-: Vou. XXVIL FRANCIS 8S. STREET, £RANCOIS S, SMITH, t Proprietors. aN SN te as | y eco i) “Ubi aT) eT Pn \\ <4 N N \ ~ Author of “THE PATRIOT SPY OF BRANDY WINE,” “THE BROKEN DAGGER,” etc. COWAN, (“O’Gonner’s Child” was commenced last week. Ask any News Agent for‘No. 45, and you will get the £rs¢ chapters.) , CHAPTER Y. THE COMPACT OF BLOOD—THE DOVE AND THE FALCON. ‘But now comes the revulsion which must attend every vietory, however glorious. -The exultiig people hurry anxiously down from their points of observation to where the last level rays of the sun are glittering insad splendor off cloven helm and shat- tered corsiet, and lighting, with the glow of life, the rigid features of the dead, The conquering bands, returning from the pursuit, chiatnt a wild hymn ‘of victory, and the beat of drums ar the bldre of trumpets sound triumphantly over the Us, ; _, But neither drum-beat, trumpet-blast, nor triumph song can smother the sharp cry of recognition and the loud wail of women for the dead, ; : -Many.a warlike chorister who hears it ceases singing, ahd, looking to the ranks right and left, feels his stout heart throb as” he misses the face of some comrade who wil-never more bear ax or spear... _ si te But the triumphal shouts peal forth again, and they sweep gallantly on— ‘ “For some must weep while some rejoice, + eg Soruns the world away.” ing O'Connor and the princes of the blood, still mount- ‘stood before the barbican.to receive the toparchs and fs who were returning at the head of their victorious forces. — As each body of stern warriors passed by the royal group, the pike heads flashed like jets of flame as they were raised and lowered in salute, and the waving ban- ners flapped with a sound like the wings of eagles. A party of four horsemen, spurring rapidly across the plain, attracted special attention, and, on close approach, proved to be composed of Lord Edward Bruce, Sir Con- noclit Moran and their esquires. ; All gazed at the gallant stranger with that deep interest and admiration which bravery ever wins from the hearts of the brave; and the fiery Desmond, impulsive 1n friend- ship as in fight, spurred forward and met him with ex- tended hand. ‘ “Welcome, noble Scot!’ he exclaimed, ‘‘welcome to the country of the O’Connors. We cannot think so prompt a friend could ever be a foe.” ; Bruce looked at Desmond’s bloody gauntlet, and at his own, which was also drippiag red. ; “Thanks for thy. Kindly welcome, prince,’’ he said. “But, by the mass, this is stern iriend-making!”’ — “Lay it there!’? cried Desmond binuffily, seizing the other’s hand, . “It is a warrior’s greeting!”’ “So beitP’ said the Scot, returning the iron grasp. “et the friendship of Desmond O’Connor and Edward Bruce be cemented by the blood of their common foe—the Saxon!” As the words which made compact between the two princes were uttered, the surrounding warriors, by com- mon impulse, burst into a deafening cheer, and clashed their arms until the castle walls rang again. : “Royal father,’ said Desmond as he and Bruce reined in before the king, *‘secure the jewel of this warrior’s friendship... He standsalone among us, yet doubts us net as did yon dastard Saxon at his army’s head.’ “‘Welcome to ourcastie, noble Bruce!’’ said the king. “We are proud to call thee guest. The tale of thy prowess has journeyed thither before thee, but, by the sacred staff, we little deemed we’should see its-first proof striking for the honor of the green flag of Erin. But hold, my tord, thou art wounded! Hol! call the leech. Bruce had doffed his plumed velvet cap in answer to the king’s salutation, and the bright blood flowed fast fiom a wound in his head, the extent of which was hid- den by the thick, clustering, black hair. : “Nay, your majesty,’* he said, with asmile, “it is not worth heed—a mere nothing—a cat-scratch to put me in mind that velvet courting-bonnets like this were never made to turn off Norman axes.”’ He held up the cap, and the light shone through a cut in the crown. “By Saint Andrew!’’ he said, with one of his soldierly laughs, “it might ’a been a scratch that had put good stop to all my usurping and marauding, as the Englishman styles it, but for the stout arm of my gallant friend, the Knight of the Falcon, here!’ He turned to where Connocht Moran rode behind them, for they were now in the courtyard, and the king and princes also gazed at the favorite, with words and looks of affection. The ‘young warrior seemed faint and exhausted; his face showed a pallid hue beneath the shadow of his morion plumes. On noticing the attention bestowed up- on.him, his cheek flushed slightly, but the color fled an instant afterward, and a ghastly paleness took its place. The suspicions of the English general had stung the pride of the O’Conners in the most tender part, and the manly trustfulness evinced by Bruce drew forth their hearts toward him in all their Irish generosity. King and prince, father and son, vied with each other to do {iii honor, and the mingling of his name with the plaudits of the soldiers proved that the feeling had com- municated itselfto the lowest. What though they had been told that he orossed the sea to take their country from them and usurp their throne? Sucii thoughts must not interfere with their hospitality—he was a confiding uest.. Had he notfought in their ranks, barely armed, n defense of their honor,.and dyed his hands gory red in the blood of their insulting oppressors ? Obsequious equeries assisted them to alight, and the daltins, or horseboys, hurried away the weary animals, The closeness of the conflict had gathered every inmate of the castle to the casements and balconies, and the por- tals below were thronged.- This prevented the removal of the signs of strife, so desirable before entering the pres- ence of ladies. The king took the hand of Bruce and led him up the steps between the bowing crewds, and into the spacious vestibule where the princess and her attendants were ner- vously binding the arm of her brother Conrad, a mere stripling, who had fleshed his maiden sword and received his-first woand in the late fight. After’a few words of inquiry and approbation to the juyeriiie hero, who was undergoing the binding process with the dignity of a statue, the King turned to Bruce, and said: “My noble guest, I place before thee the pride of my heart—O'Gonuor’s Child.” Bruce bowed very low, as he said: “J lave already honored mysetf by bending before the Princess of Brin and the Queen of Beauty.’”’ Eya had thrown her.arms around the king’s neck and gazed past Sir Edward Bruce in a strange, Startled man- NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 23, 1872. having to await the signal of assembly to call him to the royal banquet, the Knight strolled out on the ramparts to enjoy the evening air. A wildly beautiful scene met his gaze as he leaned upon the parapet. The moon was yet invisible, but not a cloud dimmed the lustrous, blue-black sky, and the stars, “‘the bright and aS blazonry of God,’’ shed a soft radiance on the earth. . At intervals in the far darkness twinkled the lights of the mountain sheelings and cottages, where joy or sorrow held abode. Joy for the safe return of loved ones, or wild grief for the brave who should return no more. Nearer, upon the scene of the late conflict, flickered the camp-lights, while hither and thither, flaring weirdly upon the gloom, passed the torches borne by the bearers of the dead, or the holy men who hurried to give the last consolations of religion to the dying. A soft night breeze wafted up to the spectator aM the strange comminglement of sounds inseparable from such ascene. The bustle of preparationin the castie—the iron tramp of sehtinels—the hilarious bursts ef the soldiers in the guard-room and the camp—the first near at hand and harsh—the last mellowed by the distance—the murmur- ing mingling of the voices of prayer, entreaty, and recog- nition from the battle-field—the tones of a plaintive dirge from the monastery; and fitfully and sadly stealing over the wild valley came the sob-broken wila-ulla from the cottages. Strange and tumultuous were the thoughts that this picturesque scene raised in the mind of Sir Edward Bruce, Of how this people had been maligned by their English oppressors as barbarians, and looked down upon by his own countrymen as devoid of the spirit of independence and umfitted for self-government. How his own opinions hed changed in the very short time he had been among them. He had noted all the characteristics of what had been and still might be a happy land. Rich in varied scenery, blessed with unbounded fertili- ty, inhabited by a.brave and generous people, whose proudest boast was hospitality—surpassing her neighbors in resources, equaling themin arts, and excelling them in learning and song, why Should not Erin be blest and her children happy? Alas! the foot of the spoiler had stained her green plains, and the cunning stranger had scattered the seeds of dis- oy wee Ae WN YS ¥ ‘No eavesdropper, my Lord Bruce,’’ said a rapid voice, in which he thought he detected suppressed tones of an- ger, “but one who is fond to know why hinting words applying to the princess of this house are bandied about within its walls?’ Bruce had never heard the voice before, and, in the faint starlight could only dimly discern the outline of a tall, slim figure that seemed to wear a white scarf. ‘Sir!’ he said, “I know not who thou art. What meanest thou? These words points not to me.” “Ha! Do they not?’ cried the other. ‘Was not the fanciful phrase you uttered but now when I stumbled upon you framed for the Princess Eva ?”’ “Sir, I tell thee thou art overbold, whoever thou art!’’ cried Bruce, with rising anger. “TI am one to whom the name of the princess is sacred, and I will not have squires whisper it in the hearing of menials, or knights cry it aloud at night upon the battle- ments.”” “Now, by Heaven, man!’ cried Bruce, grasping his sword hilt, “I grieve that night shadows hide the face of @ man-who dare thus address a Bruce. Away! Lest anger Overcome me and i forget I am a guest!”’ “By my word, ’tis that that saves thee!’* the other cried. ‘My Lord of Bruce, when the honor of these walls protect thee not, we shall meet where no night shadows are, and the sunlight shall show thee the face of the ‘man’ who dares dare thee, or any man that breathes!’’ “Brave words!’ cried Bruce, with boiling blood. “Brave words from a listener in the dark—a rampart skulker!”’ : The other uttered an angry cry, and a weapon flashed in the starlight, while a pair of bright eyes gleamed like those of an infurate mountain wolf. “By the ghost of my. mother!’ cried the stranger. “Thou temptest me to an evil deed—to stain with blood the house of hospitality!” Bruce sprang to his guard for the expected blow, but at the instant the sound of numerous bugles burst with startling suddenness upon the night, resounding through the courts and corridors below, echoing back from every angle of the battlements, and ringing tremblingly up the gray wallsof the keep, far above where Bruce and his strange challenger stood with suspended weapons, en tableau. Seven times the bugies sounded—the signal of assembly to the feast. : \ N WO \) Ad AS Vy Ss \ RNR RANEY om ner, as if unknowing of his presence; but now, with an inarticulate cry, she released her hold upon her father, and, gliding between them, fled toward the entrance. The king and the knight turned ia astonishment to find a cause for this strange act. The evening light showed them beyond the arch young Connocht Moran in the act of dismounting. His face was deathly pale and distorted by pain and his eyes were glaring glassily. Even as he endeavored to throw his leg oyer the saddle, his head dropped, the shield, slipping from his nervetess arm, struck on the stones with a clang, and he fell backward into the arms of his squire, the blood pouring from beneath his corslet and through the shells of his cuisses. A woman’s shriek rang through the darkening hall, and they saw the golden hair of Eva O’Connor floating toward the spot. i “Pardon me, your majesty!’? said Bruce hurriedly. “Yon gallant knight has given his life for mine.’ ‘*] will bear thee company,” said the king, leaning on his arm and muttering as they turned toward the portal. “Strange—strange—that—Kva Bruce looked up, and saw that a cloud of displeasure darkened the royal face, The esquires were bearing the insensible form of Con- nocht Moran through a postern at the foot of one of the towers, and the Princess Eva was re-ascending the steps with her attendants, her face nearly hidden by her shin- ing tresses. Her father stepped to.one side and spoke to her, and she looked up at him with a half-frightened, half smiling gaze. “She thought it one of her brothers,’ soliloquized Bruce, in whose head thoughts of the king’s words and manner ran. “The royal dove loves the falcon !’ said a low voice in his ear. He turned and saw Malise MacCallum, and, close beside him, the handsome face and glittering eyes of the stripling, Conrad O'Connor. CHAPTER VI. THE NIGHT ‘AFTER THE BATTLE—THE CHALLENGE IN THE DARK. Night closed oyer palace and plain, and all was clatter and confusion preparing for the feast of triumph to the victorious chiefs. Each had betaken himself to his apartment to remove the blood and grime of the late encounter and lay aside his armor for garments befitting a royal festival. Bruce was visited in his chamber by the surgeon of the palace, and his wound pronounced slight and dressed. The doctor informed him that Connocht Moran was suf- fering from an ugly spear thrust in the shoulder, that the loss of blood had been very great, but the wound was not necessarily mortal. Bruce declared. his intention of paying an immediate visit'to his gallant preserver, but the physicion begged him fo postpone if, as the patient was, af the present, feverish and delirious, and all excitement was to be avoid- ed. The Knight agreed to be guided hy his wishes, and the man of skill departed. Malise MacCailtrm assisted his master to dress; and, sension. The blare of the bugle had drowned the melody of the harp, and the thunder of the war-drum succeeded the throbbing ofthe tabor. Bruce was beyond the age of extreme susceptibility, and his heart, trained from early yearsin scenes of turmoil and battle, was steeled against the shafts of beauty’s eye. Yet, strangely enough, through all his thoughts he found the image of Eva O'Connor flashing like a butterfly. Did he think of the beauty of the land—she appeared as the personification of Erin; did music or poetry enter his thoughts—she flitted past with bright smile and waving hair the perfect embodiment of both! did he dwell for a moment on the generous hospitality of peasant and prince —her white jeweled hand was first extended in weleome to the stranger; and think of love—with such an angel! Then her frightened shriek at the fall of Moran and the dark frown on her father's face crossed his vision, and the words of Malise came invotuntarily to his lips: “The royal dove loves the falcon.’ And immediately following came the sad look and fore- boding words of the gray-haired seneschal: ‘Alas! for their young hearts! Evil betide the time they think of love!’ The curiosity of Malise had been aroused in regard to the antecedents of Connocht Moran, and, through his in- quiries Bruce learned, that the young warrior was des- cended from one of the toparchs, or petty princes, whose territory had been seized and partitioned by the invading English. The prince had died in defense of his birthright. His son, then yery young, was adopted into the royal family of O'Connor as a page, and ail was done that gen- erosity and delicacy could do to make the youth forget his dependent state and deprivation of inheritance and kin. He and the princes were reared together like brothers, and shared in the chivalric system of education which, at brow time, prepared the youth for the dignity of Knight- 100d. From the age of seven to fourteen these young aspirants were called valets or pages; and to the ladies of the castle was intrusted the honorable task of instructing them in the rudiments of religion and devotion to the female sex, inculcating principles of love, honor and bravery. In order that the young students might practice in seme degree the instructions they received it was cus- tomary foreach youth to select some young, accomplished one virtuous lady at whose feet he could display his gal- antry. So it was that the Princess Eva O’Connor became ata very early age, the queén of beauty, in the assertion of whose supremacy over all other queens of beauty, what- ever, the doughty Sir Connocht Moran, aged ten, had pledged his knightly word to do battle against the world, What wonder that the docile page of fourteen and the courtly squire of nineteen, should develope into the fer- vent knight of twenty-one? So thought Bruce, and invol- untarily he repeated audibly: “The royal dove loves the falcon.” He had not heard the approach of steps, but was startled by an angry exclamation and the shock of some person Striking against him in the darkness. “Who goes there?’ he exclaimed, extending his left hand, and instinctively grasping his dirk. Suddenly the stranger lowered his weapon, and turned away. “Not here!’ he cried. ‘Not here. We shall meet again, my lord! Pray Heaven it be soon!’ “Stay! Who art thou?’ cried Bruce. “Thine equal!’ “Hal” exclaimed Bruce, springing toward the figure, which had receded a few steps. ‘‘Thy name? By’r mother, 1’ll know thy name!’? “My namel’’? exclaimed the other, turning suddenly and speaking ina thrilling tone. ‘Thou shalt know it. It isa sound from the far past—it hides not in echoless caves—but goes forth upon the winds—it is—O’CONNOR!”’ Bruce gave a start of surprise, for, as if the name had been a word of magic might, a bright blaze shot up from the pinnacle of the castle tower, and almost instantane- ously from every mountain-top leaped living flames, like reflections of the first in many mirrors, and away, as far as the eye could reach, flitting, flitting, sprang the lights, darting up as if the subterranean fires had burst the earth’s crust in hundreds of volcanoes, The jubilee-fires of the O’Connors. Bruce started in astonishment at the form now visible before him in the light of the flaming cresset on the keep. Who was his challenger ? Not the fierce Desmond O’Connor, as he had at first imagined on hearing the name. No; before him stood the slight, immature form of the boy-warrior, Prince Conrad. He was dressed in a richly-embroidered tunic with short sleeves, which left the white arms bare from near the shoulders, showing the bandaging on his wounded arm. A crimson mantie flowed from his shoulders, a jaunty cap, with a single eagle feather, was set on one side of his wealth of black locks, and what Bruce had mistaken for a white scarf, proved to be asling for the support ef his wounded arm. This now hung loose, for he nad torn his arm from its support, and the freshly- started blood was staining the ligatures. He had no arms but an ornamented hanger or skeen, the empty scabbard of which was suspended at his side by a silken leash, for he still held the naked weapon in his hand. Bruce could not repress his admiration of the gallant bearing and fine face of the wounded boy—a face almost feminine in its pale beauty—and the anger raised by the daring words. lately spoken softened into a mixed feeling of wonder and amusement at the fiery nature which could harbor in such a gentile form. He was about to expostulate with him on his mistaken hotheadedness, when the impulsive boy drove his hanger into its seabbard with a ringing sound, and waving his hand haughtily stalked away into the gloom. CHAPTER VII. THE, BANQUET—THE IMPEACHMENT—THE ARREST. Soon, along the corridors, which rang to the notes of a triumphal mareh, passed bowing ushers, leading prince and prelate, stately knight and lovely lady to the royal banquet hat. The esquires of the guests were ranged in two lines near Three Dollars Per Year. TERMS Two Copies Five Dollars, the door of the hall, and the procession passed betweem them. Each esquire, ashis lord appeared), detached him- self from the line, and led him to-the seat opposite which: the royal herald had already suspended his: sitield in the order of his dignity. Around the walls were: hung the banners of the chiefs, aye the royal standard shone over the canopy of the 1rone. The light of naany lamps flashed off the burnished shieids, and cause@ the lofty, ornamented ceiling to glitter like a clear sky in a frosty night. The balconies. were filled with white-robed choristers and harpers, contrasting with the grim guard of honor ranged back of the throne and state chairs below.. A great flourish of trumpets and drums:announced the approach of the royal family, and every guest arose, The purple curtains at the head of the hall were @rawn to either side, and the white-haired chamberlain ushered in the king, with the princess hanging like a wondrous jewel upon his arm. . He was followed by several ecciesiastieal dignitaries: under guidance of the chaplain of*the palace, Behind these came the Princes Desmond and. Brazil, ut Bruce, to whom had been allotted a place near tieyal seats, looked in vain for his challenger—the Prince Conrad. ‘The whole was closed in by a brilliant throng of gentie- men in waiting and ladies of honor, who ranged them- selves in a semi-circle behind the throne, One loud shout of welcome rang through the hall, caus- ing the arched roof to resound, and wafting the old ban- ners gallantly. The march ceased, and the harp and choir, led by the bard Malachi, burst forth in.a martial hymn, that moved every heart. Now resounded the alarm, the warlike summons and. the cheers of answering hosts, rushing forward to fight for fatherland, then the signal of onslaught, the charge; the flerce-ringing battle-cry, the elash of arms, the thun- der shock, the yell of defiance, the ery of agony, the pierc- ing shriek of terror, and the wild shout of victory, rending the air like a thunder-clap, and dying-away-—away—away in far pursuit of the fying foeman, until it sank into a hol- low moan, like the painful voice of the dying, and anom came wailing mournfully back and hung. sobbing om the air in a solemn requiem for the dead. Great was the effect upon the. compan .. On every face was visible the elation of the advance, the enthusiasm of the conflict, the pride of victory, and the softening of sorrow. There was but one in that bright assemblage on whiose- ear the music fell without effect. This was the Princess Eva. As she took her seat her eyes involuntarily ran down the bright row of bucklers and colors on the wall, andi her | cheek flushed as it fell upon the falcon shield, which hung in its accustomed place, with the green and gold pennon above it. She glanced along the Jine of knights, but her expectation was disappointed—his place was empty. The voices of welcome and the gallant forms, bent in homage to her state and beauty, were a mockery to her; her heart was with the wounded warrior on the couch of pain. The music that thrilled all others feil idly on her ear; his heart bounded not to the martial measure, and among the swords that flashed aloft at the minstrel’s will his was not seen. The moan of the dying seemed to be trembling down from his apartment, and the chant for. the dead fell shud- deringly on her heart, for it seemed as though the solemn sounds told of is flight beyond the reach of earthly love or earthly glory. As she turned her eyes away from the vacant place of Connocht Moran, they rested upon the unoccupied seat of her brother—Conrad. A strange and unaccountable pre- sentiment of evil fell upon her, anu a mys, * vision of che. ety lover and brother, in deadly siruggle, arose before er. : She turned away to dispel the faney and met the stern of her father fastened inquiringly upom her pallid ace. The music and the succeeding plaudits have ceased, the words of benediction have been pronounced, and the cornas are brimming up for the grace-cup, The king’s cup-bearer is passing the goblet to the royal hand, and a page kneels before the princess offering 220? a6 ina golden. chalice. : In the pause of preparation, before the master of revels: announces the pledge, the sound of quick, diglt steps is: heard, and Prince Conrad is seen advaneing up the hall. His mantle is wafting behind him by the rapidity of his motion, and his beautiful face, almost as beautiful as his sister’s, and seemingly made to be the wbode of smiles, is. darkened by anger. Almost at the same instant, but with a noiseless tread, another form appears in the hall, and by the Same en- trance, but it advances by the opposite aisle, andthe heart of Eva O’Connor quails as she gazes upon it. . It is the form of Connocht Moran. His is not the garb for such high festival. His gait is quick, but unsteady, his face is haggard, his long, black locks are disheveled, and his eyes shine with an unnatural luster. : “Jesu! mercy!’ trembled on thelipof the princess. “Ts it but his sprite I see, or have they quarreied and come hither for appeal ?’” Connocht Moran, to the wonder ofall, passed his own place at the table, ane approached to the foot of the dais in a wild, unconscious manner. He made a deep obei- sance to the king, and, catching the chalice from the hand of the page, knelt gracefully at the feet of the prigcess, and offered the cup with a strange, pleading smile. ‘My peerless mistress,’’ he said, ‘I return to my duty as of yore, and to the honorable right of defying the world in thy behalf.’ The words were scarcely uttered ere the boy prince sprang across and dashed the cup from his hands. With a loud cry Moran started from his knee and rushed to- ward his assailant. ‘Advance, guardl’’ thundered the king. traitorous madmen both!’ A portion of the guard advanced, but Desmond had already laid his heavy hand on Connocht Moran’s shoul- der, and the impetuous Conrad was struggling in the arms of his brother, Brazil. The company, amazed at this strange scene, sat still and speechless. The Princess Eva grasped the arms of her chair and sat rigidly erect, like a frozen corpse. Her face was as white as snow, and the ice-like jewels of her diadem glittered cruelly and cold. “Speak, sirs! What means this daring outrage %’ ex- claimed the king, turning his fierce gaze from one to the other, ‘You, Sir Connocht Moran. are our lonored knight—nay, almost our child—why do you thus assail our dignity? You, Conrad O’Connor,’’ he continued, ve- hemently, not awaiting an answer, ‘‘have you forgotten that you are in the presence of your king—nay, worse— Jorget your father?” Prince Conrad disengaged himself from his brother’s grasp, and bent his knee (o the ground. “My king—my FATHER,”’ he said, ‘‘when I forget thee as either, may Heaven forget me. But did the mother that bore me teach me the glory of our house that Islould see it sullied ?”’ “What dost thou mean ?”’ “Look upon this honored knight,’ said the youth, wav- ing his hand toward Moran, who stood with glassy eyes and hectic cheek gazing mournfully on the terrified white face of the princess, and apparently unconscious of all else. ‘He is almost thy son—almost my brother—he has ridden with the barons by thy standard when I have been forbid; now his pride has grown lofty, and he would set the mark of his foot upon the eseutcheon of O’Connor!”’ A low murmur of astonishment ran a~ronnd tiie hall, and every eye was turned upon the impeached favorite. Desmond O’Connor took his hand from the young war- rior’s shoulder and stepped back, gazing at them inquir- ingly. The king’s face grew dark as night,his bearded lips were tightly compressed, and his dark eyes blazed angrily. Connocht Moran stood as if petrified. With scarcely a pause Conrad sprang to his feet and continued yehemently, pointing to the sunburst that shone in royal banner above the throne: “Shall the hawk mate with the eagle? plume his flight to strike the sun ?”’ Oonnocht Moran, whose lips had been moving inar- ticulately, started suddenly around at the word ‘‘falcon,” and, waving his arms high above his head, cried ina voice that made the oak roof ring: ‘“‘A Moran! Ho! Strike for the falcon! Forward!’ ‘You hear the boid-tongued traitor!’ cried Conrad. “Silence!” thundered the king, the storm of anger which had threatened bursting forth in full force. “Ig this a hostelry, ora barrack, to hold such brawis? Guards, seize that presuinptnoas traitor!’ “Traitor? cried Moran, as the spearman closed around him, ‘Who dares to call me traitor?” “My liege,” said the gray-haired surgeon, liurrying for- ward, and bending before the king, ‘Sir Connooht is de- “Secure these Shall the falcon _& light, graceful Canopy, carved of Irisit: wood. 2 lirions. He has escaped my care. Ie knows not what he does,” “Away with him instantly!’ exclaimed the king, way- ing them toward the door. The young knight smiled bitterly, bowed his head low, and was led from the hall by the guard. Desmond O'Connor's face had fora moment refiected the anger of his father’s, but, as the fact of Moran's deli- rium became ¢@yident to hit, ail the eeepc ede ever extended by rishi ee to those suffering Ghder mental eclipse, Sprang from his generoms heart toward his foster brother and fellow warrior, He pressed the young man’s hand warmly and whispered to the physi) clan: ie The guard will give him to thy care. See “Follow him, that he recover,” “b The king turned to Prince Conrad with darkened brow. «For thee, rash boy,’ he said Severely, *fwho so far for- geist thyself as to quarrel with @ mindless man, and mar the festive hour With “braw!s and accusations, go to thy apartments and let us see thee not till we Command thy presence!” The face of the youth flushed crimson but not a word passed his lips. He pressed his hand on his heart and bowed his head to the King, then turning away, he left the hall with proud step and glistening eyes, The princess had not removed her gaze from the spot. where Connocht Moran had disappeared, when the bright crimson mantle of Conrad fluttered through the entrauce and disappeared algo. The presentiment of a short time before rushed ow her with double force, aud she dropped her face upon her arm aud subbed aloud: “They lave gonc—I shall never see them more!"’ CHAPTER VU. THE BOWER OF BEAUTY—LOVE'S ANXIETY. After iis unexpected interruption the entertainment palled, for every mind was too busy trying to fathom the inysterious occurrence, to give much thought.to pleasure. A cloud hung over the whole royal party; and the Princess Eva, after having graced the first dance as the partner of Bruce,’ retired under piea of indisposition. Bluckness lowered upon the brow of the king, aa the Princes Brazil and Desmond Were stern and silent, A! asign from the master of festivities the harpers and choristers burst forthin fall cliant. But the attentive rap- ture that the skill of the ‘bard Malachi was wont to call forth from the chiefs and retainers was now wanting. A signiess, voiceless communication like that which pre- sedes the re-entrance of a jury, had gone forth througnh- out the assembly. This was the startling knowledge that the ‘Knight of fhe Falcon loved the Princess Eva—and was belovell again. The music disregarded, and many an inquiring and furtive @iah Cust toward a person seated close to the royal : He was a warrior of large and powerful frame. His herculean shoulders were surmounted by a very large héad, with a great mass of bright, golden-red hair, and a@'beard of the same hue: a face with something of rugged grandeur, and eyes that gleamed like lance- heads in the sun. Instéad of the usual saffron tunic his dress was black, thrown open at the neck, and relieved by a crimson scarf tittt crossed: his breast, and by his baldrie of polished steel, This was Roderick O'Donnell, called Rory Ruadh, or Red Roderick. He was a warrior of note and tanist of Tyrowen, that is, he was prince-eleet of that country, for aecording to the old system of tanistry the successor of a ruler was chosen during his lifetime. Roderick was a firm ally of the O'Gonnors, and had long spent his watlike breath in sighs for the love of the Prin- cess Eya, dat, though her fatuer and brothers approved his Suit, the BaHant Rory found no favor in the eyes of the royal maiden. Still it was a foregone conclusion that sooner 6r ‘there would be an alliance between them, for in those days such things were arranged by the paren- tal will alone—the wishes of the father were paramount, and son and daughter obeyed the dictates of filial duty rather thau those of their own hearts, This was the reason why so many looks were bent in the direction of Red Roderick, and this was the reason that fe chafed under the scrutiny that he could not help’ but eel. He sat, eayoring with great effort to hide his feel- ings, chéwing the ends of his mustache, ana playing viciously wit e ornamented hilt of his dagger; but it Wis a velcano kept in check by a fraii crust ofsnow, and suddenly ih the very midst of one of the grandest bursts of music, he sprang to his feet with flushed cheek, and addressed the king. ' . ‘The words were unh‘ard by the audience in the swell of the chorus, but ‘they had reacted the ear of the king, | for he started-and gazed at Red Roderick with an ex- merce in which surprise and displeasure were blended, it the next*moment he bent his head witha haughty motion of assent.’ The tall warrior bent low over the al hand extended to him, and bowing to Brazil and Desmond, strode majestically from the presence. ‘The astonistitient and conjecture aroused by this inci- dent were cut short by the Abrupt ceasing of the Chant and the eet the reliring march, that told of the close of the feastion4 6 98 Some of the guests retired to their apartments, others to their tents among the troops, others again strolled apon the ramparts to view the night, or out into the plain to see the rough, hearty enjoyment of the soldiery. Among these latter were Bruce and his squire Malise, and they were joined beyond the barbican by Prince Desmond, with an apology for the ill-fate of their festival and the apparent neglect of their Scottish guest. “The moon was rising slowly, like a great brazen shield, above the eastern forests, and Casting her mellow, mourn- falrays athwart the ing camping grounds as ene four, for ee 0 nor was attended by a page, strayed out among th oking torches. - We will eave them to pursue their way to one of those Strange mg¢ points which fate prepares for good or evil, while ascend the palace staircase and visit the apart the Princess Eva. : Pas ae h a small ante-chiamber, lighted by ‘a suspended * en cresset, we open a tieavy door of com- munication and view a scene of beauty beyond. It is an apartment not spacieus, but appearing to be so from the far-stretching perspective of the rich tapestries that adorn the walls. Some of these are very ancient, while some are bright in the gloss of recent creation; and were Wrought by te beauteous hands of Eya O'Connor | herself. Tie ‘furniture of the room had all the elegance and “lightness permissible by the heavy manner of the time. ‘Iwo ornamented lamps hung from the ceiling, and shed a fivod'of mellow light over the bright colors of picture hhiigings and the figures in the Iris rugs upon thie floor. At one side was 2 bel with snowy linen and coverlets of rich ee goo and crimson. Tie curtains, that Jooked like the light cloud-drift of a summer sky, Were upheld by a spear proceeding from the month ofa ‘ séulpi ard Tidn’s head high up in the wall, and descended over the bed in the shape of a marquee ‘tent. “A large gilt harp stood at the bed-side, and a clarshech, ‘oP Sihaller instruaient of the harp kind, lay upon a table af the open window, with the first rays of the risiug noun glinting off its inlaid pearl. in the transverse wall, beyond the head of the bed, was a smal niche or shrine, with crimson velvet sare and Within, lighted by three wax candles ina candelabra of copper- gilt, was a figure of the Virgin in silver aud gold. Here khelt' the Princess Eva O'Connor, with clasped hands aad eyes upraised to the image of the saint. So deeply was she absorbed in her devotions that she heard n light, repeated rapping on the panel, and saw not the door swiug open or the person who stood upon the threshold. ; {TO BE CONTIXUZD,]} ———->e . REMARKABLE DREAMS. ———- e Dream Relating to English Criminal Hfistery. - Tt was a beautifal night in the English summer. . With- ina London mansion a gentleman had retired to bed at his usiial hour, but was for some time affected with great restiessness. From his window he looked up.at the bright array of countless stars, aid a soft breeze floated into the room. Still the gentleman could not sleep, He was an office. of the government, holding the positicn. of Uuder- Secretary of State, and a man of the most regular habits, “Well—well,”? he murmured, tossing impatiently. from side to side of the bed, “this is very strauge. Iam usually a good sleeper, but to night I cannot close. my eyes, My conscience is Clean—and yet here Lam, like bad Macbeth, denied my sleep.” He lay for a moment with his eyes wide open, and then, as if for & mere change and occupation for his thoughts, repeated Shakespeare’s lines on sivep. Still he tossed, and he heard the clocks of the city strike one o'clock and then two.in the morning, “lve half a mind,” he exclaimed, “to get up and go down to the Home Office. Evidently some inischievious angel or devi; does not intend that I shall get any rest eres Tired nature, however, began to sink under these pro- longed sufferings, and, as is often the case, sleep came suddenly, If was light, unrefreshing, and of short dura- tion. The sleeper turned and twisted his body, he threw his arms about, and occasionally he muttered a few words: °; Home Office—desk—life or death—iwake up—wake up. He now sprang bolt uprightin the bed, and rubbed his eyes, -Af the same moment the clock struck. “Why,"? le said, “it is only three o'clock. I heard two, and so have slept but a short time. But I’ve had adream. lsaw a fizure of some kind before me, which said: ‘Wake up, wake up! Go tothe Home Office! Quick—it is life or Geuth? Its face looked a piteous appeal to me, I cannot relieve my mind of the impression. I don’t know what ail this means, but ll dress and go to the office,’ In x short time he went forth into the street, and strolled ainost aimlessly in the direction of the Home Office. A strange and irresistible influence drew him in that diree- tion, but atthe same time he would not admit even to limisell that he was following anything more than the force of daily habit. Reaching the building, he went di- rectly to his ‘private room. His eyes turned to his desk, and the only thing he noticed was a memorandum book, Which rather unaccountably was Open. Glanciug at the page, he read aloud these words: ’ ‘A reprieve to be sent to cuiners, ordered for execution at York.” He was at once seized with a nervous uneasiness. pcr ee © in regard to those condemned criminals, T lave done my part of the work, but how dol know that this reprieve as gone to York? It should have gone in the usual rou- tine of the office, but I do not know it as afact. Really, I begin to think this night’s business means.somethings At ail events I'll go to the house of the chighlerk, and set ny mind at rest.’ = ‘eae He hurried away. His steps were now quicker, and he Was Mow thoroughly absorbed in ee Rousing hpthe chief clerk, lie was informed by thi the respite had been sent. to the chief clerk of the wliose business it was'to forwardit to York, “Then let us go at once to his house, in Chancery amd see about it.” k * They started off. The morning was now advan ’ and the under-secretary began to feel t there st certainly be acon wrong. Keeping his thought himself, he devoted himselfto hastening his compan Reaching the house of the chief clerk of the Crown, found him in the act of stepping into his gig for a.c¢ tr holiday, ‘Did you send the reprieve to the coiners at York ?”* demanded the under-secretary almost breathlessly. The chief clerk turned pale, and replied: : “Great Heaven, can it be possible! ~I have forgotten it, and left it locked up in my desk!’ The excitement created on all parties by this revelation was very great. , “This is terrible,’ cried the under-secretary. “Nothing but a fleet express Can Save the lives of these men.” ‘ “T hope that it may be ordered,’ said the chief clerk of the Crown. “You have my authority for it. See that the respite is: sent off without the delay of an instant.’ Thus instructed, the chief clerk drove awaytin his gig. “Taken altogether,” said the under-secretary to his companion, as they moved away, “this affair is most mysterious and impressive. ~ If the lives of these-men are saved, it will be through the meanusof a dream, which forced me from my bed’ last night to the Home Office, where my attention was arrested by the entry in my memorandum-book in regard to this reprieve. I wili re- late all the circumstances to you, and from this hour I shail believe in the influence of dreams,’’ The sequel may be soon fold.. Preparations for the ex- ecution of the criminals were made, and, as an expected reprieve did not arrive, it was announced to them that the hour of death was at hand. By this.time the reprieve Was on its way by express. The time was short, and the slightest delay or accident would prevent the distance being Overcome before the execulion. The criminals were led from the prison, and were now in the act of mounting the cart to convey them to the scene of the last act. At this moment the express arrived, and the cry went up: ; ‘A reprieve—a reprieve!”’ When the singular facts in the case became publicly known they caused # most profound impression: through- out the whole country, and led to such investigations that the men had their sentence commuted to imprison- ment for life. (The Dramatic Copyright of this Slory is secured by the 4 Author.) . Buffalo Bill’s © bak A SRT all! By Ned Buniline. Lei 2 i) {“Buffalo Bill's Last Victory”? was commenced in No. : Nos. can be-obtained from any News Agent in the U (OH APTER XL. eS tenant, the gallant Lawsen, though younger.in ser took to the work naturally. The first essential to a guod troop was theirs, They had good horses, well seen to, and in fine order. Next, they had good men, well dis- ciplined, who liked their officers, and consequently were ready to endure hardship and extra duty without a mur- mur. oN ; No company, then, was better prepared than “B," of the Third, to make a big record when it had a chance. Pushing on at night as well as by day, taking only such time to feed and rest as was actually needful, even Steve Hathaway, an old “Overlander,” used to going through if the stock went under, was satisfied with the progress made, ; On the third day out th had news from Buffalo Bill, for the scouts he had sént Pack met them, and now the order to ‘‘hurry up’? did no! ire to be repeated. With the almost certainty of an Indian fight before them, the men snuffed the breeze a8 eld war-horses snuff the smoke BP ie pena Th aking @ route W from (Naget Nee Hathaway eighotd thi rode on. ~ A ¢ The course now lay directly over the rat re in full view. A Sig halt ab poorer grass, gave the animals and men a brief rest, and then the marel was resumed, not to be broken by any aes dinary circumstance until the hills and good water reached, ‘ c ae This occurred after a night-long ride, just at day and the two hunter-scouts, riding ahead, had | luck tocomeon a band of elk iu the mouth of. which opened first be them. 2 eM Three of these were down before they couid: get o1 shot, So meat was plentiful when they made their mori ing halt. Grass was good, too, so both menu and iiors lad a noble chance to recuperate, : The two scouts, after a short rést, faking the course meant to travel from Steve haway tind Buffalo Bil, and to carry t was near at hand, if they could his party. BRE buat Captain Meinhold, before tir smoke signal, which he wout ‘would aid his tmovyements—sigi when and where Buffalo Bill was” ing, &c. ee A halt of about three hours gave men.andyanimals suf- ficient rest and feeding time to be quite ready for another rapid onward move. : It was now deemed best’ to skirt the base of the hills until the trail was found, as it might have been found, indeed, had they struck the hills furthers north, but it would have been the old trail of days before, Hathaway became more eager as they went on, for he felt confident that Buffalo Bill would have the prudence to wait, and therefore that they wou!d soon joiu hint, and his own good faith be proved. For no matter how hard a man has been, if he has any chance to redeem his past or better his life, he will almost always seize it eagerly attd improve upon 1f, About noon they came upon the trail, where Bill and his party had come into the hills. Capt. Meinhold asked Steve liow lung it was since Bill had passed ? s “The trailis cold. The night dew has fallen on ii!’® he said. “He must be along way ahead, if he has not haliea to wait for us, He ison a trail almost as fresh as hisdiwn. And a bigger crowd, twice over. If he and-all with him are wiped out, itis his fauif. He should have waited for us, for [ told him Pd guide you straight to his trail, and I’ve done it!”’ “Halt. There are smoke signals rising!” said the eap- ‘tain. ‘They must be from the scouts who left us! Yes— three, quick smokes; at intervals of time in which one can count a liundred! That means that a fight is goiug on. But there is no long, steady smoke of ten minutes’ dura- tion, to show that Buffalo Bill is there! They must haye forgotten, or else misunderstood me, Ah, there is another snlvuke—another and another, but they are further off). “Aud not made by them or their friends!’ said Steve Hathaway. ‘Those last smokes come from the vicinity of Nick’s Cavern!’ oath “What or who is there?’ asked Captain Meinhola. | | “A gang of Cut-throats and thieves, sir—the offscourings of humanity. They’ve seen these smokes, and they think they are signals from some Of their own class... They'll be moving down to help them too—and who ever is fighting, if they fight Buffalg Bill, will never get help from worse men than they are. They would risk their hair any time to get his, or to wipe out anything else that is decent!’ “Then we will move on. If there is a fight going on, the sooner we get toit the better.” And the captain at once put his command to g trot. CHAPTER XLIL Lottie and Susie had been now three days in the power of the Ute chief, and so far, though closely watched and guarded, they had not been treated rudely. He seemeil io have complete control over his braves, and as, alter baud after band joined him in answer to scouts sent out or- signal smokes, he soon had avery large party, «this seemed remarkable, ; tohncrw For discipline in an Indian tribe is to be'as much ex- pected as it isin @ new-recruited regiment of voiunteers, where every private.feels as big as his captain, and some- times bigger, having no responsibility to settle him down. But how long kind treatment would last the poor girls did not know, for the chief and his brother often spoke of ans as their wives to be, when, this war-tramp was ended. For how, with his force augmented, the Wasatch chief Was bold in his avyowal to go back and take the trail of the Snakes who had fought Eggaro, and to kill and scalp overs one.) . Ly ‘ When he got within sight of the plains, upon a trallthat ‘ ne brave scout left, arrange ‘a plan of Sa ictetan i ten which would tell nd, if he was fight- Yes } jufalo Se Crown, ‘y i ae Weare strong LAST VICTORY; DovVE-EYE, THE LODGE QUEEN. io O@ane Captain Meinhold was an ol campaigner, and serve p PA hed F BW hat! those Snake Indians?’ asked Overton. “We niust, or stop.to hunt—for our rations are 0 nt,» said theofficer,, ene t = Ke ES + VMe at can’t go withont eating t pe ay a). oughtin’t to come on the plaius!” said Ttathayw , as he bux a 4 ae Aimost boundiesa| exis’ Fae’ plains, Withono Water except some half-stagnant, ow: and then ina buffalo wallow, and it- a ry route for men and. horses, But toward t Oats ue of the hills onee more greeted their eyes, and when at last’ the eful evening air, so cool and pleasant came, the hills} sunse$ by some poor water, and yet |§ Warriors can fight. Will find us soou enough!’ where, Indians were indeed there, uppareutly well-mmounted and armed. | nt ‘The keemeyes of the-chief had detected at the instant he saw 1th ey Were ofhis tribe; and-he knew S person that} that the Suakes t suré to keep Ule war-pith until ude ue the death of their braves had been aver nov ea big fight,” for 2usbands.” | i — mora now chose four braves, and ¢ them strict sto guard the young girls and to W LO farm to to them, bat ig Keep them. safe ulthe fight was he posted outhe sideof the hill ha iff, down which asmall stream wound its silvery crystal beauty. ey mM thence they could look over all the plains below, and the coming fight would be decided before their eyes. Perhaps there was, without his Knowing it, a drop of aucient chivalric blood in the yeins of the Ute chief, Hence his claim to the title of King of the Wasatch, and his desire to. do battle before the eyes of the beautiful girl whom he had destined to Share his throne or lodge- robes. t The girls, guarded by braves who did not understand their language or appeared notto, spoke to each other freely as the Indians in column began to descend the hills, deploying farthes, down, as they were discovered by the Snakes, ea “ILour horses-‘had - been left we might escape now,” said Lottie, whose mind was ever busy studying how to get aWady from heretaptors. The'wily cliief tid had all the horses taken out of reach of both the captives and his enemies except only those re his ~warriors rodeas they went down to ght. * +f e ‘ : The Hght soon ‘began. The Utes forming a scattered line as they went nearer to where the Snakes were massed to receivethem, Closed but little more when with- in rife shot, but adopted the usual plan of circling around at a gallop and. picking off an. enemy at every chance. The Snakes soon met this maneuver by extending their lines and charging here and there till the melee became so. universal that the girls, now anxious. witnesses to the batule, could hardly tell oue band from the other, or Know which was victorious. q, All that they could see was bands of mounted Indians whirling here and there, striking and firing in terrible confusion, clouds of dust ue at times ag they rode over some dry and sterile piece of ground. d The young braves who guarded them, in spite of the nature of the fight, stood stolid and calm at the posts as- signed them in front of the girls, for the rear was a wall ol solidrock, and itseemed as if to them it mattered, not NO the. figut went so far as the expression of their faces spoke. erotic would have questioned them if she could, for she thought that their experienced eyeongnit tell which side | Was So far victorious, butshe could not speak their Jan- ae “But have you his receipt and certificate that it is tid Marmora., “We will not leave a single Snake dog gone?’ inquired the under-secrctary, __
be a Ss
But when he saw Buttalo Bill bor a spear from Red
Plume and put a white handkerehief on the end of it, ae
reulized that’ thére Would: bé a talk here beiore a figh
Would come—or an attenipt jerrere ene oe!
The arrangements Were scot ula deer suffalo Bill, with
the truce-flag.@ash idly down tlie hill, followed
slowly by Ca
ant ‘holding |
treachery on
i
;
company Teady to ¢
part of the Indians dem:
stration in their rear, naw were seen to gather for con-
sultation, and when Buffalo Bill was well down the hill
oe them, three of them were seen to ride out from
the rest. : : ay eats =
The first was Marmora himself, and a littie in his rear,
on his right and left, rode a Ute brave. ©” Zi
The ove to his right carried.a rather dirty-ldoking white
flag. pik
Buffalo Bill planted the spear with his white flag upon
it in the sand, and sat motionless on his horse close by,
until the Ute brave, leaving his chief behind, dashed for-
ward und planted their flag by the first. :
Then, seeing that Buffalo Bill neither dismounted or.
disarmed, the Uie.chtef rode forward, armed and blood-
stained from the recent battle. 0 2.
[TO BE CONTINUED,],
; ; }
LIFE’S PERIL.
We are happy to please our great mass of
‘Temperance Patrons
with the glorious news that the intensely sensational,
dramatic and real-life
Temperance Tale,
“LIFE'S PERIL," written, some time since by our favorite
contributor, ;
NED BUNTLINE,
will soon be commenced in the NEw YORK WEEKLY.
This story, full of real incidents, strong pictures, biting
sarcasms, .
Pearful Facts,
and touching pictures, is calcuiated to do more good in
the great > é ;
Field of Temperance,
and in the grand work of reforming the unhappy INEBRI-
aTRémen Ao WN i
_ && "Phousand. Lectures
ost eloquent of our Temperance
sisters of the ).
, 0. R., 1.0. 0f GS
. of T., &c., &c.
from th
I. O. of G. T.,
le arvest that is sure to follow.
is pathetic, intensely dramatic, touching
a ce story it is unequalled by any previous
peat xed Gifted Author.
