Copyrighted 1877, By BeapLx AND ADAMS. PUBLISHED SEMI- "MONTHLY. BEADLE AND ADAMS, No. 98 Winitam Stremt, New York. A Strange Woman. CHAPTER I. THE STRANGE LETTER. BREAKFAST was just over at Woodlawn, a handsome villa situated near Hoboken, only a few hundred yards from the banks of the North river. The breakfast-room had not yet been deserted. Its occupants on this particular morning of which we write, were a gentleman and two PUBLISHERS. No. ae 4 third kg oe who Pe a up is at little is a yo an rs a striking re- Periiace te iiss. tudersdale. There is the same grace of movement, the same magnificent dark and eyes, the same tee ie a She is, in fact, Mrs. Laudersdale’s daughter by a former husband—Miss Marcia Denvil. Mr. Laudersdale seemed absorbed in his reper: Marcia and her mother were discussin; 1 they had attended the evening before. Present- ly the door opened almost noiselessly, and a very meck- look g young woman entered the apartment. This person was Jane Burt, Mrs. Lauders- dale’s confidential maid. “Has the postman come?” said Mr. Lauders- ie Mrs. Laudersdale rose silat" excused her- self, and followed the maid out. As she had ex cted, she found Jane waiting for her in the hall. “What is it?” she said in a low, impatient tone of voice, going straight up to the spot where the maid was standing. ‘‘ You want something of me?” Jane compressed her thin lips and looked steadily at her mistress for at least a minute be- fore she answered. “*T told master a lie,” she said, at last. ‘There is a letter.” “For him?” “For him.” “Let me see it.” “PRAY BE SEATED,” SHE SAID, POINTING TO A CHAIR NEAR HER OWN.—Page 12. The gentleman is the master of the Te | Jasper Laudersdale. He sits with yesterda, paper spread out on the table before him. als is a handsome, somewhat florid-looking man,’ about fifty years of age. His wife faces him at the table. nearly as old as her husband, she is sian at ly beautiful woman. Her lips may 2 OB: too sharply cleft, her bright dark 6 too keen and piercing, but eve! this woman is in perfect lain black silk mournif a. WHOLE! 18 ne ar BF ti ‘OnMteak orow ds + atdguodt Aish vw! — Siem Dblyode fe ode dsdt teed ei ti zo YX? | ane | 0 oloanon 8 tom dale, looking up as she silently crossed the Mh i ywit »vord- wol on the! table rat “mods ototed ite pit ED hers BOLT eb onpsqo mit 110 Louues mh pap 28 eat onter fey oul of Thesetov ras we nae 0 Isrriotxe porrid ofa Deed | 71TO | qlaislq b ont ta siieees co deortls ootel se ditiw | Jane put her hand in her apron-pocket and produced a letter, which she gave to Mrs. Laud- eradeilé; then she drew back a step or ‘teres and ewhitehédwith unconcealed curiosity the effect. Mrs. Laudersdale uttered an exclamation. andl valeavibly. as she looked at the letter. It else “ brown envelope, not over , oe pa diee:by fen in a tremulous, on e®hand thivetbeemed perfectly ’ Lairdersdaleloors ‘legood eons ah el ‘what does this mean? this letter addressed to him om aey Sie ont tot yitegso Bitlx don di onibait bas .cwob awordd lesoltehs QUU. : «ogo ti gawk bas toob edt ot b otisb eda elt 2 THE FIRESIDE LIBRARY. Vor. I. Jane smiled slightly. ‘‘That is precisely what I would like to know,” she said. “Hush!” Mrs, Laudersdale caught Jane al- most fiercely by the arm. ‘‘ Explain yourself,” she hissed, '‘ what do yow see that is strange in this matter?” “Those letters have frequently come to this house before now.” ‘ “And they have, invariably, been addressed to yourself.” “The two women eyed each other in silence. Mrs. Laudersdale’s color had not come back, and she was even trembling. Jane was the first tospeak. ‘‘ Now you know why I did not give that letter to master when he asked for the mail. I was not sure you would wish him to see it,” “You did right, Jane. ing of it.” ‘Now, or ever?” ‘¢ Now, or ever.” Mrs. Laudersdale struggled hard for her com- posure, and regained it. P ‘‘ Jane,” she said, “you are a faithful crea- ture. How can I reward you?” ““T saw a pearl bracelet at Tiffany’s the other day that would exactly match my gray silk,” was the ready answer. “You shall have the bracelet.” “ And you shall have every letter that comes to the house in that handwriting, no matter to whom it may be addressed.” “What do you know of those letters, Jane?” “Nothing much, That they are post-marked Berlin, a village somewhere down on the Jersey coast. And that they are of signal interest to yourself.” She smiled quietly to herself as she answered, “‘T should have been ruined if this letter had fallen into the hands of my husband,” Mrs. Lau- dersdale exclaimed, with a sudden outburst of eo a -__ A. > ; 3 a aim a -> “© No. 4: found busily browsing. aney. hurriedly mount- ed the backs of the faithful brutes, their move- ments somewhat accelerated by