WL SRR=G

 

$2.50 a Year.

Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y.,as Second Class Mail Matter.

Copyrighted 1880, by BEADLE AND ADAMS.

May 20, 1880.

 

Published Every
Two Weeks.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

No. 98 WitLiAM Street, New Yor«k.

Complete in this Number.
Price, Ten Cents.

 

The Creole Cousins;
oR,
FALSE AS FATR.

A Romance of the Tropics.

BY PHILIP S. WARNE,
AUTHOR OF “THE KIDNAPPER,” ‘‘ TIGER DICK,”
‘(A MAN OF NERVE,” ETC., ETO.

CHAPTER I.
THE BEAUTIFUL PRISONER.

Tue time, a midsummer afternoon,

The scene, the harbor at Havana.

In the foreground, rocking on the waves, a
skiff with two occupants, officers of the Ameri-
can corvette, Avalanche, undergoing repairs af-
ter a rude buffeting by a tropical storm; first,
Lieutenant Hazeltine, a a man for so re-
sponsible a position, tall, erect and broad-
shouldered, chivalrous to impulsiveness and
true as steel; second, Ned Taunton, a merry
ae ha ee just at that period of adolescence
when his greatest solicitude was the tardy de-
velopment of a downy mustache,

In the background: right, the Spanish town,
with its strange-looking, flat-roofed houses—
left, Nature in all her tropical loveliness—cen-
ter, a gloomy stone structure against whose
base the waves beat ceaselessly.

“The convent of St. Celestine?” pursued Mid-
shipman Taunton, looking at the grim building
we have indicated. “There are only three
dead-lights in all the broad side of the old hulk.
The old barn looks like a prison.”

“ Reverently, Ned!” cautioned his friend,
with mock awe. ‘A distinction without a dif-
ference. There are a great 7 e prisoners in
that old pile, too pretty to be buried alive,
when so many of us poor fellows would give a
month’s pay for a single smile from their rosy

“Tal the gallant luff is getting spoony!”
laughed Taunton. ‘‘ But what is that at yaa
der window? Hurrah! it’s one of the fair pris-
oners!—and I claim her by right of discov-

e {”

"ites before beauty, Ned,” objected his
friend, directing a glass somewhat eagerly to-
ward the convent. ‘‘She has a pensive air.
She is leaning her elbow on the window-ledge,
with her cheek in her palm.”

““Pensive is she? That’s the proper thing.
All prisoners look pensively out over the sea,

 

 

don’t they? She’s sighing for liberty, and all
that sort of thing. Give me another squint, old
fellow, and IV’ll write her down for you from
keel to pennant. _Didn’t know I was a connois-
seur in the sex? No? Well, modesty prevents
me from affirming the fact, though it is well
known to all my friends. Meanwhile, lest you
look the unfortunate one out of counte-
nance, I'll take my trick at the glass, if you
please!”

Lieutenant Hazeltine yielded the instrument
rather reluctantly to his chattering friend.

“ By old Nep and all his nymphs!” cried the

latter, ‘‘ she’s weeping!”
“ce 0 \?

“See, now that the light falls full upon her
face.”

And again the glass changed hands.

“Taunton you’re right!” admitted Hazel-
tine.

He ed earnestly at each lineament of the
girl’s delicate beauty, and his changing color
showed that he was moved by no ordinary emo-
tions.

Taunton, on the other hand, continued in the
spirit of banter:

‘Beauty in tears! Can gallant tars stand
aloof? Rouse, ye sluggards! Pull to the rescue! .
Pick her up lively, lads! Lay alongside the old

“COUSIN NINA, I CAN'T CEASE WONDERING AT THE STRANGE ROMANCE IN YOUR LIFE,”

 
  

 
 

2

 

The Creole Cousins.

 

 

tub, fling grappling-irons, board her and sweep
her. decks! Avast, ye lubbers! Strike your
flag—a petticoat, in this instance!—or we'll
blow you out of water!”

And seizing the sculls, the rattle-brain was
about to pull toward the convent, as if fora
prize-ship.

‘Not so precipitately, Ned,” interposed his
friend, more gravely than was his wont. ‘Let
us get a nearer view; but if we row straight
for the convent—and especially in that fashion
—we may frighten her away from the window.”

Approaching the shore diagonally, until they
came perhaps within a hundred feet of it, some
distance above the convent, our friends then
changed their course so as to row by the build-
ing, assuming a careless air, yet keeping an eye
on the window at which the object of their in-
terest still sat.

She was in the simple dress of a novice; yet
the rudest disguise could not hide her exquisite
beauty, enhanced—at least for masculine eyes—
by her evident distress.

As the naval officers eame nearly opposite,
the girl started, hastily brushed the tears away,
and thrust her head forward, fixing her large,
liquid eyes on Lieutenant Hazeltine with an ex-
pression of eae eager admiration, which
soon changed to a look of piteous appeal, while
she clasped her hands, and her nether lip trem-
bled perceptibly.

Chivalrous by nature, and of a profession
whose gallantry is proverbial, the piteous
glances bent upon him went straight to the
young lieutenant’s heart. In that moment he
was ready to brave all the world, if need be,
for this woman in distress. His eyes told her
this, as he half-raised his hat to her. ~

A glad smile of eager, tremulous hope broke
over her countenance, and fluttering a hand-
kerchief, she disappeared from the window.

“‘Sweet Cupid! Here’s an adventure. She’s
signaling to us.. Eh!—our fairy has vanished
into thin air!” cried Taunton, under his breath.
‘“* Messmate, that’s a place of enchant—”

But here he turned and caught sight of Harry
Hazeltine’s flushed face.

“ Whew !” he ejaculated, his surprise finding
vent in a prolonged whistle. ‘‘Shiver my starry
top-lights, if the gallant luff isn’t hit hard be-
tween wind and water!”

“Belay, there, on your red rag!” protested
Hazeltine, coloring still more deeply. ‘‘Don’t
attract attention. She wants to communicate
with us. Look over the side, as I do, as an ex-
cuse for our stopping.”

Half-smiling and half-earnest, Midshipman
Taunton did as requested; and the two, to all
appearances, became interested in something at
the bottom of the bay, while their skiff remain-
ed motionless,

A moment later something white fluttered
through the air and alighted on the water near
the base of the convent.

A few strokes sent the skjff close under the
building, and the missive—for such it proved to
ve wee picked up by the lieutenant’s eager

anas,

It was traced in pencil on what was perhaps
the fly-leaf of a prayer-book. The chirography
was oe, dainty, as might be expected
from so fair a scribe. it read:

“‘Smnors AMERICANOS:

“The most wretched of unfortunates salutes you
—supplicates you! You are brave; you are Sere 1%
you e all things for the women of your blessed,
free country. Can you turn a deaf ear to one more
helpless than coop Alas! I, so young, who love the
free air and sunshine, am cut off from them forever,
unless you compassionate my pitiable condition
and help me toescape. The victine of a cruel parent,

who, to satisfy his pride, would have linked my
young life with decaying old age, I fled to the pro-
tection of the Church, But, alas! can I languish in

this living tomb while my youth fades away, when
the wide, free world is all so beautiful and so full of
happiness? I can write no more. My heart is break-
ing.

“Tf you are brave aan and generous enough to
help me—and oh! you look so brave and strong !—
come beneath my window to-night, after the moon
has gone down. * Make no noise, and expect no light
in my window, or other signal from me. Iwill be on
the watch, and let down a charm-bell at the end of a
thread. The tinkle of the bell will direct you to the
aeeaae and by this means we can communicate in
safety. ‘

“Oh! though you are strangers to me, I pray that
your hearts may be moved; and the blessed i
will surely smilo on you. Inez MENTOzA.

On reading this appeal Lieutenant Hazeltine
grew pale with rage; and it must be confessed
that he inveighed somewhat: profanely against
an institution of which he roo knew nothing
except from popular rumor.

The merry midshipman, on the other hand,
looked upon the situation less seriously.

“Pm a fish,” he cried, ‘if this ain’t the
greatest lark! It takes me back to the Arabian
Nights and Jack the Giant-Killer. Here’s the
donjon, and the Princess in duress vile, guarded
by an ecclesiastical dragon. But how the deuce
are we to help the matter? That’s what lays
me by the heels.”

“How?” repeated the lieutenant, with ane
‘* Why, she herself has pointed the way.
snatching her from the infernal of this—”

“Softly, my boy! This is the nineteenth
century, remember—an age of detectives, and

¥"

 

search-warrants, and other inconvenient legal
appurtenances too numerous to mention. e
can’t run her off to our castle, and bid defiance
to all comers, since the only castle we have ac-
cess to is the forecastle of the Avalanche—not a
suitable place for a lady, as you will—”

‘« Ned, stop chaffing, do! you are afraid to
join me—”
“ Afraid! I scorn the imputation!” cried the

midshipman, with mock disdain. ‘ To be sure,
we will in all probability be caught and° shot,
without judge or jury, by the outraged authori-
ties. A mere bagatelle, however, hardly worthy
of consideration, where duty or beauty calls.
But here is a practical ee when we get
her on our hands, what the dickens shall we do
with her?”

‘« Tt will be time enough to think of that when
we have her outside of these walls!”

“Hal,” observed the midshipman, looking
with a half smile into his comrade’s excited face
“vou have got it bad, and no mistake.”

“ Admitting that, if you will have it so,” said
the other, with a touch of rity, ‘‘ are you
or are you not with me in this adventure?—
for I am determined to attempt this lady’s es-

cape Ee

‘Hal,” said Taunton, with sudden serious-
ness, ‘‘ you know me. I never flunked in 4
life! If you are shot for sacrilege, demme! I'll
be shot too!”

They clasped hands on it, as men are wont to
renew the covenants of friendship.

“Ned,” said his friend, ‘‘ we have no time to
lose. Go on board and smuggle away a suit of
your clothes. I think they are small enough to
fit Donna Inez. Meanwhile I will look up a
place to take her to. Rendezvous here at mid-
night. The moon goes down a little after one.
Before morning that vampire shall be robbed of
its prey!”

Immediately upon reading Donna Inez’s note
they had rowed away from the convent. They
were now arrived at their landing-place. Once
more clasping hands, they parted company.

At midnight they were again together, Hazel-
tine in the meantime having provided himself
with a long rope.

The moon had sunk below the horizon; the
silence of the grave reigned around; the skiff
rested motionless on the water beneath the con-
vent wall!

 

CHAPTER II.
THE SLAVER.

THE scene was as beautiful as the eye need
wish to rest bg sags Caribbean Sea with its
foam-capped billows running high, and borne
on its bosom two noble ships under full spread
of canvas. Only a puff of white smoke rising
from the deck of the corvette, far astern of the
brig, marred the one by its suggestion of
hostile passions and bloodshed.

But on a nearer view the deck of the Black
Swan presented a spectacle well calculated to
fill the beholder with misgivings and repul-
sion.

In her mottled crew, more than an honest
ship’s complement, every nation of Europe

seemed represented, and that, too, by its worst
2 es. ona ee pr more a

g aspect. But, devils as they were, not a
man but quailed before the glare of Capt. Gias-
kill’s wo: eyes and the livid set of his im-
placable face. ;

The Black Swan was a slaver—her crew were
ocean outlaws—the corvette was the hand of
civilized humanity stretched forth to crush a
oie traffic in human life and human hap-
piness

“Our py ipa is the Little Gut channel,”
said the captain of the slaver, anxiously. ‘‘ The
corvette dare not attempt the pass, and it will
give us five hours’ start.”

The Gut was reached at last, and it seemed as
if the smaller craft were going bows on to the
breakers, where the sea was churned to foam by
the jagged reef. 7

But, though tossed about like a cockle-shell,
the sport of the surging waters, she sped on un-
harmed, until she entered a tortuous channel
between two islands, so nerrow that the
that overhung the water on either hand left
scarce room for her spreading canvas, and
through which the water coursed like the rapids
of some river.

Beyond the islands the slaver emerged into
comparatively smooth water, safe at last from
her pursuer, though her rigging now hung in

and her hull had received some unsight-
ly rents. Before tempting the winds and waves
of the broad Atlantic repairs were sadly needed ;
and the brig was brought to anchor in a little
— shut in by a group of palm-embowered
islets. ,

One day Capt. Gaskill was “stretching his
legs on shore ” in‘company with his mate, when
on the further side of one of the islands he dis-
covered a canoe drawn up on the beach, and at
a little distance three human beings who proved
to-be natives of the Antilles.

Two—a man and a woman—were as little at-
tractive as savages are apt to be; but the third
—perhaps their daughter—a maiden of scarce

alms:

 

twelve or thirteen years of age, yet with the
premature development of tbe tropics, was a
picture to warm the heart of an anchorite.

Her petite figure was perfect in its symmetry ;
its budding charms set off rather than concealed
by the short-skirted tunic of white cloth which
was the only garment she wore. In marked
contrast, ber long black hair fell unconfined be-
low her waist. In her olive cheeks was the
ruddy hue of health, the exquisite mantling of
the hot tropical blood that coursed through her
veins. Her delicately-molded face was lighted
by flashing black eyes and small white teeth,
that showed when her full ripe lips parted in a
smile, or as now, in surprise.

On this embodiment of innocence and beauty,
fresh from the hand of bounteous nature, fell
the evil eyes of the slaver captain, with a gloat-
ing expression of reckless covetousness that
needed no interpreter. :

ef By the Eternal!” cried the heartless ruffian,
stopping dead still with astonishment and admi-
ration—‘‘a Venus in bronze! Kedrick, that
pict shall be queen of the Black Swan! I swear
I

The older woman was heard to utter a few
chattering words, to which the man responded
in guttural tones. Then the three Indians set
off at a run for their canoe.

“ Head them off!” cried Capt. Gaskill. ‘By
all the furies they shall not escape!”

Captain and mate ran at the top of their speed
to intercept the fugitives, and being nearer the
canoe, they were successful.

Seeing this hope cut off, the Indian women
unhesitatingly plunged into the water to swim.
The man stopped .at the water’s edge to cover
their flight, resolutely opposing Capt. Gaskill
with a cudgel.

The slave captain was in no mood to brook
resistance. Drawing a pistol, he ruthlessly shot
the islander, and leaping over his fallen body,
plunged into the water after the object of his
desires.

The pursuer was no mean swimmer; but
these amphibious dwellers in the midst of the
sea are equally athome on land, or in the water,
and the huntsman was no match for his agile
quarry.

She was fast increasing the distance between
them, when he cried to his mate:

“The canoe! the canoe! - Perdition seize the
little imp! _I’ma Dutch lugger to her. Quick!
or she’ll leave us in the lurch, as it is.”

The mate pushed off the canoe, sprung in, and
began to ply the paddle, a little awkwardly,
yet with sufficient skill to outstrip the most ex-
pert swimmer.

“Hurrah! Now you have her!” cried the
struggling captain, as his subordinate urged his
frail craft to the very side of the fugitive
maiden.

But, even as the mate dropped his paddle and
extended his hand to clutch her, she dove be-
neath the water, and swam away like an otter.

“After her! Keep directly over her! She’s
got to come up for air!” shouted the captain. |

And resuming his paddle, the mate. did as di-
rected.

Terror kept the girl beneath the water until
she was nearly suffocated, and spurred her to
frantic efforts to outstrip the canoe; but strug-
gle as she might, it was ever just at hand.

With the last remnant of her flagging strength
the poor creature resorted to strategy.

Turning suddenly, she came up under the ca-
noe andmadean effort to overturn it. If she
could but throw the man into the water, she
might easily escape him.

She succeeded in capsizing the crank craft.
But the mate divined her purpose, calculated
the point at which she would come up, leaped
into the air as the canoe went over, and de-
scending at her very side just as her head
emerged from the water, clutched her long hair
in his iron gripe.

Finding herself a prisoner, the gir] uttered
shrill criesof dismay, and attacked her captor
with a fury for which he was ill-prepared. In
this she was aided by her mother, who swam to
the rescue of her offspring.

With a fair field, in open water, and free from
interruption, these women might eventually
have drowned their enemy—a fate well deserved
—their skill ‘more than, balancing his ppnor
strength. But, clutching the canoe with one
hand, the mate managed to keep bis head above
water a part of the time, while he clung to the
girl’s thick hair with a gripe which her wildest
exertion of strength could not relax,

Yet, with this advantage, he was fain to

gasp:

“For God’s sake, hurry! or these she-devils
will drown me!”

“Hang on! hang on!” shouted the captain,
who was swimming to the scene of conflict with
all his might. “One moment, and I will be with

ou! Here Iam! Now, by the seven devils,
*ve got the fairest prize in the Antilles!”

Relieved of his captive, the mate turned on
the mother with an oath, but uttering a terrible
ery of maternal anguish, the poor creature dart-
ed away beyond his reach, where she sustaine
herself, loth to leave her child, though she could
render her no further assistance.

The girl ceased to struggle. Fixing her ter-

 

 

 

‘

ae
/

 

 
 

 

ror-distended eyes on the face of her brutal
eaptor, she rested in his arms, panting.

Hoating on her beauty, while he regained his
breath, he alternately felicitated himself and
praised the zeal of his coadjutor.

Clinging to the canoe, they swam ashore, the
mother following at a little distance.

On the beach the wretched father lay, breath-
ing heavily, with the blood welling from his
naked breast. Elis eyes, fast glazing in death,
turned toward his helpless child and her cap-
tors. The terrible anguish in his face showed
that the heart of love beats as warmly in the
savage as the civilized breast.

The maiden extended her arms toward him
with a cry which in her native tongue may
have been the name of father; but she was
borne hastily away, never to see him again.

Still the mother followed, until captors and
captive had crossed the island, entered the jolly-
boat, rowed to the vessel, and been taken
aboard. While her child was thus torn from
her, the mother crouched on the beach, like
some animal in her voiceless, tearless grief.

Though many eyes witnessed this infamous
outrage, not one chivalrous emotion was awak-
ened in the breasts of the abandoned crew.
Those who did not look on in stolid indifference
attested their utter baseness by a smile of deri-
sion, or a heartless jest.

Into his cabin the captain bore his prize; and,
the repairs now being completed, the anchor
was weighed and the snow-white sails let fall.

On the shore crouched the figure of a woman,
who watched the ship until it sunk down under
the horizon. Then she rose, crossed the island,
and sat down beside a stark, still body, stretch-
ed supine on the beach, its glassy eyes turned
heavenward, as if appealing there for venge-
ance,

The widowed and child-bereaved uttered no
moan, let fall no tears, but, with her mantle
thrown over her head, sat motionless, the pic-

 

ture of inconsolable grief.

Night came, and with it the fury of a tropi-
cal tempest. The rain beat upon the bowed |
head; the winds plucked at the enveloping man- |
tle; the angry billows surged high on the beach.
She rose, dragged her dead beyond their reach
and crouched over it as silent as before. |

The terrible night passed, and the invisible
sun reached the meridian, giving just light
enough to reveal the awful grandeur of the bat- |
tling elements. |

Then on the tossing waters appeared a canoe, |
and in it a youth, standing erect and peering
anxiously through the gloom, while he plied a |
paddle with inimitable skill, avoiding the top-
pling wave-crests that threatened at every mo-
ment to swamp his frail bark. |

His keen black eye caught sight of two mo- |
tionless objects on the beach, and a cry of |
vlended exultation and despair passed his lips. _ |

With giant strokes he forced his canoe on the
crest of a wave which bore him toward the
shore with race-horse speed. As it broke with |
a booming roar on the shingle the canoe was |
filled with water; but its agile navigator leaped |
out, caught its prow, and held it against the re-
coding wave. With a skillful turn he tipped
t..e water out, so that the next wave bore his
iat and him high up on the beach.

A moment, and he was beside the figures
which the storm could not rouse, his hand on
the woman’s shoulder, his voice calling to her,
‘xis eyes, filled with horror by the ghastly dead,
seeking explanation of the living.

The story was soon told.

Then, kneeling beside the dead, the youth
swore a terrible oath of vengeance, and sealed
it with a kiss on his dagger-bilt.

Meanwhile the Black Swan sailed on; but in
her cabin was a poor creature who neither ate
nor slept. If any one touched her, she seemed |
to shrink within herself, and, quivering in every
nerve, gazed at them dumbly, with eyes whose |
abject terror thrilled even the heart of the
slaver captain.

Almost since her coming on board a terrific
storm had raged. The superstitious crew began
to shake their heads and mutter together with |
ominous frowns. They believed that tlie Indian |
girl and her people had wrought a spell for the |
destruction of the vessel.

In vain the captain swore. The very help-
lessness of his victim baffled him, And, at last, |
disgusted with his bootless victory, and perhaps |
fearful of mutiny, he said to his mate:

“Well, I’m tired of the infernal little fool! |
As soon as the blow is over I'll put her in’ an |
open boat and set her adrift. You may let the |
crew know it indirectly—not as a concession to
them, but as my own motion.” |

The crew were well pleased, and took the | P

abatement of the storm, which soon followed,
as the result of the captain’s resolve.

Then, when the sea was calm enough so that |
a boat could live, a human being was abandoned
to the tender mercies of nature—not less kindly,
a than the man whose heart was turned to
stone.

And as the night settled down over the waste |
ot waters the ship sailed on, leaving the boat to
rock on the waves, drifting whither the winds |
listed, and for the first time the captive—cap- |
tive no longer-—slept., -

 

‘ is you ’ate s0 bitterly, my

 

 

_ The Creole Cousins.

 

CHAPTER III.
THE CREOLE COUSINS.

IMAGINE, if you please, a trellis-work arbor,
overaronn with a grape-vine, loaded with
bunches of luscious fruit, within easy reach of
the hand. Beneath it a silken hammock, and
reclining therein as EIS H aa a beauty
as ever tempted the brush of Oriental painter.
Her sloe-black eyes, her red lips, her molded
arm, her daintily-slippered foot, her soft dra-
pery, the scarlet shaw! hanging from the ham-
mock in such exquisite harmony with her bru-
nette. beauty— But the pen falters. Word-
pictures are always tame.

Languidly she watched the occupation of a
girl of not more than twelve years of age, who,
seated on a tiger-skin with her lap full of flow-
ers, was weaving a chaplet.

The beauty of the girl was striking by reason
of its contrasts. Her blonde hair and fair com-
er she owed to her Saxon mother; but her

ark eyes, her vividly-scarlet lips, the molding
of feature and premature development of figure
showed that tropical blood mingled with the
colder current of the North.

‘Cousin Nina,” she said, looking up from her
work; and the animation of her face was in
maarked contrast with the dreamy lassitude of
the other—‘‘ cousin Nina, I can’t cease wonder-
ing at the strange romance in your life. It is
so odd to have you back among us, after we
have believed you dead for solong. Just think!
—a whole year almost within stone-throw, and
we knew nothing about you!”

“There is but one thing more tiresome than
trying to forecast the future, and that is dwell-
ing on the past!” yawned the languid beauty,
‘Paola, I should think your unremitted en-
thusiasm would eae Pa unpleasantly warm.”

“Ha! ha!’ laughed the little miss. ‘Coz,
you're too lazy to fan yourself! I wonder that
you ever mustered the energy to run away from
your old lover: How romantic to have a rich
old Don making eyes at you. Ha! ha! ha!”—
and her merry eae rung out like a chime of
silver bells. ‘‘Wouldn’t I tease the old gray-
beard! I wouldn’t run away from him—not I!
Td stumble over his gouty foot, and tickle his
bald head with a feather when he fell asleep—
I’d take the glasses out of his spectacles and put
pepper in his snuff—I’d trick him out like a gay
young gallant, so that everybody would laugh,
and promenade him up and down in tight boots
until he could hardly stand for pain; then I
would insist upon his being my cavalier, until
Mart going was rheumatic, and he had to be
lifted from the saddle. Ina week my old beau
would have a new ache at the mere sight of me;
in two he would commit suicide, or fly the
island!”

And again her merry laugh rung forth.

“But, Nina,” she pursued, more soberly, ‘‘ you
should not have doubted us. See how papa’s
influence has freed you.”

“J owe Don Alfonso a debt of gratitude T can
never pay,” said Nina, with apparent feeling.

‘‘Nonsense!. Your own mother’s brother? It
is the same as if he had acted for me. Instead
of vegetating in that fisherman’s cot for a year,
you might have been happy with us, all along.

io mio! how wearisome it must have been for
one loving luxury as you do!”

“You are all too kind—”

And Nina ended by putting her lace handker-
chief to her eyes, as if much affected.

“There, have I made you weep, my poor sis-
ter?” cried Paola, immediately on her feet and
ready with a caress.

“Do not mind my weakness, cousin Paola,”

-said Nina, with seeming grateful affection,

The roll of a carriage interrupted these sister-
ly interchanges of love.

“You are decided not to accompany us on
our little excursion?” asked Paola.

“Yes; between my book and a bath I shall
mariage to dispose of the afternoon.”

““You coquette! you are husbanding your re-
sources. for the evening!” laughed Paola, teas-
ingly. ‘‘ Well, adios!”

nd like a ray of sunshine she was gone, bear-
— floral treasures in her arms.
ow a change canie over the languid beauty.

Her eyes flashed with sufficient animation, as
she glanced after her departing cousin. The
muscles a moment ago lax were now tense, as
she sat upright in the hammock, dropping her
feet to the ground.

“Tittle fool!” was her soliloquy, ‘I hate her
for her baby innocence and sweetness! There
is no blot on her past, no shadow of doubt over-
hanging her future. She has no thought nor
care beyond the little pains and pleasures of the
resent!

“ Ah! I was once like her!”

And the woman threw herself back fn the
hammock, pressing her hands over her eyes,
while she struggled with a throe of emotion.

“Now I am fierce and vindictive, defiant of
Fate, and envious of those less wretched than I.
Her very lightness of heart fills me with savage
resentment, Bah! why should I be singled out
for a wrong that cannot be repaired? TI hate
him! I hate him!” y

“Without laying myself hopen to a cha
of unwarrantable att = T hask ’oom it

lady?

 

 

In the speaker’s voice was a strange prensling

of humility and familiarity, of deprecation an
menace, of politeness and sarcasm.

The lady had heard no warning footstep, and
the words which passion had goaded her into
uttering aloud my fallen upon the ears of one
whom she was far from loving or trusting; yet
with her imperturbable self-control she did not
start. Removing her hand from her eyes, she
said:

‘“T dislike a spy.” :

The choice of words was in keeping with her
languid tone, It was as if she were too listless
to entertain an antipathy stronger than dislike.

With seeming perfect indifference her eyes
condescended to rest upon a man of the English

type.

Fe was of full habit and florid complexion,
with a ecant crop of hair growing over his ears
and at the base of his skull, leaving the crown
of his head bald. Wiry, sandy whiskers grew in
a line scarcely more than an inch wide from
the temples to the base of the jaw; cheeks, chin,
‘upper ip and throat being clean shaven. He
was dressed in a ons which showed the in-
fluence of cockney birth and breeding, and
mopped his bald poll, face and neck with a
flaming red bandanna hankkerchief.

He bowed and smiled, as he replied:

‘« Perhaps you are more haccurate than com-
Pore in your designation of me, my lady.

ut if spies are ’ated, they may halso sometimes
be feared!”

“Tndeed?”’ eried the lady, with the formal
politeness with which one treats a bore.

“Yes! Tve found you hout !”

“ Ah "

“‘Hif I must speak plainer, I’ve hascertained
were and ’ow youspent your year of—let me
say sequestration |”

'The Englishman was triumphant, exultant.

The woman was outwardly unmoved. Only
a hand hidden away in the folds of her dress
clutched the fabric spasmodically.

‘Pleasant information!” she said indifferent-
ly, to all seeming.

‘ Valuable hinformation, my lady!”

For the first time the lady took the trouble to
retort:

“ Accept my congratulations that you have
something about you not worthless.”

The sneer lay all in her words. There was no
trace of emotion in her tone.

Angrily the Englishman retorted:

“Ave a care, my lady! You carry yourself
with a mighty ‘igh ’ead; but it’s lucky for you
that the hinformation fell into ’ands so discreet
as mine.” .

“Discreet? That means that you would ac-
cept a bribe?”

** Pd scorn a bribe!” :

“© rose by any other name.’ Let us call it
a consideration.”

“Youwre wrong. I ain’t hafter ’ush money,
at all.”

“Terms?”

‘Well, ’'m hopen to terms.”

“ Ah! T thought so!”

“But I-ain’t no blackmailer. All I say is
, "Ands of? You wink at me, and Pll wink at

ou.”
can Yow re in the presence of a lady. Reserve
your slang for fellows of your own stamp.”

“You know w’at Imean. You've come "ere,
a hinterloper, so to speak; and in two weeks
time you’ve wormed your way into Don Hal-
fonso’s good books. You’ve come between me
and’im. I know it, and you know it. You
could serve mea dirty trick, if the ’umor seized

| you. But now Pve-got a ringin your nose; it'll

stand you in ’and to be frien
henemies.”

“Oh, I am not afraid that you will betray
anything you may know.”

“Wy not, I’d like to know?”

“T count on your loyalty.”

‘“To you?. I don’t howe you nothink.”

“Your loyalty to self is the only thing [place
any reliance in. However, I shall now perhaps
pe you somewhat under obligations to me.”

Ow, y

te Firss by a warning. Your rascality has
been discovered.”

The languid lady laid no stress on this stirt-
ling announcement,

e man was struck breathless,

“ My oe mm ”

‘*Bixactly. Don Alfonso has sent a messes) «1
to look you up. He may find you here ni any
moment.”

“My God! I’m ruined!”

“When you go into his presence this alterna-
tive will be placed before you:—a_ prison-cell
and a convict’s chain, or affluence and honor in
the eyes of men.”

” Ow the latter halternatiye?”

“You will have a chance to sell yourself to
the devil.”

The man stared in amazement at this woman
who spoke with the nonchalant ease of society

- Tdon't catch your drift,” he said.

“Tf Don Alfonso lives an hour longer, you
will go to prison, If he is dead one hour hence,
you will assume control of his wealth as sole
executor and guardian of his daughter,”

rather than

 
  

The Creole Cousins.

 

 

“Ow do you know?”

“Tt is a fact.”

‘But to gain this?”

‘He must die,”

“ And J”

‘*Bah! You have done as bad in the past.”

Py this chance thrust the man turned ghastly

ale.
Pee W’at do you know of my life?’ he asked,
tremulously.

“Nothing. Here comes the arrogant Balso,
now. Everybody knows his sullen disposition.
If he and Don Alfonso are slain in the same
room, you can swear that in resentment for
punishment the slave killed the master, and that
you visited swift vengeance upon him. There
—you have your cue. Hush!’’

At this point a mulatto appeared at the door
of the arbor. He had an intelligent face, and
bore but few traces of his African admixture of
blood. His bearing was a strange blending of
pride and humility, and in his eyes appeared a
smoldering fire, as if one who chafed under the
ignominy of his position.

He was the Spanish Don’s valet.

““ Senor Wetherby, Don Alfonso awaits you
in the library,” he said; and his words and ac-
cent showed cultivation.

Bowing deferentially he made way; and, ee
ple in the face, James Wetherby preceded him
toward the house.

“The train is fired!” cried the woman, fierce-
ly. ‘Now, if he has courage equal to his vil-
lainy!”

Suddenly covering her face with her hands,
she sunk back, .

“Ah! the arch fiend has taken possession of
me! Ever since that hour! We never know
what is in our natures until they are put to the
test. Bah! Idid not make myself. Iam asI
am! Irest in the hands of Fate!”

After a few moments she arose and proceeded
with all her affected languor to the house.

Before the library door she stopped to listen.

From the room came a cry of dismay and a
groan of mortal anguish.

“‘There’s devil’s work within. Perhaps it
will be the better for a witness,” muttered the
woman, and threw open the door.

On the threshold she stood like a beautiful
fiend; but the spectacle within froze her blood,
and swaying, she fell forward in a swoon,

CHAPTER IV.
LOVE BLIND.

In profound silence the lieutenant and mid-
shipman of the corvette Avalanche waited be-
neath the convent wall.

“Can she have failed to discover us?” whis-
pered the latter, with the impatience of youth,
‘ Hal Hazeltine clasped his arm to enjoin si-

lence.

Presently a faint tinkling sound reached their

ears.

“There it comes!” whispered the middy.

“Hush!” breathed Hazeltine, and his heart
stood still.

The sound slowly drew nearer, descending
the wall.

Lieutenant Hazeltine stretched forth his hand
in the darkness, directed only by the sense of
hearing, until he felt a little charm-bell drop
into his palm. The cold metal thrilled him like
an electric shock,

He gave two slight tugs on thestring to which
the bell was attached, and its further descent
was arrested.

Hastily he fastened to the thread a piece of
— and the end of a piece of twine, and sig-
naled again by two tugs.

The missive, drawn upward, disappeared in
the darkness. The uncoiling twine, showed
when it reached the hand of the lady above.

With rapidly-beating heart and trembling
hands Inez Mentoza carried the note to a taper
which burned faintly in her cell. It read:

“Warr LADY:

“Your appeal has not ace forth in vain. One
who counts it a blessed privilege to ao his life at

our service awaits you below. verything has

en arranged for your escape from your detestable
ha ge ot Draw up the twine, to which you
will find attached a rope and a bundle of clothes,
It is imperative that Ra don these unaccustomed
garments, that your identity may be the more suc-
cessfully lost. en you have made this change in
your attire, draw the rope through the staple which
secures your shutter until the end returns to m:;
hand. A moment later I willbe with you. Then
defy the world to take you from me before my hand
is relaxed in death!

“T need not admonish you to make haste with
caution. I await your ~ oo with throbbing heart.
May God requite me as I guard the sacred trust of
your life and honor! Harry Hazevrine.”

“Ah! he is as. gallant as he is handsome!”
breathed the woman, her cheeks flushed and
her eyes sparkling. ‘‘Such as he would not
have shamed the knights of chivalry. Not like
= cowardly— Bah! perish the thought of

im!

At the end of this brief soliloquy the beauti-
ful face of the woman underwent a marked

change, Its sweetness of expression gave place
to a frown of bitter aversion, which c the
rich color from her cheeks and lips and hardened

the vivacious flash of her eyes intoa vindictive

 

glitter. The change was a perfect_metamor-
phosis. She was scarcely recognizable as the
same being.

As are 4 another change took place. With
a look of ‘defiance she oe the note to her
lips, crying, as if in apostrophe of the object of
her hatred:

‘**T shall love him; and I know that I can win
him. He is brave! He is generous! He is
worthy of that which a dastard poltroon cast
from him at the first breath of adversity. Sal-
vador mio! I fly to thee!” ‘

The color was again glowing softly in cheeks
and lips, and the eyes beaming mildly, as with
an eager smile she turned to the bundle of
clothes so unlike what she was accustomed to.

With suppressed laughter at her awkward at-
tempts to adjust the several garments to her
person, she made the exchange, and stood forth
a youth whose beauty of face alone would have
e ed the imposture.

hen she drew the rope through the staple,
and scarlet with embarrassment, yet withal dis-
posed to laugh at the sorry figure she cut,
awaited the coming of the gallant lieutenant.

Hand _ over hand, in true sailor-fashion, he as-
cended the rope, and presently stood within the
chamber breathless, not with exertion, but at
the vision of loveliness that met his view.

With her shoulders drawn forward, and her
hands clasped before her breast, in an attitude
of shrinking timidity—with her red lips apart,
and her eyes gazing upon him in a searching
scrutiny, she stood.

nly for an instant. Then, advancing with
both hands extended, and her beautiful face
lighted by a smile of perfect trust and eager
gratitude, she cried:

“Salvador mio! how can I thank you?”

With the words she sunk upon her knees at
his feet, and pressed his hand to her lips, before
he was aware of her purpose.

In painful embarrassment, yet thrilled by a
sense of ecstasy that he had never before ex-

rienced, Lieutenant Hazeltine raised the beau-

iful woman.

“Tt is more fitting that I should kneel to you,”
he whispered. ‘But, come! Every moment is
an age of danger. Let us lose no time. Read
this.”

And he thrust a sheet of paper into her hands.
On it was traced:

“Tt ism: a bagel to make it appear that you have
committed suicide, and so gain time by diverting the
pursuit. That my voice in dictation might not be-
Lv f my rw to any chance listener, I have

itten what I wish you to copy and leave behind
you. Itis as follows:—”

ee was such a letter as might be writ-
ten by a desperate girl in Donna Inez’s situation
on ing leave of the world, with which, how-
ever, we need not tax the reader.

Having copied it, as directed, the beautiful
Creole turned to Lieutenant Hazeltine.

“ Salvador mio, I attend your pleasure,” she
said, sweetly.

‘Pardon me. I shall have to lift you in my
ae said the lieutenant, flushing in spite of

mself,

“T trust myself to you as to a brother,”
breathed the girl with a smile that brought the
blood again to his forehead.

“A trust as sacred as it is precious to me, I
— ‘ou to believe!”

ifting her, he sat heron the window-ledge
and placed himself beside her. From his neck,
in front bo rage a loop of rope, the proper
length of which he had calculated at a ven-
ture

“Put your feet in this loop and your arms
about my neck,” he whispered. ‘‘ You can thus
easily sustain your whole weight, which is ne-
cessary, as my hands will both be employed in
making the descent.”

She did as directed, and he thrilled with de-
light at the clasp of her arms, and her warm
— on his co oi ‘i se AE HS a

inging clear of the window-ledge, he de-
senda rapidly to the boat, and then drew the
rope through the staple, so that there was no
trace of Donna Inez’s mode of escape.

