$5.00 a Year.

Vol. VIIL. 2

Published Every
Week.

Entered at the PostOfice at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. _

‘ Copyrighted 1881, by BEADLE AND ADAMS,

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

No. 98 Wriiiam Street, New York.

 

 

June 23, 1881.

Complete in this Number,
Price, Ten Cents,

 

| No, 100

 

‘Aw Aimbitious: Gidl.

She Would Be An Actress.

BY A CELEBRATED ACTRESS.

CHAPTER IL.
ALONE IN THE WORLD,

Tr blacksmith was dead; old Sabban Kuni-
bell had gone to his long home, and his only
child—his only living relative, as far as any of
his neighbors knew—his daughter, the tall, the
epomly the blonde-haired girl, was all alone in
the world,

The story of the blacksmith’s life, since he had
dwelt in the village, was a plain and uneventful
one, for in these little s9cluded hamlets, where
one day is but the pattern of the preceding one
—where not once in years does anything start-
ling happen—what was there in the quiet, hum-
drum life of the honest workman worthy to be
detailed at length?

He had an odd name—one, once heard, not
easily forgotten—Sabban Kunibell; he was a
stranger, a foreigner, apparently, who had come
to the village and set up his smithy some
eighteen years before the time of which we
write. With him came his wife—a dark-eyed,

 

apparently passionate woman, but very lady-
Mbesranll a little girl of wonderful beauty.

There was a mystery about the man; that
point all agreed upon. He was a pretty good
blacksmith, but a far better scholar; his house-
hold goods were few, his way of living plain,
but he was evidently educated far above his

resent station, and had surely seen better days.
Bis little library was the wonder of the village,
for it contained books that some few of them
had heard of, but had never seen.

The man was strangely reserved, too, in re-

ard to his past life, for the gossips of Cold Snake
did not hesitate, whem they found he was not
inclined to be communicative, to ask him, blunt-
ly, who and what he was, where he came from,
for they surmised that he was an Englishman,
although he never admitted it, nor what were
the reasons why he had selected their village as
an abiding-place. These questions the black-
smith pushed aside with the greatest ease, with-
out satisfying the eager curiosity which had
prompted them in one single particular, and he
accomplished this task so nicely, and in such a
gentlemanly way, that even the most persistent
gossip could not take offense.

And the blacksmith’s wife was equally as re-
served as her husband, although she hada proud,
imperious way of answering, which did not
make friends for her; but, seemingly, she was
far better pleased to keep away from her neigh-
bors than to be on friendly terms with them,

 

Years passed on, and the village curiosity
finally died away, as the fire dieth that is not
supplied with fresh fuel,

e daughter—who, by the way, was as
strangely named as her father, being called
ee ae to girlhood, freely acknowled,
as the belle of the village; but she was, like her

arents, shy and not disposed to make friends.

he was no favorite among the other village
girls, for they declared that she was a stuck-up
thing, seeing tliat her father was only a com-
mon blacksmith. She was educated at home,
and that tended, too, to keep her away from the
rest, and so the girl grew up almost without a
companion of her own age. When she was six-
teen her mother died suddenly, and the cares of
the household falling upon her when other girls
were thinking of beaux and pees tended
to withdraw her from the life that ordinarily
falls to the lot of the village girl.

As a matter of course, being the prettiest girl
for miles around, tall, stately, with a queen-like
air, and the most beautiful dark blue eyes and
golden hair imaginable, it was quite in the course
ot nature for every young fellow in the village
to try for her smiles,

But, though very polite and ladylike to all,
there was only one who could boast that he was
even received on friendly terms by the black-
swith’s queenly daughter, and this was young
“Jim ” Plumgate, the lawyer.

The Plumgates were an old New Jersey fam-

 

 

 

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AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

 

 

ily, dating ’way back to the Revolution, and it
had always been the boast of old Daniel Plum-
gate, Jim’s father, when in his cups, that his an-
cestors always had been loyal to the Crown—
Tories, in fact. It seems strange, in our time,
that aman should glory in such a boast, but the
old lawyer did.

The blacksmith was dead, and the blacksmith
‘was buried; and now, two days after ‘‘ earth to
earth” had been consigned, the Fours lawyer
made bold to call upon the friendless girl in or-
= to learn what her plans were for the fu-

ure.

Allthe gossips in the village had been pre-
dicting a match between the two, and now in
the dusk of the evening when one of them, in
passing down the street, happened to see the
young lawyer knocking at the door of the black-
smith’s humble abode, in great glee he. hurried
off to report the news.

The girl received the young man kindly, as
was her wont, and the lawyer, with the brisk-
ness characteristic of the man, proceeded to the
business upon which he had come.

‘You will pardon. this intrusion, Iam sure,
Miss Halah, when I explain what has.brought
me here,” he said, as he accepted the proffered
chair. ‘Of course, as you are well aware, I
take a very great interest in your welfare, and
now that this great sorrow has fallen upon you,
T thought it was my duty to come and see what
you propose to do in the future.”

Ms en are very kind, indeed, and [ am reall
glad you have come, for I stand in need of ad-
vice,” the girl answered.

“Tf that is the.case, it is very Iucky I did
call,” the young lawyer remarked, his face
brightening up; ‘‘but I can assure you it was
with fear and trembling I knocked at the door,
for—pardon the remark—you have such strange
fancies sometimes, that I am always afraid of
offending you.”

Just a slight shade of color came into the pale
face of the girl, and she hesitated a moment be-
fore she replied:

“T am not offended at the remark, for I know
it is true. Ihave discouraged your visits, al-
though I know you are ey, and truly a friend,
for I did not wish to give the village gossips a
chance to chatter. I am so sick of this miser-
able place; a young man and woman cannot
speak to each other here, without the whole
age is alive with reports that they are lovers—
as if there was noother destiny in this world for
a girl but. to get married and settle down toa
humdrum life!” and the proud lip of the girl
curled in queenly contempt.

“Well, it is generally the aim and end of a
young girl’s life,” the lawyer observed, not
pleased with the way in which the girl spoke.

“Yes, but Iam not like other girls, and I do
not wish the world to talk of me in such a way.
The world!” she cried, with a sudden burst of
energy. ‘‘WhatamItalkingabout? This mis-
erable little place is not the world, and what
does it matter what is said here? To-morrow I
am going away, and I trust I shall never see
this place again.”

“To-morrow?” The lawyer was astonished
at the abrupt move.

‘Yes, for good!”

“Tf itis not a-secret, will you tell me where
you are going, and what you propose to do?”

“a will; ut Irely upon you not to disclose
my intentions to any one.”

*A lawyer never betrays his clients, you
know.” 7

‘‘TIn a measure you are acquainted with my
father’s secret,” the girl said, lowering her voice,
as if the subject was a solemn and a sacre
one.

“Tn a measure, yes; when my father died, he
confided it to me,” Plumgate replied, in the
same guarded tone.

“For some reason my father lived in constant
fear—”

“Yes, fear that. his sojourn here would be
discovered, and—”

‘And what?’ asked the girl, anxiously.

“That is all IT know.”

The girl drew a long breath, and a weary
look came over her face. :

“ And that is all I know, too; I fancied that
perhaps you bad some clew.” ,

“No, perning: I know absolutely nothing but
that he fled to this secluded spot, selecting it, as
Senee far from a railroad, for a hiding-place, and
that he was in daily dread of being discovered.”

‘‘And yet I cannot bring myself to think it
was for any crime; my father was too good a
man in every way to ever have wronged a hu-
man being. - [have carefully examined. all his
private papers, which he kept in an old-fash-
ioned mahogany box, but there isn’t anything
there to throw any light on the subject; there
isn’t a paper in the box which dates back of the
time when he came to this place.”

“But, did he say anything on his deathbed to
clear up the mystery?

“Nota word: he died in the night, and ab-'

ruptly; no one was near; I was. tired with
watching, and had fallen asleep. When I awoke
the blow had fallen.”

“But the name your father bore; do you
think that it was his right one?”
“Oh, yes; Iam sure of it, for it is inseribed

on the fly-leaf of all his old books, and some of
them are dated twenty-five years ago.”

“The mystery, then, whatever it was, evi-
dently has died with him; but now, to return
to yourself : what do you propose to do?”

“T shall take the stage to Freehold, to-mor-
row, and then the train to New York.”

“But you do not know any one there?”

**T do not think I do,” the girl answered, just

a little trace of hesitation in her manner,
“And have you money enough to support
you until you get something to do, tort re-

sume that you are going to New York to look
for a means of eons your own living?”

“Yes, I have nearly three hundred dollars,
besides this house and lot, and I want you to
try and let the house for me, all furnished as it
is. Get what youcan forit. It ought to rent
for twelve dollars a month, and that will almost
sup) ort me in the city, I think.”

‘Three dollars a week is very little to live on
in New York. But, what do you think of do-
ing, when you get there?”

‘I am going on the stage; I intend to become
an actress.”

The young man was decidedly astonished at
the calm reply.

“But, good heavens!” he exclaimed, ‘‘ have
you any idea of the difficulties that lie before
you in such a life?’

“No, but I will conquer them, no matter what
they are. I feel that lL have genius for a stage-
life—I have always thought so, ever since’ I was
a child. I want but the opportunity, I am sure,
to win the laurel crown.”

The young lawyer uttered a deep sigh.

‘*Oh, Miss Halah, 1am certain you will re-
gret this step; you haven’t any idea of the dan-
gers which will beset you.”

‘‘T must meet and conquer them all; besides,
Thave an acquaintance, who has promised to
aid me.”

“T can guess who that is!” asserted Plumgate,
suddenly remembering a piece of village gossip
which had come to his ears only a few weeks
before.

‘arn the faint blush stole into the cheeks of

e girl.

‘Oh, yes, I know; the story was all over the
village. I happened to be in Freehold, and I
went toa dramatic entertainment at the hall,
and, after it was over, I became acquainted
with one of the actors. He took me for a silly
girl, and thought I wanted to flirt with him; I
allowed him to walk with me; he was a gentle-
man, as I had thought, and he soon saw his
error. I told him of the wish I had to become
an actress, and he, like you, warned me of the
dangers and difficulties which attend such a
life; but when he found that I was resolute, he
promised to do all he could for me. He saw
that I was no flighty girl, but a woman deter-
mined in my purpose.’

“And do yougo to him, in New York?” asked
the lawyer.

“No, but to a lady whom he has recom-
mended.”

“Take care, take care! You have no idea of
the =, snares that exist to entangle a beau-
tiful girl like yourself in the great city. There
are people there, both male and female, worse
and more merciless than wild beasts,

“T cannot bring myself to know what fear
is,” the girl answered, looking more queenly
than ever as she spoke. ,

The young man had come with a certain pur-

se, and although from what the girl had said,
fp knew that he stood no chance at all of ac-
complishing what he sought, yet he could not

help yee, ‘
* Halah, you are a very strange girl, and
therefore one cannot approach you like other
oung ladies; I have something very important
say, and I came this evening expressly to say
it, but, hang me! if I know how to say it.”

The girl looked at him a moment with her
clear, keen eyes; then she rose and extended her
hand tohim. —

“You had better leave it unsaid,” she re-
plied, frankly. “Let me go forth into the
world and make my struggle; let me be cheered
with the hope that I have at least one friend
who will watch my career with interest—a
friend to whom I have never given pain.”

‘But I may hope—” .

‘¢ Without hope what is there to life?”

The decree was given, and Plumgate bowed
his head in submission.

The next day the girl quitted the village, and
in a very few hours New York, the great me-
tropolis, swallowed her up.

CHAPTER II.
TWO ON THE SCENT.

Tux full, round harvest moon was high in the
heavens and threw its broad bright beams down
over the quiet country, and by the aid of its
light a well-dressed man with a florid face,
bushy side-whiskers, after the English mutton-
chop style, rather stout in build, was
his way to the little graveyard where the mor-
tal remains of the blacksmith cana

The man had arrived in Cold Snake only

 

 

about half an hour before, coming in a bu
drawn by a white horse, which the landlord of
the hotel, where he stopped, at once recognized

 

i penaiee to one of the Freehold livery
stables.

The stranger had a very smooth, pérsuasive
sort of oa with him. He alighted remarked
to the landlord that it was quite a chilly night
for the time of year—it was early in September
—took a glass of apple-jack, at which he made
a wry face, us though he didn’t like it, and then
asked if there was any blacksmith inthe neigh-
borhood, as he was afraid one of his horse’s
shoes was loose and he had quite a distance to

drive.

The landlord replied that the only. blacksmith
there was in the. village, Kunibell, had, unfor-
tunately, died a few days ago. ‘

The stranger was at once struck by the name.

“ Kunibell—Kunibell? Bless my soul!” he'ex-
claimed, ‘“‘I used to be very well acquainted
with a man of that name, long years ago.”

The tap-room loungers at once pricked up
their ears at this.

‘Yes, sir; I once knew a man by that name;
not in this country, though, but across the
water. He was nota blacksmith; his first name
was Sabban.”

Every soul within the room started and stared
at this; was the mystery of the dead man com-
ing out at last?

‘* Well now, sir, this I must say is a wery odd
thing,” the) landlord observed.. In Southern
Jersey the inhabitants have the strange fashion
in talking of often substituting w for v, after
the Cockney style.

““What is odd?” the stranger demanded.

““Why that:is the name of our blacksmith, or
he that was our smith.”

“Sabban Kunibell?”

‘“‘The wery same!”

‘Good heavens! but it can’t. be sible! yet
T haven’t seen him for a great number of years
—in fact had completely lost sight of him for
the last twenty years, and I understood, too,
that he came to this country, so it may be that
it was my old friend, after all. He was rather
tall, with light hair and no beard—”

‘He had light hair, but a big beard,” inter-
rupted one of the bystanders.

‘Ay, but he had no beard when he first came
here, twenty odd years ago, maybe!” declared
the landlord, in a tone of voice that brooked no
questioning. ‘‘Why,I remember just as if it
was only Pega ve q Thad just taken possession
of this old house then, and repainted the snake
out yonder on the sign. I remember how he
came into the village, just as well, he and his
daughter—”

‘““Ah, yes, his daughter!” interposed the
stranger, in his brisk, bustling way, ‘‘I re-
member her very well indeed, and a fine strap-
ping young woman she must be now; let me see,

er name was Hada.”

There was a general chorus of dissent at this.

‘*Oh no,” the landlord hastened to say; ‘‘ you
have got the name wrong; it is Halah.’

The stranger looked puzzled; he appeared to
be much surprised,

“Well, it may be Halah, but I would have
bet twenty to one that it was Hada.”

‘She never was called that, here.”

_ And the rest all chimed in with the landlord
in this, and the host took advantage of the
eg | surprise to, oot a rete.

gging your pardon, sir, what business
was Mr. Kunibell ipa you knew him?”

A well-affected look of surprise the man put
on now, but it didn’t deceive the villagers; for
they were sure it was assumed, »

‘“What business?’ and then he pretended to
think. ‘Bless my soul! it’s very odd; I ca’n’t
for the life of me remember; something in the
commercial line, in the city, i believe; but, dash
my buttons! if Iremember. By the by, where
is this young lady now? I should really like to
call upon her, just to see if she is the daughter
of my old friend, or not.”

“She’s gone away—went away this morning.”

“ Where to?”

‘¢No one knows; she’s a close-mouthed body,
ood nee tells her businesstonobody. To York
thou, ess.

4 fone eas for good?”

‘Well, young Jim Plumgate, the lawyer, can

tell you about that if any one can,” the land-
lord believed. ‘‘T understand that she left her

house in his care.” : }
“T really feel interested, and I think I should
like to see Mr. Plumgate. Where is he to be
found?” — .
The desired information was volunteered and
the stranger p: ew the young
er.

‘ow young Plumgate, ear a lawyer, was
used to men of devious and slippery ways, and
mistrusted the stranger from the start, but of
course didn’t let the other perceive this; on the
contrary, he seemed to be overflowing with a
desire to afford him information, though, un-
luckily, he was not possessed of much. ‘Miss
Halah, not Hada, as he informed the gentle-
man in answer to his pointed inquiry on this
point, had gone away, but in regard to her des-
tination he was ignorant; she had left her ae
erty in his charge and had said that she would

te to him in regard to it.

“Well, I. should very much like to see her,”
the stranger declared. ‘‘ Here is my address in

 
 

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New York,” and he penciled’ ‘a few lines on a
card, whieh he took from bis pocket. ‘If you
learn the lady’s address drop me a line and I
will be pleased to cell upon hey.”

‘* Certainly,” ae the other, but at the
same time mentally making up his mind that
he wouldn’t do anything of the kind,

“Where is Mr. Kunibell buried?’

‘*Tn our village graveyard.”

“Uf it is near at hand I shouldn’t mind taking
a look at the grave of my old acquaintance,”
and the stranger put on a melancholy expres-
sion, but the young lawyer understood. the
dodge at once.

“Thinks that he can get some information
from the tombstone,” Plumgate thought, but he
directed the stranger which way to go and the
man took his departure.

Straight to the graveyard then the seeker
after information proceeded. » Thanks to the
bright light afforded by the moon there was no
difficulty in finding the spot, and the plain slab
which marked the resting-place of the black-
smith was easily discovered. ,

It was savage in its simplicity, and bore only
the name of the dead man, and the date of his
death.

‘sSabban Kunibell!” the man muttered:
“Well, there isn’t much information to be ‘got
out of that.” 4

‘¢Not much,” responded a hoarse voice, and a
medium-sized man, dressed in a rather shabby
black suit, and with a decidedly Jewish ‘cast’ of
features, rose from behind a neighboring tomb-
stone, where he had evidently been concealed,
and leered at the other.

“Bless my soul!” cried the Englishman, start-
ing in astonishment, ‘‘if it isn’t Jerry Kinlan!”

‘Yes, gov’nor; your humble servant to com-
mand,” and the man ducked his head and grin-
nedagain, ‘But I say, who would have thought
it? ho would have thought of a cove like
yourself coming away across the herring-pond
on, this ere lay?” and the man jerked his thumb,
significantly, toward the tombstone that mark-
ed the blacksmith’s — as he spoke. | ‘‘ No,
sir-ee, you'could have knocked me down with a
feather when I see’d you a+coming into this ’ere
place, and I sed to myself, sed I; if it ain’t
Archibald Pasilwaite, I’m a son of a gun!”

For a moment the Englishman seemed per-
plexed. Had the unexpected appearance of the
other disconcerted his plans?

“But, Lsay, gov’nor, the thing has gone up a
tree here.”

‘“‘You are in for this, eh?’ the other asked,
significantly.

‘You had better believe it!”

“ Of course you know the man is dead.”

“Sartin. At first I reckoned that it was a
‘plant’ to throw anybody off the track, but
there ain’t any doubt of it. The gal is alive,
though.”

“‘Named—?” and Pasilwaite cast an inquiring
glance at the other.

“Halah, ee say round here, but Hada as we
know it, and that’s another thing that stumps
me.
‘t Who are you acting for, in this matter?”

‘* Ax me no questions and I’ll tell you nolies.”

‘Well, good-night to:you; I wish you luck if
you don’t spoil my game.”

‘Same to-you, gov’nor!”

And the two» parted —both sleuthhounds,
though of different breeds. It was a question
which first should run the game to earth.

CHAPTER Iii.
THE THEATRICAL BOARDING-HOUSE.

Tux girl went straight to New York. Al-
though she had always been brought up in the
country, and had not been in the city three
times in her life, yet there was nothing about
her to denote the rustic, thanks to the excellent
education which she had received from her
parents, and the peculiar, though natural dig-
— which was so marked a trait of her nature.

he was, as we have said, a very beautiful
girl—one who would have attracted attention
anywhere, clad in almost any garb. ‘The trav-
eling-dress which she wore could :not have been
much more plainly made and yet with her
stately carriage she looked like a queen in it;
hardly a man passed who did not turn to take a
second look at the charming young woman,

She had the direction given her by the yor
actor in her pocket-book, and when she arriy
in New: York, after leaving the dep6t, she in-
quired of the first policeman she saw in regard
to the street,

The officer directed and then, as she went on
pher way, took a good look after her.

“Bleecker street; near Crosby, eh? Blessed
if a gal like that hadn’t ought to go Fifth ave-
nue way!” he remarked, sagely.

Miss Kunibell found the house easily enough;
it was one of those old-fashioned brick man-
sions which, some fifty years ago, were all the
style and occupied by the aristocracy; this was
before the, days of shoddy and Fifth avenue;
but now, style and wealth have fled up-town,
and Bleecker street has been suspenterent to the
‘vulgar and the ‘‘common” people, and to the
demands of trade.

The lady ascended the broad stone steps and
rung the bell. There was no doubt in her mind

 

that she was at the right place, for a modest tin
sign affixed to the side of the house read:

“BOARDING,
‘\$. MALLORY.”

A sharp-faced, broad-shouldered woman, well
along in years, but still right in her prime, an-
swered the bell,

‘*Mrs. Mallory, please,” said the girl.

The woman favored the visitor with a look as
if she would read right through into her heart,
and Halah, understanding that she was under
inspection, bore it bravely, although a glint in
her eyes indicated that she did not relish it.

The boarding-house keeper, for the woman
was Mrs; Mallory m person, was’somewhat sur-
prised at the appearance of the caller, for she
was decidedly, different from the common’ run
of fish that usually came to her net, but the im-
pression made.was a decidedly favorable one.

“*T am Mrs. Mallory; what do vou wish?”

‘“'To see about getting board, if you please.”

“Well, young lady, this is’ not'a regular
boarding-house—”

‘T know.it, madam; you keep what is termed
a theatrical boarding-house, I believe.”

“Yes, but are you on the stage?” and the look
which she'cast seemed ‘to express a doubt,

**No, madam; but I expect to be,”

Mrs. Mallory was surprised; she did not un-
derstand.

**L have come to New York with the idea ‘of
learning to be an actress.”

The landlady gave a contemptuous sniff. /

‘¢ Indeed, young lady, if you will take my ad-
vice you will go straight home to your folks and
give up such a foolish idea.”

‘‘T cannot, madam; I have no folks; I am all
alone in the world and must fight my own way
as best I can.”

“Of course you know your own circum-
stances best, but if you were a daughter of
mine I should do'all I could to keep you off the
stage. Ihaveason who is an actor—a young
man of talent, miss, but he will never’ make
anything on the stage if he stays there until his
head is gray: n

“T am slightly acquainted with ‘your son
madam, and it is through his directions that i
came here.”

A look, black as night, swept rapidly over the
woman’s face.

“You are acquainted with my son?” she
snapped out,

iss Kunibell realized that the boarding-
house ‘mistress was amazed and. ruffled at the
intelligence, yet couldn’t possibly imagine why
she should be.

‘Yes, very slightly ; I made his acquaintance
this summer when he performed in Freehold—
that is the town near which I lived. I inform-
ed him of my wish to become an actress, know-
ing that he being on the stage would be able to
afford me some useful information.”

‘“‘Humph!” ejaculated the other, in a tone
which clearly indicated her disapproval of all
these proceedings. ‘‘ And what did he say? Ad-
vised you to go, of course, and turned “your
head with the silly story of how easy it is to
jump on the stage and at one bound win fame
and fortune. You have got a pretty face, and
I presume that that pretty face made a fool of
him, as a pretty face always does of a man, no
oe how great the results may be of his

‘olly !

ow this was such ay plain speaking that it
was impossible for Halah to misunderstand it;
but, though she was a country girl, she was
quite equal to the occasion. She drew herself
up Proudly, and her face flushed.

“You are quite. mistaken, madam; your son
tried to persuade'me not to attempt to become
an actress. He said it was a hard, toilsome and
disagreeable life, and that not one out of a
thousand who followed it achieved distinction.”

‘““A lottery with a thousand blanks to every
one prize!” the woman added in her decided

way.

Pes, madam, so he stated; but, when he
found that I was determined upon trying it, he
gave me your address and advised me, if I ever

id come to the city in pursuit of my Will-o’-
the-Wisp; as he termed it, to come directly to
your house; ‘for,’ as he said, ‘while under my
mother’s roof she will take care that: no harm
comes to you.’”

“That is true enough, either from him or any-
body else,” the boarding-house keeper muttered,
not at all mollified by the compliment. “‘Have
you any baggage?"