While men. etail and wholesale liquid polgon as a bey-
erage, if) perance people remain quiet, tere is no
hope for | é drunkard but | - x
eee wha
E Saki
LY far
reba
cL In Death. |
Bpeaiyout work and send the NEw York WEEx-
wide a.% \ ;
/0 2 (We the Rescue. \\\..\
il Will Soon be commenced in the New You
t
*
*
2
/.
women Willneed an extra supply.
OUR KNOWLEDGE. Box.
A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering.
hags~ Correspondents asktiig questions of this Depart-
ment are particularly requested to address them to us
on a separate slip of paper, indorsed “For the Knovwl-
edge Box.*!
QUESTIONS ANSWERED -AND INFORMATION Wanrep.—
Leather Heat.—Tiiis correspondent wishes a good recipe for RE-
MOVING INDELIBLE INK-SPOTS from steel engravings........
A.—None but experienced persons are qualified to do what you
wish a recipe for, Send the weapon toagunsmnith,..... Sunlight,
Blue-Eyed Mary, and Mary C.—Powdered niter will remove
freckles... Apply with flannel, moistened... 2.0... J. R. H.—NO.....
Saloon. --They are generally mide of flour and lard. A little but-
ter would improve them, .....D._S..B. wishes.a recipe for KILL-
ING POTATO-BUGS. He has tried, we presume, varicus recipes
without success..... Cosmetic—To PROMOTE. THE GROWTH OF
THE Harr use bay rum, brandy and castor off...0.5.... 2. A—To
MAKE ICE-CREAM see No, 32..... . Constant Reader.—1. We know
nothing of the tace-whitewash ta which yau refer. 2. Powdered
niter wilhremove freckles. 3, We du not know the ingredients.;
5 ae Smoky City.—Goldfish are hard to keep. Some pursue ane
J plan and some another. We would advisé you to consult some
dealer in them. The information he willgive you will be practi-
CWA I Mrs. Emma Grove. —1. We'do not know how thes muke
it. Itis their ownseeret. (2. Much obiiged fur your complimenta-
ry note to the “Knowledge-Box,” in which you say:..T icve no
fears to cook by any of yourrecipas, as.all I have: foltu.ced. have
been all that could wish ”’...,Sportsman,—We cannot tell you.
DL B=) You are right. 2. See answer to “Cosmetic."*.....
Leonorat.—COTTaGE CHEESE —Take thick milk, slice it each way
with a knife, sethitin a warm’ place, so"that the wiiey will leave
the milk, but domotlet it get warm enough. to harden it; then
pat it-in acloth, and, after) it has well drained, hang it up; with
the hands rub it to a smooth paste, add a@ very little fine salt, mix
well; serve with thick creain sweetened and flavored with vanilla.
de wecct School Girl.— ASTE FOR REMOVING GREASE FROM SILK.—
Rub together fine Fréneh chaik and lavenderto the consistence
of a thin paste, and apply thoroughly to the spots with the fingers;
place a sheet ef brown or blotting paper. above and below thesilk,
and smooth it with a moderately-heated jron.. The French chalk,
may then be removed by brushing............ B_B, L.—BAK
STUFFED TOMATOES.—Large ones ate Tequired; wash. and wipe
each one, and with a sharp knife cut geod-sized plug at the
point where thestemwas attached, being careful not toeut
through the lower surface. This cavity may be filled with a lump
of butter, a mixture of butter and bread-crumbs, using salt and
pepper, or with any kind of mest chopped very fie, highly
seasoned, and mixed with plenty of butter. Put the tomatoes
thus prepared in a pan and bake for half an hour, or until well
owned.........Country Girl.—Your eyebrows cannot be perma-
mently dyed. Some ladiés hold @ hairpin overa gas light and
acken the hair with what accumulates on the pin. Of course
1is-operation. haa to be performed every day...... Green Horn.—
AKE A LOOKING GLASss.—Spread a sleet of tin-foil ona flat
surface, and on the top pour mereury, and ‘then rub the latter
with a hare’s foot. The mercury soon unites itself with the’ tin,
which then becomes very splendid, or, as as technically termed,
ned. A a of glass is then to be_¢cantiously-slid upon the
tin leat, in such a manner as'to sweep off the
mercury
which is not incorporated with the tin, weights are then
to be placed on the glass, and ina little ti silver tin-
foil will adhere so firmly to the glass that its méy be re-
imeved without danger of its falling Pie class thus coat-
i is a common looking-glass. About two ounces of mercury are
nfficient to cover tliree square feetot glass. , The success of; this
peration cenepie much upon the clears OF the. glass; adhe-
lorr of the a Tee Ak cos prevented should the least du tor
irt be on the of a ates... Rybuck.—No recipe.......
rlington Hights.—1. ¥i he “Knowledge Box’? of the Naw
ORK WEEKLY is an ‘institution’ in-every;sense of the word.+
You,are not the.only one who has made money outjof the Rpciper
ie.
tbh O2.0 2
it contains. 2. No...., 2 B.—We cannot ATOR. ‘ener
—A book on botany would be of incalculable service to you, Pro-
cure ‘one at once...... A. F. S.—Nothing can ‘prevent the hair
from growing again except by scalding the parta—a rem
than the annoyance of which ‘you bigs
SNAKE-BITES.—Bromine, 21-2 drachms;dedide of
grains; corrosive sublimate, one grain; diluted alcohol,. fluid
drachms, Dose, one fluid drachm in one tablespoonful ot, wine
or brandy, to be repeated as required ‘bythe case.... 9g.
nae No... .D. A. O14 litte white wax mixed with the
starch
+} conver
a little time to cool
“Well, we will only have ourhorses in hand and ready! |
laa ve cauplain. “One thing-is sure al 4
“127% 7 *, 7
“Ii they saw that.jin the
einhold and Texas Juck, the I nven| Wty
: Mit sigto eS
The Utes, at first astounded by this unexpected demon- | *
—emeee es 7 - =
it being more volatile, penetrates the pores of wood better, and
forms « harderand more durable sur'ace tor the succecding coats,
eens ae Lelian C.— We know ot nothing that will remove them.....
S. K, R.—See No, 32 tor ipe to whiten stPawoabats............
E, H. L.—TO MAKk I Ow metal | ed with water
poor very gently an equa Pat yet ether, 86-tUat no mixture
muy take place of the two li The va placed under the
receiver of an air-pump, wl S80 fixed WpOD support as to
remain quite s eady when the air is piu out, At the first
ot th the ether becomes i ate of ebullition ; it
than a mini mi the water remains
PH. No ve mi..W. D S—l, To
ota
Pinto ices, /.— s :
GER SNAP 3. —Hall @eup o uve 1 half a cup of
| strok
8 eV:
MAKE ‘GT
sugar beat togethe®,: ifea pint of mulisses, one tenspoontul of
cream of tartar, t Rodi, Ohe Cup Of nil, half «cup of yel-
low ginger, a n i to ir tiff don rh. Roll af abot
a quarter of I >, City Ha Withe-glass, and bake
them Tigi. 3 A fake IC iM see’ Ne ats CURE For
CORNS. pa m well imix warm tallow and tur-
pentine her yp 8On1G OT poe | the corn. If the
eorns n rer le application, Tn a shiprt time a permanent
cure Ne vis.. NONGand Louis@—We cannot say.....
Inqui sCucumber peelings scattered about the place
frequented byeocKroaches, jf i8 said, will e the effect of driv.
ing them away,..... * Fureka,’’—1. We y nothing of the
merits of the article, and@eanhet a ee mite. Be
liquids are dangerous if unskillfally susedywnd refore we mui
deciine answering your questions Let aT! suclythings alone,
Some of our answers, as you say, cost. us | .
but we take
pleasure in the work, It is a labor of love.
4. We cannot say,
Ellen Dike,—TAPIOCA PUDDING.—Pour a quent ot warm milk over
eight tablespooutuls of tapioca that has been previously washed
through several waters, Wien it is soft, add three tablespoon/uls
ot melted butter, five well-beaten eggs, sugar, wine, and spice to
ee
your. taste... Bak but she. Stl ¥
SHORT CAKE.—We give you tio recipes: 1. tio teacupinuis of
S,
sour milk ml ie teaspoonful of se sto vat
fh :
a
ith place |
i
add one cup of bitter or lard, and f s
ut
Dust atryi
“thin cakes larg
. *O " 4 : }
side is done. Split the cakes while hot, and butter well.
a plate a half of the cake, put on it a layer of well-sugared
dough.
which they are to be baked.
berries, put another half of a cake, more
ntil there are five op six layers, and serve, 1
uvvermuk as for short-biscuit, roll so tl ‘iL be
tworinches thick when baked, and bake in ag.
strawberries slightly and add suger te /
Make juice suthcient to moisten ¥
while hot, butter each pa: I
upon the under haltand cove:
Rise early, and take
the day ahdcnri rin the evenl
wha ed i oe mt get well in
Ou : -
Siier from suffering will event ir
‘@ know nothing of the person named.’
} ‘Studerd—It is not ditheult for’
fourth day, the elevation is m stible and, more red, and
by the fifth or sixth day a.dis culled a vesicle, is
blister,
vious, It is of a whitish color, roundish or oval, elevated at
ti edge and depressed in the cénter. On the seventh or eighth
b inflame ring, called areola, begins to form round the
Je, and with it continues to increase for two days. This
rn la is circular, its diameter being trom: one to three inches,
The eighth day is the day of the greatest perfection of the vesicle,
and is the proper period for conveying the matter to other arms,
in what iscalled “arm-to-arm vaccination.’ By the tenth day
there ought to be slight fever. By the eleventh day the areola
begins to fade, and the vesicle begin } todry, an me ofa
brown tintin the center. By the fo rteen 4 Of filteenth day
vesicle is converted into a hard re cab, of a red
color. This seab goes en to , ract, and blacken, aud f:
oft in from. twen e to twerlty-fourday's
P. P. L.—For a recipe for catarrh, see - 43. ins
Americus.—Sm: are occ aly found e :
which at last net eee ymetim: tied ate oocbioned by
rough and ing ed “ut broken tooth, If this be the case,
the tooth ato ether Pe ected or filed smooth. Whitish-
looking specks, which seem inclined to spread, are also met with
on the inside of the cheeks and lips. They are easily removed by
touching their surfaces with alum.
Cc. L. H.—Peruvian bark is a good tonic, and is em e
successfully in intermittent fevers: As a tonic use the following
recipe: Peruvian bark, powdered, two ounces; 0
dried, one and a half ounces; Virginia snaket l, three
drachms; saffron, one drachm} eochineal, powdered, two
pies, proof spirit, twenty ounces. Digest for fourteen days, and
str: KOATMOO ITY
nh. Wl FC
: I. M.—The tepid bath takes its range from
of att baths it is now regarded as the beat. a
and young children it is of the greatest ini
tepid bath, wipe dry the upper part of the
extremities are still covered with Water.)
In r.—For, advice on the # 5,
TT. E, W.—We hardly know what to
to, and being in doubt on the subject; it would be
for you to consuit your family physician. A) to “Matter
in time. It may lead to serious results mates romney 2
G. W.—There 18 nothing better for sprains than 4
Plunge the Part sptained into the water, and keep it atl
an hour, Afterward apply camphorated spirits or a. ;
dd very
sufferer — ..You are right, The remarks you r to were
written in maple yer to th icted like y al 4k Rea i reply
to “Suffering Charlie” in thiscolumn. - Serie
—>e<+-_—_--_-—
A Temperance Story by E. 2, 0, Judson |
E. Z. C. Judson, entitled “‘Life’s Peril; or, The Drunkard’s
will surpass, in incident and plot, Mr. Judson’s admira’
story of “Out of tle Dark,” which was so higtily p
at the time of itd publication, Witt’ onr Tempe
friends see toit that they do all in their power to circula
this grand effort of Mr: Judson, who’ lias:@one so much
and so zealously engaged, |: br ij
thos cree
“NOW READY.
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—How RaTSINS ARE DRIED. — The finest raisins are grapes
mm pe ga in thésun. The Museatel raisins have the stalk of
the ch paruy eat through and dried upon the vine, the leaves
ing removed“ to alloy of full exposure, ee
kinds. a dried upon lines, and afterwards
alyeto which salt and oil are added...... A By=You can......
:
We shall shortly, publish a new Temperance Story, by
to advatice the, great causeéin which he has been so long
:
id
rs
»
P : : : : c t b i FRE . M. SPEN' ro, V'
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “this thing is petting inte. | lew meen ; i : i watching the issue of the battle. ‘Bat it does seem to eetatome wi ee ee ee meee - aed pete eae prAcmiars of the business &. S. M. SP: 2 ents » VE.
resting. Herel am outof my bed and dow Bek ante- | led neatly back fo where he had emerged from them, only | me as if it would bea: mercy to interfere now!"? ‘Fon and rid the face of blotches, pitunies, eta & We know not GENTS Wanted.—Agents make more money at work
colt tad ain first sine Sika amet down - at this | one great clump of hiils intervening, the eyes of the chie{; “A mercy to them but not to ourselves, captain!" said | ing aboutthem. 4 No......A Subscriber De paint with oll. for unites, it abgebiies else. Particulars free. G, STINSON
iour, g y eye is that entry | flashed with a glad dre. ; Buffalo Bill. “The Utes are very strong yet. Every oue | An authority on the subject says: Raw oil is preferable to boiled, | & CO., Fine Art Publishers, Portland, i 4 w5-52t
~f
re 2 cme se a
a
le
Stee
ae ee nr ener i
if
ne
Aimesiemaaiamretian, potenti
neni NOM. is
A
Sn
‘THE DYING SUMMER.
BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER,.
Fold her hands, (poor dying Summer,)
Vail her gentle face— ;
Let her wreath be Autumn flowerets,
Garlanded with grace.
She has nursed the Spring’s sweet children
Lovingly and well,
Toll, oh | fast-leparting zephers,
Toll the valley bell f
Let the Sammer’s shroud be woven
Of the sunset hue,
Oak tree's gold, and maple's crimson,
Gemmed with tears of dew!
O’er her grave let Autumn’s leafiets +
Softly flutter down— ;
-_ Be the fruits her warm smile ripened,
t Jewels in her crown.
In Fair Nature’s resurrection
She will burst the tomb,
Brighter in her vernal beauty,
Fairer in her bloom, :
Thus we say farewell to Summer, -
Ouly for a time,
While she takes her needful slumber
*Neath the Winter rime.
_tady J leonora;
THE FATHER’S CURSE.
By Carrie ¢ Conklin,
Author of “THE CHILD-BRIDE,” and “TRUE
AS LOVE COULD MAKE HER,”
(Lady Leonora” was commenesd in No. 27." Back Numbers
can be obtained trum any News Agentin the United States.}
CHAPTER XXXII.
GEORGE GAMBERT’'S DESPAIR.
When Gambert went back to the hippodrome, and
heard what had taken place, he could not easly realize
the truth. He heard the tidings from the prompter, who
recounted the scene between McDonald and Corinne in
the 4, and how the former had borne her away.
“In his traveling carriage ?”? repeated Gambert, in sur-
ae _*Surely he has not gone; no, he cannot have gone,
‘or Corinne is with him, but what he wanted with his car-
riage, Ido not know.’ : i
O'Neil’s heart smote him, He had turned his pre-
cautions against the very man in whose behalf he had
used them. 9) tg 71 . /
«‘} did it for the best," he said, regretfully, ‘‘for I knew
the traitor’s purpose, and thought to save you from this
mi ae
isery.’? yf ; 5 :
Gambert’s agitation grew Intense.
They were in. Coriune’s dressing-room, and the lion-
tamer Was gazing in a bewildered manuer at her dress,
the durk velvet bodice and plain silk skirt. in whicl she
looked so regal when dressed tor the brougham.
*What do you mean?’ Ié asked.’
O'Neil told him what he had heard and witnessed.
Gambert could searcely lét him proceed to the end, but
broke out hoarsely: ; 1 0 196
“It cannot be true. Why she left me with a kiss upon
my cheek, anid spoke the softest and sweetest words'I ever
heard her speak; that was only just. before I began my:
scene, and [think her very leuderness unnerved me, It,
cannot be true.!? 8 ou t , 4 ot"
“lam aidit is, my poor friend; it isasad and solemn:
fact what I have said—a sad aud solemn fact Lshould have
kept from your knowledge had not this wretched catas-
trophe happened. >< :
“If it be true,’ said Gambert, brokenty,. “I wish you
had left. me to the lion, for death would haye been more
merciful than this. My old friend Mac a traitor, and
Corinne a creature worse than 1 can name. I will not be-
lieve it till the proof Jeaves no room for donbt.”? 2
“He was a rascal always,” said O'Neil, “and I wonder
that you ever called him friend.”
*‘Let_us go to the hotel,” interrupted Gambert. “ft am
doubting her without cause perhaps, and I shall be
sorry.”
O'Neil hoped mentally he might have cause for .such
sorrow, but the truth was clear to him; the treacherous
wretch liad taken advantage of the accident for his own
a 4 > ;
ge oll made for the hotei. Ho did not question his’
first informant too minutely; he was faithful to the faith-
less, and was careful that her name should. not. be
blackened sooner than it would be when all was Known.
an oung Irishman Sank for the time his solicitude for
i ites m his sympathy lor the lion-tamer, who with
his own sorrow guawing at his vitals was beseiged on
every side, at every step he took; by w crowd of idle or in-
terested questioners, @ 0 ;
Rumor had already been industriously at work, anid the
of the hundred tongues had not male the least
the truth. Many who cameatter the occurrence eyi-
dently. thought to see the building on fire or in ruins,
One report circulated and believed in was, that a cage
of wild be; woomplete Zoological collection—had bro-
ken 1008 Mnigied aunattiidde. @
Another, that the hippodrome had fallen and buried the
audience, Every conceive and inconceivable perver-
sion of the facts was mace, and questions were showered
thick and fast unpot George Gamibert. >» F ‘
The hotel was in a@ state of siege. The lates report
Was that the lions had eaten theirexhibitor, aud popalar |
credulity having fastened upon so striking a bit of the
terrible, would not resign it ‘easily.’ When people have’
made up their minds and settled down to a belief, they
do not care to be undeceived; so, many heads were shak-
en sagely when Gambert appeared ou the balcony to sat-
isfy & citmoryns demand to seevtiimn, ; TA
Onerumor beige so couclusivety shattered, i¢ did not
take the seusation-mongers long to start another. The
lion had devoured Corinne; tie beautiful equestricnue
5 ' : a 5 Z
was gone, i 3 ae 4 4 :
And Corinne was shouted for. ge Gambert shiv-
ered at the name. To oa populace he went to the
balcony once more, and assured his friends that their fa-
vorite Ww Sire would re before them soon,
he mids tne Hans aus mod kono her. Th
<‘Better if they had!’ he said to himself. “They could
but have Killed;:the,human wolf will do worse,’’ r
When hope was quite goue, wheu there could no long-
er be a doubt that Corinne had teft him, and in a time
that there was neéd ofall the consolation a woman’s gen-
tle sympathy would Waye been.to him, George Gambert
went to Corinne’s boudoir and bowed his haggard face in
his hands.
<‘TTad she hesaidy huskily —‘said that she
found she paa‘sis Ext idtethe fioata have got re-
signed te itintime., df would have been hard, but not so
hard as this, I would have sacrificed more for her than
she could ask, éven to the giving her to another it it were
for her happiness, Butetu feed ime with sweet ‘hopes,
charm. me witijthe witchery of her tenderness, and give
me caresses, wilh the thonght of faisity in her heart, and
the leave ni@ut a time when even a dog would cling to
its master with double fidelity. Ll wish Iocould think of
her in anger; but | cannot; Lam too desolate for that.”
He picked up a giove, it yet retained the shape of her
delicate hand, and was fragrant with the soft odor of a
qniet perfu she hail worn itin the morning, and he
could fancy tawiarur- it'was an impulse sorrowfully
loving that made him, put it in his breast,
As yet this almost mute heart-ache of despair absorbed
him, hea thought only of the woman he had lost, not
of the man who had taken her away. ;
Now he began to reflecton McDonald's duplicity, the
cold-blooded heartless scoundrelisin which he jad masked
under the aspect ofa friend, Guambert was very simple-
hearted in so.:ne respects, his own couduct was guided by
his princ:ples, and they were nobie. ,
He left the boudoir as haggard and despairing as he had
entered, but the ashen hue of his brown cheek wus not all
the effect of grief. byte ett yearning formrevenge was
owing into conqueriess desire, bd
be! hat remained to be done in Drocburn was done with
calm, methodical Atencio. and not one with whom he
conversed saw on his facé wsign of the suffering within,
He was pale, but his pallor was the result of excitement.
He nade careful inquiries as to the extent of the injuries
done during the panic, and found that there were numer-
pus casualties. but no loss of iife.
To those who were in néed, he gave handsome compen-
sation, and jefta check with Mr. Bertram to detray any
OLher expense.or claim that might arise. He left thecom-
pany in the care of his stage-manager, Instructed him as
to his route and the performances, and paid a month’s
3alary iivadvance. When these things were done he felt
he. could devote himself to his task. ;
He went deliberately forlh witha fixed intention.to kiil
the traitor Who had wronged him, wherever and when-
ever they met. He sant so to O'Neal, and O'Neal saw it
was 2 resolution he would keep.
“Give a thought to the consequences,’ said the young
Trishman. “Slow and quiet revenge is better than a rasii
blow—a reckless deed of violence.”
1 shall kill him,” said Gainbert, with unalterable deter-
mination, “and before her sight, if Ihave the chance. It
is useless to Treason with me. The man must die, and I
am ‘his fited>siayer. Ishall not be able to think of the
consequence till | have done it.’?
“The law will not spare you,’! said O'Neil; “in spite of
the strong provocation that more than, justifies your
intention; but why not be revenged as surely without
sacrificing a life too good to be cast away on sucli a worth-
ess brute?’
“How could it be done 9” 4
“Hant him down. I will help you: for I show no mer-
cy to the man deceives ine more than once. Hunt
him down; tear him even from her arins, aud drag him to
justice. Say, ‘This is Simon McDonald, the forger, the
escaped convict, the incendiary, aud the homicide.’ Tiere
Was some powerful influence at work to shelter him while
remained in seclusion on Charnett Heath, but his pro-
tector is dead.” ‘
“And what would be his fate?”
“The hulks for * should he escape:the gallows,”
“It would not like killing him myself,”! said Gam-
ert.
“But then your own life.”
“What there is left of it is nothing. I shall never be
Myself again. Except for my sorrow und the longing for
id
revenge, my senses have died. IT seem impelled by a
power Hot iy own; to gseck MeDonald out and slay him
ig & mania. When L have accomplished that 1 may
ehange.** ‘ a
“And €orinne?’? .
“PT cannot tiurt her,'! he said, his face working with an-
guished tenderness, “I did think L could, but [ cannot.
If 1 could muke you understand how much Thave loved
her, you would not wonder at me.”
O'Neil pressed | his haud. He felt for him deeply. He
ebukd’see the world of rucking torture beueath the other's
iron quietudes wd he mentaliy registered a promise that
should the truitoreseape George Gambert, it should not
be long before retfibution overtook him.
*Atid now tellane whit you have heard concerning the
child,’' Gathbert’siidy as calmiyas though they had pre-
viously beew discussitig some ordinary topic of couyersa-
tion. :
“Enongh to satisfy me that she lives,’?. responded
O'Neil, “and that the man Whe took her away is Buptiste
Jaconet, your Jate clowu.”
“But he is missing.”
“I can understand that very well indeed,’’ smiled
O’Nel:. ‘Ile hasa prisoner worth keeping.”
