Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 13) (1884 08 19)
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a) lk ee t+ ad POCKET EDITION. £ SRE TIS | ESA OG) ae RSS N =] a VoL. 1. £482, _ Price, Five Cents. No. 13. “st AL) ae Bees CLAUDE CLINTON AND THE OBJECT OF THEIR CONVERSATION APPROACHED, AND THE LATTER WAS PRESENTED AS EVERARD AINSLIE. WITHOUT A HEART: Or, WALKING ON THE BRINK. BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM. CHAPTER I. GOD’S REBUKE. Over hill and valley, over mountain and river, a shadow was creeping — but not the shadow of night, for the day was not far spent, and the sun had yet a long course to run ere its setting. ; ‘ But the skies were overcast with flying clouds, the forerunners of the storm sweeping up from the east, and shielding the earth from sunlight, while the deep rumble of muffled thunder was borne ominously along on the wind, echoed, like the roll ofa hundred guns, among the moun- tain glens, Surveying the scene of beauty, with the rush- ing river, reflecting back the storm-clouds, at her feet, and mountains rising far heavenward upon the other bank, stood a young girl, grace- fully reclining against a huge moss-grown rock, to which was tied a small, rudely made skiff. The maiden seemed lost in deep reverie, while her eyes were turned earnestly upon s massive stone structure, a mile up the river, and sheltered by the overhanging hill upon ‘the other bank. The face of the maiden, though bronzed by; exposure, was strangely beautiful, while in the
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ng. ae j @ head was carried with a haughty pose ire fect and sey Meridor touc ‘Th B a pictures z n »nes- tled in which, as if hiding Pa the din of fe out- , was ee —the home ot joy and é¢ontentment, it would seem, for that care an sorrow nid ever cross the threshold of that love- ly, but humble home, one could not believe. : Adown the ere, came a woman with quick and nervous , & wiry form, and the sharp, dis- agreeable face of a scold, while her small, suspicious eyes snapped with anger. Unobserved by the dreamer, she drew near the rock, and then her shrill tones cut the crisp air, causing the young girl to start, and her face to flush with anger. “This is the way you do as I tell you, miss? Well, my a is a misery “ n ONO. ab I izhibe drowned, ub Im ‘ re | for you if you was, for, except to stand ae i ng over at the University, you are good or 0) “‘ Just let me catch any of those students sneak- ing na med home, and I guess they’ll find it hot ‘or them. “Tam certain they would—your presence would add heat to the devil’s dominions,” retorted the girl, stingingly, as her r arose, and then, with a light age she boun away through the woods in search of the cow, which it was her duty to look af- ter. - Still scolding, the woman retraced her way to- ward the cottage, while the girl hurried oe the river-bank for a short distance, until she suddenly came upon an open space, bordered upon one sidé by a broad highway traversing the country. As she was al the ning, for the |, of a bell tol was not far distant, sh k and cronched down in the thicket, for, not fifty paces.from_her, she beheld a strange scene for that lonely spot; Miles from village or town. In the opening in the woods stood half a dozen men, and ee the face of each rested a gloomy shadow—not reflected thereon by the gathering _storm-clouds, but,.the shadow, of ppprogching eyil. It was a mysterious group, a scene, and one which the éye of no woman should ever rest upon, and which, to her dying day, ever haunted her memory, for the deed of that morning was one not to be idly banished from her thotights. Two of those six men were crouched upon the ground before open cases. filled with glittering in- struments, while two more conversed sip rice to- in low tones, as though they feared the winds might bear their words away, to carry sorrow and gloonminto some :far-away home. The two principal figures in the six were, one’pac- ing quickly to,and fro,.the other standing upright, arms crossed upon his bread breast, his eyes | ” | with straining eyes gazed upon the, nt, | each movement of Me indl vidual in the ot That the shadow | tO cross ope: her that the purert of her séareh | C) WITHOUT A HEART. | other th darkest brunette, with hair and beard and e black as jet. 7 one tb woman tnt to fase of the lild could read—it was hard, stern, and strikingly i dsome. - 1 erouched down to move, and é, following death rested on knew, and her heart almost | two men who had proached the two who “were stan | placed in their hands. two long, glitte of deadly look, A few moments more, and the six menstood erect, the two who had most attracted theaftention of the young girl. face to face, and about fifteen paces apart—the others upon one side, Then a silence fell upon all, and even the birds im the woods ceased their song, and only the angry roar of the distant tempest broke upon the ear, and all nature seemed hushed with dread, An instant @nly, but an age of agony to all who & weapons were th passed away, and then in metallic se ap the voice of a destroying angel, cut forth @ words: “* Gentlemen! are you ready ?” Each man, who stood there upon the brink of the grave, looking ily into eternity, merely bowed assent, and crisp tones of the second cut the air with distinctness: “ ps But the tols was unnoticed in the blinding eee light that swept the scene— the c of the w » unheard in the terrific crash of heaven’s ery, while from its towering sp to its rootlets a massive tree standing not far off was shivered be stroke hurled upon it from the storm-clouds above, — With _a cry of terror the maiden sunk forward upon the green sward, but ere her eyes closed in Wing fall Jono ae cee the ot 3 we ed o g en, upon the un is foreheac stained with fite's crimson | hao foe standing erect, bis face pases his as) ia his Toe ions were crouc own as though in vi ear rt G God’s awful presente upon the lonely Rennes thoy had sought for a‘meeting across an open grave, OH PECKING AT THE b= ee t ngerk See Serr Wn oc, a sw ay a a ane, eee horscit abe ae oe Prove | fo ger was the open space oceupied by those who there; their cruel work was done and <ai# gone, With an effort of control the young girl regained her eomposure, though her face still wore a white, scared look, and she glanced staringly toward the spot where had lain the form of the man who had fallen before the aim of his foe. How a she had-been unconselous:she knew not; but it could not have been many minutes, for the storm had not yet broken upon the earth, though the roar of its approach sounded louder and louder, and the light flashedywildly around her, causing her. to shrink with very dread. The rapid tinkle of the bell showed that the cow was hurrying homeward to escape the tempest, and the girl was about to follow her example, when a white piece of ee attracted her attention. It lay near where the dead man had fallén, and she walked timi toward the spot and picked up the object that had caught her eye. It, was a letter in an open envelope, and infolded therein was a photograph of a beautiful woman, cast down. | Both were persons who would attract attention in | any assemblage, and yet very unlike each other, | for one was a blonde, wifh the bluest eyes-and the egoldenest hair, and long, drooping mustache; the young, yet sad-looking. The envelope was addressed to: “ Colonel Roslyn Roselle.” Nothing else was written thereon, and then the girl
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oe. i a ae OO _Circumstances, read the few lines that were written “My own with a curiosity that might be excused under the mn the scented, tinted 'Y were as follows: a Rostyn: “ Ar Home. I ama prisoner in my own home, for my brother the from some source was heard “ paper. Roslyn, for sake, and when you are safe from harm, then I will Conte and peck and to- 8ether we will go through life. eum address, and I will come to you. “ Ever loving you, I bid ot a hopeful farewell. “* FLORICE.” “She is a beautiful woman, but her image did not ay she loved; yes, I see all now—she is Preneely Hike ene ome mee fired the death-shot; the brother us mused the maiden, as she returned the hotograph and letter to the envelope, and securely them in her bosom, while her flushed and °yes sparkled as she continued musing half aloud, that I could be once more in the beautiful ed, am beautiful, I know, and. beauty is for T have this sae x ‘! ay, mak : re 7 . men my very slaves; but my power must main here forever when I know my auty and my power? hea must cacao to the beautiful world and come a belle, as all beautiful women can? No, I am a slave here, and here must remain; et I cannot but fret at my imprisonment— Hal €ar the shrill voice of auntie calling me, and I must off to eee the 0 Ba; the maiden cast another shuddering Fiance upon the red stain which the earth was slow- drinking up, god Se alight step bounded away ver toward the Arri there she found the waters growing darker and darker under the gloom of the heavens, if jDeheld that the storm was gathering its skurry- whi gions of storm-clouds together for the fray, Te though abet eat ae ee C) and trembled at the thought of facing the danger ob and rude han treacherous waters, sis feared and ong into her rude boat, she seized the oars that which few men dare face. the power ® shrill voice of her aunt was again heard, and bounding awa; and loudly sh ri avr ber to come back. Geet a the Sater Woman’ ly on, a a troubled look came upon the she will: face, while she cried anxiously, ‘‘ My God! NO, no drown—curse her recklessness—no, yet ghSh® must not drown, for though I hate her, and] wise not die, or my life-long eis will fail, “ wt lose all, riches, revenge and all. Bee your, back, girl fool that you are, do you not Tn vain r? Come back, come back!” reached ty cry; the maiden still kept on until she d-river, and there, throwing out her an- WITHOUT A HEART. 8 ed more brightly, and the storm waxed more viciously, and the nace rolled‘ with bp 2 and more threa' sound, the face of the woman grew paler, and louder and louder she shrieked to the thoughtless girl. _ ytd Louder and louder rung out her until the long-coming storm at length was upon the waiting scene with a burst of fury, and before the ring winds the waters were lashed into madness, a - ness like unto night fell sce the earth, and with terror at the violence of the tempest, the woman shrank back under the shelter of the huge rock, ery- ing out, ‘She is Jost, she is lost! Yes, the waves have washed over her, and I shall never see her more. Then, with a despairing cry, as though the hopes of a lifetime were shattered at one fell blow, she sunk down and buried her face in her bony bands. CHAPTER Ul, THE YOUNG MASTER OF THE YACHT, Wir the massive walls of the University, upon which the eyes of the maiden had been turned from her position near the rock, sat a P pune man, indo- lently gazing from the window of his prt rand os yom renee and apparently in deep and melan- Oo ) In his and he held an open letter, and it was what he had therein read that clouded his brow and set him to musing. ppnetnsy ewenty fe a, of Pecans an several years younger, for Ce) on had added maturity aid hand lites his face which otherwise would have been unmarr Still it was a handsome face, dark, fascinating, in spite of its expression, and in the eyes dwelt a look hard to fathom. He was attired in'the hight of fashion, and his chamber was furnished almost luxuriantly. Around the walls hung sketches and paintings from his own pencil and brush, while a gu: baie the floor, and & flute upon the table, proved that he was a lover of music. time, a pair of foils, a shot- the Other articles of stime, 6 Solis a, at and a brace of pis ung upon the wall, a’ a deceaiter Ul brandy and glasses were upon a side- board. But, unmindful of the interior comforts of his temporary home, all of which Lethal Bi the student of wealth, refinement aod unlimited dulgenee, the young lord of this luxuriant chamber fully gazed without, yet séemingly unconscions of the approach- ing storm, looming grandly up from behind the hills upon the river’s other shore. mtly he raised the oo letter in his hand, and read, written in a delicate, feminine hand: “Oh, Claude, if you would but relinquish your wild life, then I would love zoe so rem oy but as it is now, this must be the last letter 1 must ever write to you. : ci Binnie not, Claude, my brother Mark, for he cer- tainly should advise me of your wild course at col- lege, and pale constantly near you has every op- rtunit, ow you as you are, : Pe If it not for your fast life Mark would & - ly see me one day become your wife; but, as it i he forbids me to write to you again, and, though hate sadly to give you up, I must do so--at least, until you prove yourself worthy of my love; then all will be well ag Claude, and I need not reproach you more, ; “Remember, Claude, when you have proven your. self the true man I long to see you, come to me, and I will prove how dearly I love you.” The student paused, raised his eyes in to scenery without, and said: a = Poor, darling Louise; you are worth the sacrifice, : FOF! SE FAT we
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4 WITHOUT A HEART. co. and Tit yonder is that fair maid again at the rock—I wo _ Asif instantly forgetting his new resolve, and the maiden who had temporarily won him away from wild and reckless heir of a large fortune, arose quick- ly, and, shoving the letter into his pocket, seized his campus. Down. the gravel walk to the river; walked the upon a pier, against which were moo ll sail- 6 ar) one of the Jargest and handsomest of these Claude SS a sprung and instantly raised the sail cast 0 A light breeze was blowing, and the little glided away, and yet, though the student that the Soaenening storm must soon break upon 1im, he showed no fear, but boldly began to tack After twenty minutes’ sailing, Clande Clinton beheld a light skiff shoot out from the other shore “By Heaven! she is a brave girl to coolly throw out, line in the face of the tem Ha! there So ig the student brought his little craft ip into the wind, lowered his sail and soon had As again sprung to his tiller, the storm was a im, and at once he knew his danger and felt also, ar ant she would be lost bu lee under, pressed over by the m ree and around him all was almost as dark as n Pe it had already coursed the position of the skiff, t he held his way, his eyes narrowly searching the waters. : =e the upturned skiff ! nioey he scanned the mad waters, but no- where visible was the form for which he looked, and | “My God! she is lost! Poor, poor girl.” CHAPTER IV. t the maiden he put his little craft about, for it was cine denied worthy of owe eke. Bal give a cool hundred to speak to her—and J will.” his evil life, Claude Clinton, the handsome, dashing, cap and rapidly descended from rooms to the - handsome student, until he halted s, or yachts, belonging eg ge pe a we pale the a eo across the river. and _row directly for the middle of the. river. comes @ warning; I must luff up and reef.” snugly reefed down, if he could not aid the young girl in his yacht, held firmly on her but ating (ed nde were cod 0 into a foaming ere the storm struck it, and directly toward the A moment more and a white object caught his eye ‘ina tone of real anguish, he cried: A GIRL’S RESOLYE TO CONQUER. buffeted hard by the cruel waves, and was endeav- oring toreach the University bee when, suddenly, he descried a human form in the waters. One glance, and he recognized the maiden, an ex swimmer, struggling hard for life and nearly exhausted, yet still strugel ne. He recognized her by the long golden braids of hair floating behind her, and instantly cried out in ringing tones: - pou where you are, miss, and I will run to wind- ward of you.” Up_ to that moment the maiden had believed herself lost, yet, sinco her frail skiff had capsized, she had determined to struggle for life. Glanci hind her at the call, for she had not be- fore seen the yacht, she instantly felt revived with hope, waved her hand in reply, and the next mo- ment was drawn on board the little craft. Claude Clinton had often before seen the maiden | ‘upon the river, and time and again had endeavored to approach her, but always she had eluded him, while she had as often admired tiie handsome young | ed and shunned him through dread of her | aunt’s displeasure, though she loved to meet him, Now the two were fact to face, and to the student the maiden owed the preservation of her life. » “Shall I take you to your home, miss?” asked | ° Claude Clinton, gazing with rapture into the béeauti- ful face before him. : “Tf you please. The wind comes from the other nee pct = Sa Fe eyes the shelter of = and,”’ repli © maide sweetest voice the ogi ee had over Lean, é if ee nstant e put the craft away on its course for the other ahore and a few after the sharp bow ed the rock, crouching é ane was the old ey cursing, praying bewailing in the Bame brea’ The arrival of the boat startled her, the maiden safe she at once b a ticade of abuse against her, which e Clinton, and further astonished was he when the old virago gave ne thon 4 Mite io eek to an old aunt—in ‘oo thorou retort to an the presence of wiave niece—Claude Clinton bowed, ti Ft Sie op secromenirth ca and dia a dari S © viver, and leaving behin him his heart in the keeping of the I life he had saved, ping of the lovely girl whose and looked down in- aude Clinton was de- u the river, and in full view of the University and the cottage in the glen. From that day Claude Clinton and Eve Ainslie met constautly, and the image of poor Louise was taken from out the student’s heart, and the beautiful face of the cottage maiden enshrined there, for the young man seemed to love her with his whole heart, As for Eve Ainslie, though a mere child in years, she was a woman in form and mind, and her am- bitious nature caused her to determine to make Claude Clinton her slave from the first, Though thankful to him in her inmost heart for having saved her life, and admiring him exceedingly, he was yet not the man to win her whole love, 4 stir the deeper feelings of her nature, Stillhe was a stepping-stone to other triumphs, and she would a her tiny foot upon his neck and map Og erself from obscurity to a position in e wor ahs | that he could not make a toy of the maid- en, country a motee she was, and fascinated by her, Claude Clinton came boldly out and asked her to become his wif said Eve. “True; but I have thought of a) will agree to, will cause all to e Listen and I will tell you,” and © known to Eve Ainslie a plan he h whi h, if you Pht in the end. 6 Clinton made for reckless daring, has found few students in a University’s walls ‘enough to risk the chances of its success, ’ 4 CHAPTER V. THE SECRET DISCOVERED. % Leslie, what do you think of the new stu- dent-—Clinton’s : ¥’ 7 “TI think if he wore petticoats I would fall desper- ately in love with him, for his face is as beau as any woman’s lever beheld.” . * Indeed it is, and his form as grocer, while he at once went to the head of all his classes. He’ll strip the university of it’s prizes, [fear. Yonder he ——— now, and he seems to be Claude Clinton’s very shadow.’ The speakers were two students, standing on the campus. One was Mark Leslie, the brother of Louise, who had written so kindly to Claude Clinton, urging him to reform his evil habits. As Mark’s companion snoke. Claude Clinton and ae