‘A large vi only; I am not very rich in
worldly goods, but Ihave a little store of mone
that I have saved up for this venture, and
have a‘little property in the country which I
rely upon to bring in a smallincome.” Halah
made this explanation, for she did not wish the
boarding-house keeper to think that she came
asa beggar:

‘* Well, I guess I can make room for you,”
Mrs. Mallory said, ‘‘ although, if you take my
advice, and you know ehet is good for your-
self, you will get out of this city and go back to
your country home as soon as possible.”

‘‘T must make the attempt, madam, and,
after I have failed, then it will be time enough
to think of something else.”

 

AN AMBITIOUS. GIRL.

 

3

The eae had half-turned upon her heel as
if to admit the applicant, and then, a sudden
thought occurring to her, she faced around, a
stern look upon her keen face.

‘One question first, young lady, before you
enter these doors, and I charge you,.as you
value your happiness and peace of mind in this
world; to answer it truly: Are you in love with
my son 9”

The question was so abrupt, so entirely unex-
pected, that it took Miss Kunibell completely by
surprise, ‘and, for the moment, she
what tosay. Thequestion irritated her. With
her mind fixedon the bright goal toward which
her anxious feet’ were pressing, what had she to
do with love?’ Was the world all mad, that
love seemed to run in the thoughts of every one
she met?

Her face was an expressive one, and the éx-
perienced eyes of the woman easily, and cor-
rectly, read the thoughts that were passing in
her mind.

‘“There, there; never mind answering!” Mrs.
Mallory exclaimed, ‘I see that I was wrong in

new not

“my suspicions, and [thank Heaven I was; never

a foot inside this door would you have stepped
if there had been anything between you two. I
am glad of it, for I could hardly -believe that
Gordon would be base enough to ruin all your
life, situated as he is, with a terrible curse
hanging over— but, that. is neither here’ nor
there; his business is his business, and it is none
of mine, so long as he keeps his troubles away
from’ me; But, I say, young lady, don’t you
mind me,” she added, noticing the look of won-
der upon the fine face produced by these strange
words. ‘I’ve got an odd way of talking some-
times, but you mustn’t mind it; my bark is
a great deal worse than my bite.”

hen the woman led the way into the house and
ushered the young lady into the parlor—the par-
lor which was furnished as boarding-house par-
lors have been furnished from time immemori-
al: a big-figured Brussels carpet, decidedly the
worse for-wear, four chairs and a sofa covered
with hair-cloth, a small center-table, a large
mirror between the windows, and an old-fash-
ioned piano, which had evidently been extreme-
ly ill-used; a rocking-chair, too, corresponding
with the rest of the furniture, was not missing,
and this Mrs, Mallory proceeded to occupy, mo-
tioning the girl to one of the other chairs, and
the antiquated piece of furniture protested with
a series of agonizing squeaks against such usage
when the oa sat upon it, for Miss Kunibell was
good, solid flesh and bone, and no airy spirit.

““T don’t think I can give you aroom to your-
self,” Mrs. Mallory now remarked; ‘I am very
full. Just now I have got six of the burlesque
party who are playing at Niblo’s Garden Thea-
ter, and.a deal of trouble, they are, too, the
hussies! but they pay well. A room with an-
other lady will come cheaper, too, and I suppose
you want to save all the money you can.”

To Halah, who had always been used to her
own neat little room in her country home,
plainly, almost scantily furnished, it is true, but
everything as neat as wax, the idea of sharin.
the apartment of an entire stranger was av firs
repugnant; but she had set out upon her pur-
pose with a resolute mind, and was not one to
hesitate at the first obstacle.

“You don’t like the idea?” the mistress of the
house Prepon With her penetrating eyes she
seemed to see ae

“No, it is not agreeable, because I have al-
ways been used to having my own room, but of
course I understand that I shall be obliged to
accustom myself to a great many things that I
am not used to, and the quicker I begin the bet-
ter it will be forme, I suppose.”

That is the sensible way to look at it,” Mrs.

'| Mallory asserted, with oneof her peculiar sniffs,

which she used indifferently to express either
contempt or satisfaction, ‘‘If,you were a rich
young lady now, going off to boarding-school,
you would be obliged to room with some one,
and think it no hardship, either. Let me see,
there’s two young ladies who have room for an-
other one in their apartments, Nellie Richmond
and Sara’Pearl.. You and Richmond would ne-
ver get on inthe world, for she’s a high-flyer, and
a bad egg, too, unless I miss my guess, for she’s
got a temper that will bring her into mischief
one of ‘these days; but Sara is a nice iet
piece, although she is as brisk as a bee; I think
you and she will be very good friends after you
get acquainted: Ishall charge you five dollars
a week if you room with Sara, but if you want-
ed a room to yourself it would be eight.”

“Oh, I had better save tae three dollars,”
Halah at once protested, prudent beyond her

ears.
7 “You are quite right, and Sara, too, will be
of great assistance to you if you are determined
to become an actress, for she is on the stage her-
self. She is very clever, they say; I don’t
know; I never to theaters, although one
might say that I get my bread out of them,
which I do, at second-hand. The theater pays
the actors and actresses, and they pay me. I
keep a theatrical boarding-house, almost strictly,
you know;. very seldom have any one here
who is net connected with the stage in some
way, but I hate the whole thing, though!” the
landlady eried, abruptly, with one of those sud-~

 
    

4

AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

 

—-

 

den outbursts of fierceness which sounded so
strangely. ‘‘If it hadn’t been for the miserable
acting my boy would never have been afflicted
—but there, that’s nobody’s business, Sara is
at Niblo’s Theater ; she is one of the regular
company, not like this little tiger-cat of a Rich-
mond; she’s only there for a few weeks, and
the quicker she gets out of here the better, If
she gets into any of her tantrums here I’ll take
ond put ber out neck and heels!” and Mrs. Mal-
lory shuf her teeth in a very significant way.

Bia tage ideas came into the young lady’s
mind, hat sort of a girl was this one against
whom the landlady made such a threat, and
what strange associates was she doomed to en-
counter in her desire to become an actress?

‘““By the way, you haven’t told me your
name?” Mrs. Mallory added, in her sharp way,
after quite a pause.

“ Halah Kunibell.”

The landlady knitted her heavy brows to-
gether,

‘What an odd. name! That is your own,
sure enough; no one by choice would ever adopt
sucha one. Are you going to play under your
own name, when you go on the stage?”

This was the first time the idea had ever oc-
curred to the girl, and a sudden horror came over
her at the bare idea of appearing before the public
under her own proper name. Possibly the hor-
ror came from the dim, dark secret which had
fer so many years clouded her father’s life. He
had hidden himself away in the obscure village
so that his very existence might remain un-
known to all the world; should she, then, now
that he was dead, and in the silent tomb, flaunt
the family name in the face of all creation?
Who could tell what the dark mystery was that
clung so ye him? Might not some
portion of it attach itself to her?

No! under his own true name her father had
hidden himself away in the quiet of the obscure
hamlet; under a false one she would bury her-
self and identity in the very midst of the bi
and bustling world, safe from any possibility o:
discovery.

“ T do not think [ will appear.on thestage un-
der my own name,” she responded, after a brief
pause,

“You are not ashamed of the stage, are you?
because if you are, you ought not to go on.
My son plays under his own name, and I have
no patience with these people who think that
they must have some fine, fancy name to act
under. If anybody’s name is an ill-lookin;
one, and wouldn’t read well on the bills, then
don’t blame them for changing it. Bridget
O'Flaherty of course doesn’t sound as well as
Beatrice Kingston, and one would never ima-

ine Timothy Pecksniff playing Richard, Mac-

th, or Romeo, Your name is not a good
stage-name, and it would be better for you to
change it. Turn Halah, which is the most out-
landish name I think I ever heard, into Helen,
and Kunibell into plain Bell—Helen Bell; there’s
a pretty, simple name for you, and it seems like
a true name, also, and not an- assumed one.
Keep it all the time, too, in private life as well
as public, and then, when you get through with
the stage, you can drop it and go back to your
own

The advice was good, and the young girl
made up her mind to be guided by it,

“Tt is not pride, madam, but there are family
reasons, perhaps, which would render it better
for me to; take the name you suggest, rather
than appear in public under my own, so, in the
future, I will be known as Helen Bell.” __

“Family reasons, eh?’ and the landlady in-
dulged in another sniff. ‘‘Humph! you come
of old stock, eh? I thought so when I ‘heard
your queer, outlandish name; rich relations,
maybe, who may leave you something hand-
some one of these days if you don’t, disgrace
the old family name, by dragging it in the
mire of the sta Well, it isn’t any business of
mine, Helen Bell is. your name, and that is all
I know about you, and mind, don’t tell your
true name to anybody, for if you do everybody
will know it.” n

The girl kept, her own counsel; of what good
was it to tell the lady that, as far as she knew,
she did not possess a single relative in the
world?

“ Now come up-stairs and I will introduce ‘you
to Miss Sara; you will find her a very nice girl,
indeed; very lively, but not.a bit of harm in
her; so different from that little fiend of a
Richmond. I shall break that girl’s neck be-
fore she gets out of this house; I am afraid.”

Mrs.. Mallory then conducted the lad up-
stairs, Up three flights they went, and then
the landlady knocked at the door of the back
room.

A young, fresh voice, with just a little sharp-
ness in it, r mded:

“*Opén locks, whoever knocks!’””

“« Just like her; always full of her mischief!”
and the hard face of Mrs. Mallorpastioned in
such a way that the girl unde that the in-

mate of the room was a most decided favorite of
the rather irascible boarding-house keeper.
Mrs. Mallory opened the door, and, followed
by her companion, entered the room. ,
Right in the center of the apartment, sitting
flat upon the floor, in an old wrapper, terribly

faded, and altogether much the worse for wear,
with a great profusion of white fleecy skirts,
liberally ornamented with gold and silver span-

les, the typical dress always worn by the stage"

airies, scattered all around her, evidently un-
dergoing repairs, sat the inmate of the room.
She was a rather tall, well-proportioned girl,
with pleasant, regular features, a singularly
clear red and white complexion, fine blue eyes
and red hair, which curled in little crispy ring-
lets all over her shapely head, There was no
mistaking the color of the hair—it was most
decidedly and unmistakably red; not even
the greatest flatterer could have called it au-
burn without blushing at the falsehood.

The girl gave a little scream, and with a
single bound was on her feet, light and elastic as
India rubber.

“ Well, well, Iam caught! Oh, Mrs. Mallory,
how could you go for to come for to do so?” an
she shook her head, reproachfully.

‘Oh, this lady will excuse you, and she might
as well fet used to your madcap ways first as
last, as I think of putting her in here to room
with yon. if you hav’n’t any objection. This is
Miss Helen Bell, Miss Sara Peari.”

The new Helen simply inclined her head, but
Miss Pearl indulged in the most elaborate cour-
tesy. The girl was so full of gay, animal spirits
that she exagyersted everything.

“Tf you will give me your check I will have
 htoad valise sent for, and our rule here is that

rd must be paid in advance—”

‘¢ And no trust!” added the irrepressible Sara,
winking slyly at the landlady.

“ Not with you; I know you,” responded Mrs,
Mallory, tartly, a smile, hovering around the
corners of her mouth.

She received the money from Miss Bell, as we
shall hereafter call her to prevent confusion;
also the check, and then retired,

The other girl had been examining the stran-
gesermcoly, and, when the door closed behind

. Mallory, she advanced to the other and
offered her d in the frankest manner.

‘“‘T am sure I shall like you; lam the awfulest

1 you ever saw for taking likes and dislikes.

t is either love like a house a-fire with me, or

else I hate like all possessed. That is because I

have got red hair, you know; all girls, and

men, too, with red Hales need looking after! But,
sit down, dear, and take sa things off.”

And Miss Pear! assi the new-comer to lay
aside her cloak and hat.

‘One would never take you for an actress,
with that quiet, statue-like face; but you’re
regular legitimate drama, I suppose—no bur-
lesque or kick up your heels in a variety show for
you,” the girl rattled on. ‘‘ When do you open,
dear, and what theater? Maybe you are one of
the new-fledged stars that are going to astonish
the natives with a combination, season?”

The girl smiled; there was something conta-
gious in the brisk, cheery manner of the other.

“Tam not an actress yet, but I mene to be
one; I have come to New York to see if 1 could
not learn to act.”

“Good gracious! You don’t say so? Well—”

But the girl’s s h was abruptly cut short
at this point by the sudden opening of the door,
and a rather undersized, black-haired, black-
eyed woman came darting into the apartment.

e slammed the door to behind her, then
whipped out a sha’ ointed, ar sol dagger
from her breast an hed it before the face of

the country girl.

‘So you have come after him all the way to
New York; but you sha’n’t have him!” she cried.
“ T’will cut your very heart out first!”

CHAPTER IV.
NELL RICHMOND

Tux danger was so sudden, the attack so en-
tirely unexpected that it seemed to transform
the threatened girl into a statue.

Motionless she stood, and with great eyes, full
of wonder, looked upon the threatening ges-
tures of the intruder.

Not so with the other girl; she knew-the in-
truder well enough, and had seen her in such
homens before, ‘therefore she was prompt to

act.

Right by her side upon the bed lay one of the
short policeman’s clubs, such as are worn by the
New York dians of the peace. This was
pert of the girl’s stage equipment, and by mis-

ke had. been packed ap ane sent home with
her wardrobe instead of being returned to the
‘““property-room” of the theater where it be-
longed. The club came into service now,
though, for Pearl snatched itup in a moment,
and jumping to Miss Bell’s side raised it in the
air in menace. :

“You, Nell Richmond, get out of my room

 

with your crazy freaks!” she cried, angrily,’

and, from the expression upon her face, it was
plain that she could_be resolute when the oc
casion demanded, ‘You don’t know this lady,
and you have no business in here, and if you at-
tempt to'strike with that knife I wil] knock you
down even if the blow does break that crazy
head of yours!” i

There was a crazy look in the woman’s face
and eyes, but for all that she had sense enough

 

to know the chances were if she ‘attempted any
violence that Sara Pearl would be as good as

 

 

her word, and as Sara was tall and powerfully
built a blow from the stout locust club in her
hands would be no light matter.

Slowly the black-haired, ee woman.
oy the hand that brandished the glittering:

nile,

“Oh, don’t [ know her! But I do, though!”
she exclaimed, in a voice which was singular!
low and sweet, though now it should be hars'
with anger. ‘‘I saw her when she passed my
room in the entry; the door happened to be
ajar and I got a good look at her, and I recog-
nized you, you innocent country girl! in a mo-
ment. I know what you come here for, but I
shouldn’t think you would have the boldness to
come here openly. J don’t dare do it and I
have got the right in the world, and yet he
has got me tangled up in such a snare tI
don’t dare to say who and what I am!”

‘“Who are you talking about, or are you
crazy?” Sara demanded, unable to make any
sense out of this disjointed speech, and rightly

judging from the expression upon the face of
er room-mate that she also was completely *
the dark.

“Oh, yes, I am crazy, of course. That us:
what he says, sometimes, and that is one of the
threats which he holds over me. If I don’t be-
have myself and do exactly as he says, he will
put me in the lunatic asylum and keep me there
until I learn to behave myself. And that is the
way in which he will talk to you after he once
gets you and then gets tired of you, as he will,
as surely as the sun rises and sets!” she de-

clared, with bitter accent, addressing her con-
versation directly to Miss Bell, who ned im
utter and complete amazement. ‘‘ But fyow

will never have the hold on him that I have,
and that was where, for once in my poor,
wretched life, I was smart. I give you fair
warning; don’t — attempt to come between
him and me! I found your picture in his
session, a nasty little tin-type, and I smashed it
into a hun jieces, and right before his face,
too! That is the reason I knew you, for the
picture was a good likeness.”

“Tt is false!” cried Helen, indignantly. ‘I
never gave my picture to a gentleman in all
my life. I never had it taken but once!”

‘Oh, he stole it, of course!” and the woman:
laughed, bitterly. ‘‘Of course, stole it—with
your permission,” she continued; ‘do ‘you
think that you can fool me with any such ~
low trick? What are you doing here, if you
have not come after him?”

There was a pause after this question; the
country girl could not have answered it to save
her life, for she had no idea what the woman
meant, while Sara ran rapidly over in her mind’
the-names of the male occupants of the house,
seeking to discover which one of them was re-
ferred to, but the attempt was fruitless. There.
were only four gentlemen stopping in the house..
Signor Brignoli, the Italian opera-singer, who
was a big, ‘at German, of uncertain age, very
much addicted to beer, tobacco and late hours;
Thomas Stubbs, Stage Manager ‘of Niblo’s:
Garden Theater, a very elderly Englishman,
as gray as a badger and as fierce as a
hawk, and who had been engaged for so
many years in blowing up ‘“‘supes” (as the
non-speaking actors are termed) and hectorin
unfortunate ballet-girls,, more or less stu id
that it had become almost impossible for him.
to speak in a civil tone to any one; John Jones,
stage-carpenter of the Olympic Theater--a won-
denful mechanic, with a positive genius for de-
vising stage machinery, a surly, dark-browed
sullen-faced man, who went about as if he had
the weight of a dreadful secret on his mind, buti
who, in reality, was one of the most harmless
and dullest (his own peculiar specialty excepted)
men in the world. Clearly then it wasn’t the
stag’ nter, and the fourth man was just.
as unlikely to be the object upon whom the girl
had placed her young affections as the rest—-
Jerome Skank, a scenic artist, a tall, thin, elderly
gentleman—a living illustration of the old pic-
ture always used to — the Bohemian; the:
man of the world, the child of genius who was
not bound by the cold, conventional rules of*
society. He had long hair, sharp features, a
red nose, and was extremely careless in his
dress—a man of undoubted ability in bis profes--
sion, but unfortunately so addicted to the use
of strong — that he was not at all to be de~
pended on, for when he took it into his head to
go off on a spree, no considerations in the world.
restrained him.

Clearly no one of these four altogether un-
likely men could be the one whom Nell Rich-
mond supposed the girl to bein search of, for
Sara had seen quite enough of the dark-eyed
vixen to understand that the man to take her
wayward fancy must be either young and hand-
some, or else, lacking these two things, as rich

as a Russian prince.
“T know absoluvel nothing of what you are
talking about!” Miss Bell returned, indignantly.

“‘You are a ee stranger to me, and wh
A should attack me in this outrageous way is:
tally beyond my comprehension.

‘“Now, see here, Miss Richmond, this has
gone quite far enough!” Sara interposed, her
sturdy Vermont bl beginning to le in
her veins. “I want you to understand dis—

 
  

 
 

6

 

AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

  

 

taking me if I had been an ugly girl; he fell in
love with me—would have been glad to have
married me if I would have had him; he was
clever in his way—a very small way, though.
I was not looking for a husband; I was dream-
ing of a glorious future on the stage, and so I
laughed at his suit.

‘“We only played in the little bits of towns,
barn-stormers, as we were termed, because in
the old times of the drama the traveling troupes
were glad to play in barns or anything else of
that sort. Finally we burst up, as all the little
troupes do, sooner or later. had held on to
my money. Ihad been with the company six-
teen weeks and had saved up. fifty dollars; had
improved rapidly, too, so that I wasn’t afraid
to go on and play almost anything, or play at
it, to use our theatrical term, and when the
manager ran off with the neoatpie one night,
and left us to our own resources, I came to New
York, and I set out to personally interview
every manager in the city; I was determined to
get on_if such a thing was possible. I com-
menced with Wallack, who is the leading
theatrical manager of America, and I wound up
with Joe Berlie, who runs a lager-beer garden
with theatrical performances as an adjunct to
the beer. And this last man gave me my New
York opening at the magnificent salary of five
dollars a week, I played in what is called a
negro sketch; I was the landlady of an inn
where some negro tramps, without money,
sought accommodation. The part didn’t amount
to anything—wasn’t even written out for me to
study, but the artists—Heaven save the mark!
—told me certain things which I must say when
they said certain other things, and for the rest,
while they were all off the stage two or three
times, I could say what I liked, and I did; 1
‘made up’ as an old Yankee woman, and with
my Vermont brogue I upset the negroes com-
pletely, so that the audience thought I was the
star instead of they, and I made a hit. They
were iienutaly indignant, but the manager was
delighted; he had agreed to give the two a hun-
dred dollars for the week, but my success gave
him a chance to say they were a failure; so he
discharged them at once and put two ten-dol-
lar-men on in their places, Then I got a chance
in a burlesque to exhibit my fair proportions.
It was awful at first to wear the short dress, but
I got used to it, and then my star began to rise;
so now, dear, I am the best Stalacta in the
Crook in the country, and I am supposed to get
a hundred dollars a week.”

“ T have never seen but one stage performance
in my life,” the country girl observed, ‘‘ Uncle
Tom’s cabin was the play, but I have read a
great deal about the stage.’

““My dear, you can’t tell anything about it
at all by reading. In the first place, during the
last ten years the stage has turned upside down;
it isn’t at allasit used to be. Once there was a
distinct line between the Variety saloons—as
the Music Halls are called—and the theaters,
but now it is hard work to tell where one be-

ins and. the other ends, I suppose your idea is
0 play tragedy—Juliet, or Lady Macbeth, or
something of that sort?” ‘

‘¢-Yes, I have learned the part of Juliet.”

“You will never get a chance to play it un-
less you hire a theater and try it at your own
expense. You must commence at the foot of
the ladder; Ican get you a chance, probably;
you will get about five dollars a week—enough

live on and thatis all.”

‘* And what will I have to do?”

‘Nothing to speak of—go on and off, that’s
all, but you will get used to the footlights, and
that is not such an easy matter as some_people
think; or you can try the managers as I did—
then you will be satisfied.”

 

CHAPTER VI.
A MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR,

Nicut had come, and by this time the coun-.
try girl had begun to get a little used to her po-
sition. She had debated at great length with
the lively actress in regard to what was best to
do, and the latter, seeing that her head was full
of the idea, which she had got from reading
about the stage, that it was easy to procure a
chance to show the talent which she believed
she had, advised her to consult the different
managers at once, and then she would be satis-
fied. Sara ‘‘knew the ropes,” and she was
therefore well enough aware that a single day’s
experience would prove to the girl that getting
on the stage was not such an easy thing as she
had supposed.

But a great piece of luck had befallen our
heroine right at the outset, In making the ac-
quaintance of the actress, and enlisting her as a
friend, she had builded better. than she was
aware, Sara, with that peculiar imnulsive-
ness which was so. strongly a part of her na-
ture, had taken a great liking to the stranger.
and already in her own mind had determin
to help her along all she could. With the keen
eves of experience she had ‘‘taken stock” of
the rl, “She is good-looking—more than
good-looking, in fact,” she observed to herself,
“She is beautiful, and with a perfectly mag-
nificent figure; a lady, too, very graceful, and
ladylike, and evidently with a good education.

There isn’t the slightest reason in the world
why she shouldn’t make something on the
stage, although it may not, be the fortune she
dreams of, and the quicker she commences to
get used to what is before her the better.”

And so, acting on this plan, the actress told
Miss Bell that if she liked she could accompany
her to the theater that evening. Of course the
other eagerly accepted the offer.

“* It isn’t the easiest thing to get a stranger in
behind the scenes,” the actress announced, ‘‘ for
the rules are very strict and our old back-door-
keeper is a regular griffin generally. If you
were a man it couldn’t be done, but as there are
about a hundred girls in the piece, and it has
only been running since Monday, it isn’t pos-
sible that the old fellow has got all tho faces
down in his mind yet. If you have a water-
proof you can put it on and come in with me,
and he will not be apt to suspect that you are a
stranger. I have a dressing-room all to myself,
and from the landing you can look down on the
stage and get a pretty good idea of the show—
it is all a show nowadays, you know. That
term used to be pentes to a circus, or some-
thing of that kind, but now everything is a
show from the grand opera down to the learned

ig.

And so, glad of the chance to gain admission
behind the mystic scenes, the country girl went
with the actress, and, as the latter had sur-
mised, the old back-door-keeper never suspected
that she was a stranger. He knew Miss Pearl
well enough, for she had played at Niblo’s be-
fore, and of course spepeeet that her compan-
ion, following her with such perfect composure,
was one of the girls of the ballet.

Miss Bell passed the guardian of the’ portal
without exciting any particular attention, but
if she escaped his searching gaze, she was not
so lucky in regard to another person who hap-
pened to be passing along the street just at the
very moment when she entered the stage door
of the theater. A very brilliant gaslight
glowed at the stage door, and as one of the
stage carpenters was passing out, just as the
two ladies came to the door, they were. com-
pelled to halt fora moment until the man got
out of the way; standing as they did right in
the full glare of the light, their features were
distinctly visible to all the passers-by, generally
few and far between, for Crosby steeet is not
much of a thoroughfare.