Silently the boat glided away, bearing hearts
palpitating with more than one emotion.

Lieut. Hazeltine communicated the rest of his
plans to his fair charge, when she interposed:

“Thave a place of refuge already in mind,
with the ents of a former maid of mine.
They are fishers, and live in great seclusion on
the shore of the sea, not many miles from Ha-
vana ‘

“We can then get horses, and place you in
safety, to-night,” faid Hal. ,

And this plan was acted upon.

Leaving Donna Inez not far from the boat-
landing, the lieutenant and middy went for
horses, and returned.

Ned Taunton now dismounted, to give place
to Donna Inez; and as many Spanish ladies ride
with ease in the saddle generally assigned to
the sterner sex, our heroine had no difficulty in
eerse out, even in this unusual fashion, her
assumed character.

Two hours later she dismounted before a
lowly cot, whose tenants, when aroused, receiv -
ed her with unbounded surprise, yet with tears
of joy which attested their devotion to her.

 

=z ==

ee her with them, Lieutenant Hazeltine
rode back toward the city, until he met his
faithful friend, Ned Taunton, who had walked
some distance on the deserted road, that he
might ride into the city with his friend, as a led
horse might awaken curiosity which they wish-
ed to avoid.

“Ned,” said Hal, with feeling, ‘I'll never
forget this service!” '

‘Tut! tut!” laughed the middy. ‘Didn’t 1)

et you into the scrape by discovering the
eauty? If you get out of it half as easy as you/
got in, I lose my guess!”

And Taunton proved to be a true prophet;
for, of course, the “salvador” had to carry to
his protegee the newspaper accounts of her sup-
posed suicide, and afterward return at least
every other day to assure himself of her safety
and to apprise her that suspicion of imposture
was not yet aroused, though the bay had been
dragged without success for her body.

Over this separation the merry middy sighed
with mock dolor:

‘“‘Hein! hein! behold the inconstancy of
friendship! A new face—a smile—a word, and
I am forgotten!”

Just before the Avalanche was ready for sea
Lieutenant Hazeltine tendered his resignation,
to the unbounded astonishment of everybody
save Midshipman Taunton; but when on the
eve of sailing the latter was invited to a private
wedding, even the merry middy became thor-
oughly sober for once.

“* Hal,” he said, ‘‘of course you can sail your
own craft best; but it seems to me you’re scud-
ding before a pretty rapid gale. All I’ve got
to say is—look out for breakers!”

The infatuated lover clasped his friend’s hand
with a confident smile.

“She is alone and unprotected,” he said, ‘‘and
exposed to persecution if discovered, have
persuaded her to waive all conventionalities,
and give me the right to stand between her and
all the world. For the rest, Ned, I’m the hap-
he the luckiest dog that ever got more than

is deserts—more than his wildest dreams! My
only fear for the future is that I shall awaken
the aur of Fate, and be robbed of her by
death. It’s too much happiness to be continued
to any mortal!”

And in his great love the strong man was
moved almost to tears.

Protestant minister who had gathered a
small flock of American 1esidents was to per-
form the ceremony. Sectarian feeling made
the secret of Donna Inez’s identity safe with
him and his wife. The latter and Midshipman
Taunton were the only witnesses. \

And so, for good or ill, Lieutenant Harry
Hazeltine was married to a woman of whom he
knew absolutely nothing, save that she had en:
slaved him body and soul.

A year later he stood on the quay, welcoming
his returned friend, now Lieutenant Taunton,
and said, while he held the hand of the latter in
a firm clasp:

“Ned, for one year she has lain next my
heart; and I declare to you that on all God's
footstool there’s not a eee man than I!”

While he stood thus, his wife, pale as death
and ee from head to foot, confronted
a man who had invaded the sanctity of her
home, and with folded arms and teeing
brows regarded her in silence, swayed by emo-
tions as profound as her own.

When his happiness seemed most secure, the
bolt was sped which was to shatter the dream
of the man to whom the gods had vouchsafed
one year of unalloyed bliss!

CHAPTER. V.
THE BEGINNING OF A TRAGEDY.

In a secluded spot, a little removed from one
of the beautiful suburbs of Havana, Harry
Hazeltine had set up his household gods, and for
one year called the place home and heaven.

To all external appearances, never was more
devoted wife than Donna Inez. She seemed to
forget the coquetry and love of excitement in-
cident to her youth and nationality, and find
perfect content in her quiet home.

But all in a day came a terrible change!

One sunny afternoon, while her husband was
in the city to welcome his old friend, now
Lieutenant Taunton, Donna Inez was reclining
dreamily in a silken hammock, bung in a vine-
draped bower, when a horseman rode up to the
villa, tied his horse within the screen of a clump
of undergrowth, and after a slight reconnois-
sance discovered the mistress of the mansion and
strode into her presence.

When she discovered him he stood there with
folded arms and forbidding brow. Instantly
she leaped up, pale and trembling. t

“ Senor Rubio, what is the meaning of this
intrusion?” she cried, with icy hauteur, as soon
as she could command her voice.

“Senora Hazeltine!” retorted the Spaniard.
laying a venomous stress on the name, ‘it is
the return of one who claims a pledge.”

“A pledge?”

“A pledge!”

‘From me to you?”

‘¢ Exactly.”

Oh, infamous!”

The woman confronted him with clenched

 

 

=

ad

..<

 

4

 
 

————t

, accept the proudest position in Cuba,
‘true to

The Creole Cousins.

 

 

hands and blazing eyes, with the scathing indig-
nation of an outraged queen,

With a smile of icy contempt the man bowed,
replying:

‘T agree with you. Most infamous !”

‘““What do you mean, coward, perjurer, re
pudiator of ties the most holy—of vows the
most sacred?”

“ Behold Satan rebuking sin!” cried the man,
hotly. _ ‘* Your effrontery is equal to your per-
fidy. ‘Your accursed beauty covers the hollow-
est heart that ever—”

‘““What! Dare you upbraid me! Hound!—
cur!—you should crawl from my presence! I
despise you! [ spit upon you! My utter hatred
and loathing for you finds a parallel only in—
Mm

“Tn your love for Senor Hazeltine !”

“Ay! In my love for a man, not a pol-
troon!”

“ Hah!

With a sharp aspiration of concentrated rage
the Spans started forward, as if to grasp her
wrist.

Like a flash a stiletto (a mere toy, yet dan-
gerous directed by such passion as hers) appear-
ed in her hand.

“ Back!—slave!—fighter of women! You,
dead to all sense of honor—it is worthy of you
to threaten the weak! But do not think me
nee I can yet brave Senor Manuel Ru-

io

And scathing contempt flashed from her eyes
br seemed to scorch the name as it passed her

ips.

Stung to white rage, the Spaniard cried:

“Some men would kill you; I shall havea
fuller revenge. I will make you a widow, and
let you live!”

“Bah! do you think my husband would fear
such a wretch as you? ere he here, he would
whip you from him with a lash, as you deserve!
When you, bound to me by every pledge of
honor, deserted me, he, a stranger, braved all
the world to rescue me.”

‘* T desert you?” cried Rubio.

“Yes. Do you know what I did with
base letter? I gave it to a hungry dog
rent and mangled it to pulp!”

“My letter? I wrote you no letter.”

“Liar! Did not roe say that my father’s dis-
honor— Ab! shall I parley with such a— Man!
man! when wealth without stint would have
been poured into my lap—when I had but to
stretch forth my hand—nay, remain ee and

re
you— Dio mio! have I sunk oa
that I can make this confession?” ——

For a moment the seething volcano of out-
raged love burst through the bounds of pride,
and the woman disclosed her heart; but con-
tempt again raised an icy barrier, and choking
with emotion she dashed the hot tears from her
eyes and fought bravely for self-mastery.

But her words had wrought a great change
in theman. Breathlessly he cried:

“‘Tnez, can there be some terrible mistake? I
swear to you that I wrote you no letter! It
came to me all in one blow—your father’s mis-
fortune and the account of your death. For a
year I have mourned you, until yesterday I dis-
covered you— Oh, my God!”

He covered his face with his hands and reeled
back, as if from a shock.

The woman was stunned to bewilderment.
She passed her hand before her eyes, and
brushed the hair back from her temples, as if to
clear her brain.

Then slowly a terrible, white desperation
came over her.

Advancing toward the man, she extended her
stiletto to him.

‘‘ Manuel,” she said, in icy tones, ‘Hill me !”

His name on her lips thrilled the man to the
soul, Snatching his hands from before his face,
and shaking back his flowing hair as if it were a
mane, he gazed at her.

“Inez!” he exclaimed, in a voice scarcely
above a whisper, holding himself away from
ne as from what he feared to be a delusive

ream.

“Kill me, or I will kill myself!” she cried, be-
ginning to pant ay

With a swoop he leaped toward her, snatched
from her hand and threw away the dagger that
threatened her life, and holding her at arm’s-

h

length, gazed at herin an agony of mse,
while his breath came and went in great gasp-
ing sobs. ‘

What do youmean? What do you mean?”
he cried,

She choked with emotion. Her head sunk
forward. She swayed as if about to fall.

He saw that her strength was leaving her and
caught her wildly to Hetbreact
‘Tell me!—oh, tell me!” he persisted.

“IT mean that my blind fo ly—my accursed
pride has ruined us both!” she gasped. ;

With a shout of laughter the man strained
her to his heart, and began to cover her face
with kisses, ;

“You love me!—you love me!” he cried.
“You age pot ah ae saved! At a word a

ear is blo out, and we are agai to

eart—lip to lip!” Se oat

“Manuel,” sighed the woman, “we are not

 

the same. My father and the old man who
would have made me his wife have triumphed
even in their defeat. In the bitterness of my
chagrin, when I thought that you had cast me
off, ‘and to defeat my father who pressed me
for a union with Don Carlos, the Governor-

eneral, I entered a convent, as you know.

hen, to escape the horrors of that living tomb,
and to avenge myself on you and on my own
heart, I bound myself to another.”

‘But you do not love him, Inez—you cannot
love him! My claim is paramount. From this
hour, when co heart again acknowledges the
allegiance which it has really never dissevered,

our continued union with this man violates

eaven’s law. When soul mates with soul all
empty lip-vows are voided. Inez, my love, my
hope, my life!—I adjure you, be true to me, be
true to your own heart! We can fly far from
here, where no one will ever know this unhappy
episode in our lives, and, loving, as none others
ever loved, be happy!”

He sought to draw her away, as if to begin
their flight at once. .

The woman lay helpless’ in his arms, clinging
about his neck. Whether she would have re-
sisted or not, the opportunity was taken out of
her hands by Fate.

A footfall, a shadow, and her husband stood
in the presence of the wreck of his happiness!

CHAPTER V1.
THE FAITHLESS WIFE.

Nuzp Taunton pressed the hand of his friend
cordially.

“Old fellow, it does me more good than I can
tell you to hear you speak as you do. I confess
that I have often thought of our adventure with
unpleasant forebodin, You must admit that
you went it rather blindly.”

** And had a fool’s luck, as the saying is. Ned,
my happiness is without a flaw; and you’ll say
that it’s well founded when you have become
acquainted with my wife.” age

Which I hope will not be far in the future.” |

““You know me better! Our horses are in
waiting. My little Eden is only ten miles dis-
tant.” ig Q aii

Soon they were in the saddle, and on the way
Harry Hazeltine told his friend his wife’s his-
tory, as he knew it !—her father, on the brink
of financial ruin, had tried to force her into a
marriage with a rich old Don, who, in consider-
ation, was to stay the tide of bankruptcy, and
to escape whom she had fi the protection
of the ch. The reader knows that portion
of the plot in which the father and the senile
wooer had by fraud separated their victim from
the lover of her choice. This Donna Inez had
kept from her husband.

All in ignorance of the terrible reception that
Peon him the lover-husband approached his

ome.

From a servant he learned that his wife was
in an arbor at the back of the villa, and leaving
his guest in the parlor, he went in quest of her.

e thought it strange that she was not, as
usual, on the watch for his return; but the ter-
rible scene passing between her and Don Manuel
Rubio had prevented her from hearing the ap-
proach of her husband’s horse.

So he came upon her unawares.

All aglow with expectant love as was his
heart, the shock of seeing his wife in the arms
of a stranger, whose words showed that he was
trying to persuade her to flight, while she wk
to him unresisting, struck the husband dum!
with dismay and bewilderment.

With a shriek the faithless wife tore herself
from her lover’s embrace, saying:

‘¢ My husband!”

Don Manuel Rubio became ghastly with a
coward’s pallor, and turned to fly.

His fear was not without good grounds. Into
the eyes of the outraged husband had come a
slumbrous fire of resentment that teemed with
death. Like lightning a pistol appeared in his
hand and aan ot

In that instant the nature of the Spanish wo-
man manifested itself.

Spreading out her arms she sprung between
the two, crying: :

“ You shall not harm him! I loved him be-
fore I knew that you existed!”

But the words died on her lips, and she fell
prone at her husband’s feet. —

The bullet intended for her lover’s heart had
penetrated her breast, thanks to her devotion;
and the red ooze stained the bosom of her dress,
while she lay limp and motionless,

Witha cry of dismay, Harry Hazletine drop-
ped the fatal weapon, and stood gazing at his
unconscious wife like a man turned to stone.

The thud of a horse’s hoofs, as the lover sped
away, he heeded not. He had thought—if he
thought at all—only for the woman whom un-
til now his hand had never touched save in
kindness, who now, alas! lay at his feet, stricken
down by tbat self-same hand!

There was a sound of hurrying feet, and Ned
Taunton, followed by several servants, appeared
on the fatal scene.

Donna Inez’s maid cast herself beside the
De her mistress, ere

“Wretch! you have murdered her! Ah! my
sweet mistress!”

 

Ned Taunton took an altogether different view
of the situation.

‘Who has done this infamous deed?” he cried;
and to the servants: ‘Scatter! Let not the
murderer escape! He must be near at hand!”

And he would have headed the pursuit, but
Hazeltine’s hand fell upon his arm.

“Stay!” he said. ‘‘/ did it!”

The astonishment of the young lieutenant at
this denouement, so at variance with what he
had been led to expect, was beyond words to

express.
RY ou!” he cried.
“ 2 ‘?
“Oh! impossible!”
“T did it.”

“Why, Hal, my dear old friend, surely, you
are beside yourself!”

“On the contrary, I have just come to my
senses, after a year of delusion!”

The husband smiled a terrible smile to see.
His “oy were like living coals. His face was
ghastly and drawn. His voice was like ice in
its utter lack of emotion.

Without comment, he pointed to a
lay on the ground, having been torn
Manuel’s heel as he turned in flight.

A hot flush of indignation mounted to Lieut.
Taunton’s brow; and with only a glance of
scorn at the faithless wife, he took his friend’s
arm, and said:

“Come! You must away from this. You’re
too good a man to suffer for bringing just retri-
bution on such a wretch—”

“Hush! not a word against her!” said the
husband, as he allowed himself to be led away.
“T did not mean to her. She sprung be-
fore my bullet.”

* And the scoundrel she protected?”

“T should not know him, were I to meet him
within the hour, I saw only his back.”

“There is nothing left for you, then, but
flight. Wemay find a vessel about to sail, and
get the start of the slow-going authorities.”

“Tt is immaterial to me.~ Living or dead—
what matters it?, Perhaps the former is the
more bitter alternative.” am

“Nonsense, Hazeltine! ‘You must not let this
spoil your life. You are young, yet. You can
begin anew.”

“Ha! ha!”—laughing bitterly—‘‘I have an
alluring prospect,”

“Have you money at command? That’s the
principal thing in this world.” ‘

“Yes! yes!—gold is the only thing that never
ails its possessor! I am fortunate enough to
have ten thousand dollars now in bank, held on
call, because I was on the point of making an
ae of ae amount.” G5

‘ With expedition we may reac e city be-
fore the close of banking hours. Let us ious no
more time.” ’

Yielding himself to the direction of his friend,
Harry Hazelton was soon in the saddle, gallop-
ing. toward Havana.

heir flight was witnessed by Don Manuel

Rubio, who, a his first terror was
returned toward the villa to ascertain the effect
of the husband’s shot.

“ Maldito ! he has murdered her!” cried the
Spaniard. ‘Fool that Iam, I came unarmed,
lest in my rage I should be tempted to harm
her! The result is, 1 was unable to protect her,
and am now equally owerless to avenge her!”

With genuine emotion, he returned toward
house from which the husband had so lately

ed,

He found the servants helpless in their con-
fusion and dismay, Donna Inez’s maid alone
preserving some semblance of self-possession.

he had brought cushions and got her mistress
in a comparatively comfortable position,

Donna Inez was not dead, as Don Manuel iad
feared. A look of anxious love came into her
eyes, as he bent over her, crying:

“Oh, my farting you live! you live! How
can I forgive myse: t?” That I might not injure
you in a transport of jealous fury I came to
you unarmed, and so was unable to protect

‘ou—”

. “Are you hurt?” she interrupted, thinking
only of him whom she loved.
“No, no, Had I only received his bullet in-
stead of you! But the murderer has fled.”

Bu? he never return! He has struck at
ro ie e, and I hate him with the bitterness of
eat!

“But, Inez, while he lives—here or at the re-
motest point of the earth—he will ever stand be-
tween us.”

** Remove him, then!”

“Do you say it?”

oo Yes! Would he not have killed you~”

“He will seek to fly from Cuba,”

“ Follow him.”

‘Ah! how can I leave you? You may die

ur which
rom Don

before my return.”
“No, T shall not die, This wound has reach-
ed no vital part. Go! follow him to the ends of

the earth; but avenge me!”

“T will! Twill!”

* And, Manuel, let this so your arm: I
love you, and only you. hen he is dead,
claim me.”

“My darling! Those sweet words will ring
in my heart and drown his cries for mercy !”

 

 
 

!
H
}
|

 

   

6

4

 

: ee not delay, or the opportunity may be
os

“T go at once, Farewell, sweet Inez! With
this kiss I seal our new betrothal!”

Holding the almost fainting woman. close
over his heart he pressed a lingering kiss to her
lips, and then tore himself away, to go on his
unhallowed mission.

CHAPTER VII.
VIKIR.

HavineG secured his gold and placed it in a
trunk that its weight might not attract atten-
tion, Harry Hazeltine went along the quay in
soarch of an out-bound vessel.

It mattered not to what port she was going.
He only sought to get away from Havana.

After two hours’ search, our friends found
what would answer their purpose in the Donna
Ysabel, merchant:uan, cleared for Montevideo,
Anselmo Valanquez captain, and ready to go
out with the turn of the tide.

They immediately repaired on board, Lieut.
Taunton devoting the interval of two or three
hours in a hopeless attempt to cheer his friend,

A terrible change bad been wrought in Harry
Hazeltine. So lately buoyant with the light-
heartedness of youth, he allin a moment seemed
trausformed into a man old in the cynicism en-
gendered by a long life of crushing disappoint-
ment and wrong.

He betrayed no anxisty to escape the conse-
quences of his act—fatal as_he supposed it. To
the hopes and fears of life he was as one dead.
He merely yielded passively to the direction of
his friend.

Meanwhile an event was transpiring on shore
which would have disturbed Lieut. Taunton’s
complacency, could he have been apprised of it:

Like at least a ene table minority of his
fellow-men, Capt. Valanquez was not proof
against fair words, alcohol and gold. hese
potent influences were brought to bear on him
in. the order named, .

During their quest of a vessel our friends had
besn watched by a man whose features were
fey masked by a heavy beard and a
slouched hat.

When their negotiation with Capt. Valanquez
was completed, and they had departed for the
vessel, the captain was approached by this in-
dividual, who accosted him politely, and en-
gaged him in conversation, ,

In a few minutes they retired to a neighbor-
ing inn, where the stranger ordered wine, over
which the new-formed friendship grew apace.

In due course the captain reached that state
of inebriety when men swear eternal friendship
for the first person at hand. _Then the stranger,
who gave his namo as Pablo Garcia, said:

“ Amigo, you area man after my own heart.”

“Your hand, my dear Garcia,” interrupted
the other, with effusion— your hand! I swear
that 1 love you as a brother. Would that we
were not forced so soon to part.” ©

“Tt is of that that I wish to speak to you.
Why need we part? Your vessel has room for
one more?”

“Carrai! It is yours tocommand. More-
over, I have just secured a prince of passen-
gers, You shall have good company, I assure
you

‘Senor capitan,” said - Garcia, acct
lowering his voice, ‘‘ can I trust you?”

“ Trust me?”

‘* Doblones sit well on the stomach at sea as
woll as on land?”

** Por dios I”

“A hundred pesos would not make your
frisndship less?”

** Curamba !”

“ Senor vapitan, mira!” (behold!

And Garcia slightly disarran, his beard,
which showed it to be false.

‘* Santo dios!” cried the Spaniard, under his
breath, his contracted eyes and cunning smile
indicating knavery y at the hand of the
manipulator.

‘* Who I am—what Lam, it matters not,” said
the stranger. ‘I would be lost in the crowd.
Be a little blind, and I will leave rat a salve
which is applied in the pocket. t me ship
among your crew. Believe me, I can clew up a
bunt and take my trick at the wheel.”

“ Diablo!” cried the Spanish captain, with a
knowing smile, “‘ my crew are not all- angels.
What you leave behind you is none of my busi-
ness, if you are willing to put up with what you
fiad in my forecastle. They for no certifi-
cate of character there.”

“Tt is agreed, then, .I will send my kit on
board in half an hour.”

Pablo Garcia was as good as his word. When
he was rowed to the side of the Donna Ysabel in
a wherry, he was arrayed in a regular sailor
dress; and though he aened within ten steps of
Harry Hazeltine, the latter did not so much as
cast a glance at him.

The parting between Harry Hazeltine and
Ned Taunton was marked with lively solicitude
on the part of the latter, and dull, dead apathy
on that of the former.

It was over at last; and the canvas was let
fall and clewed bome, and with the ebb-tide the
Donna Ysabel set out on her ts ge

In the forecastle, and aloft and alow, Pablo

Enso Micsescoaca nal Mee cetiareans rt seiecene ote eee he oe

The Creole Cousins.

Garcia mingled with his fellows without attract-
ing particular attention. He seldom had any-
thing to say; but his ‘‘pigtail” was always at
the service of. every one and any one, and that
won him favor.

During the long nights, inthe calm moonlight,
or when the tempest howled in its might, the
sailors got accustomed to see a tall, silent figure
leaning with folded arms against. the taffrail
and looking out .over the sea with are that
seemed to take no note of anything. The silent
passenger never spoke to any one except the
captain, and that briefly, and at long intervals.

uch was the situation when early one morn:
ing came tbe hail from the mast-head:
*Sail’O!”

‘““Where away?’ returned the mate.

“On our weather beam, just clearing the point
of yonder lagoon.”

“What do you make of her?”

‘CA rakish craft, sir, bearing down onus un-
der full sail.”

‘‘What is that?” defhanded the captain, ap-
pearing at the companionway,

Taking a glass from the rack, he sprung into
the shrouds, and bent a brief scrutiny on the
stranger.

** Santissima !” escaped from his lips, as, with
unwonted pallor, he dropped to the deck.

‘“*All hands on deck! Rouse, ye sleepers!
Tumble up! tumble up! lively! Lay aloft, ye
top-men! » Set stu’n’sails! Shake out every rag
the spars will carry! Helmsman, put her be-
fore the wind! Ridalgo,”—to his mate—‘ dis-
tribute the arms, and get the ammunition in
) readiness... That. devil means mischief; and be-
' fore sunset such as are left of us may have to
| walk the plank!”
|  ‘* Avpirate?” asked Harry Hazeltine, without
, the betrayal of any emotion.

“ Hil Basandro !” declared the captain, nam-
ing a much dreaded buccaneer; ‘‘ the scourge of
ithe Antilles!”

‘“‘ Have you a spare cutlass and a brace of pis-
| tols,for me, senor capitan? I. will not dishon-
or them, I promise you.” —

There was a flash in Harry Hazeltine’s eyes,
like those of a war-steed which scents the bat-
tle afar. Aside from this he was a man of ice.

“Your aid is welcome, senor,” replied _Cap-
tain Valanquez. ‘‘If we are overhauled, we
shall need ee arm in our defense.”

But even as the captain spoke the light. wind
began to fall; soon smooth, Glassy surfaces began
to appear upon the sea; and in half an hour the
ships rocked in a dead calm.

hen from the sides of the pirate put out four
boat-loads of armed men, and pulled straight for
the merchantman,

By way of precaution against sea-rovers Cap-
tain Valanquez had provided his craft with a
small swivel-gun. his was mounted on the
quarter-deck; and when the boats of the pirate
came within range, tho captain began to try his
skill as an amateur. gunner,

His want of skill was soon apparent, and loud
rung the pirates’ yells of derision, while they
drew even nearer to their intended prize.

At the moment when the captain seemed
convinced that he was eee ammunition,
Has Hazeltine ste ee forward,

“Senor capitan,” he said, quietly, ‘‘I have
served in the navy. Will you let me try?’

“ Gracias, senor! May the holy saints direct
your aim!”

Carefully he aimed the piece, making allow-
ance for the roll of the vessel on the ground
ead then at the proper instant applied the
match.

Ere the smoke lifted, a yell of anguish told
that his shot had been effective. Then through
the dissipating cloud could be seen a boat’s crew
struggling in the water, clinging to the oars and
bits of their wrecked boat.

Without waiting to pick up their luckless
comrades, the three remaining boats dashed
forward, passed round the vessel under fire of

istols from her deck, and drew together under
er bows.

Into tho netting ea sprung and gained a
footing on the deck of the Donna Ysabel, in
spite of the ae opposition of her defenders,

Then the fight waxed fast and furious. The
rattle of small-arms, the clash of steel on steel,
or the dull hack and gride as the quivering flesh
was laid open to the bone; the curses and yells
of the enraged combatants, and the groans of
the dying; faces flushed with fury or ghastly
in death; the struggle, the fall, the rising again
to renewed combat—all these terrible sights
and sounds turned the deck of the merchantman
into a very pandemonium.

Ever in the thickest of the fight towered the
form of Harry Hazeltine. ith. compressed
lips, pale face and blazing eyes, his cutlass reek-
ing with gore, cutting here and thrusting there,
sweeping aside the blades directed at his breast
and scattering or striking to the deck the wield-
ers of theim—he fought recklessly, desperately,
spreading terror and death wherever he went.

It was his fierce assault that checked the rush
of the enemy, and his rallying cry that brought
back the retreating crew of the merchantman.

His left arm hung at his side, blood trickled
from his finger-ends to the deck. From a wound
in the head, blood streamed over his face, and

 

 

       

 

"eo and garments, giving hima terrible as-

pect.

Still, inch by inch, the defenders of the ship
were driven back to the quarter-deck,

Then, when all seemed lost, Harry Hazeltine
sprung to the swivel-gun, which he had loaded
with grape-shot for this emergency. To train it
on the foe and apply the match was the work
of an instant; and through the ranks of the
pirates was mowed a swath that spread terror
to their hearts,

Once more the hero sprung forward with
reeking cutlass and ringing rallying-shout, to
press home the advantage of panic. The pirates
wavered, then turned and fled.

Back over the Lloody deck they had so nearly
conquered, disregardful of the dead and dying
they left behind, those who could leaped from
the bows of the vessel into their boats and pull-
ed away for dear life.

On the forecastle was left a youth who, sup-
porting himself on one knee, defended himself
feebly, 4 without a show of fear, from the
crew of the Donna Ysabel, who pressed him on
all sides, eager for his blood.

He was evidently an Indian, native of the
Antilles. His swarthy face was stamped with
unusual intelligence, and his blazing eyes
showed indomitable courage even in the face of
death.

Half _ascore of cutlass-points sought his life.
when Harry Hazeltine sprung within the circle
and with his ensanguined blade swept aside the
weapons, :

‘“‘ Hold!” he cried, ‘The fight is over. We
are victorious. We cannot afford to turn mur-
derers of the wounded!”

At this moment a pistol in the hand of the
man who had shipped as Pablo Garcia exploded.
Blending with shots at the retreating pirates, it
attracted no attention,

Harry Hazeltine shivered, and seemed about
to fall, but regained his balance..

“T claim this youth as my prisoner,” he con-
tin *¢ Captain, skall it be granted me?”

“Stand back, men!” cried the captain, who
was a man of good impulses when not tampered
with. ‘‘To Senor Hazeltine we owe our lives
and the safety of our ship. You have all seen
how he has fought. Pefore you all I wish to
thank him, and, in testimony of our sense of
obligation, to grant him this prisoner, to do
with him as he likes. My men, a hearty cheer
for Zl Salvador del DonnaY:abel !”

With right good will the crew tossed their
caps into the air and made the welkin ring with
their cheers of assent.

The youth pressed his lips to the hand of his
deliverer, and said:

“ Kacellenza, you are brave—you are generous,
The life that Vikir would scorn to crave from a
dozen foes in aims he accepts from you. Com-
mand me! I obey!” eas

And as we get a fair view of his face, wa re-
cognize the youth who, by the side of his de
father, swore vengeance on the abductor of his
sister... 4

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE DEVIL’S BIDDING.

Wr return to the Creole cousins, Nina and
Paola, with a word of explanation.

Crushed by financial ruin and the eg
suicide of his daughter, Don Fernando Mentoza
had squared accounts all round by plowing out
his brains, a tragedy which Harry Hazeltine
concealed from his young wife until long after
its occurrence.

After her breach with her husband, Donna
Inez boldly sought her maternal uncle, Don Al
fonso Careno, and concealing the fact of her
marriage, stated that a year had been passed
in the cabin of her maid’s parents. Don Alfon-
so received her with open arms, as one returned
from the dead, and by bis influence the claims
of the Church were nullified.

This Don Alfonso was an easy-going gentle-
man who had married an English lady, and
mourned her untimely death ever since the
birth of their only child, Paola. It was not un-
til some years after the death of his wife that
Don Alfonso met her brother, James Wetherby,
who had lived in Australia. How they were
brought together we will learn later in the
story. Suffice it to say here, that although
Wetherby did not show such traces of cultiva-
tion as his sister had, his brother-in-law received
him with open arms, making lim the superin-
tendent of his affairs. ;

So cunningly did the Englishman cultivate
the confidence of the ease-loving Spaniard that
Don Alfonso shifted all the cares of business to
the shoulders of one whom he had come to re-

rd as tenderly as if he were a brother by
Blood, How blind was this trust will presently

appear.

r hat Wetherby had grossly betrayed his ben-
efactor the reader has gathered from his con-
versation with Nina, or Donna Inez. With this
understanding we accompany him into the pre-
sence of his master.

When he entered the library Don Alfonso was
pacing the floor with his hands clasped behind
him and his head hanging on his breast. There
were tears in his eyes and on his beard, and his
face showed a depth of pain that was due to the

 
ee

The Creole Cousins.

7

 

 

bitter reflection that it was his wife’s brother
who had proved so unworthy. *>

“Sit down, James,” he said, in a tone which
showed no trace of anger, pointing to a chair
facing his desk.

With a sort of sullen defiance in his pallid face
the more marked as he saw the mood of the
man he had wronged, James Wetherby took the
seat designated,

Don Alfonso seated himself, fumbled - ner- |

vously among some papers on the table, and
lanced with troubled inquiry at his brother-in-
aw.

“ James,” he began, presently, in a mild, de-
aban tone, “the most painful duty of my

ife devolves upon me to-day, I wish you to
listen to me patiently to the end, and you will
see that I shall deal as generously with your
sister’s brother as if he were my own—nay,
more generously; for toward you I feel no bit-
terness—only unspeakable sorrow.”

Clutching the arms of his chair, Wetherby sat
regarding the floor with a gloomy frown.

on Alfonso cleared his throat, to relieve the
painful constriction, and went on:

“T need not recall the circumstances under
which I received you into my house. You
zame to me, the brother of one who was closer
to my heart than: any living thing save the
image of herself she left to console me, who
was inconsolable, when she took her flight to
heaven.

“T loved you for her sake. I trusted you be-
cause I believed that no evil could bein any
way associated with her.

“ How I loved you, let my treatment of you
for five years attest. How’ I trusted you, I
have called you here to show.

“For five years you have had control of my
affairs. After the first year I became satisfied
of your ability—I never thought of questioning
your integrity—and for the past four years you
have been free from all supervision, except as
you have seen fit to consult me, and’ your ac-
counts have passed absolutely without inspec-
tion. :

“James, I have trusted you further than
that. I have before me. a document whose
blind—nay, criminal fatuity never impressed
me until to-day. In my faith in you 1 would
have done my child—the sacred charge she
committed to my care with her dying breath—
I would have done her child an irreparable
wrong!

“T cannot read it to you in detail. Every
clause, save such as attest my love for my hel,
less Paola, is a reproach to me. This is the sub-
stance of its provisions:

“By this document you would have become
at my death the sole executor of my estate—the
sole guardian of the person of my child! This
paper gives you power to buy and sell at your
discretion panei and to convert to an
use you should see fit, every peso of my child’s
patrimony! Why? Because I believed that
you would guard the interests of your niece as
carefully as I would guard the interests of my
daughter. God forgive me for the dereliction
growing out of my faith in you!

“But this is not all. Oh, a malignant fiend
must have possessed me!

“* Not content with delivering my child up to
yore tender mercies, bound hand and foot, I

ave placed before you every inducement to
prove recreant to the trust. If my child marry
contrary to your will, she forfeits her patrimo-
ny, and you continue to hold it in trust until
her children come of age!

‘My thought was to restrain her from an un-
wise alliance, at least until the attainment of
her majority should have given her that experi-
ence of the world which would enable her to
protect herself from fortune-hunters, But,
alas! what a field for intrigue did I leave open
oa if you proved aught short of the soul of

onor

** James,” proceeded the old Don, with an ex-
cess of pain in his tones, “thus have I loved
and trusted you. How you have requited my
good-will I leave to your conscience, For her
sake, James”—and his voice sunk almost to a
whisper—‘‘T have no wish to humiliate you by
the sad recital.

“T have said that in the place of manifesting,
or even feeling resentment toward you, I should
treat you generously—always, remember, for
her ni ca James, you are free to go unques-
tioned. The world shall know nothing of your
wrong-doing. More than this, I shall grant you
a life annuity of one thousand pesos. By plac-
ing you above the temptations of want, this
will give you time to reflect on the past; and I
hope you may be led to a better life.

For your ingratitude to me I forgive you.
This is a bitter moment to me, James. Thad
Sa I can say no more!”

vercome by his emotions, Don Alfonso
touched the bell to summon his servant, and
dropped his head upon his arm on the table.

During the foregoing recital James Wetherby
had sat te and silent, looking anything but
repentant. There was nothing in his nature to
be touched by the magnanimous grief of his
™ When Don Alf

en Don onso ceased speaking the super-
intendent started to his feet, oa if about to laive

 

the presence of the man he had wronged, but re-
mained before his chair, irresolute.

The door opened, and Don Alfonso’s valet ap-
peared in answer to the summons,

As we have said, this servant had a look of
haughty reserve, like one who galled under the
yoke of slavery, the bitterness of which his su-
perior intelligence fitted him to feel most keenly,

At sight of him, all that the temptress had
said recurred to James Wetherby. Slay both
master and servant, and lay the death of the
former to the charge of the latter !

By reason of his grief, the old Don was help-
lessly off his guard. On the table, beneath his
arms, lay the will, yet intact, And within
reach, as if placed there by some malignant
devil, lay a curiously-wrought stiletto, used
ony. as a paper-knife.

‘o think—to act—were the events of a second.

Before Don Alfonso could look up to charge
his servant, James Wetherby seized the dagger
and planted it to the hilt Beh weet the shoulder-
blades of the bowed man,

‘* James, for God’s sake—”

Don Alfonso started up and stared into the
face of his murderer with a look of amazement,
terror and unspeakable reproach, that left an
indelible impress on the soul of this demon of
ingratitude, and, for the time, drove him toa
frenzy of desperation.

Again the reeking knife descended, plunging
into the neck of its victim and severing ‘the
jugular vein at a blow, cutting short his ap S

on Alfonso’s last thought was of his child.
He stretched forth his hand to destroy the will;
but death paralyzed it on its way.

This tragic scene was enacted all in an in-
stant, as quickly as two blows could be given.
The valet, who had reached the middle of the
room, was struck dumb with dismay. Knowing
the brotherly relations that existed between
these two men, he could not realize for a mo-
ment that one had actually murdered the other.

Only an instant; and then he did a most
natural and yet most fatal thing. Not thinking
of the necessity of self-defense, he sprung for-
ward to prevent a repetition of the blows that
were all-sufficient.

Like a flash the infuriated murderer was upon
him, and felled him to the floor with a blow of
his fist. Then oe upon the body of his
second victim with his knees, in a way intended
to crush his ribs.and so do vital injury, Weth-
erby clutched the valet by the throat and raised
and thrust his head against the floor atedly.
with such violence as to fracture the skull.

Taking the stiletto, the murderer drew its
keen edge across his own cheek, so that it would
look as if the valet had struck at him; then
threw the weapon upon the floor beside the
scapegoat of his devilish crime.

A sound like a hoarse, rasping exhalation
reached his ear. Looking up he discovered
Donna Inez standing in the doorway,

With a devilish laugh be waved his hand to-
ward his victims and said:

“Behold our work—yours and mine!”