“T cannot see his motive.’ :
“ITcan. Monsieur Baptiste Jaconet and I am not en-
tirely strangers; and Iam sure he must in some manner
have gained an inkling of the child's history; but I shall
find him. When do you go from here?’
“At once.”
“Aud which road do you take? 1, too, leave &t once.’
“The way they went,’ said Gainbert, gri
“That would be toward the metropolis. singular
24
truth that people seeking safety in flight froni a provin-
cial town, iuvariubly Bart for’ London. Like feathers,
they hover round the flime that is Soon to scorch them
We will go together, Gumbert, as fur as we may.’?
“With such pleasuye as Ican feel, we will. [I am glad
we have met, but I would it iad been under happier aus-
pices.”’ .
“We have metina time of gloom,’ said O'Neil. “The
sunlight of dawn istocome. Let me give you an honest
opinion.’”?
“Concerning whom ?"?
“Corinne.”
Gambert bowed.
“Whatever temptation may have induced her to go with
him,” said O'Neil, emphatically, ‘sie will never willingly
be otherwise than a true and guillless woman. .Her in
fatuation may lead to indiseretion, never to. dishonor.”
“T thank you for the poor girl’s suke,’’ said Gambert.
somberty; “but her fair fame will be smirched, her soul
irremediably tainted. Iknuow McDonald Weil enotgh to
feel assured she cannot long remain unsullied with him.’* |
“We shall see. Ladhere to my belief; if you find her
unwedded, you will find her pure as she is now, wiless
treachery or force have been used.”’
“Do not let us dwell upon it.” :
O'Neil said nomore. The two le& Drocburn together—
Gamboert to find the track of MeDonald, O'Neil to follow
vut his course—pick up link by link a chain that was to
coil and rivet round the Westreyer, and teacli the Cheva-
lier de Buradoc what a ditter, tireless foe hé bad iu the
Sin Phautom—the Avenger.
: CHAPTER XXXIV.
MR. PENTLAND'S VISITOR.
| The departure of Lady Leonora from Charnett left Mr.
Pentiand in much perplexity; her intended course of ac-
tion was a mystery he could not solve, andin her absence
he knew all his legal skill would be needed to defend her
chiki‘s inheritance, ; :
He did not atteinpt to deny even’ to himself that the
case presented features of unusual difficuity; to underrate
the power of any enemy Was not one of his failings, aud
the chevalier certainly had him at a disadvantage,
--True, he held the chevalier at bay, so far that he could
(lamage his character, brand him with the deep disgrace
of illegitimacy; but it would serve no puree beneficial
o the lady, singe he couid not prove her right, and he
and Mrs. Crowe’s
‘Night Side of Nature,’ Lady Cecil?”
“And Mrs. Radcliffe’s raw-head-and-bloody-bone ro-
+ a Oh, yes, Sir Peter, I haye gone through them
a :
‘‘And still you don’t believe ?”?
“And still ldon’t believe. When I see a ghost tona
Jide and in—no, out of the flesh, I shall yield; not sooner.
But why do you ask? Surely, Sir Peter; you don’t be-
lieve in anything so absurd ?”’
“Who can vouch for its absurdity? Lady Cecil,- yes—
I do believe that the spirits of the dead return.”
Lady Cecil looked at him, half-laughing, half-dismayed,
and gave a little feminine shiver.
“Good gracious! how German you grow. This comes
of living alone, with blinded eye-sight ‘poring over mis-
erable books,’ as Tennyson says. Now, Sir Peter, 1 am
skeptical. I want proof, but I am open to conviction.
Did you ever see a ghost? That is what alchemists calla
‘crucial test.’ . the dead waste and middle of the night
do spirits irom the vasty deep come to make darkness
hideous ?”?
“You laugh, Lady Cecil,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘In the
vulgar superstition no ghost in shroud ever came to my
bedside, but there are other ways of being haunted. There
are dreams—horrible, awful dreams, that come night af-
ter night, the same thing over and over, and from which
you start up with the cold sweat on your brow and the
damp of death in your hair—visions that come to you in
your sleep from the infernal regions, I believe, more
ghastly than any waking vision. Over and over, and
ever the same—what do you call that, Lady Cecil ?”’
“Hot suppers, Sir Peter, and heavy dinners. Any skill-
ful physician will exorcise your dreaming apparitions.”
“And a few miles from here there is a house, Bracken
Hollow it is called, which no one, not the bravest in the
parish, is willing to pass after nightfall. A house in
which a murder once was done, where unearthly sights
are seen at unearthly hours, and unearthly sounds heard.
What do you say to that?”?
“That it’s a very common story, indeed. Why even at
papa’s place, down in Hants, Clive Court, popular rumor
says there is a ghost. Aa Earl of Ruysiand, who commit-
ted suicide two hundred years ago, stalks about yet in
the twilight, gory and grim. Tihatis the legend, but no
living mortal has ever seen him. If he walks, as they
say, hie takes good care to. keep out of sight. here are
haunted houses in every county in England. No fine old
family would be complete without its family ghost.”
“You don’t believe what you say. Lady Cecil. J tell
T have heard the sounds at Bracken Hollow mysey.”’
“Indeed!? but still Lady Cecil smiled skeptically; “a
real, dona fide haunted house! What a charming neigh-
porhood. Now the one ungratified ambition of my life is
to see a disembodied spirit—to hear it, if it is inclined to
make noise. Before | am a week older I shall pay—what
was it?—Bracken Hollow—a visit. Bracken Hullow! it
has a ghostly and mysterious sound. Has the ghost full
possession of the premises, or is Bracken Hollow shared
by some less ethereal tenant?”
“An old woman lives there. She was Katherine Dan-
gerfield’s nurse—Old Hannah.”
“Then I shall pay Old Hannah a visit, and investigate.
I shall positively, Sir Peter. Excuse me, Ginevra is call-
ing—I suppose she wants me to-help her with that tire-
some sonata”? ,
She walked away, leaving Sir Peter gioomily by the
window alone. ,
“J have heard of monomaniacs—sane on all things save
one—mad on that,’? she thought. ‘I believe Sir Peter is
a monomaniac on the subject of ghosts.”
Perhaps Lady Cecil was right. Hehadn’t even told her
all his madness. How evening after evening, rain or
shine, summer or winter, through sieet or storm, a
“spirit in his feet’? led him whether or no to Katherine
Dangerfield’s grave. He had no wish to go, but he went
—he could not stay away. It had grown such a habit
that it seemed to him now if he did not pay that twilight
visit she would ahah visit him before morning
dawned. He made/his daily pilgrimage to this Mecca,
and the peopte of the town had grown tired talking and
wondering over it. ‘He took everything from, her when
she was alive,” they said, “and now fhat she’s dead he
plays the hypocrite, and visits her grave every evening.
I wonder he isn’t afraid she’ll rise up and contront him.”
Perhaps he was—it had been the mania of his life.
Surely Katherine had kept, her vow. He was, if there
ever was in this world, ‘‘a haunted man’’—sane enough
on all other things—on this, much thinking had made hin
mad. :
He retired early that night—he was less alone shut up
by himself than in the drawing-room with his wife and
her relatives, All night long candles burned in his bed-
room, and one of the men servants slept in an open closet
adjoining. Never without light and never alone,
He had grown sleepless, too—and it was generally the
small hours before slumber cameto him. He arose late
next day, breakfasted by himself, and did not join the
family until luncheon tie,
| Miss Herncastie was not at that meal either—it seemed
she was to take.all hers with the, ehildren in the nursery.
He had his, wife’s hauteur and intolerance to thank for
something at least.
. He returned.to his study, spent three hoursimpaling his
beetles and cockchafers, then arose, put on his hat and
turned to leave the house. Little Pausy ran up against
him in the hall,
“Papa Peter,’ she said, ‘
i “No.”
“Sir Arthur Tregenna. Such a—oh such a great big
man, with yellow whiskers and @ solemn face—as soleinn g
as Miss Hergcastle’s.. We.don’t. like. Miss Herncasue—
Pearl and..me—she won’t play with us, and can’t dress
dolis.. We like Aunt Cecil—we do. She was playing ‘Hunt
the Squirrel,’ with us when Sir Arthur came up in the fly
from the station. He’s in the drawing-room now with
mamma and Uncle Raoul, and is going to stay ever so
long. I wish hehad staid away. Aunt Cecil wont play
‘Hunt the Squirrel’ now anymore. She blushed when he
caught her. I hate great big.men.”’
“Al! yes—at nine—you'll probably change your opinion
at nineteen”? muttered ‘‘papa Peter’? eynically, passing
out.
Except as they swelled the diurnal bill of household ex-
penses, my lady's visitors. were very little concern to my
lady’s husband. He went on his way now, his hat pulled
over his eyes, his small stooping figure bent, his spectacles
fixed on the ground—moody, solitary, unhappy—to pay
his daily visit to that lonesome grave.
The last light of the July sun .came slanting over the
downs, through the trees, and lay in ridges of glory upon
the graves. It was all strangely hushed here; the town
with its bustle, and life, and noise lay behind. Death and
silence reigned. He rarely met any one at this hour; the
towns-people were taking their tea. Yonder was the
house wherein she had died—yonder her grave, with its
gray cross and its brief inscription—
KATHERINE,
ABTAT 17.
do you know who's come?”
RESURGAM.,
He knew it so we.:—he had been here so often. Would
he goon coming here, »e wondered wearily, as long as
he lived.
He paused. What was that? Ife was near the grave,
and standing looking. down upon il, her back turned to
him, he saw awoman. A woman! His heart gave one
great. bound, then seemed to turn cold and still He
went on—on—softly over the grass, iuipelled by the same
D
sroseonmec
struck a dry twig; it snapped, and the woman turned and
looked round. There, over Katherine Dangerfleld’s grave,
looking at him with Katherine Dangerfield’s eyes, stood
Miss Herncastle, the governess!
CHAPTER V.
‘(ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS.”
For one moment. he thought the dead had arisen; for
one moment—he stood speechless and spell-bound; for one
brief, horrible moment he thought he saw Katherine Dan-
gerfield looking at him across herown grave! She made
no attempt to speak, but stood with her icy gaze fixed
upon him—her pale, changeless, marble face. He was
the first to break the sileuce.
“Miss Herncastle!’? he gasped—‘'you!”
Her eyes left him, and he moved. While they were riy-
eted upon him he had stood as one under a spell.
“T, Sir Peter!’’—the low, soft, sweet tones lingered like
music on the ear—‘‘and I fear I have startled you again;
but L never dreamed of seeing you here.”
“Nor Lyou. What brings you, a stranger, to this place
of all places, Miss Herncastle, so soon after your arrival?’
He asked the question angrily and suspiciously. Surely
there was something ominous and sinister in this woman,
who looked enough like the dead girl to have been her
twin sister, and who visited her grave so speedily.
Miss Herncastle drew her mantle about her tall, slim
figure, and turned to go.
“T came out for a wulk, Sir Peter. I have been in the
school-room all day, and I am not used to such close con-
finement. JI asked my lady’s permission to take a walk.
and she gaveit. Iam arapid walker, and I soon found
myself here, the town behind. It looked so peaceful, so
calm, so inviting, that I entered. This lonely grave at-
tracted me, and I was reading the inscription as you came
up. IfI had known it could have mattered in any way—
that I would have disturbed any one by coming—I should
not have come.”’ ;
She bent her head respectfully, and moved away.
Dressed all in black, moving with a peculiarly swift,
noiseless, gliding step, she looked not unlike a pllantom
herself flitting among the graves. Andin what an emo-
tionless, level monotone she had spoken, as achild re-
peats a Jesson learned by rote!
He stood and looked after her. darkly, distrustfully. It
seemed plausible enough; but tliut hidden instinct that
comes to us to warn us of danger, told him something was
wrong.
ee - is she 2”? he repeated—‘‘who isshe? Enough like
Katherine to be her twin sister! Whois she?’ He stopped
suddenly. ‘‘Enough like Kathenine to be her twin sister!’
And why not?—why not Katherine’s sister? Who was
there to say Katherine never had a sister? He knew
nothing of her or her family, save what Mrs, Vavasor
choge to tell. Katherine might have had a dozen sisters
for what he or she ever knew. A gleam came into his
eyes; he set his teeth with some of his old bulldog reso-
lution. ‘Katherine is dead and buried—nothing can alter
that; and this young woman, this Miss Herncastle is more
like her than itis possible for any but sistersto be. Ill
find out who Miss Herncastie is, and ajl about her, and
what she’s here for, before I’m a month older!’?
{TO BE CONTINUED.)
Brave and Bold;
saci Ciba ionseds
The Fortunes of Robert Rushton.
By Horatio Alger, jr.,
Author of ABNER HOLDEN’S BOUND BOY,
RAGGED DICK, ROUGH AND READY
BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY, LUCK AND
PLUCK, SINK OR SWIM, etc., etc.
(“Brave and Bold”? was commenced in No. 39. Back numbers
cap be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.]
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE NEW CAPTAIN.
The voyage was more than half completed, and nothing
of importance had occurred to mark it. But at this time,
Captain Evans fell sick. His sickness proved to be a fe-
yer, and was very severe. The surgeon was in con-
stant attendance, but the malady baffled all his skill. At
the end of seven days, it terminated fatally, to the great
grief of all on board, with whom the good-natured captain
was very popular. There was one exception, however, to
the general grief. Itisanill wind that blows good to no
one, and Ben Haley did not jament much for an event which
promoted him to the command of the vessel. Of course, he
did not show this feeling publicly, but in secret his heart
bounded with exultation at the thought that he was for
the time master of the ship-and allon board. He was not
slow in asserting his new position. Five minutes after the
captain breathed his last, one of the sailors anproached
him and asked for orders, addressing him as ‘‘Mr. Haley.”
“Captain Haley,” roared the new commander; ‘‘if you
don’t know my position on board this ship, it’s time you
found it out.”
“Ay, ay, sir,’? stammered the sailor, taken aback at his
unexpected violence.
Robert mourned sincerely at the death of Captain
Evans, by whom he had always been treated with the
utmost kindness. Even had he not been inftuenced by
such a feeling, he would have regarded with apprehen-
sion the elevation to the command of one whom.
self... He resolved to be as prudent as possible, and avoid,
as far as he could, any altercation with Haley. But the.
latter was determined, now that he had reached the com-
mand, to pick a quarrel with our hero, and began to cast
about for a fitting occasion.
Now that Captain Evans was dead, Robert spent as
Price. The boys held long and confidential conversations
together, imparting to each other their respective hones:
and wishes. Haley observed their intimacy and mutual
attachment, and, unable to assert his authority over
Robert, who was a passenger, determined to strike at him
through his friend. His determination was strengthened
by a conversation which he overheard’ between the boys
when they supposed him beyond earshot.
“T wish Quptain Evans were alive,” said Frank. “I
liked him, and [ don’t like Captain Haley.” :
“Oaptain Evans was an excellent man,’ said Robert.
“He knew how to treat a fellow,” said Frank. ‘As
long as he saw us doing our best, he was easy with us.
Captain Haley is a tyrant.”
“Be careful what you say, Frank,’? said Robert. ‘It
isn’t safe to say much about the officers.”’
aie wouldn’t say anything except to you. You are my
end.’?
“I am your true friend, Frank, and I don’t want you to
get into any trouble.”
“a am sure you don’t like the captain any better than I
do.”?
tell you; but I shall keep quiet as long as I am on board
this ship.”? ‘ 7
“Are you going back with us?”?
“J don’t know. It will depend upon circumstances. I
don’t think I shall, though 1 might have done so had Cap-
tain Evans remained in command.”’
“T wish I could leave it, and stay with you.”
“T wish you could, Frank. Perhaps you can.”
“Twill try.” ‘
Haley overheard the last part of this conversation. He
took particular notice of Robert’s remark that he would
keep quiet as long as he remained on board the ship, and
inferred that on arriving at the destined port our hero
would expose all he knew about him. This made lim
uneasy, for it would injure, if not destroy, his prospect of
remaining in command of the Argonaut. He resented
also the dislike which Robert had cautiously expressed,
and the similar feeling. cherished by the cabin-boy, He
had half a mind to break in upon their conversation on
the spot, but after a moment's thought, walked away, his
neighborhood unsuspected by the two boys,
‘“Phey shall both rue their impudence,”? he muttered.
“They sliall find out that they cannot insulé me with im-
punity,”’
The next day, when both boys were on deck, Captain
Haley harshly ordered Frank to attend to a certain duty
which he had already performed. ,
‘1 have done so, sir,’? said Frank, in a respectful tone,
‘None of your impudence, you young rascall’? roared
the captain, lashing himself into a rage.
Frank looked up into his face in astonishment, unable
to account for so violent an outbreak. ;
‘What do you mean by looking me in the face in that
impudent manner!’ demanded Captain ee tas,
“J didn’t mean to be impudent, Captain Haley,’ said
Frank. ‘*What haye I done?’
“What have you done? You, acabin boy, have dared
to insult your captain, and, by heavens, you shall rue it!
Strip off your jacket.”
Frank turned pale. He knew what this order meant.
Public floggings were sometimes administered on ship-
board, but under the command of Captain Evans nothing
of the kind had taken place.
Robert, who had heard the whole, listened with un-
measured indignation to this wanton abuse on the part of
QOaptain Haley. His eyes flashed, and his youthful form
dilated with righteous indignation.
Robert was not the only one who witnessed with indig-
nation the captain’s brutality. Such of the sailors as hap-
pened to be on deck shared his feelings. Haley looking
about him caught the look with which Robert regarded
him, and triumphed inwardly that he had found a way to
chafe him.
“What have you got to say about it ?”’? he demanded, ad-
dressing our hero with a sneer.
“Since you have asked my opinion,’’ said Robert, bold-
ly, ‘{ will express it. Frank Price has not been guilty of
any impudence, and deserves no punishment.”?
This was a bold speech to be made by a boy to a captain
on his own deck, and the sailors who heard it inwardly
applauded the pluck of the boy who uttered it.
“What do you mean by that, sir??? exclaimed Haley,
his eyes lighting up fiercely, as he strode to the spot
where Robert stood, and frowned upon him menacingly.
“You asked my opinion, and I gave it,” said Robert,
not flinching.
ie have a great mind to have you flogged too!’ said
aley.
“Tam not one of your crew, Captain Haley,’ said Rob-
ert cooly; ‘‘and you have no right to lay a hand on me.”!
*“Whatis to prevent me, I should like to Know ?”’
“Tam here as a passenger, and a friend of the owner
of this vessel. If I received apy ill-treatment it shall be
reported to him.”’
irresistible fascination that drew him here. His feet
If the sailors had dared, they would have applauded
amiss < WARN et ate a is ay S
‘ woe
“—
se nineadalll
he well knew to be actuated by a feeling of enmity to him--
much time as the latter’s duties would permit with Frank.
“ey don’t like the captain for more reasons than I can.
4
x
pa es
Ps
SOR 2a
aa
Wrat
SS Se.
re
=f
&.
;
a &,
a —_
pete ———
the stripling who, undaunted by the menacing attitude
of the captain, faced him bolaty and fearlessly. Haley
would gladly have Knocked him down, but there was
something in the resolute mein of his young passenger
that made him pause, He kwew that he would keep his
word, and that with such representations as he might
make, he would stand mo further’ chance of being em-
pioyed by Mr. Morgan. ;
“] Rave an account to settle with you, boy,” he said;
“and the settlement wil mot long be delayed. When a
passenger tries to incite mutiny, he forfeits his privileges
@s 4 passenger.’
“Whe tas done this, Captain Haley?”
“You have doné it”
“1 demy il,” said Revert,
“Your denial is, werth nothing.
ou inte irons, and {may yet doit, At prese
‘business in hand.”
tke dext Robert and walked back to Frank Price, who,
not ‘having Robert's courage, had been a terrified listener
to the colloquy between him and the captain,
Now; boy,” te said harshly, “I will give you a lesson
that yoa shall remember tothe latest day of your. life.
Bring ime thewat,"’
‘The barvureus Cat, as it was called, once in use On our
ships, Was'beought, and Captain Haley signaled to one of
the Bailors te approach.
“Bates,” de suid in a tone ef authority, “give that boy
a dozen lashes.”
Bates was a stout sailor, rough in appearance, but with
a warnand kindly heart. He had a boy of his own at
home, abeut the age of Frank Price, and his heart had
warmed £0 the boy whose position he felt te be far from
an enviedle one.
Thetask now imposed upon him was a most distasteful
‘and unweicome oue. He wasa good sailor, and aimed
on all eccasions to show proper obedience to the com-
mands:of his officers, but now he could not,
“Captain IHaley,’? he said, not stirring from his position,
“J hope you will excuse me.”
“Js this mutiny?’ roared the captain,
“No, Captain Haley, lL always mean todo my duty on
board ship.t? :
““E'have told you to flog this boy.” :
‘J cangt doit, Captain Haley. I have a boy of;my own
about the size of thyt lad there, and if I struck him’ ]’a
think it was my OWN boy that stood in his place.” ,
This unexpected opposition excited the fierce resent-
ment of the captain. He feit that a crisis had come, and
he was determined to be obeyed. ;
“Uuless you do as | bid you, I will keep you in irons for
the rest of the voyage.”’ hata
“You are the captain of this ship, and can throw me in
irons if youdike,” said Bates, with an air of dignity ‘de-
“spite his tarred hands and sailor jacket, “I haye'refused
to do no duty that belongs to me. When I signed. my
name to the’ship's papers I did not agree to flog Soys,”?
“Put him in irons!” roared the captain, incensed,’ “We
will see who és captain of this ship.'? F ne
The mandate was obeyed, and Bates was lodgod jn the
forecastle securely ironed, ‘
The captain himself seized the cat, and was about to-np-
ply it to fhe luckless cabin-boy, when a terrible blast,
springing up in an instant, as it were, struck the ship, al-
most throwing & upon its side. There was no time for
punishment now. The safety of the ship required in-
stant action, and Frank Price was permitted to replace
his jacket without having received a blow... .
TI have aright to throw
Lhave other
‘CHAPTER XXIX. ;
THE CAPTAIN’S REVENGE.
The storm which commenced so suddenly was one of
great vidience, It uired ail the captdin’s seamanship,
and the efforts of all the crew, to withstand it.
reluctant to doit, Captain Haley was forced to release
Bates frome fiis irons and order him to daty. ‘The latter
worked energeticatly, and showed that he did. not intend
to shirk any part of his duties as seaman. But the result
of the’stormr was that the vessel was driven out of her
course, and her rigging suffered considerable injury. The
wind blew alinight.. Toward morning it abated, and, as
the morning light broke, the look-out descried a small
island distant about a league.
The captain looked at it through his glass, and then ex-
amined the chart.
“J can’t make out what island that is,’’ he said.
“It is not largeenough,’’ suggested the mate, ‘‘to finda
place on the map."’
“Perhaps ita4s as you say,’! said Captain Haley, thought-
fully. “I havea Mind togoon shore and explore it.
There may be some fresh fruits that will vary our diet.”
This plan was carried out. A boat was got ready, and
the captain got in, with four sailors to row.
Just as he was about to descend into the boat, he
turned to Robert, who was looking curiously toward land,
and said: Age
‘“‘Rushton, would you like to go with us ?? ee
It was precisely what Robert wanted, He had a boy's
love of adventure, and the thought of exploring an island,
perhaps hitherto unknown, struck his fancy, and he
eagerly accepted the invitation,
“Jump in, then,’ said Haley, striving to appear indit-
ferent; but there was a gleam of exultation in his eye,
which Jie took care to conceal from tie unsuspecting
oy.
Swiftly the boat sped through the waters, pulled by the
strong arms of four stout sailors, and, reaching theisland,
was drawn into a little cove, which seemed made for it.
“Now for an exploring expedition,” said the captain.