It was just one of those odd things which
happen sometimes: A lady was passing up the
street—a well-dressed, blonde-haired, blue-eyed
woman, bearing a really wonderful resemblance
to the country girl. She was older, though—a
close observer would have said, considerably
older; but the difference in ages could only be
told by the absence of the youthful bloom
which shone on the face of the would-be
actress; this apart, she appeared about as young
as the other.

Indeed, they looked enough alike to be sis-
ters, or perhaps mother and daughter, although
the stranger was hardly old enough for that.

She was richly dressed, looked every inch the
lady, yet ape her face was a strange expres-
sion, an almost masculine look, and as she
walked up the street she glanced furtively be-
hind her every now and then as though afraid
of being followed. This lady came by the back
door of Niblo’s Garden theater just as the two

irls halted under the gaslight, and thus the
‘aces of both were plainly revealed to her.

She started, then stopped and stared, draw-
ing her breath hard as though laboring under
great excitement.

The two eae passed into the building uncon-
scious of the scrutiny. For a moment the
stran; remained motionless, staring at the
open doorway as though her eyes could pene-
trate through the darkness which reigned with-
in; then, apparently actuated by a sudden im-

ulse, she walked rapidly up to the old back-

oor-keeper, who, seated by the open door in
his shirt-sleeves, was smo! a pipe in the
most calm and serene manner possible.

“Who is that lady that just went in?” she
demanded, in the quick, imperious tones of one
who had been used to command.

The old man looked up, astonished at the
question as well as by the tone in which it had
been put, for this was a visitor something out
of the common run—the usual haunters of the
back door being dashing young men about
town, anxious to scrape an acquaintance with
some fair creature of the ballet, whom they
had ogled with their opera-glasses from the
front of the house; or a romantic and foolish
school-girl ‘“‘dying” to geta glimpse of some
favorite actor or actress.

And, somehow, the old man felt inclined to
answer the question, although, as.a rule, he was
rough and disagreeable enough. But in this
case something seemed to tell him that it was
noordinary motive which impelled the question.

“That was Miss Pearl,” he said, never think-
ing for a moment that the lady referred to the
other girl, whom he took to be a member of the
baliet—a person of no consequence whatever.

‘Miss Pearl?” exclaimed the lady, reflect-
ively; ‘‘the name is not familiar to me.”

“ Miss Sara Pearl, that is what she calls her-

 

self, but it may not be her true name, though;

 

it’s more than likely it ain’t; these actresses, a
good many of ’em, don’t go by their own names,”

It was a wonder the old man volunteered this:
information, for it was not like him to waste
words upon anybody.

“Actress!” and then the lady looked up at
the building in wonder, and the old man under-
stood immediately that she had not the slight-
a idea of what purpose the building was used

or.

“Yes, ma’am, this is Niblo’s Garden theater,
and the lady is one of the actresses engage |
here.”

“Tt cannot be, and yet—the resemblance is
wonderful; but she is in England,” the woman
muttered, ‘her mind evidently in a fog, and
never taking the slightest notice of the old door
guardian. ‘‘What am I saying? I have for-
gotten the lapse of years, The child would be
a woman, too,.and just about her age. I must
see her, a few moments’ conversation with her
will solve all doubts,”

She made a movement toward the door of the
theater, and the old man, understanding that:
she intended to enter, immediately rose.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but it’s ag’in”
the rules,” he said; ‘‘no one is allowed to go in
without a pass, unless they are employed on the.
premises,”

“Yes, yes, I understand!” the lady cried, im-
patiently, ‘‘but you must allow me to break
the rules for once!” And out came her pocket-
book which was completely stuffed with bills,
and she attempted to force a two-dollar note
into the hand of the door-keeper.

Nowthis offended the old fellow, for he prided.
himself upon his integrity.

‘No, no, ma’am; that won’t do!” he exclaim-
ed, pushing the billaway. ‘I couldn’t let you
go in. If you will come at about eleven to-
night, you will catch Miss Pearl as she goes
home, but you can’t go in!” ,

“T will go in, and stop me if you dare!” cried
the woman, a y. She advanced a step,
and there was a look in her eyes which fairly
scared the man, although he wasa pretty fough.
and tough customer, old as he was, ‘I will go
in!” she repeated, fiercely; ‘‘stand out of the
way or I will do you a mischief.”

_ The door-keeper was astounded; never before
in all his experience had he encountered such a.
woman,

“Go way, ma’am, or J’ll call the police!” and
he backed into the doorway.

The woman cast a rapid glance around her as:
if to see if there was anybody near, and there
was—three men were SEDEORCEIDE cautiously
up the street. She saw them in a momen

‘*T am tracked, then,” she cried. a

A carriage happened to be passing at the mo-
ment; it was a common coach, going along

uite slowly, and the driver, a stupid-looking
little Irishman, seemed half-asleep on the box.

‘With a single bound almost the woman leaped
from where she had been standing to the box of
the coach, then with a violent push she sent the
driver headlong into the street, he being totally
unprepared for such a thing, and she caught the
reins from his hand as he fell, snatched the whip
from the socket and applied it lustily to the
backs of the horses who, astonished at the treat-
ment, broke at once into a furious gallop, and
up the street she went at headlong speed.

The three men, who had evidently been dog-
ging her, were not altogether unprepared for
such a movement, for they had a coach follow-
ing behind them, and immediately jumped into

it.
“Follow that coach! ' Ten dollars if you keep
it in sight!” the leader of the three cried.

CHAPTER VII.
BEHIND THE SCENES,

TOTALLY unconscious of course of the strange
scene being enacted on the outside of the thea-
ter, Sara conducted her companion to her dress-:
ing-room, which was an extremely diminutive
er teans up two flights of stairs.” The landing
ot each flight was so arranged that from it a view
of the stage could be obtained—not a very good
Bay only a partial one, as the scenery was in

way.

ne rox see, dear,” the actress explained, “you
can stand right outside my door and get a
pretty good view of what is going on, only it
won’t present the sight that it does from the
front of the house, for you are behind the cur-
tain and you can see the wires that move the
puppets!” Ab! it removes a great deal of the
stage glamour to get behind the scenes.”

ey had entered the little dressing-room and
Sara turned up the gaslights which just showed
a glimmer of light only. She noticed the look
of surprise which a) pated on Miss Bell’s face
as she gazed around her. :

The dressing-room was most meagerly fur-
nished. Two rows of shelving were arranged
around the walls; there was just an apology
for a carpet upon the floor; in one corner was a
common wash-stand with a pitcher and howl;
there were two chairs and a looking-glass, but
nothing more. 7

‘ This doesn’t look like the dressing-rooms
you have read about, eh, where the actresses
receive the noble lords who come between the
acts to compliment them upon their triumphs?”

ui

 

 

 
 

=

Sara observed, placing a chair for the other
and beginning to remove her things.

‘No, not much.”

“Well, this is a pretty fair sample of what
dressing-rooms generally are and what they all
used to be in this country ; England I don’t know
anything about. But now, when they build a
theater they deign toremember there are some
little insignificant things called actors and ac-
tresses connected with it, and they provide them
with apartments that are a little better than the
stall of a well-kept horse. Why, I played in
one opera house once, in a flourishing city on
the banks of the Mississippi, not a thousand
miles from Quincy, Illinois, where the architect
actually forgot all about ‘the dressing-rooms
until after the building was completed, and
then, when it came to be opened, and the com-
pany had assembled, lo, and behold! there
wasn’t any place for them to dress! Something
had to be done, of course; so some little cubby-
holes, about as big as good-sized dog kennels,
were arranged up in the flies—that is that plat-
form overhead where the ropes are fastened.
But they are getting wiser now, and in some of
the new opera houses there are actually running
water md steam-pipes in the dressing-rooms,”

And as the actress chatted away she got out
her dresses and began to disrobe.

The dress that Miss Pearl wore as Stalacta
was a very peculiar one—in fact, it might be
said ‘to be no dress at all, and the color fairly
came into the face of the country girl as she
saw with horror what a liberal display of her
well-proportioned form the actress made. Her
nether limbs were incased in flesh-colored silk
tights; her arms, which were reully beautiful,
being as white and as round as the arms of a
chubby child, were bare nearly to the shoulders
and all the dress she wore was a sort of a short-
sleeved jacket-bodice, with a pair of short
“trunks” which came down half-way between
the thigh and the knee.

“Surely, you. are not going on the stage be-
fore a multitude of people in that way?’ Miss
Bell exclaimed.

And the question was a natural one, for a
dress more calculated to display the beauties of
the female form divine the art of man could
hardly have devised.

A quick flush came over the face of the
actress for a moment, for she winced at the

uestion ; then she laughed, for long ago she had
ought the battle with herself,

“Dear, I don’t wonder at the question, for
when I first went on the stage if anybody had
even suggested that I would display my le—
limbs in this way, I would have been horrified
at the very idea, but I have got bravely over
it. It has come to be a matter of business, and
I think no more of it than the high-toned belles
and matrons of society do when they go to pub-
lic balls with dresses cut so low in the neck that
they might as well, as far as decency is con-
cerned, have on no waist at all. It is alla mere
matter of custom. I get my bread this way; I
cannot get it as well any other. I know it is
not very nice, but it doesn’t make any differ-
ence in me; when I am off the stage I know that
T am just as good and modest a girl as I used
to be in my Vermont home, before I ever
stepped foot on the public boards. In fact, I
am more modest, for then, whenever there
were any parties in the neighborhood, kissing
mes were always played, and I have been
ssed twenty times in a night by twenty dif-
ferent boys, and pretty well towzled about, too,
in the bargain, and no one thought that there
was any harm in it because it was the custom,
but I would like to catch anybody trying any-
thing of that kind now!” Her eyes flashed,
and she drew her tall figure up as she spoke un-
til she looked like a very queen.

“JT know I never could do it!” the country
‘girl declared; “‘and if I must do it, I may as
well give up all thoughts of becoming an act-
ress!’

“Oh, no; that isn’t necessary, This is only
one line; there are three or four others, where
you won't have to exhibit yourself quite so
much. But, at the best, remember that to act
is to make a show of yourself; you can’t dodge
that fact; and any one who pays the money to
come in has the right to stare at you all he, or
she, pleases. Toa certain degree, the moment
@ man or woman steps foot upon the stage, it is
to become public property. And you must re-
member, too, that a certain part of the world—

uite a large number of people—believes that
there isn’t such a thing asa good man or wo-
man upon the stage. You will find that belief
pretty strong, and that is another thing you
will have to submit to. I tell you what it is,
dear, the woman who wins the laurel crown
upon the stage has to pay wore dearly for it.
But, you will see in time. Try the regular act-
ing; go in for a tragedy queen; you may suc-
ceed; others have done it, although I failed.
But, there is one thing in regard to this costume
which I must explain to you. I don’t suppose
yon will understand it; few do until they have

n years in the profession, and have got used
to it; and that is, when we are on the stage we
are not thinking of the audience at all—we are
thinking of our parts—how soon we will get
home—how much money there is in the house,

 

AN AMBITIOUS. GIRL.

and, sometimes, whether we are going to get
our salary or not, We never think of our dress,
whether the audience are staring at us or not.
We take it for granted that they are, of course;
that is what they paid their money for. You
will understand this feeling when you get be-
fore the footlights in good earnest,’

The call-boy’s shrill yell:

“Last music! Overture on, and everybody
down to begin!” echoing through the entry
without, put a stop to the conversation just
then, and ay bestowing the last hasty touches
to her toilet, prepared to descend to the stage.

“ You can stand on the landing without,” she
said; ‘‘1 don’t think anybody will notice you,
but, if they do, tell them that you came to
dress me; then they will think that I am trying
to put on airs like these French and Italian dan-
seuses who bring a whole family to wait upon
them.”

Then Sara descended to the stage, and Miss
Bell took a position upon the landing. Every-
thing, of course, was new and strange to her.
The curtain would soon rise, and all was now
bustle and confusion upon the stage. Stubbs
the stage-manager, whom she recognized at
once, having been introduced to him at the
boarding-house at supper-time, was raging
around the stage like a madman. He was a fine
specimen of the old-time stage-manager, who in
order to make his authority respected, thought
‘ necessary to swear at everybody and every-

ing.

The orchestra outside were playing away for
dear life, and the hum and bustle of the audience
crowding into the house could be distinctly
heard above the music—the gallery gods, as the
occupants of the upper circle are usually termed,
in particular, rushing into their places like a
herd of buffaloes,

The stage was full of carpenters in their shirt
sleeves, fairies in short skirts, demons.in horrid
array, and all the motley characters that go to
make up the Black Crook—the greatest spectacu-
lar play the stage has ever seen.

Suddenly, with a flourish, the overture ended.
Then there was the tinkle of a bell.

“Clear!” yelled the stage-manager, and, as if
by magic, the stage was vacated by all not con-
cerned in the beginning, and the curtain rose.

Three wonderful hours of sight-seeing our
heroine then had.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE NEW YORK MANAGERS,

AFTER the performance ended, Sara doffed
the light, airy robes of the fairy queen, and
once more assumed the prosaic garb of civilized
life, then the two girls proceeded homeward.

“Well, dear, I have commenced to pull the
wires for you, already,” Sara announced, as
they walked along. ‘Old Stubbs took a fancy
to you to-night at the supper-table; it was a
wonder, too, for I never knew the crusty old
rat to take a fancy to any one before.”

The appellation bestowed upon the veteran
stage-director fitted him well, for, with his
shaggy gray hair and whiskers, and his sharp,
peaked features, he looked more like arat al-
most than a human,

“T am glad to hear it.”

‘*He’s a valuable friend to have, for he is one of
the oldest men in the business, and managers at-
tach a great deal of weight to anything he says,
Yes, he wanted to know who a were, if you
were a professional, for he said that you hada
good face and figure, and looked as if you could
do something. I rather evaded the question.
and, although I didn’t tell a downright fib, 1
came pretty near to it. I said that I believed
you hadn’t had much practice. He caught
sight of you at the theater to-night, and re-
marked again that you had a face which would
light up well. You see, the stage-managers
calculate in regard to our personal attractions
6 good deal as if we were a lot of horses or

ogs.

“Yes, how different from the life which I
imagined it to be,” the country girl confessed,
witha sigh. Already some of the illusion was
vanishing.

“And Se said, too, that he guessed he could
make room for you next week if you didn’t
want too much money.”

** What does he want me to do?”

“T don’t know that; the conversation was in-
terrupted just then, but he will probably tell me
the next chance he gets,”

The golden opportunity which she so earnest-
ly desired seemed near at hand now, but the
gir rather shrunk from it; from Shakespeare’s

uliet to figuring in the Black Crook was such
a terrible fall,

But, she was to call upon the manager to-
morrow; perhaps there might be something
better in store for her.

Restless was the night she passed ; ugly dreams
haunted her pillow, but her companion—who,
after all, with all her intelligence and go
sense, had a great deal of the animal in her—
slept like a lo , tired out after her night’s work.

fter breakfast in the morning, about nine
o’clock Miss Bell set out upon her mission. Sara
had directed her to call upon one of the up-town
theater managers whose especial pride it was
that he had introduced to public notice some

7

actrepnet, who had succeeded in pleasing the
ublic.

ri “T made them, sir,” he was wont to declare
in the lofty and dignified tone which he thought
necessary to his position, ‘‘They had some
little talent to begin with, I grant you, but
without the aid and instruction which they re-
ceived from me they wouldn’t have amounted
to anything.” And, to give the actresses due
credit, they spoke of their former manager ex-
actly as he spoke of them; it was their talent
which had made him ; he was ‘‘rather clever,”
but without their services what would he have
done?

This gentleman received our heroine in the
most dignified manner, If he had been Presi-
dent of the Republic and she a begging office-
sents he could not have been more formally
polite, ;

In a few words she made known her mission.

He shook his head.

‘*No experience at all?’

She was obliged to confess that she had not.

“No chance at all for you, miss; you had
better give up the idea for the present. Go and
study ; acting is an art which must be acquired,
Natural genius is something, of course, but it is
absolutely nothing when compared to years of
careful study, Get a competent teacher ; stud
for two or three years, then make a debit
somewhere, and if you are successful, and you
think you are destined for the stage, then come
to me; I can always make a vacancy for talent,
well instructed. Very low salary of course—
in fact, as arule, all the ladies who enter my
theater do not ask any salary for the first sea-
son, for the stamp of my theater insures their
ultimate success.’

Our country girl was not deceived; she felt
assured that the man was an arrant charlatan,
and had a great mind to ask him how a woman
was going to live upon nothing for a whole
year. She resisted the impulse, though, and
allowed herself to be politely. bcwed out.

The next manager she called upon had a
pretty little theater a short distance up the
street.

He was a rather undersized, sharp-faced man,
with red hair and whiskers, and the peculiar
sharp look common to Hebrews the world over,

He was very civil, and very polite—quite a
contrast to the pompous dignity of the other,
and being by nature, too, a great ladies’ man, he
was at once impressed by the personal appear-
ance of his visitor.

When she had made known her business, he
caressed his chin and meditated for a moment,

“Let me see,” he said, reflectively ; *‘I really
don’t see any chance for you at present. I do
not run a stock company now; I Bee let my
theater to combinations or play them on
shares; but I have an open week now and then.
and we might arrange something, for I mus
say, miss, from your appearance, and the man-
ner in which you apeak, yoo impress me with
an idea that you have talent. Are you up in
any character?”

“T have studied Juliet, sir.”

“Capital!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically;
‘*you couldn’t have done better! Romeo used
to be a favorite part of mine, and I should be
happy to play Romeo to such a divine Juliet as
Iam sure you would make,”

He intended this for a Sommpnesy put, in-
stead of pleasing, it alarmed the girl, for she
did not like the way in which it was spoken.

“But I am out of harness now,” he continued;
“T haven’t played for years; the cares of man-
agement prevent me from giving any attention
to acting. Let me see! in about a month I
shall have an open week, and I was just specu-
dating wish I should put in, Now, if you would
like that week I think we can make an arrange-
ment. I will give ou the theater heated and
lighted, with the attaches, before and behind
the curtain, all complete and ready for business,
for a thousand dollars,”

The girl looked at him, perplexed; she did
not exactly understand this offer. fs

“Then you will have to find your company,
you know, and the music, and the newspaper
advertising, the printing, bill-posting, etc.; you
can get them allfor about two thousand, so you
ean safely count that your expenses for the
week will not exceed three thousand dollars.
My theater will hold about a thousand to
twelve hundred dollars, and there are ei
performances in the week, you know, six nights
and two matinees, High performances, sup-
posing that you took a thousand dollars a per-

ormance, would amount to eight thousand dol-
lars; that would be five thousand dollars profit
on the week; but you could hardly hope to do
as well as that, being comparatively unknown,
unless, indeed, you should succeed in making a

at hit the firstnight, Such things have been

own, you know; but, to be on the safe side,
‘we will ‘say that you will play to an average
business of one-half the capaci sad the house—
say five hundred per night. at would be
four thousand dollars for the week—a thousand
dollars profit and the Porro an opening in
one of the most popular theaters in, the me-
tropolis. If you were successful, both fame ana
fortune would be within your grasp.”

‘

 

2 Xs ’
tithes age © Ty nat Sop
ee We al ‘

_ 4

It was an alluring picture, truly, but our

ee

 
  

 

AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

 

 

country girl had entirely too much sense to be
dazzled by it; besides, where on earth was she
to get the three thousand dollars? and so. she
immediately replied that she had- not that
amount of, money at command.

“ Oh, you don’t need it all,” the manager re-
assured; ‘‘one-half of it, fifteen hundred dol-
lars, will be enough to carry you through.
There is the thousand dollars for the theater—
that is always paid when the contract is signed;
then five hundred more. for advertising, etc.,
and the rest you can pay out of the receipts of
the house when it contes.”

Of course the girl was not well enough ac-
quainted with the theatrical business—which is
one of the strangest and oddest trades in the
world—to know that sucha thing was possible
as to open a New York theater and not take
twenty-five dollars.a night, instead of five hun-
dred, but she was afraid of the venture, and so
informed the manager; and when that acute
gentleman found there wasn’t any chance of
getting a thousand dollars out of his visitor for
a theater which only stood him. six hundred a
‘week, he proceeded to get rid of her as soon as
possible,

It is hardly worth while to detail the lady’s
further adventures in her quest for a manager
who was willing to give her a chance to show
what she could do. The result was an utter,
total failure. The manager whom she had in
her mind’s eye, eager to discover and encourage
native talent, existed not; or, at all events, he
was not controlling a city theater at present.

Heartsick and discouraged, she returned to
the boarding-house, and Sara listened with in-
terest to her story.

“ What.did I tell you?’ she exclaimed. ‘‘T
knew how it would be before you started.
Managers run theaters to make money, and
there isn’t much in novices. My dear, you will
have to come to Niblo’s.”

CHAPTER IX.
HARE AND HOUNDS,

Tn dollars were not to be picked up at every
corner, so the announcement that it would be
ten dollars in his pocket if he overtook the flee-
ing coach inspired the driver of the second ve-
hicle to use the lash on his horses; but the wo-
man, having the start of the few moments lost
by her pursuers at the outset, whirled around
the corner into Houston street.

The man who had offered the ten dollars was
a tall, stout gentleman, well-advanced in years,
yet well-preserved—a man of position and stand-
ing evidently, for his companions usually ad-
dressed him as ‘‘ Professor,” though sometimes
they called him Mr. McDonald. e other two
differed as widely in their appearance as the
did from their companion. Onewas as blac
as a coal—a negro, so dark, that the saying that
charcoal would make a white mark on him,
seemed ‘apt. The other wa’ as full-blooded a
Paddy-whack, as had ever greased a Hens or
twirled a ‘‘nate black-thorn twig” in the Emer-
ald Isle. Julius Oglethorpe the black was call-
ed, and the Irishman answered to the name of
Dennis O’Toole. $ -

“Upon me wourd!” the Irishman exclaimed,
as the carriage jolted so violently over the
stones as to render it no easy matter for the
men to keep their seats, “there will be a spill
presently if this baste of a driver isn’t careful.”

The negro also looked anxious and was hold-
ing on for dear life, but the Professor, bein
ponderous and heavy, had braced himself an
‘was not very much annoyed, by the violent mo-
tion of the carriage.

“Take it easy, Boys!” he exclaimed, “‘it can’t
last long.”

‘No, sah, de carriage won’t stand it,” the
negro observed, solemnly.

That’s so! a truer wourd than that was
niver spoken, bedad!” the Irishman chimed in;
“ off will come a wheel nixt, and into the gutter
we'll go, and if we don’t break our necks it will
be bekase we are lucky.”

“ Never mind the risk; the pay is good, boys,
and if we once succeed in getting our game,
it will be a hundred dollars in each of your
pockets,”

“Tf we break our necks beforehand mighty
little good it will do us, I’m thinking,” the Irish-
man grumbled.

“Tze more afeard, boss, dat we will git in
trouble wid de police,” the black observed;
“dat critter is gwine to fight like a tiger-cat,
when we puts our claws on her.”

‘* Oh, don’t trouble your head about that; the

lice will not bother us when they understand

he matter,” the. Professor answered; ‘‘but I
want to avoid a scene if possible, It is import-
ant that the affair should not get into the news-
pers. If we can get hold of her, gag her, get
ber into the coach and then take her down to

the steamer without attracting attention I
should like it; and the ty that employs us
would like it, also; and, although I have no
right to promise such a thing, yet I feel sure
that it would be money in our pockets.”

See hyer, boss, dis yere t’ing has cost a heap
dy, hain’t it?’ asked the negro, abruptly.
Yes; pun the party who pays has got plenty,

and in this matter wouldn’t grudge a thousand

dollars or two.”

 

“e
*
nat

 

The carriage came to a sudden halt, and the
Professor, expecting that the prey was hunted
down, at once sprung from the coach, followed
by the other two,

Sure enough; there was the other coach, ata
standstill; alittle knot of people was gathered
around it, while one man grasped the reins by
the horses’ heads; but the woman was not to. be
seen,

The Professor, a shrewd man, understood the
game at once. The moment the coach had
turned the corner the woman had quitted it,
and the hdrses had kept on in their wild career
until Pores by the venturesome fellow who
had thought it was a runaway and had dashed
out into the street and stopped the steeds in
their flight.

