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October 7, 1880.

 

 

Pry we Leads buiceseu wb tue POst Vice at New York, N. Y., at second Ciass dull Rates. Copyriguteu od, DY BKADLE AND ADAMS,
V ol VI Published Every BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, Complete in this Number. N 7 4.
. , No. 98 Wiu1am Streer, New Yorx. Price, Ten Cents, 0.

 

Two Weeks.

ADRIA, tHe ADOPTED.

MRS. JENNIE DAVIS BURTON.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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YALERIA POUNCED DOWN UPON NELLY KENT WITH QAT-LIKG AGILITY, “WHAT HAVE YOU STOLEN?” SHE DEMANDED,

 
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2 ADRIA, THE ADOPTED. _

 

Adria, the Adopted;
The Mystery of Ellesford Grange.

AN AMERICAN ROMANCE,

) BY MRS. JENNIE DAVIS BURTON,
AUTHOR OF “ THE FALSE WIDOW,” ‘‘ STRANGELY
WED,” ‘‘ DOUBLY DIVORCED,” ‘‘ THE
TERRIBLE TRUTH,” ETO.

 

CHAPTER I.

Tue shadow of a great crime brooded low
over Ellesford Grange. People c:me and went
in little knots, with scarred faces and sbudder-
ing horror, and talked in awe-stricken whispers
of the terrible deed done in darkness, which had
left a shocking spectacle to be revealed by day.

Hugh Ellesford had been found murdered.

There were all the signs of a violent struggle,

to. give evidence that he had not died tamely.
A curtain torn to shreds, furniture overturned
—even the carpet ripped from its fastenings
in a place or two; pools of blood lying stagnant
on sag floor, and sanguine marks smearing the
wall.
The corpse was terribly mutilated. Bruised
from head to foot, clawed and bitten, as if by a
wild animal, but with five livid marks upon
the throat, made, unmistakably by human fin-
gers.

A tiny lace handkerchief, rampled and crush-
ed, with an elaborately embroidered monogram,
lay upon a sofa in the room.

A coroner’s inquest decided upon the appar-
ent facts. The place was carefully guarded,
that no single article might be touched until
shrewd detectives were sent for and had arrived.
These took minute notes, looked stolid, and
said nothing. Only one thing other than the
shocking result was made. known to the excited

pulace. The party making the attack must
fave suffered yi

The marks upon the walls were of some one
groping his way through darkness; dull red
stains marked the length of the passageway,
and on the steps the profusion of blood seemed
to show that the assassin, probably overcome by
‘aintness, had paused there for a time.

Beyond this, no single trace was visible. The

raveled walk, indeed, precluded the possibility
| * footprints, and for all evidence existing

itther, the earth might have opened before the
urtal, inclosing the guilty mortal stepping
therefrom.

The housekeeper, sleeping in an adjoining
wing, had heard nothing; but this was not re-
markable, considering the dead, thick walls
which intervened. This woman, the only living
soul attached to the place, was of advanced age,
and a foreigner.

The tragedy seemed to have. benumbed her
faculties, but she managed to give a tolerably
succinct account of preceding circumstances,
which threw no ray of light upon the mystery.
Her dazed manner, and the haunting terror
that made her start and shiver at the most tri-
vial sound, attracted the observation of a few.
There were some insidious whispers tending to
inculpate her, but the manifest impossibility of
such a fact soon stilled them.

There was a silent ebbing and flowing of the
common tide of humanity which could not have
crossed the threshold of the Grange at any
other time—country people, whose ‘curiosity led
them there, while their superstitious imagin-
ings peopled the dark old rooms with ghostly
witnesses of that sanguinary scene. ,

There was the.funeral conducted with the
gloomy’ state becoming the position of the mur-

ered man, and the excitement attending the
event gradually wore away as time elapsed, and
no further facts developed.

Hugh Ellesford had lived a very secluded life.
Though not tending toward Prkeanthrovy, he
had kept himself resolutely from the surround-
ing world. He had beena rather wild youth,
running into numerous excesses, but these re-

‘ ceived an early check.

Rumor said thata fair young girl to whom
he had been betrothed, had jilted him for a
steadier rival, changing thus the gay lad toa
grave, disappointed man. As evidence, the gos-
sips pointed to his precipitate departure for dis-
returned, after a
three years’ sojourn, reserved, lonely, and with-
al fret crane eccentric. aS surial
e Grange was a great, gloomy ing.
4 chan in style, with massive granite. walls,
{ts founder was en English gentleman of small
title, and estate so incumbered that no single
generation could hope to relieve it; he had
therefore, prudently resigned all to his next of
kin, and sailed for the New World, there to
build up an independent inheritance. But he
had brought with him many old English cus-
toms and prejudices. In accordance with these,
he had mectaeatnee his entire estate to his eldest
son, who, in turn, disposed of it in the same
Hester third heir beinz the late Hugh

rd. ‘ 4
th had come te him so unexpectedly, and

 

so suddenly, that, had he so desired, he was
given no opportunity to signify his disposition
of the property. In the absence of a will, it
naturally reverted to his only near relative—a
younger brother.

This brother, Joseph Ellesford, beginning life |

with asmall annual moiety, had found it neces-
sary to strike for his tiene

Ellesford, at the conclusion of one of these frui.-
less visits to her cabin,

The officer ee him thought he de-
tected a momentary gleam of cunning intelli-
gence in the old woman’s eyes, but quent
tests failed to elicit any thing further, ii,

| indeed, evenso much was not a delusion.

in the world, since |

Fate, in denying him precedence of birth, had |

not already carved it for him.

He began at the lower round of the ladder, as
junior clerk in asmall mercantile establishment,
and, though possessing no great taste for the
work, devo himself steadily to it, and rose,
at a snail’s pace, until he occupied a responsible
position among the firm’s employes. A lucky
accident, which revealed to him a plot. between
some of the light-fingered gentry to relieve the
store of certain valuable goods, and their gene-
rous intentions being frustrated by his prompt
interference, called forth the gratitude of his
employers, and was the means of admitting him
on a social footing into their family circles,

By this time he had passed his third decade,
and had come to be regarded as an incorrigible
bachelor. Now, however, a new epoch opened
in his life. Mr. Stratton, the senior partner,
had one child, a daughter, who had been for
three years a widow. oung and fair, her
charms soon found the ‘‘open sesame!” to Mr,
Ellesford’s heart. Her little girl, then five
years of age, shared his affections equally with
the mother; and a few months more saw him
fairly enlisted in the great army of Benedicts.
He passed a few years. of happy married life,
and then his wife’s decease left him to center
all the love of his heart upon the little Adria.

With his marriage, he was received into the
firm of Stratton & Co., himself, with two small
capitalists, constituting the Co. Where so
many shared the profits of a limited business
it is not to be supposed that Joseph Ellesford
made very rapid strides to wealth. Still the
establishment prospered, and, ten years later,
being the time this story opens, he enjoyed a
comfortable income.

Possessing none of his ancestors’ prejudices,
he always had felt the will which richly endow-
ed the elder son and left himself comparatively
destitute, to have been unjust. The result was
a slight coolness between the two brothers, and,
during the twenty years of their separated life,
only a nominal intercourse had been sustained.

Now, that the estate had unexpectedly reverted

to him, Joseph Ellesford was inclined to regard
the circumstance as a Providential ee:
thus nts him for the forced loss of a
natural right.

After an interval, during which time the ex-
citement incident to the murder had in some
wise subsided, he removed to Ellesford Grange.
One of the new possessor’s whims was to person-
ally direct some alterations he eiahed made
upon the mansion. To this end, as soon as he
was actually settled, he procured workmen, and
a prosecuted the task of modernizing the

uilding.
This fa been expected of him by the country
Rone The Grange had been a gloomy place at

est, and after the horrible tragedy enacted
there, the dark rooms must have presented a
ee te aspect. But the work brought
to light a fact rendering the preceding mystery
even more inexplicable.

A wide, pleasant room, artfully contrived in
an angle connecting the main building with one
wing, and not noticeable to merely superficial
inspection, was thus discovered.

t was lighted only by a sky-light set in the
arched ceiling. The walls were hung with
oe embossed paper, the floor covered with
rich Turkey carpet. The apartment, evidently
was furnished with reference to an Orien
taste, and the gorgeous hues embraced in its
snpoenent were blended in perfect harmony.
A luxurious divan and ottomans of velvet sup-
plied the want of chairs; a few hanging shelves
contained a small but choice library. A dainty
bul-bul stand upheld a complete array of toilet
accessories. guitar, handsomely finished,
rested uncased in a corner. A side-table of
stained solid wood, with pendent sides carved in
a variety of grotesque figures, was littered with
the contents of a lady’s work-box. An embra-
sure, separated from the room by silken cur-
tains, contained a couch and a cedar wardrobe,
the partially unclosed doors of the latter dis-
closing a few rich, bright robes. Every minute
detail displayed the trace of a female occupant.

The detectives previously employed were re-
called, and put in possession of this discovery.
An additional sum was named with the y
large reward for the apprehension of the un-
known assassin, and the machinery of the secret
force revolved with accelerated motion beneath
the new impetus.

The old housekeeper, who had removed toa
hut in the vicinity, was subjected to another
minute examination, but the bewilderment she
Reem tA gtrnbles Atos. Beier persia”

ve n simp! liocy. Bri persua-
sions and threats failed to elicit information
from her, and at last her questioners were satis-
fied that she either could not or would not give
any clew to the mystery. F ;

“You see—she is hopelessly foolish,” said Mr.

 

By and by, the search lost interest, but was
still prosecuted in a desultory sort of way.
And so five years wore away, without more
noticeable incident than the endless variety af
current events to mark the passing time.

 

CHAPTER II,

ADRIA ELLESFORD (her father’s name hed
been Westland but she was known now only by
her step-father’s name,) was rapidly nearing her
twentieth year. Life seemed very pleasant to
her, for as yet she knew nothing of the vicissi-
tudes of fortune which make strong men quail,
ee weaker women fade and droop before

em.

Joseph Ellesford’s union had been blessed
with fo issue, and from the first Adria was
dear to him as though truly his own child. In-
dulged, but not spoiled, naturally imperious,
though thoughtful of the welfare of others, she
was accustomed to having ber wishes consulted
in matters both of trivial import and greater
consideration,

The bright morning of a long summer day
tempted her out early. The Ellesford grounds
lay ona gentle slope, and the Grange was hem-
med in by clumps of dark old trees, the remains
of the forest occupying the domain when the
founder of the house pitched upon this as his
abiding place.

It was a beautiful stretch of country in sunny
Maryland, and far away the blue Chesapeake
eee as the breeze ruffling the waves broke
tis ~ oe sun-rays into atoms of sparkling
Adria had been enticed beyond the limit she
usually prescribed for her walks, but turned
at last homeward again. Her eyes were beam-
ing and cheeks flushed with the exercise. She
was singing softly to herself, and thinking as
young ladies are apt to do, of nothing. er
scarf, a filmy white thing, was draped ioosely
about her shoulders, and a puff of air. snatching
it unexpectedly carried it high above her reach
where its fringed ends caught in the branches of
a tree by the roadside.

It was an inauspicious moment for Molus to
consummate this playful act.

A horseman galloped at a furious pace up the
saldy road. The great black steed reared and
plunged wildly as the snowy fabric fluttered on
the breeze before him. Of course Adria scream-
ed. It isnot in woman’s nature to be calm in
the face of sudden danger. , E

A firm hand held the rein, and the heavily-
loaded, silver-mounted whip cut relentlessly
upon the animal’s flank. Twice the rider forcod
his horse toward the object of his fright unsuc-
cessfully, but the third time the stinging lash
and spurs driven cruelly in his flesh brought
him trembling beneath the tree. ,

The gentleman coolly disentangled the scarf
from the branches and dismounting returned
it with courteous address. The conflict between
man end beast recalled Adria’s nerve. Her
emotions were divided between admiration for
the indomitable will which had conquered, and
sympathy for the intelligent brute cowed into
perfect submission.

‘Poor fellow! I am sorry that I should lave
indirectly caused his fright, and brought upoi
him such a chastisement,” she said.

‘The Sultan will like me all the better for
it,” his master replied, patting him. ‘‘ He isa
little inclined to be vicious sometimes and needs
discipline. For my part I can re no cir-
cumstance brought about rr © medium
of such a charming cause,” he added, gallantly.

Adria did not quite like the neatly-turncd
compliment.

~ Colonel Templeton is pleased to rank flattery
among his accomplishments,” she said.

He looked slightly surprised,

“You know me, then. a I inquire—”

“T am Miss Ellesford,” Adria hastened to
explain, fearing the repetition of an eulogisti«:

ec!

“Then we are quite near neighbors, 1 have
= ,7e Possession at The Firs, as you ma;

Ow. ;

Adria knew, and said something ai riate.
Colonel Templeton, throwin the fn over his
arm pepeecopa to walk by her side. He was

killful conversationist and just now anxious to
please. He seldom failed in accom: ig any
ee 3 rte ew ace long in reeognizing
and app a ‘ sine

He was a ears tall man, with features that
in oor ware os ‘immovable as ee cast e a
a mold of stee it, upon by v.

3 talked, becarie pleasin, ae

expressions as he talked, Bs even
winning. His lips were thin, eyes cold gray,
over-arched by accurately pencilec and
dark hair cut close, just touched b: ver
sparkles. *Forty, he must be, Adria | ‘ht,
reality. Y nat tiey bat! iefeen wills hie
ity, was, x¢ ut ia takad wi!
aa ‘hdde Dla Sia ak Socaty tues resists
Fie t

retsinceceger

 

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a _—
pa the encroachments of Time at a half-cen-
ury.

When they reached the gate leading into. the
Ellesford grounds, a friendly footing was estab-
lished between them.

“‘T would ask you in to luncheon,” she said,
laughingly, as she paused an instant, ‘‘ but per-
haps you do not emulate the regular hours we
keep at the Grange.”

‘“‘Half-past eleven,” he commented, consult-
ing his watch, “ and T have not yet breakfasted.
Mrs. Templeton will be waiting. ‘You must call
upon my wife, Miss Ellesford.’

“T shall be most pleased,” Adria answered.

Colonel Templeton mounting rode slowly up
the yellow way, with brows bent meditatively
and vision which might have been sightless as
the stone eyeballs of Destiny, for all he absorb-
ed of surrounding objects.

‘* By Jove, sir! you are over-choice of your
footing I think!” a familiar voice broke his
reverie.

The Sultan, left to himself, had quit the high
road and was stepping daintily over the gravel-
ed footpath. The colonel wheeled him into the
thoroughfare again, and turned his face toward
the speaker, A young man whose easy manner
hinted almost of insolence, and dressed in the
hight of the prevailing style. The stroug re-
semblance existing bespoke their relative posi-
tion as father and son.

‘Where are you going, Reginald?”

“Where, indeed, but to the races.”

“Very well! Don’t bet too heavily.”

‘‘ Trust me for that, sir.” | °

They parted, pursuing opposite directions.

Colonel Templeton left his horse at the stables,
and went into the breakfast-room where his
wife awaited him.

A small, slight woman with pale hair, and a
face from which some horror seemed to have
blanched every vestige of color, leaving instead
a haunting shade that sought in vain a hiding-
place, but trembled always in. her eyes and be-
trayed itself in a painfully-nervous manner.

She greeted her husband with a ope at-
tempt ata smile, and shuddered slightly as he
just touched her forehead with his lips. He
observed the involuntary action, and his mouth
settled stern and hard, but he controlled his
voice to cool ote

“‘ Have you breakfasted yet, Irene?”

‘Yes, with Reginald. Iwas not assured you
would come.”

‘Ah, well, it is of no consequence.
main. I wish to consult with you on a matter
of importance.” The last spoken sneering,
but Mrs. Templeton was accustomed to her hus-
band’s depreciation of woman’s abilities and
passed it silently.

She rung for the service, and while her hus-
band discussed his meal in moody silence, lean-
ed back in her chair listlessly awaiting his pleas-

Pray_re-

ure,

“T have seen Eliesford’s daughter,” he said,
abruptly, putting down his cup.

His wife started perceptibly.

‘She will call upon you in a day or two, and
I desire that you cultivate an intimacy with the

* family.”

“ With the Ellesfords?” she said, huskily.

“With the Ellesfords! More than that, I
wish you to manage that Reginald shall meet
the young. lady. The disobedient young dog
would avoid such encounter if he imagined it
was desired of him. Let him see the girl once,
ae will be ready enough to seek her after-
ward.

Mrs. Templeton gazed at her husband im-
ploringly. She knew him too well to attempt
to hasten his disclosure, but this morning he was
graciously communicative. Perhaps he knew
that his words were inflicting heart-stabs.

“*T will be candid with you. I am anxious
that Reginald shall settle in life. He is a little
wild, and nothing will settle him so soon as
taking a wife. Miss Ellesford will please me well
as,.my daughter-in-law.” ;

Mrs. Templeton uttered a stifled groan, and
all the latent horror leaped intensified into her
eyes. She crossed the room with uneven ste
and laid her trembling hand on her husband’s
shoulder.

‘For Heaven’s sake, Alan, tell me that you
do not mean it! ou can not contemplate
such a sin—you will never permit our boy to
marry an Ellesford!”

“Why not?” he asked, coldly. ‘“ Hilesford
Grange is a desirable property!”

His wife sunk into a chair, clasping her hands
in bitter, hopeless agony. Her silent pain touch-
ed him, and he added more kindly;

‘After all the girl is not really an Ellesford
—no drop of the blood in her Veins. Only a
step-daughter, I have heard, but she will inherit
the property. Remember, L expeet your

Co-operation.”

He turned away dismissing the subject. Mrs.
Templeton, with her white face almost ghastly.
put out her hands in the manner of a. blind,
ee groping her way silently from the

Later in the French maid announced
that medaine’ a Paunne frem a neryo"s re-

lapse, and had not monsieur better procure a
physician

 

Monsieur thought it Bnasporea ys but
his own hands mixed a composing draught with
the soothing qualities of which he was well
acquainted.

 

CHAPTER III.

Tue sun rode proudly over the hills closing
in one of the many manufacturing towns situ-
ated in an Eastern State. The houses were
ranged in methodical rows, displaying the sys-
tematic and uncompromising sort of order in-
dulged in by our New England fathers.

A town where the wooden streets formed no
angles but right angles, where the buildings
conveyed an endless repetition of white frame-
work and EAvGH blinds, with here and there a
huge gray factory rising two stories above the
common dwellings.

The very river running its course on the east
side of the place detracted nothing from its
regularity, and droned its murmur in an un-
varying monotone as it rolled placidly within
its narrow banks. In a place or two some en-
terprising spirits had endeavored to mitigate
the too great uniformity by dropping a neutral-
tinted cottage in a nook of its own apart from
the regular street, but these were so stared at
by the glaring white and green of the surround-
ing walls that they quite lost countenance be-
neath the general disapprobation.

And this was Crofton.

In the center of the town, rearing itself yet a
story higher than any of its compeers and em-
pe ing a full score more of workers, stood the

Bae of the Russell Brothers.

The long, narrow windows were let down
from the top, and the half-screens paged to

revent careless eyes wandering from the duty
beter them, From top to bottom the whirr,
and buzz, and steady clank of machinery an-
nounced that every worker was in place, and
every joint of the mechanical anatomy perform-
ing its office.

A slight bustle at the entrance-way, which
would not have been heard by unpracticed ears,
and word was passed from mouth to mouth
that Lae proprietors were coming to inspect the
works,

Two elderly men, very fac-similes of each
other from their lank bodies and straggling
limbs, to their long, sharp features, and twink-
ling, deep-set eyes drawn down at the corners
with the expressions accepted as denominatin

muine Yankee humor, but with them settl
fretrievably into the accompanying attribute,
shrewdness. Down the long
rows of women swiftly and steadil plied at the
looms, taking in every detail, and listening si-
lently to the remarks of the foreman as he
noted different points in passing.

A middle-aged, respectable looking woman,
leaving her position by a distant window,
er the room on some temporary mission,
and was returning when she met face to face
with the party. She stepped aside, silently
waiting for them to pass.

A great wheel revolved close by, but she was
not heeding. Her eyes were fixed with startled
intent scrutiny on the face of the young fore-
man, A second more, her dress had caught
within the band and she was whirled aloft, giv-
ing utterance to a single agonized shriek, which
was echoed by every woman there.

An instant, which seemed an eternity, a wild
confusion with people rushing hither and thither,
crying for help, themselves Incapable of action,
and then the works stood still. The unfortunate
woman was upheld in kindly arms, and pitying,
horror-struck faces crowded around. hese
were imperatively ordered back and a messen-
ger dispatched for the nearest pir aCian.

The woman was severely injured and the
workers said among themselves that it was
only short of a miracle she had escaped with her
life.. It proved that her left arm was utterly
crushed; there were bruises too upon her body,
but these were not serious.

““Who is she?” one of the proprietors asked,

A tidy, comely-looking girl stepped forward.

ae yeu lease, she’s a new hand and comes
from the Brankley mills. They say she’s a
little touched here,” indicating her forehead,

room where

- “but a quiet sort of body and steady. She has

a room in Hay’s house.”

Orders were given for her removal thither,
and twenty minutes later the macbinery was
again in motion and_business ee air
y as though no accident had ever invaded the

z But one person had been deeply affected by
the occurrence, The young foreman had caught
the woman’s strange gaze fixed upon him in
the same moment she was whirled upward by
the wheel, and it was his prompt action that
had delivered her alive. Her  puastly face as he
saw it for an instant was imprinted on his mem-
ory, and haunted him throughout that day,
When the factory closed for the night he went
directly to Hay’s house to inquire more minute-

Tis eile a cod Scien but
s wife, a ntentioned person,
searoaty wl Ae a skillful nurse, conduet-

ed him ao Sr eee TOO so)
was suffering acute and was ht}
ine on , he a eueee es

delirious. IEE iy
her features, thouch flushed and distorted, were

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

3

 

with | delicate, and the uninjured hand lying upon 4

| counterpane was slender and well-sha)

rough with common toil,’ Evidently her sphere
had some time been high above the life’ of
drudgery she had so lately led. But she could
never do so again. The doctor had announced
that could she escape the amputation of the
wounded member it would probably remain
paralyzed. He sighed as he turned away, think.
ing that death might have been the preferable
alternative. :

treatment. After this he visited her daily, see-
ing that she wanted for nothing. )It wag weeks
before she was thoroughly convalescent, and
meantime events were transpiring which threat-
ened to remove her only friend and benefactor,
The Russell Brothers found themselves in ur-
a need of a trusty agent to communicate
irectly with firms throughout the oe
whom they furnished goods. Their distant
interests were failing vfor'‘want of personal
attendance, and some tedious accounts required
an energetic person to push for final settlement.
Casting ahout them they settled upon Kenneth
Hastings, their 1oreman, tt ret
His place could be’ readily supplied from ex-
perienced men in their employ. ‘The  proposi-
tion was made and a liberal commission: assi
ed him should he accept it. He embraced the
offer gladly. The position he occupied was not
one he would have voluntarily sought; but from
boyhood he had found employment in ‘the fac
tory, and had gradually risen to the highest
post. This pretext would afford’ him relaxation
and an eee: he had never yet possessed
of seeing the world. Utterly alone he had no
tie that could bind him to Crofton, 3 f
He had but a single regret. The invalid with
the Hay people had grown to watch for bis
coming and took a degree of comfort in ‘his
simple presence which nothing else afforded,
She was called Nellie Kent, and the townspe
ple considered her crazed though harmless; but
there were times when Hastings considered this
a harmless imposition practiced, to’ secure her
from the coarse curiosity of those about her,
He had found her intelligent and refined, and a
warm sympathy for her lonely condition di-
rected his friendship toward her. She possessed
a small amount of money, enough to secure her
from present want, but, he. knew his departure
would leave a void in her daily life. ?
His preparations were necessarily hurried, and
he did not find time to visit her until the even-
ing revious to his departure.

e was sitting by the open window with the
far-off look in her eyes which was commonly
garded as the vacant look of insanity, She
welcomed him quietly, and he attempted to find
some indirect means of imparting his news, but
she anticipated him, ee a ae

“You are going to leave Crofton, they say.”
He assented, adding, ‘The pleasantest re-
membrance I shall carry with me willbe the
moments here. You have taught me how
Imight have felt toward my mother whom I
never knew.” ORR OURS
Her as for a moment held the startled look
they had held in his remembrance once before,

She spoke presently: ;
‘“T, too, am going away from Crofton, I have
this wide wor

 

at least one faithful friend in
and I shall go to her.” ' o Te oS
She held toward him a letter; soiled and
blurred, written. in a straggling pend and tigers
spersed with foreign phrases, the meanin, of
which he could not gather. It seemed to him to
be the entreaty of an inferior for $e pleas ie it
devoting her service to a much loved m bis:
But one line he comprehended Clearly, It was
dated Calvert county, Maryland. Te
“It is but little out of my direct route,” he ex:
claimed, in sur; i arty adel Ebene
She had not known this, but a compari
of notes satisfied her. is discovery produ
a change in his plans. He defe: 8 journe
for a day, and when he went Nelly Ken teaval-
ed under bis protection. 0
When arrived at the point where their rou
separated, she insisted upon completing, 1
distance alone, So they. Parts with m na)
regret—the Repuvaay, ps ally helpless
woman, and the young, hopeful man, . Parted,
thinking that they would probably never meeb
again.

Old Juana, housekeeper, tothe, late, Hugh El-
lesford, sat alone in See tnabte ate ; WAS
gathering twilight without, and ‘a h of

sticks on the hearth. sé 1g. forth a flickering
blaze and incerta ght epee CoP
The old wotan wa aking’ to and

fro, and chanting a monotonous plaint in a for-

  

 

e to 8, i » etn. tcereen: Peet
Me ee ras n'ptant OTHE walk without te.
ure a in the open doorway, but
WORE RE o:iy noowser Letutny wou Wailllass
The old woman started up abd Wit al
weloomed the comer, | ,
obs Abed teat eras nen
y

 

He gave a coin of some value to the woman ;
attending her and enjoined utmost care .in her*
 

~

    

4

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

 

 

CHAPTER IV.
Autumn had come and was using his magic

wand to glorify the landscape. The dusty green, |

surviving August’s fervid heat, was merging
into the prismal tints of red and orange, with
endless variety of intermediate shades.

They were breakfasting at the Grange when
the postman delivered his daily budget. Adria

lealt out the letters as was her custom. Two
yellow business-looking envelopes, and another
which she scanned curiously. A square, creamy
wrapping initialed V. W., and superscribed in a
slopin feminine hand.

ee o can this be from, papa? What lady
correspondent dare you have, 1 should like to
know.”

Mr. Ellesford, already absorbed in a page of
commercial note, glanced indifferently at the
dainty missive and put it aside until his other
communications were examined. One of these
gave him apparent annoyance.

‘Banks says things are not going smoothly as
they should,” he: observed. ‘‘The man has let
his head take leave of him, I should think. He
seems to have no definite idea of where the fault
lies, and supposes it will turn out all right, but
thinks it will be well for me to personally look
into the matter. I may be obliged to go to the
city for a day or two. Confound the business!
ane of them to attend to it, I should

in

Mr; Ellesford was a man loving his own ease,

and long absence from the details of trade, had |

rendered him disinclined to cope with its fluctua-
tions ever so briefly.

Adria sympathized with her father’s annoy-
ance, but hastened to recall his attention to the
object oecupying her thoughts.

“Tm all curiosity, papa. Doopen your other
letter.”

. “ Woman’s ruling weakness which needs con-
stant repressing. To give you a course of dis-
cipline, Pll not touch it.”
- “Now, papa! You are cruel.”
**But you shall read it to me,” he concluded.
“ Cruelly teasing,” added Adria, with a laugh,

as her deft fingers stripped the envelope. o-
manlike she first read the signature. ‘‘ Valeria
Waltou! Who is she?”

“Never heard of her,” he declared. ‘‘ Per-
haps the letter may explain.” And thus incited
Adriw read:

“To Joseph Ellesford, of Hulesford Grange:
“Dmar Sir:
» “I present to you a few plain facts, and claim
at ane hands the bounty which / consider my
riviit.

“IT am a lineal descendant of the Ellesfords, my
mother being the only child of Godfrey, who had
the misfortune to be born third son of Hubert Elies-
ford, founder of the Grange. From this you will

reeive that Fate awarded me to that branch of

e family forfeiting possession of the patriarchal
estates; an unwise allotment if we were predestined
to submit always tamely to an imported and un-
reasonable whim.

“Two years ago I was thrown wholly upon my
own resources. Sincé then I have tried a variety of
genteel sera and am thoroughly disgusted
with the idea of earning my own subsistence. An
unoccupied existence, with plenty of luxuries at

mm is much more in unison with my tastes.

“What I desire is a home in your house, and a

' small share of the emoluments our mutual ancestor
left behind him. If you fear my Ellesford pride
may suffer by receiving these in a form which the
world might consider charity, you can designate to
me some nominal position in your household, pro-
viding it embraces no arduous duties and a liberal

“Your reply shall determine in what degree I am
yours truly, VALERIA WALTON.”

The address was added in a post-seriptum, to-

’ .gether with a request for animmediate reply.

At the conclusion of this decidedly original
' missive Adria awaited her father’s comments.
_ “Truly, a self - ssed and complacent
youn lady,” he declared.

delivered into her hands?”

‘*Papa,” said Adria, ‘I think she is right.

You have no greater moral claim to the estate
' than she possesses.”

‘What would you have me do?” he asked, a
little testily. ‘
ee, up claim to be a descendant of Hubert Elles-

0;

* At least extend to Miss Walton the privi-

lege she asks—give her a home.”

- _“ But, my daughter, consider. She may be
disagreeable or unfitted for your daily asso-
ciate.”

“Then ae, were fora sven time at
you may decide of her capacity, temper an
\anarecton.” an ms

After some discussion Mr. Ellesford agreed to
this course. Adria herself wrote a cordial in-
vitation and dispatched it in the same day’s

Toward sunset she strolled out in the direc-
tion of the bay, and during her walk encoun-
tered Reginald Templeton. A neighborly so-

_ ¢ciability now existed between the two families.
Adria. embraced an early opportunity to
redeem her promise to Colonel Templeton, and
‘fiom the first had entertained a strong liking

for the pale, ennuicd woman who reigned as |
mistress

at The Firs. The liking was mutual,
‘ i

“*T wonder if she |
would like the deeds of the Ellesford homestead |

. arve the property into sec- |
tions, and give a part to every vagabond who |

and the young girl would haye gone oftener
with her bright face and cheery manner, had
not sonae subtle instinct withheld her from the
' place. The elder lady’s ill-health was a sufficient
oretext to excuse the formal return of Miss El-
esford’s friendly calls.

Colonel Templeton had not spoken unadvised-
ly when he calculated the influence Adria would
exert over his son. With the impulsiveness
which formed one of the young man’s principal
characteristics, and which actuated bim alike
for good or ill, as temporary circumstances
inclined, he had speedily yielded up to her the
dominion of his affections. : -

Joining her, as has been said, he timed his
pace to suit her steps, and engaged in a desul-
tory conversation. e prosecuted his wooing
as he did any enterprise to which he put his
hand, with a persistent. energy which seldom
failed to accomplish its object. He studied his
resources as a careful General would plan for
a siege, and this very renconter was the result
of mature deliberation.

Adria taking in his physique as defined in the
rosy light streaming in from the bay, ackuowl-
edged the attractiveness of his manly perfec-
tion. Truly, Reginald Templeton had no cause
to complain of the gifts Nature had lavished
upon him.

In figure, stalwart and tall, with features
symmetrical, but removed from all charge of
effeminacy. Eyes, clear gray, which could
grow dark and luminous with tender expres-
sion, and lips firmly chiseled, but with a slight-
ly sensuous curve. His hair, waved and leonine
fell quite to his neck. Altogether he was o
that type of manhood which few women can
withstand, and no one was better aware of his
personal endowments than Reginald Temple-
ton himself.

With unlimited confidence in his own powers,
he had not once doubted the termination of his
wooing, and planned this meeting for the sole
purpose of declaring his passion.

Skillfully directing the conversation, he took
advantage of an opportunity it presented, and,
ere Adria had suspected his drift, told her in
a few forcible words of his love, and pleaded for
some token of reciprocating favor.

She was surprised and grieved. She had
thought of him only as a friend, one growing
near to her through common chords of sym-
pathy. Too precipitate action will sometimes
mar the completion of a plot, and in the same
manner this unexpected confession broke upon
her ere any glamour of love had sufficed to blind
the eyes of her judgment.

No true woman can listen without pain to an
avowal of affection from a man whom she is not
prepared to regard with returning favor; and so
Adria shrunk before his words as though every
one contained a hidden blow.

‘Adria, my love! will you not answer me?”

She turned her face to him imploringly, speak-
ing in rapid tones:

‘Mr. Templeton, oh, please do not urge me!
Testeem you—regard you as a valued friend,
but I have been totally unprepared for this. Be-
lieve me, I would have spared you this pain had
it been within my power.”

“ Adria, give me but one word of. assurance
that my love is not ee ae and I will be con-
tent. Ido not ask a decision now, no promise
or bond; only tell me that no other man claims
precedence in your heart.”

‘Of that I can give you full assurance. No
man exacts from me a higher meed than I hold
in my friendship for you.”
|. ‘Then I shall win you yet, my peerless
Adria!”

With his dark eyes glowing full upon her, and
his face illumined with passionate tenderness,
| she felt the force of his words, and was thrilled
| by them. Handsome and manly, why should
he not prove himself the embodiment of her
maiden ideal? The prospect was not displeas-

 

 

ing.
| But, she knew only the better part of his na-

ture. Could she have seen beneath that comel
| exterior co the deficiencies of moral principle

it inclosed: or had she suspected the reckless
excesses in which he had buried his soul’s purity,
she would have shrunk from him as from deadly
venom.

She could not see and she did not know.
Therefore, she did not gainsay the words which
his exultant tones seemed to transform intoa
| prediction.
| Twilight was gathering as they retraced their
| path. A ycung man habited inasimple dark
| suit, which might have been worn by a person
| of almost any degree, was standing irresolute by

the roadway. He stepped forward and cour-
| teously accosted them.

Before he had time to make known his wishes,
there came a clatter of hoofs along the turnpike.
A huge black horse, saddled but riderless, with
eyeballs flaming and white froth flecking from
his mouth, rose through the gathering gloom,
"ee and striking viciously at objects as he

passed,

Adria shrieked wildly, and young Templeton
threw his arm about her with a vague impulse
of protection, The animal wes bearing full
upon them; another instant and his pitiless
‘ hoofs would crush them to the earth. Invol-

¢

 

 

re =

untarfy. they bowed their heads to the coming
ow.

The young stranger saw their imminent peril.
Scarcely a second could elapse from the knowl-
edge of their danger until it should reach them,
but that brief space was sufficient. With every
nerve steeled to action, he sprung at the bead of
the maddened brute, dragging him down with
all his might.

Recalled to his senses by the interposition,
Reginald hastily drew Adria beyond reach of
danger, and went to the assistance of their de-
liverer. The horse checked in his headlon
career was soon thoroughly subdued. Regi-
nald and Adria both recognized in him the
Sultan.

The young man who had rendered them such
providential aid endeavored to evade their ex-
pressions of gratitude.

“T am_ seeking a place called Ellesford
Grange,” he said, and they noticed that his
voice came gaspingly. ‘‘Can you direct me
thither?’

Almost while he was speaking he turned white
to the lips, and sunk fainting upon the ground.

 

CHAPTER V.

Tur same day witnessing the events chroni-
cled in the preceding chapter saw a man skulk-
ing in a strip of woodland separating Ellesford
grounds from The Firs. A low-browed, dark-
visaged fellow, with heavy bull-dog jaws, and a
slouched hat pulled down over bis grizzled hair.
His face, scarred and seamed, was rough and
tanned, and gaunt famine stared from his
Becpes features. His eyes were glittering

lack, with a trick of glancing sideways from
under downcast lids.

Crouching within shadow of the brushwood,
watching and waiting as the long hcurs wore
tediously away. Wearying, he strolled back
through the wood.

A voice, low but clear, was chanting a plaint
which the breeze wafted directly to him, He
started, stopped, and listened attentively.