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' WITHOUT A HEART. : 5 the object of theif conversation. 5 ings and the latter was presented as Hverard Ainslie, ators Leslie greeted him warmly, and gazed earn- stly into his wondrously handsome face, | upon hig aceful form, and from that moment, in ad nt a in “Ghd ty the cae dee: rminate ra a e@ en Core ioe Soreae rapidly eee = The more Mark Leslie saw of Everard Ainslie, the more his suspicions were confirmed, until he was aie ee ced that he was right in his sup- ovine Claude Clinton well, he also liked him 8 e w him to be gay and reckless and girl could safely jus- tify or overlook, or this ri he had urged upon his sister Louise to banish Grasse Clinton from her heart, for, living as they did in the same neighborhood, they had been friends from earliest childhood. Knowing that Louise was believed engaged to Claude Clinton, by many of his fellow-students, and convinced that he was playing some deep game, and qrageing down to ruin some innocent girl, Mark Leslie one day sought an interview with his fellow- Kn w rear ich no young Student in his own rooms. What passed’ in that interview none ever knew, but angry words were heard, followed by a pistol- shot, a cry, a heavy fall, and Claude Clinton fled from the co a hunted man, haunted with the thought that he taken the life of Mark Leslie, who, A a short while before,had been his most intimate friend. : As the students and professors rushed into the chambers, they beheld a scene that filled them with horror, for Mark Leslie lay prone upon the floor, bleeding gretanety from @ wound in his side. Surgical aid was instantly stimmoned, and the wounded student received every attention. companions gathered outside the door and convers- ed in suppressed whispers, while others started in hot pursuit of the murderer, for none believed that Mark Leslie could live. Among the group outside the door, and pallid and silent, s e new scholar, Everard Ainslie, un- mindful ngth ne of the questions addressed to him. At length he entered the room, for, being the chum of Claude Clinton, he was admitted, and walking u to the bed whereon lay the wounded man, he sai nervously: “Why did Claude Clinton do this deed?” Mark Leslie turned his splendid eyes upon the student, and said, faintly: “Come cl to me.’ Everard Ai placed his delicate ear near to the lips of the sufferer, who said, in a pater: ‘I know you as you are. Others will soon know, 80 leave the mage a at once.” % From my heart “This must not be allowed,” broke in the surgeon, bs aly eam | Everard Ainslie pressed a kiss | upon forehead of Mark Leslie, and turned away Quickly, while all present glanced at him, in sur- prise at his sudden and strange mark of affection ‘or hig fellow student. Ww to an escritoire in the next room, Everard finslie took therefrom a large roll of bank-bills, a undle of rs or letters, and .a silver-mounted pistol and jeweled Gi. W These he quickly secreted about his person, and pa Mes loa across his arm, he tookup his hat | J ed rapidly from the room, after one earnest i roma him : en minutes after, he had gone forth into the night opr Without one word of farewell to fellow student fessor, and forever turned his back upon the | where he had passed months of, appar- ently, contented student life. ae : - CHAPTER VIL OW. THE HIGHWAY TO RUIN. HEN Claude Clinton fled from the room, after His | thank you. You are a noble | ¢ the death-blow aimed at the heart of Mark Lesife, he dashed at once to the stables of the institution, and | in five minutes after was flying along the mountain | highway mounted upon his own steed, for a horse | ‘was another luxury the young millionuire indulged in as a means of education, — | Forseveral hours he Pipased his steed hard, his mind in a chaos of troubled thought, his brow sis 4 ted and teeth firmly set, while, ever and anon, would glance nervously behind him, either in fear of pursuit, or from a fear that he would behold in | chase the phantom of poor Mark Leslie. “ My Gou! thus rushes my life into a new wicked- / ness, and I tread the threshold of i aad as a , murderer,” he hisséd forth between his ae Then,’ after awhile he continued: f *‘ But he was too bitter toward me—he brought it upon himself. Poor, poor Mark, you have fallen by my hand, and over me rushes the remembrance of our happy boyhood—the many joyous hours we have passed together—and uise, yes, Louise! what will she think of me now? “Ourse me bitterly as her brother’s murderer! Come, you brute; you but creep along,” and the | sharp spurs sunk deep into the of the | animal, while, in disjointed sentences, the unhappy man still continued to muse aloud, * And all for her!” he cried, bitterly—“ for a wo- | Iman yet a girl, and who I verily believe hates me. “Curses rest on her, and upon me for being a fool | to marry her! Oh! that I were free from her—that 1 could fly from her memory and-from the stain on my conscience. © ‘No, it willnot wash out—blood-stains are indelible —ha! now that I am forced to fly like a hunted hound, she will seek my home, make wh the damnable secret that she is my wife, and revel in my wealth—for her silvery tongue, her beautiful eyes will touch the heart of even my stern father— curse her, oh, curse her— Ha)’ Claude Clinton suddenly drew rein, for before him loomed up an ivy-grown church, surrounded by the glittering monuments of the dead. The moon had risen and shed down upon the lone- ly and sacred spot a flood of silvery light, and the scene was most impressive; all was silence and de- sertion; for, excepting a glimmering light from the window of the distant parsonage, it seemed as if only the dead were near. ; : “By Heaven! how strange that I should have taken this road/ Yes, it is the same old church, with its dead sentinels around it, for, surely, the dead guard it from intrusion, By’ the Heaven above me I will doit.” : The last part of the sentence was almost shrieked, and instantly springing from his horse, Claude Clin- ton hitched him to the fence, and walked with de- } ee step ce + sig f iy 'o surprise, he found the f and murmured, * They fear no intrusion here - Entering, he soon found himself within the sacred edifice, and the moonlight streaming through the beim me _— to rsinckeiag bn 8 fy was a sacred spot, a lonely place for a man fly- ing from justice, tebe pace tow at his truest friend, and Claude ton was im- pressed with the scene and walked with | atin, step - the broad aisle. In front of the chancel he paused, and glanced nervously around him, while he murm aloud Mn gs we — and ust made man and wife, an re Icurse her now A moment he stood as if overwhelmed by the rush’ of bitter thoughts upon_him, and then. he spru Ing lightly over the low rail and crossed the chan toward the vestry-room door. The knob turnedto his touch, and he entered the room to start back with a half cry of fright, for, - the table before the long window, sat a human ‘orm, A closer glance reassured him; he saw that the man was asleep, for his head was bowed forward upon his desk—his hand, still holding a pen, rested Pers
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- " upon his unfinished sermon, and regtlar breathing 6. WITHOUT A HEART. came sae gmp eek tg S. . ‘ upon the sleeper the ray.of moon aid aplbeing alsoa caddlestick with empty e for the candle had burned out some time before. SA sermon indeed, to drive its composer to rae ought Claude Clinton, with cruel wit, and 1en, not to be turned aside from the purpose he had in view, he cantiously crossed the room toward a bookcase, ene door of which was open. Noiselessly he Fe pe for a moment, and then drew from a shelf a large and time-worn book—the records of the church, the hoe streaming down upon the open he soon found that for which he was in search, and stealthily tore the leaf from the volume which held reeords of the marriages and deaths of ae for half a ge e sound awoke the sleeper; the minister rung to his feet, and beholding a stranger before as he believed robbing the church of its silver communion eet which was also kept in the bookcase, he rushed upon him and held with firm grasp ere Claude Clinton could fly. Hastily shoving the stolen record into his bosom, the Hone student cried, sternly: “Unhand me, old man?” * Never! Phe vile creature, who would rob the Banc of your God. I will hold you and deliver ou to justice,’’ cried the thoroug aroused, in- dignant; and fearless old minister. *“Unhand me, Isay,’’ almost shrieked Claude Clin- ton, and though a powerful man, he in vain endeay- ored to shake off the firm clutch that held him, ..“* Never!” still replied the man of God, and with a bitter oath, Claude Clinton, drew from his pocket a keon knife; the blade flashed in the moonlight, and with a crunching sound sunk deep into the bosom of the protector of God’s sanctuary. “Oh! God, have mercy and forgive him this deed!’’ cried the old man, stage back, while the blood from his wound spurted over his murderer, Wildly the long arms were thrown about, then the hands clas if in prayer, a deep gro ge from his bosom, and fiuttered down the road before the balmy breeze of the autumn night. el VIL Evgnanp Arweuix left the univers! ds, A E € university unds, and wended his way rapidly down the moo: road, leading to the vies y mile distant. Arriving there he sought out a livery-stable and hired a man to drive him to the city, thirty miles dis- nt, ‘What thoughts passed through the mind of Ever- ard Ainslie, as he drove swiftly along the country road, it were hard to tell; but certain it was that the driver found him a most taciturn companion for a midnight drive, for pelcoes did he speak, except to 0: unge on the rses. ny. a sepuge fatality Everard Ainslie had taken the same road over which Claude Clinton had passed but ree hours ahead of him, and as a turn in the high- way brought him in full view of the old ivy-grown he started, ees and paled vividly, al- | t veg he ‘little knew what a ghastly object lay | wi Wea, tis the very oe From yonder chureh I very same, Fro’ wandered forth in iife. Where shall I end?” half aloud said the yo ng student, and then he cried; As thevelinia diet Everard Ainsli to Ais ew up Ey e sprun, the ground, and stood Por &@ moment gazing ro church, a feeling of awe creepin a eed nervously upon the supmie mgiddenly to his t fluttered a sheet of white ui very fee a Ww. paper, blown gone De Sa wind, too: he took it uP, and seeing writing thereon, closely upon : escaped from his lips, and pressing reast, he staggered back, his tantly a his left had fo his It was a large sheet of pet, fully twenty | in length and eight in prendth—t n from & book; it was the same shee Cha Pgh rene at with blood, which Claude n had unkno as he sacunied his horse to fly from That stained record told the story—It told that upon a certain ring some 01 ore, Claude Clinton aod ve Xinstie had ten aad in the holy bonds of wedlock, before the chancel of that dead-encircled church, by one who now stark and stiff in the sanctuary of his heavenly Mas. the qu ter, For a moment Everard Ainslie seemed like one dazed by his » and then he muttered in a husky voice: ‘In God’s name! how can this have come here— and it is stained with blood—ha! Claude Clinton came “T fear, God I hold this in hands, for were he to posse my eas ) possess and a, ha, Claude Clinton, I hold the winning d! “You have tired of me, and would cast me off. Though flying for your life you came here to destroy this record; but I have it, and the stain upon it may one da; bring you to the gallows. “Well, must on, and pay hep I may yet. meet go a ic "—J—do? But I'll not whisper that even se - “Hal I'll find out the secret of this red stain. Da ame. me Merge aikeit 0 saying, Everard Ainslie w: with step toward the ivy-green structure, laced his band firmly upon the latch, but hesitated, shuddering as though @ mortal fear was upon him, : edifice, his self-control, he entered the sacred glanced timi spot. With faltering ste around the gloomy he walked along the aisle ba he stood within ee sile aid te broke emmn ni seemed like » to there intrude, - He had nerved , however, to the task, and was determined to pi if the very specters of the dead arose before him. } Crossing the chancel he entered the vestry-room, and with no 5 of horror Se beck, r There moonlight, 6 face upturned, his eyes open and staring a sy stare, lay the r rector, PBoundi forward, Everard Ainslie gave.one look into the marble-like face, poo his hand upon the ek ig ry ot VF Springing into the waiting webiile Ba. aetéd, ia, "Erie ont for the ve of God, drive on!” Startled by the eg manner of the youth, the driver plied his whip and they seemed to fly over the moonlit road, and when the gray dawn of day broke in the east, the lonely church and its spon te sey Wat of sur fll pois fas oO when did fiverard Ainslie drive meg EN the horror that had grasped at his heart. Arriving in the city, Everard sought an obscure hotel, dismissed his driver, and the college student was launched upon Destiny’s way, to da the =