But, after she had left the coach, whither had
she gone? and by what miracle had the woman,
incumbered with her skirts, succeeded in mak-
ing the desperate leap and escaped unhurt?

he Professor mingled with the crowd; he
was after information, but none could he gain;
nota man of them had seen the woman.

“She probably went in at the first o
cried the Professor as, having leaped from his
carriage, he turned back to the corner. ‘‘It
was a cunning trick, but we will have her yet!”

The first house from the corner was unoccu-
pied, and being tightly locked it was impossible
that the woman could haye found shelter there.

The second house was the theatrical boarding
mansion kept by Mrs. Mallory, and the Pro-
fessor at once pitched upon this as the probable
place of refuge.

“The main door would be apt to be fastened,
of course, but the basement one might be un-
locked,” he remarked, as he hurried down un-
der the main entrance.

And, sure enough, the basement door was not
fastened, so the three entered without cere-
mony. A passage led into the yard beyond and
the men traversed it, their idea being that the
woman would not attempt to hide within the
house, but would proceed through to the yard
and endeavor to make her escape in that direc-
tion,

In the yard was a small wood-shed with a di-
lapidated door and through the chinks in this
door the black dress of the woman was seen.
With a cry the three pursuers precipitated
themselves against the door.

nm door!”

 

CHAPTER X,
A SURPRISE,

Tuuy had fairly ‘‘treed” the game; and ex-
pecting a stout resistance they had thrown
themselves against the door with all their force,
and as the door was not fastened the conse-
quence was that all fell headlong into the wood-
shed, in a heap. "Vad

Again the woman had tricked them! Antici-
pating that she would be followed, she had
stripped off her dress and hung it up just with-
in the shed as a decoy!

The hare had baffled the hounds.

The three picked themselves up, rubbing their
bruised limbs ruefully.

‘We shall have to begin the chase all over
again!” the Professor exclaimed, in disgust.
“She must have a disguise on underneath her
dress, and the chances now are that we will
have a hard time in getting upon her track
again.”

Evidently she had scaled the fence, got into
the next yard and had then made her way into
the next street through the house to which the
yard belonged.

The Professor mounted an ash-barrel and
took a suryey of the adjoining premises, but
ae the slightest sign did he see of the fugi-
tive.

Dennis now suggested:

“Shure, don’t ye think, Mister McDonald,
that we had better be afther callin’ in the police
to help us?”

“Ob, no!” demurred the Professor, “‘ this is
no case for the police. We want to keep the
thing quiet. All the fat would be in the fire if
we let the authorities know anything about it.
And, to think that I wrote to the madam yes-
terday that I had got a certain clew to her
whereabouts and that by to-night we should

robably have her on board of the steamer and
Be on our way to the South.”

‘*She’s a born imp, sah, for sure!” the negro
exclaimed, with a sagacious shake of the,head.
“She’s beat us all to nuffin’, I guess,”

“All is not lost yet, boys,” declared the Pro-
fessor; ‘“‘ we have got a sort of a clew.. That
man in the doorway whom she was talking
with when she caught sight of us may know
something ‘about her. ell go after him at
once.”

“How about the dress—shall we l’ave it?”
asked the Irishman, with a covetous look at the
well-made garment,

“Yes, I will speak to the folks in the house
about it; she may come back to claim it and so
afford us a clew. We mustn’t leave a stone un-
turned to accomplish our object,” the Professor
announced,

As the three turned to reénter the house they
encountered Mrs; Maiiiny who had noticed the
strangers acting in such a suspicious mauucr on

 

—

her premises and had come down to see what
er wanted. '

he Professor proceeded to explain. He and
his companions were in search of a Iady who
was unhappily a little affected in the head, not
exactly crazy, and yet not really sane, except
at intervals. And when one of her uliar
moods came on it was her fancy to imagine
that she was pursued by enemies and she would
adopt any means of escape that offered.

eshowed the lady the dress which his pa-
tient, as he described the fugitive to be, had
worn.

“TItis very evident,” he explained, ‘that her
malady has come on worse than usual this time
for it is plain by her leaving this dress behind
that she has provided herself with another one
under it; that shows that her mind is strongly
set on this delusion that she is pursued, else she
would not have adopted this oo plan of
throwing her pursuers off the track. So,
madam, if she returns for the dress, as she
probably will, if you will have the kindness to
detain ber if possible, by gentle means of course,
and send word to me, you will greatly oblige
me, and will be doing a service to this deeply
afflicted woman;” and as he finished the Profes-
sor handed Mrs, Mallory a card upon which he
had penned his address.

The Professor had a very plausible, easy wa;
with him, and the boarding-house keeper, al-
though a keen woman of the world and much
given to suspicion, never for an instant doubted.
the truth of the story.

‘Well, I will do all I can for you,” she re-
plied, putting the card awaycarefully. ‘‘ What

is the ar name?”

“Oglethorpe, Mrs. Thomas Oglethorpe is her
right name, but when thesé fits are upon her,
she very seldom owns to it, but calls herself by
half-a-dozen odd appellations.”

“T will try and detain her if she comes for
the dress until I can send for you,” Mrs. Mal-
lory promised.

he Professor was profuse with his: thanks,
and then, with his companions, took his de-
parture.

Bidding the hack follow them the Professor
and his satellites proceeded directly to the back
door of Niblo’s Garden Theater.

By this time about all the people engaged in
the Snee es pers were in the house,
and the old back-door-keeper, seated upon his
chair and pulling away at his pipe, was yet
cogitating over his peculiar interview with the
mysterious woman,

‘Blessed if I can make head or tail of it,” he
muttered. ‘‘Guessshe must be a circus-rider
or else she never could make that leap onto the
hack, I never see’d anything like it since I was
born.”

With the mind of the old man in this state
the Professor had no trouble in getting from
him all that he knew in regard to the woman,
which was little enough.

She appeared to know Miss Sara Pearl and had
insisted upon going into the theater after her, al-
though warned that it was canna the rules,
and then she had made the sudden rusk, ending
with the leap on the hack, and that was all that
the old doorkeeper knew about the affair.

The Professor did not reveal who he was, or
that he had any particular interest in her do-
ings, but merely spoke asif he was a bystander
who had become interested in the affair. He
was careful, though, to make a note of Miss
Sara Pearl’s name, for if the woman did know
Pearl, through the actress he might be able to
find the fugitive. Two wires had the Prefessgor
laid, but, after all, he trusted more to chance or
accident than to anything else. By accident he
had got upon the track in the first place, and
though the woman had been clever mamgh to
throw him off yet he trusted that he might be
lucky enough to strike the trail a second time,

CHAPTER XI.
AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL.
Tux country girl returned home completely
discouraged, but Sara cheered her up by excit-

ing her self- ion.

‘My dear, if pe listen to the cry of the
world, you will believe that all the theater-
managers in the country are on the alert to se-
cure talent—to encourage rising genius, and all
that sort of thing; but, it isn’t so; they don’t
cane 8 3 te anything but to make. money;
that is what they are al after, and why should
any one blame them? It isn’t their business to
establish an art-school. When the genius is
made apparent—when all the world is ready to |
rush to see, it, and ready to pay their money
for the privilege, then the managers will gladly
come to terms; but, like men in any other busi-
ness, they are not anxious to buy a sary Mees a
poke; they want to see the animal, small blame
to them! and know what they are paying their
money for.”

“T begin to despair,” and the novice’s trou-
bled face did not gainsay her words.

“Oh, good gracious, you mustn’t despair;
that will never do!” the lively Sara protested.
“Never d is the motto to win with in this
world. But, there; I never thought of it be-
fore! There is another chatoe ten are. the
dramatic agents.”

 

 
  

40

AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

SS

 

 

 

,. This capped the climax. Already Stubbs’s at-
‘tention to the girl had’ been noticed, but now
she be to feel the influence of that jealousy
‘which is so strongly a part of the artist’s life.

Sneering remarks were openly made, so that
Miss Bell could hear about ‘Stubbs’s favor-
ite,” ‘the stage manager’s pet,” and had it not
been for Sara’s friendship, the would;be actress
would have had a hard time of it, for the mo-
ment that Stubbs singled her out as a favorite,
the rest almost unanimously united against her,
and nearly all protested that she would never
be able to speak the lines which had geen in-
trusted to her.

But, she did, and spoke them well, for she
possessed a beautiful voice, very clear, very
sweet, and very strong. Stubbs, in the en,
er’s box, watched her anxiously, and when he
saw that she had succeeded, he rubbed his hands
together gleefully and exclaimed to the prompt-
er: “I knew that girl would do—l knew that
she had stuff in her.”

The débittante was one girl picked out of ten
thousand, for she faced the footlights undaunt-
edly, without displaying the least tremor, and
even her jealous rivals were compelled to admit
that, undoubtedly, she had the making of an

actress in her.

Two weeks more and, thanks to Stubbs, at a
single bound Miss Bell ascended half a dozen
rounds of that extremely steep and uncertain
ladder that leads to the temple of fame.

The lady who played the heroine in the Crook
was out of sorts one night; it was whispered
that she had quarreled with her husband, sepa-
rated from him, and that a suit for divorce was
in the near future; anyway, she did not act
‘with her accustomed skill. Stubbs, as watchful
as a terrier after a rat, proceeded to take her to
task for not attending to her business. She
wasn’t in any humor to be scolded, and so a
‘‘flare-up ” took place, ending with the lady in-
dignantly declaring that she would never act
another night under Stubbs’s stage manage-
ment. This was precisely what the crafty old
fellow wanted; so Miss Gracie Plantagnet got
her walking-papers, and Miss Helen Bell was
put in for the part. It was very short; no
chance for acting, and about all that one had to
do was to look pretty and k the lines, which
the débitante did fully as well as the other
lady. The managers in front were content, for
lady No. 1 had received thirty dollars per week,
while Miss Bell was glad to take eight. This
was Stubbs’s strategy, for if he had not saved
the box-office twenty-two dollars per week, the
managers might have objected to the change.

So the country girl had become an actress,
not a good one by any means, for all she yet
knew how to do was look pretty and pro-
nounce her speeches intelligently.

A ‘month Roeder the play ran and then the
end came; a new ‘‘ spectacle,” as the play which
relies for its attractiveness upon scenes, cos-
tumes, ete., rather than upon acting, is called,
was about to be produced, and Stubbs had al-
ready spoken to Miss Bell about playing a part
init. Sara was not to remain, having engaged
to go with a traveling troupe who were about
to astonish the small cities with the glories of
the Black Crook. Our ambitious girl was in a
dilemma, for she was also offered an engage-
ment at a good salary with the traveling troupe
and she did not like the idea of separating from
her friend, but Sara advised her to remain at
Niblo’s.

““You have got a good position; hold onto it,
but demand more salary; you don’t get enough
to live on now, to say nothing about dressing
your parts properly.”

But Miss Bell was not fated to remain at
Niblo’s Theater. At last old Stubbs showed his
hand. He requested the pleasure of Miss Bell’s
eee, in the parlor at the boarding-house,
one day, and then, in the most formal manner,
made her an offer of his heart and hand. The
girl was completely surprised; and Stubbs, per-
ceiving that she hesitated to answer, proceeded
to explain that in part his offer was made ina
yey business light; he was satisfied fhat she

aa great talents for the s' , and, aided’ by
his influence and knowledge, he could make a
star out of her and a fortune could be won.

This was the secret of Stubbs’s interest in the
girl. He was getting old; work was beginning
to be oppressive, and he wanted some ane to
support and care for him in his decline.

ith a sinking heart Helen declined the offer.
At one fell blow her ae and airy fabric was
shattered. She had believed that Stubbs’s in-
terest in her had arisen because with the eyes
of experience he saw that she was going to
make a great actressand wished to be the first
to encourage rising genius, after the fasbion of
the kind gentlemen of whom she had read in
novels; but, alas! those gentlemen seemed to

exist in novels only. 4

Stubbs was en’ and said bluntly that she
‘was an idiot, and that without his aid she
would never get on. The discussion was be-
coming unpleasant; so Helen ended it by with-
drawing from the apartment.

Sara laughed when with sorrow the girl re-
lated to her the particulars of the interview.

“T could have told you that he had some
scheme in his head a long time ago!” she pro-

 

tested. ‘ Mighty few men have I found in this
world who will assist a friendless girl just for
the pleasure of doing a good deed—that is, as
far as my experience goes. So it is to be the
Black Crook and the ‘road’ after all. Well
sit down, dear; write to the manager and tell
him that you will accept his offer. I don’t like
to travel, for it is an awful hard life, but it is a
solid party, the money is sure, and we are likely
to have a long season. Anyway,I am glad
that we are not to be separated, for something
seems to tell me that I am going to be of a
great deal of use to you one of these days.”

CHAPTER XII.
ON THE ROAD.

AFTER @ week of rehearsing in New York,
De Silvio’s Mammoth Black Crook Party—so
the organization was termed—“ took the road,”
to use the theatrical phrase.

New Haven had been fixed upon as the open-
ing city, and the entire troupe left New York
by the Sunday evening boat. There were
twenty-four people in the company, so that
there was quite a party. The managers and
proprietors were the De Silvio brothers, the
well-known dancers, but the moneyed man who
found the wealth which was to sustain the show
was a De Silvio from private life, of whom no
one had ever heard pelce’., as he was not a pro-
fessional. The two De Silvios, the dancers,
were tall, Frenchy-locking fellows, but the
third was apparently the youngest of the
three, and was slight in build, very dark in
complexion and looked a great deal like a Cu-
ban. He wasa very quiet, retired sort of fel-
low, and rarely joined in the general conversa-
tion.

As if was a beautiful moonlight night, nearly
all of the troupe were on deck, enjoying the
sail up the Sound. Sara and Miss Bell kept to-
gether, and had rather withdrawn from the
rest of the party, selecting a retired spot by the
wheel-house.

Miss Nellie Richmond formed one of the
party, and as was usual with that erratic dam-
sel, she had contrived to get herself into hot
water at the very beginning of the trip. No
state-room had been secured for her, and when
she ascertained this fact she at once took the
managers to task about it, but the De Silvio
brothers were old stagers and laughed the irate
“*serio-comic ” to scorn,

‘You can hire the whole boat if you like!”
one of them exclaimed. ‘‘ We only agree to
ordinary accommodations, no sleeping-cars, no
state-rooms, and if you don’t like it, you can
get off and walk.”

In a fit of rage Miss Richmond departed to
interview the clerk in regard to a state-room,
and so it happened that she was not on deck
when a tall, handsome fellow made his appear-
ance in the midstof thetroupe. He was a very
distinguished-looking man, with curling black
hair, which he wore quite long, finely-cut fea-
— and a generally aristocratic look about

im.

He was at once accosted for he was widely
known among professionals,

‘* Hello, Mallory!” was the cry.

And it was indeed the young actor of whom
the reader has already heard considerable—
Gordon Mallory, the son of the boarding-house-

 

— A E

ith that careless air of easy grace which be-
came him so well, the actor acknowledged the
salutation.

“ Where are you going?” was asked,

‘‘To New Haven; I’m a member of your
— now,” he replied. “I am going to do Ru-

olph. Your other man sent word at the last
minute that he couldn’t join, and so they came
hot-foot after me.”

“Glad of it!” exclaimed one of the perform-
ers, heartily. ‘‘ You will find that you are in
good company. ‘‘ By the way, we have one of
your particular friends along—Sara Pearl.”

“Yes?” and the young man smiled; he under-
stood the object of the remark. It had once
been widely reported that he and Miss Pearl
were likely to make a match,

‘She is forward, by the wheel-house,” added
another of the party. f

“T must ge and see hér then,” and nodding to
the group he proceeded in the direction indi-
ca

The moon was so bright that the deck was al-
most as light as ws. oy! so Mallory had no
trouble in findin, iss Pearl, but, great was
his surprise when he beheld her companion.

‘Can it be possible?” he cried, in amaze-

ment.

‘“*Mr. Mallory!” and Miss Bell, rising, tender-
ed him her hand, while a soft blush crept over
her cheeks,

The keen eyes of Sara Pearl were upon the
oe of the two, and she read what was written
there.

“So, so!” she thought to herself; ‘sits the

wind in that quarter? You are in love with
each other, eh? Well, you will make a nice,
couple!” }

And Sara Pearl was right, for a better match-
ed, or a handsomer pair, it would have been
hard to find. /

‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss—”

 

‘* Bell—Helen Bell, that is my name,” the girl
hastened to vee > : $
Keen-witted Sara noted this speech at once.
“Oh,” she murmured, ‘the sl poe has only
e

ete me a half-confidence. en Bell isn’t
er right name, after all.”

And as Gordon Mallory pressed the tiny out-
stretched gloved hand which had been extended
to him, the sagacious Miss Pear] noticed a pe-
culiar look stealing over his face—a look that
Comes her clever as she was. He was evident-
ly glad to see the girl, and yet he was troubled
in ‘his mind by the unexpected event. He
glanced about him in a nervous sort of way as
if he feared that some one was watching him.

‘“‘T am on the stage now,” the girl eabics

‘With this party?”

“ Yes. ”
‘Well, this is ee I have just joined.”
- ger concluded not to come, then?” Sara
asked.

‘Yes, at the last minute, and they hunted me
up to take his place; I only arrived in town this
evening, too.”

“We i, this lady plays your sweetheart.
ee you glad?’ Sara demanded, mischiey-
ously.

The words and the manner in which they
were spoken alike confused Helen, and again
the faint pink blush tinged her cheeks.

‘*Oh, yes,” and Mallory essayed to smile, but
he was strangely disturbed; there was an awk-
ward moment of silence and then the young
man in a nervous way went on with his speech.
‘*Miss Pearl, as you are now aware, this lad
and myself have met before, and although it
was just a chance acquaintance, and I presume
that neither of us ever expected to be fortunate
enough to see the other again, yet that chance
acquaintanceship will, I am sorely afraid, be
te a of much evil to both of usif it is

own to the world at large.”

It was a strange speech, and it wasn’t a won-
der that it made the two girls open their eyes.

“I cannot explain why I speak in this man-
ner,” he hastened to say; ‘it is impossible for
me to explain, but what I have stated is the
truth. It must not be known to any one that
we have ever met before. I do not ask you,
Miss—Miss Bell”—he hesitated a moment on the
name—‘‘ to tell an untruth. No one is hkely to
question you, and yet, if you were questioned,
and I were questioned also, both of us could re-
ply with honest candor that Gordon Mallory
and Helen Bell never met until this night.
Is not that so, Miss Bell?”

A faint smile appeared upon the girl’s lips.

“Tt is a juggle with words; an atime min-
ister, deep in the trickery of state-craft, might
consider it truth.”

‘Tt harms no one, and may save both of us

from a great deal of trou pon =
haps!” the young man exclaimed, with deep
earnestness.
, Sara, though she could not understand it, saw
that Mallory was very much interested in the
matter, and thought that it was only right for
her to aid him to the extent of her power.

‘Well, for my part, I don’t see why you
shouldn’t keep the acquaintanceship a secret if
you want to,” she remarked. ‘It isn’t any
one’s business but your own, as far as I can see,
and if you choose to keep the matter to your-
selves, Se surely do not wrong any one else.”

But, Helen was troubled; upon her woman’s
mind the shadow of i lowered; but from
whom, or how, or where the evil threatened she
could not guess.

‘Well, be it so,” she said, after 7 a pause;
“the past is dead and goné, and now, Sara,
please introduce me to this gentleman,” and she
smiled through the troubled look which had
overspread her face. _

2 With all due gravity Sara introduced the
wo.

“ And now sit down!” she cried, ‘‘ and tell me
where you have been for such a long time, what
parties haye you been with, how was business,
and did you get your money?”

Miss Pear] was-nothing if not practical. +°

Nothing loth, the young actor\sat down by
the two ladies, and soon they were all busy in
conversation, the cloud which had at first fallen
upon them having passed away:

Fifteen or twenty minutes were spent in con-
versation, Mallory improving the opportunity
to watch the face of the country girl, and never
did this rare — look more rarely beautiful
than under the soft light of the moon.

The hum of the conversation of the ae
upon the stern of the boat came quite distinctly
to the ears of the trio who were enjoying them-
selves so well, and every now and then a burst
of laughter would teak out on the air. And
then, just as the conversation between the three
flagged for a moment, a shriller laugh than
usual—evidently from a woman’s throat—came
out clear on the night air.

This laugh seemed to affect Mallory unplea-
santly, for a perceptible shiver shook his frame
and io hae ore came — _ Menamen face.

a disagreeable laug! i exclaimed ;
Sor seems to go right to the marrow of one’s
mes.

Miss Pearl turned up her nose in scorn, She
knew the laugh well enough.

 
AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

14

 

 

 

**Don’t you know who that is?” she asked;
“but perhaps you are not acquainted with the
—the lady. It’s Nellie Richmond!”

Then there was a dead silencé. Mallory sat
with his eyes fixed upon the deck as if he had
not heard the name.

Miss Pearl looked at him in astonishment; had
the man suddenly become deaf?

‘* Nellie Richmond, the serio-comic singer,”
she repeated.

“Yes, I know her. I must go andsee about
my state-room now, if you ladies will excuse
me,” and-he rose and precipitately retreated, a
stony look upon his face.

‘What on earth has got into the man?” Sara
demanded.

But, Mallory did not go to see about his state-
room; no! He sought the other side of the boat,
found a chair in the shadow, and seating him-
self in it, bowed his head upon the rail and
groaned in anguish.

But not unobserved, for a light form had fol-
lowed him, seated itself by his side and then
laid a hand upon his shoulder,

Mallory started and raised his head; a glit-
tering, keen-edged knife flashed before his face,
id an angry pair of eyes looked into his dark
orbs.

 

CHAPTER XIII.

A MYSTERY.

“You miserable wretch, why shouldn’t I
drive this steel home to your heart?’ It was
Nell Richmond who spoke.

‘Because, you tiger-cat, you haven’t the
courage,” Mallory replied, sternly, confronting
the woman with eyes as angry as her own.

‘‘Hav’n’t I the courage? Don’t you dare to
try me too far!” she retorted.

‘*Put up your knife and don’t make a fool of
yourself; you will attract people’s attention in
a moment.”

“What do I care if I do?’ rejoined the wo-
man, ane “What. do I care if I do?” she
repeated. ‘‘ What do I care if the whole world
knows what is between you and I?”

‘* Will you stop your noise?” he exclaimed,
hoarsely, and with a face white with passion.
‘You have been drinking, and the liquor has
upset what little sense there is in that crazy head
of yours.”

“Thave only hada Pee or two of champagne,
and, my heavens! if I am not to drink, how can
I ever get through this terrible life of mine?’
the woman exclaimed, wildly, yet obeying the
injunctions of the other, and sinking her voice
so as not to attract observation.

“Tt is the wine that puts you up to these in-
fernal tricks,” he went on, bitterly. ‘“‘ But, put
up your knife, or I will take and toss it over-
board.”

“You won’t dare!”

“Won't I?” he cried through his firm-set
teeth—‘‘ not only the knife, but you after it, if
you provoke me!”

‘Oh, yes, I don’t doubt that you would like
to do it,” and she replaced the knife in her
bosom, ana smiled mockingly in the face of the
man. ‘No doubt you would like to put me out
of the way, so that you would be free to enjoy
your new beauty.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I know all about it! I know all about
your love-affair with this country girl, and how
she came to your mother’s house in New York
after you. Iwas thereat the time. I boarded
at your mother’s house all the time I was play-
ing at Niblo’s.”

‘I would not have thought you would have
dared to do that.”

** And why not?”

“She would have killed you if she had known
who you really Were.”

‘*'Yes, but she did not_know, and who was to
tell her,eh? Instinct? Not much! Oh! it was
rare good fun for me to sit at the table and
watch her face, trace there the likeness to your
own, and wonder to myself how many of the
lines of care upon your mother’s face were due
to me.”

‘*You are a devil, if ever there was one in
this world!” and young Mallory clenched his
hands with a savage impulse in his heart to
throttle her.

‘‘But she hated me, though; take that for

ourconsolation. She hated me without know-
ing who and what I was—without for an in-
stant suspecting that I was the woman who had
wrecked all the ambitious hopes which she had
once formed for her son.” .

“See here! Iam getting tired of this sort of
thing!” and Mailory’s voice quivered with
sion as he spoke. ‘* How much longer.is this to
goon? Do you think for one moment that I am
going to submit all the rest of my life to this?”

