€ MARGOUN, IEE IS TRARER

 

 

The old skipper had listened intently to this

strange recital.

‘* Tt does look strange,” he ejaculated, as Man-
ton ceased, ‘‘1f Twas only sure that this was
the fellow, ’'d havea pair of bracelets on him
before the next bell! But—”

‘Take no steps at all in the matter,” hastily
interrupted the young man. ‘Our voyage, [
hope, is almost over; leave the fellow to me and
to—Margoun. Now—”

He was moving away when the skipper stop-
ped him with a question:

‘Have you any idea who this fellow is, Mr.
Manton?”

Thorle Manton paused several minutes before
he answered,

“He resembles a man—two men—whom I
once knew by sight,” he said, very slowly, as if
partly lost in thought.

**Do you mind telling me the names of those
two men, sir?”

Again the young man hesitated; but it was
only for an instant.

“No, captain; theix names were Abner and
Moses Denby, brothers, and they were so much
alike that they could scarcely be told apart.”

‘Had you, or have you, reason to think that
aes or both of them, had a grudge against
you?

‘“‘ Both! ay, both! They had good cause,” and
Thorle Manton’s wild, bitter laugh rung out
once more. ‘I once slapped Abner Denby’s
face for him, and afterward, when I was way*
laid by him and his brother, I horsewhipped
both the rascals!”

“ But that was long ago?”

‘More than five years, captain.
his voice was low and serious, ‘‘those white-
faced. brothers belong to a scheming, bloodthirs-
ty family, the members of which, male or fe-
male, never forget a grudge. The father was
hung in New York for a foul, heartless murder.
But now I must go below. Whew! how -it
blows!”

“My advice, Mr. Manton, is to keep your
weather-eye open!” said Captain Stone, as his
passenger descended from the bridge.

Trust me and Margoun for that!” was the
rejoinder.

‘ollowed by the faithful Hindoo, the young
man picked his way along the slippery’ decks
toward the distant saloon in the rear. Though
he looked closely around he noticed nothing
suspicious as he strode on, Nor did the keen-
eyed East Indian observe anything to put him
on his guard,

Yet, not a moment after the two had passed,
a man drew cautiously from beneath the life-
boat strapped to the deck abaft the bridge, and,
rising, followed stealthily behind them. As he
passed the flash of light that came through the
skylight over the engine-room, his face, for a
fleeting moment, was revealed.

That face was white, thin toemaciation, with
a wolfish expression and glittering eyes, the
features half-concealed by a coarse fur cap
drawn over the brows, and muffled in a woolen
comforter—both articles now stiff with frozen
spray.

Stooping to his hands and knees he crept on
toward the windy quarter-deck, far aft.

Abner Denby, still clutching the letter, the

contents of which he was determined to know,
turned from the glowing stove as if to leave the
room. But he checked himself and thrusting
the letter in his bosom halted.
_ The door opened and his mother entered.
Having finished clearing the sidewalk of snow,
she now brought in her son’s supper. Her face
was, placid again; the wrinkled brow was
smooth, and her old eyes, in which, some mo-
ments before, baleful fires had glittered, shone
kindly and lovingly as they rested upon the
well-clad form of him who was her own flesh
and blood.

She was a strange looking old creature—one
who, at a first or second or even a third glance,
was repulsive in the extreme,

Her face was that of her son, in an older,
more rugged and time-marked mold. It was
bronzed in hue, with, here and there, little
groups of hairs sprouting from it. Her hair
was sparse, iron-gray in color, and falling in
unkempt confusion around her cadaverous
cheeks. Her eyes, scarcely visible under the
shaggy brows, were bright and roving, giving
her a sinister appearance. A

She was clad in cheap stuff, which contrasted
strongly and strangely with her son’s rich at-

e

But,” and

 

“Here is your supper, Abner,” she said in a
kind tone, TI hope you will like it: you know
Iam a good cook,

‘‘T hope you have kept it hot; no cold vict-
uals for me,” was the harsh reply.

“Just from the range, hot and steaming, my |

son,” she answered, persuasively, though she
shot a reproachful look at him.

The supper was a tempting one; and Abner
Denby did ample justice to it. He ategreedily,
and ina few minutes pushed tho things from
him, turning his chair toward the stove.

After the plates were removed Abner wheeled
ORO toward the old woman and said:

“By this afternoon’s mail, mother, I received

me! You see,

 

a letter from Gilbert Grayling. It was written |
from Liverpool, and came by a Boston steamer; |
hence, there was some delay in getting it.”

“Well?” she asked, almost fiercely, as she |
saw him pause. ‘‘ What of it?” |

‘He is coming home!” |

“Coming home? Furies! Then—” |

“Pxactly. He may prevent me from ap-
propriating five thousand dollars for the next
year, as 1 have done for the last two! But,
trust me, I’ll find another leak. He gives me |
news—something that will interest you,” and he |
laughed tauntingly.

“Out with it!’

“Old Grayling has married again—has a new
wife, a young one, I dare say not older than
that stuck-up daughter—”

“Furies!” and the old woman gnashed her |
teeth. ‘“‘ Yet, forty years ago, he was my pro-
mised husband! he and his hundred thousands!
He flung me off—”

‘*When he learned that you had the greed of
a wolf, and the temper of the ——,” interrupted
Abner, coarsely. ‘‘ But that isn’t all.”

‘“Go on, then,” she said, sullenly.

“He inclosed a letter for his daughter,
Grace, in my envelope. Iam to hand it to her
in person.”

* Nothing strange in that.”

“But, there may be something strange in
that letter,” he said. . ‘‘ I must look into it.”

“c How 9?

‘“Hasy enough; I have done it before to-
night. Steam and mucilage can undo and do
work!”

‘‘ What do you mean?”

“ Get me the kettle with some boiling water,
and T’ll soon show you. Off with you; time is
precious. I’ve something else to do to-night,”

The old woman hastened out, to quickly re- |
turn with the kettle—the hot vapor puffing
from the spout.

ae it from her, Abner held the sealed
tad of the envelope to the escaping steam. In
a short while it loosened, and then opened.

Withdrawing the written sheet he glanced
hastily over it and started back.

“May Satan seize him! He is beginning to
cietrom me!” he ejaculated, glaring at the let-

r.

 

CHAPTER IV.
MOTHER AND SON—PLOTTING.

Oxtp Mrs. Denby looked at her white-faced
son in surprise.

‘What is it, Abner, my son?”

But Abner did not answer. He was now
holding the sheet close to the streaming gas-
jet, bie eyes bent upon it, reading it word by
word.

“What is it, my son?’ repeated the old wo,
man. ‘ What, in that letter, has so upset you?”

“Didn’t 1 just tell you?” he answered, rough-
ly. ‘In this letter to his daughter old Gray-
ling shows signs of losing faith in my honesty,
thinks that the income from the business is fall-
ing off too much—which is an unaccountable
circumstance to him. Bah! But if he was just
certain that I was trusty and faithful—”

He paused and laughed.

‘“ Well?” impatiently from his mother.

‘* Why, he would not object to me even as
his son-in-law!” muttered Abner, grimly, his
eyes flashing over the letter.

‘What! He who once flung my love away
would not object to one of my blood—”

“Listen. Ill read you this precious letter.”

In a low voice he read it through. The mo-
ther did not lose a single word.

‘So! so!” she muttered, as Abner folded the
sheet and slid it back into the envelope. ‘‘ That
is certainly a come-down for old Gilbert Gray-
ling! Perhaps it is remorse? But, think you,
my son, that Grace Grayling cares anything
for you?”

‘Not a button! Confound her, she despises
me! But, for all that, I wouldn’t mind having
her for my wife—not I! With her father’s in-
fluence to back me there’s more than a chance
that I can win her. By Jove! he shall have
confidence in me; Grace Grayling is a stake
worth playing for.”

He arose and promenaded the room for ten
minutes, 2

‘‘ How can you re-establish his trust and con-
fidence in you, Abner?’ asked his mother, un-
able to be silent.

“Just what I was thinking about,” he re-
Ee Pausing and throwing himself again into

is chair. “I think I have hit upon a plan that
will work, though T’ll have to sacrifice some-
thing—that is for a time.”

‘Sacrifice? I hope not money?”

‘Yes, money, for— There, don’t interrupt
have managed to lay away two
thousand dollars, without accounting for it in
Gilbert Sevier books, I had intended it for
my own pockets, But I will turn it over to
him, telling him that I have ferreted out some
irregularities, and forced a collection of that
money; you see?”

“Very good. But then you”

“T understand you; don’t distress yourself.
Pll get it all back, will bring down two birds at

 

a shot, and all this very night!”
“ How? I would like to know!”

 

 

 

 

‘You heard the letter, eh?’ and as his leaden--
blue eyes rested upon her a sinister smile swept

| over his white face.

““Yes—every word.”

“Grayling directs me to hand to his daughter
as much money as she may wish,” pursued Ab-
ner,

‘* What of that?’

“A great deal! I have a ‘pocketful’ with

| me; and I never pay out money without taking |

a receipt.”
‘‘ What in the world are you—”
“You are stupid, mother! Don’t you take

| my drift? I mean, in plain English, this: I'll

give Grace Grayling five hundred dollars, and
take her receipt for one thousand! Ha! ha!
She'll never look at the receipt, or think of
counting the money, Old Grayling, on seeing
the receipt, will not question the transaction;
and I—why, I'll get back the five hundred dol-
lars at once!”

For five minutes the old woman gazed at him.
Her countenance showed no repugnance at the
villainy which her son was so coolly plotting.
So far from it, a gleam of admiration glittered:
in her sunken eyes.

‘*Good—very good, Abner!” she said.

“ Yes; and to begin matters, ll write the re~
ceipt now. If the girl detects me, Vl have an
excuse handy; trust me for that!”

He-drew a sheet of paper toward him, and.
wrote a few hasty lines, which he tore off andi
placed in his pocket.

“Now Pll fix this letter again, and ali will be
well,” continued Abner; and he proceeded to
regum the edge with mucilage, and reseal it. It.
looked as if it had never been disturbed.

‘*So far, so good!” he ejaculated complacent-
ly. ‘‘Now fora long tramp! «I must go up to.
Madison Square, to give Grace the letter and
the money. But ’pon my soul! with old Gray-
ling to back me, I would—”

e hesitated; his pale, narrow brow  con-
tracted, while a kindling gleam lit up his cold
blue eyes, and an expression, difficult to define,,
grew around his thin-lipped mouth.

* What now, Abner?”

“Only this: I wish that dark-haired beauty;,
Clara Dean—old Grayling’s ward — was in:
Grace’s place. As a wife to me, she would be
worth fifty of the latter. Ay! smooth and
bland. as she is on the surface, she is, at heart—
just like me!—daring and devilish! More than
all, Clara Dean would be glad to make a catch
Pacers

‘ Perhaps, perhaps, my son; but do you love:
her?, Do you love either one of those high-
stationed girls?” /

‘* Love! LOVE!” and the man seemed trans-
formed into a fiend. ‘‘Can my callous heart

love anything but money? Five years ago, it

idolized one who was false to me! It would
have shed its last drop of blood for the golden-
haired Cynthia Summers, who turned from me
and gave her heart to the dark-browed, impe-
rious Thorle—”

He paused abruptly; the white froth of rage
flecked his lips, and a small red spot glowed in
each of his cheeks, ‘

Almost in terror, the old woman gazed at
him. Fiend though he was by nature, it was
seldom that she saw him as he now was, With
a shudder which she could not repress, she turn-
ed from him.

‘‘For that affair I have sworn away Thorle
Manton’s life!” hissed Abner, after a lepse of
several minutes. ‘‘ Ay! and so has Moses! who
is even now abroad hunting the fellow down!
And traveling, too, on old Gilbert Grayling’s
money,” he continued with a wicked laugh.
‘He nor I can forget the lash which that iron-
armed scoundrel struck across our shoulders!”

““My dear boy, you have eause to hate Thorle
Manton; I join my gee to yours, that the
hour of vengeance will soon arrive!—if, indeed,
ere this, Moses has not done the deed, But
where can they be now? "Lis long since you
heard from Moses.”

“All I know is this: For years I have been
watching the foreign papers, to find some trace
of Thorle Manton, who fled. the countay: after
his bankruptcy. More than seven months ago,
Ichanced tosee his name in the Alexandria
Oriental, published in Eygpt. He was booked
aboard a steamer bound to Naples. Then, you
know, Moses went abroad, and when last I heard
from him, though be had failed in several op-
portunities, he was still on the track.”

“But if, after all, Thorle Manton is alive, and
should succeed in getting back to his native land
will he, too, not haye ample cause to hate old
Gilbert Grayling?”

“Aylay! The old aristocrat, who pretended
to be a great friend of young Manton’s father,
took a mean advantage of tha son’s absence and
bought the magnificent property on the lake,
known as Manton Manor. And he boughtit for
a mere nothing compared to its real value. True
enough, all that! en, too, the pompus old ar-
istocrat has changed the name of the Manor to
Grayting, Grange! eee it, what do I care
for all that? I hate Thorle ee ru
never be satisfied until he is under my

It was now quite late.

eel |”?

A few moments afterward Abner Denby —

arose, put on his overcoat and prepared to brave

 

}
‘

|

 
‘

-

 

 

‘the wintry weather outside, As he was about
leaving, his mother drew near him and asked:

“When is Gilbert Grayling expected home,
my son?”

‘He wrote me‘that he was to take the Inman
line steamer City ‘of Chester, a week from the
date of his letter. I inquired at the company’s
office, and was told that she was due to-night or
to-morrow morning, but that the heavy gales
which have been prevailing, might possibly de-

i 1 F
lay her.”

‘“ Would to heaven that she would go to the
bottom and take down with her old Gilbert
Grayling and his young wife!” hissed the old
woman.
| ‘‘Amen! amen to that!”
| And Abner Denby stole away in the snow
which was whirling madly through the deserted
streets.

 

CHAPTER V.
OUT AND THRUST—IN THE DEPTHS.

‘T asxep a plain question: did you ever hear
of a man—a young man—named Thorle Man-
ton?”

As Clara Dean spoke, her black eyes flashed
covertly over the face of her companion.

As we have mentioned, Grace Grayling’s
cheeks had paled to an ashen hue, when her
room-mate asked her this sudden question.
Without at once answering, sho turned her face
away.

Clara Dean was watching her.

Did you hear me, Grace, my dear?” she ask-
ed, in an insinuating tone.

‘“Why do you thus question me, Clara?” de-
manded Grace, her toné cold and formal.

‘Oh, for nothing in particular,” was the care-

\ less reply. ‘‘ That youngman hasa strange his-
tory. He has had many ups and downs in life;
but it now appears that he—”

j Sho smiled softly, and drew her chair closer to
the register, up which the genial heat was rush-
‘ ing into the apartment.
Grace shot a quick, searching look at her com-
panion. Do what she could, she frowned.
She had longéknown Clara Dean, had been
‘constantly thrown with her since they were fif-
teen yearsofage. And, despite some little pecu-
»liarities in her father’s black-haired ward, she
loved her; what was more, she had implicit con-
fidence in her. :
But now, as she caught a view of Clara’s face,
a suspicion as quick as the Sachin’ wing flash-
ed over her. What did all this mean?. What
ydidit portend? Twice.on this night had Clara
‘introduced topics which were extremely dis-
agreeable to her. But to tho latter the dark-
eyed brunette had never before referred.
However, Grace drove away her suspicions;
she was a guileless, noble-hearted girl. More-
web her curiosity had been excited; so she

|

‘‘ Well, Clara, it appears—what?”

Clara shrugged her shoulders, and bent her
head to’conceal the sarcastic, triumphant smile
that curled her lip, and said very quietly:

“Why this; from last accounts, it most cer-
tainly appears that Mr, Thorle Manton is now
up in the world—considerably up, at that!”

Grace trembled. What did Clara’s earnest-
—_ nt But, still controlling herself, she
replied:

‘Certainly I have no objection to his pros-
perity; I only wish him well—the more so, be-
cause ho was so unfortunate a few years ago.”
~ “Your father profited by Manton’s misfor-
tune! Manton Manor is now Grayling Grange!”

These words were spoken with a quiet, subdued

~ vehemence,

Grace started; her large brown eyes snapped,
and her cheeks glowed like carnations. -

| _ ‘Surely, Clara, you do not impute wrong mo-
tives, or dishonest action, in that matter?’ she
asked, as calmly as she could. -‘‘He was the
highest bidder; had he not purchased the estate,
some one else would—and at a lower figure than
papa paid for it.”

It was a great bargain!” muttered Clara,
dryly, though she hastened to add: ‘ It-was only
right, and not at all
secured it. But,” in a lower tone, ‘‘it’s said
that Mr. Grayling and old Mr, Manton, long
since dead, were bosom friends.”

} Again Grace frowned; and, as her bosom rose
and fell tumultuously, she answered hotly:
“Dishonest! Lhope you do not insinuate any
‘such thing, Clara Dean!”

“T said no such thing, Grace,” was the tart
reply. “ Butif my memory serves me, you once
told me that your father had received a bitter

Yetter from Thorle Manton, written from somo
“almost unheard of place in the East; and he
spoke right out just that same thing.”

“Yes, true’ enough; but Thorle Manton, at
that time, did not know it was ma my father’s
generosity which kept him from buying, like-
wise, the old broken-down rookery known as the

. By that generosity, the young gentle-
man, if he ever returns home, willcertainly have
a shelter at least,”

6 spoke earnestly,

“Yet, my dear, you certainly cannot forget
‘that your father wrote aie from Europe some
months since, that he still intended to purchase
the old Lodge estate—that his prompting motive

dishonest that your father |.

 

“MARGOUN, THE STRANGE.

was resentment, because young Manton had
written him such a letter?”

Grace had, indeed, forgotten this.

‘* Well, it would only serve him right,” she
said, in a vexed tone. ‘‘ But enough of this
Clara, if you please! You asked me if I had
ever heard of Thorle Manton, when you knew
very well that I had. Now—” :

‘*Perhaps you have not heard of him lately ?
—of. his prosperity, his sudden and immense
wealth?” persisted Clara.

““His wealth—no! And you?”

“Thave; and it was only to-night in madame’s
study-room. You know she takes French news-
papers regularly. I can read French, and in
one of those papers, La Patrie, [read a certain
interesting paragraph only a few hours ago,
T’ll translate it if you will listen.”

“Go on,” said Grace, interested, despite her
recent anger.

Clara drew from her bosom a crushed news-

aper, unfolded it, and read as follows, trans-
ties as she proceeded:

‘““A distinguished American, fabulously rich, has
tnd arrived in the city, and is registered at the

rand Hotel. He has been absent from his native
land for several years, having spent most of his time
in the Far East. ’Tis rumored that his life was at-
tempted a few nights ago in the shadows of the
Champs Elysees, by some miscreant. The attempt,
however, was frustrated by the gentleman’s braver;
and presence of mind, but more preg otf by his
faithful Hindoo valet, whose life, ’tis said, the gal-
lant American once saved at imminent peril to his
own, The two create agreat sensation, as, side by
side—master and man—they dash over the boule-
vards and through the Bois de Boulogne in a magnifi-
cent equipage. °Tis not known if monsieur will re-
turn to America or remain in our gay capital. Our
reporter learns from the hotel register that the gen-
tleman’s name is Thorle Manton, and that of his
trusty valet is Margoun, which, in Hindoostanee,
means ‘ The Watchful.’”

Clara slowly refolded the paper, and cast. it
upon the table; but her eyes closely swept her
friend’s face.

Grace leaned her cheek upon her hand, and
seemed lost in thought. She was not left long
to. her musings.

“Who can tell but that Thorle Manton may
come back to the Grange—to his old manor-
house, and try to get possession of what was
once his, gnd which he inherited from a long
line of ancestors?” inquired Clara.

“He cannot get it back,” replied Grace,
hastily. ‘‘The estate was sold for debts, and
with the purchase-money, which papa paid out,
Mr, Manton’s many debts were settled.”

“Yet, stranger things have ee The
young man might claim illegality of proceedings,
that he was not notified, etc., and he would have
a good ‘ case.’”

race Grayling’s face grew serious; her brow
clouded. What her companion had said, though
only in surmise, made her uneasy.

“But, Grace, my dear, continued the bru-
nette, and in a low tone, “* did you ever hear of
Thorle Manton’s love-scrape, here in New York,
some half-dozen years ago?”

“T don’t care to further about him
Clara, if itis the same to you,” was the cold

reply.

R Oh! very well; I thought it might interest
you. He loved a gay young damsel by the
name of Cynthia Summers. ‘The affair—

‘‘Yes, I recall it; and Thorle Manton horse-
whipped my father’s head clerk for ae
himself into her presence,” interrupted Grace, a
little maliciously.

Clara Dean’s face flushed, and her rich red
lips went tightly together. The shaft had found
amark! But the maiden rejoined:

‘* Despite all that, your father’s ‘head-clerk’
ha; lifted and does lift, his eyes to the rich
young heiress, his employer’s daughter.”

Grace’s cheeks glowed, as she snapped out:

“The white-faced, dull-eyed servant! I de-
spise him! I only wonder that my father is
him. He is tricky and untrustworthy. °.
no, Clara”—and she forced back her usual ‘ood
humor—‘‘T’ll leave Abner Denby to you—if you
like him!”

“Perhaps you will wait for the coming of
Thorle Manton! For, though he is past thirty,
he is rich, and riches hide a multitude of blem-
ishes, Besides that, such an alliance would
obviate much trouble and annoyance concern-
ing the Grange estate, which may—”

‘No more of that, Clara! Not another—Ha!
a caller at such an hour, and on such a night?”

Grace suddenly ceased as the front door-bell
jangled through the large eel

A few moments later a servant knocked, and
entered the room.

“4 gentleman wishes to see you in the par-
lor, Miss Grayling,” she said.

“Me! why—”

‘Yes, ma’am; here’s his card.”

Grace took the card and glanced at it. A
scowl darkened her face as she read: ‘‘ ABNER
Drnsy.” ;

Below the name was penciled this:

“Wish to see you, only a few minutes—on busi-
ness, wp.”

 

Thorle Manton, after leaving Captain Stone
at his post of peril on the bridge of the steamer,

 

 

5

soon reached the more congenial quarters of the
saloon. Close behind him and ever watchful,
strode Margoun, the Hindoo.

The long saloon was almost deserted: it was
so save by an occasional steward, who now and
then passed through-to-see that nothing was
broken by the violent rolling of the ship.

Though the. hour was comparatively early,
the few cabin. passengers, awed by the storm,
had, some time before, retired to their state-
rooms, there to await, with as much calmness as
possible, the result of the battle between the
gallant Adriatic and the storm-king.

Young Manton glanced around the deserted
apartment; a mocking smile parted his lips; but
he nodded his head approvingly.

“They have not sailed as many seas as I have,”
he muttered. ‘ But have they—hasa single one
of them all—breasted the heart-tempests which
have— Pshaw! let that pass. Day is breaking
—time, the great healer, is blunting the—Ha!
you, my faithful Margoun!”

For the time he had forgotten the presence of
his constant attendant.

“Margoun heard the the sahib speak—Mar-
goun listens and waits.”

“Yes, yes, good Margoun. Here, take these
wet things, and carry them to my state-room.
Bring back a pair of slippers and my dressing-
gown, Margoun.”

“Yes, sahib,”

The Hindoo took the wet weather-coat, storm:
hat and gloves, and hurried away.

The young man was now standing by one of
the bright swinging lamps of the saloon.

He was tall, powerful y built, yet of elegant
form. He seemed to be little past thirty years
of age. His hair was jetty black, and falling
over his collar, it gave him a bold and striking-
ly romantic appearance. His eyes were of the
same midnight hue. A long, heavy mustache
fringed his mouth, His chin and cheeks were
smoothly shaven, and almost as swarthy as a
Moor’s,

A mingled expression rested upon his face. It
was one of trouble and resolution.

He. was clad richly. A large diamond of rare
value sparkled in his shirt-front, and another
glittered on the little finger of his left hand.

“T forgot my writing materials!” he ex-
claimed, in a vexed tone. ‘However, I will
talk with Margoun a little; I'll have time for
the letters afterward.”

At that moment, the Hindoo reappeared,
bringing the dressing-gown and slippers.

“Sit down, Margoun; I wish to talk with
you,” said Manton, kindly, even affectionately.

oom wish to consult you concerning certain mat-

Yes, sahib,” and the East Indian seated him-
self.

“Do you know, Margoun, that— Ha!”

The young man had cast his eyes reflectively
upward. He started, and thrust his hand in his
bosom, as he saw a white, square faced glued to
one of the skylights above. A pair of wolfish
eyes in that face were glaring down upon those
who sat in the saloon.

The face was the same that had been seen un-
der the bulwarks,

Tn an instant, young Manton had drawn a
pistol.

Margoun sprung up also; and in his strong
right hand was suddenly griped a long blade of
twisted steel—a weapon known in the far East-
ern countries as a kreese, and much used by the
Malay pirates.

But, in the twinkling of an eye, the face was

‘one.

*¢ By heavens!—”

Before Manton could speak further, the dull
booming of a cannon broke on the outside air,
and echoed faintly in the saloon. A moment
later, a gun from the Adriatic’s decks answered.
Then came a cheer from above. :

“Thank God? <A pilot! a pilot, at last!” ex-
claimed the young man, thrusting his pistol in
his bosom, ‘Come, Margoun!”

Followed by the Hindoo, he sprung i the
companion way. and rushed upon the bleak,
wind-blown quarter-deck, '

Sure enough, there, close to windward, was
the red light of a pilot-boat. It could be seen,
through the flying snow, rocking to and fro,
high in the murky night. *

hen came a hail:

“ What steamer is that?”

“The Adriatic, of the White Star Line Cap-
tain Stone, commanding! What boat is that?”
shouted back the old skipper, from the bridge,

manding!” was the reply from the swift-winged
pilot-boat.

‘All right; Pll slow down for you to come
aboard!”

Ten minutes later, a brawny, spray-covered
pilot clambered up the forechains of the large
steamer. ‘

All this time, Thorle Manton, leaning over
the rail, was looking intently on, At last, with
a glad glow in his heart, he turned away.

t that instant, a tall man, who had been con-
cealed in the shadows, darted out, flung himself
upon the unsuspecting passenger, bore him back

 

with irresistible force, and hurled him headlong
overboard into the scething waters, P

“Pilot-boat Nautilus, Captain Kelso, :com-

pomrenenneryrreserain-cr—o~raagerreaags
MARGOUN, THE STRANGE. :

gested Denby. ‘‘ However, be so kind as to
count the money.” :

His voice trembled just the slightest, while his
eyes rested like those of a hawk upon her,

“Oh, no, there is no necessity,” and Grace
stuffed the money in her pocket. Now I must
go; I want to read papa’s letter.”

‘* Pleaso sign this paper—the receipt for the
money, Miss Grayling. A pencil will do, and
here is one.” :

Grace hastily affixed her signature and turned

to go.

But Denby, who was now trembling, despite
all he could do, suddenly arose, and laying his
hand upon her arm, said:

“T onco spoke to you of love, Miss Grayling
~~ more than once, Grace. Your father

as—”

‘‘Begone!” and Grace shook his grasp from

er. ‘Begone! leave the house! and never
— again to me of love. I hate you, loathe
‘ou

Wheeling from him, sho fled out of the room,
thence up stairs to her chamber.

— did not we a ae Soura in me shea
of the passage by the parlor door. ara Dean
had been eavesdropping.

‘*Good!” she muttered as sho in turn hastil
mounted the stairs. “She flung him off again!”

Abner Denby’s white face was distorted with
passion; but dragging on his overcoat and
snatching his hat, he strode from the seminary,
and entered the bleak, snowy street.

“Furies!” he exclaimed, shaking his hand at
the house, ‘‘ But I will be even withher! Ay,
she and her old father shall both suffer for this!
Ha, ha!” and he laughed triumphantly. ‘The
receipt business was well managed, and I have
aclear five hundred, easily made, to my swell-

bank account.”

way down town he paused before a drink-
ing saloon, and glanced at the flashing lights
coming from it.