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© Nene nner a lteaeecincs Site ransennctia thorn: of life without one’ protecting hand sirotahel forth to guide from evil. : ’ CHAPTER VII, BROTHER AND SISTER, Fala coe gi dead! and by the hand of my own rother, “Oh, God! is'there aught in this worid for me now to live for?” _ The speaker was a woman of rare loveliness in face and form, gered sone features were stamp- ed with an almost des; ing sorrow. She was attired ina loose morning-wrapper, that was most becoming to her, and was pacing to and fro, with a nervous tread, from one room into the other, for the door between the two was open. The rooms were large, elegantly f ed, and most comfortable—the one a or, the other a bedchamber. A piano and a ge proved that the occupants amusements for idle hours. In her hans, as she paced to and fro, the ‘write gir for she seemed scarcely more than eighteen, nel ig leathern wallet containing papers and bank- no “This was taken from him after he fell, and brought to me—but what care I for these papers? They do not bring me back my r slain Roslyn. ** Dead’! can I realize that he is dead? that I shall never again touch his lips, his hand—that an open rave lies between us—a grave of my own brother’s x Oh 3 iT Olatence! Clarence! you deemed you. — avenging your sister’s honor—but you were crushing her to the earth in despair. f “Now the secret must be known—yes, I can tell it now, for he is dead; yes, I can make Clarence Erskine, brother though he is of mine, shrink with horror a know that he has killed, not my destroyer, but mu hoch nd’ ; ee 4 Olarence Erskine, you have slain one. who was innocent, and—: Yes, they say he faced dédth boldly; for why should he fear to die when his heart was un ed? **Ha!*who can that be?” and the woman started, as & tap came upon the door. A second time it was repeated; but she seemed ‘to have lost all power of speech to bid the one without to enter; but stood staring at the closed portal, as thea she expected to see somejdread specter enter the room, Then the door slowly opened, and with a ery of horror the woman recognized the man who entered. It was the same , graceful form, the same earnest blue eyes that had faced Colonel Roslyn Roselle and sent him to his death. - : It was Clarence Erskine, the brother of Florice— the avenger of a sister’s honor. Strangely alike were the two; butin the eyes of the sister there sparkled a fire almost kindled of hatred; in the eyes of the brother there was a look f intense sadn of ess. “Ha, ha, ha! Clarence Erskine! murderer, slayer of the LY aphonsona you have dared pollute this sacred t with your presence? “Do you not fear that an avenging God will wither your own right stained as it is with the blood ward the door with & manner most threatening, a uded face ke in : werWhat! do you dare to palliate the wrong you have oe Gia Florice, that your name was ban- passions. ““Florice, hear me— began the brother, but the: WITHOUT A HEART. 7 died about, torn with dishonor, and that I sought an explanation from Joek and you gave me none. I then went to Colonel ie, afl his answer was that he had no explanation to make. { “Believing you yet nt of wrong, and hoph to check you ere you were drawn over the b o crime, I challenged Roslyn Roselle, for he weuld make me no promise never to see you again, and knowing his past life as I did, and remembering that a mystery hung about him which none could fathom, I was determined to end the unfortunate relations between you. ; ‘To this end, to protect my sister from a design- ing villain, as I believed him to be, I was willing to’ risk my life against his. . “We met, and the result you know—Roslyn Ro- selle fell by my hand. net “Now, when too late, you tell me you were his’ wife, and I have the curse upon my life of his blood, “Oh, Florice! Florice! this is awful!” and the’ brother raised his hands to his face and shuddered. as bitter memory swept over him like a tidal wave of sorrow, desolating his life, : But, Florice s like a statue, and no word es- pexipe her lips, after a while Clarence ‘ con- mmued: . “You sorrow for a husband, slain by a brother’s Hei teh our heart will ache, but time will heal the wound, while I, my sister, wil, as each y pos by, but “ “+ oat oe oe ng wash not out; they sta e han tC) the brain—hold! listen to me while I tell you that eng leave my father’s house. : Segiek “Thave ample means, ay, a generous income, and I will live apart from you—to-day our par in life divide, for by my presence I will not continually bring up before you a phantom of your buried love and 1 care not to sit constantly between you and the grim specter of death. “But, Florice, 1 am still your brother, and our fa- ther is journeying toward the grave, and he is all you have to love you; yet, when. he is gone, when you are left alone in the world, and you need a friend, a brother's love, come to me as in the olden time when you were my little sister. é “Cheer up, now, Florice; the grave has divided. all who loved each other’ in the will divide all who love each other in the Florice.” i A moment more and he was gone; yet still Florice_ stood staring at the door, agrim smile upon“her Hing her beautiful lips, a look of sorrow swe up into eyes, CHAPTER IX, JUST IN TIME, tain district of New York State, rolled a tra riage, drawn by a pair of fine black horses, bes 54 by Np kas gp sg ce 4 a a 6 vehicle were two persons, an elderly — man, of perhaps fift: five. with the bearing of a sol- dier, and a face full of nobleness and erosity, while his snow-white hair and mustache gave him an AtonG a lonely country road, prev arene the pon ve! s, and expression of eines pe od ee Zé @ person e was Florice rine; beautiful as when the reader last beheld or aod et a look of settled sadness upon her face whi had not rested there four months before, Clad in the ger P eb cats it was yet most be- to her; but the sunshine of life was Bones and the horizon of her future was ena by clouds which were not tinged with a silver lining. “Father, how long will it take us to yeep hie red home?” suddenly asked Florice, with a partly wearied look upon her lovely fege- “ Perhaps two weeks, daughter, for you know we will not leave our carriage until we reach. Nitginias then Henry can come on alone, while we on by rail. “And you I shall like W: the Sitates father?” © ildidle, as you call past—the grave re, yA Wt i ad
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- tn the South, and as you know, belonge —_—— i: «+ ee pe! ae! eee Ee? ._—- a 8 WITHOUT A HHART. * Yes, Florice; it is one of the ndest old homes d to an old yy comrade of mine; but he ran through with his fortune after the death. of his wife; the place was ady d for sale, and, remembering what it was, when I visited him twelve years ago, | purchased i t it would be a delightful retreat for My an could also forget the turmoil of the busy world. “Therefore I had it put in thorough repair, re- furnished and coal and I know that we will both love Wildidle.” ; ane Clarence? he will remain in the city, I sup- It was the first time that Clarence Erskine had ever heard the name of her brother upon his daugh- ter’s lips since the fatal duel in which Clarence had slain yn Roselle, and the father looked quickly toward her, and then said, after a moment’s hesita- where tion: “Yes, Clarence will remain in the city, and _ prac- tice ini ‘ofession, in which he is certain] meet a -mame—though why he should worry himself. with the troubles of other people I know not, as his for- tune, independent of what he has from me, is most generous. ‘* His conscience needs quieting—he must work, or —go mad,” almost savagely said Florice; but, ere her father could reply, the vehicle came to a sudden halt; the horses swayed violently to one side; the of a-pistol followed, and then came a half- ‘ n, a heavy fall, and two heavily-bearded faces peered into the carriage windows. The sudden halt, the shot, the cry, together with the dark faces that bent upon her, caused Florice to faint away, just as her father leaned forward to draw his pistol from one of the carriage pockets, where he kept it in ipayelingy. But, the muzzle of a revolver was in his face, and dd, and be quick men be ook delay,’ said the man at the other window. Feel that the odds were against him, Colonel cis 6 7 etermined to yield, and said quietly: “T have but little gold with me, but that I shall surrender at your demand.” “About how much, boss?’ impudently asked the ieskoncake er. fat several hundred dollars—” “Tt wo around fat to play that eas he can get her—” “ Hold! you would not take my daughter?” cried : what we would do,if.she was your wife. We need mandy, bose. As if thr eat the apeaker laid his hand heavily upon the unconscious Florice, when suddenly, there came a cry of alarm froma third man, who was holding the horses, tly both men at the carriage windows star- ted back the one to fall to the ground insensible from a blow upey the head from a heavy cane, the other to dart into the forest, quickly followed by his companion, who stood at the head of the horses, ‘Released of their restraint, the animals would have das oyf bai , and resi Be rae one hin.dex piak m ave been ged to a horrible death; buta lithe form sprung to their bits and checked th while the colonel sprung from the carriage to the ai of him who had proved himself the preserver of him- ; bol e to their rescue at the Hake of his own life, tte CHAPTER X. ma NO LONGER A WAIPF. Wuen Colonel Erskine beheld the one who had so daringly aided him, he was struck with surprise, for, instead of some farmer, as he su ed him to fe. and ayouth of apparently eighteen. with a slender, ful form, and a face of almost feminine beauty, though upon it rested a look of det - noe aod daring hardly reconeilable with the features of a girl, Besides a suit of dark cloth, with loose pants, and a blouse coat, he wore a pair of top boots and a slouch hat that shaded his face, and half hid the rae rim short curls around his neck. — At his feet lay a small bundle, and in his hand he earried a short cane, the same with which he had felled the highwayman to the ground: “Your coachman is not dead, as I believed, sir,” said the youth, pleasantly, as he pointed to ne- gro.driver, who was seated on the other side of the vehicle, lugubriously rubbing his head, upon which was a slight flesh-wound, cut by the bullet of the robbers, and as they believed killing him, Fortunately it had only stunned “Thank God! Toby, you are all right,” sald his ee going and ai the negro to arise. so sure o’ dat, massa; I ae a hole in my head, and de bullet rattle about in in a gourd.” ** Nonsense, Toby; it only cut the skin; look after the horses while I see to poor Florice,”’ and Colonel et returned to the carriage, while Toby re- marked: “ Young Inassa, am La dead nigger, oram I not, dat’s de question?” “You are all right, Toby; that wound will be all right in a few days, thanks to the thickness of our skull. Here, take hold of the horses while I see nee re a m: eed ‘3 ne na fellow’s ae and the you poin wayman who lay still where he fallen. en Colonel Erskine reached the carriage he found Florice recovered from her swoon, and quietly glancing out of the open door. - “Thank God, Plorice, we have passed thro terrible ordeal almost unscathed, for poor Toby is more frightened than hurt; and all thanks are due to yonder gallant youth.” “What an almost beautiful face he has,” and Florice Yes intently upon the youth, as he ap- proached and bent over the highwayman. : Pressing his hand upon the heart of the man, the young man started back with a half cry of terror, while his face blanched white. “ He is dead, sir,"’ he said, slowly, and with a strange earnestness of manner, t to Colonel Erskine. : “Yes, he is dead; but his death saved my daugh- ter from a terrible fate, I fear, for 1 was powerless to like a pea ‘ou we owe all,” and Colonel Erskine — aid her, and to y held forth his hand to the young man, who grasped it pata while he replied: ; “ Death is terrible in any form, sir, and especially so when caused by one’s own hand; but if I have served you and your daughter I shall not bemoan my act,’ and he seemed as if choking back deep feeling that swelled up into his throat, ‘Well, we must continue on our = and you, sir, must accept a seat in our carriage th us.” “What will you do with this body?” and the youth pointed, with a shudder, to the dead man, “T will let Toby place it on the rack, and deliver it up to the authorities of the next we enter.. Come, sir, you go our way, do ty not? “T was wending my way to the city, sir.” Colonel Erskine glanced earnestly at the humbl attire, and then into the frank, fine face, and said: “You have friends there. [ suppose, and are going . there to seek work?” “J have no friends in the world, sir; but I am go- ae seek work,”’ nexpressibly sad was the tone in which the reply was given, and it touched the hearts of the d — and his daughter, the latter instantly re- marking: “Then come with us, and we will be your friends, and my father will give you employment,” “ Assuredly; come with us, for I owe you a debt of gratitude I ean never repay, ‘You have no ties to —-
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——. bins na you elsewhere, by your own iii so come ve with us,’ “TWo bright tears glistened in the handsome eyes, | and his nether lip trembled, as though his heart was | pie of joy and thankfulness, and then he said, | ie re “T speak the trufa when I tell you I have no friends. Tart inet watt Wild tiring of my home left it to seek employment. Had my parents lived—had been a happy one, never would I have “ With Sittle money to ride, I was going on foot a] is You to see what the future hed store for mee Thank God, my wages long miles of weary travel, have resulted in doing service.’ The manner neo one youth, and his honest face carried conviction that he spoke the truth, and Colonel Erskine placed. his hand upon his shoulder, and said, earnestly: “You shall not want for friends in the future my hoy, for I am rich pie willing to aid you. What is your name peer li me,’ “Tverard “A good bia “a come; let us be off.” A few moments more and the body of the high “hi was placed ie ag upon the rack with ggage, and, mounting his box, Toby drove on, | | light of a lantern, taken. from the 2 pe Ains piel bak a seat within’ the vehicle, and s forene and thoughtful with the sudden change +8 s fo nj Tee ‘for, unused to the ways of the town, eeced out of nearly all his mapey upon his ade ine, rah anxious to reach New York, d forward on foot, for there was the Mecca of | there he believed lay the corner-stone of 5 t future, whatever that future might be, » CHAPTER ae WN BREA Upon account of the shock to Plorice of the high- bk Me attack upon them, Colonel Erskine de- ternin to give up the idee of contin ing ony and go by ra stead, especially as the had age a bee Behind for two days in a Tisere- | ble country viont ty he stupidity of a resident justice, | who believed it his duty to hold the whole party for murder, Bidding Toby to drive w0 by long stages, Colonel Erskine, Florice and Everard Ainslie took the train | at a country depot, ann were soon ensconced in a) comfortable car, whirling away at the rate of thirty | miles an hour. some Jones Welgoird e and Florice were ay he was tendered the ‘position of Strato | 0: ore and more nl in favor of the hand- | Secretary.to_his been ta pe extensive busi- | 00) to won her heat en by his pleasant conver- sation, to gradually draw her away from her sad ey en winding like a huge througe tne te valleys and aroun the torre of lofts ofty hills, until at last the light of day faded nis and night cast, its sable mantle over a. © of oe locomotive alert for danger Fe Ry po on the watch protect the | hundeae liv intrusted t to his care. Sddeniy around the dark base of a hill sped the | of danger were all when the quick. ©ve of r Giepareree, not a hundred yards | amisp the whistle to “down breaks,” pnd. aly shrioked the clanging, the attentive en wound them up to an furthest link, |e peeaksm r still went forth the cry of w tes, would certainly | tiring manner, lite and most atcentive | him, ey. Ee Fiotice, Hverard Ainslie soon | WITHOUT A HEART. 9 Instantly there was a wild cieheiaie among the _jeniing of ngers; ¥ few cries of terror at the sudden the cars, and then the whistle ceased, a ud roar of steam burst forth; a jar, a terrific timbers, a sh hole as of desbat, groans of eee wann ous omy of destru All those who eould do so, ernee to their feet, and st from the ruin and death aroun and once free themselves they turned with to , those who had been less fortunate. To add to the horror, there arose shrieks of pain from children, groans of agony. wrung from strong men, and low moans of women, rom the wreck of the car in which were Colonel pro Florice and Everard Ainslie, one form up, from patient, suffer- and stood an instant gazing. him, as t aed or ee by the shock. Ht was Berard Alns aii rt; but my poor friends, am urt; bu what of them?” he murmured, glancing nies . timidly, as if feating to discover & sight he oe = Everard, here we are.” | It was the voice of Colonel Frsking, ang - | was as if it came through shut teeth to keep groan of pain. At once the youth sprung forward, and, “a dead foupatce, he beheld a a that turned his a Be ere lay Colonel ped beneath a cushioned seat, his ret ice feo and helpless by his sid His right arm onceacied the waist of sit i Florice, whose pale, upturned face looked like death. “She has swooned, I hope—she is dead, I fear,” said the poor father, in a whisper. Two men were s near, rete A bereft of all presence of ie as is usual with many on Sepedene weer pare & fed ok 1 nats ‘0 these Everard and, as if aw: a sense of their duty, they sprung to pe OS iS a 4 a few moments the ‘lend der, , ice was removed from th and aid upon a ee pank nee b: Then regres, dad bes W: from his his paintal d bende ig dx daugh- ter, while Ever: veh soci Ra s mt willing hands and kind Pillage on tue Bite fare eoriad othe ihe to pieces agi | many had w. the valley. tat watt the they bene beheld it fee ow eat to ** Attend to her Secale ay © dead said Colo- nel Erskine, as the man of nadia approached had ceased to beat. THE da: [a Tn an the bo his seat b eve: e de physician iid is hand over bg dy ie gr rng Te nthe i at ge aed eet CHAPTER XII, mate eb chyertiocae day after the fa soins Fi sat ina ps fen of the i tel haa the bd ict Colone who lay unconscious Moy e blow of Florice’s death ote i in hor pain his love for his daughter ts) ining room, the dies Goan betenas et form of in of Florice, gee in death, and the sufferer, y on ginnoed Sauggly teh Gos tas Ge
