It ‘ =e ea ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACY OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1872, BY STREET & SMITH, IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, WASHINGTON, D. C ores RE VoL. XXVIL. FRANCIS 8S, STREET, FRANCIS S, SMITH, ; Proprietors, TERMS { W YORK, FEBRUARY 12, 1872. Three Dollars Per Year, Two Copies Five Dollars. THREE TIMES AT THE ALTAR; Or, LIFE and LOVE ON A PRAIRIE. CHAPTER I. STATING THE SITUATION. Far away out on a Western prairie, solitary and alone, stood a neat-looking log-cabin. There was no inclosure about it, but flowers and shrubs, and vines adorned the place, and gave it an aspect of homely beauty. A porch, whose architectural defects were almost completely hidden by a profusion of wild-rose and honeysuckle vines, shaded the low door which opened toward the south. Our story begins with the close of a bright June day. The sun, fiery red, was just sinking below the horizon, when a young girl stepped through the doorway of the cabin, and stood for a few moments leaning against one of the rude pillars of the porch, gazing intently across the P prairie as though watching for the appearance of some one. Presently the figure of a man upon horseback emerged from behind a line of low trees which fringed a little stream of water that flowed along about a quarter of a mile distant. Then the girl took a handkerchief from her pocket and waved it above her head until the horseman gave an answering signal by a swing of his broad- brimmed straw-hat; she then reéntered the cabin, and we will follow her in order that we may see if the interior of this little prairie-home is as attractive as its exterior. There is one large room, with a low chamber above it, and then a sort of shed in the rear of the main structure, which seems to serve as kitchen and lumber- room. Everything about the house looks neat and tidy; a small table near an open window is spread for the even - ing meal; a round stand in the middie of the room is covered with books and shells, rare stones and various in- expensive trinkets. The floor is bare, the furniture scanty—everything, excepting the exquisite neatness which reigns over all, seems to denote the home of some humble pioneer; and yet this girl is beautiful and refined, showing grace and cuitivation in every movement of her delicate form and in every intonation of her voice. Singing softly to herself, she moves about, putting the supper upon the table; and, just as the pot of fragrant tea is placed upon its little tray, a man’s step is heard upon the porch, and our horseman makes his appearance in the door. “That's right, Nell! I’m glad supper’s ready, and hope there’s plenty of it! I’m hungry as a bear—been tearing over this blasted prairie all afternoon hunting up those cattle !’ “Well, here is bread, sweet and white, with butter sweet and yellow; a dish of wild strawberries, accom- panied by a bowl of cream; some dried venison, cooked with your favorite gravy, and any number of cups of tea that you may require. Now, does the bill-of-fare suit you, brother Dick ?” “Prime! You're the queen of housekeepers, and the best of sisters, and, asa ‘reward of merit,’ l’ve half-a- mind to tell you some good news that I meail to keep secret a few days!’ . “Tell me, Dick; do. I’m sadly in need of something to raise my spirits; they’ve been down to zero all day.” “Well, give me another cup of tea, and I will! You know that I started out this morning in search of the cattle, which that rascally herdsman let go astray. Well, 1 struck out toward the river, thinking it more likely they had taken that track than any other, and, before I had ridden ten miles I came upon acamp of emigrants. Of course I stopped and inquired where they came from, their destination and a few other questions suited to the occasion, and learned that they were from Ohio; that there were six families of them, and that they had got about as far West as they wanted to go, and were thinking of lo- cating near their present camp. ; “Thereupon I spoke of the advantages of our location; told them of the stream of water near; of the thickly wooded ravine close by; of the deep and fertile soil; of the unlimited range for cattle, and ended by offering to sell them our three hundred and sixty acres, with the improve- ments, for the same money that they would have to pay for government land, provided they, at the same time, would purchase our Cattle, so that we could leave the territory at once. We talked the matter over for an hour or two, and it was finally agreed upon that some of them should come over to-morrow and look at the place, and that T should have the herd collected together by Saturday for their inspection. — If they are suited there is no doubt but that we can conclude a bargain; so sister, dearie, there is really a prospect of our getting back to the world again !? “Oh, Dick, how glad 1 am! we have been so unfortun- ate and unhappy since we came West. I can scarcely believe that any good thing is to happen to us.”’ “Don’t grow morbid, Nelly; you must try to cheer up. I ought not to have told you anything about this affair until all was settled; I did mean to keep it to myself, and give you a real surprise.’’ “Tm glad you told me; I must make things look as well as possible to-morrow, and get up a nice dinner, too. Let me see; there is still plenty of venison; and those prairie chickens you trapped and put in the coop, and luckily I baked bread to-day; and the strawberries are just in their prime—we must gather a supply in the morn- ing; and we can have coffee and cream, and wild-honey. I think Ican get up quite a creditable diuner,and if there's anything in ‘first impressions,’ they shall be well pleased with the prospect of stepping into possession of our prairie-home.”’ ‘4 capital idea! Iam to go over to their camp in the morning to pilot them here, and 1 shall insist upon having some of the women folks com2 witii us, to ‘spy out the land’—I’m certain that your posies, and garden, and chicken-coops, will carry the day with them, and if the feminine portion of the party are pleased with the place, we'll be sure to sell—you know women will have their Way.”’ “So all mankind assert; therefore it must be true,’’ answered Nelly, gayly. “Yes, ‘if she will, she will, and if she won’t she won't, and there’s an end on’t.’ But ‘early to bed and early to rise.’ I must be off before sunrise in the morning, and I’ve had a long ride to-day, so ‘good-niglt, and pleasant dreams,’ Nelly,” and so saying, the speaker left his place at the table and ascended to the low chamber above, where, in a few moments, his weary frame was wrapped in profound and refreshing slumber. But, before going further with the events of this story, we will take a brief look into the past, and ascertain how it happens that these two young people—brother and sister—are dwelling alome on the very outskirts of clvilization. About three years previous to the date at which this narrative begins, Mr. Edward Dover, with his wife, his two sons and only daughter, left an Eastern State to seek health and fortune in the West. Mr. Dover had for years been suffering with consumption, and he hoped to find in change of climate and occupation, a moderate degree of health, if not a complete restoration. He had, accord- ingly, converted all the property he possessed into money, designing to invest the greater part of it in cattle, hoping that a life on the “breezy prairie,’’ spent in the good old patriarchal way, amid his flocks and herds, might prolong his days, and lay the foundation of a noble fortune for his children. His two sons, Richard and Allen, entered enthusiastic- ally into his plans; to them, the ‘West’’ was a glorious place—there was to be found an unlimited field for the exercise of that enterprise and sagacity with which, young America like, they felt themselves endowed. The daughter, Nelly, had also romantic visions of a tree, un- fettered life on the boundless prairies, in which wild flowers, Indian-ponies, the ‘‘noble savage’’ himself, and wonderful and startling adventures innumerable, were rather indiscriminately mixed. Mrs. Dover, a meek and patient woman, whose whole life was bounded and governed by the wants and wishes of her husband and children, thought as they thought, and believed as they believed, so that there was no dissenting voice in the family when old ties were sundered and household-gods dethroned, that the line of march might be taken up for the mighty West. For the first few months after their settlement in their new home all went well, and they believed that their The girl took a handkerchief and waved it above her head antil the horseman gave an answering signal. By Mrs. C. most sanguine hopes would be realized, and when winter came with breath so soft and miid as Indian summer, they congratulated themselves upon having escaped the rigorous climate of their Eastern home. But the future 1s ever a vailed mystery, the sun which rises in unclouded splendor may go down in storm and darkness. So this family, entering upon a new career with bright hopes, were soon met by calamity and death. One mild morning in December, Allen, the younger son, declared his intention to ride over to the settlement, about twenty miles distant, to visit the post-office and to procure various articles needed in the family. “}’ve half-a-mind to go with you, Allen!’ cried Nelly, springing from her seat at the breakfast-table. “Oh, no, Nelly, don’t gol’? exclaimed her mother, “the days are so short, and it is such a long ride, and I don’t feel as well as usual to-day.’ “Of course I won’t go if you are not well, mamma, but I was just longing for a good gallop over the prairie, and Allen and I always have such a gay time when we're off together on our ‘fiery steeds,’—do we not, Allen??? “Indeed we do, Nell, and I’m sorry you can’t go—but I think with mother, that ’tis most too long a ride for you, and it mayrain; there’s a little appearance of it in the west.’ So Allen, with a pair of big saddle-bags across his! horse to hold the intended purchases, rode gayly away, while the whole family gathered on the porch to see him off. By the middie of the forenoon the whole sky was over- cast with low, gray clouds, from which soon began to fall, softly and gently, the first snow of the season. “Softly and gently”’ at first; but soon the wind—the ter- rible western wind—arose, and the snow, whici fell faster and faster as the day advanced, was whirled and driven through the air in blinding clouds. Not a single outside object could be seen by the anxious inmates of the cabin, for the atmosphere was literally ful of snow, the wind lifting that which had once fallen to the earth and keep- ing it circulating and mingling with the particles strew- ing their stormy way downward. The whole of that day and all through the night the storm continued, and the cold grew piercing. And where during all this terrible storm was Allen ?