4. THE FIRESIDE LIBRARY, Vou. L See “c I am. ” ‘Tt is dangerous to cross at this point. I hur- ried on to tel! you so. There is quite an under- tow wien the river is swollen so much as at present.” ‘* What am I to do?’ she asked, helplessly. “'There’s a bridge just below,” he said, fixing his strange eyes upon her face. “7 don’t: know where to find it.” ““T will guide you. It is only a little way.” “That bridge may be gone, too,” she cried, sharply. ‘‘The freshet may have taken it away.” “Of course; but I hardly think it is. Come along. I’m going that way myself.” He turned her horse’s head, even as he spoke, and began to lead the way along the bank of the river. Mabel had no time for remonstrance. It would not have availed her, perhaps, in any event, The rosy flush of sunset faded from the sky, as they proceeded, and the purple shadows of twi- light Teata to gather darkly around them. “Mabel fell. back with terror; but the man’s grasp was still on the bridle-rein, and she could not hope to break away from him. He had been very civil thus far, but she could not help distrusting him. If he meant mischief, the place was lonely and wild, and he must have everything his own way. He scarcely spoke. At last they reached the bridge of which mention had been made. And there he paused and looked at her keenly by the last glimmering light of day. “The woods on the other side are dark and lonely, miss,” he said. ‘‘We must keep to- gether, or you will surely lose your way.” ‘“‘T would rather go back,” she returned shiy- ering, as she glanced into the black depths of shade that seemed to be opening before them. ‘“‘Humph, You would gain nothing. There are woods on either hand, as you can see for yourself.” She clasped her hands in dread unutterable. “Oh, I wish I hadn’t come,” she murmured. ‘Let go your rein,” he said, gruffly. ‘ The we is narrow and dark. I'll lead you.” here seemed no other way than to submit. They resumed their journey. The woods grew darker and more impenetrable as they advanced. Great trees closed thickly about them. Poor Mabel could scarcely see her hand before her. The man pushed on in sullen silence, leading the gray mare by the bridle. At last he emerg- ed into a small clearing, and much to her de- light, the frightened girl beheld dimly through the dark, a long, low building, the sides of which were pierced with several small windows. “Here,” she thought, ‘“‘I may find friends and a refuge.” The building looked solitary and dark, how- ever, as they drew near. ‘‘Dismount!” said the man, in a stern voice, as they drew up before the door. All hope died in her heart as she noticed his tone and manner. Trembling in every limb, she slid to the ground. Seizing firmly hold of her hand, he led her into the house, leaving the horses to graze at will on the diminutive lawn. Within, every thing was wrapped in impene- trable darkness. The man hastily struck a match, and, like one perfectly familiar with the premises, approached a rude sort of chimney- piece, where he found a candle, which he lighted. By the aid of its friendly rays, Mabel saw that she was in a small, smoke-begrimed apart- ment, very rudely furnished. She looked eagerly at her companion. “Do you live here?” she asked. “No,” he returned, with a strange smile. “I live in the suburbs of New York. But I have frequently been to this place before.” “In New York?” she echoed. ‘Iam going there.” “Indeed?” Again that singular smile curled “May I ask what takes you to the his lips. city?’ “I go there to find a wicked woman who knows some secret concerning me that I am anxious she should divulge.” “You mean Mrs. Laudersdale?” Mabel gave a start of surprise, “Do you know her?” she exclaimed. “Yes. And I also know that she does not wish you to come to Woodlawn.” There was no mistaking the sneering tone in which those -words were uttered. A sudden suspicion flashed with lightning-like rapidity upon Mabel’s mind. “Who are you?” she cried, sharply. ‘Why have you dogged my footsteps all the way from Berlin? “One question at a time, miss, if you _ My name is Bill Cuppings. I live at Wood- wn.” Tt was indeed that strange and terrible man who had been leagued with . Laudersdale in sO many crimes that had never come to the light of day. abel’s heart died within her. This man could have had but ono object in following her so persistently, and in conducting her to this ey spot. His