avoided him more
and more, and plainly showed her indifference
to him, the truth began to dawn on his mind
that he had married a woman who did not care
for him. '

To a man of his peculiar temperament, ardent,
enthusiastic, devo ed, constant, it was a blow to
learn of Lenore’s coldness, far keencr than many
a man would have felt it: and the fact that,
while Lenore was only a girl in years, and he a
man whose heard was lentifully frosted, made
the edge of the sorrow cencr than a sword.

As yet. he had simply the one fact that he
had failed to keep her girlish affection; he re-
proached himself for it, and strove to thrust
away his heart soreness, and never let Lenore
suspect he knew her indifference to him.

As yet, he had not a suspicion of what was
worse than her lovelessness for him—her love
for another: that horror was in reserve for him
when he should be gradual] fitted to bear it.

So, under the roof at E lcnwood, it seemed,
were gathered little else but bruised hearts;
much of pure grief, some whose cause was piti-
fully impure.

I.cnore brooded day after day over her unto
ward fate: hour after hour pondered and wor-
ried over her burden, until she grew unbearably
selfish and undeniably disagreeable, refusing to
a] pear at dinner often, and again lllf'i>tlllg on

pm in the grounds.

It was during ( ne of these lonesome constitu—
tionals of hers that it happened; and it was the
very night when Mr. Car ingford and Edna had
been closeted in the library.

Lenore had thrown a white zephvr shawl over
her head. and had wandered a ong distance
from the house, down in the " Cypress “'alk ”
near the front entrance, thinking, as usual, of
Vivian Ulmerstone.

She was walking slowly on, buried in reverie,
when a footstep, firm, quick. familiar, startled
her; a footsteip she would know anywhere in
the wide worl . _.

She stood so still that the beating of her
heart sounded like the muffled boom of s,
until her brain seemed bursting from her Enid,
and her whole figure was like a rock in its si-
lent rigidity.

The footsteps came nearer, nearer, and then,
around the sharp curve of the walk, on his way
to his wife, Vivian Ulinerstone came face to
face with Lenore Carlingford.

She gave a glad cry of inarticulate delight
and sprung to his side, his name on her lips re-
peated with every caressing endearment her
ecstatic heart could suggest.

He was astonished, overwhelmed, nearly an-
nihilated by her sudden appearance. That Le—
nore, his Jessica, had married Carlingford. of
Ellcnwood, had either never been made known
to him, or else he had utterly abandoned all de-
sign upon her, and, thErefore, that she was in
his arms, clinging to him, and evidently ex-
pecting a full return of her affectionate wel-
come, was a somewhat awkward fact when he
considered his errand to Ellenwood and who
was within its walls.

Any man in the world, except Vivian Ulmer-.
stone, would have been completely demoralized
under the circumstances: an other man would
either have beaten an lng orious retreat or
made a consummate clown of himself. But
Vivian Ulmerstone did neither; with his won-
derful tact he accepted the Situation as sudden-
ly as it was offered him, leaving all ex lana-
tions to the future, trusting to good luck to help
him through.

To tell the truth, this inconsistent lover was
not at all angry at the unex ected renconter.
After having been told by

was not un leasant, to say the least, to have
this pretty ittle woman looking into his eyes
with such fond pride and asking him in sweet-
est tones whyehe had been so cruel to her?

So he lust at his head, and—kissed Lenore
as if they were lovers.

“I have been huntin over half creation for

u, m darling ” he (1, and her hungry ears

llev the y lie.

“You ve me up; it was your fault, Vi
andlgmitedandwaited onlyto get that era
letter

Evident] , Lenore was in ton-la lo , vm
conversatidh. and as evidently Uhnggrstg‘n'le in.

tendedtoseeEdnathatMfihunfil achanoe

remark from Lenore caused in to abandon his

paroject for the time, and decided to be enter-
ined by his impromptu hostess.

“Iamsothankful oucametoflndmeto-
night, of all nights, or Mr. Carlingford is so
busy in the library with settling some
stupid business about that horrid husband of
hers. I believe Mr. C. intends to protect .r
Edna—what nonsense to talk to you, isnt it,
who never heard, even, of Edna Silvester?”

Ulmerstone smiled, but Lenore could not see ,
at what; then he gave her his arm, and the
two walked up and down, u and down, ex—
changing their wicked vows o eonstanc until
the loud clanging of the dinner-bell edLe—
nore in.

“ You‘ll come again? Come next week, and
I’ll meet you by the Chapel—there down by the
old well, where no one can see us or hear. us.
Ellenwood will be full of guests then, and I can
sli away easily. You'll come, Vivian?"

he had his answer, only too readil
and then flitted in to dinner with chee glow—
llfiglth scarlet, and eyes shining like blazing
c .

It was the first time since she had been at El-
lenwood that Edna noticed Lenore was like her
old self; and on Edna’s ears, into whom Lenore’s
story had been poured only so lately, with tears
and protests, Lenore’s forced high spirits. merry
laug and conscious excitemont grated like
harshest discords

given,

 

long. lonely walks at untimely hours among the "
. .5

due, in plainest 3
terms. her not very flattering opinion of him, it ‘

Mr. Carlingford observed his wife’s suddenly
returned girlish joyousness; but Edna saw he
, was as pained as  by it, because 't was
I evident her husband not anything to with

' it.

l Dinner was scarcely over when there came a
; message from Lenore to Edna to come to her
i room:and, instantly su posing Lenorehadsome-
j thing to tell her re ar g herself, Edna went,
* almost reluctantly hear it.

Mrs. Carlingford met her at the threshold, all

. a uiver with nervous excitement.

‘ You are so tardy, and I could hard] wait
until that drear dinner was over to to you.
2h, Edna, Wha do you think? I have seen

im!’

Her voice lowered to a mellow whisper; her
eyes grew misty with tenderness; her beautiful
lips trembled as she spoke.

It touched Edna to the very heart’s core;
touched her with a strangely commingled feel-
ingof pity and repellent that Lenore Car-
lin rford should thus permit erself such feelings,
sue a meeting. And Lenore saw the meaning
on hIer mobile faee‘inll t h an

“ suppose you ' turnagains me—t ey
have! but do you think I care? Do you not
know I would 've them allfor anhour with my
love? Edna Silvester, you have yet to learn
how a woman can love!

Edna smiled, wearily. She at to learn that
already too well—known lesson?r

“ I have yet to learn to meet a lover ’nst
whom may principle of morality and nor
cry out in alarm. Lenore, I beg, I beg you
Will stop where you are! I can see the end
from the beginning that your blinded eyes will
not permit you to do. I know there must
come an end to it all, when either this villain-
Gus-7’

“ You shall not! I will not hear ,him ken
of in such cowardly terms. He is all t 18

00d and rand—as far superior to William

arlingfor' as on are to your husband. He
loves me, and— for I shall say it boldly,
unblush' oly-—I love him with all my heart 1”

Edna to t how perfectly useless it was for her
to attempt to stem the flood-tide of determined
willfulness; she had done what she could to save
Lenore, and now—

“I shall as surely report to your husband'as

u

 

I live, Lenore Saxton, if on dare risk your ,
name and honor again! f you kick me out of

your doors again I will do it! I will not stand
quietly by and look on and see our husband’s
home desecrated, his noble heartycrushed, even
if you have no womanly principle or desire to
avoid it.”

Edna’s voice had risen in its sweet high key,
and she looked like some Nemesis on the track.

of the spoiler. Lenore was hushed, mmi‘
1y abashed, b the u ris' nobility of the true
woman who clued p unexpected obsta—
cle in her th. '

'I'hen,w entbesilanoehadmwnoppnfliv
Laporebrokoi contemptuounvoiee. 9'

 

 

 

28

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

 

 

 

 

b on all, and fulfill my promise to meet
fivfin Ulmerstone; when, an where, to be left i
for to ascertain and ‘report.’ ”
smiled triumphantly at Edna’s horror-

stricken face; then went on, more kindly:

“Don’t goad me too far, Edna. I have told:
you what no mortal else knows. Don’t return,
evil for good will. Let me alone; it is all I ask ‘
of on or any one.”

, he made Lenore no answer; but left the
room, bowed almost to the dust by the burdens
that lied on her shoulders.

/ W£at was her duty!

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.
m ounsr AT nnnnnwoon.

Tn]: weather that ushered in that eventful
week in June was as nearly perfect as Weather
could be. Balmiest winds, laden with >erfuiny
sweets. tempered the pleasant warnit 1; bluest
skies spread their triumphal arch for the royal
sun to march across; opening flowers, fresh
springing grasses, bursting leaves made all the,
country, and especially beautiful Ellenwood, a i
veritable fairyland. ‘

Oberdon Audrey alighted from the railway
carriage just at sunset, when the golden haze
was still in the air, and birds yet chirped and:
twittered as they flew homeward before the}
dusk and the dew fell. He looked abroad. as?
far as he could see, over the peaceful face of,“
Nature, and thought how far above her just'
deserts such a girl as Lenore Saxton had been
placed to be mistress of so much grandeur and
ele nce.

e knew she could not appreciate it; he knew
she was not the woman a man like Mr. Curling-
ford waated, Who could appreciate his line
qualities and give intellect for intellect. It, was

ng strange to him that he had ever selected

or from among the man ' women who would

have filled the position of his wife with so much

more true womanliness than could ever be ex-
pected of a girl like Lenore Sexton.