the sound of a heavy footstep entering the house, and the murmur of voices in that direction. They had scarcely struck into the nearest dis- cernible path when a loud shout rung on the air | age. A’ STRANGE WOMAN. Enilip Jocelyn and Mabel had scarcely left the building in their precipitate flight, and Bill Cuppings was slowly rising to his feet, his senses fully restored, when a new-comer made his ap- pearance on the scene. This person was a man of about fifty years of He was of herculean build, square-shoul- behind him, and two or three pistol-shots were | dered, deep-chested, with long and muscular fired in rapid succession. The bullets whizzed hafmlessly over the heads | “We are just in time,” said | sual, the chin protruding, the nose being incon- of the fugitives. arms. His physiognomy was any hey but prepossessing, the mouth being coarse and sen- Philip, in.a low, deep tone of voice, as they put | Sr n0ualy Ae and thin, and ending in a very spurs to their horses, ‘Mine host of the house in the woods has evidently arrived.” - They rode as rapidly as the darkness and the intricate windings of the forest would permit. There were no further signs of pursuit, however. Soon after midnight the trees became sparser and smaller, and finally the fugitives emerged into the open countr After a short cate across the fields, they | reached a small farm-house. Here they sought shelter for the night, which was readily accorded by the hospitable inmates. In the morning they discovered that there | was a small station only about four miles dis- tant, from whence they could ‘take the cars to New York. Though jaded and worn, they decided to re- sume their journey at the earliest practicable moment. Consequently, long ere the sun had a its meridian, ae were on the way to © city. About mid-afternoon they stood outside one of the smaller gates leading into the extensive grounds which were the glory of Woodlawn, Here Mabel detained her companion. ‘‘I have nothing more to fear,” she said ingenuously, “Let me say good-by to you here.” “And why good- yy? he asked, evincing no slight degree of surprise. ‘‘ I prefer to go on to the house alone.” He looked at her rE “T think I com- prehend your object in leaving me here,” he said, after a moment’s thinking. ‘You wish to spare me all unpleasant gonseqpnces that = ikely to accrue from having piloted you to this t. e Mabel blushed and seemed not a little con- fused. P “‘T am no coward,” he added, hastily. “ Let waar on. Iwill see Mrs. Laudersdale my- self. “No, no, no. Indeed I would rather go alone. It is best that I should.” He looked puzzled, at a loss. _‘‘ Something might happen to you,” he urged. ‘If Mrs. Laudersdale is really the infamous woman you think her, your appearance at Woodlawn will drive her desperate. She will leave no means untried to roan your destruction.” “T do not fear her,” said Mabel, bravely. ‘I shall ask to see Mr. Laudersdale, in the first place, and tell him my story.” “Do so.” ‘‘T am sure he will protect me, though I can not give avery satisfactory reason for my faith, other than his wife’s overweening desire to keep us @ ; ; Philip Jocelyn seemed strangely grave and thoughtful. A dim foreboding of evil shot through heart and brain as he stood there with that helpless girl leaning so confidingly on his a rm. “May God keep you and watch over you, Mabel,” he said, in a thrilling whisper. ‘‘T am sure that He will.” “You will remain at Woodlawn—I may call to-morrow to see you?” “Yes,” she answered, ‘‘ you may come.” ~ And then they parted. ‘Mabel passed in at the gate, and walked slow- ly along a shaded path that led up to the house. Though she knew it not, a man’s figure rose from the shrubbery only a few feet from where she and Philip ‘had | been standing, and noiseless- ly followed her. She had accomplished less than half the dis- tance to the house when, on turning a sudden bend in the path, she came face to face with a _ Woman, who was advancing in the opposite di- rection. That woman was Mrs. Laudersdale. Mabel stood a moment as if riveted to the spot. The knowledge of the imminent peril that must, perforce, threaten her in that wicked Jezebel’s presence, shot with lightning-like ra- pidity upon her mind. _ She stood as if stricken dumb, her face blanched to the ashen hue of a corpse. All power of locomotion seemed to have left her trembling limbs. While she stood thus, helpless and speechless a mocking laugh sounded close to her ear, an the voice of Bill Cuppings—the man she left lying in a half-senseless condition in the lone house in the woods—cried out in a loud, jeering tone: “Caught, caught again, my lady!” CHAPTER V. TWO PRECIOUS SCOUNDRELS. BrrorE following the further fortunes of our heroine, let us go back for a few