‘«« And what hope of escape is there for me?”
she demanded, bitterly. ** You‘are selfish, like
all men; you think only of yourself, and you
never give a thought to my position.”

“You promised to let me alone and not trou-
ble me, if I would agree to act likewise with
you.

“Do you su’ I have water in my veins
instead oF hlocd?” she demanded, aot. “Do
you think I am going to submit to your love-af-

 

fair with this country girl? You would be mar-
rying her next, I suppose, if I didn’t put a stop-
per on the match.”

‘‘That is beyond your power,” he replied,

ie
“What is beyond my power?” she asked in
heat, her manner a strange contrast to his.

“To stop me from marrying any one, if I
choose so to do.”

“T can stop you.”

“You cannot.”

‘* Oh, perhaps I don’t put it right, I am a wo-
man, and all women, they say, are illogical!”
she retorted, with bitter scorn. ‘‘ Well, we will
say that you can marry—that I cannot stop
you—but, can’t I make the woman that weds
you wish that she was in Heaven, or the other
place, if I choose to speak?”

s N 9, you cannot—not if she is a sensible wo-
man.

“ Well, you just try it, and then we will see.”

“You are with this party, then?” Mallory
asked.

“Yes, and_so are you, and so is she!” and
then again Nell Richmond’s shrill laughter
floated out on the clear, still air of the night.
‘* How lucky it is that we are all here, together!
I feel sometimes as if I ought to kill the girl for
coming between you and me—oh, don’t attempt
to deny it; I know all about it; I heard how
you made her acquaintance in some country
town, and you made quick work of it, too,
didn’t you? Only one day’s acquaintance, and
she vowed to be yours, and gave you her pic-
ture—”

“No, you are wrong; your informant lied
this time. She never gave me her picture.”

“Didn’t she? Well, f found it in your pocket,
nevertheless!” she cried, with an air of tri-
umph. ‘‘Do you remember when you came to
New York after that country trip? Isent for
you and told you that I wanted some money;
you brought it to me, and I saw the picture in
your breast-pocket, and, when I kissed you
good-by, I stole it!” Again the woman laughed
shrilly, while a look of inexpressible disgust
came over the face of the young man,

**Oh, you would like to kil] me now, wouldn’t
you?” she went on, tauntingly, as she noticed
the look upon his face. ‘It will be rare fun for
me. I will just watch the play; you are after
this girl and she is agreeable, but I, in the back-
ground, know that I can upset the whole affair
at any moment by coming forward, so I shall
let the Pe dance on.”

‘Nell, this has got to come to an end,” the
young actor declared, a strange, hard look upon

is face as he bent forward and placed a hand
that was cold as ice upon the girl’s wrist. The
cold touch sent a chill through her frame—ugly,
passionate vixen that she was.

‘* What do you mean?” she asked, a touch of
apprehension in her voice.

‘Exactly what I say ;—this cannot go on—it
must come toa stop. Your life is not a happy
one, is it?”

‘No, and you wrecked it.”

‘God help me! It was not all my fault!” he
exclaimed, bitterly. ‘‘ You were as much to
blame as I—perhaps a little more, for you were
a woman while I was nothing but a boy.”

‘Tm no older than you are!” she retorted,
sullenly.

‘Yes, you are, fully ten years older: it isn’t
of any use for you to deny the truth for I know
it. I was nottwenty, wild and headstrong, the
slave of ion, and like all boys at that age I
believed I knew everything, and prided myself
upon the knowledge, You came in my way;
you did your best to fascinate me; you tried all
the arts dear to the heart of a wily, beautiful
woman; you succeeded, and you know the rest.
That was a good ten years ago, and the dark
cloud that arose out of our folly now hangs
over us, Iam more merciful than you; I bear
you no hatred for the ills that are oe If you
should find a good man whom you believed you
could love, I should rejoice at it, and I would
rather that my tongue should be torn from its
roots than have it utter one single word to in-
terfere with your happiness.” ”

‘“‘Oh, you are so good—you are so generous!”
with bitter scorn, “ You wouldn't interfere in
my happiness—oh, no! You are like the child
who genetously aves toa playmate the broken
toy for which it has no longer any use. You
are tired of me—you would be glad to get rid
of me—the love you once bore me has turned
into indifference—into hatred perhaps, and so
you make a virtue of that which in your heart
you are eagerly sighing for. But, Iwon’t give
a up! It doesn’t matter whether I love or

te you; no other woman shall call you hus-
band while I have thepower to prevent it, and
I will prevent, even at the risk of life What
dol care for life? Iam tired of it, and would
eagerly welenme death.”

“So I feel sometimes—so I feel now!” he
cried, abruptly. ‘‘Come, let us lock arms to-
gether and: jump overboard; the dark waters
willsoon give us our quietus!”

But the woman was a coward with all her
bravado; and she shrunk in horror from the

offer.
“Oh, who is crazy now?” and she. trembled
as she shrunk from him,

 

‘Am I to believe for a single instant that:
there is any truth, virtue or courage in you?’
he retorted, fiercely. ‘‘ But, fo your ways;
and, mark! cross me not or I shall have your
blood upon my soul!”

tr marti awed the woman glided away,
os y appalled at the young actor’s awful
mood,

 

CHAPTER XIV.
THE BLOODHOUNDS,

On the forward deck of tbe steamboat, in a
dark and secluded nook by the wheel-house, sat
three men busily engaged in conversation—no
common conversation, either, apparently, for
ae seemed bs gt wed of being overheard,
spoke in low and guarded tones, and whenever
any one came near they stopped talking until
the person, whoever it was, had passed out of
ear-shot. And these three, when they came
upon the boat, “pre. were strangers to
each other, although all had lounged around
the gang-plank of the boat until the very last
minute,

One was a tall, rather portly man, dressed in
a good serviceable suit of clothes, decidedly un-
fashionable in cut, with gray hair and a full
gray beard, carrying a small black portman-
teau—evidently, to judge by his dress, 9. coun-
try merchant, or farmer, who had been paying
a Visit to the city. No2 was a short, thick-set
man all wrapped up in a big ‘‘ulster,” which
covered him from neck to heels, He had
shaggy red hair and a bristling red beard, and
that peculiar ‘‘ horsey” wrhdehiee which
seems to cling to men who have much to do
with the noble animal. No. 3 was a negro, a
burly, well-fed gentleman of color, dressed en-
tirély in black with a white “choker,” green
spectacles and an umbrella, rather the worse for
wear, a preacher, judging by his outward ap-
pearance.

These men had not come upon the boat to-
gether, nor even upon the dock in company.
The gray-haired, gray-bearded man had been
the first to make his appearance, and had ar-
rived about eight o’clock—the boat left at nine:
he had gone on board, SE ee actuated
by a sentiment of intense curiosity, had gone all
over the boat from stem to stern, from the hur-
ricane deck to the lower cabin. Very few of
the passengers indeed had arrived and the man
had the boat almost to himself. After he had
finished his examination he took up his position
amid a pile of freight, a short distance from the
gangway, and where he could have a good
view of everybody who went on or off the
steamer.

The ‘‘horsey” man had been the next to
make his appearance, and he had marched on
the boat and procured his ticket at once, pass-
ing close to the first man, but no sign of recog-
nition was exchanged between the two; and af-
ter he got his ticket he sat down in a chair,
twenty feet or so from the gangway and
amused himself by watching the passengers
come on board. No, 8 some twenty minutes
later, made his appearance, and neither of the
first two noticed im, nor he them. He got his
ticket and sauntered out on the dock and sat
down on a barrel on the other side of the gang-
way from where No. 1 had taken his station,

And so it was that not a passenger came on
board without being closely scrutinized by all
of the three, although the inspection was so
carefully and skillf 'y performed that not a
soul suspected it.

The traveling troupe had come, all in a bunch
as it were, and had passed on the boat in little
squads of five and six, all busily engaged in
conversation, and all full of talk and glee.

The minutes passed rapidly away; the warn-:
ing bell was rung; ‘‘ All on shore!” was called
out; the passengers who were standing on the
dock hurried on board; the gang-plank was
drawn in; the boat moved slowly away from

the pier and the journey vo
e three men manifested a strange restless-
ness after the boat got under way; they were
almost continually on the move. erever @
group of passengers collected one of the three
would take pains to hover near for a few mo-
ments, evidently listening to the conversation
yt exciting no suspicion. ;
And all the time no one of the three took the.
slightest notice of the others,
ut, after this had gone on for about an hour,
and the passengers had finally settled down for
the trip, the three found their way to the shel-
tered nook which we have spoken of and entered’
into an earnest conversation. hats
Not wishing to make a mystery of the mat-
ter we will say at once that they were no stran-
gers to the reader, The tall portly man was.
the Professor, the other two his assistants,
O'Toole, the Irishman, and Oglethorpe, the ne-

To,
an No signs of her,-yet,” McDonald remarked,
—— his disgust in his looks,
‘Shure! she’s not on board,” O’Tovle de-

clared.
aot de bressed trufe!” the negro admit-
“Well, I am not so sure of that,” the Pro-

fessor demurred.
“ Paix! we didn’t see her come on board, and.

 
AN AMBITIOUS: GIRL.

43

 

 

 

of them was Sara Pearl with a metropolitan
reputation.

‘Dash the luck!” he cried, savagely; ‘the
Boston managers will never stand it if 1 don’t

ive them another Stalacta, just as gocd as
earl but where on earth am I to find her?”

At this moment the other brother came into
the office, when the first one hastened to show
him the letter, but he wouldn’t believe it.

‘*Tt’s:a hoax!” he declared; ‘‘ Sara Pearl is
no such girl. I know her of old. She wouldn’t
do such a thing as to run off without giving us
notice, We have treated her well; she has no
cause of complaint and she wouldn’t leave us in
the lurch without a moment’s warning; she is
too honest for that.”

The other brother looked doubtful; he hadn’t
much faith in women’s honesty, particularly as
far as the capricious ladies of the stage were
concerned,

_.‘*Have you been up to her room yet, to see
if she is really gone?” the younger one con-
tinued.

‘“No; Inever thought of that, When I read
the note written by our ‘angel’ I took it for
granted that she had gone, of course.”

** Take nothing for granted!” cried the other,
impetuously, ‘‘ and, as for that fellow, I never
liked the looks of him; there was something
sneaky and womanish about him, to my appre-
hension. Sara Pearl would never take up with
such a fellow or else she ain’t the kind of a
girl I have always thought she was.”

Then up-stairs, in hot haste to Miss Pearl’s
room, the two proceeded, and the Professor, as
ae interes as the brothers, followed them.

iss Pearl and Miss Bell roomed together—a
aw, as the elder De Silvio had remarked
when he ascertained that the girls were not
<7 willing but anxious so to do, for, as a rule
with traveling troupes, every woman wants a
room to herself; consequently there is a row at
every hotel where such a thing is almost always
an impossibility.

The younger brother knocked loudly at the
door, but no one within the room stirred er an-
swered.

“There; she has gone, sure enough!” the
other brother exclaimed.

“Don’t you be too sure of that; Miss Bell at
least would be here.”

‘* Perhaps she has gone with her,” the other
“ees ‘they were thick as sisters.”

‘No, there’s a key in the lock, inside, and the
‘door is fastened,” the other responded, trying
the handle, and then he began a ferocious at-
tack upon the door.

The noise this time succeeded in eating
some one within the room; footsteps were hear
coming to the door, the key was turned in the
lock, the door slightly opened, and the face of
Sara Pearl appeared, but looking so dull and
heavy that it could scarcely be recognized. She
seemed like one laboring under the influence of
a narcotic, for hereyes were dull and heavy,
and her whole bearing listless and feeble,

“Eh, what’s the matter—what is it?’ she
asked, evidently not recognizing the brothers
outside.

“There, you see!” said the younger brother,
winking to the elder: ‘‘Oh, it’s all right, Miss
Pearl; we only came to wake you up, that is
all.. We'feared you would oversleep yourself.”

“You are very kind, Oh, is it you, Mr. De
Silvio?’ she asked, suddenly recognizing the
manager. ‘I don’t. know what has got into
me this morning; I feel as sick as death—I can
hardly-stand up and my head aches so terribly ;
I don’t know what can be the matter.”

The managers expressed their sympathy, and
one of them suggested that she had better call

= Bell, for possibly she could do something
or her.

“Yes, I will,” she said, languidly, and she
turned from thé door. The next moment those
without were startled by a cry of amazement
from Sara’s lips, and she flung open the door,
widely; she had slipped on a loose morning-
‘wrapper when she had been called, so that she
was fit to be seen, though her glorious mass of
beautiful blonde hair was all hanging down
loose over her shoulders,

“My God! she is not here!” she cried.

And the three upon the threshold, pressing
nearer, looked into the room.

‘As she had said—Helen Bell was not there!
"The only trace of her was the impress of her
head upon the pillow where she had lain by
Sara’s side.

A terrible conviction flashed instantly upon
the brain of the bewildered girl.

«Oh, I understand it now!” she cried; ‘‘ have
been drugged—drugged in my sleep, so that
Helen could be stolen away! Do you not smell
the odor of the drug, gentlemen, still lingering
in the room?” s

They did smell it; the scent was plain; the
sickening perfume that comes from the sense-
entrancing narcotic told its own story; Stalacta
had been drugged—the Cuban had fled with
Helen Bell instead of Sara Pearl! Helen evi-
dently had drugged her friend so that she might
be able to escape unobserved. But, what was
‘the meaning of the wrong name in the Cuban’s
mote? Was it possible that he did not know the
difference between the two? :

 

An open sheet of note-paper placed conspicu-
ously upon the table attracted Sara’s attention.
Upon it were a few lines of writing. Miss Pearl
caught it up and read it aloud:

“*Good-by, dear; tell the landlord to keep my
trunk until I send for it.””

And that was all.

“There, yousee; it’s thesame old story. She
has eloped with our angel; here is his letter, but
he wrote that it was you who was going,” said
the elder De Silvio.

In amazement Sara half-read the note, not
noticing her own name therein:

“It is some deep and dark plot!” she ex-
claimed, full of excitement. ‘‘ This looks some-
thing like her handwriting, but Iam sure that
itis not, I will not believe it!”

 

CHAPTER XVil.
A SELF-WILLED WOMAN,

= PEARL would not believe that Helen had
eloped.
Pte is impossible!” she La on repeating.
“Tt can’t be! She would surely have confided
in me. Why should she want to act secretly
about the matter? There wasn’t the least need
of it. I wouldn’t have thrown any obstacles:in
the way.”

aa the De Silvio brothers only laughed at

this.

‘*How do you get over her letter?” asked the
elder one.

“T donot believe she ever wrote it; it is an
imitation of her hand, but it is not her writing.”

“ Well, that is an easy way of getting out of
it; but how about this letter from the gentle-
man to us—is this a forgery, too?” And then
he read the letter aloud.

‘‘Miss Pearl!” the girl exclaimed, in amaze-
ment; ‘‘ why, what on earth does he mean by
saying Miss Pearl? Inever even spoke to the
ee I don’t believe I would know him if I saw

im.

“A mistake made in the hurry of writing, I
suppose, or this young lady has been deceiving
him for some purpose, and has made him be-
lieve that her name is Pearl.”

“But, why on earth should she do such a
thing?” asked Sara, ‘‘People don’t do such
things without reason.”

“And now I think of it,” chimed in the elder
De Silvio, ‘‘ when he proposed to take an inter-
est in the show, he was.very anxious that Miss
Pear! should be engaged.”

‘“Well, it?s very funny that your brother
should act so strangely,” Sara observed, in
wonder. f

The two showmen laughed.

“He was no brother of ours,” the younger
one explained, ‘That was just a gag to keep
people from finding out his realname. How do
a know what has been 1 going on in New York

tween these two? omen don’t always
trust each other. This fellow has evidently got
plenty of money, and it isa big thing for the

ir!

‘But, why didn’t she stay in New York then?
What did she want to come out on this trip for,
and then run away in this manner?”

“Oh, you must ask me some easier question,”
the man answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“Perhaps he didn’t come to time in the right
way—perhaps he wasn’t willing to do what the
lady wanted; she may have demanded certain
things, a settlement of so much money upon
her, or—

“For shame!” the actress cried, indignantly.
“ Helen Bell was no such girl; and besides, there
was a very good reason why she would not have
run away With this fellow.” d

‘* What reason?” asked the elder brother, his
curiosity excited.

Sara felt that she had said too much; her
reason, too, was but a suspicion, although,
woman-like, she was certain that it was cor-

rect.

“Tt doesn’t matter; I know,” she replied,
evasively.

+ Weil, we'll have to put one of the other girls
in for her part, and you had better got dressed.
We leave at ten-thirty, you know.”

“But, ain’t you going to do anything about
this eee demanded Miss Pearl, in amaze-
ment.

* Do anything about it—how?” asked the elder
De Silvio.

“Why, = police on the track! I have

been drugged
“Well, I shouldn’t be rised if you are
right, but I guess you can thank your friend for

that; she tried a little chloroform on you so
that she could get away without trouble; per-
bape she had an idea that you might objeet.”

nd ate door, the two walked off, fol-
lowed by the Professor, who now believed that
he held the clews to this mystery.

‘Oh, I'm only a woman, and f don’t know
what I am talking about, of course!” cried
Sara, ionately. ‘‘ That poor child has been

abducted by somebody. She has always been
so’ quiet about her past life that I had a sus-
picion there might be something mysterious
about it, I'll dress and then consult the chief of
police, at once.”

‘And the girl was as good as her word; she

 

hurried on. her , and without a word to
anybody hurried out, She proceeded directly
to the principal street and accosting the first
policeman she saw was directed to the office of
the chief of the police, and in five minutes more
was in the office. The official was a pleasant-
mannered. gentleman, and knowing the ac-
tress, having witnessed the performance on the
previous evening, at once asked how he could
oblige her.

Sara gave a history of the whole, affair; the
chief looked grave, asked a few questions, and
then shook his head.

The girl’s heart sunk within her. By his face
she guessed that he did not see any way to act
in the matter.

‘(What is to be,done?” she asked, almost in
despair, as she concluded.

“Well, really, miss, I don’t exactly see; of
course there are some suspicious circumstances
about the affair;” in his own mind he didn’t
think there were, He had not the best possible
opinion of actresses, particularly those who
traveled with entertainments of the Black Crook
order, and as he believed the managers of such
shows knew a great deal more about their ac-
tresses than he possibly could know, if they
were convinced that it was an elopement, pure
and simple, and nothing else, why, the chances
ae great they were correct in their suppo-
sition,

‘Yes, yes,” Sara cried, eagerly, ‘‘ and do you
not think if you put your detectives upon the
case they might be able to find out the perpe-
trator of this oan for I am sure it is not an
elopement, but an a’ duction. She was drugged
—I was drugged, and then she was n
away!

Now this view of the matter was entirely too
much for the official. To his acute mind it
seemed like a leaf torn out of one of the ‘‘ blood
and thunder” novels, for the average man be-
lieves that fiction always surpasses truth, blind
to the fact that police and law courts daily re-
veal simpaes of tragedies, far excelling in won-
derful strangeness all the tales that human
mind can invent, Truth is stranger than fiction,
despite the current belief that it is not. And
then, too, his visitor talked about his detectives
as.if he was the police chief of the metropolis
with a small army of spies at his beck and call.
So again he shook his head, but in order to
smooth the matter over said, blandly:

‘‘T don’t really see how I can interfere in the
case. You see, miss, according to your state-
ment there is nothing for us to work on—I
mean, officially, but privately, to oblige you
I will put one of our best men on quietly, and
see what he can do. If he gains any informa-
tion I will let you know.”

The actress thanked the chief, although in her
heart she did not believe the search would be
productive of any good results. It did not re-
quire tbe skill of a prophet to see that the official
believed it was an elopement and not an abduc-
tion.

The chief inquired in regard to where the
troupe would be apring the next week, put
down the towns and the dates, and then politely
bowed the lady out.

‘« And now, whaton earth shall I do?’ mut-
tered Sara, as she walked slowly back to the
hotel... ‘‘If I can’t, interest the chief in my
story, who can I interest?” Then, suddenly,
she thought of Gordon Mallory! There was a
loye affair between the young actor and the
missing girl, che was sure, although both con-
cealed it well, But, Sara had a woman’s eye in
matters of this kind, and was confident she was
not mistaken. And this, if for no other reason,
was wie Helen. had not eloped. She felt sure
from what she had known of the country girl
that money would have no weight with her at all
where matters of the heart were concerned.
any one would take an interest in the matter
Gordon Mallory was the man, and so, when she
arrived at the hotel she at once asked for the

oung actor.

: She. found him, and he was already in

sion of the full details, but when she asked what
he was going todo about it, he simply replied
by asking what he could do?

This question was a difficult one to answer,
and Sara was obliged to confess that she really
didn’t. know, but she thought that something
ont ton ee iets ith her, but, as h

or ly w er, but, as he
said, hedid not see any way in which he could
do anything,

Sara araperitaane born of rage, commingled
with vexation and pity. .

“Oh, if I was only a man!” she cried, as the
train moved ent of the New Haven depot; but,
what she would have done if she had been of
the masculine gender she neglected to state.

CHAPTER XVIII.
HOW IT Wat DORE.

Ir was about three 0’ n the morning,
the hour when sleep is deepest. The Black ent
troupe re} y, tired out after their
night’s exertions. Only one person was astir—
and he moved, like a specter, silently through
the halls, as if anxious not to disturb the sleep-
ers. The lsok upon his face, the features of
which were dimly visible by the y light

 

 
¥
1

 
  

; Se cmaannee oe cue eae =
Ss Capraro ATT aber oy

414

AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

 

 

 

cf the down-turned gas, revealed murderous

thoughts if ever a face did, There were two

staircases in the hotel, the main one used by the

guests and a small rear one leading to the back
ard for the convenience of the servants of the
ouse,

Down this back way the figure stole, The
staircase ended in a broad entry, at the end of
which was a door leading into the yard in the
rear of the hotel. To unlock aud unbolt the
door was but a moment’s work.

Through the door the man glided, then from
the yard into the street. A short distance up
the street a doctor resided. Quite a js gar-
den surrounded his residence, and at its rear
was the physician’s stable.

Opening the carriage gate the night-prowler
proceeded directly to the stable. The door,
secured by a common padlock, was ane
opened by one of a large bunch of keys wit
which the silent visitor was provided. Soon
the doctor’s nag, a sober gray beast, was care-
fully led from its stall to'be deftly harnessed,
and then attached to the buggy. This accom-

lished, the horse was led through the yard into
he street and then around into the hotel yard,
halting it at the back door.

Then again into the hotel the slight figure

ssed, to steal softly up the stairs and halt at

he door of the room occupied by the two girls.

There he listened attentively. The breathing
of ond og ae within could plainly be distin-
guished.

The transom over the door was quite large
enough to admit the body of the night-prowler.
Mounting upon the knob of the door he was
quickly inside the room, and with steps as noise-
less as the footfalls of a cat, he stole to the bed
wherein the two girls slept sids by side.

From his pocket hé dr2w a vial and a couple
of sponges, and a strong, pungent odor stole out
upon the air as he poured some of the liquid of
the vial upon the sponges, first taking the pre-
caution, however, to unlock the door, evidently
with the idea of being able to mathe without
detection in case the girl should happen to
wake while he was applying the narcotic.

Then the sponges were held close to the’ nos-
trils of the sleepers.

Bound as they were in slumber’s chain it was
impossible for them to resist, and, although
sleeping nature struggled for a few moments
against the outrage, the subtle power of the drug

revailed, and soon both of them relapsed into
insensibility.

The dark water-proof cloak of Miss Bell Jay
upon a chair near at hand; this the intruder
wrapped around the form of the sleeping girl;
then with dextrous hands he gathered the wear-
ing apparel upon the sofa and rolled it up into a
bundle, not even neglecting to put in the stock-
and shoes,

‘en and ink and a few sheets of paper were

upon the table, where they had been left by

iss Pearl, after writing to a friend in New
York, the evening before.

Evidently the visitor had caleulated upon
everything, for without a moment’s hesitation
he sat down to the table and hurriedly penned
the brief note, which the Silvio brothers had so
willingly accepted as proof that the girl had
elo if with their “angel.”

is task completed, then with a strength
that none would have believed dwelt within the
slender form of the stripling, the intruder
swung the senseless form of the drugged girl
over his shoulder, took up the bundle in his
hand and made his way from the house into the
ard, Depositing the bundle on the floor of the
uggy he propped the girl up in the seat, so
that she looked as if she was ‘sleeping; then he
returned to the hotel, ascended again to the
room whose privacy he had violated, locked the
door upon the inside, and, agile as a cat, gained
the entry again by way of the'transom. ‘Never
had an enterprise been more skillfully or suc-
cessfully carried out.