He pitied Mr. Carlingford; he piticd Lenore,
who, in his heart he knew did not, could not
love her husband. He did not at all dislike Le-
nore; he had found her a pleasant companion
enough for an hour or so, but for a lifetime—he l
was in no danger of envying her husband.

He knew, too, that the Saxton family had de- :
ceived Mr. Carlingford. He knew it was never ‘
hinted that Lenore was onl accidentally his,
wife, so to speak, and that e, himself, in the I
effort to save a giddy girl, had been the uncon-
scious instrument in giving her to her husband.

Mr. Audrey thus thought, while he walked
from the car to the imposing; ates that were
wide open at the edge of the fienwood estate.
He saw standin there, a slight, graceful figure,
that, as he vanced nearer, came ea rerly
forth to meet him, with a pleasant smi e of

greeting.
“Mr. Audrey! I wondered if you would

 

change our mind and not come, after all. I ,
am so to see on, and I can promise you
that enwood s be taxed to entertain you.
Isn’t it beautiful?”

She glanced across the far-reaching domains,
and Audrey, following her look, and then re-
turnin his to her face, saw not the natural
glow o pri e he expected but a feverish nerv-
oum and keen excitability that were certain-
ly as bewitching as surprising.

He bowed, and took 'her cordially-extended,

“I'can earnestly congratulate you, Mrs. Car- 1

linfiford, in possessin such a beautiful home.
W h your estimable usband and desirable resi- it
deuce, there seems little to want.” I
Lenore darted a keen lance'at him as he,
’gravely spoke. Was he inting at anythingl,‘
was he remembering anything? ‘
' If he was do' ei her he gave no sign that he l
was conscious o it; contrarily, he seemed en—l
tirely occupied in sresent circumstances as they
walked up he y path. !
“I am extremely anxious to meet Mr. Car-1
lingford,” Audrey went on, leasantly, as if the 
world con and never had contained, else ;
than her husban for Lenore. I
“I haveheard of him so f uently in busi-I
nea circl as well as social, tha I am prepared 1
beforehaxfg-to yield him the most enuine ad-
miration and esteem: Yes, Mrs. arlingford,
Ellenwood “an exquisite . New beauties
unfold at every turn—that tiny Chinese in us
What is its use, .

53mg, is it limp] tall"
01' ta! 01118111011
m to Vlvhn

 

Ho and po' tothe “Chapel” that
Ulmerstone

as their reudesvous that week. Howas
not ather,orhew dhaveseenthe
of her brilliant color. the slit-

l

tering of her black eyes; it was fortunate he did ‘ mm “99.3mm “law “9” “‘3” me would "'9
disappeared after a, second of , seen ViVian again; when the cl

not see; they
wonderful control.

“That? oh, a remarkably uninteresting place
damp as death, and drea as the ve.
have often wondered W113 induced
lingford to keep it on the estate. He says, how-
ever, he is attached to it fora reason that fairly
makes my blood congeal.”

“_Indeed?" said Audrey, laughingly. “I am
delighted to find that EllenWood has its inevita—

‘- ble specter—for ghost I firmly believe you to
‘ mean.”

host that ever

“ It is far worse than any
It is an actual corpse t at is buried in

walked.

f

r. Car- ‘

the hideous place—his first wife, Lady Augusta. ‘

Very pleasant for me, isn‘t it?"
“ Decidedly,”

answered Audrey, promptly. :

“Because if Lady \Augusta were not buried :

there, Mrs. Lenore Carlingford obviously would
not be walking here.”

“ She died of grief, too,” Lenore went on, with
a shiver; “ heart-broken, because her baby was
lost. Isn’t it silly to die of heart-ache!”

She suddenly raised her eyes to his face;

' they fairly startled him with their weird bril-

liancy.

“ People 1m 27" died of a broken heart: but it is
not weise than to live on and on with one near-
ly broken.”

“So I think," she said, carelessly. “I fancy
when I die, it will be of headache, rather than
heart-ache. My head has pained me fearfnlly
this past two days—the crown of it. and down
my neck. I haven’t closed my eyes for three
nights. Feel my hands.”

She suddenly thrust both her hands into his.
He actually shrunk from the cold, claminy
touch.

“Mrs. Carliiig‘ford, surely you must be ill!
The moment I saw you I thought there was
something amiss.

She smiled grimly.

“ Yes, something is amiss; I have the horrors,
I guess, on account of that charnel-house for-
ever under my eyes. You’ve no idea how
ridiculously nervous it makes me.”

Audrey was watching her narrowly; she was
amiss, surely. Her high color, that vanished
so suddenly, leaving her aslien White, her glit-
tering eyes that moved so rcstlessly, her ner—
vous motions, her fluctuating gaycty alternat-
ing with quiet depression, were unmistakable
symptoms of a malady not for distant, either
p i 'sical or mental.

ad there been another fearful blank in the
grand lottc of married life! In his soul
while he pitied himself, while his heart asked
for Edna, it fairly bled to see Lenore Carling-
ford.

At the door she dropped him a playful cour-

tesy.
‘ Welcome 1”

He followed her—suddenly as grave as she
had been childishly elated—to the library,
where he was presented to Mr. Carlingford,
who recognized him at once, and in whom Au-
drey read at once unmistakable traces of a cor-
roding care.

Everywhere, turn where he would, he found
little but sorrow. Even at Ellenwood, where
the world had contributed her choicest offer-
in ., were rinning, gaping skeletons!

filter, h r. and Mrs. Sexton and Rachelle
Hunt arrived, and immediately dinner was or-
dered served, with private covers laid in the
school-room for the children and Edna, who,
carin so little for meeting the mats from
New ork, desired the retiracy of wt own do-
mains. ,

So she did not meet Oberdon Audrey that
night; nor dream he slept under the same roof,
even when she heard his footsteps pass her door
at eleven that night.

And no one had told him of Ednals near
presence. Mr. ('arlingford, not knowing of
their acquaintance, of course had never men-
tioned Edna’s nan a any more than that of any
stranger.

Mr. and Mrs. Saxton had received their one
from Lenore: while Rachelle, with her (uick-
wittedness, learned at once how the land a '.

And so, the household at Ellenwood retired
to their rooms; some to sleep with a clear con-
science, although burdened b aweight of woe;
some to toss restlessly to an
mistress of it all, to walk the floor from mid—
night till dawn, with burning cheeks and ach-
ring head, and wild-beating heart, the only
physical sensations she had elt since the night,
a week ago, when she met Vivian Ulmerstone
miman t?w in a: i xpressibl ion

0- , 090 no y g
lonely watches, or mind seemed ca hie of
meaning but one idea; and that was, at, be-

rung two,
she thought, with a wild thrill of , that
to-day she would see him; to-day hear his dear
voice look into his dear face.

It had taken hold of her likea doom, this
fascination for Vivian Ulmerstone; because she
knew she was doing immeasurably wrong, the
fascination was the stronger; because she could
not lawfullybe his, she loved him the more
wildlv; the more perverser turned away her
face from her duty.

She never for a moment thought he would
disappoint her; as surely as she knew she was
a livnig woman, just so surely she knew that
Vivian Ulinerstone would be at the appointed

‘1 place, at the a )pointed time.

She never or a moment believed it within
the range of human possibility that he could
have met and loved another. She had been so
true, even when she was almost forced to turn

‘ against him in thought, even while she had
i turned against him in act, and with her own
i hands built the barrier between them that now
‘ she was beating her hands so wildly against. in
: the hope of battering it down as easily as she

 

fro; and one, the 1

l
9

had reared it.

In her restless, aimless walk up and down the
dim room, wheneVer she neared the window,
she instinctively shrunk away ' for, gaze in
whatever direction she might, her fascinated
eyes were sure to return to the white dome of
the Chinese mosque, where Vivian was to meet,
by stealth, Mr. Carlingford’s second wife,'where
the first lay, dead pure, spotless as the marble
slab that recorded her brief life, her pitiful
death.

Was there a fate in it? did it mean anything
that Lenore had so i orantly chosen it for
their secret meeting? ad she known, not for
a thousand worlds would she have bade him go
there; but now, once appointed, the tryst must
be kept there, even if Lenore had learned, Since,
with a cold chill, of the sacred trust of the Chi-
nese mosque.

Would she remain away for her fears’ sake?
Not if ten thousand ghosts blocked her way,
would she cheat herself and disappoint her
lover!

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
. WATCHFUL arms.

Ir Mrs. Carlingford had been restless and dis-
quieted all through those long hours of the
night, Edna must have caught it from her at
day-dawn, for a strange wakefulness came. over
her, that made a longer stay in bed 1m ible.