minutes, to the lone house in the woods, lack | well-de ed hook, In short, he bore a slight but decided regem- blance to Bill Cuppings himself. Not needlessly to puzzle the reader, we will here inform him that the two men were brothers. They went by different names, however, and never acknowledged the relationship, save to each other, The new-comer had selected for himself the cognomen of Miles Duff. e use the word “selected” advisedly. He had no legal claim to the name, but was invari- ably spoken of as ‘‘ Miles” by his confreres, very few of whom, if any, knew his true pa- tronymic. Indeed, he had d under so many aliases during his eventful career, that he scarcely knew it himself. Need we say that Bill Cuppings was also an assumed name? ; Miles, who was the master of the house of whom Bill had made mention to Mabel Trevor —had been beating the bushes for an hour or two, in search of game upon which to make his frugal supper. he instant he reached the clearing in which the house stood, he had caught ne gleam of the candle-light in the kitchen win- ow. Angry at the thought that anybody should dare take possession of his premises in his ab- sence, he had hurried to his house—unwittingly assing Philip and Mabel in the darkness—and isd crossed the threshold with no gentle tread. ‘““Who in the devil’s name are you?’ he owled out, catching a glimpse of a,man’s Noon leaning against the wall. Striding a step or two nearer, he recognized his brother. “ You, Bill!” he exclaimed, recoiling. ‘‘ What brought you here at this particular time?” The rough passed his hands once or twice across his brow, as if to clear away some mist that still brooded darkly there. A fierce, tiger- ish oc came into his evil-looking eyes. ““They’re gone,” he muttered, between his teeth, without paying the slightest attention to the new-comer’s interrogations. ‘‘ Theyre gone, confound them.” ‘Who's gone?” said Miles. “The girl and the fellow who spirited her away. But it may not be too late to follow them. Miles,” turning pceey to his brother, ““do you happen to have a pistol about you?” — fe Of course,” producing a six-shooter from his pocket, as he answered. “Give it me.” Bill snatched the revolver, and darted eagerly to the door, where he stood listening intently for a moment. The dull thud of hoofs could plainly be heard, borne to his ears on the still night air. : “They’ve taken the horses,” he cried, and a yell of xege and fury broke from his lips. He discharged the revolver in the direction whence the sounds proceeded, but as the reader already knows, without result. The fugitives were already. beyond his reach, since he would be compelled to pursue them on foot, if any pursuit was attempted. Realizing the futility of any further efforts. he retraced his steps to the smoke-begrimed kitchen, where he found Miles tranquilly await- ing his coming. ‘ What's up?” said the latter, the instant he made his appearance. ‘The very devil is to pay Y ‘What do you mean? Bill briefly related what had happened. | ‘* My mistress sent me to kill that girl,” he said, in conclusion, ‘‘and now she has escaped me. I was idiot enough to tell her who sent me on this tom-fool’s errand, too.” Miles aoe: SO ees sure enou. e said. “T should think as much. Of course the girl will tell the whole story to the man who rescued her.” “Of course.” “Curse him! He gave me an ugly blow— knocked the senses clean out of me.” “Who was he?” “Don’t know his name. A young snob, who visits occasionally at’ Woodlawn.” “Do you think he knew yout” “Can't say,” growled Bill. ~ “It isn’t likely. I’ve only seen him at a distance before this.” ‘You saw him close enough to-night, in all conscience,” laughed Miles. “Yes, curse him!” ‘What will you do?” ‘ “Don’t know,” Bill dropped his head dejec- tedly into the palms of his hands, leaning an elbow on either knee, “I say, 3 he cried out, after a moment’s thinking, ‘‘ can’t you help a fellow?” ‘You're in for it, FS ae What can I do?” “Go back to New York with me.” “ee Yes. ” ‘And be ready for any emergency that may arise.” “TU think about it.” Bill looked at him curiously. ying here?” he asked. “The fact is,” returned Miles, coolly, ‘the city became too hot to hold me, some weeks since. This lonely spot has long been my retreat at such times, you know.” “Yes, I am well aware of that fact.” The villain had, indeed, spoken truly. This house in the woods was a’ retreat to which he had for years been in the habit of hastening— for the benefit of his health, as he generally ex- ressed it—whenever the beaks became more an usually solicitous to cultivate his acquaint- ance, “ But I think I iar now venture to return to the city. Of course I will go if I can be of the slightest use to my at brother.” ‘Bah! Mrs. Laudersdale