“Boys,” addressing the. sailors, “remain near the boat.
i willsoon ve back. Rushton,” he said, turning to our
hero, “‘go-qhere you like, but be back in an hour.”
“Yes, sir@’ answered Robert.
fiad it been Captain Evans instead of Captain Haley,
he would have_proposed to join him, but knowing what
he did of the latter, he preferred his own company,
The isian wae about five miles in circumference, Near
the shoreit wa
there were nipnetous trees, Some producing fruit. After
some weeks of the monotonous life on ship-board, Robert
enjoyed pressing the solid earth once more. Besides, this
was the first foreign shore his foot had evertrodden. The
thought that he was thousands of miles away from home,
had payer before been trodden bg a civilized foot, filled.
him with a sense of excitement and exhilaration.
he thought. ‘What a wonderful chance it would be if
I should come upen him unexpectedly !"? ;
at was very improbable,*but Robert thought enough of
it to look about him carefully. But everywhere the jand
seemed to be virgin, without other inhabitants than the
birds of strange plumage and note which sang in the
branches of thé trees.
“J don't believe any one ever lived. here,” thought
Robert.
It struck him that he should like fo live upon the island
a week, if he conld be sure of being taken off at the end
of that time. The cool breezes from the ocean swept over
the litue Blontegas made it delightfully cool at morning
and evenigg, 4ough hot in the middle of the day.
Robert Saiun d along till he came to a little valley.
He descended the slope, and sat downin the shade ofa
‘ broa@leaved tree. The grass beneath him made .a_ soft
couch, and he felt that he should enjoy lying there the rest
of the day. But his time was limited. The captain had
told him tobe back in an hour, and he felt that it was
time for him to be stirring.
“T shall not have time to go any further,’ he reflected,
“T must be getting back to the boat.”’
As this occurred to him, he rose to his feet, and looking
up, he started a little at seeing the captain himself de-
scending the slope.
“Well, Robert,’ said Captain Haley, ‘“‘how do you like
the isiand ?””
“Very much, indeed,’ said our hero. “It seems pleas-
ant to be on 4and after being on ship-board so many
weeks.” :
“Quite true. This is abeautifal place you have found.”
“) was resting under this tree, listening to the birds,
but I felt afraid I should not be back to the boat in time,
and was just starting to return.”
““[ think we can overstay. our time a liftle,” said Haley.
“They won't go back without me, I reckon,’ he added,
with a laugh.
Robert was nothing loth to stay, and resumed his-place
on the grass. The captain threw himself on the grass hbe-
side him.”
“I suppose you have read Robinson Crusoe?’ he said.
“O yes, moré than once.’’
5 a how it would seem to live on such an island
as this
‘J should like it very well,’ said Robert, “that isif I
could go off at any time. I was just thinking of it when
you came up.”
“Were you?” asked the capfain, showing his teeth in
an unpleasant smile, which, however, Robert did not see.
“You think you would like it?! .
“Yes; sir.” :
“J am glad of (hat.
“Why?! asked Robert, tarning round and looking his
companion in the face.
“Because,” said Haley, changing his tone, “I am going
to give you a chance to try it.”’
Robert sprang to his feet in instant alarm, but too late.
Haley had grasped him by the shoulder, and in his grasp
the boy’s strength was nothing.
“What are you going to do?’ asked Robert, with fear.’
ful foreboding.
“Wait a minute and you will see.”
The captain had drawn.a stout cord, brought for the
purpose, from his pocket, and dragging Robert to a tree
tied him securely to the trunk. The terrible fate destined
for him was presented vividly to the imagination of our
hero; and, brave as he was, if almost unmanned him.
core. his struggles useless, he resorted to‘ expostula-
ion.
“Tam sure you cannot mean this, Captain Haley?’ he
said. ‘You won’tleave me to perish miserably on this
island?”
“Won't 1?’ returned the captain, with an ewl light in
his eyes.. “Why won’t 17?
“Surely you will not be so inhuman ?’
‘Look here, boy,’’ said the captain, “vou needn't try
to come any of your high-flown notions about humanity
overme. J owe youa debt, and by Heaven I’m going
to pay itt You didn’t think much of humanity when you
wonnded me.”
‘I couldn't help if, said Robert. “I didn’t ‘want to
hurt you. I only wanted to protect your uncle.”’
“That's all very well, but when you interfered in a famiiy
quarrel, you meddled with what did not concern you. Be-
side you have been inciting my crew to mutiny.”
“I have not done so,” said Robert.
“} overheard you the other night giving some of prec-
ious advice to my cabin-voy. Beside you had the impru-
dence tointerfere with me in a matter of discipline.”
“Frank Price deserved no punishment."
lowever
‘bare of vegetation, but further inland}:
and that possibly the land upon which he now walked |.
“What would mother say if she should see me now ??,
my father had been wafted in his boat to this island, and,
“That is for me to decide.
pndent to me on my own deck, I swore to be revenged,
und the time has come soouer than J anticipated.”
“Captain Haley,’ said Robert, “in all that | have done
I have tried to do right. If 1 have done wrong it was be-
cause l erred in judgment, If you will let me go, 1 will
promise to say nothing of the attempt you make to keep
me here,"’
“You are very kind, sneered the captain; ‘‘but I mean
to tuke cave Of that myself. You may make all the com-
plaints you like after 1 have lefi you here.”
“There is One who will hear me,’’ said Robert. ‘I
shall not be wholly without friends.”
“Whodo you mean
“God!"? said Robert, solemnly,
Rubbish!’ retorted eaeu contemptwuonusly.
**L shall not een While I have Him to appeal to.”
‘Justas you like,” said the captain, shrugging his
shouklers. ‘You are welcome to ali the comfort you can
find in your present situation,’*
By this tine Robert was bound to the trunk of the tree
by accord, which passed around his waist. In addition
to this Haley tied his wrists together, fearing that other-
wise he might be able to unfasten the knot. He now rose
to his feet, and looked down upon the young captive with
an air of triumph.
“Have you any messages tosend by me, Rushton?’ he
said, with a sneer.
“Are you quite determined to leave me here?’ asked
Robert in anguish.
“Quite 80.”
“What will the sailors say when I do not return ?””
“Don’t trouble’ yourself about them. TI will take care
ofthat. If you have got anything to say, say it quick, for
IT must be going.”’
“Captam Haley,’’ said Robert, his courage rising, and
looking the captain firmly in the face, ‘I may die here,
aud so gratify your enmity, but the time will come when
you will repent what you are doing.”
“Dll risk that,’’ said Haley, coolly. ‘‘Good-by.*!
He walked up the slope and disappeared from view,
leaving Robert bound to the tree, a helpless prisoner.
CHAPTER XXX.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
Captain Haley kept on his way to the shore, The four
sailors were all within hail, and on the captain’s approuch
got the boat in readiness to return. ,
“Where's the boy?? asked Haley.
back ?””
“No, sir’?
“That is strange. I told him to be back in an hour, and
it is already past that time.”
“Perhaps he hasn’ta watch,” suggested oneof the
sailors.
“T will wait ten minutes for him,” said Haley, taking
out his watch. “If he is not back in that time I must go
without him.”
The sailors did not reply, but looked anxiously inland,
hoping to cateh sight of Robert returning. But, bound
ashe was, we can understand why they looked in vain.
“Shall 1 go and look for him?” asked one.
“No,’? said Haley, decidedly; “1 cannot spare you.”
The ten minutes were soon up.
‘Into the boat with you,” commanded the captain. ‘I
shall wail no longer.”
Slowly and reluctantly the sailors took ulieir places, for
Robert: was'a favorite with them.
“Now, men, give way,’’ said Haley.
it is his own fault’?
They reached the vessel in duetime. There was a mur-
mur among the crew when it was found that Robert had
been left behind, but Knowing the captain's disposition,
no one excépf Bates dared to expostulate.
“Onaptain Haley,’ said he, approaching and touching
his hat, ‘‘will you give me leave to go on shore for the
young gentieman that was left?”
“No,’? said the captain. ‘He had fair warning to be
back in time and chose to disregard its. My. duty to the
owners Will. not permit me to delay the ship on his ac-
count.’?
“He. was a relation of the owner,” suggested Bates.
“No, he was, not, and if he said so he lied. Go about
your duty, aud take care [have ne more faultto find with
you, or you go back into jrons,”’
Bates ventured upon no furtherexpostulation. He saw
through the captain's subterfuge, and felt persuaded that
it had Deen his deliberate intention front the first to aban-
don Robert to his fate. He began to think busily, and
finally resolved to goto the island and search for him.
For this purpose a boat would be needful, since the dis-
tance, nearly a league, was too far toswin, Now, to ap-
propriate one of the ship's boats when the captain was
on deck would be impossible, but Haley, within five min-
utes, went below. Bates now proceeded to carry out his
‘Hasn't he got
“Tf the boy is lost
n.
What are you going to do?’? demanded one of the
sailors.
“Dm going after the boy."’
“You'll be Jeft along with him.’? \
“Piitake the risk. He shan’t say he didn’t have one
friend.”
By the connivance of his feliow sailors Bates got safely
off with the boat, and began to pull toward shore, He
was already a mile distant from the vessel when Captain
Haley came on deck.
“Who is thatin the boat?’? he demanded, abruptly
“7 don’t know, sir.”
He pointed the glass toward the boat, and though he
could not fairly distinguish the stout sailor who was pull-
ing the boat through the water, he suspected that it was
Bates. 1 v
“Where is Bates?! he asked.
No one had seen him. ~- .
“The fool has gone to destruction,’’ said Captain Haley.
“T shall not go after him. He is welcome to live on the
island if he chooses.’*
His reasvn for not pursuing the fugitive may be readily
‘understood. He feared that Robert would be found bound
to the tree, and the story the boy ,would fell would go
heavily against him. He. hurried, preparations for the
vessel’s departure, and in ashort.time it was. speeding
away from the island with two less on board.
IT must now go back to Robert, whom we left bound. to
& tree, ‘ :
After the captain left him, he struggled hard to unloose
‘the cords which bound him. . The love of life was strong
within him, and the thought of dying under such circum-
stances was appalling. He struggled manfully, but
though he was strong for a boy, the cord was strong also,
and the captain ee how to tie a Knot,
Robert ceased.at last, tired with his efforts. A feeling
of despair came over him, and the tears started unbidden
to his eyes, as he.thought how his mother would watch
husband and son both taken from her, Could it be that
he was to die, when life had only just commenced, thous-
ands of miles away from home,.in utter solitude? Had he
come so far for this? Then, again, he feared that his
mother would suffer want and privation when the money
which lie had left behind was exhausted. In his pocket
there were nearly two hundred dollars, not likely to be of
any service to him. He wished that they were in her pos-
session.
“Ifonly he had left me free and unbound,’ thought
Robert, ‘I might pick up a living on the island, and per-
haps some day attract the attention of some vessel,’’
With this thought, and the hope it brought, he made
renewed, efforts to release himself, striving to untie, the
cord which fastened his wrists with his teeth. He made
some progress, and felt. encouraged, but it, was hard
work, and he was compelled Lo stop from time to time to
rest, It was in one of these intervals that he heard his
name called. Feeling sure that there was no ohne on the
island but himself, he thought he was deceived. But the
sound came néarer, and he distinctly heard ‘“‘Robert!""
“Here Iam!’ he shouted in return, liis heart filled with
sudden thanksgiving.
“Captain Haley only meant to frighten me,’ he thought,
“He has sent some men back for me.’?
In his gratitude he thanked Heaven fervently for so
changing the heart of his enemy, and once more life
looked bright.
“Robert!” he‘heard again. ;
“Herel? he shouted, with all the strength of his lungs.
This time the sound reached Bates, wio, running up
his boat on shore and securing it, was exploring the
island in search of our hero. Lookin around him, he at
length, trom the edge of the valley, descried Robert.
“Ts that you, lad’? he asked.
“Yes, Bates, come and untie me’?
Bates saw his situation with surprise and indignation.
“That's some of the Captain’s work,” he at once de-
cided. ‘He must be a cursed scoundrel to leave that
poor lad there to die.”
i He quickened his steps, and was soon at the side of our
ero.
“Who tied you to the tree, lad ?"? he asked.
“Did Captain Haley send you for me?’ asked Robert
first, for he had made up his mind in that case not to ex-
ose him, .
“No; I stole one of the ship’s boats, and came for you
ithout leave.”
“The captain didn’t Know of your coming ?"”
**No; I asked his leave, and he wouldn’t give it.”
“It was Captain Haley that tied me here,” said Robert,
his scruples removed.
“What did he do that for, lad ?'?
“It’s a long story, Bates, It’s because he hates me, and
wishes me harm. Untte these cords, and I'll teil you ail
about it.’?
“That I'll doin ajiffy, my lad. I’m an old sailor, and
I can untie knots as well as tie them.”?
In five minutes Robert was free. He stretched his
limbs with a feeling of great relief, and then turned to
Bates, whose hand he grasped. :
“Tt owe my life to you, Bates,’ he said.
“Maybe not, lad. We're fa a tight place yet.”
“Has the ship gone?”
‘Most likely. The captain wont send back for either of
us in a hurry.”’
“And you have made yourself a prisoner here for my
sake?!’ asked Robert, moved by the noble conduct of the
rough sailor.
“Tt couldn’t abide to leave you alone, There’s more
chance for two than for one,’
“Heaven bless you, Bates! I wont soon forget what
ypu an done for me. Do you think there is any chance
or us ;
‘Of course there is, lad. We've got a boat, and wecan
live here till some vessel comes within sight.??
“Let us go down to the shore, aud see if we can see
anything of the ship.” :
The two bent their steps to the shore, and looked out to
sea, They could still see the ship, but it was already be-
coniing a speck in the distant waters,
“They have left us,’? said Robert, turning to his com-
panion,
‘Ay, lad, the false-hearted yillain has done his worst.”?
and wait for.him in vain—how lonely she wonld feel, with
“Youre young, lad, and you don’t know what a sight
of villainy there isin the world. We've got to live here a
while, likely. Have you seen anything in the line of grub
hereabouts?”
“There is fruit on some of the trees.”
‘That's something. Maybe we shall find some roots
besides. We’il draw the boat farther upon shore, and go
on an explorin’ expedition.”
The boat was drawn completely up, and placed bottom
upwards at asafe distance from the sea, Then Robert
und his companion started to explore the island which
had so unexpectedly becume their home.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE ISLAND REALM.
But for the knowledge that he was a prisoner, Robert
would have enjoyed his present situation. The island,
though small, Was covered with a Juxuriant vegetation,
and was swept by cooling breezes which tempered the ar-
dor of the sun's rays. And of this island realm he and
his companion were the undisputed sovereigns, There
Was lo one to dispute their sway. All that it yielded was
at their absolute disposal, ;
I] wonder what is the name of this island!’ said
Robert, ;
“Perhaps it has no name. Mayhap we are the first that
ever visited it.’ L
“I have a great mind to declare myself the king,” said
our young hero, smiling, “‘auless you want the office.”
“You shall be captain, and I will be mate,” said Bates,
to whom the distinctions of sea life were more familiar
than those of courts,
‘*How long do you think we shall have to stay here?”
asked Robert, anxiously.
“There's no telling, lad. We'll have to stick upa pole
on the seashore, and run op a flag when any vessel comes
near. :
«We have no flag.”
“Have you a handkerchief?"
“One oniy,’’ said Robert.
“Tavs one more than b have.
iv’s wanted.”
‘Where shall we sleep ?””
“That's what Ihave been thinking. We must builda
house,”!
“A brown stone front??? said Robert.
ought to hve in a good house,”
“So he shall,’? said Bates. ‘Te shall have the first on
the island?
“T wonder if it rains often.”
“Not much at this season, In the winter a good deal of
rain falls, but] hope we wont be here then.”
“Where shall we build our house ??
“It would be pleasanter inland, but we must be near
the shore, so as fo be in sight of ships.”
“That’s true, Bates. That is the most important con-
sideration.”
Tiey set to work at once, and builta hut, something
like au Indian's wigwam, about a hundred yards from the
shore. It was composed, for the most part, of branches
of trees, anid inclosed, an inner space of about fifteen feet
in diameter. They gathered large quantities of leaves,
which were spread upon the ground for beds.
“That's sofier than our bunks aboard ship,” said Bates.
“Yes,’? said Robert. “Ll wouldn't wishoany better bed.
It is easy tu buildand furnish a house of your own here.”
“The next thing is dinner,” said his companion.
“Shall we go to market??? asked Robert wilh a smile.
“We'll find a market just outside.”
“You mean the trees ?? : }
“Yes, we'll find our dinner already cooked on them."
Tie fruit of which they partook freely was quite sweet
and palatable. Still one kind of: foud cloys atter atime,
and so our, new settlers found if. Besides, it was not
very substantial, and failed to Keep up their wonted
Strength. This set them to looking up some other article
Which might impart variety to their fare. At last they
succeeded in finding an esculent root, which they partook
of at first with some caution, fearing that it might be un-
Wholesome, Finding, however, that eating it produced
no unpleasant effects, they continued the use of it. Even
this, however, failed to afford them as much. variety as
they wished.
“I feel as if I should like some fish for breakfast,’’ said
Robert one morning, on waking up. 4
“So should I, lad,” returned Bates. “Why shouldn’t we
have some ?? ;
“You nean that we shall go fishing?’
“Yes, we've got a boat, and I have some cord... We'll
rig up fishing lines, and go out on a fishing cruise.”
Robert adopted the idea with alacrity. It promised
variety and excitement.
“I wonder we hadn’t thonght ofit before. I used to be
a fisherman, Bates.”
“Did you???
“Yes, L supplied the market at home for a short time,
till Captain Haley smashed my boat.’?
“The mean lubbert I wish we had him here.’!
“T don’t. I prefer his room to his company.”?
“Pd try how le’d like being tied to a tree.’?
“7 don’t think yon’d untie him again in a hurry.”
“You may bet high on that, lad.”?
They rigged their fishing-lines—cutting poles from the
trees—and armed them with hooks, of which, by good
luck, Bates happened to have a supply with him. Then
they launched the ship’s boat, in which Bates had come
to the island, and put out to sea, =~ 3
Robert are the row in the early morning, and won-
dered they had not thought of taking out the boat before.
At last they came to the business which brought thenr
out, and in about half-an-hour had succeeded in catching
four fishes, weighing perhaps fifteen pounds altogether.
“That'll be enough for us, unless you are very hungry,”
said Robert. ‘Now, suppose we land and cook them.”
‘Ay, ay, lad!” ee
Of course, their cooking arrangements were very prim-
itive. In the first place they were compelled to make a
fire by the method in use among savages, of rubbing two
sticks smartly together, and catching the flame in a little
prepared tinder, The fish were baked over the fire thus
kindled. Though the outside was smoked, the inside was
sweet and palatable, and neither was disposed to be fas-
tidions. The preparation of the meal took considerable
time, but they had abundance of that, and occupation
prevente@ thelr brooding over their solitary situation.
‘I wish I had ‘Robinsoe Crusoe’ here,” said Robert—
“we might get some hints from his adventures. I didn’t
imagine, when I used to read them, that'I should ever be
in a similar position.”
“T’ve heard about liim,’’ said Bates; ‘‘but I never was
much of a reader, and I never read his yarn. You might
inaybde tell me something of it.”’ i
“I will teli you alllean remember, but that isn’t very
much,” said Robert. © ee
He rehearsed to the attentive sailor such portions as he
could call to mind of the wonderful story which for cen-
turies to come is destined to enchain the attention of ad-
yenturous boys. .
“That's a pretty good yarn,” said Bates, approvingly.
“Did he ever get off the island ?”’
“Yes, he got off, and became quite rich before he died.”
“Maybe iv il be so with us, lad.”
“JT hope so. I don’t know whatI should do if I were
alone as he was, It’s selfish in me, Bates, to be glad that
you are shut up here with me, but I cannot help it.”
“You needn't try, lad. It would be mighty dull being
alone here, ’specially if you was tied to a tree.’
“But suppose we should never get off?” ’
“We won’t suppose that, lad; Weare sure to get off
some time.”
This confident assurance always cheered up Robert, and
for the timeinspired him with equal confidence, But when
day after day passed away, andthe promised ship did not
come in sight, he used to ponder thoughtfully ‘over hes
situation, and the possibility that he might have to epend
years at least. on this lonely island. What in the mean-
time would become of his mother? She might die, and if
he ever returned it Would be to realize the loss he had sus-
tained, The island, pleasant as it was, began to lose its
charm. If his sailor companion ever shared his feelings,
he never manifested them, unwilling to let the boy see
that he was becoming discouraged.
At length—about six weeks after their arrival upon the
island—they were returning from an excursion to the
other side of the island, when on arriving in sight of the
shore, an unexpected sight greeted their eyes,
A pole had been planted in the sand, and from it waved
the familiar flag, deur to the heart of every American—the
Star-spangied banuer.
They no sooner caught sight of it, than, in joyful ex-
citement, they ran to the shore with all the speed they
could muster.
We'll rig that up when
“The governor
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
HISTORICAL ITEMS.
THE first steamship that ever crossed the Atlantle was
the Savannah, from Savannah, Ga., to Liverpool, in 1819.
She sailed from Savannah on Muy 22d, but, her fuel hay-
ing been consumed in ten days, she did not reach Liver-
pool until June 22d. On April 23d, 1838, the Engiish
steam-packets Great Western and Sirius arrived at New
York, commencing a new and expeditious mode of inter-
course between England and America. The Great West-
ern, measuring 1,340 tuns, made the passage in 14 1-2
days, against head winds and a rough sea. Each of the
three vessels above-named were paddle or side-wheelers.
The fastest passage from New York to Queenstown has
been made by the Cunard vessel Russia, the time being a
little short of eight days. The best time from Queenstown
to New York was by the White Star vessel Adriatic, in 7
days 18 hours and 55 minutes.: The vessels are generally
timed to Queenstown, not Liverpool.
THE Jews have been long settled in England. There is
mention of them as early as A. D. 750. William the Con-
queror encouraged them to settle in the land of his con-
uest. Numbers of Jews resided at Oxford, A. D. 1076.
hey enjoyed considerable favor under the first three
Norman kings, during which period they doubtless laid
the foundation of their subsequent wealth. After the
reign of King John, they suffered much persecution, and
were eventually banished from the country in 1294. They
continued in legal exile for 357 years; but Cromwell, al-
lowed them to return in 1656, and in the same year they
erected their first synagogue in King-street, Duke’s-place,
— and in 1664 founded a school called “The Tree of
sife,
THANKSGIVING day in this conntry came in with the
Puritans, who brought it from England, although it may
be said to have originated among the Jews. It is quite
apparent in the song of Moses and the dancing of Miriam,
recorded in the fifteenth chapter of Exodus. The Psalms
are suggestive of thanksgiving, and nations celebrated
great public events in thanksgivings, But among the
Puritans thanksgiyings were ordered upon every small
success, 80 that they became exceedingly common.
BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.
Always something to suffer; always a burden to bear;
Never a moment free from the pressure of sin and care.
Always a mark for Satan; alwaysin storm and strife;
Always finding a bitter taste to the sweetest things of life,
Always in search of treasures that lie in to-morrow’s field;
Always in search of pleasures that little enjoyment yield.
Never at rest a moment; ne’er with our lot content;
In pain, and troubly, and turmoil éver our days ‘are spent.
Still in the hour of anguish there cometh a friend to blesa;
One who is tull of pity, o’erflowing with tenderness;
One who knoweth our sorrows, knoweth our feeble frame;
One who, despite our follies, always remains the same.
Always ready to help us over the roughest place;
Always ready to cheer us with words ot infinite grace;
Always ready and longing our heaviest burdens to bear.