very next words verified the horrible suspicion that had crossed her mind. “You are in Mrs. Laudersdale way,” he said, . as brutally. ‘In short, you have it in your power to cause her no end of trouble. Like a clever woman—and my mistress is remarkably clever where her own interests are concerned—she de- termined, shortly after returning from her recent visit to Berlin, to put you out of the way of harassing her. Not to put too fine a point on it, you know too much for her safety.” “Oh, just Heaven!” » “As I said before, she wishes to be rid of you. And I am selected as the humble instrument to accomplish her purpose.” Mabel recoiled from him in horror. ““You would not murder me?” she cried. “Bah! Pve cut prettier throats than yours in my day,” sneered the ruffian. ‘‘T never harmed you.” “That is true. But it is as a business trans- action that I regard this matter. My mistress hired me to do a certain piece of work, and I am bound to do it.” ‘* She hired you to kill me?” ‘** You have said it,” sneered the ruffian. “It isn’t the first transaction of the sort I’ve been engaged in for her sake,” ‘ Mabel threw up her clasped hands in a gesture of piteous entreaty. “Have you no mercy?” she moaned. “Iam young, and lifeis sweet. Itis very hard to die.” Bill did not seem to be touched in the least by her misery. : os “Td like to spare you,” he said, coolly, wiping the perspiration from his face, “‘but my wishes are not to be regarded in this matter. I might have shot you down like a dog, on the wa hither. But I preferred to spare your life we reached this spot.” ag : “There are signs of habitation in this room,” cried Mabel. ‘“‘ You dare not harm me. The person who lives here may return at any mo- ment, in which case I shall claim his protec- tion. ; Bill laughed jeeringly. “Do oa tale me Ob | a fool?” he snarled. “It is a friend of mine who occupies this house; otherwise I should never have come here. 1 don’t know why he is absent at this present mo- ment, and I don’t care how soon he returns. He will take sides with me, and not with you.” She knew by the tone in which he uttered these words that he had spoken truly. Driven nearly frantic with desperation and fear, she bounded toward the door, giving him a violent push with both hands as she passed him. ‘ He staggered a little, at first; but, recovering his balance almost immediately, he anne pS her with the agility and ferocity of a wolf, just = ae srouthitng: fingers dropped upon the latch of the door. “You shall not escape me now,” he howled. giving utterance to a volley of the most fearful curses, Obeying the most natural impulse in the world, Mabel uttered a succession of piercing screams for assistance. “Yell away!” said Bill, savagely, as he dragged her backward from the door, ‘‘ There’s nobody to hear. And you'll never have a chance to try your lungs again in this lower worl CHAPTER IV. FRIEND AND FOE. THESE words had scarcely the villain’s lips when the door was ay Eon vadaaly and violently open, and a young man dashed into the apartment. ; “Don’t be too sure of that!” he exclaimed, drawing a pistol from the breast_ pocket of the hunting-jacket he had on, as he sprung to Mabel’s rescue. . Bill Ceaernwest to confront the intruder. But he was taken wholly unawares by the sud- denness of the une: ted onslaught. Before he could stir from his tracks, the young man had brought the butt of the pistol he carried down upon his head with stunning force. The villain reeled, caught helplessly at the empty air, and fell like a log to the floor. _ As Mabel turned, her heart full of gratitude to thank her deliverer, an exclamation of sur- rise escaped her lips. Pr Philip Jocelyn! Is it possible?” ? The young man echoed her cry. ‘You, Mabel, you? I can scarcely believe the evi- dence of my senses.” He did, indeed, look very much bewildered. * I heard your cry for help,” he added, hastily. “But I had not the slightest idea to whose as- i I was hi a grein Sail, hamebicas fellow, of some twenty-two years of age. His face was the type of a deaatt beauty, the features being | | regular and full of a noble resolution and un- | flinching courage. In brief, his was the sort o countenance to ire instinctive trust. | And thus did Mabel Trevor interpret its vary- ing expression. It was merely the recognition of one noble soul by another. p She had met Philip Jocelyn the previous sum- mer sca