The girl was paralyzed with horror at the ex-
ecution of what her own mind had plotted.
Without a word she fell forward in a swoon,

When the superintendent told his story, that
in an ebullition of anger the master had struck
his slave to the earth, then with a passing
vertigo had sunk into his chair with his head on
his desk, and so by his helplessness drawn the
vengeance of the haughty slave upon himself,
whereupon the brother-in-law had iid mn
the murderer and slain him in his wrat jus
tice said that his hand had only anticipated ‘her
blow, and held him acquitted of blame.

From her pleasure trip Paola returned to hear
the story of her father’s c death, and to lie
ina paralyzing transport of anguish in the arms
of her false cousin, not able to follow her words
of condolence, yet, in a measure, soothed by that
sympathy which is balm to every crushed heart.

Doubly intrenched behind their relationshi;
and hypocrisy, who would ‘unmask her hea
less foes, and save her from their rapacious
greed? ;

 

 

CHAPTER IX.
HURLED TO DBATH.

Tue pirates were beaten off. With the de-
cline of the sun a breeze sprung up, and the
Donna Ysabel resumed her oak

On deck, in the calm moonlight, Harry Hazel-
tine lay in a hammock. His head was ban-

daged, and his left arm rested in a sling. A |
b

had struck the shoulder-blade and glanced,
leaving a omar but not dangerous wound.

Near at hand, the Indian youth, Vikir, leaned
against the bulwarks, looking wistfull out over
the sea, yet ever on the alert for the lightest
movement on the part of the man to whom he
Watching him, H oted the elegant

atching him, Harry elegant sym-
metry of his form, the proud carriage of his
head, and the steady fire of his eye.

“ Vikir.” *

“ Keevellenza |”

‘‘T have been wondering how you came to be
with Zl Basandro. You were cut out for bet-
ter work than that.”

A flush swept over the bronze cheek of the

 

outh, and then receded, leaving a sort of yel-
i pallor. His features set in hard lines of
ate. ‘

“Who sha his destiny?” he asked, in a
deep voice. “The ae lift us toward the light,
of hur] us into the darkness, as they will.”

“But natures like yours are out of place
among a lot’ of cutthroats, who would take a
life for apeso.” . .

“'Vikir became a pirate, not for gain, but for
revenge!”

“You have suffered wrong?”

‘am Rupa as only blood can wash out!—the grave
ide! .

“Will you tell me the story?”

“ Recellenza has the right to know. Of my
father I need only say that he was chief of the
island in which we lived. As he was the
strength of our home, so was my mother its
warmth, and’ my sister, Kalma, its light.
There we lived in peace and happiness, until the
Demon tempted my father, and the curse of our
race fell upon him.”

‘*Dismiss this gloomy superstition from your
mind, Vikir. Curses have no effect.on life. It
is but a device of priestcraft to rule men
through their fears.”

* Listen—then judge!

‘A hundred years ago, the Caribbean Sea,
the Gulf, and the ocean outside of the Antilles
were ravaged by a pirate at the sound of whose
name all men trembled. His only god was gold.
To obtain it he si neither man nor woman.
Infancy and old age, innocence and beauty,
went down before his sword, until every coin or
ge ee passed through his hands reeked with

“Phat he, the robber, might not in turn be
despoiled; he hid his ill-got wealth in the smal!
islands of the Antilles—a little here and a little
there, so that even if he were traced to one
cache, or it were discovered by accident, his
countless treasure would not be appreciably
diminished.

‘So suspicious was he that he trusted no one:
but leaving his vessel, he would go alone and in
secret, in a small open boat, to some secluded
isle, and there b is gold.

“So, one fatal day, my ancestor discovered
him. A fight ensued, and the pirate chieftain
fell. With his dying breath he laid a curse on
his slayer and all his race, whoever dared to
touch the gold for which he lost his life.”

** And do you think, Vikir,” here interrupted
Harry, ‘that the Great Spirit who watches
over us all would grant the prayer of a man
whose soul was steeped in the blood of the inno-
cent, and that'to protect the gold for which he
had murdered them?”

‘Who shall say? Perhaps the Demon fulfills
the curses of them that serve him.”

“In despite of the Beneficent Spirit?”

‘“Who shall say?” again answered the Indian.
“ Listen—then judge!

“My ancestor was so impressed that he re-
turned home and never disturbed the accursed
gold. But he handed the legend down to his

son.

**He had not been present at the invoking of
the curse. He thought his father a credulous
oldman. For gold he would dare the Fates,

“Communicating the secret to his son, |»
sought the island, found the treasure of gold
and precious stones, and bore it home. Tho
knowledge of his wealth soon spread, and
tempted the cupidity of a marauding band
of robbers from a neighboring island, who
scourged the island of my ancestor with fire
and sword, killing him and all his race, save his
youngest son, who was preserved as by a
miracle. But the treasure they could not find;
for it was securely hidden.

. etna 4 this fulfillment of the curse, the
son resto) the treasure; but his son, being

‘own to manhood, once more scoffed at the
Seqorid/ usd tempted tate,

‘He sought the pirate’s hiding-place; but
while he was digging up the treasure a storm
arose, and his canoe was washed to sea, leaving
him with no means to quit the island save by

swimming.

‘* Having no pri before him but starva-
tion if he remained on the island, he plunged
into the sea and swam with the vigor of a
strong man. Within sight of his home he be-
came food for sharks!”

‘‘Coincidences, Vikir,” interposed Harry.
“Everything is explainable by the ordinary
course of events.” :

“ Hold!” said the Indian. ‘‘One more disre
garded the curse—my father! To placate the
Png: they indeed guarded the treasure—my

ather thought to make use of the beauty and

innocence of my sister, Kalma. Her hand
a age dig up the gold, and the curse would
fai

“‘T cannot tell you the pain with which I'saw
them depart—my father, my mother, my sister
—all that I held dear on earth!

“They went—I waited.

“ Night fell.

“They came not back!

‘¢ Bre the morning dawned a storm burst in
itsfury. The heavens were like night; the sea
was a tossing caldron, as black as the pigment
with which we mourn our dead,

 
8

The Creole Cousins.

 

 

“In my canoe I braved the terrors of the
Sen found them—those that were left!
‘“My father lay dead on the strand. Beside
his body my mother mourned in inconsolable
widowhood. My sister—ah, where was she?
‘“Had she too been dead, we would have
mourned her; but we would have had her among
us. We would have known that she was at

peace. ‘
‘* Alas! the hand of the ravisher had snatch-

"ed her from us! What was her fate? What

has she suffered? Where is she now?

“Crushed by this double blow, my mother
sunk into the grave. I lived for revenge !

“The curse had been again fulfilled; but I
might strike the instrument of its fulfillment.
Knowing only that he was an Englishman, I
swore an oath to hunt all of his nation, and to
spare none!

“For this I joined the pirates; and for a year
Ihave executed my oath, until fate gave my
life into your hands, and you preserved it.

“By the law of my fathers that life is yours.
You command—I ches’ :

“Then my will is absolutely your law, in all
things?”

“To the rendering up of my life to you, if you
claim it.”

“My first injunction, then, is one of humani-
ty. 1 command you to forego your oath so far
as it involves the innocent. If you ever meet
the man who wronged you so deeply, then
wreak your vengeance, on him without re-
straint.’

“But I do not know him.”

‘Tt may be revealed to you.”

The Indian bowed in submission.

“T still think the fulfillment of the curse acci-
dental,” pursued Harry; ‘‘but I leave you to
your convictions on that head.”

While speaking to the Indian Harry had re-
ressed every manifestation of feeling, though
he story of outrage, coming upon the heels of

his own great wrong, filled him with burning
indignation. Now he looked gloomily out over
the sea. It seemed as if all the world were di-
vided between the wronging and the wronged.

Vikir, regarding his master—for this relation
had tacitly sprung up between them—discov-
ered something of the undercurrent of feeling;
and this bond of sympathy strengthened the
sentiment of allegiance in his heart.

On the forecastle of the vessel stood a man
with folded arms, silent and alone, ostensibly
on duty, yet furtively watching these two. His
brows were contracted by a gloomy frown; his
eyes glowed with a slumberous fire: his heart
swelled with hate. It was Pablo Garcia. He
bided his time!

It came in the lash of the tempest, amid the
howling gale and the swashing sea! —

All day long the red sun had rolled through
a saffron sky. it smprgeones. the horizon a
sudden chill pervaded the air, as water ata
certain temperature will freeze in all parts on a

ight jar.
Be, from all points of the compass the
clouds began to gather, black as night, with
jegced, foam-white fringes, rushing hither and
hither across the sky, propelled by a hundred

varying gusts.

While this ominous commotion was apparent
in the upper air, the sea lay dead, a plain of
glass, and not a sound was audible.

But suddenly a long line of foam stretched
half around the horizon, as if a tide of destruc-
tion were bearing down upon the doomed ves-
sel. Then from the circumambient air came
moans and sobs, as if from restless spirits.

A moment, and the gale bore down in all its
fury. With a groan the vessel heeled over on
her beam-ends, and the spray dashed over her
and swept on.

As was his wont, Harry Hazeltine stood on
deck, watching the gathering tempest.

Pretending to secure a coil of rope which hung
from a belaying-pin, Pablo Garcia managed to
get near him.

‘When the gale struck the vessel it was as

dark as night, but a vivid flash of lightning
illuminated the deck with a lurid glare. It dis-
covered the treacherous Spaniard in the act of
falling against Hazeltine.

Taken unawares, the latter was hurled over
the bulwarks into the raging sea. His despair-
ing cry struck terror to every heart, and was
then snatched away by the gale.

But another cry followed—a of. , as
well as despair; and Vikir shot forward like a
thunderbolt, grappled the murderer, and the
two went over the side together, so swift fol-

t lowed vengeance on a most dastardly crime.

Then through the ship rung the dismal ery:

‘*MAN OVERBOARD! MAN OVERBOARD!”

And as the ship staggered back to an upright
position, ready hands cast a wooden grating and
other things that would float into the sea, to
give the wretches who were hurled into that
poo waste of waters at least one poor chance

or life.

Then dripping with brine, and with his face
stamped with the hasty pallor of a man who
had stood face to face with death, Pablo Garcia
reappeared over the bulwarks. He had saved
himself by grasping a lucky line; but Vikir was
gone to join his master,

The sailors gathered about their comrade
with cheers of congratulation, and listened
while he told how the passenger of the Donna
Ysabel had been swept overboard, the victim
of his own heedlessness—how Vikir, with the
strange devotion of his race, had sought to leap
after his master—how he, Pablo Garcia, in try-
ing to deter this self-immolation had lost his
own footing, and gone over into the yawning
hell of waters, to save himself only by the for-
tunate chance of having clung to the line he
was in the act of coiling.

When Capt. Valanquez rewarded Harry Ha-
zeltine’s valor by giving Vikir’s life to him, the
sailors had applauded with a good-will. La-
ter, looking at their dead comrades, their
resentment toward the youth who had been as-
sociated with the pirates returned, and even ex-
tended somewhat to the man who had interfered
to preserve his life. Now that accident had
linked them in a common fate, the superstitious
sailors were ready to see in it a supernatural
execution of justice, and_so were disposed to
accept Garcia’s story with no over-close scru-

tiny.

But Capt. Valanquez called Pablo into his
cabin and said, scanning him suspiciously.

bi d said. ing hi iciously.

“Why did vos come on board my vessel?
‘You are no sailor.”

Drawing himself haughtily erect, and ‘Rexam
his coe glance for glance, which showe
that, if sailor at all, he was certainly no com-
mon foremast hand, he said, in measured tones
and with the purity of accent of a cultivated
gentleman:

“There will never be a claimant for Senor
Hazeltine’s trunk. If you will take the trouble
to look into it, you will not be disposed to ask
me ugly questions, being assured that I shall
forget you and all the events of this voyage as
soon as I quit your vessel.”

A swift flush mounted to the Spanish cap-
tain’s temples, and he bowed with marked re-
spect, showing that he sold out to the devil on
the spot without knowing the amount of the
purchase-money.

A smile of cynicism and contempt curled
Pablo Garcia’s bearded lip; and turning on his
heel, he left the cabin without more ado.

eee he muttered, ‘‘ for Inez and happi-
ness

 

CHAPTER X.
THE CASTAWAYS,

To be hurled into the seething ocean in the
midst of a tropical storm is, practically, to
cad in the open gateway of the Great Here-

1.

Peas head-foremost into the yawning
abyss, Harry Hazeltine’s first sensation was one
of abject terror. As he felt the cold waters
close over him he experienced the calm of de-

ir in the conviction:

‘* All is over!”

He felt content to drop the burden of his
wrecked life, and accept what the future held
in store.

Nevertheless, as he came again to the surface
he struggled instinctively to preserve the vital
spark over which nature makes us enforced
guardians, in spite of our philosophy.

By a flash of lightning he saw the grating
thrown overboard; and buffeted as he was by
the waves whose crests at every moment broke
over his head, he struggled toward it.

In the darkness his shoulders came in violent
contact with the float, and though he nearly
fainted with the pain, for his wound was far
from well, he clutched the frail support, and
after painful effort drew himself upon it.

Nearly exhausted he lay on his raft, for the

resent out of danger of drowning,

oe the spray was blown so continuously
over his head thatit was difficult to get breath.

Of Vikir’s share in his fate he knew nothing.
Straining his eyes, he saw the ship disappear
in the gloom. Then he experienced the full
force of those lines:

“ Alone! alone! all, all alone!
Alone on a wide, wide sea!”

To die away from all mankind, unwatched,
unwept, forgotten!—when even God seems to
stand afar off: then the soul feels its desolation!

So Harry Hazeltine waited, until the sea rose
in its might, tossing the frail waif about in
seeming contempt. In their rude sport the
waves dashed oi the clinging man, then
plucked at him, then tipped his raft this way
and that, until, his benumbed eugene relaxing
their hold, he was torn away and hurled down!
down! down! where all that was terrible faded
into a delightful dream. Light and warmth
and beauty surrounded him; fragrance grcctad
his nostrils, and exquisite music soothed his ear,
while he floated in a realm of enchantmen

Then came sudden oblivion! :

Over the smiling ee sea rose the sun.
Though the billows rolled h, their crests
were round andsmooth, not tumbled into white-
pe by the following gale.

mid-ocean a green islet parted the waters.
All round it, at intervals, the tide being low,
appeared the crest of a jagged reef inthe trough

 

 

ot the waves. But the islet itself was bordered

 

f

by a broad beach of yellow sand, over which
the breakers swept and receded.

Beyond the reach of the lowering tide lay two
bodies—one on its face, one on its side. They
were men, to all appearance dead. Sand was
in their wet garments and in their hair. One
had the fair complexion of the Northern clime;
the sun-touched cheek of the other proclaimed
him a child of the tropics.

They were Harry Hazeltine and Vikir, cast
up by the sea.

Neither was conscious of the vicinity of the
other, nor, indeed, of his own existence. They
lay perhaps an eighth of a mile apart.

e sun rose higher in the heavens, casting
its warm rays on the bodies. At the same time
the tide began to return, every seventh wave
rising a little higher than its predecessors.

The sun sought to revive; the sea jealously
sought to reclaim its victims.

Presently Vikir’s breast rose with a percepti-
ble inhalation. Then a sigh escaped his lips.
He lived!

The sun was doing its work, But the sea also
came nearer and nearer. It was a race be-
tween the benevolent and malevolent forces of
nature.

A wave mountin
its fellows, washed his
it not.

After a space another swell came tumbling
in, breaking into yeasty foam, and running
higher and _ higher, until it washed the uncon-
scious face of the ocean waif. A shudder ran
through the man’s frame. He moved uneasily,
so that he lay supine, and opening his eyes,
gazed vacantily into the blue sky above.

Another wash of the sea swept round him, al-
most strangling him, yet at the same time start-
ling him into a more vivid consciousness. He
rose to a sitting posture, and gazed about him
in bewilderment.

The first instinct was self-preservation. He
rose with difficulty and staggered higher on the
beach, out of the reach of the incoming tide.

Then came recollection, laboriously at first,
ks mos clearly as exercise quickened the tor-

i se.

R He brushed his hand across his forehead, and
ort anxiously out over the sea, then along the

ch, until, his eye was arrested by a dark ob-
ject. about which the waves were beginning to

‘wash.

With a cry he started forward, his step be-
coming firmer, his pace quicker, as excitement
lent him strength.

Nearer and nearer he drew, until witha great
ery of pain he cast himself beside his uncon-
scious master, turned his face to the light, and
gazed in des eet its ghastly immobility.

To drag the body up the sands to the shadow
of the p trees was a work of loving respect,
rather than of hope. Then to attempt such
simple means of resuscitation as were at com-
mand, was merely following the impulse to
leave nothing untried.

But Harry Hazeltine’s life-work was not yet
done; and reluctantly, yet steadily, nature re-
sumed her functions.

Vikir’s delight was unbounded. It attested
the deep love he had conceived for the man to
whom he had just repaid the debt of a life.

Harry took up his life again without com-
plaint, yet without {oy For him existence had
no attractions, bes e did not shirk its burdens,
Such a life is a dreary desert of tolerance.

Nature demanded food and drink. In quest
of them the castaways resolved to explore the

island.

Food abounded on every hand, in the form of
fruit, and birds, and small animals, but water,
fit to drink, was not so easily found. 4

There was high ground at one end of the isl-
and, and near its base Harry expected to find
sweet water. Thitherward, then, the explorers
bent their steps, until Vikir suddenly stopped
and clutched his master’s arm, with a
ejaculation:

“ Rycellenza, mira!” (behold!)

And he pointed excitedly before them.

‘‘ Why, it looks like a piece of canvas hung
between the trees!” exclaimed Harry.

** Hocellenza, we are not alone!”

‘‘Let us hasten, then, to meet our friends.”

‘“‘ Our enemies!”

‘Nonsense! All men are friends cut off from
the world on so small anisland.” |

‘Pardon, excellenza! No place is toosmall
sn. ene !” said fe ingiagy oeeuy.

ut Harry was hurryi orward,

As a precaution Vikir broke off a small sap.
ling to serve as a cudgel, and hastened to place
himself beside his master.

“Tt is a human habitation, but deserted,”
said Harry, as they came upon a sort of bower,
formed by a tree bent beneath the burden of a
heavy vine, this natural shelter being evidently

rfected by human modifications, and the en-
rance curtained. with an old sail. .

“The owner has not long been gone,” said
Pace picking up the remains of freshly-eaten

“Let us indicate our presence, then,” said
Harry. ‘The poor castaway will be delighted
to know that he has company to relieve his soli-
tude. Come, let us halloo together,”

higher on the sands than
and. The man heeded
Mix

ws

hy

The Creole Cousins.

9

 

. Together they woke strange echoes among
the palms, frightening the birds and animals;
but though they waited nothing came of it.
Then they went about the island, calling in Eng-
lish, and Spanish, and French, and German,
which exhausted Harry’s command of the lan-
guages, but to which Vikir supplemented his
native tongue.

When this proved fruitless they concluded
that the other tenant of the island was avoiding
them in fear. Perhaps he had been alone so
long as to become a stranger to his kind. They
must find him in his hiding-place, and assure
him of their at

Having slaked their thirst at a trickling rill,
they began their search, keeping each other in
sight, so that nothing so large as a man could
pass between, and so elude them.

Suddenly a human being started up before
Harry and ran away in awild panic, The dress
consisted of a tunic made of sail-cloth. The
long flowing hair proclaimed this poor creature
a woman!

This end of the island terminated in an ab-
rupt promontory, perhaps forty feet high, jut-
ting out into the sea. The frightened woman
was rushing straight for the verge of this pre-
cipice.

‘A woman!” cried Harry.
sake, stop her! She will jump into the sea!”

With a sharp ejaculation in his own tongue,
Vikir ran at the top of his speed to intercept
the fugitive; but uttering shrill cries, she ran
the faster, and before he reached her, plunged
head-foremost from the yerge of the cliff into
the sea, :

Without hesitation Vikir followed her exam-
ple, shooting through the air like an arrow.

Harr ‘ who had been outstripped in the race,
reached the precipice in time to see the divers |
emerge from the water, while two lines of froth- |
ing bubbles showed their transits beneath the
surface of the sea. |

The girl instantly began to swim; but Vikir
was equally prompt in pursuit. As the fugitive |
turned her head to glance over her shoulder in
abject terror, he for the first time saw her face,
and recognized her ! |

With a great cry, in which the intense emo-
tion of his heart seemed to burst its way out-
ward, he shouted:

‘“Ratmal KAMA!”

By this strong appeal the girl was arrested. |
Ceasing her flight, she turned toward him in be- |
eran supporting herself upright in the
water.

In an instant he had his arms about her, cry-
ing pe so intense was his delight:

‘My sister, it is I—Vikir!”

She knew him at last, and her heart welcomed
him with a scream, as she threw her arms about
his neck.

The Indian girl did not faint, as one of her
civilized sisters might have done in such a mo-
ment; but the reaction of feeling threw her
into a sort of transport, in which everything
slipped from her apprehension save the con-
sciousness that she held her brother in her arms;
and her wild embrace was like to drown him,
as with a bubbling cry he sunk beneath the wa-

‘*HWor Heaven’s

 

r.
_ The moment demanded promptaction. Fear-
ing to dive so far, Harry jumped from the cliff.
‘he sensation of passing through the air from
so great a hight was terrible and at the same
time delightful. During the brief. transit our
hero felt as if all weight were annihilated, and
he were floating in space; but when he struck
the water it seemed as if he plunged down!
down! to the very depths of the ocean; and
long ere he returned to the surface he found
himseif gasping for breath.

A moment was lost in Rotting the water out
of his mouth and eyes. Then he swam vigor
ously to the aid of the almost exhausted Indian
youth, and between them they got Kalma
ashore and revived her.

We pass over the touching scene of the re-
storation of these children of Nature to each
other’s arms, and their gratitude to him who
had just saved them from a watery grave.

Kalma’s story was soon told, the hdet in which
she had drifted to the island found half buried
in the sand in a little cove, asail rigged, and the
perilous voyage to the main chain of the Antilles
successfully accomplished.

Kalma was reinstated in the island home of
her fathers amid great rejoicing, tempered by
the knowledge that Vikir was resolved to follow
the fortunes of his new friend and patron,

The pirate’s hoard was dug up and proved of
value, approximating a million dollars. Find-
ing it impossible to persuade either Vikir or
Kalma to touch what they deemed the accursed
gold, and that otherwise it must remain unap-
propriated, Harry Hazeltine took possession of
it, and mede the Indians the only compensa-
tion in his power, by turning over to them all
his wealth, previous to the acquisition of his
treasure-trove. This consisted of property. to
which he had fallen heir in the United States.
His — Cuba and all that pertained to it he
igno

Then, ever followed by his faithful Vikir.
Harry Hazeltine became ‘a wanda the

Trthe h 4s rer over

 

The master brooded over his wrecked life.
The servant still hugged to his heart his revenge
against an unknown man.

ight years later Harry Hazeltine stood on
the deck of a vessel as it steamed up to the
ao at New Orleans. He was going to his des-
tiny

 

CHAPTER XI.

VOLCANIC NATURES.

ALONG Canal street—the Broadway of the
Crescent City—sauntered, one pleasant after-
noon, a man who impressed the beholder as one
who never smiled.

He was symmotrical in build, erect in car-
riage, and had that re of manner which
marks a man of the world—a cosmopolitan, for
whom life has no surprises.

In keeping with the fashion of the day, he
wore patent-leather boots, in elegant contrast
with his attire, which was white throughout,
the material being what is known as ‘‘ duck,”
the cut disarming the most fastidious criticism.

He was gloved, but carried no cane. A single
diamond, of unusual size and brilliancy, flash-
ing in his shirt-bosom, was the only article of
jewelry anywhere visible on his person, He
wore a felt hat, with a broad and gracefully
curved brim. His hair, flowing a la cavaliere,
was soft and fine. A drooping mustache of the
same chestnut hue shaded his mouth.

His face we havé left for the last. It was this
that claimed a second look. The features were
well formed, rather patrician in cast; But the
face was emaciated—almost haggard, and was
marked by a dead-white pallor, while his eyes
burned with an almost painful brilliancy, yet
at the same time had a dreamy, far-away ex-
pression in them.

This was Harry Hazeltine, after eight years of

| wandering over the face of the earth, in the vain

effort to elude an unquiet spirit.

At a respectful distance Vikir followed his
master, with that deference and devotion
which often marks the semi-barbarian. Time
had treated him kindly. However, it had not
abated the fire of revenge, which he guarded
sacredly while he bided his time.

Ata street corner Harry met his old friend

| Taunton, who now had a command of his own.

They had been together much of the time since
Harry’s arrival in New Orleans, and their
greeting was that of friends who see each other
Oran day.

** Just the man I was hoping to run across,”
exclaimed Taunton, with a cheeriness that
showed that time had not damped his spirits.
i Have you anything on the tapis.for this even-
No: 2

“Then come with me to a stag-party at Mr.
Wetherby’s—the great Mr. etherby, you
know!”

And Taunton laughed at the flunkyism which
does homage to wealth.

“Have [ heard you speak of him?” asked
Harry, to whom the name was unfamiliar.

‘* Why, all New Orleans is ringing with Weth-
erby and his two wards. ‘The Creole Cousins,’
they call them. Haven’t seen them yet, my-
self; but they are to be put on exhibition short-
ly, 1 believe, at the ‘ palatial residence,’ etc.”

* And Mr. icin asked Harry, with the
fa - one for whom the ladies possessed no in-

rest.

“Is a jolly Henglishman, ye know, from the.

top o’ ’Aymarket, come to this blarsted country
to astonish the natives. But he keeps a first-
class cellar, they say, and one meets pleasant
company at his Potnate The business of the
evening is écarté and the cultivation of good-
fellowship.”

“That is to say, a gambling and drinking
bout?”

‘Well, I suppose that’s the Puritanical way
of putting it. But I didn’t know that you sub-
scribed to the blue—-”

“No, God knows!” interrupted Harry, bitter-
ly. ‘* But to-night Iam not in the mood fora
carousal, Ned, come to my hotel, and we'll
pass the evening with nothing but a cigar, a
glass of wine and our meditations, as we used
to do at home—it seems a hundred years ago,”

“ All right, old fellow, if you prefer it. But
I’m off, now, for the custom-house, Good-by !”

And, Mp on a passing street-car, the
light-hearted fellow was gone. °

ith all the bitterness of his life suddenly
called up by this breath of freshness, so to speak,
out of bis past, Harry Hazeltine gazed wistfully
after the car that contained his friend.

He was roused from this aren reverie by a
sharp, yet musical cry, and turned in time to
detect a street gamin in the act of snatching a
purse from the hand of a lady who had come
out of a large dry-goods store before which he
was standing. : D :

With a quick motion Harry seized the hand
that held the purse, gaining an imperfect hold.

The thief dro ped is plunder, wrenched him-
self free, and disappeared around the corner.

With a courtly me Harry picked up the
purse and restored it to its owner. oie

“Oh, how can I thank you, sir? I was so

frightened!” exclaimed the lady, raising to his

 

a face whose wondrous beauty was enhanced by
its pallor.

An instant they gazed into each other’s eyes,
and the color swept into Harry Hazeltine’s face.

Without making any direct reply to her ac-
knowledgments, he said, hurriedly:

“ Allow me to hand you to your carriage be-
fore a crowd gathers.”

Thanking him again with her eyes, and at the
same time looking a little wonderingly at him,
the lady stepped into the carriage, as he held
open the door for her, with his hat lifted.

Not looking at her again, he closed the door of
the carriage, and said to the coachman, rather
peremptorily:

“ Drive on!”

As the carriage was whirled away, Harry
turned into the cross street, walking rapidly,
with his hat slouched over his eyes.

Oblivious to the resentment of the people
whom he brushed by almost cavalierly, the mai
strode on, his soul now torn by a terrible con-
flict. One glance from a pair of sweetly-be-
seeching eyes had stirred his nature to its very
depths—he, the misogynist; for the wrong of
one of the sex had led this chivalrous soul to
hate and distrust all women.

But all in a moment this barrier was broken
down, or better, melted; and he stood face to
face with the consciousness that he loved again,
more fully, more spontaneously than before,
Then the woman’s distress had pee to his
sense of championship. Now, he loved for no
reason save that his soul gravitated naturally
and irresistibly toward its correlative.

His first passion the man had clasped to his
heart as a priceless boon, and cherished blindly ,
without a shadow of misgiving, until at one fell
stroke his heaven tumbled in ruins about him.
The second he fought with a frantic desperation,
as he would elude a curse.

The gies of conflict did not eevee the ever
watchful Vikir, and he drew nearer his master,
yet did not obtrude himself upon his notice,

So they reached the Hotel St. Louis.

Harry Hazeltine’s apartments were three, en
suite—a reception room, his bedroom, and an-
other which no living being save himself and
Vikir had entered since his occupancy. Before
the door of the last hung a heavy curtain, and
on the threshold lay a large rug.

Dashing his hat upon the dressing-table, Har-
ry turned to his servant and demanded:

“Ts everything in readiness?”

Mournfully, and with his eyes on the floor,
the Indian replied:

‘Si, ewcellenza |” ' :

“Then remember that I am at home to nei-
ther man nor devil!”

Si, eacellenza |”

Harry swept aside the curtain and it fell be-
hind him. There was the sound of the opening
and.closing of a door, and all was still.

With a great, tender distress in his eyes Vikir
stoad looking at the curtain. Then curling him-
self up on the soft rug, he lay as if on guard.

Meanwhile, a strange scene had occurred in
the carriage into which Harry had handed the
a the sight of whom had so perturbed his
soul.

In avoiding a second look at her an important
fact had escaped his notice. The carriage al-
ready had an occupant! peas ;

It was a lady as beautiful in her way as the
one against whose fascinations the sad soul was
struggling so desperately. Yet if the latter im-

ssed the beholder with the gentleness of a
awn, the former had some of the fierceness of
a panther, . :

At the moment of his meeting with Capt.
Taunton she had seen Harry, and the effect on
her was terrible. Her jaw dropped, and into
her eyes came a look of wild, hunted terror,

She saw the foiling of the pickpocket, and
then the man who inspired her with such fear
approached the carriage to open the door.

‘ompletely unnerved, the woman sunk back
into the corner, with just enough strength to
throw over her facé the end of a light, zephyr
shawl which she wore. Then she almost lost
consciousness. :

She was aroused by the motion of the carriage,
and a silvery voice calling: ;

“Tnez, have you fallen asleep? I have just
had such an adventure! Such a gallant gen-
tle— Oh! dear, what is the matter with you?
Are you ill?”

Paola Careno, for it was no other, had play-
fully snatched the shawl from her cousin’s face,
and been electrified by the terrible aspect of her
nigid features. ‘i

ith a mighty effort Inez got herself in hand,
and in a choking voice said:

“Nothing—nothing of an
rush of blood to the head,
alarmed. I am better
as soon as possible.”

“Had not we better stop for a doctor?’

“No!” replied Inez, almost fiercely, as she
sat upright, now devoured by the impatience
which counts no speed fast enough. :

In a tone whose imperious sharpness startled.
her gentle cousin, she ordered the coachman to
withdraw from the crowded thoroughfare and
drive home with all d

Catching sight of

consequence, A |
think. Do not be
already. Let us get home —

13 wondering gaze,

 
 

.

Inez reflected that she must control herself, and
sinking back. she again covered her face with
her shawl,

Pale with sympathetic concern, Paola took
her cousin’s hand and held it.

So bs reached their palatial home, and as-
cended the broad marble steps together.

“Will you have a cup of tea, dear?” asked
the gentle Paola at the door of her cousin’s
room,

“No, thank you,” replied Inez, with enforced
calm. ‘TI shali be quite restored after a nap.
Say nothing to any one.”

And the door closed between them.

Now the woman was free from scrutiny, and
her terrible passions might expend their force
without restraint. Far from seeking. the recu-
peration of sleep, she tore off her wrappings,
while she paced the, room, tossing them from
her without regard to where they fell.

“Tt is he, and he is not dead!” she cried.
“An accursed destiny has brought him across
my path again at this critical moment! And
what follows? Exposure, and with it the loss
of everything—everything! A breath to Paola
and my influence is gone. I saw the influence
she had over him. He will seek her out. And
he will defend her. I foresee the issue. He is
destined to frustrate us all!”

Such were the reflections of this woman.
while she strode back and forth with clenched
hands, set teeth, blazing eyes, and panting
bosom,

We leave her to return to Harry Hazeltine.

When he emerged from the room into which
he had withdrawn, there was no change in him.
The same war of emotions was raging.

Not looking at his servant, he passed through |
his sleeping-room to the outer apartment, clos- ,
ing the door behind him. Vikir remained with- ,

in. He knew that he would be summoned when
needed,

Alone, Harry began to pace the room, and so
continued until the evening SROng ED Captain
Taunton. Then, like the closing of a visor, an
icy calm settled down over our hero’s agitated
countenance,

They took supper in company. Afterward
Harry said;

“Taunton, if you will not think me fickle of
purpose, I will accompany you to see this Mr.
Wetherby.”

‘“ All right, old fellow,” said the facile sailor.
“You'll get good wine, and a host who will

- drink you under the table, if youcare to meet

him in that way.”

“That will suit my humor to-night. to a T,”
said Harry. ‘‘If Idon’t put the hard-headed
old Englishman under his own mahogany, and
then pack him off to bed, it will be because he
is a better man than I.” Beriah

Though he was outwardly calm, within his
soul he cried: ire

“T will take a plunge into hell, and see if. she
will follow me there!”

In this po he went again to his destiny!

So Fate leads us—so, blindly, we stumble on!

CHAPTER XII.
UNDER THE TABLE. :

James WETHERBY’S “‘ stag” receptions were
given at a club-house, They seldom comprised
more than ten or twelve guests, and usually
not more than half a dozen.. They were merely

 

reunions of bon gargons, gambling being an

incident, not the aim of the gatherings. James
Wetherby was too shrewd to throw his dearly-
bought fortune into the maelstrom of Leaning
for gain. So it was understood that the stakes
were merely nominal, to lend interest to the
game. x

On being pesercted to him, Harry found the
typical English bon vivant, corpulent in build
and of florid complexion—a man.in whose jolly
face his crimes had left no mark, save perbaps
a certain restlessness of the eye.

“ My dear Mr. ’Azeltine,” be said, with, effu-

sion, “I am glad to meet you, sir—hexceedingly

<lad to number you among my friends. I ope,
sir, that this may be the hinauguration of a
henduring friendship, You are ’ eartily wel-
come, sir—eartily welcome!”

Vikir, having followed his master into the
room, fixed his eyes on James Wetherby. They
began to glow and scintillate; bis nostrils di-

lated and quivered; and his lip twitched like |

that of a tiger-cat about to spring.

One of the gentlemen of the party coughed
slightly behind his hand,

James Wetherby started perceptibly, though
his face retained its smiling expression.

“ Hallow me to present to you, sir, my hes-
‘semed friend, Mr. Hasa Dillingham,” he said,
with a deferential wave of the hand toward the
nentleman who had coughed behind-his hand. _

Mr. Asa Dillingham arose and acknowledged
“he presentation with a bow which certainly
incked the grace of a polished gentleman, as he
said, somewhat abruptly:

Glad to see you.”

If he was uncouth in speech and manners, he

vas simply repulsive in personal appearance.
jfe was a man of large frame with a stoop in
‘vis shoulders which seemed out of keeping with
4is build. This threw his head forward, so that
he looked out from under beetling brows with

IRI terme remicme ene te pena
GOP ae tas ak

The Creole Cousins.

a pair of as wicked eyes as were ever set in a
human head. But they had a puzzling ex-
ds as if their fire had been quenched.

me would have said that here was a cruelly
violent man whose spirit had somehow been
| broken.

His face was clean shaven; and this disclosed
the most repulsive feature about the man. His
face was full, but it seemed an unhealthy,
| dropsical puffiness. His complexion was putty-
colored, becoming a livid purple about the lips
and eyes. This peculiarity was also noticeable
at his finger-ends, as he had a trick of raising
his hand to his mouth. The palms of his hands
were yellow, with a strange velvety look, like
the belly of atcad. One felt that they must be
clammy tc the touch.

Toward this man Harry instantly conceived
a creeping horror of aversion, Ignoring his
extended hand, he bowed to him with cere- |
monious. politeness, keeping his eyes fixed on
| his face. |
| As Harry took the seat designated by his |

host, Mr. Dillingham followed him with his
eyes, and, putting his hand before his livid lips,
| coughed slightly, |
| That was the only indication of his chagrin,
| the only expression given to the deadly hatred |
| which he conceived on the spot. ' |
| . Looking at him, Vikir instinctively perceived. |
| this hostility, and from that moment no move-~
| ment of Mr. Dillingham while in the company |
| of his master would escape his vigilance, but
| ever his eyes returned to James Wetherby, and |
| his hand fell upon the hilt of a concealed dag-
| ger, and his lips twitched as we have de- |
scribed.

“You will find us jolly dogs, Mr. ’Azeltine,”
said his host, ‘‘a lot of jolly dogs. We love
good wine and good company. Xs ost I feel
bound to meet hall comers, and drink them
hunder the table, if they make any pretensions |
that way. Jt is the hinitiatory ceremonial of |
hour fraternity. I throw down the gauntlet to
you, sir.”