will pay you well, if that is what you mean.” ‘* Pay me well for what?” id Any service you may be so fortunate as to render,” “Of course,” tipping Bill a sly wink. “ This Mrs. Laudersdale has ong been the oe who lays your golden eggs, I understand. I can’t do better than to cultivate her acquaintance.” ‘‘T am sure of that,” dryly. _ “tsa ieee I aw chanced to pee her, since you have been in her good graces so long. “T don’t know. You never Shane to ‘Wood- lawn.” “ Humph!” sneered Miles, ‘‘ younever wished me to come—until you had use for me!” Bill folded his arms complacently, and looked at his brother. “T had a character to sustain,” he said. “You are too well known in New York, and it would have ruined me if our relationship was suspected.” ' “We are just as nearly related to-night as we were last week, or last year.” “ Humph! Circumstances alter cases. This is an emergency, and I must not be too particu- lar. It is nec that I reach W: wn in advance of this girl, and with the help of Mrs. udersdale, concoct some scheme for disposing of her before she has time to work mischief.” “And you think I can assist you?” “Yes. There is not time to look elsewhere for the help we are likely to need.” A brutal sneer curled ‘Miles’ lip. “Very good,” he muttered. ‘But before I consent to any such arrangement as this you ercrcs, I'd like to know something more of . Laudersdale herself.” “What do you wish to know?” f ‘“ Who and what she is.” “Shall I begin as far back in her history as I aw any thing of it myself?” ‘ i$ es. . “Then i must be content with one or two details. Her private history is a secret from the world, and she wishes it to remain such.” ‘“T thought so.” “Tt was seventeen years ago that I first fell in with her. She was a blooming widow at the time—-or so represented herself—shrewd, clear- headed, and unprincipled. She had been on the stage, playing a minor part in the lower grade of theaters.” “Go on.” “ At Saratoga, where she went to spend some of her superfluous cash one summer, she met Mr. Laudersdale, who was at the time an appa- rently inconsolable widower. Well, this wily woman played her cards to perfection and soon won him from the contemplation of his grief.” “ Don’t come the sentimental, Bill.” “How can L help it? To cut short ae , this far-sighted ow married Mr, Laude: le and thus gained a luxurious home for herself and her daughter, Marcia.” ‘* Marcia! Miles had been indolently reclining in one of the rush-bottomed chairs with which the kitchen was furnished. But at the mention of that name, he s g suddenly to his feet. — “Had Mrs. Laudersdale a daughter before she married her present husband?” he asked, in a low, breathless tone of voice. E “Yes, as I have said, a daughter Marcia.” ‘And what was the mother’s name?” “In the days of her widowhood—Martha ‘“ Why are you Denvil.”. P An irrepressible cry escaped the lips of Miles. His face became terribly convulsed with sion. Surprise, hate, rage, bewilderment, all seemed to be struggling or the in his countenance. His fingers twitched, his lips trembled, ; Bill looked at him’ sharply. ‘‘ What’s the matter?” he ask ‘What ails you, man?” “ Nothing.” i gnopped into his chair again, and sat with his face hidden for many minutes, ses , strange,” his companion heard him mutter, huskily, after a long and sullen silence, “Strange that I should hear of her after all these a and in this wer At he raised his head, He had succeeded 6 THE FIRESIDE LIBRARY. Vor. I. in banishing from his countenance every trace of the emotion that had so recently convulsed it, save a slight pallor that lingered about the lips. Nothis Marcia Denvil of whom you a just now,” he began, aati composedly, ‘does she, too, live at Woo wn with her mother?” «She does.” : * And is treated like an own daughter by Mr. Laudersdale?” “c Yes. ” The eyes of the two men met. Miles’ ex- pressed nothing save a sullen, dogged sort of resolution. Those of Bill Cuppings twinkled with cunning and ill-concealed curiosity. “You are not doing the fair thing by me, Miles,” he said, sudde: ye “What do you mean?” “You are keeping a secret from your own brother.” ‘* Perhaps.” “*T don’t like it,” muttered Bill. ‘‘I was frank and free enough with you.” 1 Miles spread out the five fingers of his right hand, and for the next few minutes had all the appearance of being engaged in a profound study of their different ” rtions. “T don’t wish to be bothered,” he said, rous- ing himself at last. ‘‘If I have a secret—and mind that I do not own up to any thing of the sort—you shall know it in good time. I can promise nothing further.” ‘T dislike being trusted by halves,” grumbled Bill, feeling any thing but satisfied. Miles rose up from his chair to end the con- versation. - 2 gc a grumy,