But, like all cunnin Pople, the intruder did
toomuch, If the girl had fled with a lover’in
the night, as he intended every one should be-
lieve, she could not possibly have locked the
door from the inside, and, woman though she
was, Miss Pearl had not neglected to notice and
mention this fact, which a shrewd and skillful
detective would have seized upon as a sure
proof that.no elopement but a cunning-planned
abduction had taken place, but the girl’s asser-
tions were not believed. Every one thoughtshe
was mistaken, and that the door was unlocked,
but, in her agitation and bewilderment, that
she herself had relocked it when she had been
summoned.

Taking his place in the buggy beside his un-
conscious victim, the perpetrator of this re-
markable outrage drove off.

Between the hours of three and four in the
morning there is very little life in the streets of
a quiet, provincial city. It was quite dark and
the carriage passed out of the town without at-
tracting any notice whatever.

The moment he was without the city limits,
the driver applied the whip, furiously, and after
a sharp drive of about three-quarters of an
hour halted in front of a little cottage, only a
short distance from the waters of Long Island
Sound, much to the relief of the doctor’s nag,

 

who was not at all used to such rapid work, for
its owner, thcugh a medical man, and often in a
hurry, was one of the most careful of drivers.

The cottage was situated in an isolated posi-
tion, not another house being within sight. It
was all overgrown with creeping vines, and the
little garden in front resembled a jungle in its
wildness, for bushes and briers, and young pine
trees had sprung up and were all struggling for
the mastery. Nature, protesting against the
encroachment of civilization, had almost won
her:own again, and had about destroyed all
vestiges of the once trim little garden.

The blinds of the house. were, tightly closed.
The spiders had festooned the porch and door-
way with their filmy snares, and all appear-
ances, around and about the place, told of deso-
lation and decay.

The abductor halted the carriage in the middle
of the road, and then assuming the weight of
the girl upon his shoulder, passed around the
house, through the open ground which sur-
rounded it, and entered the rear yard, through
a gap in the fence, to make his way into the
house through the back-door, which was un-
locked.

The house was completely furnished; every-
thing was in its place, and in order; but there
was that almost indescribable musty smell about
the place, inseparable from unused houses, par-
ticularly those completely furnished.

As said, the blinds werevall closed, thus shut-
ting out the blessed light of the sun, so the: in-
terior was plunged in Seyptian darkness. But,
that did not seem to make any difference with
the bearer of the helpless girl. With confident
steps he ascended to the second story and en-
tered one of the. back rooms, a sleeping apart-
ment, which was fitted up in luxurious style; it
was & woman’s boudoir, evidently, for a hun-
dred little knick-knacks were scattered around
it, and the cut-glass cologne bottles were even
still on the.dressing-stand.

Upon the luxurious bed, all completely made
up, seeming to invite repose, the abductor de-
posited his lovely burden; then he returned to
the carriage and brought in the bundle; and,
locking all the doors securely behind him, the
mysterious abductor returned to the buggy, got
in and drove back to the city.

An hour later horse and buggy were in the
doctor’s stable. The deed was done.

CHAPTER XIX.
A STRANGE STORY.

As the potent fumes of the chloroform at
length spent their power the abducted girl
awoke to a knowledge of her position.

Slowly and feebly she opened her eyes, for
the dose which had been administered was a ter-
rible one, almost enough to conquer life itself,
and it was only by a violent struggle that
nature won.the victory.

In astonishment the girl looked around her;
though half-stupefied she could not help at once
noticing the difference between the plainly-fur-
nished room which she had occupied at the hotel
in common with Sara Pearl, and ‘fhe’ elegantly
—r sleeping apartment in which she now
reposed,

rue, the peculiar musty, sickening smell,
which reminded one so much of a charnel-house,
was plainly perceptible, despite the fact that
pastilles had been burnt until their aromatic
perfume hung in cloudlike rings of blue smoke
in the air, and.a cheerful fire burnt in the open
grate stove which sat in the fire-place.

‘‘What did it mean?’ the girl asked. By
what magic had the faded carpet, the old hair-
cloth chairs, the dingy -window curtains, and
the general forlorn look of the hotel sleeping
ome been changed for Brussels t,
silk-covered chairs, a bed fit for a queen and an
air of luxury that would not have been amiss in
an emperor’s palace? j

At the girl could hardly believe that:she
was awake; it seemed so like the fantasy of a
dream.

She was not alone; a female sat by the win-
dow, nestled in the embraces of an elaborately-
cushioned rocking-chair; a book was in her
hands, but her eyes were not upon the printed
page but wandering restlessly out upon the fair
view of .the swelling waters of the Sound that
the window commanded.

Naturally at the first glance, the actress took
the form to be that of Sara Pearl, her room-
mate, although how she and Sara had come into
this splendid apartment was a mystery, but, as
she moved uneasily in the bed to get a better
view of her surroundi the other rose and at
once advanced to the side of the couch.

Then Helen saw that it was not Sara but a
stranger—a tall, stately woman, dressed com-
pletely in black, with a really beautiful face.
although it. bore evident marks of care.and
anxiety; but one strange thing about the wo-
man was ‘the fact that her hair, which was a
rich golden yellow in color, was cut off quite
short, cut fully as short as a boy’s is usually
worn.

“Are you better, dear?’ the woman asked,
kindly, standing by the bedside and gazing
down =n the girl with a very strange, pecu-
liar Jook upon her face.

And then, as Helen looked up into the face of

 

 

the woman an.odd idea came into her mind.
The woman was a stranger; she knew that she
never had seen her before, and yet it seemed as
if she had.

A conflict was going on in her mind. Reason
said, ‘‘ You have never seen this face before!’”
Fancy replied, ‘Oh, yes, I have, often!”

The girl closed her eyes fora moment; it was:
as if she was wrestling with the influence of a
horrid dream; never before had she experi-
enced such a strange feeling.. Of course the in-
fluence of the drug still elung to her, although
she was ignorant of the strange events which
had occurred.

‘*What is the matter? Where am I?’ Helen
demanded, sitting upright in the bed.

‘¢-You have received a severe shock, dear, and
you have been ill for quite a time: ou rose im
your sleep in the hotel in New Haven and wan-
dered out into the hall, and then, in the dark-
ness, you fell down the oe My room—I
henner to be stepping at the hotel that night:
on the way to my home here—was right at the
foot of the stairs and your fall awoke me. [
rushed out to find you insensible in the hall.
The doctor who was called said that you were
threatened with brain-fever~as you had re-
ceived the: whole shock upon your head—so
when I found that: you were a member of the
troupe and that you would be left behind unti}
you got well, I concluded not to trust you to
the mercies of the hotel folks but had you
bean down here to my country-house, where:
I could nurse you into health again.”

“Oh, you are very kind, madam!”.the girk
exclaimed, gratefully,:never for a single in-
stant doubting the truth of the story.

“Do not attempt to sit up too long,” the lady
said, busying herself oF arranging the pilows
so that the girl could repose more comfort-
ably in a half-reclining position.

““How long have I been here?”

‘Three days.”
“ And I have not been sensible all that time???
‘No, dear.” ’

“How strange it is,” the girl murmured;
thoughtfully, ‘‘for it seems as if it was only
last night that I retired to rest.”

‘“‘When the brain is disordered we do not
take account of time.”

“ Very true.”

Never was there an imposture more com-
ee not a single doubt did the girl have.

ér head ached from the effects of the drug,
and naturally she felt faint and ill.

‘You are very kind,” she continued, slowly.
‘‘T fear that I never shall be able to repay you.
for this goodness to a stranger.” @

‘‘Not exactly a stranger, my dear,” replied
the other, with a pleasant smile, and then she
moved the rocking-chair over and sat down by
the bedside.

Helen looked at her for a moment in a puz-
Zled sort of ~—

a an exactly a stranger,” the other re-

ated.

‘*Your face does seem familiar to me, and
yet the remembrance is more like the fantasy
of a{dream than anything else,” the girl re-
marked, thoroughly puzzled.

“T knew your family in England a great
many years—more years tonal should care
to own to, for to do. so would be to make
myself out quite an old woman,”. and the
a smiled; but to the girl, despite the
pleasant face of the woman, there was some-
thing cdd and uncanny about the smile, and a
restless spiri perhaps, and haps evil
—seemed to be lurking in the depths of the full
blue eyes,

As the fumes of the drug were more com-
pletely neutralized the mind of the girl began
to work with its accustomed clearness,

The statement of the lady seemed to her won-
derful, for, how on earth was it ible that.
any one—a stranger, too—could® know any--
thing about her or her family? But. the pre-
sumption came at once to her mind that the
lady was laboring under a mistake, misled by
her false stage name—a doubt, which the. other:
seemed to fathom.

“You question the correctness.of my state-
ment,” she observed, the same peculiar smile-
upon her face which had so unpleasantly af-
fected the young girl before.

‘‘T think ,you must have made some mistake,
madam,” Helen admitted. :

“Oh, no; I recognized. you by your resem-
blance to your family. I was not deceived b
your stage name. Although I know very little:
of the theatrical life, yet I am aware that a
great many of the player-people assume false
names; of course there is no particular harm ip
it. Those brave enough to dare the glare of a.
public life can hardly be blamed for wishing to.
in part hide themselves behind a mask, I know
what your true name is; it isa good old English
family appellation, and although not as pretty
perhaps as your fanciful stage name, yet to my
mind is far better. I recog: you the in-
ment you appeared on the stage as Miss Sara

earl.
‘Sara Pearl!” the girl exclaimed, in amaze-

ment; “why, that is not my name, I am -not.

Sara Pearl; my name is Helen Bell!” ©
The lady contracted the pupils of her eyes im

 
 

avery peculiar way for a moment, and then she
laughed outright,

“Well, that isa blunder; but, Sara Pearl or
Helen Bell, you caniwt deny that your right
name is neither the one nor the other, but Halah
Kunibell,”

CHAPTER XX,
A BIT OF KAMILY HISTORY.

Her true name coming from the lips of the
strange lady astounded the girl. And, too, she
must be speaking the truth when she had’ said
that she was acquainted with her family.

“You are willing to acknowledge then that
your name is Halah Kunibell?” the woman re-
marked, after a pause.

“Oh, yes; why should I deny it? I am
not asbamed of the life that 1 have chosen,
although by advice of one who was well. ac-
quainted with the stage I assumed. another
name.”

The lady, aoe her eyes were fixed upon
the face of the girl, was evidently paying but
little attention to what she was saying.

‘*T knew your sister, once—your sister Hada;
where is she? Is she living? What has become
of her?” she cried, abruptly, her naturally sweet
voice suddenly becoming barsh and mechanical.

“My sister Hada!” the actress cried, in
amazement, ‘‘Why, I never had a sister by
that name!”

‘“‘No sister Hada?” and the lady bent her
brows and almost scowled at the girl; so fierce
was the expression upon her face, and so wild
the look, that a slight sentiment of fear crept
over Helen,

“No, not te my knowledge.”

“How strange that they should deceive you
and keep all knowledge of the unfortunate Hada
from you!” the woman. muttered, her tone
angry and her mind evidently full of bitter
thoughts,

“Did I really have a sister named Hada?”
asked the girl, her curiosity excited.

“Yes, a sister about twenty years older than
you are, I should judge; you are about twenty,
are you not?”

“ es, »

** And where are your father and mother?’

** Both dead,” replied Helen,

“Judge not, lest ye be judged!” exclaimed
the lady, in a strange, mechanical sort of way.
“‘They judged—judged harshly, not wisely ; and
now—well, the great book of mysteries is open
to them, and they can tell whether they judged
wellor ill, But, how came you to come to this
country? Surely it was a long journey for a
young girl allalone—that is, if you came alone.”

‘*T came with my father and mother when I
was a child.”

‘What?’ cried the woman, with startling
earnestness, ‘‘ did Sabban Kunibell and his wife

«come to America?”

“ Yes.”

“ And they died here?”

“ Yes.”

‘How long ago was it when they came, and
when did they die?”

“They came when I was a child, seventeen
or eighteen years ago; mother died first, and
father only a few months ago,”

“That accounts for it,” the lady muttered, in
her strange way. ‘‘Hada was your father’s
daughter, but she displeased him and they

ted,” she continued, addressing herself di-
rectly to the girl. ‘There was bad blood be-
tween them; not all Hada’s fault, either, for
though she was wild and willful and loved her
own way, yet she was good at heart and dearly
loved her parents, She came to this country,
and when years passed on her heart softened to
the parents with whom she had quarreled, and
she wrote tothem, The letters were never an-
swered, I presume because they were. never re-
ceived, for the father, by your statement, was
in America at the time; but evidently it mat-
tered not, for since Sabban Kunibell suffered

you to grow up in ignorance of yourelder sister
the angry fesling which he had for his willful
child did not die out with the lapse of years.

The quarrel between the father and daughter
wasa bitter one. She had chosen acertain path
in life and was determined to walk in it; he, on
the contrary, was determined that she should
not, and with bitter emphasis he told her that
if she persisted in her determination, from the
time she quitted his house.she would cease to be
his daughter, and that, as long as he lived he
would never acknowledge her asa child. The
daughter fully as proud, as haughty and as stub-
born as the father, answered him kind. She
had chosen her way and she would walk in it,
regardless of Co luences, And she was as
good as her word. But when years passed, and
the hot blood of youth became cooled by age
and experience, better feelings prevailed, and
‘the disobedient daughter, repentant of her folly,
‘would have become reconciled to her parents,
but-fete had willed it otherwise,” f
The woman bent down her head and fell into
a fit of musing, while the young actress watched
‘with wondering eyes. Strange thoughts were
in her mind. ho was this woman, who, seem-
ingly, was so.well acquainted with her family
Bier y Aad. was it really true that she had had
an é sister, Hada? © Dame was an odd

 

AN AMBITIOUS /GIRL.

Biblical one: like her,own., Her father hada
strange fancy for such names, too... His name
was Sabban, her mother’s Rachel; so Biblical
names seemed to run in the family.

There seemed to be truth in her story, for she
had described her father’s character exactly:
althouch one of the kindest of men yet he was
implacably stubborn when his mind was made
up; and now as she recalled events there came
to her recollection strange speeches which had
escaped from her mother at times—speeches
which had puzzled her since, for she could not
comprehend what they meant; but now that
she had gained a knowledge of the existence of
an elder sister, it was evident the speeches re-
ferred to her. The heart of the mother sor-
rowed for her first born and refused to be com-
forted, Other strange thoughts, too, were in
the girl’s mind. If this stranger knew so much
about her family was it not likely that she
might know the reason why her father had so
carefully secluded himself from all the world?*

The young actress hesitated, to put the ques-
tion; she shrunk from revealing, even to this
well-informed stranger, that there was a mys-
tery in her family which baffled her efforts to
penetrate. f

Second thoughts told her, too, that, if the
lady did not know that her father had come to
America it would not be likely she would
know anything about the causes which led him
to take the step, for the girl was sure that. the
mystery which surrounded her parents’ life had
its rise in England’and not in this country.

One question, though, she burned to ask, and
she took advantage of her companion’s waking
from her reverie to propound it.

“Ts my sister Hada alive?” she asked, slowly
and with a timid air. It was the most natural
question in the world under the circumstances,
and yet, there was a subtle instinct in the girl’s
nature which warned her that the question
would not be a pleasant one, 2

‘¢ Alive?” cried the woman, in a loud voice, a
baleful light shining in her eyes; ‘‘no, no! She
could not live! She died long years ago, and
that is what has wrecked all my life. If-Hada
Kunibell. had lived I would be a far different
woman to-day from what I now am; but, I do
not blame you, girl, although you are of her
race,” she hastened. to add, perceiving a look of
apprehensive wonder upon Helen’s face. ‘* You
knew nothing about it; on had not made your
appearance in this world then. Oh, girl, girl!
if you only knew the misery that your sister
caused me! It is enough to make a statue
weep tears of blood—rich, warm, red blood!”

The face of the woman became convulsed,
and she wrung her hands together as if.torn by
fearful agony.

Helen was really alarmed for it seemed as if
she was about to go into hysterics.

But, to the scene came a sudden interrup-
tion.

The door opened quickly, without the slight-
est warning, disclosing three men, who im-
mediately advanced into the room. The wo-
man sprung to her feet and cast a rapid glance
at the window, as if she meditated an escape,
but the foremost intruder held up his finger,
warningly.

“Do not try that, madam!” he exclaimed;
‘it is useless.’

For moment the woman sae defiantly into
his face, but. the firm and steady look of his
eves seemed to quell her rebellious spirit, for

lowly she groped her gaze to the floor.

“What is the meaning of this? Why have
you brought, this young letky here?” he asked,
after the victory was won, and he cast an in-
quisitive glance at the young girl.

The reader has probably suspected who the
three men were. Like Pieodbonnds on the
scent the Professor and his followers had tracked
the prey; but, like the hunter, who, knowing
the den ‘of the fox, hies straightway there
without troubling himself to follow the animal
through all. his devious windings, after the
chase begins, so the Professor, satisfied that his
oe would seek the secluded cottage, came
there and surprised the inmates as we have de-
scribed. ;

“One of my whims, that is all,” the woman
replied, sullenly.

‘Are, you acquainted with this lady?” he
asked, addressing the actress,

“No, sir; I never saw her until this morn-
ing,” Helen answered, wondering what it all
meant. Y
‘* Well, you have’sustained no harm, so there
isn’t. much mischief done. 1 will send a car-
riage for you to take you to the depot. The
troupe have gone on to Meriden, and as there
has m no real injury done I trust you will
~ mention the affair any more than you can

elp.

Tod then the three men and the lady de-
parted, leaving the young actress a prey to the
greatest wonderment.

 

CHAPTER XXI.
THE RELEASE.

In vain did Helen rack her. brains for some
solution of this strange affair; none came; and
when the carriage arrived to take her away,

 

86

some two hours later, exactly as the stranger
had said, she was still completely in the dark,

She had dressed herself and was sitting by
the window, when the vehicle drove up, ea-~
gerly awaiting its arrival. Sbe had been al-
most afraid to attempt to get up, her head felt
so strangely, and she was apprehensive that
her strength would fail her, but, to her astou-
ishment, upon getting up, she found that, in-
stead of being weak, she was fully as strong as
ever, This was a source of great amazement
to her, for, of course, she fully believed the
story in regard to her illness,

The carriage sent was a buggy drawn by a
single horse, and: driven by the Irishman.

he actress recognized the man immediately
as being one of the three who had departed only
a little while before with the lady who had
talked and acted so m sper 8

‘From this.person I shall probably be able to
find out what all this means,” she murmured,
as she descended the stairs. And, as she made
her way from the house, it occurred to her that
it was very singular’she did not encounter any
one; the h-use seemed deserted.

“Jum in, miss!” the Irishman exclaimed, as
she made her oppattanee at the open door.
‘‘ Jump in, and I’ll have yees to the depot in
mighty quick time.”

The girl obeyed. the injunction; the driver ap-
plied the whip, and off went the horse at a brisk
trot.

Helen was amazed when she looked around
her and saw that she was in the country. She
had no idea, of course, that she had been car-
ried from the city.

‘‘ How sick I must have been,” she remarked,
‘‘to have been carried all this distance, and yet
not. to know anything about it.”

The driver pursed up his lips, but did not
speak,

The actress looked at him for a moment; she
was meditating how toframe the questions which
she intended to put, but the Irishman was not
deficient in shrewdness, and, by the expression
upon the girl’s face, he guessed what was pass-
ing in her mind.

“You mustn’t ask me any questions, miss, if
you pl’ase,” he hastened to say, thus anticipat-
ing the girl’s purpose. “It is my business to
dhrive yees to the dep6t, but not to answer any
questions. The gintleman what hires me tould
me to be afther kaping a still tongue in me
head, and as he remarked, miss, ‘ least said the
soonest mended.’ If yees do be afther wantin
to talk about the country, or the illigan
weather, or this beautiful baste of a horse, I’m

our man, but no questions, do ye mind!” and
the speaker, as he finished, shook his head as
much as to indicate that he was granite itself as
far as this resolution was concerned.

‘There is only one question that I am anxious
to ask,” the girl replied.

ES Bedad! perhaps that wan may be as bad as
ten!

‘‘T am sure it cannot displease or give offense
to any one, if you answer it.”

‘*Waix! whether that is to beso or not I kin
tell better when I hear the question.”

“Undoubtedly; but it is a ver pnple one,
and you need not answer it if you do not choose,
or if you think by answering you will displease
your employer.”

‘That is fair enough, anyhow; so fire away
wid it!” ;

‘*What day of the week is this?” '

The Irishman looked at his companion in per~
fect astonishment. ;

“Oh, come, now, miss; it’s making game of
me, ye.are Y ‘

“Indeed, Iam not; Iam in sober earnest,”
the girl protested.

**And don’t ye know?”

‘No, sir. Ido not!”

“Why, it’s Wednesday.”

“Wednesday!” the actress cried, in amaze-
ment; ‘‘and have I been sick and out of my
head for a whole week?”

“What in the name of goodness are you talk-
ing about? Shure! I saw you play on the stage
in the Black Crook last night.’

“Last night!” Helen was amazed. ‘Why,
that lady said I had been sick and out of my
mind for some time.”

The Irishman indulged in a low whistle,
which was clearly indicative of great astonish-~

ment.
i oe the born divil!” he muttered, under his,

eath, .

.. Chen she deceived me, and I haye not been
ill long, and it was last night that I played at
the New Haven Opera House?”

“Vis; I was there meself.”

“But why was this deceit practiced upon
me?” demanded Helen, in amazement not un-
mixed with indignation. ,

“Aha, pee now you come to the questions:
ge see, and I gave you a fair and aisy,.
shat I couldn’t answer. But if I can’t answer
the questions I can give youa bit of advice, and
if ye are the sinsible lady that I think ye are,
yees may be afther taking it!” the driver re-
marked, impressively. ‘Don’t say a word

about this affair to anybody. Take the advice
of the ould gintleman, my master, and l’ave the
matter drop jist where it is; it will do ye no

 
+
i

   

——4

PL ee OT et TTT See er NY Ta

16,

 

AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

 

 

good to be curious, and maybe it may bring
harm to some wan else.”

‘* But, all this is very mysterious, and I do
not understand it at all!” the girl could not help
exclaiming.

“True for yees, miss! ‘Shure! there’s a hape
of queer things in this world, but the best way
to get’ along quiet and aisy is never to mind
them the last bit, at all, at all.”

The more the young actress pondered the
more — she became, but knowing that she
would not get any more explanation from her
companion she held her peace,

It did not take long to reach the dept, and
as it happened the Meriden train was in wait-

ing.
There's your train now, miss,” exclaimed
the driver, after they had alighted from the

carriage; ‘‘you had better hurry right on
board, miss, for it will be off in a minute, I
have the ticket for yees.”

And so, almost before she knew it, she found
herself seated in the car. The bell rung, the
conductor’s ‘‘ All aboard!” was shouted, and
then the Irishman placed a sealed envelope in
the pee hand,

“Your ticket’s inside, miss: good-by, ma’am!”
and he hurried from the car, jumping off just
as the train moved away.

Decidedly bewiliered: by all these strange
circumstances our country girl opened the en-
velope, which was addressed to Miss Helen
Bell. As the man head said, there was a rail-
road ticket inside, and with the ticket there
was a note. She opened it and a twenty-dollar
bill dropped out into her lap. The note, short
and very much to the point, read as follows:

“‘Miss Buti: Inelosed please find twenty dollars
as a slight recompense for the trouble to which you
have been’ put, and the writer of these lines will
take it as a favor if you will keep the matter a pro-
found secret, as the publication of your adventure
cannot possibly do you any good, and will most cer
tainly do harm both to yourself and others.”

There was no signature, to this note, which
was written in a firm, clerkly hand.

Altogether the whole affair was a most aston-
ishing one, and the more the girl reflected upon
it the more bewildered she became. he
twenty dollars she would not have accepted if
she could have helped herself, but she couldn’t
very well return it at present, yet she made up
her mind that she would doso at'some future
time if she ever had the chance.