It was only five o’clock when footsteps pass-
ing her door aroused her to rfect wakeful-
ness; and Edna, used to early rising, felt no dis-
position to woo the departed god again. _ '

She arose, feeling a curious calm on her spirit
that was a positive relief, and a decided change
of feelin . Since the latest revelation of Le
nore’s, EFfina had been in a constant feVer of
terror and dread. She had watched her ‘as
closely as she dared without exciting suspicion,
and found, to her intense relief, no Signs, of the
vaguest kind, that Lenore meant to do anything
she had said.

Now, with her mother and father under the
same roof, Edna thought she might safely relax
her vigilance; she was confident that for the
time being, Lenore would (give over any scheme
she miv'ht have in her hea . _

So hdna felt very refreshed and reheved,
when she was suddenly awakened by the sound
of footsteps—Oberdon Audrey’s they were, too
—passing her roomdoor, that bright, Joyous
summer morning; she dressed herself, and put
a light straw but over her hair. and a fleecy
shawl over her white lawn wra )per, and went
almost gayly down stairs into t 9 fresh young
mornin . _

The 50w was diamondmg the short grass
blades, and the scent from the roses that climbed
over trellises in every available spot, made the
air heavy with their rich sweets; and Edna,
with a niet joy in her heart, walked on among
the winfiin walks, holding her slurts 
in one han , and secretly wondering if the free
air were an elixir of life even to sucha life-
weary mortal as she sometimes was.

She had forgotten Lenore and Lenore’s lover;
she was not thinking of herself or Garnett Fay
-—only of Oberdon udrey and his-; .

And then, some one came walking hastily.
eagerl , behind her, and a hand was laid on her
shoul er and a voice spoke in her very ear that
sent her blood pulsing madly along her veins.

“ Edna, Edna! can it pomny be? You here?
—4's it you?” . \

Oberdon Audrey’s glad, sweet veice it was:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO GIRL’S LIVES.

29

 

 

his hand on her shoulder, his eyes drinking the

t to her own.
‘It is I” she sai in a low, intense tone.

“ it he, ble that you are at lilienwood?”

“ came night; I am Mr. Carlingford’s
guest. And on?”
“ Am Mr. lingford’s governess.”

This brief explanation was soon given, and
then a silence, full of e1 uent feeling, followed.
There was so much eao wanted to say, that
neither would say.

It was Oberdon who spoke first.

“I have missed you so, m dar—Edna. I
have hunted, near and far, an gave up in de—

' I wanted you so, dearest—I mean, dear

; I had important business for you to at-
tend, and there was no wa ' to communicate
with you. Oh, Edna,” and udrey’s voice sud-
denl grew low, and intensely passionful, “how
can stand here and not call you all the love-
names my heart is aching to say? how can I bear
to be so near you, and not take you in my arms
and kiss you? ’ '

He reached his arms as if to clasp her, but she
gently restrained him.

“ Oberdon, remember your promise. You
know all I feel, all I have endured. Be patient,
a little longer, dear Oberdon !”

He drew a long breath and set his teeth firme

together.
‘ Yes, I will be patient—until I find the man
I owe a debt to that I mean to pay with inter-
,

“He has found me, Oberdon; he has been to
Ellenwood; he is coming again, and he swears I

be his wife.”

“ Never! I will shoot him like the dog he is,
first! He has been annoyin you, then, my poor
(hr—Edna! it drives me to stand here and
be obl' d to converse as if we were only two
tolerab y good friends. Edna—send me back to
New York. I shall oflend you if 1 stay where

on are, I know.”

she smiled wistfully.

“ I fear my courage would fail me if I at-
tempted to send you away. It is so good to
have a real, real comforter once more.”

“ You call me a comforter? I would be, but
you won‘t let me. Edna, ou are cruel! After
months’ so ration you wi not kiss me!”

She flus ed brightly; then answered with
such sweet gravity that it touched his very

soul. r

“Oberdon, you would des ise me were I to
do what I think would not right, even for
your sake.”

Then, changing her manner very decidedly,
she went on:

“You have seen Lenore; what is your impres-
sionl”

“That she has married one man and loves
another,” Andre returned, quickly. “Poor
girl! I feared w en her family forced her into
aoce ing Mr. Carlingford, she never could for-
figt“ ” rogue who attempted to carry her 08
1 Y

“I have heard of it; and, Oberdon, what can
we do to save this misguided woman a sin?
This Mr. Ulmerstone, she calls him, has en
here, and she saw him. 0h, Oberdon, it is
dreadful, dreadful! My soul sickens when I
think of poor Mr. Carlingford.”

Audrey walked on beside Edna, in tl .oughtful
silence.

“ He is an enem of mine—this Ulmerstone,
for the service I id Mr. Saxton. You say he
has been here? Is he coming again?”

“ I fear he is. then, I do not know. How—
clandestinel , I supuose.” .

“Undoubt‘edly. 'ell, Edna, it seems to me
it Will be a thankless task to attempt to inter

g fere. We have enough troubles of our own to

without bothering with other people‘s.”

” ut I cannot sit d0wn and sec Lenore go on
to her destruction. I will save her if I can, if
She. turns me out of Ellenwood. I am not a
p“ . you know.” '

“ referred to her little legacy laughmgly. .

l Qflered it all to Mr. Fay but he refuses It

t I throw myself in. i shall hardly do
‘3: "1'1 mid him so and then withdrew my
0- ' I“ ' f0 assures meI have acted
mm _ ‘to consult other lawyers
,; I In, who is sanguine of ultimate

0rd while I am here
widow. and

y arrange
I known where you

right
than

were and sell; '

beg?“ work long  you, we might have
m, went in to W’

a braver heart than the 

misfortune of her life had fallen on her.

She greeted Mr. and Mrs. Saxton coolly.

 

gracefully, and made Lenore a hast .with
amazement when she smiled a ~morning to
Audrey. .

Had the * met, already? It looked very like
it. or else dna and Audrey were consummate
actors. And after all the trouble she had ta-
ken, after all her anxiety to witness their
meeting, it amounted to—only that friendly
smile.

Lenore was disappointed; she had somehow
set her heart on seemgrif these two really loved
each other as she and ivian Ulinerstone did; to
see if Edna could practice the same self-re-
straint and self-control she preached and that
Lenore had no patience with. no belie in.

She had hoped to see the meeting, and make
Edna feel that her eye was on her, watching
her narrowly, ready to cast in her teeth the
slightest divergence from Edna’s laid-down
laws.

Lenore wondered at herself, even amid her

disappointment, what it was that had made ;
her exult so vaguely over the prospect of wit- ;

ncssin Edna’s discomfiture; she asked her-
self, Sitting there behind the silver coffee-urn,
so quiet, so tired after her night’s sleeplessness,
why it was she took the disappointment so to
heart, so childishly.

She was conscmus of a strange irritability
about her; it had come with her sleeplessness,
and her odd, continued headache; and she won-
dered if because she was not well she felt this
unaccustomed hatefulncss toward Edna.

Lenore knew she was not a naturally ma-
liciously disposed men; but Edna had cer-
tainly interfered in her affairs in a manner
hardly warrantable. .

Tell Mr. Carlingford, indeed! a paid gov-
erness turning spy on the lady of the honse! a
hired servant receiving her lover—and she a
married woman at that—in the face of the en-
tire family!

Lenore‘s heart was throbbing wildly; she
felt a dizzy sickness in her head, a faintness in
her stomach. Her hand trembled strangely as
she essaved to check the flow of coffee that
stream from the urn into the overflowing cup,
into the saucer, on the snowy damask cloth.

She saw Edna’s grave eyes watching her; she
heard Edna’s nick, sha cry:

“Mrs. Carlmgford is ainting!" and then—

She was on her own bed in her own room,
with the soft June breezes stirring the ruffles of
her pillow, and the soft afternoon sunshine fall-
ing in tremulous shadows on the carpet as it
sifted in the open window throu h the branches
of the button m1] trees, when s e returned to
consciousness, and saw Edna on one side the
low, French bed, Rachelle Hunt on the other.

She moved uneasily as a torment of pain
seized her head as if in an iron vise.

“ Drink this, Mrs. Carlingford,” Rachelle
said, in her uiet, non-resistive tone of ma-
sive comman ; and Lenore sip mi from t e tiny
crystal goblet that was place at her lips, that
w ich sent new life, it seemed to her, bounding
alon r her veins.

“ was ill at breakfast, wasn’t I? I am much
better now. Help .me up, Edna. Rachelle, I
will dress at once. ’

Edna smiled, ityingly.

“ You are entirely too weak, I fear.
land has just one, leaving strict——”

“ Where is esmine? Send her here. and you
and Rachelle go dress for dinner. I wish es-
mine at once.”

Her imperious tones, her ,rfectly natural
manner, her evident strength; ad their effect;
and the two went away, and sent Mrs. Carling-
ford’s dressing-maid to her.

Dr. Gar-

 

CHAPTER XXXIX.

KEEPING THE TRYST.

Tm: instant J esmine closed the door after her,

more sprun up in her bed.