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10 Suddenly the door softly 6A: and a tall form “ie was upon the Meg new a wit white, scared face. Clarence Erski One glance into that (ies and Hiverard Ainslie blanched, and his form trembled violentl Wy, ce before he had seen that face an form, and fader SE ereanatances which he could never forget. alking lightly across the room, Clarence Erskine same to oa bedside, and with a glance only at ve — softly, as he laid his hand upon his arm is broken in two places, and it is feared he: is * lured internally; but he seems better now.” Florice, my ter—she is—” ‘ ead! she feed yonder. She was crushed to between the eeata™ The strong man covered his face with his hands, and shuddered violently. Then he said, quietly: thank you—you are Everard Ainslie, of whom my wrote, I have much to thank you for.” 10ut another word, Clarence Erskine walked to the igncnimied room, closing the door behind two hours ours passed away, and then he return- his ioe white, cold and stern. he re-entered the room Colonel Erskine opened Babel a gleam of reason shining in them. Be holding his son he held forth his hand, anda "0 my came from his inmost heart. aed poor much? dead; but I yet have you. ere is , Clarence—here; otherwise Lie hotter, ” aoeg the heart, fro m whence had been cruelly drazged + death his dearest idol. ating aoe he me bed, Clarence told his father as soon as _ he had received Fiovice. s dispatch Send that while he conveyed poor orice to her ig re, in the family burying-ground, eave him rave man placed his hand Bot fear him for a few days in the Lay pl nurse. OF espelx clutching at his heart, Colo- kine saw on. depart, bearing with him Ainslie he pathiz of heart of a woman. ahr several weeks of suffering, Colo- t = h, n Erskine was su reget recovered to it of pe Rog removed t to his old home in the city where iv Since the bites vter thi father Wi parting between his son and had devoted himself almost Clarence alone in their s + es that he had slain a man all, were not dishonorable mp Koad nee webliges emg Te im e lov a brother’s love, had eome bate te a I ohor hk him, Clarence devoted ‘himself to etn of his. profession, is which he was rising to iba, waa 8 fine he was was & orator, an ssessed a a@ deep As Florice no longer lived, Colonel Erskine was anxious to return home as soon as possible. He felt mg A for his. fons whose quarrel with Colonel Roselle had _ certainly upheld, for, ee Clarence, he beloved the designs .of the man to nied by Everard Ainslie, Colonel. ‘Erskine ann his city house one pleasant morning. He was met. by feuie. wh who, after affectionately | ‘is father, welcomed the youth most warm- | something in the Mery mei a ie young secretary thai t drew him seemed to rather shun Clarence, | yes him with a strange, | a) to recall mething from the long: | oy 2 ot the vera ‘yas reat look, as buried past. ‘proaching Everar Pp g ord WITHOUT A HWE \RT. Thus‘2 few weeks more passed away, and Colonel Erskine was thoroughly restored to yes ily health, though he yet grieved deeply for poor Florice. Each day had Everard made himself more useful, to both father and fap tke househld and . ie pon as a necessi e ho te) etermin et go to ee ia in th 3 Boe th, Wildidle, Colonel Erskine intended taking. the youth with At length the day for departure rolled round, and was a od of bustle in the mansion, when. suddenly two men ascended the broad stone ste . and, ap- one of them said, verard Ainslie, I be ered , “That is my name, sir,” said the youth, slightly pale. Then I arrest you, in the name of the law, Ever- ard Ainslie, upon the charge of murder,” and in an instant the well-molded wrists of the p Meee a i and frightened youth were encircled by iron handcuffs, CHAPTER XL THE FELON’S CELL, “ Hop, sir! there is some mistake, a what mean you by this insolence?” cried Colonel Erskine, step- - ping a angrily forward in front of the two asa of w, while Clarence advanced, and said: “lL hope re oe understand your duty, and are not eon whe e, you know me, sir, and know I am not a man to act fooli “This gentleman with me isa detective, and has been on the track of the youngster pear for wo months, and at length we have run him to his and the man spoke as though thoroughly convinced of Everard’s hoes ee the charge you make against him is that of murder?’ “Yes, sir; he committed.a murder two months ago, that would be worthy of the most hardened criminal, ey als he can prove himself innocent, sir, not be for his own sake, but for gous for you seem ave taken a pes interest Ric but my duty is feat must go with me to jai Good God! Everard, speak! ant have you to say for yourself?’ cried “Colonel Erskine, earnestly of the youth, who, pallid as death, trembling vio ie lently, and with downcast eyes, stood in silence, and seeming despair. Peg if about to speak his answer to ee: Erskine, | 8 li s moved; but Clarence cried, quic okt, Everard! do not open your lips, and to iter who aca you make no reply, else you com ourse wien ieee men iy Ret but, be brave, be ee. 3 right. the end the end :, fou am pee ce, Gant p beats oien sae that you are as innocent as am i, of th a Lie “Your name again nst you,” 3 thanks Kone eal sir — my heart, I Sank, hg share He wee 100 snare one e, he aaa ant 6 Ww look lin © face: “Tam ready to potions pa-bo m, sir.” The pies Al tremb o gone, and like | a fearless man he faced eis *I will accompany you, Everard, and see that you are allowed every comfort I can procure for you. Father, will you also go?” ‘Yes, my son; it will show that the poor boy is not friendless, and, mind you, officers, you'll rue this arrest if mee EPS your bold assertion of his up all idea f hi rps ade 0} iS propo i babe P At. once Sou vee EE WD orde his ba; er he “pariy and were drive’ ed to his room, and a few moments entered the carriage in waiting, as ha Sieg elas, where Everar “Ainslie was it omfortable quarters as his two true ey hoe habit pencate for him. Once securely in his cell, the youth turned to the
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. detective who had tracked him, as he safd, to his doom, and quietly asked: “Who is it that I am accused of murdering ?”’ “A nice question for you to ask, my pretty fel- low,” roughly returned the man. ~ “A most natural question, I think, as I am the eee interested. Tell me, who was it I mur- 9 Ma r old inoffensive preacher; a man who never harmed any one in the world; a man whose very gray hairs should have protected him, even if the sanctuary of God did not, for you killed him in his own church.” Everard Ainslie turned even more oa pen 8 r- ed back nst the cold, white-washed wall of his cell, and covering his face with his hands, shook like = gupen leaf, while deep sobs burst through his shut ee! In dismay, in fear, both Colonel Erskine and Clar- ence gazed upon him, and in their gaze was a look of deepest compassion. The detective, the officer who had arrested him, and the jailer smiled - rard Ainslie recovered himself, — back the sobs, and with a cold, stern face, asked: ‘‘Who makes this charge against me?” : is The one who drove you on your deadly er- 7 Pst , “Tt is false, and did I so desire, I can so prove it, even now. Colonel, and you, Mr. ‘Erskine, do not lose your trust in me. 1en my trial comes, I will prove in a felon’s CHAPTER XIV. THE COURT ORDEAL. THe day of the trial came at last, and the interest po ae ge a the murder of the old —— and ne striking appearance o e suppose te er was intense, and crowded the court-house with a large number of persons desirous of behold- ing a er, and hearing the testimony for and against, At length Everard Ainslie was brought into tho court-room, . calm, and apparently unmoved by the penalty anging over him if found guilty of the ie charge against 2 As he felt the eyes of hundreds turned upon him, face flushed crimson for a moment, arid then ‘ rushed the blood, leaving him as pallid as the dead Taking the seat here and there cold, sarcasm caus- counsel to wince at each parting of ps. mer was Colonel an anxio dorowful tagreasion on rey tonne ng and ror eomd ae of having full confidence in two things innocence the priso! ~ ner, and the power of Mlarence to wholly prove it. an length the “box was full, and the trial be- The first witness called was Anthony White. A smile eek tne lips of Seavert sinate as the f PROD ay WITHOUT A HEART, nN man, who had driven him from the college to the town, took the witness stand. ’ “Mr. White, you have made the charge of murder against this prisoner; will you tell the court why you did so?” said the lawyer for the prosecution, . who glanced over to a part of the room where sa’ i ladies in deep mourning and a youth by their side. “T drove the young gentleman, some three months , from the college where he was a student, to the city, some thirty miles distant.” “ He hired you for that purpose?” : Ss Yes, sir; he gave me twenty dollars for the Never mind what he gave you. It wasat night, wasitnot?”’ . &: xy Yes, sir; but the moon was a-shining as bright as day. rr) on to relate the incidents of that midnight 6," . “ Well, sir, the young gentleman seemed to be very cross about something, for when I went to talk to him—you see I am sociable like in my habits—he pri me up short. ; ‘“Well, at length we came to the Silver Creek church, and the prisoner stared at it, as though he was frightened, and suddenly called out to me to stop. : ey drew up the horses, and he out, and whether he had dropped something or not, I do not know; but he prin and _ up a white paper, one end of which had a dark stain n it. steaupting to aot tate’ eeryeiialat Wo Speman attempting to © vehicle, he : the gate, entered, and soon iter F-saw iia go into 6 church,” ‘* How long was he in church, witness?” asked the lawyer. "yo not know for certain, sir. The horses was pretty restless, and he might have been twenty min- utes or half an hour, é g “When he came out he was running, and his hands was up to his head. ot “Jumping into the buggy, he told me to ‘Drive on, for God’s sake!’ and I was scared at his manner, and drove on pretty rapid, and until we reached town he never spoke to me.’ wd oe drove him to a hotel in the city, did you bit , . 4 “* Yes, sir; I put my horses up for a feed and rest, and started back in the forenoon. — ‘“When I reached the church, there was a crowd of country Pa og ee and I was told the rector had been k the night before. : “As I drove on home, it came over me how strange the young fellow had acted, and when I got back I spoke of it to my boss, and he sent for his lawyer, and that is the way it all came out.” “You are certain, then, Mr. White, that the pris- oner was the murderer of the Rev. Felix Hargrove, the rector of Silver Creek church?” asked the law- yer. ‘Yes, sir, if appears so tome. If he didn’t do it, who did?” ’ “You are not on the stand, Mr. White, to ask co- nundrums,” said the deep, voice of Clarence Erskine; and then, as the his tender mercies, ae er continued: ““You are, I believe, Mr. ite, noted as a kind of ulating news-monger, in the quiet village that is honored as the place of your na’ ta ' Mr. White was silent, for he felt that he was a vil- lage gossip, and Clarence continued: -“ Anxious to visit the birthplace of Anthony White, I ran up to your quiet little village in the mountains, and I there learned that if one but dropped a seed of suspicion in your nei ou tended it carefully a ienthyed made it st forth he the accusations of the bitterest kind. ‘Now, I ask you, in the mee of this court, told it in the public inns, » ~~ ©
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‘a. 13 WITHOUT A HEART. ond tat be continually muttered, before he reached . the church, something like, ‘I'll do it! ri do it? ?” “I don’t know what it was he said,” doggedly re- plied the witness. “And why did you say that, after lea the eburcb, he muttered, ‘I’ve done it! Pve done it)?” “He did say something like that,’ * And yet you told a dozen men whom I have here to confront you, that those were his very words.” Under the biting sarcasm of Clarence Erskine, Anthony White left the witness stand, no longer pee up with the idea of his greatness, and as wit- witness fell into the merciless clutches of the he brilliant young advocate, their et, was proven of little value against Everard Ainslie, At length the time came for Clarence Erskine to make his great speech, in pleading for the innocence of his client, and the ’court-house was crowded al- most to suffocation by a dense throng of the best people of the city. Arising, amid a breathless silence, Clarence Er- skine wenton to relate how through the kindness of a Ww fellow-student, the prisoner had been taken as a mere waif, and placed at college. How he had behaved himself there without re- ach, and never been absent from the grounds of the anive from his arrival until he At Jen, h @ quarrel se a fellow-student caused his ga, efactor to fly from the college, for in anor e had struck at the life of a comrade, who, after weeks of a prow suffering, had recovered from the wound Left alone by the flight of his friend, Everard Ainslie had at once de from the university, determined to seek a living for himself. He admits his gods feelings the night of his drive with Mr. Anthany White, and his sto’ opping in front of Pengo a ol Tagan oA pic’ —_ up a paper er which, by some strange ¢ ne interested him—why, the prisoner refused to make pyre ‘he admitted ente: the church, impelled by a motive known only to oa po mn discovering | 20 the dead body of the aged Then it was that he fled from the Danaea edifice in horror, and begged the driver to speed on for God’s Arriving in the he sought to find his fellow- student, ae for, several days tracked him from fim awa place, and when his ebbing funds warned away to seek work, he started for New York on route to the metropolis he did a noble sen’ 7 kof bls his own = and ren went on steered erard Ainslie had nobly served r sister. mn followed an account of the accident, in which r Florice lost: her life, and then how devotedly gee — had watched over his wounded benefactor. gentlemen of the. jury,’ continued Clar- ence, ont Sas admit that a dark, damnable mystery ss over the murder of poor Rey. Felix Hargrove; t that a Ra er found by the roadside nearly idetoatos my client, and that he entered the church; but you have to know whether he entered that sacred tabernacle of God for the purpose of deliberately one of His commandments. Ae |! heisa mere outs. his hands are as deli- cate as a woman’s, path yet th ey would say that his hand held a knife, which his arm drove through the bone, muscle ane = flesh, for the blade of passed-entirely through the body of the murdered eB that yonder boy had cause to slay .0) deanna: fear that = had plotted to meet him in his lonely col mel and then you can hold Everard for murder. “Yonder sit the wife, the daughter and the son of Rev. Felix ove, and upon their faces rests no pn pore tiie blapriconer oaon theyfeel that he is rime chargéd at his door. pte dive ces unexpected to him, the mysteri- ous Papers he roe may have made him acquaint- Bt ee Z "ohg ae ; rey Fit <se or tee Pa ie a f the assassin | ed with the truth who did the deed; but as to his being the guilty one, out upon the tho For three hours Clarence Erskine’s voice ring through the crowded co and when he at lengt sat down it was evident that he had made a deep a pression upon But the murderer was not found, if Everard Ainslio did not commit the deed, and there seemed a strong desire among many to: hang somebody for the crime. CHAPTER "XY, A SEORET NO LONGER. Wuen Clarence Erskine ceased speaking. there was & momen sensation in court, and the sym- athy was with the —— but when the counsel or the prosecution stated his side of the question, and propounded time again the unan- swerable conundrum of: “If the prisoner is not the base assassin, who then is?” oo seemed to be an even balance as to his guilt or ee At length the See 4 of the given, calmly and impartially, and the y wit held in theirhands the life or death of e prisoner, arose slowly from their seats to retire, aed out of the room, thou the narrow Poacher one of those twelve pg and as the juryman met that gaze they seemed to feel its mag- ne a ‘ a there innocence of the arged ag: and to a man vowed halted, pee ey pened and went back. to thei seats, to the surprise and amazement of every one in that crowded room. Then the foreman, when called u for an ex- planation, arose, glanced down the: © of jurymen, and ~ pga 0 rT Not gu ilty | yp Like a rotate sat Everard Ainslie, deaf to the A wi + lause that burst forth from the crowded court unmindful of the looks bent u him. Silently he received his dismissal from the hands of the law; totteringly he arose to receive the con- gratulations of Colonel Erskine and Clarence, and with a cry, asif from a broken heart, fell forward into the arms of his brilliant.advocate in an almost deadly swoon. Tenderly ———s ron lithe, graceful form in = powerful Seat grt 6 Erskine bore him from the court-room to his pan in waiting, and beck ening to his family ee who was present, Colone Erskine rapidly follow irene ing into the carriage after the doctor, Colo- nel ae said a ee wy pa the and -yet, as block after Mack oes tal rard Ainslie still lay in unconsci At length the behind, ott ves, and tore open the loose coat and vest. Then in surprise he boyndéd to: his feet, crying aloud: “ My God! ena 2 The surprise of ence on and Olarence cannot be depicted, utter amazement eth A spoke not a wo vit blankly apc 4 while the p aisles applied restoratives and chafed the small ands of the supposed re outh.. . At length the beaut; eyes partly opened, the hy ier ome i a pores was re and consciousness he returned, “ Ah! os ne 9 Jonger in the naiiile const pes, Iam free—o Mersey thik Sa sighs aa chy, ‘che! he one one had so long been tier te a rani tees “as on her = before Ola ence Brekine,