he a hac ne Jersey coast for a month’s fishing and hunting. eo niality of tastes in most respects had Cc brought them frequently together during those tear hapay weeks. ‘When the brief, ‘bright | ; . a a e t lh hi: anh ici Nee Fe pelle baat a wet la ta wes ~ month was over, Philip had gone back to his city home to take up the old life of aristocratic do-nothingness, and a wall had been built up between the two which no friendly meetings and no messages of any sort had beaten down. Now the young man held out his hand to Mabel with all the old winning frankness that — charmed her in the bright days of the asi “T can not tell you how rejoiced I am to meet with you once more,” he said, gently. Mabel’s long lashes swept her checks as skc murmured, so: tly in reply: “How does it happen that Jocelyn, in this lonely wood?’ “‘Tcame down from New York with a party of friends for a week’s hunting. To-night T Reureued to stray away from my companions and became somewhat bewildered by the intri- cate windings of the forest. Some fortunats chance directed my footsteps to this spot, and I reached the house just in season to hear gad scream for help, and that villain’s last words. He ee eee Bill Cuppings’ prostrate body with his foot as he spoke. Mabel shuddered. ‘You arrived just in time to save my life,” she said. ; / “Good God! That villain did not really in- tend to kill you?” “T am sure that he did.” Philip Jocelyn opened wide his eyes in utter amazement. ‘‘I did not think he was quite so re What had you done that he should seek your life?” " ‘‘ Nothing.” ‘““Why are you here, so far away from home?” “‘I had set out for New York, and lost my way. I intended to take the night train at Milton.” i He looked at her somewhat curiously. “Why were you going to New York?” he asked. “Granny Wells is dead. I must seek a new home somewhere. Besides, I have another mo- tive more powerful than all the rest, for wishing to go to the city.” “ Will you tell me what it is?” She briefly related her simple story—Mrs. | Laudersdale’s visit to the old hovel—Granny Wells’ sudden death—her own mad journey, and: the encounter with Bill Cuppings. “eae Jocelyn’s face grew very pale as he lis- n “This is a strange story,” he said, when Mabel ceased to speak. ‘“ dly know what to make of it. Had any other person related it to me, I should instantly have set him down as a mi 5 Mabel clasped her hands and gave him an ap- aling look. ‘I am not mad,” she cried. “I ive told you the truth from first to last.” “T believe that you have,” he returned gravely. ‘I would as soon doubt the word of an angel in heaven. It is very fortunate that we chanced to meet. Ican take you directly to | Woodlawn.” i ; “Do you know the Laudersdales?” “ Yes. ” He might have added that he was oo as Marcia Denvil’s lover by many, but did not choose to do so. L “T can see how it is,” cried Mabel, lifting a os glance to his face. ‘‘The Lauders- you are here, Mr. ales are your friends. You are reluctant to think ill of them.” “ That is true.” ‘* And they will be sure to hate you if you be- friend me.” mn “I care not for that,” he returned, earnestly. “Tf Mrs. Uaudersdale is the wicked woman you think her, I have no desire for her friendship.” | “She sought my life—I know she did,” sob! Mabel. ‘“ Do you not recognize that man lying at your feet?” he young man leaned over Bill’s motionless fi and scanned his features. ed, after a pause. ‘‘I do not remember ever have seen him.” ‘‘ He said he was Mrs. Laudersdale’s servant.” “Tt is ble.” ; ‘‘ And that she sent him here to take my life.” Philip answered nothing. He seemed ‘buried in deep those for some minutes. ‘“ You think Mrs. Laudersdale’s husband knew nothing of - the whole affair?” he said, at last. ; Spe “T am sure of it. He would befriend me, I think, if I could once gain an interview with — him. a It is only that infamous woman I have to At this juncture, Bill Cuppings! breast to heave, and the muscles o: face to twi convulsively. 