“Look it, esmine, and bring me my hand-
glass. Do I look ill? Ill 1” she reiterated, bitter-
ly, as she gazed at her flushed cheeks and glow-
ing eyes. “ They would make me lie here, when
I never looked better or felt better in my life!
J esmine, lay out my Swiss suit and the light
blue sash and ribbons. and the corals, and
if anyone comes to my door, 0 you tell them
Mrs. Carlingford is sleeping and cannot be dis-
turbed. Do you understand 1”

The French girl’s black eyes snapped.

“ I comprehend madame, most perfectly. De
Madame Carlingfard is hetter—mooch better,
and only desire one leetle ii] to accomplish

reocuvraiment. Monsieur e husband will
in

her
he  and not vim to mm,
“‘53.... valide will sleep so long auhe

Lenore smiled delightedly.

“ Exactly! and while the door is lockedonthe
inside, I can sleep or wake as I please. And I
shall not sleep, you may be sure. Jeanine,
fithe7 my head in cologne water and brush my

1 i

r.

The girl’s deft touch seemed to vitaliae her, as
she flitted noiselessly around obeyiitilg the impe-
rious commands; and Lenore, wi her chair
; drawn to the open window, watched the sun go
‘ down. and the soft summer twilight brood over
. fair Ellenwood.

she knew evegy member Jof it washsagisfled with
the whispe' re m esmine a given as
\ each, in turn, passin Eer door, used to inquire,

 

she ordered her mai to dress er in the white
Swiss suit.

She watched every of her toilette with a
painfully keen interest. 9 while glancing first

‘ out into the deepening dusk, then at the little
clock on her dressing-table.

At half-past eight 3h. Carlingford tapped on
her dressing—room door. ’

“I will see Mrs. Carlingford now, Jasmine.
It is extremely foolish to keep the door locked so
lorlig.”

e spoke in a tone that was, in itself, a com-
mand; Jesmine drew her face into a grimace as
she listened on the inside, and looked at Lenore.
Lenore smiled grimly. and shook her head em-
phaticalljy.

Then esmine’s low, purring voice answered
Mr. Carlingford.

“ Madame has beg me to admit not anyone;
madame say she desire 'cularly to not be
distuer before ten. c has one refreshing
:' slumber since she take de physic monsieur le

docteur command!”
d Mr. Carlingford stood a moment in mute won-
er.
her door was closed to him, in common with
5 others?

It must be so and he felt that already the
iron had entered his very soul. Lenore was
indifferent to him; she denied him the privilege

pleasure to him.
He had not a thought of her falsity. Such 8.

him. He did not know his wife had ever had a
lover other than himself, and granted that he
had known, it would never have seemed gossi-
ble for her to remember him with the olig test
warmth of feeling. -'

He walked awa to his library, feelingve
lonely, and ex
positive refusal.

on the table, settledl (1153mm gvenmfling’s
uiet readmg’ , i so i e ' or
uties, thinking, innIiis solitude, even while at-
temptin to fix his mind on what was before
him, of is wife, sleeping with locked doors,
across the hall.

Sleeping, was she? Ah, had he but known
that at that very minute she Was flitting 81
the walks, like a spirit, in her white dress,
shawl thrown with picturesque grace oVer her
raven dark hair to meet her lover at the
tofMln Cafilin 0rd at; sacred where his
Wie ay,o averi see '

But not, he remartyked ainifimself, bitterly, not
with a locked door between them, even the
gates of Death had long closed after her.

It had been a whim of his—he could not help

narrow vault, he wanted, in his great
come often and look at the casket that

them, forever shut '
thatchenolongern edor heeded. A

And so the door of the vault still swungoh it:
iron hinges, the ?> '
tience, waiting or
on its relentless mission; ,
bitter pang of pain, that only between him and
hisli wife,whomhewou1360h-IVOIOVOd
and um and chg-ished, were these barriers
slowly, surely reanng more impassable than

i looked doors.
And, the while, Lenore had silently, swiftly
one on her way to her to meet, as she
Eaddreamed, nightand y,VivianUlmer-

stone.
Andhehadnotdhppointedhu“ hebd

come, with his W aim,

toenjo a n
or, Macedonian,
hhwita.

 

Then, when the family were at dinner, and‘

Had Lenore so little care for him that-

of ministering to her, that would have been a.

depth of contamination never once occurred to-

' gly disappointed at Lenore 8;
He lighted the gas, drew a volume before him-

it—but when they had laid his dead wife  the

f to.
old ’his
jewel. He could not hear the thought that the-

outtheair andsunlight.

2%: thatmddiouldm semi it .
he thousht

 

 

 

"FINE 9139’s

 

 

,\ , . , . ,
 ' tax-ed him with he,- cm and by her brave I lngly as it was that moment. What should she
I) ", boldneriwto rlskso much fir hanks. Isa {—the 1truth? . b t _ to d. t t y
'  80— mt at them" gran wth e spo e again 11 in a s rn, IS an wa ,
,- ‘ “ cm, ,3, g 0“ °° e that half-maddened her to think was her keep-
, s, ‘ “ V vianl you are here?" she said, in a low, , "’8 V0106-

! intense whisper, that penetrated the darkness
where her eyes could not see.
, es  A quick tread—a sudden kiss on her burning
 ‘ - , forehead answered her before he spoke.
“ I am here, my darling. Why should I have
disappointed you? But you are il , surely. Your
 urns like fire, and your hands are cold as

 

He was chafing her trembling fingers tender-
1 , and looking caressingly down into her eyes,
that he saw plainly enough now, accustomed to
the loom.

“ ‘very one tells me I am ill—even you
vian, who should know my heart is breaking
with longing for you—you! I fainted this
morning at breakfast, just as Mr. Audiey—”

Vivian suddenly interrupted her.

“Audrey! Audrey here! I have good rea-
, son to remember that man, Lenore. Is it possi-
§§ , ble he is here?"

I “ I sent for him purposely, on Edna Fey’s ac-
count—you remember hearing me tell of Edna
Silvester, who was married to a Mr. Fay, with
‘, whom she will have nothing to do? Well, Mr.
'; Audrey was Edna’s suitor, and now he is only
. : waitin to procure a divorce before he and
i “ Edna s all be marrier .”
Vivian bit his ii to keep back what he would
liked to have sai< when he heard his history
1‘ thus repeated to him, as passing gossip.

“ If the interfering rascal is at Ellenwood, he
shall see me before any of us leave. He has to
settle with me for robbing me of you, my dear-
.‘~, est. To him give all the credit of your unhap—

v v piness—reserving only a little censure for your-
self that you could be induced to marry Mr. C.”

“ Censure myself! on, Vivian! as if I did
not wait, and wait—to glet only your cruel let—
ter. Censure myself! need pity now, for I
am so utterly miserable!"

“Pity, Lenore! if I did not pity you, and
’ myself as well, do you think I would not tear
, * myself away? I love you more than ever I did

before—much as that was—when I know you ,
never can be mine, when I see how our eternal l

, X tion wears upon you my poor darling!”
1 -; , 0 had drawn her head closely to his breast,
‘ ‘ , and then they stood there, silent in the fra—

. , guilt hearts.

. ' “ t shall I do without you when you are
J. gone? Vivian, it breaks my heart to think
you will be some time where I cannot see

i ' you.” .
 y ' Lenore he with sudden ardor, and with-
' drew from ' arms, standing before him so she
‘ . . could watch every motion of his face.

“ It will be terrible—the grave could not part
us more cruelly.”

“And I wis we were both in our graves,”
she moaned, most Jilteously. “Sometimes I
e}: a, fear I shall 0 ma ; sometimes, when I feel
,5: this stran , orrid distress all over me, in
 ‘ mind y, and I know I am breaking m
: . heartforloveof ou. Ilmowlamgoingm !
" At home—andw at a homei—they remark on
, every change of manner, every shade of pale-
, ' ‘ 1 nose, or unusual blush; even now, this minute,
,. \ theyall think I am sleeping, under. the influ-
:4 ’ once of the opiate the doctor left, who said I
 must sleep or—die! I wish I were dead l” she
, added, passionately, and then 'from her eves
' z the tears came in cooling torrents, and her
 , ‘ grief—unhallowed, but none the less keen to
; ~ ‘ endure—shook her slight figure like a tempest-
 ’ ' tossed reed. ‘ .