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WITHOUT A HEART. 13 . * Then, as if realizing her position, and f that her secret was known, her face flushed scarlet, and the beautiful eyes a hae and sought the floor while the pleader’s form trembled violently. P r & moment she said: you condemn me, my noble friends, hear vo bog to you, I have a long and full confession to “T have deceived you, true; but I will tell you all, “ bid me with my “ My chi m not feel thet ei adrift , I will never again darken your doorway esence." or little waif, arise, and do Clarence or. myself will set you rift again in the world. When you are willing to tell us we will hear you; now you need rest, and we leave you,” | and Colonel Erskine extended his hand and raised the maiden to her feet, and, followed by his son and the physician, left the room, after adding that the Secret her sex should remain inviolate, until she chose to make it known. CHAPTER XVL ‘ SANS C@®UR. Wauen the colonel and Clarence left the room, followed a moment after by the doctor, the maiden Seemed an invalid, recovering from a long siege of sickness, for her face had been blanched snow-white during her impris nment, and a certain ha) look hung round the eyes, while her mouth seemed Strangely stern for one so young in life’s trials. But when left alone the maiden Spreng, to her feet, and or face became fiushed with excitement, as she nervously paced the room. As the minutes passed away she grew more calm, and the hard, hag ard look passed from her face, while there sett Tition an expression of daring determination, and her hands closed tight together, =r though she made up her mind to her future nppelig quickly to and fro for & moment, she said, “Well, I must make a bold stand now, or all is lost—all Liny bright hopes for power over men will be e und. “T know feat T ata beautiful in face and faultless in form, and I feel that Iean coin a sweet revenge for has not one man whom I Heated cast a shadow over the very threshold of my | “Did he not swear to me that I should be ac- know. his wife before the world, and live with him in his grand city home? but, how did he keep raat promise? Why he tired of me, just as I have Pi novels that other men tired so. to do when the crash came sooner. than tt be! anticipated. . 0, I did not love him; A¢ could not stir the in- most of my heart—heart, didI say? _ h y, I have no such function—I am without yart—now j yet there was a time when my best love ould have mone forth to one man, and did he but nurture it ag he could have wish It is said, and with truth— “* Woman's love, like the Will too often cling, _. , Around a base and worthless thing.’ “ And thus'it was with mylove. He worth of it, and cast off the tendrils of penton ou on am launched u that? tem ous sea of life; but is it my fault am what I am, an unreco; eli, the die is cast now, and es- ? ever pass my days in that spot, which it pach, desecration upon the name of home’to call it i of as fair women , Yes, he would have cast me off, for he was | t deserved it would have been all that | \ | upon his soul? Is not my Heo me, for I, a woman, & mere. girl, sent ve and throw myself upon your mercy, and then, if you | ye ni | icion's cell? “Wow, without heart I must ever be, for for what must I care now? Am I not a cast off wife? Is not my husband a fugitive, with the brand of murder own hand, delicate and apely though it be, stained with blood? True, it was in defense of those who have certainly veu my friends; yet the specter of the dead must ve “And was I not tried for murder? Have not my sand nights, for weeks it, been pawed in a& Am I not a waif, an outeast? —... “Oh, God! how the damnable questions surge up | to be answered against my soul ! “ But I have stepped off the brink now, and I must eee I must not draw back now, for I have nk of the fatal chalice held to my lips, and its poison is running like molten lead through my veins. “True, I might tell them the whole truth, and they would not cast me off; But, dare I run the risk? Might not the trail of his crime be followed and his life end upon the gallows? He must not die thus, for I must meet him yet; [have a wrong to avénge, I hold against him that which will make his very craven soul cringe with despair. “No, I must not hesitate now; I must have no heart, no conscience, but, with a mask of falsehood | upon my faee, go defiantly through life, “Yes, I will brave it out,” S . So saying,the maiden,by an exertion of her wonder- ful self-control, drove from her face every ow of evil, every hard look, and with a smile upon her cm lips, a glance of affection in her beautiful eyes, left th room to seek Colonel Erskine and Clarence, for she purposed making to them a confession—@ lissue of falsehoods. CHAPTER XVI. THE CONFESSION, _ : In the luxuriously furnished rooms of Colonel Erskine sat that gentleman and his son Claren conversing in earnest tones upon the rem discovery they had made in remand, to their protege, who Mad so unexpectedly turned out to be a wo Suddenly the door opened, and the object of their conversation entered. Advance ckly, with ner- vous tread and downcast eyes, while her face was nome? a though with natural bloom, the maiden 8 quietly: “Have I intruded, my friends, for such you have proven yourselves to be?” , we no means, Eve—Ev—what must I call you now ee and te “No, let me tell you all ea ay é ale though I deceived you as re- ou, and prove houg: } Zards myself, I certainly had no desire to otherwise,” and Eve Ainslie s . most ‘ while both Colonel Erskine nee silent expectation the conan she had “From first to last I must tell you all,” | maiden, seating herself in an ag yee nd ins a way that the shadows from the window | fell bee) her face, . ai ; i “ , es,”” a comes cor PS sie not my sabe tion eceive any longer, especially you m ria fede whom I have learned to love 80 dearly. “Twas oan upon, we econ | eae and my father was a gentleman and aman of w —my was @ poor farmer’s daughter, eer ee se 33° c
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14 " Disinherited by his porte for marrying one be- neath him, my father took to the sea for a support, and upon the sea he lost his life when I was a wee “My mother soon after went to her fave was said dying of a broken heart, and as I was a pretty, bright child, my father’s rich and proud relatives adopted me, and for years I lived with them in- dulged in every luxury, and educated daily in all that it was proper for me to know. -“Though a mere girl I was a proficient musicia: posse: a@ good voice, and was a fair artist; bu when in my fifteenth year there came a crash; my grandfather lost his wealth in speculation, shot him- self through the heart in despair, and family were left penniless. Even my own rich wardrobe and jewels went for food, and I was consigned to the care of a harsh, cruel woman, living on the river in a small house of her own. “The woman had once been the ajiance of my fa- ther; then she was beautiful and well off; but, when my father married another, she became tired of a ay ts up the world, and settled herself down a lonely life of bitter regret. “T at t believed that she took me with her from kindness of heart—a lin pene love for my fa- ther’s memory; now I know that she did so for re- wenge. _ “From the day I entered her home I became her slave, Every duty was thrown upon me. I even cal fish for dinner, attended to the garden, ilked the cow, and did all the work about the place that a man should have done. “ But, what else could I do? Iwas in her power and without a friend in the world to aid me. “From m clothes fit dressed, for often I was upset on the river, and had I worn the clothing my sex demanded I should have been wed, “One day, when out fishing, a squall came up and upset a small sail-boat lying not far from me, its “ae having gone to sleep. “ Washed away from his capsized boat, and in the middie of the river, the person would have been drowned, hadI not gone to his rescue, and drawn him intomy skiff. “He proved to be a student of a college a few miles distant, and was so thankful for his life that he eng me a large ons of por get rage me $0 ro clothing, with m ir cu short, iene po at lad, / “At first 1 was almost tempted to take his gold and with it to fly from my cruel bondage; but I thought afterward that [ could not be happy if.I ac- cepted his money, and so I refused, greatly to his n. é Aber that we met several times, and believing me still a boy he begged me to enter the college as a student, telling me that he was rich and would de- fray all my expenses. “After a long deliberation I era aaa his offer, for J was anxious to gain as good an education as possi- ble; but he promised that he would keep a strict ac- count of all he spent for me, and one day allow me to refund it to ’ - “With this understanding, he ordered a small room, adjoining his own, prepared for me, and one night sailed over after me, bringing a trunk of cloth- ing for me, *% Leaving my house by stealth, I entered the walls of the university, and became a student there, none my sex, nefactor at length was drawn into a as before I told you, with a fellow student, and fied from the college, and then I felt that I must e 4 “* My flight from the university on that fatal alent; my arrival in the city, and start, on foot, to New York, you know, so 1 will say no more.” “ My ni WITHOUT A HEART. ee eee * And ne more need be said, my child,” sald the kind old colonel, as Eve Ainslie concluded ber confes- sion, and let her head fall upon her hand, Then, while his voice trembled with emotion, he continued: ‘““You have been like a son to me, child, and now you must take a warmer pinge in my heart; you must fill the vacuum left by the death of my poor Florice; yes, you shall be as my Own daughter, and from this hour cast off the disguise you have solong worn, ; my daughter now, and Clar- lad light shot through the eyes of Eve Ainslie Cpvineitg ‘she hid her face upon thé er y rious triumph, the fu- looming up grandly re ca i CHAPTER XVII ‘ WILDIDLE. ; Upon the sea-washed shore of a ah mee SS) was Wildidle, the new home of Colonel Erskine. A more beautiful home heart could not desire, for the villa was a handsome, commodious structure, with deep bay-windows and broad pi its front and east sem broad could be obtained, wit! ew the house, and a — of a mile away, “onping a crescent around the wh Small bay, were ascore of neat-looking the “ quarters’ of the servants of Wildidle, A fountain here and there, a piece of marble sta , white shell walks, flower bespangled beds, and rolling lawns of velvet grass, with the constantly pre ere ocean scenery, rendered the surroundin of Wildidle beautiful indeed, while Gothic and rustic . summer-houses invited loungers into their cool and quiet retreats. Running out into the water, some fifty feet, was a neat pier, with a small arbor upon the end, and here there were arranged comfortable seats, for those who cared to watch the restless waters coming in from the sea beyond. : Around the pier, gently rising and falling upon the waters, were a small pleasure-yacht and several gayly painted row-boats, with velvet cushions and —— a suing, which rendered them most com- ortable. Entering the grand and massive looking mansion on every side was luxury, and everywhere an air 0 comfort prevailed, from the b hallway to the spacious parlors, inviting library, and cool and ex- tensive -room. Up-stairs were the sleeping chambers, » CcOn- venient, luxurio furnished, and sufficient in num- ber to accommodate a score of guests, for the former master of Wildidle was a genial and hospitable host —far too much so for his own | ge ‘ In the sy lolling back in his easy-chair, and gazing listlessly, and yet ingly, out over the quiet waters of the little bay, and out upon the rest- less waves of the sea beyond, was the new lord and master of Wildidle, Colonel In the large bow-window, an open book upon her lap, sat a maiden, 0 completely metamorphosed was Everard’ Ains- lie, froma handsome, sence ne of twenty, ap- parently, into a lovely, brilliant maiden of eighteen, that none would have re her, Dressed in a morning-robe of white lawn, that fit- ted her elegant form to perfection, and with her massive braids of hair fastened with a silver cox in one coil at the back of her haughty head, KE, _
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WITHOUT A HEART. 15 ‘em Pa Ti cS Rll te Ainslie was indeed a wondrously lovély woman—onr t few men could gaze upon unmoved by he, charms, Upon her quiet features there was no ruffle of dis- content—no footprints of an imbittered life—no sign that her life was a lie—her face was an impene- trable mask. She had cast the die—she hai made a false con- fession, and her aiicctow had been believed by those who had loved the oor she had zetnee a lovely home, a kind father, a loving brother—and wealth. But would she not have gained all these had she been sincere in her pay may Se op she told the whole truth and no but the truth Such would the ps small voice ty of her con- science sometimes and she had to admit, knowing as she epee both onel Erskine and his no- ble son, that their kindness toward her would have = the same, even eo she was a ueserted But then it was not eqs for Eve to have it known that she was otherwise than she had said she was, for she was playing for a higher game than she had so far won—a game, to which, she would have to break WS 01 and man; but, what cared a woman ut news for these? For several weeks ol in their new home, enjoying to their hearts’ the air of the South, the perfume of the innumerable flowers, pn sweet trilling of feath- ae musical — in aie Be cal en- poor Florice, for his newly-adopted d. to “no yaored to’him all that he could wish, and he thanked for the day when she crossed his path, for to her “4 owed it that his days, gliding toward the grave, were not passed in gloom and despair. Bh ge perl As the an glided b by at Wildidl ildidie the neight families called u the new-comers, and Colon Erskine and tive soon found themselves courted as general favorites. This was just what Eve most desired, for she was anxious to prove still further the power she felt that she possessed over men; on with Colonel Erskine it was different, for he been nap a pis in Be pede om 4 life he had BB. weeks tival at Wildidle. Still he was a most hospitable host, and was fond ¥f company, and therefore greeted all visitors in his untry began to &enial, ly manner, ‘As the teat of the ‘surrounding flock around her, Eve Ainslie nacied orth “9, ie the fathomless sea of coquetry, and day after day threw her chains of love's bondage around some cot Senate esses: him as she had held all others, With 1 ier, Sein h he bere y and her ambition arose —joy that she could lay her hand upon the mane of hey ¢ one of ic sonics pe and cause him to kneel at tion to. still further reascend the a need pect ildidle, upon’ his pro her a queen over all, one. one who held full sway Over m id women ry: th h the land, flew the bE ey of her beauty, scathing sai d every- where} were ie splendid horsemanship, her ae Ao su ~ Voi musician, and other ments isoussed, wile the name of La Belle Cnustte Was besto packelor planter. Who had wed upon “: mages by oh eye of eatin nines coe haar Graeaainiat > tae American [ipeer one of Eve's strong points in uetry was | ee to make an enemy of a discarded lover. for, ' did she refuse his love, she made him feel that she really needed his friendship, and in this way she held ner power over them still, "and kept them “auttering around the flame of her’ beauty and wit like eandle-flies, anxious, seemingly, to receive from so brilliant a destroyer, The young bachelor, above referred to, lived alone eft him by his death, ona a estate, | parenta’ * ben was of =< a number of in Europe, Paul Laun: loi: ps at last re’ home, at tee Leeroy se thirty, to rest after his wanderings, and-a few after his arrival Eve Ainslie had risen above the of his life, and drawn him at once to at. though many a fair maiden of the n iborhood _ up all idea of ever netting his heart, r oo. escaped all love-traps set for a en at his heart was Launce- tt went ae the board, for he pecans Eve acer weed Eat the telling of the same old and gt the planter was—refused, ater came, Yet so kindly, so affectionately, almost, did al Eve refuse the pro er of the. three treasures dev sought after by many of her sex—his cert: his hand, and his fortune—that she attached him to her as her best friend, so.she told ts he noitie a with that honor Paul Launcelot was oe phents and wege) seemed so, while, 2 —— bi © he enjoyed other men singe their flutter back wi and mourn ni One bright mor: , when the inmatés of Wildidle arose, they ge be -loo vessel-of-war an- chored out in the ac Boe it ha soe there during the darkness of 3 that vessel Eve Ainslie soon found two more admirers—the one Captain Burt Lambert, a dash- ing, handsome young sailor of twenty-six, cata commander of the rakish-looking a pacer pita foe e Eaglet, and as rother 0: ca the widower father of Howard had . as for widowed mother of Burt, when the lai — & mere boy of six, and the former ten years his senior. As soon as breakfast was over, the Pers cete yg Say the arrival of the et in the bay, Colonel amd had summoned his negro contenen and board the cutter, where he was cae bre capone onfered ig who informed that he to that Fane, of the coast, to watch for certain illegal traffickers upon those ters, » resa that day both Burt Lambert Howard Moulton became amaieet visitors ak Wilditiioy and e brothers were desper- momentarily dazzled by the splendid ai littering uniform of the handsome young sea- contain, for her kindness toward him made many & brave h APTER XX. a+ - sy E TO FACE, One pleasant Siegert yay ant rival the C) e Tanibert ete to thos er at Wiis’ and, adap: » sent card in Cc) bi nt desire of her adopies father, “Se her own name of Ai Soon the maiden appear red, ee qucanly pew 9 fo! had made recone neon for a gallop an. eng country. Soon round, finest ee ne Wildidle stables, and mount dashed the handsome cow ous! y peeding dreaded lest Eve should learn to love him, a result ea rei ed against most sincerely, for he hone hoped tiful in her garkdyine, vi the horses were brought the ar window by Colone! he admired the rence would love the maiden when he saw As