“ Life is sad, life is sad

To those weary-hearted;

Sundered wide, sundered wide—
On earth for aye parted.

All alone, all alone,
Life wasted, heart dreary,

Loveis flown, love is flown,
Has left me a-weary.”

He glanced around keenly. A little cabin
stood at a short distance, with a thin coil of blue
smoke dragging lazily up from the clay chim-
ney. No living creature was in sight.

He strode over a few paces of open ground
intervening, and approaching noiselessly, looked
in through the square window.

A small apartment furnished with a few of
the most necessary articles of life. An old wo-
man, crouching before an open wood fire, was
stirring some mixture in a tin vessel which
gave forth a fragrant odor as of barks or roots.

‘Old Juana has a patient on hand,” muttered
the man. ¢

The woman, glancing up, had a glimpse of his
face bastily withdrawn from the window. ‘This
decided him, whether or not he had previously
meant to accost her, Slouching his hat lower
over his face, he pe upon the threshold.

‘¢Good woman, will you give to a poor travel-
er but a crust of bread and a cup of water?”

“Tkeep no inn,” she answered, surlily, with-
out moving.

“T have no money and am suffering for food,”
he persisted. ‘‘For the love of Heaven give me
something, if it be but the scraps you would not
refuse a dog.”

His emaciated figure, and the wolfish expres-
sion of hunger in his face, appealed to her. She
went to some shelves in a corner, bringing for-
ward bread and some fragments of meat. Plac-
ing them upon the pine table, and adding a tin
cup of water, she motioned him to it. He ate
ravenously, but keeping his face averted from
her sight. At first she observed him indiffer-
ently, but some slight, peculiar motion attracted
her attention. She noted the stealthy glances
about him when she pretended to be cccupied
and unobserving. :

The voice he had heard broke into song egain,
and he started at hearing it nearhim, ‘Turning
his head to listen, Juana obtained her first direct
view of his face.

With a rings an enraged tiger, she wes
upon him, her skinny fingers clasping his throat.
Age had not deprived her of all agile action
and for the moment the strength of youth had
returned to her. :

‘* Where is the child?]—my nurse-child? What
did you do with the child?’ she hissed in his

ear,
Her hold on his throat relaxed, and he wrench-
ed himself violently from her grasp. She sprung
at him again, oBnging and shrieking.
The door of an inner room was open,
and Nelly Kent appeared within it. For a sin-
lo instant tho man: stared at her as though
oubting an identity; then, flinging the old wo-
man aside, dashed tareugh the cpon doorway
and disappeared. Ace
‘My peer Juama! are you much kurt?” csked

'
. t ‘

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

Nelly, stooping over her and touching her gently
with her one uninjured hand.

Juana struggled to her feet, her face wearing
the sullen, blank expression she had more than
once successfully assumed.

“Twas a foul-mouthed cur,” she grumbled.
“He called me an ill-favored hag, and got a
taste of my nails for it. Old Juana can hold
her own with the like of him, yet!”

 

Colonel Templeton rode leisurely homeward.
He had been out from early morning, and both
horse and rider seemed tagged. He patted the
beast upon his arching neck.

“A good day’s service, Sultan. Well done,
my boy. Whoa, sir, steady! What is it you
see?

They were passing through the neck of wood-
land, and the horse, snuffing the air, grew rest-
less. A dark figure advanced from the shadow
and laid hold of the bridle-rein.

“Back, fellow!” commanded Colonel Temple-
ton, raising his whip.

“Get off your horse, Alan Templeton,” re-
cg the man, unheeding the threatening ges-

ure.

Colonel Templeton’s hand don ped.

‘* Pedro Cardini!” he ejaculated. /

“Hush! no names,” cried the man, glancing
around him fearfully. ‘‘ Dismount, quickly.”

Colonel Templeton vaulted from his saddle

easily.
“ What do you want with me?” he asked.
*““Money! In Heaven’s name—money !”

** Ask, and it shall be given you,” sneered his
oct mockingly.

“T am penniless, starving, and hunted from
the faces of men. ‘Money I must and will have,
at any cost.”

The man’s desperate face betrayed his earn-
estness.

Colonel Templeton reflected a moment.

“What is your offense, now?” be asked.

“What is that to you??the man returned,
doggedly. ‘It is ee that I served your
purpose when you wished.”

‘You were paid for it!”

* Ay, but I must have more. Remember that
I hold your secret, Alan Templeton.”

The hearer’s brow flushed darkly, but he re-
strained his rage.

“Tf I comply with your demand, what surety
have I that you will not again molest me?’

“Surety or none, you will give me what I
ask, or I expose you to the world.” .

“You are in my power. . You are flying from
justice, and I can put officers on your track
within an hour.”

“Tf you do, you shall share my prison.”

Colonel Templeton’s hand sought his side, and
was uplifted with the glittering barrel of a re-
volver displayed.

“T could shoot you down like a dog, and no
one would lay reproach to me.” .

The man’s face grew dangerous. With a cat-
leap he grasped the weapon and endeavored to
wrench it from the other’s haud. In the scuffle
that ensued a barrel was discharged.

The horse with a loud neigh of fright shot
away through the falling gloom,

The soca between the two men was a
short one. The one all nerve and sinew, the
other weak from long or and wasted al-
most to a skeleton, lonel Templeton’s knee
wason his adversary’s breast, the man com-
pletely in his power. It suited him to be merci-

“Get up!” he said, himself resuming his feet.
‘““You have some mettle left, and I may need
you yet. ‘You shall have, not money, but what

will serve you better now—hiding.

 

CHAPTER VI.

Apri knelt heside the prostrate form in the
roadway. Tenderly she lifted his head from
the dust, and laved his face with her handker-
chief, which Reginald brought dripping from a
brook near by.

A dark patrician faco it seemed to her, color-
less now, not handsome certainly, but with the
mark of power upon it, and hair crisping in tiny
rings about his forehead. ;

othing appeals to woman’s heart so readily
or forcibly as strong manhood reduced to hel
lessness. And this more truly if it is brought
about in the cause of herself or of hmanity.
And so Adria’s heart thrilled with warm
sympathy in behalf of this strange young man.

ith a word she dispatched F pinald to the
Grange for assistance to have him removed thi-
ther. Tt came in the form of a stout servant or
two, and Mr, Ellesford himself, all gratitude to
the youth who had preserved his daughter from
injury, perhaps death.

‘he men lifted him in strong, willing arms
and bore him carefully forward. ,

At that instant Colonel Templeton walking
rapidly approached them. The immediate ex-
citement had prevented much thought bein
given to his fate. But now he was reeeived
brig joyful though not boisterous acclama-

om ’

“We feared some serious accident had befal-
a

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED. aes

 

len you,” said Reginald, briefly sketching the
scene lately transpired.

‘*A chance shot in the vicinity startled the
Sultan as I had dismounted to let him. drink
from the gully,” explained his father, utterly
unmoved by the recital.

Hours afterward Kenneth Hastings opened
his eyes to consciousness in the Grange.
physician, speedily sent for but tardy in com-
ing, was se eeUg, him to a close examination.
An arm lay limp and helpless at his side, dislo-
cated at both wrist and elbow. His side was
crushed and flesh torn where a sharp hoof had
descended with cruel force. He was suffering
most acute agony.

All that could be done for him was speedily
executed. A soporific was administered at short
intervals, with directions to increase the dose
should rising irritation render it without imme-
diate effect. The greatest apprehension was of
internal injury—the best i ae for the time
required, perfect quiet and rest.

few days haunted with visions hideous and
enchanting, during all of which time he was
kept more or less under the influence of narco-
tics. Then he awoke in a Janguid state with no
energy to lift so much as a finger. :

He was lying on a snowy bed in a small al-
cove, commanding the view of a wide, pleasant
room into which it opened. He took it all in
slowly, as his indolent senses responded to their
proper action,

alls hung with heavy paper, creamy white
with vivid crimson clusters and golden ara-
besques in place of cornices. The ceiling, high-
arched in the center, admitted a softened light
through a sash of ground glass. A glass door
opened upon a veranda shaded by creeping
vines, which were now drooping beneath the
breath of early frosts. The carpet, rich and
yielding, was gorgeous without being glaring;
there was a divan covered with crimson velvet,
and a heavy, stained table showing the na-
_ grain, unlike any wood this country pro-

uces.

The apartment and its belongings impressed
him familiarly... But, when he anbenNed to
analyze the feeling, to trace the resemblance to
any place he might have seen, it dissolved into
the certainty of impossibility.

But, even wopaehe was an effort, and he dis-
missed it, content with the mere knowledge of

ing.

During all this time Adria tended him care-
pg e hada vague remembrance of a grace-
ful form, a fair, pitying face, and the lingering
touch of soft womanly hands; but placed them
asa phantasm which lingered with sweet per-
sistency. He, poor fellow! had experienced
little of woman’s care throughout the life he re-
membered.

She came in now with some morceau, befit-
ting the invalid’s condition, finding him for the
first time thoroughly conscious.

_With sight of her all came back to him. The
highway, with two figures approaching, the
ia black horse bearing down upon them.

his, then, was the secret of his present weak-
ness. Never mind, he had succeeded in saving
her, and was content.

The record of illness is necessarily tedious.
But the following days, with Adria’s constant
companionship, and. never ceasing efforts to
contribute to his comfort, were Hastings
like a glimpse into some hitherto unknown Ar-
cadia.

Let him enjoy bis new-found well-spring of
happiness while he may, while we revert to a
brief retrospect now become necessary.

After taking ession of the estate, Joseph
Ellesford still retained an interestin the firm with
which he had hitherto been identified, Later,
when Mr. Stratton, the senior partner, retired
from the business, he purchased this share, and
controlled the greater portion of the stock. Ju-
diciously investing capital which met with for-
tunate returns, the blishment soon rose to
rank among the first, if not the first, of its class
in the city. It was known as a substantial
house, and had stood firm during a financial
panic which swayed even the best of its com-
peers.

Of late some seemingly safe enterprises had
resulted badly. They bad invested largely in
various products, which a changing market ren-
dered unsalable. But these losses did not sat-
isfactorily account for deficits every day ren-
dered more apparent. Banks, the oldest) mem-
ber of the present firm, and who held position as
active manager, remained unaccountably apa-
thetie. It was only at the urgent solicitation

of the yon ar partners that he communicated
with . Ellesford regarding the circum-
stances.

This was the position when young Hastings
appeared on the scene of action. The firm bad
bought largely of the Russell Brothers. Years
of dealing had given them an unlimited credit,
which they had used successfully during their
later purchases. The amount of their indebted-
ness, swelling to a large figure, had caused the
factory owners some inconvenience, but. they
refrained from pressing payment, fearing the
loss of aremunerative patronage. _ :

At last patience reached its limit, and they
resolved upon prompt action, To this end, El-

 

‘

=

 

|

|
|
|
}
|

| porary embarrassments.

 

lesford, Banks & Co. had been placed first upon
the list of delinquents whom Kenneth Hastings
was deputed to visit. al

Banks received him cordially, admitted the
claim, deplored the neglect which had overlook-
ed its settlement long before, and sent him sey-
enty miles into the country on a nominal errand
to the larger partner.

And here occurs what may. be termed a coin-
cidence, Upon the day witnessing Hastings’s
interview with the managing partner, a tele-
gram was put in Colonel Templeton’s j,an's,
reading:

“B. is fleeced. Must have assistance.or go under.
Meet you at St. George’s Center to-morrow, \

(Signed) SiMe kei

Toward St. George’s. Center Colonel, Temple-
ton had ridden with the breaking morning
light, and returned with the sunset as we have
seen. ;

A week had passed. ere. Hastings’s mind em-
braced aught pertaining to business. The re-
membrance of it recalled him from his pleasant
inactivity to the knowledge that his employers’
interests were suffering from his enforced neg-
lect. He hastened to procure an. interview
with Mr. Ellesford, and imparted. his commis-
sion. tet

The Russell Brothers were about to add to
their immense manufacturing establishment a
department for pees, their fabrics, from ori-
ginal designs. They had obtained, patents for a
great variety of designs, executed by well-.
known practical artists. They mopees this de-
partment might receive the support of their pa-
trons.

Banks received the announcement favorably
and contemplated a large order, but could not
promnive positively without) the acquiescence of

r. Eliesford, nd Hastings, on the alert for
the furtherance of his employers’ interests, had
consented to seek « personal,interview, 9+ »

Mr. Ellesford heard his business. and, immedi-
ately gave his hearty concurrence.

“T can’t understand why Banks should ‘send
you. on such a needless journey,” he jadded,

‘ His judgment has always guided»such details,
But it has proved a fortunate. circumstance
through means of. the inestimable service ren-
dered me and mine.” : ;

Hastings was plunged in deep thought for.a
moment, ; an

“Mr. Ellesford,” he said, ‘‘ this proceeding of
your partner has given me an impression, which
may or may not prove correct. e confided to
me that the firm was laboring under. ar tem-

May it.not be, that
these are heavier than he wishes: to; admit, aud.
he has taken this means to gain time for raising
money to satisfy the immediate claim I. pre-
sented?” j 1

Mr. Ellesford thought it improbable. But he
concluded it would be well to inspect affairs per-
sonally at an — date. ths i

“And I,” said Hastings, ‘‘must.no longer in-
trude upon your hospitality. With your per-
mission, I will accompany you to Washington.”

‘“You—you, with your fractured ribs and
belpless arm? Pooh, pooh, boy! you will not be
able to travel under a month.

This decree was seconded by his physician
and, bon gre, mal. gre, Hastings remained at
the Grange. It was by no means a disagreea-
ble alternative to him, Had it not beén that
duty commanded his action, I doubt if he would
have cared ever to remove himself from the
pleasing spell which Adria’s presence had woven
about bim. : hp ;

And Adria did not, long ‘remain insensible to
the noble qualities possessed by the patient Fate
had thrown within her charge, n}

“ Pity is akin to love.” ee

And from the first Hastings had been receiv-
ed into the immeasurable depths of her tender
compassion. 6 ae

Mr, Ellesford made a short trip to the Sty.
Banks received him cordially, ' eded
volubly explain the manner in which the busi-
ness had been slightly involved, All had come
right now, he declared, and Mr. Ellesford,
easily satisfied, forbore to press’ personal inves-
tigations. ?

It was during his absence that Adria’s note of
invitation received a nse in the person of
Miss Walton, whose coming broke in upon the
delightful absorption of each other’s society
a by the two young people at the

range, ; ens

 

CHAPTER: Vite o)

Miss Warton sat with Adria, in'thé room of
the latter. She had already fallen in with the
customs at the Grange, aptly as if she had been
acquainted with them all. her life.» This. hour
Adria usually devoted to eno in, the
a of her guest, was agree) sly ‘conversa
tional. { s SAWN” vhawa +

Only in fiction do, women devote themselves
to the study of each other, In actual life the
meet, and, with a glance, decide the'gtatus ereh
shall oceupy in the opinion and Confidence ¢?
themselyese ag say ge 1a.) is aetna we
' ‘It had been so with these tivo. ; ‘Valeria ab.
sorbed her young hostess for a second with cool,

if -
on

 
  

6

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

 

 

scrutinizing eyes, and the result was instanta-
neous conviction: ee: ’

“Pliable, if warily managed, and with absurd
consciéntiousness which may. be worked upon
to advanta; If openly opposed, an nf
who wil! not be readily van uished: if concili-
ated, she may prove a powe’ ily.”

Adria, in the same instant, determined that
exile 4 was a woman who would win uni-

_ versal admiration whereyer she moved, but one
whoni ‘shé. Could never admit’ into the secret

| chamber of her best sympathies. No fine chords
of their nature would chiite tn unison. They
might dwell together beneath the same roof for
years, and their affections approach no closer
than during the first moment.

80 the two women had réad each other, while
they exchanged primal greetings. It remained
for continued acquaintance and op; ortunity to
prove how nearly correct they had been.

“I hope we shall not prove rivals,” said Vale-
ria, ti up a broken thread of the conversa-
tion. ‘*We will make admirable foils. Are
you jealous?” °

“I don’t know,” returned Adria, laughingly ;
‘*it is a quality I have had no occasion to test.’

“T love homage,” asserted Valeria; ‘and if I
tread on dangerous’ ground you must let me
know. We are to be friends, are we not?”

“ Certainly,” Adria replied, with some sur-
prise.“ Why should you doubt that?”

That stupid business of the Ellesford will!
You know how I feel about it; but you may
consider me an intruder.” .

‘Not I,” returned Adria, with some warmth.
“T agree with you that it was unjust, and shall

combine my efforts with yours in ex-
torting such reparation as is possible now.”

Miss Walton surveyed her with slow credu-

lity.
Tan, well! We will not discuss it. Come
here, until we see which is most Ellesford.”
Adria permitted her ni epee to draw her
before the long mirror, and listened amusedly

to her com; ns.
Of the same type, at were totally unlike.
Valeria was large and fully developed; her face

fair and regular, but ve; her hair light
brown, with a satiny sheen, and arranged in
elaborate bandeaux, which sat well upon her
somewhat massive head. Her harids and feet
were of proportionate size and finely shaped.

Adria’s features were less regular, but clearly
defined; her complexion variable, with skin
close-textured.and pure. Her lips were thin and
mobile, where Valeria’s were full and expres-
— of dominan inant a a conrute te ek

clear: y, and frin with long dar!
lashes: Valeria’e hazel, with light brows, which
detracted from the force they might otherwise
have denoted. Adria’s hairwas yellow, glitter-
and ri —her-figure slight and lithe.
iss Walton criticised impartially.

“Tam nothing but Ellesford,” she concluded,
“and you are pure Saxon, without any of the
ay characteristics.”

“You have a correct eye, provided you do
not already know that Iam not an Ellesford,”

Adria answered. | CSU OO
- “ Are you not?” demanded Valeria.

Adria explained. 5

Their conversation drifting back, naturally
turned upon re Eliesford. and the ret vs
connected with his life and death. ith the
facts Valeria was already acquainted, and Adria
aia her such deductions and de-

1s as had’ come into general observation.

‘And the secret room is the one in which
you have.domiciled your young hero?” half

questioningly. .
+ Yes: ‘Pay made but few alterations upon
it, the chief of which are the glass door, and the

veranda in front. The furniture is almost the
same, and every care,is taken. that it shall not
be inju . He has an idea that it may yet
f the clew which, may lead to the appre-
hension of the murderer.”

shoud no, information be derived soe ne
woman’s ga nts which you say remaine:

Nothing. The Taek were ee but bore
no mark to indicate the name of either maker
or owner. The handkerchief is monogramed,
but so over-wrought that it is impossible to de-
cide upon the letters.’ I have kept it since its
- return by, the detectives.” . - :
eofce: cones the room, and took from her

t-case a tiny box, from which she shook out

the handkerchief. . os alah

It was of fine lace, elaborately embroidered,
yellow now with age.

Valeria examined it critically.

“The first initial may be either I or J; the
second is unmistakably, C; the last F or T.”

Adria smiled. ~ ;

“That much was determined upon its dis-
covery, but the clew afforded was too vague.”

So Valeria replaccd the discolored bit of lace
no wiser, and took her departure to an adjoin-
ing apartment, which had been assigned to her

use. ‘

Once there, she d no facial mask, no
evil passions distorted serene countenance.
Instead, her eyes received a deeper shade, her
lips a sae curve en might have

's day: ;
Miss Walton was not giyon to dreaming,

 

especially when her interests would derive
greater aid from active plotting. Should this
girl, this alien, inherit the broad lands on which
she had no lineal claim, of which she was right-
fully heir-apparent? Certainly not, if Valeria
Walton’s fertile brain could concoct a scheme
which would dispossess her of them.

Reginald Templeton came in during the day.
He was regular in his attendance at the Grange,
and inquired always, in a Pour way, for
Hastings. His manner did not tend to ingrati-
ate him with Adria, who, brought into daily
communion with the soe man, had early dis-
covered him possessed of mental qualifications
far in advance of the station he occupied.

Kenneth had ventured into the parlor for the
first time. Bolstered in a great arm-chair, with
a stand drawn to his elbow containing a crystal
dish filled with grapes and oranges, his cheer-
ful appearance betokened him a very resigned
invalid.

“Ah, my good fellow, glad to see you wu
again,” said Reginald, advancing and extend-
ing hishand. ‘I have had no previous oppor-
tunity to express my thanks or applaud ‘your
bravery. Let me do both now. I shall endea-
vor soon to express my gratitude in a more
substantial form than by mere words, and which
I trust may in a measure compensate you for
the loss of time sustained.”

Adria who was by, felt her cheeks flush hot-
ly. Kenneth replied, quietly:

“fT can not think my action embraced any
thing worthy of praise, and the inconvenience
I may have experienced through it, has been
(roe repaid by the kind'care Dhave received.”

“You would not estimate your services so
lightly if you knew from what a precious trea-
sure you warded danger,” persisted Reginald,
who, in his wooing, sometimes let his zeal get
the better of his discretion.

“Life is dear to all of us,” Adria hastened to
interpose, and then skillfully guided the conver-
sation to a different theme.

Valeria who had silently witnessed the whole
drew her own conclusions.

When Reginald rose to depart Adria went
out with him into the grounds.

‘You must see my dahlias,” she had said;
but, reaching them, the regal blossoms seemed
to claim but superficial attention.

‘Reginald, I must beg that you will not offer
money to Mr. Hastings, He is a thorough gen-
tleman and can not but feel it an insult. Tun-
derstand your motive, and honor it accord-
ingly—” Reginald winced beneath the slight
sarcasm—‘‘ but am confident you will grant me
this favor.”

“But, Adria, you don’t understand these
work-people. Money is their sole end and aim
in existence, and this young man is but a better
type of the class.”

‘Nevertheless, I raust persist in my request.
Though Mr. Hastings is but a workingman, he
is fully equal or superior to the many calling
themselves gentlemen whom I have yet met.”

Her face flushed angrily, and Reginald has-
tened to repair the mistake which he saw he had
committed.

“Of course I can deny you no boon in my
power to grant, ma belle. But, what can I do
to show my grateful thanks for your preserva-
tion? Oh, Adria, life would have been so deso-
late had harm befallen you!”

“Mr. Templeton,” said Adria, steadily, “T
fear I have permitted you to entertain a falla-
cioushope. If Ihave in my manner encouraged
the sentiment with which you have honored
me, I entreat that you will believe it was done
unintentionally. o misunderstanding must
exist for the future. 1 shall esteem you asa
valued friend, and hope to retain an equal place
in vour regard.”

“Oh, Adria! I vexed you sorely, I see, but
your punishment is too cruel. Forgive me, and
do not take away the hope which has sustained

Adria’s eyes grew humid—his voice was s0
full of humiliation and entreaty. But, she had
grown to know herself better since that other
time he had pleaded to her.

“Tam sorry,” she said. ‘‘It pains me more
than you can know, but it will misery to us
both if we endeavor to evade what time can
only make more apparent. Perhaps it will be
better if you do not come here for a while—un-
til you forget io disappointment. Good-by,
now, my friend!”

She extended her hand and he imprisoned it
in his grasp.

“ Adria, I will not take this asa final answer.
I angered you, but you will forgive me and
take me back again?

‘*Indeed—indeed, you must accept my deci-
sion as final.”

“You told me that your heart was free, and
so long as I am assured of that I wili never give
you up,” he cried, still holding her fast.

A quick, warm glow flashed over her cheek
and brow. He noted it anda jealous intuition
possessed him. His eyes burned into kers for
an nee with a desire to read her soul’s se-
cret. |

‘« Perhaps I have mistaken,” he said, with the

uiet bitterness which with him boded more

‘than violent anger, ‘How far may our young

y

ar =.

| a havo influenced your change of feel-
a }

& I believe we are all equal members of a frea
country, sir, and I do not recognize your right
to catechise me.”

She turned toward the house, and Reginald
strode heavily down the graveled drive.

A few days later Colonel Templeton drove
with his wife over to the Grange. The distance
was short and the weather dreamy Indian sum-
mer.

They made but a formal call, and all the
while Mrs. Templeton seemed strangely ill at
ease. Adria attributed this to her nervous dis-
ease, but Valeria, whose calm eyes absorbed
every thing without giving any evidence, saw
that her glance wandered uneasily, and that
a shivered although the temperature was
mild.

At the threshold her handkerchief fluttered
from her hand, and Valeria was about to re-
turn it, when some idea occurring, which brought
a slight start of surprise, she concealed it in the
folds of her dress. 7

“ Adria,” she said, when they were alone
again, ‘“‘ who was the lady Hugh Ellesford was
to have married?”

“Trene Clayton, the present Mrs. Tempie-
ton,” Adria answered. ‘I sometimes think she
is haunted with a ghost of what ‘might have
been.’ Iam sure her husband does not make
her happy. But, why do you ask?’ noticing
the strange, triumphant glitter of Valeria’s
eyes.

‘“Can you keep a secret?”

“Don’t try me unless you believe it.”

“Tam sure you are to betrusted. Come with
me,” leading the way to Adria’s apartment.
“Chance has revealed something which may be
the end of Ariadne’s thread.”

She drew forth the handkerchief. It was of
rich fine lace, such as any lady might carry,
with initials elaborately embroidered. Adria
glanced at it at first indifferently, and then, as
something of Valeria’s import shot into her
mind, she tremblingly brought forth the other
one which was connected with the dark mys-

tery.

heir pattern and texture were slightly dif-
ferent, and they appeared to belonged to sepa-
rate ages—one clear and snowy white, the other
yellow and dim, but the monogram was unmis-
takably the same.

 

CHAPTER VIII.

COLONEL TEMPLETON was in his library. I‘
was a light, cosey nook fitted with shelves ani|
cases, a desk, a table, and one or two loungin:-
chairs. It communicated with a suite compri;-
ing sitting and breakfast-rooms, but the fold,
ing-doors pera to this immediate apar‘-
ment had been doubled; professedly in consid-
eration that Colonel Templeton’s ready cash
was always stored in his desk rendering the
necessity of security; probably to insure bis
private consultations from eavesdropping pro-
pensities of his retainers,

He glanced up at his son as he came in, but
continued his work of assorting loose papcrs
which littered the table before him. He was a
methodical man of business. The bills and re-
ceipts properly packaged and labeled, he turned
with sharp scrutiny to Reginald who was still
standing.

The young man was looking heavy-eyed and
haggard. His hair was disheveled and dress
carelessly worn. Truth to tell, he had slept
none the previous night, and had come in at
daylight from a scene of bacchanalian revelry.
But he inherited his father’s iron constitution.
and the excesses which would have utterly de-
based most of men told but slightly on him.

“‘ You are dissipating too heavily, Reginald,”
said his father, calmly. A befogged brain will
never accomplish your object.”

“One must take some comfort in life,” re-
turned the other doggedly. ‘“1think you will
find me clear enough to comprehend any thing
you may wish toimpart.”

There was but little sympathy between the
two. They were much alike; pitiless, unyield-
ing, unscrupulous. Their dispositions tallied
nearly as cynical middle-age’ and impulsive
youth can.

‘Sit down,” said the older man, pointing to a
chair into which Reginald sunk gloomily. “If
we are to co-operate in any particular we mist
reduce the matter to a purely business arrange-
ment, and so regard its different phases. ou
still retain your desire to marry the girl, Acria
Ellesford?”

“T believe it is not a Templeton attribute to
waver ina purpose. I have informed you of
my determination.”

The Colonel smiled with grim satisfaction.

“ Will aR inform me why you sought my as-
sistance? Pe:

“T thought I had explained. I am virtuall
banished from the place, at least for the fiance
No doubt a little catering will restore me by-
and-by, but meantime other influences may
the ascendancy. She has elevated this young
Hastings to be a kind of demi-god in her fancy,
whom she is bound to worship after the ortho-
dox preogdent of vomantic young ladies end

 

 

 
ADRIA, THE ADOPTED. | nd

 

=

their preservers. If he remains at the Grange
he may work some serious mischief, Get the
fellow out of the way, and I can prosecute my
suit without difficulty.”

“ But if as you fear, he has obtained such hold
upon her, will his removal effect the desired end?

ill she not rather brood over his absence and
look forward to a reunion? None but a fool
would neglect such an opportunity to gain
wealth and position as her partiality presents,
and my own observation teaches me that he is
by no means indifferent.”

“Neither you nor I, sir, have much faith in
woman’s constancy,” returned Reginald, coolly.
‘But I do not apprehend that matters are yet
endangered. Atany rate, Thayve not yet seen
the woman who could long resist my ad-
vances,” — ; 4

He straightened himself and shook out his
leoline hair with self-conscious pride. He had
full confidence in the irresistible power exerted
by his handsome face and specious tongue.

“ Faith, if rumorspeaks truly you have cre-
ated no small havoc among them. But you
must remember Adria Ellesford is not of the
common type. I give her credit for consider-

able penetration and more independence.”
“Which shall lead her to acknowledge me,”
asserted Reginald, positively. ‘‘I think, sir,

you are wandering from the strict business
view you proposed taking of the affair. You
embrace her claims ardently as I could desire
from an outside party.”

“T think you will admit the pertinence of
my observations. Do you suppose she is most
easily influenced by suggestions of duty or of
impulse?”

“The former, unquestionably.” oe

Colone] Templeton remained silent for a mo-
ment,

“T think,” he said, ‘it would be injudicious
to attempt forcing the young man’s departure.
To do so would involve mystery and deceit
which might arouse sympathy with him. He
can not remain much longer and the impres-
sion he may have created will dio a natural
death. I think I can suggest a surer method of
preferring your cause, but first I shall wish to
settle preliminaries,”

He paused. Reginald awaited silently.

‘You must be aware that my finances are in
arather complicated state. Iam in need of a
considerable sum, the possession of which will
advance both your chances of success and my
own interests,”

m :" 08 wish it furnished from my secured por-
‘ion

“Tf your filial duty suggests such a course I
shall not refuse your kindness.”

Reginald’s lip curled scornfully.

“ Tow much?” he asked,

“You shall yourself determine the amount
retained. I shall require the loan of twenty
thousand dollars for a few weeks.”

Reginald started to his feet with an oath.

“Half I possess,” he exclaimed.

“T shall convince you of the safety of the en-
terprise. What would you say to investing it
in the firm of Ellesford, Banks & Co.?”

The other looked amazed.

“Explain yourself,” he demanded.

Colonel Templeton was commonly a man of
few words, but the conversation which followed
was lengthy and explicit, Its import and re-
sult will occur in proper time.

One minor item was decided upon. Tt was
deemed expedient that Reginald should make
speedy peace at the Grange, but should forbear
to press his suit for a time.

Accordingly, he went over that very day and
gained a few private words with ‘arte,

“Forgive me,” he said humbly. ‘TI will not
pain ‘you again, but you must let me see you
sometimes. I will be contented with that.
Away from youlam not myself. I grow des-
perate and am frightened at my own prompt-
ings. With your sympathy attending me I will
endeavor to crush my hopeless love into a
friend’s devotion.” ge

She was touched by his subrrission. There is
no surer means of winning woman’s sympathy
than making her believe you feel your own un-
worthiness and her unapproachable superiority.

nald was received again a daily vis-
itor. He was tender and deferential in his con-
duct to Adria, but withdvew himself from ob-
trusive notice.

Valeria and he were now thrown much to-
gether, It was in the vature of the man to pay
court to every woman. He delighted to exert his
fascinating power, and was merciless in witness-
ing its effects. Miss Walton was a beautiful
woman, and ‘er worldly stoicism, which he
was not long in penetrating, invited him to a
clash of arms.

Valeria was a thoroughly selfish woman, and
she had centered her ambition upon a grand
ultimatum. Imbued with the fancy of injustice
indirectly meted to her, ‘‘ grown with her grow th
and strengthened with her strength,” had come
the determination to regain her natural Elles-
ford right. To some day reign mistress of the
family wealth was the incentive which had
ected her mind for years—which had brought
het to tine Grange in the hope of forcing
I.

the rer |

But now a dangerous counter influence was
brought to bear against her preconcerted plans.

courtly, succeeded in that which hosts of true
lovers had failed to accomplish,

When the knowledge dawned upon her, she
shut herself in her own room and faced the
truth in its uncompromising nakedness,

She had found a ee in her nature she had
not suspected herself of possessing. It seemed
as if three Valerias had suddenly blossomed
from the one. One, herself, sat quietly down

the first presenting her ambitious aim in all its
splendid tints, the last using all the eloquence
of love to gain the field. The struggle was tedi-
ous and painful, but she would not give up the
study of her lifetime to an impulse springing
into action in an hour,

Reginald Templeton she loved. Joseph Elles-
ford, her distant kinsman, a man who had lived
more years than bad been numbered since her
father’s birth, she determined to marry.

So she buried the unquiet spirit in outer calm,
and passed days seemingly tranquil but agitated
by the revulsions of a nature so thoroughly sel-
fish that she could not willingly relinquish
either coveted object.

Early winter crept stealthily on. Kenneth
mended but slowly. An epistle had come from
the Russell Brothers, stiffly worded but imbued

precedented interest in this young agent. In it
oe commended the zeal which had insured
early settlement from Ellesford, Banks & Co.,
regretted his accident, and intimated that,
though the business intrusted to him was im-
portant, he should not actively engage again
until fully recovered.

He knew that he must now soon close his
pleasant reprieve. He counted the days as they
fled as a miser might regret telling out his

gold.

Mr. Ellesford had grown very fond of the
young man. He found him an intelligent com-
panion, with moral principle denoting him wor-
thy of re trust. Senay he had come to
confide in his judgment, and sought his advice
in many details.

The two men were alone one morning, enjoy-
ing the ay papers just arrived, when a messen-
ger from the telegraphic office came in haste.

‘ ae bore a dispatch, evidently indited in angry
aste:
“Have you been asleep? or why, in Heaven’s name
0.

have you not acted? The firm is hopelessly involved,
and Banks gone—we hope to the devil, as he de-
serves.

“ (Signed,) CLARKE & Newson.”
Clarke and Nelson were the two small capital-
ists embraced in the Co.

CHAPTER IX,

The two women in the little woodland hut
lived quietly. During her master’s time, Juana,
like him, had been a recluse, and since had dis-
couraged the attempts made by a few curious
villagers to establish communication with her.

Her sullen reticence invited no intercourse,
and those who had attempted it were soon con-
tent to let her enjoy the solitude she desired; the
more readily that an annual stipend accorded
her by Joseph Ellesford rendered her independ-
ent of official aid.

When Nelly Kent appeared with her the
country people wondered a little. But as their
unobtrusive existence betrayed nothing, on
which to feed curiosity, their daily quiet was
disturbed by no importunate meddling.

That this calm was not perfect peace to either
was quite evident. Since the day the strange
dark man had penetrated into the cabin, Juana
had been constantly on her guard. She seemed
argus-eyed in her vigilance. She prowled
through the adjacent woodland at unreasonable
hours, and no living object approaching the
place escaped her observation. But she had not
again found him for whom she watched and

aonght.

elly, occupied with her own thoughts, saw
nothing of the strangeness of the old woman’s
conduct. Restless or brooding in turn herself,
an intense desire was consuming her, which one
morning found utterance in a resolve.

“Juana,” she said, “I am going to the
Ss

“Ob, Miss ye cried Juana, in consterna-
tion, the name falling from her lips awkward-
ly, as though they could not accustom them-
selves to the utterance. ;

“T can not rest. I can not be satisfied until I
have been there. Something stronger than my
will draws me thither; I have tried to resist it
in vain. My going may not be for the better,
but it can not be for worse.”

Juana’s face looked troubled, but she did. not
attempt to gainsay this determination. Nelly
wrapped herself in a plain dark cloak and hoo'
and set forth for the Grange. She glanc-
ed back once at Juava who was watching her
receding figure, and noted her anxious loo

“True, faithful heart,” she murmured, her
eyes filling. . Hf re

 

6 re deasbivaists ge Cars
“Oh, how can she-:” moaned Juanar“{ how.