 “ You are ill, in darlin l” Vivian said,
‘ .soothingly; “ on s iver; t e night-air has
Return home, and come

‘glven you a c ' t
-. ngalnto-morrow ni ht, when you Will be hot-
| never should forgive my—

ter and stronger.
self if I were the means of adding
hon.”

clnn around his neck, and kissed his

, hands, his (geeks: then, as if she dared not re-

' 2 ' , mains mlnnte'longgr, darted suddenly away,
up the dark paths— to her husband’s arms!

a v ' , CHAPTER XL.

m ncsamn’s Discovnav.

 r In. Cmman stopped, aghast with as-
‘ “diluent and wonder. ‘

 . “lanes-09’
.. '» -h"-snhenid,but minnows-fondue.
' Shefelt whatihe meant, even mudthe
we! Mwhirlin vt

 

I.“

has. hi w’mw man
‘wfiw'ihng—throbbinksosuflmt-

 

Vi- .

grant ni ht, listenin to the be tin of th ‘ l
g g a g elr i contested a moment with the overwhelming dc- .

to your in-:

'andaeshe

“How is it I find you here? An hour ago
i your maid said you were asleep.”
“ —I——was asleep. I felt better when I awoke
and wanted fresh air, and came out for a short
turn.”
He looked at her incredulously.
“Fresh air was obtainable nearer home, and
‘ in a less elaborate dress. Lenore, what does it
mean! I never had a suspicion when your door
was locked against me, but now—now, Lenore,
there is a mystery whose dread has seized me.
. What does it mean?”
‘ His grave, searching eyes were on her burn-

, ing face, peering into her very soul.
‘I don’t know what you mean. I said I came
, out for air, and you refuse to credit my state-
,» ment. I am not responsible if you do not choose
, to believe me.”
His face flushed painfully.
“ Would any one credit such a fiims excuse?
It grieves me to say it, but, Lenore, believe
you are not—”
“ What—true to you am
She eagerly caught his unfinished sentence
, and finished it in a far different manner from

LIVES;

 

have made !—remember this: if again that than

and yourself hold briefest communication—that,
man I would spum from my feet, who has en-
tered my home and despoiled it of what I
th ht was its chiefest treasure "—his voice
was immeasurably contemptuous—“I shall de~
liberately fling you from me, as a thin dis-
graced, scorned, into the world from w once
you came, among the pitiless people who would
au 11 and deride your downfall!

e walked several steps away, as if he had
indeed done with her forever: then his gentle
consideration returned to him again, tempered,
however, with a repellent coldness.

“ You had better return to your room. The
night is chilly, and you are hardl strong
enou h to remain longer in the heavy ew.”

He esitated a second, as if battling with him-
self, and then offered her his arm.

W'ith a scornful gesture she refused it, and
swept past him into the dim hall, and went up
the stairs to her room, careless, now, who saw
or knew her.

But no one met her. Jesmine ened her
door, and fastened it after her: an then, dis-
regarding her dainty garments, threw herself,

, aching in every limb, on her bed.

iwhat he intended; finished it with the very ‘

l proof of her falsity when she 9.th to deny
! it.

1 Mr. Carlingford fairly groaned in agony; her
1 suggestion so strangely given, opened his eyes
In a. SBCOII .

“ I would not have said it," he returned, husk-
ily. “You are your own accuser. Where have
you been? I demand an answer.”

She quailed for a moment under his deep,
stem 0 es.

“ On y to—to the Chapel, to Lady Augusta’s
grave. ”

He made a gesture of horror.

“Don’t mention her name, I command! To
the Mo* ue—alone?”

Shouli, she lie? what need had she to deny her
falsity, who was acting constantly so foul a
falsehood '4

And yet, if confession risked her lover’s safety!
‘ and a something in her husband‘s eyes she never

had seen before, hinted so.
‘ Fear—not for the hideous lie she should tell to
save him—but fear for his not coming again,

| sire to confess it, and see what her husband in

, his wrath would do. v

i Almost as she framed the morbid thought, her
lips uttered the words:

“ I was not alone.”
“ Not alone? Who was your companion?”
He raised his eyebrowa, not in surprise so

‘ much as incredulousness as to her forthcoming

1 answer.

; Very quietly, in a brave, indifferent way she

, gave him her reply, never bleaching under his

, gaze:

[ “ I was with Mr. Vivian Ulmerstone." .'

, Mr. Carlingford shuddered as if stricken With
mortal agony. His eyes filled with a sharp,
sudden pain; he recoiled from the touch of her

. floating drapery. -

| “That man! Lenore, to think you dare pol-

! lute my house with the vile presence of the man

i I learned but to-night was your lover! To

i think my wi£e is so lost to all sense of womanly

I honor that s e deceives her husband—fond fool
that he isl—and steals away to meet her lover!"

She listened with an attention that was con-
tain tuous in its respect; then retorted:

! “ at have I done so terrible? Is it one of

l the crimes in your calendar for a woman forced

1 into amarria repulsive to every fiber of her
being, to see

i

| Her voice was fairly defiant as it rung out the

, doom in it.

' “Repulsivel Lonore, what are you saying?

what can you mean when you declare such aw}

ful things ” .

He was white with the strain of anguish thus
cast u him so mercilessly.

ouandyours as I worshipa hairof his Inuad!
Bo ouunderstnnd me am!”

e shrunk away in speechless horror'
when he seemedtohave gathered strength
theblow, headdressed herin a low, ow,i ---
riblesort of way that sounded hiatheknel; of

“Remember, Mrs. Word, you have said
to uwodstbtmgmfibefcfgmnorhf‘or-
van. What one night vs
fined over. but’fflter ti: shameless svowel you

tn.
3!?

 

'with one she does love, and di ,and always l , I
v - In ‘ mustache; this fellow, this Audrey, was con»

The maid watched and waited, uneasily, for
an hour or more, and then, thinking Mrs. Car-
lingford had fallen asleep, crept away to her
own room.

The house was still as the grave, save for the
far—off sound of footsteps that paced to and fro,
never ausing in their weary promenade in the
dim 1i rary, all the night through: an while

. Mr. Carlingford kept his somber watch, his wife

lav on her bed, shivering with cold, or flushed
with a dull fever. but wide-awake as if sleep

: were a vanished guest, and she a martyr to its

absence.

Afar, in one of the wooded paths, Vivian Ul-
merstone, all unconscious of the interview be-
tween husband and wife, stood a ainst a tree
trunk, lazily enjoying a cigar that 8 had light-
ed when Lenore had left him.

He had a great deal to think of, much to de—
cide upon, and, in the cool solitude of the night
he was thinking of the singular, complicated
relations that existed, and in which he was so
curiously im licated. '

So far as nore Carlingford was concerned.

. he knew that, gratifying and entertaining as

her clandestine trysts would be, there was no
possible good, beyond the passin moment, to
result therefrom. As the wife 0 a. wealthy,
influential citizen, she was in no danger of 
eloped with again—which Vivian never thou h
of ; while, because she was mistress of El en-
wood, there was every reason to apprehend de—
tection, if those after-dark meetings were long
continued. _ ’

So, he felt sure he would be obliged for these
and other reasons—one of which was that, in
very truth, be was losing his Interest in the
flirtation with Renew—to put a sudden stop to
them. He had made an a
next night, he would keep t; and then, bid
Lenore a final adieu. _ .

Then, to bend all his energies to the taskof
winning Edna. He knew he could not, if it
came to a desperate pomt,,claim her; he had

% destroyed the very proof he now would have

‘ given an ,
‘ one knew that, he intended to

comfort and con enial society ‘ fled

money for; but, so long as no
0 on as if the
certificate could be produced a a moment’s
notice. _

And to think this uppy, Audrey, was a
under a roof where
—to know he was, that minute, in all probabil-
ity, asleep 1n the same house that 5110le

ldna! and, above all, to know that he and

Edna were only waiting until the formality of

a divorce should be obtained in order to be mar-
, A

He compressed his lips underneath his blonds
tinually crossing his path: had already, 0

. him of one pleasure, and was now—he

“ I Egan what I say—that I never carmi for 4

how coolly sarcastic Audrey would have looked
had known Edna’s husband and Lenore’s‘

he; money a! 1:11- d \

t wasnt a v sweet 0‘18 3 an Olms-
stone standin eliiynder a linden, watching the
dim light in  Ol‘d’s 1i won-
dered howhecouldbelt getevenwith hes-din
Audrey, whom be M with a M
01 MW

———c_

intment for the ‘

guest
would not be toleratedl.

I

 

.~ ritual " '

M

«.41; ,

..,,,

rma, -

’5" “‘ (rt-menace: '

p}

viewable “G,” or a “W”

TWQfiQiBLVS’ LIVES.

 

 

CHAPTER XLI.
mason or rm: cross.
and Rachelle Hunt had been er-

m
WHEN Edna .
emptorily ordered from Lenore‘s bedside, Edna ad

gone directly to er room, with scarcely a look
vouchsafed to Rae 6119, who, ever Since her arrival
at Ellenwood, had been endeavoring to satisfactorii '
account for the strangely distant manner wit

which Edna treated her. It will be remembered
that Rachelle had not the remotest idea that Edna
entertained a suspicion of " Aunt Ella’s “ little mas-
quemding at Sunset View; Rachelle. though she
was acquainted with the fact that Edna‘s husband
and Lenorc's lover were one and the same, had as a
matter of personal interest, reserved her know edge
strictly; and so, while Edna knew Rochelle to be a

far? to the deception played on her, and while ‘
c 8

lie knew she was one of the two, she had no

idea whatever that any one suspected, save herself
and Garnett Fay.