—had he reached the settlement ere it began—was he safe? These were the questions that each one of the family kept constantly asking. The mother, unable to sleep, paced the floor the weary, long night through. A little after sunrise the wind fell, the snow ceased, and a sky, blue and glittering, hung above the white-robed prairie. But ‘the cold was intense; one’s very breath congealed as soon as it touched the frosty air. All felt more hopeful now that the sun was shining and the storm passed by, and watched expectantly to see Allen making his slow way through the drifts; but weary hours rolled on and no living thing appeared upon the great white waste. To- ward the middie of the afternoon Dick declared his inten- tion to go in search of his brother. “Im afraid you, too, will perish,” cried his’ mother. “J too? Allenis doubtless safe at the settlement or on his way home. You know he would have to travel very slowly. Still, I will go see if lean find him and hurry him along; so cheer up, mother, and don’t make yourself sick with borrowed trouble.” “This cold is fearful, Dick; you can never endure it to ride far to-day,” said his father. “And the snow is so deep,’? murmured Nelly. “Oh, [ shall walk, of course—that will keep me warm; and there is a crust forming on the snow. I’m light 0’ foot and shall keep on top of it, so the depth is no matter; and if we do not get back here before to-morrow evening do not worry.”’ So, with cheerful words, he started out across the plain, and was watched as long as his figure was to be seen by those he had left. And he did noé return until near even- ing of the next day, and then he came—alone/ Not one word of tidings did he bring. Allen had not been seen at thesettlement at all. Inquiry, search were in vain, and no after efforts afforded the least clue to his fate. It was a terrible blow to the family. The mother grieved and pined, and wearied herself with imaginings of all possible horrors; and the father, depressed with care and anxiety, grew frailer and feebier as the winter wore on, seeming to feel in his heart every blast of the fierce winds that swept the prairie; and so, when spring came, there were two graves upon a little hillock near the cabin, and there the father and mother, husband and wife, slept the sleep that knows no waking. These sad events following so closely one upon another, threw a deep gloom over the lives of Richard and Nelly Dover, and the place of their occurrence grew so distaste- ful to them that they would most gladly have left it. But before they could do so it was necessary to dispose of land and cattle, and although two years of this solitary life had now passed, there had occured no opportunity for doing this without too great a sacrifice of property. Nelly, during all this time, after the first violence of her grief was spent, tried systematically to banish loneliness and regret by constant occupation of mind and body. Under her tireless hands flowers bloomed profusely in her little garden, young trees grew in graceful groups about the little home, vines shaded and adorned doorways and windows, and made a very bower of the rustic porch; her cow was petted and fed by her own hands; the chick- ens knew her voice and clamored for her bounty when they heard it; her housekeeping was a marvel of exact- ness and nicety. Yet overall there ever hung a cloud, part- ly remembrance of past sorrows, partly a presentiment of eviltocome. Shecould never quite divest her mind of the feeling that calamity brocded over the place. And now we can understand the eagerness of these two to find purchasers in the band of emigrants found camping upon the banks of the river. CHAPTER Il. A NEW DISASTER. One of June's most glorious mornings dawned upon prairie-land, and the inmates of the vine-clad cabin were “up and doing”? as early as the sun himself. In fact sun- rise was scarcely an accomplished fact when Dick Dover put foot in stirrup, and dashed gayly off across the plain. And Nelly, left alone with all the vast responsibility of a dinner-party resting upon her slender shoulders, went about her household tasks with a cheerful song rippling from her lips, and a hopeful alacrity in every step. She was determined that no effort should be wanting on her part to make her home appear bright and cheery in ap- pearance. As for the dinner, that she resolved shouid be the most inviting of all the dinners she had ever prepared. What though she was entirely unaided, and had neither butchers, bakers, nor confectioners to resort to? No mat- ter, she had a genius for cookery, and here was an oppor- tunity for displaying it! Besides that, she was inspired by the hope that her accomplishments in the culinary line might pave the way to a favorable ending of the ne- gotiations then pending. Therefore all the long forenoon her preparations went forward, and everything she undertook seemed to work like acharm. Her custards were just right; the loaf of cake, that was to be one of the chief ornaments of the ta- ble, rose beautifully and symmetrically to its proper size, and the icing went on as smooth and glassy as ever icing did. The very flowers seemed to dispose themselves with willing grace in the arrangement of the great bouquet which, in a tall, old-fashioned china vase, was to be the center-piece round which the more substantial beauties of the table were to cluster. j Richard had promised to return with his party by the middle of the day, and faithful to his word, he appeared just before the stroke of noon, accompanied by a caval- cade of nearly a dozen persons. True to his policy, he had invited the emigrants’ wives to make part of the in- vestigating committee, and accordingly there were four or five women among them; and the result proved quite as important as was anticipated. “Law me! how nice and comfortable it does look here! Ain't this pleasant?’ exclaimed one, almost as soon as her feet crossed the threshold. “These flowers put mein mind of home,’’ cried another, with homesiek tears in her eyes. “We haven’t been inside a tidy house before for more’n amonth. How nice this is—neat as wax,’ whispered a third. Ail seemed to feel the influence of the neatness and taste that alone made this humble home to differ from any other pioneer’s cabin passed upon the road. Richard, having fortified himself with a private lunch, proceeded to assist Nelly to place the dinner upon the ta- ble and to wait upon the guests after they were seated round the board. Each one seemed to be blessed with an excellent appetite and to enjoy the novelty of eating once again in civilized mode, with the conveniences of chair and table, and sundry other matters dispensed with while ‘‘on the move.”’ Great good humor prevailed, and many were the com- pliments bestowed upon the young hostess. And, indeed, she richly deserved them every one. There were chick- ens roasted, stuffed and ‘done brown’? to perfection; there were plates upon which, in thin, transparent slices, lay piles of dried venison; there was bread, white, fresh and light; there were pats of sweet, yellow butter; there were green peas and crisp radishes; there was coffee, strong and fragrant; there were luscious wild strawber- ries and rich cream to accompany them; there was honey, and there was the snow-white loaf of cake. In fact thay had a good dinner before them, and they knew it, and enjoyed it, and felt remarkably comfortable and good- natured alter it; so ’tis not surprising that they concluded that the place was desirable, the situation excellent, and that they could not do better than to stop there and enjoy the advantages offered by the proprietors. Accordingly, before the close of another week, a bar- gain was concluded, and the Dovers disposed of all their property, reserving only a wagon, a pair of horses with their proper accouterments, and a few articles of house- hold and personal property that they wished to take away with them. The next Tuesday all concerned were to go over to the settlement to have the proper papers drawn up, and then the money was to be paid over, and in the course of an- other day or two the brother and sister were to start upon their journey eastward. The eventful Tuesday came, and all day long Nelly Do- ver occupied herself busily preparing for that leaving of the prairie home so soon to take place, but all the while she felt anxious and oppressed. Everything seemed to promise well, and she accused herself of morbidness, of nervousness, of foolishness; still she could not shake off a fear that, after all,some disappointment would occur. Thus the slow hours of the long June day wore away until evening approached, and then she laid aside all other work to prepare supper. Dick’s appetite was always vo- racious after a day’s ride on the prairie, and she must have something substantial wherewith to appease it, but the tempting meal was ready and waiting, yet Dick did not come—the sun sank lower and lower, night and dark- ness descended, and still he was absent. Hour after hourof the night wore on, and Nelly sat wrapped in alarge shawl upon the door-step, straining her eyes to see through the darkness, and holding her very breath at times to listen for the dash of hoofs across the turf. But nothing rewarded her weary watch, and when the first faint flush of dawn appeared in the east she went slowly into the house and threw herself weary and despairing upon her bed. “Something terrible has happened, I know,’’ she mur- mured over and over to herself. ‘If I but had my horse I would go and try to learn where he is, or find out what is keeping him.”’ A little after sunrise she determined to start out afoot in search of him. “TI cannot stay here and watch and wait as we did for Allen—I cannot !”” And so, weak and trembling with excitement and anx- iety, she began her search across the prairie. On and on for weary miles, until at length she saw a train of wagons winding slowly around the head ofa ravine that lay to- ward the river. ‘Here was help—here was news—here, perhaps, was Richard himself; and almost fainting under the reaction caused by these hopes, she sank to the ground to await the approach of the train. It came slowly on and then she seemed to be gliding away from it, and the wagons, and horses,and men seemed to mingle in a confused mass and then disappear, but presently a strange voice that sounded far away was heard saying: “Wall, ef this don’t beat ail! Way out here on the prairie in a dead faint! Been a huntin’ fer him I reckon. How’ll she ever endure to be told.”’ “Where is he—is he here—did you find him?’ she ask- ed, gaspingly, and scarcely Knowing what she was say- ing, or where she was. The men, surrounding her, looked at each other anx- iously and did not reply. Presently one of them said: “The women-folks’ll be along directly—better wait fur them.” “Tell me; I see that you know where he is—what has happened ?? demanded Nelly, rousing up, and throwing off the faintness that had for a few moments overcome her. The men were, the most ef them, the same tliat had been at her house but a few days before; they were moving their camp from the river to their purchase, and away in the distance more wagons and cattle were slowly moving forward. Fora moment no one answered the question, and then an elderly man, who seemed to be a ieader among them, came up, and taking Nelly’s hand, said: “Oome with me; you may as well know; your brother got hurt last night on his way home. He is here in my wagon.’ She went with him toa covered wagon, and there upon some blankets and pillows lay Richard, his head swathed in wet towels; his face bruised and swollen, his clothing torn and bloody! ‘‘He is dead!’* she cried. Oh! Dick! Dick!” ‘No, he ain’t dead,’ said the man, soothingly, ‘‘only in a stupor. There’s hopes for him yet; don’t give up!” “Must have fought like a lion!’? remarked another. “T knew it—I knew it! F. VAN PEARSE. “There’d been an awful struggle, by the looks of things where we found him!”’ *“*Kobbed him of every cent he got for the land and cat- tle!’ said a third.- Robbed and murdered! her brother—all that had been left for her—how could she believe it! She climbed into the wagon, and took the poor bruised head into her lap. “We will go now, miss; the sooner we get him where: something can be done for him the better ’twill be,’ said the owner of the wagon. ‘“*Yes—ves,’’ cried Nelly rousing up now that there seemed to be a need of doing something! ‘“Can’t some one go back to the settlement for a doctor ?’? “One of the boys has gone, on a fast horse, too; and I reckon they will git over to the house about as quick as we can, for we have to go powerful slow!” said the man. “Sending for the doctor won’t do no good. I doubt if he lives till we git him home,” said the man who drove the wagon, to his companion, in a low voice. “It’s an awful piece of business, anyhow. What is that poor gizl to do!’’ was the answer. CHAPTER III. ‘THE HIGHT. Richard Dover lay for days wavering between life and death; his faithful sister watched tirelessly beside him; and upon the tenth day after the cruel assault, there oc- curred a decided change for the better. Within another week the young man was so far recovered as to be able to leave his bed and walk about his room. But, Dick Dover, the merry, talkative, adventurous youth of former times was gone, and in his place was a sullen, morose man, whose brain seemed clouded and whose reason was no longer under his control! Poor Nelly! Here was trouble indeed; and only the con- sciousness that she must not give up to the despair which assailed her, enabled her to shake it off and take up this new burden. The emigrants, without exception, proved kind and helpful, and the society and sympathy of these unpolished, but good-hearted people, proved a comfort inexpressible to the lovely and grief-stricken girl. Among these pioneers, was a family named Chapman, whose share of the Dover Purchase included the cabin and a hundred acres of land surrounding it. The family consisted of husband and wife and three children. A nephew of Mr. Chapman had come West with them; but, at present, was staying at the river in company with one or two other young men, acting as herdsmen to the cattle left there to pasture. Mrs. Chapman seemed to be a warm-hearted, motherly soul, strong of limb, and free of speech, who managed her hasband and.children with but feeble resistance upon thei parts, although It was seldom they seemed to realize but that they were acting out their own ‘‘sweet wills.” An ordinary woman, placed in Mrs. Chapman’s cireum- stances, would have fretted and worried herself half to death, at finding that the snug little home she had ex- pected to take instant possession of, must be left, for an indefinite period, to the occupancy of its former owners. True, she had been living in wagons and camps for weary weeks, and longed for the comforts and con- veniences of house and home. ‘‘But,’’ she said, ‘‘she was not the woman to turn these poor unfortunate creatures out-o’-doors.”? “Why, law me!’ she exclaimed, almost indignantly, when some one questioned her about it, ‘‘what on earth can they do? Him sick and out of his head, and his money all robbed away from him, and her, poor thing— near about heart broke, an’ looking like a ghost. No; let ’em stay where they be ’till they can do better. Chapman has to build a stable any how, an’ I just told him to git it up quick as he could, an’ we'd gointo it awhile, till things také a turn; an’ till that’s done, we can kind o’ camp out as we did when we was on the move—though Miss Dover insists on my doin’ my cookin’ and bakin’ in her kitchen—an’ the children has a bed put up for ’em in the loft. Law! we’ll git along, but what’s ever to become ofthem;”? and good Mrs. Chapman bustled off to attend to some one of her numerous duties. The weeks wore on. The emigrants busied themselves in building cabins; in cutting the luxuriant prairie- grass, and making their winter’s stock of hay, and in breaking up the soil to lay fallow, in readiness for the next spring’s crops. Richard Dover’s bodily health and strength increased, until he seemed to have entirely recovered from the effects of his injuries; but his mind seemed to be at most times, almost a blank, although occasionally he became excited and restless, and very rarely talkative. Nelly, after much thought, had concluded to sell at the settlement her own and her brother’s horse, their wagon and a few other things of less value, and with the money thus obtained to endeavor to reach some relatives in her native State. Her pride revolted at the thought of returning to them, poor and heipless, and with the ad- ditional charge of her unfortunate brother; but she knew not what other course to take, and she hoped that the skill and experience of a celebrated physician near her destination might be the means of restoring Bick’s reason. “There are many things which I can find todo when once there. I do not intend to remain a dead weight upon any one’s hands; I shall work; and if poor Dick recovers, we will get on together without trouble,’ she said to Mrs. Chapman as they sat together one pleasant evening, within the shelter of the little porch, conversing in low tones upon the expediency of an early departure. “Aint you afraid you'll find your brother troublesome to manage on the way? I declare, I hate to have you go alone,’ said Mrs. Chapman. “Oh, no; I’m not afraid. and on a enough.”’ “But, I don’t like the idea of your undertaking to sell the horses and wagon yourself. Hadn’t you better let Mr. Chapman take ’em over to the settlement and sell ’em for you? He’s bein’ a man, and a good hand at a bargain th 7 can, most likely, get as much agin for ’em as you could. “No, no! Iean’t think of suchathing. I—” “Why, Miss Dover, I hope you aint afraid to trust Amos Chapman with yonr money, be ye ?’ interrupted Mrs. Chapman, rather indignantly. “Oh, no! Not that at all,’ cried Nelly. “ButI havea sort of terror—a dread that any one going from here for us might meet with misfortunes—you know how it has been with us of late, and I have grown morbid, I suppose.”? “Well, if vou think you can manage it for yourself, of course, you’ve right te try, but I think you’d better have him, or somebody else go with you, and see that you get started right, anyhow.” “If Mr. Chapman can go with us to the river, I shall be very glad, indeed. And now, I want to ask you a ques- tion, and I hope it will not offend you. Do you think there is anyone among the men who came here when you did, who could have assailed and robbed Dick ?”’ “Why, how you talk! No, indeed! Whiy they’re all good, honest, hard-working men. Been friends and neighbors of ours for years and years. What made you ever think of such a thing ?” “T will tell you. Poor Dick often sits and talks to him- self now; often in such low tones that I cannot under- stand him; but, several times I have heard him say, ‘I don’t see where he can be—’twas one of them—but, per- haps he has gone to the mines—said he was going,’ or something to thateffect. I also notice that he keeps a sort of watch when any of the men come about here, as if he expected to see some one particular person; and, one night, about two weeks ago, you remember, kate in the evening, half-a-dozen men rode over here to consult Mr. Chapman about some matter, and they were talking out there by your wagon, when one of them laughed. Well, Dick was lying on the bed apparently asleep; but, on hearing that laugh, he jamped up in a state of great excitement, and muttered to himself, ‘that is he! that is he? and staried toward the door. Just then the whole If we once get safely away, homeward-bound boat, I shall feel secure party clattered off through the darkuess, and Dick re- ee s i » G i mt THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. teee-> | | ! { — ——— | } } ie turned to his bed without saying another word that I could understand.” scape painting as a profession, One of the occupations | had! While | was sitting quietly, drawing, in the look- | able to be done to it.” ; It was well that the shades of evening concealed the BY 8. W. PEARCE. which had helped the lonesome summer to pass, and had | out, this young gentleman, Mr. Gilbert, was al the same “Tt would like to. i | expression of Mrs. Chapman's face as she listened to this so mes made an entire morning no longer than an | time making a sketch of me. J should have been angry | ‘Papa has not p yet. (MreGilbert paints in the ' explanation of Nelly. But, as it was, the young girl only Dear little Gracie! hour, was her painting. She had taken possession of a | with hit he not been one of Mr. Reynolds’ especial | tower, and it’s q te mb. n father will come with noticed that her friend-became unusually silent, and soon Isn't she swect? litue room in the tower of the villa, so high, so isolated, it | favorites, and I knew papa would like the picture. You } us, I think we shall lave time é dinner. Come, Mr. bade her acurt good-night and went her way. dont likes resehen’ | was like a bird’s nest in an elm, where no foot ever] don’t think niy father, if had been at home, would | Gi > she » her sil ar voice, ‘will you ; “T haveotende PLethiought/ Nehygas, witha weary}. \ oite whl — ai | climbed but re see ere she h: up an easel, | havespermitted hi F that long mile to.the village siceron 9 the hon or: our studio? Come sigh, she'entere to retire for the} — iititle wifitetect _ | and surroun sel th cany brushes, anc the hot,sun, wi t offering some refreshment?” e the, thins trust any longer, night. \e : ES . ty Ee w the A brightens a id f, enough to two | ears. nt hap ) rtainly W ered t Y. ¢ x jl- * e wh » ac ng ly has been done.” But, the next) ’s greeting wasas | | When sligis near! sin this \atevier, Here she made S to gi cious it herself, for the young had ihe tower. The room was, kindly as ever, a fecame to Nelly : Beautiful Gracie,/, || and color to her fancies; here Vay ove so poli aud was 36\Sell-po and ul had thrown the win- ask, as she sada) ; \ 2 parents so-6t utifal lands drea of all if with ameless-air Of), eet- before he Jett it, and now a “df there’s an } Fs ee . rs lovely and & oung girl’ mint d hauteur, t he had. conquer old , that airy Nook caught every the opportunity t¢ : the bright ringlets, mage of Mr. & never | oO the heurt *belore she | time to pick) ouf t his ey stood. ony balcony let down vs site? nesses you haye § bounded. soon wear awaye her jittle guests. the occasion. get up something nice.”