“T seldom indulge!” he ae “T al-
ways like to keep a cool head upon be 3
shoulders. But I can stand a glassor so to-night,
and I can afford it!”

Ha entered the place, and more than an hour
passed ere he camo out. Buttoning his over-
coat around him, he strode on his way down

town.

At last he reached the Astor House. As he
was passing, a carriage creaked up through
the piles of snow and halted before the hotel
door.

It was now after midnight. Tho lights be-

f tore the entrance of the hotel shone into the
carriage, and revealed two men sitting therein.

Abner Denby casually glanced in. He started
as if he had seen a ghost.

Then the two passengers descended from the
carriage, and entered the hotel.

At the sight of them, Abner Denby uttered a
low oath, jerked his hat over his brows, and
strode on.

 

CHAPTER VII.
THE BATTLE WITH THE BILLOWS.

THORLE MANTON was, perhaps, nearer the
jaws of death than he had ever stood before.

When tie sudden attack was made upon him,
he had been taken completely unawares, Bo-
sides that, he was standing in a position which
gave his assailant the advantage by odds. Had

t not been for this, the result would not s0
readily have been reached; for Thorle Manton
was a brave man, and in muscular development
avery Hercules. For once in his life, too—the
first ‘and only time—Margoun, the East In-
— had not been as watchful or as quick as
usual.

The excitement of the moment had thrown
both the men off their guard; and that moment
was the one most opportune for the murderous
attempt which was made.

When the young man had been hurled head-
long over the bulwarks, the Adriatic was back-
ing her propeller to allow the pilot-boat to sheer
off—the pilot, as we have mantioned before,
having already clambered to the steamer’s
decks This movement of the large ship was a
lucky one for Manton; for had the steamer been

lunging ahead, he would have been left behind
fn the dark, icy billows to battle alone, and
where no eye could have discovered him.

But he soon recovered from his surprise at the
sudden, desperate attack upon him; and as he
arose to the surface on the crest of a combin
wave, he struck out manfully toward the Adri-
atic, the skeleton outlines of which he could see
dimly towering above him.

* Strong man and experienced swimmer as he
was, it was hard work inst that flerce wind
then skimming the maddened sea, and against
the terrific wash of the billows. Then, too, the
water was like a bath of ice, and it sent a chill
— the ern man’s frame.

Nobly he battled for his life. Now, if never
before, it was precious co him. He was jour-
neying home with a fixed purpose in his heart—
that purpose lofty and sacred to him, as he, with
his ancient family yen considered it,

But despite his e! , he saw, with a sicken-

f that he was slowly but stead

ing to leeward
" eaerod ba efforta: desporately, madly,

 

 

he fought the treacherous waves which wero
bearing him away from all hope—away to
destruction. His aim was to get alongside the
steamer, where he trusted to find a stray hawser
trailing overboard. If he was so lucky as to
find one, he could seize it, and by his shouts
make known the danger with which he was
threatened.

As he was now situated, he dared not exhaust
his strength by shouting. The chances indeed
were that even if he exerted himself in that di-
rection, his cries would be swept roe by the
wild winds, and would never reach thé deck of
the steamer.

But every moment he really was drifting fur-
ther and further away from his last and only

hope.
‘*My God!” he cried. ‘And is it all to end
thus? AmI— Ha!”

At that instant a black body darted rapidly
toward him through the seething waves. An-
other moment and it had reached him.

“ Bo brave, sahib!” came a cheery, well-known
voice, ‘Tis I, Margoun. And he will save

‘ou, or die in the black waters with you! Bo

rave, sabib, my master! Quick! your arms
around Margoun’s neck and— Quick, I say, or
all will be lost! Now!”

Thorle Manton, still by an effort sup
himself in the water, waited no longer. e ha
feared that his extra weight would carry down
the Hindoo, and endanger more than ever ths
lives of both. But as the hot, sharp words of
the latter fell upon his ears, he struggled for-
ward and clasped his icy arms around the noble
fellow’s neck.

Then his head, with its long wet locks floating
behind in the water, fell back, and a film came
over his eyes. But his hands’ were griped ina
deathlike clutch.

For a moment the faithful Margoun, under
the extra pressure, settled slowly, but in an in-
stant he was on the surface again, as buoyant
and as vigorous as ever. Then summoning his
energies, he to swim away with his load.
He did not push directly for the steamer, as had
been young Manton’s tactics, but allowed him-
self to be swept away by the waves, as he swam
directly for the glittering wake left by the
Adriatic. This was comparatively easy work,
by breasting the billows and facing the gale.
Still it was an ordeal from which many of the
hardiest would have shrunk.

The tumbling wake was soon reached. There
was the steamer dead ahead and gathering speed
atevery lunge. But Margoun now swam easily.
Both the wind and the waves had Jost much of
their force upon him. More than that,and bet-
ter than all, there was a kind of suction created
by the ship, which aided the East Indian, and
that was what the sagacious fellow well knew.
ae a calculated upon it, and was not disap-
pointed.

After ten minutes vigorous swimming he
reached the high stern of the Adriatic. Then
by an effort he raised himself until his body
was half out of the water and succeeded, at
the first attempt, in grasping the starboard
rudder-chain. This was a marvelous feat, and
one attended with imminent risk; for the ship
was lurching oe and the propeller revolv-

rtin

ne to keep the ship’s head Mara td
ut Margoun had reckoned on every danger;
and he avoided all.

oe the rudder-chain with both hands,
the gallant fellow paused for several moments
to recover his strength.

All this time Thorle Manton, wrapped in the
unconsciousness of a dead swoon, clung with his
icy, griped fingers around the Hindoo's neck—
an om weight of one hundred and sixty

unds.
peBut Margoun did not mind this. After hehad
sufficiently rested he clambered with his living
load upon the creaking rudder-chain. Fortu-
nately the ship was set on her course, and no
ae the wheel was necessary.

The Hindoo did not wait long. re
himself as best he could, he glanced above him.

A low, subdued cry of joy esca’ him as he
saw hanging over the bulwarks, in reach of his
hands, a e three-inch hawser.

And here again fortune favored the brave fel-
low; for the rope, from its position, was but
partly exposed to the snow and the freezin
spray. It was almost dry and afforded a g
and a hand-hold. He therefore firmly

e Tope.

Now came the sternest trial of all; now came
the greatest danger; and now the most desper-
ate strength was required. If Margoun’s al-
most superhuman power should fail, or Thorle
Manton’s swoon-locked hands should unloose,
oe tale of ‘all is over!” would soon be

For a single minute Margoun hesitated. Then
he tried the rope to satisfy himself that it was

depended,

olding his breath to retain every particle
of his strength, Margoun began the ascent—at
a slowly, then rapidly, hand over hand,

. The was reached; Mar, clambered

over it to the deck; and, with Sis barden, fell

upon the meaty boards from sheer exhatetion,
, qalakly raffied,

 

7

Quietly but firmly loosing the almost death-
Faived fingers, he arose and looked around him,

hat portion of the ship was deserted; not a
soul could be seen.

Margoun stooped and grasped in his arms the
swooning man and hurried away toward the
cabin, under the protection of the high bul-
warks, He went on the starboard side, and in
a few moments descended the companionway
to the saloon, The place was now deserted; not
even a solitary steward was to be seen.

Still bearing his master, Margoun hurried on
and entered young Mantoi:’s state-room. Ho
reached it unobserved. Closing the door, he
quickly stripped off the icy clothing, and fell to
ek the young man’s face.

Ina few moments under this treatmen*, and
under the | fer warmth of the room, Manton
revived. Then from the liquor-case the Hindoo
quickly took a decanter and gently forced his
young master to swallow a portion of its con-

nts.

The stimulating draught had a speedy and
satisfactory effect; for in a moment ‘Thorle
Manton sat up and looked around him, In-
stantly he flung his arms around the wet form
of his preserver, and murmured, in heartfelt
gratitude;

aie bless you, Margoun! You, at least, love
me

“*Margoun would die for you, sahib!” was the
warm, impulsive answer, as the swarthy-faced
Hindoo gazed affectionutely at his master. ‘‘ Did
not the sahib once put bread and drink into
Margoun’s mouth? Did not the sahib once dash
aside the blood-stained kreese and save Mar-
goun’s life?”

‘““Ay! and have you not, dear Margoun
stood a half-score times betweeu my life an
sudden death?”

A conversation lasting half an hour ensued be-
tween the two, who were so faithful to each oth-
er. In the meanwhile Manton had put on dry
clothing and was as comfortable as ever.

“Now my stormcoat, Margoun,” he said,
— “We have a pilot at last. We'll go
on deck again. Keep your eyes open, Margoun,
and if you see that wretch who attempted my
life to-night, drive your kreese into his cowardly
heart!”

He spoke aoe
e » Tefen needs no bidding, sahib, was the

ce x

m rejoinder, as the cusky speaker’s white
th glittered wolfishly under
mustache.

“Then come, and— Buthold. Did any one
see you when you brought me in from the
waves?”

“None,” was the answer.

“Tis well. Breathe not a word of this, Mar-
goun.”

‘*Margoun’s lips are sealed; but his eyes and
ears are open; and his kreese hungers for blocd!”
was the low, grim rejoinder.

The two left thesaloon, and once again braved
the dangers of the slippery, windy deck.

Capt. Stone started when once agein he saw
his mysterious passenger, accompanied by his
strange attendant, standing by his side on the

is long, swart

an bridge.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Manton,” he said,
cheerily. ‘We are all right now: and Captain

Kelso here,” pointing to the brawny pilct who
stood near him, “says he can take us in by
eight bells, that is, midnight you know sir.”

‘Glad indeed to hear it, but, captain, in your
ear,” and Thorle Manton drew close to the rkip-
per: ‘is it not custorrary to have a count made
of your passengers before allowing any to go
ashore?”

The young man spoke earnestly.

“Certainly, Mr. Marton,” was the wey
“We are required—for reasons which will be
obvious to you—to count saloon and steerage
passengers; also the cfficers and crew of the
ship. hy do you ask, sir?”

“For a reason of my own,” was the same curt
answer, ‘Only I would like to be present w ben
the report is made to ycu,” the young man has
tened to add.

“Certainly, Mr. Manton; and it will he mado
right here. never leave the Lridge until my
ship is tied up to her wharf.”

“Thank you, captain ; then ’ll keep you com-
pany here some longer.’

e Adriatic was now deshing in at a high
rate of speed.

We will dwell no further on the rest of her
voyage, which had been so tempestuous, but
which was destined soon to end in safety to ship
and passengers.

Suffice it to say, that just a few momentsaftcr
her bells had struck eight—or the midnight hour
—the — steamer, weather-stained and in-
crusted with ice, was securely tied to her wharf.
The pilot had done his work, and had left the

| bridge; but Captain Stone and Thorle Manton
securely fastened above. On this everything |

still remained there.

Suddenly they were approached by an officcr
of the ship.

‘Well, purser?” asked the captain.

“T have just finished the count, sir,” was the

ER au, sir?”

All anawered to thetr bam thane oi
the stedrnge parnengers=8 oan,” es

 

 
   
 
 
   

   
 

8 M

Thorle Manton trembled.

‘‘ His name?” asked the skipper.

“‘ MosEs DRISCOLL,” was the reply.

A half-hour later, Thorle Manton and his Hin-
doo servant descended from a carriage before
the Astor House and entered the hotel.

 

Abner Denby hurried on his homeward way.
He had been heated by wine, which he had
drank at the up-town saloon; but the wintry air
had somewhat cooled him, and the sight of the
two men whom he had seen in the carriage by
the Astor House had completely sobered him,

‘Furies! Lost! Lost!” he muttered, as he
fiercely smote his gloved hands together and
strode on.

On he went, speaking nothing more. He
reached his home, and kicking the door almost
from its hinges, and leaving it wide open, he
burst into the little cosey room wherein we have
seen him before.

His mother was fast asleep in a chair.

Striding to her and shaking her rudely, he
yelled in her ears:
“Wake up, old woman! Wake up, I say!

Are you dea ? Wake up,.and hear news!”

He almost hurled her from her seat in his ve-
hemence. i

The old woman started, and looked around
her in a half-dazed, frightened way; but before
she could speak heavy steps echoed in the’ pas-
sageway without, the door was flung open, and
# tall man, his garments covered with snow and
ice, entered the room.

He was, in the rou ‘h, an almost. exact coun-
terpart of Abner Den y—the same small, white,
square face; the same tawny hair; the same
small leaden-hued eyes; the same wicked, blood-
thirsty, cunning look.

‘*Glorious! glorious!” he shouted, without the
least word of salutation. “The deed is done!
wrongs have been righted; vengeance has been
secured, and Thorle Manton, and the memory
of his insult, sleep together this night under the
waves.”

Abner had started as though he had seen a
visitor from the other world. The old woman
had started to her feet in amazement.

“Moses! Moses, my son!” she exclaimed, tot-
tering forward.

“You lie, Moses Denby!” cried Abner, ad-
vancing furiously, his lips white with passion.
““T gay you lie! “You ‘have been cheated! You
have failed again! For this night Thorle Man-

ton sleeps beneath the roof of the Astor House!”

 

CHAPTER VIII.
NEWS!—YOUNG MANTON’S TALE,

THE man who had attempted Thorle Manton’s
life, and who had been struck to the deck by the
vigorous arm of Margoun, the Hindoo, lay for
several moments rolling to and fro while the
ship lurched, as though the blow had done its
work forever.

But under the influence of the raw, cold air,
he gradually revived, and struggling up to his
knees, grasped the combing of the saloon =.
light, and looked around him in the gray dark-
n

ess.

“By heavens! all is well this time,” he mut-
tered, ‘‘and no human aid can save him. At
last, Thorle Manton, accounts between you and
us are squared !|—at jast a Denby can forget the
memory of a lash! But now I must keep my-
self scarce until the steamer gets in. A search
may be made in case any one should be missing,
and I must be away; I would not willingly run
afoul of that rascal who accompanies him.”

He arose, scrambled down to the waist of the
ship and made his way forward, toward the
gloomy steerage. Before reaching it, he paused
in the dark shadows of the forward starboard
gangway, and, crouching down, sunk out of
view.

Several hours later, when the ship’s sides
grated against the wharf, a dark form, unper-
ceived by any one on board, suddenly started
into life, took a perilous leap, and landed safe
and sound ashore. A moment, and like an
evil thing of the night, he slid away in the
gloom.

Thatman was the one who, aboard ship, an-
swered to the name of Moses Driscoll.

The reader knows his real name—knows, too,
that the murderous fellow reached his home
only to learn from his brother the failure of his
bloody mission. ;

 

Grace Grayling, her hand ‘upon the letter in
her bosom, dashing up-stairs into her room.
Hastily ee the door to, she snatched the
letter from her bosom, and drew near a gas-jet,
But she hesitated even now, Her cheeks were
as pale as ashes, her white brow was wrinkled
into‘an anxious, foreboding frown, and her lips,
now shut hard together, were almost blood-
less,

“Heaven stand by me!” at last broke from
her in an earnest, tremulous whisper, ‘ for I al-
most shudder to open this letter. Abner Denby
has, from my father’s letter to him, surmised
the contents of this. His haughty effrontery,
bis qniet, sinister manner, make me fear that
:omerhing evil is hanging over me—that the
s2evt inclosed‘in this envelope, contains scme-+

RGOUN, THE ST

thing which it will pain my heart to know.
But [must look—I must read!”

Slowly she tore open the envelope, and took
from it the sheet upon which she had dreaded to
look. Slowly she struckit open and began to
read; but she could not; she ran her eye rapid-
ly over it, only skimming it to get a quick idea
ofits brief contents.

Before she had perused a half-dozen. lines, she
recoiled, griped the letter in. one hand, ang
the other over her heart, as though she woul
stay its tumultuous throbbings, and uttering a
low groan staggered backward. .

She would have fallen to the floor had. it not
been for Clara Dean, who at that moment,
quietly opened.the door and entered the room.

The eavesdropper had been listening at the
door for five minutes,

She caught Grace in her arms, and leading
her forward placed her ina chair. Inthe mean
time she had carefully scanned the poor girl’s
face, had read a wretched tale there. A wicked
light Co in her black eyes, and an, expres-
sion of triumph swept over her face.

“What is it, Grace—quick, what is it, dear?”
she asked, in well-feigned alarm, as she wound
her arms about the almost swooning girl.

‘Oh, Clara,” murmured the poor girl, re-
turning her friend’s embrace, vehemently. ‘‘I
am so glad it is you! Oh, Clara, your ‘surmise
has proved true, and— But here, read this
cruel, terrible letter, and, oh, righteous Heaven,
it isfrom my father—my father!”

Clara Dean had now just what she wished.
She almost snatched the crushed sheet from tho
trembling fingers that held it to her, and leaving
Grace, strode to the burner and glanced like
lightning over the sheet; then, as a mocking
wane curled her lip, she read aloud the follow-
ng: :

* LrvprpooL, Dec. 6th, 1873.

“My Dear DAUGHTER:

“As I have omitted to write to you for some
time, I will drop you.a few hasty lines.. You must
look upon this letter in a business point of view
rather than otherwise. I think I last wrote you
from Florence; that was séveral months ago. Well
—and I had as well come to the point—many things
have happened since then; notably one event. I hope
that you will not be disquieted at the brief narration
of that particular event. In a few words, then, I
was married a month ago at the American Legation
in the city of Paris.”

Clara paused as.she read thus far, and cast a
rapid glance at Grace, who with head bowed
upon her bosom, sat in the chair, wrlnging her
aes and moaning sadly and wearily to her-
self.
The expression of selfish triumph deepened
on the brunette’s face; but turning to the letter
again, she read on with gloating eyes:

“AllI need now say about my new wife is this:
she is handsome, stylish, loving, amiable and young.
She is only twenty-three, while I am sixty.”

“ Only two years older than you, my darling
Grace!” ejaculated Clara, once more glancing
at her friend.

“Go on, read on!” commanded Grace, in a
hoarse whisper.

Clara bent over the letter and read:

“Yet that does not matter. No, I am hale and
hearty; ay, and I feel as young as ever. You must
understand, Grace, once and for all, that I have no
oe to make for marrying a lady only two years
older than yourself. On that point 2 bere nothin
to say now, and you must make no reference to ff
whatsoever on my return home. To be plain, I will
not allow it.

“T write this (and_inclose under cover to my con-
fidential clerk, Mr. Denby) just a week before I sail
for America, . Lleave quae one week from to-day in
the Inman steamer, City of Chester; aud my chief
object in writing to you is to tell you that, imme-
diately.on receipt of my letter you and Clara must
pack up at once, settle your bills at the seminary,
and hasten to the Grange to be ready for my com-

. It strikes.me that you two girls have enough
education as it, is, and itis only a waste of ariomey
for you to idle further over your books. I have di-
rected Mr. Denby to hand you as much money as
you may need—leaving it to his discretion under
na circumstances to determine the amount. him-
self.

“Now, my daughter, a word of advice, kindly
meant, before closing. You must accept the new
condition of things, and yielda ready acquiesence
therein. You must meet and greet your future
mother with love and cordiality. You must, by all
means in your power, make her stay and future life
at the Grange happy and peaceful. I say must, and
I mean what I say. Until Isee you, and with re-
membrances to Clara, [ remain,

“Your father,
“ GILBERT. GRAYLING.”

‘‘ The pompous old donkey!” muttered Clara.
‘* And—but here is a postscript. Tl read it.”

‘*P.§, I wish you to have the Grange mansion put
in thorough order, so that my new bride can at once
enter a comfortable and elegant home. Spare no
money to effect that end. Mr. Denby will furnish
you with all the funds you may need. By the by,
Grace, speaking of Denby, I am reminded that it is
fulltime you should think of getting married, Ab-
ner Denby is thrifty, economical and mone TORRE
He is ona large salary, for he is a valuable man to
me. Nowif he should choose to address you, and I
could absolutely satisfy myself as to his honesty and
integrity, why he should not be lacking of my sanc-
tion in the matter. to_his antecedents, yt
would not give that a thought. But I somewhat dis-
trust him—especially of late. Business now should
be better than ever; but from his regular re-
ports to me it has fallon off, There may be a leak

 

ye ner me pen inet i

RANGE.

 

somewhere, and Abner Denby may know something
about it, for, though he is a good business man, he
is deep enough, I feel assured! More of this, how-
ever, at another time. a. a.”

“The insuperable old fool!” hissed Clara, be-
tween her teeth. ‘‘So, so! andif he can only
trust Abner Denby, why he doesn’t object—”

“Now what do you think of that, Clara?”
asked a low voice, as Grace, who in the mean-
time had risen from her seat and drawn near,
laid her hand on her room-mate’s shoulder.

‘‘ Think!” she sneered. ‘‘ Only this, that your
father will be his own master, and that he does
not care the snap of his Anger for you. More
than all, I think I ama good soothsayer. Per-
haps I will—”

he handed back the letter to Grace, paused
in her speech, and laughed softly to herself,

“Finish what you were saying, Clara,” and
Grace’s face grew stern and hard.

“T was thinking that I might prove a true
Bayne, in another direction—that was all,

race!” she said, with a cunning smile.

“Tn what?’

“Tn the opinion that Thorle Manton may one
day come back to bring trouble to the Grange,”
was the prompt ply

Grace caught the full fire, the deep, latent
meaning of the glance that accompanied the
words; and from that moment she disliked and
distrusted Clara Dean.

The drowsy night-clerk at the Astor House
rubbed his eyes, and gazed wonderingly at the
two late guests, whosought the hospitality of the
hotel, But when. his gaze fell upon the. tall
form, the Moorish face and the strange attire of
Margoun, the Hindoo, his surprise was heighten-
ed, and in an instant he was wide awake.

‘Can I serve you, sir—gentlemen?” he asked,
a ectfully, his gaze still lingering on the East-

ndian,

“Yes; give us a comfortable room at your
earliest convenience,” was young Manton’s an-
swer.

‘*One or two rooms, sir?’ and the clerk’s gaze
wandered back to Margoun, as though he was
undecided as to his station.

“One room, with two beds; we are never
separated,” was the somewhat hasty reply.

‘Very good, sir,” and the oe man picked
up a candle and livit. ‘‘I will show you one at
once. But, be so kind as to register,” and he
pushed the large book toward Manton.

But that gentleman hesitated for a second;
then he answered:

‘OTis hardly necessary, as we'll only. remain
over to-morrow. Besides that, my fingers are
so numbed with cold, that I could scarcely
write. However,” he hastened to add, “if you
desire it, I will settle the bill in advance!”

‘‘Oh, by no means, sir,” answered the cour-
teous cler , as he caught sight of Thorle Man-
ton’s rich attire, for he had unbuttoned his over-
coat. ‘This way, gentlemen.”

In a few moments the two were shown into a
splendid, genial a ment on the second floor,

When the clerk had gone, Thorle Manton
turned to Margoun.

“You saw that the trunks were forwarded
from the wharf to the express, eh, Margoun?’:

“Yes, sahib.” 1

“ And the address, as I gave it you, put upon
each article?”

“ Yes, sahib.”

“Very good. Now, Margoun, I seldom drink
brandy; but I wish some now. I need it.”

“Yes, sabib,” and the obedient Hindoo quietly
took a decanter from the liquor-case which he
had brought along in his hand. ;

Having swallowed a glass of the rich liquor,
youn anton flung aside his overcoat, and
—s a chair close to the cheerful grate, said

astily:

hl i a man, my friend, who never breaks
his word, unless the fiat of Providence inter-
venes.”

“Yes, sahib. Margoun knows it.”

‘Well, you know it was my intention to re-
main in Paris this winter, but that we suddenly
left that gay city some weeks ago. Ithen told
you that in due time 1 would give Fed my rea-
sons for our sudden departure. The time has
now come, and [’ll keep my word.”

‘‘Margoun listens, sahib; but he is sahib’s
slave; he never asks questions.”

“True; but I wish to tell you of this matter,
my friend; for it may be that I will need your
services—your cool head, your strong arm.

os was an undisguised hiss in his last
words.

“ Margoun would willingly die for sahib!” was
the earnest reply. <

He was a striking-looking person—this East-
Indian—as now he stood fully revealed in the
full glare of the gaslight.

Thorle Manton was a tall man, ae more
than six feet high; but Margoun towered fully
a half-head above him. :

The Hindoo’s face, though almost black in
color, was lofty and noble in its lineaments. A
pair of piercing black eyes gave it a es
ayacitry and a long, coarse-haired, raven-blac.
mustache gave him a commanding yet half-wild
appearance. This effect was hightened by his
‘long blaek hair, whieh, escaping from a white

 

 

 
 

_ conduct in the premise. and

    

10

 

IE: — >

MARGOUN, THE STRANGE.

 

The threo consulted until the night was nearly
spent. Agta at last they arose to separate, Ab-
ner said:

‘A famous idea! and I
money shall not be lacking.
about getting the—”

““Yes—sure! Mouey will do wonders. Then
I am certain as:to what will happen at the sta-
tion; and it is ten miles or more from there to—
well you know where, I dare say the snow is
thick there!”

‘Yes; and the telegram shall be sent to-mor-
row,” said Abner.

“ Then good-night! and dream of good luck,”
said Moses, turning toward the door.

**Good-night! Where on earth are you go-
ing, Moses?’ inquired Abner, in astonishment.

“Going to attend to my work! ‘The early
ee you know,” and this hardy man left tho

ouse,

romise that the
ut, are you sure

 

CHAPTER X.
ON TOE WING.

On the day following it was soon known in
the seminary that Grace Grayling and her room-
mats were to leave for home.

Good Madame Lefebre hated much to give up
her scholars, inasmuch as they had taken a long
course of study, and now lacked only a few
months of ‘graduating ”’—so called for cour-
tesy’s sake. ut she could oppose nothing. She
simply looked on tearfully, as now and then she
ran for a few moments into the girls’ room to see
them pack cheir trunks,

By noor the trunks were strapped, madame’s
tuition bill paid, and the two girls, now stu-
dents no longer, were ready, in their traveling-
dresses, for the journey. They were awaiting
with some impatience tho coming of Abner
Denby, from whom that morning at an early
hour they had heard. That individual had writ-
ten a formal note to the effect that he would
call at the seminary and give the maidens any
assistance that lay in his power.

Grace and Clara wero now anxiously looking
for him; for without him they would have no
one to attend to their baggage, and no one to
escort them to the depot. For this duty, Grace
was reluctantly compelled to accept of the
clerk’s company. But the time flew by; twelve
o’clock came, then one; and the dinner-hour at
the seminary rolled around. Still Abner Denby
had not come. +

Yet the girlsexpected to leave the city on the
four o’clock train that afternoon. Grace was
anxious to carry out her father’s wishes as near
to the letter as possible. To that end she wished
to get to the distant Grange away up by the
lake; and the sooner the better.

Truth was, Grace, almost crushed down and
cut to the heart by the unexpected and unwel-
come tidings, her father’s letter bore, longed
now for seclusion. She could find it at the
a where she could hide herself from the
world.

She passed a sleepless night—that is, what re-
mained of it after she and Clara bad gone to
bed. And long after the dark-haired brunette
had gone to sleep, Grace lay with wide-open
eyes, and thought of what she might have to go
through with in the near-at-hand future.

Why had not her father written to her be-
fore, and at least hinted at his marital inten-
tions? Why did he, an old, man wed a young
woman—a girl only two years older than her-
self? Why did her father prejudge her own
ive her such
harsh, stern advice? Did not this young wife

ive her heart and hand to him simply because
& wasarich man? If so, was she not an ad-
venturess? Whatin life would then be worth
the living for, at the Grange? Would not her
own heretofore happy and gladsome existence
be henceforth forever dark and dreary?

These thoughts had rapidly revolved through
Grace Grayling’s distressed bosom; and when at
last she sunk into a restless, uneasy slumber, it
was nearly day; and she had sobbed herself to
sleep.

But now she sat all alone in her dear old room
in the broad glare of day, waiting for Abner
Denby. For the time she was alone—Clara
Dean having just left the room to hold some
farewell chats with her schoolmates,

Grace arose and drew near the window,
through which in the happy past she had so
often looked out at the passing world. The sky
was blue and bright; not a cloud floated in the
still, cold ether. The storm of the night before
had blown itself away; but it left its work be-
hind. Great drifts of snow covered the streets,
rendering them almost impassable; and the
glistening, sheeny surface showed as far as the
eye could reach.