Mrs. Carlingford's sudden and serious fainting at

tack at the breakfast-table, that morning, had

created quite a sensation among the membersof the '
 Saxton had smiled mysteriously, .

household.
declared it was not serious, and that it was a very
usual indispos'itiou for young married ladies, and

. l
He looked so unutterably wretched; he seemed so ?

crushed. somehow, and yet so gentle, so courteous, ‘

as he always was.

And Edna, with her quick
his meaning like a lightning
his wife‘s baseness.

She c ouched on the stair in the ve
pity and sorrow, not daring to say a wor
capable of going on.

ash. He knew, then,

"Edna"—iie seemed to make an effort to speak ‘
Mr 1 wife was the daughter of the husband ofthe woman

naturally—“ if you will Come to the library wit

rception, caught at .

depth of ‘

more, not i

. Edna for her patronizifig, one-sided presentation;
a

Audrey the first opportunity— My God! where did 1

you get that 3'"

He almost clutched the white coral cross ih his i’

eager fingers; he startled Edna so she trembled vio- I

lentlly. _
“ hat—that cross? It is the only trinket I have.

‘ Mrs. Saxton’s initial is on it."

Theh, for the first time, it flashed across her mind
that the “ G ” could not be Gertrude, for when the

3 cross was found on the foundling, it was already
, marked.

“Mrs. Saxton‘s initial!" he re eated half vaguely.
“ Did her name commence wit G? There are two

‘ G's on that cross, or there ought to be, if it isthe

congratulated Mr. Carlingford, in aseries of mean- ,

ing whispers that he seemed neither to understand
nor care for.

Lenore had been assisted to her room, and Dr.
Garland sent for, who seemed to regard her illness
as of little cons

tion. pocke his two dollars and wentaway.

hroughout the day the members of the family had
dropped in, one at a time, to inquire: and Edna had
left her last, when the effects of the o iate were
wearing off. She and Mrs. Saxton and r. Carling-
ford had remained the greater art of the day in
Lenore's room, to be dismissed w en Lenore‘awoke.

Edna had retired to her room ' determined to
search through her one insignificant little kee sake in
a vague. forlorn sort of hope that.  won d a ht
on some relic, if ever so small, so inSignificant, t at
would did her in ascertainingwho she was. .

Not that she thou ht that she was Mr. Carling-
ford‘s daughter. delig tfulas it would be to make

such a discovery; she had little expectation of flnd- .;
0

ing herself mu of anybody, and not much more
desire. Whoever she might be, she was still in
bonds: whoever she was, s e only hoped one day to
be Oberdon Audrey‘s wife. ‘

Now for the square, dingy box, with a thin striii
tied crossways around it to keep on the cover, am
guard its contents. She looked tenderly at the mis-
erable little token, for it recalled the only happy
time her you g life had enjoyed.

She distiiictylremembcred how the present Mrs.
Saxton, when er adopted mother was only a little
while dead, had come to her, and asked her if she
wanted this same box, that for years had sat on a
shelf in the dead Woman‘s closet, and how, in child-
ish thankfulness at the meanest remenibrances of
one she so deeply mourned, she gladly took it and
ke t it for her own.

here had been nothing in it of any consequence;
one or/two neck-ribbons, a narrow little silver “lift,
battered and worn, and a little tin box, apparent y
eiaty but soldered tfih tly on all sides.
e had never part with the little box; but now
she suddenly wondered if the tiny tin box had a
scout, so was it sealed. _

The idea never occurred to her before; it
hardly would have been likely to hap n to any one,
so forlorn and dented was the do docking little
casket; but, somehow, as Edna, with her knife and
a hammer, was slowly cutting ed the lid, she began
‘90 Yea-“Y Wondflffilmestly. what its contents were
—iIf n’ot om  »

twsa no. em ness; nor yet was it anything to
raise the shghtest hope—and Edna smiled—drearily,
weare bound to admit and uite disappointedly,
when there fell on her in on a curiously-carved
cross of white coral, With he letter “ G "enwrou ht
with faint gold traces on both sides. It was noth ng
to her, of her, after all. Only a little love-token
from her dear, dead benefactor, with her own in.
itial “G” for Gertrude upon it. True, Edna re-
membered the interest Mrs. Saxton always mani-
fested in the tiny toy, but it must have been on ac-
count of the exquisite workmanship.

Edna was just a little; progiiedA to fintd herfsegif try-

mak an “A"—— or s a—o eun-
mgto 6 gr  Carlin ford's
Christian name; and then, to punish herself or he;
resum tio resolved to wear it aroun er nee
En sting gold chain she had—she disliked charms

thinythe box was what gratified Edna more
than the possession of the cross; and yet it was
timeliin of paper, the ink on it faded With
M revealed the words: "0n Edna
'rhl"! neck when Itook her. G. S): Onl a line,
but t told all the story of the poor r] s orp ago.
It wass clew, then, if ever she c ose to follow it
“P- Bho was not dis to do so at present, how-
When she fastened the crOss to the
cm“. "Id W it around her fair, white throat,
“W “I. open box, and went down to the

m in.
*Onmmlheoncoutered Linear ford.
She notsocn him sine;l his soul-wrencnll’i‘hg m‘

 manta: in that encounter he
W W. at the swful'woe on his

“on. In Word! Hos mything happened?
In. Old 3 not wolu’ 2"
new“ hot in s dosed,

way.
“Worse! 8 -,is worse than 1 our
moo. Edna; could not have understoogegoi"

uence, left her a harmless sleeping 3

 

 

one Ithink it is. Let
me open it.”

She laid it on his hot palm, silently; «as there a
romance about her, after a 1?

He touched alittle hidden spring, and the cross
flew open, revealing two faces—one. a fair young
girl who was Edna OVer again; the other, Mr. Carl-
ineford, as he was years and years before. Edna
gazed with fascinated eyes, first at the pictures,
then at Mr. Cariingford, whose grand face lighted
with tender delight.

"There is no room for doubt, my darling!
Long ago we thought the likeness so strange, and
now I know you are my own child! There is no
mate to that cross, and our little one had it on when
she was lost or stolen, we never knew which; nor

oes it matter, now that we have her back. God is
good: He has given me m daughter to recompense
me for the loss of her mot ier.”

It was so natural, so commonplace, so utterly un-
like what one would suppose a meeting between
parent and child to be, that Edna hardly realized it.

“ It is so strange! can it be true? I your child, Mr.
Carlingford?"

“How can you be else? The cross is the proof;
the ‘G ' is for my dead wife‘s pet name—‘Gustie,’
—the resemblance—what more do you ask, my
daughter?“

What more, surely? Certainly not to quarrel
with the first kind freak of Fate.

CHAPTER LiI.
'rnn wonr AT BAY.

IN his room at the country tavern nearest Ellen-
wood, where he considered it desirable he should
wait until affairs assumed a less vague more tangi-
ble form, Mr. Vivian Ulmcrstone had been medita-
ting carefully upon the propriety of attempting an-
other visit to the house to see his wife.

He had engaged to meet Lenore that evenin
iszgain, at the Cha el, and, knowing Lenore an

due. to be undert e same roof, was it prudent in
film to venture, and with so little hope to encourage

im?

He had decided to risk the game for the candle;
in other words. to risk the chance of meeti Mrs.
Carlingford very awkwardly, when paying ' de-
voirs to the only lady in the world ent tie to, and
at the same time detesting them.

However, knowin verv well the strict etiquette
observed in houses ke Ellenwood, he knew that the
callers for one member of the family were not
usually interfered with by others. He would un-
doubtedly be shown to Edna‘s reception room, see
her alone—he took that for granted, obviously—and
would take his leave as he came.

So it was just ten in the morning, when he walked
leisurel up to the front entrance, and inquired of
the foo man for Edna.

It must be confesSed he did not feel so brave as he
thought he would, when he was once in the very
heart of the enemy’s camp. But there he. was. and
he was bound to remain in his present quarters
until the interview was over.

He did not dread the interview in the least; he
was sitting very cosily and cool] by a shady wm-
dow, when Edna entered, cold, aughty, almost in-
ant.
ithout waiting for his greeting, she addressed

intedl
63th I rzached the door 1 had no intimatiOn
who it was that awaited me. Having learned, ou
will excuse me at once. I can have nothing furt er
to say to you, whatever." '

He had arisen and bowed while she spoke, in her
sweet, clear tones, that cut him to the very quick.
He would not let her see, however, the immense
advantage she had over him.

“I beg you will not be so unkind; I assure you
I came wi h the most pardonsble motives—“

“ Which will be of no avail. Any further. commu-
nigatiggsu can be made to my father, to whom I
re er .

Her fatherl—how very singular he had forggtctten
she had a father; or, late ——had she notd ly
gold him site had no psi-en ? What can sigmoi-

mean.
e looked at her incredulously.

“ ¥our thither?!)  I tsaiiitllbbe mosthapp‘y to
meean omy ono re ves marriage.

Edna smiled at his endless mdooizibm >

“ He will scarcer iappreciate the , I one"
she said, uietly. ‘ owsvor, Iwill solid form."