“Thave never tested my powers of endur-
ance in that way,” said Harry, quietly; ‘but it
were a pity to evade a challenge so gracefully
tendered. If agreeable to you, I propose that
the stakes of each loser go into a common pot,
to be claimed by the Jast man above the board,
and expended inasupper for the company as
soon as we have recovered from the effects of
the contest.” ; :

The fine sarcasm that underlay Harry’s words
were unperceived by his host. He was delight-
ed with the scheme, and, beating the table with
his hand, cried, in true English style:

‘Bre! ‘Ere! Ere!”

The rest of the company declining to enter
pe ene it was confined to Harry and his

ost,

Then began the game, these two drinking
peepee glass for glass.

Unknown to the other, each entered into this
mad carousal to drown thought. '

James Wetherby was haunted by a ghastly
horror ever at his elbow in the person of Mr.
Asa Ding Hau.

Harry Hazeltino was maddened by an, angelic
smile that the wildest revel could not banish.

So the hours passed far into the night,

Harry sat with the same icy impassibility, |
the liquor having apparently no more effect on
him than so much water.

James Wetherby was flushed, and showed |
signs of inebriety, but hung on with English |
bull-dog pertinacity. |

“My motto is—‘ Never say die!’ he said, as
he emptied his glass, and filled it again with an
unsteady hand. “Mr, ’Azletine, sir, Tl say |
this for you: I’ve never met your hequal. If
you're agreeable hi’m yer frien’ till death! Pass

 

 

 

yer glass, Pnnapens er glass!” i

All the while Mr. Asa Dillingham sat like
some hideous ghoul, regarding Harry furtively
beneath his shaggy brows.

Vikir looked at his master sadly, and at James |
Wetherby with that ominous contraction of the |
eyes and twitching of the lips. .

It was nearly daylight when James Weth-
erby’s head sunk forward on the table. He |
struggled to an erect though unsteady posture,
and while his watery eyes rolled dreamily about.
| on the company, muttered:
be * Don’ throw hup the sponge yet.
+ SSan
| But here he toppled from his chair, his fall |
| partly broken by one of his guests, and actually |
| rolled under the table, where a succession of ;
| snores indicated his bestial stupor.
| Harry immediately rose from the table.
| “Gentlemen,” he said, ‘‘I believe it only re-

mains for me to assist in putting my late oppo-
| nent to bed.”
| Congratulations and expressions of wonder at.
his endurance followed. If the gentlemen
| thought that there was anything degrading in
_ what had passed, they kept their thoughts to |
| themselves.
| James Wetherby was duly tucked into bed
| by his suceessful PORPRE REF and in the gray of
the morning Harry Hazeltine went out into the
, cool, pare air, and stood under the paling stars |
| with his friend Taunton, Then the first expres:
sion of bitterness escaped him.

Hi’m goor |

wee ” my

ae ee Pe

 

3

“Well,” he said, “‘the ennobling contest is
done, and I am victor!” r

— a pause of gloomy reflection, he pur-
sued:

“T wonder if the fires of hell are as powerless
to deaden recollection?”

Taunton walked on in silence. What could he
say?

They ete and instead of retiring to his
rooms, Harry ordered saddle-horses, and ac-
companied by Vikir, left the city, following the
course of the river.

When James Wetherby awoke from his
bacchanal stupor he slapped his thigh and de-
clared Harry Hazeltine a man after his own
heart, and determined to make him the lion of
a grand reception scon to be given by his wards.
Thus he blindly drew upon himself a man des-
tined to be his most formidable foe.

 

Meanwhile Harry was being led by the Fates.
On his return toward the city he heard a pier-
cing scream, and turned to see a capsized boat
and a gentleman and lady struggling in the
water.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
, A HUMAN -VAMPIRE.

It now becomes necessary to show the situ-
ation in the home of the Creole Cousins at.this
point in our story, and to do so will involve a
retrogression.

The shock! of hers father’s violent death so

| affected Paola that for days she lay in a ve

precarious condition. In consequence Don Al-

' fonso’s will was admitted to probate and went

into effect without his daughter being fully in-
formed as to its provisions.

That her supposed uncle, James Wetherby,
was sole executor and her guardian, witb full
powers to act for her in everything, was about
the sum of her knowledge. Concerning the
clause making her inheritance contingent upon
her marriage with her uncle’s'consent she was,
for eee reasons, assiduously kept in the
dark,

That he might the better prosecute his plots
against this unsuspecting girl, James Wetherby
took advantage of a Cuban revolution as an ex-
cuse to remove to New Orleans. Here he pro
cured an establishment and lived in elegance.

Of course Inez, his accomplice, and indeed the
instigator of the act of treachery which had
made his fortune, was of his household; and the
money which was his only in trust supported
her extravagance.

The infamous possibilities of this woman’s
naturs had attained a sudden development, in
the moment when she gave the rein to ‘her
hatred for her husband. Thrown upon her own
resources, she had stepped forth at a single
stride, an adventuress of the worst type.

For thé wrong her father had done her in sepa-
rating her from her lover, Don Manuel Rubio,
she determined to take reprisals on whomsoever
fate offered. The ties of kindred were as noth-
ing before her supreme selfishness. Becoming
Don Alfonso’s amanuensis and secretary, she
discovered the fatal will, and also James Weth-
erby’s rascality, and resolved to manipulate the
situation to her own advantage; with what suc-
cess we have seen. ‘

Left to herself she would have pushed mat-
ters to a conclusion, removed Paola from the
path, and divided the spoils; but having to act
viene James Wetherby, she found an impedi-
ment.

This man was of a nature that would never
act until pushed to the wall. it would be years
before he would be called to account for his
stewardship of Paola’s money: and so he lived
on in the present, deferring the day vehen he
must again incur tne risk of crime.

Inez had many a stormy scene with him in
private; but he kept putting her off with the
argument that Paola would one day fall in love
with some one, and by judicious cpposition from
him and encouragement from Inez be led into
an elopement, which would solve the situation
for them without any risk.

But, though surrounded by suitcrs, Paola fa-
vored no one above another, and her twentieth
birthday, a period far heyond the average spin-

| sterhood of Southern women, found her still

fancy-free.

But let us pick up another thread m the warp
of our story.

From hurling his rival! into the sea Don
Manuel Rubio had returned, to claim the re-
ward of his infamy. a

But he found Dot na Inez changed. Her aims
in life had attained a suddenenlargement. Her

| passion for him had given place, in great de-

gree, to anew ambition to reign in society

He had sot the means to gratify this wish; so
she turned toward her cousin’s fortune with a
rapacious greed which crowded all the disinter
ested love out of her heart.

Moreover, as she listened to Don Manuel’s
story, she was seized with a presentiment tha,
Harry Hareltine was not dead, and that some
day he would rise up and confront her.

Discouragetl by her coldness, and by the 1m
possibility of producing proof that Harry was
really dead, Don Manuel threw himself into the
a

 

The Créole Cousins.

ll

 

 

 

 

Cuban wars, and for years led a life of hazard-
ous vicissitude. But of late he had again
sought out the only woman he had ever loved,
and now hung around her in helpless attendance
on her whims.

Such was the situation when the arrival of
Paola’s twentieth birthday made further delay
a fatuitous trifling with Fate.

Then Donna Inez took a stand.
erby must act!

“But,” said the false guardian, “‘ we must ’ave
accomplices; and they must be our dupes, or
they will make an’ole in our fortune, besides
hincreasing our chances for making hacquaint-
ance with stone walls!”

‘* Why are you in such terror of stone walls?”
demanded Inez, impatiently.

Perhaps she spoke wiser than she knew; for
Wetherby darted a startled glance at her, but
a himself, shrugged his shoulders, and
said:

‘Tt would be quite a change hafter the luxu-
rious ’ome we ’ave enjoyed for the past height
years—don’t you think?”

“Bah! you are a coward aswell as a fool!”
cried Inez, angrily. ‘‘ You would sit with fold-
ed hands until the last minute, and then try to
run away from justice, no doubt. Now listen
to my plan; and it must be acted on at once!

“As it is customary in Cuba for parents or
guardians to arrange marriages, you must ex-
ercise that right, being careful to select the most
repulsive old man you can find. But Paola has
lived long enough in the United States to pre-
fer the custom here prevalent, which allows a
young lady to make her own selection.

“T already have my eye on a young man of
plessing addrece, who is in love with her; and
it shall be my business to persuade her that she
loves him, or at least make her prefer him to
the wan you try to force upon her.

“By her elopement the young man gets what
he wants; the old man loses what he never had
a chance of getting; and we step into the prop-
erty as she steps out.”

4 My dear,” said Wetherby, ‘‘ for generalship
you are hunsurpassed! Fetch hon your hold
man, and the game begins!”

As if Fate answered their desires that day,
Asa Dillingham made his appearance.

At sight of him, Wetherby nearly bad a fit.
Evidently he called up unpleasant memories.

Enjoying the consternation caused by his ap-
pearance, Asa Dillingham chuckled behind his
hand, a horrible, gloating exultation. ,

With his livid lips and purple finger-tips, the
«lropsical translucency and clamminess of his
skin, and his snake-like eyes, he looked like a
human vampire.

“Whois this man?” demanded Inez, not tak-
ing the trouble to conceal her disgust.

ames Wetherby was dumb.
Asa Dilingham answered for him.

James Weth-

“Tell her an old friend, Tom—a brother, in |

adversity, ye know! and destined to be more
than a brother in prosperity! Ha! ha! Pal,
you're deuced comfortable, here.
stay !” .

And helping himself to the. most comfortable
arm-chair in the room, Asa Dillingham sat
down, as if he were indeed to become a fixture.

Turning to Inez he waved his hand toward
the door and said:

“Young woman, we are two old cronies with
some reminiscences to go over, and would be
alone. That bashful fellow has lost his tongue,
you see. Tam confident that your presence re-
strains him. If you will allow me to deny my-
self the pleasure of your fascinating company
for one hour, I will then settle down to the full
enjoyment of it for an indefinite period.”

ith scathing indignation Donna Inez drew
herself erect; but, Wetherby sprung to her side,
and seizing her by the arm tried to urge her to-
ward the door, while he said rapidly:

‘For God’s sake, restrain your resentment!
A word from him might ruin heverything!”

“Hold!” cried Donna Inez, shaking herself
free, and fixing her picts ting eyes on Weth-
erby’s now purple face. ‘This man comes to
you out of your past life?”
 ‘“Tt?s useless to deny it,” said Wi etherby, help-
lessly. ‘‘It shows for itself.”

“Then, sir,” cried the woman, turning to Dil-
lingham, “ know that there are no secrets be-
tween thisman and me. We are one in fortune
andinaim, J demand to hear everything you
have to say to and about him |”

Asa Dillingham rubbed his yellow palms to-
gether and smacked his livid lips as he gazed at
Donna Inez after her determined stand,

‘What, Tom,” he cried, with asmile like a
death’s-head; “have you turned voluptuary in
your old age? You sly old Turk! is it possible
that you have caged such a bird? I thought
it was one of your interesting wards.” {

“This lady is Donna Inez—nqt my ward, but
her own mistress,” said Wetherby, humbly.

‘But, Tom,” pursued Dillingham, gloating on
Donna nez’s beauty with a look that was an in-
sult, “you are cheek by jowl with such a peri?
Demme! I don’t know whether most to approve
your. taste. or, wonder. at geome od fortune!
Hutshe’s@ dangerous one, Tom, if she’s wicked
crouch to rassociate with you. She's got the
handsomest mask in the devil’s green room,”

I’ve come to |

Chafing under this insulting criticism, Donna
Inez burst forth; ‘
“Stop, sir! Before you proceed further learn

to deal.’
“My dear!”
tively.
“James Wetherby.” cried the woman, im-
seriously, ‘sit down and cease to annoy me!

interposed Wetherby, plain-

Wetherby succumbed in a decidedly wilted
state.

Dillingham chuckled behind his hand.

“She has you trained, Tom. |
She has pluck, TI admire pluck.”

Ignoring all that had intervened, Inez pro-
ceeded in her address to Dillingham.

‘“T know that you are a thorough-going vil-
lain of the meanest type. Knavery is stamped
on your face; it leers from your eyes; it ap-
pears in every gesture and in the tones of your

in your power, and in your disregard of the
commonest decencies where you think that you
can trespass with impunity,”

“She has penetration,” interposed Dilling-
ham, pursuing his analysis unmoved.

“Of James Wetherby,” continued Donna
Inez, ‘‘1 know that his villainy is limited only
by his cowardice and sloth. I know that his
early life must have been a schooling for that
which has come under my observation. You
have intimated what I have long suspected,
that he is an impostor.

not betray so thorough a knowledge of this

tion to compiaisy with him,”

“Such a logical bead!”

‘“Nor would I thus openly criminate myself
did I not forecast the future sufficiently to see
that we three are destined to work together for
the accomplishment of a common end; so that
perfect frankness between us will not only be
unavoidable, but. safe, since loyalty to each
other will be the only means of self-protection.”

“Tom! Tom!” cried Dillingham, in delight,
ahandsome. And tothink that she voluntarily
iniquity! Oh, I’ve dropped into—”

‘“« Hold!” cried Inez, ‘‘ Think of me as you
like; but outwardly at least I demand that for-
mal courtesy which is my due as a lady!”

‘* And by all the furies I accord it!” cried Dil
lingham, with a burst of admiration, ‘ You
are the only woman I ever respected. You
haven’t got the eternal whine, and I don’t be-
| lieve you're afraid of blood!”
| ‘fam glad that we have arrived at an un-
| derstanding so readily. Now for the story of
| this man’s life. Let none of us have any ad-
vantage over. the others.”

“Halba!l ha! Tom, how do you like that?’
laughed Dillingham. ‘ But how in the world

 

 

business woman without informing her of your
early experience—your apprenticeship, Tomt—
| ha! ha!” z

“Come!” cried Wetherby, at last stung into
dogged defiance, ‘‘I see that this lady is de-
termined to ’ave the story, and youw’e it a
*umor to tell it. So let’s ’ave it hover and done
with.
trust the devil as quick as heither of you!” he
added, roughly.

**You see,my lady, Tom knows me like a
book.”

a Sam-—”

I’ve had a choice selection of names in my time.

| eight years I never saw the sun. Some of my

temptations of a wicked world.” .

cumstances, when his bitterness took the form
of jocularity he was simply monstrous.

advantage over you--while your secrets. bid
know anything to my

to inform on myself.
‘« But to my story.”

CHAPTER XIV.
A Ea aioUD apres a

“Tug principal characters of my story, -
gan Dillingham, ‘“‘are a lady—Mary Wetherby
by name—” :

“Donna Maria!” exclaimed Inez,

“Yes; that, I believe, is the Spanish of it,
Mary Wetherby, a young lady cf rare beauty,
virtue and accomplishments; her brother James,
a young man of promise; her father, a London
tradesman, with a comfortable income and his
villa in the suburbs; and Tom Kittridge a gous
man about town, a ne’er-do-well, a spendthrift,
a— But I desist. His character will beeome
manifest in the narrative,

“Tom Kittridge loved Mary Wetherby, or
her father’s money, which to 4 man of his gort
amounted to pretty much the same thing, As

 

 

 

i

something of the person with whom you have |
’

o you think that I am in a mood for trifling?’ |

Ha! ha! ha! |

voice, in your petty tyranny over one who is |

‘Now, sir, you may well believe that I would |

man’s villainy without a purpose, since my ne- |
glect to denounce him commits me by implica- |

“she’s a bold one, as well as a clear-headed and |

takes me into partnership, the little queen of |

did you recommend yourself to such a thorough ,

1 might as well trust ’er as you, and I'd :

“Hold!” Why not call me Asa Dillingham? |
My last is buried in a Cuban prison, where for |

| beauty—my delicate complexion, for instance! |
| —I owe to this sequestration from the trials and |

ff this man was hideous under ordinary cir- |

“But, my friends,” he pursued, ‘‘T have this |

fair to become common property, neither of you |
isadvantage to tell the |
other, and you have no means of compelling me |

they had lived next door neighbors from their
anys Tom had thé run of the house, and per-
haps an Sagan him as well as she did anybody
else, for he was a good-looking young fellow
| enough in those days.

“ It was natural that Tom and Jim Wetherby
should be fast friends, and that Tom, who had
ae most push, should show Jim some of London

ife,

‘“Now a man may play the very deuce in
London and not be found out by his friends.
‘Tom was bound to live himself, and determined
to get his friend as deep in the mud as he was
in the mire, so that he couldn’t split on him; for
pater-familias looked askant at fast young men,
and Mary was a little saint.

‘But it takes weep to live; and therein lay
Tom’s little game. he could get a hold on
Jim, by inducing him to raise the ready by any
of the crooked. devices known to young men
about town, he could shut up his mouth while
he roped in the innocent and confiding sister,
and through her hold the purse-strings of the
old money-gatherer,

‘‘ Jim wasn’t vicious, but he had to keep step
with his associates or fizzle; and the first thing
he knew he was in a corner out of which money
afforded the only graceful retreat.

‘Tom now produced a Jew who declared his
willingness toadvance the money on a post-obit;
not exactly the thing with a tradesman’s son,
for of course there was no property entailed;
but Tom knew the ropes, and had arranged
things with this particular Jew in a manner
which would have surprised Jim, had he been
imformed of the modus operandi.

‘* Now luck (as it frequently does in such cases)
supplemented Tom’s genius; for at that critical
period pater-familias lay sick, Jim was thin-
| skinned, and objected that the thing would
have an ugly look, the two facts coming into
such mauruive conjunction; but, as Tom ar-
gued, the post-obit wouldn’t affect the old gen-
tleman’s health either one way or the other, and
it wasn’t worth a rap until he. shufiled off, etc.,
in due course of nature. Then Jim.would have
the wherewithal to take it up and put it in the
tire, and nobody the wiser.

‘So, like many a better man, Jim fell. He
got out of one scrape, but he plunged over head
and ears into a worse one,

‘Did you ever play smut, where a greeny
unconsciously rubs his Own uose with lamp-
black in the dark, and the light is struck so that
the company gets the benefit of it? Well,the devil
sarLolinenaay® smut with his friends; and so
it happer in this case, Wor pater-familias
got well, and discovered the post-obit business.
and a lot more, He naturally inferred that the
scapegrace son had speciwiated on the mortality
of his venerable progenitor, and in his indigna-
tion and grief disowned him and cut him off
with the proverbial shilling. i

‘Of course certain irregularities in the con-
duct of Mr, Tom Kittridge came to light, which
horrified the saintly Mary, and caused pater-
familias to kick bim (metaphorically) out of
doors,

“ After this derangement of bis cunningly-
laid plans and the consequent loss of business
and social standing—for everybody kicks the
man that’s going down the hill—Tom openly
went to the bad; and in the end fetched up. at
Botany Bay, with a striped wardrobe and a
prize-ring hair-cut, all because of having acci-
dentally signed the wrong name to a bit of pa-
per. A trifling circumstance to be productive
of such startling results; but then, you know,
| ‘great oaks from little acorns grow,’ etc.

‘As luck would have it, Jim Wetherby, be-

ing thrown on his own resources and finding ad-

| vancement in the Mother Country up-hill busi-

_ ness, set out for the New World, Australia, and

after some rough king about, became a

keeper in the prison where his old friend soon
afterward arrived as—let us say, a guest!

‘That there was no love lost between them
may easily be inferred. Maybe Jim took ad-
vantage of their relative positions to grind
| Tom. Human nature asa general thing finds
revenge palatable, when it can be had without
risk; an e nee oe oe much chenee to
vindicate rights, if im upon. Perhaps
it was only Tom’s pride chating at his subjec-
tion to aman whom he had formerly led by the
nose.

“But not to dwell too long on causes, Tom
soon found himself branded with the queen’s
mark for total insubordination, It is a pretty
device like this.” 1

And on the back of a magazine which lay
handy Asa drew the following

character:

“ Soon after this Tom took it into his head _

wi Aa a es
h in com with some others packed
fee valise and mered to travel for his health,

* But they’re an affectionate set out there in
Botany Bay, They couldn’t bear to parb with
one about, whom clustered such tender associa.
tions, They hunted him up, offered irresistible

t

|
|
|

 

f

 

 

enna ental cheba

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

12

inducements to him to come back, and for fear

that he might get lost again stamped him on the

other shoulder-blade with the runaway’s mark.
“ Here you have it. A pretty letter—eh?”
And he traced this:

R |

“But Tom’s bump of habitativeness must
have been wreteliod)y deficient; for it seems
that he determined once more to roam. One of
the guards was so importunate in his petition
that Tom should not leave them to mourn him
disconsolate, that Tom, out of pure kindness
and merely to put the tender-hearted fellow out
of his misery, tapped him on the head with a
tamping-iron, and persisted in his willful pur-

ose.

“They are famous jesters at Botany Bay;
and they called this purely humane act a mur-
derous assault on the guard. If Tom had wait-
ed—but he didn’t!—they would have carried
out the joke by setting him to dance on nothing,
with a hempen necktie around his neck; or else
they would have presented him with a set of
iron jewelry, twenty-four carats fine, and al-
lowed him to amuse himself at a game which
they call ‘hard work in chains for life.’ In the
latter case they would have added another mer-
itorious mark, putting it on his back, like the
title of a book.

“This distinction is only granted to one who
carries off the highest honors:

 

 

“You see, it is the sign of the Cross: but it
has no religious significance.

“With characteristic modesty Tom declined
the honors he had earned, and sought to cover
his bashfulness by losing himself in the crowd.
But his admiring friends sent Jim Wetherby
over land and sea in quest of him; and Jim’s

z2al was rewarded by finding his old chum at |

Galveston, Texas, employed on an honest trad-
ing vessel.

“Tom was so little vainglorious that it was
found necessary to put him in irons, lest he
should continue to hide his light under a bushel.
But this shrinking from the plaudits of the
crowd had become a monomania with Tom, and
on the passage from Galveston to Havana,

where they expected to ship for the antipodes, |

he erected a monument to modesty which is

witbout. parallel.

escape the testimonials of a grateful country he
jumped, irons and all, into the sea! This while
e@ was allowed his daily exercise on deck.

“But for the testimony of the officers and
crew of that honest trading vessel, T wouldn’t
believe it myself!

“* Meanwhile Jim’s father had died, and also
his sister, after having married a Spanish
grandee. You know how Jim found his bro-
ther-in-law in Cuba, and, accepting his offer,
threw up the keepership of the prison in Botany

ay.
_ “But now bebold a strange anomaly. Jim is
in turn seized with a mania. He insists that he
is Tom,and Tom is Jim!—that Tom, finding
himself pursued, inveigled Jim on board a shi
manned by a crew of villainous cutthroats, all
in his (fTom’s) incerests; and that Jim (and not
Tom) was ironed and thrown (not jumped) into
the sea. As Mary was dead and Don Alfonso
Careno had never seen Jim, and all who knew
him were at the other side of the world, the
cunning Tom (so runs his mania) boldly stepped
into Jim’s shoes, and from his long intimacy
knowing as much about Jim’s family and
friends as Jim did himself, and furthermore
turning his old skill at forgery to account by
imitating Jim’s writing, he had no difficulty in
imposing on the credulous old Don.

“Did you ever hear of such lunacy as that,
Donna Inez? I call him Tom to humor him.
But, old fellow,” pursued the ironical Dilling-
ham, addressing his victim playfully, “I’d
never believe your own testimony against your-
self until I saw the brands which I have de-
scribed on your back.”

All through this cruel story the false James
Wetherby had sat mute, trembling and with
the perspiration starting in his palms and on
his forehead. Now he faced Dillingham’s devil-
ish smile and Donna Inez’s undisguised ‘ con-
tempt with defiance.

“Well,” he said, ‘the story’s all hout. You
hought to know which man went into the sea,
since you were the captain of the vessel from
the deck of which ’e was thrown.”

_ “That is the only point on which the dear boy
is thoroughly rational,” laughed Dillingham.

“Tt ssems, then,” said Donna Inez, looking
from one to the other, “that I find myself in
the elevating society of .an escaped convict and
an honest trader, who throws men into the sea,
and then _— perjured testimony?” A

“Exactly!” assented Dillingham, unblushing-
Wy. “But if we serve your turn, my lady?

ind then, perhaps, you are a greater devil than
oe Waving all etaph,

aving all m sical points of distinc-

tion,” said Donna Tues? Asa D , you

Would you: believe it?—to |

The Creole Cousins.

are just the man that we want. I move that
we proceed to business.”
And the three set themselves to the work of

plotting against the innocent lady Paola.

CHAPTER XV.
BIRDS OF PREY.
At twenty, Paola Careno was the full realiza-
tion of a poet’s dream of womanhood.
From her English mother she inherited her
fair complexion, her soft, fine blonde hair, and

 

men are noted. But by her southern blood, the
rather heavy Saxon build had been toned down
to lines of exquisite symmetry, and every move-
ment was instinct with a pliant grace, while her
voice was attuned to the mellow cadence of
Iberia. Combining the strong passionate na-
ture of a daughter of the tropics, with the re-
tiring sensitiveness of an English gentlewoman,
she was a creature to love and protect, a thing
of beauty and sweetness.

While the cousins were thaking their toilet
for dinner, on the day of Asa Dillingham’s ad-
vent, the impostor, Wetherby, sent word that
he wished to see them in the library a few min-
utes before the time of assembling.

Paola, as yet, knew nothing of Dillingham’s
presence, so that she was all curiosity at this un-
usual summons. Inez simulated a correspond-
ing interest.

“My dears,” said the impostor, when they ap-
peared before him, ‘‘ while in the city to-day, I
ran across an hold boyhood friend—a man ’oo
knew your mother, Paola—and by my invita-
tion he becomes our guest for a few weeks, ’°E
is aman of no pretensions; but ’e ’as amassed a
fortune in trade in the hold country. Hindeed,
e ’ad hextensive business relations with your
father, my dear. ’E’as long been afflicted with
a disease which ’as at length hinduced ’im to
travel for ’is ’ealth. Is appearance at first may
strike you as somewhat singular; but I ’ope ’is
| stay with hus may be made pleasant by hevery
| attention; for ’e is a most hestimable man, and

where ’e is known is much sought after in the
best circles.” ‘

The ladies both expressed their willingness to
do everything in their power to entertain their
relative’s guest.

Almost on the moment Asa Dillingham made
his appearance.

“My dears,” said ners “this is my
most hesteemed friend, Mr. Hasa Dillingham,
of ’0om I have just been speaking.”

‘““My dear Hasa—Donna Hinez Mentoza.”

With a smile which had one significance to
Paola, and a totally different one to Inez, Dil-
lingham advanced, and extended his hand so
markedly that it could not be ignored.

“T am highly honored by so distinguished an
acquaintance,” said he, with a double meaning.

nez could hardly restrain a shudder, as she
allowed her hand to come in momentary con-
tact with the clammy palm of her malicious ac-
complice. She was so enraged at this enforced
civility that she could not trust herself to speak.
However, she controlled her features and
courtesied with marked deference,

“This,” said Wetherby, ‘‘is my ward and
niece, Donna Paola. -You will recognize ’er
mother in ’er.”

Dillingham’s look of deep interest as he ap-
are, his intended victim was not all simu-

ated, nor was the expression of gloating admi-
ration which made his face more repulsive than
ever.

With a sort of paternal familiarity he took
both hands of the shrinking girl, and clasped
them close. :

‘“My dear young lady,” he said, with a simu-
lation of tenderness which was simply sicken-
ing, ‘‘it is like renewing an old friendship to
look at you—a friendship not without its pain-
ful memories,” he added, with a sigh which
was an insult to the dead.

The color faded from the cheeks of the sensi-
tive Paola, as she felt the cold, damp-fingers
close about her hands like the folds of a serpent;
but it swept back again at this reference to her
mother. Bhe could not help resenting the inti-
mation of this hideous ghoul that he had dared
to love one so pure and beautiful as she knew
her mother to have been.

However, she mastered her feelings, and the
party passed in to dinner.

Donna Inez and Wetherby were delighted
with this opening of the campaign; and even
Dillingham experienced a sardonic sort of plea-
sure in the repulsion he excited.

“ As ascarecrow,” he reflected, “I shall prove
a dazzling success. She would elope with the
devil to sad me!”

Excusing herself a moment on the plea of
having forgotten something, Inez washed her
hands thoroughly with hot water and soap, ad-
ding a bath in rose-water. She was back almost
instantly, and during the meal had the pleasure
of tere cousin eat only with her knife
and fork. e girl could not endure to touch
food with her hands while they retained that
nauseous, viscous sensation, as if she had heen
handling a reptile.

Inez pressed the bread upon her, and after-
ward the fruit, which Paola declined with an

appealing look.

 

 

meen

that hardy constitution for which English wo-

‘* Aren’t you feeling well, dear?” asked Inez,
with a laugh, perfectly apparent to her cousin,
behind her mask of simulated solicitude; and in
an agony of embarrassment poor Paola was
forced to admit that her appetite had failed.

During the evening there were several callers,
all of whom, however, had to be entertained by
Donna Inez, since Dillingham hung about Paola
with a serene egotism which excluded every one
else from her society.

She sung for him and played for him; and
afterward he talked to her about her mother in
a way which made her ears tingle in spite of
her good-nature, until her guardian took pity on
her and engaged his guest in a game of whist.

Though her friends were too well-bred to com-
ment, their looks showed that Dillingham was
not destined to become a prime favorite with
them.

One of the gentlemen is worthy of note, as he
will play a conspicuous part in our drama.

Leslie Mansfield was as elegant as was his
name. He could dance ‘divinely ’—such was
the verdict of the ‘‘ butterflies.” He had white
teeth and white hands, and white cheeks dashed
with red. Indeed, his complexion was, secretly,
the envy of all his lady friends.

Three times a week Leslie’s barber went
gravely through the operation of putting lather
on his patron’s dainty cheeks and chin, and
scraping it off again; though this seemed to be
a mere matter of form. The same barber part-
ed Leslie’s hair within an inch, ewactly, of the
middle. But one sacred mystery rested be-
tween Leslie and this on other themes loquacious
knight of the razor—how had he promoted the
reluctant growth of that microscopic mustache
whose blonde beauty was at once Leslie’s care
and pride?

Asif Nature had grudged him anything posi-
tive, his eyelashes had a bleached look, and his
blue eyes were a pale blue; his movements,
while they were, oh, so graceful! lacked direct-
ness and vigor; his voice was musical instead of
being strong, and slurred r’s took the place of
sharp, crisp articulation.

And this fashion-plate in water-colors prided
himself on being a ‘ladies’ man!” Well, we
freely dedicate him to that creation of society.
He certainly was not fit for God’s last, best
work, a thorough woman. :

His fancy being struck by her delicate beauty,
Leslie Mansfield imagined that he was des-
perately in love with Paola Careno. He felt
surprised and piqued that a lady whom he dis-
tinguished from all her sex by honoring her
with his eae should not at once lay her
grateful heart at his feet. | 1

Certainly Paola received his attentions with
a provoking matter-of-course serenity. -She
liked him; tor in many ways he conduced to
her pleasure; but it would take a man that was
aman to awaken her love!

ae denied her society, his only strongly de-
veloped characteristic, his utter selfishness,
came to the surface; and he asked Inez what
stupid old duffer that was monopolizing her
cousin. r

“What! the Honorable Asa Dillingham a
duffer?” cried Inez, arching her eyebrows in af-
fected dismay. ‘* Why, sir, do you know that
he is worth half a million sterling? And.he
made a hit last year in Parliament, in a speech
on something or other. I tell you he is one of
the lions at home! He was considered an eligi-
ble parti among the dowagers; and, having
escaped their machinations, 1 shouldn’t be sur-
prised if he took some one from this side the wa-
ter to grace the head of his table.” ; \

“Faugh!” ejaculated Leslie, with undisguised
disgust, “could any woman marry him? He
reminds me of a toad-stool!” :

“Oh, you are too severe,” dissented Inez.
‘And you know women don’t look for personal
beauty in the men they marry. Mr. Dilling-
ham is a man of good intellectual parts, and of
sterling integrity. What makes him the more
interesting to Paola is the fact that he knew her
mother.” .

‘“He’s old enough to have known her great-
grandmother!” growled Leslie, discontentedly.

Donna Inez eee him playfully with her
fan, and welcomed a new candidate for her at-
tention. 4

But the seed she had sown was destined to
bear fruit.

One of the articles of Leslie’s creed was that
no woman was proof against the seductions of
money; and in imagination he saw this fright-
ful old ghoul throwing his filthy lucre into the
balance against his rival’s personal attractions
and carrying off the prize. Bitterly Leslie re-
flected that he never had a hundred dollars
which he could call his own for a week at a time.

Paola felt bored to death; and as Leslie imme-
diately claimed her he got the full benefit of the
reaction. She felt grateful for the change, and
without premeditation, or indeed consciousness
of the fact »she became more gracious than
usual to Leslie. 2 A
‘This elated the lover, and in conjunction with
the late reminder that he must win her if he
would have her, led him to himself in
complaisance. So Paola’s renin had a very
pleasant ending, and she ascended to her room

 

When she was released from Sora aie

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

=a

= ¥ ss ee

just before midnight with the impression that
Mr. Leslie Mansfield was a very agreeable gen-
tleman.

‘‘ Well,” said Inez, when they were alone to-
gether, “what do you think of him?”

“Of whom?” asked Paola, coming out of a
reverie.

“The Hon. Asa Dillingham!” said Inez, with
evident mock gravity.

“He seems to be a man of considerable infor-
mation,” began Paola.

“But a disagreeable person te shake hands
with!” interrupted Inez, with a burst of ringing
laughter. ‘‘Oh, dear, you must forgive me for
teasing you at table; but it was better than the
opera bouffe to see your head forcing a com-
Se, between your heart and your stomach.

ut even politeness will never induce me to
touch his hand again. Faugh! why don’t such
people, if they must minglein societv, have con-
sideration for the feelings of others?”

“Tt is his misfortune,” suggested the ever-
kind Paola. ‘‘T am sure I would rather endure
discomfort than to hurt him by betraying any
signs of repulsion.”

Donna Inez had been precipitate in startling
the complacency of Leslie Mansfield. Her
words bore fruit before her other plans were
matured. The event which threatened serious
damage to the plots of the intriguers happened
while Leslie had Paola out boating.

CHAPTER XVI.
A DESPERATE LOVER.

THE scene was a broad, smooth sheet of water,
shut in by trees that hung lazily over the wa-
ter’s edge—a sort of bayou setting in from the
Mississippi.

On its surface floated a pretty little skiff,
with upholstered seats and a gay awning of al-
ternate white and blue stripes, scalloped around
the edges and bound with red.

In the stern-sheets Paola Careno trailed her
taper fingers in the water, fecling the charm of
being shut in from all the great outside world,
with only a pleasant companion and nature,

Dipping the sculls, idly, Leslie Mansfield sat
amidships, with an abstracted, nervous air.

Finding him unusually taciturn, Paola asked:

“What is the matter, Mr. Mansfield? Are
you not enjoying yourself?”

‘““Yes—yes—very much indeed.”

“But you haven’t been answering me as if
you were.”

“Excuse me. The scenery is very beauti-

 

“There! See how stupid you are! It is nearly
five minutes since I was speaking about the
scenery.”

“The fact is, I have something on my mind.”

“Indeed? Business no doubt. How compli-
mentary to my powers of entertainment!”

‘* No, not business.”

“Pleasure, then, that wins your thoughts

from the present! Keep on; you are improv-
ing matters!”
And she looked at him with a coquettish
out.
“Tt may bs great pleasure, or very great
ain,” he replied, seeking to gain time, now that
he crisis was at hand.
The half-smile on her face gave place to a
look of questioning solicitude.
If sho had flushed in the slightest degree, he
could have fallen at her fet in the most ap-
proved style, and recited the speech he had been

_conning over; but she was so perfectly uncon-

scious that he was struck with sudden const >r-
nation, and the words of his declaration flaw to
the four winds. .

Leslie Mansfield was not a clever man; but so-
ciety has a certain set of cut and dried for-
mule which help even a stupid man who is
versed in them through the ordinary difficulties
of life; so our lover had never experienced such
embarrassment as he now found himself in.

But he had gone too far to recede, and flush-
ing crimson to the tips of his ears, he stam-
mered:

“Paola—I beg your pardon! Miss Oareno !—

Pve known you for six months, now; and of all }

the ladies of my acquaintance you—I don’t know
—that is to say—I mean— Why, hang it all!—
I beg your pardon! Of course that isn’t a
proper expression to use before a lady. But I
want to tell you that I never was sweet on—”

‘And here poor Leslie came to a dead stand-
still, a total wreck. The slang which was most
familiar sprung unbidden to his lips in his pain-
ful contusion; and it was so inapf that, it took
his breath away.

By this tims Paola was as pretty a picture of
embarrassment as one need wish to look at,

‘““Mr.' Mansfield, I think I understand you,”
she began, from pure kindness of heart, wish-
ing to help him through his painful floundering.
Then perceiving that she had made a very awk-
ward confession seeing that the man had not

_as yet really declared himself, she was at a loss

how to proceed,

Gathering courage of desperation, Leslie made
areckless plunge, and did what he ought to have
done at the start. Dropping his oars, he step-
ped over the intervening thwart cast himself
at the lady’s feet, and sought to seize her hands,

‘girl, in her fright, before

 

The Creole Cousins.