E’en in our darkest hours Jesus is always there!
This is the staff we lean on, walking through perilous ways;
This is the light that always illumines our darkest days;
All through the twilight shadows close by His side we keep.
Lo, Lain with you always!” He says, and we fall asleep.
7 Et a
Midnight Prophecy;
HEIR OF STRATHSPEY TOWERS.
By Mrs, Schuyler Meserole,
Author of “WEDDED FOR AN HOUR,” ete.
Sales
{‘The Midnight Prophecy” wns commenced jn No. 38.. Back
Nos. can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. }
CHAPTER XLIV.
A RELUCTANT CONSENT.
The €arl’s attack proved to be a sligtt one, and by sun-
set he was on his feet and able to listen to the doywager’s
plan for having Lady Marguerite married before the next
London season, vata
“My diamonds are gone,” snarled the old counte
‘and something else will be gone, if | leave matters loose
much longer, I teil you, Strathspey, Vye made up my
mind to have the wedding this fall.» What do you say?” -
The earl considered a moment, He was eeling wreich.—
ediy feeble and hopeless just then; and the doctors had
told him plainly, that if he gaye way to his passions, or |
The old.countess. chuckled With: plangare; ashe led her
forth in the eyes of the vast assembly; siender and fair as
a lily, in her gleaming, gossamer robes, with pearls amid
the golden meshes of her stiken hair; the fairest aud
sweetest maiden present, judeed, the fairest in ull wide
England,
“See what I've done for you, she said, nudging Sir
Bayard with her elbow. *Wonld you ever have won such
a wife as that, think ye, withont my help? >
Sir Bayard bowed deeply, his gray eyes flashing with
admiration, as they followed the graceful figure of his
affianced bride, “And she’s agreed to my plan.’ con-
|tinued the dewager; “we're to have the wedding in
November, Bayard Brompton, you're a lucky fellow!
luckier than you deserve to be ['m ibinking!”
Sir Bayard flushed to the roots of iis yellow hair, but
he met the dowager’s keen glance with boid, unbiinking
eyes,
“I don't pretend to gay that I.deserve my good tuck,
your lidyship,’’ he replied,
“You don’t, el ?"? grunted the countess—‘‘well, pow, I
want you to deserve it—a good, true man deserves every-
thing—don’t you know that? Buyard Brompton,’ she
added suddenly, with another keen glance above her gog-
gles, “you're my kinsman, and J used to like you years
ago, but you've changed—I don’t like the took in your
eyes—what isit? What evil thing have you done, that
has left its brand upon you?”
The baronet was fuirly gasping.
“Why, my dear countess,’? he began, his voice unsteady
' | and his eyes shilling beneath her gaze, ‘it is unfair, un-
generous——”’
“Oh, flddiesticks,”’ interrupted the dowager, ‘that sort
of stuifis wasted on me, I’ve got eyes and can see, if I
do wear goggies.. Vin hall, sorry that I didn't leave you
to your vagabond life—I don’t wonder that Peari dislikes
yon, ,
“My dear countess,” began Sir Bayard again, growing
white to the lips and trembling,
“Hush,’? snapped the dowager; ‘tell you T can't trust
oe he? I didnt leay, » starve; but you're
my Kinsman, and "tis not my Rabittoturn back when
I’ve once started. I’}l go on, but. 1 shall keep my eye on
you, young man, and mark what Tsay, when that pretty
child yonder is yonr wife, if to my knowing you cause her
one hour’s sorrow, you -sliall rue it, you shall, Bayard
Brompton. You know I never make idie threats.”?
» indeed, my dear countess,” the barovet hastened to
reply, his cheeks» flushing and his eyes» glowing with an
piuolion Cay. was es sincere, ‘‘Lhere is no need of your
caution. Toy Lin Marguerite too. well to cause her
sorrow. T wethd lay down my life to Win her regard.’
“Well, I'm glad to hear il,’ returned the countess,
somewhat moNifieds ‘she's a good, affectionate child, and
if you do as you ought you'll win her over by-and-by.”’
The music had ceased and the young heir of Lislewood
was conducting his Jovely partuer back to the terrace,
half-way down the fir-shaded ayenue, when a young nan
Stopped them, a tail, handsomre wan, with a profusion of
black, curling hair, and a heavy, foreigu-lovoking, black
suffered himsel! to be excited, tre was Hable to die at any
moment. lu the event of his death, it would be better
and safer to have poor little Pearl married and well cared
for. And Sir Bayard Brompton seeméd to be a good man.
“Well,” he replied, at lust, ‘the child isso young, but
if she is willing, I am!” .
“Enough said!’ snapped the countess; ‘‘we'll make her
willing, if that’s ali! it’s settled! You.can make your
arrangements, aud Til make mine; and wey have the
wedding when we get back from Ravenswold."* |
She caught up her stick and hobbled off, making her
Way straight to Lady Marguerite’s boudoirggnd-entering
unannounced, The poor gir) was reclining ona geuch, her
siveel face looking inexpressilly sad and jjopeless.
“Margnerite,’? began the. dowager, abruptly, 'f shall
order your wedding Crousseau belnre We stanblor Ravens-
wold! Have you any suggestious to make, apy particular
fancy in regard to it?’ :
Poor Pearl struggled bravely fora moment, and then
burst into passionate subbing,
“O, Aunt Neville!” she cried, crossing the room and
throwing herself at her aunt’s knees, *‘lye tried to keep
it back, but the, trath must be told, Ido not, love Sir
Bayard, and IT cannot marry him!’? se
Lady Neville sat in silent and sieved amazement.
“Why, Marguerite!’ she exclaimed at last, ‘‘after you
agreed to the arrangement, and it hag been made
public?”
Il know,” sobbed the poor giri; “I did it to please
papa and the countess, aud I hoped I should like Sir
Bayard. But I do not—I cannot—I dislike him more
every hour Flive.. T hate him—I hate him!’
“Marguerite!? cried Lady Neville sternly. P
She had no children of her own, and her Neart was set
on her niece’s marriage. She had no sympathy for the
poor child's agony, she only feared that her prospects
might be ruined, that the dowager might take offense.
But the, dowager sat like a statue, gnuwiug the jeweled
knob of her cane.
“Marguerite,” cried Lady Neville sternly, ‘what do
you mean ?? La
The girl did not-answer, she only sobbed as if her heart
were breaking. All at once the countess started up, and
went stumping across the room.
“Margnerite; Strathspey,” she said, putting her lips to
her ear, ‘do you want to kill your father?”
The girl looked up with affrighted eyes. :
“The doctors say that the least worry or excitement
may kill him without a moment’s warning! He has set
his heart. on this marriage, on seeing you comfortably
settled before he dies; you can disappoint him, frustrate
all his plans, excite him, kill him, if you like—I have not
a word to say—there are plenty other people who will be
glad enough to get my fortune.”?
She stumped off again, her cane rattling after her, leav-
ing the poor, affrighted child Kneeling at her auut’s feet.
She looked up, her blue eyes full of piteous terror. ‘
“My child,” said Lady Neville gravely, “what the conn-
tess says is true+your poor father is in ‘a very feeble
condition. Doctor Gregory warned me only yesterday
that he must not be troubled or excited, or the conse-
quences might be fatal. Think of that, Marguerite, and
try to school your foolish heart into obedience.’ You have
always been a gentle, obedient child. Do not disappoint
us all now, and break your fond father’s heart.’?
A rap at the door interrupted them, and a servant
looked in. E: ,
“If you please, my lady, the ear] would lixe to see Lady
Marguerite in the library.’?
Pvuor Pearl arose, her face tear-stained, her bright hair
in disorder. q
“My dear,’ said Lady Neville, “compose yourself, I
value his life, do not disappoint and distress him.”
When) Marguerite entered the library, she found her
father seated in an arm-chair, his head lying back, and’
his white, worn face Jooking sad and peless. He
reached out his ari to clasp her, a smile brightening his’
eyes.: Marguerite flew to his embrace; she Joyed her
father with all her poor, motherless, little heart.
“Darling little‘Pearl,”’ he murmured, “you are all poor
papa’s comfort now!”’
By an effort Pear! kept back. her tears, and choked down
the sobs that seemed tv be bursting her lieart.
“Dear, dear papa!’ she whispered, caressing his hair
with her soft, little fingers.
The proud earl thrilled to his heart's core, her dainty
touches were so like the caresses of the wife he had once
loved so fondly.
“Little Pearl, he began at last, his volce unsteady
from emotion, ‘‘do you Jove the man who is to be your
husband 7?
For a moment Pearl did not answer, and in that mo-
ment she endured the agony of a life-time.
“] don't think, dearest papa,” she said then, her young
voice forced into silvery calmness, “that I love any one
in the world but you.” ;
The earl drew her very close to him.
“Ah! little one,” he said, ‘your love is very precious;
but I may die and leave you, Pearl.”
“Q, papa, dearest papa!’ she cried, in consternation.
“Nay, my child, you must hear me. Tam not strong—
Imay lave to leave you svon, little girl, and it would be
a comfort to me to see you the wife of some good |
man, beyond the reach of all harm. I think Sir Bayard is
a good mun, and he seems very fond of you. You are
pre to marry him, Pearl?’
Aguin that awful struggle, lest she’ should betray her-
self and excite her father. She cotiquered—for, like her
mother before her, she was capable of immolating lier
own heart for the sake of one she loved.
“EF am willing ‘todo anything in the world that will
make you happy, dear papa,’’ she replied, lier voice cali
and steady.
“Then you do not object to an early marriage? You
will marry Sir Bayard this fall?” 2
“T will do whatever you desire me,*papa.”
“That's my own geod, lttie daughter! TI do desire it
very much, my-dear; I shall feel much easier when you
are Sir Bayard’s wi.e. So it is all settled, and the queer
old dowager may have it all justas she funcies. We'll
have a grand wedding in November, and papa will run
down to London ina few weeks, and purcliase the very
rarest diamonds that can be found, to put in the place of
those you have lost. 'There—kiss me now, and run away;
you have made me happy, and I'll try to get an hour's
sleep.’!. .
She kissed him,and left the library with & slow and
dragging step. Diamonds for her wedding! What bitter,
bitter mockery!
CHAPTER XLV.
THE BALL AT LISLEWOOD. ,
Despite the earl’s illness, and Lady Marguerite’s hid-
den heart-ache, they all went to the ball at Lisiewood. ~~
ing suit, betrayed no sign of the hopeless misery that con-
sumed his heart, save in his death-white face and des-
pairing eyes. The exultant old Countess of Mortlake,
went as a matter of course, rustling in her stiff brecade,
with poor littie Pearl under her wing, looking like a white
dove in the ciutches of a vulture, and Sir Bayard Bromp-
ton dancing attendance on her, flushed and radiant with
saccess; Lady Neville and Sir Marshall went also, but
young Lord Angus ordered his roan mare and galloped
down to Doctor Renfrew’s.
The ball was a grand affair, and very largely attended
vy the peasantry us well as the nobility of the county.
The Lislewood grounds were beautifully adorned aga illum-
inated, and there was along table, in the old banquet
hall, laden with every, conceivable delicacy; flagons of
wine and ale ran like water. ;
The young heir of Lislewood, in whose’ honor all this
gayely was going on, was gayly called upon by old Sir
Ralph, his father, to open the ball with the prettiest
maiden present. A difficult task it would be to choose
one from among so many said one and another; but
young Sir Ralph did not hesitate an instant; he made his
implore you, before you go to your father; ‘and if you}
The earl haughty and handsome in his exquisite evens} |
beard, "OD :
“Sir Ralph,” he said, touching the young man's elbow
and nodding significantly in the direction of Lady Mar-
guerite. « ,
“With Lady Marguerite’s permission,’ replied Sir
Ralph, cordially, ‘it will afford me much pleasure.”!
Lady Murguerite inelined her graceful head in gracious
assent, and her escort )proceeded to present to her Cap-
from India. The bandseme captain uttered a few plea-
Santsentences and begged for the honor of the ensuing
danec; andatter his name had been duly inscribed on
Lady Marguerite’s tablets, the three proceeded to the
lerrace together, and the captain wis mtroduced to the
earl’s party.
“Lady Marguerite;*’ protested Sir Bayard, as the next
dance was forming, *l surely thought this dance was te
be mine’? i
“You did not ask for it, Sir Bayard,’ repiied Peart,
shrinking away from him in involuntary aversion, ;
he handsome captain took her hand ana drew it with-
in his arm, his bright brown eyes regarding the scowling
baronet with a sleady gaze, ‘ iat
“Sorry to supplant you, Sir Bayard,” he said, pleasant
ly; “but 1 could.not relinquish my right, in your favoron
any account. me, Lady Marguerite.’’ Qant
They floated away under the whispering arches of the
oaks, and Sir Bayard, returning to his seat on the terrace,
Sat and watched them With no pleasant look in his eyes.
The captain was dancing charmingly, and Pearl was grace
and loveliness combined. sth! 3
“Brompton,” suggested the countess, with another
nudge, ‘if you don’t look sharp that handsome captain
will be your rival—he’s just the sort of man to wina girl’s
heart.’?
The baronet set his teeth hard together; somehow the
ro presence of the captain disturbed and disconcertew
um.
The dance over, he went down to claim Lady Margne-
rite. The captain resigned her with gallant regret and
then sauntered along beside Sir Bayard in casual conver-
sation,
*4 a to have heard of you before, Sjr Bayard,” he
remarked, as they reached the terrace, “I had a friend
outin India a yearor so ago, who spoke of you so fre-
tain Ross Fossbreoke, ayoung guardsman, just returned
quently that your name got to be quite familiar.”
The baronet bowed, but a slow pallor crept up to his
face, giving it an awful, ghastly look, The captain’
bright brown eyes held him with their steady giance,.
“No doubt you remember him,” he continued 2—
ly. “Colonel Brooke—Colonei Richard Broo
queen’s cavalry?”
The baronet struggled to speak, but his white lips gave
forth no sound; the perspiration broke out in great beads
on his forehead, and his knees refused to support him.
“What alls the man ?”? shrieked the duwager.
“Brompton, are you ill? questioned the earl, coming
to his: side, » t
“I—I—It ig a Sudden faintness,’ gasped Sir Bayard.
“It is over now—cr will be when I get a glass of water.’?
“Allow me,’’ interposed the captain, gracefully, taking
possession of Lady Marguerite, “till you are sufficiently
recovered,” P ; oy ;
And they floated off again to the sound of a rythmic
Waltz, while Sir Bayard strotled off under the trees, mut-
tering bitter curses with every breath. 9 ee
At the door of the earl’s carriage, when the pallid day-
dawn began to streak the east, Cuptain Fossbrooke made
his ation ;
“With your permission,” he said, detaching a half-
blown bud from py Pearl's bouquet, and fastening it in
his vest, “F shall see youagain. To-morrow Il run down
to London, but on my return——"’
Sir Bayard cromdedt himisel between, cutting short the
sentence, but the captain’s bright brown eyes made am-
ple amends for it, as he bowed himself away; and Lady.
Marguerite, pligited to marry Sir Bayard Brompton
three brief months, went home, to dream, through the
morning hours, of those self-same brown eyes, and that
pleasant, musical voice. ‘
CHAPTER. XLVI.
MAGGIB, HAS AN OFFER.
Lord Angus, declining to attend the Lislewodd ball,
mounted his roan mare, and galloped across the downs to
Doctor Renfrew’s pretty cottage. Since the alternoon,
when his fall had thrown him upon Maggie’s hospitality,
he had been a constant visitor, and the old doctor, al-
eer he did not fancy the young peer, had treated him
civilly. :
_ He found Maggie alone that evening, her father haying
‘been called out to consult with the practising physician of
the neighborhood on a critical case. She was sitting on
the portico, under a canopy of honey-suckle and rose-yine,
with her guitar at her feet, and a little pet poodle on her
jap. Very charming she looked, in her delicate blue
wbuslin, with her dainty laces, and shining. bronze-brown
‘hair; and the young peer’s eyes lit with delight as they
rested on her. .
“So you're all alone, are you, Maggie?’ he said, after
the salutations of the evening, seaiing himself on the
steps near her feet, and tossing his hat and jeweled rid-
ing-whip out on the grass. “‘Where’s the doctor?”
“Gone to Blackwood Grange, to meet Doctor Gregory in
consultation,’? replied Maggie, ruuning her white fingers |
through her poodie’s shaggy hair.
“He is? Pm glad of it,” replied the young lord; ‘for [.
rode over to have a quiettalk with you. The folks from
the Towers have all gone to the balkat Lislewoou, but [
preferred coming to see you, Maggie!’’
“DPid-you, my lord,” replied Maggie, serenely, with
never a flush on her fair, pearl-like cheeks.
— “¥es did! And I may as well out with it at once,” ne
added; bluntly, moving a trifie nearer to her feet. “love
you, Maggie; don’t you krtow I do?’ ;
“Well, my lord,” answered Maggie, even more cooly
serene than before, *‘to tell you the truth, I have never
spent one thouglit upon the subject.’’
“Cool and skittish!” uttered the young peer, under his
breath. “Well, I rather tike that—a filly that takes to
the bit at once is never worth much.”
. Then he continued aloud:
_ **Well, ] want you to think of it, Maggie; for I do love
you better than any other woman alive. See here, what
Pve brought you!”
_ He drew from his pooket a heavy ring, studded with
magniticent diamonds, and held it up to her; but Maggie
lid re remove her white fingers from her poodle’s curly .
ead.
_ “Won't you let me see if it will fit you?’ he continued, -
making an effort to obtain possessiou of her hand,
She drew back with quiet dignity.
Lowa my lord; *tis useless; I shall never wear it, or ac-
| Her’ cool, quiet voice exasperated him, and his hot
blood began to stir.
“O, nonsense!’ he said. ‘It is well enough to play shy
at first, Maggie; but ‘tis time to drop that role now.
love you, I tell you, and I am oue of the richest men in
England, and able to let you live like a rca You shall
have the richest dresses and costliest jewelS in London,
and the handsomest rooms to live in, and servants to
come at your beck and call, and I’ll be with you day and
night—what do you say, Maggie ?”*
“Say to what, Lord Strathspey ?’?
The young inan.faltered a little; his eyes fell beneath
her steady gaze. :
“Whiy,’’ he said, atlast, “I’m going to London in a
week, and l/l arrange it all; and have your apartments
fit for a queen, if you’!l come with me—will you, Maggie?’
| He arose, and put out his arm to clasp her; but her
ringing voice arrested him,
*Lord Strathspey!’ she cried, rising also, and confront-
ing him, her waxen cheeks flushing, her gold-stone eyes
in ablaze, ‘don’t dare to put your hand on me! You have
insulted me in my father’s house—tinatis enough! Leave
me now, sir!’
_ He was utterly confounded for an instant. The idea
Way to the terrace, where the earl’s party were seated,
and choose Lady Marguerite. ;
that she would refuse his love, and the luxuries. he could
,
*
a Preece
:
i
a
i
are
2 REE ee IR Re
amen ean =
rive her, had never entered his dull brain. Te thought to
ve her fur the asking, yet Iter passionate refusal did not
i iis leaden eyes Mashed with renewed
re eS
y Jove, yout
: h the winning, Magzgiel’’ he re-
plied, atiast. “I Jike you for your mettle. You shall be
my wife—do you fiene}—my true and lawful wife! Vl
make you Lady Stratuspey!?’
Her scorniul langh answered him. ,
“If you were Eart of Strathspey this hour,’’ she replied,
“an quit make me your wife, I would refuse you. Go
now, 1 pe nil you, sir!’
“T Will not go,” lie answered, stout yb is temper be-
ginning to . “Do you think nygeing ‘to be foiled in
this way? eset iny heart on haying you, and have
yon SS CBE or foul! Yor stter accept my
, : like you. Wild
~ It is a fine offer for
a
ou be my
SND, ir, 7274E! hile
“Yon shall{—T sw
With passion, and, se
the ri
But Ma
hall!’ he cried, half-choking
; “hand, he strove to force
gpon i. ae :
ggie wrenclied her hand away, and sent the
costly jewel flashing out into the summer moonlight.
“+What's this?? excluinred the old doctor, coming upon
them nnobsgerved. * je, What does this mean?”
“ is, father? panted Maggie, her eyes stil! flash-
ing li ng, “that Lord Strathspey has insulted me, and
he now swears he will force me to be hi ”
The old Scotchman turned upon hin fi
“Your wife!” he repeated, with in
“Who are you, to ask for anyeman’s da You are
not a Strathspe Your low, nameless blood tells in
your facel® troutle my daughter again, or intrude
yourself here, and Wl wear tiis out over your cowardly
Bhobliterae: [9M Gs Too Tis .
The oid mat brawdished Wis wi , and the young no-
blem:in retreated step by Ra; but his face was
something horrib k upon.
“Girl? he head protruding, his greenish
eyes” ng, * all be sorry for this, and you shall
be mine—muark my words, you shall be mine yet!?
Th ee broaght' down his lash witli a sharp blow.
igo, * he “commanded, “and don't stand there
n, the young lord vaulted into
his saddle and gall away.
HE ncatraid ot Mine papa—I'’m afraid he’ give us
trouble,” whispered Maggie, looking after him in the
summer moonlight.
“ 3 +.) CHAPT /XLVIE
|. JUDITH TAKES A BOLD STEP.
er marriageatthe White Heart Inn, Judith, ac-
ber lnsband, took rail for Strathspey Sta-
tthumberland. For one reason, she thought
oothing to Hendrick’s mind to-take him
iliar scents of “hiS Woyif6o0d; for another,
Aisions in regard Lo Lady Marguerite,
content herseif to remain away from her.
my poor. dear lady to Keep my eye on her,”
she snid in conan: oa an wines. Keep nye ves the
poor, mother oung thing will need me too, for as
sure as you a Ulere’s trouble ahead
for her.’? :
) for Nortliumberland, arriving at
ation in the wane of a summer afternoon. ,
straight Lo the King’s Aris, blic house
he Towers, and leaving Hendrick there, she
made her way up to the earl’s castle,
The earl himself was the first person upon whom her
eyes rested. »He was: pacing up and down) beneath the
ouks, at the lower dot ie park, his face so white and
sad that the tears rose to Judith’s eyes as she looked at
him. Aswift and-suiden thought flashed through her
miud as she stood iegpoiate in the glow of the afternoon
sunlight. She pit hef hand to her head and tore away
the flaxen locks she had put on, leaving her owu brown
braids exposed, yoa lo 4
+I" not play Janet Burnsa day longer,’’ she said; “Dil
be my own true self or no one.”
She advanced with a swift, ringing step, startling the
brown deer from their covert, aud attracting the earl’s
at €
“LE your pardon, my lord,’ she said, pausing in front
of him} “but have you forgotten Judith Fora?”
The earl looked up, stured blankly for a moment, and
then cried out: ©”
“Why, Judith, can it be you? Where have you kept
yourselfin all these yeats,.my girl?”
“It is Judith Fordpmy lord,” she replied, ‘and I have
been in a great many es in the last ten years—I was
married in Lancas yeSterday!”?
“Murried! say, apt that Hendrick was lost at
sea!” replied the e “Soyou've soluced yourself with a
new. lover??? ne :
“No, sir, I shou!d neyer have married if I had not found
Hendrick. He was he was saved—I found him
in a mad-house, while 1 was in search of my poor lady!’
The earl flusled, and glanted up inquiringly.
_ “Your lady, se 2 : ‘
“My Jady, Lord Strathspey, and-your late countess."