Reginald Templeton, young, debonair and”

and listened to the leading of the other two; |

with real kindly feeling. They had taken un- |

x

can she go there where that awful horror will
rise up before her again?” , . ;

Valeria and Adria bad breakfasted alone and
retired to the common parlor, The former,
with eyes half-closed and hands indolently fold-
ed, lay back in her chair before the glowing
grate, basking in its warmth. She loved ease
and idleness, and was now enabled, for the first
time, to indulge in them, Adria was busied
with some bit of woman’s work, and as her
hands mingled with the warm-hued worsteds
she was fashioning, her v4 curved tenderly
and her thoughts flew over the mystic pathway
trod only by youth’s happy fancies,

Mr. Ellesford, accompanied by Kenneth, had
departed for Washington the preceding day.
They had gone in haste, the former explainin,
to his daughter that business connected with
the firm had called him unexpectedly, but in
such a manner that she should infer nothing of
its serious nature,

So Valeria and Adria were alone for the time.

A voice singularly clear and sweet broke up-
on the morning air. A. woman, pausing’ before
the low window, was chanting a joyous anthem.
Adria listened to the tones chiming with her
own happy thoughts, but as they died away,
she approached the casement, and swinging it
open, bade the singer enter, *

Complying, the woman stepped over the low
sill, her dark eyes wandering restlessly about
the apartment, but her passive face revealed no
gleam of expression. x!

“Who are you?” asked Adria. ;

She did not reply immediately. Her roving
ae comprehended her questioner presently 5

ut she seemed to have forgotten that she had
been addressed. :

“Shall I sing for you?” she asked.

Then, without awaiting a reply, she began a
refrain, low and solemn, which brought a film
of moisture to the eyes of one tender-hearted
listener. Valeria ree the stranger curi-
ously as she entered, but placing her as a strol-
ling mendicant, lapsed into indifference,

“Poor creature!” said Adria to her, in an
undertone. ‘She is evident distraught, but
has certainly been a lady. How sweetly sho
sings!

aleria nodded acquiescence, and thought to.
herself how tiresome were Miss Ellesford’s
whims, one of which had brought this straggler
within. For herself, Valeria would have —
thrown her a penny and ordered her from the
grounds. :

“T shall manage very differently when I am
Mrs. Ellesford,” she reflected, and in the con-
temp )ation of that future lapsed into unobserv-
ing: ndifference again. 3

dria rung the bell, ordering the servant to
prepare a simple repa st for the rey visitor,
and herself accompanied her to the breakfast-

room,

Nelly Kent (the reader has inferred that it
was she) sat down to the damask-spread
board on which the Ellesford ‘silver, just
out of the housekeeper’s polishing hands, was
glittering in full array. ;

A close, suffocating sensation came over her,
the dull, dead ache of her heart intensified until
she thonent she must scream out her agony.
Nevertheless, she sipped her tea silently; and
Adria, with delicate tact, intended ‘to relieve
all feeling of embarrassment, crossed to the
opposite side of the apartment, where the house-
keeper was engaged in cleansing the China
service. ;

“Do you know who she is, Davis?” Adria in-

. quired, softly.

“Tt’s the poor, dazed lady that’s took up with —
old Juana,” returned Davis, in the same tone.
“T know her by her crippled arm, which the
maids who ha’ seen her walking in the grounds
ha’ told me of.” ;

Adria had not observed the helpless member,
concealed as it had been by the woman’s larg
cloak. She turned, with renewed pity in her
eyes, to find the place at the table vacant, th
figure which had been there a moment before
noiselessly vanished. -

Davis set up a cry of alarm and began to has-
tily count the silver. Her Spore were
quieted somewhat on finding it correct. Adria
was amazed. ,

“She must have gone back to the parlor,” sho
said, after a moment’s thought.

“Sure enough,” admitted Davis. ‘The from:
entrance is locked, and she’d ha’ passed us goin,.
out the side way. ?

But investigation proved she had not gore
back to the parlor. Valeria, sitting idly as sh
had been left, had not seen ber, Adria, pe -

lexed, went back to the breakfast-room; an’

aleria, whose senses were always on the aley! ,
even when her manner least indicated it, re-
membered hearing the sound of an openin;;
door a moment previous, and herself proceeded
to reconnoiter. va tp ame a

Nelly Kent, finding herself unobserved, are

silently from the room and sped swiftly

= ie ‘passa sore Not . eg oS
e pause to consider her course, but m er

may To Phe ah RB RE i e

€ \aste. she | a e

‘daretable end with Dngers Fumi ng the carved

‘work of its pendent side, fourid, and pressed a

 

 
  

8

 

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

 

Fn

concealed there. A tiny drawer sprun
out asif by magic, disclosing a compact roll o
cllow hment, and a locket studded with
rilliants, with a jong slender-linked chain at-
tached. The trinket was dented deeply, and the
chain, pliable in its virgin purity, was bent and
entanuied. She took it up reverently.

“T may wear it again now,” she murmured.
“Oh, my love, my love!”

Tho rustle of a woman’s dress caught her
quick ear, and tho little drawer shot back to its
placo nono too soon. Valeria upon the thresh-
old, caught tho glitter of something in the wo-
man’s hand conveyed quickly to her bosom.

Valeria pounced down upon Nelly Kent with
cat-liko agility.

“What have you stolen?” she demanded.

Nelly met her searching gaze with a vacant
stare, then thrusting her hand into her bosom
drew forth a common rosary and began telling
the beads, as though oblivious of the other’s pre-
sence,

Val-ria was not satisfied. She thought she
had seen the gleam of gems, but at the instant
Adria appeared in the doorway, and she for-
bore to press the conviction.

os ade ou not better have her searched?” she
sieges ,as Nelly quietly accompanied them
back to the parlor.

Adria gave her an indignant glance.

“T am sure there is no need,” she replied.
‘*She is not responsible for her actions in wan-
dering harmlessly about, and even were sho
mischievously inclined there is nothing portable
she could have procured in so short a time
which we would not at a glance have found
missing.”

In her heart Nelly silently blessed the gener-
ous girl, but outwardly preserved her passive
demeanor.

In a few moments she grew restless, and, in-
timating her desire to depart, Adria let her out
at the grand entrance door, bestowing a few
kind words at parting.

‘Heaven forgive me,” muttered Nelly to her-
self, as she walked slowly down the broad path-
way, “if I have made a mockery of any orm,
but Juana’s beads have stood me good service!”

Out of the grounds into the highway, wholly
absorbed in her own thoughts until a rough
shout aroused her.

“Out of the way with ye, I say!”

An open carriage, driven at a leisurely pace
was now drawn up by the surly coachman. Oc-
cupied in herself, she was crossing the wheel-
track in its direct course.

A lady, the only occupant of the vehicle,
leaned forward to chide the man for his impa-
tience. Nelly, glancing upward, met her gaze
and fell back a pace, her face blanched to livid
oo The other, for a second-only, star-

led, then recognizing the death like counte-

nance, caught her breath in a moaning gasp and
—_ back senseless among the carriage-cush-
ions.

It was Mrs. Templeton.

 

CHAPTER X.

Arrarrs at the establishment in Washi n
appeared fully as bad as represented. he
smaller partners, Clarke and Nelson, were
steady, thorough men, but lacking that import-
ant qualification, brains. Banks had wielded
the whole of the business machinery. Had been,
80 to a. the power driving it all, while they
were the cogs and wheels working in obedience
to bis will.

Implicit confidence had been placed in him.
For a long period he was known to be ulat-
ing ~e y with interests foreign to the firm,
but, as his own private account was ample, this
gave rise to no uneasiness.

It was not until considerable sums had been
quietly withdrawn, which at the time, his com-

nions in trade believed invested in behalf of

he firm, and when bills supposed to have been
settled long before began to come in on them,
that suspicion awoke, Even then no active
measures were taken.

Aware that Mr. Ellesford had been aia
of the state of affairs, they received Banks’s as-
surance that his intervention had canceled all
pressing obligations, and that he was keeping
actual supervision over the interests of the es-
tablishment. With this they had been content-
ed until made aware of the deception practiced
upon them by the disappearance of the manag-
ing partner, and subsequent examination be-
trayed that oe on the very verge of ruin.

A rumor of their insolvency had Le abroad,
gt bills were pouring in from quarters,
their paper was afloat to an immense amount,
their accounts at the different banks fully
drawn by the absconding member.

~ Total bankruptcy seemed before them.

The partners were holding a consultation in
their private counting-room, to which, at Mr.
Fauestora request, Hastings had been admit-

But no penetration or shrewdness could over-

come the, bard facts apparent. Could the im
mediate Glaims be met, the credit of the house

rk ‘they might bridge the erisis; but,
robabl ney rook y suegeed in stav-

the evil day,

Hastings’s situation was peculiar. As author-
ized agent of the Russell Brothers he was bound
to prosecute their claim. Gratitude to Mr.
Ellesford—perhaps a deeper emotion toward his
daughter—and a full appreciation of the confi-
dence reposed in him, made him shrink from
the performance of his duty.

The latter consideration caused him to haz-
ard a leniency seldom extended by the Crofton

‘““My dear Hastings,” replied Mr. Ellesford,
“your claim is but one of a hundred, and must
share equally with all the rest. Should the
worst come our assets must, I think, cover to a
great extent our indebtedness; and I pledge
myself to relinquish my last dollar rather than
suffer the dishonor of our signature.”

Meanwhile in another part of the city a scene
was enacting which bore direct reference upon
the issue at stake.

An inner office, dark and cobwebby, where
few visitors were permitted to penetrate. The
outer or, entrance room was large and light,
with two or three clerks’ desks ranged about the
walls, and an intermediate apartment furnished
with carpet and baize-covered chairs was the
piece where Jonathan Sharpe, lawyer and bro-

er, was in the habit of receiving his general
customers.

When a visitor was ushered beyond this into
the office first mentioned, the clerks in the outer
room wagged their heads and exchanged know-
ing smiles. It was always conceded by them
that some deep game was on hand.

At this time Jonathan Sharpe was closeted
close in his private sanctuary. His figure was
thin and angular, with limbs loosely put togeth-
er. His face was long and sallow, teeth ioe an
ing forehead high and narrow and eyes light
cold blue, His sandy hair, straight and sleek,
extended in sparse side-whiskers on his cadaver-
ous cheeks. is clothes were rusty black, worn
at the seams, loose and ill-fitting. By no means
a Pe ean man, and one whose forty years
of life had recorded no unselfish deed to add to
ig PeLearopy of the world.

is companion was of a different type, and in
his erect bearing and pale, regular features we
recognize an old acquaintance—Colonel Temple-
ton. He was engaged in examining some legal-
looking documents submitted for his inspection.

‘You find them all correct, sir?” inquired
Sharpe, with professional servility.

“Quite so! Now tell me how you managed
all so admirably.”

‘Well, sir, you know he had lost heavily in
the Pacific Branch Bond business; in fact was
far beyond his own depth even there. Just then
the Lucky Gulch mining stock began to show
signs of life, and as his legal adviser, I sae
that here was a chance to regain his balance.
Stock was low pe but sure to rise rapidly. He
bit greedily. I advised him to take the com-
mission elsewhere—I was overcrowded.”

Colonel Templelon’s lip curled cynically, but
he motioned for the other to proceed,

“‘ Nothing would satisfy him but that I should
undertake it,so I consented at last just to ac-
commodate a liberal patron, you know. He had
lifted the bank account before, and now raised
twenty thousand dollars on the Company’s pa-

per.

“T bought at iN per cent. below. Stock
went up steadily. hen it reached thirty below
I consulted with him, but he had got the old fev-
er on again and held fast. At twenty below I
went to him again, told him I was called away

for a day and offered again to sell. But he was
determined to wait.
“Ten hours later I sold at par. Shares went

up to four above and then wavered.

“T took a trip out of town—was detained two
days. Found Banks waiting my return, raging
likeamadman. Lucky Gulch mining stock ha
fallen to seventy below, and still going down.

“ He ordered me to sell at any sacrifice. In
his excited state I thought it imprudent to let
him know that I had disobeyed his previous in-
junction.”

‘“‘ He received ten thousand of his investment,
and I added a morning paper with the list of
packet ships marked. hake, lawyer, is better
off by another ten, and twenty thousand waits
Colonel Templeton’s command.”

During his recital he had dropped his servile
fawning manner, adopting a confidential an
boasting tone. The unreserved communication
evinced that Colonel Templeton controlled the
main-spring of this establishment.

‘“Well done, thou good and faithful servant,”
commended the other, satisfiedly.

There was some further communication, and
when Colonel Templeton left the office of Jona-
than Sharpe, he directed his steps immediately
toward the great mercantile establishment of
Ellesford, Banks & Co.

A blundering cash boy directed him to the
counting-room, and he camein upon them ere
the ers had concluded their consultation.
Hastings sprung up to prevent intrusion, but
Mr. Ellesford rising bade him enter.

Seareeees advanced, including them all in a
general salutation, but addressing himself to the
oldest member.

« Bllesford, is this trye that I hear?
sible you are driven to the wall?”

 

Is it pos-

 

“Then ae rumor has caught it already,”
exclaimed Ellesford, bitterly.

‘*Not so! I got it from one who knows some-
thing of that scoundrel Banks’s villainous pro-
ceedings, and I have come to offer you such as-
sistance as lies in my power. I have already
commissioned my agent to buy in all immediate
claims he may find against you.”

Ellesford’s eyes dinsmed and his voice
faltered with grateful emotion.

““God bless you, Alan Templeton, for a true
friend,” he cried, clasping his hand warmly.

 

CHAPTER XI.

NELLY Kent tottered rather than walked
over the frozen road. This unexpected encoun-
ter had aroused conflicting memories which
closed down around her, shutting out all of her
present monotonous existence. Bitter memories
they were, and: a fierce passion raged within
her breast.

Her step grew firmer and more even, but ber
eyes burned still with that inward fire. Her
face, dropping its passive mask, was transform-
ed so completely that those who had seen her
shortly before would scarcely have recognized
her as thesame. Her fingers closed involun-
tarily over the rosary she still clutched and the
beads crushed within her grasp. She shook
them from her open hand, but the trivial inci-
dent had brought a new train of reflection.

“Revenge might destroy, but it can not re-
store,” she muttered. ‘There is nothing left
for me—nothing!”

She was nearing the strip of woodland skirt-
ing the road before Juana’s cabin. A squirrel
ee eee the branches peered down at
her with bright, curious eyes. A partridge sep-
arated from its covey fluttered up from among
the deadened leaves. But she noted neither,
nor did a shadow flitting from clump to clump
of tree and bush attract her more.

The air was cut with a whizzing sound anda
missile thrown by an unseen hand tell at her
feet. It startled her and she hurriedly scanned
the surrounding prospect. There was no one to
beseen. The stone dcfined in a bare pathway
was wrapped with a strip of scmething white.
Stopping, she detached a slip of paper, written
in a straggling but not an uncultivated hand:

“Tf you would hear of one you think dead come
alone to the Cross-lot Stile at dusk. Let no one see
this. One Wuo Knows You.”

Nelly pondered over it. But no gleam of light
came to relieve her perplexity, or reveal its
authorship. She thrust it into her bosom with
the precious trinket and pursued her course.
The squirrel in the limbs above rattled down a
shower of chipped bark, and she started as
though expecting some fui ther revelation. None
came and she burried on.

Juana received her silently. A bright fire
blazed upon the earth, the kettle swinging above
it sung mee An odorous beverage steamed
upon thehob, Everything had been made bright
and cheerful for her return.

The old woman undid her wrapping, observ-
irg with anxious eye the troubled, preoccupied
look she wore.

“T knew it would be so,” she muttered, hang-
ing the cloak on a wooden peg in the further cor-
ner. ‘I knew she could not go there and come
back the same. I only wonder ’tis not worse.”

Nelly looked round at her presently.

“T saw her, Juana—that woman!”

“Did you see nothing worse ?” Juana ques-
tioned, with suppressed eagerness,

“What coul worse?” Nelly’s eyes caught
the lurid ao again. ‘I thought my heart
was steeled and dead, but both my love and my
hate have come back to me to-day.

Juana’s skinny hands clutched each other in
painful gripe, but she only waited and watched
in silence,

Nelly’s face was working convulsively, but
she turned to the cheerful laze and witha great
effort calmed herself again.

“Ts she here? Why did you not tell me?” she
asked, ber voicé lulled to weary morotouy.

“Who? Where?” Juana inquired, with a va-
cant expression as though trying in vain to
comprehend the question.

“You know—the woman!”

‘“*Was she—was she in the flesh?” the old wo-
man asked, in an awesome whisper.

The other looked at her fixedly for a moment.

‘“‘Come here, my good Juana,” she said.
‘You have not shared the deception practiced
upon others—you do not helieve me crazed? I
may have been m:d once; I think I must have
been, but you knowI amsanenow. Did you
think I was speaking of illusions?”

“TI thought she would see it as it was that
night,” Juana muttered, but she said aloud,
humbly;

“Tell me?”

“‘T met her upon the road. She was in a car-
riage, but leaned forward and looked me in the
face, then fainted as she did once before,” shud-
deringly.

“She remembers it and can speak calmly,”
Juana groaned, in her spirit. ‘‘Mrs. Temple-
ton? ey are at The Firs,” shereplied.. “She
seldom goes out. I thought you need never
meet her.”

 

“i

 
is

;
;

p

b

4

 

“T pray that I may never again. Oh, I pray
that I never may,” Nelly cried out, her forced
composure giving way, and breaking into a pas-
sion of strong sobs. .

The old woman soothed and petted her as she
would have done a little child, and when the
paroxysm had passed led her into the inner
room and persuaded her to lie down upon the
couch. Nelly, weakened by her recent agita-
tion, obeyed. Juana brought her a hot drink
and in a few moments more she slept peace-
fully,

Tt was growing dusk when she awoke.

Her uninjured hand, which had clasped the
locket while she slept, came in contact with the
slip of paper she had concealed with it. She
strained her eyes in the twilight to again read
the mysterious words.

A lethargic feeling possessed her, an activity
which was the natural reaction of over-strained
nerves. She shook it off, however. The scrawl
had gained new import to her which was not
hope, but rather a wild desire, an expectation
of finding it through this means.

She crept to the door which was ajer and
listened. Juana was crooning a monotonous
refrain. The fire had burned down to a bed of
dull coals, and over these the old woman was
crouching, her weird figure defined in the red-
dish glow, absorbed in herself to the exclusion
of any thing which might occur about ber.

Nelly drew herself silently over the floor
reached the long cloak from its peg and gained
the door. The latch lifted noiselessly; she flit-
ted over the threshold and away into the dim
gloaming.

An hour later Juana listened at the door of
the inner room. Perfect silence reigned.

“She'll want no more to-night,” she muttered,
satisfiedly. ‘‘ It’s best so, best so.”

Then she spread out her own bed on the kitch-
en bearth, and was soon lost in the unconscious-
ness of profound slumber.

It was broad day when she was astir again.
She added fuel and blew up the coals smothered
in their blanket of gray ashes until they threw
out a growing, sparkling flame. Then she tidied
the outer room and went about ene the
morning meal, listening now and then for sounds
of wakefulness from the other chamber.

None came. Theold woman muttered to her-
self, and went about quietly, fearful of disturb-
ing the sleeper. The sun mounted higher and

higher in the sky.

‘Strange,” repeated Juana. “She seldom
sleeps so late.”

Then she rapped softly on the door of the in-
ner room. It swung back beneath her touch.
and with a thrill of apprehension she step)
within. The bed was disturbed but not occu-
pied. The paraphernalia of the chamber re-
mained in the exact order it had ‘presented
the previous day, but Nelly Kent was not
there.

The hours passed, and she did not ap 4
Juana, tortured with anxiety, racked her brain
in vain to account for her absence. She search-
ed the grounds, where Nelly was accustomed to
walk, with like result. She had disappeared
from the cabin suddenly as she had come.

The day wore on to mid-afternoon, and Juana
could remain no longer inactive. She went
first to the Grange, but the missing woman had
not been there. Then she directed her steps to-
ward The Firs, her face taking on the dogged,
sullen expression it sometimes wore as she
walked.

She knew better than to apply for admittance
at the servants’ door. She crouched behind
some bushes at the front, and waited.

The ciate she sought came soon.

Reginald came out alone, slamming the door
after him, his step crunching heavily down the
path, fairly brushing against the bushes which
screened her.

She darted out of her concealment, up the
broad steps, and into the hall, ere the slow-
motioned servant whose duty it was to attend
the door had appeared there. A rack, hung
with out-door garments, furnished her a hiding:
place. Footsteps approached, passed her, and
the man turned the key in the massive lock of
the entrance door, P

Fairly within, Juana was at a loss how to
proceed. Her object was to see Mrs. Temple-
ton alone.

A light, mincing step came into the hall, and
peeping from her cover, she beheld a smart
maid-servant bearing a small tray. The man,
still loitering there, planted himself in the girl’s

way.

o, Arrah, me honey, but it’s toll ye’ll be pay-
in’ for the passage-way, I take it!”

The -. tossed her head coquettishly, and
stopped to parley. The brawny, impudent
Jrishman was a favorite with her class,

“‘Let_me pass, Mr. Murphy,” she said; in
strong French accent. ‘‘ The madame will wish
it oe 11 not be kapin’ th

*Musha, thin, ye’ll no P e madame
waitin’ for so sbmall a tatther, will ye, me
‘vourneen?” as! naa ¢
i was some further dispute, but it ended
in the fellow :natching the kiss he coveted and
the maid's | risk tonrue scolded vigorousiy, ag
BG@ MOWRY 220i Lonel E52

'

 

The man disappeared, and Juana cautiously
followed the girl.

Mrs. Templeton was quite ill, and in her
private chamber. She was lying back in a vel-
vet easy-chair, her dead-white cashmere wrap-
per scarcely more colorless than her wan face.

She sent away the maid, but the tray of
dainty edibles stood by untouched.

She started nervously as the door unclosed
again, and spoke without turning her head,

“ What is it, Felice?”

The intruder advanced without making reply,
and Mrs. Templeton, looking arownd wearily,
confronted—not Felice, but Juana. A frightened
ery rose to her lips, but the woman stilled her
with a gesture.

“Hush!” she said, ‘I have come for no harm.
Where is my mistress/—tell me that! What
have you done with her?” F

Mrs. Templeton regarded her wonderingly.

“* How should f know?” she asked.

““You met her yesterday—she told me so.
This morning she was gone. Has she not been
here to you?’

The lady’s eyes distended with some fearful
agony.

“Was that your mistress?” she whispered.

“Ay, that was my mistress! TI have changed
since your bonny ladyship saw me at the
Grange,” she added, bitterly.

Mrs, Templeton shrunk back, as though struck
with a sudden blow.

‘Let it go,” continued Juana. ‘‘ Only tell me
what I came to learn.”

“T know nothing of her. She has not been
here.”

The old woman faced her angrily.

“Don’t seek to deceive me,” she cried out.
‘‘No matter what she came for, she must have
been here.”

“ As God is my witness, I have not seen her—
Ihave told you the truth,” declared the other.
and her words carried conviction to the heart of
the listener.

“Then may the Virgin protect her!” said Ju-
ana solemnly. ‘‘She must indeed have gone
mad at last! Woman, it is all your work!
Think of it, and rejoice if you can.”

Mrs. Templeton cried out sharply.

“Oh, Juana, Juana! You do me wrong! She
did injustice to a noble heart, and still heaps it
upon a sainted memory.”
ui sane looked down upon her with stern un-

ef.

‘*Believe me! He was true to her always, as
truth itself. I would have told her then, but I
was weak and ill, and her anger frightened me.
Do you tell her for me, that his thought never
swerved a hair’s breadth from his devotion to
her. Tell her, if you would give a ray of peace
to a miserable, tortured woman!”

‘Swear it!”

“T swear it, by all that I hold dear or sa-
cred!”

“ And if it be so, I will never tell her. Cruel,
cruel! It would but heap burning coals upon
her head!”

CHAPTER XII.

THE Washington firm breathed freely an
Ruin had at last been averted. They had no
doubt that, with the leniency Colonel Temple-
ton would surely exercise, they would recover
their tottering foothold.

The panic had been productive of serious re-
flection in the mind of Mr. Ellesford, apart
from the intense anxiety he experienced upon
the immediate result. ese years of absence
from the actual struggle of business had unfit-
ted him for again coping with its complications
successfully as he had once done. e deter-
mined, soon as the establishment should be fair-
ly on its feet again, to withdraw from it entire-
ly, and devote his remaining years to the quiet
enjoyment of domestic comfort, untrammeled

| by aught of other interest,

Hastings had proved to hint of invaluable aid.
The young man’s clear insight and indubitable
erseverance had done much toward oe
he knotted skein of mingled sophistries an
facts which Banks had built up as an intrench-
ment against the discovery of his embezzlements.

The absconding partner had been traced, by
an obscure route, on which he bad turned and
doubled, until he was, with difficulty, followed
by the law’s sleuth-hounds, to a seaport in a
neighboring State, where all trace of him was
lost. It was sup that he had escaped to
Europe, and there the pursuit ended.

Hastings now found himself fully able to re-
sume his ge and the business so long sus-
Peas ut first he went back with Mr.

lesford to the Grange, having chosen a ter-
minus ee it within bis direct course.

Only a single day’s interval, and then he
should leave the pray old Maryland homestead
which had given him a nearer ew ef of earth-
ly Sean than he had known before.

dria was out on her favorite walk, com-
manding an unobstructed view of the bay, roll-
ing dark now beneath the dull winter sky,

he knew of Hastings’s near deperture, and
fully realized the precious vnlue of every inter-
wosbode moment while she could vet hear the
bums thet fad o mk her dormant

 

_ADRIA, THE ADOPTED. eg

 

 

wealth of woman’s love, meet the earnest
glances which sought hers ever with tender per-
sistency.

Yet, with woman’s inconsistency, she had
fled away from the warmth and the bri htness
within, rendered doubly alluring by his pre-
sence, out here beneath the cold gray sky, with
the raw wind sweeping in over the water, to
get a foretaste of the loneliness and pain the
coming days would bring her. She knew her-
self, and knew her love, but, feeling him
worthy of it, deemed herself ennobled bi thei
purity of her affection, even should it never be °
acknowledged save to her own heart.

There Hastings found her, He had oe
glimpse of her figure speeding across the
roadway, and followed, knowing it to be his last
chance of having her to himself, alone,

They spoke of incidental things—of the quiet
landscape, of the ships fluttering their pennons
far out ae the bay—of his own departure.

“T shall miss the pleasant companionship of
the past few weeks when I go out into the world
again,” he said.

‘But you will return to your home and
friends soon, and forget us all,” she replied,
with a tinge of reproach in her voice.

‘‘T have no home and no friends,” he said sad-
ly. ‘‘At least, none to bind me with a single
loving tie, If home is where the heart is, I shall
ee jit behind me, on this lovely Chesapeake
shore. : Fl

“Tcan almost wish it so, that it may bring
you back again,” Adria returned, feeling it in-
cumbent on her to say something, and scarcely
noting her words.

“T shall come back if you bid me,” he ex-
claimed, reading her face with earnest eyes.

Fearing that she bad unconsciously commit-
ted herself, she blushed and stammered:

“Papa has taken a warm liking to you. He .
will always be pleased to have you come,”

He saw her embarrassment and gained a con-
fidence he had never before possessed, in wit-
oe ig it. Clasping her hands in both of his, he
asked:

‘But what does ‘papa’s daughter’ say for
herself? It is she who will prove my magnet.”

She blushed painfully, endeavoring to disen-
gage her hands,

“Adria, Adria! I love you—so wholly, so
utterly, that it does not seem presumption to
tell you of it. Now, can you bid me come
again, Adria?”

Her hands ceased their fluttering and rested
quietly in his. She turned her face to him peace-
ully content. oi

“*Come back!” she said.

A step rustled over the crisped turf and Re-
ginald Templeton passed them, lifting bis hat
with a ease. Out of their sight, his face
took on a livid passion, and his white, even
teeth ground together in bitter rage.

“Ay, the game is in oo hands now,” he

muttered, “ but luck will I can afford to
wait.
Hastings’s exit in search of Adria left Mr.

Ellestord alone. Valeria came to the door pre-
sently, starting a little when she saw him, and
hesitating. f
“Come in,” he said, kindly, f
So she advanced and stationed herself in a
position where his eyes, wandering ever and
anon from the paper he held, muse rest upon

her.

She was slightly pale, and wore a wearied,
listless expression, Her full proportions were
well defined against the dark background of the

reat chair she had chosen. Her large, fair

ands were clasped idly in her lap, her aa
gazing straight before her with preoccupied,
intent look. "

She would have made a good actress, Her
postures, her expressions, were all studied witt
reference to effect; and this attitude had been
conned by her before the long mirror in her»«
own chamber. But Mr. Ellesford could in no
way be aware of this, " }

Glancing at her now and then, he thought
what a model of porters womanhood she was,
From that he fell to studying her face, and
grew keenly observant of the wearied, sorrow-
ful expression she wore. Her eyes brimmed
full of sudden moisture, and two great a
— hung upon her fringing lashes. He
aside his screening paper with real alarm,

‘My dear Miss Walton, what has occurred to
give you pain? Are you Pope | here?”

She started, and ‘brushed aside the potent

,

rs.

‘Pardon me. I am foolish, weak; but, be-
lieve me, I did not mean to indulge in obtrusive |.
sorrow.”

“Then — have a grief? Can we do nothin ‘
to alleviate it? Both Adria and I are most anxt ,
ous to make your position here agreeable to

ou.
i ‘You are very kind,” she replied, constrain-
y. :

He regarded her closely, yp”

“Certainly my daughter has done nothing to
cause you pain?

“Ob, no, no! It is but apes: ‘olly. You
would di me were [ to tell you.”

“Corfite in me, Valerix. Let me show you
how anoxia © amtu pretecte your happiness,” |

?
    

10

“Oh, thank you for the kind interest you
have displayed, and thank you again for receiv-
ing me so readily here in your household, I see
now I was wrong in wishing to come. I thought
I would find a refuge where I would be content,
and, your many kindnesses reproach me for yet
remaining unsatisfied, But,” her voice faltered
brokenly, ‘it all serves to recall a time when
those lived who loved me, and whom I loved. I
\see you lavish your affection upon your daugh-

ter, and think of the dear father who held me
the ‘idol of, his heart. I feel myself so lonely—
so desolate—”

Here she broke down with a sob, burying her
face ina snowy mist of cambric and lace. Mr.
Ellesford was auch distressed.

“Oh, pray, don’t,” he said, in his awkward
man-fashion, endeavoring to soothe her grief.
‘¢ My. dear Valeria, what can I do for you—how
can. Ll, assure, you that we regard you as very
dear to, us? am sure Adria loves you asa
sister... Oh, that she was here now,” he conclud-
ed, in an undertone,

Miss Walton grew more composed. She un-
derstood the effects of woman’s tears, but would
not risk,a too copious flow to the detriment of
her beautiful eyes. Inflamed lids and swollen
nose would not aid her cause,

“Adria is'very, very kind,” she answered, sad-
ly... ‘But che does not understand my nature;
she gives me none of her warm sympathy. She
deems me cold, unfeeling, and her injustice
chills me. I long sofor love and tenderness.”

Here she had recourse again to her handker-
chief.

This was displaying a new phase of Miss Wal-
tony disposition, but he did not stop to think of
that.

“Tam sarDrivednrppained he began, letting
his hand drop.on her brown braids. She put up
a soft pain touching it, and thanked him with
tearful glance. , Her loveliness and her distress
were,fast, folding him in the glamour she was
striving to throw around. hia.

“Valeria, tell me, how can I comfort you?
Can my love, my service, be aught to you?

As though actuated by sudden impulse, she
caught his hand and carried it to her lips, then

dropped it with a vivid hightening of color on
cheek and brow. He was fairly intoxicated
now. with the excitement of revelation which
this,action gave him.

“Valeria, my darling! My peerless queen of
beauty!” he cried, catching her to him. ‘Is it
true, my own?”

} Valeria’s tears were chased away by triumph-
Jznt smiles, and there and then she secured her
unsuspecting victim with vows exchanged.

“But,, Adria!—what will she say?’ she ques-
tioned, presently, with an air of timidity.

A. pang of remorse struck him, but it was too
late now for such consideration.

“* Adria will rejoice in my happiness,” he re-
plied.” “Tell, me again, Valeria, that you are
perfectly content.”

‘* More than content,” she said. At the mo-
ment, through the plate-glass window, she
caught sight of Reginald Templeton’s stalwart
form advancing up the pathway. A bitter,
yearning pain shot through her heart. She re-
alized how empty were the words she uttered
and shrunk beneath his touch when the old
man’s lips pressed her forehead. He thought it
woman’s modesty.

That same day Kenneth sought an interview
with Mr. Ellesford, and in straightforward.
manly way told him the story of his love and
ambition.

“Tama rman now,” he said, ‘‘ put the
knowledge of Adria’s love will strengthen me to

overcome opposing circumstances, I shall not
claim her until I can offer a firm support, and a
station not wholly removed from the sphere in
which she now moves. She is, willing to wait.
Will you not assure us of your consent, Mr.
Elllesford?’

The elder man might not have acceded so
readily had it not been for the bond he had so
sae assumed, As it was he did not refuse his

vor.

“I must stipulate that there be no binding en-
gagement,” he said, ‘‘you are both young and
may change. You going into the world, will be
tried in a thousan ays at best you have a
hard, posers tedious battle before you. It
would be ungenerous to confine my daughter to
a far-off possibility, Leave her free, but, if
you both prove constant, I will gladly welcome
you as myson when you are able to claim her.”

The young lovers were fully satisfied with
this, and the future unrolled itself a hopeful

qscroll before them,

What a mercy that the bright moments of
our lives are not overshadowed by the knowl-
edge oi events to come.

 

0 CHAPTER XIIL

Hastines left the Grange full of hopeful an-
ticipation. It would be months perhaps before
he could return, but he had a high aim now to
strive for, and this time of separation was ren-

_ dered more endurable since it was given him as
se much opportunity to mount towari, the level

ADRIA, THE

 

ADOPTED,

 

he had determined to attain. Though Mr. El-
lesford had objected to a formal betrothal be-
tween the lovers, he put forward no interdic-
tion or limit to their communications.

And Adria saw him depart firm in her faith
in his ability to accomplish the task before
him, already spanning the mystic future with
bright hopes of the time when they should walk
hand in hand, with no fear of parting until
death’s severance.

Mr. Ellesford took an early opportunity to in-
form her of the relation now existing between
himself and Valeria. He had dreaded the effect
of the revelation. He was haunted by a dim
consciousness that he was doing his adopted
daughter some wrong in thus taking another
love to his heart.

Adria was taken completely unawares. She
had never anticipated such a result. The time
had been so short since Valeria’s introduction
to the Grange, the discrepancy of ages was so
great, and more than either, the supposition
had never entered her mind during all the years
since her mother’s death that any other woman
could ever usurp that vacant place. She was
surprised and grieved, and under the influence of
the first shock could not but betray herself.

“Oh, papa!” she cried, reproachfully, ‘‘how
can you!”

His own conscience might venture to doubt
the wisdom of his resolution, but he would not
brook resentment from another—not even from
Adria.

“My daughter forgets that she herself is an-
ticipating a time when she shall leave me. Is
it so strange that I should not wish to be alone
and lonely in my old age?”

“Papa, dear, you know that I will never
leave you. Itis all so different. Valeria does
not love you, papa; she never will care for you
as I do.”

es Healy, Adria,” he said, coldly, as he seldom
spoke to her, “‘I can understand that this an-
nouncement was unlooked for by you, but I
cannot permit you to impute any but loving
motives to my future wife. You shall be pro-
vided for all the same.”

“Oh, papa!” she cried, again, hurt that he
should so misconstrue her words. ‘‘Indeed—
indeed, I am. not so selfish. I was thinking
only of you,”

“Then you will not envy me that which will
add to my happiness, my daughter?’

“Oh, no, no! Notif it will make you truly
happier.” '

e kissed her and sent her away, glad to have
the interview over.

She went immediately to Valeria’s room, with
a vague hope which she did not stop to analyze.
A hope like one striving to be awakened from a
tantalizing dream, or finding it true, that the
other might have accepted the confiding old
man from truly worthy motives,

Valeria was expecting her. She was aware
of the interview and its purpose. She remain-
ed apparently unconscious awaiting the other’s
tactics. Adria was too thoroughly in earnest
to approach her subject warily.

“You are going to marry papa?” she asked.

‘‘Hfo has told you, then?” calmly. ‘‘ Yes!”

