ractical : tion in os ., given me at. free. ‘cRAT- a) illustratioae . . ital. Ale ogue, Jr tas N. ER TERY book of ie hun ages, # is com> struc in all ies of F mmar, tions, press, yplicas 1, love , bust publi¢ > from im of e sent cents. New i uae exact fF «the aige. & p of & rman esign very ud to gend- amps jve a print etter jl be ceipt S, tus orre ound , and chi. Ih Remember, You Have Only One Week More to Guess the Ending of “The Jack of Diamonds!” dd Up Ye Y = SSN SN VIBS SRO phe acu % Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1895, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York, N.Y., Post-Offce. "New York, December 21, 1895, gutmymms te Me ee eee eRe ae tae Rel Hat Hat Mae nee eee ae ann memes.” Subscription Price, STRELT & SMITH, Publishers, 2.50 per Year. 29 Rose Street, New York. | i) | Te hl au i A lt wa soi. jini —s mu IAD AT ifQOTULUTOEA TQEETNNTTTTTEE OUT WITH ROBIN HOOD; THE MERRY OUTLAWS OF SHERWOOD FOREST. BY ALFRED ARMITAGE, Author of “With Orusader and Saracen,” ‘In the Days of the Gladiators,” “Loyal to Napoleon,” and “The Fighting Lads of Devon.” [“OuT WITH ROBIN Hoop” was commenced last week,] strength. So the two, almost equally CHAPTER IV. matched, struggled from side to side of the IN WHICH ALWYN PLANS AN ESCAPE. i TWANG! THE ARROW WHIZZED FAIRLY “7S ing. was hard and sinewy, and possessed of great ' steward’s rescue. Fy RED FEATHER DREW BACK HIS BOW-STRING. INTO THE HEART OF THE TARGET. fellow, but his flesh was flabby from PB ‘tow, bat i was a huge and burly LLY) over-indulgence in, eating and drink- Alwyn, though much smaller, stone walk, now bumping against the castle walls, and now poised nearly on the grassy brink of the moat. Cedric watched them in a stupor of terror, casting frightened glances around, and expecting every mo- ment to see the men-at-arms come to the / 4690 COM NEWS. He would have taken partin the con- test, but he found no chance to do so. Save the one shout at the moment of dis- covery, Blackbeard had made no outcry that could be heard at a distance, which was due to the fact that his assailant had him by the throat with one hand. Presently Alwyn got a hold with both ‘hands, and now the struggle waxed more furious. The stew- ard was slowly choking, and he fought like a madman to tear off the grip. Over and over he rolled, and at last his head came in forcible. contact with the stone buttress. The blow stunned him, and now it was all over with his chance. His threshing limbs relaxed, and he lay as weak and helpless as a babe. ‘*Now lend aid, lad,’? whispered Alwyn, kneeling on his captive, and keeping a tight hold of him. ‘If would fain kill the scurvy knave, but it were more prudent to spare his life. He hath a'sharp knife in this gir- dle. Take it quickly, rip his mantle into strips, and with them bind his limbs stoutly.’? Cedric, now cool and alert, made haste to obey. With a few slashes of the weapon he cut half a dozen strips from Blackbeard’s jerkin, and bound his arms and legs skill- fully and tightly. Then he rolled one strip into a wad, and thrust it far in between the man’s teeth, so that he could scarce utter a sound. ‘*Well done,’? commented Alwyn, as he rose to his feet. He glanced down at the steward, whose brief spell of unconsciousness had now passed. His eyessnapped with rage and hate as he fixed them on his captors. ‘*Let us be off in haste,’’ whispered Ced- ric. ‘‘Kvery moment that we linger here _adds to our peril, and we may expect short shrift if we are caught. It will be no hard task to swim the moat, and with caution we may shun the men-at-arms—if any be over yonder.’’ ‘‘Surely there are some,’’ replied Alwyn. **No, it would be foolish to take that course, and would but lead to our death.’? With a gesture of silence to the lad, he listened intently fora moment. Then he cast his eyes in all directions—up and down _. the narrow walk, to the forest covert across the moat, and to the castle turrets and windows overhead. ‘“‘Gramerey for this blessing,’’ he added. -‘*The knave’s outcry reached no ears, and for the present we are safe, and have even timé to. spare. So now we will put this scurvy fellow out of the way——”’- Kall him, do you mean??? Cedric asked, uneasily. \ Not that, lad, much as he deserves it. But he shall lie for mayhap a day and a night in afoul and darksome place, where he will find time to repent him of his sins while the rats are nibbling his finger ends.’’ _ * So saying, Alwyn pointed to a rusty iron grating that showed at the base of the castle _ wall just opposite to where the two’ were - standing. and a strong pull brought it out in his grating gave dim light toa dungeon that was beneath it—a most foul and damp dungeon that was deeper, down _than the level of the moat’s bottom, and co approached by devious and difficult _ Ways from the main part of the castle. Be- ing so far remote it was nowadays but rarely used, and few captives had _ been im- mured there since the time of William the _ Conqueror, _ ‘*No better disposition could be made of him,’’ exclaimed Cedric. _ **Well say you so, lad,’’ replied Alwyn. ‘‘And now bear a hand to slide him thither.’”’ _ He stooped down and clasped the grating, his grasp. 4 ; _ As they took hold of him Blackbeard’s } _ eyes fairly flamed, and he vented his rage and helplessness in a low inarticulate snarl. ‘He was shoved feet first through the open- ing, and then allowed to drop gently. yas no small distance to the bottom, and the wo dull thuds that followed told he had . fairly and toppled over. Then all was ce. *‘Neatly done, that,’ said Alwyn, with a chuckle. ‘‘The fastenings held and the gag is still tight between his teeth—else he would be making a shrilhoutery for rescue,” “But he is sure to be missed shortly,”’ a reeted Cedric, ‘‘and a search: will bring his hiding place to light.” _ **He would be missed by none save ‘his master,’’ replied Alwyn, ‘as he cunningly replaced the pontine in the window, ‘‘and to him shall I go presently with a suitable planation. I will tell the baron that Blackbeard bade me say he had departed on a certain errand to the forest, and would return ere this and- midnight. You know the knave was bidden to do this thing, and ibe fellow-ruffian he was to seek lives some iles distant. The baron will readily bo- ve this, thinking that Blackbeard de- parted hastily, and would naturally send him word of his going, Nor will he trouble eat if the man did truly leave the _ Cedric was satistied, and his next thought ao the terrible fate that awaited him. He had partly forgotten it during the recent excitement, and now, returning with double _ force, it filled his heart with sickly dread, ‘I fear the captaro of Plackbeard dl: th. but delay the fatal hour,’’ the lad said. ‘‘Ror myself, I see no hope of escaping the baron’s murderous design, and you confess the plan in your mind to be doubtful and full of peril. Yet I would rather die fighting than wait meekly to be slaughtered. But what was this plan you spoke of??”’ “*Tt promises far better success now that we run no risk of meeting Blackbeard and the hired assassin in the green wood after the hour of darkness,’’ replied Alwyn. ‘*Ay, of a verity, I would stake my head that we do outwit the baron. But come hither, lad, lest the knave should overhear, and we do by chance work our own un- doing.’? Alwyn led the way along the castle wall, and stopped at a sound distance from ear- shot of the captive in the dungeon. ‘*Now hearken well, young master,’’ he added, ‘‘and store each word in thy memory. IT love thee too dearly to live apart, and so [am bent to follow thy fortunes, if thou wilt have my trusty service. Together we will escape the baron’s clutches or perish 2? ‘‘Well you know that I would have thee, faithful old friend and protector,’’ gently chided Cedric. ‘‘I have always given thee affection and confidence, as did my father in his lifetime.’’ ‘‘And never shall you find it misplaced, dear master,’? replied Alwyn, who was moved almost to tears. ‘‘But now listen. The sun has faded behind yonder forest, and soon the dusk of eventide will be upon us. ? After [have held speech with the baron I | will carelessly cross over the drawbridge in the twilight, as spo I were bound fora stroll in the wood. Then 1 will hie me to that old and faithful dependent of thy father’s, Brian Fetterwolf, who still lives on the farm beyond Mortimer House. I have a few gold pieces saved: and hidden, and for these Brian will part with two good steeds, and hold fast our secret in the bargain. An hour after darkness has fallen the gong will sound for the men-at-arms and retainers to hasten back from what errands they may have outside, so that the drawbridge may be raised for the night. Then lower thyself from the window of thy chamber, swim the moat without noise, and travel in haste to the blasted oak tree which is half a mile distant on the London road. There I shall be waiting with the two horses. Do you un- derstand?’? ‘*Clearly,’’ replied Cedrit. ‘In truth, Alwyn, the plan will carry well. But whither shall we journey or hide, for by midnight the chase will be hot after us??? ‘*We will ride by devious ways, and under cover of night only, toward London,’’ an- swered the servant. ‘:-You remember that in that town lives a distant relative of your father, Hubert Staynton. A brave soldier he is, and a loyal one to king Richard, I’ll warrant. Sure he will put us ina way of living, and when the king comes back to his own we will take measures to punish the Baron Fitzurse and recover your fortune.’’ ‘Yes, I like the plan,’’ said Cedric. ‘‘With Hubert Staynton we will find protec- tion for my father’s sake——?? ‘*We will discuss it further on the way,’’ interrupted Alwyn. ‘‘Now go quietly back to Supe) own room, lad, for the time is brief. Take the steward’s knife lying yonder; and fashion a stout rope from the tapestries that hang on the wall. Have it ready to use when the gong doth sound. And may God protect and guide thee!”’ ‘*Amen!’? whispered Cedric. And with a clasp of the hand the sep- arated, the lad picking up the knife and going in one direction, and Alwyn vanish- ing in the other. : It was now dusk, and Cedric entered the castle and made his. way to his chamber without attracting particular notice, Djn- ner was usually served at a very late hour, and therefore there was little’ likelihood of his being disturbed or missed, . since the baron could have no suspicion that his das- tardly plot was known. The lad had a small bundle made up ready for carriage, and he set to work at once on the rope, which he skillfully made out of the strong tapestries in the space of half an hour. He fastened one end to the heavy leg of his bed, ‘and then sat down on the window seat to wait and watch in the gloom. His mind was filled with gloomy forebodings, which he could not dispel; and he dreaded each mo- ment to hear an outcry from the dungeon, which was straight beneath him at the baso of the wall. m f a . CHAPTER V. IN WHICH CEDRIC LOSES A FAITHFUL FRIEND. . LANG! clang! clang! Loud and ce dolefully, far and a rang the beatin _of the gong—a great Sara- f ' cenic shield of carved brass which one of the baron’s ancestors had brought with him from a crusade to the Holy Land. The time had come, and Cedric’s long wait was over. He rose from the window seat, and as he listened he heard the men-at-arms trooping noisily over the drawbridge into the castle, prompt to obey the signal. : They are all in-aow,’? he said to himself and the wood yonder is empty save for what few retainers may be at a distance on had his féet some errand, I doubt if there be any to- day, yet the bridge will likely be kept down for Alwyn—ay, and for Blackbeard, who will give them a long wait. But I must lin- ger here no longer, now that the way is clear. Ido trust Alwyn hath fared well, and is waiting at the blasted oak with the steeds.’? So saying, the lad tossed one foot over the window-sill, and peered down into the black and dizzy abyss. His little bundle was strapped to his back, and he was: about to clutch the rope and lower himself when that very thing happened which he had dreaded most, causing him to sit still on his perch, with trembling limbs and a terri- fied heart. From below came a great outery and din —hoarse shouting, savage oaths and threats, and a dull and muffled pounding. There was no doubting what it meant. Blackbeard had loosed his bonds and torn the gag from his lips, and was now making lusty efforts to bring men to his rescue. . At first Cedric’s courage failed him, so stunning a blow did this surprise deal his hopes, and he wasted a few precious mo- ments in indecision. ‘*T am lost!’’ he muttered. ‘‘It is all up with me! Now, truly must I die at the baron’s hand! If I descend to the moat-side I shall fall straight into the power of my enemies. If I linger here they will speedily come searching to the chamber. Alack, it is an evil and hard fate! And not a weapon bave I with which to strike back.’’ The torrent of pounding and yellsstill rose from the dungeon, and from court and hall of the castle’s lower floor came answering shouts and hurrying footsteps. The steward would speedily be released, and the dread thought spurred the lad to action. ‘*It were folly not to try to escape,’’ he added to himself. ‘‘I may find none waiting to seize me below, since it is likely that Blackbeard will be taken out by the dun- geon door, and not by the grating whereat he entered. And first the baron will rush to my room to see if I be still here. Then the pursuit will be made, but once I get safely to the dark wood across the moat I shall have a goodly chance for life,”’ Cheered by this hope, Cedric lingered not another second. Taking the rope tightly be- tween his hands he swung off into space. He was less careful about this than he should have been, and for a short time he swung to and fro like a pendulum, not daring to venture farther. Then, when the rope fin- ally became still, he went steadily and quickly down, hand under hand. It wasa goodly distance, but at last his feet touched the stone walk. A glance around showed him no enemies, and he made an effort to tear the rope free from above, so that he might conceal the manner of his escape. Finding this in vain—for the rope and its hold were strong—he let go and made a dash for the moat, But the noise close by was a temptation not to be desisted, and retracing his steps he crouched low by the dungeon window. Inside there was a loud clamor and the flashing of lanterns. Already the baron and six of his men had entered, and in the midst of them stood Blackbeard, foamin at the mouth as he wildly told the result o his eavesdropping. _ ‘*Knough | thy folly hath ruined me!’ cried the baron in a terrible voice. ‘We sball’ have a reckoning later. Alwyn left the cas- tle hours ago, but the lad may still be here. Ten gold pieces to the one who first lays hands on him, men!’