Her’ voice rang like a bell, and her steadfast brown
eyes met his gaze Ree EN we
“Ihave been searching for her,” she went on steadily,
“ever since that night, fourteen years ago, when she was
ee up and hurried away from Aukland Oaks... My
lord, do you know that your poor wife was as sane as
you or I, when they carried her off and shut her up ina
madhouse?’’
grew deathly white, and gasped once or twice
h..
@ you come to me with this??? he demanded;
concern me whether she was sane or not, or
with her?* ;
i faced him unflinchingly.
“How does it concern you, my
wife—your true and faithful wife’? ’
“She was not; she was falsel’? he thundered.
“Lord Strathspey,” Judith went on, calming ‘and con-
vineing him by the power of her qniet voice and steady
eye. “You aré mistaken—you wife was true—she heyer
wr you in, thought, much less in deed—and now
that she is dead——”’ ;
“Dead!’ he gasped; “is she dead ?”’
“She’s dead,” replied Judith solemnly. ‘‘They stole her
away; Sir Murshall Neville-and his doctors caine upon
her atthe midnight hour, and caught her up like a guilly
criminal, and carried ler off to a desolate old place,
called Milford Grange, own upon the Lancashire
coast; and she remain re for years, suut up with
raying maniacs—a terri life, my lord, fora fur and
lord? She was your
delicate woman ady Marguerite Strathspey.’’ | .
The eari:s oF tmotionless asa statue, his face
as white and as the face of a dead man.
“Go on!? he commanded in a hoarse voice; ‘but how
do you know this?” aon ¢
“] know it, my Jord,’! continued Judith, “because I
have-spent fourteen years in solving the mystery—l have
traveled over jland a dozen times. I made up my
mind to find out, andI did. From Milford Grange the
Countess of Strathspey was transferred to the Insane’
Asylum on Latcasier Moor, and there again for years
she was a prisoner, shut up in a dreary cell.
“J have been there, my lord,’? she coutinued, carried
away by her emotions, “It was there I found poor Hen-
drick—and I saw the very cell in which the countess, was
kept—a little dusky box—with one dingy window, and a
straw pallet for her bed. But the keepers told me she
never 12) she was always patient, and kind, and
gentle. But she said she had a mission to accomplish be-
fore she , and sie Sliould try to make her escape,
‘And sife iry; she gotan old file, and for months
and months ste worked at the lock of her door—just think
of it, my lord; cried Judith, with tears streaming down
her clieeks, “just think of her little, tender hands, and
she working and filing at her lock, through the lonely,
midnight hours, while you and Lady Neville were in your
grand chambers, with wax lights, and flowers, and music
all about you!”
“Stop! gasped the earl, putting up his hands as if to
shut out fl it; “I cannot hear it.”
“But you hear, it, my lord,’’ continned the inspired
girl; we bear to suffer it, and you shall hear it,
and de-her memory justice. She worked with ler old
file, tithat last the lock yielded, and she made her escape.
“Bit the river below the asylum was very high from
recetit rains, and in attempting to cross the broken bridge
she was drowned. They found her shaw! the next morn-
ing just’ below the bridge, and a week after, her body
drifted asiore lower down. And she was buried by
stranger hands, I saw her grave, m ;, buried in
the common Potter's Field that lies bi ‘the asylum,
“And standing by that grave, Lerd’ Strathspey,” she
went on, ‘I vowed -that I would seek you, and tell you
her 'y, and I have kept my vow. You kuow now
‘she ‘suffered; and suffered innocently, for she was
a sane woman, and as true a wee: ag tere is in England.
Her mother’s heart was right, for I tell you Lord Straths-
pey, that as sure as you and I stand here this hour, under
this blue sky, that little boy down.in the Tyrol Valley was
your son, your own son, and the one who bears your
ume, and is to be your heir, is au imposter,’?; |
é patised, but the earl uttered no word in answer.
He st facing the summer sunset, his hands locked be-
“him, as white and rigid and icy, asif-he had been
ly turned into’ stone. Judith observed him nar-
ro We d then she went on:
-“Lbeg your pa my lord; and it hurts me dread-
faily to pain you so, but my poor lady’s name must be
Cleared.,..She was true to you, my lord, as you would
awe | ave discovered, if you had only been patient, and
looked into fhe matter. Her only object was to reclaim
her clitidy and restore him to his rights. She was true to
you, and she loved you tothe last, When you were on
the poinbora duel with Col, Verney, it was Ner work his
refusing tovfight at the last moment. She traveled all
the, way rom Aukland Oaks, and went down on her
im, and never left him, till he had promised,
And the very last day t
ng home from London, after she had seen her
children in Lady Neville’s grounds, and would not speak:
to them because your lordship had forbidden it; that
very afrernoon, she said to me: "
+oWhenever you see my dear husband again, Judith, tell
him that I freely forgive him, and love him as fondly as
ever.
’
att he stood there, cold, silent, motionless, his ghastly
fice turned toward the purple, sunset. hills. Judith
watched him with a feeling of awe, and began to fear that
she had gone too far. Sie laid her hand upon his arm.
_ “My lord,” she said, “had you not better return to the
Towers?”
het touch of her hand roused him. He shook it off
ercely. .
CW hat does it matter, where I go now?’ he burst ont.
‘Girl, why didn’t you murder me at once; it would have
been far more merciful! If what you've, told me is, true,
there’s not a lost soul, 80 utterly accursed as Fam.’?
And with the words, he turned abd strode away. Jadith
looked after him with a deep sigh. '
“Poor man,” she murmured, “how I do pity him, but I
had to clear my lady’s slandered name!”
She stood a moment irresolute, debating within herself
whether slie should goto the Towers, and seek an inter-
view with Lady Marguerite, or return to Hem@rick at the
King’s Arms.
All of a sudden, while she stood thus, something grasp-
ed her shotilder, with a grip so fierce and strong, that the
girl barely repressed a cry of pain. Turning quickly, she
stood face to face with the young lord. He wore his
shooting suit, and had a rifle across his shoulders.
Judith’ Knew him in an instant, and met the baleful
glare of his tigerish eyes, with her serene and steady
gauze. ;
“Well, Lord Angus,’? she asked quietly, “What is it?”
“Jt is this!” he-panted, his voice deep and hoarse with
suppressed fury, ‘I have heard every word of the idle
tale you’ye been telling. Do you dare to say that lam
not the Earl of Strathspey's son ?”? ;
“1 dare to say it, my lord,’”? was her quiet answer, ‘‘be-
cause itis true! You are not the earl’s son!”
His grip tightened on her shoulder, and his eyes glared
more fiercely.
“Liar!’’ he hissed. “Here, swear to me this moment,
swear before Heaven never to utter those words again,
or by my soul I'll put this bullet through your heart,”*
dae removed his‘hand from her shoulder, and raised his
rifle.
“There's not a soul insight of us,’? he went on, ‘and
just below there isa deep gully—'tis the easiest thing in the
world for me to pop you down like a pheasant, and drag
your Carcass there, and if you refuse ll do if! Will you
swear? I’ll not have my prospects ruined by a prating
fool like you!’ 7
His face was something terrible to look upon, with that
murderons glare in his rene He brought the rifle to a
sure aim), and stood with his finger on the trigger. But
some power in the girl’s soul, stronger than her mere
woman’s strength made her fearless. She faced him un-
fliuchingly, her steady eyes never wavering for an instant.
“No, young man,"? she answered, in a ringing voice, “I
will not swear—you are not Lord Strathspey’s son!”
“Die then!’
And simultaneous with the fiendish words there came
a blinding flash, aud a sharp report, but as the rifle went
off, a quick blow struck it upward, and the deadly bullet,
aimed at Judith’s heart, went crackling through the oak
boughs overhead. :
“Murderer!” cried the earl, facing his astonished son;
“do you think I could own such # dastard as you are?’
The young man slowly whitened, till his very lips were
colorless.
“Own me or notas you will,’ he muttered, as he picked
up his rifle; ‘but as sure as 1 have life Vil be your heir,
and that sooner than you think for.” |
“Silence,” stormed the earl; ‘don’t you threaten me.
I'll hand you over to the authorities to be tried for your
crime. Your life is in my hands.”
“And yours in mine,’ replied Lord Angus, as he stode
away.
The earl stood for a moment like one stunned; at last
he turned to Judith:
“You areright, my girl," he said, his voice thrilling
an unutterable pathos, ‘and my poor wife was right—he
is not my son!”
{To BE CONTINUED.]
Ironsides, the Scout.
CHAPTER XII.
i on ATTACK ON THE VILLAGE.
'.For several days the settlers pressed their search in
ever saw her, as we]
He will know how truel was to him when Iam },
7
every direction for the Roboers’ Hidden Ranch, but ali
their efforts proved fruitless,
Some of the less superstitions resolved to make some
further investigations at the Devii’s Gorge, as they could
scarcely convince themselves but that the rebbers had-
something to do with the strange things seen there,
Arrived atthe gorge, they - recunnoitered it from. the
mouth of the little siream that wound its way through
it,to where it terminated in a beautiful cataract) known
as Crystal Falls. They found innumerable signs of the
prowling redmen, but. nothing to convilce them that the
robbers’ den was about. However, upou examining the
bed of the stream, they found upon several soft, water-
soaked, lime-stone rocks the actual. imprint of a horse’s
hoofs, and now and then the imprint of a cloven hoof.
This was decidedly strange and mysterious: | Neverthes
less, it was evidence in their own minds that the Deme
Rider and, White Horsenian were no optical delusions. (©
But who were they? from whence did they come? and
where did they go? In. going upstream: they could a10t
have passed the falis without turuing either to the right
or jeft, but close investigations of eithershore proved that:
no animal had turned from. the stream. wet
At nightthe scouts concealed themselves in the valley
to watch. Their patient vigilance was rewarded by set
ing bot the Demon Rider aud White Horseman. But
bets flitted past them flash of lightning across the
urther success was at this juncture defeated by the
settlers being recalled to the village, by the startling in-
formation. that Inkpaducal ith two hundred. warrio:
Was marching upon the p hig. ' To this was added
news of the niysterious disappearance of Bertha Osinond, |
and ailtem if abduction of Alice Ashbury, by a, party of
niounted Indians, who bab ing advantage of the absence.
of the men, ha ed into the very heart of the village
in broad daylight. weit Br:
This news they found was all correct’ on reaching the
village. Bertha Osmond; was gone—tliad silently, and
mysteriously, disappeared, no. one knew whither,” But it
was generally believed—which belief was stretigthened by
the altempt to abduct Alice—that she had been, spirited
away by the Indians or robbers, who were daily growing
bolder and bolder, 41> 1 aloha
The same evening on.which the last party of the settlers
returned from their Vain search for the Hidden Ranch,
Old Ironsides brought the startling informafion thata
party of Indians, armed, painted, and plumed in all the
panoply of war, svas lurking in the vicinity... © .
A ineeting was called to take inmmediate steps for the
protection of the village. In the meantime, Mr. Dorlan,
the detective, camein. On being informed of the state of
affairs, he siook his head sadly. In Tegard. to the ab-
sence of Miss Osmond, he stated some very strange things,
which, after ail, Seemed quite reasonable. u
“I believe,” he said, “tat Miss Osmond's absence in-
directiy accounts for the appearance of hostile savages in
the vicinity. For the past. month strange things haye
been going on in Pleasant Prairie. In my papacy as a
detective, I have seen, Nearly every night that J have
been here, 2 woman’s figure moving about the village in
a suspicious manner. Upon oue occasion I followed her
to the outskirts of the place, Where she was met by two
men upon horseback, to whom she imparted some infor-
mation, as ] supposed, then hurried back to the village,
while the horsemen dashed away.. I_am.confident they
were robbers. The woman disappeared in the same
house from whence I saw her issue—that of the Widow
Osmond, And, in brief, J delieve Bertha Osmond to ve
in league with the robbers of the Hidden Ranch !”
This information fell like a thunderbolt upon the ears
of the people. ‘There was no one present who attempted
to refute the charge—not even the colored servant of the
Osmonds, Midnight... Mr. Dorlan was regarded as a man
of truth, and the mysterious disappearance of Bertha was
corroborative evidence of his suspicions,
The defensive forces were all, placed under Ironsides,
who immediatety threw out pickets in all directions, as
night approached. ’
About midnight the crisis came. The pickets were
driven in and the village assaulted by the Indians; But
they found the settlers in readiness to receive. thein . and
were forced to retreat With a fearful loss of warriors.
But this defeat only served to stimulate their savage thirst
for blood and pillage, and, they again PRUE the -
test, which was sharp and sanguinary; but the sa 8
were again forced to yield before the,dgadly fire of the
whites. In this aftack the latter suffered the loss of two
men killed and two wounded, and while their ra ére
thus diminishing tltose of the enemy were ine by
reinforcements, notwithstanding their loss had been
fearful. oe wie ‘ }
No sleep came to an eye'in Pleasant Prairie that night.
A terrible suspense rested ttpon every heart.
The savages made several attempts to capture the vil-
lage, but failing, they withdrew to the crest of a prairie
wave beyond range of the settlers’ rifles, where daylight
would enable them’ to watch every movement of the
whites.
Dorlan left the village before daylight to reconnoiter in
the rear of the enemy, anitas he did not return Ironsides
felt much relieved of the duty imposed upon him by the
appearance of Paul Boniface about day dawn.
The two scouts conferred together and adopted meas-
ures for the protection of the place during the day. But
Boniface rather advanced, or suggested the propriety of
inaking peace as the overpowering odds of the enemy
would, without doubt, result in their ultimate victory.
Tronsides favored no terms of peace with the treacherous
foe but such as powder and Jead would secure; he would
make no propositions for peace, but if during the day, the
savages made shy offers of a reconciliation he would en-
tertain them favorably, simply to put off a renewal of the
attack, while Pagal’ could hasten to Fort Des Moines for
assistance. , ST OD &
It being thus underst and agreed upon, Paul was
mounted upon the fleet auimalin the piace and dis-
patched to the fort.
~The settlers, radiant with hope, now turned their atten-
tion toward thesavages on the hill not over a mile off. | An
unusual commotion seemed to prevail among the vigilant
redskins, ’ : i
Harry Pomroy was stationed as a lookont upon ahouse-
‘top to hote and report every movement of the foe. And
it was about two hours after the departure of) Boniface
‘that he deseried an Indian riding furiously over the prai-
\rie on the identical Norse that Boniface had ridden away.
\He was followed by several other mounted warriors, all
of whorl soon drew rein among those on the hill. bo)
Harry communicated his discovery to his friends. |
Acry.of bitter sorrow and hopelesstiess passed from
lip to lip.’ They could expect no ‘succor from the fort
now. They all felt certain that Paul ‘bad been seen to
leave the village, was followed aud slain. . Still old Iron-
sides entertained’ faint hopes of his-having escaped, hav-
»ing Jeft the animal in order'to effect its '
Suddenly Harry called out: y138 Det oy ;
“Ah, sometiting's on foot!) Here comes one of; the en-
emy, a white man'at that, bearing a white flag”) 9).
“All eyes were turned northward in an dustant,.and
found the young man’s assertion true,
Knowing the import of the flag the settlers awaited the
bearer’s approach in deep anxiety.
A few minutes sufficed to bring him to the village.
It was the robber-cuptain, Otte Agnew, but the settlers
knew it not. ae
Advance toward the groupof settlers the villain
sald: ‘
“Itis of the utmost importance that I desire an inter-
view with the commandant.”
There was’ something» strangely familiar in the man’s
voice which every one noticed, but they were too intent
upon the object of his business to remark upou it.
“Wail, sir,’’ exclaimed Ironsides, “we're all command-
ers; So, if you’ve ahything to say, spitit right out.”
“T have come to offer terms of peace in behalf of the
Indians yonder on the hill? |
“Name it right out,” said Tronsides, g fy.
“They desire the deliverance of one Alice Ashbury into
their hands.” ‘ $e
“The duse they do!’ roared Tro: es, growing indig-
nant with rage and clenchitg. his fist. aa though ta
strike the messenyer down. ack and tell yer red
cut-throats that we're not cow fools, and Tl sce the
gal ge ShepeippLoneeey afore they slall have her.”
“Lam, sorry,” muttered the” , as he turned
and moved slowly away through th age, us though
he went reluctantly. i ee ee SA
1d himself face
In passing 2 cabin door he suddenly
to face with Alice Ashbury, who lad from the build-
ing unaware of his presence. SA Ye
Alice started and drew back. mal |
The robber messenger spoke to her in aan ne.
A little cry escaped her lips, and she sta ed toward
him as though: aitracted by some terrible uayenee, then
she paused, her face white as that of the déad,
The messenger talked to her in a low, hurried manner
for several inements, but 2 movement an the seitlers
warned him that it was dangerous tofarry, he moved
on, and Alice ‘turned and entered the cabin from which
she had just comes» wae
The day wore Away, fortunately, without any hostile de-
monsfration on part of the sayages. But as they still
muintained their position upon the hill at dark, there was
notadoubt but that they intended to make a night at-
tack. _ But forthis the setuers were ready. —
About midnight it commenced, but the sayages soon
withdrew, and, when daylight again dawned, it showed
that they had left the country. Pitis Was a very curious
and strange movement for the Indians, but was partially
accounted for when it was found that Alice Ashbury was
inissing and could not be found.
When she had disappeared, and how, no one conid give
the slightest clue; but when it was found that she was
not in the village, the natural conclusion was that she
had been abducted during the time of the last attack of
the enemy.
At least it was a mystery, and deep was the gloom that
now lay upon the hearts of the settlers for the unknown
fate of the brightest jewels of the village, Alice Ashbury
and Bertha Usmond, both of whose disappearance was
wrapped in profound mystery.
CHAPTER XIII.
IRONSIDES A PRISONER.
‘A cloud ominous of evil seemed to have obscured the hitherto
bright sunsliune of the settlersof Pleasant Praige.
The fate of Paul Boniface, as well as that of the two maidens,
was wrapped in uncertainty and pressed sorely upon their. grief-
stricken hearts,
. The anxiety and suspense of Harry Pomroy became agonizing,
not only to Know the fate of the woman he loved, but whether
the charges preferred against her by Dorlan were true or not.
Tronsides, accompanied by Midnizht, the African seryant of the
Osmonds, left the village quite early in the morning foiiowing
the departure of the Indians, shaping their course so as to give
the Devil’s Gorge a thorough investiguttion.
It was noon when they reached the gorge. As before, they
found the ‘imprint of horses’ hoots and that of cloven hoofs, but
nothing more. They followed the course of the stream to where
their. progress was disputed by the Crystal Falls, a beautiful sheet
of water some fifteen feet wide, falling over a rock some twenty
feet high. But they could find no place where the hoofed feet
had turned from the stream.
After some further fruitless searching, the two scouts came to
coming of night, in hopes of getting a view of the Den
ey White Horseman, neither ot which had ever beemse
ight.
rhe shadows of night had searcely fallen over the dis
betore the eurs of the scouts were grected by the dull ¢
heofed, feet and the plash of water. The sound came ft
the conclusion to conceal themselves inthe gorge and await the
; Ri
Horseman coming down the streain at a rapid speed. Bnt wh
had he come trom ? The Crystal Falls were just behind him,
g bluffs on either side.
‘simultaneously with this startling discovery, the s¢o'
jer noise below them, and as their eyes mIneclianically
hat direction they saw the Demon Rider, upon. his
ast, with his lurid torch, coming in sight around the
ithe stream below. He wascoming wp the stream, and
pparitions—for such they appeared—passed each other with-
eeming to be aware of the fact, at a point opposite the two
eyes of Old Ironsides followed the dim: outlines of the
; an, «8 he raised. his rifle to his face, but before he
; to bear upon the phantom-like creature, he
Rueoand the wood bend beiow. He then.
‘after the Demon Rider, but that creature
‘aa soddenly «ne though he had’ been blended
rt
he av ‘ful darkness that followed. . : ;
cou vl transfixed with a feeling akintoterror. They
arcely emselyes but that they stood in the
i trans| before them seemed
n. it may seem to our readers, but
his cee trae the Demon Rider from the
nD his until he disappeared, the mystery
of ‘onld have been forever futhomed, and
mh See eee hme Lot eine 1. FAT feot’de
a 1 me er’s e hai e ze
fre rollin’ ny back |!” y
aughed in his silent manner at his excited emotions,
but at the same time his mind seemed absorbed in reflection;
| » he finally said, “T-want you: to watch here whileT
follow that Ww » Horseman. It that critter that. went up the
stream ¢¢ ack, fire on it, and if you hit.it youll kill a rapper,
now mind. I’m goin’ to look fnto this stra pwlin? bout.”
“Dat I will, Massa Ironsides. Dis nigger ll do his duty and watch
here ait de ghosts don’t tute me off” i
Without adding a reply, Ironsides. threw his rifle upon: his
shoulder and started off quite rapidly down the stream. r
He was scarcely out of sight when Midnight, unable to control
himself longer, threw himself upon the ground, and rolled over
and over in ‘a fit of silent laughter. ‘
Presently he rose to his feet and shook himself like a huge
5 :
paniel. ; ;
_ “Oh, de golly jingoes!” he chuckled. ‘Ki,;yi, but dis black
nigger knows a;heap—seed a henp! Wonder dat de ole scout
didn’t see it t Yah! yah! yah!”
Having thus expressed himself over some secret joy, he crept
down the bank, and wading into the middle of the creek, turned
nod moved up its. course with the silence of a phautom. Hada
casual observer see him One moment as he appr the falls,
he would have been filled with no little wonder, to discover the
next moment, that he had disappeared as suddenly as though he
had been swallowed up tn the stream.
In the meantime, Irensides was pushing his way rapidly down
the stream in he { coming up with the White Horseman, or
meeting binge ng back. In either case he resolved to be ready
upon the in tant, and try the yirtue of lead upon him. But ere he
was aware of baving traveled half the distance, he found: himself
at the point Where'the little stream emptied into the Des Moines
river. Being thus disappointed in his purpose, he turned and be-
gan. retracing his footsteps up the stream,
The night was, far advanced, and when he reached the point
where he had left Midnight, the darkey was gone. Why he had
left, he knew not, bat the natural conclusion was that the sights
of the valley had ‘proven too much for his nerves, and he had fled
to Pleasant Prairie. So the old scout shouldered bis rifle, and with
* feohus, of bitter disappointment, he set off northward through
e woods.
| An hour’s walk found ‘him at the edge of the swamp surround-
ing the “Deadfall.” He had not been there since the night of
Captain Watterson’s mysterious disappearance, and he had a
reat desire to visit the cabin again since he saw that the savages
fad spared it from the flames.
In order not.to be incumbered in crossing the moat, he conceal-
ed his rifle and accoutrements in a hollow log and started across.
When he reached the mound on which the cabin stood, he began
aclose and eareful reconnvissance of the place. This habitual
precaution led to the discovery of a faint light shining through a
crevice in the wall of the cabin,
Some one was in the building. ‘
He paused, undecided how to act, This was for the want of de-
fensive weapons, and he regarded the leaving ef his rifle and
hatecliet on the other side of the swamp as an unpardonable blun-
dur. However, he secured a stout club, and upon his hands and
knees soon gained theside of the building by crawling cautiously
across the peop ine. .
' ‘He now resolved to know who were in the cabin, and why they
were there. ’
The opening made ‘by the savages on that fatal night for the
presentation of the*flag of truce, offered a view of the interior.
The scout crawled wrouud to this hole—arose ‘to.his feet, and
peered in.
A fire was burning on the’hearth, and its light showed the occu-
pants of the room to be two nen.
They were peer atte the great Sioux chie/, and Paul Boni-
‘ace, t -
A muttered Hy of joy escaped Ironsides’ Jips whenhe_ say his
supposed dead friend alive. But why was he in so Close a conyer-
sution with the inhuman Inkpaducah ?