Ten minutes passed—then a quarter of an
hour; and Grace still stood by the window look-
ing sadly out. As she gazed, a dreamy, musing
expression gradually crept over her face, Her
wrinkled brow smoothed, and her long, silken
lashes fringed upon her cheek. She shook her
head and murmured softly:

“Tis very strange! ButI cannot keep him
out of my mind! I have heard mtch of his
singu.ir ee eee on had a Swart = i
and, why,”—hesitatingly—" papa, per! i
not ved. ish exactly right, tn buying old

 

estate from him, without letting him know it—
and he, poor fellow, so far away!”

She paused abruptly and flung back one of
her truant tresses.

“But, pshaw!” she muttered, with a forced
laugh, “‘ why should I pity him? Havo I not
more reason to dislike him? Did he not write
papa a very impertinent letter? And if he ever
should come back, will he not be our enemy?
But,” and the dreamy, musing look came again
to her face, a hazy light to her eyes, ‘I can’t
help thinking about Thorle Manton! What a
strange given-name!—Thorle! I wonder—”

“A strange name indeed! THORLE!” said a
voice bebind her; and Clara Dean-quietly closed
the door and approached.

“You, Clara!” stammered Grace, in confu-
sion, her cheeks crimsoning.

“Yes; THORLE is a strange name! It smacks
of the bleak Norseland. you ever read any
- oe writings of the old Norse Sagas, Grace,

ear

‘*No, and I don’t care to,” was the tart reply.

“Ah? Well, perhaps you would like some
dinner; that is more prosaic,” and Clara
laughed.

‘No; Icaro nothing for that, either. I can’t
eat, Clara; I feel too sad.”

“ Very good. But, under all circumstances, I
am blessed with a fair appetite. So P’ll—”

At that moment the front bell, under a vigor-
ous pull, rung through the grand seminary. A
few moments later, a servant announ that
Mr. Abner Denby was in the parlor, and would
like to see Miss Grayling for a few moments.

Grace’s face brightened at the news; this was
some relief at least; so she hurried from the
ae while Clara Dean ran down-stairs to

nner,

When Grace reached the parlor, Mr. Denb
was standing hat in hand by the mantle; and,
as if he had entirely ae the girl’s harsh
words io him of the night before, he bowed
courteously, and hastened to say:

“Thanks, Miss Grayling, for not heaping me
waiting; for I am pr for time. would
have been here earlier, but I was—”

“No apology is needed, Mr. Denby,” inter-
rupted Grace, in a kinder tone than she had
ever used tohim. ‘‘I have made all my pre-
parations.”

“Yes; but does not Miss Dean accompany
you?” asked Abner, quickly.

“Certainly; her trunk is likewise packed.”

“Then it is all right. I have Ete: a sec-
tion for you in the sleeping-coach, bave ordered
a wagon tocarry your luggage to the depot,
and a carriage to convey you and Miss Dean to
the cars. It will be here at three o’clock sharp,
for the streets are almost impassable, and I
thought I would not err in the matter of time.
I take it for granted that you will leave in the
four o’clock express?”

“Yes, Mr. Denby; and I sincerely thank you
for your kindness.’

“Say nothing of that, Miss Grayling. I will
come in the carriage to accompany you to the
station, and see you safely aboard the cars,”

‘*You are very kind, sir.”

5 ses not to mention it,” and he turned
toward the door.

But be suddenly faced her.

“You know, Miss Grayling that the snow-
storm of last night extended all over the coun-
try—especially was it severe in the northern
part of this State. Of course—”

‘But certainly the trains are not stopped?”
interrupted Grace, in some alarm.

“Oh, no. But you know that from Tene.
bars station to the Grange is nearly fifteen
miles.

“Yes; and I shudder at the ride ahead of us
in the old, creaky, windy stage-coach.”

“ The stage-coach is notrunning. Thisstorm
has om it for many weeks to come—”

“ Not running! How then—”

YT feared this,” interrupted the man, with a
trace of impatience. ‘‘So I telegraphed to the
ticket-agent at Wyndham station to find out.
He answered, stating what I have just told
you.

“Too bad!” muttered Grace. “ But how can
we get on then?”

“T have arranged all that. I sent a dispatch,
to be forwarded by carrier from tho station, to
your father’s old body-servant, Silas Warren,
who has charge of the Grange, instructing him
to fix up the family sleigh and meet you at the
station.”

“Splendid!” exclaimed the girl, clapping her
hands, - “‘ A sleigh-ride is a novelty to me, now-
adays. It will be real jolly. Certainly you are
very kind, Mr. Denby.”

“Your ride may not be so jolly, Miss Gray-
ling,” said Denby, dryly. ‘That is, if the start-
He aused suddenly and drew on his gloves.
st t were you saying, sir?’ asked Grace,
uneasy and anxious at the man’s seriousness.

“A slip of the tongue,” he answered, with a
laugh. ‘After all, it is only a rumor, and may
be as idle as the wind.”

“Rumor? what rumor? Do tell me, Mr,
Denby,” urged Grace,

peace think I had better not tell you.”

 

a eee nRNSN Sane

“You alarm m6, sir, Go on.”

“Then it was only this,” he answered, with a
covert glitter in hissmall eyes, ‘‘”Tis said that
of late several daring highway robberies havo
been committed on the road between Wynd-
ham station and Shoreville, and that road you
have to travel to get to the Grange.”

“Good heavens! I feel—”

“You may as well dismiss your fears,” inter-
rupted Denby, soothingly. ‘As I said, the ru-
mor, ten to one, is without shadow of founda-
tion—though, truth be told, the winter is ahard ,
one on people without work, and—why—tho
country up thero is lonely and deserted enough.
But, with fans leave, I must now go.”

He lifted his hat, and left the house,

“T have put a flea in her ear,” he Jaughed
wickedly, as he went striding down the street.
“Tt is really wonderful what lying will accom-
plish. It is first-cousin to money!”

 

That morning, just as the dawn broke, Thorle
Manton and Margoun, tho Hindoo, were astir.
They were soon dressed, performing their toilet
by gas-tight. They ah had not slept two
hours. Now they arose with a purpose which
had been debated before they retired—after
—n Denby’s sudden appearance at the win-

ow.

“That scoundre” is hero, Margoun,” said
young Manton, as hx finished his ablutions, and

urned toward his dusky companion. ‘I am
almost convinced that I know his true name.
Now, I wish you to creep down before the hotel
is astir and measure his track in the snow—
measure it accurately, its width and its length.
The time may come, shall come, when I will
compare it with— But you know all. Hurry
away, be quick in your work, and do nothing
to attract attention.”

“Yes, sahib,” and Margoun glided like a cat
from the room, and cautiously took his way
down-stairs.

Ten minutes later he entered the room, as
softly as he had left.

“This is the measurement, sahib,” he said,
handing the young man a piece of knotted cord.
** And here,” thrusting his hand into the bosom
eo his tunic, ‘is something else. It may tell a

e,

He placed in Thorle Manton’s hand a snow-
covered pistol.

It was a small but deadly weapon, of the ro-
voiver pattern. On the pearl stock was a nar-
row silver plate, and upon the plate a name was
engraved.

oung Manton hastily took the pisto!, wipec
the snow from the stock and read the hame— }
“ MosEs DENBY.”

We need not say that Moses Denby did not
call that day at the hotel to see his “ friends;”
he was differently occupied. Nor did the clerk
refer to the fellow’s late visit—if indeed the
Pht pa oid had not already passed from his
mind,

Thorle Manton only went out twice from the
hotel that day. The first time to a gun store on
Broadway, not far from the hotel, to purchase
a pack of cartridges to fit the pistol which Moses
Denby had lost in his fall, and which had
strangely come into Thorle Manton’s possession.
The second time was late that cfternoon, when
he and the East Indian had entered a carriage
and were driven rapidly away.

 

At three o’clock, oer the bell at Madame

Lefebre’s seminary sounded through the house,
The peti: for Grace and Clera had ar-

rived. and Abner Denby, true to his word, came

Aftera brief but hearty hand-shaking, and
many sobs from madame, in which Grace join-
ed, they entered. A moment and they were

olti away. The depot was duly reached, and
he Is were soon in the cosey sleeper.”
Denby handed them their baggage-checks,
bade them good-by, wished thema safe journey,

and left.
Scarcely had he reached the platform of the
station, when a shivering newsboy passed, shout-

ing:

f Extry! extry! Latest edishin! Newso’the
City o’ Chester!

‘Here, boy!” and Abner soon had a paper in
his hand.

Glancing over the last edition column, he read
the following:

“The Herald news yacht just up, and reports the
Inman steamer, City of Chester, in the lower bay,
making her way slowly. up through the ice. She
expected at her whart at eight or nine o’clock this
evening. Like the Adriatic, which arrived late last

ht, she has encountered heavy winds almost the
entire passage.”

“Confound it,” muttered Abner. “I'll have
to ao Grayling and his young wife at the
w

He crushed the paper in his pocket and hur-
ried away. As he strode along he muttered.
atte tana = aa been when he +e sq
sho in the new r, that he
did pot nigtiee wo men who swede? by, 80 close
to him that they brushed against him in the

| crowd,

I am I referred to it, and for your
of mindjl t year

Those two men, who, by the by, attracted
much attention, were Thorle Manton and Mar-

,

 

 
  

  

 

12

well—very well!”

The time flew away, and’ at half-past nine
o’clock, promptly, Abner Denby, scrupulousl
attired, entered the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He
had selected the rooms for his employer, and
he knew where they were; so he ascended the
stairsand turned down the long corridor.

The door to the parlor which he was approach-
ing was partly open. Denby glanced in; he
saw two persons sitting there.

He riled back, and muttered:

“Great God! is SHE his wife?”

CHAPTER XI.
MERCHANT AND CLERK—THE STRANGE VIAL.

Ir was some moments before Denby could
control himself. He had certainly been power-
fully wrought upon by the sight of some person,
whom, through the half-open door of the parlor,
he had seen; and that person was Gilbert Gray-
ling’s wife.

But she knew that Denby was expected there;
her husband had told her as much. And her
keen ears had detected a footfall in the passage
without. Hastily excusing herself to her hus-
aaa arose, ;

“ Why, my love, you are not in the way,”
said Mr. Grayling. ‘“ You can—” 4

“ Oh, no, Gilbert,” she hurriedly interrupted.
“ Business-talk is dry stuff for me. Then, too,
I care not to see Mr. Denby; I should be all the
time remembering that his father was hung for
murder!”

She hastily retreated to the room adjoining
the parlor, and as the door closed upon her, Ab-
ner Denby, after a warning rap, entered the
apartment. The young man’s face was pale as
marble.

Old Grayling glanced at him.

“Why, Mr. Denby, you look as though you
had seen a ghost!” he said, in some surprise; for
though Abner’s face was always white, yet it
was never as bloodless as now.

“Oh, ’tis nothing, Mr. Grayling,” hastily re-
joined Denby. ‘Only my old complaint—a lit-
tle heart trouble; I ascended the stairs too rap-
idly, just now.”

“ Ah?—yes, I remember.
and take a glass of brandy; genuine Otard.
will do you good.”

He pushed the decanter and a glass toward
the young man.

Denby for a moment was undecided. He was
abashed at this condescension on the part of the
“aristocrat.” It had never manifested itself
before. Bowing low, however, he poured out
some of the rich liquor, and in a significant
voice, said:

“T drink to your happiness, sir, in your fu-
ture wedded life!”

He drained the glass and drew a chair close
to the table—his lead-blue eyes flashing covertly
over Mr. Grayling.

That old gentleman started at Abner’s toast,
and a eene frown wrinkled his brow. But he

nted: 2

“Eh?—yes; thanks, Mr. Denby. I daresay
T'll be happy; I believe I will; that is, I am quite
sure. However, Pu take a swallow of that
brandy, myself,” and thus stammering, he drew
the decanter over and took a drink.

“Tis a fine article, sir,” said Abner, a mali-
vious smile curling his thin lips, a glance of tri-
amph gleaming in his eyes.

“My wife was in here a moment ago,” said
Mr. Grayling, wiping his lips and paying no
need to Abner’s encomium on the brandy. ‘I
wanted her to stay; but she wouldn’t. You
know she is shy as yet,” and the old fellow
laughed confidentially. ‘‘No wonder; she is
still young, quite young.”

“Yes, sir, very young—so you condescend-
ingl y wrote me.”

‘And she is afraid of the men,” replied Mr.
Grayling, still smiling. ‘‘ But, hang it!” he con-
tinued, as a suspicious glitter came to his old
eyes, ‘she wasn’t much afraid of them on the
steamer—especially of the young ones!”

“But J am only a clerk, sir,” put in Abner,
meekly, as he smiled covertly at the old gentle-
man’s admission.

‘Well, enough of her, _ now. I wanted
to see you on business, . Denby—to talk
about money matters.”

‘*T have my memorandum book, sir, of mon-
eys received and expended,’, rejoined Abner,
oe from his bosom a stout leather-bound

ok,

They were soon engaged in a deep and absorb-
ing conversation; for lavish as was Gilbert
a and rich as he was, he was a money-
lover.

It was long past ten o’clock before Abner
arose and took his hat. i

““A moment, Mr. Denby,” interrupted Mr.
Grayling. ‘‘You say that my daughter left
the city this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir; Isaw her and Miss Dean safely
aboard the cars.” —

‘* And you furnished Miss Grayling money?”

“Yes, sir—as you directed.” 7

“How much?

“You did not limit me, sir and Lk
under the circumstances, that a good sum wo d
be needed, why, I handed her from my own

 

But sit down, ae
t

 

MARGOUN, THE STRANGE,

funds—it was at night, last night—yes, her
receipt calls for a thousand dollars; here it is.”

He handed the strip of paper to the old gen-
tleman, who glanced at it, shrugged his shoul-
ders, and muttered:

‘Yes, a good sum, indeed! But I can afford
it; andI daresay it can be judiciously used in
putting the old Grange to rights.”

“Of course, sir—easily. But, when do you
expect to leave for home, Mr. Grayling?”

he old ey pondered for a moment.
Then he replied: .

“Not for several days yet. I wish to look
around the city, and give a glance at business
matters. - Besides that, 1 wish the Grange to be
in good condition before I get there. . I must
have comfort.”

‘‘ By all means, sir. But before I go,” con-

tinued Abner, as though he had forgotten some- ' off.
thing, ‘‘ I would say, Mr. Grayling, that in look- |
ouse, I have de- |

ing over the books of the
tected some irregularities,”

“Ah! you have?” and Grayling, in an in-
stant, was all attention. ‘In what direction,
Mr. Denby?”

“Tn the matter of delinquent debtors,” was
the reply. ‘Only last night I forced a pay-
ment of two thousand dollars due the business;

and I now beg leave to hand you my indi- |

vidual check for that amount.”

As he spoke he drew from his pocket-book a | C
| Grayling had married her/

check, filled and signed, and gave it to his em-
ployer.

A pleased look spread over Mr. Grayling’s |

face. If he had distrusted Abner Denby before,
his confidence in him was now to a great degree
no that’ d d, Mr. Denby!”
at’s very good, very good, Mr. Denby!’

he said, cordially and sdaokaeietys “TIL hand
tn my check now for the money you advanced
iss Grayling—$1,000—and to show you my ap-
preciation of your business push, I’ll_ add $100.”

“Oh, thanks, sir, many thanks! I only did |

my best.”
riting materials were upon the table: and
Mr. Grayling soon filled out a check, and gave
it to his clerk, +
Reiterating his thanks, and bidding the old
gentleman good-night, Abner turned away; but
as he reached the door, he paused abruptly and

said:
“Somebody whom you know, Mr. Grayling
arrived from abroad last night,” and he watched
the old man’s face keenly.

““Some one from abroad? some one I know?”
asked Mr. ee in a quick, surprised tone.

“ Yes, sir. ou know him, or did know him
well—Thorle Manton.”

“Thorle Manton! The deuce you say!” and
the old man almost bounded from his chair.

“T saw him last night enter the Astor House.
He must have come in the steamer Adriatic;
for she was the only craft that got into port
last night.”

‘*Confound it! This is vexatious! Why, do
you know, Mr. Denby, that one of my main ob-
jects in coming from abroad in mid-winter,
was—

He paused and frowned.

“ Was what, sir?”

“Why to repay that reckless young men for
the saucy letter he once wrote me. 7 00,
the Grange estate would be far more cv... piete
with the addition of the Lodge farm. My ob-
= was, and, by heavens, is!—to purchase the
atter tract.”

“Yes, sir, I understand. ButI fear you are
wearied; so Ull bid you paces again.”

He left the room, closing the door behind

When he was alone, Mr. Grayling strode for
several moments up and down the soft-carpeted
parlor. A frown wrinkled his brow, and an
See uneasy expression rested upon his
‘ace.

He paused by the table, and helped himself
again to the et

“Confound it!” he muttered. ‘Somehow or
another I feel that I am getting into trouble.
Thorle Manton back again! And my only hope
of getting the Lodge property is that the young
fellow is as poor as ever. I dare say he is; he
can’t keep money. Well, there’s some consola-
tion in the fact that Abner Denby is honest
after all! Yes, and with his business tact, an
love of money, he may make for Grace as good
a husband as she can get. Now I—”

He stopped still, as just then he glanced at
the door beyond, which led to his wife’s bed-
room. .

What he saw there caused him to pause and

| man, roughly.
| Grayling, or nothing!”

 

erie. The moments sped by, and Mr. Graylin
began to nod. Then he leaned back and scttled
himself in his chair. In a few minutes he was
asleep.

How long he would have slumbered there
would be hard to tell, but when he at last awcke,
he did so undera gentle shake of the shoulder,
and opened his eyes to see the tall, gaunt form
of the French maid standing by him.

“Confound—”

‘‘Madame awaits monsieur,” she quietly in-,
terrupted. “ Does monsieur know that i' ::
past_ midnight?’

“ Moseer be hanged!” grunted the old gentlo-
“T am tired of it. Call me Mr.

‘Madame awaits Mr. Grayling,” she said, in
the same quiet tone, as, with a bow, she moved

Old Gilbert arose; and as the girl disappeared
in the adjoining room, he muttered:
“‘T love my wife honestly and sincerely; but
1 wonder if I have not made a fool of myself by
marrying her!”
He strode slowly from the parlor to his wife’s
apartment.
When Abner Denby was out of the hotel he
laughed rerieorig
‘All right so far!” he muttered striding down
the street. ‘‘ And I made a good thing by bein
honest! But who would have dreamed that ol
I wonder what
she’ll say when she meets me face to face, as
Some time or other she must! Well, don’t I
hate old Grayling all the more for this? Or,
et {tobe glad that I, a poor clerk, can twit
er
He hurried on. In due time he reached his
home away down-town, where his mother was
awaiting him in the little parlor.
‘News, mother!” he exclaimed. ‘Whom do
you think old Gilbert Grayling has married?”
‘“Who—who, my son?” hurriedly asked tho
old woman, looking at him a
“You couldn’t guess in ten thousand years!”
“Tell me, Abner!”
The young man leaned over and whispered a
name in her ear.
Mrs. Denby started as though a bolt from a
cloudless sky had crashed into the room.

 

Early that evening, when Mrs. Grayling had
so hurriedly left the parlor, at the approach of
Abner Denby, she retired to the nearest room.

It was a gorgeously-furnished apartment.

| No one was in it, save the young wife, The

lights in the rose-colored globes were low.
She raised them at once, and, wheeling, glanved
in the mirror that was by the tall, richly-carved
bedstead.

She started at her own image—at her friglit-
ened, staring eyes, at her suddenly white, hag-
gard face.

“Abner Denby! and why has he come to
haunt me?’ she muttered, striking her little
white hands fiercely together. ‘And he, old
Gilbert’s clerk!—my husband’s hired man!” she
continued, with a bitter sneer, while with an-
gry, vexatious step, she strode up and down the
room. ‘But will he tell old rayling his se-
cret, and—mine ? Dare he?”

She paused suddenly by one of her large
trunks. It was unlocked. With a quick move-
ment, she flung up the lid, and dashed her hand
down among the garments packed therein.
A moment and she took out a good-sized bottle,
of gilded cut-glass. It was half filled with a
translucei.t, amber-hued liquor.

“T need a stimulant—and nothing suits me so
well as absinthe. I have enough of it,” and
filling a small wine-glass, she drained it at a
draught.

“T have work—trouble!—on my hands,” she
said, hastily replacing the flask and arising.
“JT must think about it; I must meetit! And I
must have help. Where will I get it? From
Florine Flavelle, and from. my darling hus-
band’s well-filled coffers! Florine has a stern
will, a strong arm, a steady finger. She has
served me well, before—she, and—what she car-
ries!”

She paused. A demoniac glitter now glared
in her — blue eyes, and an ee of un-
scrupulous purpose, of fiendish ferocity, settled
wees the face, which was so beautiful at the first
glance,

“Yes!” she exclaimed, in a tone which was
harsh and unguarded. “And money will—ay,
must—stop Abner Denby’s mouth! Should ‘it
fail, then one drop from Florine’s— No! no!”
and she abruptly checked herself. ‘I hope it

draw back, while an angry scowl came to his | will not come to that! For already I have en-

brow.

the French maid, Florine showed there. It was

only for a moment, however, for the door was |
| stand with him, face to face!”

softly drawn to, and the watchful face disap-
peared within.

“Confound that girl! I almost hate her!”
eS the old man. ‘She and my wife are

ar too intimate, One would scarcely take nee

for mistress and servant! ’Pon my honor,
not allow this! But—no; it is plain enough that
Iam not wanted there.”

He dropped into a chair, and leaned his el- | voice:

bows upon the table. He was soon lost in rev-

The door was ajar, and the dark, thin face of | L
h | seemed to fill her mind, ‘I cannot always avoid

hands to account for! And so has

ough on m: (
et,” and a different train of thought

Florine.
Abner Denby; the time will come when I must

She arose, glanced hurriedly toward the door

' which opened into the parlor, then at another

leading to the apartment which adjoined her
id. moving hastily
she at once
ow, cautious

”

‘oom.
‘‘T must see Florine,” she sa
toward the last-named di
opened, and glancing in,

   
    

“Florine! Florine! wh

 

  
  

now—”

He hurriedly arose and approached the door
the flying
snow flash in, and was about to fling the case
out, But, as a bitter lange issued from his com-

of the car. @ opened it, lettin

pressed lips, he ejaculate

“No!
constant companion;
ger. Who knows—’

He paused abruptly, as he closed the car door,
and re-entered.
been clouding his face fled away as if by magic;

a glad light glowed in his eyes, and a winning

smile of hope parted his lips.
“Can this be true? or am I only dreaming,

that my scarred heart is not forever dead?” he
‘Who is this fair Jong creature

murmured.
who has made my Pulses, so suddenly, beat as
with the rhythm of a new-born life?
again see her after this night? Or, is she but a
fanciful vision floating before me now, only to
be gone on the quickly-coming morrow? And
I, who, since that fatal afternoon of years agone,
have faced the proudest beauties of every land
uae ~~ sun, and yet was unmoved—can I love
again

e passed on into the main body of the coach.
He soon reached the section,. Margoun was ly-
ing down; but his eyes opened as ‘horle stood
over him,

“Come, Margoun,” said the young man, has-
tily; ‘‘we’ll turnin. We must have some sleep
The station will not be reached until three in the
morning. From there to the Lodge is a long
cold ride; we must be prepared for it—only t
we can get it, after all!”
wae” last words were spoken in a low, uneasy

ne,

The drowsy attendant soon arranged the sec-
tion, and youn Manton and Margoun retired
at once. They both occupied the lower berth—
the Hindoo lying on the side next to the aisle.

Thorle Manton was soon asleep,

Not so with Margoun.

Grace Grayling and her companion had —
to bed more than an hour before this. ey,
too, knew at what time far away, dreary Wynd-
ham station would be reached, and that some
sleep was necessary for the long bleak rido in the
sleigh which then and there would stretch be-
tween them and the Grande.

Grace, as if, for the time, forgetting every-
thing—Abner Denby’s startling news of robbers
being abroad, her strange emotion at seeing the
handsome, bronzed face of the traveler in the
soach, everything—had yielded to slumber, and
was soon wandering in the bright realms of
dreamland, oblivious of what she considered a
somber cloud seg tng about her, in the new life
which she was called upon to live. :

But Clara Dean was far from being sleepy;
her conscience was not easy; and long after
Grace wasasleep, the girl was wide awake, her
busy mind laying plan upon plan for her future
action. Her thoughts were bitter enough; for
she could not forget the half-contemptuous smile
which Thorle Manton had indulged in, at her
expense; nor could she exorcise from her mem-
ory his bright, yearning look, as his gaze had
rested upon Grace.

She was sorry that she had made the discov-
ery that Thorle Manton, the wanderer in many
lands, was indeed in a few feet of her; and she
racked her mind to make herself now believe
that she was, after all, mistaken.

She lay on the couch, next to the goway
leading through the car. This gave her an easy
opportunity to watch, through a crevice in the
curtains, every movement of Thorle Manton and
his companion.

And this she was very assiduous in doing.
She saw the young man rise from his seat, say
something to the eae personage who accom-
panes him, and make his way down the aisle.

he noted his momentary pause by her section.

She trembled and closed her eyes, pore
that, in a moment of impulse, he might pul
aside the curtains, look in, and detect her in the
act of ag him,

But she breathed freer as he hurried on. Long
and anxiously she awaited his return. More
than once she dozed; but awaking again, she
would glance through the curtains toward the
other section.

At last when Thorle Manton repassed her
couch, her eyes fell mpon him again; and when
he and the Hindoo had re , and the cur-
tains were dropped before the section, Clara

muttered:

“Tt looks like him! But I must be certain;
and come what may, I will! If I donot I can-
not sleep a wink to-night. Heaven grant—as
matters stand now—I am wrong!”

She lay still—her black eyes constantly peer-
ing Scuee the curtain.

he time sped by; the train still thundered on
through the stormy night. 5

At length the curtains by Grace Grayling’s
section slowly opened, and Clara Dean eased
herself out, into the aisle. A shawl was drawn
over her head and shoulders, and she was in her
stocking-feet.

“Tt I can get a good look at his face I’ll soon
be satisfied,” she murmured. ‘If that man is
tudged Thorle Manton, he has upon his forehead

hurl it away, will cast it out in the snow, and—

‘or six years it has been with me, my
I'll keep it yet awhile lon-

he somber shadows which had

an I ever

 

MARGOUN, THE STRANGE.

 

 

just above the left brow, ¢
relic no doubt of one of his youthful escapades!
But, aappene Ishould be seen? Good heavens!

Yet, not g ventured, nothing gained! Come
what will—’

Steadying herself as best she could, she moved
away.

The coach wasin silence, for it was now nearly
midnight. Even the sleepy attendant, having
finished work, was snoring lustily in the smok-
er’s room. No one was in sight; and fortune
favored Clara Dean.

A moment and she reached Thorle Manton’s
section. She paused, and flung a final hasty
glance around her. She was trembling in every
limb. But she had gone too far to draw back.

Nerving herself for the work before her, she
cautiously grasped the curtain, unhooked oneof
the rings, drew back the screen, and looked in.

The light in the center of the car flashed into
the section.

There lay young Menton sleeping quietly, his
massy hair swept back from his broad brow, the
light fully revealing his face.

Clara bentimpulsively over and gazed closely.
She started back; an unguarded exclamation
broke from her lips, and her eyes glittered like

living coals.

‘Tis he! she muttered. ‘‘He has— Ha!
good heaven!”

She hurriedly let fall the curtains, and, like a
phantom, fled back to her couch.

What had so startled Clara Dean was the fact
that as she chanced to glance at the other occu-
pant of the section, Margoun’s black eyes were

uietly, curiously watching her.
itis dag bold pink ancl dooms

CHAPTER XIV.
FACE TO FACE—A PISTOL-SHOT.