She walked, with her queeniy stop, to the spook-
ing-tubeond addressed some one; verysoon,foot-

Open it, for Heaven’s sake!

 

hlin

 

,4. \ ‘:.1..¢.,..,,i a...

31

r

 

steps up reaching denoted a new presence, and
then, in his serene grandeur, his grand nobi
of manner, Mr. Carlingford entered the library.

He looked at Fay—at Edna; then more severely
at Fay again.

“Papa, this is the man of whom we have been
speaking. His name is Garnett Fa 

Fay hit his lips furiously. He co d have throttled
but, between perfect wi maze to realize that his
he was making such base love to, he man to
bow. and murmur some inaudible words of owl-
edgment.

Mr. Cariington at once drew his chair to the table,
opened his ponderous memorandum-book. and
loode very oppressiver like business.

He turned to Edna, protectin 1y.

“ Sit down. my daughter. wish you to hear
every word that passes. Sir," to Garnett who see-
ing affairs approaching a crisis, grew bo d, almost
insolent, at once. “you will be seated. if you please,
while we arrange a few preliminary affairs."

d Gafiglfi‘lt bowed haughti'ly, and seated himself dis-
am y.

“ You claim Edna Carlingford as your lawful wii e.
I understand" You were married when, where, by
whom?"

“ I certainly claim her as my legal wife, according
to an act of marriage performed at Sunset View, on
Tuesday, the eighth of November, the past an-
tunin.”

He spoke with a truthful precision that sent the
blood recedin from Edna's face. Garnett o
it agifimih ed' d l f

“ ore cman t 1e proo ——your marriage-cer-
tificate—I will state for your benefit, sir, that the
marriage can be made nu and void from the facts
that at the date at the marriage, Edna Silvester
was a minor in age; that she has received no sup.
port from you, duectly or indirectly; that she‘s not
and never was Edna Silvester."

Garnett felt his heart sink. Not so much- at the
array of facts, as at the implied hint regarding the
certificate. which he knew was not forthcoming.

“ And until these points are settled in a divorce-
court, on will be so kind as to establish a counter-
claim y producingl the certificate, which, by the
way, most men of onor would have consigned to
their bride."

Garnett winced under the thrust.

“ The certificate? really, I cannot lay in hand on
it at once. It is among my papers at my otel, safe
enough. I sup sed a gentleman’s word was
Ernsugh, especiallyo when admitted by his wife to be

e. ‘

Mr. Carlingford smiled.

“It is not enough. In that all you wish to see me
about? Oh, come in, Mr. Audrey of course," he
added in a friendly hy-pla to Oberdon, who crossed
the open door. “it Will no intrusion; I shallbe
happy to ofler you a glimpse of the gentleman who
claims to be my son-in-law, Mr. Garnett Fay."

As Audrey crossed the threshold Fav rungto
his feet, his e es full of the drag", helix-t in
an animal su denly bro ht to y.

Audrey paused sta , looked in Speechless
astonishment at sy, at Ed then turning to Mr.
Carlingford, in voice thick wit fury, said:

“ Mr. Fay you call him! I have met him before,
when his name was Vivian Ulmerstone!" ’

The announcement was thrillineg awful. At
sound of the name Mr. Carlingford s from his
seat as if he had received an electric shock; while
Edna, with a shrill cry]- sat rigid as a rock, with
wild eyes, and parted ips that refused to express
the horror she felt.

t’(‘)‘Vi!vian Ulmeistonei this man is Viv-in Ulmer-
s ne ”

Mr. Car ord uttered the words from between
his set teat , and advanced a step nearer Ulmer-
stone, who cast at him an insolently defiant smile
without ng. Oberdon Audrey stood his
ground, met, positive. '

“ It is t 0 same man from whom Mrs. Car-lingord
was rescued—whom she called Vivian. You ow
gating, Mr. Cariingford; you insisted on its

Mr. parliagford stood looking at [Timex-stone with
a fascination one might experience toward a rattle-
sna 'e.

“80 you are the villain, double- yed, are 1—
you, the less than man, who, not content wig“l my
daughter, must needs trifle with m wife? You are
Mr. Garnett Fs. , alias Mr. Vivian erstonef the
desecrator of a true man holds sacred, the sneak-
ing vagabond who hides under two names too
foul to endure the sunlight! My daughter," and he
dropped his sarcastic tones as if by magic, as he
turned to address her, “ thank Heaven you have met
with such a deliverance." .

She was terribly excited and nerv and clung
tremulously to Mr. Carlingford‘s "me Away

stood hear her.

Garnett Fa never moved an inch from his posi-
tion He h listened with a proud Inga-s thaigh
his misdemeanors were triumphs in w to glory;
and now he was watching Edna and Oberdon with a
dawlnéng hatred. M to,

“ ave no dou it is extremely mt you.
sir, liar and adventurer that you ore, to play the

lover m wife but—“
Mifimmrd inttgrru l d . v"

“ em resum nightm-
finish “Home atoncg‘iilnmyo‘gc ting
W you oflerod him} mm in HIV

1' sheared
nag...
Point me

 

 

32

your wife (which I admit, and boast she cares for
me as well,)——or he, the sconndrel! in love with my
wife!”

Mr. Carlingford caught him by the coat-collar,
with the gripe of a iant, in whose hands Fay was a
very infant. He $100k him, as a cat shakes a
mouse; then walked him across the floor, his face

ale with wrath, his eyes blazing with contempt;
gown the stairs, throu h the hull, out the grand

entrance, and then, witi more force than feeling, 1
i him; every disloya act. or thou ht, wasa trophy of

down the steps, into the grounds.

Once free from the viselike grasp under which he
was so owerless, Ulnierstone—we call him so from
force 0 habit—turned and faced Mr. Carlingford,

with a perfect fury, demoniacal in its flerceness, on ,

his ale, set features.

“ efore the sun goes down, you and yours shall
repent of this."

And he walked away; the man who had run near-

ly the full length of his rope. Bgfore sundown!

 

CHAPTER LllI.
A WILD GOOD—BY.

IN perfect ignorance of the stormily exciting scene
enacting in the library almost directly opposite her
room door, Lenore Carlingford sat in her low rock-
ing-chair, resting her hot head in Mrs. Saxton‘s
hands, and wishing, waiting, watching—-all for the
earl night shades to gat er, when she could see
her over again.

She had no conversation with Mr. Carlingford
since the evening before. She had met him at
breakfast, and found him attentive, courteous as
usual, but she was distinctly made to feel that an
insurmountable ban'ier was grown between them,
never, never to be passed.

She had retired to her room directly breakfast was
over, and her mother had gone with her both of
them entirely i norant of the direction affairs had
taken; at one o clock lunch was served in Mrs. Car-
lingford’s room, at two o’clock Mrs. Saxton and her
husband took the return train to New York, little
thinking it was—

But it is best not to anticipate.

Lenore, thus left alone with Jesmine, slowly made
her toilette—a black grenadine that contrasted viv-
idly with her crimson cheeks and gloomy, flashing
eyes. Jesmine knotted agay Roman sash around
her slender waist, clasped a string of gold beads
around her throat, and heav bracelets on her proud
wrists. And thus arrayed, s a sat down, patient to
stoicism, expectant to delirious hopefulness, to wait
while the hours rolled around.

And sooner far than she expected, she went forth
to meet him: when she was waiting, in her forlornly
patient way, a note was left with a servant for her,
and no one but her.

With feverish fln ers she tore it open the dainty
monogramed enve ope that bore his beloved hand-
writing, and read the briefest note:

“Come at once; same place; pressing impor‘ '

tance.“ I

There was no need of signature; no need of more
definite request. In all the wide world but one human
being wanted her—Vivian Ulmerstone; on all the,
fair face of earth there was but one spot to her——
the “ Chapel“ near the Linden path.

“ At once " she grasped her wrap, a costly Indian
shawl, gorgeous as a forest in early frost-time.
She wrapped it with the native race of an Italian
woman, in a fanciful fold aroun her queenly head.
and caught it over her arm.

It was nearing dusk—it was an hour yet above
the sunsettin , and the peaceful calm that precedes
the day’s dec ine had fallen, like a golden shadow,
on the earth.

She walked down the flower-bordered paths, into
the grand old park, where the statuary gleamed
among the trees, where the fountains threw high in
the air their thousand tin?y jets, where the sunshine
glinted slantwise througi the leafy canopy to the
close—cut turf grass beneath.

Deeper into the shadows she went. her heavy
silken dress trailing its black shadow over the cool
ground; nearer and nearer the spot where Lady

ugnsta—Edna’s girl mother, wasn‘t it stra e?—
lay sleeping her last sleep; where, like a breat ing
portrait handsome, graceful, noble—to her delnde
vision—Vivian Ulinerstone was awaiting her.

She sprung forward with a glad cr of welcome,
then started back in surprise at his iaggard face,
his wild is es.

“ Oh, ivian, what has happened?"

The words trembled on her lips, but he laughed
scornfnll at them.