? spirit of the thing with great ardor. pretty ones she can find,’’ said Nelly. went out to their task. custards and cream-biscuits, was set and duly decorated; the all properly seated at the table. vines about the porch. him, bat he could not be found. warded their services with yarious trinkets brought to light in the ‘‘packing-up’ process, their joy was un- Richard too, seemed more like his old self upon this day than usual; so much so that a delicious hope sprang into life in Nelly’s heart, thathis terrible affliction might She determined to throw off her cares, and make a spécial effort to amuse him, and to entertain Therefore she chatted, aud laughed, and sang as she worked, and, as noon approached, she de- elared ker intention to get up a dinner that should honor “You must know that I don’t entertain company very often,” she said, playfully, to Carrie Chapman, a sprightly little girl of ten, or thereabouts, “and I mustreally try to The children were quite willing that “something nice”’ should be gotten up for their benefit, and entered into the “Tam going to trim the table with flowers, and Carrie may gointo the yard with this basket and cut all the “Johnny an’ me will pick up chips —we always does for mother,’? said the other little girl, and the two children And Nelly, tying on the big apron which always did duty when she had baking to do, went out into the kitchen and was soon deep into the mysteries of pastrytand puddings, Thus, more than an hour passed. away; the cbildren eame in, and, with their litle “hindering help,’’ the, table tall old china vase again cid duty as a center-piece; and svon all the good things from the kitchen were placed upon the table, a high-chair improvised for little Johnny, and the children _ Then Nelly stepped to the door to summon Dick, whom she had last seen reclin- ing at full length under the shade of the overhanging But he was not there ! She called him, but he did not appear. Sine searched for Bunning into the house after a rapid exploration of the ova DARLIYG." 4é hining dike gold; Author of the “WIFE'S FOE,” “WHO OWNED THE JEWELS ?” etc, “(The Forger’s Sister”? was commenced in No, 10. Back num- bers can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.) CHAPTER IX. A NYMPH IN A SUMMER-HOUSE, Mr. Tiffany and his youngest child, meantime, had spent a very quiet summer at Riverview. The effect upon his health of the mental anguish he had endured at the time of his anticipated failure and attempted suicide was not so fleeting as it had been upon his fortunes. He did not rally to the same vigor and ambition as before. He felt old, and as if he would like to slip off the harness. Indeed, he had about made up his mind to invite his son to take his place in the active business of the bank when he returned from abroad. He took great comfort in Dot's society. He leaned upon her, so tospeak. Not that her slight form actual tottered beneath his weight as it had done on that fearful night, when she dragged him about the kitchen, and poured scalding coffee down his throat; but he felt a sense of rest in her sweet presence and of strength in her young strength. She loved him for himself. She waited upon him, fondied him, was impatient if a servant interfered with her grand prerogative of making him comfortable. She had always adored her father, given him far more respect and even love than she had her mother; and since she had hung over him, dying—had enjoyed the privilege of saving his dear life—and had made that other great sacrifice to his interests, she was more devoted to him than ever. To sacrifice herself is the impulse of a woman, such as Dot give promise of being—and fo cling the more passion- ately to that which makes her suifer. Mr. Tiffany used to watch her, with a sad fear that the promise she had.given hung like a cloud over the heaven of her young mind. He repented bitterly that he had al- lowed bes to make it; and she, fearing that he would re- proach himself, did not permit him to perceive that it had made any change in her life. more than a chiid’s fancy, that she should adopt land- reams. 1 eS Dot felt half-in After she had idied away an hour she began to think of work. She sat on the clean, flat stone which made the threshold of the rustic temple, facing the river, her book on her kuee, and sketched a sloop which Jay under the shadow of a hill opposite, with a bit of river, sky and mountain as adjuncts; but it was the coolness of the shadow, and the ship within it—almost the only relief in that burning landscape—which gave language to her drawing. _ She was quite successful, and worked on with increas- ing pleasure, never thinking what a picture she made, her bright hair blowing about her sweet face, and the movement of the trees which overgrew the arbor, casting over her rosy countenance and white dress sirange, flick- ering lights and shades, ~~ She had no reason to think of it, nor to suspect the near- ness of a stranger, for she was in the private grounds of Riverview. But these audacious artists go everywhere in their summer wanderings, when they can crib a bit of rock or pilfer a sheet of water. One of these lawless tourists had strolled from the vil- lage to this rocky point, from which the view was so in- contestibly fine. He had been an earlier bird, even, than Miss Dora Tiffany; for. when she had climbed to Lookout Suminer-house he was ensconced in the shade of a pine near by, with his back to a rock, and his water-colors dis- posed about him for @ morning’s work. She never ob- served him; for which he was devoutly thankful, for he did not want the trouble of moving. When