A LONG and earnest conversation ensued that
same night, between Abner Denby and his mo-
ther, after the return home of the former. At
times it was angry and stormy, for more than
once the old woman, driven to desperation by
his taunts, and by his domineering way, had
made resentful rejoinders. But she soon cow-
ered before him. Sbe knew too well that she
was entirely dependent upon him for everything
of comfort and of necessity in this life.

It was long after the midnight hour when
Mrs. Denby at last, after rubbing her hea
eyes, arose, to replenish the fire with coal, This
done, she said:

“Th make some punch for you now, my son
since you will not go to bed. I can’t see wha
m the world you want to be sitting up all night

or. :

“You can’t see many things, cld woman,”
was his coarse rejoinder. ‘‘But I'll tell you,
mother,” he continued, in an anxious and milder
tone, ‘I am waiting to hear from Moses; and I
am very anxious hear from him. I want
company in my vigils, and nothing is better
than a bowl of punch.”

The old woman hastened to phey.

Abner bent over his memorandum-book, jot-
ting down figures, and here and there making
erasures.

Ten minutes elapsed when Mrs. Denby return-
ed with the punch. As she placed it on the
table the door-bell suddenly rung with a clatter
through the little house.

Abner sprung to his feet and hastened out. A
little half-frozen messenger-boy stood there
with a letter,

“A dispatch, sir, for Mr. Abner Denby,” he
said. ‘And can’t you five a poor boy a few

nnies for fetching it? "Lis awful cold, and I
‘rudged all—”

“Pennies? No, zs ragged rascal! You are
aid for your work. Off with you!” and Abner,
inging the door to, hurried back into the warm

room. Then he hastily tore spat the envelope,
and taking out the sheet, read:

“All right thus far, Sit up and wait for 304

 

news.

Good!” exclaimed. young Denby, with a fe-
rocious glitter in his eyes. “Iwill sit up! Go
to bed, mother!” ,

Mrs. Denby left the room at once, and the
— man, helping himself to the punch, re-
pe his seat, and took up his memorandum-

100)

The moments and the hours sped by; but he
did not move from his chair. And when, at
last, the night passed, and the dawn of another
day showed in the east, Abner Denby was still
in his seat, pening over his figures.

Just as the sun climbed above the eastern
Soneee another ring on the bell startled the

ouse.
It was the same messenger-boy.
Abner snatched the envelope which he carried,
and rushed back into the house.
“Now we'll see!” he muttered, trembling
from head to foot.

The train reached the far-away Wyndham
station, and the girls hastened toalight. As they
left the warm comfortable car, each of them
glanced toward the section which had been oc-
cupied by the bronzed-face stranger and his
dusky friend.

 

The curtains were flung up, and the ssetion

asmall white scar—a |

| ga
lin

 

wasempty! The strangers and their hand lug-
e had disappeared,
saddened feeling swept through Grace Gray-
g’s mind as she thought to herself: He has
left the train at some station while I slept. Alas!
will I ever see him again?

They stepped from the car to the long-desert-
ed platform. It wasa dreary place. The storm
which had blown itself away in New York city,
had only winged its way further northward, for
at Wyndham station the snow now was falling
in blinding masses.

Grace stepped with a shudder into the snow,
and an irrepressible shiver shook her frame, as
she glanced around her at the trees clad in their
pee garb, and as the chilling winds blew up-
on her.

Then tho train moved off into the gray gloam-
ing of the night.

At the further end of the ere a faint
light shone from a snow-blurred window.
Thither Grace and Clara made their way.

Several minutes before Grace and her com-

anion had finished their preparations for leav-
ing the sleeping-coach, Thorle Manton and the
Hindoo were already upon the platform,

“T wonder if the ticket-agent knows me?” the
young man muttered, 9s he made his way
through the snow. ‘‘ Well, it does not matter!
Here I am, almost homo again.”

He and Margoun reached the waiting-room of
the station-house. It was warm and cheery un-
der the influence of a stove that was almost red-
hot. Only one person besides the two travelers
was present—the eee, agent who had just
brought in his signal-lights and was standing by
the desk, yawning and waiting to see who Sa
arrived.

“ Cold night, _ friend,” said young Manton,
glancing hurriedly at the agent. ‘Are you
acquainted in these parts?” he continued.

“ Middling,” was the laconic reply, though the
sleepy fellow glanced with some surprise at the
attire of the East Indian.

“Then perhaps you can tell me how far it is
to Manton Manor?” queried Thorle,

“No such place round here,” replied the

agent.

‘Ah? But certainly there was?”

“Yes; ’tis now Grayling Grange, though—
and owned by a better man than owned the
Manor.”

‘A better man? How so?” queried Thorle.

“Why, I calla man a rascal who would run
away from home and not pay his debts. And
Thorle Manton did exactly that rascally thing,”
was the agent’s prompt reply.

Thorle Manton’s brow wrinkled and his eyes
snapped. Margoun made a short step forward.
But both the men restrained themselves ere the
agent had noticed anything.

“You are right, my friend,” said the former,
quietly ; ‘‘ that is, provided rumor tells the truth
about Thorle Manton. He was a right decent
fellow when at Union College; Ithere knew him
very well.”

‘“Maybe—maybe. But why do you ask these
questions?” and the agent’s eyes wandered in-
quisitively over the stranger.

“ Because, if I can’t get to Shoreville to-night,
Imay bave to crave the hospitality of the Ma—
of the Grange,” was the reply.

“But, even if you could get there—yes, and
start right away-—you couldn’t reach the Grange
in this weather, till broad daylight. ‘The stage
isn’t running.”

“ Confound it! just as I thought and feared!”
muttered the young man, angrily. ‘‘ Now what
the deuce is to be done?”

The agent pondered for a moment. But look-
ing up hastily, he said:

‘Passengers were expected by this sametrain
for the Grange. The family sleigh is waitin
for them behind the station-house, now. It
very roomy and will easily hold two more,
Perhaps Miss Grayling won’t object to—”

“ Miss Grayling!” interrupted young Manton,
starting back, while a deathly pallor blanched
his cheek.

“Yes—Miss Grayling. She and old Mr. Gray-
ling’s ward, Miss Dean, were the passengers that
I had the lights out for. And as I was saying,

rhaps— Ah! they are piping 3

The ticket-agent stepped hastily to the door;
and Thorle Manton whispered a few words hur-
ricdly to Margoun, and muttered to himself:

‘* Is there fate in this?”

Margoun hastily drew the capote of his long
overcoat over his head, effectually concealing
his turban.

No sooner had he done so than Grace, follow- _
ed by Clara, each covered with snow entered
the room.

Grace started violently as she saw the hand-
some a there; she scarcely heeded _ his
tall, a companion, An instant and their
eyes met.

A wild thrill shot through Thorle Manton’s
manly bosom. —

Clara Dean did not start at all; she only flung
a keen, hurried look over the young man’s face,
and drew her vail more closely down.

“‘ T was just telling these gentlemen, Miss Gray-
ling,” said the agent, with a low bow, “that
rhaps you might give them a lift on their w:

Shoreville in your sleigh,”

 

 
    
 

 

 

Can I cherish the hope that we will meet
again?”

His last words only reached her ear.
blushed, deeply ; but her vail hid her face.

“Certainly, sir,” she said. ‘I shall be most
happy to see you; and so will my father, when
he returns.”

“Then I will bid you adieu.”

He lifted his hat again and was about turning
away; but Grace, in a tremulous, half-frighten-
ed tone, said:

“Will we not shake hands, sir?”

‘ Willingly!” and in an instant his glove was
= another, her small hand lay in his sturdy
palm.

Then Thorle Manton moved away. He had
noticed Clara Dean!

Bowing almost to the ground, the tall, stately
Margoun followed his master,

Their way lay down the road in the direction
of the lake, the icy surface of which could be
seen shimmering in the early sunlight. They
soon ee from view.

‘When the sleigh entered the snowy lawn, and
pushed on slowly between the rows of gaunt

oplars, Grace turned and looked back. Her

ate companions had gone: anda sigh escaped
her bosom,

‘““You were very bold with that man, just
now, Grace,” said Clara in a sharp reproving
tone.

‘“‘T was only grateful,” returned Grace.

“And you do not even know the fellow’s
name!” sneered Clara.

“What care I?”

“Your father might care much!” was Clara’s
rejoinder.

‘ Enough of this, Clara Dean,” retorted Grace,
angrily. ‘‘I am my own mistress—certainly so
far as you are concerned.”

“T meant nothing, by—”

‘Then say nothing,” was the imperious inter-
ruption,

lara Dean suddenly awakened to the fact,
that the heretofore amiable and pliant Grace
was not a thing of straw in her hands.

The great, ae gloomy old house, soon
came in view, at the further end of the grove,
and a few moments later, the sleigh stopped be-
fore the low, wide doors.

The cutter, with its occupants had been seen;
it had been long and anxiously looked for. So,
when it sto at the front, a -venerable-look-
ing man, wearing livery, was there, He was
accompanied by a spruce-looking old lady—evi-

, dently his wife.

' “Qh, uncle Silas! Iam so glad to see you!”
exclaimed Grace; and she leaped from the
vehicle, and embraced the old man, as if he had
been her father, instead of her father’s old and
trusted body-servant.

ling.

Grace

MARGOUN

 

“And IT you, Miss Grace; and you, too, Miss
Clara,” answered the old man, cordially greet-
ing the girl. ‘‘Come, Betsy, help the young |
Indien with their things. You see, Miss Grace,” |
he continued, as, at last, the party entered the |
house, ‘I would have gone for you myself; but |
yesterday I had a right sharp touch of the rheu- |
matics, and I was afraid to—”

“That’s all right, uncle Silas; but I hope the
old house is warm, and that we can soon havea
nice, hot breakfast.”

‘Yes, indeed, Miss Grace,” and Silas smiled |
kindly as he led the way into a large, gloomy |
room, A bright fire of coals glowing in the |
ample grate, gave the apartment cheer and |
warmth.

““Now, Miss Grace—for I cannot keep it back
any os he said, turning anxiously toward |
her. ‘*What in the world brings you home?
And so suddenly, too!”

Grace Grayling’s brow darkened; but turning
her face away, she said:

“Wather is on his way back.”

* Ah! when did you—” :

“More than all, uncle Silas,” she hastily in-
terrupted, her eyes dimming with tears, ‘‘he
ve bring with him a new wife—a young
wife!

The old servant recoiled. In an instant his
face was grave. He shook his head sadly.

CHAPTER XVI.
HOME AGAIN,

Bary that morning when the h had
been handed to Abner Denby in New York,
and when he had read it, he dropped into a chair
and gave way to his terrible anger.

It was more than an hour ere he ad calm.

“By the heavens above me, it shall not rest
thus!” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Thorle Manton yet lives;
but the hound who stood between me and the
only woman my sordid soul ever loved shall yet
die!”

m smoothed out the crushed dispatch and

 

“Failed. Leave for home to-night.
next time.

When old Mrs. Denby made her appearance
she was roughly made acquainted with the
news.

Abner Denby lingered long after he had par-
taken of breakfast, far longer than was his wont.
Asusual, his crafty mind was engaged in dis-
ex sing dark and treacherous plans. For the
ti:ue he forgot that bis long-absent omploycr

Better luck
M. ”

 

ere

ee

THE

was in the city, He would, perhaps, have

mused on till dinner time had not the house

been suddenly startled by the ringing of the
1

Hoping that this might be further tidings
from Moses, he hurried out to answer the sum-
mons himself,

He started back as his eyes fell upon a well-
dressed, smart-looking boy, who stood at the
door. Abner knew him well enough.

“You, James? What do you want?” he asked
pasar’ an uneasy look spreading over his

‘ace,

The boy was a messenger from the great busi-
ness house of Gilbert Grayling.

“A letter for you, Mr. any,” answered the
lad, with a bow, handing Abner an envelope
and taking his leave.

The clerk hastily opened the missive where
he stood, and read:

“Mr. Denby:

“Dear Sir:—Pardon me if I express surprise at
your absence from business, especially at this time,
when you must be aware that I am at the oflice
awaiting your attendance. I have already waited
two hours. How much longer must I await your
convenience?

“T have to suggest that the brief examination
I have given the books shows leaks that require ex-
planation at your hands; therefore the necessity of
your immediate attention to this. Yours,

‘ GruBeRT GRAYLING.”

Abner crushed the letter in his bosom and re-
entered the house.

‘‘Confound the prying old donkey,” he mut-
tered between his teeth. ‘‘ Been finding leaks,
eh? Is luck at last setting against me?”

When he hurried from the house an expres-
ie of uneasiness darkened his thin, white

ace.

The interview which took place that day in
the counting-room between Abner Denby and
his employer was a long and earnest one. It
lasted until a late hour in the afternoon; and
when Abner at last left the great business house
—_ oe toward his humble home, he ejacu-

ated;

“Hang it! it can’t be helped! He is too keen
by half! Do what I can I can only shell out to
make good the discrepancies.”

Mr. Grayling, on leaving his place of business,
entered a carriage in waiting, and was soon on
his way to his hotel. Leaning back on the rich-
ly upholstered seat, he said dryly;

“Y would like to trust Abner Denby, for in
that_case I could indorse him as a son-in-law.
But Ihave grave misgivings. I dare say I had
better make him my private secretary and call
him to the Grange. aving him under my eye
all the time, I am under the impression—ahem |!
that I would save money!”

 

Thorle Manton and Margoun did not Phin
far down the road, after taking leave of the oc-
cupants of the sleigh. They soon stopped and
crouched under the shelter of the fence. From
their concealment they watched the sleigh until
it reached the old manor-house, and the young
ladies had disappeared from view.

““Come, Margoun, we'll go now; and we have
not far to walk,” said Thorle arising and return-
ing to the road. ‘‘ Yonder is my old home.”

e pointed to the opposite side of the road.
In that direction lay a small but dense copse of
scrub-oaks. At the first sight nothing resemb-
ling a human habitation could be see; but by
close scrutiny, on a second look, the outlines of
a quaint-looking old house, situated far back be-
hind the woods, came into view. And this sight
of it could only be obtained as, now and then,
the ice-locked trees swayed under the morning
wind and opened up the vista.

The house, at the least calculation, was a mile
and a half from the highway which led on to
the neighboring village called Shoreville, nestled
on the banks of the great lake.

“That old estate was once joined to the lord-
Wy acres of the Grange, Margoun,” continued

horle, in a half-sad tone. ‘‘ The owner of the
latter is now on his way home, to add my old
home to his possessions. But there is a Hon in
his way, Margoun! And Gilbert Grayling

ma aia

te stopped abruptly, then continued:

“Follow me, Margoun. The ladies cannot
see us now. As yet I would have our where-
abouts concealed.’

He wheeled and strode back the road in the
direction of the gate through which the sleigh
had passed a few moments before.

Almost opposite this entrance, across the
road, was another gate. It showed marks of de-
cay; it was almost dropping from its rusted
hinges. It looked as if it had not swung open
for years.

Thorlo Manton reached it, kicked away the
frozen snow at the bottom and essayed to ve
it. It yielded readily enough for the latch
long since weak and worm-eaten, fell away ; and
in a moment the entire rickety structure drop-
ped with a crash upon the snow,

“Wreck and ruin,” muttered the young man
‘More than five years have fled since last my
feet trod through this gate! Come, Margoun;
such comforts as I can offer you, my dear fel-
low, I will do so most cordially.”

STRANGE.

 

 

 

“Ves, sahib. Margoun is happy. wherever
the sahib is.”

The gate opened directly into the thick copse.
At one time a road had led through the woods
for, on either side, the trees were thinned out
ina straight line, making a long narrow yw
Far down the other end the gabled roof of the
old house—the Lodge—from which the estate
took its name, could be seen, its snowy top glis-
tening in the morning sun.

The two man strode along. The snow was
frozen hard, and offered no obstacle to their pro-

ress. At last the woods grew thinner; then
Thorie Manton paused as he reached a small
open space. Directly before him was an old,
singularly-shaped house. It was built of dull-
red bricks, now showing in every part the wear
and tear of time. It was only two stories in
hight, and was capped by an old-time “ hip-
ped” roofed of the old Dutch style. To one end
was an odd-looking addition of more recent
date than the original house. It was built like-
wise of bricks, and was semi-octagonal in shape
—each face showing two windows, one above,
one below.

A dilapidated fence, patched in many places
asthe exigencies of the past had required, in-
closed the house. Besides the dwelling, there
were several other buildings—a stable, a car-
riage-house, etc. A few pigs and a couple of
thin-flanked cows were shivering in the snow by
the stable.

Everything bore traces of neglect and poy-
erty; everything was desolation and decay.

Leberg his hands upon the shaking fence,
Thorle Manton gazed at the scene of misery be-
fore him. His black eyes half-closed, his lips
trembled, and a tear coursed slowly down his
cheek.

“Though I grew to manhood in what is now
called the Grange,” he murmured, ‘T was born
here. But, alas! how different now! However,”
and an exultant laugh escaped him, ‘‘I have
that now which will soon make this old ruin
what it was in the past to me—an Eden of joy
and rest. Come, Margoun, we’ll enter,” he con-
tinued aloud.

He pushed open the narrow gate which was
swung on strips of leather and strode into the

ard.
we No one is to be seen,” he muttered. glancing
aroundhim. “I wonder if good old Simon an
Martha—the aged couple who clung to me and
my waning fortunes to the last!—are still in the
land of the—”

Just then he was interrupted by a fierce growl
followed by a loud, angry baying. A momen
later an immense dog of the mastiff breed
bounded from around the house and dashed
with bristling back and glistening fangs at the
O irarcon! Wiipoba” bite ata *Hthett ped

argoun steppe ck and quietly gras
his Eretec. But-Thorle Manton stood perfectly
still until the enraged animal was within a few
feet of him. Then in a quick, sharp tone he
cried:

“Samson!”

The dog stopped so suddenly in his headlong
course that he came near tumbling over. But,
recovering himself, he crouched almost to the
snow; and while his large, intelligent eyes were
bent — the young man with a strange, curi-
ous look, he crept onward as if waiting for some-
thing further.

“Don’t you know me Samson?—my dear old
fellow!” and Thorle held his hand out.

An instant, and the noble beast sprung for-
word, leaped upon the young man, licked his
hands and his face, and exhibited unmistakable
symptoms of extravagant joy.

“Ah! yes, you know me, my faithful Sam-
son!” ejaculated Thorle, returning the dog’s ca-
resses joyfully. ‘‘You have not turned your
back upon me! But,” running his hand over
the animal’s ES ribs, ‘‘ You, too, show
rough usage from hard times!”

The party proceeded toward the house. As
Thorle neared it and looked up he started as he
saw standing in the doorway an aged woman,
dressed in cheap clothes, her face bearing a kind,
motherly, but now half-startled expression.

As her time-dimmed eyes fell upon the two
strangers—when she had been called tothe door
by the sudden loud baying of the dog—she start-
of back in wonder and alarm. Well might she
have been surprised; for Margoun’s dusky face,
white turban, and strange attire, were objects
never seen before in that solitude.

She drew back and was about to close the
door; but at that moment her eyes caught sight
of a brawny, broad-shouldered young man who
just then emerged from the stable. A look of
reassurance passed over her face, and she stood

“Who are you, and what do you want, gen-
tlemen?” she asked.

“Martha!” exclaimed Thorle Manton, advanc-
ing toward her.

e old woman leaned eee 4 forward; she
flung her spectaclee up and rubbed her aged
eyes as though she would brighten her vision.

““Who—who—are you, young man?” she -
gasped, as she slowly descended the steps.

“One who knows you well and loves you
much, dear old Martha!”

‘* Heaven be praised! Heaven be praised! ’tis

 

 
%

MARGOUN,

 

the dear young master!” and tottering forward,
she flung her arms around his neck.

“Yes, Martha!” exclaimed the young man.
“JT am home again! home to claim what is
mine!” ‘ :

He drew the aged servant to his bosom, as if
she was his mother.

“The Lord be praised!” murmured old Mar-
tha, giving vane to a flood of tears. ‘Oh, such
hard times we have had since you went away,

' Master Thorle! Nothing to eat, nothing to wear,
sickness and—” .

‘‘-Yes, yes, Martha,” he interrupted, kindly.
“ But all that will be changed in an hour’s time.
The sun will shine brightly again, and all the
rest of your days 7o4 shall live’in peace and
plenty. But, Mart 1a,” and his voice sunk as he
glanced around him, “ where is your good man,
old Simon?”

“That’s it, Master Thorle!” and the old wo-
man’s tears flowed afresh.

“What Martha?” )

“‘ Why, Simon is yonder, sir,” and she pointed
ome the broken-down palings of the neglected
garden, 3

Thorle Manton, with a shudder, look in that
direction. He sighed as his eyes fell upon an
uneven, snow-covered mound under a stunted
cedar.

“Dead!” he ejaculated.

‘‘ Ay, Master Thorle; dead these three years
and more. He took sick, and we had no money
to get good victuals, much less a doctor! Me and
my boy, Aleck, dug the grave betwixt us, and
buried him, For Susan—”

She paused and wrung her hands.

‘Yes; and what of Susan?”

“Why, we couldn’t keep her; her old mother
couldn’t find food for her. So the poor gal had
to go out as help. She is now in the village.”

“She shall be here with you before night,”
said the young man earnestly and tenderly.
‘But now, can you get my friend and myself
something to eat? Anything will do—a cup of
coffee or—”

‘Lord bless you, Master Thorle! Coffee has-
n’t been seen in the Lodge for nigh four years!
But if you'll be satisfied with some corn-pone
and fried eggs, T’ll—” /

“Yes, that will do famously. But who is
that?’ and he looked toward the brawny youn
man by the stable, who, during this scene, hac
been Seen at the group in wonder and amaze-
ment,

“That? Why that’s my boy, Aleck,\to be
sure; he’s grown powerful since you went away.
Mo and him and Samson are all that’s left here
o’ the old family. Come here, Aleck!” she
shouted, ‘This is Master Thorle!”

The young fellow ran over and greeted the
master of the Lodge, as though he was one who
had come from the ve,

Then all hands entered the old house. ;

_ We need not describe the interior of the build-
ing, further than to say it was sadly out of re-
pair, that it was filled with great gloomy rooms,
and intersected here and there with dark, ghost-
ly passages. i
hatever it might have been in the past, it
was how a more fitting abode for owls and bats
than it was for human beings. my

An hour later, the young man, Aleck, driving
a miserable cart to which was attached pgrzetch-
ed-looking, half-starved horse, left the place,
and entered the copse. :

He was on his way to the vi'lage of Shoreville
to lay in supplies and fulfill certain orders given
him by his young master. :

Thorle Manton, lost in thought, was standing
by one of the musty, cobwebbed windows when
the dilapidated equipage passed from the inclo-

ee e sighed sadly, then smiled grimly, and
said:
‘Tis wonderful what money will do! But,”

‘oreo away and walking slowly toward the
ample hearth, ‘‘ what now shall be my course of
action? Must I hate Gilbert Grayling as Ihave
been schooling myself to do? Or,” and his voice
sunk, ‘‘ shall [ admit that, in my callous heart,
reins a love for that old man’s fair-haired, dove-
eyed daughter?”

CHAPTER XVII.
LOST IN THE WOODS—FACE TO FACE.

On the very day of his arrival, Thorle Man-
ton had carpenters, upholsterers and paper-
hangers at work repairing his old home. | at
was apart of Aleck’s errand to Shoreville—to
summon artisans.

In a few daysa marvelous change was percep-

‘ tible in and around the old house. In the place
of want and dilapidation, comfort and plenty
were to be seen, Four days after the young
master took possession, the old neglected Lodge
began to approach its grandeur of the distant

t.

ast.
. The house was cleaned from top to bottom;
for old ha now had an able ae | in her
buxom danghter, Susan. The walls were
sera) and repapered in rich, cheery colors;
the floors were scrubbed and new laid.
Elegant furniture filled the grand old rooms,
and comfort met one on every hand. Then, to
uit a finishing touch, the entire exterior of the
ime-stained structure was painted,

 

It looked as though the magician’s wand had ;
passed over the spot.

This much done, the rebuilding of the stable
and outhouses, and the purchasing of fresh stock
and vehicles, was planned to be attended to
during the following week.

Thorle and Margoun had not been beyond the
limits of the inclosure since their arrival; though
the former had more than once peered long and
lingeringly through the dim vista of the bare-
armed trees, toward the neighboring Grange.

While all this bustle and preparation were
going on at the Lodge, they were scarcely less

usy at the Grange. The latter was, indeed,
already in splendid condition, compared to the
Lodge; still, repairing was going on there in a
grand and costly style.

The Grange mansion needsa brief description,
so that incidents, soon to follow in our story,
may be rightly understood.

It was a large shambling house, built, without
any pretense architectural beauty, of great
blocks of gray stone—now covered with the
mosses and mold of age. It was square in form,
with low, forbidding, overhanging eaves. The
windows, set deep in the massive masonry, were
narrow and long.

Inside, like the Lodge, it was filled with great,
dismal, badly-lighted rooms, and cut by wide,
gloomy hallways. Secret passages, and dark,
cuddy-holes, made another feature peculiar to
the house,

On the outside, a narrow veranda, protected
by a heavy iron railing, ran around both the
first and second stories—of which like the Lodge
again, there wereonly two. From either of the
rooms below, or above, easy exit was had by
doors, and windows, to this veranda,

On the second day after Grace reached home,
a letter, which had been brought by a messen-

er, from the Shoreville post-office, was handed
er. The envelope bore, in the left corner, a
pretentious-looking crest printed in colors, and
was directed to:
“MISS GRACE GRAYLING,
“of Grayling Grange,
“ Shoreville P. 0.,
“New York.”

Grace knew the flourishing, ornate characters
to be her father’s: for the first time she was
aware that he had reached his native land in
safety. A chilling sensation passed through her
frame, and a little pang made her boson ache.
The new life, which she so much dreaded, was
now indeed before her; though amid the bustle
of preparation going on at the Grange, she had
forgotten the occasion of it all.

e and Clara were seated in the large, old-
fashioned dining-room, when the letter was re-
ceived. The latter saw it. She glanced keenly
at Grace as she sat musing.

“From your father, I suppose?” she said at
length, unable to restrain her curiosity.

“Yes, from him!” and a sigh ‘went out with
the words.

“‘Then why don’t you read it?”

Grace flushed; but hastily tearing open the
letter, she read this;

‘ Countina Room or G. Gravina,
New York, Tuesday.

“Dear Daveuter:—I arrived, safe and sound,
last night. Had along, tempestuous voyage. Mrs.
Grayling stood it well. I write this hasty note
to po Ae at I shall remain here a week longer. I
find that my business matters need much looking
into. I have discovered, and stopped a few leaks
already. Upon mature deliberation I have deter-
mined to make Mr. Abner Denby—my head clerk.
you ee oy private secretary, with his head-

uarters at the Grange. Will leave here a week
rom to-day, and will reach home early in the eve-
ning—Christmas eve. Send the sleigh to the sta-
tion, for, from present appearances, the snow
last many weeks yet.

‘Meet my wife ae and tenderly.

“Your father, y
“GILBERT GRAYLING.”

Several or passed; in fact, the day an
which Mr. Grayling was expected home had
rolled around. e repairs she pevernione at
the pomeee had been completed, and so far as
the interior of the old house was concerned, its
cer eoere were of the richest and costliest

Grace and Clara on that afternoon stood look-
ing out of the open door, their eyes wandering,
first over the little copse of w which was in-
closed in the Lodge estate, and then roving to-
ward the frozen lake beyond them, glistening in
the bright sun.

The day was clear and balmy, and much
warmer teen those which had just. preceded it.
In fact, but for the thick snow which still cov-
ered the ground, it resembled in temperature a
day in early spring.

‘What say you, Grace, to taking a stroll?”
suggestted Clara, in a low, insinuating tone.
“You know we have been cooped up, now, for
more than a week? The weather is inviting;
and with our thick boots on, we will care noth-
ing for the snow.”

he other started, and her cheeks flushed with

leasure at the pro . She had been on cool
rms of late with her black-haired companion;
for, as we have mentioned, she had be; to

rered w

 

read her true character, and in so far as she did,
had lost confidence in her, But the idea of a :
walk in the balmy, bracing air pleased her.