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, in the revenue service, for he 16 WITHOUT A HEART. SRA aA from the youth whose life he had pie so ably dete defended from the merciless clutches of be re a lov a heavily wooded upon one side by the dense forest, and containing a view of the bay and caren upon the other, rode the officer and ‘his fair co his face slightly clouded, her face bright, t ed with the chalet of her ride, and as serenely beautiful as though no storm-clouds traced Tue sky beyond, i iy et at anchor, fully a league sage Bard gene his aptain Lam- beautiful vessel, bert, sal said, with some enthusiasm , for years past Y have known but one go, rome vessel, “When ame boy, a midshipman on a vessel-of- in foreign seas, I never felt a Sen ship as my home; and when conly and was detached from the mage —— to. or command = a a Eagle’ became my home and m. wey enor idol.” " “Tt is strange that yourself and brother should both be ce the same vessel,’ said Eve, quietly, as desiring to draw the captain away yey a ales — : “Yes; but I am giad it is so, for I love Howard mac know that we are step-brothers, and that he ogc geet er senior sat aa oo I like Lieutenant Moulton exceed- am glad to hear you say so, Miss Erskine, for poor eaenad has had a rather "unhappy life.” ** Indeed! will you tell it me?’ “There is little to tell, rand wae that he entered bres navy at an aaa § age, and was a rapidly in @ quarrel superior ofioar cules i in a 2 duel, in which het tl by Howard’ There circumstances in the case in Howard's behalf; he was dismissed the , 1 am sorry to say, became reckless and disspat a and in a few years ran through his fortune, and was almost penniless in the world. P At through the influence of our family, he was inted to the command of the Eaglet, reformed com- ple ly when he had no more means at his disposal. ntortunately was ordered to ae ig a short- ly and ing Howard, of ‘course k com- mand— rl showing no ill- feeling toward me what- ever, and to-day we are the best of friends, as well Ps brothers, and no | better officer than Howard ton treads a ship’s deck.” we your ted pag theatede are doubtless v strong, Captain Lambert—at ieast such is my esti- mate of you,” said Eve, and as though a match had been Seomamne it thrown into powder Burt Lambert burst forth: “ Ay, my loves and hanes are strone and with my whole ‘soul, my whole you, Eve— hold! hear mé through, an fate m Awhile since I told pen that, in the past, my ship had been my hom me By lady-love.. “Now I tell you that woald a and all it comician wrecked upon yonder jagged and wild reef rather than lose your love, ay, even your “It is getting late; su and Eve brought her Trited horse to the right. about, her companion following her example, w a of tment swept over his face. Psp ,@ horseman suddenly confronted | peer em, having been riding but a shott distance be- ’ wnseen by both Burt pom —_ One | that dark, handsome | et ee about to froth oe at ial pieouh toe aed ove lean let me know my | see my loved vessel | | Raglet. I | eigen eae ZX asi 6 return, captain?” | The horseman’s face.also ch d Pe a and well it might, for Eve Ainslie and ude Clinton had again crossed each other’s path—yes ae ‘a0, so strangely met, so strangely parted; d an wife had again come face to face! _OHAPTER XXL. CLINTON CLARENDON. Wirz a tremendous effort of self-control, Eve re- gained her composure, and gave Claude ton a cool stare, as though she had never re met h potest on his Aaa) he seemed as th omy s ie] ut, eu d ney her pine 7 ag toustied bia Politely, a up wt , on one taken u his own. eclines and ee oan sx Claude Clinton one whom he ings, an met befo: Cape tain Lambert did not observe the pallor that swept over the faces of the man and the woman, nor did he notice the sw: Shite motion of Eve, as though she were about to fall from her saddle. Ina moment Claude Clinton had continued on, = Eve said, Bo nh For “Are you ni the gentleman to whom ‘ou just bom mole Captain Lambert?" > neidentally only,” almost impatiently returned ee yous oo who ve, pe that ~5 teté-a-icle with een interru) at a most inopportune mo- ment for his love-m » Eve was about to inguire still further into the ac quaintance, when Captain Lambert continued, for he felt that he had spoken abruptly, perhaps: * A few days since Mr. Clarendon, or such is the name of the gentleman, was pa 0 a anchor- age of the let, in a squall coming up he split his mainsail, and hailed him to come aboard and repair the **He accepted the invitation, and “while my sail- maker mended the rent, I invited the gentleman into the mg! and over a glass of wine found him a mos t agreeable com on.” “Ts he a resident of this neighborhood?” “Yes; or that is, he told me he lived on a nta- tion several 1 ~ down the coast—one he had lately purchased, 1 iuiped Eee from’ < conversation; but you seem sin; rly in Maker. yt and a pang of j aashed Ges into the’ you ung officer. e reminds me of one I have peers well in the past. You say his name is Clarendo: jousy wa coare Clarendon—such “ the name on the ca e€ gave me—ha! here he comes back, and ata sillop, As Ca Lambert ke there was heard the eound 0 Ye clattering hoofs, and a moment after up dashed the horseman they had just met, Drawing rein, and om raising his bat, he sai addressing Captain Pande a, “Pardon her sir; but a racial row-boat with the. name Hve painted on its stern, drifted ashore upon beach ast night; can I ask if it is not the prop- erty of the lady with you?” Allow me, Miss Hrekine, to present Mr. Claren- Set rir and then you can answer for yourself,” said Lambert. e man bent low in his saddle with uncovered head at Laat fc ton = tree bowed, and smiled her sweetest smile, whil she answered in her softest tones: “* Tt is my little boat, sir; & —_ loose the othe acht, and as the d was Bae and A, might, t failed observe its loss until our arri ome, for my father = myself had been dining on board the t was kind of you, sir, to take the trouble | WER all, Miss Erskine; to-morrow I will send into and w Heid aca ot “SE ‘orm, and Eve’s father, olonel Erskine, w hile she reeled, as though you “Will you not let it bi you to Wildidle? My be glad to meet you, r. Clarendon.” The man looked searchingly into the fair face, and
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WITHOUT A HEART. =. & doubt of identity swept across his mind, for it was a8 serene and pleasant as though no unpleasant re- Mmembrances were summoned up from the buried past at the sight of his face. “Thank you, Miss Erskine; I will bring back Eve to the Eden from whence it strayed. “Captain Lambert, I will be glad to entertain you, sir, any time you feel pleased to visit Cliffside. ean th t, and agai ti bi at, and again casting a searc glance into the face of Eve, Claude tu his staal quay, and rode away, while the o' also con- tinued their ride toward Wildidle—Burt Lambert anathematizing in his heart the incident that had so me rtunely broken into his avowal of love. en Clinton Clarendon, as he evidently now called himself, rode away, he kept on at a rapid pace until a bend of the road hid him from view, hen he drew rein and rode meditatively along, his ‘thoughts a chaos of conflicting emotions. “No, I thought I could not be mistaken in that face,” he mused. “No, it is Eve, wife; it was a lucky thought of mine—the boat; it convinced me in my suspicion. Pshaw! did not her emotion at sight of me show that she was the Eve I had known before? “But, why is she here? and how is it I hear her addressing Colonel 'Erskine as ber father? ““Report says he is worth millions—that he has an only danghter and an only son—and my Eve is that daughter. “T must solve this mystery—I will solve it, for she will tell me all, for did she not ask me to call? “Strange that she should, in ‘one glance, regain her influence over me, for I believe I would be her Slave, did she so bid me, “And, by Heaven! how beautiful she has grown! She isa perfect queen, and I do not wonder now that the men of the neighborhood have gone mad with love for Eve Erskine. j “And she knew me, and—still loves me; but, she does not suspect ! “Yes, I must tell her a long st Leslie dogged me day and night, until, driven to des- ration, | struck him down, and that act caused me y from the gallows, “Oh, God! how the memory of that fatal night rushes over me; but I must smother remorse, for I mare not the cowardly heart to let despair crush me own. ‘Yes, I will tell Eve, in part, the truth—how I be- came a wanderer in Western lands, and saving the life of a wealthy miner, was made his heir when he died, a few w after “'ho hide myself from all who knew me, still fearing detection for that fatal deed in God’s sanc- tuary, I will tell her that I took the name of my be- Sian tan lends tarmsdetamaeneeae use was and longed to be near her. — Tecan m up a good story, in which there is.a grain of truth, and then set to work to win Eve back to me, for I must not lose her. No, no, no, she is mine now, but before the world I must make her Clinton Clarendon. If she refuse, then I must my power and Jorce her to my wish, for Eve Er- e is too valuable a prize to let slip through my Urein his horse forward, as though having fully made up his mind to his course, Glinton Clarendon, as I must now call him, dashed on at a rapid pace, rein in front small, but handsome, plantation home, situated upon the Coast, and with a rolling lawn sloping down to the Thro his bridle-rein to a n servant, the Supposed action owner of Chiftolde ek his Cosy mansion, and sat down to the inviting supper fore Seemed to of how Mark }. CHAPTER XXF. AT HOME. THE day follo the horseback ride, a sail-boat ut into the W: le pier, having in tow the little at Eve. To the surprise, and I may say disappointment of Eve, Clinton Clarendon was not the occupant of the little craft, but, instead, a negro sté ore and approached the mansion, bearing in his hand a note. few moments more and Eve held the missive in herhands. It simply read: “Mr. Clarendon's compliaenta to Miss Erskine, and begs to return to her the little water waif. “At another time Mr. Clarendon hone — the pleasure of accepting Miss Erskine’s invita- tion to call.” —— to —_ master, please, that whenever Pee e to him we will be glad to welcome him at ildi and thank him, for me, for sagrterence BA boat. Now goto the kitchen and get your before you return,’ and while the negro turned is 7 a , Eve again took up the note. “Yes, it is his wri How I would like to ques- a ma pee erp a but I dare not. “Ha! I will invite him to the mask-ball, next week, and then, from his own lips, I will learn all.” Crossing the room to a small writing-desk, Eve sat down and wrote, on delicately tinted paper: “ Colonel Erskine and his daughter will be pleased to have Mr, Clarendon’s coare next Ta evening to attend a mask ball, elves in honor of 6's birth anniversary. “Will Mr. Clarendon, under existing circum- stances, pardon the late hour at which invita- tion is en, and accept "s warmest thanks for the return of her lost boat?’ -aservant she told him to give note to Pye had brought the Botan on her new hat, she went forth to join Colonel who was fishing off the end of the pier. vt “Well, Eve, you have come down to keep an old man company?" said the colonel, plea “Yes, sir, Lhave come to y a whi in your pleasent com . You see { Mr. Clarendon as returned t bid “Yes, it was kind of him; but Iam sorry he did not come himself, as you : would.” “He wrote that he ho soon to visit W: and.L retunped iy'sthe, banner at the note an invita- tion to the - Ere more was said the servant approached, and Colonel Erskine fare him a message for his master, but learned that it was the intention of M ; Ol to sail down to 0 ily next w and Eve felt her meeting with the man she so desired to yet be postponed. k ’ ond hegre a eee dae Lariady ‘apon by pe generous owner Waddle, Prskine turned to mat Clarendon will be another string to your ve.” ; , Borhaps so, sir; he is certainly a very handsome man.”’ : unk, * And so is Captain Lambert.” “truer air be Raley Ser se and I i do not ies ‘it; rumor says that you. love “ rl why I did not know that I was more kind to ptain Lam than to a half-dozen others, , havoasked mei you were not engaged tthe cap: ay father!” rue, Eve, and it is the general belief in th ' peighborhood_-” ’ ; oe a
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18 WITHOUT A HEART. » "There is not a word of truth in it, sir; t certainly should not have a secret from you. “T like Captain Lambert and a number of others, but I love none of them,” and Eve spoke earn “T am giad to hear it, Eve, forI do not wish you taken from me—at least yet awhile,” 2) Spas is no fear of that, my dearestfather. The t to marry raygheag not here. mttNow Tie epee icshpanaatie we must give an ceeestalesrat in return,” “Tt was for my sake you did it, sir, and deeply do I feel your kindness to me; but come, the waters are ee ange ac pega ate yah a row in my little boat.’ “We for a poor fish has. been hang- ing to brea ory minutes, and I in blissful ignorance of the favor done me.’ Nod ae Colo a. and perma she and seizing the oars, the en sent the tle shel flying over the quiet waters. ‘CHAPTER XXIIL Pale MASQUERADE, rand oh old Wanslgg sion at Wilde a te ne Nie mie Fade pelos py peo gasligh val the if of the “ qu Rapidly shere rolled wp ie of igi corelnge after carriage, b of and gentlemen from the neighborhood for miles around, and all d in some fantastic costume, and wearing cag cn ete impenetrable llways, the commodious - he pte old library, con ated the peo wt Ln the tight _ ast » OF view. tripping “ the n ic,” or other- enjoyin themselves A fe seuti@entn and eir wives were all that come unmasked, and at the doorway stood Colonel Erskine, his handsome, genial face unhid- den beneath silken folds, for he was to receive his vy t length the last a up and ral the last its hu uman man fre won ea a nob a last arriv away to to join a whist Regoeye one of Hesking smaller nor sit- leaving masqueraders to their own dark form ascended the broad steps, cloaked and masked; but from whence he had come none of the loungers around the doors and windows upon Yh ae not been noticed until his foot was weet 1 at the doorway, the servant in charge tng into the ra gaat 's dining-room, and a atewon moments after 4a in the rooms be- low—a tall, elegant form, clad in the uniform of an ee! in the United States apy. to know him, and quie he stalked ut ye rooms, attracting geferal at- tention and admiration, but tota ‘be- neath his black silk mask, which fit his face closel At ent he seemed A otc himself to 4 maiden te Persian costume—the handsomest dress and form in the room; but, woatde to solve the mystery 0 he was s, the fair amet, soon left his arm for ith Lan for t) h he wore mwa Pree fo the ‘ cor that kis- uniform and oaks peur uy stra Hardly ie altz ended. Le nge er a ag stepped up to the nav cer There is an arbor in the orange grove to theright | a of the mansion—will y you mgot me there in half an hour? It is most important. Though seemingly surprised at the request, the eo repli As if ition: the ffi t leisure’ sal officer, wen‘ the soa tee his cloak and left the mansion and wended way through the labyrinth 0 0 f flo wer- lag as walks, until he came to grove, in the center of which was a he threw himself u Epon to meet a i the eres i eee away. vy iP sper ckly approaching, he e naval officer, the ight glistening ie ea and buttons of his A pO more and a: also entered the arbor, saying, eae haug) You desired me to meet yon here, sir." “Yes—the settlement of differences between flenneg had better be done in a quiet way, you mer “confess I do not understand you, sir; your voice I fail to recall as before having heard, and I know of no difference between any man this country and myself—at least, any of a serious na- “Mine with then, is of a deadly nature—/ fo | tae vue ize 7 ‘i ‘6 - eS ee Sreprine tin, pond a8 at t the <p of the poner por before him, the sailor laid his hand upon the e—or do Ae 0 r eplied the em sternly, arc why, m8 Task?’ 4 ou love Eve and rumor i intend to marry her.’ me anne “Indeed! Rumor - most kind; but, what if it were true?” “Then I forbid it, and if you are not acoward you will draw your sword and cross mine in defense of your honor and your love.” PR. Pa peng! — he sapeiie a, ee ie Pp ° 0 the broad whence he Kaa spon followed by his foe, also with drawn ahdw no man to call me a coward, sir, and gratify your whim, Defend As the sailor ke he mn a forward, and the two weapons cone together with a ringing clang. Instantly the combat became fierce and deadly, for both men seemed masters in the art of fence; but the stranger seemed the more aren of the two, and handled his sword with savage —— ness, until at length he struck up the blade of his foeman and drove his own teh nc through and through the body of his ene p ls ing his hands to his head, tottered f ast end tal to the ground. hosughiy cleani his sword, by wiping it upon the clothing of his en foe, the stranger wheeled and walked away, disappearing in the shadow of the park, just as a party of masqueraders came leisurely along, strolling toward the arbor, oY sa ay moments more the two, persons in front. aR PO a peptone on entleman dressed exican luncero, started back in alarm, for at se, wezioas Longer saciod bas man, “Good God! he is dying—see, he is fearfull wounded,” and the Mexican masquerader knelt beside, the wounded man, just as oe rest of the party, half a dozen in number, crowded up in alarm, “Captain Lambert slain?’ said the lady in the Posslan dress, her tone one of horror, @.