she wove her garland and crowned herself, and chose her seat preparatory to a long stay, also, the young man knew that he oughtto disclose himself; and he would have done it at once, fof Re was an honorable and sensi- tive being, had not Dot chosen so picturesque an attitude, and made herself so unendurably pretty. Then the instinct of the artist got the better of his scru- ples. She sketched the sloop under the hill, and he sketched hem. His fingers quivered with eagerness, he was so afraid that she would: leave, or discover him, be- fore he had caught the flying charm. That would never do! He forced himself to proceed with more calmness, and as the young beauty seemed set “Mrs. Miggs, you can’t guess what an adventure I’ve warm day, and For instance the artist felt instinctively that to please Mrs. Miges was to advance his interests with Miss Dora, lt the dragon frowned he should be miserable. So he called the prim broom-stick in alpaca ‘‘madame’’ very re- spectfully, and said some ridiculous things not above her sabe of the ludicrous, which excited both her admira- tion and good-will. Yet-he was a sensitive creature, tor- mented with too much pride, and would not haye con- descended to tickle Mr. Banker Tiffany to get a year’s or- ders. It was the banker’s child who had uncapped his pride and made hiin as agreeable as a lamb. Mrs. Miggs sat and sipped black tea, and listened to the mirth and wit of the two very young people with an ap- proving smile; she even forgot that it was beyond the hour of taking hersiesta. She thought she had never met amore beautiful or better-bred young gentleman; she even exc the rent in his shoe, simce he explained to her that ng id made it by leaping down from a high Stone wall. Thus it happened that she became an accom- plice in a sin and a wrong that she would sooner have cut off her left hand than been guilty of. As confidential servant in the familyshe knew that Miss Dora was engaged to Mr. Skidworth--“a nice, pro- per man, and 4 very suitable match,’ asshe said and the drapery. But Mr. Gilbert says there is still consider- - ships, the green “I donot meanto be too selfish. When I take away the original I ought to leave you the image.”’ Perhaps Skidworth had a purpose in giving a third party to understand the claim he had upon Dora; or it may. be that he spoke without reflecting that it was be- fore a stranger. In either case Raul Gilbert comprehena- ed the allusion and turned with startled glance toward Dora, Who met his questioning eyes with a look which contessed all.as it slowly sank to the ,engagement ring Which she wore on her finger, | bid i% A crimson blush, as deep as that of shame, dyed her prow. Skidworth saw that he had made her blush, but that was quite natural to a young lady under the circum- stances, lle was delighted that he had at least that power over her. The low-sinking sun which: had flooded the tower with visible gold, like that which brightened Danw’s, slipped suddenly down into a clouds thie air grew gray; the paint- er appeared asif struck with achill. He had become very pale and his lips were biue. ; ’ Dora saw the change, but it was not for her to ask him what ailed him, She was pale also, now that the blush thought, It would have struck her with terror had it oc- curred to her that she was lending her countenance to a plot. to defraud that excellent gentieman of his rights. _— CHAPTER X. _ HOW THE PORTRAIT WAS PAINTED. On Sabkath afternoon, as Mr. Tiffany and his future son-in-law sat on the piazza, enjoying an after-dinner cigar, a young man, astranger to both, came walking through the grounds and approaching the steps, took off his tourist-hat witha bow tothe elder gentleman, who immediately arose and asked himin, impressed with a liking for the noble, refined face thus revealed to him. Riverview had been so great a favorite with artists that 3 owner knew one of the ciass at lirst sight; and in the specimen before him he recognized one of the most ideal sort, for there was something inexpressibly. lofty and had died away; and her feet seemed clogged with leaden shoes as she descended the narrow stairs which she had ascended so blithely. In that glance which Paul had given her of surprised and anguished questioning, his heart had been revealed to her—and her own heuart—to, herself. Not to him. Stricken and wretched as he felf, how could he know that she was the more unhappy of thé twe? since for him, if not the fulfilment of his love, there was as least freedom, while she was bound in a heartless slavery, must simulate toward one what she strongly felt for another. Down from the airy realm, whose rosy ether had acted on the brain until the spiritual and imaginative life had seemed to grow as real as the ¢yery-day region, wended the little party. ~ ppt When they came to dinner a servant brought word to his master to excuse the absence of Mr. Gilbert, as he was going to walk to the post-office, and felt no need of din- ner after the late Juncheon—he light return in time for a A > : " 5 ¢ ’ of, 4 ‘Law! what ha ever fp my « Nikededing Aseealt ee nd the ¢ er. Bu 1 inv Miss Dora: ; tains, : be + o Tve took 8 em mo OF nae CY Toe a. itd! ee ; fare cou D No Gre e picture, Mrs. Miggs. It fi ademmeat!} ited up that high. re ’ the cattle. I \Witnt Chapman to gowith me, erdikeas not) ws {Unnrrteme stone, the lea ivy ab 1e ly.?? Ro | i Ne / Fae “but feel 5 ic of the tower. i Pu git lost on he prairie; so, if you'll look after the Eyes bright and Feta id thickness of the wall, he m imscl , some- It don’t flatter speck, Miss Dora. It cowlan't that fab sy