“Why?”

Valeria had not expected this straight-for-
ward questioning. oman of the world as she
was, it disconcerted her. With the girl’s clear
eye upon her she could not declare that it was
for love, much as she might wish to preserve
that, Aa ‘

she eated.
he ashes me.” pe

Then came the thought, she had virtuall
Eainoe her object. Was it worth her while

affling the judgment which was trying her? It
could make no difference in the end attained.

She turned her fair face squarely within
Adria’s view, and met her gaze with calm, cold
eyes. Her lips curled with a smile half-mock-
ing, half-triumphant.

“Selfish and cruel!” declared Adria, her hope
gone. ‘‘May God deal with you, Valeria Wal-
ton, as you do by him.”

Preparations were immediately commenced
for the marriage. It was Mr. Ellesford’s wish
that it should be consummated at an early date
and in a strictly private manner. Much as
Valeria loved sepley she made no demur. Per-
haps she consoled herself with the reflection that
when she was fairly installed mistress of the
Grange, she would control both the liberty and
—e of rendering her life gay as she could

esire,

The second week after his departure, Adria
received a long letter from Kenneth. He was
quite strong now and fortune was already
a upon him. He had received a large
order for the Russell prints, and been successful
in presenting an old claim.

“T take it as a happy omen,” he wrote.
“Knowing that you are praying me ‘God-
speed,’ I can not but prosper. Iam more than
contented, and gladly hopeful with my dear re-
ward set in the future.”

The words brought sweet solace to Adria, and
in them she forgot her anxiety on her father’s
**Roginald Templet regularly as of old

gin ‘empleton came arly as o!
to the Grange. He was quietly dropping into

** Because—because

 

his lover-like ways again, but Adria was too
absorbed in herself and others to note this.

He was working with a Boe ose now, fixed as
his unrelenting nature.- He felt, too, the value
of this time, and the necessity for striking an
immediate blow.

He startled her one day by bursting out with
the full tempest of his pent-up passion. He had
not that cool contro] over himself, to plot and
to carry into effect, keeping his own emotions
out of sight, and thus insuring greater success.

She was all alone at the Grange.

Valeria had gone to the city for a couple of
days to oversee some details of the trousseau she
was having prepared, notwithstanding the pro-

osed privacy of the coming ceremony. And

r, Ellesford had embraced the occasion to per-
sonally inspect the condition of the firm and its
Paes of braving through.

Adria was at the piano softly accompanying
herself to an old love song. Some happy re-
flection had brought a hightened glow to her
cheeks, a luminous expression to her eyes.

Reginald, letting himself in quietly as was his
wont, stood regarding her while she remained
unaware of his presence. Her hands fell awa
from the keys and she turned to face his plead-
ing, ipassionste gaze.

“ Adria, pity me! I feel all the love for
which

‘I'd lay me down and die,’

for your sweet sake. But, oh! my love, I can
not live without you! It will drive me mad, or
worse, unless I can know that I have some
hope. I will wait; if you only will not turn

our heart away from me I will yet win your
ove. My love, my darling, do not drive me to
sinful despair!”

He was kneeling at her feet, imprisoning her
hands in a clasp that almost made her scream
with pain.

‘Reginald, this is worse than folly. I be-
seech you, do not utter another word. Your
persistency can only succeed in ending our
friendship.”

“Listen to me, Adria. You, and you only,
can save me from desperation. I love youas no
other man can or will, Don’t turn against me
and I will win you fairly, but by fair means or
foul I wil! have you yet. You don’t know how
a man can make any woman love him, Adria!
Oh, my darling! give me some assurance, ever
so little, and I shall be so patient and so faith-
ful that yourself shall deem me worthy of you
at last.”

‘““Tf you love me as you say, be generous and
leave me. <A brave spirit never persecutes a
helpless woman.”

e sprung to his feet, a quick flush mantling
his cheeks.

“Adria, once more, will you give me _a hope
of some time honorably claiming you? Reflect,
before you answer me. “You have seen the
depth of my love. Take care that you don’t
tempt my hate. You don’t know of what I am
capable for either good or ill. Do you treat
me tenderly, have pity for me, and I will make
myself a better man than I ever have been.
Tell me that you will, Adria, if you would save
yourself and me from sorrow, if no worse,”

She shuddered beneath his gaze. His hand-
some face illuminated with ardent love must
have appealed to her irresistibly had she not
worn the shield of another’s wielding. Though
his face was full of pleading, his lip was set in
a oe curve. betraying his immovable re-
solve,

‘“ What can I say or do?” she asked him. ‘TI
can never love you, Reginald Templeton. Go
away from me. Never speak to me again un-
less you can forget all of this, I was lenient
with you before, but you have forfeited the con-
fidence I placed in you. Let me retain at least
my respect for you. Show yourself a true
man; leave me to myself and my own peace.”

“Which means your own love?” he asked,
bis passion suddenly leaving him cold and
calm.

She met his gaze unflinchingly. Her love ac-
knowledged and returned, she would have felt
no false shame in procleiaing it, to the world
had there been nee

“Yes,” she replied. ‘You know now, how
impossible it is that you can ever be tome more
than a friend—not that, if you persist in this
mad course.”

‘And I swear that no other man shall ever
claim you. You have driven me to it. Let the
consequences rest with you alone. Some time

ou may kneel to me for mercy and for love as
i have this day pees with you. When that
time comes I will know whether I love or hate
you most. I can’t tell which now, but either
will work to the same end.”

He left her then, touching his hat with court-
ly grace as he passed the window a moment lat-
ter; but the quiet white SF upon his face

frightened her more than his threatening
words had done.
CHAPTER XIV.

COLONEL TEMPLETON and his son again con-
ae each other in the bright, pleasant.
rary. ‘

 

 
 

 

They seemed for the moment to have exchang-
ed dispositions. The latter, calm and cold, with
no emotion perceptibly stamped upon his palo
features; the former pacing the room restlessly
ina ote anger he seldom displayed.

“You have acted like a fool,” he said. ‘‘ Why
couldn’t you be content to follow my instruc-
tions? You have set the girl against ‘you now,
lost a vantage-ground you will not easily re-
gain,

‘““T_ beg your pardon. I thoroughly under-
stand my own footing, and am now prepared
to hesitate at no means to forward my designs.
LT have kept my part of our agreement by giv-
ing you the exact position, and soliciting your
further aid. With or without it I shall accom-
plish my aim.”

Colonel Templeton was not wishing. to arouse
this independent spirit.

‘Of course I shall render my assistance to
tho uttermost since my promise is given to that
effect,” he hastened to say. “ But you must
not upset my plans by your rash hot-headedness.
Give me a little time and I will warrant you if
not a willing, at least a submissive bride.’

Reginald looked at him keenly.

‘“VYou have some deeper interest at stake
than the mere furtherance of this alliance,” he
said.

Tho father turned upon him sharply, and with
evident annoyance.

‘Ts it not enough that I have espoused your
cause?” he demanded. ‘Our motives, if not
identical, will pull together,”

Turning to the door abruptly he imagined he
heard the rustle of garments, but a hasty sur-
vey of the adjoining apartment revealed no
one,

Reginald, striding out through the wide hall-
way, felt a clinging grasp upon his arm, saw a
white, agonized face lifted to his. It was his
mother. She drew him hastily into the empty
morning room, closing and Jocking the door be-
hind them.

“T overheard all, accidentally, I beg you, to
believe,” she said, speaking Poe ee “Oh, my’
son, give up your purpose. Promise me that
you will never seek to ally yourself with an
iillesford!”

‘You are nervous, mother,” he said, kindly,
for whatever his faults may have been he was
universally tender with her. ‘ You cannot’ ex-
pect to keep your boy always, you know.”

‘‘ Reginald, I implore you. Go where’ you
will, wed any except one connected with that
house. There isa gulf there you must not at-
tempt to cross, If you love Adria Ellesford,
crush the feeling from your heart if you would
not have it aire retribution on you who are
yet innocent. If you covet the broad posses-
sions she will inherit, for the love of Heaven
put such temptation from you. Better for you
to wander a beggar through the land than to
touch a farthing from that source.”

‘‘Mother, dear, we will not talk of it now!
If you overheard our conversation you heard
my determination also. ‘You know that a
Templeton never swerves from his purpose.”

She shuddered visibly.

“Oh, my son, listen! See, I will kneel to you,
pray to you, only give up all thought of her.”

‘“Never, while I live!”

Her voice sunk to a hoarse whisper.

“Reginald! Reginald! There is a crime which
has raised a barrier between you. A deadly
sin which has made my life a curse. Do not,
by aoe onets act, bring down the brand upon

ou!

“You speak enigmas, mother,” he’ said, chill-
ingly. ‘I do not attempt to penetrate your
meaning. But if Hades itself stood between
her and me, I would not relinquish my aim.”

Colonel Templeton was weet occupied all
that morning. In the afternoon he brought out
; he Sultan, and mounting, rode slowly to the
Strange.

Mrs Ellesford had returned and was at liberty.
He met his visitor cordially, as a man who had
2 warm claim upon his gratitude.

“Let me order your horse put away, and do
you dine with us,” he insisted. But Colonel
“empleton declined. ,

‘“No,” he said. ‘I have called _on buSiness
purely, A rather delicate matter, I admit, but
oil with us a business affair.”

Mr. Ellesford looked with inquiry, and await-
od further development. The other continued,
indicating the view from the room where they

vat.

“Your grounds cover a slo; hich ‘can be
surpassed for both beauty and tertility nowhere
Pathe other bowed with |

The other bowed w tifi ight,
was proud of his ancestraf estate: PP eo

“And nag Firs is not a contemptible piece of
prope ;

“ On the contrary it is very fine. You should
congratulate yourself on its ion.”

* What would you say to joining the two?”

Mr. Ellesford was surp’ ‘
The other explained. . ang Pygeted.
‘““My son has plunged headlong into a ro-

mantic passion for your daughter. We
have passed the he de of youth can afford t9
laugh ‘at youthful folly, which in this ence T

taink tends wisely, Thecdvuiiageous results of

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

such an alliance are obvious, For my part I
strongly favor the move and have come to solicit
your concurrence.”

‘““My dear Templeton, nothing would give me
greater pleasure were it possible. Unfortu-
nately my daughter is already compromised.”

‘‘Trrevocably ?”

Mr. Ellesford explained the circumstance,
and condition.

“At most, a girlish partiality. I am more
inclined to thiuk it the result of pique. Adria
certainly encouraged my son’s attentions, but he
unfortunately provoked her displeasure. No
doubt she is even now repenting the rupture bo-
tween them.”

‘“‘T cannot think you are right. Adria is not
apt to act hastily. I own frankly that I should
be best pleased with the consummation you
propose, but the decision does not rest with me.
She is yet free to act at her own discretion. If

our son can succeed in winning her you may
be assured of my consent.”

** And otherwise?”

“Thave already assured Hastings of my ap-
proval if they both remain constant.”

Colonel Templeton leaned toward him, speak-
ing in a confidential tone.

‘You can exercise your authority toward in-
ducing her to accept Reginald.”

The other drew back rather stiffly.

‘Colonel Templeton, [ consider the marital
rélation of too great importance to be unwill-
ingly enforced. My daughter’s choice shall be
mine.”

Colonel Templeton’s lip curled scornfully.

‘““There may be even more important consid-
erations in this case. ' Will you be kind enough
to examine this?”

He drew a document from his pocket. It
was addressed to Jonathan Sharpe, and con-
tained explicit directions to press the imme-
diate payment of claims, amounting to the ag-

egate of fifty thousand dollars, against tho
dives of Ellesford & Co.

“You have no chance of meeting it,” he said,
coldly, ‘“and the slightest alarm will bring as
much more upon you from other sources.”

Mr. Ellesford returned the paper, pale to tho

ips.
Ke It will bring ruin upon us. It might better
have come before.”

“ Ellesford & Co. take advantage of the bank-
rupt code,” rehearsed the other, tauntingly.

“Colonel Templeton, you mistake me, I
have a last resource to preserve our name from
dishonor.”

“You mean that you would first incumber
the estate?”

“T would first sell the last inch of the Elles-
ford grounds!” .

Colonel Templeton’s face grew cruelly tri-
umphant.

““Tf you were called upon to deliver up your
stewardship?” he asked. ‘On what terms did
vou inherit the family wealth?”

_ Mr. Ellesford looked at him, not comprehend-

ing.

“Was it not in consideration of Hugh Elles-
ford’s death without issue?”

“Tt was, certainly !”

“Unfortunately he left a son. I see you are
surprised. ‘You deemed him an unmarried man.
That only goes to prove how well he kept his
secret from his nearest relative and the world,”

Joseph Ellesford was first amazed, then in-
credulous.

“Tt cannot be,” ho declared.

“JT can prove it beyond doubt. Do you
realize the consequences should it be done, and
the true heir produced?”

His confident tone carried conviction that his
assertion was not made idly. Mr. Ellesford
sunk back overcome by the prospect the future
presented to him should this be true. Colonel

‘empleton regarded him with calm satisfaction.
He knew his man, knew the easy nature which,
shrinking from anything tainting of worldly
dishonor, might be influenced by a stronger will
to a complicity, reprehensible in itself, but
which would result apparently to his own benefit
and do no one a suspected ill.

“Perhaps you would prefer to remain in biiss-
ful ignorance,” resumed Templeton, dropping
his voice again to that confidential fone. “I
have come here to-day as your friend, Ellesford.
I have no desire to disturh your security. What
Lhaye made known need never go further; you
and I should be able to keep the secret. Of ono
thing I can assure you. The real heir, your
brother’s son, has no notion. of his station.” THe
has ‘been reared in a totally different sphe re,
and believes he belongs there.
me and you remain safe; go against me, and
fird yourself a be: gared and dishonored man.”

Mr, Ellesford only stared at bim, dumbly de-
spairing.

“ Give your daughter to my son in marriage,
and all will be well. She will not refuse, know-
ing that your prosperity or ruin hangs upon her
word,” .

The other put out his hands with a helpless,
imploring gesture,

“Give me time, I am nnnerved—I cannot,
. think. Go away. Let me think!”

Colonel Templeton drew out bis watch,
dua half-Lour the mail leayes for Washing.

 

Co-operate with,

 

 

ea pa aS See ae Sc |

ton. I give you ten minutes in which to decide
whether or no you will act with me. If not,
Sharpe will receive his instructions by morning,
and other consequences will follow.”

Mr. Ellesford bowed his head upon his hands,
his face livid and working convulsively,) On
the one hand was ruin, poverty, and the dis-
honor of his name; on the other, a’wrong which
was scarcely a wrong when the ‘one against
whom it was committed was none the'worse for
it.

Adria, daintily reared’and fondly ‘eared for,
rose before him. Then he seemed to’ see her
haggard and worn, dragging out her bright
young life in hopeless toil, suffering even for
the common necessities of existence. ‘Could’ he
doom her to such a fate? , :

Strange that he should think only of her-—
that he should wholly forget both himself and
his bride that was to be. But for the time
Valeria was blotted from his’ memory com-
pletely as if she had never been.

‘“‘Five minutes!” announced Colonel 'Temple-
ton. ‘Be quick, my friend!”

CHAPTOR XViniden atana

Cross-LoT STILE was a place scrupulously
avoided by the simple country folk. “Between
it and the highway lay some barren’ clayey
fields, and a deserted old graveyard, which, but
for a few half-concealed mossy stones had lost
all trace to denote the character of the place.
Beyond, a stretch of marsh-land, beta by a
ruinous old causeway, possibly laid and used by
those denizens of ‘that Silent City, now faded
from the memory of their kind ere their work
had fallen into complete decay,

Nelly Kent sped through the gathering dark-
ness across the open, miry fields, struck by a
chill which was not’ quite terror, upheld” by
something which was hardly hope. 1

Letting herself with difficulty in through the
narrow gate, now rusted from its hinges and.
upheld in its place by a growth of rank shrubs,
she groped her way cautiously across’ the yard
where the shadows lay thickest. Something
stirred in the coarse grass at her feet, and
whirred away with an unearthly scream. It.
was only a night-bird frightened from its cover,
but it startled her so that she caught her breath
and sat down on a fallen slab to recover from a
fit of violent trembling. a

“What have such as I to do with fear?” she
muttered, half-audibly, rising up again. “Noth

charms and death no terrors. Let come what
will it can matter naught tome.” :
For how long should she vaunt the idle boast?
There was another stir in the grass’ near her
but she was not frightened now. She walked

reached the stile.

She strained her eyes through the shadow but
could see no one. © listened, the silen¢e re-
mained unbroken. A movement catght her
eye. It was only a bush swaying in the breeze.
She sighed, turning to depart, then paused again
a moment ere she should put an end ‘to the
chance which had brought her'there. |

There was no stir, no sound, but she was
caught puddenky. from behind in the gripe of
strong arms. Her large cloak was thrown as a,
muffler over her face. She was lifted ‘and
borne away, almost without a ‘struggle, so un-
expected was the attack, ,

She tried to scream but her voice was smoth-
ered in the close covering. She endeavored to
free herself, but she was weak yet from her
over-excitement of the morning, and she found
herself pinioned immoyably in-the close, grasp.

arms of her captor, Bearing her unconscious
weight be strode straight on cver the ¢raggy old.
causeway, where now and then missing ties and
rotten string-pieces plunged him ankle-deep into
tenacicus mire. f

On the other side was a rocky tract, and. be-
yond a brawling little river, which in times of
drought was scarcely more than a string of
shallow pools connected by a thread of running
water. But in stormy seasons, or in the spring
when the snow melting contributed to its con-
tents, it swelled into stormy, active passion,
sweeping every obstacle that came in its way
before it with ‘irresistible force. , ore

On the ‘bank of this stood a mill, shattered
now and long deserted. The builder, a ‘bali-
crazed enthusiast, bad.selected the site again: t
the urgent advice of these knowing the locality .
But he soon had occasion to repent his obsti-
naey. sar va) :

The summer drought left him’ without. sufli-
cient power to turn the great wheel, and the
autumn storms coming with wnusual’ severity,
the river broke bounds, and flooding. the coun-
try about, rose well up in. the second story of
the mill, tearing the machiviery from its place,
and leaving the building wrecked and useless.

The land to which it belonged had, ones been
an independent. portion, which stretched in a
Jong, narrow strip back of the Elle: ond do-
; Maan, but some years before had been’ annexed

to the Templeton property,

 

ing togain and nothing to lose. Life has no. |

more steadily across the darker space until she |

With the effort she fainted dead away, the —

 
, 12

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

 

 

It was toward tho ruinous old mill that the
man made his way.

When Nelly awoke to consciousness again
she found herself in impenetrable darkness.
She was lying on a rude straw pallet, and
stretching out her hand it came in contact with
a partition of rough boards. She endeavored
to rise but her head was confused and dizzy,
so she sunk back, awaiting in a half-torpid state

, the coming of light.

She could hear the murmur of running water,
and the sound lulled her into a doze by-and-by.
When she awoke again it was broad day, and
the a sunlight streamed in through cracks
and chinks high up in the wall of her prison.

A queer little room it seemed to her, with no
windows and a single narrow door which seemed
to have been cut through the solid plank. It
was, in fact, one of the great garners in which
the grain had been stored, and was ceiled over
with movable, rough boards, but through the
wide interstices she could catch a glimpse of the
shattered roof and of the blue sky far be-
yond.

She wondered vaguely how she had come
there and for what purpose. Then the removal
of bolts fully aroused her. She sat upright as
the narrow door swung outward, admitting the
man she had momentarily seen once before in
Juana’s cabin.

He was no longer pallid and emaciated. As
she regarded him some dim recognition floated
through her mind, yet tantalizingly eluded the
iene grasp she would have put upon it.

He spoke with a kind of native courtesy, dis-
playing a setof even, milky teeth in an evil
smile. Then she knew him.

‘* Pedro, it is you! Are you not satisfied yet?
Will you follow me to the death?”

He smiled again complacently.

‘*T will follow the senora no more.”

“Oh, my bright, sunny Italy,” she murmured,

softly. ‘‘That you should be brought back to
me through such an agency.”

He regarded her quietly.

‘The senora, like my humbler self, has almost
lost sight of the old titles.”

“Tam only Nelly Kent, now,” she said.

“ And I am Luke Peters.”

“Why have you brought me here?” she asked.

‘¢ Wasit you who threw the note?”

‘Ay, and wrote it!”

“ But I never thought you dead, whatever I
might have hoped since you persecuted me so.”

“Te was not of mysel I spoke.”

¢ ‘Of whom, then?”
' Think—guess! Which of those gone to the
silent land could you wish for most?’

An intense pain swept over her face.

“Oh, not him,” she moaned, to herself, “ for
he was false as theyallare. Nor yet for my lit-
tle sinless babe, to be and to suffer, perhaps to
sin and then die.” eee

_Then she conquered er and retufned his
eager, uestioning gaze stolidly.
i me your business and let me go,” she
said, ‘‘The sight of you wearies me.”
He frowned, but persisted.
“The holiest love you ever knew—”
“Hush!” she cried, angrily. ‘‘What can you

know of holy things? I would not have a tender
memory recalled by you!”
His dark eyes glittered, and his hand clenched

involuntarily, but a look of keen cunning re-
placed his temporary anger.

““Then you shall listen all the more. Let me

you. Your little child—the brave boy who
was your delight, where is he?”

“Dead,” she answered, solemnly.

“You saw him in his coffin! Youstrewed his
last: pillow with immortelles, and shed sorrowlng
tears over his grave!”

She broke out with a moaning cry.

‘““Why do you torture me? Why mock me
with the consolation that was never mine?”

He was moved by her agony.

‘* The boy did not die!” he said.

She made as though she would have sprung at
him just as Juana had done, then sunk back,
moaning dumbly. :

** Listen,” he continued. ‘You could no
longer keep him near you. He languished in
the close confinement you were obliged to sus-
tain. You sent him away with your faithful
Juana, the nurse who had tended you in your
infancy. You knew I was on your track,
pate for you the wide world over, but you
thought I would never discover your retreat.

““T might never have done so but that I stum-
across Juana and the boy in the Southern
sea-shore village. I knew him by his resem-
‘blance to you. I watched my chance and
mr! him Spatial guariifen = ne ny for
e was a n, but I got him awa:
from her at last. 5
‘Then I sought her when she was frantic
over his loss, and promised to restore him if she
would guide me to you. She lied to me, told
me you were dead, but I saw through the flimsy
sul . I kept the boy. She dared not
tell you of his fate, or that I was on your track.
She thought that she had eluded me when she
went back and told you her story.”
He checked himself suddenly, then resumed:
‘“‘T put the boy in safe bands where I knew
you would never find him, and have seen him

y

often since. What will you do, or what will
you not do, for his restoration?”

‘Oh, my child, my little child,” she cried
out, with a burst of softened, tender tears, such
as she had not shed for long years. ‘‘ Restore
me to my boy and I can freely forgive you all.”

‘* Nothing to gain, nothing to lose,” he repeat-
ed. ‘‘I heard you in the old graveyard, and I
said to myself, ‘ Before another day passes she
will kneel to me and beg for that which I alone
can give.”

“And I do, I do,” she sobbed, prostrating her-
self before him. ‘‘ Pedro, oh, good Pedro, take
me to my child!”

His eyes grew hard and glittering.

“On one condition only will you ever see
your boy.”

Bis caught her breath—she knew it before he
spoke.

Pon scorned me once, drove me from you,
laughed that I should aspire to your love. I
swore to be revenged, and I have imbittered
your whole life. The fear of me hung over you
always like a threatening cloud. I have the
power now, and you will never see your boy
again, unless you give me the hand you denied
me scornfully then. I said I would follow you
no more. Neither will I, for you shall never
leave me again. Never again!’

She did not attempt to plead with him, but
white and crushed, crept back to the pallet of
straw.

“Then I shall never see my child. Never
again! Better that he had truly died!”

 

CHAPTER XVI.

COLONEL TEMPLETON closed the hunting-case
of his watch with a snap, returning it to his
pocket. He rose, taking his hat in his hand.

“Tbe time is up,” he said. ‘Will you favor
me with your decision?”

Mr. Eliesford raised his head with slow, pain-
fulemotion. He had aged ten years in as many
minutes.

“To what would you drive me, Alan Temple-
ton? 1lcan not see my way clearly. Give me
time—a week, a day!”

“Oh, well! I must hasten to reach the
mail.”

His hand was upon the latch, the door ——
open beneath his touch. Adria flitted throug
the passage-way, humming a snatch of song.
Templeton glanced over his shoulder.

“ Better give your singing-bird a secure cage
than to turn it helpless upon a world full of
enemies. However, that is your affair!”

“Stop!” cried Mr. Ellesford. ‘‘ Have you no
pity in your heart?”

‘Your decision! At best it is but a choice of
evils.”

‘ [can not doom my child to poverty and
toil.

“You accept the alternative? You will use
your authority to bring about this marriage?”

‘‘Tf I must. My poor, poor Adria! It is for
her sake only.”

“You have acted wisely ,” commended Colonel
Templeton. ‘‘ But I can notsee it as sucha sac-
rifice. My son is not an ill match.”

Mr. Ellesford was scarcely listening.

“T must ask you to press the subject at once,”
continued the other. ‘‘Can I depend upon your
doing so?”

“Why not? Today if you wish. It will be
over the sooner!”

“You are right.” After a word or two more,
he passed out.

Leaving the Grange, he proceeded in the di-
rection of the bay, but ere long turned into a
by-lane, grass-grown and seldom traversed.
Beyond this, making a detour about the fields,
he came out upon the bank of the noisy littie
river, and following its course southward, came
to the mill.

The man, Luke Peters, came forward from
the place to meet him.

“You have changed for the better,” the gen-
tleman remarked, carelessly. ‘‘Good feeding
and secure shelter have thrived you.”

‘““Ay, I’m in condition for job work again,”
the other returned, gruffly. ‘‘ What’s i’ the
wind now, Colonel Templeton?”

“You are cynical, my friend. I have come
to see after your well-doing.”

Peters laughed sneeringly.

“Out with it,” he said. “‘‘Tll deeds don’t re-
quire delicate mouthing here.”

A shade of vexation crossed Colonel Temple-
ton’s brow. He could not sound his tool in the
manner he desired.

“Tt is no work,” he said, ‘‘ only a question.
“Where is the boy?”

“He'll not trouble you, Colonel Templeton.”

“That is not answering. Hark! what is
that?”

A wild wail was born upon the breeze.

“Only the wind,” said the other, hastily. ‘It
shrieks through the old shell like something hu-
man,

‘‘T should say so,” returned the other, dryly.
“Very much like a woman. The wind plays
queer pranks sometimes. But to the point. I
ask you, where is the boy?”

 

Peters, sullenly.

 

ere he’ll trouble no one, Dead!” said

‘“Mind what you say,” declared Colonel Tem-
pleton, menacingly. ‘‘ Remember that one end of
a rope is about gos neck, the other in my hand.
I’m not apt to be lenient where any one plays
me false. Now, have you lied to me?”

“Why should I? It’s of no account to me,”
the man returned, dogged and scowling slight:
ly, but meeting the other’s gaze steadily enough.

“True. Well, lie low. Ill see that you get
fresh supplies in a day or two.”

Wheeling his horse shortly round, he rode
away at a brisk canter.

“It’s as well,” he muttered to himself,
“Could Joseph Ellesford know all, he would
have little fear of my replacing the true heir,
even did he live.”

Luke Peters watched the receding form out
of sight, and uttered a low, scornful laugh.

tH ay go, my fine gentleman. But you
should remember that others than you can plot
and work.”

Mr. Ellesford sat silently as he had been left.
He tried to fix his mind upon the crisis thus
brought home to him, but the alternatives seem-
ed to stare at him out of a blank space in which
- could find no foothold to grasp or analyze
them.

Adria passing presently, looked in at the door.

‘* Are you ill, papa?”

“Th? Yes—no. I am not quite well, I be-
lieve. Come here, my daughter.”

She advanced, resting her hand upon bis
shoulder.

‘You are pale and faint. What is it, dear?”

“What? Only ruin,” he answered, with a
sharp, unnatural laugh.

She looked at him with a shade of anxiety on
her face. She thought him seriously unwell,
slightly delirious, and placed ber hand upon his
forehead, expecting to find it fever-hot. It was
clammily cold. ‘

There was a flagon of wine on the sideboard,
She silently filled a glass, holding it to his lips,
The generous stimulus imparted brought him
back to himself and the situation.

“T did not grea wildly,” he said, meeting
her glance. ‘‘ Listen to me, Adria! Total ruin
stares me in the face, and you alone can avert
it. Will my daughter see me turned beggared
upon the world when her act can save me?”

‘* What do you mean?—tell me plainly.”

He took another draught of the wine. Then,
collecting his faculties, pxplanios ware

“You know I have had business difficulties.
I can not enter into a detailed account. Colonel
Templeton advanced pg 8 bought up claims
that were pending, got a ho id upon me by which
he can reduce me to the strait
leaves but one gate of escape.”

Adria recoiled apprehensively.

“You guess what it is—that you shall marry
his gon. It is the only alternative, my daugh-

Tr.

‘Papa, is there no mistake? Surely, it can
not be so bad! Your business, the great Elles-
ford estates, they can not all be at stake?”

“Every thing. I would not attempt to in-
fluence your choice were the chance less desper-

have said. He

“Then let it all go, papa! I have already
given Reginald Templeton his final answer. It
is worse than ungenerous of him to attempt coer-
| cing me through you.”

‘Tt is not the young man’s doing. I do not
know that he is even conscious of bis father’s in-
tentions. He has sought you honorably and
pany ae is in every way fitted to mate with
s eeneet You must accept him, my daugh-

r

‘Papa, have you forgotten Kenneth?”

He caugh: at Colonel Templeton’s remark.

“A mere girlish fancy, Adria. You must
crush it out, You have been agood girl always,
you will not disobey me in this?”

“T must, father. In all else I shall do as you
command, but, even for you, I will not prove

false to my love.”

qunarexetal girl! Hear, then! It will bring
not only beggary, but disgrace. Giving up
everything, the roof over our heads, even the
clothes upon our backs, I would yet be ony
involved. Go away now and think of it.

would have ie comply willingly. Sacrifice
sevelt, if it bea sacrifice, but let it be done
reely.

An expression of fear shot across the gray pa!-
| lor of her face.

‘*Papa,” she whispered, ‘‘ you have committed
no crime from which this has resulted?”

Crime! Something in the word chilled him.

No, no!” he said, petulantly. ‘Go away
now, I wish to be alone. Come tome when you
| can say that you submit.”

In her heart she knew that time would never

/ come, There was that in her nature which
| would not brook unjust authority, and she said
| to herself that her womanhood should not be
| sacrificed even to keep him from sorrow and
| Shame.
|“ We will bear it together,” she thought, bu‘
| she left him without a word.

 

She was confused by what she had heard.
She could not understand how it had all come
about. She half hoped it might yet prove a
disordered ye ‘

Throwing a shawl about her, she went out in

» é
 

 

the cold evening air. Within she felt limited,
prescribed. Out here, with the cold sky far
above and the wide expanse of earth and water
before her, she could throw the cloud from her
brain, and perhaps find a clew to lead her
through the labyrinth of doubt.

There was the tramp of horses’ feet upon the
hard road, and Colonel Templeton reined in the
Sultan by her side. She did not wait for him
to speak.

“What is this you have been doing with pa-
pa, Colonel Templeton?”

‘* Ah, he has given you the situation?”

‘‘ He has been talking strangely.”

“ But only, I don’t doubt.”

“Ho says he is a beggar unless I give my con-
sent to wed your son.’

‘* He has spoken correctly.”

His cool tone brought the angry blood to her
cheeks. She attempted no tener or concilia-
tion. If he was firm in his purpose, she was no
less so, She spoke without perceptible passion.

‘*Then, Colonel Templeton, r will say to
you what I have not yet told him. Did not
only his fortune and honor, but his life and
mine depend upon my word, with my last
breath would L refuse the alternative you offer.”

She turned then, wel ine: quietly away.

He looked after her with something akin to
admiration.

“Plucky!” he ejaculated. ‘It will take de-
cisive measures to bring her within bounds,”

The evening wore along, but Mr. Ellesford
remained leaning wen back in his chair. At
dinner-hour he excused himself on that oft per-
verted plea of headache, and the servant bring-
ing him a shaded lamp, at his request prevent-
ed intrusion. Adria went to him when it grew
late.

‘Papa, dear! you will make yourself actually
sick. to bed, or let me stay with you.”

He did not speak immediately, but presently |
asked;

“ Are you going to obey me, Adria?”

“Oh, papa! I can not do that.”

“Wel , never mind, daughter! I only meant

to try you. It was for your sake I did it, not
mine, Good-night, dear!” dismissing her with a
gesture,

She lingered, unwilling to leave him, but he
again signified his desire that she should go.

“Would you like to have Valeria come,
papa?” she asked hesitatingly. ‘* You really
should not remain alone!”

Valeria! He had not thought of her for
hours. :

“No,” he said. ‘1 am resting easily here,
but I will retire soon, I think I shall sleep
well.”

She kissed him and stole away.

In the meping, Joseph Ellesford sat there
still, stark and stiff.

CHAPTER XVII.

APOPLEXY, the physicians declared. The
Ellesfords had all been predisposed that way.
So the late master of the Grange was laid be-
side those of bis kin who had penetrated the
dark m eet before him.

Wedding robes were laid aside for mourning
garments. Could anything have effected an
enduring bond between the two lonely women
at the Grange, this grief should have done it.
But they were drifting apap now, even away
from the assumed cordiality between them.

A few months must be passed over briefly.

Joseph Ellesford, like many another man bet-
ter or worse, had gone the way of the flesh
leaving undone an important act. He had

_made no will.’ True, during the last few hours
of his life he believed he had rightfully, noth-
ing of which to make disposition; but hefshould
have prepared for death’s emergency” long
ears before. He had always intended settlin
the full property upon Adria. Had he live
and consummated his marriage as proposed,
Valeria would have inherited a life interest.

As it was she put forward her claim, and was
duly acknowledged sole heir.

Of the remaining Ellesfords descended from
the founder of the Grange, one branch had be-
come entirely extinct. Another, prospering
but illy on American soil, had shaken its dust
from their feet and gone back to reclaim the
debt-burdened patrimony and empty title,
which, after lapse of a century, was lef{ in the
mother-country without representative. {

So Valeria settled securely in her new posi-

tion.

She took an early opportunity to impress
Adria with their change of ete .

“Of course you will stay here, my dear,” she
said, graciously. | “I will require a’ companion,
and some one to direct the more onerous house-
hold charges. I don’t think I could suit myself
better.” And on the spot she named a sa 5
by no means liberal, considering the duties she
contrived should rest upon Adria’s shoulders,

The latter felt the change keenly. Her pride
which was not Ellesford, but of more independ-
ent class, would have urged her out into the
world in preference to this almost menial ser-
vice in the home where her wish had once been
law, There was an obstacle in the way, how-
ever, one reared by her loyal, loving heart,

}

 

/

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

She would take no decisive step until Kenneth’s
judgment should ake issue upon it. She tem-
porarily accepted Valeria’s ungenerous pro-
posal, patronizingly as it had been given. In
the same hour she indited a few tear-blotted
lines to her lover.

“Poor papa is gone!” ran a paragraph of this
missive, Kram eaten and dione” ithe world
except for you. Tell me what is best to be done, and
I will obey you just as I expect to do in the future
time when our a and interests shall be insepa-
rably the same. [ have full faith in the wisdom of
whatever you shall direct, and await your reply,
longing for sympathy from the only love left me
now.”

Kenneth was, she knew not where, moving
from poo to place, et himself one
day where his commission might lead him upon
the morrow. So Adria inclosed her missive in
an envelope to the Crofton firm, begging them
to forward it immediately to his address.

Heretofore, letters had arrived from him at
regular intervals, every one imbued with senti-
ments of hope and fealty. But now time dragged
away; days lengthened into weeks, and no token
or word came to assure her of his grief for her
sorrow, his steadfast constancy. Still she never
doubted him.

Could she but have known the actual cause of
this strange silence! The reader may penetrate
the mystery here, though Adria was destined to
remain in suspense for a weary interval.