? With that the whole party swept out of the dungeon, clanging the door shut behind them, and their noisy footsteps and shouts were heard fainter and fainter as they ran along the underground passages, _ But already Cedric had slipped noiselessly into the water, and now he was striking out gallantly for the opposite bank. The moat was wide, and he had not expected so hard a struggle, His clothes bore him down, and been shod with boots instead of light sandals he must: have been drowned. The outery behind acted asa spur to his strength, and so he swam on desperately. Nearer and nearer came the haven of safety, and finally he dragged himself up the far- ther shore of the moat. \ From the shelter of the bushes, where he crouched for a moment to gain breath, he looked back at the frowning walls of ‘the castle. From the window of his own cham- ber lights flashed and hoarse cries echoed. Men were leaning out, and one hauled up the dangling rope. Baron Fitzurse himself was there, and his voice was heard thunder- ing fierce commands—to turn out the men- at-arms, to search the wood for the fugitive and to saddle the horses in haste, : ‘‘T must be off,’? muttered Cedric, and with that he plunged into the wood, wring- “g the water from his clothes as. he went, . Under cover he circled the end of the castle and then made a straight line diagonally for the London road, which led straight from the drawbridge. He intended to take the road, knowing that, while it was less safe he could make better speed there than in the dark forest. And to gain time was his great- est need. As he turned his back on the front of the castle, he heard shouting, a rattle of arms anda dash of feet toward the stables. On and on he went, through glade and covert, and staggered suddenly into the narrow highway. ‘ One of the baron’s men—a surly fellow © out on some errand—had but just passed in the direction of the drawbridge. He turned around at the sound of the lad’s’ footsteps, and knowing by the tumult that something was amiss he demanded: ; ; ‘*Ho, there, good sir, where art thou going so hastily? Wait till I speak with thee.’’ Cedric made no reply, but ran fléetly for- ward and was out of sight ina moment. Fhe knave, being stout of build, did not pursue. — He went on toward the castle, loudly at every step. ‘* An ill meeting was baron and his men will know am taking. the faithful fellow to such a fate. Straight on will I go, come what may.”’ Never did half a mile seem so long. road was hard and even, and the lad made good speed. But he despaired of reaching — the blasted oak in time, and ere he had gone half the distance he heard the pounding of hoofs behind him. Nearer and nearer came the dread sounds, and now the glow of the rising moon streaked the forest with silvery light, i But at last, when the pursuing horsemeb — were close at his heels, Cedric staggered up to the trysting place, panting and breath- less. Here Alwyn sat on one horse, holding thé bridle of another. + ‘‘Gramercy for thy safe arrival!’’ he ex- claimed. ‘‘And art thou pursued?’’ ‘*Sorely, good Alwyn. close behind.’’ oe ‘‘But we shall give them the slip,’’ cried the servant. ‘‘Here are fresh steeds for both of us. Up with you in haste!?’ Cedric lifted “himself to the saddle and caught the lines, and even as ‘they started ona gallop the baron and his horsemel came into view/ in the moonlight. ‘There was a burst of savage cries, a twanging © bow-strings, and a whistling of darts. the missiles sped wildly save one. Alwy! started violentiy in his seat, groaned aloud, and clapped a hand toward his back. ‘*Art thou wounded?’’ demanded ‘*But slightly,’? was the reply. ‘‘ Faster, faster, lad. No time now for speech—We must fly like the wind.’’ At a furious gallop they rode side by side — along the shadowy forest path, As the min- utes lengthened the pursuers seemed, to be — falling a little behind. They were out of bowshot, and perforce contented themselves with bawling curses and threats. : 3 ‘‘We are gaining, dear Alwyn,’’ cried Cedric. the knaves.’’ ‘*T trust so,’’ the servant answered in 4 ’ " faint voice. Sons x He was swaying in the saddle now and his hold on the bridle was growing weak. bs ‘‘What is wrong???’ demanded Cedric. ‘You are surely burt——”’ “Methinks I am dying, lad,’’ was the re- — ply. ‘‘A cruel bolt is fast fixed in my back, and from much loss of blood a strange weakness is creeping over me. But ere I fa ” i ‘*Oh, speak not thus,’’ cried Cedric. “The wound cannot be mortal. seat a little longer, and we’ will find a plac to rest and hide.’?’ ; ‘‘Nay, my course is run,’? replied Alwyn “It is God’s will, and I must submit. . would fain live for thy sake, dear lad, bw it cannot be. Heed now my last words, 5° thou mayst escape the cruel baron, a first opportunity slip from thy horse, &” let the animal dash on riderless. Then tur off steadily from the London road, hide re night in the forest, and get safely to t town of Nottingham when the day comes: — There you will be secure while the hue av ery lasts, for the baron will seek you “! 4 gently in the direction of London. A? : there, also, you may find friends to shelté ou, for your father had many in the tow”: Ss area change of coarse clothes me for thee by Brian Fetterwolf, and a8? bite of food. Disguise thyself in them, 4?" no one will know thee.”’ Cedric took the bundle, which was to him as the horses were plunging on 4 mad speed. ‘‘T will heed thy words, if the need be,” he said, ‘‘but I pray God you are not mort ally hurt. hy, you seem already——’’ } ied ‘*Not so, dear lad,’?’ Alwyn answereG, faintly. ‘‘My life blood—is—fast—ebbing- Farewell, Cedric—this is the end—I—& hintciaa oe m With a deep groan his hold on the pridle | relaxed, and he reeled heavily saddle to the ground. O— CHAPTER VI. IN WHICH CEDRIC WITNESSES AN ARC CONTEST. EDRIC snatched the bridle of tie wyn's horse as quickly | as wounded servant fell, and thou , minded to learn if he were rea dead, he thought it the part of prudence push on. In the last minute or two the aud his men had gained perceptibly. _ ite e I \ fo i Theis, The villians are _ Cedric. © Do but keep ons oh t the | given passed AL paron ‘A little more, and we shall losé a 4 ¥ strongey bawling that,’’ “muttered the ; lad, as he fled on his way, ‘‘and now the the course+ I might save myself by taking to the wood, but then Alwyn would be mi found and slain. Iam not a coward, to leave HERY ‘ i i sped ride the « near in tl time him: was to | brin mak . COO: IN toe vv. r Straight forward along the forest path sped the two galloping steeds. The one was riderless, and as often as Cedric glanced at the empty saddle a storm of rage and grief nearly choked him. Alwyn, his only friend in the wide world, was now dead. For a time he cared little whether he lived or died himself, but at tha thought of what there | was to live for this feeling passed. He swore | to be revenged on the wicked baron—to bring him to dishonor and ruin, and to make him yield over for punishment the knave who had slain Alwyn. There was only a brief halt at the spot where the servant had fallén. Then, with ager cries, the murderous band spurred on _ at their top speed. Faster and faster went Cedric, also, and asthe distance gradually lessened he remembered the stratagem of which Alwyn had told him, and began to Seek an opportunity to employ it. ‘*Tt should be soon,’’ he said to himself, _‘‘for they are coming perilously close, and I must have a goodly time to spare if I Would succeed.’’ _ Just then the lad skimmed across an open moonlit glade that brought him into full Jew from behind, and a burst of hoarse Cries were followed by a discharge of arrows. All passed safely over him, however, and the next instant he had plunged into just _ the place that was suited for his purpose. Here the road was narrow and the forest dense, Close to both sides were tangled Covert and timber, and from overhead the interlacing boughs hung low. en Cedric was sixty yards from the Moonlit glade, and a baekward_= glance Showed him his pursuers just reaching that Spot, he knew the time had come. Taking the bundle that Alwyn had given him tightly in one hand, he made an agile spring Out of the saddle. He struck fairly on his _ feet and rolled over. Then he dashed into the thick bushes alongside of the road and Touched quietly down, while the two horses Salloped furiously on, side by side. From his place of refuge the lad saw the baron and his men-at-arms whirl by, at such Close range that he could almost have touched them, and heard their loud-spoken Oaths and threats. Assoon asthe hue and Cry after the riderless horses had faded in _ the distance, he sprang to his feet and made _ Off as‘fast as he could run. _, Fitzarse Castie was to the east of Notting- 4am, and the road to London led due south Tom it. Cedric’s proper course, therefore, _ Was at right angles to this road and. to the West, and in this direction he went, guided YY an occasional peep at the moon and ‘Stars. His eyes were soon accustomed to the - darkness, and he was able to pick his way at nf good speed through the Gense trees and Shes. Not an echo of the pursuit reached his hearing, and he wisely did. not stop until he ad covered at least a half-dozen miles. en he came to the brink of a babbling Stream, and found a narrow place where he _ Was able to leap across. On the farther side Was a great oak tree whose roots had been _ Washed nearly bare by some past flood. The 44d crawled in among them, stretched him- _ Self on the sandy ground, and was quickly Sound asleep. Several times during the night, when he _ chanced to get awake, he sat up and lis- _ tened, But there was no sound in the forest Save the chirping of night birds, or the Yustling of small animals. Beyond a doubt ‘he baron and his men were zealously Searching the country in the direction of _4ondon, feeling assured that the fugitive d taken that course. That he would ven- ture toward Nottingham was likely to be their last thought. .,Mtnally, feeling himself quite secure, Ced- Tie fell into a deep and dreamless sleep that Continued until daylight. He was awakened SY the sweet trilling of birds and by the ne sunlight filtering through the canopy of ®aves, His first thought was of Alwyn, and Such torrent of grief filled his heart that he Urst into tears. He wept quietly for a While, and then dried his eyes. “Such weaknesss and faint-heartedness ill Come me,’’ he said to himself. ‘‘I must Not forget that 1am a Saxon—the last of “He proud and ancient house of Mortimer. I "Ru Young and strong, and life is before me. Sut IT shall never forget Alwyn, and some Gay I will properly avenge his foul death. Ome day I will punish this haughty Nor- ~™an baron. I will level his pride, and com- 2 im to yield the fortune of which he _ 188 robbed me. ‘And now for Nottingham, _ While the day is young and the green wood a Safe. I] warrant that Baron Fitzurse i Nd his knaves are miles away, beating mre in the forest that lies toward London. fae, gld would I be to behold their sour Aces,’ ’ j Yi Under tbe shelter of bis hiding place, Ced- Nera changed his attire for the clothes Brian ‘Stterwolf had sent him—such a dress as ane Worn by the lowest and meanest Saxon i ete » Then he crept down to the stream, idly ee his discarded garments around a Gator. stone, and sunk them ina deep and et poor. Next he rubbed the brown stain tt a P ant: lightly on his face and bands, and fe fave him great satisfaction to see himself ase in a glassy part of the water. ty 4' 8 a cunning disguise,’’ he reflected. “contoubt if poor Alwyn or my own father know me now, and surely I may baffle / chance to come across them.’’ A glimpse of the rising sun told the lad in which direction he should go, and he set off | briskly at once. For more than an hour he | traversed the pathless forest,@meeting with | the baron or any of his household, should I | no living creatures save red and fallow deer. Then he came out upon the. highway to| Nottingham, and saw the roofs of the town at a distance of half a mile. Fora time he | crouched.down in the bushes alongside of the road, and after eating what scanty crusts | he had left, and seeing no trace of enemies, he continued his journey. - The edge of the town was soon reached, | and Cedric was surprised to find the out lying streets almost deserted. He went slowly on, guided by a distant hum of | voices, and presently he entered the great square that stood in the center of Notting- | ham. Some extraordinary event was plainly taking place, for here were assembled sev- eral thousand people, both Norman and Saxons—rich merchants and land-owners, weavers, butchers, bakers, and _ potters; | peasants from the country in loose-skirted blouses and belts; king’s foresters and offi- cers, soldiers of the guard, and women and | children. Cedric saw many whom he knew, and finding that he himself was not recognized, he pushed fearlessly into the crowd. He soon reached a spot whence he saw what | was going on. Over against the sheriff’s | house butts were erected, and about fifty men, with bows in their hands and quivers on their backs, were engaged in an archery contest. As the arrows missed or struck well, the people would cheer or groan. Sheriff Tyler himself, a portly and evil- faced Norman, was looking on from the porch of his house, which was strongly built | of stone, and had massive doors. Here the | sheriff frequently kept prisoners of im- portance, though the town jail was on the | opposite side of the square. For atime Cedric eagerly watched the contest, forgetting his sorrows and _ peril. He saw good shots and bad made, but it was evident that one man was going to be the victor. .This archer was tall and hand- some, with a brown beard and blue eyes. He wore the plain dress of a peasant, save that | in his cap stuck a red feather, and at nearly | every shot he struck the center of the target | As the contest went on man after man! dropped out. At last a shout told that the | final round was now to come, and the four remaining contestants, including the man) with the red feather, stepped forward for the trial. a, Ee | ‘Who is yonder young archer that shoots | so well?’’ the lad asked of his neighbor, a | big, red-faced butcher. The question was spoken leudly, and it reached the hearing of a surly, black- bearded fellow who was standing farther | back in the crowd. He elbowed forward to | one side, where he could get a cautious view | of Gedric’s face. He looked once, and then | his own face gleamed with evil satisfaction. | ‘‘There be many asking the same thing | to-day, lad,’’ replied the butcher. ‘‘Red | Feather shoots like Robin Hood himself.’? ‘*Ay, and it is whispered that he belongs to that famous outlaw’s band,’’ joined in a | weaver who was standing by. ‘‘Surely the} sheriff suspects as much, for his eyes follow | the man like a hawk’s. And, moreover, he | hath his armed men dispersed round about.’? | ‘*Would Robin Hood, having a price on} his head, dare venture into the town?’’ asked Cedric, in surprise. ‘‘That he would, were he so minded,’’ re- plied the butcher. ‘‘But I take it this is not Robin Hood, though he is likely to be one of the band. God save him, I say, if the sheriff has suspicions. Rarely does he hate Robin Hood and all his merry out- laws.’ ‘‘What is the prize?’’ Cedric continued. ‘‘Hifty shillings,’’ the butcher answered, ‘Cand Sheriff Tyler did himself offer the money and get up the match——’”’ ‘‘Hush, man,’’ interrupted the . weaver, ‘‘they are at it now.”’ Cedric turned his eyes forward as the first man aimed and let fly. He struck within two inches of the center. The second came an inch closer, and then the third planted an arrow at the same distance on the upper side. The noe -held their breath as Red Feather drew back his bow-string. Twang! the arrow whizzed fairly into the heart of the target. A mighty cheer arose, and as it subsided, the sheriff smilingly descended the steps of his house and came forward. With one hand he gave the bag of money to the victor, and with the other he made a quick signal. Instantly four burly men surrounded and seized Red Feather, who struggled violently to free himself. Cedric started to push for- ward with the crowd, but a heavy clutch on his shoulder detained him. He wheeled an- grily about to meet the cruel gaze of Black- beard. i (TO BE CONTINUED.) —~— ee ———_—__—_—_ Teacher—‘‘What do we see above us when we go out on a clear day?’’ Tommy—‘‘We see the blue sky 7 ‘Correct; and what do we see above us on a rainy day?’? ‘* An umbredla.’? | ging. ‘then he, too, looked away to leeward. 4691 NEARLY DROWNED. BY J. L. ADAMS. | HERE is no cry more startling to the ;2 ears of the small community aboard | a ship than that of ‘‘Man overboard !”’ Penned together within the narrow limits of shipboard, and sharing in the} same daily labor, men very naturally be- vy |come knit together, if not always by bonds | of amity, at least by that of fellowship, and the sudden loss of one from the midst of their little circle causes a gap which never | seems to be entirely filled for the remainder | of the voyage. There are so many little things to remind | one of the departed. : During my career at sea I have several | | times heard the thrilling cry of ‘‘Man over- | | board!’? have been away in the hurriedly | lowered boat propelled by stalwart, eager seamen, and sometimes when almost within reach of the drowning man, have seen him | throw up his arms in wild despair, and sink | | before our very eyes. At other times have ‘pulled around and } around fruitlessly in quest of our shipmate, | only to return to the vessel saddened at | heart, and with a.deeper sense of the dread- | ful uncertainty of life. ; Once, and once only, have I myself been | the cause of this thrilling, much-dreaded | ery, and I owe my deliverance under Provi- | dence to the extraordinary coolness and courage exhibited by as gallant a sailor as | ever walked a ship’s deck—namely, the | | chief officer of the vessel I was serving in as | |an apprentice at the time. We had left Sydnéy, homeward bound, | with a full cargo of wood, tallow, and hides, and at the time I write of had been six days out, and passed the Snares Rocks, off New Zealand. : The wind, which had been favorable for us since leaving port, had increased to such a terrific gale that we dare not ‘‘run’’ any longer before it, and were compelled to heave the ship to under a lower maintopsail. In company with us, and likewise ‘‘hove to’’ and to windward of us, were two other well-known Sydney traders, the La Hogue and the Maid of Judah, both of which ves- sels had left the day before we did. It was about half-past three in the after- noon, when the second officer, who was on watch, ordered me to make some ‘‘stops’’ of the weather-cloth fast outside of the rig- ‘*Mind you don’t fall,’’ said he; ‘‘hold on tight.’’ ‘“‘Ay, ay, sir!’’ I replied, and jumped out- side the rigging and into the chains. I had completed my job satisfactorily, and was preparing to climb aboard again, when the ship gave an unusually heavy dive, and as her head rose her after part, up to the mizzen chains, was placed under water, and I was torn from my grasp and fell. ‘*Man overboard! Man overboard !”’ I heard the cry distinctly, as the dark waters whirled me astern. Mr. Williams bad doubtless seen mé fall. ‘‘Who is it? Where? Heave over a_ hen- coop! Can you see him? Clear away the quarter-boat }’? These were the cries that followé@d each other in rapid succession, accompanied with a hurried tread of feet, which rose even above the sound of the wind and of the roar- ing water in which I was immersed. At first I sank plumb, as if tied to a shot, but in a few seconds began to ascend. When I reached the surface, however, it was to find myself whirling from the ves- sel’s side, with a confused noise of the wind and the bubbling waters in my ears, yet over all rose the shouts of my shipmates. I was so blinded by the water that I could not immediately see. I spun around and around as ina whirl- pool, for I had been caught in the eddies under, the stern. I looked to windward, too, for the ship, forgetting that a heavy vessel would make more leeway than my light person. But just as I sank inthe trough of the sea, I caught sight of the tall spars pitching a short distance to leeward, and when [ arose on the next wave, I took care to keep my eyes fixed in that direction. I could now behold the men in the rigging on the Jookout, and hear again distinctly their eager and excited cries. They were all gazing to leeward, and con- sequently could not see me. ‘“Where away is he? I can’t see him, can you? There, he has just sunk in the seeth- ing trough! No, it was not he! Halloa! hal- hil-loa !’? While these shouts were following each other, I saw Captain Seaborn spring onto the taffrail and cast a swift glance around the horizon. I thought his eye had lighted on me; for, unlike the rest, he turned to windward. But a hasty glance in the right direction, | How my heart sank within me! Was I to perish, and within hearing, too, in conse- quence of this mistake of my shipmates? I raised my voice and shouted. I could still hear the answers. “Ahoy! aho-o-y! There, that was his voice, certainly! Can’t you see him yet?’’ ‘*Ahoy! ah-o-oy! aho-oy!’’ I straining my lungs to the utmost. ‘*Halloa!’? replied the deep, stentorian voice of the skipper, the words struggling faintly against the wind. The ship was rapidly drifting down to lee- ward, and I knew that if not soon discoy- ered I was lost. So I shouted again: **Ahoy! aho-oy !’’ The last word was frantically prolonged, and I awaited its effect with intense anxiety. It was evident from the manner in which my comrades aboard glanced anew around the horizon, as also from the shouts which they uttered in reply, that my cry had reached them. ; I could not, indeed, hear their hail, but saw their hands to their mouths as when persons shout loudly. Alas, the same fatal error of still looking in the wrong direction prevailed among them; not an eye was turned to windward! After giving way for a few minutes to de- repeated, | spondency, as I saw the ship drifting off, 1 rallied myself, and reflecting that hope never dies while there is life, I began to con- sider my situation more calmly. The comparative buoyancy of my dress—I had on an oil-skin coat and cap—would en- able me, I thought, to keep afloat for an hour, or perhaps for evena longer period, and in that time what chances might not turn up? 1 had noticed the La Hogue lying to the windward just before I fell overboard. The direction in which I was. drifting would certainly carry me near her, when I might be more fortunate in attracting atten- tion. I cheered my heart with this reflection, and began to look out for her. My first object in this new frame of mind was to get rid of my boots, which, being full of water, had begun sensibly to drag me down. With great difficulty I succeeded in pull- ing them off, and when rid of these danger- ous incumbrances, and floating more lightly, I had a better opportunity to look around. My vision of distant objects was, of course, cut off every monient of my being carried down into the trough of the sea. No one who has not been in a similar sit- uation can realize the awe with which I gazed on the dark, glistening sides of the immense billows, as I saw myself sinking away from them, as if to the bottom of the very ocean. Suddenly, when I was at the lowest, 1 would begin to ascend, as if by magic, from that gloomy gulf, my velocity increasing every, instant, until at last I would shoot upward above the crest of the wave, like an arrow propelled from the abyss. A toss of the head to shake off the water, a long- drawn breath to recover myself, and then [ was whirled downward again, half smoth- ered in the boiling surge. I had been overboard half au I caught sight of the La Hogue. When at last I beheld her, I could not re- strain a cry of joy. hour before She was drifting rapidly toward me, and would pass within hail. How beautiful she looked! her symmetri- cal hull, that floated so buoyantly. Her tall spars, unrelieved by a single bit of canvas, save the close-reefed maintopsail under which she was ‘‘laying to.’? These, penciled against the horizon, formed together a picture of unsurpassed — grace. - 3 Now she would pitch, head foremost, into the sea. Then she would slowly rise, dripping from the deluge. As she swung, pendulum-like, the wild and whirling clouds that stormily traversed — the distant sky, seemed one moment to stand — still, and then to speed past her with accel- erated ‘velocity. } The La Hogue was now fast approaching me. ef ‘‘Halloa! halloa!’’ I cried, raising my arm above my head, as I rose on the crest ofa — wave. I had but an* instant to watch the effect of my bail before I was submerged again. But there was time enough to assure me that I had not been heard. I noticed, with terrible, misgivings, that my voice was much weaker than it was half an hour before. Was I so soon becoming exhausted? * At this rate, another hour would finish | my life. - ‘ The idea filled me with alarm. ; As I gained the crest of the next billow, I made a desperate attempt to shout both louder and quicker. ‘*Hilloa! hal-lo-aa! hal-al-hoa!’’ I cried, frantically. I was still prolonging the sound when the comb of a wave went over me, and, half blinded as well as smothered, I was tumbled headlong down into the trough of the sea, which I reached more dead, you may be sure, than alive. eee T was still so exhausted when I arose on the next billow that I could not speak. = With agony inexpressible, | now saw my- self nearly abreast of the La Hogue. ; Another descent, and another mad whirl upward, and to my dismay I found her sail-_ ing from me. § I was now almost delirious with despair, ; % See a SONS HS 46902 How I cried! I fancied I saw a lookout turn toward me. T knew that he must have heard me. Tf I could have remained on the top of that surge just one instant longer, his eye would have fallen upon me; but the insatia- ble gulf demanded me, and, seized in_ the embraces of the pitiless waters, I was hur- ried downward to darkness and death. When I next rose to the light of day the La Hogue was fast receding. ; I was so breathless trom being nearly smothered that 1 could not raise my voice above that of a child, and hence failed to attract the attention of the ‘‘lookout,”’ whom I still saw gazing in search of me. May Heaven grant that none who’ read these words ever experience feelings similar to mine at that moment. In another instant I had recovered my voice, but the La Hogue was out of hearing. My only chance of rescue seemed gone. I was alone—alone in the illimitable ocean —alone while night was drawing on! Far, far away to leeward, just visible occasion- ally over the distant surges, Isaw my own vessel; but except this and the La Hogue, the horizon was without a speck. The dreaded night began to close in. Darker and darker the shades of eyening fell around the waste of waters, and the wind as it went by seemed moaning my requiem. Occasionally a flash of lightning would throw a ghastly radiance across the water. I was cold and half stupefied; my senses began to desert me. Gradually all things seen or heard became more and more indistinct; and then followed utter forgetfulness—that trance between life and death when the body is exhausted, but the vital spark not yet fled—that one dread ause between this world and the next. I ave no recollection of anything further un- til I was partially aroused from my insensi- bility by a hand being laid upon me. The next instant I was dragged violently through the water and thrown on my chest across some hard substance, which I con- cluded must be the gunwale of a boat. I fell with such force as to eject from me, as from a force pump, most of the water that I had swallowed. The excessive pain roused me to more com- plete consciousness. I languidly opened my eyes. I thought I recognized familiar faces. The doubt was settled immediately by a well-known voice: ‘*Hasy there, Jack! Poor fellow! he is ‘ well-nigh gone! Now, my hearties!?’ The words were spoken in the kind tone of the chief officer, Mr. Hardy. I knew now that I had been picked up by otir ship’s boat. She was lying head on to the waves, to prevent her being swamped while she took me up. Obeying Mr. Hardy’s directions, the men, with a second effort, lifted me completely out of the water and laid me in the stern- sheet of the boat. ‘*How do you feel?’’ asked the chief offi- cer. ‘‘We were looking for you in the wrong direction, until, all at once, I remember you ought to have been to windward, and so at last made you out, a mere speck upon the horizon. ‘*We had a herd pull to reach you, too. At first I thought we should be swamped. But here you are, safe! Now, lads, give way with a will!”’ ; The crew at these words put double strength to their oars, and away we sped to- ward the ship. Oh, what a sensation of comfort and se- curity came over me as I felt the planks once more under me! I heard the waters, which, cheated of their prey, followed roaring in our wake. I looked up toward Mr. Hardy, who, steering with one hand, was covering me ' with his jacket with the other. He was doing it, too, as tenderly as a mother wraps her babe. Oh, how full my heart was! I Ren to raise myself on my elbow and ak, **No, my boy,’’ he said, placing his hand on my shoulder gently, as if to press me down; ‘‘not a word—you need rest, you have been an hour and a half inthe water.”? Even this little exertion made me dizzy. I heard his words as in a dream, and sank back, while all things seemed to whirl Pas ie closéd my eyes, and presently, in a whis- per, I heard Mr. Hardy ain : ‘*He sleeps. I don’t think he could have stood it five minutes longer.’’ From this time until I awoke in my berth, a comfortable one in the saloon, I lay ina state of profound insensibility. They told me afterward that on reaching the ship they thought me gone, but that by chafing my limbs and employing restora- tives, they recovered me. ; I soon after sank into a refreshing sleep, ‘and when I awoke in the morning seemed well, though very weak. It was quite dark, it appears, when we reached the ship, so that if my discovery had come a few minutes later, it is ex- tremely doubtful whether I should have been saved, Years have passed since then, yet I al- ways shudder to recall those terrible hours when I fell overboard, magnificent reindeer, elks, and wild fowl of all sorts. I was not much of a sportsman, but wished to become one; though I must confess, I thought it very -hard work when winter came down upon us in one of the wildest parts of that wild re- gion. Jack was accompanied by a faithful servant, Dan Kelly, who was even a keener sportsman than, his master. , We were one day wandering among preci- pices and yawning chasms, when we halted to dine. We had with us several native hunters and a Norwegian gentleman, who spoke English well. While we were at din- ner, Dan wandered away with his gun. Presentliy we heard a loud ery of ‘‘Help! help, or 1711 be kilt entirely.”’ We knew that the shout must come from Dan. ‘‘He is in a difficulty,’’ cried Hadfield. Hurrying on, we saw Dan standing on the other side of a ravine in front of a cave, out of which appeared a huge she-bear grin- ning fiercely. Why she didn’t set on him could not understand, till our Norwegian friend observed that. she probably had her cubs inside. Our appearance, instead of daunting her, increased her rage. She began to waddle toward Dan, who had not fired lest he should only .wound her. On hearing our voices, he lifted his gun and pulled the trigger. j Though the bal] struck the animal, it didn’t stop her, and Dan had to beat a rapid retreat. Just behind him was a precipice with the deep gully which separated us from him. He could not get over it, nor could we pass over to him. : The ground was so thickly covered with snow, which projected like the sugar on the top of ‘a plum cake over the precipice that the edge was not discernible, while the bot- tom of the glen was completely filled with it. The bear was now advancing on Dap, who, using his riffe as a club, sprang back. The bear, though receiving an ugly knock on the nose, seized the weapon and pressed on upon Dan. ’ He ran a feérful chance of either being torn by the bear, dashed to pieces down the precipice, or shot by us, his friends. Dan’s foot was close to the edge, when he shouted : ‘¢Arrah, thin, fire, in mercy fire!’’ Jack and I fired together. The bear fell rolling over on her back, and to save him- self from going headlong down the precipice, Dan seized one of her legs. There he hung, trying to haul himself up, while it seemed every moment likely that the brute would roll over, and carry him with her. She, however, as if aware of her danger, clung on to the snow. By this time the rest of the party bad got round, and one 9° them fired. The bear was just slipping over the edge, when they grasped her by the fore-paws. She was not dead, however, and attempted to bite them. ‘(Pull away, boys, pull away,’’ cried Dan. Meantime we having burried round, had just reached the bear, and I was stooping over to help the poor fellow, when suddenly T felt blinded, stunned, and more confuse than I had ever been in my life before. The snow had given way, and falling over, I was hurled against the bear, kicked by one of my companions, and finally came to myself to find that I was buried under it. I was half suffocated, but resolved to try and effect my escape. I At length breaking through the surface, discovered that I was in a sea of snow. One of the bear’s paws lay close to me. MY companions were making the best of theil way out, and I could just catch sight ° Dan’s head not far away. But-Hadfield was nowhere to be seen. ‘‘Where’s the maisther? where’s the maisther?’’ shouted Dan, who commence digging like a dog in the snow, expecting t° find him still buried beneath it. 9 We now heard a shout, and on looking UP» saw Jack clinging to the cliff above. ae fortunate for us below that he had escape falling, for he managed at last to reach the top, and hurried off for assistance. 1 Had it been otherwise, it seemed probable that we should never have escaped. ; As it was, we had to wait till it was wis most dark, and just as we were all but frozen to death, he and some peasants 4? rived. b We were: at last drawn to the top PY means of ropes which they had brought. his ‘‘Bedad, yer bonor, ‘it’s enough of ft i we’ve had,’’ said Dan, as we returned our but. ‘*You’re not far from wrong, Dan, his master's answer. : 4 This proved to be the last of our maby @ ventures, as we left Norway shortly after 1 2»? was ’ "5 / HOW FRANK'S SUSPICIONS WERE i Mere air to me. {This Story will not be Published in Book-Form. } FEARLESS AND TRUE; 2, Frank Forrester's Motto Through Life, capil aie BY HENRY HARRISON HAINES, Author of ‘Upright and Honest,” etc. (“FEARLESS AND TRUE” was commenced in No. . Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER XXXI. AROUSED. xh 47 HEN Frank beard Markham shout i 19 out the order to follow him, and : W also heard the villain’s footsteps A, oe he turned short about. _ Up the stairs came Markham, flushed with rage, and after him cane the colored ‘man, the latter rubbing his head briskly with his hands. “T forgot that he belonged to a very hard- headed race,”’ reflected Frank, who was sur- prised to see the hegro. ‘A white man Would have remained unconscious for a “quar ter of an hour.’ __ At this iastant Randolph Markham caught ‘sight of him. **You get out of here,’’ he roared. ' Frank’s blood boiled at the sight of the Man who had so wronged his father and Mother, and for a moment he forgot his ‘usual caution. : _ ‘*¥You put me out,’’ he snapped, ‘‘you and your colored guard. im The latter got behind Markham, evidently anticipating an attack from the str ong boy. _ Markham glared at Frank, but did not vance. _ ‘“This is my house,’’ he said, ‘‘and 4 you have no right here, i order you to go.’ “TT have one right, ”? quietly saacrnied the young athlete, ‘and that is the right of Nuight. It is usually the right of the bully - and the brute, but | don’t feel ashamed to Use it in this instance.’’ “Tf you do not at once | leave the house _I will summon the police.’ ‘*T wouldn’t be in a stip to cultivate their acquaintance if I were in your place,”’ ‘Significantly said Frank. ‘* You will be very intimate with them before long, Markham, can assure you.’ - The shot told, and the villain changed Color. _ He shifted his style of attack. _ ‘*What do you want here?’’ he asked. . **To see the dead body of my girl friend, Ida Clare, and I don’t see why so mu¢h fuss S made about it. W hy should that man have prevented me from viewing the remains? 4 hy, you couldn’t have taken more precau- tions to keep out visitors if the girl had een murdered.”? _As he gave utterance to the last words ‘rank gazed intently at Markham’s face. He fancied that the man started, but could ‘Not be sure. _‘*You’re a very insolent boy,’’ ill-natured- ly rejoined Markham, ‘‘but your words are 1 took all these unusual Tecautions because I did not want to be _ Overrun with the crowds of morbid sight- ‘Seers -vyho visit every case of suicide the rs publish.’’ pa _ This seemed reasonable enough in the way ‘of an explanation, so Frank pursued the Subject no further. . **Well,?? he said, simply, ‘‘I’m going to ook. at the body, and if you feel like aking an unseemly row about the matter, that is your affair.’ __ And with that he gain: -Toom, keeping a sly glance upon the two “men in the hall-way fr om the corner of his on the stairs, ye. At the head of the room, between the two windows, Frank caught sight of a coffin Ssting upon trestles. 6 approached it. The cupant. was revealed. “Oh, poor Ida!’? he exclaimed, as he ooked’ down upon a countenance that, in pite of bruises and contusions, looked like is ner etty sweetheart. Out in the hall-way stood Markham, his ale fixed upon the boy, and when he heard Corie *s exclamation, he uttered a /little eo” the bo y it seemed like a guttural ex- Pression of satisfaction. # : ‘ank continued to gaze upon the face of ate 2 iat girl, but his brain was busily at T. is keen brain that little exclamation am’s was very significant. ; e took his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his eyes. Then he let the handkerchief fall into the He Teached down for the handkerchief, as he did so he pushed aside the lobe of ad girl’s left ear. he raised the handkerchief again, it over his eyes, and blew his nose in Tay ine eRe sometimes eer. his way into the } id was open, and the face of the oc-| t rCOtTD by people who wish to hide the fact that they are in tears. Then he looked again at the dead girl’s face, shook his head very sorrowfully, and once more murmured: “*Poor Ida!’? With a mournful expression on his face, he left the room. Markham moved aside from the head of the staixs to permit him to pass. ‘‘When will you bury her?’’ asked. ‘‘That’s my concern,’’ was the surly re- the boy Ys ‘Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to let me know so that I could attend the funeral,’’ sternly said Frank. ‘‘We were very dear friends,’? ‘*You may see it advertised,’’ evasively said Markham, and with that Frank had to be content. He went down the stairs and out of the house, and on the mere chance of catching the professor, made his way with all possi- ble speed to the Oriental Athletic Club. He met Brant just coming out of the main door-way. He stopped short and regarded Frank with an expression of pity. ‘*My boy,’’ he said, in his kindly style, ‘*T’ve got bad news for you.”’ ‘*My mother !’? ae Frank. retaken her!’ INOW quickly. said Brant; ‘‘nuothing of that sort, Frank, but your little sweet. heart, Ida Clare, has committed suicide or been murdered.” Frank, who had been much alarmed, gave utterance to a sigh of relief. ‘*T know all about that, »» he said, and told him of the account he had read. ‘*Like you,’’ he continued, ‘‘I suspected that it might as well be mur ‘der as suicide, so I visited Markham’s house, and after some trouble, managed to obtain a view of the body. ‘‘Markham was standing in’ the hall-way watching me keenly when I approached the coffin. At the first glance I thought I recog- nized the girl. ‘*My sympathies were touched, and J said, aloud, ‘Ah, poor Ida!’ ‘‘The moment I did so Markham uttered a grunting sort of exclamation that to my ears indicated deep satisfaction, as though he had been waiting for me to express an indirect identification of the body. ‘‘This at once set me to thinking, and made me see that he was anxious that I should identify the body as that of my girl friend, Ida Clare. OLE pretended to wipe “my eyes with my handkerchief, dropped it into the coffin, and as 1 removed. it, 1 managed to obtain a view of the girl’s neck, just back of the left ‘*They have ear. ‘‘Brant, Ida Clare had but one blemish ‘about face, neck, or throat, and that was a peculiar mole that grew just back of her mh ear. ‘*T say that it was peculiar because it had a regular bead and a neck. In fact, the odd shape of it one day caused the girl to laugh- ingly remark to me ‘that she was going to have a small hole made in the lobe of her left ear so she could button it to her neck. ‘Brant, there was no mole at the back of the left ear of that body I saw at Mark- ham’s house. Furthermore, after my sus- picions were aroused, I clusely inspected the features of the dead girl, and although there is a strong general resem blance, which the bruises and contusions naturally makes more obscure than it would otherwise be, I would declare that the body is not that ‘of Ida Clare, even without the item of the missing mole.’ The professor had listened with intense ‘ntarent to the boy. ‘“‘Then you think that this is a substituted body?’’ he said. ae es. ” ‘Then Ida Clare may be alive?” . ‘*Not may be, but must be,’’ rejoined the brainy boy. ‘‘Why should they substitute a body, otherwise??? ‘‘True, true,’’? admitted the professor. “What infernal villainy is behind all this?’’ ‘‘That is more than I can guess,’’ re- sponded Frank. ‘‘It seems to me, Brant, at these villains, Markham, Hope, Doctor Drake, and the rest, always stop short of downright murder, and that makes me feel confident that I shall -yet find both my father and Ida Clare alive.’’ _ **Rrank, Iam convinced that < in your idea,’’ said Brant. ‘‘Vil they are, they dare not commit murder.’’ Well, I’m off to the office,’’ said Frank. And then he communicated to the professor his design of following George Fielder when he Jeft his desk, with the hope that the dis- honest clerk might have an appointment with some of the other rascals in the case. ‘““That’s as good a thing as you can do,”’ said Brant, approvingly. ‘I’m going down town, so we'll walk along together and talk things over.’? They had not gone over half a block when ou’re right Frank caught*sight of a familiar figure] swinging along on the other side of the WET ook, Brant,’’ he said, fe you see that man with the brown hat on??? ‘¢Yes. ? “Don’t let him escape, ”? said rank: and “ae that he 5 eae across ane wavet: : otherwise respectable family, and ains though _ the prison room. NEw Ss. 4693 CHAPTER XXXII. | TOM JOHNSON’S STORY. SPAHE man that Frank had pointed out to q 1 the professor on the opposite side of '\ the way was Tom Johnson. He was swinging along” with his head bent and evidently in a reflective | mood, when Frank ran lightly in front of | him and tapped him on the arm. | At the same time Professor Brant crossed | the street and stood some ten feet behind | Johnson. The latter, as is common with most men who lead improper lives, started violently when he was tapped on the arm. However, when he looked up and saw Frank’s face, the expression of apprehension that bad appeared on his countenance at once disappeared. ‘“*How are you, boy?’’ he said. ‘‘How are you, Johnson?’’ returned our hero. ‘*You look troubled.’’ we Ban. ‘*What’s troubling you?’’ ‘““My conscience.’?’ ‘*What have you been doing now?’’ ‘Oh, it’s not about anything new; it’s the old doings. I tell you, boy, that you have worked a queer change in me, and | long to have the opportunity of tur ning over a new leaf.”’ ‘*Do you mean it?’?’ ‘*As God is my judge, I do.” The man’s manner and tone were too ear- nest to admit of the slightest doubt of his sincerity. | Frank looked keenly at him, and he was | almost sure that he detected tears in his | eyes. ‘Frank Forrester,’’ said Johnson, his voice trembling with emotion, ‘‘I was born in a respectable family, and had a good | mother and father. ‘*T was well cared ;for, well brought up, and the happiest recollection of my life is of the time when I used to repeat my even- | ing c at my mother’s knee. | iver since I saw you I have felt a queer ) change coming over me. You told me that: you did not think me naturally bad, and | your kind opinion seemed to awaken all that | was good in my nature. ‘‘When I saw your affectionate recog- nition of your father, it brought back my | own dear parents to my mind, and last) night I saw the sweet face of my dead | mother. a score of times in my dreams. ‘Frank, she seemed to smile on me, to regard me with encouragement, and when I} awoke, I swore to become a better man if | fate would only point out the way. ‘‘T have been weak, dissipated, easily in- | fluenced, but I never committed but one crime, and I was intoxicated when I did that. ‘Oh, Frank, wonderful boy that you are, I wonder if you can help me to become a new man?’’ There were unmistakable tears in his eyes now, and his low, earnest tones were almost § sobbing. Professor Brant had softly stolen up in the rear, and had listened with Perey to Jobnson’s observations. “T’lt try to help you,’’ earntstly said Frank, and extended his sti ong hand to the penitent fellow. Johnson grasped it eagerly, as though it were a staff to lean upon. ‘*And so will 1 help you,’’ warmly put in the professor, moving in front of him and | extending his hand. Johnson regarded him with surprise. . ‘This is Professor Brant, a good friend of | mine,’’ explained Frank. “He knows about | you through me.?? | Johnson shook hands with Brant. ‘*Your face is rather familiar to me,’’ he) said, ina puzzled tone. “Think you’ve seen me before but can’t | plate me??? said Brant. ‘‘That’s it.’? ’- ‘‘Think for a minute.’’ ‘Oh, now I know. You strongly resemble | Billy Brant. if | “Who is a thief, the black bere. of an} appens to be my first cousin,’’? responded the at fessor. Then he turned to Frank. “Do you want to havea long talk with Johnson?”’ he asked. ‘ ‘¢Ves “Then to the club, my rivate room.”? / ‘Just the thing,’’ said Frank. ‘ And with Johnson between them, they re- traced their steps to the rooms of the Ori- ental Athletic Club in order to converse as | they would have scarcely dared to do in the open street. Ten minutes later the three were locked in the professor’s private room, and then Frank turned to Johnson. ou had better come back with me ‘Now, Johnson,’’ he requested, ‘tell us | what happened after I left you.”? — ‘‘T will» You left me bound and gagged on the floor. ‘You had not been gone ten minutes | when Basil Hope had need of me. _ ‘He called through the house, . got no and we can lock ourselves in| reply, and then hunted for me. ‘“*There he found me on the floor, and also your father. ‘He released me, and at once demanded | an explanation. ‘*It was easy enough to tell him how you |had overcome me, and the appearance of | the cells bore out my story. ‘Of course, I didn’t say anything to him ;about the recognition of your father, or |about your intention of coming back, ‘put he may have suspected those matters. ‘‘He evidently expected that you would soon return, for he at once declared that |the prisoner must be removed from the | house. ‘He ran down stairs, leaving meon the top floor. ‘‘Just as he got to the main hall-way the door opened, and a moment later I heard him talking to a man whom I knew by his voice to be a party named Markham.”’ ‘‘Randolph Markham?’’ interrupted the boy, eagerly. “Yes, Randolph Markham. yer.” ‘*That’s the man. Go on.’’ ‘tT could understand that they were talk- ing about some place to which the prisoner was to be removed, and Markham said that He’s a law- | the place was excellent, and that the re- | moval should be made at once. ‘*