 

THE STRANGE. 17

“T was thinking of the same thing,” she re-
plied; ‘but, father—”

‘*Oh, you needn’t fear on that account,” inter-
rupted Clara, with a smile that was half sneer.
* He and his new wife will not reach Wyndham
station until five o’clock. The train is due there
then; and he can’t reach the Grange before eight
o'clock. We'll be back a long time before that.
Come, we may push through yonder snow-cov-
and get a sight of Thorle Manton’s
precious old mansion, the Lodge.”

Grace frowned at the last words. Why had
Clara jugged in Thorle Manton’s name? she
thoaye ut she answered in a half-peevish

one;

“T care nothing for the Lodge, or for Thorle
Manton, either,”

“Ah!” with a shrug. ‘Well, perhaps not;
but the old Lodge must look very romantic and
picturesque in its drapery of snow. Will you go?”

“Yes,” after a pause, ‘ we'll go somewhere
—where will be determined when we get into
the road. But 1 must leave directions about
supper, and then will get ready.”

t was past five o’clock when at last the maid-
ens, arrayed for out-door exercise, issued from
the Grange, and tripped lightly over the snow
toward the distant gate by the highway. The
bracing air filled their lungs, and sent the life-
blood tingling to their cheeks,

But neither noticed that a cold, raw wind was
beginning to creep over the earth, and an omi-
nous gray-black cloud was rising from the nortb-
west and settling over the lake. They were too
much exhilarated for that—certainly this was
the case with Grace, for she laughed and chatted
as she had not done since she left Madame Le-
febre’s grand seminary in the metropolis, She
was so appy that she even felt in her guileless
forgiving heart that perhaps after all she had
misjudged Clara,

But as the two reached the gate a sudden
shade came to Grace’s brow.

“Do you remember, Clara,” she said, in an
uneasy voice, ‘‘ that the night before we left
the seminary ‘Mr. Denby gave me some money?”

“Yes: a large sum.”

“One thousand dollars—so Mr. Denby said,”
answered Grace, adding the last words after a

pause.

‘So he said! Of course he told you the truth.
Did you count the money?”

“No, though he requested me to do so.”

“Well, then, what about it?” asked Clara, her
eyes a over her friend,

‘“Why this much—and it is enough to trouble
me: I can only account for five hundred dollars;
and yet more than that is still due for repairs at
the Grange. I have now not a penny of what
money Mr. Denby gave me. "Tis very strange.”

They had paused by the gate.

Clara Dean pondered. Gradually a singular
expression rested upon her face, and a crafti
smile flitted near her lips, But, in an instant,

| assuming a business-way, she said:

“‘T occupy the same room with you, Grace.”

“Certainly; what—”

“Do you suspect me of taking it?” was the
almost stern interraption.

“Oh, Clara! that thought was the furthest
from my mind,”

“Then,” answered the other, in a relieved
tone, ‘*T can, only in one way, account for your

loss,

‘* And that, Clara?”

“Why, when those murderous ruffians_as-
saulted us in the sleigh, they either managed to
rob you, or you lost the money in the snow.”

This was a plausible solution of the matter;
and so Grace thought. For after a moment’s
reflection she answered:

“Yes, you must be right, Clara. Of course
the money will never be found. But papa is
rich, and he can afford to stand the loss.

“Ay! true; yours is a good philosophy,
Grace! Mr, Grayling can stand the loss of five
hundred dollars much better than I can that of
fifteen thousand!”

She spoke eae

“Yes, yes; but let that all go,” said Grace,
hurriedly. “Now which way will we walk?”

“Let us go through the woods and take a peep
at the old Lodge,” persisted Clara, glancing
through the dismal copse,

2 right; anyti g for exercise, and to
please you. But,” and Grace glanced at tne
now threatening sky, ‘‘it looks like it is going
to storm; and, yes, see how rapidly it is grow-
ing. dark.”

lara hesitated, too, as she noted the ominous
cloud-bank, the raw, storm-bringing wind and
the rapidly-descending darkness, ‘But she only
laughed and said:

“We'll be back long before it storms, if it
storms at all. Come, I know the way well; and
we have not far to go.”

Grace was, now, silent and abstracted; but,
persuaded against her will, she followed Clara,
who strode at once across the road. She soon
reached the gate leading into the Lodge estate—
or rather where the gate had stood. She paused
and laughed.

“The place is in sad need of a master—a rich
master! Even the gate which stands between
a ; Manton’s property and trespassers ig

own,

 

 
   
 
 
 
   

    

’ Silas

 

dropped off into a doze, only to start and look
around him, as he fancied he heard Florine Fla-
velle coming to tell him that ‘‘madame” was
awaiting him. But, in every instance, he was
mistaken; the gaunt-faced, wicked-eyed. French
maid had not come.

She was otherwise engaged.

Arousing himself, Mr. Grayling lit a cigar,
and flung a bucket of fresh coals on the fire.

‘Hang it!” he muttered, ‘I can’t sleep, and
I can’t go to bed. No! By Jove, once again I
am not wanted in my wife’s bedroom! ell, to
occupy my mind, P’ll write to Abner Denby, and
tell him he must come. But I must be guard-
ase that letter, else the fellow may suspect,
and—

He took the lamp and walked to a writing-
desk near the hearth. Right before the des
was a window. The curtain was drawn up.

Mr. Grayling chanced to glance through the
window. He started slightly, glued his eyes to
the pane and peered out.

“By Jove, somebody is in the conservatory!”
he said, in surprise. ‘‘ Who the deuce can be
there at this time of night—half-past ten
o'clock?” and he glanced at his watch. ‘Oh,
yes; it must be old Silas, looking after the heat;
tis a cold night. Yes, that’s it.”

He seated himself and commenced to write,
In ten minutes he held up an ink-wet sheet and
read the following; :
“GRAYLING GRANGE,

“Dec, 24th, 1873,
“Mr. Asner Densy:

‘Dear Str:—After a short stay here, I find that I
cannot possibly get along with any comfort to my-
self without having a confidential secretary. After
some reflection, I can think of no one who could so
well fill the place as yourself. As soon after the re-
ceipt of this as you can, come to the Grange. You
will find the work comparatively light, and you
shall receive the same pay as you are now getting.
urn over your business in the house to Mr. Rich-
ardson, who will assume its duties on a trial for six
months, I need not add that the above is my com-
mand. Resp’t’ly yours,

; “GILBERT GRAYLING.”

The old gentleman nodded his head approv-

ingly.

% Boa he muttered. ‘‘ ‘Command’ is the
right word. If Abner Denby.fails to come he
loses the place he already has; that’s all. But
he’ll come; no danger of that! I can’t exactly
get along without him; though I must watch the
—rascal, I came near saying.” :

Once again he resumed his seat before the fire.

“Confound it!” he muttered, as at his
watch once more. ‘‘Am I to sit up all night?
Oris— Ha! Here she is at last.. Come in!”

Just then a rap had fallen upon the door. It
was apck. and sharp as though struck by a
hasty hand.

“Well, Florine,” began_the old gentleman,
withoutlooking around. ‘‘ I suppose you have—’

‘Tis not Florine, Mr. Grayling,” said a low,
tremulous voice.

The rich man bounded to his feet and glared
behind him.

“You, Silas! What the—”

‘Yes, my dear master; and I want to see you
on very urgent business,” was the reply, as old
arren, the head servant at the Grange,
softly closed the door and entered the room.

The old man’s kindly face was white as though
from fright, and his lips were quivering from
excitement.

‘“‘What the deuce do you want, Silas?’ de-
manded Mr, pesviing roughly; he was disap-
pointed at not seeing he French maid.

“Oh, my dear master, you have made the
erandest mistake of your lifetime!” moaned
tne old servant, wringing his hands excitedly.

“ Mistake, Silas!” and the rich man recoiled
in amazement. ‘‘What do you mean, old
man?”

, “Your wife—your new wife, sir! She is a

rai— .

“Furies!” and Mr. Grayling caught the old
domestic by the throat. ‘‘How dare you in-
sinuate—”

“But I heard her!” gasped old Silas, strug-
gling to free his throat. ‘She is a she-devil!
sho would—”

“Curses upon you!” and old Grayling struck
him fiercely in the face several times, ‘‘ How
dare—”

“Oh! my dear master! I came only to warn
you—to—” te

‘* By all the gods, but this is too much!” and
old Grayling hurled the helpless old man to the
(Joor, kicked him from the room, dragged him
through the hall to the front_door, and hurl-
ed him out into the snow. ‘ Now be off, you
cid scoundrel!” he continued, carried away by
hhisanger. ‘‘ You speak such words of my wife!
Be off, I say! and freeze if youmay! But dare
»ut your accursed foot in this house again, and
T’ll shoot you like a dog!”

He closed the door, locked it and turned to go
into the sitting-room. But he halted at the sud-
den sight of Florine Flavelle.

‘“ Madame awaits Mons—Mr. Grayling,” said
the maid, with a bow. .

His bosom still filled with rage, the “ aristo-
erat” strode to his bedroom.

Poor old Silas Warren lay for ten minutes
Lelpless and prostrate in the snow. At last he
revived and struggled to his feet.

MARGOUN, THE STRANGE. _

“He has driven me away!” he murmured, as
tears streamed down his face. ‘He has struck
me, and has threatened my poor old life. Yet
ah, heavens, { have served him so long, and
loved him and his so much! Ay! and I only
went to put him on his— But he has driven me
away, andI must go. Can I reach Shoreville
in such weather, to night? Oh, God, stand by
poor Betsy!”

He crept down the dark grove, through the
flying snow. At last he reached the gate that
opened into the dim, ghastly highway. Then
he paused and glanced toward the faint lights of
the mansion.

 

From the moment that Gilbert Grayling’s
young wife entered her room, immediate v
after her brief interview with her husband,
she was engaged in a close and earnest conversa-
es with her constant companion, Florine Fla-
velle.

Nor was that conversation carried on in a

arded tone. The lady thought herself per-

ectly secure; the idea of listeners being abroad
did not enter her head for a moment.

Little did she dream that a crouching form
was at her door in the dim-lit passage, and that
an ear was at the keyhole.

The conversation lasted till a late hour. Then.
Mrs. Grayling said, in a low, vexed tone:

“Very unfortunate, Florine, that you lost
some of the drops. I fear that we will not have
enough—for our purpose.”

“T assure madame that I acted for the best.
I tried a drop on a cat to see if its virtues still
remained. ou know it has been three years
since, at Baden-Baden, it was—”

“Yes, yes,” hastily interrupted Mrs. Gray-
ling, with paling cheeks. ‘‘ But thé cat. How

“The beast. was dead in. five seconds,” inter-
rupted Florine, with a grim smile.

‘Then, allis well. But,” she continued hasti-
ly, meee know botany, Florine?”

‘Well! It has been my favorite study,” an-
swered the maid, with another grim smile, her
dark eyes lighting up.

“And you know poisonous plants?”

“ Better than all others!”

“Good! There is a conservatory connected
with this old rat-trap. Takea light, Florine, go
into the conservatory and take notes. The vial
may give out; we may need other silencers. Be
on your guard.”

“Trust me, madame. You pay me well,” and
she a and took a small night-lamp from the
mantle.

“Tl pay you better, Florine; I can command
money now.”

Florine opened the rear door to the room,
sa ncn ing her lamp beneath her apron,
stole out.

She was gous fifteen minutes, when she softly
re-entered the apartment. ;

‘Well, Florine?” in a whisper.

“T have found two or three of the deadliest of
all plants.”

“Ah! and they are—”

“First, the Digitalis Purpurea, an acro-nar-
cotic poison, and—”

“Yes, Florine, and the other?” ;

“The Datura Stramonium, a deadly narco-
tic, especially when used in apopletic cases, and
you know that mons—”

“Enough! I must study upon the Digitalis
Purpurea and the Datura Stramonium!”
laughed Mrs, Grayling, as she arose. ‘‘ Now,
Florine, go and tell that old man that he can
come to bed ”

CHAPTER XX,
GATHERING CLOUDS.

GILBERT GRAYLING’S young wife spent her
Christmas eve in a strange manner.

Late as it was when she at last retired, she
was up with the rising of the sun. But when
the sporntl rays fell upon her face it was pale
and haggard,

She had not slept much. ,

er before old Gilbert Grayling was awake,
| she left the room, and crept into the chamber
| allotted to her French maid.

A very strange procedure in a mistress of
such a grand mansion.

Florine was already dressed.

“T spoke to you last night of a certain man,
you know whom, Florine?”

“Yes, madame.”

“You know the whole of that dark story—
have known it for years,” pursued Mrs, Gray-
ling her eyes flashing and her brow darkening.

¢ Yes, madame.”

“That man lives near here. You must take
a letter to him.”

“T, madame! But where does—”

“Thorle Manton, he whom of all men I hate
and fear, lives not two miles from this house,”
interrupted ‘the lady, hurriedly. “His old
rookery is hid behind the copse in front of the
Grange gate. You can find it.”

“Yes, madame; but there is—”

She paused, her thin lips parted, and a cold
hard smile passed over her face. :

 

 

“But what, Florine?”
‘There is some risk in this trip, to say noth-

 

my services for such work.”
‘“‘T understand you, Florine; you wish extra
compensation in this matter.”
Mrs. Grayling frowned as she spoke.
“Madame surmises correctly,” was the quiet

reply.

“You shall have it. I have an exchequer
which I can draw on without fear. The old
man sleeps. ’Tis well. Wait a moment, Flo-
rine; Pll pay you in advance, and well.”

The lady lost no time. Hastily slipping off
her shoes, she stole back into her bedroom,

Mr. Grayling was still sound asleep; his lusty
eres echoed in the room.

The lady crept to the chair upon which the
old gentleman’s clothes were thrown; a moment
and her hand was thrust into one of the coat-
pockets. She took out a portly purse, opened it
and drew forth several new, crispy bank-notes.

At that instant her husband’s loud breathing
suddenly ceased, but she paid no heed to it; she
was too intent on her strange work,

At that very moment her husband’s eyes
were bent wonderingly upon her, an expres-
sion of pain resting upon his features. But he
lay still and said nothing.

ithout even a further glance toward the
bed, Mrs. Grayling stole like a thing of guilt—
as she was—from the room. _

As she closed the door behind her, the old
man sprung from the bed and strode to his
clothes. euaeie out the pocket-book, he
hurriedly examined its contents. He scowled,
and bit his pes

‘* Fifty dollars gone!” he ejaculated, bitterly.
‘“What is mine is hers, of course; but must I
look upon my wife as a common thief? What
can she want with that money? Ay, and the
sun is hardly up!”

Silently and sadly, with many misgivings at
his heart, he proceeded to make his toilet. At
last, as he finished, and left the chamber on his
way to the sitting-room, he shook his head and
muttered:

‘Poor old Silas! Should I not have listened
to him? Yes, yes; I cannot shake that feelin
off. A cloud is hanging over me! Alas!
fear that the quickly-coming future is Jaden
with woe and misery to me. And why? Be-
cause in my old age I have made a fool of my-
self by marrying a pretty girl who is young
enough to be my daughter! But is Cynthia in-
deed an adventuress?

A thorn was in old Gilbert Grayling’s bosom.

Mrs. Grayling held out the notes to the maid,
with a triumphant look, when she returned.

‘Here, Florine; this is good pay for being a
letter-carrier,” she said, with a low laugh.
“Take it all; there’s plenty more where this
came from.”

Florine’s long fingers clutched the money ; her
eyes flashed greedily over the notes, ben,
with an approving smile, she hid them in her
bosom.

“Now paper, pen and ink, Florine,” said the
lady, a frown gathering on her brow. ‘This
matter must be attended to at once. I must an-
ticipate that man! For if Thorle Manton should
open his lips here, and tell what he knows of the
past, my dream of gold and of glory would be
dissipated forever. Quick, Florine!”

The maid did not reply. This was an oldtime
tale to her. She only smiled, as going to her
trunk, she took from it a portfolio.

Mr;. Grayling pondered for several moments
ere she began to write. Her pale-blue eyes
glinted under the corrugated brows, and her
shapely: lips quivered with emotion.

ut, driving the pen into the inkstand, she
began the letter. Her small hand glided swift-
ly over the spotless page. She dried the ink-
wet sheet, and read it. Folding it, and address-
ing the envelope, she arose,

“When breakfast is announced, Florine, steal
out with this letter, and see that it is celivered,”
she said, giving the maid the missive. ‘‘I would
prefer that you should not be seen; and that,
therefore, is the most fitting time to go. At-
ise to this matter, well, and you shall lose no-

ing.

“Brust me, madame,” was the reply; and
Florine slid the letter in her bosom.

When Mrs. Grayling left the room, her
French maid quickly drew out the letter, cau-
tiously opened the still-moist flap, and extract-
ed the sheet. A moment and she had read
every word. A derisive smile Saree her lips,

“Cringing! and so soon!” she ejaculated,
scornfully. ‘‘ But she’ll show her claws in time
—never fear!”

That morning, at the breakfast-table, but lit-
tle was said. Grace was silent; for her heart
was sick and sorrowful. Clara Dean was keen-
eyed and watchful as was her wont. Old Mr.

rayling was morose and gloomy; and his wife
dispatched her meal in a quiet, business-like

way.

‘The ever-present French maid, with her glit-
tering eyes and saturnine face, was, for a won-
der, absent. So was old Silas Warren, the
head servant. But old Aunt Betsy was there;
and her humble features were now overcast
with an expression of meek, yet poignant sor-
row. It was plain that the old dame was miss-
ing her aged, faithful helpmeet,

 

*

 
 

old gentleman lingered. He was covertly,
sternly, observing his wife’s movements. She
had not spoken a dozen words. She pushed
back her plate, and was about to leave the
room.

“A moment, Cynthia, my loye,” said Mr,
Grayling, tenderly, his words trembling just the
least bit.

Something was burdening his mind.
ful duty was thrust upon him. But he must
meet it. He was going to test his wife.

Mrs. Grayling. paused at once, and cast a
quick, searching glance at him. She paled
somewhat at the strange, determined look upon
his face; but, calming herself, she said:

«© Well?”

The old man started at her cold tone. It
a defiance. An angry flush mantled his
cheek.

“*T have missed some money from my pocket-
book,” he said, coming straight to the point.
‘Did you take any, my dear, without my
knowledge?”

At his first words, Mrs. Grayling’s cheeks
whitened into a deadly pallor, her limbs trem-
bled and she grasped the back of a chair to
steady herself. But she knew that her hus-
band’s eyes were upon her. She must answer.

““N—o,” sho stammered. ‘‘Do you suppose I
would steal, sir?’

‘““T only know that I miss fifty dollars from
my pocket-book, Cynthia,” he answered. ‘* You
and that confounded—that—French maid of
yours, are the only persons who have had access
to my room since last night. Of course, my
dear,” and he forced a softness, which he did
not feel, into his tones, “‘ my money is always at
your disposal; but you must—”

““Very good; but I have answered you, sir,”
she interrupted; and with a toss of her head,
she strode haughtily to the door.

Mr. Grayling turned and strummed on the
window-pane.

“*Hfa! hello!’ he exclaimed, with a start, as
he looked out of the window. ‘‘ Yonder is that
viper—that French maid of yours! Where has
she been? What the deuce does she mean by

leaving the house whenever she feels like it?”

Mrs. Grayling trembled, and a deepening
scowl spread over her face.

‘Certainly you do not begrudge the girl
exercise and fresh air?’ she answered, with a
contemptuous curl of her lip. ‘ Besides that,
she is my servant,” and the lady left the room
and hastened to her own apartment, there to
meet Florine, who had returned much sooner

A. pain-

* than her mistress expected.

When his young wife had gone, old Gilbert
Grayling ground his teeth in anger and bitter-
ness.

‘“My wife has lied to me!” he muttered, in a
hoarse voice. ‘*She is a thief and a liar! Oh,
heavens, that I should utter such words. Some-
thing wrong, something deep and dark is going
onin this house! Well, well, I must keep my
eyes open. Ay! and I daresay I had better
look over a certain paper; some alterations may
be necessary.”

He drew from an inner pocket of his vest a
long, folded document, and drew neaf the writ-
Pg to which previous reference has been
made,

 

That morning just after breakfast Thorle Man-
ton and Margoun sat smoking in the dining-
room of the Lodge. They were suddenly star-
tled by a rap at the door.

“Come in,” said Thorle, looking around.

The door opened, and Susan—now regularly
nel as chambermaid in her old home—en-

red.

“A lady wishes to see you, Master Thorle,”
she said in a mysterious way.

“A lady!” and young Manton bounded from
his chair. ,

“Yes, sir—a meen person she is.”

“What does she look like?’ asked Thorle,
trembling as he put the query.

““Couldn’t see her face, sir,” was the reply.
‘Her vail was down; but she has black hair.”

‘Ah! yes, exactly. Where is she, Susan?”

Thorle Manton’s face showed a half-relieved,
half-disappointed look.

*‘In the parlor, sir,” answered the girl.

“Very good; tell her T’ll be at her service in
a moment.”

Susan withdrew.

‘Who the deuce can this early caller be?”
muttered the young man, as he laid aside his
cigar and arose. ‘* However, I'll see her. Tl
be back ina moment, Margoun. No doubt she
is some one soliciting charity.”

He left the room. In a moment he was in the
parlor, to meet Florine Flavelle, the French
waiting-maid at the Grange.

“ Are you Mr. Thorle Manton?” she asked at
once. er strong foreign accent was very
marked. : .

The young man was surprised; but he replied,
with a bow.

“Tam. How can I serve you?”

“By reading this letter, and dispatching by
me a reply thereto,” answered Florine, handing
him the missive.

“Pray be seated, madam,” said the young

 

on left_the table; but the | man, wondering more than ever; and as the
| maid sunk into a chair, he hurried to the win-

dow and raised the curtain.

One glance at the superscription, and Thorle
Manton recoiled. His bronzed cheeks flushed,
then poled He knew that handwriting well,
though more than five years had elapsed since
he had seen it. Bending his head to conceal the
tell-tale expression on his face, he broke the
seal, and took out the sheet.

After a momentary pause he began to read;
and as he read on, the natural hues of health re-
turned to his face, his cheeks glowed, and a
stern frown gathered ominously upon his brow.

“Who sent this?” he said, pointedly, as he re-
folded the sheet and placed it in his bosom.

“She who wrote it; she whom I serve—Ma-
dame Grayling of Grayling Grange,” promptly
answered Florine.

““Do you know the contents of this letter,
then?’ continued the young man, eying her
sharply.

It was well for the French maid that she had

; faster.

| tion—to which [

_MARGOUN, THE) STRANGE.

| rep

R14

“Yes, father,” and tho maiden’s heart beat

“T am listening.”

“Tn the first el I distrust Florine Flavelle,

that confounded French maid of my wife's.”
“*T dislike her from my heart!” was the quick

ly.
*~ Wei a question, Grace—a plain, open ques-
wish a cendid, honest reply.

| How do you like your step-mother?”

| cheeks,

The maiden’s éyes flashed into her father’: |
face, while a sudden glow sprung into ha

{

“T almost hate her, father!” she began, in:-
petuously. ‘ Hate her, because—”

She paused and looked down, while her little

| hands griped one another convulsively.

Mr,- Grayling trembled. But he urged her

) on.

}

|

|

her vail down, for her face reddened at Thorle’s

abrupt query.

“Tam on M my lady’s waiting-maid, sir,” said
Florine. ‘Tis not my business to
contents of her letters.’

‘*Have you any idea of the contents of this
one?” insisted the young man; for he distrusted
the woman’s manner,

‘“Monsieur is exacting!” retorted the maid,
her eyes flashing venomously. ‘TI answer, no.”

“Ah? Very well. Plisend a reply by you.

Pi not tax your patience,” and something like |

a grim, vindictive smile played around his lips.

He seated himself by a table and dashed off a
hasty note. Sliding it into an envelope he se-
cured the flap with wax, imprinting on it his
seal-ring. He evidently did not trust the mes-
senger’s integrity.

“Be so kind as to give this to Mrs, Grayling,”
he said, handing her the letter.

Florine took it, bowed stiffly and left the
house.

“Clouds are gathering! but the sunlight will
yet shine through!” muttered the young man
my approaching the window, ‘‘ Where will
all this end? Will it terminate in farce or
tragedy? But let me read again what this vile
woman, this Cynthia Summers, writes!”

He opened the sheet.

 

CHAPTER XXI.

EXCHANGE OF LETTERS — ON A STRANGE
ERRAND.

Oup Gilbert Grayling sat for several hours

that day by the desk. He had read the long,
folded paper several times; and each time he
shook his head,
- “That document does not suit me,” he ejacu-
lated, flinging it upon the table, and drawing a
sheet of foolscap toward him. ‘‘I daresay that
I can make an improvement upon it—a just im-
provement,”

For more than an hour he wrote; and sheet af-
ter sheet of paper he filled, only to destroy. But
at last he seemed satisfied; for, folding the sheet
last finished, he ejaculated:

“This will do, shall do. And I will put it in
a safe place.” :

Folding the paper into a narrow, compact
shape he inserted it in his vest bosom, between
the lining and the cloth—pinning the small rent
he had made, and thus securing the document
in its hiding-place.

‘OTis a very serious matter to draw such a pa-
er,” he muttered, as at last he pushed his chair
ack and arose. ‘It is sometimes far more seri-

ous and difficult to keep it from other eyes.”

At dinner that day Mrs. Grayling did not put
in an appearance. Nor did she send any excuse
therefor, until her husband dispatched old Betsy
toinquire. The lady was suffering from a severe
headache. At least, that was the excuse.

The old gentleman frowned, but said nothing.
He knew that the clouds were growing blacker
and blacker above him; that his senile folly of
marrying a headstrong girl was rapidly produc-
ing its appropriate fruit.

As the sun slanted toward the west that after-
noon the family sleigh was brought around to
the door. A few moments later Mr, Grayling
and his daughter entered it.

AN

 

“Drive to Shoreviile,” he said to our old ac- |

uaintance, John, who held the reins; and the
sleigh glided away toward the road.

The old gentleman had not invited his wife to
accompany him;~he had not seen her since
breakfast. He had his own reasons.

When the sleigh had entered the long, level,
snow-covered i way, Mr. Grayling turned to
his daughter and said, in a low, uneasy voice:

“T wanted to see you alone, my child, and
where there would be no chance of eavesdrop-

ers.”?

He spoke St and in a kinder tone than
he had used toward her since his returm home.

“Yes, father,” answered the girl, yearningly,
nestling close to his side. For she had sadly
‘dissed his old-time paternal love.

‘* What I may say, my child, is between us as
father and offspring. And is sacred,” he said, in
the same cautious undertone, ‘‘T want to speak
with you concerning matters at the Grange.”

 

“Because what, my child?’ he asked, in a
shaky whisper.

“Because she hates you!
dear papa!”

As though a knife had entered his bosom the
old man drew back,

“And do you, too, my child, see that?” he

I can see it, my

s | murmured, after a lapse of several minutes.
Imow the

“As plain as I can see yonder sun in the
heavens!”

A long silence ensued.

The low-lying village of Shoreville, nestling
upon the borders of the lake, was now visible in
the dim distance. Just before the sleigh enter-
ed the narrow, crooked streets Mr. Grayling,
who had been wrapped in thought, turned to his
daughter and said:

“T have a strong feeling, my child, that my
days on earth are growing to a close.”

‘Oh, my dear papa! Don’t—”

“But whenever I do go, my dear child, you
will find that your old father, who in his latter
years might have erred in some things, loved
you to the last—that he has amply provided for
ve. Oh! papa—”

“There, there, Grace; banish this conversa-
tion now. Here we are in the village. How
beautiful the frozen, snow-covered lake looks!”

When the sleigh left the Grange it and its
occupants were observed; and by keen eyes,
too.

At that very moment Mrs, Grayling was
standing by her bedroom window, which look-
ed out over the grove. She started back, and
an expression, unfitting a lady’s lips, escaped

er. ;
‘What does that mean?” she exclaimed, an-
‘“How dare that old fool thus slight,

grily:
me? Why does he take that baby-faced daugh- |

ter of his with him?”