: : -— SS
But the rocking of the skiff frightened Paola, | ‘‘ Oh, you would not dare to do so foolish—

and caused her to grasp the sides of the boat
with a cry of dismay, thus taking her hands out
of the reach of her lover.

The situation would have been ludicrous to a
spectator; but it only added to Leslie’s embar-
rassment.

“Oh, Mr. Mansfield! pray get up!” cried the
e could find his
tongue.

‘* Paola, won’t you let me tell you?” he pleaded.

“But we shall certainly upset!” cried
Paola, pale to the lips, and clinging to the gun-
wales as if she dreaded instant immersion.

“No. See; it is all right now,” urged Leslie,
getting off his knees, so that he rested on his
toes in a squatting posture, and in turn taking
hold of the sides of the boat to steady it.

It was a most ungraceful attitude in which to
make a declaration of love; but proposing to a
lady who is in sympathy with your feelings, or
at worst gives you her undivided attention, is
ee a different thing from breathing the old,
old story into the ear of a beauty whom your
very approach has just scared half to death.

And now, with that aptness of her sex to
seize upon the first avenue of escape, from an
awkward situation; Paola, even atter the dan-
ger, if there had been any, was past, continued
the ee of nervous apprehension, as she
cried, piteously:

‘“Oh, take me ashore, please!—take me
ashore!”

Most men are annoyed by what seems to them
unreasonable timidity on the part of a woman.
To be the cause of that fear just at the moment
when he sought to inspire her with a life-long
confidence is prong to try the patience of an
ordinary mortal. But to feel that she is hedg-
ing behind that trepidation to escape his decla-
ration, and not swear, ought to entitle any man
to canonization!

Leslie did not swear—audibly ; but he set
back on the thwart, and his determination to
oe his case and get an answer appeared in his

‘ace.

‘Listen to me, Paola,” he said, firmly and
collectedly. ‘‘I want to tell you that I love
you, and ask you to be my wife.”

When a man is “mad” he usually acquires
the eloquence of terse, definite statement. Leslie
spoke to the point; but the tone of his voice and
the flash in his eyes were strangely at variance
‘with the tender avowal conveyed by his words,

Paola accepted the defeat of her little ruse;
very decorously she replied:

‘“Mr. Mansfield, I am very sorry to pain you;
but T cannot accede to your wishes.”

All the anger faded from Leslie’s face, to give
place to white-lipped panic. Grasping the
maiden’s hands, he cried:

‘Paola! Paola! you do not mean it!—oh,
you cannot mean it!”

“T do mean it, Mr. Mansfield,” replied the
girl, gently yet firmly. ‘‘I like you asa friend,
but nothing more. I am sorry if I have ever
led you to think otherwise.”

“Give me time, Paola.
dear. Oh,I love you so! You can’t help but
return my affection when you see how devoted
Ishall be. Your every wish—”

But the girl shook her head.

“Tt is useless, Mr, Mansfield. I can never
learn to love you.”

‘*“You love some one else?” cried Leslie, with
a jealous pang.

**No,” replied Paola, looking straight into his
eyes, without a trace of embarrassment. ‘I
have never loved any man.”

“Then my chance is as good as any one’s
else,” urged Leslie, with an egotism not uncom-
mon among men of his caliber. :

“Excuse me; but you are not the style of a
man [ have pictured as my future husband.”

‘“‘But no one ever marries their ideal.”

“T think that no one who looks for happiness
should depart very far from it.”

on o doubt I am very far below your stand-
ard!

There was a touch of returning asperity in
his voice.

Don’t decide yet,

With great forbearance, yet with a slight’

chill of dignity, Paola replied:

“T did not say so.”

Nothing is so hopeless as arguing against
fees :

Leslie gave up in despair,

“You will not be persuaded?’ he asked.

“T cannot.” °

“Your decision is irrevocable?” “

oO This :

“Then, by Heaven! F will show you what it
is to love! ‘You have a heart of ice; but I will
touch it. Paola Careno, no man will ever love
you as I love. You might have secured a life
of devotion; but you have spurned it. When
you think of me, remember that 1 threw away
only what you have pronounced worthless.
Farewell, Paola! Without you, life is insup-
portable!” eS :

He rose; and, divining his purpose, Paola
caught the skirt of his coat.

“Oh, Mr. Mansfield!” she cried, breathlessly.

“Do you relent?” he demanded, , yet
clutching the coat in readiness to snatch it out
or her hand and consummate his purpose, __

 

13

so wicked a thing!” cried Paola, ignoring his
question.

‘*Do you relent?” he repeated.

“T cannot. But—”

‘“‘Then see whether I dare or not!”

Leslie Mansfield was not a courageous man;
but weak, selfish, and above all vain men are
just the ones who do desperate deeds in a mo-
ment of recklessness. @ was thoroughly ex-
asperated by the petty annoyances he had met
with in his infelicitous love-making; his pamtty \
was hurt by that greatest slight that can be
sustained by a conceited man, the) rejection of
his love; and, lastly, for the moment, his self-
ishness, with characteristic proneness to en-
hance the value of a thing desired in proportion ©
as it is unattainable, made life deprived of what
he coveted seem hateful. Such men commit
suicide as a petulant child casts itself on the
ground, regardless of the hurts it will receive.

These feelings, together with the love of weak
natures to create a sensation by striking terror
to their fellows, were sufficient to goad Leslie
Mansfield to self-destruction. /

Determinedly he sought to tear himself free
from the detaining hands, stepping forward
over the thwart from which he had just arisen.

Screaming, ‘‘Mr. Mansfield!” Paola clung to
him so that she was dragged to her feet.

The boat swayed.

In terror the girl let go her hold.

Being suddenly freed and at the same time at
tempting to throw himself from the boat, Leslie
stumbled and fell with one knee on the gan-
wale,

In a twinkling the frail craft was capsized;
and Paola’s piercing scream ended in an omi-
nous gurgle, as she sunk beneath the water.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
‘THAT MAN MUST DIE,”

Eraut years of hope deferred had changed
Don Manuel Rubio from a somewhat reckless
devil-may-care gallant into a rather bitter man
of the world, His campaigns in the Cuban
revolutions had given him an imperious, soldier-
ly-bearing; and his face had contracted a look
of fierce discontent, a perpetual protest against
his hard lot, ‘

One may fight one’s way toa throne; but how
carry a woman’s favor by storm? ¢

Sore with long disappointment, he formed a
desperate resolve to settle his fate, one way or
the other, for sped and all; and so sought his
obdurate lady-love. “

“Inez,” he began, having her out behind a
een of mettlesome grays on the famous Shell!

ad, ‘it is now eight years since you charged
me with a commission, on the execution of
which you promised to be my wife.”

“Yes,” admitted the woman, showing no
emotion at this reference to a murder at her
instigation. ‘

“During that time nothing has occurred to
countervail the evidence that the mission was
fully executed?”

a No.” .

“Tnez, during this probation have I been
reasonably patient—as pene as you could ex-
pect a man to be whose life-happiness was being
withheld from him for what seems to him in-
sufficient reasons? Have I been as little impa-
tient.as you could wish a lover to be?”

‘“You have been a model of tractability, all
things considered, Don Manuel,” said the wo-
man, looking into his eyes with a smile meant
to win him from his seriousness.

But he was in no mood for levity. Indeed he
was holding strong passions in check, and they
threatened to burst from his control, as he
asked:

“Inez, do you ever mean to redeem that

*

_| pledge?”

“ Yes,” ’

“When?”

‘“* Not to-day.” :

“Don’t trifle with me!” (

“Don’t threaten me!”

“You are quick to resent the slightest asser-
tion of manhood on my part, in opposition to
your will,” said the man, bitterly.

“ Because,” said the woman, looking straight —
before her, ‘‘T have lived in this world long
enough to know that in the domestic relation
there is no compromise between ruling and
being ruled.’ It suits my nature to rule!”

“ But I have a right to at least ordinary con-
sideration!” cried the man, passionately.

Inez turned her eyes upon his flushed face,
and said, in measured, icy tones:

“'The man who marries me has a right to just —
so much as he can command—not a feather’s-
weight more! He is at liberty to oppose his
will to mine whenever he chooses. Iam willing
to abide the issue, and he mst accept it!”

“ And this is the love for which I have damned
my uk and then served in bondage for eight

ears

“Tf you are not content, I will pay you in
money, double what. you have been paid for
risking your life on the field!”

Don Manuel gazed at this woman of the war- —
ble heart helplessly. He was thinking of the
time when she bung languishing in his arms,

 

 

 
 

 

=

   

 

Contrasting the past with the present, he almost
wondered whether it could be the same woman.

“Tnez,” be asked, “‘do you love me? Have
you ever loved me?”

“Yes,” she replied, “*T love you—IL have al-
ways loved you.” :

“Teculd well believe you once,” he replied,
with an appeal in his eyes. ‘‘ But now you are
so changed, ‘You answer a with less enthusi-
asm than if you were accepting an invitation to
a drive,”

“Tt is because I have outlived sentiment,
Manuel, and got at the actualities of life,” said
the woman, more graciously than she had spoken
before.

“Tt was a sorry day for me when you ate of
this tree of knowledge,” replied Don Manuel,
ruefully, ‘I would rather have you as you
were—”

“Before the fall?’ laughed the woman, some-
what sardonically, following out his figure.
‘Before your head strangled your heart!”
“But now you must take me as I am, or not

““T will gladly do that.”

““Then you must wait patiently—”

“* Por dios! have I not waited?”

“You may be nearer the end than you think,”
said the woman, looking into vacancy.

“*Tnez!”

“Tt may be—it must be within the next
twelve months, if at all.”

“Inez!”

“T have had two motives in deferring our
union.”

“Two motives?”

“One, the fear that that man might some day
arise in our path.”

‘*But the circumstances made escape impos-
sible. And he has not been heard from for eight
years.”

| “True.” ' 4

“Then you must now forego that objection.”

“ I do. ”

“Then what remains?”

“The great prerequisite of civilized life—
gold!”

“Tnez!”—reproachfully.

“You are not rich—I am not rich. But those
tastes for the magccetion of which money is
indispensable have come to dominate my life.
Starve them and the most perfect love would
turn to hate.

‘There is one year of my life which has ever
since been a perfect marvel to me,” pursued
Donna Inez, dreamily, referring to her year of
married life in the seclusion of Harry Hazel-
tine’s villa, ‘*It was a year whose content was
partly simulated and partly real, though how
I could have vegetated amid such surround-
es now passes my comprehension. I was not

* Bah! let us not dwell on the past!” she cried,
interrupting herself with fierce scorn.

“What, then, of the future?’
; “My cousin is within one year of her major-
i : Yes,”

“Within that year a large share of her prop-
erty must come under my control.”

“ But your plot has hung fire for eight years.”

“A part of the delay was unavoidable; a part
was due to Wetherby’s procrastination. hile
his stomach is full he is content. But he must
act now.”

“And if you succeed you will deny me no
Jon: ry?

‘Manuel, I will deny myself no longer!” said

the woman, looking into his eyes with the first |.

show of tenderness.
: . Ay dios !” trembled on the lips of the Span-
iard,

But at that instant his companion turned her
eyes away from him, and with a low ejacula-
tion spread her fan before her face.

Don Manuel saw the blood recede from her
cheeks, while her features became rigid with
fear; and looking up he discovered a carriage
containing a lady and gentleman just passing,
the gentleman staring at Donna Inez with a
look of surprised recognition and drawing in his

‘ horse,

The gentleman was Capt. Ned Taunton; and

in his amazement he actually brought his horse
to a standstill, with the half-formed purpose to
turn about, follow the carriage he had just

passed, and ascertain if this was indeed the wo-
man he had left for dead eight years ago in
Cuba, stricken down by the hand of his. best
iriend, and that friend made a wanderer over
the face of the earth in consequence. But sec-
«nd thought showed him the great impro-
bability of his supposition. Then, too, if it
proved to be she, no good would result from the
establishment of the fact, since; as then sw

posed, Harry Hazeltine had been dead eight
years, lost overboard from that Spanish vessel
in a storm—so the captain of the Ysabel had

reported,
These thoughts passed Soe Taunton’s
utind all in a tlash; and when his lady compan-
ion looked at him in surprise, aud asked;

‘* What is the matter?”

He rej ;
‘ Nothing.”
Aad dove on,

; The Creole Cousins.

so easily had he known what transpired in the
other carriage.

Donna Inez clutched Don Manuel’s arm. |
, ee you notice that man?” she asked, breath-

essly.

“Yes, He started as if he recognized you
with a great deal of astonishment.”

“He did recognize me!”

“* Who is he?”

“ For God’s sake do not look back!” she cried,
checking that very natural movement on Don
Manuel’s part. ‘I would not confirm his re-
cognition for the world! He may conclude that
he is mistaken. Has eight years changed me
much?”

“ Not much—no,
That was not— Nonsense!

‘No, it is not the one
could not be mistaken in him. Butitis a man
whom I have almost as much cause to fear.”

“Who, pray?” Have I met him?”

The woman laughed hysterically.

“No,” she said, ‘‘I believe you did not stay to |
meet him.”

It was the first time she had ever referred
with anything like reproach to Don Manuel’s
flight when her body had intervened between
him and her husband’s bullet. "

He did not see the force of her words, but
looked at her puzzled, until she added:

“He was his nearest friend. His name is
Taunton.”

Then Don Manuel flushed crimson.

“Would
was?” he asked.

But why do you fear him?
‘You are crazy!” |

.

‘*Prudent!” cried the man, his sore pride
catching at the word that might have a double
meaning. ‘I have bepinined to you again and
again why I was unarmed—for your sake!—”

“ Yes—yes.”

“And there could have been no possible ad-
vantage to you had I stood there and allowed
myself to be butchered, without the ability to
raise a finger in my own defense, or in yours—”

“T admit it all.”

“‘ Besides I did not even suspect that you were
wounded until I saw him fieeing. Then I re-
turned to you.”

“That is true.”

“And did I not follow him? Did I sbrink.
when it came to the test of hurling him into the
sea ? ‘

“T have not questioned your courage.”

“By implication only!”

“T did not mean to do so. I retract it.”

“ Caramba !” cried the Spaniard, not yet ap-
peased; ‘tin fair combat I dare face any man
alive!”

“Thanks for the suggestion!” cried the wo-
man, with sudden animation. ‘TI shall put you
to the test!”

“T hail the opportunity!” cried Don Manuel,
with a touch of braggadocio. **T will vindicate
myself in your eyes.’

‘Pardon me!—I did not mean it asa test.
But my safety demands a service which will in-
volve a duel, or the employment of a bravo,
believe there are such men to be bought in New
Orleans, as in old Spain?”

“‘Sinee the question has come up I prefer
that my own hand shall rid you of your enemy!”

“As you will. But that man must die!”

“Trust me—the world is no longer big enough
to hold him and me!”

“ But you must take care of yourself, Man-
uel!

“ Enamorata, do you care?” asked the man,
in tender acents. :

“More, perhaps, than you.know!”

And there was a look in Donna Inez’s eyes
which showed that the old love was not dead.

CHAPTER XVIII.
ODDS AND ENDS.

THAT night Capt. Taunton was thunderstruck
at meeting his old friend, Harry Hazeltine,
alive and in the flesh! His delight at this (to
him) return from the grave was almost equaled
by his pain at the great change which made the
Harry of old scarcely recognizable in this man
who seemed almost a wreck both physically and
spiritually. : ¢

And yet ‘here was something puzzling about
Harry. Aside from that haggard ghastliness
of face and strange blending of brilliancy and
languor in his eyes, hé seemed in full bodily
vigor. ~

‘aunton refrained from speaking of his en- |
counter on the shell road until he should have
proved that it was indeed Inez, more especially
as he inferred from Harry’s manner and some
bitter words that he let drop that he was still
under the impression that his wife was dead.

For three or four days following Capt. Taun- |
ton was so busy with duties pertaining to his
ship that he found it impossible to irvestigate |
the matter, and for the same reason Don Man-
uel Rubio was unable to find him so as to force |
an encounter.

moment of ungovernable irritation she told Don |
Manuel not to approach her again until he

 

brought an account of the duel.
This banishment prevented her from commu- '

\ B

ou have had me stay, unarmed as I |

“No. ‘You adopted the only prudent course.” |

He would not have regained his equanimity | nicating to him at*once her more terrible en-

counter with her husband, which took place on

| the afternoon of that day.

In the evening Harry Hazeltine went to
drink the false James Wetherby under the
table, and in the morning went horseback rid-

_ing, partly to annul the effects of his night of

debauch, and partly to divert his mind from its

| wretchedness.

This brings us to the end of our retrospect.
‘The reader will recall that on his return rry
was startled by a cry, and discovered a lady

/and gentleman struggling in the water near a

capsized boat.

 

CHAPTER XIX.
THE RESCUE.
Wuetuer Mr. Leslie Mansfield would have

ou have in mind. [ | persisted in his designs on his own life had he
| met with no opposition, is an open question.
| Perhaps it was the unforeseen accident of the
| overturning of the boat that turned his thoughts
| into an entirely different channel; or possibly

Paola’s scream unnerved him; or the touch of
water may have dampened his ardor.

One fact, however, was demonstrated. No
sooner did he find himself in danger of drown-
ing than the desire to preserve his life became
as all-engrossing as it had been a moment be-
fore to throw it away.

Let not the reader suppose that he was actu-
ated on the principle of ‘‘every man for him-
self, and the—gentleman in black take the hind-
most!” .

Perhaps the fact that he could not swim may
be taken in extenuation of this, tosay the least,
ungallant proceeding. Indeed, he had little ad-

| vantage over Paola; and both might eventually

 

have drowned, but for help which came from
the shore.

Paola’s despairing cry had reached the ears of
Harry Hazeltine; and wheeling his horse sharp-
whe spurred him into the water, crying out to

ikir:

“Follow me!”

Master and man swam their horses to the res-

| cue, and while yeas the drowning Paola
| to his saddle-bow,
| Mansfield from the awning of his boat, where

ikir disentangled Leslie

he was making desperate though not altogether
successful efforts to keep his head above water.

A great surge of conflicting emotions swept
through Harry Hazeltine’s heart, as he recog-
nized the girl who lay limp and lifeless in his
arms. Fate seemed determined to bring them
together. Should he yield to it?

The very sight of her had roused his better na-
ture, and set it to rattling the chains of dis-
trust of womanhood which fer years had over-
whelmed it. It had never rested quietly, Its
fe eee rotest had made the unrest of his
ife. But during the past twenty-four howrs it
-had fought in open rebellion.

In spite of himself he believed in the purity
and truth of this woman. And from faith in
her to love for her was but a step.

Her helplessness now appealed to him more
strongly. than her beauty had done. As the
sense of protection is one of the strongest ele-
ments of mother-love, so a magnanimous nature
goes out in tenderness toward anything that:
needs its cherishing strength.

While his horse swam back to the shore Harry
gazed upon the unconscious girl, until tears
came into bis eyes. They were the first that
had shed their balm on his sore heart since that
day eight yor ago, when, all in a moment, bis
spirit had been crushed to the earth.

But by the.time he had dismounted and Jaid
her on the greensward, the fierce fires of a bit-
ter resentment had burned his eyes dry.

He hugged his wrong to his heart. He would
not forget that she was one of a fickle sex
whose weak impulsiveness rendered them inca-
pable of a strong, abiding love, to which a man
might anchor all his hops, confident that all
the powers of earth could not prevail against it.
It was such a Jove that he craved. And trust-
ing to a delusion of fair seeming, his heart had
been shipwrecked!

Embittered by these reflections, he hated the
uncenscious girl for her power over him, At
the same time he hated himself for a coward,
as he resolved to fly from the fascinations of her
pure face. :

He had no fears for her seth _ Her uncon-
sciousness had not been induced by suffocation
from her immersion in the water. She had
fainted with terror. She would revive ina few
minutes. By that time he must be away,

To use a popular expression, Leslie Mansfield
looked like a drowned rat. Aside from the
scare and the wetting of his clothes he was none
the worse for his abortive attempt at suicide.

“¢ Allow me to thank you for your timely as-
sistance,” he said to Harry, “ and let us proceed

at once to the restoration of—”

“One moment,” interposed Harry, checking

_him as he knelt beside the unconscious Paola.

‘The lady is in no danger. She will revive of

her own accord in a moment. She has only
Donna Tnez fretted at the delay, until in a | fainted. , eo)
‘Meanwhile, I have a word to say which may

strike you as strange. Set it down to the score
of eccentricity, if you wish. It is this:
‘*T know absolutely nothing about this lady,

\

 

 

 

 

 
 

sit up.

* possible,

The Creole Cousins.

 

and she knows nothing of me. For reasons of
my own, I wish this ignorance of each other to
continue. Moreover, [ do not wish to figure in
the role of a hero, nor as the recipient of any
one’s gratitude, Explain to her the rescue in
any way you choose, only do not betray my
agency iw it. She will never hear any story
contradictory of the one she hears from your
lips.
**See! she already shows signs of returning
animation.

“Tf you feel any gratitude for the preserva-
tion of your own life, do not betray me! Good-
by!”

And leaping again into the saddle, Harry
dashed out of sight, followed by Vikir.

Leslie Mansfield’s amazement won his atten- |
tion even from Paola for a moment, while he
gazed after the man whose strange demeanor
seemed explainable only on the theory that he
was of unsound mind. But if he wasa lunatic,
he had an equally strange keeper. During the
whole proceeding Vikir had remained as mute
as an automaton.

But Paola sighed and shivered. Leslie knelt
again and took her hands.

Before Paola opened her eyes Leslie had time
to reflect that, if he maintained a discreet si-
lence on the manner of her getting ashore, she
weuld of course infer that he had saved her. If
the matter ever came to light, which was im-
probable, he could justify himself on the ground
of his debts of gratitude to their common res-
cuer, and the latter’s earnest injunction. of si-
lence, As a question of morality, this deception
gave him very little trouble.

“Oh, Paola! can you ever forgive me?” he
cried, on her first awakening to consciousness. |
‘“‘T cannot tell you what I have suffered, fear-
ing that you would never open your eyes again!
The deadly peril it has exposed you to has
shown me my folly and wickedness. Can you
forgive me? I shall never forgive myself!”
“Yes, I forgivo you freely. Indeed there
seems to be but little real harm done,” said
Paola, smiling faintly.

In her never failing kindness of heart her first
instinct was to relieve what she supposed her
companion’s remorse and self-reproach, by put-
ting the best face on the matter.

“Oh! you can’t tell how you relieve me by
your cheerfulness; though I know you are far
from well; and it doesn’t make me any the less
blameworthy. Can you remain here alone
while I go for some sort of conveyance to get
you home?”

‘*Perhaps I can walk to the nearest house,”
suggested Paola, though it made her dizzy to

**Oh, don’s try to do that! It is altogether
unnecessary;” protested Leslie, reflecting that
the horsemen might not yet be out of sight on
the level road.

But he might have spared himself anxiety.
Paola was not equal to any pedestrian effort.

rear ins, her in as comfortable a position as

e secured a carriage and shawls, and
so took her home.

But on the way he said:

“T am ashamed to ask any consideration at
your hands, after what has occurred. But you
are so generis, Will you screen my folly,
and let this go to our friends as an accident?”

You may readily believe that Paola was only
too anxious to agree to this adjustment of what
otherwise would have been a very embarrassing
adventure to relate.

So the world coupled Leslie Mansfield and
Paola Careno as the hero and heroine of a spicy
adventure; and humorous friends predicted
“cards and cake ” as the natural outgrowth.

But the keen and interested eyes of Donna
Inez detected a certain restraint in the manuer
of both Paola and Leslie. Moreover Paola now |
manifested a gentleness in her intercourse with |
Leslie which inspired him with gloom instead of |
pleasure,

Under Inez’s manipulation Leslie was the |
most plastic of wax; and once on the track, she
soon had the whole story, so far as it related to
his proposal and rejection. On the particulars !
of the rescue he was the embodiment of reti- |
cence.

“You foolish boy!” chided Inez. ‘‘ You have |
come near spoiling everything.” |

“No doubt,” said Leslie, ruefully, ‘if every- |
thing was not spoiled before I attempted it!”

“Nonsense! You don’t understand women.
Do you want to marry my cousin?”

“Rather,” answered the lover, dryly.

“Then you shall.”

‘Nothing easier!”

“Skeptic! leave matters to me.”

“T know of nothing more prom’'sing.”

‘You speak more wisely than you know,
Would you marry Paola kvowing that she did
not love you?”

“T would be only too glad to get her on any |
ee hat 1 |
would you do to get ber?”

«Wd eae heaven!” in th

ve all tha’ qu sess in the
world?” wi Bere Po

be Ha! ha! That wouldn’t buy her a wedding-

Your life?”

 

 

‘*T meant to give that.”

‘Would you strain a point of honor?’

“ Pish!”

And Leslie snapped his fingers, adding:

“Try me.”

“Not that that is necessary, of course,” said
Inez; ‘‘ but Iam glad to see you in earnest. I
can’t tolerate a milk-and-water man! Now,
Leslie Mansfield, I have taken a great fancy to
you, and have set my heart on seeing you and
dear Paola marry. You two were made for
each other; and if you’ve goti the pluck to fight
anid own way, you will marry her in the end.

‘Il help you; and when I undertake a thing, /
always succeed !” .

There was something in ber manner that
impressed Leslie; and after gazing at her in si-
lence a moment, he said:

‘‘If we do succeed, ask anything of me in re-
turn—anything |”

“*Tt’s a bargain!” she replied.

And they clasped hands on it.

Meanwhile Harry Hazeltine had returned to
his hotel in greater perturbation than ever.

Once more he passed into the room which no
one but he and Vikir ever entered. The same
look of deep sadness settled down over the face
of the West Indian, and he gazed at the curtain
ps reece

Mutely he took up his vigil again, and the si-
lence of death reigned in the apartment.

 

 

CHAPTER XX.
THE DUEL,

In theearly evening of the day which so nearly
witnessed the death of Paola Careno, Capt. Ned
Taunton was walking rapidly toward the Hotel

‘St. Louis, in quest of his friend, Harry Hazel-

tine, when he brushed against a man going in
the opposite direction.

Turning, he saw a man of military bearing,
evidently a Spaniard; and, with his wonted po-
liteness, gallant Capt. ‘Taunton executed a naval
salute, and said: ‘ Pardon, sefior!” and would
have passed on, not recognizing the man, had
he not cried, cavalierly:

“ Hold, Seftor Americano! If I mistake not,
this is the second rudeness you have been guilty
of. Boor, take this, and learn better manners!”

And Don Manuel Rubio, for it was none other,
sano Capt. Taunton on the cheek with his
glove.

On the impulse of the moment Ned shot a re-
turn blow straight from the shoulder; and the
insolent Spans rolled on the pavement.

“A Roland for your Oliver, sir Spaniard!”
cried. the Yankee sailor. ‘‘You see, we never
leave a courtesy unrequited.”

“Oaramba! it is characteristic!” growled
Don Manuel, as he picked himself up. ‘‘ This
dog has the recourse of a lepero !” (beggar.)

“Notso!” cried Taunton, promptly. ‘If you
are not satisfied, I can let some of the hot blood
out of your veins. It may give you a milder
temper.” ‘

“Ohingara !” sneered the Spaniard, in choice
Castilian billingsgate, ‘“‘the slash of the cutlass
is not fit for the dueling ground.”

“* You are over-nice, my fine fellow!” laughed
Taunton. ‘For my part, I am satisfied with
your rank, since, no doubt, you will bleed very
much like a better man. But, to satisfy your
scruples, let me present myself as Captain Ed-
ward Taunton, in command of the United
States cutter, Fleetwing.”

And bowing, he presented his ecard.

‘Unless, perhaps,” he added, with an insult-
ing smile, “you prefer to hire a bravo to avenge
your wrongs!”

“4 servicio de V., sefior capitan!” said Don
Rubio, presenting, in turn, his card.

“Senor Rubio,” said Ned, glancing at the
card, ‘‘it seems to me that undue importance is

iven these little affairs by formal negotiation.
Gan we not arrange this in a word between our-
selves?” i

“Your suggestion accords with my humor,

precisely. The sooner over the better. If to-

| morrow morning, at sunrise, will suit you—”

“Unfortunately, the business of getting ready
to put to sea occupies my time almost entirely,
during the hours of Gru tiant. But the moon
will be at the zenith to-night at twelve. Will
there be light enough for us to find each other
with oursword-points—if that weapon isagreea-
ble to you?”

“Perfectly! But I warn you that I shall
fight to the death, which may interfere with
your business of to-morrow!” said the Spaniard,
with a covert sneer.

“T apprehend no such mischance,” replied
Ned, indifferently. “If all is satisfactorily ar-
ranged, then, we have three hours in which to
seek a friend and repair to the ground.”

“ \ friend, but no surgeon!” said Rubio, sav-
agely. a
BOX you will. Adios, sefior!”

“ Good-evening, sir!” said Don Manuel, speak-
ing in English, not to be outdone in politeness.

And bowing, the gentlemen °

Capt. Taunton hastened on to the Hotel St.
Louis, to meet there with a strange surprise,

 

15

He was admitted to Harry’s apartments by

ikir.

Brushing hastily by him he glanced about the
room end asked eagerly:

“Tsn’t Mr, Hazeltine at home?”

“ Si, senor ; but—”

“ Where is he?”

‘“‘My master craves your indulgence. He can
receive no one.”

‘** But he will receive me.”

“Tmpossible, sefior.” :

“Nonsense! I have known him all my life.
We are like brothers. Where is he? I will speak °
to- him.”

‘Pardon, sefior. You must accept my word
for it. He cannot see you.”

x “But [have important business. I must see
im.”

“'To-morrow—”

“Will not do. I must see him to-night—im-
mediately.”

“ Again, sefior, it is impossible.”

“Oh, but there must be some mistake! Did
he give you special instructions that he would
not receive me?”

‘No, sefior.”’

“Then I will go to him at once.”

‘* Sefior |”

But Taunton had opened the door to Harry’s
sleeping apartment, and entered before he could
be at ee

ikir glided past him and got between him
and the curtained door to Harry’s private and
mysterious retreat. ‘ "

‘Why, he isnot here,” said Taunton, glancing
about the room. ‘Ah! here is another door.

He would have drawn aside the curtain; but
Vikir stepped before it, and raising his hand
with an impressive gesture, said:

‘Stop, sefior! “You cannot enter!”

For the first time Taunton was sufficiently
aroused from the contemplation of his own con-
cerns to observe the grave, sad dignity of the
West Indian. :

‘Why, what is the matter with you?’ he
asked.

“Sefior, you cannot enter,” repeated Vikir,
with his eyes on the floor.

“You infernalcroaker!” cried Taunton, losing

-| all patience, ‘‘ whatis the meaning of this mum-

mery? What is the reason I cannot enter?’
“Pardon, sefor, but I cannot explain.”
“But I will not be balked by your stupidity.
There is no reason why your master should re-
fuse to see me. Stand aside! I must see him.”

And Taunton advanced, as if to thrust Vikir |.

from the doorway. \

His eyes blazing with sudden excitement, the
West Indian drew a curiously-shaped dagger,
and for the first time raising his voice from the
sad cadences of sorrow to tones of ringing com-
mand, cried:

“Stay, sefior! If, you force me to it, I will
serve my master even to the taking of the life
of his best friend!”

In this attitude Vikir was a man whom no
one could despise,

Brave man as he was, Captain Taunton step-

back before the blazing eyes of one whom
e recognized as his equal at least in courage
and determination.

Instantly Vikir’s dagger te and his
air of deprecating respect came back.

‘“* Pardon, sefior,” he said. ‘I know my mas-
ter’s will, and must execute it.”

Without argine the point further, Ned raised
his voice, and called:

‘“‘Hall—I say, Hal! Come out here, old fel-
low. I wish to see you on a matter of life and
death!” ,

No sound responded. p

“You may Call. He will not heed,” said
Vikir, more and more sadly. ;

Now a sudden fear seized Taunton, and he
called again:

“Hal! Hal! Don’t you hear me?”

Dead silence! ;

“T beg that you will desist,” said Vikir, ‘lest
you arouse impertinent curiosity in the hotel.”

“Has anything happened to — master?”
st Ned, gazing anxiously into Vikir’s gloomy

ace.

‘* Nothing, sefior.”

‘Oh! he is not—”

But the question was left unfinished. Taun-
ton conceived the idea that his friend might be
intoxicated. “Perhaps he was sleeping off the
effects of his last night’s debauch. This theory
would explain Vikir’s sadness. The servant
loved his master, and was pained and humili-
ated by his weakness. A

Going to Harry’s writing-table, Ned dashed
off a note, relating his encounter with Don
Manuel Rubio, care) regret at having to
seek any other than his best friend at such a
time, and adding that, if he survived the meet-
ing, he would send word, to relieve Harry's

anxiety. f ‘

“Give this to your master as soon as he
makes his appearance,” said Taunton, adding
with a brave man’s respect for the feelings of «
the most humble: ‘‘ Pardon my harsh—”

‘‘Sefior, say not a'word!” interrupted Vikir;
and i t. Taunton’s hand, he touched
his lips to it with a humility which was not in-
consistent with the most perfect self-respect,

\

 

 
  

|

 

principals were read

what has it cost me!

ss

Beginning to see that Vikir was no ordinary
servant, Taunton departed to prepare for the
impending duel.

hen he was gone Vikir began to pace the
inner apartment. Puausing after a time, he
stood with folded arms gazing with humid eyes
at the curtain.

“Alas!” he sighed, “he is his own worst
enemy !”

Meanwhile the duelists had repaired to the
** Wield of Honor!”

It was an open glade on the outskirts of the
city, now bathed in a flood of silvery moon-
ight. .

Capt. Taunton was accompanied by his own
subordinate officer, Lieut. Roselle.

Don Manuel Rubio’s second was an attaché of
the Spanish consulate, Sefior Camarez.

Relieved of hats, coats, vests and collars the
for action.

At the word their long, lithe blades came to-
gether with a sharp click. F
Then eye to eye, and toe to toe, two men,
a human tigers, watched each for the other’s

 

e.

Restlessly they moved about each other—ad-
vancing—retreating—now standing firm.

The steel blades rubbed against each other
with a sound like the hissing of serpents.

Now they were pressed round and round.
Anon they flew apart, to strike together with a
ringing clash.

Now tierce and carte! Now lunge and parry!
Now clash! clash! clash! The flexible blades
writhe and dart and whirl like living things.

At last a cry from Don Manuel’s second, and
the red blood!

Capt. Taunton’s rapier had passed through his
adversary’s sword-arm!

Stepping back, Ned lowered the point of his
weapon. © was willing to give the Don an
opportunity to have his wound dressed.

ut, enraged, the Spaniard cried:

‘*Fool! defend yourself! Did I not say I
fought to the death?”

And he charged his adversary savagely.

Before this unexpected attack Ned was forced
to retreat, defending himself at great disadvan-
tage.

Stepping upon insecure ground, he tripped.
His adversary pressed him hard. rf

He sunk upon one knee, catching part of his
weight on his left hand.

His guard, rendered insecure by his loss of
equilibrium, was beaten up; and with a deadly
ar Don Manuel’s rapier passed through his
, ! e
Tho murderous Spaniard forced his weapon
home to the hilt, and then let go the handle,
that in falling Capt. Taunton might enlarge the
wound by the weight of his own ys

But Ned fell over on his side.

Seeing this, Rubio was about to retake his
sword, when Lieut. Roselle, who had divined
the Spaniard’s murderous intent, sprung for-
ward, —

“Stop our work is done. - I will with-
draw that weapon.”

Bowing stiffly, Don Manuel withdrew, donned

- his garments, and —< his carriage with

his second, was driven rapidly from the field.

Entering Donna Inez’s presence, he said:

‘“‘T have earned the right to present myself
before you by adding another life to the ac-
count!”

‘Edward Taunton is dead?”

“T have run him through the body within the
hour! I see suspense.has chased the color from
your cheeks. He was not worth so much.”

“Ttis not that,” said Inez, who was indeed
ghastly pale. “But if your work this time is
not more thoroughly done than formerly,
Taunton may yet live to be a grandfather.”

“What do youmean?” ‘

“Day before yesterday I stood face to face
with the man ie told me was dead—Harry
Hazeltine—my husband!”

E CHAPTER XXII.
DONNA PAOLA’S RECEPTION.
Ivy was morning before Harry Hazeltine ap-

His face was more than usually ha; , his
complexion ghastlier, his eyes more intensely
brilliant, yet if possible more broodingly sad.

Ashe presented the note Ned Taunton had
left, Wiki let his eyes fall to the floor to hide
their ae aan

‘‘What! he has gone to fight a duel, and I
not with him? At what time was he here, Vi-
kir?

‘* At nine, ewcellenza.”

‘He was to fight at twelve! And he has sent
no other message?”

““None, eacellenza.”

‘Oh, if he is dead!
cursed folly! But no, it cannot be!

 

' peared from his secret retreat.

And all owing to my ac-
Vikir, a

_ carriage, instantly!”
** Si, excel

lenza.”
: And with an obeisance the West Indian with-
rew,

Harry began to pace the room in an agony of
remorse. ,

‘When he needed me I Jay— Oh, curse the
folly! What does it * see me? And, now,

ever! never again

/

 

The Creole Cousins.