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WITHOUT A HEART. 19 “Tt is not Captain Lambert—but Paul Launcelot; bee! We exchanged costumes,” and spri to his feet the speaker tore aside his mask, and the Lambert was revealed, Instantly all was excitement; and, tearing her mask from her face, the Persian maiden revealed the beautiful features of Eve Erskine, while she face of Burt cried, earnestly: “Quick! gentlemen, for God’s sakel See if his life cannot yet be saved. : “Bring him into the mansion, while I hasten to tell my father and Doctor Mayhew, who are playing whist together.” While Eve bounded away, followed by the other ladies, who cuRnpoaey the party, the several gentle- men, directed by Captain Lambert, tenderly raised the form of poor Paul Launcelot, and bore it toward the mansion, Into a quiet chamber the wounded man was borne, and Dr. bes at once examined his wound, an with a foreboding look turned away. “Doctor, am I dying?” All started, for they had believed Paul Launcelot unconscious, ; “You are badly wounded, Paul—” ‘Do not evade me, doctor; am I not dying?” “-Yes—I dread to say that it is so,” sorrowfully re- sponded the kind-hearted man of medicine. Seeing that his patient was rapidly sinking, Doc- tor Mayhew turned to Colonel e, who stood near, and said: “Fre has but a short time to live; would it not be well to at onceJearn from him who it was that gave him his death-blow?” “You are rigut, doctor, for there.seems a deep mystery over this sad affair that should be at once cleared up,” and then approaching the bed, Colonel Erskine continued: “My young friend, we all feel deeply for you, I assure you, and the one who has thus cut off your life, in the midst of joy, shall suffer the full penalty of his crime; tell us then why it is we find you thus wounded?” ’ “T can tell nothing; we met fairly in the duello, arg I fell,” with great effort replied Paul Launce- G) “ But who was your enemy?—who struck you down “That—I—can—never—tell. I— Oh, God!” They were the last words that Paul Launcelot ever spoke, for the blood burst in a torrent from his mouth, and with a groan he fell a man, CHAPTER XXV. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS. and sorrow the mesegeennne at Wildidle of death one of the gayest 1 Ney bak y= bed ness ath one of the ga; of the gay 0 forth to traverse the agit ‘ ee th tumes were in peange contrast to their hushed. ner and bloodless features, so lately wreathed with smiles, and ringing with joyous separtee and laugh: ter. . At last all but a few gentlemen, whom Colonel Er- xkine had invited to remain and endeavor to solve the mystery of Paul Launcelot's death, had gone, and the gr old mansi uiet as the on seemed as qi tomb. ; é I of the upper chambers lay the dead planter, Pee mie the pee of his faithful family servants, who had sent for, and nervously pacing the room, still robed in her gorecous Feat, was Eve Erskine, while Capt ambert stood &f an open window, Yn een rnately wande: from the cold form to the maiden, and then upon he moonlit scene wit,.out. 3 Approaching Eve, Captain Lambert remarked Re Eo gig igre " ove ea 0) - was the tatended victim?” Captain Lambert? What reason have ’ asked Eve, in surprise. “You remember that { ch yself, and ; the ear evening he told me, with a light laugh, if I had a lady-love he was assured he could impose hims upon her for me, “T saw him with but one person—one officer in the uniform of the army, and that man no one has since seen, and as the duel was fought with swords, it must have been that he was the one who poor Launcelot,” ‘* But what cause could he have had?” “Of that Iam ignorant; but [feel that Launcelot was mistaken for me—and, strange as it may seem, I have always had Re cadegacoreems ng that I would die us = —_ sucb mys' manner as has our poor end,’ é Ere Eve could , the servants of the dead planter arrived, an wallings for their poor young master touched every heart with most poign- ant sorrow, From the mansion of Wildidle, poor Paul Launce- lot was conveyed to his own —- bachelor home, from whence, after two days, he was taken to his ee beside the tomb he had erected above his — loved parent o : : ary vast concourse 0} followed the body to the grave, for not only Pen Launcelot loved by all who knew him, but the mysterious cause of his death awakened an universal sympathy for his un- — timely fate, and a savage vindictiveness toward the man who had taken his life. As to who had been the author of this cruel deed none could imagine, and all efforts to find out had proved unavailing. ¢3 At length, as none knew who had been the officer in an army uniform, suspicion settled upon him, and then around flew various rumors regarding the ous man, ; ome asserted that he had driven to Wildidle in an e that had awaited him in the park. ta Pogo had pei aon A more yet state that a large sail-boat had put in t ie i pe dees 5 put in to the pier, remained ite ee Then came under discussion the motive 4 meeting, and here investigation was c halt, until.at le: an old story was trum] about the fast life Paul had led while ab: was remem that he had once had with a lady, whose husband beco: called to answer for @ 16 youn hisinnocence. |. to meet the enraged hus- A for the aay c with the torney in charge of CHAPTER XXVI. FACE TO FACE, Amon rolled by after the night of the masaue- —* 73° F
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0) WITHOUT A HEART. rade, and still the sad affair was a topic of general conversation, excepting at Wildidle, for Eve had seemed to feel so deeply the death of Paul Launce- lot, that her friends seldom mentioned his name in her presence. One evening, as she was séated alone in the arbor on the pier, reading and: thinking alternately; - saw @ large sall-boat rapidly approaching the shore. ‘ It contained two persons—one pacing the deck, the other seated at the helm. The boat was jib and wmain-sail-rigged, and with all sail set was coming along at a lively ‘ve forgot her , and in watching its progress it could not be Captain Lambert, for of late he had been ¢c' almost constantly after smugglers, and had only sailed the day before in the Eagiet, in chase of a suspicious that — n the offing, and then, as if discovering the cutter, had idly seaward, : 2g ’ she murm that is not his boat; it a large and— Hatitishe! At last he has come Another closer glance upon the approaching boat and Eve Erskine saw that she was right—a negro sat at the helm—Clinton Clarendon was pacing the deck, his hands clasped behind his back, his eye. cast down, as though in deep meditation. akilifully rounded to.and brought his teat slonacide : roun roug’ is boat alongside the pier, nm which Clinton Clarendon skilfully sprung, w he called out: “Stand off and on, Buck, until I hail you.” “ Yis, massa, I’ll be on hand,” replied the helms- man, as his boat glided by without checking its pro; while he at the same time doffed his tar- to Eve, for he had not forgotten the liberal ee she had: bestowed upon him wher he brought her little row-boat home. Turning to Eve, Clinton Clarendon raised his hat, “ At! and litely : tale d taro done myself the ——— of ac- your kind invitation to call, Miss Erskine.” e@ gazed fixedly upon him, and though bitter- ness welled up into her breast, and a cruel light came into her eyes, she felt that she had never seen a more handsome man, and one, had he been differ- ent than he was, more capable of winning a woman’s love—and holding it. A moment she hesitated ere she replied, and then asked, quietly, but in a cold tone: 4 Why, have you not been here before, Claude lin ‘Hold! that is a name that is not pleasant on the lips of Eve Ainslie,’’ quickly said the man, while his face became a shade paler. “The name of Eve Ainslie is also buried, as well as that of Eve Clinton—which, did I so desire, I could claim legally,” sneered the woman. “Where are your proofs that you havea ene to that name?” ton Clarendon, while his face became ashen in hue, at the memories that swept over his soul. \ “Task for no fs; ee I were legally bound together in the house of God, and as my husband I loved you—until you dese: me cores 0 “Hold! hear me, Eve—I fled for my life, for I be- Heved that I had killed Mark Leslie; ‘hen I had no time for aught else than flight, and when at last I sent for you i found you gone, none knew whi- ther, a to find you, Isought the Far West, and left me his fortune, on condition that name. “Gladly I did so, for under my own had I been | for two hunted down, with the ery of murderer in my ears, » and my father had disinherited me, . an Saeetine for you, my gente eval wife—” “ Hold, sir! Breathe not that sacred name to me, you, as well as to others, my name is Miss Ers- ine, ” The man seemed more hurt than offended, Prd resumed, ina saddened tone: F “ Sorrowing for you, a disheartened man, I © ~* to this quiet country and purchased a small ph. ~ tion home, and there I have lived ever since. “Tmagine then m joy, my astonishment, at sud- denly finding you, Eve; but your manner, your new name, made me feel that you would remain unknown to me, an rushed back the ery of delight that had sprung to lips—for I felt that in your own good time you make all known to me.” “And ve awaited weeks to find out,” said Eve, in a mock kindly tone, and as though touched by the earnest manner of the man before her, “Important business called me away, Eve, ar * T was compelled to otherwise I should have } ~ here long before this; but to your party I could * >t come, as I did not care to meet you when surrou aed iy rs. ‘’ “It would have been all the same, for either alone, or when surrounded by strangers, I will be always to you what I now am—’ “Hiss Rrukine-the daugh 7 ‘Miss ine—the di ter of Colonel Erskine, of Wildidle,”’ and the arora spoke with a degree o: pride and pleasure which she felt would annoy the n. Biting his lips, her companion replied: “ How is it | find you Erskine, Eve?” “You deserted me, and I had kind, friends who cared for me until i found in Colonél Erskine a er.” “The deuce! then it is really trues I remem er you never knew who was your father. Why, Colo- nel Er: eis worth his millions, and has but one son—’ “True, my brother Clarence; both Colonel Erskine ¥ bie i" are ae ead wel able Lid Pipe a the a sister, ve spoke amalic. . twinkle in her bea oe “T acknowl no right for you to call ora my husband. You deserted me. and left mieto go to my ruin, did I so desire, and I annul any bond that bound us together as man and wife.” , “Your doing so — not make it so, Eve; you are my wife, and as such I intend to claim you.” be ‘Hold, Claude Clinton! Let us understand ev -h other. t we are man and wife, granted; but that it must remain a secret, I avow, for I will not: have my plans for the future thwarted by you.” “As long as you remain here, Iwill keep the se- cret; but if you attempt, as rumor has it, to marry Captain Lambert, I w ublish you to the world as my lawfully-wedded wile, * and the man spoke in deadly earnest. Wi ha! Ri defy you, ene fae if ray me, theres: a@ vengeance upon von of whieh you little dream. Be aes “Thave the power, so beware! Here comes m father; walk with me to meet him, and I swear i, be careful, or you shall know that if I fall, you shall meet a more deadly punishment. Father, this is Clarendon,” and one of her sweetest smiles, a face upon which there was not a shadow of trouble, Eve presented her visitor to Colonel Erskine, who welcomed him most cordially to Wildidle. CHAPTER XXVIL THE ASSASSIN. Eve Erskine sat alone in her boudoir, attired in accident made meé of service to one co pte he $ icone wrapper, for she had retired to her room for he night. Though near mati, she was unable to sleep, to like the yo exceed : Between Clinton Clee ean herself no more had passed upon the at of their conversation seen him depart pleas- ————
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ee WITHOUT A HEART. 21 ntly, promising to call — return frcm the city twenty i down p tetewd and whither heavas then bound in his little yacht. : -n¢ had watched his white sail glimmering in the »vaplight, until sku storm-clouds had swept - aa the eastward, an then oe her adopted fe) wor good-night, she ‘Loo nervous to sleep aes Tieome, on a loose gown, and seated herselt at the window, putting out the light, and musing alone in the oe sy for ever and anon the moon was obscured louds, fore- telling a storm. stile abe hee a go bore “9 until her ts) D i a gece ns EY e ryt es for there bro on. her ea: of music rising on the night air. eeting her thoughts from wandering in drear havnt ure istened, and from beneath her windc\ the low, soft notes of a guitar, evidently toucL- ed ty a master hand, Then a fine tenor voice floated upon the air, and Eve caught the words: **T know not why I Jove thee, Thou dost not think of me; But still my thoughts will wander Forever Backs to thee, “ And though thou ne'er didst love me, Where’er my spirit wing, hover ’round th pathway A fond, though view ee “ And in that better world, love, In- Heaven's eolegass Api seraphic millions spirit shall seek thine,” an was a ballad that Eve had always loved, and cautiously forth from the window, to catch He ip the midnight serender, Eve saw, indistinct tly, orm gracefully leaning against the Moen e or the pe Mey. beneath, his hands holding a guitar, his face raised in so Then from the shadow. of the shrubbery darted a cloaked ward the serenader, and, as the worcs of the last aehisds were sung; 0 Pas ** Amid goraphic millions — My spirit shall seek thine.” the érm of the cloaked form was eam of moe alight et eces on something eld th page rae ed han Eve gave one loud cry of alarm But too Tate! he blow descended with tellin; of the Nike who ell hea avis te tee, en = Pus e€ gro “Good God! Kk! killed him!” cried Eve, in to GB pod! heavy 7 cloaked form turned and ffied eee into the og A rel of the ive death she fell to the floor ne @ swoon, almost ike dea: he hy ary of Eve rung loudly through the house ‘colonel Erskine and ir aes pach who rushed Soate toward the maiden’s room. “onterins it, with a dread at his heart, Colonel Ergkine beheld, Eve, and raising her fom 2 the floor, senger for Dr, Mi resid enile pais. iagt from Wii, yee two 8 dis- € wasina oon, aided by her fr tte mn, the selina. ned maid, attem her to consciousness; but ere she recovered, Dr. Ma, per entered the room, - his assistance the maiden slowly feet same and glancing wildly aroun ng tones: “Dd you capture the the mnetonst r?” Fat “Poor girl! she has a ht that has ma erolirt lirious,”’ said Solonel brine wi not ous; 1am as sane as ever I Ht: saw Burt Lambert struck down by an assassin. beneath my window—quick! or the murderer wil escape—oh Pasiege 1 let not escape.” Sprin m the bed, in a resistance, Eve ran to the sae and g There was a a dark io lying upon the ground benea Suan Teetie DE. Mayhew, and the servants, all saw. now what had given poor | Eve such a fright, and quickly. descending to the Lag ey rushed out and raised the form from the ground. It was Captain Burt cane and he was dead. ACCUSED AT THE GRA’ For the second time a foie rae upon the grand old Wildidle, and its po were crossed by Death's ruthless steps. Boy ey through the neighborhood flew the news urt Lambert's assassination, and many and Fagus were the theories of its cause n the belief gained ground that, after all, Paul Launcelot had re en & victim to a haired felt for the young naval officer, and again were untiring efforts made to Beatie the bold assassin, Toward poor Eve every heart went forth in are peuys for it was believed that she was really en gaged to the yo sea-captain. general favo any were wont to say Le J would be a most appropriate alliance, for ih : old, Sa and poor, men and women, all lo Eye At the request of Eve, arran occa were >to bury in the f: of Wildidle, and accordingly his Leop beOteee Howard Moulton, assented. He, poor fellow, seemed most other to feel sudden death of nie epemanea, brother ena. and on on, é where the bod “ i "at a Betrous ee maid a itative ee wly paced to an now and then in his Dace Yoep wail, ny dene response fo ea one who spoke to him. ieutenant Moulton, are you aware that your brother feared that his life would ‘end in some such the sal gee as it ee) snd E Eve in front of é sailor, her eyes m Wwe Burt has ofte often had a pi ears of is foul zrimeé es i you sera no ee t life —one who may have trac “None. I know of no yt that ever had.” esrb aaekes ORR Ea FER noon—the third day since tthe io tata ae. of the assassination. Gradually the halls an mail. Tetley of W filled with a vast conco ee ayheats# tne’ the marae ‘ hee ce of the dead ar he r’s voice, readin At le ength the Seeker wae cl stig “ i Bag oe meds viiform. an LOE. Ts tome OR cn the I ° at Torre balf'a hundred of seamen andr e " gra reached, yawning its hasehe seer & few words followed, Dae of | musketry, and the eee —was —— upon Captain Bart. Lambe ie Nasting 8 commander of the Eaglet. w. ever Bt ait Biko, the officers - a ot tesag ie retain ng frienc tcod Howard Moulton, et, the head 3 aa sowir- made mound; his facé Bale, fis ps story so and as he was z=, Y