She turned, strode from the chamber, and
made her way to the room in which her hus-
band had been writing that day. In a moment
her eyes fell upon the long sheet, which that
morning her husband had flung upon the desk.

She snatched it, opened it and glanced over
it. She started violently.

“Hal! what is this doing here!” she muttered.
“Tt interests me more than any living soul!
~ and the time may be soon at hand when—”

astily concealing the paper in her bosom,
she left the room. _

‘We must return for awhile to the Lodge. The
reader will recall the circumstances under which
we left Thorle Manton.

Smoothing out the letter which had been
brought to him by Florine Flavelle, the young
man, in an undertone, read the following:

“GRAYLING GRANGE, ;
“Christmas Morning, 1873,

“THORLE MANTON, Poe

“Srr:—I doubt not but that you will be surprised
at receiving this from me. You cannot be more so
than I was last night when after a lapse of long
re Tsaw you once again-—you of all men, whom

cared not to meet. I had hoped that time, nor
circumstance could bring us together again; but
fate or destiny, or Providence, or whatever you
may call it, has ordained otherwise. I know that
the breach between us can never be bridged over;
nor do I care to have it. You may have some cause
for complaint against me, But, as we naturally
look at the same object from different Se
*tis useless to discuss the matter. However, I have
an object in addressing this note to you; that ob-
ject is not to rake up the past. Let it_and its dark
and bitter tale be buried forever, You know my
position PON. te new relations in life. A word
rom you to my husband would sunder those rela-
tions, and ceeror my worldly pivececte beyond all
hope. You see I frankly admit that I am ‘in your
power, that you hold me by the throat, And, in
his admission, I throw myself upon your mercy,
oe. generosity! Gilbert Grayling does not know
he relation in which I stood to you in the past,
and ah, heavens, in which even now I may stand to
you! 1 beg and ioe you to say nothing to him
on that subject. ou would only ruin me and bene-
fit you! nothing at all. I wish you to promise
me that much. If you do,I will be content, for I
know that you never breek your word. I entreat
you to give me this pledge. Send me just a line in
reply by bearer of this, and oblige

“OynTaiA GRAYLING.”

Thorle Manton laughed low and tauntingly,
and stepping to the grate flung the letter in the
fire. he watched it burn slowly away to
ashes, he muttered: ;

“Well, well, she will soon have my answer!

' Then what will be the next move of this money:

 
   
 

 

24

 

red wax and took out the sheet. With some
surprise, and more pleasure, he read the follow-
ing:
. 4 “GRAYLING GRANGE, |

“Monday eve.
“THORLE MAnTon, Esq.:

“My Dear Srr:—I have been longing of late to
call upon you in person, and thank you again for
saving my life and that of my daughter, by periling
your own. But I have been prevented by various
circumstances. Suffice it to say, my dear young
sir, that I shall never forget your gallant act; and,
in the matter of heartfelt gratitude, Miss Grayling
joins me in my expressions to you—I write this,
too, to state that a week from to-night a grand re-
ception ball will be held at my house, and to give
you a most cordial invitation to be present. If you
do not come I will be pained to ascribe your ab-
sence to an unpleasant incident of the past, which,
for my part, lam most willing to forget. Besides
that, if you will honor me by coming, I have a lit-
tle private business matter to speak with be
about—that is, if pet are entirely so disposed. [I
am quite sure that we can get a few moments to
ourselves, With renewed expressions of gratitude,
Iam, my dear sir, most faithfully,

“Yours,
“ GrLBERT GRAYLING.”

Thorle smiled; but it was a bright, pleasant
smile. in

“The skies are pleriee I'll accept the invi-
tation!” he muttered, as he drew a sheet of paper
toward him, and wrote a brief note. Ringing
a hand-bell, he dispatched it by Aleck to the
Grange.

That afternoon the old stage-coach, that ran
between Wyndham Station and Shoreville, and
which had resumed it trips, paused at the gate
of Grayling Grange. <A solitary passenger
alighte cae entered the long, gloomy grove.

t was Abner Denby.

Mrs. Grayling was at the window when the
stage-coach stopped. She saw the man descend
trom it; and as he drew near the house she
started back with flashing eyes and whitening
cheeks. .

“ Abner ag le she hissed, in a bitter, trem-
ulous voice. ‘Ay! and this very night I must
settle with him, or—-”

Her words died away in a mutter.

When supper was over that evening, and as
Abner was leaving the room, Mrs. Grayling
brushed close to him, and whispered:

“Sit up to-night! Follow the messenger I'll
send, Imustsee you. ’Tis a matter of money.
Be mum!”

Then she passed on.

It was past ten o’clock. Abner Denby sat
alone in the room which had been assigned him.
Upon his small white face was a triumphant ex-
pression.

He was suddenly startled by a gentle rap at
the door. Ere he could answer the summons
the door was pushed open and Florine entered.

“ A card for monsieur,” she said in a guarded
tone, handing him the bit of pasteboard.

Abner took it, and read, in pencil:

“Follow bearer. Keep your eyes open. There's
money in it! CynTHta,”’

The two stole from the room at once,

It was past midnight when Abner returned.
A glad look was on his face, and victory showed
in his every feature. He pushed the door wide
open and entered. is

“ A thousand dollars clear!” he laughed in his
wicked way. ‘Ay! for what? Why, simply
keeping my mouth shut for two months, and not
telling old Grayling that his handsome wife once
cared more than she would have him know for
his head clerk, Abner Denby! Well, I certainly
can sleep well on this! So ’1—” :

He turned around to close the door, which
was still wide open. But he started wildly
back, and uttering a low cry of abject terror,
sunk to the floor.

He had seen something at that ghostly mid-
night hour—something calculated to frighten a
man of far more nerve than Abner Denby.

CHAPTER XXV.
A THING IN SHEETED WHITE.

Apnurr Drnsy had not heard asoft step in the
dim corridor that ran by his door; but he saw a
short, ghastly-looking figure clad in unbroken
white from head to foot, stalk slowly by.

For five minutes the fellow lay motionless as
though he were dead, his white face gleaming
with a deathlike pallor in the light. But gra-
dually his returning senses came to him and he
struggled to his feet. 4

Just then a long, loud shriek rung through the
mansion.

“This cursed old house is haunted!” he cried,
in alarm. ‘For I have seen something—maybe
the devil himself—to-night!”

 

He rushed to the door, drew it hastily to, and |

turned the key in the lock.
Then a dreamy silence reigned through the
oJd mansion.

 

At an early hour that evening—in fact as soon
as supper was over—Grace and Clara quietly
withdrew and ae the privacy of their quaint
but comfortable old room on the second floor,
They had nowhere else to go. :

The miserable, wretched and lonely life which
Grace, with prophetic forecast, had thought
would be her Fature lot, had already fallen upon
her, She was an underling now where, former-

MARGOUN, THE STRANGE.

tress, She saw but little of her young step-
mother, and what little she saw impressed her
all the more to her discredit.

Grace, in her own language, did indeed ‘‘al-
most hate” the new Mrs. Grayling. Nor was
she particular in concealing her Hislike from the
lady—who cordially reciprocated the feeling.
Neither did Grace scruple to speak her mind
freely to her father. The old gentleman at first
pee at then, soon, he only shook his

ead. :

So old Grayling’s fair-haired daughter, hav-
ing no congenial companionship, was compelled
by force of circumstances to associate with
Clara Dean more than she desired-—with her
whom she so recently had learned to distrust.
She yearned to have some one with whom she
oould freely talk, and, before she knew it, she
was once more breathing her troubles, and her
inmost confidences, into Clara Dean’s greedy
ears. But when alone, and a reflective mood
was upon her, Grace still distrusted the girl who
was of old her room-mate and constant com-
panion.

So far as that young lady was concerned, she
contented herself to play a silent part in the life-
drama that day by day was being enacted at the
Grange. But her part was by no means a list-
less, inactive one. Clara Dean was wide awake
and observant; she had laid a deep, well-con-
cocted plan to compass a certain end, and she
Mir earnestly, though secretly, waging the

ght,

Already, on that very evening, she had had a
stolen interview with Abner Denby—and that,
too, before he had been in the house three hours.
At that interview she had learned that he was
pleased with her haughty, distinguished man-
ners, and with her handsome face and figure.
She was sure that she could win him if she cared
to, and she did care. She rightly conjectured
that even if the ‘‘head-clerk” had dared to lift
his eyes to his employer’s fair-headed daughter,
he no longer presumed to do so; for he knew too
well, now, his supreme folly.

At that interview, too, Clara had casually
mentioned that Thorle Manton was near at
hand, domiciled in his old Lodge. And she had
narrowly watched Abner Denby’s face when she
imparted the information. But she was some-
what disappointed that the private secretary
evinced not the least surprise.

When he was alone, however, Abner, as a
scowl of implacable hatred darkened his brow,
had cried: ,

‘Ay! Thorle Manton is here! So am I!—so is
Moses !”

But, to return to the tag room, to which
they had retired so early this winter evening.

race had taken up a work of fiction, and for
an hour or more had looked listlessly over its
pages. But it was plain that she was not inter-
ested in it; for almost every moment she looked
up, glanced out of the dark window, and sighed
in a sad, weary way.

Finally she flung the book almost peevishly
from her, and drew her chair closer to the grate.
A little shiver went over her frame; for the
night was cold and the fire on the hearth was
smoldering.

Clara Dean had been busying herself at a
piece of embroidery; but she was far busier
watching Grace, and the changin ppareesens
upon her sad young face. She said nothing, as
her companion cast aside the book, and drew
near the fire; she only continued with her work,

“How do you like this terribly boring life,
Clara?” at length asked Grace, abruptly. ‘‘ Be
candid.”

Clara glanced at her. For a second a bright
light flashed over her face, and a triumphant
smile curled her lips. But in an instant a hard
look came to her face and her lips went together
as she answered:

“Tam compelled to like it! I have no choice
in the matter. But, if I had my fifteen thousand
dollars back, which your father lost for me so
easil why I might—”

‘Will you ever cease harping on that dis-
agreeable topic, Clara?” interrupted Grace,
frowningly. “ "Pon my honor, I am half-tempt-
ed to ask papa to give you that amount, which

 

you ae e invested with the kindliest motives
or you

‘*T wish you would!” was the hot rejoinder.
“Then if you were successful, I would leave this
old rookery before another sunrise!”

“ Ah! en you don’t like our new life here,”
said Grace, though her cheeks glowed. For she
was recalling the fact that Clara Dean was a
| eae te upon her father’s bounty.

‘“‘No, Ido not; nor dol care the snap of my
finger for anybody—”

ut the here speech died away on the bru-
nette’s lips. ough she was on the point of
speaking what was in her heart, yet to have ut-
tered it was ruinous policy.

‘You know, Grace, that, like you, I prefer
city life,” she continued, in a softer tone. ‘‘ This
quaint old mansion, this frozen lake, ne
out yonder, these dreary wilds and cold blea
hills have no especial charms for me.”

“Nor for me,” answered Grace. ‘Hark,
now! Listen how wearily and sadly the cold

winds whisper around the house!” *

 

ly, she was the hap y and li ht-hearted mis- |

 

A shudder passed over her as, while shespoke.

, the lonely night-winds crodned and groaned
| around the old Grange.

A long silence ensued. Gloomy thoughts seem-
| ed to be filling the bosoms of both the maidens.
| Even proud, ambitious Clara Dean seemed sober
and thoughtful at the lonely dreariness that
pervaded the Grange and its surroundings. But,
| while a sudden, strange, half-perplexed expres-
sion settled upon her features, she said:

| ‘‘Isn’t it singular, Grace, that your stey-
| mother’s given or maiden name is known to nc.-
ther of us?’

Grace started. A puzzled look spread over

her face.

“True enough,” she said. ‘More than once
| have I thought of the same thing, and intended
| to ask papa about it, but always forgot it. Then,

too, papa, in his usual pompous manner, always
| calls her ‘ Mrs. Grayling.’ A wonder he does not
add ‘of Grayling Grange.’”

Despite her sad heart, Grace smiled at her
| last words.

But Clara Dean did not smile. A musing

look, in the last moment, had gradually settled
upon her face. Looking up quietly, she said:

| ‘One thing is certain in my mind, Grace, and
that is: your step-mother and Abner Denby
have met before to-night!”

1 ‘What! And why do you think so?”

“Tsaw a glance pass between them, when
| your father so curtly introduced his hired man

oher. There was something significant in that
glance. Wouldn’t it be quite strange if it should
turn out that—”

She paused—a meaning smile playing around
her lips.

‘“‘T saw no such glance,” answered Grace, un-

. ‘But you were going to say something
else, Clara?”

“Only this: it would be strange if the present
Mrs. Grayling should turn out to be the former
lady-love of your father’s head clerk—the fair,
but faithless Cynthia Summers!”

Grace sat bolt upright in her chair; her smooth
brow wrinkled and a hot reply was on her lips.
But forcing a calmness she said:

‘Tis an insinuation unworthy of you, Clara;
and what you say is sheerest nonsense. The
very idea!’

ara only smiled.

The two girls were certainly very wide-awake,
for they continued to talk until long after the
old mansion was wrapt in silence, until past the ,
weird and witch-like midnight hour. |
_ But at last they arose, and began their pi:
parations for retiring.

“Did i» ever strike you, Grace,” said Clara,
in an abstracted manner, ‘‘that this old man-
sion is a fitting place for a tiptop, first-class
ghost promenade?” and she laughed loud.

“*Ghost! Yes; and did you know, Clara, there
is an old-time tale that the old mansion is hauut-
ed—that it is infested by the uneasy spirit. of
one of its be Meme owners, one of the Man-
ton family, who met in some way with a sudden
death?” :

‘Oh, yes; ’tis an old-time tale to me,” was
the reply. ‘‘ This is a fitting hour for ghosts to
walk; so say old women and wiseacres! And
upon my soul, the deserted veranda under our
window isa marvelous place for those unsub-
stantial nothings to take an airing upon!”

With a light, scornful laugh Clara walked to
the window which opened upon the veranda.
The curtain was drawn aside.

But_a chill of sudden horror almost froze
Clara Dean’s heart, as, at that very moment, a
short figure, in sheeted white, passed slowly by
the window.

With a wailing cry Clara staggered back and
fell to the floor. si 5

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE NIGHT OF THE RECEPTION.

ABNER Denby had heard the shriek; and he
had seen, only a few moments before, the ap-
parition which had passed by Grace’s window.

There were two others in the mansion who
heard the cry, likewise—Mrs, Grayling and Fiv-
rine Flavelle.

These two were, at the time, in the maid’s
room wherein the lady had had her mysterious
interview with Abner Denby.

She started at the cry, and exclaimed:

“Good heavens! What can that be?”

The French maid, though somewhat startle,
soon recovered her wonted taciturnity, and
smiled as she said: F

“Tis rumored, madame, that this old house is
haunted; ’tis only my suggestion, you know.”

“Haunted! Bosh! I rather fear that thet
pre ip fool, Abner Denby, has been seen,
and— .

“Tet us step out into the yard and take a
look,” coolly interrupted Florine, moving to-
ward the door. '

Mrs. Grayling hesitated, then the two stole
out into the cold night. Reaching the yard they

lanced about them, then up at the dark veran-
a, running by the second-story window.
‘Good heavens, madame! Look!” ejaculated
the maid, in a frightened whisper...

She was pointing toward the further end of
the long porch, at a short, dull-white object
which was creeping away in that direction. A

 

 

 

7
}

 

|)
seat

|

 
MARGO

 

moment, and it disappeared as though suddenl

swallowed up in the dareniaae y
Mrs. Grayling had seen it, then fled into the

house, and stole like a guilt-cursed thing into her
chamber, where her husband had been asleep
for more than an hour.

Tt was known, the following day, that on the
night which had just passed, a veritable ghost
had been seen by more than one person under
the snow-covered roof of the old home.

f “When this news reached the ears of Mr. Gray-
' ling he was visibly annoyed. He scouted the
ghost theory in toto. When alone he mutter-

eda:

“ Confound this thing! It bothers me—when
T have enough on hand already! This may be
some prowler who is after robbery and takes
this guise to attain his object. As to the
‘haunted’ tale clinging to the mansion, ’tis sim-
ply absurd, .’Pon my soul, I am sorry now—for
more reasons than one—that I dismissed old Si-
las. He would have been first-rate at ferret-
ing out this mystery. I wonder where the
poor old fellow is? I daresay in Shoreville. I
must search him out and bring him back.”

Mr. Grayling was not satisfied that day un-
til he and John had made a search. The old
mansion was ransacked from garret to cellar,
and every hole and corner, nook, cranny and
secret passage looked into. But, in vain. No-
thing suspicious wasfound; and the scare sub-
sided.

In due time the ghost rumor reached Thorle
Manton. It came in such an authentic shape
that when he heard it a serious look oyerspread
his brow. :

“*T know the old-time tale concerning one of
my dead ancestors,”-he-remarked, with an in-
credulous smile.. .‘‘But, that was worse than
idle talk. I-would give five hundred dollars if
I was allowed to watch in the old»mansion, if
Icould get my hands on. this ghost. ’Tis,m
opinion that it would turn out to be that vil-
lain, Moses Denby.”

For a long time he, and_ the ever-present
Margoun, consulted about the affair; but as

oung Manton suggested the name of Moses
Derby: the East Indian shook his head.

Another week rolled away, and at last came
the momentous evening of the grand reception
at the Grange.

Manton’s Byars and polite note accepting
the invitation had pleased Mr. Grayling vastly.
His opinion of the yo man had changed
RORY, within the last two weeks. :

as it Prins ie the fact that Thorle Manton
was now a wealthy gentleman? Or was it be-
‘cause Thorle Manton’s leonine courage and iron
arm had stood between him and her he loved,
and death? ;

At all events old Gilbert Grayling was glad
that his young neighbor was coming. He im-
; the news to his daughter; and he noted
well the quick flashing of her eye, and the sud-
den tinging of her cheek, He knew that she,
too, was pleased.

The reception was indeed a grand affair,
‘* All the world” was there. The elite of Shore-
ville and the surrounding country graced the
‘occasion with their presence. Old Dr. Good-
speed, of course, was present. Tho fine old
gentleman seemed. inclined to patronize the
greater portion of the company. He certain]
took unusual pains to impress every one wit
whom he came into contact that he was the fam-
ily physician at the aristocratic Grange.

At an early hour Thorle Manton was ready.
He was arrayed faultlessly and richly; he never
looked handsomer in his life.

The young man had been anxious for Mar-
goun to go, too, intimating that he could readily
secare him an invitation, but the tall, stately
Hindoo had respectfully, yet almost haughtily,
declined any such efforts in his behalf,

Then Thorle had entered his carriage, and was
soon speeding through the dark, half-moonlight-
ed _copse toward the Grange,

But that carriage was not the same dilapidated
vehicle in which, a short time before, the young
_man had escorted Grace and Clara to their ome,
Far from it!

Nor was brawny, broad-shouldered Aleck, now
‘in handsome livery, scarcely to be recognized as
the same ragged young fellow who drove the
cart, with the broken-down steed, to Shoreville
on the day of his young master’s return to the

ge.

Margoun was left alone, But he cared not.
Seated in the study, he passed the time in oat:
ing, spacing, and promenading the room, But
as the night deepened, he flung hiniself into a
aes ae leaning back, gave himself up to

ought.

Gradually his eyes closed, his hands sunk by
his side, and a deep slumber fell wee him.

An hour passed; then another. Still Margoun
slept on. But he suddenly awoke at last and
glanced toward the window.

A quick, loud snapping as of an exuloGed gun-
cap, coming from that direction, had awakened

him.
single look and he sprung to his feet. At
the window, plainly showing by the light from
within, were the shoulders, and white, square
face of aman, He held in his hand a pistol.
Like lightning Margoun suatehed out his own

weapon and fired, Then came the sudden, sharp
sound of shivering glass, A second, and it was
followed by a loud howl of pain, as the white
face, which the East Indian knew so well, dis-
appeared from the window. .”

argoun sprung forward, aud flinging up the
sash, looked out.

But the prowler was gone—gone, not to be
seen again around the old Lodge.

Margoun quietly reloaded his pistol, and re-
sumed his seat, determined to remain up until
his friend should return.

Midnight passed; then the early hours. of
morning came, The Hast Indian still waited
and watched,

It was nearly day when the faint creaking
of carage; gheels echoed in the inclosure at the
Lodge. few moments later Thorle Manton
entered the room.

His face was as white as a winding-sheet; he
was trembling from head to foot.

“Strange news, Margoun!—strange news at
the Gran, e to-night!” he said, in a voice almost
sepulchral in.tone,,as he. flung himself into a
chair, and almost glared at his dusky compan-
ion,

 

We must return to the Grange.

Thorle. Manton, was the observed. of all ob-
servers, and he was most warmly welcomed by
Mr. pee When ,he was presented to. the
flashing, resplendent new wife, the young man
bowed like a courtier over her jeweled hand.

And Mrs,. Grayling could not repress a glance
pf admiration, as her eyes rested upon hismanly

orm,

But that expression gave way to.one of bitter
envy as, a moment later, she saw him offer his
arm to Grace, and saunter away amid the
thronging crowd. It was a notable couple; and
so many at the Grange on that memorable night
thought and said,

As Thorle with his lovely partner was prome-
nading the length of the large, old-fashioned
yal he almost halted, as all at once, he came

ace to face with Abner Denby. .

That young fellow, so far as attire was con-
cerned, was almost if not quite the peer of
Thorle Manton; and the blushing girl who hung
fastidiously upon his arm, rivaled Grace Gray-
ling in beauty.

That girl was Clara Dean, and the dark-eyed,
red-cheeked maiden never shone so resplendent-

ly.

‘Young Manton passed on with a haughty air,
noticing neither Clara nor her escort. But when
he was beyond ear-shot he whispered:

- “Do you know that fellow— that white-faced
young gentleman, Miss ee

“Know him?--yes,.indeed, . And in your ear,
Mr, Manton, the right name for him is fellow!”

“ Ah! yes, I dare say.”

“Why,” and she laughed innocently, ‘ that
fellow once presumed to make love to me!”

She blushed deeply.. She was speaking some-
what impulsively.

“He did, the scoun— But his name, Miss
Grayling? :

_ ‘Abner Denby, lately my father’s head-clerk

in the business house in New York, now his pri-

vate secretary. But, Mr. Manton,” and still

smiling, she retended to be thinking of, some-

thing she had forgotten, ‘‘it seems to me that I

Baye, heard your name connected with Den-
yap

| .Thorle Manton started and frowned

“Perhaps, Miss Grayling; but that is of the
past; let it be puried,” he said, rather coldly.

Grace flushed slightly; but in a moment she
was happy aa cheerful again,

. Old rt Grayling was more pompous than
ever that memorable night; but, at the same
time, he was notably gracious. ‘The old gentle-
man had trembled somewhat when Thorle Man-
ton was announced; and when he introduced his
distinguished guest to his young wife, he closely
and anxiously watched his face.

But Thorle Manton betrayed not the least
sign of recognition, of surprise or of embarrass-
ment, From his manner, any one would have
been satisfied that he and the lady had never
before met :

Had the old gentleman, however, glanced for
an instant at the face of his new wife, he would
have started at the haJf-startiled, telltale expres-
sion resting upon it. As it was, he turned away
to think:

“Very strange! Could they, after all, have
been together in the road that night? No, I can
never believe it. ‘Twas a mere. coincidence.
She was taking a walk, and fled back, fearing
my displeasure; that was all.” ;

he was quite sure that he had solveda problem,
which had been annoying him no little of late.

His suspicious, anxious scrutiny was not un-
noticed by his wife, who, with a half-defiant toss
of her head, was soon as stately and as dignified
as ever.

The morry night deepened; the royal banquet
was served, and then gay dancers whirled in the
giddy mazes.

Thorle Manton had for his partner Grace
apres Be fact, much to the disgust of the
village wx and country swains, he had
monopolized the maiden thus far, and Graee

 

UN, PHE) STRANGE, 26

.| ™m
‘A pleased, satisfied look came to his face; for’

 

 

seemed in no wise opposed to that appropria-
tion, :

Young Manton, for the second time, frowned
this evening, as in the. dance he saw as vis-a-vis
to himself and partner Abner Denby and Clara

ean.

Mr, Grayling looked on the inspiriting scene
with condéscending eyes; but gradually a cold,
business-like expression crept over his face,
Then he turned to his wife, who stood by his
side, erect and haunt and whispered:

‘OTs nearly midnight, my dear; and yetI
have not had a chance to speak to Mr. Man-
ton.

“Mr, Manton!” her cheeks growing a trifle
whiter than usual. ‘* And what do you wish to
speak to him about, Gilbert?”

“On a little matter of business, Cynthia; you
know I am desirous of purchasing the Lodge
estate, and adding it—”

‘Oh, is that all?’ she interrupted, with a re-
lieved look.

“Yes, I wish to have a private conference
with him on the subject, But there is no fit
room for it, except our chamber. Every other
place is—”.

“Then go there, of course.”

“Yes; and will -you kindly order your maid
% carry wine, water and glasses there, my
ove?

Mrs. Grayling started, a bright, gleaming flro
glinted in Her eyes; then an expression like iron
spread over her face. ’

‘Certainly, Gilbert,” and turning to her maid,
who, stern and stiff, stood behind her, she whis-
pered a few words hastily in her ear.

‘Florine Flavelle was a cold-hearted, stoical
woman. But a shiver ‘shook her frame now.
However, glancing significantly at her mistress,
she bowed low, and glided from the room.

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
“gAOKCLOTH BEQUESTS.

In a’ few minutes after Florine had left to
carry out her orders, Mrs. Grayling sudden!
drew her husband down and whispered in his
gar; : j * :
Ce eae to my chamber, for a moment, my
dear Gilbert. As Jong as a stranger is to be
admitted to it, I would be certain that it is
tidy. Ill go and superintend Florine. “Do not
take.your company there until I have return-
ed. ”

Without waiting for a reply, she left the room
unperceived—at least, unnoticed—by any of the

or ihat

z is clever in her,” muttered the old
man, in a gratified tone. ‘‘She is more like her
old self before I married her. Perhaps, after
all I have erred—have pai odaee ete ets |
and he .cast his ores over the dancers, ‘‘ Mr.
Manton and Grace have disappeared. _’Ponmy
soul, I believe it is a love-matter between them,
Well, well, if Thorle Manton is indeed rich f
shall not say nay,” bas

He turned to chat for awhile with Dr. Good-
speed, who at that moment was passing.

Fifteen minutes before this, Thorle Manton
had whispered something to his lovely partner;
and the two withdrew from the dance,

“Ts the conservatory still kept up in the old
mansion, Miss Grayling?” he asked, as they
slowly left the. room for a promenade throug!
the house.

me Oh, yes! Papa takes wonderful pride in it,
too.

“Ah! ‘Then of all things I would like to haye

a look in it, just once more,” said Thorle, earn-

estly, the faintest trace of a tremor showing in
his tones. ‘It has been many years, you know,
since I was here,” ee

A half-troubled look gloomed the fair young
face of the girl; but, banishing it at once, she
said, very innocently:

‘Phen let us, by all means go there, Tam
tired of this crowd, anyway.”

“ With all my heart!” ”

The two passed on, entered the long assage
that led to the rear and soon reached the con-
servatory.

The place was illumined by a dim light which
but faintly revealed objects around.

The couple passed inside, and sauntered slow-
Wy to the further. end. . Here they paused in the

ense shadows. 7

“Not a word had been spoken by either since
they entered. a :

A queer sensation stole into the maiden’s bo-
som. ‘Then her cheeks flushed, and her bosom
heaved as a startling suggestion came to her

‘ind, |
What. did sThople Manton mean? Why was
he trembling?

This aE was soon set at rest. For when
they paused the young man turned at once to-
ot ea. abruptly—and, gently taking

er hand, said:

a beg you, Miss Grayling, not to be alarm-
ed when I tell you candidly that Ihave purpose-
ly sought this stolen interview.” :

Grace was now shaking like a reed before the
winter winds. But she only bowed her head
‘upon her bosom, and waited,

“““'That purpose, my dear Miss Grayling, was
te unfeld te you something whieh I ean no

 
  

t
i

  
    
  

  

MARGOUN, THE STRANGE.