A feeling of common respect prevented Re-
ginald Templeton from attempting to carry his
threat into execution during the first months of
her bereavement.

There had been a warm scene at The Firs
between the father and son. Colonel Temple-
ton was now as anxious to destroy the possi-
bility of an alliance between Reginald and
Adria as he had before been to prosecute that
consummation. It was the heiress—not the girl
—at whom he aimed. Now that their stations
were reversed, he would have had his son trans-
fer his attentions to Valeria. But Reginald
was not easily swayed, and after some hot
words they had dropped mention of the subject
between them, but were neither ready to ignore
the issue.

And, meanwhile, Reginald, not openly press-

, ing his cause, was working stealthily toward its

attainment.

One of the fast men of his set, De Courcy,
had succumbed to the vicissitudes of fortune—
or rather folly—and after running through an
ample patrimony, found himself deserted by his
friends of the hour, and with starvation out-
spread before him.

At this juncture young Templeton came to his
aid. He had some personal influence with a
few lax-moraled city grandees, and his father’s
reputed standing invested him with more. By
a judicious use of this power he obtained a
situation for his unfortunate friend as agent on
the immediate mail route.

De Courcy, like most men of his class, knew
conscience only asa name. He had no punctili-
ous scruples in breaking his oath and violating
his duty to serve the one who had stood by him
in need, Through this agency, then, the
missives, for which Adria watched and longed
and grew sick at heart that she received no
word, were transferred instead into the rival
lover’s hands, .

In due time the outstanding claims were
brought against the surviving members of the
firm. But the controlling spirits of the establish-
ment were gone. While Banks was identified
with them, he had molded the junior partners
epee to his will. After his flight they

ad fallen back upon Mr. Ellesford, believing
that he would guide them safely through the
financial storm. With his decease, and tlic sub-
sequent flood of liabilities flowing in upon them,
they gave up all attempt to fight against the
workings of adverse fortune.

Clark and Nelson were strictly honest and
honorable men. They yielded up every far-
thing to their creditors, and the result proved
more favorable than they had hoped. The
assets yielded dollar for dollar. No man was
wronged, but they were left without a foothold
upon even the bottom round of the ladder of
worldly prosperity.

It was some trivial matter connected with the

settlement of these claims which brought Jona-
than Sh to The Firs. Colonel Templeton
had proved a valuable auxiliary in his double
character of patron and client, and the lawyer
had come personally in preference to sending
one of his clerks.

Their business concluded Sharpe rose, leanin
against the door-sill as he worked his large han
into a pair of See gloves.

‘You know Kerr?” he asked.

“The detective? I have reason to,” Colonel
Templeton’s face shaded darkly, ‘‘He and [
have come near clashing once or twice.”

‘He’s not in the force now. Quarreled with
the chief and was dismissed. He has a devilish
spirit but they have lost a good officer. He’s
lightning, sir, on a search!”

‘Ah, no doubt,” Templeton returned, touch-
ing a match to the cigar in his teeth.

‘ He’s rusticating with your fair neighbor of
the Grange. Follo’ up some old clew in the
hope of reinstater ent, I have heard,”

‘

 

+3

“The devil!” The lighted cigar had fallen in
the midst of loose — upon the table, but
was secured before damage resulted. ‘At tho
Grange, you said?”

‘Yes, but not in character. Ho appears in
the form of the lady’s solicitor, and is ostensibly
engaged with matters pertaining to the estate.
By the way, how about Jenkins’s foreclosure?”

Rid of his visitor a few moments later, Col-
onel Templeton paced the floor back and forth
with teeth sunk deep in his under lip. A lower-
ing anxiety hung over his face, but no expression,
to denote the traceries of his thought. Ten the
shade was swept away, and he went out direct-
— steps toward the Grange.

e had already paid assiduous court to the
heiress, and received his reward by penetratin
her secret. He was well aware of her partiali-
ty for his son. He read her, too, as a woman
well calculated to further his scheme, and one
who would not shrink from employing doubt-
ful means to procure a coveted end.

Valeria was alone, having just dismissed the

seudo-solicitor from her presence. She met
im very quecionsiny while he turned some
read — iment to account.

‘Reginald was here an hour ago,” she said.
“How wretchedly ill he is looking!”

‘“‘T think my son’s disease is more mind than
body,” he returned, absently. He was study-
ing her and the extent to which he should deal
with her. A p

‘Then you should take some decisive mea-
sures to restore his mental equilibrium,” she de-
clared, with apparent laughing candor, but sur-
prising bis searching scrutiny with a quick.
ae glance from beneath downcas'
ids.

‘Exactly what I have come to consult you
about,” he said, half-amazed and half-relieved
that she should anticipate the expression of his
thought.

‘Consult me!” she echoed, her wide-open
hazel eyes now delivering an admirable inter-
pretation of innocent wonderment.

“Yes, you,” he returned, calmly smiling.
‘‘T see you have penetrated his hallucination,
Strange that still retaining his faculties unim-
paired, he should so confound identities.”

Their glances met again, his questioning, hers

 

 

with comprehensive response. But she affected
child-like ignorance, j
‘*Please explain to me. I am so dull. You

know I shall be only too happy to serve your-
self or Reginald, so far as I can.”

A een gleam shot from his eyes.

‘““You must know that my son is very deeply
in love with—ahem !—with the Ellesford heir-
ess. I don’t fear that you will misinterpret
my meaning. As I said, very deeply in love,
so much so indeed that his brain has become
slightly affected, thereby causing a lamentable
and exceedingly annoying misapprehension.
He has become imbued with the belief that his
love is embodied in the person of your com-

anion—a very good sort of woman I know her
tb be—while you and I are well aware that his
enslaver is your own fair self. Suppose his de-
lusion should continue, what deplorable conse-
quences he may unmeaningly bring upon him-
self. I think it is our duty, Miss Walton, to
combine efforts toward re him.”

“Undoubtedly,” she replied. ‘My

rr
Reginald! What measures do you propose tak- |

ing, Colonel Templeton?”

“T think,” he said, slowly, ‘our first care
must be to remove the cause of his misappre-
hension. Not toosuddenly, nor ina manner cal-
culated to raise suspicion of any except her own
agency, but so securely that he shall be able to
discover no trace of her. Yes, certainly, she
must be removed.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.

‘WEARISOME winter days that came and went
with unvaried monotony in the bare little prison
room. Nelly Kent had long since given up all
a of escape or succor,

t first she had busied her brain with impos-
sible ee but the strong rough plank sides and
loop-holes high above letting in light and air
were alike impregnable to her efforts. She set-
tled into an apathetic state, broken by intervals
of violent grief which first: perplexed, then
worked alarm, in the mind of her captor.

Luke Peters had uot confined himself closely as
Colonel Templeton supposed (perhaps as he de-
sired), to the precincts of the mill. Scarcely a
night but he ae prowling vigil about The
Firs, and upon the actions of the unconscious
occupants. With the distrust which one villain
always entertains for another, he feared treach-
ery and betrayal. ;

lonel Templeton was not one to keep an’
implement which had aided his evil-doing abcut
him for naught, anc this long season of in-
activity aroused the suspicions of the man in
hiding. He ventured cautiously into the fishing-
village, down upon the coast, and there had
§ Sonadied in obtaining an acquaintance with
the colonel’s son.

It has already been intimated that Reginald

ao pean aimee to shee a mn m
e ciept last men, 0 iy ‘oOue,
his stalwart gure and handsome face combined

x
 
 

 

with the winning manner which none could
better assume, found favor for him alike with
all degrees. Even in this primitive village more
than one buxom, stout-limbed young. fisher-
wench, had listened to his sophistries to the
sacrifice of her maiden innocence,

On one such occasion Peters had rendered
him valuable service in averting the well-merit-
ed vengeance sworn by a brother of the victim.
In return, Reginald took a fancy to the dark-
browed, mysterious man, and intrusted him
with some commissions of no very reputable
nature, but which were faithfully executed.

During this time Peters scrupulously conceal-
ed his abode, but one day some whim induced
young Templeton to return from the village by
way of Cross-lot Stile. A thin blue vapor
curling up from the neighborhood of the desert-
ed mill attracted his curiosity. Following it,
he found the man busied over a fire in the shed
which had done duty as a wheel-house, but from
which the great drum had long been detached,
and where a rude clay chimney had been con-
structed. Since the chance discovery he had
come once or twice to the place, but Luke, ever
watchful for intruders, met him in the wood
skirting the stream.

Early spring-time came but the season was
backward, and the spirit of frost and snow
maintained reign. Peters was possessed with a
guilty unrest. Nelly Kent was slowly but sure-
ly pining away. ith no hope and no comfort
before her, she steadily refused to make any
exertion of will which might stay the life-blood
certainly ebbing away.

She listened unmoved to the pleadings and
threats of her jailer. Indeed, she seldom seem-
ed to hear his words, or hearing, to understand
their import. The violent outbursts which
came at times when she thought that her little
son was somewhere in the wide, cruel world,
and would never now know her mother’s care,
less often disturbed her morbidly-melancholy
state. She never thought of him except as the
brave, winsome boy she had clasped to her
breast in all the agony of parting, that morn
when he had gone away from her—forever, she
always added.

Peters went into her room one day with some
morsel of dainty food he had procured for her.
She turned from it with an expression of dis-
cust, the first indication of consciousness she
had evidenced for hours.

“Kat a little, a very little,” he plead with
her, humbly and gently now. ‘You have
touched nothing to-day. You cannot keep
strength unless you eat.’

‘“T want no strength,” she said, wearily.
‘“Why can’t you let me die in peace? You
have tortured me through all my life. Go
away now, and let me die.”

‘*Oh, cara mia, you must not die!” The sin-
hardened man fairly sobbed above her. ‘‘ Live,
only live, and I will undo what I can of the
wrong I have done.”

She shook her head feebly. It was the first
time in weeks she had willingly conversed with

im.

‘*Men are all false,” she said. ‘‘ You would
only break your word were I well again. I
would rather die now.”

‘‘J swear I will be true to the promise I give
you,” he declared, vehemently. ‘I will restore

ou to re boy and trouble you no more.
hink of it—of you and he back in the home
that is yours. Oh, live, live!”

Something in his words struck her, and she
pondered silently. She was very weak and even
the exertion of speaking tired her. She replied
to him presently, but her utterance was painful.

“‘T shall be glad to leave so much sorrow,”
she said; ‘‘ but my boy should have his father’s
inheritance. I never wanted it for myself.
Will you not let your enmity die with me, and
restore him to his rights after I am gone?”

“*T will do anything you command me now,”
he answered.

“The papers,” she continued, ‘you will need
them to prove his legitimate claim. The certifi-
cates of my marriage and his birth! They are
in the secret drawer of the little table—the one
in the arched chamber. You press the eyeball
of the cormorant’s head in the carving, and it
willopen. There is something else”—ber fin-
gers clutched at the locket which all this time
she had concealed about her—‘‘ but I am tired
now; I will tell you again.”

She closed her a her breath came pant-
ingly. The man ide her, in that moment,
repented those acts of his which had brought
her to this. After that she slept easily, and he
stole away quietly that she might not be dis-
turbed,

Out of her presence some of his remorse wore
away, and he began to indulge again in hopes
of her ultimate recovery.

“Tf T can but take her back,” he thought,
‘old Juana will nurse her into life again.”

He was loitering upon the river-bank, but
with the sound of approaching footste he
‘urned and walked rapidly out of ear-shot, of
the mill. A few further he met Reginald

 

‘Yempleton on the look-out for him.
“You want me?” Peters asked.
“Yes!” He glanced around, as though fear-

ing eavesdroppers even in that obscure

quarter.

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

 

 

| “It’s a hazardous job, but I'll pay you well if
you succeed.”

“T don’t much mind danger,” Peters replied.
‘“*[’m hardened to it, I should think.”

“It’s a sweetheart of mine, an obdurate lit-
tle minx, who’s willing enough at heart, but
seems bound to play fast and loose indefinitely.”

The man detected an earnestness beneath his
assumed light manner, which he threw aside a
moment after.

‘Pll tell you the whole truth, Peters, and re-
ly on your helping me. I’m in earnest this
time, and mean the girlno harm. I intend to
marry her fair an uare. She was willing
enough once, but another man came between
us. I want to get her in my power; she’ll be
only too glad then to accept any terms I may
offer. Once my. wife I defy Heaven itself to
take her from me.”

His face flushed with rising excitement, but
the man’s quiet indifference recalled him to
me What r

at do you propose

“T want you toe her here to the mill. I
know its crannies of old. There are snug
corners enough, which, with a little work, will
answer the purpose and be tight as a trap.”

Peters stiffened at the suggestion, until his
sinewy frame was rigid as cast steel.

“T can’t have a woman’s eyes and tongue
agog here,” he said, sullenly. ‘‘ Make it any
other crib, and I’m your man.”

“There’s not another such a place in the
country,” Reginald declared. ‘‘ It will be but
for a few days, Peters, and I pledge myself that
nothing to your detriment shall come through
it. Come, ’ll make it well worth your while.
Say a hundred dollars for getting her here, and
as much more for the time she stays. You'll
not soon make another two hundred so ey.

“The pay’s good enough,” Luke said, slowly.
He was thinking to himself. ‘‘Why not? It
may be the means of saving her! A woman
might cheer her up—anyway, it will do no
harm.”

Br he said, aloud: gon) ae

f you agree to see me safely throug’
do as well by you. It’s a bargain, then! Who
is the bit of dimity I am to secure for you?”

“Tt is Miss Ellesford, of the Grange. Re-
member, my man, you are to treat her with
every respect!”

He then proceeded to give a minute description
of Adria’s personal Seples and daily habits.
He left Peters to decide upon his own course in
accomplishing the abduction.

‘To-morrow night, if possible,” he concluded.
“T have a reason for wishing to hasten the
affair.”

This reason at that moment lay in his ket,
in shape of a note from Hastings. It an-
nounced his return to Crofton, and his inten-
tion of ed a speedy appearance at the
Grange. He had received no replies to his
numerous letters, but attributed this fact to his
own uncertain locations.

While Reginald yet lingered, there came the
sound of horse’s hoofs borue down from the
beaten bridle-path. With a last hasty word, he
plunged into a thicket of scrubby undergrowth,
making his way homeward over the barren
fields. A moment later. his father, Colonel
sarees drew rein almost upon the very
spot he had so lately quitted.

Coincidences are of not rare occurrence.
Plotting and counter-plotting frequently defeat
each other unawares.

Strangely enough Colonel Templeton, though
actuated by entirely opposite motives, was here
upon the self-same mission that had brought his

son.

‘*She must be removed,” he had said to Va-
leria, Who so well fitted to undertake the task
as his old ally, Luke Peters? What place so
well calculated to furnish secure shelter, yet re-
main free of suspicion, as the ruinous old mill?

CHAPTER XIX.

EX-DETECTIVE KERR sat by the quaint old
side-table in the arched chamber. At his own
een oa this room had been deputed to his use,

e had already made a close and, as he be-
lieved, thorough examination of every article
of furniture the room had originally contained,
without much hope, indeed, that former re-
searches and the lapse of time had escaped any
important discovery. Still, he was =e dis-
appointed when, his scrutiny ended, he found
himself wiser ovly in regard to the substantial
make and superior quality of the articles.

The contents of the wardrobe were duly over-
hauled, but the few rich robes and dainty laces
revealed no peculiarity which might lead to the
identification of the one who had worn them.
The two handkerchiefs presented a clew more
pe which the ex-detective awaited only
a plausible pretext, to follow.

ust now he was engaged upon a matter which
drove from his thoughts all remembrance of the
Ellesford mystery.

Several slips of printed paper were spread
out before him, and a few written sheets, all re-
lating to the same subject, of which the con-
Pear contents of one slip will give an ink-

 

 

“MURDER: AND ROBBERY!—Kitiep ww Dr-
FENDING HIS OWN PROPERTY! ETC., ETCc.—The double
outrage, unmistakably committed by the well-known
and daring prea burglar, Pedro Cardini, alias Rake
Snelling, alias Dick Brown. Description: Medium
hight, thin and wiry; eyes, hair and complexion dark;
face badly scarred; teeth even and white; forehea
low and beetling,” etc. ete.

Ex-detective Kerr was conning these different
papers carefully over and comparing their min-
utest details. This done to his apparent satis-
faction, he refolded them in a secure packet and
placed them in an inner pocket.

“T have no fear of mistaking my man,” he
said to himself, very softly. ‘I think I should
know him in the dark.”

He spoke softly, because he had proved, dur-
ing bis experience, that walls sometimes have
ears, but he brought his band down upon the
table beside him, y way of emphasis. Possibly
the action was made without reference to effect.
At all events, it struck the table’s edge, glanc-
ing ungracefully and with tingling sensation
over the sharp carving below. e was natural-
ly a hasty man, but now he repressed the im-

recation which rose to his lips, and, bending

orward, closely scanned that portion of the
pendent side. He had felt something give be-
neath his touch.

His fingers successively sought every protru-
sion in the grotesque work, and his diligence
was richly rewarded. The cormorant’s eye
yielded beneath his pressure. A little drawer
shot out from the apparently solid wood-work.
With methodical precision he drew forth and
examined its contents—merely a small roll of
yellowed parchments.

Whatever surprise he may have felt over his
perusal of their contents, his placid countenance
expressed none. He quietly placed the docu-
ments in the same receptacle which had swa!
lowed up the former packet, shot the little
drawer, now empty, back into its place, and
went to find Miss Walton.

She was alone, and apparently absorbed in
deep reverie, but roused herself to greet his en-
trance with unusual graciousness.

‘““We women are fickle creatures, Mr. Kerr,”
she said, after some commonplace observations.
“T have changed my mind about wishing to
penetrate the mystery attached to our house. It
was merely a woman’s whim, as I told you at
first, which I was induced to follow from idle
curiosity. But I shall claim you as my guest
until your private mission to the vicinity has
been accomplished.”

His inscrutable gaze rested for a second upon
her likewise inscrutable face.

“You are fully satisfied, just as matters
stand?” he asked,

“Entirely. In fact, I think I prefer the mys-
tery. It gives the place an air of interest it
would not otherwise possess.”

He bowed silently, and the subject was dis
missed.

Miss Walton exerted herself to the utmost to
please her guest. She talked vivaciously, chain-

g his attention, if not his mind, until the din-
uer hour. After that she led him back to the
cosey parlor, where the blazing fire sent flashes
of ruddy light into every corner. Installing him
in the easiest of easy-chairs, with the genial
warmth about him, she seated herself at the
boas and played piece after piece in that minor

ey which pervades the air with a somnolent
influence akin to the soothing effects of a self-
voiced lullaby.

No doubt Mr. Kerr, being no longer a young
man, would have succumbed to the potent
spell, had it not been for a withdrawing influ-
ence.

He was an inveterate snuff-taker, and had,
unfortunately, forgotten his box of Macaboy
upon the table in his room. He sought in vain
to excuse himself, but Valeria’s assiduities pre-
vented his momentary absence. So the ex-de-
tective leaned back in his velvet-cushioned
chair, longing intensely for his favorite relish,
and mentally inveighing against the whim
which had suddenly invested him with so great
importance.

here was a sound of scurrying feet in the
passage-way, and the be te 4 appeared in
the doorway, with cap awry, and dire consterna-
tion depicted upon her countenance.

““What is it, Davis?” inquired Valeria, sharp-
ly. ‘I gave ow my orders, I_ believe.”

“Oh, Miss Walton!” cried Davis, unmindful
of the implied reproof, ‘‘if you please, miss,
there’s a strange man in the house. I was
a-coming from the left wing, in by the little
porch-way, and through the hall, when I run
slap ag’in’ him. Oh, dear, and the silver isn’t
a away, and those careless maids a-chatting,
ear knows where.”

“Nonsense! you were frightened at your own
shadow,” declared Valeria, angrily. ‘‘ You
should know better than to come with such a
silly tale. Mr. Kerr, I beg of you, don’t let this
disturb you! My housekeeper is developing a
brilliant imagination.”

Notwithstanding her evident annoyance, Va-
leria went out into the hall, and demonstrated,
to her own satisfaction, at least, that Davis's
Seen had been conjured through aid of

wail Kerr’s overcoat, thrown carelessly upon the
Ti .

 

 

 
 

 

 

“Go back to your duty, and let me hear no
more false alarms,” she said, xccompanying the
command with a significant look.

Mr. Kerr, taking no fright from the alleged ,

proximity of a strange man, gladly hailed this
episode. It gave him opportunity to steal, un-
perceived, away in quest of his Macaboy.

The Grange, not pre within limit of gas
corporations, was lighted by more primitive
means. A great chandelier, swinging in the main
hall, sent its gleams far back into minor pas-
Sa @-ways. ith no other illumination, he
made his way toward the arched room.

His quiet footfall gave back no echo, The
door swung noiselessly beneath his touch, and
he paused one second transfixed with astonish-
ment.

A dark form bent above the little table, across
which a single shaft of light was thrown. There
was no sound, but some innate sense must have
told this figure that an intruder was present,
The dark lantern flashed its light suddenly on
every side, then was merged in total darkness.

The same instant ex-detective Kerr found
himself sprawling in the center of the floor, and
heard the clickof the key in the door by which
he had entered.

“Neatly done, by Jove!” he whispered, ad-
miringly, as he picked himself up from his lowly
position, ‘That back-hand stroke would as-
sure me of my man had I caught no glimpse of
his features.’

And Mr. Kerr proceeded coolly to possess
himself of his snuff-box, still upon the table,
then groped his way to a glass entrance door.
He knew the uselessness of giving alarm. His
man was safe out of the way for the present,
he was convinced, but let him mark their next
meeting,

The following morning Adria did not appear,
but Valeria silenced all conjectures by announc-
ing that her companion had left on the early
train for Washington, from which she had re-
ceived communications from one of her mo-
ther’s relatives, offering her a temporary home.
Miss Walton added that she could not censure
the girl for accepting this offer. No doubt the
constant reminder of old associations rendered
her late situation at the Grange less pleasant
than it might otherwise have been.

CHAPTER XX.

WHILE the ex-detective was leisurely recover-
ing from the assault made upon him, Adria sat
in her own room in a distant part of the
building. Her deft fingers were busy darning
a rent in a costly lace set belonging to Valeria.
The accidental tear had occasioned the latter
considerable vexation, and she thankfully ac-
cepted Adria’s offer to make it good as new
again,

* The work fell from her hands after a time
completed. The ragged edges joined so neatly
that the tiny stitches seemed but a continuation
of the broidered pattern.

A slightly pungent odor, not unpleasant, fill-
ed the room, and Adria found herself growing
consciously drowsy. A. listless desire for com-
plete inaction, a wish to float away to the misty
dreamland closing in around her. She thought
she saw Kenneth there beckoning her to come;
then he seemed beside ber, his footstep sounding
in her ear, and then she lost her vague imagin-
ings in utter unconsciousness,

uke Peters, at her side, dropped the hand-
kerchief saturated with chloroform he had been
applying to her nostrils. Throwing a warm
shaw] about her, he caught her light weight in
his sinewy arms, and with stealthy, cat-like
tread, traversed the passage-way, then paused
a second to reconnoiter. é

A woman’s garment rustled by him, and a
voice whispered:

‘ “ Allis safe; but you must hasten.

 

Did you

“succeed?”

“Couldn’t have done better,” he returned, in
the same tone. f

Clearing the wants hall with a couple of
noiseless springs, he let himself out at the great
entrance door. 3

A moment later Valeria’s fair hands locked
and bolted it behind him. Then she went back
to the parlor all aglow with ruddy light, and
her self-imposed task of making herself agree-
able to her guest. Mr. Kerr, snuff-box in hand,
and gently tapping its filagree lid, looked the
picture of unconscious complacency, and smiled
appreciation upon the entertaining efforts of his
young hostess.

Adria came back to half consciousness and a
sensation of painful lassitude; but Panera her-
self in her own bed, she only turned her head
wearily and drowsed into ob ivion again.

The gray dawn of early morning faintly pene-
trated those great garners in the old mill when
she awoke. The narrow limits of the unfami-
liar apartment dimly traced through the semi-
obscurity, startled her into a belief that she was
still dreaming. Shaking off the impression, she
arose and examined the place with a mingled
feeling of wonder and 2

It was exactly similar to the one in which
nate Kent found herself, and had been
fi by Peters for his own occupancy.

Adria was alarmed, and for the moment awed.
How had she been spirited away from her room
a ‘
eet

 

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

aM

 

 

at the Grange to this strange place? She tried
to recall any action of her own which might
have led her there, but memory paves at the
moment when her finished work fell from her
hands. But, stop! Some half-tangible recol-
lection struggled slowly into her mind. The
odor—the pungent inhalation—the half-recog-
nized presence beside her, what were they? A
suspicion of the truth, glimmering and uncer-
tain, impressed her.

Her head throbbed with pain, and her brain
whirled dizzily, but as she moved about these
wore gradually away.

She beat upon the rough planks with her bare
hands, and called loudly to be released. Only
an echo shrieked back at her, and her delicate
hands grew sore and bruised from contact with
the boards, Once she fancied she heard low
moans, and the sound of footfalls, but listening
distinguished but the beating of her own heart.

It seemed to her that hours bad worn away
when the door was opened, admitting Reginald
Templeton, but it was still morning.

He had hastened to the mill thus early in the
day to make certain of his victory and her help-
lessness,

She shrunk back at the sight of him; then her
outraged pride came to the rescue, and she con-
fronted him with just anger.

‘Was it your doing that has subjected me to
this insult?’ she demanded.

“Forgive me, Adria; but you left me no gen-
tler measure. Can not you see that it is a hu-
miliation to me as well as yourself to be driven
to this course? I would have preferred a
straightforward wooing!”

“This is an ungentlemanly and ungenerous
act,” she said, ‘‘and one which would not tend
to advance your cause were I even inclined to
favor it. I demand an instantreparation. Re-
lease me; do not seek meagain, and I will strive
to forget the occurrence.”

‘‘T have acted from no passing impulse, Adria.
This consummation has been studiously con-
templated and carefully carried into effect. You
will never leave this place until you have con-
sented to become my wife!”

Her eyes flashed angrily.

““T forbade you once, Reginald Templeton,
uttering such sentiment tome. If I am power-
less to protect myself from your insults, there
will come a time of reckoning, and with one
less disposed to be lenient than I am now.”

‘“That is—?”’ he questioned, scornfully.

“One whom I shall be proud to acknowledge
my liege! He to whom I consider myself truly
bound as though our marriage rites had already
been pronounced, One whom I respect and love
with my whole soul—Kenneth Hastings.”

A low, sneering pw escaped his lips.

‘The false lover who deserted you in your
hour of need? He who would have wedded you
for your fair estate, but turned cold when your
adversity came? Is. it loyalty to his fickle
memory which will cause you to throw aside
my love, tried and true?”

‘You speak falsely,” she asseverated. ‘‘ His
true heart can know no change.”

He regarded her with mocking poriplacencg.

“* Ah, he has shown his fealty! He has sought
you in your sorrow, assuaged your grief!

e has offered to share with you his home,
lowly Siengh it be!—or lacking that, he has
written of his haste to build up a nest for his
lone bird! Ah, yes! he has proved himself leal
and true,”

‘““ How dare you impute such baseness to him?”
she cried, angrily, and Reginald inwardly tri-
umphed, knowing that his shaft had told. ‘‘ Say
a more, but release me immediately, I demand
of you.

“ On my terms?”

“ Never!”

‘* Adria,” he said, quietly, but his lips were
pale with suppressed rage, ‘‘take care how you
provoke me. I swore once to humble your
pride—to bring you to my feet, begging for the
right and the love I have offered you. I told you
once that your influence could make a good
man of me! I tell you now that I can 6 of
myself a devil incarnate if needs be to accom-
plish my purpose. My love for you has been
the purest emotion I ever knew, Don’t drive
me to the epee which will pring. down
a weight of shame upon your head. If such
shall come it will be your own doing. I give
you one last chance. Think well before you
knowingly bring upon yourself a fate which
you are powerless to avert.”

In that moment she realized how utterly ar
less she was, and she cowered before the scath-
ing import of his words. He turned away, not
daring to trust himself further.

Hp will ae os a my answer,” be
said, ig out and closing the door secure
after hi 4 .

Miserable, hapless Adria! The foul fate
threatening her was only more torturesome than
the possibility of her lover’s untruth. A wo-
man can rience no keener agony than
through knowledge that the one on whom she
lavished the whole love of her trusting nature,
is unworthy the devotion given him. The
know! will shatter the idol, but it will break
the worsbiper’s heart-strings, too. :

door unclosed. a and Peters stood

 

within it. Adria, supposing him a tool of her
enemy, acknowledged his presence by an indif-
ferent glance,

‘* What do you want?” she asked, as he wait-
ed there silently.

‘*To be your friend, Miss Ellesford,” the man
said, civilly. She turned to bim quickly.

“Yon will help me away from here?”

‘“‘T daren’t do that,” he returned; ‘but il
help Zou escape the machinations of the man
who has ane eft you. Will not this prove my
sincerity

He gave her a bit of crumpled paper, It was
Kenneth’s note—the last he had written. She
absorbed its contents with eager eyes.

‘*Oh, thank God that he is true!” she cried,
fervently, grateful tears swelling up and blind-
ing her sight. Forcing them back, she went to
the man, taking his hard hand between her

palms.
“‘T will trust to you,”she said. ‘‘ You have
iven me back my precious faith, I can not
thank you as I would like, but I will pray that
God may bless you for your kindness to me this

day.

She felt the shudder which ran through his
frame.

“*T don’t much believe in prayers,” he said,
grimly, ‘‘ but yours can do me no harm. So
pray for meif you like, little one!”

She stroked his hand silently, and then asked:

‘“Where did you get it—the letter?”

“Reginald Templeton pulled it out of his
pocket with some—some money he pee me,”

‘‘For keeping me here?” she asked.

He nodded. :

“Tm not working for him for all that,” he
said. ‘lve a stronger incentive on the other
side. If I befriend you, Miss Ellesford, can I
sepens upon your silence regarding such of my
affairs as you may learn here?”

“Yes, certainly,” she assured him.

‘“‘T may have my secrets as well as my bet-
ters, I don’t think you will attempt to pry
into them,” And then he told her briefly of the
other woman’s presence, and her low, morbid
condition.

Then he led her to Nelly Kent’s side, and
Adria was surprised to recognize in the ema-
ciated tory stretched almost helplessly upon
the hard couch, the sweet-voiced woman who
had once appeared at the Grange.

‘She must have wine and nutritious food,”
she told Peters, and with Reginald’s help he
procured them that very day.

He had not over-estimated the influence an-
other woman’s gentle attendance would exert
over the one who had been imprisoned there soi

long.

Nelly Kent, who had remained impervious
to his best endeavors, slowly revived beneath
Adria’s treatment. The girl insisted that she
should partake freely of the nourishment pro-
vided her, and as her strength returned slowly,
drew her unwillingly out into the body of the

mill, and gradually induced her to take much
needed ly exercise,
Peters at first demurred a little at allowing

them so much liberty, but Adria’s assurance
that she would make no attempt to escape satis-
fied him.

And meanwhile they matured a plan which
should result in the defeat of Reginald Temple-
ton’s darker scheme.

_When the young man came again, Adria met
him with less manifest aversion than she had
betrayed on the former occasion. He again
pleaded his cause ardently, and she did not re-
pulse him,

“What faith can I have in any man if Ken-
neth is false?” sho asked, averting her face lest
he should see its tell-tale flush. The concession
was more than he had expected.

‘Remember, he was an utter stranger,” he
said. ‘‘I will devote my whole life to prove
ny ee my Adria.”

is evident sincerity appeared to touch her,
At the end of a week she had so far yielded to
his entreaties as to promise vaguely that his per-
sistent suit should receive its reward.

Elated at his success, he went out from her
presence so absorbed in his triumph that he
passed within a few yards of another comer
without observing him. ‘The latter man passed
his hand over his vision as though doubting its
accuracy, and then assured, with a hardening
ae lines about his mouth, strode on into the
mill.

It was Colonel Templeton!

 

CHAPTER XXI.

As Nelly Kent came slowly back to life and .
hope, a warm affection sprung up in her heart
tor the fair young girl who waited upon her
beri as a daughter might do for a loved
mother.

A day or two preceding the event which closed
the last chapter, the two were together in
Adria’s little nook, which had been furnished
with a few articles of comfort. ;

Fresh bedding, a chair or two, a bit of rich
carpeting, loo strangely out of place amid
its rough surroundings, necessary toilet utensils
hand-mirror, had been provided by
Reginald. Nelly’s presence had been kept scru-
 

 

16

 

 

 

ee ee ee

 

 

ay from his knowledge, as well as the
be dria enjoyed except during his visits.
elly was bolstered w

tion, and Adria, deft-handed as any lady’s
maid, loosed her mass of heavy, dark hair,
which she proceeded to comb and brush very
tenderly, that the invalid might not be wearied
by the operation.

“ How beautiful it is,” she said, catching, up
the rippling, glossy lengths, and coiling them
smoothly round the other’s head. “‘ Not a single
gray thread! Why, you have a long life before
you yet, dear Nelly, and I hope a happy one.”

Nelly put up her hand, touching the silky
mass.

““My sorrows should have turned it snow-
white,” she returned, sadly. ‘‘God keep you
from ever knowing such.”

Adria’s eyes filled with tearful sympathy.

“T have often wished,” she began, timidly,
“that you would tell me of your former life. i
do not wish to grieve you by recalling painful
reminiscences, unless the knowledge of my loy-
ing interest should fit me to receive your confi-
dence. Speaking freely of old wounds will
sometimes take away the sharpest pain linger-
pag. them.”

Nelly bowed her face upon her hands fora
time. There were anguished traces there when
she raised it again, but she commanded her
voice to a steady monotone.

‘“My story is a sad one,” she said, ‘‘and I
have striven vainly for years to efface my old
existence from my memory. I would not have
my sorrows dim a single hour of your young
lite; but if it is your wish, you shall pene-
trate the mystery which left me so long in
utter darkness, pierced now by a little ray of:
hope for future contentment, thank Heaven!”

dria poured some wine into a goblet, plac-
ing it near her, and sat quietly down awaiting
the elder woman’s narrative.

“‘T was born in Italy,” Nelly began. ‘“‘ My
father was an Englishman, and an adventurer
—my mother the daughter of a noble house,
My father married her solely for the distinc-
tion and wealth he hoped to attain by means of
the alliance. Judge, then, his disappointment
when my grandfather—who had been always
bitterly opposed to the match—cast off his fa-
vorite daughter, sending her and the man she
had chosen out into the world, with his bitter
curse and unforgiving enmity, to take their
chance among the common herd.

“The marriage proved eminently unhappy.
I think my parents both bitterly regretted the
rash = they had taken. At one time ore
separated, my mother going back to her child-
hood’s home, to crave the toleration which
would not have been denied a stranger suffering
as she was then. She was denied admittance!
When she plead for but a moment’s audience
with the stern old man, his orders caused the
door to be shut in her very face. But she had
one friend beneath that roof. It was her maid,
Juana, who stole forth and joined her lot with
that of the outcast.

‘My father received her, with her attendant;
back beneath his protection—unwillingly, i
have every reason to believe, but he dared not
leave her shelterless in the streets. After my
birth they bore with each other more patiently.

“He had been a strolling actor once, and
when the means derived from the sale of my
mother’s jewelry and rich clothing had _ been
utterly exhausted, he went back to the old pro-
fession.

‘The life we led, as I can first remember it,
was one of wretched poverty unseasoned by
any of the submission or cheerfulness which true
love might have imparted. My mother died, and
existence dragged on in the old way, except, as
I grew older, my efforts contributed something
toward the improvement of our circumstances.

“T had a good voics, in no way remarkable,
and some dramatic ability: These procured me
ready employment in secondary parts. When
I was sixteen, my father was rendered helpless

by a stage accide it, and, after months of lin-
gerin torture, | shed tears which were almost
oyful that he died. Do not think me unnatural
in saying this. I had never given him much af-
fection, but I am glad to remember that I proy-
ed myself a dutiful child. After his injury, his
bodil agony had been so intense that he prayed
hourly for death, and itcameto him as a wel-
come release.