Her train was only an hour later than the
one on which the troupe had traveled, and being
an “express,” while the other was an ‘‘accom-
modation,” she arrived in Meriden while the
troupe were still at the depdt,

There had been a mistake in regard to the
hotels, The one which had contracted to take
the party discovered, that.it would not be able
to spare rooms enough to entertain them all; so
the managers were forced to skirmish round to
provide abiding for those members who could
not be kept at the principal house, and pending
these negotiations all the party remained at the
depdt.
o, the first persons Miss Bell encountered
upon descénding from the cars were Sara
Pear] and Gordon. Mallory.

“T knew you. would come!” Sara cried,
eagerly, rushing forward to take her friend by
the hand.

“Yes, I came as soon as I could; but, oh,
Sara, I have had such an adventure!” Helen
exclaimed.

** And you didn’t go off with that fellow?’

“*Go_off with who?’?. The young actress was
amazed.

Sara produced both of. the letters, the one
written to the manager by the false De Silvio,
and the few lines left in the sleeping apart-
ment,

‘Come into the waiting-room where they
can’t stare at us so,” Sara, said, drawing her
friend toward the door,

In the waiting-room, which was compara-
tively free from people, there was a full and
free explanation between the two girls; and
Sara, better acquainted with the world than
the other, speedily guessed the truth,

“We were both chloroformed; then you were
abducted, and if it hadn’t been for those men
coming as they did, you can depend upon it that
that rascal of a Cuban would soon have made
his appearance!” Sara exclaimed. S

Shrewd of wit as the actress certainly was,
yet it was not within the range of human wis-
dom. for her to guess that the Jady and the
Cuban were one. and the same, nor could she in
the least explain the mystery of the three men,
but her counsel in regard to the twenty-dollar
bill was gmeinently, ractical.

“Return it? Not by a_good sight, my dear!
It was given to you freely; you keep it, or if

ou feel any compunctions about so doing, hand

it over tome. TIT haven’t received anything to
Pay Be for what I had to suffer.”

d this was the end of the incomprehensible
adventure, but stranger ones yet were in, store
for the ambitious country girl.

 

CHAPTER XXII.
“WESTWARD, HO!’’
Tux De Silvio troupe had prospered, and

 

 

from the Eastern circuit, as it is called, had
passed down into the South as far as Texas;
then it had. come up into the West, and in the
springtime, when we again take up the thread
of our story, the party had reached the city of
Cincinnati, Ohio, for a week’s sojourn.
Cincinnati, ‘ the Paris of America,” as it is
roudly termed by its inhabitants, is an excel-
ent theatrical city, especially for attractions of
the Black Crook order, and all of the troupe
looked forward to a prosperous week’s business.

The Eastern members of the company, though,
who were not used to the way in which thea-
tricals are served up in some of the Western
cities in certain opera-houses, were somewhat
astonished at the sight which they beheld when
the curtain rose on their first performance. As
the disgusted low comedian of the party re-
marked—by the way, he looked exactly like a
minister, having a gloomy, solemn face, dress-
ing always in complete black, and seldom being
seen to smile—‘t Hang me! if every man-Jack
out in front ain’t anchored to a beer-mug!”

And it was true: nearly all the audience were
drinking beer, and those who were not drinking
were smoking, and so, when the curtain went
up, there was still another curtain of blue
smoke between the audience and the actors.

Ail this wasn’t a red pleasant thing for the
Eastern artists, and they were naturally dis-
gusted ; but the house was crowded with people
who were enthusiastic in their applause, an
after the actors got used to the smoke and the
beer it didn’t seem so bad. It was the German
beer-garden system over again—husband and
wife and all the children, drinking beer and
en, joying the performance.

ut, i6 was a terrible blow to our ambitious
girl; and in the solitude of her apartment,
after the performance was over that first night,
Helen freed her mind of the load which had
been weighing upon it.

"Sara, do you think I have improved any
since we started from New York?” she asked.

““Oh, yes; improved wonderfully ; your voice,
face and figure were always good, of course,
but you didn’t know how to get on oro the
stage properly, or how to use your arms; all
that is changed now, and though you have only
been on the stage five months you have pro-
gressed as far as most people do in five years.”

‘‘Our season ends next week in Chicago, and
as far as Lam concerned I will never have any-
thing more to do with such a troupe as this one.
You get a large salary, Sara, more than you
could probably get in regular lines, but I have
received a very small one, and now that I have
made a name, and am known as an actress, I
do not see why I cannot do better than I am
doing now.”

* tr tell you what it is, dear, start a combina-
tion; go out asa star, with a company to sup-
et you; take the bull right by the horns!

ou want ip prey. Juliet, and such parts, and
you are fiti to’ them, too; who knows but
what you might make a success right from the
beginnin; ”

But, I hav’n’t money enough; besides, I
don’t understand how to manage a combination,
and I shrink from the responsibility.”

‘*Oh, that is easily enough arranged, Adver-
tise for a manager with money to take you out.
I don’t see why you can’t find an ‘angel’ to
supply the funds as well as any one else. - I will
go with rae and I’m a pretty good business
woman; will see that you are treated right.”

The prospect did look feasible; and oh, what
a vision it opened to the girl’s eyes!

‘“T will do it!’ she exclaimed, coming to a
sudden determination. “If 1 succeed I will
realize my ambitious hopes, and if I fail—”

**<In the bright lexicon of youth which fate
reserves for a glorious manhood, there is no
such word as fail,’” Sara quoted. ,

So the attempt was determined upon and the
advertisement relating to it was sent to one of
the dramatic newspapers.

“ An angel! my kingdom for an angel!” Sara
went “spouting” around at odd times.

But before the angel made his appearance the
actress was destined to encounter a gentleman
who much more resembled a denizen of the
lower world than the upper.

A ee of gentlemen had occupied the lower
right-hand box fromthe stage, on the opening
night of the troupe, and one of them, a stout,
florid-faced person of middle age, evidently
had. been’ impressed with Miss- Bell, and had
taken a great deal of pains to let the lady know
it: He had, too, improved the opportunity af-
forded by the box being near the stage to re-
mark to his companions, when Miss Bell came
upon'the stage, that she was the prettiest girl
he had seen for a long time, and he took care to
speak in a tone plain y audible to the actress's
ears. But five months of the stage life had
made Helen pretty well used to this sort of
thing. She had learned that, when a woman
dares the glare of the eo she exposes
herself to the attentions.of all the fools who
frequent theaters, In New. York, at Niblo’s
she received notes by the score, some of
them couched in polite terms, some impudent,
and some verging upon insult. | Flowers and
jewelry, too, accompanied the letters.

Sara’s counsel was invaluable in these mat-

 

ters, for every day she was subjected to =
such attentions, which were seldom agreeable—
in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred were de-
cidedly disagreeable, and sometimes extremely
annoying.

‘‘Keep the flowers.and. send back the pres-
ents,” she said. ‘‘ Although in regard to the
latter part of the advice, perhaps I am a little
too particular. I know quite a number who
don’t return the presents. If the fellows are
stupid enough to send them, why then the
quicker they learn that there is a great deal of
truth in the old adage, ‘A fool and his money
are soon parted,’ the better,”

‘But, surely, they would not wear jewelry
so obtained!” Helen had exclaimed, in horror.

“Oh, no; for, if they did, that wouid give
the maker of the gift a chance to improve the
opportunity. No, they quietly sell the trash
and put the money in their ets.”

Our young actress would not. do this; but,.
even returning the presents did not damp the
ardor of some foolish young men, and she had
been followed home from the theater more
times than she had fingers and toes, and even
spoken to, but no man ever had tried this twice,
for the manner in which the young girl had re-
os the impudent adyance was something
grand, ;

And so, as we have said, grown used to this
sort of persecution, which all. actresses are
doomed to encounter, more or less, Helen paid
no more attention to the remark or to the
man who made it than if he had never existed.

But the next night the man was in the box
again, this time alone, but with a profusion of
costly bouquets with which he literally pelted
the actress.

Of course every time a bouquet was flung the

audience applauded; the girl with her splendid
beauty had become quite a favorite, upon her
elen de-

first appearance, and although H
ised the man who had thrown the flowers—
espised him without knowing him on account
of his insolent speech, which she knew well
enough was intended to reach her ears—yet it,
was stage etiquette to pick up the bouquet, and
the audience would have risen en masse to re-
sent the affront if the actress had neglected to
possess herself of the flowers and then smile her
thanks to the audience; but the moment she
got off the stage, in the ‘‘ wings”—as the side-
scenes which mask in the stage are called—
with a contemptuous toss she flung down the
eostly flowers, much to the astonishment of the
rest of the company, although they regarded
the girl as an odd fish, anyway, for she was.
very quiet and seldom mingled with the rest.

The manager of this particular opera house
was a mansgereee a woman ;something rare im
theatrical life, for there are not many lady
managers. And. this woman was a character,
too; she was pretty well along in years, was tall
and strong, with .a deep, hoarse voice like a
man, and, in fact, a very masculine way about
her. Her life would have made a volume of
most entertaining reading. As a child she had
been brought up as a circus rider; as a young
woman had been one of the great stars of the
arena; she had married the proprietor of a cir-
cus and with him had traveled over almost the
four quarters of the globe; had been ship-
wrecked half a dozen times; had seen her hus-
band shot down before her eyes in a Texan
country town when the canvas had been at-
tacked bya gang of roughs, and repurt said
that, with a double-barreled shot-gun, she had
slain the man who had killed her husband and
helped to beat off the gang. And now, after
this wild and wandering life, she had settled
down as the proprietor of this Cincinnati opera
house. She was extremely blunt and outspoken
in her manner, the result of the wild life which
she had led; but, for all that, was a kindly-
hearted, honest woman, with a heart—as_ her
ave boys used to express it—as big as a bul-
lock’s.

She was behind the scenes, and standing in
the wing, when Helen came off, and her eyes
opened widely as she beheld the young actress:
toss the costly flowers so contem foot ly away.

‘Well, well, young lady, you don’t care much
for ‘buckets,’ do you? and them kind cost five
dollars a lick, too! I of a3 you don’t know mé;
I’m Madam Pond, and I own this shanty, but ,
ge gota chance now to own one twice as

ig, if you want to, for one of the richest men
in this town is struck after yon He wants an
introduction—Major Clutterbuck; that’s him in
the box, yonder.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
. or THE MAJOR.

“T po not care to make say Sep oertearice,
madam,” Helen answered, politely, for she was
impressed favorably by the face of the woman.
despite her harsh tone and rough way of talk-

ing.
Now, little gal, don’t you be foolish! Yow
don’t know what you are talking about. The
major is one of the big-buge of this town; why,
he’s worth a million, if he’s worth a cent; been
a big contractor, you know, anda big politician,
too; got more irons in the fire all the time:
than ten ordinary men could attend to; “.

he’s struck after’ you—struck awful bad.
\

 
 

don’t think that I ever saw a man so clean-gone,
I only wish that he would come after me! I
tell you what—I’d throw myself right at him
the moment, he said the word. I ain’t been
much on the marry since poor Pond died, but I
think the major’s money would fetch me.”

The two were standing a little apart from the
rest in the scene entrance so that the conversa-
tion was not overheard by any one.

“‘He wants to give you a nice little wine sup-
per to-night after the show is out,” the man-
ageress continued; ‘“‘ give him a chance, you
know, to make your acquaintance.”

‘“‘T never accept such invitations,” Helen re-
plied, coldly.

“Oh, it’s all right! You needn’t be alarmed.
The major has invited me, too, to_play pro-
priety, you know, and youcan bring Pearl with
you, too, if you want to. I knew that you two
were mighty thick, and I told the major that I
reckoned you wouldn’t come without her. I
tell. you! we'll have an elegant spread!” and
the woman smacked her lips in anticipation.
““When the major goes at anything he makes
the cash fly!”

‘Madam, I cannot say that I feel honored by
the invitation for I do not!” the young actress
exclaimed, spiritedly. ‘I do not know the gen-
tleman, and I am not anxious to make his ac-
quaintance, and, least of all, do I like the wa
in which he seeks to become acquainted wit
me.

“My dear little gal, don’t be an idiot!” the
‘woman protested; ‘‘ how on earth is the man to
get acquainted with you unless you give hima
chance? and, to my thinking, it is a mighty nice
delicate way of fixing the thing. I tell you,
the man is clean gone on you! you can become
Mrs. Major Clutterbuck as easily as turning
your hand over, if you like.”

“ But, I do not like!” Helen replied, her eyes
flashing, and the color mounting into her cheeks.
“* And it doesn’t make a bit of difference to me
about the man’s money. I do not wish to make
his acquaintance. I will not go to his supper;
you may tell him so from me; and, further-
more, you may tell him that he will oblige me
greatly if he will discontinue his flowers. I do
not appreciate his bouquets; the moment I get
off the stage I fling them away as fast as possi-
ble, and if it were not for offending the audi-
ence, from whom comes the money by means of
iis I live, I would not pick up his flowers at
all.

“Why, what on earth has the man done to
you that you have taken’such a dislike to him?”
cried Madam Pond, in wonder.

“He made an insulting remark when I came
on the stage, Monday night,” the girl answered,
her cheeks hot wit anger, ‘‘and made it so
loudly that I overheard it, as he intended I
should.”

“Good gracious! and is that what this fuss is
about?” and the madam showed her surprise.
“Well, if you ain’t the most thin-skinned young
lady I ever run across! I was at the back of
the box; I heard what he said, and all the rest
of the men were newspaper fellows, critics, and
the major said it on purpose to start them a-go-
ing. Inever heard of a woman being affronted
before by being told that she was antscntie.
And didn’t the newspapers ring the ie on
it, to-day, too? Did you see the notices? Why,
there isn’t one of them that doesn’t say you are
the handsomest woman that ever came to Cin-
cinnati, and the major put it up for you, too.
He stood the champagne for the hull gang in
the saloon in front of the theater, after the
show was out, and I heard him say, with my
own ears—‘ Gentlemen, I tell you what it is,
she is the handsomest woman that ever struck
this here town; and don’t you forget it! Here’s
her health, boys, and if any one of you snoozers
neglects to jest put in the big licks for that gal,
in to-morrow’s papers, he’ll have me in his wool,
that’s all!”

A look of disgust appeared on the handsome
face of the actress. And this was the glorious
life of which she had dreamed ever since she
was a girl! This was the laurel crown which
ene to clutch and wear! Oh, it was too ter-

e

“A hundred dollar bill couldn’t have done
yor as much good in this town as the major,

st night,” the manageress continued, “and it
would only be the fair thing to go and drink his
wine, and eat his supper, considering how he

fixed it withthe gang for you.”

By this gentle term did the lady refer to the
Desrepaper crities of the goodly city of Cincin-
nati.

“JT shall not go, madam, nor will I make
~ the man’s acquaintance; and it makes me feel
really ashamed, now that I know how my news-
paper notices were obtained. I thought they
were fair and honest notices, and had na idea
they were really bought and paid for.”
“Mighty few newspaper notices in this coun-
try that ain’t bought and paid for, in some
way,” the madam retorted. ‘‘ Well, it is to be
no, then?”
“No, it most certainly is!”
**The major will be eae
The look upon the face of the actress signified
more eloquently than words that the major
' Inight “tear” all he liked, as far as she car

 

AN’ AMBITIOUS GIRL.

i

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
A BOLD STROKE.

Mapam Ponp, somewhat annoyed that she
had been so completely unsuccessful in her mis-
sion, returned to the box, wherein sat the ma-
jor, in a decidedly bad bumor.

And that gentleman, who prided himself, and
with sae reason, too, upon his astuteness,
guessed that she had not been successful.

That the girl would decline the proffered in-
vitation never once entered the woman’s head.
On the contrary she had thought that the beau-
tiful blonde would be delighted at the op-
portunity and she was both annoyed and mys-
tified by her refusal.

“Well, she wouldn’t have it, eh?” the major
queried, as the madam reéntered the box.

‘Indeed you are right; she would not,” re-
plied the woman, her manner betraying that
she considered herself an injured party.

‘‘What’s the matter? hat is the trouble
with my ens and the major laughed as if
he considered the refusal a good joke.

The major, by the way, was a tall, ahd man
with a little round head, almost completely bald,
only a fringe of red hair remaining. Red also
was the elaborately curled and waxed mustache,
and the pointed imperial which adorned his fat
face.

precy ne, but an Adonis, he yet flattered
himself that he was a regular lady-killer, but
ugly men do take such notions into their heads,
sometimes!

“Well, she doesn’t care to make your ac-
quaintance,” curtly.

The manageress was nettled and angry with
herself that she had conveyed the invitation see-
ing that the major had looked upon it as a joke.
The girl was an impudent, upstart hussy to re-
fuse such a polite invitation; the major was a
fool for having tendered it; but she herself was
a still bigger fool for mixing herself up in the
matter at all.

“She doesn’t care to make my acquaintance,
eh?” and again the astute politician laughed as
if it was a pleasant jest. ‘‘Oh, well, she will
get over that in time when she finds out what a
nice fellow I am,” and the major leaned back in
his chair and winked knowingly at the man-
ageress, but she didn’t enjoy the pleasantry.

“Tf she has got anything to say about it, she
won’t make re acquaintance!” the madam
spoke decided y. “She heard that remark you
made when she came on the stage the first
night, about her being a handsome girl, and in-
stead of taking it as a compliment, as any sensi-
ble woman would, it made her angry.”

‘“‘Heard it!” and the major chuckled; ‘of
course she heard it; I intended that she should.
It was merely a neat way, you know, of letting
her see that she had made an impression upon
me

“Tt was a neat way of making her take a bis
dislike to you!” the woman retorted. “TI te
you that you are just wasting your time and

.

money, he don’t want to have anything to
do with you.”
“Oh, I have seen women before this one,” the

“T know how to

other replied, complacently.
k This

take ’em, I know all their little tricks.
girl only wants coaxing; that’s all,”

““Oh, you think so, do you?” and there was a
very perceptible sneer both on the woman’s face
andin her voice. ‘‘ Well, you just go ahead,
and if you succeed in getting on good terms
with this haughty minx—”

“‘ What then?” and the major laughed in the
other’s face.

““Why, you area smarter man than I think
you are, thot’s all,” and with this parting shot
the madam retreated.

eo the gentleman laughed and, rubbed his
fat, kid-gloved hands softly together as he re-
markeu:

‘That woman thinks that she knows every-
thing. She judges every other woman in this
world b hevnell She knows very well that if
a man threw diamonds and sich trash at her
she would jump at them like a cat at a mouse,
She hasn’t any idea that, by holding back and
playing shy, a girl increases her value, It was
a sudden fancy I took to this beauty, but I be-
lieve I was in the right about it; she is a deuced
fine critter, and is worth the winning. What is
the good ofa girl who is ready to throw herself
into your arms the moment you look at her?
That ain’t the kind of gal I like. I ain’t no
Turkish sultan to go ’round flinging handker-
chiefs at women!” the major continued, with
more energy than grammar. ‘TI like a critter
who puts a value on herself like this hyer one
does, She’s the queen for my money, Ireckon!”

Atthis point the girl came on the stage again,
and although from the position in which he pa,
the box being on the level of the stage, be coul
almost have reached out his hand and touched
her, yet with the utmost coolness, he raised his
heavy opera-glasses—more like a pair of field-

lasses than their smaller kindred, and spply-
ng them to his eyes kept them persistently
fixed upon the face of the actress all the time
she was upon the stage, much to her annoyance,
for, though she absolutely ignored the presence
of the inquisitor, yet she was conscious of the
scrutiny, and it made the angry blood rise in
her veins.

 

The excitement caused an unwonted color to
‘ay upon her cheeks, and never in all her

ife had she looked so superbly beautiful.

‘* By George! she is a ‘darling!’” exclaimed
the politician, dropping as was his habit, into
the slang of the day. ‘ Yes, sir, she is a darling
anda daisy, and lam going to have her if it
costs a small fortune. How she would make ’em
open their eyes at Washington, rigged out in
silk and satin and with about twenty thousand
dollars’ worth of diamonds on! Wouldn’t they
stare when the word went ’round, ‘ That’s old
Clutterbuck’s property, Clutterbuck of Ohio!’
and I reckon that when I sent out invitations
for a ‘spread’ there wouldn’t be many men in
Washington who would ‘hesitate to accept if
they knew that this gorgeous queen was a-going
to preside over the ceremonies, Oh, decidedly
she is just the kind of woman I have been look-
ing after for a deuced long time!”

he actress passed from the stage, and the
major, lowering his eo glass, tilted back his
chair against the wall and fell into a brown
study. Not a whit did. he care for the per-
formance excepting when the woman who had
fascinated him was upon the stage. We say
fascinated, and yet the word is not exactly the
right one to use, for the wily speculator and
politician was not the kind of a man’ to be fas-
cinated by anybody. He was of too cold and
selfish a nature to ever yield to ‘‘ love’s delicious
thrill.” He wanted the girl fora certain pur-
pose—a purpose for which she was exactly
suited; he had been looking for a tool for quite
a long time, but, as he would have expressed it,
he had never found any one to “ fill the bill’
until this actress made her appearance, and
then, when she had finished her first speech he
had slapped bis fat hand upon his fat knee in
delight. His companions thought that he was
admiring the lady, and so he was, and at the
same time exclaiming to himself: ‘‘She’ll do;
she’s the very woman—young, beautiful, a
regular lady with an air like a queen ; wouldn’t
she look stunning in diamonds}”

From that moment the major had followed as
ean in the woman-chase as a blood-

ound upon the trail of the flying fugitive.

Now in deep thought he Soigitated: he was
planning how to lay the wires to accomplish the
object in view. Suddenly a sly, cunning smile
crept over his face. _ He had hit upon a plan!

Just then Helen Bell came upon the stage
again, and once more the schemer gave him-
self up to the enjoyment of gloating over her
“points,” just as if she had been a horse ora
dog which he thought of buying.

he studied indifference which the girl dis-
played in regard to his presence did not annoy
the major in the least; on the contrary, he was
highly pleased.

‘Hang me if she won’t do the honors like an
empress!” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Can’t she give the
cold shoulder to the fellows who don’t step w
tothemark as they oughter? Oh, she’s the s
for my money!”

The rest of the week passed off uneventfully
enough until Saturday night came. It had been
threatening a storm all day long, and finally
just about dusk, the rain commenced ina kind
of drizzle, that kept on falling steadily.

“ We shall get wet through,” Sara exclaimed
in dismay to Helen, always her constant com-

anion, as they emerged from the shelter of the
tel

otel.

‘*-Yes; had we not better take a carriage?”
the otherasked. ‘It is a long way to the thea-
ter, and we are sure to get our feet wet.”

“These hackmen always charge so much,”
ate grumbled. She was always of a frugal
min

A hackman, standing by, espying the two
ladies, swooped down upon them.

“Coach, ladies?” ;

‘Well, I don’t know,” roped Miss Pearl,
doubtfully, “*How much will you charge to
take us to the o house across the Rhine?”

An extremely unsavory canal which runs
through the center of the ak Cincinnati is
dignified by this classic title, from the fact that
for a great many years, about all the people
who lived in the upper part of the city, across
the canal, were ans, and to cross the canal,
the Rhine, was at once to enter upon this Ger-

man land.

“Oh, blessed if I knew you, ladies, wrapped
upin yer waterproofs,” the hackman exclaimed,
with the easy familiarity of his class, ‘I was
in Monday night and see’d the show. Well,
seeing as how it is you, and we allers makes a
discount to the perfession, I will take you to
the opera house, and fetch you home r the
show, for three dollars.” ;

“We may not need the coach coming home;
the rain may stop,” Sara remarked.

“Oh, bless you! this rain is for to-mor-
row,” the driver assured. ‘‘ When it sets in at
this hyer time of the year it never rains less
nor two or three days; but, if the rain holds up,
I won’t charge you but two dollars,” _

‘¢That is too much; make it two dollars for
the whole thing and then we will ride home,
anyway.

‘Well, durned if I don’t, seeing that it is

{| So jumpin!” And when the two got in
the carriage; ara could not forbear remar :

 
  
 

i)
a

48

AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

 

 

 

‘* You see, dear, it. never does to give these
men what they ask. You can always beat them
down about one-half.”

At the theater the two girls alighted.

‘* You will be sure to be here at the close of
the performance?” Sara asked.

“Oh, yes; you can depend upon me, and if I
ain’t hyer you won’t have to pay nobody noth-
ing, you know,” and the hackman winked as he
drove off.