 

 

26
tance has

longer keep from you. Our acquain'
been brief, but it has brought forth its fruit.”

“Oh, Mr. Manton, I—”

‘I beg you hear me,” he interrupted, ardent-
ly. “I am a man who can say much in a few
words; that shall be my aim now. Listen,
Miss Grayling: More than five

vo my heart to a feir but faithless crea-

ure. She—after matters had gone very far—
flung mo off and fled with another man. Her
motive in deserting me was, as I afterward
learned, becauso at that time I was embar-
rassed—was in Cebt and had nomoney. That
woman still lives. Who sho was, or who she
may be now, I need not tell you. But I only
pity her.”
6 paused. His strong hand tightened over
her slender fingers.

Grace was now trembling so violently that,

involuntarily, she leaned against him for sup-

port.

“Shall I speak on, Miss Grayling?’ asked
young Manton, his palm still closing over her

gers.

A deathly silence ensued.

“Yes,” at length came, in a whisper, from
her tremulous lips,

“‘T havo but little to say,” ho began in a low,
tone. “Iam a rich man, Miss Grayling; 1 am
far more: I am an honest man. I love you,
Miss Grayling, as I never loved woman before,
ware ag trust me—will you be my own loving
wife

A shiver swept like lightning over the maid-
en’s frame. en sho was Then she
flung her arms im ere around his neck,
and nestled her head upon his bosom,

He drew her to his heart,

“Grace!”

*Thorle!”

‘God be praised!”

** Amen !—Amen!”

The two wero plighted; and Thorle Manton’s
scarred heart was glad and happy again.

- For some moments they lingered in the green-
house, Then they silently moved away to re-
turn to the parlor.

But, both suddenly halted and drew back
again into the shadows, as, at that instant, a
female form darkened the door at the further
end, and after a little pause entered the warm,
dim-lit conservatory.

She hurried on, and paused near the lamp
which was swung from a _ about the center
of thelongroom. The light shone distinctly in

zher face.

Thorlo. Manton gave a start; and but for
ee Ean ese whisper Grace would have cried
ou

The female was Mrs. Grayling.

She did not see the others.

Hastily plucking a handful of fresh leaves
from a plant that stood in one of the earth-
filled pots she wheeled and left the conserva-

tory.
“Good heavens! what can this mean?” mur-
pees Grace, in terror. ‘ What is she doing
ero
Thorle Manton’s brow grew dark, and darker
ce filled his bosom. But saying nothing
of this to his companion, he whispered:
“Come, Grace, we'll see what plant she has
plucked.”
They walked on and paused by a flower-pot,
just the other side of the lamp. To the pot a
bel, dangling to a string, was attached.
Young Manton picked it up, and holding it
close to the light, read:
‘* CETRARIA!”

He dropped it with a laugh of relief, and

said:

“Tis nothing! This is a cryptogamous
lichen, growing in the extreme northern sec-
tions of both continents. It is good for coughs
and colds, and is known by the common name
of Iceland moss. Your good stepmother an-
ticipates its use after this night’s dissipation;
that’s all.”

They left the conservatory. But they did

ears ago I

not enter the heated, crowded parlor for
twenty minutes afterward.

Thorle Manton had stood the wens
flower box in the conservatory. e dim ligh’
hi ived him,

Just about the time he and Grace strolled
det sae the parlor, Mrs, Grayling re-entered

ewise,

Florine Flavelle was not to be seen.

The young wife’s face was dead] pale; but
neither Thorle nor Grace noti t. The
a ae suddenly-formed suspicions had.
van 5

A few moments later, Mr. Grayling ap-
proached him very oandescanstinngty, and said
something to him. Thorle bowed in acqui-
escence, and excusing himself to Grace, accom-
panied his host from the parlor.

They soon reached the elegant bedroom of
the lady of the mansion—Mr. Grayling offer-
ing suitable Pg ing for retiring to such an
po gaa a ae gentlemen seated them-

ves,

Upon the table was wine; also glasses. and a

tcher filled with water. In the water was a

of ieo,
* Barrying eoals to Newenstle!” efroutated

 

the old gentlemen, glancing at the ice, and then
listening to the cold winter wind crooning
around the :ansion. “ But take some wine,
my dear Manton.”

‘Thank you, no; I seldom indulge, Mr.
Grayling. As it is, I am already more than
heated.”

“Pll not urge you, of course, my dear sir.
But you will pardon me for drinking alone?”

‘“‘ Certainly, sir.”

The old gentleman helped himself to the wine;
and at once entered into conversation.

The reader can infer the subject.

For more than a half-hour they talked, Mr.
Grayling, in the meantime, drinking freely of
the water.

At last he said, as he saw his guest arise.

“Then you will not part with the Lodge, Mr.
Manton?”

“On no consideration, my dear sir,” was the
reply. ‘‘Iamrich enougb to hold it. 1 was
born there, sir, and the old place has many
charms for me.”

“Tam sorry,” said Mr. Grayling, in a tone
of disappointment. ‘‘ But of course it cannot
be helped. Allow me, my dear Mr. Manton,
to express the hope that, in future, we’ll be
friends,”

“* Most sincerely do I echo that hope,” said the
young man, earnestly.

Thorle then bowed and withdrew.

Mr. Grayling sat for several moments longer.
At last he muttered:

“‘IT must go back. Confound this thing, I
wish it was over. But,” suddenly placing his
hand to his head, “I have a strange feeling
here! Something like a band around my fore-
bees By Jove! it increases! I must have
air

He staggered to his feet; his eyes seemed to
start from bis head. He swayed to and fro
like a drunken man, and, tottering back, fell
heavily upon the bed. His face was red, almost
to bursting, and his heavy breathing filled the
room. But his limbs were lax, and his set,
starting eyes were rapidly covering over with a
glassy film.

At that moment the rear door softly opened
and Florine Flavelle glared cautiously in. Then
pe to her hands and knees, she crept around
the , raised herself cautiously and took the
half-emptied pitcher from the table.

A moment and she glided through the other
door, and entered the gloomy, dim-lit hall that
led to the parlor.

As she strode along, she muttered, with a
mocking laugh:

ape ing like making assurance doubly
sure

When the maid had left the room in which
lay the unconscious old man, she eres
something just by the door; but so absor!
ae strange woman that she paid no heed
to it.

Yet, no sooner had her footsteps died away
in the distance, than a short, shambling form,
cled in dull, half-white garb, drew from the
shadows, and crept toward the door. Groping
around in the darkness for a moment, it soon
ve and shuffled away noiselessly down the
And as it went, something like a low laugh
broke on the air.

Then it suddenly disappeared as though it
had gone through the floor.

Old Gilbert Graylng lay for ten minutes,
showing no sign of life save the heavy, ster-
torous breathing. But suddenly he turned, flung
himself to the edge of the bed, and cried: -

‘*Oh God! what is this? Help! help!”

Then clutching the pitcher, he held it to his
quivering lips and drank deeply. Placing the
vessel upon the table, he once again essayed to
stand. But with a deep, gurgling groan, he
fell back upon the bed.

A half-hour later, a wild, agonizing scream
awoke the echoes, and stilled into an awful si-
lence the happy merrymakers in the mansion.
Then again and again arose the cry.

It came from Mrs. Grayling’s bedchamber.

The crowd rushed in that direction. Along
with it struggled Dr. Goodspeed and Thorle
Manton. Reaching the room, a terrible sight
was revealed.

Mrs, pe ee dashing wildly about the
apertment, wringing her hands, ng her
hair, and shrieking as one mad.

pon the bed, rigid, motionless and awful,
lay old Gilbert Grayling. His fallen jaw,
sunken cheeks, and staring eyes told the tale.

A moment and Dr. Good-peed, true to pro-
fessional instinct, was by the side of the mo-
tionless man. One te glance, and he
his hand into the pitcher, to fling water upon
the ghastly face.

The pitcher was empty!

“Tis no use!” said the physician, shaking his
head, as he slid his finger over the cold wrist.
“ Apoplexy! He is dead |”

e draw the curtain.

A week ela; *
Old Gilbert Grayling had been buried; and
a long train of mourners followed his remains
to the bleak, snow-eovered graveyard upom the
@r-nge demesne, Among others preset, was

 

 

handsome, sober-faced Thorle Manton. and oti
his arm hung poor, grief-stricken Grace Gray-
ling. Dr. Goodspeed served the young widow
in a similar manner.

At the expiration of the week mentioned, a
search was made at the Grange for a will—Dr.
Goodspeed and Abner Denby conducting the
search, A Last Will and Testament was soon
found. In fact it was in the first receptacle
looked into—namely: the desk in the sitting-
room.

The paper was brief, but well drawn. It
was dated ‘On board steamer, City of Ches-
ter, at sea.” It did not bear the names of wit-
nesses; but that it was in Mr. Grayling’s writ-
ing was easily proved. Dr. and
Abner Denby were willing to swear to the fact.
At all events, it was admitted to probate with-
out question.

That will provided (first) that Clara Dean
should remain in the mansion for one year from
date of the old man’s decease, free of char;
and her current expenses to be met by the estate.
At the end of that time she was to leave, and
shift for herself. (Second.) That Grace should
live at the Grange and receive the sum of two
thousand dollars perannum. (Third.) That the
residue of the great estate, both real and per-
sonal, should go to her whom, in his old age, the
testator had made the second Mrs. Grayling.

He left his wife and Abner Denby his sole ex-
ecutors, without bonds.

Poor Grace bowed her head to this unjust
will, and meekly acquiesced in its provisions;
for he who ha 6 that will was, after all,
her father.

But—

 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE TALE OF ‘‘DEAD MAN’S DRIFT.”

A Lona time has elapsed since the occurrence
of the incidents as given in our last chapter.

The snows that covered the bleak hills of
northern New York, and the glistening icy coat
of mail that spread as far as the eye could see
over Lake Ontario, have given place to spray-
ing ss of velvety green, and sheeny waters
rippling in the glad sunlight of a summer sky.

e bare-armed trees, that in the dreary win-
ter had flung their spectral branches around
Grayling Grange, and in the dense copre of the
Lodge estate, were now covered with foliage;
the warm suns of June glinted over the land.

In the meantime many events had occurred
both at the ore and at the Lod man:
which we cannot linger to record. Suffice it
ae we merely skim the passing current o'

ings.

Grace Grayling’s life, humdrum, sad and
monotonous, as it bad been before her father’s
sudden death, was even more unhappy and
wretched afterward. She and her step-mother
—who had succeeded to old Gilbert Grayling’s
immense estate—seldom met. They avoided
one another, and neither made any concealment
of the fact, that they felt that, at heart, they
were foes.

The lady always took her meals alone, in the
eb of her chamber, attended by her taci-

n French maid.

Grace, too, had but little to sa

to Clara |
Dean, who, since the reading of the will, had

been open and bitter in her hostility. The two
maidens no longer jointly occupied the same
room, Grace could not further brook such in-
timacy, and had so informed Clara.

The only gleams of sunshine that came to
gladden the life of the disinherited daughter,
were her interviews with Thorle Manton.
These were of frequent occurrence, and were
= and eas Ket aurk

je engagemen: ween the two young peo-
ple was Tote secret; it had been nb wai aneck
after Mr. Grayling’s death, The young widow
had interposed no authority, no objection, even
if she possessed any in the premises. She only
smiled scornfully, shru her shoulders, and
in her wicked heart wished Thorle Manton iy
with his wife-to-be, and her two thousand dol-
lars a year! ‘

Mrs. Serine and Abner Denby managed
the affairs of the estate; they managed it, too,
to suit themselves. The two were frequently
together; and more than once stormy scenes
transpired between them—those scenes alwa
ending by the ody haan herself, and giv-
ing 2 check for a large amount to the “ execu-

©. !

Abner Denby knew a secret connected with
the past life of this wy, woman, and to
—_ — secret she paid Abner Denby his
ce

2 There were frequent interviews, too, between
this deep, designing man and the equally deep
and d ng It was plain that
they thought a great deal of one another—they
were engag

Clara, on learning—by the provisions of the
will—that she was to be set adrift, and turned
out of the Grange after a certain specified time,
had grown more bitter, morose and sarcastic
than ever. She hated every one in the old man-
sion—even Abner Denby, despite the relation
in which she stood to bim,

Affairs at the Lodge moved on smoothiy,

\

 

 

 

|
|

 
MARGOUN, THE STRANGE,

a7

 

Thorle and Margoun lived happily together—
the former spending much of his time with the
fair-haired, sad-faced Grace, whom he loved all
the more when he learned that she had been
virtually ‘cut off with a shilling.”

Oftentimes, when the pom man was
alone, his thoughts would run in language like
this:

“There’s something dark, mysterious, suspi-
cious about that matter; but I am half-glad
that my darling Grace has little or nothing,
for now she will know that my love for her is
pure and disinterested. Yes, I am only glad,
now, that I did not trouble her old father con-
cerning his fe ownership of the Grange, for,
*pon my soul, I fancy that, despite the present
Ped ie of Cynthia Summers, I will yet own

he Grange! As for that wicked woman, al-
though the two months she asked have long gone
by, Pll let her secret, her dark and damning
perfidy, lie forever dead!”

It was the close of a bright and beautiful
day inJune, The warm sun was sinking lazily
toward the west, as if it fain would linger
longer to gladden the flowery meads; and gentle
breezes were fanning the stretching lake, over
whose bosom white-winged crafts were gliding
away, and black-smoked steamers were plowing
their course to distant havens beyond.

Upon a oar eminence by the borders of the
lake sat Thorie Manton and Grace Grayling.
They were seated, close together, upon a soft
carriage-robe, for they had ridden as far toward
the spot as they could in the ae man’s ele-
gant drag. The vehicle, in charge of Aleck,
was some distance back in the woods.

At the foot of the cliff stretched a long,
broad and level mass of quivering mud, reach-
ing to where the silvery waters of the lake
rolled gently in. . And even under the mild in-
fluence of the washing wavelets, this great
quagmire trembled and shivered.

A long and earnest conversation had been in
progress between the lovers, but for awhile,
silence seemed to have settled over them.

“Ah, Thorle, I shudder to think such a
thing!” at last said Grace. ‘‘The bare idea
that she, his wife, could do such a thing, is ter-
riblo in itself!” s

“Nevertheless, I have eee suspicion
darling,” was tho reply. “And I have g
grounds for thoso suspicions. Do you recall
the incidents of tho night. of the reception at
the Grange?”

“Yes, alas! too well!”

‘Thon you remember that Mrs. Grayling
tole into the conservatory”

“True; go on, Thorle.” :

“T then thought that from one of the boxes
a had plucked a handful of Iceland moss.

ut—

‘¢- Yes, Thorle, and of course—”

“1 fear that 1 was mistaken, Grace. I have
been in the conservatory since—and that not
ten days ago. Next to that box was, and is,
another. That other contains a deadly plant
called Digitalis Purpurea, but commonly
known as Fow-glove. A strong decoction of
ihe fresh leaves of that plant would kill as cer-
tainly as arsenic or strychnine!”

“Oh, Thorle!” and Grace with a shudder hid
her faco in her hands,

Thorle Manton sat for several moments with-
out speaking, then continued:

“TY do not wish to distress you, darling, but
in my opinion that matter needs, and should
demand, an investigation. At all events,
though disdaining to meddlo with business no
my own,I shall keep my eyes open. Then,
too, there is another circumstance which hus
= come to my mind, though now I remem-

er it with startling distinctness.”

He spoke very earnestly, his eyes almost clos-
ing as deep thought-lines wrinkled his brow.

Grace looked up hastily.

“ What is it, Thorle?”

“This: taat night, when I went with your
poor father to his bedroom, besides wine and
on there was a pitcher of water on the

able. In. the water was a lump of ico, A
film covered tho pitcher. Why was that ice
in the pitcher? Your father drank freely of
the water, and when I left the room he kept
his seat, and his face was very much flushed.
But the chief circumstance, Grace, is: the
pitcher was Sour. when it was discovered that
your father was dead.”

A long silence ensued ones more. This time
it was broken into by the maiden, who said:

“Your suspicions must be entirely ground-
less, dear Thorle; for Dr. Goodspeed ai that

eee the cause of death, and so gave
' the required certificate,”
| “Doctors do not know everything,” was the
reply. ‘‘And let me tell you, Grace, that fox-
glove, in causing death, simulates, in action, ap-
oplexy. I’ve been studying the properties of
the drug of late; though, truth be told, it is sel-
dom so rapid in its effect—even granting that
my. suspicions are well-grounded.

‘Yes, Thorle; but let us change this terrible
subject. ’Tisd stressing tome. “Now, Thorle,”
and her face ee “the object of this
visit here by the lake? You said you had some-
thiug wenderful to show me.” »

"Pig vight before yon, darling,” he answered,

 

withasmile. ‘ Yet I dare Bay you have never
seen it, perhaps never heard of it.”

‘Berforeme? Where?” and she glanced around
her, in a puzzled manner.

“Yes, right before {oe

He pointed to the black mass of quiverin
mud, t lay between the foot of the cliff an
the edge of the lake,

“That! Pshaw, Thorle,” and she laughed ;
“ what is there in that?”

‘More than you think; dead men’s bones !”

“Dead men’s bones!” echoed Grace, with a
shudder.

‘* Yes, darling, this quag is known as ‘Dead
Man’s Drift,’ and the short but sad tale connect-
ed with it is as follows: Years ago a schooner
was caught in a tempest, such as sometimes
howls over these northern lakes, The vessel be-
came unmanageable, and by direction of the
captain, as it was thought, was beached out
yonder, I =. thought, because not one of the
crew of that fated craft lived to tell the tale.
Yet, the horror of the scene that then ensued
was witnessed by those on the shore.”

He paused and glanced over tho quivering

mass.

“The schooner was beached—yes, and what
then?” urged Grace, who was now interested,

“The poor sailors sprung ashore, and en-
deavored to reach the mainland. Unfortu-
nately they entered the quag. One by one
See cieeneeress and, owing to the darkness
of the night, none knew the fate of the others
who had gone first. They were all swallowed
up in the horrid depths of that treacherous
mud. Under it—how deep no one can tell—
their bones rest to-day. So soft is it, Grace,
that— Ha! look!”

As he was speaking a slight rustling and a
hissing sound were heard at the bottom of the
roc

A second later a small ground-squirrel ran
from the hiding-place below. It was followed
by a long and very large snake, known as the
water-moccasin. The reptile was chasing the
little animal, and, winding its long, sinuous
body along, was rapidly gaining upon it.

After darting first to one side and then to
the other, in vain efforts to escape, the little
squirrel ran right for the black mud-mass.
Right behind it glided the snake.

Only a few feet did either pcuroes over tho
shivering slum, and that was imparted by their
own impetus. Suddenly both sunk. Desper-
ately each fought to get back, but all in vain.
The squirrel went down, bea the air with
its little paws, and the serpent, after a few
fearful wriggles, sunk from view. Both were
out of sight under the treacherous mire.

Even upon this little scene, this little loss of
life in the t economy of nature, Grace
Grayling had looked with a fluttering heart.
When it was all over she arose hastily and said,
with a shudder:

“Come, come, Thorle! Tis horrid! I have
<< Seceh, Iam so:ry that you brought me

ere

‘And I, too,” said the young man, softly.
‘‘ You have a tender, womanly heart, Grace.
Come.”

She took his arm, and the two picked their
way through the stones and bushes to tho ve-
hicle in waiting for them.

The were soon leg Betray homeward,
The sun had disappeared below the hazy hori-
zon, and the moist summer wind was fanning
the air. The highway that led to the Grange
was soon reached, and the fleet-footed horses
clattered on.

Just before they reached the gate which open-
ed into the Grange lawn, Grace Grayling start-
ed suddenly, and, holding her face close to her
coptpanion $ ear, said, in a low, disturbed tone:

=) SOU remember, Thorle, that many months
ago a strange apparition was seen in the old
mansion?”

“Yes, darling,” was the quick reply, as the
young man glanced eagerly at her. ‘‘ And what
°

“T know not what it was, but I do know that
I saw it as plainly as I see you now. However,
Thorle,” and her voice sunk lower than ever,
; ‘that strange thing has been seen again—several

jimes,

“Ah! when was it?”

“ During the last week’: and on ev occa-
sion it issued, after midnight, with silent, noise-
less step, from the sitting-room, which you know
is the center of the old house,”

“Yes, but who saw it, darling?”

“Several; first, old Betsy, who has been al-
most beside herself since; then by John, who had
gone in to fix the fire for the night in the kit-
chen range; finally by Clara Dean and myself,
wn strangest oo Ea ride Poeos :

he sto} abruptly, and a suspicious expres-
sion nee de her flushed face.

‘*@o on, my dear.”

OY 6a; Thorle; the strangest part of the whole
affair is that the thing always is seen coming
from the sitting-room. Then it slides along the
hall and slowly disappears down the dark os:
sage, which leads to my step-mother’s -
room. More than that: on every occasion on

which it has been seen going in that direction
Mrs. Grayling was oither

oseted with white-

 

faced Abner Denby or with her villainous-look-~
ing French maid.’

*Ah!” and young Manton gazed for several
moments at the den.

“Can it be so arranged, Grace,” he con-
tinued, after a long pause, ‘‘that I can stay
in the mansion, in the sitting-room, for one:

night?”
a You?’ with a start. ‘‘Why?”

“To watch, to find out who or what this visit--

ant is,” was the rejoinder.

Grace pondered; a bright look, followed in-:

stantly by an uneasy, anxious one, flashed over
her face,

‘But, suppose one Grayling should see you, —

Thorle?” she asked,

“Just what I would avoid: hence my ques~
tion. My word for it, she is in some way or
another connected with this appearance,”

“What! my step-mother?”

“The same. Now, can I get into the Grange
mansion without her knowledge, and without
being seen by any one?”

After some moments’ reflection Grace an-
swered:

“Thave a duplicate to the front door key;
perhaps—”

“That will do, if you will trust me with it.
If I only knew now when she was to be closeted
with Denby or—”

“That will be to-night,” interrupted Grace,
the bright look returning to her face. “I heard
her tell Abner this afternoon to come to her
room at nine o’clock this evening.”

“Good! Ill watch to-night.”

‘Then here is the key.

Thorle took and rae it in his pocket.

Aleck had now descended to open the gate.
Then the carriage entered the long drive be-
tween the spectral poplars.

Ten minutes later, the vehicle shot rapidly
back toward the road. Thorle Manton was
leaning back in it.

“Push them, Aleck,” he said. “I am in a
ey I have a little business on hand to-
night!”

Aleck touched the mettlesome steeds with the
wbip. and the drag sprung away into the
shadows of the copse.

_—_

CHAPTER XXIX.
WATCHING,

Ata late hour that night Thorle Manton en--
tered the gate that led up to the Grange man-
sion, and strode hurriedly onward through tho
| aa grove. He soon reached the house. Here

@ paused and glanced around him.

It was now past midnight, and everythin
was wrapt in silence. Naught could be hear
but the crooning sound that came from tho
grove, and the sighing of the summer night-
wind. The mansion was dark and silent—only
a very faint light showing through the old-fash-
ioned, narrow-sashed trunsom window over the
front door.

“T must be on my guard,” muttered the
young man. ‘Grace alone knows of my clan-
destine visit here. If I am seen by any one
else, this adventure will result in disastrous
failure. Yet if not seen, I feel that it will
evontuate in something decisive. I must be
cautious.”

He glanced onceagain keenly about him, and
crept around the mansion, He passed by tho
conservatory, then to the extreme rear of the
old pile, and at Jast reappeared where first he
had paused, by the front door of the mansion.

‘““All is quiet! the coast is clear, and, come
what will, I'll enter,” he said, as he stole to-
ward the great walnut doors, ‘If I encounter
this ghost, and it turns out to be something in
the shape of flesh and blood—as I suspect—
why, I am prepared!”

He was now on the low red stone steps by
the door. Stooping. he tried the bolt. The
door was_locke Gently inserting the key,
he turned it slowly back. The bolt glided
from the catch, without awaking the faintest

echo,

“So far so ,»’ thought Thorle, as, softly
yee open the door, he entered and stood in

ihe wide, shadow-haunted hall.

A low light was burning in the lamp which
hung in the vestibule.

orle Manton’s heart beat rapidly as he
closed the door and removed his boots. Then
he turned toward the door which opened into
the great gloomy sitting-room.

But he suddenly checked himself and drew
back, as under the door he saw a faint line of
light distinctly showing.

“Foiled in the ae ee
cupied! Now, by
what—”

He crouched to the floor, scarcely breathing.

The door of the sitting-room moved n
lessly on its hinges, and a short, shuffling figure,
clad from head to toe in dull, spectral white,
issued from the apartment, and slid with echo-
less step across the hall. It passed on and was
soon lost in the darkness of the Jong passage.
That passage led to Mrs, Grayling’s bedroom,

Scarcely crediting his senses, the young man
slowly arose from crouching pe Ho
wiped away the beaded perspiratien whieh had

The room is oe-
ove, what shallI— Ha!

 
 

oe Oe

suddenly moistened his brow, and glanced down
the Pry, corridor, at the same time thrusting
his hand in his bosom, until it rested on the
butt of a pistol. 1

“What shall I do?” be asked himself. ‘ Pur-
sue and shoot? No; I would not. arouse the
household; I'll. wait and watch. And where
better than that room, whence this nightwalker
came?”

He glided across the hallway and. entered
the sitting-room.

was in shadow.

Young Manton: took ,a hasty view of sur-
roundings, and crept under the table, deter-
mined at all hazards to await what was sure to
follow his strango adventure.

But. his patience was sorely taxed, for more
than an hour passed, and still nothing had oc-
curred to-break the monotony of the situation.
Despite his every effort to the contrary, the
young man, now and then, caught himself nap-
ping. The sultriness of the summer night, and

he closeness of the room, induced a drowsiness
difficult to banish,

But at last the opening and shutting of a dis-
tant. door aroused him; and in a moment he
was wide awake. He remained quiet, how-
‘ever, in his hiding-place, and, in feverish anx-
lety, awaited what was to follow.

nh .a few moments he heard the sound of
voices Tight by the sitting-room door, but in the
hall. © knew those voices!.and he almost
sprung from under the table as he listened to
the following: z
_ “We .can do: as we please, Cynthia,” said a
harsh voice. ‘‘ You know we are not under
bonds! Besides your great fortune, you’ve
managed to cut a slice from—”

.. “True, enough, Abner!” with a laugh, inter-

ee him. ‘And there’s small. chance of
ale ng letected. But I must join Florine; I am
eepy. ;
‘But, Cynthia,” ina cold business tone;

“please don’t forget that I'll soon call upon
you again for my little divy—for keeping my
mouth—”

~ “You are an insatiable leech, Abner Denby!”
was the sharp interruption.

A low, mocking laugh followed this; then
steps going in, different directions were heard,
Then all was still.

‘‘The miserable wretches!” hissed Thorle Man-
ton. ‘But the reckoning day will come, shall
come. Now, however—-” .

He suddenly checked himself, and his heart
beat rapidly, as the door moved softly open,
then closed, and the same sheeted form. stole
into the room. It uttered a low cackling laugh,
as it shuffled across the floor, and took the dark-
lantern from the table.

_ But that laugh was one of intense, triumphant
satisfaction.

The figure moved to a tall bookcase by the
further wall, rolled the case back and paused
before a high section of walnut, wainscoting
which was set in the wall, A moment, and,
under a quick, sudden prcenia the section
swung back, By the light from the lantern,
which the mysterious visitor carried, a double
wall was revealed. Between. the walls a nar-
row staircase pushed its way upward.

The ghostly: reality was about to enter the
Bigeen, passage; but Thorle Manton was behind

it.

An instant and a muscular hand grasped the
form, and a pistol-barrel was pressed against
ff Be the young man hissed in a low, menacing
whisper:

“Hold! Ihave you now! Breathe a single
word above a whisper, and by heavens, I'll
spatter these old walls with your brains!”