‘‘T was then attached to an opera troupe, sta-
tioned at the time in Parma. A few months
later we left ti.at place for Modena, and from

‘enco to the principal cities of Tuscany and

in a comfortable posi-

caples.

‘* During this time, a member of the company,
edro Cardini, had been eae me wit
attentions, which, in my unprotec' situation,
I was powerless to resent, except by steadily re-
fusing to encourage his love. e was both ar-
dent and vindictive. One night he encountered
me, unattended, on the street, and, walking by
my side, urged his suit so persistently that I grew
angry, and replied to him with some scornful
words. *«

“He was enraged then, and threatened me
until I grew frightened, and tried to escape
him; but he seized my wrist, holding me fast.

“‘Dare to love any other man,’ he hissed in

 

my ear, ‘and I will follow you with my ven-
geance to the death!’

“T screamed then, loudly, for aid, and a gen-
tleman passing came to my assistance—a for-
eign gentleman, with white, aristocratic face,
and fair hair curling about his temples. He
had a sad look in his great hazel eyes, but it
faded out of them as he looked at me. He spoke
a few sharp words to Pedro, and, when the fel-
low had slunk away, conducted me to the door
of my lodging.

“After that I encountered him often, and
learned to watch for his fair, handsome face
among the multitude turned nightly toward the
stage. To be brief, he wooed me with the love
of an honorable man, and when he sailed for
his American home, I accompanied him—his
wife!

‘*My husband was Hugh Ellesford.”

Adria started with a surprised exclamation,
but quieted herself again to listen now with
breathless interest. Nelly resumed:

‘He was a proud, sensitive man, and reserved
with all except me. During the first weeks of
our married life, he told me of his former en-
gagement. He had loved the lady dearly, he
said, but not with the See passion he felt
for me, and he had long ceased to regret her
lack of faith. He possessed her miniature, but
gave it into my charge, telling me to destroy it
if Ichose. I kept it instead, studied it until I
knew every line in her fair tace, and rejoiced
that my dark beauty far surpassed her unim-
passioned style.

“‘T soon discovered that my husband shrunk
from proclaiming to his friends the marriage
which they would term a misalliance. I, too,
remembering Pedro’s threats, longed only for
a secluded life with him, and my good Juana,
who refused to be separated from me.

“Yielding to my urgent solicitations, after
our landing, he procured me quiet country
lodging, and went alone to his home, where he
secretly prepared the arched chamber for my
use. When all was in readiness, he took me there
in the night-time, that prying eyes should not
discover my presence.

“There my life was one long holiday, disturb-
ed only by fears that Pedro’s vengeance might
find me out.

“When my baby came, my winsome, wee
boy, my cup of happiness was full. But, as he
grew older, his father and I realized his need of
unrestrained freedom, which he could not enjoy
at the Grange. We sent him in charge of my
faithful nurse to a small village on the Virginia
coast. A few weeks later she came back alone,
almost wild with grief over his death. My sor-
row was extreme, but I had my idolized hus-
band left me, and in time became reconciled to
the loss of my boy.

“But my health now began to give way, and
Hugh insisted upon my taking frequent trips to
other sections. Such constant confinement to
the house, relieved only by night rambles
through the grounds, had brought on this evil.
he said. I must take intervals when I could
openly enjoy the light and sunny warmth ne-
cessary to my restoration. I yielded, as I al-
ways did to his wishes. Sometimes he accom-
panied me, but oftener I went alone.

“On one of these occasions I was haunted by
a vague presentiment of pending ill. It weigh-
ed down upon me with increasing force, until,
fearing I knew not what, I returned to the
Grange a fortnight earlier than had been
agreed at our parting.

“‘T came upon Juana unexpectedly. She was
crouching on a low step, rocking herself back
and forth, with a kind of wailing moan she al-
ways uttered when in distress. All my worst
fears revived. I darted past her, <r to
find my husband dying, perhaps dead. She
clutched at my garments trying to detain me,
but I shook her off and fled toward the room
which was his and mine. Voices in the private
parlor stopped me there.”

She paused, pale and agitated, but swallowing
the wine Adria passed her, continued:

- “T burst open the door and faced a scene I
would rather have died than beheld.

‘“A woman reclined upon the sofa which was
my favorite resting-place, and my husband, sit-
ting by her, held her hand in his. I recognized
her at a glance, though she had grown older and
more careworn than the face the miniature
portrayed.

“They both started up at my unexpected ap-
pearance. I can not dwell upon the agony of
the moment. I think I shrieked out my curses
upon them; I know on was murder in my
heart. as my eyes rested on her colorless face.
I turned and fled lest_ my hands should do her
harm, and even then I loved him so I would not
for worlds have hurt the creature who had won
his heart back from me.

“T remember cages) more distinctly until I
found myself in a little New England village,
destitute of support. Then I went to work in
one of the cotton factories there, in preference
to taking up my old theatrical life. There the
pores brought the news of my husband’s terri-

le death.

“T kept my first situation for five years.
After that time changes were made at the

t
\

y mills. They changed ownership, and

 

the new ee brought with them employ-
ees from their own locality, thus throwing
many of the old Brankley hands out of work,
myself among the number.

“T succeeded, however, in finding employ-
ment in a neighboring factory, but during m
first week there, met with the accident whic
disabled me for all future toil. I had commu-
nicated occasionally with my faithful Juana,
and she now wrote imploring my return. Sol
left Crofton with the one friend Heaven raised
up for me in my extremity.”

‘*Crofton!” interrupted Adria, eagerly.
“Was it Crofton where you worked during
those years?”

“Yes. First with the Brankleys and after-
ward with the Russell Brothers!”

“The Russell Brothers!” echoed Adria.
“Then you must have known him. Do you re-
member a young man in their employ—Ken-
neth Hastings?”

“‘He was the friend of whom I spoke, who
lightened my dr illness by his kind atten-
tions, and under whose protection I traveled,”
Nelly said, her a ine with the grateful
memory. ‘* But how should you know of him?”

‘He is my lover of whom [ have told you,”
Adria answered, a happy glow upon her cheeks.
“His generous kindness to you_ proves him
oe of the respect and regard I aired meted

im.

‘“May you never find yourself disappointed in
him,” said Nelly ae “My sad experi
ence has left me little faith in man’s constancy,
but he is a noble youth.”

Adria’s face held an inquiry which she re-~
frained from uttering, lest it should probe her
companion’s sore memories too deeply; but
reading her expression, Nelly said:

“You would ask me if I knew by what
means Hugh Ellesford came to his untimely end.
He found his death upon that night when I fled
away from the Grange with brain on fire and
heart chilled to ice: but of the manner, cr by
whom such awful retribution was wrought w
on him, I am ignorant as you. I never tried
pierce the mystery. I never attempted to es-
tablish my claim as his wife; for myself I could
not touch the wealth he left, but now that I
know my boy lives it is my duty to restore him
to his own.

“You have guessed that the man who guards
us here is Pedro Cardini.” 4

Then she related to Adria how she had been
assured that her child lived after all these years
she had mourned him dead.

_ After that, she drew from her bosom the
jeweled locket, explaining:

“That night, in my mad anger, I tore it from
my neck and dashed it at my husband’s feet,
declaring that I never wished to look upon his
face again. But the morning when you so
kindly received me at the Grange, I secured it
from the secret nook where it had been placed.
Now, that the rancor of my pain is gone, I can
forgive him for his faithlessness, for I know I
am true to his memory, as the other woman can
not be. The faces are his, and mine, painted
ere we sailed from beautiful Italy.”

She touched the spring of the locket, giving
it opened to Adria.

The latter recognized Hugh Ellesford’s likeness
from a — at the Grange; but she lingered
over the other dark, glowing face depicted
there. It was very unlike the wan, haggard
countenance of the woman beside her, but an-
a resemblance struck her with convincing

orce. :

“have seen another face almost its exact
counterpart, nearly as a man’s face can be like
a woman’s, and that other is Kenneth Hastings!”

CHAPTER XXII.

CoLonEL TEMPLETON stepped quietly over
the threshold, but Luke Peters, meeting him,
read the silent anger in his face. All his sul-
len doggedness came up to aid him through
this issue.

“Tve not betrayed you,,Colonel Templeton,”

 

he said. ‘I see you think it.”
“How then could he trace her here?’ tke
other asked.

Luke chuckled.

“He hired me to do the job an hour before
you suggested it,” he answered. ‘I found I
could k my ‘two birds’ with perfect ease, and
you shouldn’t be the man to blame me for doing
it, Alan Templeton.”

Colonel Templeton sunk his teeth in his lips to
repress his angry utterance—it was a trick he
had when greatly annoyed.

Pi far has the young fool succeeded?” he
asked.
mF He's wrung a promise from her to marry

m.

Colonel Templeton uttered an oath, and made
as though he would have struck down his infor-
mant. Luke warded off the blow.

“Keep back your hand, Alan Templeton.
‘You see that I have 5 pTkaer your interests
better than you think. I would have sought

| on eetenty ut you have saved me that trou-
e, ‘
“You knew thatmy

‘For what?” he asked.
object was to separate those two,”

That you

ae

ht induce Reginald to woo they,
tee

 

 

 
 

 

 

_ threw back the covering from her head and re-

“he. we

| | ~_ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

cma =r

Ellesford heiress, and thereby insure yourself of |
zreater safety should time bring to light your |
share in the tragedy of ‘lang syne?’ Yes, I |
know. But your course would never have suc- |
ceeded, and with your co operation my plan
can scarcely fail.”

“Explain yourself,” demanded Colonel Tem-
pleton; ‘‘and be sure you make it a plausible |
os or you may wear a hempen collar ere
long.

Take downcast eyes emitted a vindictive
shaft of glittering light, and his fingers worked
with convulsive twitching, as though they
would have gladly choked out the life of this
man who held him in his power.

““Pve served you faithfully more than once,”
he said, sullenly, adding to himself: ‘‘ But my
own will dictated me then, as it does now!”

Then he disclosed his plans, Colonel Temple-
ton, listening attentively, caught the intention,
and when he left the mill it was to proceed
directly to the Grange, where he held a long in-
terview with Valeria. -

That night a steady spring rain began to fall,
but it did not deter Reginald Templeton from
seeking the mill next day. He had come to
urge the immediate consummation of the cere-
mony which would make Adria his beyond fear
of man parting them.

She seemed to care little what her fate should
be now, assuming a belief in Kenneth’s falsity.

‘: Let it be to-night,” Reginald said. ‘I don’t
wish to keep you in this desolate place, but I
can not let Pie go until you are surely mine.”

“T should like to be married in a church,”
Adria replied, weurily. ‘‘ But it matters little;
our vows will be but a mockery at best.”

‘Tt shall be as you wish,” Reginald hastened
to assure her, glad to propitiate her willin any
way. I will havea carriage near as it can ap-

roach here at nine to-night. The priest of th
Fittle village chapel is celebrated for tying clan-
destine knots. He wiJl conform to my wishes
and ask no questions. We will take the mid-
night train for Washington, and then, my love,
my own, our true existence will begin.”

After he left her, Adria wept some passionate,
remorseful tears. Her pure nature shrunk from
the deceit she was aiding, though it was her sole
chance of safety. .

He returned punctual to the appointed time.
Adria came out ot her httle room to where he
stood in the open body of the mill. A tallow
candle pinned to the wall cast a flickering, un-
ccrtain light, which yet showed plainly her pale
face and swollen eyes, She made one final ap-
peal to hismerey. She was not acting now as
she plead with bim for the last time.

“Oh, Reginald, Reginald! It. is not yet too
late. Do not urge me to that act which I meant
to commit to-night. For your sake and my
own, } elinquish your purpose while there is yet
time.

“ Adria, this is a mere waste of words.”

“Oh, think!” she cried. ‘‘I do not love you.
Inever can. [ belong to Kenneth, heart an
soul. You will not be content with a simply
dutiful wife.”

“Once mine,” he said, ‘‘ I will make you love
me so you will torever bless this hour.”

She saw how useless it was to plead. Her
voice grew calm and solemn.

‘‘Reginald Templeton, do you take all the
respunsibility of the unhappy life you may
bring upon yourself?’ :

He was vexed at her persistency.

“Once for all, Adria, Heaven itself could not
tempt me to relinquish you.”

She went back silentiy into’ the little room.
Then he saw her emerge, her figure shrouded in
the large, thick cloak which had been Nelly
Kent’s, the hood drawn forward concealing her
face, At the instant, Peters, snuffing the single
candle, extinguished it. Fortunately, he had
already placed the lamp in his derk-lantern,
and, opening a slide, threw the light on the
way before them, His mission was to accom-
pany them and give away the bride.

The rain was falling fast and steadily.

“The ice will break by to-morrow if this con-
tinues.” Reginald addressed himself to the man
who walked behind them, throwing the light of
his dark-lantern on the pathway ahead.

Peters gazed uneasily through the thick dark-
ness toward the river, and made some casual
reply. The inclemency of the night made the

ir] shiver as she drew her wraps closer about

r.
Over the sodden fields until they reached the
carriage. The rain increased anit beat against
its closed windows, rendering conversation im-
practicable.

The priest in the little chapel sleepily awaited
their ae A penitent or two, by restless
conscience driven here through the stormy
night, knelt in the aisles, :

he members of that strange eee, as-
sumed their positions before the altar. The
marriage solemnities were pronounced, and the
two stood man and wife. ;

Reginald turned to salute his bride. She

vealed the features, not of Adria, but Valeria.
Colonel Templeton stepped out from the shad-

 

Ow of the altar, with a sneering congratulation
on his lips, but his words were checked by the

 

tramp of heavy feet coming through the body
of the church,

Tt was the town constable, with a squad of as-
sistants under his command.

Before the inmates recovered from their first
surprise, the official advanced, placing his hand
firmly on the shoulder of Luke Peters.

“Tn the name of the commonwealth, you are
my prisoner!”

 

CHAPTER XXIII.

KENNETH HASTINGS returned to Crofton, af-
ter a prolonged business tour. He had done
well, both for himself and his employers, and
the Russell Brothers pronounced high enco-
miums upon his ability and diligence?

It was here that Adria’s missive, containing
information of her father’s death and her own
desolate condition reached him, nearly three
months after it was dispatched.

It had followed him from place to place,
until it lodged for a time in an obscure office
where he had not deemed it necessary to leave
his address. From thence it traveled to the
Dead Letter Office, from whence it returned to
the Russell Brothers, they having inclosed her
envelope in a letter of instructions which failed
to reach the ee at the proper time.

He was shocked and grieved. With scarcel
an hour’s delay he set out for the Grange. It
was quite dark when the train whizzed up to
the little bay-shore station, where he alighted.
A heavy rain was falling, and the wind, sweep-
ing up the coast, drove it in drenching gusts;
but, deterred by neither the hour nor the
weather, he made his way immediately to the
Grange.

But here he met with bitter disappointment.
Adria had left suddenly, more than a week be-
fore. Valeria had gone out in the early after-
noon, and had not yet returned. The house-
keeper thought she would remain over night
with Mrs. Templeton. Mr. Kerr, too, had been
gone since morning. There was no one from
whom he could obtain the definite information
regarding the whereabouts of his darling which
he required. So he went back to the village, to
en anight’s lodging at the single public

ouse the place afforded.

As he walked, he could hear a dull noise,
above the roar of the bay—a heavy, thumping
sound, but he gave little heed to it. h
should he? He knew nothing of the awful peril
it was heralding for Adria.

He remembered the location of the village
chapel, and, coming abreast of it, was surprised
to see it alight upon such a night. It seemed to
him there was some unusual commotion within,
and he hastened to the doorway tq ascertain the
cause.

At the instant a man ran down the stree'
uttering hoarse cries of alarm. Kenneth calle
to him, but he ran on, unheeding. A second
messenger came up, less hurriedly, as the people
within the church reached the door.

“The ice has broken above, and gorged in
the river’s turn. The flats are flooded with
back-water, and unless the way is opened speed-
ily, the stream will cut a shorter channel across
to the bay.”

There was a wild shriek from the group at
the door—a man’s scream—which chilled the
blood of the hearers.

Luke Peters raved wildly, and strove to
free himself from those holding him in custody.

“They are in the mill!” he cried. ‘The old
mill on the river bank. They will die there—
die without aid; be choked by the cold water,
or crushed and mangled with the ice. Let me
go, Tsay! Are you men, that you will let them
perish without an effort?” -

His captors thought it a ruse to eseape from
their hands. _ But Colonel Templeton, cig ii
by the awful danger threatening the girl
been instrumental] in placing there, confirmed
bis story.

‘* Miss Ellesford is at the mill,” he said, know-
ing, in that moment of excitement, no one
would question how she came there.

Kenneth, in the fast-gathering crowd, sprung
forward, with an agonized sy.

“For God’s sake, let no time be lost! Let
some one, who knows the way, lead on, and all
Mi who have men’s hearts, find tools for cut-

ing the ice, and follow as quickly as you can.”

uke Peters caught sight of the young man’s
excited face, and relapsed into sudden calm.

‘“‘Tt is her son,” he whispered to himself.

Then he watched his opportunity, as the panic

 

 

 

e had |

spread, and, darting unexpectedly away out of © Y
| with their united strength they drew him upon
thick darkness beyond. He had been handcuff- |

his captors’ grasp, was lost in the crowd and the

ed, but, with a violent effort, he tore his left
hand through the clasping fetter, never heeding
the lacerated flesh,

It proved as the man had said.
low ground was flooded, and the occasional
crash of trees in the direction of the stream’s
current, told bow rapidly the bank was being
undermined,

the men and women floe

a7
No mortal aid could bridge that sea of stiller
water between, but where the immense icc-
cakes heaved and crushed together with dull,
on sound.

A few fishermen had dragged their boats to
the water’s edge, but there was no chance of
launching them. The only possibility of their
— lay in giving speedy vent to the rising

Kenneth was foremost in action. A myriad
of lanterns flashed their lights from the shore.
With ax in hand, he sprung out upon the ice-
wall, piled high across the channel, and called
loudly for others to follow him. Then the keen
steel rung down with steady blows, and, ina
second more, a score of able men were at his
side, devoting all their strength to the perilous
task,

Luke Peters crouched out of range of the
lights, glaring at the tiny point of flame far
away in the midst of the seething element.
Twice he bad attempted to reach it by springing
from cake to cake of the ee ice, and twice
he had been driven back by the impassable,
yawning gulfs which opened before him,

A group of fisherwomen, clustered upon the
higher ground, now approached nearer him.

‘It’s gorging here,” one said. ‘I knew it
was out there beyant the mill, or it couldn’t
have stood so long.”

Luke drew himself nearer the water’s edge
and gazed steadily out. It was as the woman
said. The ice had formed in an unbroken line,
as far as his sight reached. ‘

He went to the one who had spoken, and ask-
ed for her lantern. His wild, pallid face fright-
ened her. He extended his hand, and she saw
that it was torn and bleeding.

“Yer hurt, oy man,” she said, with rough
kindness. ‘‘ Hold ye here, and I'll bind it with
a bit o’ my gownd!”

He laughed, and held up his other hand with
the irons dangling from the wrist.

“ Now will you give it to me?” he demanded.
“You were kind, though, to offer it,” he ad-
ae in a changed tone, ‘‘but J don’t feel my

urt.

He took the lantern from her hand and step-
peo cautiously out upon the lodged fragments.

and on, poses his wa See leapin
from point point, crawling on hand an
knees over jugged heaps, losing his foothold
sometimes and sliding almost into certain de-
struction, but preserved through all, until he
could distinguish the light in the mill, his guid-
pe. psne an nearer and nearer to him
as 7 alternately ost and again caught it in his ,
sight.

Then the steadfast line began to lead him
away from it. He left its comparative safety
and sprung from one to another of the floeting |
masses. He could see the blacker proportions
of the mill loom out of the darkness, and the
mee he had watched so eagerly was just ahead
of him.

The water filling into the lower story of the
mill, the two women had with difficulty ascend-
ed a broken old stairway to the second floor.
But the flood’ followed stealthily. Tearing
loose such boards as yielded to their strength,
they lashed them, with the blankets cut in
strips, into the form of a raft. On this floatin
platform they were raised, until it was even wit
the windows from which the sashes had fallen
in decay. Then they saw the light gleaming
over the space between them and the shore. It
was still raining, but more gently now, and the
wind was lulling to a calm.

Peters came gradually on, coolly calculating
every move he made, until within a half-dozen
rods of the mill. There the water ran more
swiftly, driving the ice in another direction.
He plunged into the current striking boldly for
the guiding light.

He was covered from head to foot with
bruises, received on the way. His hands were
fearfully lacerated and so benumbed that he
used them with difficulty, his clothes were torn,
and bloody from his wounds, yet he struggled
desperately on. ;

e women strained their eyes toward the ob-
ject = knew to be a man striving to reach
them. moment more and he would be safe-
ly with them.

Then an undercurrent cast up a sharp-edged
mass which crushed against him, and forced the
mangled form close up to the refuge it had

“or
| he women cried out with sharp horror. Then

Adria clutched him as he was going down, aid

the platform.
He was not dead,. but senseless, and so crush-
ed that life: could not long remain, They did

' what they could for him, and waited hopelessly

All of the |

for the death which they felt would take the
three together. -

‘Every minute held an age of torturing sus-
pense, The water rose steadily, and the long

! night wore on.
A faint glimmer of light, far out of reach of

g there, declared the ©

position of the mill, and that its inmates were —

ee
“Thank God!” went up, fervently, from the
assembly, But their ition seemed hopeless,

| fie

At last came a loud huzza from below. The
workmen had effected an outlet for the dammed-
up element. They clambered back to the solid
‘ound, and the terrent rushed madly throu
breach, widening it with every second’s
space until the entire gorge was swept away.

 
    

18 aancke

 

ADRIA, THE ADOPTED.

 

 

 

Gray dawn was breaking in the east when | ‘Fora while 1 traveled about with a circus

kind!
cue of those within it.

his heart with a joyful sob of thanksgiving.
Reginald Templeton stood back, cursing the
fate which had saved her for his rival when she
was lost to him.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Luks PETERS lay at the Grange, dying.

Valeria had given orders for the removal of
the sufferers to her home, as soon as they were
rescued from their peril. Nelly and Adria suf-
fered only rn inconvenience from the
exposure they had sustained. Perhaps their
sympathy for the man who had 'so rashly for-
feited his claim on life to reach them, prevented
more serious consequences,

Adria felt herself amply rewarded for all her
recent trials by her lover’s presence, and the
assurances he gave her that they should not
part again.

Reginald had not: been seen since the party
succeeded in reaching the mill. Valeria grew
nervously anxious. What would be the re-
sult of the strategy which had made her his wife?

A note was placed in her hand during the day.
She grew sick at heart, and went away by her-
self ere she opened it:

“You have usurped my name, so wear it, and
flaunt it to your heart’s content. ‘You'll get no
further satisfaction from me. I don’t blame you
much for the part yes played, now I know the
girl would have died before she had bent to my
will. I shall seek my Lethe where no familiar
associations shall revive things past. bas Si ig

The guard whose duty it was to keep Peters
in charge, could not but perceive his helpless
condition. The chief officer detailed two men to
remain at the Grange, but otherwise he was
left free of restraint.

He suffered excruciatingly for a few hours,
and then his pain almost entirely left him.
This, the physician said, was a symptom that
mortification had already set upon the crushed
body. He was very weak, but conscious.

At his desire, a magistrate was summoned,
and he made a full confession of past crimes.

““V'd let them go to the death with me,” he
said, ‘‘ but some I can tell may help her in get-
bas back her rights.”

early as possible in his own words, but
omitting details unconnected with this story, is
the following narrative;

“The woman who calls herself Nelly Kent
is truly Helen Ellesford,” he began. ‘‘I wanted
to marry her once, but she knew better than_I.
She was never meant for the like of me. But
1 didn’t think so then, and when she refused to
listen to my love, I swore to take revenge for
her scorn of me. I hated Hugh Ellesford from
the moment I first saw him, when he came to
her rescue after I, in my mad folly, had insult-
ed her in the street.

“T watched them both and saw the growing
intimacy. I waited to strike her a blow through
him which should leave her desolate on the
brink of expected happiness. But they eluded
even my vigilance, ey married, and were
gone so suddenly that I found myself foiled.

“T kmew he was an American, so I sailed
for this country, and for years I wandered
throughout the United States, seeking some
trace of them.

*) found it in their boy, then about four
years old, whom they had sent with his nurse
to the Virginia sea-coast. I knew the woman,
Juana; and the boy from his resemblance to his
mother, —

_“T stole the child, and afterward traced the
woman back to the Grange. I was satisfied
for the time, with my meed of revenge, and

left them to mourn together over the supposed

'

death of their babe,

“T took the lad to a village in an Eastern
State, representing myself as the father, and re-
duced by illness to such destitution that I could
not properly provide for him.

“T was directed to a middle-aged, childless
couple, by name Hastings, who consented to
adopt him as their own, provided I would make
no future effort to reclaim him. I willingly ac-
ceded to their terms, only stipulating that the.
should let me hear of him at stated intervals.
few weeks later the woman died suddenly. The
we peers = P pape e sar ne oan ina
neighboring State, but, true to our bargain,
kept me informed regarding the boy. The lat-
ter was known by the name of his adopted fa-
ther, and by most people was supposed to be his
own child.

“Tn time, Hastings also died, But I still as-
sured myself of the boy’s continued residence
in Crofton, It is he whom you know as Ken-
ueth Hastings!” M+ fig

Nelly Kent, or as we must now call her, Mrs.

Hllesford, gave a sudden cry.
“M bor mn Cay

ry. fs +

Kenneth clasped her outstretched hand, and,
laying his -bronzed face against her cheek,
whispered: _ - ‘

The the tot ted, were united at last,

e two, long separated, were

and each heart recognized the mutual claim,
_ Peters continued; >

men penetrated to the mill, and the res- | company, but tiring of that, I went to New

| York, and there allied myself with a class of gen-
Foremost was Kenneth, who clasped Adria to | tlemanly knaves, whose profession embraced any

 

thing from cutting a man’s throat down to pick-
ing his pocket.

“My skill as a gymnast made me a valuable
acquisition to their number. We did not con-
fine our operations to that city alone, but had
branch organizations throughout the country.
It afterward fell to my lot to go from place to
piace carrying tidings too important to be
trusted to cipher dispatches.

‘On one of these occasions I fell:in with Alan
Templeton. He hired me to do some trifling
jobs for him that were of a nature gentlemen
don’t care to be connected with. I found after-
ward that with these he was merely sounding
me and my trustworthiness.

“ At last he intrusted me with the work he
had been preparing for all the time.

‘‘His wife had once been affianced to Hugh
Ellesford, but. Colonel Templeton’s overtures
won her, and she eloped with the latter. Not-
withstanding this conclusive evidence of her
preference, Templeton had always entertained a
suspicion that the lady cared more for her lover
than his (the colonel’s) wife had any right to do.

“Twas deputed to keep an espionage over
the lady and her actions. She was at The Firs
then, while her husband was absent during a
great portion of the time. Well, I executed my
task faithfully, never losing si ht of her when
without her door, and carefully noting all visi-

tors.

“‘ At the end of a fortnight I had discovered
nothing which could be construed as improprie-
ty in her actions. _Then one morning she walk-
ed out beyond The Firs into the Ellesford
grounds, and there encountered the master of
the ale It appeared as a purely accidental
meeting though they held a lengthened conver-
sation which I was not near enough to overhear.

“Colonel Templeton came down from the city
the same evening, and sought me at once for
my report. He lost control over himself as I
had never known him before to do, when he
learned of that meeting. He rushed away,
ee me to remain about the vicinity,
as he might find work for me that night.

* A couple of hours later, he came out to me
again. I don’t know what happened in that
time, but his face was hard and expressionless
as a mask, only his eyes held a devilish light.

““¢She has gone to him,’ he said, and his
voice was perfectly cool. ‘You must put that
man out of the way. A thousand dollars in
your pocket the moment the job is done!’

‘‘He knew of my hatred for Ellesford, and
had previously got from me the fact of his pri-
vate marriage, and the secret of the boy’s
existence, He knew he could depend upon me,
He quietly gave me the details of the plan he
proposed following.

“We went together to the Grange, gaining
ingress without trouble. Ellesford kept no ser-
vant except the woman Juana, so there was
little fear of chance Smeg vere e intend-
ed lying in wait until the dead of the night;
but, while it was yet early, there was a sudden
commotion in the house, and a woman rushed
past our hiding-place. j

“ Almost involuntarily we followed her, but,
even then, Colonel Templeton retained his com-
posure and securely locked the doors communi-
cating with the kitchen and adjoining apart-
ments. The door of the parlor was wide open,
and we saw Hugh Ellesford’s wife confronting
her husband and the other woman, but she rush-
ed, out never seeing us. Templeton’s hand for an
instant closed upon my arm like a vise.

“*Now! he said, and we sprung in upon
them. Mrs. Templeton had fainted. Her hus-
band hurled Ellesford back, and catching her
up, hurried away.

“When I saw the man who had won Helen’s
love, I lost all sense except my bitter hate for
him. He saw murder in my face, and put up
his hands as if to defend himself, but he wight
as well have tried to resist fate itself. I had a
keen-edged knife in my hand, but he fought
fiercely, and I could not succeed in giving him
a fatal wound. I threw the blade away, and
springing at him suddenly, fastened my hands
on his throat.

‘‘He tried to speak. ‘Helen, my wife—’ he
muttered. His words maddened me still more,
and I choked the utterance in his throat. Even
when I knew he was quite dead, I beat and
stamped upon bim,

“Tnever remembered how I got pyar. from
the place. When I came to myself, had
crawled back to The Firs, and Colonel Temple-
ton had hidden me in an unused cellar. He kept
me there until the immediate excitement died
away, and then procured me a disguise, by means
of which I succeeded in making my escape.”

' The confession was duly signed and witness-
ed, and he lay back completely exhausted.

Old Juana, who had been sent for, had crept
into the room during the recital. She was now
seen upon her knees, silent tears of thanksgiving
rolling down her cheeks. x i

“The Blessed Virgin be praised,” she cried,

/ Yerion hen ae lf, recited her

;

 

“After my mistress left me, that dreadful
night, [ was stupefied for a moment, dreading
what might come. When I did attempt to fol-
jow her, I found the door locked against me.
Then I heard sounds as of a violent struggle. I
crouched down on the floor, fearing and praying.

““« All became still for a time. I waited there,
not daring to move. Horrible sights kept defin-
ing themselves before my eyes, against the
blank darkness. I waited and ae through
all that terrible night, made worse by the awful
silence in the house beyond.

“ Daylight came, after what seemed ages of
suspense. Then I stole out at the back entrance,
through the garden walks to the front. The
door was wide open, and there was blood on the
steps. Igrew sick and faint, but put down the
weakness, and went steadily in.

“ Tt proved as I feared. y master lay mur-
dered, and in a pool of blood on the floor I found
the locket which my mistress always wore. I
secured it, and also the knife which lay at one
side, lest it, too, might tell a tale. The locket I
carefully cleaned, and put by in the secret draw-
er; the knife I buried where I knew it could not
be found.

“ Afterward I gave the alarm. I supposed
that my mistress had committed the deed, ren-
dered furious by the other woman’s presence
there; and assumed my part to ward off any
suspicion which might betray her.

‘When months passed, and I learned of her
whereabouts—”

The physician at the bedside stopped the wo-
man’s story with a gesture. A change was com-
ing over Luke Peters’s face.

‘Td like to hear her say she forgives me,” ha
muttered. ‘‘ Where is she—Nelly!”

Mrs. Ellesford laid ber trembling hand on his.

‘* Ask one mightier than I to forgive, Pedro.
I hold no anger against you—may God pardon

you as freely.

He seemed satisfied; then some remembrance
disturbed him,

nae “T looked for

Papers, he muttered.
them in the drawer, but they were gone,
musi find them to prove—to prove—”

His mind wandered for a moment, but revert
ed back to the subject.

“The certificates were not there,” he repeated.

‘They are here, my man!”

Luke Poa. his fingers over them, then his
hand fell helplessly away.

“‘T can’t see,” he murmured. Then he sunk
gradually into unconsciousness, and passed
quietly away.

Bitter tears were shed over the death-bed of
that crime-laden man. But those whom he had
injured most, rejoiced that Death had snatched
his victim, rather, tban he should have perished
through execution of the law.

Mrs. Ellesford and Kenneth assumed legal
and undisputed possession at the Grange.

There was a quiet marriage ceremony, where
Adria placed her hand in that of her_heart’s
choice, and promised to ‘‘ love, honor and obey,”
until death should part them.

CHAPTER XXvV.

CoLONEL TEMPLETON was lodged in a cell of
the county jail, arrested for instigating and be-
ing accessory to the murder of the late Hugh
Ellesford. Luke Peters’s confession was in the
hands of the law, and that powerfnl organ lost
no time in enforcing its requirements.

He paced the floor with measured tread, his
face passive, and lip scornfully curved, as of old.
He was not one to shrink from even such dan-
ger as now encompassed him.

There were ravneee in the corridor, the iron
door swung open, and the jailer ushered in Mrs.
Templeton. She was scarcely more worn or
depressed than she had been before.

She went to him, laying her hand timidly on

arm,

“ Alan, my husband!”

“ Well, Irene?”

He did not look at her, but stared steadfastly
before him.

“Oh, Alan! Alan!” All her forced compo-
sure gave way, and she clung sobbingly to him.
“Oh, my husband, you must believe me now—
now that we part forever. Oh, Alan! I gave
my very soul to you. It was cruel to ever
doubt me.”

He put out his hand, touching her face gently.

“T think I see more clearly now, Irene; but I
crushed out my sentimentality long ago. Don’t
cry, and don’t fear that I er the fate
they’re planning for me.”

e grew quiet at once.

“T know,” she said. ‘‘ Look here, Alan!”

She drew from beneath her cloak a file and a
tiny saw. He took them, concealing them
about his own person. ;

“Thank you, Irene!”

They conversed quietly on temporal things
until ber time had expired. Then he clasp
bet his arms a moment, and kissed her ten-

erly.

“You will be happier without me,” he said.

You

 

“CT shall dio,” she said, “and then T may find
(PSR tow nights afterward there was 9 great

 

All her heart’s agony burst out in a hopeless

 

;

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

soa

ent eee

 

mak rox

ery raised in the little village. Colonel Tem-

pleton had broken jail. The forces'rallied in
ursuit, but he escaped them all. Tidings of
him were never wafted back.

Notwithstanding Valeria’s ungenerous con-
duct, and her cowplicity in Adria’s abduction,
the latter would sill have interceded for her,
and secured her a permanent home at the
Grange. But Valeria steadily refused the un-
merited kindness.

She went instead to Mrs. Templeton.

“Tam Reginald’s wife,” she said. ‘T love
him so that he can not but come back to me
some day. Let me stay with you and care for
you until then.”

And Reginald’s mother made her kindly wel-

come.
Mrs. Templeton failed rapidly from the mo-
ment she was assured of her husband’s safety.
Before the summer passed she sent a tremulous
line to the widow of Hugh Ellesford:

“Tam dying. Will you not come to me? f
“ TRENE TEMPLETON.”

She went at once. Only pity was in her
heart, when she compared the fate of this sor-
row-stricken woman with her own—completely
happy, now.

‘Tsent for you,” Mrs. Templeton said. “TI

Mowe to assure you of your husband’s loyal
truth,
‘‘T bad been ill of a fever, and recovering but
slows came to The Firs, believing country air
would do me good. My husband ”—she spoke as
though deprecating anger against him—‘ had
always been jealous of my former attachment,
utterly without cause, for I gave him my whole
heart when I married him.

“During one of my morning walks, as I began
to grow stronger, | met Mr. Ellesford. I was
looking wretchedly ill, and he spoke to me with
kindly solicitude, I had ventured further than
1 should have done, and he, leading me toa seat,
declared I must rest before attempting to return.
Afterward, he gave me his arm back to my own

te,

gate.

“That night een burst in upon me in
an insane rage. e accused me of faithlessness
—untruth to him whom I loved better than my
own life; taunted me with holding clandestine
interviews with my former admirer.

‘His bitter words drove me wild. First, I had
clung to him, rotesting my innocence; then, re-
alizing fully the injustice he did me, I disdained
to refute the’¢harges he presented.