 

I sink myself beyond the reach of my friend’s
hand! But now it is too late!—too late! Ob,
Ned! you never failed me!” ‘

Thus ho sed the time with self-upbraid-
ings, until Vikir reappeared, and said:

* Kwcellenza, the carriage is in readiness.”

“Vikir,” said the master, turning to his ser-
vant as to a friend, and pointing toward the
curtained apartment with a look of hatred,
‘‘that room has cost a dereliction that nothing
caniepair. Take the key, lock that accursed
door, and never under any circumstances—no
matter what may happen, or what I may do—
let me have it again!’

‘*My master! Can this be true?” cried Vikir,
his face showing a struggle between delight and
incredulity.

“Tt remains with you to stand by your
trust. I have charged you.”

‘* Kocellenza,” cried the West Indian, with
tears streaming from his eyes, while he sunk
upon one knee and covered his master’s hand
with kisses, ‘‘I will guard it with my life! It
shall be the test of my love! fil, mil gracias!
to-day the curse falls away!”

Overpowered, he covered his face with his
hands, and sobbed.

-** Bueno !” said Harry, softly, and laid his
hand tenderly on Vikir’s head, himself not a
little moved. “I am _ well beloved, of a
verity!”

“Was not I, and my sister as well, saved by
thee?” cried Vikir, raising his eyes with loving
gratitude to his master’s face.

“Nay, good Vikir; attribute it not to me.
Hadst thou not eee to avenge me, even to
the sacrificing of thine own life, thou wouldst
never have reached the island; nor would I
have had any one to save me from the return
of the sea, so that she might be rescued. But
we must lose no more time, One that loved me
even as thou dost may now be lying dead!”

‘‘Forgive me that I have let my joy detain
thee,” cried Vikir, arising. ‘‘L£ go to the exe-
cution of the most grateful duty thou ‘hast im-

!

And locking the door of the mysterious room
he secured the key, clutching it with a frown
- defiant hatred, almost as if it were a living
thing. °

They then descended and entered the car-
riage, to be driven rapidly to Capt. Taunton’s

otel.

Already excited es of gentlemen were
gathered before the hotel and in the parlor and
office. Ladies, too, listened with pallid cheeks
and frightened eyes.

Passing this ominous spectacle with a sinking
heart, Harry rapidly ascended the stairs to his
friend’s room,

In the upper corridor he met Lieutenant Ro-
selle, whose gate. anxious face showed that
there was at least cause for suspense.

Ned, then, was not yet dead!

‘“My dear Roselle, tell me!” was all that
Harry could say, as he grasped the young offi-
cer’s hand. ?

“No one can tell certainly,” was the reply.
“We to hope.”

“ And his wound?”

“Run ee and through!”

arry groaned.

‘¢T must go to him at once.”

‘Stay! The doctor has ordered that he see
absolutely no one but the nurse. The sight of
friends would excite him. He is conscious
enough to recognize you, but cannot speak.”

“Oh! but he may die! And when he came
for me I was not accessible!”

“You must wait. Itis his only chance. A
— thrill of emotion now might turn the
scale against him.”

“Then, by Heaven! I will avenge him!”
cried Harry, excitedly. ‘“‘Who is this Don
Manuel Rubio?”

“ An ex-officer of the Cuban revolutionists, I
understand, forced to fly the island by the tri-
umph of the mother country.”

‘* And where is he to be found?”

“*T think he is a guest of Mr. James Wether-
by. But he may have left the city until this
affair blows over.”

“JT will ascertain. But the whole world is
not large enough to hide him from my re-
venge!” / ;

Forced to be content with the reports of the
nurse and doctor, as they made their appear-
ance from time to time, Harry remained at the
hotel all day in a fever of anxiety.

It was ten o’clock at night when he returned
to his hotel, not to sleep, but to change his
clothes; for Ned’s fatal note had prevented him
from making his toilet that morning.

He found awaiting him a note of invitation to
a reception given that evening by Donna Paola
Careno, Accompanying it was a note from
James Wetherby, expressing his regard for the
man who had laid him beneath his own table,
and apologizing for the lateness of the invita-
tion on the ground that it had taken him
aaa -four hours to recover sufficiently to ex-
tend it. j

“T will accept this invitation,” declared
Harry; ‘‘and if f[ find this Don Rubio he shall
account to me!”

Making an evening toilet, he again entered

\

iterate mented |

his carriage, and was driven to James Wether-
by’s residence, in a fashionable suburb.

It was near midnight when he entered the
brilliantly-lighted parlors.

The arrival of guests was no longer expected.
James Wetherby had retired to the card-room,
where he was occupied by a game Of whist.
Paola, having made all her guests welcome, was
giving her attention more particularly to a
nearer Circle of friends.

Leslie Mansfield was the hero of the occasion,
and was receiving his stolen honors with affec-
ted modesty.

“Mr. Harry Hazeltine,” announced the ser-
vant.

“The new friend that uncle James has gone
into heroics over,” said Paola, and excusing her-
self to her friends, addressed Leslie Mansfield:

“Your arm, please.”

Rapidly he escorted her across the apartment,
and stood face to face with the last man on
earth he expected, or wished, to meet.

His embarrassment was so overpowering that
it must have been observed by Paola, had she
not recognized with a thrill of pleasure the
stranger to whom she already owed a courtesy.

Dropping Leslie’s arm, she advanced with
outstretched hand.

‘“‘T make you welcome, Mr. Hazeltine,” she
said, ‘‘on the part of my uncle, and myself as
well. It is an unexpected pleasure, [ assure
you, to recognize one whom I have alread
met under less agreeable circumstances. e
had begun to fear a See and Mr.
Wetherby has gone to the card-room, Will
you excuse him from coming to you, and ac-
company me there instead, as he is so unwell as
to be confined to a chair?” :

It was well fcr our hero that the lady had so
much to say. Recognizing in his hostess the
one of all women who could move him most
powerfully, and whose good opinion in spite of
himself he most coveted, and reflecting that she
must know the circumstances of his acquain-
tance with her uncle, and despise him in conse-
quence, Harry Hazeltine was rendered simply
speechless.

Even as it was, he regained composure only
in time to bend low over her hand and reply in
fitting terms to her courteous welcome.

‘‘Meanwhile, allow me to present Mr. Leslie
Mansfield,” said Paola,

The gentlemen bowed with some restraint,
Harry being the more self-possessed of the two.

Giving Leslie his conge with a bow and a
smile, Paola took Harry’s arm and led him to
the card-room.

James Wetherby was seated in an invalid
chair which moved on rollers. His last excess
had brought on an attack of the gout.

“Why, bless us and save us! if ’ere isn’t my
friend ’Azeltine! My dear sir, I’ad given you
hup—with much regret, I assure you. ou
will hexcuse my rising? You see, going hunder
the table ’as halmost laid me on the shelf!—ha!
ha! ha! Gentlemen, ’ere is a prince of good-
fellows, Mr. ’Arry ’Azeltine. But, hexcuse
me!—you ’aven’t met my ward before!—Donna
Paola Careno.”

James Wetherby was perfectly serene in his
want of tact; but Harry Hazeltine’s embarrass-
ment was palpable when he acknowledged his
introduction to Paola, blended as it was with
the free and easy swing of the drinking bout.

But the girl had already made up her mind to
like him. She did not understand her uncle’s
allusions, as he had really told her nothing about
Harry except that he was a gentleman whose
een he wished to cultivate.

ishing, then, to relieve his embarrassment,
without inquiring into its cause, she said, gayly:

“Mr. Hazeltine, I will engage to find you
better amusement than this stupid whist, if you
will yield yourself to my direction, Uv-le, and

ntl mone we leave you to the mysteries of
fires queen and ace!”

There was a charm in ber manner that was
irresistible. Harry felt its influence. She sooth-
ed him. At the sound of her voice, at the touch
of her hand, under the magic of her smile, all
his antagonism melted away.

“T must introduce you to my cousin Inez,”
said Paola.

Although Harry felt a thrill at the name, he
had no suspicion of the precipice towassl which
his feet were tending.

CHAPTER XXII.
WOMAN'S POWER.

But the fullness of fate was not yet come.

At the announcement of Harry Hazeltine’s
name, Inez had felt her heart leap and then
stand still. She felt the iciness of death cree
ing over her. She could not speak. She could
not move. Her eyes were fixed upon him
through the crowd. If he had come then, he
would have found her sitting like one turned to
stone.

But she saw him disappear in the direction
of the card-room. The spell was broken. An
icy shiver escaped her. She gazed around for
help, like one awaking from a dream.

‘Don Manuel Rubio had had the good taste not
to present himself at a féte so soon after his
duel. He, therefore, was not at her side.

Asa Dillingham, however, chanced to be near, ~

\ A

”

 

 

 
_ tleman!”

’ erestfallen

The Creole Cousins.

de

 

He alone had seen the marked effect of Harry’s
name on Donna Inez. Of their former relations
he knew nothing. Out of revenge for Inez’s
curiosity touching his life, James Wetherby had
told Dillingham all that he knew of her—that
she had been once married; but the name of her
husband he had been unable to learn.

But Dillingham’s suspicious nature was quick
to put this and that together.

liding to her side he whispered:

“Come! you look like a ghost. Your guests
must not see you in this state, Moreover, he
must not meet you. It will spoil everything.”

‘* Who must not meet me?” asked the woman,
valiantly fighting on the defensive.

“Your husband!” said Dillingham, without
hesitation. A pretty item it would make for
the morning papers! Romance in high life!—
and all that sort of thing.”

‘‘ Take me away !” said the woman, helplessly.

He put his arm within hers, the better to sup-
port her, and so got her out of the room without
attracting attention, since she was seated near
an open window.
uid the veranda the cool air revived her a

ittle.

“What excuse will you make for me?” she
asked, ‘‘Something will be necessary. Paola
will seek me at once.”

‘1 will say that you have over-exerted your-
self in the dance. Fearing a headache, you have
lain down for half an hour.’’*

‘*But what is the use of evading him?” cried
Inez, in despair. ‘‘ He has followed me here to
denounce me!”

‘* Don’t be too sure of that,” said Dillingham.
**He may know nothing of your relationsisip to
Donna Paola. pee here may be the
merest accident. aybe he would run from
you as eagerly as you run from him.”

“But discovery is inevitable!”

‘Perhaps. In any event he may be induced
to keep his mouth shut.”

‘Will you serve me?”

“‘Willingly, since I go up or down with you.”

“Go, then!”

‘‘ Ho went, in time to meet Paola coming up
with Harry.

“Mr. Dillingham,” she asked, ‘‘have you
met— Ah! Isee,” as the gentlemen bowed to
each other. ‘But where is cousin Inez?’ she
continued. ‘I left her sitting here.”

“* She felt 2 be by. the heat of the room,
and had overdone the ‘light fantastic,’ I be-
lieve,” said Seat **She has gone to lie

our.

down for half an

; ‘*Inez has not felt well for two or three days,”

said Paola, with concern. ‘‘Will you excuse
me a moment, Mr. Hazeltine, while—”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said: Dillingham.
“‘T have just come from escorting her to her
room. She expressed a wish that you would
not attract attention to her withdrawal from
the parlors by making it seem of consequence.
She will be down again before she is missed.”

Only half-satisfied, Paola yielded.

Taking Harry among her friends, she present-
ed him, and his distinguished appearance and
polished manners won him immediate accept-
ance, Then she danced with him, and, for the
only time that evening, sung at his request, and
later promenaded the veranda on his arm.

Every moment brought him more and more
under her fascinations, and for a time he yield-
ed himself up to the subtle witchery.

Under the charm of his conversation, and the
magnetic influence of his vicinity, the girl did
not realize how much of her attention she was
conferring on this stranger. But there was one
who counted the minutes, and measured every
smile with jealous vigilance.

Leslio Mansfield was in a painful predicament.
A word from Harry could bring upon him the
contempt not only of Paola, but of all his
friends.

He managed to get our hero out of earshot of
others, and said, with a cringing spirit of mean-
ness:

“JT did as you asked, feeling that, without
asking your reasons, I owed you so much for
saving my life, and another which is still more
tome. But, by my silence, I have put myself
in a false position. No one will consider the
motive which actuated me, if the truth is now
brought to light. For God’s sake, do not be-
tray me! Remember, it was your own wish
an ae]

But Harry cut him short with a stare of icy
contempt. "i

“You seem to forget the essentials of a gen-
he said. : f
“T beg your pardon!” said Leslie, with a
air. “‘Of course I should have
{known that the secret was safe.”

With a cold bow, Harry turned on his heel.
and walked away.

‘* A life which is more to him than his own!”
reflected our hero. “Thecoxcomb! But, pisht
she isa woman! The lightness of his heels will
make up for the emptiness of his head; and
who cares for honor in ‘such a love of a man!”

With this bitter sneer H; Hazeltine ban-
ished gentler sentiments from his mind and re-
turned to his purpose of revenge. This woman.
had the ‘power to make him forget even the

wrongs of his dearest friend; and reflecting on,’

 

his weakness, he hated her for it—or thought
that he did.

Addressing a tailor’s dummy to whom he had
been presented, he asked:

““Do you know a certain Don Manuel Rubio?”

“Know him?’ repeated Charles Augustus.
‘* By Jove, Ibelieve you! A deuce of a fellow!
Met his man and ran him through before break-
fast this morning! A good appetizer, by Jove!
Ha! ha!”

“Ts he present this evening? I was led to un-
derstand that he was a guest of Mr. Wether-
by,” said Harry, unmoved by the other’s pleas-

antry.

$ Oh, but. ye know it wouldn’t be good for ’m
to appear in society on the same day after send-
ing a fellah to the Kingdom of Heaven—or the
other place |”

And this lesson in social etiquette was given
with a patronizing air that was most exaspera-

ting.

“Thank you!” said Harry, so gravely that
his irony was not perceived.

“Oh, notall! Rubio played the devil and all
with the fair creatures before. After this he'll
distance everything on the course.”

“No doubt!”

And with set teeth Harry bowed, and passed

on,

But while his fury was at its hight she met
him, and her smile calmed the tempest.

Without rudeness he could not avoid asking
her to join in the dance that was just forming.
She had courted the invitation, by that pa
contrivance by which a lady may compass her
own wishes, and her smile showed her gratifica-
tion asshe accepted it.

After the dance they went out on the cool
veranda; and he was once more completely un-
der her spell.

“T am disappointed that you have failed to
meet my cousin Inez,” she said, after atime. ‘‘T
have been to see if she could not come down;
but she is suffering from a raging headache. I
know you will be pleased with her; and I hope
soon to present you.”

The name of Inez brought up a train of bitter
thoughts in the mind of our hero. He deter-
mined by one desperate effort to break the spell
which this woman wove about him.

‘Miss Careno,” he said, ‘‘I regret that I
mustleave you. My dearest friend is now per-
haps dying, if not already dead, stricken down
by the hand of Don Manuel Rubio. I came
here to-night with the intent to meet him, force
another duel upon him, and kill him! As he is
not here, I must seek him elsewhere.”

At this the girl turned pale with horror.

**Oh, Mr. Hazeltine!” she cried, ‘‘ you cannot
—you must not do so terrible a thing!”

‘Ican, and will!” he replied, with dogged
determination.

But, forgetful of all conventionalities, she
caught his hands and detained him, as he was
about to leave her. Then with rapid, eloquent
words she denounced dueling as murder.

By his own confession he was seeking the life
of a fellow mortal from a spirit of revenge.
Did it lessen the crime to add suicide to murder?
since he had no right to jeopardize his own life
in vain. And what palliation was the fact that
human law affixed no penalty, when God’s law
wasso plain?

He was a Northern man, and all the weight
of his early education lay with her line of argu-
ment. Jndeed the project had been. born of
the spirit of recklessness that possessed him.
He sought some desperate excitement to divert
him from the fierce struggle that was going on
in his breast. ¥

She a ed to him in the name of his mo-
ther—of his sisters, if he had any. She told
him that Don Manuel was the lover of her cousin,
Inez—this cousin who was more than a sister to
her. Was he willing to break the heart of one
so dear to her?

Lastly, she presented the danger to himself.
And here her voice broke down, sprung to
her eyes, and clinging to his hands, she begged
him to promise that he would desist from hi
purpose.

In this crisis she who was the personification
of modesty forgot maidenly reserve. The
trammels of society fell away. That she had
known him lessthan a week lost its si
It was one soul crying out to another

Great emotions transcend the rules applicable
to the ordinary events of life. Noble natures
then soar free. This woman lost nothing of her
dignity in being true to the inspiration that was
given her. 5 %

Harry was thrilled et magnetism of this
direct appeal. He was bewildered by a mnaigs
intoxication. How, he scarely knew; but he
gave the promise, and got away from her and
out of the house. i 4

Out in the darkness he found himself walking
with hurried strides; and there were tears on
his cheeks}.

He dashed them away, and with set teeth
reached his apartments.

Passing Vikir without a glance, he swe)
aside the curtain and seized the handle of the
door. It resisted his fierco wrench. It was
locked.

The West Indian braced himself for the crisis

ificance,

 

that was at hand. His dark skin became a sal-
low yellow with pallor. He was resolved to
defend his master against himself, with his life,
if need be.

Then the storm burst!

CHAPTER XXIII.
A LOATHSOME FATE,

Wuen Donna Inez retired from the parlors,
after seeing her husband enter, she was a prey
to fierce dlternations of defiance and despair,
pacing her room like a caged tigress, now
wringing her hands, now clenching them—at
one moment feeling as if she had the strength
and courage to cope with him in a physical en-
es at the next prostrated by weakness and
ear.

Before retiring to rest Paola entered her
cousin’s room, and found her already in bed,
the tumbled drapery attesting her restlessness.

After sympathetic inquiry about Inez’s indis-
ee he girl expressed her regrets that it

ad prevented her cousin from meeting Mr.
Hazeltine, but added the painful hostility of the
latter toward Don Manuel, from which, how-
ever, she had dissuaded him.

To this recital Inez listened, lying with her
face in shadow. Whatever may have been her
emotions, she held them well under control.
When it was done, she asked, pointedly:

“How came he to tell you this? Men do not
usually babble such matters to women whom
they have known scarcely an hour.”

Paola blushed.

“T don’t know,” sho said. “It wasa sort of
apology for taking his departure so early.”

Donna Inez thought rapidly. Here was a new
crisis. Why had he told this to Paola, and by
what power had she dissuaded him?

Inez knew Harry’s truthfulness. oe
promised Paola, he would keep his word. Coul
it be true that he aougns Don Manuel only to
avenge his friend, not knowing that he had
other cause for enmity? Then he could not
have recognized him,

But might not his failure to recognize Don
Manuel imply that he was ignorant of her iden-
tity also? Asa Dillingham had suggested this
possibility. tines 3g

Lastly, if he supposed her dead, and himself
thus free, what was the sigi ce of Paola’s
influence over him? For no one knew better
than Inez the devoted friendship existing be-
tween Harry and Ned Taunton, Could he be in
love with Paola already? 4s

Tn any. event, this much was certain:—the ac-
oo with Mr, Hazeltine must go no fur-
ther.

 

“Paola,” said her cousin, ‘‘ I know nothing of
the excellencies of this gentleman; but his hos-
tility toward Don Manuel must of course be an
effectual barrier between him and me; and I
think I know your heart well enough to feel
confident that you cannot remain unpartisan.”

“But, Inez, he has given up his enmity,” urg-
ed Paola.

‘‘Of course you are at liberty to do as you
lease,” said Inez, coldly; ‘‘ but I can never un-
er any circumstances consent to meet him.”

The ‘gentle Paola was chilled, and with a de-
pressed, heart she sought her own room.

That night was to Donna Inez a night of tor-
ment, If Harry loved Paola and sought her
soma y the whole scheme must inevitably be
defea' i

In the morning the trio of conspirators con-
vened, and Inez said:

“The time for concealment is past. Thomas
Kittridge, alias James Wetherby, the man
whom you have last introduced into the bosom
of your family, is my husband! Imagine the
effect of this announcement upon my dear, con-
fiding cousin, Paola. But these two have met,
and, my word for it, are in love with each
other, or will be, if further meeting is not pre-
vented,

“Thomas Kittridge, alias James Wetherby,
can you retrieve the blunder you have made?’

“ghe shall leave the city to-morrow,” said
her guardian, wincing under her iteration of his
‘true name.

“Not so,” objected Inez, ‘‘When she leaves
the city, it must be in company with Leslie
Mansfield, with a view to marrying him.”

“Curse Leslie Mansfield!” growled Asa Dil-
lingham, with an ugly scowl.

‘Rilo! what’s the matter with you?” asked
Wetherby, while Inez stared in surprise.

“Look here,” said Dillingham. “I’m ugly;
but I’m flesh and blood; and, demme! I’m in
love with this little woman ati

‘The deuce you are!” cried Wetherby.

Inez smiled contemptuously.

“ve got another plan to propose,” pursued
Dillingham. ‘Let me have the girl; and we
can divide the ee the same.”

* A capital plan!” laughed Wetherby.

‘Open to two or three slight objections, how-
ever,” added Inez.

“What objections?”
‘You rosebud of hinnocence!” cried Wether-
by; “do you think we’d trust such a knave as
ou? en you ’ad the girl, and through ’er
the title to the money, ’ow nicely you’d set hus
adrift!” 5
“With the prospect of your splitting on me?”

 
 

18

The Creole Cousins.

 

See ~ a
Toe

“And going to prison for conspiracy, hém-
bezzlement, and the Lord knows what all! Oh,
no!—not for Joe!”

**But more than that, it would be impossible
to force her into a marriage with you,” added
Inez. ‘My dear sir, there is a limit to human
endurance, She would appeal to the public for
protection.”

“Ha! ha! ha!  Hit’s your beauty, Hasa!”
laughed Wetherby. ‘Why, man, if a woman
were to marry you voluntarily, hany court
would set the contract aside on the ground of
hinsanity !”

Asa Dillingham smiled, putting his clammy
fingers to his livid lips, and his basilisk eyes
glittered in very unpleasant fashion. Perhaps
he did not forego his purpose,

“Enough of this!” interposed Inez, impa-
tiently. ‘“‘Mr, Hazeltine must be excluded
from the house, and our first plan pushéd at
once. There is no need of longer delay. Let
Be be notified of what she has to expect to-

y.

That afternoon Paola was called into her
guardian’s presence.

“My dear,” began Wetherby, with some
nervousness, “‘I have sent for you on a very
himportant matter—vital, I may say, to your
*ole future.”

“To what can you refer?’ asked the girl,
curiously.

‘You are now twenty years of hage?”

“Last month.”

**Most women are married before that hage.”

“But I don’t want to marry, guardie.”

** Nevertheless, it would be better for you.”

‘But [I don’t Jove any one.”

“A school-girl’s notion!—the effect of the
license hallowed young people in this country.
But fortunately you were born to wiser cus-
toms: By tho provisions of your father’s will I
take ’is place in heverything; and hacting as I
know ’e would ’ave hacted, I’ave selected a
*usband for you.”

‘*Oh, guardie!”

“In Hingland, as in Spain, and wherever
children are ’eld in subjection to their parents
or guardians, a light of ’eels isn’t consider-
ed sufficient qui c for a’usband. I’ave
selected _a man with money and_ social

sition. None of “your fly-aways; but a solid
man of business—one ’oo will give you an es-
tablishment.” ,

‘““Whom, guardie?’ asked the girl, breath-
on
‘asa Dillingham!’
| “* Asa Dillingham !”

The girl stared, and then burst into a laugh.

“Why, guardie,” she said, “I thought you
wae in earnest. You look as sober as a
judge.

‘“‘And why shouldn’t I be in hearnest?’ de-
manded Wetherby, in a tone of dogged severity.
“T don’t see hanything to hexcite you to
mirth.”

Oh! but Mr. Dillingham!”

“Well, Mr. Dillingham, a man known and
*ighly respected by your mother.”

‘* And therefore altogether too old for me!”
said Paola, quickly—‘‘not to add that he isn’t
handsome,” '

“? Andsome is as’andsome does! As for hage
holder men ’ave married younger women, ani
*appily, too. But, sentiment aside, Mr. Dilling-
ham is a man hevery way worthy of you. ’
’as proposed to me for your’and; and is ready
to settle twenty thousand pounds sterling on
you the day of your marriage. There’s no non-
sense about twenty thousand pound!”

“But I’d rather not sell myself, even for so
high a — !” Paola persisted.

‘My dear, I’ave hexpressed my wishes. Of
course I hexpect obedience. Mr. Dillingham
leaves for Hingland six weeks from to-day.
’ave promised ’im that ’is bride shall be ready
for ’im.”

“Oh, uncle—” !

““No more at present. © You will begin your

reparations at once. If you will hexcuse me,

will take my hafter-dinner nap.”

With white lips and whirlin: ARivatsi Paola left
the library, sought her cousin Inez and cast her-
self weeping into her arms.

It was the bird going to the serpent for pro-
tection and sympathy!

  
     

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE FAITHFUL SERVANT.

Wirm a-terrible frown Harry Hazeltine.

whirled upon his servant.

“What is the meaning of this?’ he cried,
shaking the door with unreasoning impatience.

“* Kecellenza, do you forget that the door is
locked in accordance with your orders?”

“Open it at once!”

“Pardon, eacellenza, You. charged me to
retain the key, no matter what happened, or
what you might do.”

‘‘Well, I have changed my mind. 1 revoke
the command. Produce the key.”

“Still pardon, ewcellenza. It is not your bet-
ter self that speaks now.”

““What! Dare you palter with me?”

“You made it a test of my love.”

- ~/

 

“You refuse to obey me?”

“T must protect you from yourself.”

“Slave!” thundered the enraged master.

White with Hard he leaped upon the devoted
Vikir, clutched him by the throat, dashed him
to the floor with one sweep of his powerful arm,
and planted a foot on his breast.

The West Indian offered no resistance; but
gazing up into his master’s face with sorrowing
reproach, he said: "> t

‘ Kecellenza, my life is yours. Take it!
And when I am dead, thinking why I died,
our nobler self will gain the ascendency.
ou will be enya For me, it is enough to
know that Vikir never failed the master he
loved, and to whom he owed so much.”

At these words—at this devotion, a swift
transition took place in Harry’s feelings. E

Lifting his faithful servant up, he cried, with
tears in his eyes: ,

‘Forgive me, Vikir! Your generosity over-
whelms me with shame. My friend, you are
right. Your devotion shall save me. I will
never enter that accursed room again!” ;

“* Kecellenza, again I recognize you!” cried
Vikir, falling upon bis knees and covering his
master’s hand with kisses. “ How proud and
happy am I that my love prevails!”

“ Vikir, it will prevail, if you stand firm.”

‘“‘ Kocellenza, may I ask a favor?’

“Anything, Vikir, after the wrong I have
done you.” 1

“Speak not of that, my master. It is for you
alone that I think. ile you are strong in
= resolves, put the temptation forever away

rom you, Let me enter yonder and destroy
the demon!”

Harry hesitated. .

“* Kaecellenza, are yousincere in the purpose
you have avowed?”

“Yes, Vikir.”

‘‘Then why cling to that which destroys?”

“My faithful friend, my brother, do as you
wish!” cried Harry, putting all vacillation reso-
lutely from him.

“* Kacellenza, mil gracias! We shall tri-
umph!” cried Vikir, delightedly.

But good resolves did not lay the demon of
unrest which en Harry Hazeltine. A
woman—one of the hated and distrusted sex—

had seduced him from his loyalty to his friend. |.

More than this, he had to confess to himself
what he had not revealed to Vikir, that consid-
erations of her had much to do with his aban-
donment of thatroom which the West Indian said
contained the curse of his life.

Making inquiry at Captain Taunton’s hotel,
he learned that Ned was anouina

He found it intolerable to wait in one place,
and so set out in the darkness to walk until ex-
haustion should subdue his excitement.

Alone in the stillnessand solitude of the night,
he thought of Paola, and of that other who ad
inches his life. And gradually his spirit took
on some of the tranquillity of the calm sky.

One thing that Paola had said recurred to his
mind. She had a ed to him in the name of
his mother, and of his sister, if he had one. |

Now he remembered how in all his childish
griefs he had gone to his mother’s breast, as to
a sure haven. He recalled the calm, steady
light of her eye, her gentle touch, her love that
never failed, and last the holy serenity of her
face when she died in the hope of immortality.
She had been a good woman!

There had been a little sister, too, who used
toromp with him. He heard again her childish
laugh of rippling music. The memory of her
innocent smile shot athwart his mental vision
like a ray of sunshine. How quickly, too, had
sprung to her eye the sympathetic tear.

And all these things seemed to have their
counterpart in Paola. It was as if the spirits
of the departed had come back to woo him from
his cynicism through her smile.

Oh! if he could trusther! His heart hungered
for love—for woman’s love. His mother—his
sister—they had been true. He could never
doubt them. And she was so like them!

But then the image of Inez with her fairseem-
ing rose before his imagination; and dragging
his hat over his eyes and clenching his teeth to
keep back the bitter curses, the man strode on.

So waged the conflict until with the dawn he
sought again his friend, and afterward went to
his own apartments, to snatch a little sleep.

He noticed a look of suspense on Vikir’s face,
Opening the door to his sleeping apartment, he
stopped on the threshold.

e curtain was gone. The door to the mys-
terious chamber stood wide open. The room
itself, made cheerful by the are sunlight
stream in through an open window, now
contained nothing more terrible than easy-
ce and books and papers and writing mate-
rials, }

Harry Hazeltine turned pale, and bent upon
his servant a look of awakening displeasure.

“6 Vilkir!”

‘* Hucellenza, you have crossed into the ene-
my’s country, and in the terrible struggle that
isat hand you must feel that the bridges are
burnt behind you.” j

In the face of the West Indian there was an
impressive blending of humility and firmness.

“Vikir, you are right,” said his master, tak-

 

ing his hand. ‘ You have cut off all chance of
retreat. Ishall depend solely on your wisdom
and sustaining strength.”

“ Gracias, excellenza |”

Thus began a struggle which was to call into
play all the physical and mental resources of
thisman. To sustain the fight he might draw
inspiration from Vikir’s devotion and Paola’s
purity!

‘But the enemy would make terrible havoc
with him. She must not see him again until he
was victorious. But he must see her. And in
disguise he sought a fashionable park, where
she drove every day. Little did she know the
burning panes cast at her by an elderly gen-
tleman who was almost altogether hidden by a
jasmine vine which burdened an elm by the
wayside.

But from this covert Harry saw her; and be-
side her rode a woman who was always vailed
and had the air of an invalid.

Perhaps this companion was the cousin whom
he had missed seeing? But Harry had no time
to look at one in whom he felt no interest. His
attention was fixed by Paola’s face.

In it was an unwonted pallor anda look of
distress which increased from day today. What
did it mean?

If he could but fly to her, he would stand be-
tween her and every sorrow. But he could not.
She would have beeni startled by his altered ap-
pearance.

A terrible change had taken place in him.
His face was haggard; his eyes were staring,
with almost the glitter of insanity; his nerves
twitched and he was possessed by a restlessness
which drove him from place to place like the
scourge of a Nemesis.

Only one thing could fix his attention for
moro than a moment at a time. He found
where Paola’s driver was in the habit of stop-
ping, to breathe his horses and give the ladies a
view of the animated scene presented by the
fashionable drive thronged with gay equipages.

Here, screened by some foliage. he could sit
and watch the face of the woman he loved. The
frightened look in her eyes, which he had not
seen there before, fascinated him, until he for-
Poe the pain that thrilled every nerve of- his

LY.

But before we recount the result’ of this es-
pionage, we must touch upon another event
which occurred. some days previous to the point
we have now reached in our narrative.

Two nights subsequent to the night of Paola’s
reception Vikir was passing alone through the
streets when he came face to face with Don
Manuel Rubio,

At sight of the Don, Vikir stopped with a
smothered ejaculation, while his eyes gleamed
with sudden fire, and his hand sought the han-
dle of his dagger.

The recognition must have been mutual, for
Don Manuel turned a sickly yellow with pallor.
But he passed on without seeming to notice the
West Indian.

“‘Caramba!” reflected the Spaniard. ‘Both
have escaped the sea! And I am recognized!
This devil will hunt me down! Ah! as I thought,
he is following me!”

“ Pablo Garcia!” was Vikir’s mental ejacula-
tion; and, turning, he followed the Spaniard at
a little distance.

Now hot, tropical hatred gleamed in his eyes.
He was tracking his man with the fierceness of
some wild beast in his native clime. x

Without seeming to notice that he was. fol-
lowed, Don Manuel kept on. He was planning
some way to dispose of this implacable enemy.

He could not appeal to the law for protection.
p emeion meant death on the scaffold, as a mur-

erer.

Leaving the crowded thoroughfare, he worked
his way toward a disreputable ‘aed of the city.
Gallatin street, with its dark alleys, where
crime lurked as a wild beast in its lair, offered
him the opportunity he sought.

Walking rapidly, with the consciousness that
Vikir was close behind him, perhaps intending
to close in and avenge the murderous assault,
years ago, on his master, Don Manuel turned a
sharp corner and stopped.

The dismal, ill-lighted street was deserted,
Some distance away he saw the light froma
red-curtained window, and heard the discord-
ant music, and harsh voices raised in the baccha-
nal revel of some sailors’ dance-house.

Drawing a pistol, he grasped it by the barrel
firmly, and waited.

Vikir came round the corner.

There was a rush, a blow, and without a
groan the West Indian fell to the ground. His
enemy had outwitted him!

But a dark form started from the’shadow. A
heavy hand fell on Don Manuel’s shoulder.

“Eh! you accursed bravo—”

Par the words of the policeman were cut
short.

A swift blow, and he reeled against the build-
ing, while his prisoner fled precipitately.

The man was only partially stunned. He had
presence of mind enough to spring his rattle,
and a moment later started in pursuit.

Responding whirrs sounded in other direc-
tions, and the fall of hurrying feet came through
the night.

 

 
Several dians of the peace assembled, but
their man had eluded them in the darkness,

Returning, they took the unconscious Vikir to
a station-house, On his recovery he stated that
he had been attacked while going about his busi-
ness. So the affair passed as an ordinary at-
tempt at robbery.

But to his master Vikir said;

“ Kecellenza, Pablo Garcia is in the city!”

CHAPTER XXV,
THE FALSE COUSIN

Wirt a look of lively concern in her face,
Donna Inez received the weeping Paola in her
arms,

‘“Why, what is the matter, dear?” she asked.

* Oh, tnez, the most terribie thing! 1 can
scarcely believe it!”

“Why, what can be the matter?”

‘‘Uncle insists that I must be married; and
to whom do you think?”

‘Married en ”

“Thad no thought of such a thing until he
called me into the library just now.”

‘* But to whom, Paola?”

“You could never guess, Asa Dillingham!”

‘Oh, monstrous!”

Donna Inez’s indignation was well pluyed,

‘*T would rather die!” sighed Paola,

“Oh, it cannot be! That hideous ghoul! It
is sacrilegious! Paola, your guardian cannot
be in earnest?”

“He is. Mr. Dillingham has proposed for my
hand, and purposes to have everything over in
six weeks, when he leaves for England.”

‘* But you cannot marry such a repulsive crea-
ture, dear. I almost scream at his disgusting
touch,”

Paola shivered and shuddered, and shru
more closel

‘‘There, dear,” said Inez, soothingly, ‘do
let it trouble you, I will go to Mr. Wetherby,

m:

x Inez, tell him that I should die—”

“Of course you would, dear,”

And leaving Paola in an agony of suspense,
Donna Inez descended to the library.

“Well?” asked Wetherby, who had been join-
ed by the worthy scare-crow.

“The little fool has made me her embassa-
dress extraordinary, and minister plenipoten-
pels laughed Inez,

“Is she disposed to yield obedience, if the
project is insisted upon?” asked Dillingham.

“T am commissioned to say that she would
consider death at the stake an inestimable boon,
in preference!”

etherby laughed.

Dillingham coughed behind his hand.

There was a wicked light in his eyes. He had
his own projects. He bided his time!

‘Ave you suggested the helopement?” asked
Wetherby.

“That will not be ripe for three or four weeks
yet. Stand firm, and leave the rest to me,”

‘Oh, I’ll be firm enough,” laughed Wetherby.”

“ There’s little danger of your being troubled
with tenderness of heart,” sneered Dilling-

m.

So these accomplices, who hated each other
quite as much, if not more, than their intended
victim, snarled among themselves, until it came
time for Inez to return to her waiting cousin.

When she did so, she seemed divided between
indignation and hopelessness.

‘‘Oh, Paola, my dear cousin!” she cried, tak-
ing the hapless girl in her arms, ‘‘ this must be

uta stop to, somehow; but your guardian is
S erininelk I have used every argument in
my power; but he only says he knows what is
best for you,”

To an American girl, educated to perfect
freedom of choice in the selection of a life part-
ner, the despair with which Paola received this
intelligence will hardly be conceivable.

Because he could not afford to have an unne-
cessary number of accomplices, James Wether-
by had dispensed with the duenna, which a
Spanish girl would have had according to the
custom of her own country, In consequence,
Paola had enjoyed enough freedom to know its
sweets. Now it would be impossible for her to
yield herself to the will of her guardian, in
matters of the heart, with that perfect docility
which European education engenders,

On the other hand, early habits of thought
had their force; and the possibility of taking a
decided stand in opposition to the authority
constituted over her did not suggest itself to
her mind with the readiness with which it
would have come to one of her American sis-
ters.