3 eA “The poor wretch is reviving,” cried Mabel, to whose quick eye not a movement was lost. ‘¢ Let us leave this place at once, the house may return at any moment, and then we will have double odds to contend against.” “What ae mean?” ; “ He is a friend and ally of that man.” —_ mie the sooner we are off ees j 's breathing was now per: ly audible. Philip raised him to eae ie his head sata the wall. Then he hastily quitted the house, 1 Mabel Fak _ A few rods distant the horses Mabel a: would-be murderer had ridden to this gj “No,” he re- _ The owner of | ‘ ae sere a «4 re oat 6 in banishing from his countenance every trace woman bending over her seemed to recede of a | sudden, and grow dim and ill-defined. They | of the emotion that had so recently convulsed it, save a slight pallor that lingered about the ips. “This Marcia Denvil of whom you or just | oes now,” he be; uite composedly, she, too, live at Ww ocdiaiad with her mother?” ‘*She does.” * And is treated like an own daughter by Mr. Laudersdale?” “ 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, saddionh ri vie t 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.” Miles spread out the five fingers of his right hand, an a next few a had = ae Appearance 0} ing engaged in a profoun shad of their different Poportiins: y “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. ‘‘ My mind is made up,” he said, gruffly. ‘I’m | going to the city to join in your plans, heart and soul. But we must have a bite of supper before we set out.” “Ts there any train to-night?” “Yes, the three o’clock express. We can reach the station in time.” ‘*Mabel Trevor will also take the cars for the city, unless I am very much mistaken. Is there no chance of intercepting her on the way?” “Not the slightest, since we can not tell what route she will take. The most we can do is to look for her at the station.” This the two worthy confederates did, when they reached Milton in the cold and darkness of the morning. But no glimpse of the hapless girl rewarded this careful quest. As the reader is already aware, she and Philip Jocelyn did not set out for the city until some hours later. On arriving in New York, Bill proceeded at once to W awn, that he might acquaint Mrs. /Laudersdale with the imminent danger that menaced her. Miles lingered in the neighborhood to learn precisely when his services were likely to be needed. Early in the afternoon, Bill sought him out in the retreat he had selected—a low dram- shop. yee ‘The irl has not been heard from as yet,” he said. ‘But my mistress is of opinion that she will make her appearance before the day is gnded. You and I are to keep a close watch on She various entrances to the grounds, prepared $0 act as the emergencies of the case may seem %o warrant.” Miles nodded a ready acquiescence. ‘“*T shall soon come face to face with my Lad, Laudersdale,” he muttered, on the way to Wood. Jawn. ‘I'd run any risk for the privilege of confronting her once more.” And a strange smile curled his lips. CHAPTER VI. A CAPTURED DOVE. WE have now followed the course of events up to the moment when Mabel Trevor so unex- Rented ty encountered Mrs. Laudersdale, her ost ey and dangerous enemy, in the grounds at Woodlawn, while attempting to ap- proach the house. As we related in a former chapter, while she stood as if frightened out of her wits by the sudden meeting, the well-kn -known voice of Bill Cup ings bed ete, close e her ear: a 1 CB again, my ! Sa as he Spoke, the villain’s Teatay hand descended on her shoulder, where it fastened it- self in a vise-like grip. ¢ ‘Mabel’s brain reeled, and she grew giddy with terror, She tried to speak, to call out, but only a faint cry escaped her trembling lips. “None of your screeching,” omen the brute, wee held her fast, “It will do you no sort of gi **Stop her mouth, Bill,” said Mrs. Lauders- dale, ily. ‘‘Somebody might hear her if she were to scream for help.” “All right,” and he Smee) his disengaged hand over the mouth of the helpless girl. “Thought to get ahead of us, did you?’ he jeered, putting his face close to her white and quive one. ‘Bah! You are in our power again. d no handsome young fellow is likely to come to your rescue this time.” ; True, true! Oh, why had she not suffered | go with her to the house, as he wished? But it was now foe late for regrets. film came before Mabel’s eyes as she realized EB : sil THE The cold, cruel face of the man and | soon vanished altogether, and her hands fell list- | lessly to her side. She had fainted. | _ “Good,” chuckled Bill. | clever of her. | trouble.” “Yes, yes.” | ‘* Now, what’s to be done with her?” “That’s what I call She has saved me a world of | Before Mrs. Laudersdale could frame any re- | ply to this question, a step sounded in the | gravel-walk, and a man stood beside them