Suddenly, like a vivid flash of lightning, a dark suspicion flashed
across his mind.
Boniface was @ traitor !
This accounted for his eccentric habits and long absence from
the Deadfall, at times, during the past six moutlis.° If such was
the case, the scout knew that Boniface was tlie unknown foe who
had attempted the life of Chris Watterson when descending the
river, on the return from the bee-hunting excursion, and the
‘traitor, who was In a great measure accountable for the massacre
at the Bars and other strange doings. Ue had nota doubt now
but that it was he who had led Towering Oak and his accomplices
to the os and whose form he had seen among the savages
that night.
But qhat were the traitor and chief talking about ?
Ironsides applied his ear to the opening and listened, Boniface
was speaking.
“Yer, chief,’? he heard liim say, ‘tae done your part tell,
and now comes your pay. Most of the horses you’ve alre got,
and now Ill give you the money.”
“Good! heap honest,” replied the grim Inkpaducah.
Tronsides could not understand whut the old chief was receiving
pay for, but he had heard sufficient to convince him that his sup-
posed friend was, without doubt, a traitor in league with the In-
dians and robbers.
Following the remark of Boniface came the chinking of coin
upon a table, then there was a silence which was fiually broken
by Paul, asking: ‘
“How is Towering Oak getting, chief, better?”
“He head where lost scalp mos’ well, he pocneth mos’ come
back. He hunt for great Ironsides now,’ replied Inkpaducah.
. Tronsides felt a chill of horror creep over him. ‘After all tne
‘giant Towering Oak was alive! He hid survived the tortures of
‘that fatal night—the beating in the cellar and the tortures of the
‘sealping-knite—Towering Ouk was alive and upon his trail!)
These terrible facts had scarcely become settled in the old
t's mind, before he felt something heayy encitele his body
and pinion his arms at his side. He struggled eee but
the grasp of the unknown enemy was like the enibrace of the
tertibie constridtor—he could not break ‘it. » He could not wrench
his body around, nor see who, or what his powerful enemy was,
But a triumphant savage yell told him a
He was in the clutches of his. mortal foe, the giant Towering
Oaks.
ener Ol! “CHAPTER XIV.” 0)"
" WINRGARNER’ RECEIVES A BLOW INTHE DARK.
It was night at the Robbers’ Hidden Rangeh, and plone they
were nearly_all in, but two remained awake, besidés the guard on
duty at the entrance. These two were Winegarner and his guest,
Captain Otto Agnew.
/“¥ou are the most successful dog, Winegarner,” said) Agnew,
“that I ever saw. In the first place you have a den equal to that
ofan Alpine banditti—one that defies the vigilance of the whole
territory to find it. _Thenyou find that some pretty girl is heir to
some Tiandse ‘estates in the East, and resolve to’ p them;
and I must admit you have a good show ot su 7 : ‘
'®Yes; sf youwouly succeed*in carrying, out. your part)?" added
Winegarner,
the stream, and glancing in that direction they beheld the White |
“I have no fears but that Miss Ashbury will consent. to marry
mé,”’ replied Agnew. ‘“‘Tintend to ‘propose’ yet to-night.’”
“Good! if you succeed one of my men-can xct as minister, A
certificate of the marriage is all I'm after. That will establish my
claim to the estates.”
“Exactly,” and the robber-chief from Platte Ranch laughed
softly.
“Now,” continued Winegarner, “TI have got to meet a friend to-
night, and while ’m away you can wait upon Miss Alice.”
‘Just. so.”
Winegarner arose. He seemed impatient. Agnew arose also,
and bidding his companion goodnight, crossed the main apart-
ment and entered a narrow passage at the side. This finally con-
ducted him into a small apartment in which a lamp was burning
upon a rude table.
By the table was seated a young female, whose face wore a look
of fear and anxiety. ;
It was Alice Ashbury, and she was a prisoner.
How she came to be there will be known hereafter,
The moment Captain Winegarner found bimself alone he
hastened across the great chamber to where Ri Thugly lay asleep,
and aroused him. ‘
“Thug!y,” he said, “I want you to ereep like old grim Death
into the passage and watch Agnew and) Miss Ashbury—try and
catch their conversation. I believe Agnew’s halt in love with her
in reality, and will try, perhaps, to escape with her.?
“Oh, no, reckon not, cap,” responded Thugly. i
“well, there's sumtlin’ curious about him, and a little wateli-
ing wouldn’t be of-harm.”
“Exactly, responded Thugly, and like a serpent he glided
ye
n about an hour Thugly made his appearance.
“Wellf” said Winegarner.
“Well.” responded Thugly, setting himself into a chair, “I
heard somethin’, cap—somethin? very curious.” ,
“What is it?—speak,” impatiently. |
“Ever saw Captain Otto Agnew before you sent for him; cap?”
Winegarner started.
ies PA aut 93 + :
f this feller is Otto Agnew he’s goin’ to play off on you, Pm
afraid. Couldn’t hear all their talk, but eioakh to convince me
that Regyeern all bout you, cap. He said you’d bin married—is’t
80, CA
Again Winegarner started violently.
“Never mind, Thugly,” he exclaimed.
heard.??
-“CGouldn’t hear all,.cap, but Agnew said) somethin’ "bout you
beim’? married; somethin *bout a legacy, and Alice Ashbury, and
an orphan; somethin’ *bout, a, place called the Black. Hand, a
murder, a nigger, and:the rescue of a woman, Heard him say
your name was Garnef—how is’t, cap?”
Ry mind, tellow—go on! What else?’ gasped the robber-
chiet. : ;
“Heard him say you war watched.”
“By whom?”
“Yer wife, cap.”
‘Man, you are telling a falsehood!” burst from the robber’s
lips. “Do not trifle with me, or it’Tl be your death !?
“Swear it, cap, on the Book. Hesaid your wife was watching
every move you made—knows where The Hidden Ranch is—has
been here; knows all ’bout Dorlan, detective, and Boniface,
scout.” ~
**And Agnew said the woman was my wife?
“Exactly.”
“Where does she live now?”
“Pleasant Prairie.”
“Pleasant Prairie?” gasped the robber-chief.
“Exactly.”
“Thugly, you are lying. “I know every one there.”
“Know Miss Osmond, cap?”—with a sly glance.
“Yes; that is, I bave seen her, but have no acquaintance.”
wim But Agnew said she was Annette Garner—your
wife.’
“Great Heaven! Is it possible?”
“Must be, cap. She always shunned you—warned other girls
never to marry you. Ever see a strange ring on Ashbury’s
finger?” :
“Yes, yes! I see it all now! It was her ring—the ring I gave
her—my wife! She has escaped the mver’s cold embrace and
hunts me down like a stag. She will ruin me—haye vengeance
upon me! She knows where the Hidden Ranch is, and will bring
the settlers upon us. It was slie who wrote’ those letters of fire
upon the wall yonder when I slept. Thugly, we have got to leave
liere at once—to-morrow might.’ :
“Exactly,” returned Thugly,
“And you heard Agnew tell Alice all this?”
“Exactly.”
“But the question arises—how did Agnew learn all this?”
“Easy enough. Ever entered your mind, cap, that your mes-
senger, Morthier, whom you sent for Agnew, might have turned
traitor? Hasn’t it ever entered your head that others could wear
as many disguises as you do?”
ann don’t mean to say that Morthier is Agnew in disguise, do
you
“No. But didn’t I tell you justa ee ago that Bertha Osmond
had very mysteriously disappeared from Pleasant Prairie ?”?
“Well, what of it? Ireckon some old Inkpaducah’s ¢ut-throats
spirited her away.” oe
“Hang it, cap, yer dull. To be plain, I’! bet old. Rollin? Thun-
der, that your Captain Otto Agnew of Platte Lodge is your wife,
sir, in disguise.”
Winegarner sank back in his chair perfectly dumbfounded.
“You know I told you, cap, that there was a traitor incamp, and
that I believed it was a woman—now I know it.”
“Yes, I know. you told me, andI was a fool for not having the
“matter investigated, But Thugly”—ani his voice grew serious—
“Tm going out—have promised to meet a friend. Now I want
you to — un eye upon Agnew, for if what you tell me is true,
theyll endeavor to make their escape to-night. If they do, shoot
them dead, Remember this: If they git away from here again,
the Hidden Ranch will be.a thing of the past. And remember
that other prisoner—they may attempt to assist him, for Agnew
knows that he is confined here.”
“Tell me what you
“Exactly.” ‘
Winegarner now donned a’heavy coat and aslouched hat, and
leftthespy. He proceeded along the main , lampin-hand,
passa:
to light his way. He passed three or four small chambers, at the
side of the passage, in which were a number of horses fastened.
At last the chamber narrowed off until it was buta few feet wide.
Suddenly he found his way barred by a heavy: oaken door, but
ressing penuh upon a spring, it swung back with a dull wheez-
ng spp on the roar of ae oo
through the ow chambers -FOCKY V
“Good Lor’! oe Py
It was the sound of a startled yoice that uttered this exclama-
tion, and eansed the robber-chief to recoil. He held the lamp
above his head causing its rays to fall far in‘advance. He started
back, and grasped the haft of a knife, at his beft, for before him he
beheld the tall fieure of a man standing in the passage.
; byes the African scout, Midnight. ;
e robber-chief had scarcely time to recognize him before he
became sensible of a fearful shock; but the next thing of which
he was conscious of beingin the dark upon the ground with a
8! buzzing sensation in hishead. It was several minutes
the negro, and the fact of seeing his arm shoot out from his
ight der, and of a heavy fist being planted between his eyes.
| Picking himself ap, the robber-chief rushed back through the
| Seeing ba the top.ef his lungs, that an enemy was in
Ranch. nl i
mblvees startled from their sleep by the outcries of the chief,
around him to learn the cause of the alarm.
| Soon all was, explained, and in a minute more the whole band
was in search of the African intruder, stimulated in their efforts
by a handsome reward for the scout, dead or alive.
i At = pe of the cavern they found the’body of the guard
ying dea
ts accounted for the manner in which the darkey had gained
is entrance.
The robber-chief rushed from the cavern and joined his men in
the pursuit,
’ Berea, he could colleet his confused senses. Suddenly he remem-
[TO: BE CONTINUED. ]}
The Cheated Bride;
— OR, —— - woe 4
WON BY A LF!
By Mrs, Helen Corwin Pierce,
[“The Cheat Bite” was commenced in No. 29. Back num-
bers can be from any News Agent in the United States.
‘ . 0! *) CHAPTER XXXEX.
In his handsome morning room at Dane House sat Lord
Dane; the costly breakfast service still before him, the
ineal almost untasted; Cheeny, his confidential man, had
just left him, and the earl ivoked as though the conference
had not been a pleasant one. His fine brow was clouded,
his eyes gloomy, his frm, ‘white teeth kept gnawing his
lip in a manner uncomfortable to see. ~~ :
The consent he had given, however reluctantly, tothe
detention of Perdita Lorne at Rylands, had lain heayy on
him from the moment it was granted. Cheeny, 1 one
plausible argument, and another artful suggestion, had
managed to keep him from absolutely going and setting
her at liberty. Cheeny had gained an extraordinary 1n-
fluence over his master. It was done by working. upon
his weaknesses in & clever munner, by reminding him
how mighty and powerful the Earl of Dane was now,
‘what a full his would be, what complete bergary would
be his. if he lost his position, 93s he must if fhe true heir-
ess of all were suffered a chance to establish her rights.
It is true that Lord Dane, having never yet seen Sybil
since her marriage to his unhappy friend, still supposed
her to be the girl he had so long, 80 passionately and ro-
mantically loved. }
lt was almost six weeks since Perdita had been in-
veigied away to Rylands, apd he had still mo: suspicion
that she was other than the pretty, am 1, rustic
Cheeny had described to him, a.completes y to lei,
and one to be regarded as an, éuemy .in, ome sense, be-
’ ?
cause to her of right, as. Cheeny,.car iy and faithfully
impressed upon him, belonged, t J position and
those immense revenues, Which were 80 r to the gran-
deur-loving earl. 7 ;
He was not._ yet pr ed to surrender them, and he
dared not set the tr iress free, for féar she shonld
claim them from hint.” Cheetiy still assured him she did
not knew who sie was, though she had a clue to the se-
cret of her birth.
Cheeny had been on this morning closeted with his
master a long time.
Perdita he told him had managed to escape from Ry-
lands, but was safe back again, and quite contented now,
He wanted another supply of money to keep her so. He
named a suin so large that the eurl, lavish as he was,
looked surprised, but he gave him a check for the amount,
and Cheeny departed with it. :
The truth was that Cheeny’s assistants in the business
—Mre. Griff and Clever Dick—refused to go a step farther
without being first liberally paid a sum that would secure
them handsomely in case anything happened to materi-
ally interrupt tlhe success of their wicked plans. More-
over, Cheeny felt that it was necessary to hasten the ac-
complishment of his treacherous schemes or they would
fail utterly.
The accounts he had from his spirited captive were not
encouraging in 2is sense of the word, Perdita remained
defiant and unyielding, as unbroken and tameless as a
young leopardess, ...
The Earl of Dane Was wretched this morning. He sat
in his elegant room, With all the rich paraphenalia of his
‘grandeur about him, a most miserable nan, (lt was im-
possible but that he should beso. Possessed of a naturally
generous and chivalrous disposition, all the life of lux-
urious indulgence he had lived, had not been able entirely
/to warp (hit nature from its'true course. . Every warm
and kindly instinct within hint revolted from the unmanly
situation he found hhimselfiu, Without suspecting what
a terrible. interest he had in the fate of Perdita Lorne,
he yet could not think of the shameiul persecution of her,
which he was Gountenancing, without feeling himself de-
} graded from his manhood to the position of a despicable
coward and Villain, Could he have risen above that mis-
erable subjection to his rank and wealth, which made
him regard their loss as an: insapportable misfortune, all
his misery and shame would have been ended. But he
could not do that, All his pampered life had fostered that
belief, till now. it seemed that it Could no’ be rooted out.
He could be generous and self-sacriAcing, as witness
ee
his promise to Baron Chandos never to speak one word of
love to the woman he believed Sybil to be, till the inno-
cence of her lost husband was proved to..her beyond a
doubt. He was moving every power and influence at his
command now to establish that innocence. Could he
have had offered him his choice between the girl he had
loved at Faikner and his earldom, he would have chosen
the girl he loved without an instant's hesitation, and yet,
for the sake of keeping that earldom, he was permitting
his wicked man Cheeny to perpetrate a wrong that ought
to shroud all the rest of his life in remorse and ignominy.
What would his emotions be when he discovered that
this object of his cruel persecution was the woman of his
wild and passionate worship.
it is true that he did not know how bad matters really
were at Rylawds, that he had not the remotest conception
of the infamous doings there. With him the understand.
ing had been thatshe was to be supplied with every com-
fort, luxury, and pleasure that money could buy, that she
wis to be served respectfully, attended upon humbly, as
befitted a lady of his own prond family. He tad ordered
that she should be deprived of nothing but liberty, and of
that only till she should sign a legal document in which
she renounced all claim to the rank and possessions Lord
Dane now held. ;
Cheeny had:held out the prospeet to his master that she
could easily be brought to do this from the first, but the
earl had not consented to the preparation ofsuch a docu-
ment until now, partly because he did not like to commit
himself to so much of an acknowledgement ol her identity
as he feared that might be. partly beeause he felt an in-
surmountable shame of owing his pesition fo sueh a con-
cession wrung from a woman. But he had consented now,
and Cheeny had gone away with the docuiment in charge
and a week’s leave of absence, during which time he fully
calculated on being able to bring to terms even so obdu-
rate asubject as Perdita, -
Qieeny reached Rylands at nine o’clock in the eve-
ning. ‘The household there were considerably taken by
surprise. They had been looking for the money they had
demanded, not himself in person—that is, Mrs. Griff and
Clever Dick had. : ;
Bosh these personages experienced some consternation
at the unexpected sight of the master they were serving.
Cheeny, who had a quick eye, saw that semething was
wrong, and his false heart misgave him; but he kepta
calm outside, paid them both a heavy instalment of
money, and promised them more when the job was fin-
ished which he had come there to comptete,
Neither Mrs. Griff nor Clever Dick had much to say at -
first, but whenCieeny ruse and declared his intention of
having a conference with Perdita that night, Clever Dick
stopped him. a
‘See here!’ said le, ‘‘there’s something we hain’t told
you. :
Cheeny compressed his lips.
“} thought there was,’ he said, and sat down again.
“We didn’t dare write’it. It wasn’t safe to be put on
paper, you see.”
A steelly glitter came, into Cheeny’s eyes. as Clever Dick
said this. He made a motion for him to go om
“You hain’t asked anything about the particalars of the
girl’s getting away.”
Because | did not imagine there was anything peculiar
about them. Isuppose Mrs. Griff here was careless and
let old Grigzie get something to drink.??
Clever Dick shook his head. ,
“Nothing .of the. kind.” e . .
Then followed a pretty circumstantial, but rather over-
drawn account of the maimer of Perdita’s escape from
Rylands, and how she had afterward tricked Clever Dick.
Cheeny listened, waiting rather impatiently for the real
point, the “something not safe to put on paper,’ which
had not yet come.
Ciever wick paused when he got to where Perdita start-
ed in the dog-cart down the mountain. He paused with
the question, uttered in a most peculiar tome:
. “ Ne do youimagine the young lady brought wp at
ast ,
“T should have expected her to bring up with a broken
neck,” said Cheeny, irritably.
“She didn’t.”
“Then she drove to the station she had come fronva few
hours before, of course.*? :
ONG.
“Where then? Curse you! what do you keep me guess-
ing for?* .
Ciever Dick's face turned a degree whiter ashe erossed
his dirty arms Over his dirty coat and dropped his-chin on
his dirty waistcoat. He looked, at Cheeny from under his
frowzy eyebrows, a half-furtive,; half-cunning, fearfel,
glance. :
“Mr, Cheeny,” he said slowly, “do you remember }et-
ting me have a horse that morning—a Scotch pony? The
eart I had, but no horse, and you gave mealine to get
one you had stabled in the town.”
“Yes, remember. How could I forget it?’ .
“1 didn’t suppose you. could., Will you tell. me now,
where you think that horse would have gone if he’d: been
turned loose, left. to go where he liked??? are
Cheeny did not start, he never moved, but he seemed
all at once to collapse as it were, to shrink 2 {hin himself,
and a strange leaden change passed over: his face..
“He wouldn’t go back to the stable I took
Anyhow he didi’t. He went about fifty. mile
to the north, and he tock the dog cart and the
with him. She just let him go his own way, &
where he was most used to being, I fancy.’? .
Cheeny looked like a corpse, his lips. bloodless, hi oa
wide and staring. He did not utter asound. Itseemed
that he could not, Spe
“We tracked the whole caboose to a hous
the woods. We caught our runaway th
A sort of spasm convulsed Cheeny.
breaking out upon his forehead. He
brushed them away.mechanically... = ssi(ss
“We went inside the house—it was all fastened up, gates
and doors .and shntters—we broke open a window one
went through it. . We wah’t going to half do what a
undertook, We'd tracked the girl there, and we went
through. the house Jooking for her. 1 imagine you can
guess what we found there. It wasn’t her. eee
Something like a,groan came from Cheeny. He ome
battling with some fearful agitation—struggling to Gom-
mand himself, but he could not. He looked like the’scared
and anguished ghost of himself, , ... . a
Mrs. Griff slipped out. of ner seat and went toa expboard
inthe room. She brought a flask of brandy and a glass,’
and set it down on a table at his elbow.
Cheeny glanced round vacantly. Then he seized the
flask and lifting it.to his lips with & Rand that shock in
spite of him, he drank deeply. "} <
The blood began to flow again in_ his half-paralyzed
frame. Self-possession slowly returned to him. He faced
Clever Dick with an oath. .
“Whatare you up to? What do I know about any house
like that you describe?’?
“What do you know abont the dead woman inside it
more like??? demanded Clever Dick, in a sudden rage,
rising and thrusting his hands in his pocket kat te
“Don’t you swear at me, Mr. Cheeny, { won't ‘take’ fp.
It happens [ know about this business; and fUs Renging
matter, it is, I’ve wanted to ring your neck éyer'since I’
found itout. What'd yon get me into any such concern
as this fur? J’m a villian, I am, a low, on whelp as
ever Was born, but I wouldn't ’a give’ my wife sleepin?
drink and then bled her to death, for all the countesses
in England. 1d like to roast you in that fire this m s
Iwould, you murdering sneak. Don’t you swearat Me, |
or I will, too.” ae blog
Cheeny was silent. His eyes was dropped. Hé was
collecting his wits. He saw that he had done @ very fool’
ish thing in angering Clever Dick, and he was meditating’
how he should the easiest conciliate him now.
Mrs. Griff had got up again in her stealthy, noiseless
way, amd gone over to Clever Dick, in whose earshe was
whispering.
Clever Dick listened to her in a sort of sulky silence.
He was aiready half scared at what he had said. Horror
he no doubt had of the fearful crime which had been done,
but he had become in a measure familiarized with the
revolting subject in the weeks that had passed since,
without bringing the cruel murderer to justice. It was
only black anger had made him speak as ke had to
Cheeny. He was a thoroughly selfish and unprincipled
villain, and had come almost to rejoice at the horrible
deed that had been done, because of the hold it gave him
upon hint who had committed it. His low ane cowardly
svul was altogether puffed up with the dream of sharing
equally yet with Cheeny in the great harvest of gold lie
wis preparing to reap. He pictured to his coarse soul the
life of a gentleman for him—his conception of that life
being bounded by fast horses, flashy waistcoats and
plenty of drinks.
- When, therefore, Mrs. Griff suggested that. Cheeny and
he should shake hanes on it and be friends, Clever Dick.
sulkily extended his dirty paw to meet Cheeny’s white
und’ womanish-looking hand. The valet had rings upon
his carefully-kept fingers that few ladies in the land
would have disd#ined to wear.
“There,?? said Mrs, Griff, complacently, “that’s done
with; now Mr. Cheeny, if you want to talk with the
young lady before she retires for the night, you’d better
go right up.”
Cheeny hesitated a moment. The scene just passed
had shaken him very: much at the time, bat the brandy
had set him-up again, and he felt’ just about matignant
enough and brave enough to bully a woman, es cially.
one so completely in his power as he fancied Rerdita.
was.
He rose once more to his feet, an expression ef| deadly:
determination in his evil eyes.
“How is she?” he asked; ‘‘sulky'as ewer?’?
“More so,’ eried Clever Dick. ‘I believe that young
woman has got more spunk than ten Kilkenny eats. The
more you try to bring her down, the sharper hep elaws
gets. Don't you goto bein’ too hard on her au to.onge, cap=
tain. She’s got eyeslike tiery furmaces, anda tongue
that’s sharpér than a double-edged Nnife.’>
“Where isshe? Inthe same room???
“Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Griff.
“Where’s Grizzle ?”’
“Chained outside her door. She’s so chever, we thought
that was the surest way.”?
“Where's the whip ?? ‘
Mrs. Griff had. got anew one. She removed it from a
nail on the wall, and gave itto him. Cheeny took a lamp
and left the room,
In the hall outside, he stopped a moment in thought
muttering to himself, Then he went on.
“She shall marry me, if l have ¥o force the wedding ring
upon her finger,” he repeated ta himseif with dark malig-
nity, ‘After what, Z have dame, Pil not be balked by a
dwarfling like her.’
As he left the room where Clever Dick and Mrs. Griff
were, the former caught at the grim housekeeper’s arm,
“You never told him about the boy,’’, he said.
“That I didn’t? muttered Mrs, Griff} “let him find out
for himself.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
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