So, instead of compelling her fate, this gentle
creature shrunk cowering beneath the crushing
blow that had fallen upon her.

It was Inez’s cus, at this stage of the proceed-
ings to make the prospect as hopeless as pos-
sible, so that any avenue of escape would look

the more inviting by contrast; and to hayo
seen the two girls weeping in each other's arms,
an observer would have been puzzled to decide
which was the more broken-hearted.

Society is a hard taskmaster to a beautiful
woman, and will grant little time for the indul-

nce of private griefs; but that evening Donna

Zz, dec that Paola looked like a fright,

  
    
  

in the arms of her false cousin,

The Creole Cousins.

and must not be seen by company. As for
Paola, she was glad to be relieved from prying
eyes, on the plea of indisposition.

So Donna Inez received Leslie Mansfield
when he called,

She made him stay until all the others had
gone. Then she sat down opposite him and be-
gan a new scene in her little drama.

‘Mr. Mansfield,” she said, with unshed tears

ringing to her eyes, ‘‘ I want your help, It’s
about poor, dear Paola.”

‘“What about her?” asked the young man,
anxiously. .

“Tam going to repose a great trust in you,”
she said, evading a direct answer. ‘‘I want
your man’s strength; I want your man’s self-
control; I want your man’s readiness in emer-
gency; but most of all { want all your truth
and honor and tenderness. Oh, Leslie! if you
fail me!—”

‘But what is it all about?” cried the bewil-
dered Leslie,

‘* Mr. Mansfield, Paola’s guardian has enter-
tained a proposal for her hand in marriage!”

* And does Paola—”

“She never thought of such a thing, until
Mr. W etherby announced that he had selected
her husband.”

“The deuce he has! Why, the old duffer!”
was Mr. Mansfield’s characteristic ejaculation.
ir “Paola and I are broken-hearted,” sighed

nez.

‘‘Well, I don’t see that there is any occasion
for such despair.”

“But what can she do?”

‘Do! Why, tell her venerated uncle and
ah that she don’t approve his choice.

"here couldn’t be a much simpler way.”
_. “But you forget the difference between your
| American customs and those in which we have
been educated.”

‘* Education be—disregarded! Andis a lady
to be disposed of like a bale of merchandise, in
accordance with a piece. of fossiliferous bar-
barism? This is the nineteenth century, my
dear Donna Inez.”

But Inez shook her head.

“There are but two ways in which a Spanish
woman Can escapo a marriage which her pa-
rents or guardians have arranged for her.”

“And they are?”

* Virst, she may have recourse to the church—”

‘‘A nunnery!” cried Leslie, in dismay.

Inez bowed.

“‘By Heaven! Paola Careno shall not enter
a convent to escape any man living!” cried the
lover, starting to his feet.

“T like to see you show. such spirit,” said
Donna Inez. ‘It suggests the other way.”

‘* What other way?

‘Tf there is one who loves her, and has the
courage and address to run away with her,
when she is once his wife she is free.”

Leslie caught his breath. Here was a con-
tingency of which he had never dreamed.
Might she be induced to marry him to escape
one more distasteful to her?

Leslie, as we have said, was not a man of fine
feeling. The idea of accepting a wife on these
terms was not shocking to him. His love was
of that order which asks only for possession—
by hook or by crook.

But, recalling Paola’s decisive rejection, he
shook his head.

“She wouldn’t elope with me,” he said,
gloomily.

“Don’t be too sure, There is nothing repul-
sive about you. She don’t dislike you.”

‘No, I think not.”

“Well, she might prefer you to a man whose
touch she cannot endure without a shudder.”

“Who is it?’ asked Leslie, with sudden in-
terest,

“ Asa Dillingham!”

Leslio Mansfield was not so greatly shocked
as Inez had expected. Her own words had led
him to think of the possibility of Dillingham’s
money compensating for his personal unattrac-
tiveness.

However, he flushed angrily and his eyes
flashed, as he asked:

** And will she sell herself to that—”

“Haven’t I told you that she shudders at his
touch?”

“*T suppose a woman would marry the devil,
if he had money enough!” said Leslie, bitterly.

“No power on earth could induce Paola to
marry Asa Dillingham volun ;arily.”

‘“‘ Well, I will propose an elopement, if you
think it will do any good,” : :

Plainly Leslie was not over-sanguine.

‘Not now,” objected Inez. ‘These things
can’t be done abruptly. “You don’t understand
women, _ I don’t want_my cousin to take the
vail; and I don’t want her to go to that odious
monster. But I have rather favored you from
the first; and if you will follow my directions,
you shall marry her,

“Tor the next three or four weeks you must
show that you are greatly distressed, not mere-
ly at the prospect of losing her yourself, but

or her own sake, because of the unhappiness
that is before her. You must in every wa

 

aa put yourself in contrast with Asa Dil-

she will look to you for relief,

 

19

“During this time you refrain from suggest-
ing any way of escape; but as the time set for
her marriage approaches you grow desperate,
and end by proposing that she give herself to

ou.
p FG all this I will aid you; and we shall suc-
ceed,

“*T will go now, and call her down to see you
out here on the veranda. You must play the
sympathetic brother, avowedly. She will not |
be deceived by this nomenclature; but there is
a great deal in the names we give things.”

caving Leslie a prey to hopes and fears, '
Inez sought her cousin, ;

“Paola,” she said, taking her in her arms, ‘1
have told poor Leslie everything |”

‘Oh, Inez! How could you?” cried Paola, in
dismay.

“Remember, dear, he saved your life; and
we must have some friend to counsel with in
this terrible matter. He is down-stairs now in
great distress, and wants to see you.”

Of course Paola was full of feminine objec-
tions; and equally of course Inez overruled
them all, until in the end her cousin crept
down-stairs in the charming negligé of a wrap-
per, to meet the man whom no substitution of
terms could make anything but her lover,
while Inez stood in the doorway to warn them
of intrusion, should Wetherby or Dillingham

etre

lthough she would have been shocked b:
the suggestion of such a thing, Paola felt
vaguely that this ee had a clandestine air,
Inez was playing her cards skillfully, Already
these three were in league against the oppres-
sive guardian and the objectionable suitor,
This was the first step in the preparation of
Paola for the proposal of an elopement.

From that interview Paola retired to her
room more oppressed than before, if possible.
Leslie had outdone himself in diplomacy. By
making it appear that he had so fully given up
the hope of winning her that his sympathy was
disinterested, he won her confidence, and she
leaned upon him as a true friend. At, the same
time she felt that he was utterly wretched, with
a lover’s wretchedness,

After a sleepless night, in which Inez did not
leave her, Paola rose the shadow of her wont-
ed bright self,

Theu the false cousin suggested an appeal to
Asa Dillingham; and though her sensitive na-
ture revolted, Paola was finally induced, to seek
this last resource,

Alas! she fell all hopelessly into the snare her
enemy spread.

CHAPTER XXVI.

DRIVEN TO THE WALL.

AS_a last resort Paola resolved to appeal to
Asa Dillingham. No doubt the man’s vanity
would be wounded; but when he came to see
her repugnance to the union he must withdraw
his suit.

Her sensitive nature shrunk from such an in-
terview with an embarrassment which nothing
short of so vital a crisis would have overcome.
Even as it was, sho put it off from day today,
until Donna Inez said:

“Paola, dear, [ know how praca is your po-
sition; but it is due Mr. Dillingham that you
speak to him at once. He Papeete your
silence into a tacit acceptance. No doubt he has
refrained from referring to the subject from
motives of delicacy.”

Then, nerving herself, the unhappy girl sought
this monster whose hideousness was to force her
into an abdication of her inheritance.

‘Mr, Dillingham,” she said, ‘may I see you
a few moments in private?”

“Certainly, my dear—certainly,” said the
arch-hypocrite, raising his puffy hand to his
livid lips. ‘The library is unoccupied. Allow
me!

How like a human lizard he looked, as he
gazed at her over his hand with his small, basi-
lisk eyes! And when with a bow of marked
deference, horribly suggestive of his lover-like
relations, he drew her hand within his arm, the
girl shuddered from head to foot. ;

On the other hand, Dillingham looked upon
this dainty morsel of femininity with the in-
stinct of a vampire. ,He knew that association
with bim would sapall its freshness and beauty.
But he resolved to enjoy it while it lasted.

He had formed his plans. He would let this
scheme go on, until the girl had forfeited her

atrimony to ake him. Then this young

andy, with his blonde mustache and “fade

eyes, would be removed! How, Dillingham did
not specify; but he would be removed. Then,
in her widowhood and poverty, Dillingham
would seek his victim again, and by the power
her money—the spoil of his villainy—gave him,
would force her into the very union she had fled
in such eRe

Peay, her, he placed himself opposite, and
rubbing his hands softly on his knees, while he
gloated on her troubled face, waited for her to
open the conversation.

“Mr, Dillingham,” she began, with an effort,
“my guardian has told me of your wishes re-

 

 

ingham, The more repulsive he is, the more | yar ae myself—”

y dear Paola!” cried Dillingham, with a

 

 

 

 
 

   

20

 

The Creole Cousins.

 

 

simulated burst of feeling, bending forward to
clasp her hands.

But with an involuntary shudder of disgust
the girl shrunk back in her chair and drew her
hands away.

“Oh, pray—excuse me!” she stammered.
oa think you misunderstand. I wanted to
say—

‘Paola, you accede to my wishes, and your
uncle’s, of course?”

“Tnever thought of you in that way,” pro-
tested the girl.

‘‘ But as my wife you will have every advan-
tage. Ican give you an establishment that no
commoner of the Old Country need be ashamed
of. On the day you become my wife I shall be
ready with the settlement of twenty thousand
pounds, This with your own fortune will give
you command of a very comfortable sum. I
have arranged everything satisfactor#ty with
your guardian, who has full powers to act for
you, so that you have nothing to do but to step
gracefully into your appointed niche.”

He smiled in a way intended to be con-
ciliatory ; but the result was the revelation of a
more hideous phase of his ugliness.

Feeling that she was hopelessly in the toils of
this serpent, the girl struggled feebly.

“But I have come to ask you to release my
guardian from his engagement. I do not love
you as a wife should. And—and—”

The words died on her lips. Dillingham
smiled indulgently.

“You are not a sentimental school-girl, my
dear,” he said. ‘‘ Of course you know that love
smacks of poverty, stuffy apartments on a back
street, and weekly arguments with the butcher,
the baker, and the candlestick-maker; while
common sense looks to position in life. I don’t
think you’d give a hundred thousand dollars for
a month in Fool’s Paradise. At any rate, your

ardian, knowing the world, will look to your
interests better than that.

‘*T shall be very proud of my wife,” he went
on; ‘‘and nothing that money can procure by
way of a setting to her beauty shall be want-
ing. She shall be like the lilies of the fleld—

‘My dear!’

His sudden ejaculation was caused by a
deathly pallor that overspread her face. It
was the signal of shipwrecked hope.

He started forward to assist her; but she
waved him back.

“Tt is nothing,” she said, rising to her feet
surriedly.

And feeling as if she should die if left a mo-
ment longer in the company of this monster, she
hastened out of the room.

The bird had made an effort in vain, Crush-
ed by this failure, she was more hopeless than
before.

Inez waited to receive her.

“Oh, my darling!” cried the traitress.

With a moan, Paola sunk into her arms.

“He has refused to release you?” cried Inez,
with simulated indignation,

“Oh, I wish I might die!” sighed the hapless
victim.

“This is monstrous! The hideous toad! He
See made to free you! I shall outwit him
ye

“Nina, it’s of nouse. Guardie is determined,
and he has no feeling.”

“But it shall not be! I will forbid the bans
myself. eo any can be ee a oe ato

a beautiful young girl to such a frig!
ghoul! It would be waclogel”

All of which had very much the appearance
ss an unreasoning outburst of generous indigna-

ion.

That night Leslie Mansfield paced the floor in
a very belligerent frame of mind, seemingly.
inveighing against obdurate guardians an
elderly suitors of unprepossessing person in no
flattering terms.

“By Jovel” he cried, ‘‘this iniquity shall
never be consummated! If he persists, I will
pes a quarrel with him and call him out.

aola, I will save you, or at least lay down my
poor life in your defense!”

‘Oh, Mr. Mansfield!” cried Inez, with simu-
lated lively concern, ‘‘you are so generous!
But you must not do that. It is wicked. Good
cannot come of evil.”

“Tf Paola is saved, will not that be a great
good?” asked the lover, in true lover-like style.

* But {3 must not jeopardize your life for
Paola, who had a woman’s awe of a —

me,” sai
man’s anger, and faith in the terrible execution
of the blank cartridges of masculine wrath.
Then Leslie caught her hands; and words,
whose utterance he stifled, seemed to rise in his
throat. But his face was eloquent of a lover’s
devotion, so humble, so hopeless, withal, that
she remembered only the pain of being denied

tie one he loved sufficiently to lay down his life |
for her; and in her grateful tenderness forgot to |

withdraw her hands.
Paola’s indifference to Leslie had arisen from

a feeling that he was eooenitioly light weight. |
or

Now the strength of his love er and his
seeming bravery redeemed him somewhat in
her eyes. She to pity him with a pity
which did not detract from her respect for him.

Sho was in a dangerous position, He was her
only consoler,

Had she been more intimate with Harry
Hazeltine, his influence might have saved her.
But after that first real meeting he had never
sought her —

ith watchful eye Inez noted all these slight
indications.

“The time is nearly at hand,” she said, to
Leslie, having him alone. ‘‘ Don’t spoil every-
thing by precipitancy. Let her see what is in

our mind, but don’t speak until I give you
leave.”

On the morrow, acting under Donna Inez’s
instruction, James Wetherby called his ward to
him, and said:

= My dear, what qereaiiove ‘ave you made
for your trousseau?”

“Oh, uncle!” cried the poor girl, “I cannot
—I cannot marry Mr. Dillingham! Oh, I shall
die of wretchedness!”

Assuming an expression of dignified displeas-
ure, the false guardian said sternly:

“My dear, that question is no longer hunder
discussion. I ’ave arranged as I thought most
hadvisable for you, just as I would ’ave provided
for my hown child. To show you’ow poorly
you are requiting Mr. Dillingham’s hinterest in

ou, I will tell you what hotherwise would ’ave
bong a secret until your wedding-day. in con-
trast with your procrastinations, ’e ’as already
hordered a bridal present worthy of a princess.
It is a necklace of diamonds of the purest water
and of asize that will hexcite the henvy of ali
New Orleans. They will cost not a cent less
than ten thousand dollars. Such munificence is
worthy of some recognition. I shall hexpect
you to make suitable harrangements for the

event of your life, beginning with to-day. I
give you carte blanche. Make your selections,
and send the bills to me.”

How everything smacked of the slave market.
The purchase money was a hundred thousand
dollars in settlements and a ten thousand-dollar
necklace!

Paola turned sick at heart.

“There is another Ser ane for to-day,”
pursued Wetherby. ‘Mr. Dillingham ’as’ad
your hengagement ring made to horder ; and it is
worthy of ’is Brees, munificence. ’E is now
hawaiting you hin the drawing-room. I ’ope

ou will do nothing to wound ’is sensibilities.
do to ’im at once.”

With leaden feet Paola obeyed. She was now
nevans the power of protest.

illingham advanced to receive her with out-
stretched hands. The triumphant smile on his
ghastly face was horrible beyond parallel.
a with anguish, Paola submitted] pas-
sively.

He took her hands and held them, gazing into
her face with gloating exultation.

“My darling!” he cried, ‘this is the happiest
moment of my life! See!”

He slipped a ring on her finger.
great, dazzling solitaire.

ae I feel that you are indeed mine!” he
cried.

The girl stood with downcast eyes, almost
fainting. She felt that the fetters were being
riveted one by one.

Suddenly Dillingham threw his arm about her
and drew her toward him, while his repulsive
face with its livid lips approached hers.

At this insupportable menace the girl uttered
ascream, and exerting the strength of despair,
tore herself free and fled from the room.

As usual Inez’s arms were ready to receive
her, and Inez’s distress seemed almost equal to
her own.

When Leslie was informed of this last out-
rage, he knelt at her feet, and bowing his head
ip her lap, covered her hands with tears and
kisses.

“My a darling!” he cried, as if uncon-
scious of the terms he selected, ‘‘ how you suf-
fer! But you shall not be sacrificed—I swear
it! This unholy marriage shall never—never
take place!”

And the girl, not resenting his manifestations
of affection, clung to his hands, and moaned:

“T shall die!—oh, I shall die!”

The days that followed were days of keenest
torture to the shrinking, sensitive girl. They
were the days when her distress was so ap-
parent to Harry Hazeltine.

With diabolical ingenuity she was thrown
almost constantly into the society of the most
repulsive man she had ever seen.

ie Mansfield’s visits were now avowed]
clandestine, in that he was with her almost
| the time that her company was not claimed by
her persecutor. He came in the afternoon
when Dillingham was taking his siesta, and
stayed at night to see her a few minutes be-
fore she retired, after she had escaped from

him.

So the days passed, until, yielding to bodily
weakness and terror at her approaching nup-
| tials, Paola clung helplessly in Inez’s arms, and
: eried:

“Oh, save me! save me! some way! any
way! I must get away from here! I must es-
ae Oh, Inez! help me!”

_ Then the heart of the arch-plotter leaped for
jov
‘

“You little fool!” she thought, “I’ve got you
‘ pow!”

It was a

 

NI ce Oe

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
A STUNNING BLOW.

THE announcement by Vikir that Pablo Gar-
cia was in New Orleans had little effect on
Harry Hazeltine. He listened _to the story of
his servant without comment. Racked by physi-
cal as well as mental pain, he was too apathetic
to wish to avenge the attempted murder of so
many years ago, or to attach any importance
to the fact that Pablo Garcia now appeared in
the dress of a gentleman.

In the days that followed his sufferings in-
creased until he was scarcely accountable for
his actions. In the place of refreshing sleep, a
perturbed torpor would come upon him when-
ever nature became thoroughly exhausted.

He would be prostrated by fits of broodin
melancholy, when the watchful Vikir feared
that he might attempt suicide. This might be
relieved at any moment by a burst of unreason-
Mg raR. we

ikir was ever vigilant, ever kind, ever firm.
His tact epee every danger.

Meanwhile Captain Taunton was convalescent.
But, when he saw Harry’s state, which puzzled
him exceedingly, he was deterred more than
ever from speaking of his meeting with one who
looked like Donna Inez.

One day when Paola’s suffering had goaded
her lover to the verge of distraction, he went
2 his old friend and told him the whole situa-

ion.

“Ned,” he said, in conclusion, ‘‘T’ve fought
thisaslongasIcan. I giveup. I can’t to
her looking like a maniac. But I must know
what it is that is distressing her. I’ve deter-
mined to put some one in that house who wil)
find out and tell me. I don’t like that guardian
of hers; and there’s a man at his elbow who
wouldn’t stop at saving. She’s got money,
and they may be deviling her somehow.

“Ned, if I can win that woman, I’m going to
marry her; and if she turns out like all the rest
of the accursed crew, I’ll bring the game toa
sudden termination, as far as I’m concerned!”

Then he announced his determination to go
for Kalma. He would find means of g
her into Wetherby’s household, and if there was
anything wrong she could unearth it. —

“Old fellow,” said Ned, with the old affection
in his tone, though the hand he gave his friend
was very limp with weakness, ‘‘ J hope this may
turn out fortunately for you, for you deserve a
happier life than you have had. I’m acquainted
with a Leslie Mansfield who is intimate in that
quarter; and while you’re gone I’ll learn what I
can about the family.”

After this Harry embarked for Havana. He
was drawn thither by a sort of fascination. He
wanted to see the old, familiar places once more,
Before he committed himself finally to seek
Paola, he must have definite proof of the death
of the woman who had flashed across his life
like a thunderbolt, illuminating all with daz-
zling brightness for a moment, but leaving de-
struction and blacker darkness.

He walked the streets of the island capital.
No one knewhim. The Convent of St. Celestine
loomed grim and silent over the bay. Strangers
were in the villa that had once been his.

Inexpressibly sad, the man stood looking on
the scene of his greatest happiness and greatest
misery, when he heard some one approaching.
It proved to be a negress in whom he recognized
one of his former household servants.

The woman did not recognize him at first, he
was so changed; but when he spoke to her by
name, she looked more closely, then started
back in affright, crying:

“ Oh, Virgen Santissima !”

“You need not fear me, Bettina,” he said. ‘I
wish to ask you a question or two.”

“And I will answer truly, master,” said the
woman, in Spanish.

“Of your mistress? You know how I left
her,” was all that Harry could say.

“She went away, my master, and we were
sold to Sefior Filippo Massina.”

“What do yousay! She went away?” stam-
mered Harry.

“T do not know where, my master.”

“ But—she did not—die?”

“ Santissima, no!” cried the woman, crossing
herself.

Here was a blow for which the man was not

re! . e had never entertained the
thought that his shot might not have proved
fatal. Two months ago he would have felt re-
lieved to know that her blood, though shed by
accident, was not on his hands. But now she
rose up like an ominous phantom between him
and Paola. .

The woman could give but little more intelli-

mee. <A caballero had come to the villa

ortly after the departure of the unfortanate
husband. He had held a brief interview with
the wounded lady and then ay away. Donna
Inez had recovered, and left her household to be
oWitha dull, dead d H t agai
itha espair Harry went again
to the city. While he was waitirig for a vessel
he wandered through the streets, mingling with
the crowd, a man with eyes that saw not, and
ears that heard not, _
In a dim sort of fashion the light and ety

_of the fashionable thoroughfares see to jar

 

wines

 
 

So he wandered on

upon his melancholy,
Ennead unfrequented streets, lighted poorly
by lanterns hung across the way, or jutting
sconces.
Contrary to custom he was not followed by
Vikir, having otherwise ee ed him.
8

Ina dark, deserted spot eard a stealthy
footfall behind him, and turned just in time to
catch a descending wrist the hand of which

rasped a dagger which had been aimed at his
Gack, just between the shoulder-blades.

By a skillful twist of the arm which he held
and a wrestler’s trip of the foot, he threw the
would-be assassin on his back.

‘Now, pelado, why should I not drive your
own. treacherous dagger to your heart?’ he
cried, planting a knee on the baffled villain’s
breast. ‘‘ Would you murder me for a few piti-
ful pesos?”

“Hold, sefior!” cried thé bravo,
and I will redeem my life!”

“Redeem your life?”

“Tf you kill me, you strike but the poor tool.
Your enemy can easily hire another.”

‘““What! You have been hired to assassinate
me?”

“Si, sefior. And would it not be worth so
poor a life as mine to know your enemy? What
am I? You would scorn to strike me so far be-
neath you!”

“True, dog! The lash would be more in
keeping than a blow from the hand of a gen-
tleman. But what evidence shall I havo of
your good faith? Who, employing an assassin,
would let himself be known to him?”

‘Sefior, when I mention the name you will
know whether ho is your enemy or not. For
the rest, he did not know that I recognized him;
but it was so.”

“What is his name?”

‘You will not slay me?”

“ No. ”

‘On the honor of a gentleman?”

‘Fellow! is not my word sufficient with such
scum as thou!”

‘Si, sefior! A thousand pardons!” whined
the cowardly ruffian.

“The name! The name!” demanded Harry.

“Don Manuel Rubio!”

“ Ah 1”

After that ejaculation Harry’s mind set about
collating several isolated facts, and deducing
their significance taken in conjunction.

In his abstraction he forgot the discomfort of
the villain whom his knee yet pinned to the
ground, until that worthy gasped:

** Sefior, you will not forget your promise?”

“Who is this Don Manuel Rubio?’ asked
Harry, ignoring the question which told the
wretch’s anxiety.

“‘He was one of the revolutionists—a colonel
—compelled to fly the Island.”

‘* But he is here now?—to have hired you.”

* He is in disguise.”

“‘Whatif he were taken by the authorities?”

‘*He would be shot, sefior.”

‘Look you, sefior tepero,” said Harry, with
sudden decision. ‘‘ How much money did Don
Manuel Rubio promise you for my assassina-
tion?”

“A hundred pesos, sefior.”

“What! would you kill a man for such a
trifle?”

“T could hire a score of bravos for that,
sefior.”

“Infamous wretches!” cried our hero.
“ Well, I ask of you that in which there is less
risk than to attempt the life of a man, even by
your coward’s blow in the back; and i will pay
i better than Don Manuel. Can you betray

im to the authorities to-night?”

“Undoubtedly, sefior.”

“Arise! Follow me! But look you! I do
not depend on the money I shall give you. If
he are not faithful to me the Island will not be

ig enough to hide you from my revenge!”
‘Sefior, I swear—”

“Bah! your oath is good for nothing! The
only thing you valueis your worthless life. I
hold you by that. Hereis my address, When
Don Manuel is a prisoner come to me. Your re-
ward will await you.”

“ Sefior, do you permit me to go unattended?”
asked the craven, scarcely daring to hope that
he was indeed free.

“Have I not told you that I would have
no rl ae finding you, if I should want

ou
ve Gracias! mil gracias, sefior!” whined the
fellow, with a profound obeisance,

“Go!” commauded Harry.

The bravo backed away, still bowing.

Harry turned on his heel and pursued his
way.

In Don Manuel Rubio and Pablo Garcia Harry
thought_he recognized the lover of his false
wife. Here was a chance to punish him for his
two attempts at murder, nnd for Ned Taunton’s
wound, without Harry thrusting himself into
the notoriety incident to a trial for murderous

assault.
The bravo was true to the trust which he
dared not neglect, and Don Manuel was ar-

rested. ;
On the following day he was tried, with
Spanish expedition where political offenders are

“Spare me,

 

The Creole Cousins.

concerned, and his execution fixed for the
morning subsequent at sunrise.

Harry saw him at the trial; and the recog-
nition was mutual.

That night Don Manuel wrote to Donna Inez,
saying that he sealed his love for her with his
blood, and that his betrayal was no doubt due
to her husband, whose life he had again at-
tempted in vain,

So he died! And his death was productive of
results which bore materially on the future life
of the man he had wronged.

Though the hope of marrying Paola must be
abandoned, Harry still thought to protect her,
and to this end sought Kalma and took her to
New Orleans.

He was met by Ned Taunton, whose pale,
grave face was ominous of a new blow.

_ “What is it, Ned?” asked Harry, with a sink-
ing heart. “Tam prepared for anything.”

‘*My poor friend—”

But Harry interrupted him imperiously.

“Out with it! None of the slow torture of
preparation for me! What has happened?”

“Harry, how could fe help making the dis-
covery? The Donna Inez we execrate is her
cousin |”

Harry clenched his hand and set his teeth
with a spasm of pain; but he said nothing.

‘There is worse,” continued Ned, his face
showing the keen pain he felt in hurting his
friend. ‘‘Oh, you must forget her! Harry,
old fellow, you've suffered so much!—I’m afraid
to tell you!”

“Ned, for God’s sake!”

 

| helped

“She has eloped with a man who is guilty of |

forgery!”

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
FLIGHT!

“You little fool! I’ve got you now!”

Such was Donna Inez’s reflection; but her
face gave no token of her malicious satisfac-
tion. On the contrary, her eyes were moist
with the dews of sympathy—a fair counterfeit
—and holding her sorrowing cousin in a close
embrace she murmured:

“My darling! my darling!
saved!

“Paola,” she continued, ‘‘I have exhausted
every resource but one, In this everything
rests with yourself, dear.”

** With me?” neponte Paola, in surprise.

“Darling, at first I thought it would come
about naturally, of itself. I hcped so, and
waited. Now I know why it has not.”

“To what do you refer, Inez?”

“*Cousin—dear sister !—Mr. Mansfield—Leslie
has told me that on that day he proposed to
TOBA FH refused him.”

es

you shall be

‘You are not annoyed that he should have
confided it to me?”

“Oh, no!”

‘‘He has been and is very unhappy, dear.
‘You must know—you cannot have failed to ob-
serve how devoted he is to you still.”

“But, Inez—”

“Wait, dear. Remember that he saved your
life. Then, instead of going off with piqued vani-
ty, as most men would have done, he has stood
by age with a love so pure, so disinterested,
so delicate, that far from taking advantage of
your distress to renew his importunities, as,
again, most men would do, he has not even
deemed such a thing ible, Lastly, he has
resolved to quarrel with Mr. pagers, and
call him out. Paola, I learned a t night
by an accidental remark dropped by one of
Leslie’s friends, that he has been practicing with
a pistol vat day fora month! When I taxed
him with it he got confused, and ended by ad-
mitting that it was true. He said that he felt
that it must come to this in the end.

‘“‘No, dear, I don’t approve of dueling. It is
all terrible! But that is a man’s way of adjust-
ing matters. What I wish toimpress you with
is the fact that when a man will deliberately
jeopardize his life for a woman, without the

ope of any return save her gratitude—for you
cannot know how hopeless he is—he loves her
with a passion rare both for its strength and its
modesty. :
t i oy can you be wholly indifferent to such
ove

“Inez, I do appreciate his kindness; but I do
not love him as a woman ought to love the man
who is to be her husband.”

“Dear, that is the American theory of the
matter. The women of our country are not
educated to such notions. Perhaps the question
of expediency and general suitability is there
given too great prominence; but _it is at least
worthy of gare consideration. It cannot be
controve: that marriages in which passion is
the dominant element, to the exclusion of more
prudent considerations, very often fail in their
ee of happiness; while, on the other hand,

he quieter Sachaicats are pe as fre-
quently productive of a quiet, 1 life.

s You certainly respect Mr. eld?”

es.

“ And you have tastes in common? You en-
joy his society !”

rakes.” ‘

“Be isin no way repugnant to you?”

 

|
|
|

 

21

“ No. ”

“Then what more do you ask? Think of the
alternative.”

“Oh, that is terrible!”

“Knowing what you had escaped, and wit-
nessing Leslie’s devotion mes! by day, would you
not learn to love him, dear?”

“Oh, I don’t know! I don’t know!” sighed
Paola, hiding her face in her cousin’s bosom and
sobbing violently.

ne me ask you an honest question, Paola.
During these weeks of trouble Leslie has been
near you constantly. Don’t you feel nearer to
him than you did?”

And poor Paola, in whose gentle bosom grati-
tude and pity were powerful sentiments, was
fain to admit without nice analysis:

“ce Yes.”

“That is proof, then, that your heart would
yield to his constancy. And he will be only too
glad to take you on your own terms. All he
asks is the privilege of devoting his life to you.”

‘But I cannot marry him, if I would. Uncle
would never consent.”

“That is just it, dear. You would have to
dispense with consulting him.”

“Tnez!”

“ An elopc mont is your only resource!”

“Oh, Inez! An elopement!”

“ Would you rather marry Mr. Dillingham?’

Paola shuddered.

‘* Desperate cases ta desperate expedi-
ents,” pursued Donna Inez. ‘If it could be

t would not recommed anything clandes-

tine.”

“But I can fly from here without marrying
Mr. Mansfield!” cried Paola catching at this
avenue of escape froin her painful dilemma.

“ Unfortunately your guardian could follow

ou and bring you back. He would have all
the law with him. But, once married, he
would have to submit.”

Hedged about on every side, poor Paola gave
up the struggle. Inez knew by her abandoned
sp that the battle was almost won. It
needed but the finishing stroke. Leslie alone
could supply that.

They been expecting him. Just at the
nick of time Inez heard his footsteps.

““T will go to him, dear, and prepare him,”
said Inez. ‘‘And remember, Paola, that your
whole future depends on your decision now. It
is Mr. Dillingham, or Leslie. There is no more
time for delay. Be brave, dear !—be wise!”

And with that parting admonition the treach-
erous woman left her victim all in a heap on the

ee)

‘Now everything is ready at your hand,”
said Inez, meeting Leslie in the hall. ‘I have
shown her that elopement is her only escape;
and she has all but consented. Remember the
elopement is my suggestion, though in accord-
ance with your wishes. Your cue is the modest
lover. Now, go to her!”

Pale with fear, yet thrilled by a wild hope,
Leslie d Donna Inez’s hands.

‘God bless you!” he cried; “I owe you
a ”

“Waste none of your heroics on me,” admon-
ished the woman, impatiently. ‘‘Go! go!”

And he went.

If Leslie Mansfield’s love was not of a very
exalted type, his exultation, his gratitude were
emotions strong enough to warm him to elo-
quence.

Lying all in a heap on the sofa and convulsed
by sobs, this girl was a thing of beauty, to be
a to one’s heart, and comforted, and cher-

With a stride Leslie was beside her, and,
sinking cn one knee, clasped her in his arms.

“Oh, my eng he cried, ‘‘can it be true?
—can it be true? Oh, if I could save you in this
way! Itis beyond my wildest hopes! Paola!
Paola! if a life of devotion—a life of grateful
tenderness—”

But his voice broke.
silence with his emotions.

At first the girl shrunk from him; but pros-
trated in body as well as in mind, her resistance
was feeble; and gradually she yielded, and sunk
into this haven of rest.

He got her head on his shoulder; he brushed
the damp hair from her temples; he kissed her
with a respectful tenderness which soothed her.
He had the sense: to know that the lover’s kiss
on the lips was denied him; so he confined his
carciees a her eyelids and forehead.

Again and again he breathed assurances into
her ear, until her tears ceased to flow, her sobs
were hushed, and only now and then an airy
sigh —— er lips.

onna Inez, who had been on the watch, now
— lightly on the door, and glided in.

ropping on her knees before the two who
now sat side by side, she took their hands, one
of each, and, clasping them together, pressed
them between her own. t

“Oh, this is as it should be!” she said, coo-
ingly. ‘I have = and prayed for this
consummation! And you will be happy, dear
—I know you will. But, Mr. Leslie, if you ever
cause her a moment’s so al)

“Tf I ever do”—cried the lover,

‘Make no rash invocations!” laughed Inez,
caressingly, ‘‘ You terrible men are all alike!

He was struggling in —

 
 
  
 

 

 

22

The Creole Cousins.

 

 

You break the hearts of us poor women; but
then we owe all our happiness to you too, Take
care of her, Leslie,” ‘she pursued, with tender
earnestness. ‘Remember that the sorrow of
the last few weeks is-enough for a lifetime.

And now; my children,” she continued,
with an attempt at pleasantry, ‘tho next
question in order is when this modern hegira is
tobe put into execution. I confess that in an-
ticipation of this solution of the difficulty I have
thought the whole subject over. If it must be
done, it were’better be done quickly, J] suggest
to-morrow night.”

“So soon?” cried Paola, startled.

“But, my dear, it must be done’ within a
week, if at all; and delays aro dangerous.
Taking the night boat, we can reach Baton
Rouge in: the early morning; and before you
are missed at home the ceremony which places
you outof alldanger will have been performed.”

Paola pleaded for more time; but the absence
of any sufficient reason for delay, and Inez’s su-
perior will force overcame this Sep

Leaving Paola to her wretchedness, the per-
fidious cousin went to inform her colleagues of
the success of their plot.

Meanwhile, Leslie Mansfield being alone on
the street, was absorbed in not altogether plea-
sant reflections, if his contracted brows were
any indication of his mental state.

“It is the chance of my life,” he muttered.
“Ttis everything or nothing. [min the mire
up to my neck, asitis.. This is a chance to re-
trieve everything. Ifit fails—well, I’ve noth-
ing to lose! So, here goes!”

t the conclusion of this reverie Mr. Leslie
Mansfield’s face took on the expression of a man
who had yielded to a great temptation and set
his face detantty against fate. It was a look
that boded poor, betrayed Paola no good,

The next day there was a strange brilliancy
and restlessness about his eyes. He flushed
and paled without apparent cause, He was
nervously apprehensive.. Again and again he
involuntarily felt the left breast of his vest, to
assure himself that a certain long wallet con-
taining a thousand dollars in bank-notes had
not vanished from as suddenly and mysterious-
ly as it had entered an inner pocket.

That night the victim, almost swooning with
terror, was fairly dragged from her house,
driven to the quay, led across the gang-plank,
and placed in a state-room of one of the ‘‘ float-
ing palaces” of the Mississippi.

At the last moment she had shown a disposi-
tion to recede from the scheme of elopement,
on the ground that marriage with a man whom
-he did not love was wrong, even to save her-
volf from the still more repugnant union with
Dillingham; and nothing but Inez’s decisive
action, overpowering her cousin’s enfeebled will,
had saved the whole project from overthrow.

‘*Leslie,” said Inez, when they stood outside
the state-room in which Paola lay prostrated
“T amsatisfied that at the last moment she will
refuse to take the marriage vow!”

‘““ What then are we to do?” asked Leslie.

““T havea plan which must be effective.”

And glancing about that there should be no
one to overhear their conversation, she whis-
pered a moment in his ear.

“Tt seems cruel,” said the man, with a look of
compassion,

“Itis for her good,” said the woman. ‘‘It is
too late for indecision now.”

And giving him her hand, she deliberately
left the boat, watched it as it swung into the
stream and steamed away, and then drove
home.

‘*Wnhat! you back?” cried Wetherby and Dil-
lingham in a breath, as she walked in upon
them while they were drinking to the success of
their infamous plot. 4

“The little fool would have receded at the
last moment,” said Inez; ‘‘ but when she finds
that she has compromised herself and will
otherwise be a social outcast, I fancy she will
be glad to get out of her false position by mar-
rying even that little blonde dandy! Pah! I
had to manage everything for him asif he were
a baby. Givemea man!”