as ; Suddenly as if he had risen from the ground. | Mrs. Laudersdale gave him a frightened _ glance, then looked again. Her eyes riveted | themselves on his face, and slowly dilated as if | they were staring at some ghastly and awful | horror. Her own face blanched to the ashen | hue of a corpse, and the perspiration broke out | in beads upon her brow. | Slowly her trembling lips unclosed. | “Oh, just Heaven!” she moaned. Then, by a superhuman effort of the will, she con mb: the deadly faintness that was fast stealing away her senses, and stretching out both her quivering hands to the new-comer, she gasped: ‘or God’s sake, who are you?” “Miles Duff, at your service, was the ready reply. Te was, indeed, the clever scoundrel whom we have introduced to the reader under that alias. Mrs. Laudersdale advanced nearer and nearer to the man, as if enticed onward by some fatal fascination she was wholly powerless to resist. “Tt’s a lie!” she shrieked, ‘‘ You are not Miles Duff! ‘You are—” “ Hush!” The villain put up his hand warningly, at the same time glancing apprehensively toward Bill. “Tt is at your own peril that you speak that name,” he muttered. ‘‘You’d better be can- tious.” orised at his Mrs. Laudersdale seemed sury words and manner. She had evidently looked for something different on his part. Dropping into a garden seat that stood near, she slowly wiped the cold damps of fear from her brow. ‘Take care,” Miles hissed, again, close to her ear. She looked at him, trembling from head to oot. ‘“T thought you were dead,” she muttered. “You mean that you hoped I was?” ““You cannot blame me if I did.” “No,” he sneered. ‘‘ You’ve played a very clever game, Martha.” ‘Not a word of that now.” At this moment, it was she who looked appre- hensive. Strengthening every nerve to meet the critical situation in which she found herself, she had succeeded in regaining her composure. “ Betray nothing,” she whispered, ‘“ until we have had a long talk together. I think we'll come t@ an understanding.” ‘Per! BPs said Miles, significantly. Bill had been covertly watching the two for some minutes. ‘‘ You and Mrs. Laudersdale are old friends,” he muttered, sullenly, turning to his brother. ‘Why didn’t you tell me a about it last night?” 3 “There wasn’t much to tell,” answered Miles. ‘*T know better.” ‘We are losing time,” Mrs. Laudersdale now broke in, ee to the inanimate form of poor Mabel, which was still reclining in Bill’s arms. ‘“ This path is much uented, and we are liable to interrupted at any moment. Something must be done with that girl before she recovers her senses.” “Of course,” said Miles. Mrs. Laudersdale looked at him sharply. “‘ How does it happen that you are here at this opportune moment?” she asked. t was Bill Cuppings who answered, ‘Don’t you remember? I told you that I had gngaged, somebody. to help me in looking after 6 girl. “And he is the man? Ah, yes, I understand it all now.” She drew a deep breath of relief. “What will we do with the girl? Quick; let us come to some decision,” “She can’t well be taken from the grounds until after nightfall,” said Miles. | “ec True. ” Mrs. Laudersdale sat silent and thoughtful for | aminute or two. Then she started suddenly to her feet. “T have it!” she exclaimed. ‘‘ You can take | her to the boat-house, for the present. It is | quite secluded. Nobody will be going nigh the | place to-day.” | ace “Ts it secure?” | “Perfectly so. You have the key, Bill?” 1 “ Yes. ” | “Then the sooner you are off the better.” | The two men nodded assent to this remark. , Mabel was raised between them, and they took ashort cut across the grounds, walking as rap- ee as — Bill leading the way. udersdale remained on the spot where | the meeting had taken a ais _ The two villains, with their precious burden, penetrated the shrubbery, passed through a FIRESIDE LIBRARY. ; take Mabel’s life.” ‘ -Laudersdale had confided pre small grove and asecond fringe of bushes, finall: iniates Tags at.a small stone building on the ae 2 of the river. This building was hidden by the thick shrub- bery growing close to the wall on every side save that fronting on the water. Even that was overrun with wild vines. The only windows of which the place could boast were two or three gratings placed high up in the stone masonry. ‘*Tolerably secure, isn’t it?’ said Bill, smiling grimly, as he produced a key from one of his pockets. ‘“Humph!