The entertainment ed off as usual. The
curtain descended and the last performance of
the Black Crook, as far as this company were
concerned, in Cincinnati, wasover.. And beart-
ily glad, too, were all the members of the
troupe, for being all rather ‘ high-toned” in
their ideas they didn’t relish playing. to this
lager-beer-drinking, cigar-smoking audience, no
matter how appreciative they might be, and re-
gardless of the fact that their money was just as
good as saybady else’s.

As Sara had a very difficult dress to take off
and was naturally very slow about it, being al-
ways tired after her hard work, it followed
that she was generally about the last one to
leave the theater. Helen, of course, waited for
her.

When the two girls came.out they found the
hack in waiting, and very glad indeed were
they that they had engaged it, for the rain had
increased rather than diminished.

The driver jumped down and opened the door,
and as. he did so a man who had been standin;
in the shadow of the theater doorway advanc
and addressed Miss Pearl.

“ Miss Sara Pearl, I believe?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” responded the actress, surveying
the person, to perceive that he was not known

h

er,

‘ Will you have the kindness to favor me with
a few minutes’ conversation in private upon a
matter which is of great importance to you? I
will detain you but.a few moments,” he hasten-
ed to add, perceiving that the girl was not dis-
posed to grant the request. ‘‘ We can step into
the theater; it won’t take but a moment,”

There was something very earnest and per-
suasive about the man, and Sara wondered, al-
though she did not believe that what he had to
say was of any particular importance.

‘It. is raining and my friend will get wet,”
she said,

“ Get right into the coach, ma’am,” suggested
the hackman, who was holding the door open.

‘Tt is really a matter of almost life and death
importance, miss!” the man pleaded.

“Very well; get in the carriage, Helen; I
won’t be long,” and Sara followed the man into
the theater again while her companion entered
the coach,

“Pll just shut the door, miss, while I look
arter the horses, and it will keep the rain out,”
the driver said, after the girl had entered the
carriage; then he closed the door and disap-
peared from Helen’s sight,

In the back lobby the stranger told Sara
quite a long story, much to her disgust, but it
was almost impossible to get away from the
man. He was a writer, one of the stru, gling,
unsuccessful fellows who. never seem able to
make their mark in this world, He had a play
—a grand lay’ and Miss Pearl was exactly
suited for the heroine. If she would only con-
descend to take and play his piece both of their
fortunes would be made at once.

It was the same old story the girl had listened
to twenty times at least. Finally to get rid of
the fellow, as he said that he was utterly with-
out money, and knew not where to sleep that
night, she gave him a dollar. He clutched it
with much emotion, protested that he would re-
pay it at the first convenient opportunity, and
vanished into the street.

Sara put up her purse and shook her head du-
biously,

‘‘T will never see that dollar again,” she mut-
tered, then she passed through the door into the

rain.

The street was deserted!

Sara stared; she looked oR and down, but,
look where she would no coach met her eyes,

‘*Where on earth haye they gone? What
does the fellow mean by driving off in this
way?” Then she hurried down to the street,
thinking perhaps that the coach was around
the corner, but not a sign of one could she dis-
cover!

She knew vot what to make of it, and in ut-
ter bewilderment made her way to the hotel
thinking that it was just possible. the man ha
driven Helen home; but no Helen could_she
find! In saerets she hunted up Gordon Mal-
i ana told him the story.

he young actor knitted his brows; strange
it seemed to him that so many perils encircled
the young actress.

“Go to bed,” he said, at last, ‘‘I will not rest
until I find her!”

And Sara had faith that he would be as good
as his word,

 

CHAPTER XXV.
A MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR.
AFTER entering the coach, Miss Bell sunk
back on the seat.and gave herself up to reflec-
tions which were of a decidedly gloomy cast.

 

So far her stage experience had not been a
pleasant one. In “her day-dreams of the ac-
tress’s glorious life, she had not counted upon
certain drawbacks which actual experience had
now taught her most certainly existed. The rose
of dramatic glory was not without its thorns,
and, brief as had been her career upon the
stage, some of the thorns had wounded her se-
verely. Unlike the heroines of the many stories
she had read, wherein the lucky girl, by going
upon the stage, either operatic or dramatic, at
asingle bound gains both fame and fortune,
she had not won her laurel crown or the glitter-
ing dross which the empty-headed world tosses
atthe feet of itsidols. She was “‘very good,”
experienced old stagers said, worth twenty-five
or thirty dollars a week, not a large salar
when the cost of an actress’s board and ward-
robe is considered; but, where, oh, where were
the countless thousands which she had been so
sure of gaining?

It was a hard life; a great many discomforts
were attached to it, and every dollar she earned
she felt that she had worked for; it was not
play, but toi/—the general idea to the contrary
notwithstanding.

Although buried in these gloomy thoughts,
the girl could not help noticing that the driver
was haying a great deal of trouble with his
horses, which seemed to be very restive; they
were prancing up and down, and the driver was
endeavoring to restrain them, but, apparently,
unsuccessfully.

Pinay the animals gave a plunge andstarted.
Away they went at a full gallop, the driver
shouting at them, but the beasts were evidently
very fractious; down the street they tore, and
whirled around the corner into the nextavenue,
evidently at the top of their speed.

The girl began to get alarmed; the beasts were
evidently entirely beyond control, and there
seemed to be danger of an upset. The thought
passed through her mind that she had better at-
tempt to get out, although from the speed at
which the vehicle was going, there was great
danger in the effort. :

She attempted to open the door, but the door-
knob was evidently out of order and it would
not work; the other door was equally obstinate,
and so, perforce, she was obliged to remain in
the carriage, although she so eae that every
moment it would be upset and dashed in pieces.

For a good a minutes the coach kept on
in its wild career; then the horses began to tire
of thcir wild pranks, and the driver succeeded in
getting them under control. They subsided into
a trot, and finally the driver pulled them toa
halt. Turning in his seat he addressed the

oung lady through the glass window in the
ront.

“Did you ever see sich contrary beasts?” he
exclaimed, hoarsely.

It was so dark that the girl could hardly see
his face, but from his voice it was evident that
he was greatly excited.

‘Where are we?” was Helen’s natural ques-
tion.

‘Way on the edge of the town; it will take
a good half-hour to git back ag’in, blast their
pictur’s!” growled the driver. ‘‘ But, don’t be
alarmed, miss; thar ain’t any danger of their
trying that trick ag’in. They have got all the
running they want for one while. Jest keep
quiet and I will have you back in no time if
the beasts ain’t hurt themselves with their fool-
ishness.”

‘*Oh, I am not afraid.”

The driver drove on again, and Helen, sink-
ing back upon the. seat, reflected upon what
Sara would think.

“She will be terribly alarmed when she finds
that the coach is gone, and will no doubt
imagine all kinds of dreadful things. Thank
Heaven that it isn’t any worse. I have been
pretty well frightened, but I might have been
seriously hurt if the coach had been over-
turned,” she murmured.

The coach rattled on, and Helen took little
heed of the a nor even of how the
time was passing, until at last, beginning to
grow sleepy, the thought came into her head
that it was surely time they were at the hotel,
and she was just about to speak to the driver
when the coach suddenly stopped; the driver
dismounted and came to the door, which, even
with his strong hands, he hada great deal of
difficulty in opening.
= ‘‘ Miss, one of these ’ere horses has gone dead
lame, and I’m afeard that he has got a hurt in
his foot. Would you mind gettin’ out and
waiting here in this doorway while I drive u
to the saloon yonder and see about it?
wouldn’t like to have you go up thar in the
coach, miss, for thar’s always a hard crowd of
boys a-hanging round thar at this time of night
and it might not be pleasant for you. It won't
take me Tn. and I’ll come right back as soon
as I find out what is the matter.” i

Helen thought the driver was very kind and
considerate, and she thanked bim for it; from
such a rough fellow she would not have ex-
pected such thoughtfulness, ,
ghee driver mounted to the box and away he

‘ove,

The girl looked around her, and, as the rain
was falling quite heavily, she sought shelter in

 

the ample door of the mansion before which the
coach had halted.

The night was so dark that the girl could not
even distinguish the houses on the opposite side
of the street, or, in fact, any other house at all
in the neighborhood,

“How lonely it seems in the darkness,” she
muttered ; ‘fone would think there wasn’t.
another house within sight.”

Then there was the sound of a key turning in
the lock and of bolts being drawn; some one
was about to open the door behind her!

It was rather an unpleasant position, but the
actress must either encounter the new-comer,
whoever it was, or else go out into the storm,
and surely, she thought, in such a driving rain,
no one would deny her the poor privilege of
shelter within the porch.

The door opened and a woman bearing a light
appeared—a stout, rather hard-featured wo-
man, a coal-oil lamp in her hand, She sur-
veyed the girl with a look of curiosity,

‘Did you want to see any one, miss?” she
asked, respectfully.

““No, ma’am; one of the horses of the coach
in which I was riding suddenly became lame,
and the driver requested me to remain here
while he went to the saloon yonder, which he
said was not a fit pase for a lady to visit.”

‘“Well, I should say not; but, won’t you come
in, miss? [ will leave the door open and the
lamp on the table in the entry, so that the
driver will know. you are in the house. and can
call you when he returns.”

“TY would not think of troubling you, ma-

dam.”
“Oh, no trouble at all, but you will catch
your death of cold standing out here,” and in
truth the girl was shivering, for the night air
was growing chill and keen. ‘Come in, and
you are heartily welcome. Ihave a good warm
room up-stairs, I was ee there reading
when the coach drove up. I heard it stop at
the door and drive away, and then I thought
that I heard somebody knock; that is the rea-
son why I came down, but I suppose it was you
moving about on the porch, ou needn’t be
alarmed, miss; there ain’t a soul in the house
except myself; the family are all away, and I
am left to take care of the property.”

The girl was cold—in fact, rapidly becoming
chilled to the bone, and the thought occurred to
her that it was possible the driver might not be
inclined to be in a hurry to leave the comforts
of a warm saloon; this induced her to accept
the woman’s invitation.

“ All right; follow me right up-stairs. Stand-
ing in the porch on such a night as thisis enough
to give you your death of cold.”

he woman placed the lamp upon a table in
the hall, then led the way up the stairs.

The house was elegantly furnished and evi-
dently the dwelling of a man of. means.

At the head of the stairs a long passage ex-
tended through the house, and at the further
end of the passage the guide ushered the actress
into a large room most magnificently furnished,
and heated evidently by hot air from a fur-
nace.

“Sit down, miss, and I will go and see if I
can’t get you some refreshment.”

The actress begged the woman not to put her-
self to the trouble, but she would do it, and
after placing a comfortable easy-chair for her
guest by the register in the wall, departed.

The fatigue which she felt, the warm air of
the room and the seductive influence of the ex-
tremely comfortable chair all combined to pro-
duce drowsiness and almost before she was
aware she was fast locked in slumber’s bonds!

And she slept on, undisturbed, until the gray
light of the morning stole in at the heavily-cur-
tained windows; then, with a sudden start, she
awoke and looked around in vast amazement.
For a moment she was puzzled and then all at
eg the events of the past night flashed upon

er.

But what did it all mean? Why had not the
driver come forher? Why hadshe been allowed.
to sleep all night in the chair?

She sprung to her feet and went to the door.
It was fastened; then she hurried to the win-
dows, pulled aside the curtains and lo!—each
window was guarded by iron bars!

The truth flashed upon her; she had been en-
trapped!

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
MORE MYSTERY.

Yus, Helen had been entrapped most surely!

She i to ponder over the strange affair;
was it all a _cunningly-contrived plot from the
beginning? It seemed like it, and yet, why
should it be so? What reason was there for the
committal of such an act of high-handed vio-
lence? But the more she pondered the more be-
wildered she became,

She was. standing in the center of the apart-
ment, having started back from the window in
utter amazement and horror upon discove
that the casement was protected by strong iron
bars. Another door opposite to the one by
which she had entered attracted her attention.
Possibly this second door might not be fastened,
and it was not, as she discovered upon trying it
but to her disappointment the door only ied

 

, oS ee ee ee oe ee ee ee

A ee

 
22

AN AMBITIOUS GIRL.

 

 

‘was to be lost, for the two would be sure to en-

deavor to get out as sogn as possible,

And while this had been transpiring down-
stairs the rescued and the rescuer had been ex-
changing confidences in the upper apartment,

Briefly the young actor explained how it was
he happened to come so timely to her aid, and,
as Helen suspected, Sara Pearl had been the in
strument.

Mallory loved the young actress, although cer-
tain circumstances prevented him ‘from press-
ing his suit; he loved the gitl, whom he had
helped to place upon the stage, and like all loy-
ers he kept a jealous eye upon her,

The open and undisguised attentions of the
old politician had not escaped his watchful eyes;
hence when Helen’s unaccountable disappear-
ance was made known to him by Sara Pearl he
suspected the major’s interest.in the, matter,
since common report made the politician more
unscrupulous and regardless of consequences
than he really was.

Brom the police officer in front of the opera-
house Mallory had procured the most of his in-
formation, and learned of the politician’s coun-
try house out on the’pike, and such a house,
shut up and isolated,. Mallory ‘naturally sur-
mised would be the most likely place for the
major to carry his prize if he bad planned the
abduction, for that the girl had been abducted
the young actor hadjittle doubt. So he set out
for the retired mansion, taking the precaution
to arm himself beforehand.

He found the house without difficulty, and
sealing the back garden wall gained admittance
to the grounds.

eae he tried the back doors of the house
only to find them fastened. He’ had proceeded
with extreme care for he had no doubt that the
rascals et enough to carry off the girl,
would not hesitate to fire at him, under the ex-

cuse that they supposed he was a midnight
marauder.

Finding all the doors fastened, he camped
down for the night in one of the numerous sum-

3 mer-houses which adorned the elaborately laid-

; out grounds.

F In the grornine Be laid in ambush close to the
kitchen-door, rightly thinking that if any one
came from the house that would be the most
likely portal for them to use. And he succeeded
beyond his expectations, for, instead of a man,
he had captured the housekeeper—with what
success the reader has seen.

And while explanations were progressing, the
actress was hurrying on her things, anxious to
leave the place where she had passed through
such an unpleasant experience. Ina few mo-
ments she announced herself FT depart,

x “Itisa long walk to the city,” Mallory said,
as he escorted her from the apartment, The

means of egress were past, enough now, thanks
to the key which he had compelled the major
to surrender,

f “Tam so glad to escape from this dreadful

! place that I would face a ten-mile walk with
gladness,” she replied.

Mallory had not bargained with the old scoun-
drel for the key of the front-door, for, of course,
he had supposed that it would be in the lock,
and was astonished upon reaching the door to

| discover that the key was gone.

A suspicion that the struggle was not yet
ended, flashed upon the young actor’s mind, and

ft when he eame to examine the other doors which
Ki led from the mansion, and made the unwelcome
discovery that every one of them was fastened
against egress, he began to believe that mischief

: really was intended.

A hurried examination then disclosed the fact

F that all the windows were padlocked—showing,
conclusively, that the design was to force them

both to remain, for a while at least, in the house.

But Mallory, quick to act, announced that he
would force off one of the window padlocks,
but was not allowed to put his plan in opera-
tion, for, just as he was about to do so, the

rating sound of a key being inserted in the
fock of the front-door and turning in the wards
fell upon his ears. Then the door swinging
open, revealed the major, flanked on both sides
by a stalwart policeman.

CHAPTER XXXII.
A SURPRISING ACCUSATION.

Ir was a tableau of astonishment; genuine on
the part of the actor and actress and the two
policemen, and well affected by the niajor.

Mallory could not, for the moment, compre-
hend what the scoundrel was up to—what he
meant by calling Bee the authority of the law
in the shape of the two officers, for, of all men
in the world, after his rascally exploit on the
preceding night, he should have been the last
person to introduce the guardians of the law,

A moment the parties stared at each other;
then the major spoke:

“My information was correct then it seems;
T havé had the honor of visitors without know-

a ing anything about it,” he remarked—a speech
\ which gave oe a clew to the situation, and
1 the shrewdness of the godge rather amused

\ him, for not the least idea did he have that it
would work.

, One of the policemen thought it necessary to

putin aremark at this point: .

 

 

 

 

“ Upon me worrud,” he observed, with a fine
rieh “‘ brogue” almost thick enough to be cut
with a knife, “it’s the bouldest thing that I
iver heerd tell on, and I’ve been on the force for
“ehfighty cheeky th ” said th

ighty cheeky thing, young man,” said the
other, Sith a knowing shake of the head, ad-
dressing the remark to Mallory.

“What do you mean, sirs?’ demanded the
young actor, hotly.

“ Asa fri’nd, I warn ye not to say too much
or it may be used ag’inst yees,” replied the
Trishman.

‘‘ Yes, keep a still tongue in your head, you
will find that it is always best in such cases as
this in the Pes run,” observed the other orna-
ment to the “force.”

“The proof of their guilt is clear and I make
a charge against them; do your duty, officers!”
exclaimed the major, sternly.

The two men advanced a step; Gordon drew
back and assumed such a threatening attitude
that the doughty policemen instantly drew
their clubs, while the major ehuckled. It would
have done.his heart good to. have seen the
young actor offer resistance and the two of-
ficers batter him with their “locusts” in

resence of the woman before whom he had
en humiliated,

The girl, however, who had looked upon this
strange scene. with wondering eyes, hastened to
interfere,

“For my sake, Mr. Mallory, do not attempt
to offer any resistance to these men; they are
probably acting in the line of their duty, al-
though svidesiiy laboring under some mis-
take.”

“Right ye are, miss! dooty, miss, that is
phat we are afther doing all’ the time!’’ ex-
claimed the Irishman, ducking his head in a
sort of a clumsy attempt at a bow, for, though
alow, dull fellow he could not help being im-
pire by the oe of the girl. ‘‘ But not the
’ast taste of a mistake is it; it is yees that do be
afther making a mistake, whin i. take this gin-
tleman’s house. for a hotel, and do be making
yerselves at home in it, widout taking the
trouble to ask his lafe or license.”

Gordon now understood the nature of the
charge which was to be brought against them,
and he smiled, contemptuously, as he thought
how quickly such an outrageous accusation
could be disposed of if the major was crazy en-
ough to attempt to push it.

nd for the first time, too, Helen understood
what it all meant, and smiled, scornfully, when
she reflected how easily she could sweep the ac-
cusation away when brought before the or
authorities, although she really did not be-
mah that the politician would dare to go as far
as that.

“Do I understand correctly?” Gordon asked;
‘has this man made a charge against me, and
do you intend to take me into naan ”

‘Both of yees, young fellow; it’s the pair of
yees that we are afther.”

“T regret, miss, that I am obliged to put a
lady in peril, but I must protect my property
or epredation,” the major observed.

he girl never took the slightest notice of the
remar’

“We have a coach outside and we kin all go
nice and quiet to the police-office and nobody
be the wiser,” the other officer remarked; ‘‘so
if you will] be so perlite as to come along with us
we'll be obliged to you.”

Five minutes after the whole were in,
or on the coach, and being driven rapidly to the
police-office.

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
A REPUTATION BLASTED.

OF course the coach rolling through the
streets attracted no particular attention, al-
though a few people who were acquainted with
the politician were somewhat astonished at’ be-
holding him perched up upon the box of the
hack alongside of the driver.

At the police court the party were ushered
into the presence of the presiding judge who
had just taken his seat proc with the
morning work.

The entrance of the created a little rip-
ple of excitement, for the major was about as
well known as any man in the town, and the
young actress, during her brief stay in Porko-
polis, had managed to create quite a sensation,
and therefore, when she and her male compan-
ion entered the court-room in the custody of of-
ficers, Sek as prisoners charged with some
offense, and the major followed in the rear
witb the look of an accuser upon his fate, ex-
pectation was upon tip-toe.

The officers conducted their prisoners to the
prison-pen, where a herd of ragged, dirty, un-
savory wretches were alread gathe: —the
vile fish who had been scooped in by the police
nets on the previous evening.

But, although a hot flush swept over the face
of the young. actor as he and his companion
were placed in the same com ent with
these wretched pariahs of society, the girl’s
natural dignity never deserted her, and she
seemed totally oblivious of the disgusting na-
ture of her surroundings, and when a miserable,
blear-eyed old man, still laboring under the in-

!

\

 

fluence of his last night’s debauch, moved along
on the rude bench so as to give her room, she
thanked him as politely as though he had been
the greatest gentleman in the land and she the
poorest and humblest beggar.

The presiding judge betrayed considerable as-
tonishment when this unexpected pair of cul-
prits made their appearance, and looked curi-
ously at the major as if to ask what it all
meant. Upon entering the court the politician
had nodded to the presiding official with the air
of an old friend.

This judge, as the major well knew, was a
disgrace to the court wherein he sat—a pett
contemptible partisan, who as a lawyer aout
not have been able to earn ten dollars a week,
but, thanks to our peculiar system, which drags
the judicial ermine through the mire of poli-
tics, his ‘ascent to a judgeship had been easy.

And no man had a better hold on him than
Major Clutterbuck, therefore, in deference to
his *‘ patron,” he called the case at once.

A plain, straightforward story the politician
told, and though both the accused knew full
well how utterly false was the tale, yet the
were really astonished at the air of truth whic’
he contrived to impart to it.

He had a country-house out on the “ pike,”
the major said, very sumptuously fi and
with a great many valuable articles in it. The
house he had closed’ for the winter and it was
unoccupied. During the previous week he had
been warned by a certain party that hé had

better keep his eyes upon his property as one of”

the actors attached to the opera house acrogs the
Rhine h<d said that it would be’ a detiéed good
joke to get into his—the major’s house, and
raid the wine-celJar, it being a well-known fact
that he had about the finest stock of wines of
any man in the country, Of course he had not
taken -any particnlar notice of this, thinking
that_it was merely an idle joke, only he had
made up his mind to warn the officer in charge
of the district, and request him to keep a vigi-
lant eye upon the premises, He had attended
the performance at this same opera house
where’ the young man was playing’ who had
suggested the raid upon his wine-cellar, the pre-
vious night, and after the entertainment had
been driven to his hotel. He had gone to bed,
but at an early hour in the morning had been
awakened by one of the hotel servants with the
intelligence that a hackman desired to see him
upon important business and must have an in-
terview at once. He had granted the uest
and upon meeting the man was informed by
him that he had driven a lady to a lonely house
out on the pike, and after she had got out she
had paid him and said she did not need his ser-
vices any longer. At first he had not thought
much about the matter, but as he drove off
he. noticed that the lady remained upon the
stoop and did not attempt to enter the mansion;
the place, too, was all closed up, not a gleam of
light showing—looking as if it was totally de-
serted. As he‘had driven back to the city in
the rain he had reflected upon the singular mat-
ter, and then it flashed upon him that he had
once heard that the house belonged to Major
Clutterbuck, and that nobody ever lived there
except in the summer time. Of course there
might not be anything in it, but he thought it
wouldn’t be any harm to come and speak about
the matter. The major then went on to say

that his suspicions were excited, for the driver .

had informed him that he had taken the lady
from the back door of the opera house across
the Rhine, the same theater where the youn

man was employed who had thought it ould
be a good idea to raid his wine-cellar. He
had proceeded instantly to ascertain if the
raid had taken place, ng two officers with
him, and the result was that, when the front
door was openéd, this man and woman were
discovered in ‘the hall, pre’ ng oo go out and
evidently having passed the night there in com=

pany.

Boldly and broadly the major made this
statement, and now for the first time both Mal-
lory and the young actress understood the ter-
rible nature of the ote which the man had

lanned. He desired to blast the reputation of

he girl forever, for, of course, all the details of
the trial would be ee for your ‘‘local
reporter” is a ghoul who licks hungry lips at
bare thoughts of such a feast as this would be.

The very walls seemed to swim before the
outraged girl’s glazed eyes; her lips were

hed; the breath came hot and heavy, and
if she did not swoon upon the instant it was be-
cause her firm, indomitable will was stronger
than her weak nature, and kept her up. :

As for the young actor, the veins upon his
temple swelled out near to bursting as he com-
| A nesses the full force of the foul accusation.

ith great difficulty he restrained himself from
springing up and denouncing the fiendish lie,
but he knew that his turn would come next to
tell the story, and that would put rather a dif-
ferent face upon the matter. b

But the major wound ‘up by sa: that the
hackman, who driven ‘the lady in the
coach, was in court, and was prepared to tes-
tify, also, that the young man who had warned
him that a raid was to be made upon ‘his wine-
cellar, would give his evidence,

 

ee ay

hasan