“Noth'pg has happened, only—I sent to bid you

cod-by.

“ Good-by! good-by!" she gasped, with white lips.
“I must go. It is best, and you will think so. too
whenI am once away. Of what avail is it that I
sta ‘i What are you to me—you, Mrs. Carlingford
of llenw‘o‘bd i”

“ Good-by!“

She repeated the word mechanically, as if the
sound of ‘it fascinated her, and dulled her ear to any
other word.

“ Does it hurt your tender heart so? I know it
seems terrible to contemplate but it must be.“

He was caressin her icy-cold hands.

“And suns mus rise and set and months come
and go, and life must be endured without you! Oh,
Vivian, Vivian 1"

She snatched his hands and pressed them to her
lips, raining hot kisses on them. And lie—had a
mockin smile in his eves as he thought this
woman s husband had collared him that selfsame

day.
“We will think of each other. my darlin ; and
every night, when the stars come out, hold sp t in-

g

. ~,.

 

 

TWO GIRLS’ LIVES.

tercourse that shall reunite us, though oceans of
space divide us. My love, it is hard to say good-by,
but I must say it. 'ou will kiss me, a last time, my
darling?"

She clung to him in terror.

“ So soon? You are cruch You are so cruel! and
I shall have to stay with him whom I hate—yes,
hate!"

She hissed out the awful words.

Vivian smiled ain; every word was sweet to

his triumph—poor, pitiful fool hat he wasl—over
the man who was so infinitely above the woman he
had taken for his wife.

“ Am I cruel, darling? Am—"

A footstep—diiferent footsteps, on the ground
without startled the guilty lovers. Lenore grasped
his sleeve with frantic imploration.

“Vivian, some one is comian
quicklyl Oh, heaven, where s iall you go?
Audrey and Mr. Carlingford!”

Her voice sunk to a hoarse whisper. and she looked
wildly around for a way of escape. Suddenly, while
the footsteps were slowly nearing them—when they
distinctly heard voices—Mr. Audrey’s and her hus-
band‘s—Lenore flew across the damp floor, and into
a narrow recess in the wall, from which she re-
turned in hot, breathless haste.

“Quick! hide here——they will never find you; and
when they are safely away, you can make your es-
cape. Here, down here—there is plenty of room."

She had fairly dragged him into the small cham-
ber that led from the narrow niche in the wall.
She thrust him in with her small, strong hands;
pushed the door to, and then stole out t irough a
vine—shaded window on one side the building as Mr.
Audrey and Mr. Carlingford entered at the door.

CHAPTER LIV.
rm: VICTIM or run VAULT.

THEY walked slowly in. lookin about them, as
they entered. Audrey with keen interest as he lis-
tened to Mr. (‘arlingford‘s explanatory remarks.

“ It has been a singular freak of mine, I dare say,
but I have never had the strength, the courage, to
place the relentless barrier between my dead wife

Go, quickl !—
t is

and myself. And you, my dear Andre , who know‘

all my sorrow, can realize how now shrink the
more from it."

They had walked slowly on past the narrow door
through which Ulnierstone had gone, and paused
Before] an offset built out from the altar of the

l a .

“ he vault is small—only arranged for the ac-
commodation of one coffin. Augusta desired it so,
and I have sacredly fulfilled every wish of hers—ex-
ce t to spring the ock if ever I married again.”

is strong voice shook with the inward agony;
and Audrey saw his hand shake as he laid it on the
heavy iron door of the vault that stood partl ajar.

“Will 'on look in? It is not so dreary a p ace as
one won (1 suppose.”

Audrey peered in; and when his eyes were accus-
tomed to the darkness, he could see the long nar-
row coffin with its sweeping black velvet pal, the
heavy silver shelves that it rested on, the crystal
vase of rare flowers that had been placed there so
very lately.

“ My dead darling! I never knew how much I had
lost till very lately. She was good to me, Audrey.”

The simple pathos of the lament was inflnitel
touching, and Andre felt his eyes moisten. e
grasspe Mr. Carling ord‘s hand and ressed it in
silent sympathy; and the bond of a ectlon born
between them, at Lady Augusta‘s coffin foot, never
was broken.

‘f I think I would close it, Mr. Carlingford,” he
said verfv gently. “I think it rather superlndnces
morbid ancies; does it not? Lady Augusta sleeps
the sleep that will know no difference whether her
tomb isopened or sealed. May I touch the spring?"

Mr. Carlingford cast a yearning glance in the
death’chamber; then shook his head slowly.

I“I can‘t let you do it, now, Audrey. But if you
Will come here alone, any time when know nothing
of it, you may—spring the lock. I will explain its
action."

He ushed the door further open; a severe task,
even or so strong a man.

“ You see how massive it is—double thickness of
heavy riveted iron. The bolt is held back by a mar-
velously contrived apparatus almost magical in its
workmanship, that needs on y the pressure of an
infant's fln er to shoot it into its socket, firm, fast
forever. ho human ingenuity could ever pick such
a lock.” ,

“You have kind] sacrificed your feelings to my
deep curiosity, Mr. arlingford and now let us re—
turn. When yon are away, I s iall come back and
close the door. It is not well to keep open for visita-
tion even your wife's grave."

They went on out, utterly unconscious of the close
proximity of Vivian Ulmerstone, who had heard
every word, with increasing hatred.

_ N ow when he stole cautiously out, his face looked
like a emon’s in its horrid malignity of expression
as he walked across the narrow interVening space
and examined with acute scrutiny the magic lock on
the vault door.

Satisfied with his examination, he returned to the
hiding-place Lenore had shown him: (310136d the
door, and, with the glitter in his eyes deepening ‘0 8
fiendish flame, waited—

For Oberdon Audrey to come; for his intensely-
hated enemy to come, for his rival, who had ridden

rough-shod over him.

It was a devilish 5 tion, born of Oberdon‘s
own words; and Vivian erstone was the man to
execute the suggestion.

He did not tremble or falter while he waited for

 

 

v

his victim to return, who, instead of mercifully clos-
ing Lady Augusta’s ave door, was to be merciless-
ly shut in alive with er! _

Yes, he would do it—bury Oberdon Andrey ahvel
snatch Edna‘shap iness in his hands and crush it
under his grasp. ad he not sworn that Mr. Carl-
ingford would rue his touch on him before the sun
went down? and would not this be a terribly
glorious, as well as wonderfully unexpected, re-
venge?

So he waited, waited, while the close heat of the
mom made the perspiration stream down his.
gushed, excited face, and dampen his dainty white

ands. '

He smiled grimly as he took out his handkerchief
—a snow-white square of finest linen perfumed
with a faint odor of wood-violet, and hearing his
name in full in one corner—and thought it would
never do to let a drop of the moisture remain on the
hands that must touch the s ring; for a drop might
mar the perfect working of t e magic bolt.

So he carefully dried his hands. and then—

He was sure he had heard gently-falling footsteps
pass his hiding-place; he held his breath and 1:5-
tened: all was still, and surely Oberdon Andr
was within the charnelghouse, perhaps arranging
with kindly thought and consideration, the sweep-
ing folds of sable velvet and the flowers that never

ain would see the sun ' ht.

e stepped noiselessly rom his closet-like retreat,
wiping t e sweat that now lay in clammy drops on
forehead, neck and hands: it was well to be certain
—dead sure l—that his prey was safely caged before
the awful clan of the door should ring Oberdon
Audrey’s livin eath!

He pushed t e fatal swinging-door oh its balanc-
ing spot—he wanted it ready to obey at. an instant’s
notice; he dropped on his knees, and peeped can--
tiousl in; he was sure—yes—no, the wind never
wouldy have swayed that sweeping velvet so—it «ras-
Oberdon Audrey! ‘

He crept further in the awful passage, his .hand
on the spring, a horrid fascination seizing him to
feel, for a brief second, the damp terror that would
be his enemy’s portion so soon.

In—only a step further, 'into the close. hot-cold
gloom; only a step further out of God‘s sunlight;
and then—and then—it must have been the wind
after all that stirred the velvet pall, for Oberdon
Audrey was not there!

It must have been a bare heiheard when he was
sure it was Oberdon Audrey‘s footsteps.

A smothered curse, a horrid imprecation. burst
from his lips; he sprung to his feet half smothered
with the close, damp heat; he stumbled, in his blind
rage, his mad, disappointed haste; stumbled, prone
on his face—

Inside the vault!

And, like a lightning-flash. the door swu
leased from its prisoning Spring, and snappfi
shriek of doom!

And no human hand might ever undo it!

to. re~
with a.

 

Da s after, they found a handkerchief, caught in
the rm crack of the door; and on the protruding
corner was the name, “ Vivian Ulmerstone.“

It never came to Lenore’s ears; when she had
hidden him—to his destruction—she had flown
home burning with a fever that mounted higher
and higher till it dethroned her reason; and the very
hour a horror-stricken-servant had brought to Edna
her release—the corner of her husband’s pocket-
handkerchief—the last gasp of Lenore Carlingford‘s
life went out.

 

rm: END.
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