“ My silence only aggravated him.

ba by don’t you go to him openly? he asked,
mockingly. ‘I was so readily blinded, I wonder
you have not faced me with him as your dearest
friend.’

“The fever coursed through my veins again.
I was not myself, or I would never have answer-
ed and acted so rashly.

‘““*T will go to him,’ I said, ‘and ha shall
prove to you how wrongly you have accused
me

“T fled then, out poecughs the gathering night,
straight to the Grange. There my strength de-
serted me, and Isunk down, weak and trembling,
on the threshold. Your husband found me
there, and, taking me in his arms, as though I
had been achild, carried me within.

“He rung for lights, and for wine, with which
to revive me, but the woman bringing them mis-
understood the situation, She spoke sullenly,
and acted strangely. Much annoyed, Mr, Elles-
ford dismissed her from the room, and endeav-
ve tosoothe me, until I could tell him my er-
rand, r

“Tt was a hard task to reveal my husband’s
unjust suspicions; but he gathered my mission,
and promised to accompany me back to The
Firs, and add his testimony to my own, soon as
Ishould be strong enough to return.

“While we waited, he told me of you, and of
his happy life. ‘I know you will keep my se-
cret,’ he said.

“Phen you burst in upon us, and beyond you,
through the open doorway, I saw my husband's
face, with a vengeful look upon it which struck
my heart cold and numb.

“T fainted then, and knew no more until I
awoke in my own chamber, and heard them talk
of the mysterious tragedy enacted at the
Grange.

“ A nobler heart never beat in man’s bosom
than the one you wronged by doubting it.”

Helen Hllesford shed remorseful tears. But
whe was ao afterward than she could have
been without the knowledge,

Mrs. Templeton lingered on through the
‘warmer months,and went with the falling leaves.

The Firs had been secured to her, and at her
death she bequeathed the place to Valeria.

And there the latter waits still—a lonely
woman, hoping against hope, that the man who
: her husband only in name may yet return to

er. :

The happy ones at the Grange do all they can
to relieve her solitude, and she has expanded
better qualities beneath the influence which
could forgive and bury recollections of her own
selfish: =e

n |

Let she t least
By Py eke may a’ become reeoneil-
DAR END,

 

ADOPTED. :

 

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volume contains 100 large panes, printed from clear,
open type, comprising the best collection of Dia-
logues, Dramas and Recitations, (burlesque, comic
and otherwise.) The Dime Speakers for the season:
of 1880—as far as now issued—embrace twenty-threc*
volumes, viz. :

1, American Speaker, | 28. School Speaker,

2. National Speaker. 14, Tudicrous Speaker,

8. Patriotic Speaker, 15, Komikal Speaker,

4, Comic Speaker. 16, Youth’s Speaker,

5. Elocutionist. 17, Eloquent Speaker,

6, Humorous Speaker. 18. Hail Columbia Speak
% Standard Speaker. er.

8, Stump Speaker. 19, Serio-Comic Speaker,
9, Juvenile Speaker. 20, Select Speaker.

10, Spread-Eagle Speaker | 21. Funny Speaker.

11. Dime Debater. 22, zoly pe

12, Exhibition Speaker. 28, Dialect Speaker.

These books are replete witu choice pieces for the
School-room, the Exhibition, for Homes, etc. They
are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some of
the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama-
tions and Recitations in each book.

Dialogues.

The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages, em-
brace twenty-six books, viz.:
Dialogues No. One. Dialogues No, Fourteen,
Dialogues No. Two. Dialogues No. Fifteen.
Dialogues No. Three. Dialogues No. Sixteen.
Dialogues No, Four. Dialogues No, Seventeen.
Dialogues No. Five, Dialogues No. Wighteen
Dialogues No, Six. Dialogues No, Nineteen,
Dialogues No, Seven. Dialogues No. Twenty,
Dialogues No, Hight. Dialogues No, Twenty-one.
Dialogues No, Nine. Dialogues No, Twenty-two,
Dialogues No. Ten, Dialogues No. Twenty-three
Dialogues No. Eleven, | Dialogues No. Twenty-four,
Dialogues No. Twelve. | Dialogues No. Twenty-five.
Dialogues No, Thirteen. | Dialogues No. Twenty-six.

15 to 2% Dialogues and Dramas in each book.

These volumes have been reperey with especial
reference to their availability in all school-rooms,
They are adapted to schools with or without the fur-
niture of a stage, and introduce a range of charac-
ters suited to scholars of every grade, both male and —
female. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet
offered to schools, at any price, contain so many
available and useful dialogues and dramas, serious
and comic.

Dramas and Readings.
164 12mo Pages. 20 Cents,

For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am-
ateur Stage, comprising Original Minor Dramas,
Comedy, Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous Dialogue
and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations.
and Readings, new and standard, of the greatest}
celebrity and interest. Edited by Prof, A. M. Russell.

DIME HAND-BOOKS.
Young People’s Series.

Bravie’s Dime Hanv-Booxs ror Youn@ Propie
cover a wide range of subjects, and are especially
adapted to their end. They constitute at once the
cheapest and most useful works yet put into the
market for popular circulation,

Book of Games.
Fortune-Teller,
Lovers’ Casket.

Gents’ Letter-Writer.
Book of Etiquette.
Book of Verses. Ball-room Companion.
Book of Dreams, Book of Beauty,

Hand-Books of Games.

Brapir’s Dime Hanp-Books or GAMES AND PoPULAR
Hanp-Books cover a variety of subjects, and are es-
pecially enee to their end.

andbook of Summer Sports.
Book of Croquet. Yachting and Rowing. ®
Chess Instructor. Riding and Driving.
Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrianism.
Guide to Swimming. Base-Ball Player for 1880.
Handbook of Winter Sports,

Manuals for Housewives.

Brapir’s Din Famiiy Serres aims to supply a
class of text-books and manuals fitted for every per-
son’s use—the old and the young, the learned and

the unlearned, They are of conceded value,

1, Cook Book. 4. Family Physician,

2. Recipe Book. 5, Dressmak and Mil-
8. Housekeeper’s Guide, linery.

 

Lives of Great Americans

Are presented complete and authentic biographies
of many of the men who have added luster to the
Se by their lives and deeds. The series em-
Aces:
I.—George Washington.’ | VII.—David Crockett,
11—Johu Paul Sou VIII.—Israel Putnam,
Til.—Mad AnthonyWayne| IX,.—Kit Carson,

IV.—Ethan Allen. X,—Tecumseh,
V.—Marquis de Lafay-| XI.—Abraham Lincolr,
XIT.—Pontiac.

ette.
VI.—Daniel Boone. XIIL.—Ulysses 8, Grant.

SONG BOOKS. é

Brapix's Dre Sone Boos, Nos. 1 to 88, eontaining
the only popular collection of co yright songs
found n the ea " wer \
e€ .
School Mielodist, | Muste and Worda.

JOKE BOOKS. eat
Pocket Joke Book. Ji Book.
Paddy Whack Joke Soke a
The above publications for sale by all newsdealers
on receipt of Pelee, by
Br, N, Y,

READUE «ADAMS Bs Wnntan

 

‘

 
 

Nos. 1 to 26 inclusive.

Din

15 to 25 Popular Dialogues and Dramas in each book.

LOGUES

, BRBUBHTIONS
FOR SCHO

a
&

Y
*
¢ »
HOME EN*

Each volume 100 12mo pages, sent

post-paid, on receipt of price, TEN CENTS.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St., N. Y.

These volumes have been prepared with especial reference to their availability for Exhibitions; being adapted to schools and parlors with
or without the furniture of a stage, and suited to SCHOLARS AND YOUNG PEOPLE of every age, both male and female. It is fair to assume
that no other books in the market, at any price, contain so many useful and available dialogues and dramas of wit, pathos, humor and sentiment.

Dime Dialogues, No. 1.

Meeting of the Muses. For nine young ladies.

Baiting a Live Euglishman. For three boys.

Tasso’s Coronation. For male and female.

Fashion. For two ladies.

Therehearsal. For six a

Which will you Choose? For two boys.

The = of May. For two little girls.

The Tea-Party. For four ladies.

Three Scenes in Wedded Life. For male and female.

Mrs. Sniffles’s Confession. For male and female.

The Mission of the Spirits. For five young ladies.

Hobnobbing. For five speakers.

The Secret of Success. For three speakers.

a. For three males and two females.

Jose} e’s Destiny. For four females, one male,

The od of the Duel. For three male speakers.

Dogmatism. For three male speakers.

The Ignorant Confounded. For two boys.

The Fast Young Man. For two males.

The Year’s Reckoning. Twelve females, one male.

The Village with One Gentleman. For eight females
and one male.

 

Dime Dialogues, No. 2.

The Genius of Liberty. Two males and one female.
Cinderella; or, the Little Glass Slipper.

Doing Good and Saying Bad. For several characters.
The Golden Rule. For two males and two females.
The Gift of the Fairy Queen. For several females.
Taken in and Done for. For two characters.
Country Aunt’s Visit to the City. Several characters.
The Two Romans. For two males.

Trying the Characters. For three males.

The appy Family. For several ‘‘ animals.”

The Rainbow. For several characters.

How to write “ Popular” Stories. For two males.
The New and the Oi. For two males.

A Sensation at Last. For two males.

The Greenhorn, For two males.

The Three Men of Science. For four males.

The Old Lady’s Will. For four males.

The Little Philosophers. For two little girls.

How to Find an Heir. For five males.

The Virtues. For six young ladies.

A Connubial Eclogue._.

The Public Meeting. For five males and one female.
The English Traveler. For two males.

Dime Dialogues, No. 3.

The May Queen. For an entire school.

Dress Reform Convention. For ten females,
Keeping Bad oRenT. A Farce. For five males.
Conrting Under Difficulties. Two males, one female,
Nati ‘Representatives. A Burlesque. Four males.
Escaping the Draft. For numerous males.

The Genteel Cook. For two males.

Masterpiece, For two males and two females.

The Two Romans. For two males,

The Same. Second Scene. For two males.

| Showing the White Feather. Your males, one female.
The Battle Call. A Recitative. For one male.

Dime Dialogues, No. 4.

The Frost King. For ten or more persons.

Sta. in Life. For three males and two females.
Faith, Hope and Charity. For three little girls.
Darby and Joan. For two males and one female.

» The . AFloral Fancy. For six little girls.
The Enchanted Princess. 2 males, several females.
Honor to Whom Honor is Due. 7 males and1 femal.
The Gentle Client. Several males and one female.
Phrenolo; A Discussion. For twenty males.
The Stubbletown Volunteer. 2 males and 1 female.

Scene from “ Paul Pry.” For four males.
The Charms. For three males and one female.
Bee, Clock and Broom. For three little girls.
The Right way. A Colloquy. For two boys.
What the Ledger Says. For two males,
The Crimes of Dress. A Colloquy. For two boys.
e Reward of Benevolence. For four males.
Letter. For two males.

 

. Playing

|
|
|

Dime Dialogues, No. 5.

The Three Guesses. For school or parlor.
Sentiment. A ‘‘ Three Persons’ ”’ Farce.

Behind the Curtain. For males and females.

The Eta Pi Society. For five boys and a teacher.
Examination Day. For several female characters.
Trading in “Traps.” For several males.

The Schoolboys’ Tribunal. For ten boys.
A Loose Tongue. For several males and females.
How Not to Get an Answer. For two females.

Putting on Airs. A Colloquy. For two males.
The Straight Mark. For several boys.

Two ideas of Life. A Colloquy. For ten girls.
Extract from Marino Faliero.
Ma-try-Money. An Acting Charade.

The Six Virtues. For six young ladies.

The Irishman at Home. For two males.
Fashionable Requirements. For three ii
A Bevy of I's (Eyes). For eight or less little girls.

Dime Dialogues, No. 6.

The Way They Kept a Secret. For male and females,
The Poet under Difficulties. For five males,

William Tell. For a whole school.

Woman’s Rights. For seven females and two males.
Allis not Gold that Glitters. For male and females,
The Generous Jew. For six males.

Shopping. For three males and one female.

The Two Counselors, For three males.

The Votaries of Folly. For a number of females,
Aunt Betsy’s Beaux. Yor four females and two

males.
The Libel Suit. For two females and one male.
Santa Claus. For a number of boys.
Christmas Fairies. For several little girls.
The Three Rings. For two males.
Dime Dialogues, No. 7.

The Two Begsare. For fourteen females.

The Earth-Child in Fairy-Land. For girls.
aces Years Hence. Two females, one male.
The Way to Windham. For two males.

Woman. A Poetic Passage at Words. Two boys.
The ‘Ologies. A Colloquy. For two males.

How to Get Rid of a Bore. For several boys.
Boarding-School. For two males and two females.
Plea for the Pledge. For two males.

The Ills of Dram-Drinking. For three boys.

True Pride. A Colloquy. For two females.

The Two Lecturers. For numerous males.

Two Views of Life. A Colloquy. For two females.
The Rights of Music. For two females.

A Hopeless Case. A Query in Verse. Two girls.
The Would-be School-Teacher. For two males.
Come to Life too Soon. For three males.

Eight O’clock. For two little girls.

True Dignity. A Colloquy. For two boys.

Grief too Expensive. For two males.

Hamlet and the Ghost. For two persons.

Little Red Riding Hood. For two females.

New Sn: roan ey of an Old Rule. Boys and girls.
Colored Cousins. A Colloquy. For two Co

Dime Dialogues, No. 8.

The Fairy School. For a number of girls.

The abn | Officer. For three girls and twe boys. |

The Base-ball Enthusiast. For three boys.

The Girl of the Period. For three girls.

The Fowl Rebellion. For two males and one female.

Slow but Sure. For several males and two females.

Caudle’s Velocipede. For one male and one female.

The Figures, For several small children.

The Trial of Peter Sloper. For seven boys.

Getting a Photograph. For males and females.

The Society for General Improvement. For girls.

A Nobleman in Disguise. ree girls and six boys.

Great E tations. For two boys.

hool. For five females and four males.

ce for the Heathen. For one male and one fe-
male,

A Hard Case. For three boys.

Ghosts. For ten females and one male,

t

Dime Dialogues, No. 9.

| Advertising for Help. For a number of females.
| America to England, Greeting. For two boys.
| The og and the New. For four females and one
male.
Choice of Trades. For twelve little boys.
| The Lap-Dog. For two females.
The Victim. For four females and one male,
The Duelist. For two boys.
| The True Philosophy. For females and males.
| A Good Education. For two females.
The Law of Human Kindness. For two females.
| Spoiled Children. For a mixed school.
Brutus and Cassius,
| Coriolanus and Aufidius.
' The New Scholar. For a number of girls.
The Self-made Man. For three males.
The May Queen a 2). For a school,
Mrs. Lackland’s Economy. For four boys and three

irls.
Should Women be Given the Ballot? For boys.
eye

we
| Dime Dialogues, No. 10.

Mrs. Mark Twain’s Shoe. For one male and one
female.

The Old Flag. School Festival. For three boys.

The Court of Folly.. For many girls.

Great Lives. For six boys and six girls.

Scandal. For numerous males and females,

The Light of Love. For two boys.

The Flower Children. For twelve girls.

The Deaf Uncle.

A Discussion. For two boys.

The Rehearsal. For a school,

The True Way. For three boys and one girl.

A Practical Life Lesson. For three sicle.

The Monk and the Soldier. For two boys.

1776-1876. School Festival. For two girls,

Lord Dundreary’s Visit. For two males and two
females,

Witches in the Cream. For 3 girls and 3 boys.

Frenchman. Charade. Numerous characters.

For three boys.

Dime Dialogues, No. 11.

Appearances are very Deceitful. For six boys.

e Conundrum Family. For male and female.
Curing Betsy. For three males and four females.
Jack and the Beanstalk. Yor five characters.

The Way to Do it and Not to Doit. For three females.
re - ecome Healthy, etc. For one male and one
emale.
The Only True Life. For two girls.
Classic Colloquies. For two boys.
I, Gustavus Vasa and Cristiern.
Il, Tamerlane and Bajazet.
Fashionable Dissipation. For two little girls.
A School Charade. For two boys and two girls.
Jean Ingelow’s “ Songs of Seven.’’ For seven girls,
A Debate. For four boys.
Ragged Dick’s Lesson. For three boys.
School Charade, with Tableau,
A Very Toe Story. For two boys.
A Sell. For three males.
The Real Gentleman. For two boys.

Dime Dialogues, No. 12.

| Yankee Assurance. For several characters.
Boarders Wanted. For several characters.
When I was Young. For two girls.
| The Most Precious Heritage. For two boys.
The Double Cure. For two males and four females.
The Flower-garden Fairies. For five little girls.
Jemima’s Novel. For three males and two females,
Beware of the Widows. For three girls.
A Family not to Pattern After. For ten characters.
How to soar An acting charade.
The Vacation Escapade. For four boys and teacher.
re Naughty Boy, For three females and one
male.

Mad-cap. An acting charade. -
Allis not Gold that Glitters. Acting proverb.
, Sic Transit Gloria Mundi. Acting charade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
|

THE STANDARD DIME DIALOGUES—Continued.

 

 

Dime Dialogues, No. 13.

Two O’clock in the Morning. For three males.

An Indignation Meeting. for several females.
Before and Behind the Scenes. Several characters.
The Noblest Boy. A number of boys and teacher.
Blue Beard. A Dress Piece. For girls and boys.
Not so Bad asit Seems. For several characters.

A Curbstone Moral. For two males and female.
Sense vs. Sentiment. For Parlor and Exhibition.
Worth, not Wealth. For four boys and a teacher,
No such Word as Fail. For several males.

The Sleeping Beauty. For a school.

An Innocent Intrigue. Two males and a female.
Old Nably, the Fortune-teller. For three girls,
Boy-talk, Tor several little boys.

Mother is Dead. For several little girls.

A Practical Illustration, For two boys and girl.

Dime Dialogues, No. 14.

Mrs. Jonas Jones. For three gents and two ladies,
The Born Genius. For four gents.:

More than One Listener. For four — and lady.
Who on Airth is He? . For three girls.

The Right not to be a Pauper. For two boys.
Woman Nature Will Out. For a girls’ school.
Benedict and Bachelor. For two boys.

The Cost of a Dress. For five persons.

The Surprise Party. Yor six little girls.

A Practical Demonstration. For three boys.
Refinement. Acting charade. Several characters.
Conscience the Arbiter. For lady and gent.

How to Make Mothers Happy. For two girls.

A Conclusive Argument. For two boy speakers.
A Woman’s Blindness. For three girls.

Rum’s Work. (Temperance). For four gents,
The Fatal Mistake. For two young ladies.

Eyes and Nose. For one gent and one lady.
Retribution, For a number of boys.

Dime Dialogues, No. 15.

The Fairies’ Escapade. Numerous characters.
A Poet’s Perplexities. For six gentlemen.

A Home Cure. For two ladies and one gent.
The Good there isin Kach. A number of boys.
Gentleman or Monkey. For two bo:

 

~~ —

SS

a

8.

The Little Philosopher, For two litule girls,
Aunt Polly’s Lesson. For four ladies.

A Wind-fall. Acting Charade. For a number.
Will it Pay? For two boys.

The Heir-at-law. For numerous males.

Don’t Believe What You Hear. For three ladies.
A Safety Rule. For three ladies.

The Chief’s Resolve. Extract. For two males
Testing her Friends. For several characters.
The Foreigner’s Troubles. For two ladies.

The Cat Without an Owner. Several characters.
Natural Selection. For three gentlemen,

Dime Dialogues, No. 16.

Polly Ann. For four ladies and one gentleman.
The Meeting of the Winds. For a school.

The Good They Did. For six ladies.

The Boy Who Wins. For six gentlemen.
Good-by Day. A Colloquy. For three girls.
The Sick Well Man. For three boys.

The Investigating Committee. For nine ladies.
A “Corner” in Rogues. For four boys.
The Imps of the Trunk Room. For five girls.
The Boasters. A Colloquy. For two little girls:.
Kitty’s Funeral. For several little girls.
Stratagem. Charade. For several characters.
Testing Her Scholars. For numerous scholars.
The World is What We Make It. For two girls,
The Old and the New. For gentleman and lady.

Dime Dialogues, No. 17.

LITTLE FOLKS’ SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES.

To be peony 62 You Must be Good. For two little girls
and one a4

Evanescent Glory. For a bevy of by

The Little Peacemaker. For two little girls,

What Parts Friends. For two little girls.

t Martha Washington Tea Party. For five little girls
in old-time costume.

The Evil There is in it. For two young boys.

Wise and Foolish Little Girl. For two girls.

A Child’s Inquiries. For small child and teacher.

The ae Club. For two giris and others.

How to do it. For two boys.

A Hundred Years to.Come. For boy and girl.

Don’t Trust Faces. For several small boys.

Above the Skies. For two small girls,

The True Heroism. For three little boys.

Give Us Little Boys a Chance; The Story of the Plum
Pudding; I'll Be a Man; A Little Girl’s Rights
Speech; Johnny’s ppinions of Grandmother; The
Boasting Hen; He Knows der Rest; A Small Boy’s |
View of Corns; Robby’s Sermon; Nobody’s Child;
Nutting at Grandpa Gray’s; Little Boy’s View of |
How Columbus Discovered America; Vittle Girl’s
View; Little Boy’s Speech on Time; A Little
Boy’s Pocket; The Midnight Murder; Robby Rob’s

| Little Red Ridin,
| How She Made

 

Second Sermon; How the Baby Came; A Boy’s
Observations: The New Slate; A Mother's tate:
The Creownin’ Glory; Baby Lulu; Josh pilings on |
the Bumble-bee, Wren, Alligator; Died Yesterday ;

The Chicken’s Mistake; The Heir tc De-
liver Us from Evil; Don’t Want to be Good; Only a
Drunken Fellow; The Two Little Robins; Be Slow
to Condemn; A Nonsense Tale; Little Boy’s Decla-
mation; A Child’s Desire; Bogus; The Goblin Cat;
Rub-a-dub; Calumny; Little Chatterbox; Where
are They? A Boy’s View; The Twenty Frogs; Go-
ing to School; A Morning Bath; The Girl of Dun-
dee; A Fancy; In the Sunlight; The New-laid Egg;
a ite Musician; Idle Ben; Pottery-man; Then
and Now.

Dime Dialogues, No. 18.

F Wishes. Several characters, male and female.

No Rose Without a Thorn. Two males, one female.

Too Greedy by Half. Forthree males.

One Good Turn Deserves Another. For six ladies.

Courting Melinda. For three boys and one lady.

The New Scholar. For several boys.

The Little Intercessor. For four ladies.

Antecedents. For three gentlemen and three ladies.

Give a Dog a Bad Name. For four gentlemen.

Spring-Time Wishes. For six little girls.

Lost Charlie: or, the Gipsy’s Revenge. Fornumer-
ous characters.

A little Tramp. For three little boys.

Hard Times. For two gentlemen and four ladies.
The Lesson Well Wort For two males
and two females.

Dime Dialogues, No. 19.

An Awful me tery. Fortwo females and two males.

Contentment. For five little boys.

Who are the Saints?_ For three young girls.

—— Uncle. For three males and three fe-
males.

Be Kind to the Poor. A little folks’ play.

How People are Insured. A ‘‘ duet.”

Mayor. Acting Charade. For four characters.

The Smoke Fiend. For four boys.

A Kindergarten Dialogue. For a Christmas Festival.

Personated by seven characters.

The Use of Study. For three girls.

The Refined Simpletons. For four ladies.

Remember Benson. For three males.

Modern Education. Three males and one female.

Mad With Too Much Lore, For three males.

The Fairy’s Warning. Dress Piece. For two girls.

Aunt Eunice’s Experiment. For several.

The Mysterious G. G. For two females and one

male.
We'll Have to Mortgage the Farm. For one male
and two females.
An Old-Fashioned Duet.
The Auction, For numerous characters.

Dime Dialogues, No. 20.

The Wrong Man. For three males and three females,

Afternoon Calls. For two little girls.

Ned’s Present. For four boys.

Judge Not. For teacher and several scholars.

Telling Dreams. For four little folks.

Saved by Love. For two boys.

Mistaken Identity. For two males and three females.

Couldn’t Read English. For three males, one female.

A Little Vesuvius. For six little girls.

“ Sold.”’ For three boys.

An Air Castle. For five males and three females.

City Manners and Country Hearts. For three girls
and one boy.

The Silly Dispute. For two girls and teacher.

Not One There! For four male characters.

Foot-print. For numerous characters.

Keeping Boarders, For two females and three males.

A Cure for Good. For one lady and two gentlemen.

The Credulous Wise-Acre. For two males,

Dime Dialogues, No. 21.

A Successful Donation Party. For several.
Out of Debt Out of Danger. For three males and

three females.
Hood. For two children.
im Propose. A duet.
The House on the Hill. For four females,
Evidence enough. For two males.
Worth and Wealth. For four females.
Waterfall. For several.
Mark Hastings’ Return. For four males,
Cinderella. For several children,
Too Much for Aunt Matilda. For three females.
Wit against Wile. For three females and one male.
A Sudden Recovery. For three males.

The Double Stratagem. For four females.
Toe Chickens Before They were Hatched. For
‘our es.

Dime Dialogues, No. 22.
The Dark Cupid. For three Gentlemen and two
ladies.

‘That Ne’er-do-Well. Two males and two females.
High Art. For two girls.

Strange Adventures. For two boys.

The *sSupper. For four ge

A. Practical Exemplification, For two boys.
Titania’s Banquet. For a number of girls.
Monsieur Thiers in America. For four boys.

 

Doxy’s Diplomacy.
ber of “ incidentals.’

A Frenchman. For two ladies and one gentleman.

Boys Will Be Pore. For two boys and one girl.

A Rain Day. For three young ladies.

God Is Love. For a number of scholars.

The Way He Managed. For two males, two females.

Fandango. For various characte.s, white and other-

wise.

The Little Doctor. For two tiny girls.

A Sweet Revenge. For four boys.

A May Day. For three little girls.

as The Sublime to The Ridiculous, For fourteen
males.

Heart NotFace. For five boys.

Dime Dialogues, No. 23.

Rhoda Hunt’s Remedy. For three females, one male,

Hans Schmidt’s Recommend. For two males.

coeny and Grumble. For two little boys.

The Phantom Doughnuts, For six females.

Does it Pay? For six males.

Company Manners and Home Impoliteness. For two
males, two females and two children.

The Glad Days. For two little boys,

Unfortunate Mr. Brown. For one male, six females.

The Real cost. For two girls.

A Bear Garden. For three males and two females,

The Busy Bees. For four little girls.

Checkmate. For numerous characters.

School-Time. For two little girls.

Death Scene. Two principal characters and a

or three females and @ num-

juncts,
Dross and Gold, Several characters, male and female,
Confound Miller. For three males and two females.
Ignorance vs, Justice. For eleven males.

Pedants All, For four males,

Dime Dialogues, No. 24.

The Goddess of Liberty. For nine young ladies

The Three Graces. Yor three little girls,

The Music Director. For seven males,

A Strange Secret. For three girls.

An Unjust Man. For four males.

The Shop Girl’s Victory. For 1 male and 3 females.
The Psychometiser. For 2 gentlemen and 2 ladies. ,
Mean Is No Word For It. For four ladies.
Whimsical. A number of characters of both sexes.
Blessed Are the Peace-makers. Seven young girls.
The Six Brave Men. For six boys.

Have You Heard the News? A gossip’s catastrophe.

The True Queen. A colloquy in verse, 2 young girls.
A Slight Mistake. 4 males, 1 female, and several
auxiliaries,

Lazy and Busy. Adialoguein rhyme, 10 little fellows,

The Old andthe Young. 1 gentleman and 1 little girl.

That Postal Card. For 3 ladies and 1 gentleman,

Mother Goose and Her Household. A whole school
fancy dress dialogue and travestie.

Dime Dialogues, No. 25.

The Societies of the Delectables and Les Miserables.
For two ladies and two gentlemen.

veo ‘ame Would Have. For six little boys and

eacher,

Sunshine Through the Clouds. For four ladies.

The Friend in Need. For four males,

The Hours. For twelve little girls.

In Doors and Out. For five little boys.

Dingbats. For one female and three males,

The Pound of Flesh. For three boys.

Beware of the Peddlers. For seven mixed characters.

Good Words. For a number of boys.

A Friend. For a number of little girls.

The True Use of Wealth. Yor a whole school.

Gamester, For numerous characters,

Put Yourself In His Place, For two boys.

Little Wise Heads. For four little girls.

The Regenerators. For five boys.

Crabtree’s Wooing. For several characters.

Integrity the Basis of All Success. For two males,

A Crooked Way Made Straight. Gentleman and lady.

How to ‘Break In” Young Hearts. For two ladies
and one gentleman.

Dime Dialogues, No. 26.

Poor Cousins. For three ladies and two gentlemen.
Mountains and Mole-hills. For six ladies and several

‘tators,
A Test That Did Not Fail. For six boys.
Two Ways of Seeing Things. For two little girls.
Don’t Count Your Chickens Before They Are
Hatched. For four ladies and a boy.
Allis Fair in Love and War. 38 ladies & 2 gentlemen,
How Uncle Josh Got Rid of the Legacy. For two
males, with several transformations.
The Lesson of werey. For two very small girls.
Practice What You Preach, For four ladies.
Politician. For numerous characters.
The Canvassing Agent. For 2 males and 2 females.
Grub. For two males.
A Slight Scare. For 8 females and 1 male.
Embodied Sunshine. For three young ladies,
How Jim Peters Died. For two males.

For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent, post-
paid, to any address, on receipt of price, ten cents
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PustisHers, ;
98 William Street, New York.

 
  

—

 

Yo America,
Birthday of Washington,
Plea for the Maine Law,
Not on the Battlefield,
‘The Italian, Struggle,
Gide REEne

Our Country,

The Equality of Man,
Character of the Revo’n,
The Fruits of the War,
The Sewing-Machine,
True Manhood,

The Mystery of Life,
The Ups and Downs,

The Truly Great,

Early Retiring and Ris’g,
A. Ward’s Oration,

True Nationality,

Our Natal Day,
Solferino,

Intelligence the Basis of
oho Sof. Light tprinads
Charge of Lig) rigade,
After the Battle,

The Glass Railroad,

Case of Mr, Macbeth,
Prof. on Phrenology,
Annabel Lee,
Washington's Name,
The Sailor Boy’s Syren,

Dime National
Union and its Results,
Our Country’s Future,
The Statesman’s Labors,
True Immortality,

Let the Childless ‘Weep,
Our Country’s Glory,
Union a Household,
Independence Bell,

The Scholar’s Dignity,
The Cycles of Pro; “
A Christmas Chant,
Stability of Christianity,
The True Higher Law,
The One Great Need,
The Ship and the Bird,
Tecumseh’s Speech, -
Territorial Expansion,
Martha Hopkins,

The Bashful Man’s Story,
The Matter-of-Fact Man,
Rich and Poor, «

ok the Eclipse,
Beauties of the Law,
Ge-lang! Git Up,

The Rats of Li

_Creowning Glory’ of U.S.,

Three Fools,
Was. n,
Our Great Inheritance,
Eulogy on Henry Clay,

Dime Patriotic
America to the World,

. Love of Country,

Right of Self-Preserva-
Our Cause, (tion,
A Kentuckian’s pepesl,
Kentucky Steadfast,
Timidity is Treason,

The Al

larum,
April 15, 1861,
The Spirit. of ’61,
The Precious Heritage,
The Irish Element,
"s eC.
Tt fe Aloe, eral,
and-ier-Gen
Set speeches
ion Square
Our Gountt Call
ur "8
The Story of an Oak Tree,
L-e-g On My Leg,

THE DIME SPEAKERS.

Each Speaker, 100 pages 12mo., containing from 50 to 75 pieces.

Nos, 1 to 23, inclusive.

 

 

Dime American Speaker, No. 1.

J, Jeboom’s Oration,
A Dutch Cure,
The Weather,
pee eras Seay
losophy Applie

An Ola-Ballad,
Penny Wise, Pound Fool-
Suta'y Night's Enjoy'is,

at’d’y Night’s Enjoy’ts,
“Tn a Just Cause,”
No Peace with Oppres-

sion,
A Tale of a Mouse,
A Thanksgiving Sermon,
The Cost of Riches,
Great Lives Imperishable
The Prophecy forthe Y’r
Unfinished Problems,
Honor to the Dead,
Immortality of Patriots,
Webster’s Polit’] System,
A Vision in the Forum,
The Press,
Woman’s Rights,
Right of the Governed,
My Ladder,

‘oman,

Alone,
The Rebellion of 1861,
Disunion,

Speaker, No. 2.
Ouve Hazard P

ver Hazard Pe!
Our Domain oe
Systems of Belief,
The Indian Chief,
The Independent Farmer
Mrs. Grammar’s Ball,
How the Money Comes,
Future of the Fashions,
Loyalty to Liberty,
Our Country First, Last,

and Always,

British Influence,
Defense of Jefferson,
National Hatreds,
Murder Will Out,
Strive for the Best,

Early Rising,

Deeds of Kindness,

Gates of Sleep, .

The Bugle,

A Hoodish Gem,

Purity of the Struggle,

Old Age,

Beautiful and True,

The Worm of the Still,

Man and the Infinite,

i ry of the Eagle,

Washington,

The Deluge.

Speaker, No. 3.

History of Our ae

T. F, Meagher’s A dress,

We Owe to the Union.

Last Speech of Stephen

vo Douglas,

Lincoln’s Message,

Great Bell Roland,

The New Year and the

King Cotton, [Union,

Rattle Anthem,

The Ends of Peace,

Freedom the Watchword

| Crisis of Our Nation,

Duty of Christian Pa-
triots,

Turkey Dan’s Oration,

A Fearless Plea,

The Onus of Slavery,

A Foreigner’s Tribute,

The Little Zouave,

Catholic Cathedra

The ‘‘ Speculators.”

Dime Comic Speaker, No. 4.

ae 3 on the War,
$e, sluntly Considered,

Rising,
The Wasp and the Bee,
Comic Grammar, No. 1,
I’m Not a Single Man,
A. Ward’s Advice,
Buzfuz on Pickwick,
Romeo and Juliet,
Happiness,
Dogs,

Fe
# ae Laaie jum,

ow a Fireman,
The United States,
Puff's Acc’t of Himself,
Practical Phrenology, —
Beautiful,
Saas ble Peopl

am. ghee le People
What isa Bachelor Like?

2,
Funny Folks,

A Song of Woe,
Balto Trip to Richm’d,

‘arody,

The Mountebank,
Compound Interest,

A Sermon on the Feet,
Old Dog Jock,

The Fishes’ Toilet,

Brian O’Linn,

Crockett to Office-seekers
Who Is My Opponent?
Political Stump Speech,
Comic Grammar, No. 2,
Farewell to the Bottle,
The Cork Leg,

The Smack in School
Slick’s Definition of Wife,
Tale of a Hat,

The Debating Club,

A Dutch Sermon,
Lecture on Locomotion,
« Mrs. Caudle on Umbr’lla.

 

Dime Elocutionist, No. 5.

. I. Prrvcrptrs or Tror Enuncration.—Faults
Enunciation; How to Avoid Them. Special Rules

and ee

Tur Art or Oratory. Sheridan’s List of
: Tranqui Cheerfulness, Mirth,

q

ty,

elaucholy Despair,
Courage, Boa
Commanding,

ing, Arguing,
e

pendence, neration,

tion

SEC. IT,

and Phrases, viz.:

Call and Response;

and the Dagger;
Look Upward;

SEC. V.

A Sad base
A String of Onions,
A Tragic Story,

Cats,

Courtship,

Debt.