The man—for such it was—struggled madly
to free himself, but he. was in the hands of a
giant. Slowly he turned, ceasing his struggles,

and gazed through two openings in the sheet a
the young man. With a violent start, and a
low, irrepressible cry, he said;

“You, you, Master Thorle! The Lord be

thanked!” and as the words came forth almost
vehemently, the sheet was hurled aside,

Thorle gave one glance, and cried:

“ You / you! my old friend!”

“Yes, Master Thorle; and I would talk with
you! Ihave news!—ay! I have the damning
evidence!”

' It was nearly dawn when Thorle Manton

softly left the Grange mansion and_ hurried

down the shadowy grove to the highway.
“Wonders will never cease!” he muttered,

 

. as he plunged into the.copse and. bent his way

toward the distant Lodge.
ning of the end is here!”

At eight o’clock the. following morning,
Thorle Manton, in company with Margoun,
drove away from the Tadice in the drag. An
hour and a half later, they stopped. at the
dreary station of Wyndham, on the railroad.

Thorle Manton carried with him a small par-

“But the begin-

_ eel, securely wrapped. This package he sent

away by express. :
That morning, at quite an early hour, Grace
pine received and read with much surprise
following brief note:

Upon the table in the apart- |
ment a-small.dark-lantern was flinging its |
beams around. But the floor, under the table, |

“My Darina Ons:

‘“* [ watched last aight at the Grange. I made a
trifling discovery, which may lead to astonishing
developments. But, keep this to yourself until
see you. Onno account seek me. Only be satis-
fied that I am working. Be particular with this
note; you had better destroy it. Till we meet,
know, as ever, that 1am, Your devoted,

‘* THORLE.””

With wonder Grace turned away and hastily
sought her room.

But she’ did not destroy the note.
thrust it.in her bosom.

A week elapsed, and the maiden had heard
nothing, further from the young man. The
time had passed wearily and feverishly to her.
But late in the afternoon of the day which
closed the week, Aleck appeared again at the

wine
He brought another note to Grace.

She clutched it eagerly, and read with dim-
ming eyes and heaving breast:
**My Own Darina:

“Twill be at the Grange to-night, between eight
and ten o’clock. Be neither surprised, nor alarmed,
at anything you may witness. Now a request: Have
all the servants out of the house, if possible, as soon
after nightfall as you can. lso, see that Mrs.
Grayling does not leave the house. Of course you
cannot prevent her by force from so doing; but if
she goes out be sure you find out where she is. Till T see
you let this suffice. Your devoted

‘“ THORLE,”’

“P. 8. The dawn is breaking, and the bright day
is at hand! Ty

All in a tremor, and fearing what, she did
not know, Grace thrust the note toward her
pocket, and ran up-stairs to her room.

But the note did not reach her pocket; it
fluttered from her hand and settled upon the
hall floor.

Five minutes later, Florine Flavelle, tall,
hard and taciturn, passed on her way to her
mistress’s chamber.» She saw the note, picked it
up, and flashed her eyes over it. Q

As though a dagger had pierced her bosom,
= en maid staggered back and gasped for

She only

reath.

“So!.so!” she muttered, cramming the sheet
of paper in) her pocket, as she quickly rallied.
“The farce is ended, and I am out of the
‘cast!’ Shall, I tell madame of this? No!
Ay! ay! my lost vial has something to do with
this !”

She strode on.

CHAPTER XXX.
THE DAY BREAKING.

Mar@oun sat alone in the study at the old
Lodge! The room was in shadow, for the light
in the lamp was turned low.

The dreary night-winds of the sultry summer
sighed sadly around the old house. They were
in keeping with the melancholy thoughts that
crowded: upon one another in rapid succession
through the Hindoo’s mind. His reveries car-
ried him! back to other lands, far beyond the
rolling seas.

It was nine o’clock, and Thorle Manton
had left for the Grange nearly an hour before.
So the East Indian was Jeft alone to his mus-

ings.

‘But, suddenly the door was opened and Aleck
entered. He had been tothe post-office at Shore-
ville for the Lodge mail. He brought with him
a singleletter. It was ina ~ envelope, bear-
ing what looked like an official seal.

eck laid it upon the table and withdrew,

Margoun drew the envelope toward him and
raised the light. Then he glanced at the super-
scription. thrill shot through him, and a vio-
lent shiver ran over his tall frame.

The envelope bore, in the upper left corner, a
crown; under it was this: ‘OFFICE OF THE
British ConsuL GENERAL, NEw York.”

The address was as follows:

“TO PR. MARGOUN NENA-VASHATI,
“Care of Thorle Manton, Esq.
“Shoreville P. O., "New York.”

The East Indian tore open the envelope with
greedy fingers.. 'Two folded sheets dropped out.

me was tied around with a blue ribbon; the
A od loose. Taking up the latter, Margoun
rei S:

 

“ Orrice British ConsvL-GENERAL,
‘ ““New York Crry,
** June 16th, 18—,

“Dear AND GRACIOUS Pr.:—I beg leave to inclose
herein a document, received more than a month
since, at the Consulate, for you, Only to-day have
T learned where it could reach you, and I forward
at once. Asking that you will honor me by ac-
knowledging receipt, I am, with consideration, etc.,
ete., TuE British ConsuL-GENERAL,”’

Margoun laid the sheet aside and picked up
the other. With trembling fingers he untied the
knotted ribbon. Spreading open the thick sheet,
he glanced once at its contents. Then, as a low,
glad cry escaped him, he eried:

“At last! at last! But—”’ his brow clouded,
and his eyes dimmed as) he continued: ‘‘How
canI doit! How can I leave HIM!”

He thrust the papers into the bosom of his
tunic, and flung himself into the chair again, a
ing upon is dusky tage expression rest-

ing u m usky face.
t that instant he chanced to look toward the
‘year window, The sash was fiung up to let the

 

GOTNS REST RE.

 

assing breezes blowin. Margoun started to
his feet and thrust his hand in his bosom.

Standing on the outside, looking in, was a
tall, white-faced man, with a pistol in his hand,
He was on the point of leveling the weapon;
but the Hindoo’s sudden movement disconcerted
him, for he immediately turned and fled.

Like lightning Margoun darted forward,

sprung through the open window, and disap.
peared,
The dark night wore on.

Thorle Manton still lingered arams nor had

Margoun returned. Theservants had long since

pons and a brooding silence settled upon the
odge.

Midnight with its ghostly associations came
and passed. Then one o’clock.

A sharp ee rubg out in the darkness
near the ge. Then all was silent. But a
few minutes later, a wild, almost unearthly
groan echoed on the air. Then the same dreary
silence settled down again, only broken b:
the sighing of the night-wind through the thic:

copse,

Early that same evening Mrs. Grayling sat
silent and morose in her gavdily-furnished bed-
room. A strange fire was burning in her pale
blue eyes, and a frown brooded over her mar-
ble-like brow.

. “Strange! Where can Florine be?” she ejacu-
lated, moving restlessly in her chair. “I have
hunted her high and low, and have sent messen-
gers for her in every direction, but to no pur-
pose. Her things are here; but—” and her brow
wrinkled the more, ‘‘ I miss more than a thou-
sand dollars from my trunk! Can I suspect Flo-
rine, or Abner Denby? However, that sum is a
trifle.. But where can she be?”

Little did the proud lady dream that that
night the stage-coach, on its way to Wyndham
Station, had stopped at the Grange, that a wo-
man carrying a small valise had entered it; and
that now, as she mused in her chamber, Florine
Flavelle was speeding away toward New York

city!
Tics, Grayling arose from her seat and strode
up and down the room with restless, uneasy

 

step.
morine has been behaving very strangely of
late!” she thought, the frown upon her face
deepening. ‘*‘ More than once she has heen open-
ly defiant, despite my independent position as
regards money. Independent!” she echoed, ina
startled Ke a “Am I independent ? Does
not Florine Flavelle hold me in her power? Ay!
can she not fling me into a convict’s cell? Can
she not send me to the gib—”

A deathly pallor spread over her face, and
she fell, rather than sunk into a chair.

‘*T feel--yes, in the hight of my power—I feel
that clouds are hovering about me, and that
vials of wrath will soon be—”

Again she tottered to her feet and promenaded
the room,

So absorbed was she that she heeded not the
rattle of carriage-wheels in the lawn before the
house, heeded not the loud, quick rap on the
brass knocker of the door, nor the subdued
sound of voices in the hall; mingled with the
confused tramping as of several men.

Mrs. Grayling’s keen senses were all concen-
trated in other directions—upon her own dark,
distracted thoughts.

af? and down her room she continued to
stride. But at last she suddenly halted, and
clutched at the nearest chair for support.

- A low, faint rap, as though struck by a timor-
ous hand, had fallen upon her chamber door,

“Come in,” she quickly responded, glancing
at the door, expecting to see Florine Flavelle
enter. But she started back in surprise cs she
saw old Betsy show her white, scared face.

“Well, old woman, what do you want?” she
demanded, sharply.

‘A gentleman, ma’am, as who—”

“Go on! What about the gentleman? Who
is he and what doeshe want? Out with it!”

“A gentleman wishes to see 7“ for a few mo-
ments, ma’am,” stammered old Betsy.

“A gentleman! And wishes to see meat this:
oases night! Why, ’tisnine o’clock. Who is

e

“Mr, Manton, ma’am—Mr. Thorle Manton.”

“Mrs. Grayling could not repress the shudder
that shook her slender frame so suddenly; could
not drive away the horrid telltale pallor that,
in a breath of time, had blanched her face,

“What does he want?” she gasped, in a voice
that was almost sepulchral, her lips quivering
with excitement. 4

“ He wishes tosee you afew minutes, ma’am,”
was the reply; and the old woman turned hastily
away.

3 te any one with him?” asked Mrs. Grayling,
coEnaey

But old Batoy had already gone.

‘What can. this mean?” hissed the lady, her
eyes glaring wildly. ‘‘ Does he come to make a
new contract about my secret? Bah! I will
brave him to his teeth! “I care no longer for the
secret; lam rich; and it matters not whether I
am known as Cynthia Summers, or asthe young
widow of Gray Scape

 

yp
And hastily arranging her hair, she left her
chamber witha firm, haughty step. She strode,

 

|

——_
_——=_—-

M

 

directly toward the sitting-room. A moment
she paused by the door and listened.

All was as still as the grave within.

‘Yes! he is alone!” she mone with a low,
derisive laugh, as she turned the knob and en-
tered the room.

But a low cry of alarm broke from her lips,
as she flung a single glance around her. The
proud, defiant glance ‘aded from her eyes, the
mocking smile fled from her lips, and she re-
coiled in ghastly fright. )

The room contained the following persons:
Thorle Manton, who was standing erect and
stern by the table; Dr. Goodspeed, who was
seated near by, his kindly face gloomed over
with an expression of pain and sorrow; Abner
Denby and Clara Dean, who sat close together,
their faces filled with fear and wonder, while by
the door, through which Mrs. Grayling had just

assed, stood two brawny. men with bronzed
Peoe and fixed, business-like aspect.

For’a moment, as his gaze fell upon the shrink-
ing woman, Thorle Manton’s face softened; but
in an instant, as he saw her turn as if she would
fly from the room, it grew hard and cold
again.

et Lock and guard well that door, officers,” he
said, quietly.

“ Officers !”
glaring around :

‘‘Be seated, madam, and calm -yourself—if
you can,” said young Manton, in an icy tone.
“You are wanted here on serious business, on a
matter of the sternest importance.”

He thrust his hand in his bosom,

“What would you, Thorle Manton?” hissed
the lady. ‘‘ How dare you—” ;

“T have in my possession,.a certain. paper,
which was recently secured. It was written by
your late husband, Gilbert Grayling. Jtis his
will, written since the date of the instrument by
which you secured Gilbert Grayling’s immense
property.”

© poor woman struggled to her feet and ex-
claimed, as she again sunk into the chair:

‘OTis false! false as perdition! You are
hounding me to the death and—”

“T have ample cause to hate you, madam,” he
cut in, sternly, though without losing his dig-
nity; ‘‘but in this matter my object is not to
triumph over a weak, misguided and wicked
woman, but to secure justice to others, Ho,
there! Oome in, Silas Warren !” he continued,
in a loud voice. -

Instantly the door at the further side of the
room opened, and Silas Warren, the old body-
servant of Gilbert Grayling, who had been miss-
ing so long from the Grange, entered.

Byiey one, including Grace, who had come
into the room but a moment before, was as-
tounded. < : 3

“‘ What—does—this—mean?” came in anguish-
ed tones from the stricken woman, _ :

“Now, Silas, tell nr? tale briefly,” said
Thorle, not noti . Grayling. ~

“Yes, sir,” and the old man advanced.
“You see, I distrusted from the first glance I

ot of her, the new mistress of the Grange
Stemas and on the very night of her arrival, I
secretly followed her to her bedroom; and lis-
tening on the outside at her door, I heard
strange whisperines between her and her dark-
faced French maid,” :

He paused. ) : :

Mrs. Grayling writhed in her chair.

Every one looked on in wonder.

“The import of those whisperings, Silas??
urged Thorle Manton.

* Deep, implacable a
master!” was the reply, ‘“

‘e!

“ What then?”

“‘T hastened to his room, where I knew Mr.
Grayling was. My object. was to put him on
his guard, to warn him against his new wife.
But he would not listen to me; he struck me
down, hurled me from the house, and threaten-
ed my life should I ever come back again, But
I did come back, and six months ago, from my
hiding-place which looks into this very room, [
saw my dear old master write the paper which
you, Master Thorle, hold in your possession; 1
also saw him rip open the inner lining of his vest,
and place the — therein. Moreover, I saw
Mrs. Grayling that afternoon take a paper from
yonder desk.” ,

Again he paused.

“What then, Silas?”

“The day following my poor master’s sudden
death I stole into his room unobserved, and to
my joy found the paper in his vest. T kept it
all these months, until this night one week ago,
when I gave it to you, Master Thorle.”

“ By what means did ou accomplish all this,
my dear man?” asked Thorle, a smile covering

his lip.

es Under a spectral disguise—a sheet—and
from my knowledge of the secret passages in the
old mansion,” replied the old man. ‘I took ad-
van of.an old tale.” ;

Mrs. Grayling started violently ; so did Grace,
Abner Denby and Clara, ;

“Now here is the paper,” and Thorle Manton
drew the document from his pocket, and glanced
over its contents, ‘‘T see it is dated six months
ago, and on the day when the horses ran away

ped the wretched woman,
er.

to my dear old
enaces against his

Te eee

GE.

29

 

 

with the sleigh. You, Mrs. Grayling, may re-
call that day.” :

He shot a significant glance at her.

The white-faced, trembling woman only shud-
dered, and bent her head upon her wildly-puls-
ing bosom.

“Now, Mr. Denby and Dr. Good , 1 will
trouble you to look at this paper,” continued
Thorle, wis

The two gentlemen approached and examined
the document closely, Abner Denby recoiled,
and in an instant his cheeks were ashen,

‘““Whose writing is that, gentlemen?”

“Gilbert Grayling’s,” answered Dr. Good-
speed, promptly and emphatically.

“Myr, Grayling’s,” hesitatingly fell from Ab-
tes bloodless lips, as he retreated to his
seat. s

“Very good! Dr. Goodspeed, will you kindly
scan that paper and tell me what is the sub-
stance of its contents?” :

The old Bisvician took the paper and read it
through. Several times he started; and when
at last he had finished it a smile spread over his
face—a kindly, satisfied smile.

“*T had the privilege of learning the contents
of the previous will, under which Mr. Grayling’s
| property was distributed,” he said, © “This,”
| and his voice trembled, ‘‘resembles it’in some of
its provisions, but differs in toto in others. In-
stead of giving his widow the bulk of his pro
erty he gives it to his daughter, Grace, while he
stipulates that two thousand dollars per annum
and the Grange mansion during her natural life
be granted Mrs. Grayling, ‘‘ You, Mr. Manton
and,” in a choking voice, ‘‘and myself, his old
and tried friend, are left his executors, without
the exaction of securities,”

He gave the paper back to Thorle, who hid it
in his bosom.

For a moment a deathlike silence pervaded'the
apartment. It was broken by the miserable
a who cringed like a guilty thing in her
chair: - :

“Let me go! Iamsuffocating! Let me go!”
she moaned, struggling to her feet.

“Hold! not yet! e sternest. business jor
you—Mrs. Grayling!—is yet to come,” and
young Manton waved her imperiously to her
seat.

 

 

CHAPTER XXXI1.
DAY AT LAST.

Mrs. GRAYLING almost fell from her chair.
Her cheeks were livid, and every drop of blood
seemed to have left her usually red, proud lips.

“Your husband died suddenly, madam!”
ejaculated Thorle, almost fiercely. ‘‘Do you
know anything of the ph ach ge the digitalis
purpurea, or of the deadly properties of the poi-
son of the Asiatic cobra ?”

Had a shell exploded at her very feet Mrs.
Grayling could not have evinced more horrified

error,

“Oh! God!” she cried, in agony, springing to
her ae “Tam dying! I bs dying! Let me
go!” T—

‘*Be seated, base woman! This terrible scene
must be over; and I will tell the tale: You bor-
rowed a medical work from Dr. Goodspeed here;
from it you learned the characteristics of digi-
talis. .On the pigns of the reception here, last
January, you stole into the conservatory and
plucked a handful of leaves from a digitalis
Blant. ‘With those leaves ypu made a powerful

ecoction, placed it in a pitcher, and cooled it
with ice, After this, and after your poor hus-
band was almost in the throes of death, Florine
Flavelle, at your bidding, stole into the room,
and, from a vial, let fall a drop of a virulent
poison into the pitcher. Your husband again
drank and died /—Hold, do not interrupt me
perfidious. woman!—The vial containing tha
poison your maid lost. It was found by old. Si-
las Warren, who likewise secured a of
en of the pitcher. He gave both to
me

The young man had spoken repny, and fierce-
ly; and as he ended, he drew two vials from his
poeket. One was a small, gilded, cut-glass ves-
sel, similar to Eastern attar-of-rose bottles.

A wild shriek broke from Mrs, Grayling’s
lipe. But, as though petrified with fear, she sat
still.

“T sent these vials to a dis' hed chemist
in New York. He has analyzed the contents of
both. The result I only received to-day. I'll
read what he says.”

Trembling with excitement, the young man
laid the vials upon the table, and took from his
pocket a letter. Opening it, he read: ;

“The e vial, taken from the pitcher, is a power-
ful Seantinn of the Digitalis pirpeteh (Foxelove),
showing a decided trace, too, of a virulent poison,
known mainly in the Orient, It is a liquid taken
from a sack at the base of the fangs of the the Asi-
atic Cobra, The contents of the smaller (cut-glass)
vial is the Cobra poison in all its purity. There is
Sere now, remaining in the vial to kill ten

7 Ww.
mingled, draught, would most assuredly cause
death in'tén minutes, Respectfully,

HN SPAFFORD
“ Aualytical Chemist, N.Y.”
A shudder'ran through the assembly; ‘but in

a second. every one was struck dumb with hor-
ror, as with acrid, despairing shriek, Mrs. Gray-

 

CR

“a

hile a half-ounce from the firstnamed, |

smiling. ‘

 

ee like lightning toward the tab!

le,
clutched the cut-glass vial, and before she could
be prevented, placed it to her lips, and drained
it to the bottom. .

She reeled back, staggering across the room,
and fell to the floor. There was, for a single
moment, a horrible quivering of the limbs; then
all was still.

Dr. Goodspeed rushed to her side. One gras

of the pulseless hand, one glance at the still et ;
lent, siren-like face, and he muttered in a whis |
per: aba ; {

“ Dead y”-

“Go, my men!” said Thorle Manton, in ‘a so-
pulchral tone to the officers; ‘you are not
wanted. Great God!” he continued, as he turned

away, ‘‘and has it all ended thus?”

There was a tear in his manly eyes, and a
quivering about his lips, as he uttered the words.

 

The hour of midnight had fallen over the
death-stricken mansion of Grayling Grange.
All was silent within, $

The body of the poor woman had been decent-
ly arranged in the room where she had fallen.

horle ton and Dr. Goodspeed had attended
to that; and both had remained until nearly
daybreak, pws < ;

ust after they had taken. their departure,
and the old mansion was silent again, two dim
forms stole down the broad stairway into the
dark, rayless, hall. They paused and: listened.
No sound came to their ears. ;

‘‘Come,’ Clara,”, whispered ‘one of them;
“this house is no place for us! We'll get her
diamonds and. money, and flee to’ New York,
where we will live in plenty and in ease, Come,
I know the way.” ; {

“Lead on, Abner,” was the reply, in the same
cautious tone,

They stole cautiously down the gloomy pas-
sageway toward the bedroom to which we have
sO prequenty ceterved, ’

Half an hour later, a man and a woman crept
from the great doors of the mansion and hur
vied away through the sone toward the distant
road—Abner Denby and Clara Dean. - é

“Come, we must hurry!” said the fellow,
striding on, ‘‘ We’ll push straight for the lake,
find a boat, somewhere, and. row to Shoreyille.
The water will be smooth to- might and we will
throw any one, who may» follow. us, off the
track.” ;

They crossed the highway, and entered a nar-
row lane that ran by the ige estate, directly -
toward the neighboring lake. ;

On and on they pushed, At last bef could
hear the monotonous, melancholy washing of
the waters; then they scrambled. uP the same
acces cliff upon which, one week before, Thorle
Manton had told to Grace ote terrible
tale of the black quagmire—Dead-Man’s Drift.

“ Here we are!” exclaimed Denby, exultantly.
‘At our feet is the white beach, and yonder is
the lake; Take my arm and come. Take a
long leap!” he continued, with an exhilarating

laugh.

“They took the leap—their last!

They struck full on the sreacherous-aliveving
mire, which looked white under sheeny
moonlight; and in an instant, without word, or
cry, or groan, they shot down out of sight to
their everlasting doom—the quivering mud
closed over them forever.

 

When Thorle Manton reached the Lodge that
night he searched for his faithful friend high
and low. But the Hindoo was not to be found.
He certainly was not in the mansioni: ju "rab

Wearied and worn out, the young man flung
himself on the bed and soon fell into. a restless,
uneasy slumber, in which frightful visions float-
ed before him. : Ww oid

At an early hour he awoke, and immediately
repaired to the room which had been allotted to
the East Indian. But Margoun was not thero.
The bed was untouched, ; as

Wondering what all this could mean, Thorle
dressed himself and strolled from the house to
catch the cool breezes of the ag morning.’

But as the young man reached the gate that
led into the copse, he reeled back, , and
trembled as though he had seen a spirit.

Just inside the gate, lying flat upon the back,
was the body of a dead man.

ab tan ge padre UO Bs

Driven deep into his breast was Margoun’s
deadly kreese. »’ Rv

Several months passed, and the frosty nights

and the golden leaves of autumn were at’ hand.
Thorle Manton and Grace Grayling were now

 

man and wife, and they lived in’ the grand old

Grange mansion, where, once again, ‘War-

ren was installed as head servant, :
One evening. Thorle and his: young wife were

seated wher per sittin;
talking a long time, an
with éager interest. ‘
“Wh x
e

sounds : 5
“Yet, my dear, that is the way.it | whichy in
one week, t such fabulous wealth,” he said
nd thatiwas'ithe way in which |
goun’s life, I fought the half-elad-

‘room. He had been
she had been listening

darling,” she said in wonder, “that
romance!” er on’ at Ody

saved

a
 

a ee

 

  

86

ee

 

MARGOUN, THE STRANGE.

 

natives at fearful odds, But I was desperate
then!” and he frowned,

‘‘Now one thing more, darling Thorle,” and
as a shadow passed over her face, Grace drew
nearer to her husband. ‘‘ Tell mo tho link be-
tween you and her who of late was the wife of
my r father.”

‘ Listen,” and his brow clouded. ‘That wo-
man was once my wife for one hour, and—don’t
ihe me—the subject is distasteful, and I
would banish it forever. She was my wife for
one hour. But while I was awaiting her, to go
to the depot, sho eloped with a Prussian officer
who was traveling in this country, and who was
reputed to bé rich. Be it said, that as soon as
we were married, I had told her—what I had
taken no road to conceal from her—that I was
pecuniarily embarrassed, but that my prospects
‘were . However, she eloped with this offi-
cer. He was afterward killed at the bloody field
of Gravelotte. As soon as I learned beyond a
doubt that she had deserted me, I readily se-

a divorce without any publicity. But
that woman died, thinking that, in the eyes of
God and man, she was my wife! She is the same
about whom I once chastised Abner Denby; and
here is her picture, which I have so long a.
—but to be now destroyed. Look upon it,
Grace; you will recognize it,” and he drew
from his bosom a miniature case and held it to

“Cynthia Summers was her name,” he con-
tinued, as ho saw Grace gaze in wonder at the

icture.
Pe Cynthia Summers!” echoed the young

wife.

“Yes. Abner Denby once loved her. By the
way, darling, I saw in the pes to-day, that
there had been a fire in New York, and old Mrs.
Denby was—”

Before he could pom further, our old acquaint-
ance, John, the driver, entered) He had just
returned from the village post-office. He hand-
ed a large weighty envelope to Thorle, and
withdrew.

The yw bore several foreign stamps, and
was directed to Thorle in a handwriting that
‘the young man knew at a glance.

Eagerly he clutched the envelope, tore it open,
and took out two sheets of paper.

“From him! from him! At last! at last!” he
murmured.

Then smoothing out the frst folded paper, he

“CatcuTTa, August 6th, 1873,

“Dear, — Sanre:—You os eos bidding it
wrung my heart to awa; ou! you
farewell; Butt cpuid bos de that! It would have
killed me! But I love you Sahib, and should
we never meet again, Jey hat the Christian’s
God will ever bless you make you happy. Long
before this, I think, you have found my kreese.
80, keep it as a souvenir of him who used it in your
defense, of him who loved you so much, and who
would have died for you. I inclose a paper, which

I received the ‘ht of departure from _the
Read ee know why I left you. May
the ’s God a you!
“Faithful to en
“Maracoun Nena-VasHT1,
“Prince of Condurauga,”

" Prince [” ejaculated Thorle in wonder and
Spentag f teed 1b arom, Suis Ragers trem
O} 6 roug! ers m-
bled ‘ant the sheet slid from them.

‘“Margoun was a native prince, my darling,”
he said, sinking into a chair. ‘He revolted

what he considered a usurpation of his

ghts. But in view of his high caste, and great

uence, he has been unconditionally resvored

to his full rank and to his great estates! Won-
der upon wonder!”

Months upon months rolled by; the Centennial

ear of = Independence dawned upon

wor

One day Thorle Manton and his young wife
were strolling through the grand exhibition
grounds. Bel them came a nurse, rolling in
@ bab: rote a youngster, who was just old

cagh to look at you, and dimple his face with
smiles when you called him Margoun.

As the happy husband and were —
the house occupied in the “grounds” by the
English Commission, Thorle started violently as
he saw, coming from the building, a tall, di =
faced man in rich oriental garb. At his hee
trod two attendants attired almost as fr.
— as himself, who was evidently ir

master.

re
‘ell upon

ward. . ee

“Santis!” }
** MarGoun!” and the two strong men were
locked in a loving embrace.
And the youngster in the cradle looked up and
laughed merrily.
he two friends had met ae
But no word was spoken of the poor misguid-

er drew nearer. His eyes
ton. He sprung for-

;

ed one, over whose —_ the distant ceme-
tery of Grayling Grange the summer had
long been g—no word was said of her,
who in her brief young life had been: ‘‘ The
Loved of Many Men!”

TH END.

 

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Address BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers,
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Half-Dime Singer's Library

1 Wxoa, Emma! and 59 other Songs.

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8 Tue Garnssoro’ Har and 62 other Songs.
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Songs.

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ngs.

 

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ngs.
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and 59 other Songs,

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235 PARADE OF THE GvuaRps and 56 other Songs,

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86 SkaTING ON ONE IN THE GuTTER and 52 other
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Speakers,

BEADLE AND Apams have now on their lists the fol-
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15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book.
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164 12mo Pages. 20 Cents.

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