“By the Lord Harry! you deserve a man, and
a full-grown one, too!” cried sega witha
burst of admiration. ‘‘ Mostroyal lady, I know
not whether to do greater homage to your genius
or to your perfidy!” 3

CHAPTER XXIX.
THE MARRIAGE.

For perhaps an hour Paola waited in vain
for the return of her cousin. Then anxiety
ruastering her weakness, she got up from the
‘erth where she had been lying and went out
into the cabin. é

Of course the traitress was nowhere to be
seen,

‘* Maybe she’s on de hurrycane-deck, missus,”
said the chambermaid, when applied to. ‘‘ Pow-
—— lot o’ ladies an’ gemmen promenadin’ up
dah,

‘‘Can’t some one besent to look for Mr, Mans-
tield?’ asked Paola,

‘‘Sartainly, missus. Hil you, Sam! Stir
you’ lazy bones, dah! Dis lady wants a gem-
man— What’s de name, missus?”

‘*Mr, Mansfield.” : : .

 

 

“You heah, Sam? None 0’ you’ sogerin’,
now! Jest you pull foot lively, an’ don’t keep
de lady waitin’ all night!”

With a grin that threatened to sever his head
in half and dart his eyes from their sockets,
Sam shuffled off, while mammy observed to
Paola with a doleful shake of the head:

‘‘Dese coons is powerful lazy, missus—’deed

°

dey is!”
n due time Leslie presented himself.

‘Where is Inez?” asked Paola.

“Why, isn’t she with you?” asked Leslie, with
simulated surprise.

‘“‘No, Ihaven’t seen her since you left me
together.”

“Why, thatis'strange. I left her at the door
of your state-room, an hour ago. She may have
gone on the hurricane-deck. I will look her
up.”

Fifteen anxious minutes passed, and then Les-
lie returned, looking blank,

“She is not on the boat,” he said. ‘‘She was
seer to cross the gangplank just before the boat
shoved off. She must have gone ashore for
some reason—though why I cannot imagine—
and been left.”

“Tnez not with us!”

With that terrible revelation all Paola’s
strength left her, and she would have fallen had
not Leslie’s arm sustained her.

We pass over that night of terrible suspense,
when in the loneliness of her state-room the girl
felt the incessant fears of one who fled in vain
dangers that pressed on every hand.

Under other circumstances she would have
clung to Leslie with that sense of security
which we all feel in the company of our friends;
but the relation he was soon to assume toward
her made her shrink from him.

When the boat reached Baton Rouge she
yielded herself to his guidance because she had
no one else to look to.

Leslie, who had as much heart as his selfish-
ness would permit, was not devoid of solicitude
for the pale, apprehensive creature whom he
fe into a carriage and drove to a hotel; but

is assurances were of no avail.

“Paola,” he said, when she had gone through
the form of eating breakfast, though she scarce-
ly touched a morsel, ‘‘the next boat, which is
due. this afternoon, will doubtless bring your
cousin, if she can again escape observation and
come. But if your flight is discovered, it wiil
also bring your guardian. It behooves us, then,
to have the ceremony over without delay, when
we willbe secure in any emergency.”

But shrinking into the corner of the sofa,
Paola cried, Say mag

“Oh, no! no! no! Mr. Mansfield, I cannot!
I cannot!”

‘* But, Paola, you do not mean to recede from
your engagement?”

“Oh, I'don’t know! I don’t know!” cried the
distracted girl.

“Would you rather wait and_marry Dilling-
ham instead of me?” demanded Leslie.

“*No—no.”

‘But these are alternatives,”

Instead of answering, the girl sobbed,

Leslie Mansfield was a man, and therefore
when reason seemed to coincide with his wishes
he was impatient of unreasonableness. How-
ever, he had sense enough not to let his annoy-
ance so far gain the mastery as to find expres-
sion in upbraidings, though atintervals through-
out the whole morning he argued the point with
Paola, with tears and moans as the only result.

His only hope was the arrival of Inez unat-
tended by Wetherby. /

At two o’clock a small steamer—not a regu-—

lar passenger boat—touched the levee and Inez,
unaccompanied, crossed the gangplank.

Though Leslie expected ‘her, he was not in
waiting, and pretended to’ be surprised at see-
ing her before the arrival of the regular boat.

Without removing her hat, she flung herself
on her knees andclasped Paola in her arms.

It was a very dramatic and very pretty scene,
and. the flood of remorseful apology that poured
from her lips was very natural.

Discovering the loss of her purse—so she said
—and thinking that it must be in the carriage,
she had gone ashore and so been left. A small
freight boat had afforded her an opportunity to
start before the regular passenger boat, which
no doubt would contain the enraged guardian
with officers of the law.

“The boat will be here in an hour. But you
did not wait forme? The ceremony is already

erformed? This is no longer Paola Careno,
ut Mrs—”

“No! no! no! dear Inez!” interrupted Paola.
“T couldn’t do it! It would be wicked. I do
not love him!”

“What!” cried Inez, starting back in affect-
= dismay. ‘Paola, you-are crazy! Why,

ear—

‘“Mr. Mansfield,” said Inez, turning to that
rueful gentleman, ‘pray leave me with her a
few minutes.”

Leslie bowed, and withdrew.

‘* Paola,” continued her false cousin, ‘do you

realize the position in which you are placed? |

You must marry him. This unfortunate acci-
dent—or rather fortunate, I begin to think—has
made it impossible for you to recede now.

Dear, being alone with him, as you have, has
compromised you so that nothing but a mar-
riage will preserve your reputation. You know
the censoriousness of the world. It would
rather believe evil than good. And you have
social rivals whose envy would prompt them to
pull_you down mercilessly.

“Not to speak of what you owe Leslie and
the humiliation he would be subjected to by be-
coming the laughing-stock of all New Orleans,
if you were to cast him off at the last moment
—a humiliation under which I know he is too

.| spirited to live—can you return and be a social

outcast?”

Ringing the changes on these arguments and
bringing to bear all the magnetism of her posi-
tive will, Inez forced her less combative cousin
into a state of passivity, and taking her assent
for granted, dressed her in her hat and man-
tilla, and placing Leslie on the other side, took
her arm and led her to the carriage.

The battle had been a hard one; and the priest
whose services they called into requisition was
a man of slow motions; so that when the cere-.
mony was about to begin the three blended
whistles of the Sale oa steamer were heard
from far down the river.

Inez had labored with the desperation of one
who realized all that was at stake in those few
moments. When she heard the whistles her
heart bounded with the consciousness that all
would be accomplished before the boat could
reach the levee. :

But Paola was so weak and faint that she had
to be supported on either side by her betray-
ers.

Inez constantly whispered words of encour:
agement in her ear, and from time to time held
a vial of aromaticsalts to her nostrils.

A fainting-fit now would be fatal. The girl
could never again be brought to this point.

But the ceremony went on to its consumma-
tion, and those two were pronounced .‘‘one
flesh.”

In the wild triumph of that moment Leslie
forgot every precaution, and clasped his bride
in his arms.

‘‘ Mine! mine forever!” he cried, pressing a
passionate kiss on her lips.

But she did not hear him. She neither re-
sponded to nor shrunk from his caress. He
held an unconscious form in his arms.

Dizzy with the reaction which her overwrought
feelings underwent when the strain of uncertain-
ty was removed, Inez had turned to an open
window for air.

Leslie’s startled cry recalled her.

“It’s only a fainting-fit,” she said, with no
trace ofemotion. ‘She was very good to defer

| it until it could make no difference.”

The mask kad cropped. She could afford to
appear in her true character now. Paola was
no more to her than any other beggar. Her
fair inheritance was forfeit, and the adventuress
was come into the reward of her infamy,

They laid her on a wooden bench; and, with
so much attention as the presence of strangers
made politic, Inez gente restoratives. But
the swoon was an obstinate one; and she was
still occupied when the sound of footsteps aud
the darkening of the doorway caused her to
look round.

By the sight which met her gaze the adven-
turess was paralyzed.

Her husband, supported by Capt. Ned Taun-
ton, stood in the doorway!

CHAPTER XXX.
THE SUICIDE,

For a moment after the announcement of
Paola’s elopement with a forger, Harry Hazel-
tine stood speechless. What he suffered then
no words can tell.

‘My poor, poor friend!” cried Taunton, grasp-
ing his hands.

Vith an effort Harry aroused himself.

“Ned,” he said, “while I was in Cuba I learn
ed the identity of that woman with one of these
cousins. But 1 learned more. I learned that
fate had placed before her an Se to
execute a most infamous plot. What you have
just told me shows that she has availed herself
of that opportunity and prosecuted it to a suc-
cessful issue.”

“But, Harry, what can you mean?”

“T mean that by the devilish arts of those by
whom she has been surrounded, to whom she
has a right to look for protection, Paola Careno
has been most foully betrayed, and somehow
forced into this elopement.”

“But for what object?”

‘“‘Money!—that accursed gold for which so
many sell their souls!” ;

And in a few words Harrv explained the pur-

port of Don Alfonso’s imprudent: will.
| “But may we not be in time to frustrate this
| infamy?” said Ned. “Last night, while part-
ing with some friends, I saw the party—Mans-
field and the cousins—come aboard the boat.

 

 

Sen, led me to examine the register just
before the boat put off. Their destination was
Baton Rouge.”

_ ‘And how did she look?”

| “Scarcely able to support herself, They led
‘her between them.”

“‘T knew it! I knew it!”

 

 

 

 
“Harry, there was that in their manner
which even then led me to think that it was an
elopement. Of course I knew nothing of Mans-
field’s criminality then. But knowing her rela-
tionship to that other, I thought you were well
rid of her.”

Harry groaned.

“Only this morning I learned that he had
raised the money for this adventure by forging
a note with his employers’ tindorsement, which
he got discounted,” pursued Taunton. ‘Of
course, long before the note fell due, he expect
ed to have the money with which theimaginary
drawer could take it up, so that the firm whose
eredit had been used to make it negotiable
would never di. cover the fact.”

‘“‘Now we must save her from him at all
hazards,” said Harry. ‘‘ Come!”

They caught the boat. :

There wes a party of genilemen just before
them, whom Ned. pointed out as detectives.

“They are already on his track,” he said.
‘Tf he expects to proceed northward on this
boat, he will be apprehended at the levee.”

A hard, set look came into Harry’s face. He
said nothing.

Among the detectives he discovered Asa Dil-
lingham, his head thrust.forward from his
round shoulders, his livid lips slightly tremu-
lous, his ferret eyes blinking restlessly, his
clammy hand with its yellow palm often raised
to his mouth, :

Immediately upon the discovery of Leslie’s
crime, Dillingham had put himself in_conjunc-
tion with the detectives, to assist in the appre-
hension of his rival.

So the two parties proceeded on the same
boat to Baton Rouge.

Touching the levee in the middle of the after-
noon, while the detectives sought the town au-
thorities, Harry Hazeltine procured a carriage
and drove directly to the Catholic church, as it
was of first importance to learn whether the
marriage had already taken poe

This brought the wronged husband and the
perfidious wife face to face for tho first time in
eight years. ; ;

Inez sprung to her feet with a cry of dismay.
Then she shrunk abashed before the stern gazo
of the man she had so wronged, who now, she
felt, was come to frustrate all her plots just at
the moment of their comptete triumph.

Harry Hazeltine moved steadily into the
room,

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” de-
manded Leslie, presenting a bold front, though
a evident disconcertion caused his heart to
sink,

“You are Mr. Leslie Mansfield?” asked Harry,
unmoved. .

“T am, sir!” replied Leslie, brusquely. ;

** Have you consummated a marriage with
this lady?

“T have, sir!”

“Well, Mr, Mansfield, for your share in this
infamous business I am about to make you a
return which you do not deserve.”

66 a 19?

“Tam about to act the part of a friend,” pur-
sued Harry, not noticing the interruption;
“that is to say, if you are not a coward as well
as a Villain.”

“Coward! Villain!”

“Tam about to give you an opportunity to
preserve your dignity as a gentleman, though I
think that your claim to that title is purely su-
perficial. However, I believe that your vanity
will lead you to shrink from the infamy of a
common vagabond.”

“By Heaven, sir!” blustered Leslie, menac-
ingly, ‘‘I’ll show you whether I am a gentle-
man or not!” ‘

While the priest, extending his hands, said:

‘Peace, my children! Remember, you are
in_thesanctuary |”

Ignoring this interruption, Harry proceeded
with a nod of approval:

s I see you have sufficient spirit for my pur-

0se.

“Explain yourself, sir. What do you mean?”
demanded Leslie.

“T mean that the forgery of which you are
guilty has been discovered, and the officers are
now on your track!”

“ Forgery !”

The word was uttered in a seared voice, yet
musical withal; and the company turned to
see that Paola had aroused from her fainting-
fit, and was sitting up.

All but Leslie, who, ghastly with the fear of
detected guilt, could not remove his eyes from
Harry’s siern face.

Harry Hazeltine would have spared the wo-
man he loved the tragic scene that was to fol-
low; but he was first and at all hazards deter-
mined upon her release from the disgraceful tie
that bound her to a felon.

With the air of an implacable judge he pro-
ceeded: ;

‘Mr, Mansfield, a gentleman does not wait to
be DERpOes on a cominon pare I give zou, the
opportunity to escape the infamy of standin,
- The felons dock.” v .

And he drew a pistol from his pocket.

‘* Would you murder me?” cried Leslie, start-
ing back,

 

; The Creole Cousins.

“No,” replied Harry. ‘‘ Public opinion will
at least approve your courage if you open the
door with your own hand, Take the weapon.
Believe me, it is now your best friend.”

‘But’ I can. escape!” cried Leslie, with a
gleam of hope. ‘If you are my friend, as you
say—

% The officers will be here inside of. five
minutes. Ah! look from that window. Do
you see them at the end of the street, coming
this way?”

‘‘But I have a carriage at the door!”

Leslie started forward, to carry his suggested
escape into execution,

Harry opposed his passage immovably, with
a masons cocked pistol, which he drew from his
pocket,

‘You cannot leave this room alive, unless
taken out by the officers of the law!” he said.

Then Leslie gave up.

‘“‘Have you the courage to agcapl the only
avenue of escape open to you?” asked Harry,
again presenting the pistol.

Leslie suddenly plucked spirit of despair.

1 a have!” he said, taking the weapon reck-
essly,

“Wretched worms of earth, dare you brave
the wrath of Heaven!” cried the priest.

But he appealed to deaf ears,

“You are right,” was the wretched man’s re-
ply, ‘‘and I accept your kindly office. But be-
tore I leave this world L have a :word.to say.”

Then turning to Paola, whom terror held mo-
tionless and speechless, he proceeded:

“My wife—for you are my wife!—I have
loved you with a passion which has proved my
destruction, as. perhaps it would have been
yours but for this interposition of fate. I was
so determined to possees you that I did not stop
at crime to gain the money without which. this
opportunity would have gone by default. Now
Lam about to prove that my love for you is not
altogether selfish. When my folly exposed you
to death by grewsing, it was this man and not
I, who saved your life. Now I commend you to
his care. ow that he will protect.you.
Farewell, Paola! Remember that my last act
was prompted by my love for you. Thus I re-
lease you frominfamy!”

He raised the pistol to his head.

“Hold!” eried. the priest.. ‘‘ Blasphemous
wretch! if you dare to desecrate the sanctuary
of the Most High by shedding your own blood
at,the very foot of the altar, I call down upon
you the undying curse of Heaven!”

The old man was terrible in his invocation.

Paola covered her face with her hands, shud-
dering. ;
~ Donna Inez still stood like a woman.of stone.

Leslie turned his eyes full upon the priest, and
with an icy smile drew the trigger. :

There was a ringing explosion; and the suicide
fell without a moan!

Harry calmly knelt beside the fallen man. He
was dead!

‘* And now,” said the wronged husband, ‘ for
= woman whose brain conceived this foul
plot!

He turned.

Donna Inez had fled.

CHAPTER XXXI.
AS SHE HAD LIVED; SO:DIED SHE!

Wa are aware. that.most, if not all, of our
readers, will severely reprehend Harry Hazel-
tine’s instigation of a suicide, no matter what
the proyocation, We congratulate them that
they enjoy the healthful "nfluence of a. public
sentiment so refined. But we.ask.them to. re-
member that he lived in an age and community
which upheld the duello and kindred theories,
ae which was the duty of @ gentleman de-
tected in crime to preserye his “honor” from
the odium of public exposure_and the punish-
ment of a common rogue by taking his own life
—-a strange paradox, which has not altogether
died out, even in this enlightened age.

Feeling that the only ¢ause of regret was the
shock Paola had been forced to sustain, Harry
turned to her, and said: ,

‘Miss Careno, there is no time, and this is no
place, for an exposure of the wicked plot of
which you have been the victim. The guilt of
the wretched woman to whose treachery you
owe all your misery is sufficiently proved by
her flight. Every caress she has wed upon
you during all these years has been a kiss of Ju-

das; every word of affection has been a lie!”

‘What! Inez?—cousin Inez?” cried Paola, in
bewilderment.

“Ts your bitterest foe!—a traitress of the
vilest stamp! Has she not fled whenI appeared
to unmask her?

‘Inez untrueto me! Then whom have I left?”
moaned poor Paola,

‘Will you trust me?” asked Harry, with an
unwonted faltering of the voice,

“He said you saved my life,” said the girl,
referring to her dead husband with a shudder.

And with her eyes fixed on H ’s with a
confiding gaze, she placed, her hands in his.

“God willing,” said our hero, fervently, ‘‘T
will go one step further, and restore to aoe, that
happiness which alone makes life valuable!”

ithout more ado he plavodherin the car-

ane

 

Soe tether a = \
riage, having presented her to his friend Ned
Taunton, and the party drove to the levee,
where a steamer was already rounding into
view up.the river, on its way to New Orleans.

Meanwhile Donna Inez had stopped her car-
riage and called Asa Dillingham to her, on
meeting bim in company with the detectives,

‘“¢Yonder you will find your man, dead—a
suicide!” she said to the chief, who immediately
withdrew with his men.

“Mr, Dillingham,” she pursued, *‘ we are
ruined! My husband is there. He has just
forced Leslie Mansfield to commit suicide, H¢ i
will crush the rest of us as ruthlessly. Our
only hope is to get what we can and escape—
you and I, e must force Wetherby to di-
vide with us, and then fly. He is the only one
who can be detained. While the law is brivg-
ing him to account we can escape.”

‘ Agreed!” said Dillingham, ‘‘Whata head
you have!—and whata conscience! You would
leave your own mother in the lurch to save
your precious self! However, I’ll not quarrel
with you on that score. -Shall we take the same
boat that conveys your gallant husband and
fair cousin back to the city?”

‘““Why not? What can he do tous?”

“ Have us arrested for conspiracy, my dear!”

“ But if he wishes todo that he might have
us taken now, or have officers awaiting the next

‘True, . Perhaps the bold policy is the best.”

So it happened that all the living returned to-
gether, the remains of Leslie Mansfield being
alone delayed, But the defeated conspirators —
had the prudence to keep in retirement.

Donna Inez and Dillingham hastened home,
and astonished the false guardian with the an-
nouncement that the bubble had burst, and the
demand that he at once convert the trust fund
a page money, and make a division of the
spoils,

Pe But,” objected the prudent Wetherby, “T
can haccount dollar for dollar. The trust ’as
not sufferedin my ’ands, It’as been well hin-
vested, and we’avelivedon thé revenue, To be
sure it will himpoverish me; but I can clear
my skirts, Why, then, hopen the penitentiary
door for myself to enrich you? You may go to
the devi both of you—for hall the love I bear
‘ou!

“Exactly !” assented Asa Dillingham. ‘ Your
prudence is very commendable, But would you
rather return to Botany Bay, where your neck
will be sure to be stretched, or pocket a portion
of this money and run your chances of being
caught?”

“You can’t betray me without pecmp ing
yourself hinvolyed in the murder of the man
personate, ”

‘*Hxcuse me! I will swear, as will all my
crew, that we never saw the man; but were

id by you to testify as we did, The worst

hat you can bring on me is imprisonment for a
term, while Tecan hang you!”

That clinched the argument,

Paola’s inheritance had been converted into
stocks and bonds. These were put on the mar-
ket on the following day, through an agent,
and the proceeds invested in diamonds, which
could easily be carried on the person.

But an event occurred which changed the dis-
tribution of these ill-gotten gains.

Donna Inez found a letter in a large official
envelope awaiting her. It was the letter which
Don Manuel had written before his death. It
had been delayed by official ‘‘red tape,” for
which the Spanish authorities are noted. <Ac-
companying it was an official notificatiog of the
writer’s execution as a traitor.

Donna Inez read it through with a marble
pallor of face and a stony stare in_ber eyes.

Then the full force of her love for this man
asserted itself.

What were her feelings, what were her
thoughts, was indicated only by what she did.
From that moment she never spoke or uttered
a sound, ‘There were no tears, no manifesta-
tion of grief. The woman moved like an au-
tomaton.

Locking the door against her maid, she dress-
ed herself with exquisite taste, in light flow-
ing draperies. The last letter Ais hand had
traced she put in her bosom.

From her jewel-case she took a heavy gold
ring, of strange, antique workmanship, mount-
ing what looked like a large green stone.

ext she composed herself gracefully on a
sofa, arranging her drapery with careful band
and artistic eye.

Touching a secret spring in the ring, the top
of the seeming stone flew up, showing that it
was a mere shell, a receptacle for a few drops
of a dark-green liquid, |

With a steady hand the strange woman put
the deadly vial to her lips, sucked its poison,
closed the lid, and composed herself as to sleep.

When they found her she Jay in all her
treacherous beauty: but her soul had fled.

“T am disappointed in her, and yet she has
proved consistent,” commented Dillingham,
argumentatively. ‘‘ Having fought so gallant-
ly, she yielded at last to a womanly weakness,
and killed herself on account of aman, Put in-
stead of taking the vail, as a more wishywashy
woman might have done, she squared accounte
24

with a right royal hand. She was a magnificent
woman, by Heaven!” ;

“We hought not to quarrel with ’er. She ’as
hincreased our plunder by fifty per cent. !” was
Wetherby’s summing up.

There is no love lost between rogues.

“And now,” said Dillingham, ‘‘I am deter-
‘mined to have Paola Careno! She has been
taken to the house of a widow a little way out
of the city. The only man on the premises is
this Indian servant of the gallant Mr. Hazel-
tine. I wish you to accompany me to get the
girl out of the house by your authority, if pos-
sible. If not, we will use force. Once in pos-
session of her you may go your way, and I will
go mine.” :

James Wetherby was disposed to run no fur-
ther risk; but Asa Dillingham insisted.

Harry Hazeltine had taken Paola to a coun-
try house, where the quiet and pure air might
exercise their recuperative force, and given her
into the care of an elderly woman and her
widowed daughter. Kalma attended her, and
Vikir stood guard, while Harry returned to the
city to look after her pecuniary interests.

The shades of night were falling when a close
carriage stopped a little way from the house,
and two men dismounted and found their way
to Paola’s apartment, all the rooms of the house
being on the ground floor.

While Paola arose from her chair and indig-
nantly confronted her false guardian, demand-
ing the meaning of the intrusion, Kalma stood
in the background, her eyes fixed, as if fas-
cinated, on Asa Dillingham’s face.

CHAPTER XXXII,
THE FINAL BLOW.
“Paoua,” said Wetherby, ‘‘for the contempt
on ’ave manifested for my hauthority, for the

insult hoffered to my hesteemed friend, Mr.
Dillingham, I ’ave no words! But the wound
to your hown reputation, when you so far for-
got yourself as to place yourself hunder the
rotection of a stranger, I beg you to consider.
am more pained than hangered. Return to
your ’ome and duty, and all will be forgiven.”
“Mr. Wetherby,” said Paola, with as much
grief as indignation in her voice, ‘‘it is useless
to multiply words. Your hypocrisy has been
unmasked. You have forfeited every moral
claim to my obedience, and soon the law will
cancel the legal tie which you have dishonored.
Could my father have looked forward to this

da ait SF

But her voice broke, and tears sprung to her

eyes.
we You refuse to return ’ome with me?” de-
manded Wetherby.

“T no longer have a home with you, sir.”

“Then I must resort to force.”

**T shall call for help.”

‘Which will havail you nothing. Mr, Dil-
lingham, hassist me!”

nd Wetherby advanced threateningly,

“Help! Help! Vikir!” cried Paola.

Then Kalma sprung before her mistress.

“Back, leperos!” she cried, confronting the
would-be abductors with flashing eyes. ‘Lay
not your hands on this lady!”

“Throw the vixen aside!” cried Dillingham,
who was behind his compeer.

But at this moment the door was thrown
violently open, and Vikir rushed in.

“My brother! mira! our enemy!” cried
Kalma, pointing to Dillingham. ‘‘ The murder-
er of our father! He who carried me into cap-
tivity!”

An instant Vikir stood like one entranced.
Then his lips drew back, showing his white
teeth like the fangs of some beast of prey.

Dillingham saw the gleam of a dagger, as his
fate rushed upon him.

He drew a pistol and fired; but the next in-
stant he went down, with the blood welling
from a hole in his breast.

As Vikir rose, James Wetherb
violent blow on the head, whic
senseless.

Now the false guardian thought only of
flight; but remembering the diamonds which
Dillingham had on his person, he stooped down
and hurriedly dispossessed him.

From without came the sound of rapidly ap-
proaching horse’s hoofs.

With a startled look Wetherby rose to fly.

But the fumbling for the diamonds had roused
Dillingham. ?

‘¢- You would rob me, you devil! would you?”
he cried. “Hold on! ‘You can’t get away
with that plunder!”

And though at the very gate of death, he
fired at his treacherous ally.

But the shot fired by the stiffening hand took
no effect, and Wetherby rushed from the room
unharmed.

But a stern voice cried:

‘Halt! Surrender!”

A horse was leaped over the poe that sur-
rounded the house, and as he bounded to the
side of the fugitive and was drawn back on his
haunches, a heavy hand grasped the collar of
James Wetberby’s coat, the rider leaped from
the saddle, executed a wrestler’s trip, and the
poe of the false guardian and impostor was

lone

struck him a
knocked him

 

The Creole Cousins.

 

Harry Hazeltine had gone to Wetherby’s
house to effect his arrest, found him gone, and
tracked him hither, ;

Now he dragged his prisoner into the house,
where he was joined by Ned Taunton and the
officers of the law.

‘‘T have but two words before I die,” said Asa
Dillingham. ‘Strip the clothing from the back
of that escaped convict, and behold the brands
of the queen! He is Thomas Kittridge! I de-
nounce him as the murderer of James Wether-
by, whom he has personated for thirteen years!”

But the violent passion of the ex-slaver, -

Capt. Gaskill, for such he was, precipitated his
end. The exertion of rising on his elbow and
shaking his fist at the traitor who had taken
the first ot sae sag to rob and desert him,
+ ee a sudden hemorrhage, and he fell back,

ead.

Vikir’s oo was complete!

Tom Kittridge’s back was laid bare, and the
livid marks of the brand discovered.

He was handed over to the British Govern-
ment, and returned to oe Bay, where he
expiated his many crimes on the scaffold,

A year has passed.

Paola is reinstated in her Cuban home.

She is reclining in a bamboo easy-chair, on
the broad veranda.

At her feet sits Harry Hazeltine, with a look
of mingled joy and pride. He is no longer
emaciated and pale, but rounded into the full
outlines of robust health.

He has been telling her his life—how he met
and parted with her cousin; how, after that
blow, he traveled the world over, a prey to bit-
terness; how in the Orient he contracted the
fatal habit of opium-smoking, which gave him
almost his only surcease of pain; how, under
the inspiration of his love for her, and aided by
his faithful Vikir, he threw off the yoke of
slavery to the drug, though it seemed as if it
would cost him his life; and how the fruition of
her love (of which he knew his unworthiness!)
was the one boon he now craved of Heaven!
Was the bright dream of the year just past to
oie forever the darkness that had gone be-

‘ore?

While he was talking, her eyes were directed
across the lawn to where Kalma was arranging
some flowers which Vikir had gathered, while
Ned Taunton looked on with a smile on his
bronzed, sailor face—a pretty picture, until
sympathetic tears hid it from her view. When
he was done she turned her beautiful face to his,
her delicate hands in his, and satisfied

is heart with the answer:

$6-Yes)}”

THE END.

WAVERLEY

Each Issue Complete
and Unabridged,

 

 

A Fifty Cent Novel
for Five Cents,

LIBRARY,

COVERING THE FIELD OF
LOVE and SOCIETY ROMANCE.

1 Tar Masxep Brivo. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell,
2 Was Ir Love? By Wm. Mason Turner.
8 Tue Grau Wirt. By Bartley T. Campbell.
4 A Brave Heart. By Arabella Southworth.
5 Bessie Raynor, THE WorK GirL. Wm. M. Turner,
6 Tae Sroret Marriace. By Sara Claxton.
7 A Daveuter or Eve. Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell,
8 Heart To Heart. By Arabella Southworth,
9 ALONE IN THE Wortp. Author of “Clifton.”
10 A Parr or Gray Eyres. By Rose Kennedy,
11 Enranciep. By Henrietta ae
12 His Lawrut Wise. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens,
13 Mapcap, THE Lirrte QuakERESS. Cushman,
14 Way I Marriep Him. By Sara Claxton.
15 A Farr Facz. By- Bartley T. Campbell.
16 Trust Her Not. By Margaret Leicester.
17 ALoyvat Lover. By Arabella Southworth,
18 His Ino. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
19 Tue Broken BerrorHaL. Mary Grace Halpine.
20 ORPHAN NELL, THE ORANGE GIRL. By Agile Penne,
21 Now AND Forrver, By Henrietta Thackeray.
22 Tue Brive of AN Actor. Author of “ Clifton.”
23 Leap Year. By Sara Claxton.
26 Her Face Was Her Fortune By Eleanor Blaine.
25 Onty A ScHootmistrEss. Arabella Southworth.
26 Wirnovt a Harr. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
27 Was Sue a Coquerrn? or, A Strange Courtship.
By Henrietta Thackeray. Ready May 18th.
28 Sypr. CxHase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By Mrs,
Ann §. Stephens. Ready May 25th.
29 For Hur Dear Saxe; or, Saved from Himself,
By Sara Claxton, Ready June ist.
380 Tue Bouquet Grr; or, A Million of Money, By
Agile Penne. Ready June 8th.
31 Tue Secret Weppine; or, The Iron Will. By
Mary A. Dennison, ady June 15th,
82 MrrIANNA, THE PRIMA Donna; or, Roses and Lilies,
By Arabella Southworth. Ready June 22d.
88 Tue Turee Sisters; or, The Nia of Lord
Chalfort, By Alice Fleming. ady June 29,

A new issue every week.
For sale by all Newsdealers, price five cents each
or sent, postage paid, on receipt of six cents,
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers,
98 William street, N.Y.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The New York Fireside Library.

1. Was Sue His Wire? Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
2 Fiexrwe From Love. Harriet Irving.
8 Dip He Love Her? Bartley T. Campbell.
4 A SrraANGH Woman. _ Rett Winwood.
6 Two Girts’ Lives. Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
9 THe War or Hearts. Corinne Cushman.
10 LeicHTon Granae. Miss M. E. Braddon.
11 Tue Fausz Wipow. Mrs. Jennie D. Burton,
12-13 Lost ror Love. Miss M. E. Braddon.
14-15 Torers or THe Sea. Victor Hugo.
16 THE QuapRoon. Catharine A. Warfield.
17-18 Unctm Sizas, J. 8S. Le Fanu.
19-20 DEAD-Sra Fruit. Miss M. EB. Braddon.
21-22 Lirtie Karz Kirsy. F. W. Robinson.
23 SowING THE WinD. Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell,
24-25 Birps oF Prey. Mrs. M. E. Braddon.
26 THat Boy or Norcort’s. Charles Lever.
27-28 CHARLOTTE’s INHERITANCE. Miss Braddon.
29 A Grrw’s Heart. Rett Winwood.
80-31 Rep As A Rosge 1s Sax. Rhoda Broughton.
382 Tue Lity or St. Erne. Mrs. Crow.
33 StranceLy WED. Mrs. Jenny Davis Burton.
34 Tue Gipsy Bripg. M. E. O. Malen.
35 Anniz Tempe. Rev. J. H. Ingraham.
386 Wirnovt Mercy. Bartley T. Campbell.
87 Buack Eygs AND Buvur. Corinne Cushman,
88 Brave BarBara, Corinne Cushman.
39 A DanagrRous Woman. Margaret Blount.
40 Ovrpa’s Love. Henrietta E. De Conde
41 Lost: A Wire, Corinne Cushman.
42 Winnine Ways. Margaret Blount.
43 A Woman’s Heart. irs. M. V. Victor.
44 Tun Drap Letter. Seeley ease.
45 Lorp LisLz’s DaveutmR. C. M. Braeme.
46 A Woman’s Hann. Author of ‘“‘ Dead Letter.”
47 Viaus or WratH. Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
48 A Wixp Girt. Corinne Cushman.
49 Tur Mapprst MARRIAGE Ever Was, Burton.
50 Love INA Mazn. Mrs. E. I. Ellet.
51 CATHOLINA; or, WALLED Up Ative. Robinson.
52 A RoMANCE or A Poor Youne Girt, Mrs. Ellet,
538 THe Lockep Hart. Corinne Cushman.
54 Tue Pripr oF THE Downes. Margaret Blount.
55 A StrancE Girt. Albert W. Aiken.
56 THe Prerry Puriran. By Parson’s Daughter.
57 Dip Sue Srn? Mrs. M Reed Crowell.
58 Dousiy Drvorcep. By Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton,
59 A WickED Woman. Lillie Devereux Umsted Blake.
60 BLIND BarpBara’s Secret. By Mary G. Halpine.
61 AN AMERICAN QuEEN. By Grace Mortimer.
62 MARGOUN, THE STRANGE. By Wm. M. Turner.
63 Wire or Winow. By Rett Winwood.
64 Tae CrEoLE Cousins; or, Fatse as Far, By
Philip 8. Warne.
65 PursvED To THE ALTAR; or, BERYL WARD, THE
BELLE or Cuicago. By Corinne Cushman.
66 Toe TrrRiste TRUTH; or, THORNHURST
Mysrrery. By Jennie Davis Burton.
Others Issued Every Two Weeks.
For sale by all newsdealers, price ten cents, or
sent, per Fea on receipt of twelve cents.
HADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers,
98 William street, N.

v. |

 

THE

Half-Dime Singer’s Library

1 Waoa, Emma! and 59 other Songs.

2 CapTaIn Curr and 57 other Songs.

8 Tae Garnsporo’ Har and 62 other Songs,

4 Jonnny Morean and 60 other Songs.

5 Pun a You WirH A FrarHer and 62 other
ongs.

6 GrorGE THE CHARMER and 56 other Songs.

7% Tue Bette or Rockaway and 52 other Songs.

8 oars Friuan, You’re Too FresH and 60 other
jongs.

9 Say Youna Grru and 65 other aoe:

10 I’m THE GOVERNOR’s ONLY Son and 58 other Songs.

11 My Fan and 65 other Songs.

12 Comin’ Toro’ THE Rye and 55 other Songs.

18 Toe Roiiickine IrisHMan and 59 other Songs.

14 Oty Doa@ Tray and 62 other Songs.

15 WuHoA, CHARLIE and 59 other Str ip

16 In THIS WHEAT By anv By and 62 other Songs.

17 Nancy Lex and 58 other Songs.

18 I’m i Boy THAT’s BounD To BLazeE and 57 other

ngs.
19 Tar Two OrpHans and 59 other Songs.
20 WHAT ARE THE WILD WaAvES SayINa, SISTER?
and 59 other Songs.

21 Inpienant Potiy Woe and 59 other Songs,

22 Tax Otp Arm-CHAIR and 58 other Songs.

28 On Conny IsLAnD BEAcH and 58 other Songs.

24 OLp Simon, THE Hot-Corn Maw and 60 others.

25 I’m iw Love and 56 other Songs.

26 PARADE OF THE GuaRDs and 56 other Songs,

2? Yo, Heave, Ho! and 60 other Songs.

28 "I'witt NEVER DO TO Gisir up So and 60 other

Songs.
29 Biug_Bonnets OVER THE BorDER and &4 other
ongs.
80 Tar Merry Laventine Man and 56 other Songs.
81 Sweet Foreet-me-Nor and 55 other Songs,
82 Lerrir Bapy Mine and 53 other Songs.
33 De Bango AM DE INSTRUMENT FoR ME and 58 other

Songs.
34 Tarry and 50 other Songs.
35 Just To PLEASE THE Boys and 52 other Songs.
36 ae ON ONE IN THE GUTTER and 52 other
jongs.
87 Kotorep Kranxs and 59 other Songs.
88 Ni DesprraNpuM and 53 other Songs.
39 Tue Grau I Lert Bexninp Mr and 50 other Songs.
40 "Tis pur A LitTLte FapED Fiower and 50 other

ongs.
41 Prerry Prarie and 60 other Songs.
42 DANCING IN THE BARN and 63 other Songs.

H. M, 8, PINAFORE, COMPLETE, and 17 other Songs
Sold ee. by caer e Fr! five cents
er copy, or sent post-paid, to any addr on re-

voip Cr dia cents per number. eho
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PvstisHers,
98 Wi11aM Street, New York.