Devi

Dow, Jr.'s Lectures,

Ego and Echo

Fashionable Women,

Fern Thistles,

Good-Nature,

Gottlieb Klebcyergoss

Schlackenlichter’s snake,

Hosea es Opinions,

How the Money Goes,

Hun-ki-do-ri’s Fourth of
July Oration,

If you Mean No, Say No,

Jo Bows on Leap Year,

Lay of the Henpecked,

Lot Skinner’s Elegy,

Matrimony,

Nothing to Do

Old Caudle’s Umbrella,

Old Grimes’s Son,

Paddle Your Own Canoe,

Parody on ‘“ Araby’s
Daughter,”

Dime Standard

The World We Live In,
Woman’s Claims,
Authors of our Liberty,
The Real Conqueror,
The Citizen’s Heritage,

Italy,

The Mechanic,

Nature and Nature’s God
The Modern Good, (Sun,
Ossian’s Address to the
Independence Bell—1777,
John Burns, Gettysburg,
No Sect in Heaven,

Miss Prude’s Tea-Party,
The Power of an Idea,
The Beneficence of the
Suffrage, Sea,
Dream of the Revelers,
HowCyrus Laid the Cable
The Prettiest Hand,
Paradoxical,

Little Jerry, the Miller,
The Neck,

Foggy Thoughts,

The ies’ ‘

Life,
The Idler,
The Unbeliever,

Hon. J. M; Stubbs’ Views
on the Situation,
Hans Schwackheimer on
Woman’s Suffrage,
All for a Nomination
Old Ocean, Sea,
The Sea,the Sea, the open
Star Bangled Spanner,
Stay Where You Belong,
Life’s What You Make lt,
Where’s My Money,
von from Conscience,
an’s Relation to Society
The Limits to Happiness,
Good-nature a Blessing,
Sermon from Hard-shell
Tail-enders, (Baptist,
The Value of. Money,
Meteoric Disquisition,
Be Sure You are Right,
Be of Good Cheer,
Crabbed Folks, (Shrew,
Taming a Masculine
Farmers, [Our Country.
The True Greatness 0:
New England and Union,
The Unseen Battlefield,

 

Plea for the Republic,

Raillery, Buffoonery, Joy, Delight, Gravity.
gniry Attention, Modesty, Perplexity, Pity, ¢

amlet’s Solilo
King William Rufus; the Eye; an
Essa Onto Musik; Discoveries of Galileo.
OBSERVATIONS OF Goop AUTHORITIES.

Dime Humorous Speaker, No. 6,

 

In-
rief,

‘ear, Shame, Remorse,

sting, Pride, Obstinacy, Authority,
Forbidding, i
Difference, Agreeing, Exhorting, Judging, Approv-
ing, eaDNeNg, Condemning, t
ismissing, Refusing, Granting, De-

Affirming, Denying,

‘eaching, Pardon-
Desire,

ope, Love, Re-

spect, Giving, Wonder, Admiration, Gratitude, Cu-
ok Persuasion, Tempting, Promising, Affecta-
loth, Intoxication, Anger, etc.
THe CoMPonENT ELEMENTS OF AN ORA-
TIoN.—Rules of Composition as applied to Words
‘urity, Propriety, Precision.
As applied to Sentences, viz.: Length of Sentence,
Clearness, Unity, Strength. Figures of Speech; the
Exordium, the Narration, the Proposition, the
Confirmation, the Refutation, the Peroration.
SEC. IV. ReprREsENTATIVE EXERCISES IN PROSE AND
Versze.—Transition; A Plea for the Ox; Falstaff’s
Soliloquy on Honor; the Burial of Lincoln; the
the Bayou Charge; ee
of a Life; the Bugle; the

ells; Byron; Macbet:

wy; Old Things;

Poetry Run Mad,

Right Names,

Scientific Lectures,

The Ager,

The Cockney,

The Codfish,

Fate of Sergeant Thin,

The Features’ Quarrel,

Hamerican Voodchuck,

The Harp of a Thousand
Strings,

The Last of the Sarpints,

The March to Moscow,

The Mysterious Guest,

The ae

The Sea-Serpent,

The Secret,

The Shoemaker,

The Useful Doctor,

The Waterf: :

To the Bachelors’ Union

nited Sts

United States Presidents,

Vagaries of Popping the
Question,

What I Wouldn’t Be,

Yankee Doodle in,

Ze Moskeetare,

1933,

Speaker, No. 7.

The Two Lives,
The True Scholar,
Judges not Infallible,
Fanaticism,
ee, of Supe

griculture, rime,
Ireland,
The Pore Always. Con-
Music of Labor, — {quer,
Prussia and Austria,
Wishing,
The Blarney Stone,
The Student of Bonn,
The Broken Household,
The Bible,
The Purse and the Sword
Tue Moral C

6 Mo: lourage,

What is War?
Butter,
My Deborah Lee,
The Race,
The Pin and Needle,
The Modern Puritan,
Immortality of the Soul,
Occupation,
Heroism and Daring,
A Shot at the Decanter.

Dime Stump Speaker, No. 8.

America, rallacy,
“Right of Secession” a
Life’s Sunset,

Human Nature,

Lawyers, k

Wrongs of the Indians,

Appeal in behalf of Am.
series of War,[Liberty,

A Lay Sermon,

A Dream,

Astronomical,

The Moon, [zens,

Duties of American Citi-

The Man.

Temptations of Cities,

Broken Resolutions,

There is no Death,

Races, . .

A Fruitful Discourse,

A Frenchman’s Dinner,
Unjust National Acqui’n,
The Amateur Coachman,
The Cold-water Man,
Permanency of States,
Liberty of Speech,

John Thompson’s Dau’r,
House Cle

It Is Not Your Business,

 

Dime Juvenile

A Boy’s Philosophy,
Hoe Out Your Row,
Six-Year-Old’s Protest,
The Suicidal Cat,

A Valediction,

Popping Corn,

The Editor,

The Same, in rhyme,
The Fairy Shoemaker,
What Was Learned,
Press On,

The Horse,

The Snake in the Grass,
Tale of the Tropics,
Bromley’s Speech,

The Same, second extract
The Fisher’s Child,
Shakspearian Scholar,
A Maiden’s Psalm of Life,
A Mixture,

Plea for Skates,

aie

h, Y:
Live for Something,’
Lay of the Hen-Pecked,
The Outside. Dog,
Wolf and Lamb,
Lion in Love,
Frogs Asking for a King,
Sick Lion,
Country and Town Mice,
Man and Woman,

Home,

The Loftus-Planter,

Little Things.

A Baby’s.Soliloquy,
Repentance,» .

A Plea for. Biggs
Humbug Patriotism,
Night After Christmas,
Short Legs,

Shrimps on Amusements,

Speaker, No. 9.

How the Raven Became
Black,

A Mother’s Work,

The Same,

Who Rules,

A Sheep Story,

A Little Correspondent,

One Good Turn Deserves

My Dream, {Another,

Rain, "

T’ll Never Use Tobacco,

A Mosaic,

The Old Bachelor,

Prayer to Light,

Little Jim,

Angelina’s Lament,

Johnny Shrimps on Boots

Mercy,

Choice of Hove

| Poor Richard’s Sayings,

Who Killed.Tom Roper,

Nothing to Do

Honesty Best Policy,

Heaven, i

Ho for the, Fields,
Fashion on the Brain,

On Shanghais,

A Smile,

eee bieey

Oa ic Soup,
Nose and Eyes,

Malt,) {Come,
A Hundred Years to
The Madman. and _, his
Little Sermons, [Razor,
Snuffles on Electricity,
The Two Cradles,

The Ocean Storm,

Do Thy Little—Do it Well
Little Puss,
Base-Ball

[Fever.
Prescription for

Spring

Dime Spread-Eagle Speaker, No. 10.

Ben Buster’s Oration,
Hans Von Spiegél’s 4th,
Josh eae s Advice,
A Hard-shell Sermon,
The Boots,
The Squeezer,
Noah and the Devil,
A Lover’s Luck,»
Hifalutin’ Adolphus,
Digestion and Paradise,
Distinetion’s Disadvant-
Smith : [ages,
Gushalina Bendibus,
A Stock of Notions,
Speaking for the Sheriff,
Daking a Shweat,
Then and Now,
Josh Billings’s Lecturing,
Doctor De Blister’s Ann’t,
Consi; ents,
ng a, s

an Bryant’s Speech,
A Colored, View,
Original Maud Muller,
Nobody, ;
Train of Circumstances,
Good Advice,
The Itching Palm,

Drum-head Sermons,
Schnitzerl's Philosopede,
“ Woman’s Rights,’
Luke Lather,
The Hog,
Jack § ha . 4

and Tragedy,
The ‘Aricent Bachelor
Jacob Whittle’s Speech,
Jerks Prognosticates,
A Word with Snooks,
Sut Love
A Mvle Ride,
Josh Billings on Buzzers,
Il Trovatore,’ -
Kissing in the Street,
Scandalous,
on Mixed,
The Office-seeker,
Old Bachelors,

oman,
People Wil Talk

20) il
Swack er’s Ball
‘Who Wouldn’t be Fire'n,
Don’t Depend on Dadda,

Music of Labor,
The American Ensign.

 

Debater and Chairman’s Guide No. 11.

1.—Desatina Socrery.

Its Office and Usefulness,
Formation of,
Constitution of,
By-Laws of,
Rules of Government,
Local Rules of Order,
Local Rules of Debate,
Subjects of Discussion.
11.—How To DgpaTe.
Why there are few good
Debaters, | \
Prerequisites to Oratori-
cal Succ
The Logic of Debate, \
The Rhetoric of Debate,
Maxims to Observe,
The Preliminary Premise,
Order of Argument,
Summary.
111.—CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE.

oe Ph aerial and

mblies,
The Organization,
Order of Business and

Frpeednee:

The ‘ Question,” How it
can be Treated,

The ‘‘ Question.” How to

 

be Considered,
Rights to the Floor, {
hts of a Speaker as
‘ainst the Chair,
sas ee as
0 Pp a Vo} i
Organization of Deltbera-

ive Bodies, Conven-
tions, Annual or Gen-
eral Assemblies,

Preliminary ization
' Permanent 0: ization,
The Order of Business,
Considering Reports, Pa-
of Subsidigry ¥ Moti

bs} .. ions,
The Due Order of Con-
sidering. Questions,
Committees,
Objects of a Committee,
| Their Powers,

How Named,
| ‘When Not to Sit, ;

Bul of Order and Pro-

ycedure,.’ s+

How to Report,

The; Committee of the

: oplaneons:

Treatment of Petitions,

| The Decorum of, Debate,
Hints to a Chairman.

Iv.—DEBATES.

Debate in full:

Which is the Greates‘
Benefit_to his Country

-—the, Warrior, States-
man, or Poet?

Debates in Brief:

I, Is. the Reading of
Works of Fiction to be

Condemned? eH
. Are Lawyers 4 Ben
fit or a Curse to So-
ciety? j

V.—QUOTATIONS AND
PHRASES.
Latin.

 

 

 

 

 

SC

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

‘THE DIME SPEAKERS—Continued.

 

a 5

Dime Exhibition

The Orator of the Day,
The Heathen Chinee,
The Land we Love,

Jim Bludso,

Be True to Yourself,

Ah Sin’s Reply,

A Plea for Smiles,

The Stanislaus Scientific
Free Italy, [Society,
Ttaly’s Alien Ruler.

Curse of One Man Power,
Treaty of Peace (1814),
The Critical Moment,
The East and the West
Is There any Money in it?
Are we a Nation?

Social Science,

Influence of Liberty,

The Patriot’s Choice,
The Right of the People,
The Crowning Glory,
‘The Pumpkin,

When You’re Down,
What England Has Done
‘The Right of Neutrality,
The National Flag,

Our True Future,

EEE

 

Speaker. No, 12.
Gravelotte,
All Hail!

Emancipation of Scienee,

Spirit of Forgiveness,

Amnesty Love,

Beauty,

Song of Labor,

Manifest Destiny,

Let It Alone!

Disconcerted Candidate,

Maud Muller After Hans
Breitman,

What Is True Happiness?

The Irish of It. A pereay

What We See in the sky.

What I Wish,

Good Manners,

A Ballad of Lake Erie,

Suffrage,

The Caucasian Race,

A Review of Situation,

Little Breeches, (ding,

Hans Donderbeck’s -

A Victim of Toothache,

Story of the Twins,

A Cold in the Nose,

My Uncle Adolphus.

Dime School Speaker, No. 13.

PopuLaR ORATOR.
Fanny Butterfly’s Ball,
Topics Uncongenial to

reatness,

Live for Something,

Civil & Religious Liberty,

Second Review of the
Grand se

Dishonesty 0: Politics,

The True Gentleman,

The Tragic Pa,
SABBATH-SCHOOL PrEcms.

A Cry for Life,

The Sabbath,

Gnarled Lives,

A Good Life

To Whom Shall We Give

Thanks?

 

The Great Commoner, Resolution,
Character and Achieve- | Never Mind,

ment, The Bible,

“T Can't,” Christianity Our Bul-
“It Might Have Been, Mf wark,
Don't Strike a Man When | The Want of the Hour,
Down, The Midnight Train,
On Keeping at It, The Better View,
Treasures of the Deep, Do Thy Little—Do it Well
Keep Cool, Jesus Forever,
‘The Precious Freight, The Heart,
A Sketch, The World
Sword thé True Arbiter, | Beautiful ‘thoughts,
Aristocracy, A Picture of Life.
Baron Grimalkin’s Death | Be True to Yourself,
Obed Snipkins, oo
A Catastrophe, Time is pacing
Cheerfulness, The Gene of Autumn,
Mountains, 8 ot Harshly,
Last Lay of the Minstrel, ucaees
The Unlu Lovers, The Eternal Hymn,
The Dread Secret, Live for Go:
Civil Service Reform, The Silent City.

Dime Ludicrous Speaker, No. 14.
Soener* ae ‘cople

er,

The Closing Year, iting One's Nose Off,
The Maniac’s Defense, Golden Rules,
The Hen Scratches, The Si ar Man,
Ass and the Violinist, Fourth of July Oration,
Views of Married Life, Cheer Up,
Bachelors and Flirts,; Self-Esteem,
Job’s ey Buckwheat Cakes,
‘A Hardshell Sermon, Twain's Little Boy,
My First Knife, A Word with You,
Der Loddery Dicket, A Chemical ent,
‘A Canni-Ballad, The Candy-Pulling,
Woman’s Rights, Contentment,
What’s the Matter, m Co’ ff
Mrs. Jones’s Pirate, On La
De Goose, i The Tanner A
Touch of the Sublime, On Wimmen’s Rights,
Peete aust Tobacco, | The Criminal Le

as 0} ' er,
Tobacco Boys, Ballad of Matilda Jane,
Big Geniuses, ater, :

y First Cigar, The Ballad of a Baker,
Terrible T’-tale, Good for Something,
Silver Wedding, A Moving Sermon.
Prohebishon, f
Karl Pretzel’s Komikal SpeakerNo.15
Schandal, } Sorrowful Tale,

Don’d Been Afraid, The Loafer’s Society,

Catohenne. It’s the Early Bird, etc.,
emberance

Gretchen und Me go‘Oud, | On Lager Beer,

Hope. Das ish vat it ish, | Caudle’s Wedding Day,

“Dot Musquiter,”” Dot PA ala at

’ Leedle Gal-child’s Dream | The Best Cow in Peril,

* Dhere Vas no © . Frequent Critters,
Leedle Speedches, In for the Railroad,
Pells, Pells, Song of the Sink,

The Puzzled Dutchman, | Case of young oon,

Address to a School, The Mlinois Assembly,

His Sphere, The Cannibal Man,

Translations from Esop, | Boss Bagshaw,

The Treachery of Jones, | Pretzel as a Soldier,

Don’t Call a Man a Liar, | The Raccoo

Man. A Lecture, My Childho

Bu’st. A ‘‘Dialect,” | Schneider's Ride,

Simon Short’s Son Sam, | Boy Suffrage,

Reckermember der Poor, | Gardenin;

Natural History Views, ’ | He vas Dhinkin’,

The Cart before the Horse | Abner Jones’ Testimony,

To See Ourselves, — By a Money Changer’s.
Dime Youth’s Speaker, No. 16.

A Call to the Field, Adjuration to Duty,

To Retailers, Th Crusader’s Appeal,

War, War to the Death, | A Boy's Testimony,

 

I Have Drank My Last, The Successful Life,
The Spirit-Siren, Better Than Gold,
Rum’s Maniae, Seed-Time and Harvest,
Life is What we Make it, | Invocation to Cold Water
Taste Not, Now, Learn,
The Evil Beast, The Great Lesson to
Help The Toper’s Lament,
The Hardest Lot of All, | God’s uor,
The Curse of Rum, Value of Life Work,
The Two Dogs. A fable, | ‘‘ Accept the Situation,”
The Source of Reform, Died of Whisky.
The Rum Fiend A Story with a Moral,
True Law and False, Breakers Ahead,
In Bad ee Ichabod ely
The Only True Nobility, | Effects of Intemperance,
The Inebriate’s End, The Whisky Why is It,
A Drunken Soliloquy, Local Option,
The Work to Do, Be Good to the Body,
To Labor is to Pray, Worth Makes the Ran.
Dime Eloquent Speaker, No. 17.

An Aarne ae Anatomical Lecture,
The of Business, Minnetunkee,
Purity of Speech, The ng Press,
Parson Caldwell, The Sabbath,
Value of Reputation, Busybodies
Hand that Rocks World, | Anatomical Lecture 2,
Swelling Manhood, A Blow in the Dark,
Summer, The Specter Caravan,
Woman's Love, The True Saviors,
The Bricklayers, True Fame,
Words of Silver, Something to Shun,
Drive on! Drive on! Plea for Ireland,
The Tramp, Smile Whene’er you Can,
The State Pisa antas, The Wood of Stars,
The Moral Factor, A Thought,

alicing with the World, | The Housemaid,
The only Safety, The Goblin Cat,
Knowledge, Aristocrats,
Be Careful what you Say | The Knightly Newsboy,
Stand by the Constit’n, | A Call to Vote,

 

ane iend, — ee aoa ‘
6 Moc. 4 unning for egisla ure,
The Want of the Country To a Young Man,

© Value of Virtue, Heads,

e Would be a Mason, The New ena
Evils of Ignorance, Turning the Grindstdne,
The Use of Time, short Sermon.

Come Down, °

Hail Columbia Spesker. No. 18.
Columbia, ink or Swim,
Washington, The Buff and Blue,
arrenl ‘or Liberty, The Union,

e American Hero, The Martyr Spy,
Resistance to Oppression, | Lexington.

Patriotism, Our Only Hope,
Green Mountain Boys, Declaration of ndepend-
Eloquence of Otis, The Liberty Bell, [ence,
Wi on, eens Attributes,
America Must be Free, What We Are
Freedom the aly Ho , | Our Great Trust,
Day of Disint: ent, | God Bless our States,
No Alternative but Liber- | Looking Backward,

‘| Carmen Bellicosum, [ty, | Marion and His Men,
Sword of Bunker Hill, ’ | Liberty and Union,
The Fourth of July, A Noble Plea,
Warren’s Address, oO al Yankee Doodle,
A Call to Liberty, Wolfe’s Address, i
Good Faith, Watching for Montgom-
Revolutionary Soldiers, The National Ensign, [ery
Our eee ibility, God Save the Union,
British Barbarity, Our Natal Day,
How Freedom is Won, The 22d of February,
Adams and Liberty, New Engienee Dead,
Our Duties, Repeal! peal!
Our Destiny, The True Hero,
The American Flag, Old Ironsides
The True Union, Our Gifts to History,
American Independence, | Uncle Sam’s a Hundred,
Wi onand Franklin | Centennial Oration.

Serio-Comic Speaker, No. 19.

The American Phalanx, | The Little Orator,
The Same, Pom ey Squash,
The Old Canoe, Mr..Lo's New Version,
Room at the PoP. The Midnight ress,
New England Weather, | Morality’s Worst Enemy,
Bl The Silent Teacher,
Leedle ‘Yawcob Strauss, | The Working People,
A Fable, The Moneyless Man.
The Tramp’s Views, Strike Through the Knot,
Moral Littleness, An Agricultural Address,
Yawcob Hoffeltegobble, | The New Scriptures,
The Setting Sachem, The Trombone,
Street Arab’s Sermon, Don’t Despond,
Address to Young Ladies, | The Mill Cannot Grind,
A Little Big Man, What Became of a Lie,
The Test of Friendship, | Now and Then,
The Price of Pleasure, How Ub vos Dot for High,
Sour Grapes, Early Rising,
The Unwritten “ Claws,” | Smart Boy’s Opinion,
The Ager, The Venomous Worm,
Fish, Corns,
Judge Not ae. Brother, | Up Early,
The Dog St. Bernard. Not So 7
The Liberal Candidate, | Dead Beat {n Politics,
A Boy’s Opinion of Hens, | War and Dueling,
G Alone are Great, Horses. A Protest,
The Great Napoleon, Excelsior, {celsior,
The Two Lives, Paddy's Version of Ex
The Present Age, The Close, Hard Man,

t aeduighs apie and Application
Good-night, Old Scrooge, [ered,
Truth, Man, Generically Consid
The Funny Man, A Chemical Wedding

Dime Select Speaker, No. 20.
God, Wrong and Right Road,
Save the Republic. An Enemy to ety,
Watches of the Night, Barbara Preitche,
The Closing Year, The Most Precious Gift,

 

Intellectual and Moral
es! ee,

anatop
New Era of Labor,
Work of Faith,

Dream,
La Dame Aux Camellias,
Penalty of Selfishness,
Lights Out,
Clothes Don’t Make the

an,

The Last Man,

Mind Your Own Business

My Fourth of July Senti-
ments,

My Esquimaux Friend,

Storyof the Little Rid Hin

My Castle in Spain,

Shonny Schwartz,

The Indian’s Wrongs,

Address to Young Men,

Beautiful Snow,

Now is the Time,

Exhortation to Patriots,

He Is Everywhere,

A Dream of Darkness,

Religion the Keystone,
Scorn of Office,

Who are the Free,

The City on the Hill,
How to Save the Repub-

lic,
The Good Old Times,
Monmouth,

Hope,

Moral Desolation,

Self-evident Truths,

Won’t you let my Papa
Work,

Conscience the Best

uide,

Whom to Honor,

The Lords of Labor,

Early Rising,

Pumpernickel and Pep-
schikoff,

Only a Tramp,

Cage Them.

Time’s Soliloquy,

Find a Way or Make It,

The Musquito Hunt,
The Hero,

 

Dime Funny Speaker, No. 21.
A Fo,

Col. Sellers Elucidates,
Clory Mit Ter Sthars und

Day,
New Mythology (Vulcan),

Sthripes otism,| The New Beye as ;
Terence G’Dowd’s Patri-| New ee (Bacchus,
Lime Kiln Club Oration, | I Kin Nod Trink To-Nighd,
Farmer Thornbush on} New Church Doctrine,
The Fiddler, [Fools, pone Watermillion,
The Regular Season, Josiah Axtell’s Oration,
The School Eos Lament,| Parson Barebones’s An
Dot Baby Off Mine, athema,

Bluggs Once More, Ceesar Squash on Heat,
Views on Agriculture, Fritz Valdher is Made a
One Hundred Years Ago, Mason,

De ’Sperience ob de Reb’-| Joan of Arc,

rend Quacko Strong, Blessings of Farm Life,

A Dollar or Two. The People,

On Some More Hash, Thermopyle,

Where gas? is King, Cats

Professor Dinkelspeigel-} Jim 'Bludso; or, The Prai
man on the Origin of ie Belle,

Life, A Catastrophic Ditty,
Konsentrated Wisdum, The Maniac’s Defense,
Joseph Brown and the] Woman, God Bless Her!

Mince Pie, Be Miserable,

John Jenkins’s Sermon, |} Dodds versus Daubs,

 

A Parody on “* Tell Me Ye
Winged Winds,” That Calf.
Dime Jolly Speaker, No. 22,

Grandfather’s Clock,

A Weak Case,

The XIXth Century, They May Be Happy Yt
Mary’s Von Little 7 Orphens. A Side Tow,”
A Familar Lecture on | Perseus. A “ Classic,’
Science. id Reformation,
Old and New Time, The Funny Man,
Clayfoot’s Spirit Don’t Give It Away,
The Village School, A Dark aries A
A Sermon for the Sisters, “Colored” Dissertation
De poe. ob Fun, An Awful Warning. An
Disappointed Discoverer, | Effective Ap y
> ieee Boore. ais 4 Parson Sores de Seed,
er Dog und der ster, | Pompey’s anksgiving
The Young Tramp, Turkey,
Delights of the Season, The New ‘Essay On Man,
The Delights of » |A New Declaration of
Josh Bi a Views, Independence,
The Jolly Old Fellow. A
How tew Pik out a| Ohristmas Welcome,
Watermellon, My First Coat,
How tew Pik out a Dog, The Fire-Brigade,
How tew Pik out a Kat, | A Patriotic “Splurge,”

How tew Pik out a Wife | The G

This Side and That,
Nocturnal Mewsings,
The Lunatic’s Reverie,
A Bathetic Ballad,

The Ear,
Backbone,

ood Old Times, In-
deed! A Congratulatory

Reminder,
Stealing the Sacred Fire,

Fg v7 of Prome-
eus ee
Owl and the Pussy-Cat.

Dime Dialect Speaker, No. 23.

Dat’s W’at’s De Matter,
The Cord. Miracle,
Ven Te Tide Cooms In,
Dose Lams Vot Haf
Got, [man’s Rights,
Pat O'Flaherty On Wo-
The Home Rulers,
Hezekiah Dawson On
Mothers-In-Law,
He Didn't Sell The Farm,
The True Story of Frank-
lin’s Kite, Again,
I; Would I Were a Boy

The Manifest Destiny of
the Irishman,

Peggy McCann, t

Sprays from Josh Billin;

De Circumstances ob
Sitiwation,

Oe Nuffin New Under

uw)

Negro Religious Poem,

A Ne ligious ;

That Violin,

as Oey inher) vi f
ur Can: e's Vie

Dundreary’s Wisdom,”

 

A Pathetic Sto’ Plain Lan 8,
All About Boo.” My Nelihbor's bo

an on ology,
A Dart Bide View, Pictus, ware oe
Te Pesser Vay, The Nereides,

n rning Ge 7 kaos of Attica,
Mary’s ShmallVite Lamb, | The Stove Pipe Tragedy,
A Healthy Discourse, A Doketor'’s Drubbles,
‘Tobias So To Speak, The an,

Mrs. Grimes, The ligan Affair at Mul-

1 doon’s, {the Corner,

Mars and Cats, That Little Baby Around
Bill Underwood, Pilot, A Genewine Inference.
Old Granle; An Invitation to the Bird
The Pill Peddler’s Oration | of Liberty,
WidderGreen’s last words | The Crow,
Latest Chinese Outrage, | Out West.

For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, t-paid, to
any address, on receipt of P oe, ten oeeea. hie

BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 William st., N. Y

 
 

 

 

size numbers.

2 Figerme From Love.

14-15 Torumrs oF THE SEs.

26 Tuar Boy or Norcort’s.

33 SrrancELy WED.

 

44 Tom Dap LETTER,

1 The Masked Bride; or, Wit. Saz Marry
Him. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell,

2 Was It Love? or, CoLLEGians AND SwuHut-
HEARTS, By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D.

3 The Girl Wife; or, Taz Trug snp THE
Fause. By Bartley t. Campbell.

4 A Brave Heart; or, SrarTuinety STRANGE.
By Aravella Southworth.

5 Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl.
Wm. Mason Turner, M. D.

6 The Secret Marriage;
Spirs or Hersaur. By Sara

7 A Daughter of Eve; or, Biogen By Love.
By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.

8 Heart to Heart; or, Fam Puyuws’ Lovz.
By Arabella Southworth.

9 Alone in the World; or, Taz Younc Man’s
Warp. By the author of “Clifton.”

10 A Patr of Gray Eyes; or, Tas Emeratp
Neckiace. By Rose Kennedy.

11 Entangled; or, A Danazrous Game. By
Henrietta Thackeray.

12 Als Lawful Wife; or, Myra, Tae Onip op
ApvopTion. By Mrs. Ann S.'Stephens.
By

13 Madcap, the Little Quakeress,
34 Why I Married Him: or, Taz Woman w

By

or, A DvoHmas In
Claxton,

Corinne Cushman.
Gray. By Sara Claxton.

15 A Fair Face; or, Our IN THE Wort. By
Bartley T. Campbell, ;

16 Trust Her Not; or, Taz Truz Kyient. By

garet Leicester.
ade Loyal Lover; or, Tae Las? or THE

RIMSPETHS. By Arabella Southworth.

well.

Of Notable Works by Notable Authors,

1 Was Sar His Worn? Mrs. Mary R. Crowell.... 10c
By Harriet Irving...... 10c
3 Dm He Love Her? Bartley T. Campbell..... 10
4 A Srrance Woman. By Rett Winwood. :
6 Two Grats’ Lives. By Mrs. Mary R. Crowell.,.
9 Tae War or Hearts. Corinne Cushman. ...
11 Tue Fatsz Wipow. Mrs. J. D. Burton. ......
12-13 Lost ror Lovr. Miss M. KE. Braddon.......
By Victor Hugo......
16 Tae QvapRoon. By Catharine A Warfield....
17-18 Unotm Smas. By J. S. Le Fanu............
19-20 Dmap-Sna Frorr. Miss M. E. Braddon......
21-22 Lrrruz Kats Kirsy. IF. W. Robinson.......
23 SowIna THE WinD. Mrs. Mary R. Crowell.....
24-25 Brros or Prey. Miss M. E. Braddon ......
Charles Lever. ....
27-28 CuarLottTs’s INwERITANCE. Miss Braddon.
29 A Grru's Heart. By Rett Winwood cy
80-31 Rep as A Rosz 1s Sue. Rhoda Broughton.
82 Tae Lity or St. Erne. By Mrs. Crow .......
By Mrs. J. D. Bui’ton.......
84 Tue Gipsy Bripg. By M. E. O. Malen.....

85 Annie Tempur. By Rev. J. H. Ingraham.....
36 Wrrnovut Marcy. By Bartley T. Campbell....
87 Buack Eyres and Bivgz. Uorinne Cushman....
388 Brave Barparsa. By Corinne Cushman.......
39 A Danazrovs Woman. By Margaret Blount...
40 Ovrwa’s Love. By Henrietta E. DeConde... .
41 Lost: A’ Wire. By Corinne Cushman.........
42 Wrsnina Ways. By Margaret Blount ...,....
43 A Woman’s Heart. By Mrs. M. V. Victor...
By Seeley Regester.

45 Lorp Listx’s Daventmr. By C. M. Braeme.. 10c

 

18 His Ido}; or, Tae ILt-STarrup Marriaae. B
Reed 1 v {

Mrs. Mary

. 10c
10¢
10e
10c
10c
10¢
10c
10c
10¢
10c
10c

Fr’isco,

 

19 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus
Hatz. By Mary Grace Halpine.

20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, Tau
Wircrss or Naw Yorx. Agile Penne.

2 Now and Forever; or, Wuy Dip Soe Marry
Hm. By Henrietta Thackeray.

22 The Bride of an Actor. By the author
of ‘‘ Alone in the World,”’ etc., ete.

23 Leap Year; or, Way Suz Proposep. By Sara
Claxton.

24 an, Face Was Her Fortune, By Eleanor
laine.

25 Only a Schoolmistress; or, HER UNTOLD
S8xcret. By Arabella Southworth.

26 Without a Heart: or, WALKING ON THE

.  Bruvx. By Prentiss Ingraham.

27 Was She a Coquette ? or, A Strance Court-
sup. By Henrietta Thackeray.

28 Sybil Chase: or, Taz GameLer’s Wirz. By
Mrs. Ann 8S. Stephens.

29 For Her Dear Sake: or, Savep rrom Hut-
seLF. By Sara Claxton.

380 The Bouquet Girl: or, A Muuu.ion or
Money. By Agile Penne.

31 A Mad Marrizge: or, TazInon Wun. By
Mrs. Mary ‘A. Dennison.

82 Miriana, the Prima Donna: or, Rosrs
anp Liurts. By A. Southworth.

33 The Three Sisters: or, Tot MysTERY or
Lorp CHa.rontT. By Alice Fleming.

B84 A ae of Conven'ence: or, Was
Hx A Count? By Sara Claxton.

35 Sinned Against: or, Tas WinTHRop Privg.
By Clara Augusta,

36 Sir 4rcher’s Bride: or, Tae QuEen or His
Hzart. By Arabella Southworth.

Rett Winwood..
74 ADRIA, THE ADOPTED;
Ellesford Grange.
7 PRETTY AND PROUD;
By Corinne
76 Tau Birrer Frvp;
By Mrs, Jennie D. Burton. Ready Nov. 4th. .10c
A new issue every two weeks.

For sale by al! newsdealers, or sent,
on receipt of twelve cents. BEADLE
Publishers, 98 William street, N. Y.

 

Beautifully printed in the popular folio form, from clear, open type ; each
issue a complete novel and sold at the uniform price of THN OHNTS EACH. No double price on double or extra
THE CHEAPEST LIBRARY EVER PUBLISHED!

46 A Woman’s Hany. Author of “Dead Letter.” 10c
47 Viats ov Wratu. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell..

48 A Witp Girt. By Corinne Cushman..... . . 1
49 Tur Mapprst Marriage Ever Was.
50 Love In A Mazz.
51 Carnoiina, By Dr. J. i
52 A Romanor or 4 Poor Youne Giru. Mrs. Ellet 10c
63 Tue Locxrep Haart.
54 Tur Privz or Tur Downes. M rgaret Blount.
55 A Straner Gru. By Albert W. Aiken........
56 Tum Prerry Purrran.
57 Dip Sue Sry? By Mrs.
58 Dousty Drvorcep. By Jenn
59 A WickED Woman. By Lillie Devereux Blake..
60 Brinp BarBaRa’s SECRET.
61 AN AmmRIcAN QurEeN. By Grace Mortimer.
62 MarGoun, THE SrRANGE. By Wm. M. Turner.
63 Wrrn or Wipow. By Rett 1
64 Tue Creote Cousins.
65 Pursvrp to THR Aurar. By Cushman

66 THe Terrisiz TrutH. By Jenuie D. Burton.

67 ELreant Eermrt. By Philip 8. Warne. ...... 10c
68 Lapy HEtEn’s Vow.
69 Bow1e, Tux Knicut of Curvatry. P. 8. Warne 10c

70 Drirtine To Ruin. By Mary Reed Crowell.... 10c

71 Toe Parson’s DavGuTur. By A Parson's
Daughter. ...... 10c

72 Tar Mysreriovs Guardian. Corinne Cushman 10c

73 Was Sun A Wirz? or, The Proof of Love. By ie

Burton.
By Mrs. E. F. Ellet..... ends
H. Robinson.......

By Corinne Cushman...

a Parson’s Daughter..
ary Reed Crowell...
Davis Burton. .

Mary G. Halpine..

inwood ......

By Philip §. Warne. .:

By Mrs. E. F. Ellet...... 10c

or, The jody td of
By Jennie Davis Burton. 10¢

or, The Gold-Bug of
Cushman. October 21. 10c

or, The Fatal Legacy

 

ostage paid,
ND SDAMS.

87, The Country Cousin} or, Aut 1s Not Goi
Tuat Guirrenrs. By Rose Kennedy.

38 His Own Again; or, Trust
Arabella Southworth.

39 Flirtation; or, A Youne@ Grru’s Goop Nasixz.

; BY Ralph Royal. ‘
40 Pledged to Marry; or, In Lovn’s Bonps.
By Sara Claxton.
41 Blind Devotion; or, Love Agamst Try
Wor tp. - By Alice Fleming.
42 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Srconp
Lovn. ~ i Southworth.
43.Whe Baronet’s Secret: or, Tar Rivar
IstER. By Sara n.
44 The Only Daughter: or, BroTwER aGarnet
Lover. By Alice Fleming.
45 Her Hidden Foe; or, Love at Aut Opps.
By Arabella Southworth.
46 The Little Heiress; or, Unper 4 Crovp.
By Mrs. M. A. Denison.
47 Because She Loved Him; or, How Wr.
tr Eno. By Alice Fleming.
48 In Spite cf Herself; or, Jmynetrs’s Rep-
ARATION. By 8. R. Sherwood.
49 His Heart's Mistress; or, Love ar Frew
Sieut. By Arabella Southworth. October .‘t).
50 The Cuban Heiress; or, Tae Prisc ner 0
LaVinrressr. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. Oct. 26.
51 Two Young Girls; or, THe Brie or An
Earv. By Alice Fleming. Ready November %\).
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For a Heart. By Mrs. Mary Crowell.
Ready November 9th.
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