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” 22 WITHOUT A HEART. said: our name is Howard Moulton, is it not, sir?” “Ttis, sir; what would you have?” “T am very sorry, Lieutenant Moulton; but - te obey | orders, sir, and I am commanded to arrest you.” ng Arvest me! and why, sir?” and Howard Moulton stepped Levon his han upon his sword-hilt, his eyes ng while his officers and men ste : forward, a sit to resist an insult se oo comman whom they really liked exceed “Tf you use force, st Ash Sa but the 2p a of th oo will be taken,” sullen- 6 officer 0 ay “OF what am I accused, sir?’ asked Howard Moulton, quietly. wien aecad vot Captain Burt Lam—" “ ar ” Wa Ra that one word hissing be hig. his shut teeth, Howard Moulton sprung Bpon 6 constable and hurled him violently to the groun But baipor as if his violent passion haa spent itself, he ge etly: vg pardon, sir; ee are doubtless but in if Ma HF —I surrender myself your folded his arms oe: “while ve stepped forward tote,’ and Ke broad breas ‘ Garaiy , there is some mistake—Lieutenant will g0 ha the dirt from his slothes, for he had fallen upon the grave just filled w nm the ciea of the Eaglet would have in- ered, but ‘their commander waved them back, o I must not resist the law. plantetent he paonee you in command of the ay bag Return with the men on Laren an and send m @ to the ieee I suppose oot will be pat in am char, but now m The cool manner of r even the o>, who said: you are ouby, , you are won- uleriminal. My bugiy ip at the gate, and you aie to poe. ny me. ith a bow to ae Erskine ne nnd nd. Fixe Moulton nel fork ik forth Whe oe ate were quickly clasped eg cam walked away, Ho ht en ener serhate one the grave of poe Gerkine yt Eve were to return to my carne “Emiine “over that had oc- curred, but “Analy convinced that accused was innocent. CHAPTER XXIxX, AN Pag ate rien ee ied as elled uj in their hi Ww a a silver 1 ayaa ath tr clond of a ‘or, ge - ‘Then a man fod eens him, a stout man, with bs Ta cunning a and _ That night Charente Erskine heard all—all that haa transpired in the household of Wildidle since the arrival there of his father and ae gerd , Leah to defend Spt As against him, and at paced a %) note a the Micttomatt in his ia y cell, te intention, for Clarence at ag wot his innocence from the sora ee colonel the pight, is said to his father: never saw a more beautiful woman, and I che- lieva —_ her character is as lovely as her face.” Indeed it is, J froin bagel IT have Nace i her pose # and though sh trifle fond of admira- ion, and pps a little: tinged with coquetry, she pent as pure as an angel.” “I believe you, sir; but now let us discuss fully the sad incidents { that have taken place here, and in the - morning we will ride over and see this poor Moulton. “ What a grandly beautiful home you have eres father, and how sad that a shadow should thus b cast over its roof.” “Tt is too bad, Clarence, too bad; but all will ll come out well, and I have set my heart upon it, t there is one ray of sunshine that must ever remaim at Wildidle, even if I have to marry her myself.” Clarence Erskine started; but he made no imme- diate reply, and shortly after bade his father good- night and retired to his room. the morning, after an early breakfast, the father and son drove to the i where Howard Moulton ed boy and upon the eatin Tagainst th “ee a er it? was sa said gant ee a: O00 tha ti i rumors Clarence paid no attentio aa ee oe a ee minent lawyer in associated himself with him for the would come off at an early day. aving gone over the case, as it was told, with his. legal associate, the three aenilemnee sought’ the jail, and were prom uptly admi They found Howard atoms the floor, his: odin, lips . sternly; face pale, his eyes weary-loo! compres: Seeing Colonel Erskine he welcomed him most kindly, and shook hands with Clarence and his con- frente both of whom he thanked for their kindness in: undertaking his case, after which he added: “Tam Nbe a ntlemen, and a lieu- Se yom BA sf oil go bu but a litte way tooeed defray - ng Fendt Lieutenant Moulton! In my mind you are falsely accused, and as the friend of Tay father and. “tTam tl need no payment and my frend ‘I am ric n en m } ere, Mr. Willis has done me th Pan 2 associated with me in this case, and, as he is also a man of wealth, he can enjoy the hepigg wiimgns deteisacxy? vod cnichemoeilied % Bock cerely do 0 t and I fee that you have your fi be: rp Bion i 7 % te is not cnougi: that I should sorrow sey rod poor Burt, but my grief must be accursed by an cusation of assassination—to think of it, that J: should be su loved most ye nance together the visitors d r &@ iong conversation ie rs de- Colonel Erskine and Clarence returning parted once more to Wildidle. CHAPTER XXX. OMRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE, Ir was a gloomy day, and Rig one of intense ex- | citement, in the little ern town, when Howard | Moulton was Broughs to EEAS for the cruel assassina- his step- commanding officer. a preerg was mat circumstances many almost the honor to say that, & man whom I have ever: -
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ee. WITHOUT A HEART. 23 ** — apace tee a = convineing proers: of the Prisneend ouilt had been brought up, and it was believed by every one, with a few exceptions, that he had done thé deed, and that his life would end on the as he wae tele the court ed, and the priso e e court was 0: and the ner was brought in, calm, pale, sad Sookhs &. From seat near by, and wweney scot watched every proceeding with his eagle eye Leet it Opoeet but a few moments before he cause ; Seposing counsel to fear him, the judge to respect » an those in attendance to n anxoumy for rae cut- home-thrusts at witness and ment. ut, gradually a pao of dam evidence be- n to encircle ue risoner, for it was told how once fore he had sla: 8 superior officer in a duel, and -Was dismissed an the geht as a punishment; ‘then his fast life that ple his dismissal was brought up, until at length he became an officer in the revenue service, when all knew him as a moody, stern man, Then witnesses were summoned who said that they always believed Howard Moulton to be envious of his brother’s rank, for he was ten years the senior of Captain Lambert. ain, it was proven, by the will-of Burt Lambert, made at the time he was appointed to the command of the Eaglet, that How: Moulton was to be his — for the young captain possessed a considerable ortune, As gold is the god of most men, and women too, this testimony caused a general murmur around the crowded court-room, | a stronger belief in the guilt of the prisoner, and many thought that they saw the real cause of the murder. But others, the sentimentally inclined, discerned another cause for the fratricidal crime, when Eve was summoned to the ess stand, and was com- elled to state whether Howard Moulton had ever en her lover, The answer came faintly, and with reluctance, that the nen had asked her to be his wife. “Did refuse him because you were engaged to his brot er?” asked the lawyer on the prosecution. “T declined the hand of Lieutenant Moulton; but I was never to Captain Lambert,’ ” firmly re- Plied the maiden. This information caused a sensation in court, and many ——_- hung their diminished heads, for eee: so oo 6 withdrawal of Eve, an under-officer of the 1 Haglet was called, who testified to having heard, peers the open door of the cabin a conversation between his commander and the prisoner in which the latter said he would give his very soul to win the ei of Eve Erskine. lunior lieutenant then was n the Sid » who had been the officer of P pe deck, the night of the murder. He eared upon oath that after six elle ale had come from cabin short! mete eee ven o’clock Bt ee held in his hand a he had called be oie alongside, entered it and sailed away shoreward tata _ hour eS the officer went on to reluc- ca under the close estioning of the lawyer ‘for te cage § that rym ering had sailed Solled’ seen on the same course taken b How was Lieutenant Moulton dressed, ae asked the lawyer. ‘, 20 his undress uniform,” , Did he wear his cap and a sir?” He wore a slouch hat ty heavy _—— iri’? io Eve was then recalled to the stand, and was eom- spre to 2 dencrihe the assassin as he appeared to her Hee ee ce from the window: act fina ce was that the man wore a slouch fa — 6 did not see his face, © Cc oer ertainly enough h to cover the mcg Erskine still circuinstantial evidence visonler with guilt; but Clar- ed confident, and his biting | 2 > ee sarcasm fn erobe-qnéationing piereaned to the Ne light of those of the audience who could appreciate his wit and keen hits at witness and an ist. ' Then another witness was called—Clin' n Claren- on. Eve Erskine and the Mo both started as the oung planter took the for th wondered! how e could in any way ere ith this most un- fortunate tria With a calm ge 2 sr but indifferent to the gaze turned upon him, Clinton Clarendon awaited to tell his story either for or against the prisoner, gage XXXT, NDEMNED, Aw the bre gtiitess | silence of the ¢ourt-room: Clin- ton Clarendon gave his testimony in a clear, earnest voice, and, with an eye that Tooked squarely into the face of Clarence Erskine, every time the young law- yer checked him with a question. ne a voice heard at the rear of the court-room, he Baie Upon the night of the murder of Captain Lam- bert I took a at Wildidle, with Colonel e and his daughter. “is! — ed up. to nt deges tan ee tl yacht, fied b: boatman, Buck “Tt wea'e E @ little after ele eleven cretock ae the aie and stood out to sea, it being “eS a ie ke poy ae thd the moonlight and “ As it was coming on to blow I luffed w t take a reef in my sail, and as Buck and d'mysele Were Tee a small boat passed me quickly, and in it I recog- nized Captain Lambert. “He hailed me pleasantly, said he was* going ‘to serenade Miss Erskine, and passed on. “Asl got again under way, a second and’ boat ed, soeink in the wake of the Oto @ passed near to each other, and t cupant of the boat saluted, and I tthe brews was cairying too much canvas for the bi thet he “He made ert he Pie the Wildidle pier, held nates course out of the “When near th of the bay a squall sud- denly swe doin apon ‘me, and in an little was thrown a a her beam-e “When I regained my feet, saw ornite hot horror that my negro negro companion had ‘Loudly I shouted to him, but no re coming, I ie endeavor set to work to drag down my sail, in work, I got my boat right side gets, atom cn A u Bh navi vo A a Rt and arenes mmenced free the crait fram water. rr *° “While I was thus engaged, the storm increased, and glancing to windwa’ aw with e parsed ringed ey est of the two pe hem Bgl, w before e, iz back toward th: oa: under the shelter of the ‘outer bay, two miles Astonished at the foothardiness of ate 2 man wh would risk himself in such a blow in’so small a T hailed determined to writ et Mn ow, for twice har : hurl ed shone — who would thwart Poa? my owe At omee taeee was an intense excitement and thrice had the crowd to be called to otder We be-
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24 | the detense, se seemed to feel that the putcinen ini But Clarence Erskine’s handsome, stern face never changed color, and still there shone in his eagle eyes the light of a Smet phant confidence, a fotwithetendie Trailing, the boat stood m 0) its Noe goon still laug’ Bf as that occupant the p rine at the bar, sir?” es In am sorry to say Pats Go on, Mr, Clarendo: “As soon as ain in readiness, I —. _ sail stood out of the bay—” ‘dans ret ota boatman to his fate, Mr. Claren- on Dese mn pti Erskine. PR a t Shak na. wer. doomed, ensele the boom doubt- “T saw the nae rae ane ocd = ante on ihe starboard tack, an direc rthe Eagle’ a quarter of a vile a, Was the occupant of the boat still gesticulating and crying out?” “No, sir; he was seated quietly in the stern, and I ceased to watch him more, for I stood on down the ome neo , where I was eumpeies to be, the foll The o bie had been in c of the dec the night of the assassination, was en recalled ani asked what time. it was when Lieutenant Moulton returned on board. “T went off at eight bells—twelve o’clock—but the officer who followed my watch said that it was some opin hh turned in, and that he had come aboard pas ni it was a wonder how the cutter lived ition was it that ev proof of Howard Moulton’s guilt seemed to come out, amd that ho was a man all When ead for the thless si- Fence, aid for four hours is ringing tones sai mlb telling ng- atte nahion ot a few in favor of his eli is client; but = juy was unmoved, and without leaving Fearn returned the verdict: “G of murder in the first degree.” As of a eg swept over the face of Erskine ai oe acmenens and he glanced bey aarp the. priso seemed entered; ‘he had made up his _ mind as to his fate, and with a ealm face mn nerve received his sentence-—death on the gallows, three months from that i Very: day. CHAPTER 3 ae ote clogs te in deftmanet of Howard Moul- lendid o: powers and ed ent Tad oe fruitless, Clare ar proven frui! nce et ee nipple enviable name. va. g the tral Claepanedenen formed ge sco) - © was — open by ts hsm guests who flocked thithe th seemed strangely gay, for one of his dee though he constan ht a adthites, abe she as: njly aval ey at the same Time. ie eavoring to prove to him tha was kine. and Eve were considered as _was yet known that there | in a veins, and — who became “constant visitors = | died tiful home, was Clinton Clarendon, who | rather moody Fe, nA ge was no es ify 0 Be 4 SBR Erskine would not believe you on oath; he doubted your testimony regarding poor Moulton, and—so did I.” Clinton \ farendan turned pale with rage, while he hissed forth “Doubt ali that ou please, but I swear that, this love affair betrach rn and Erskine shall ** And how will you omy 0 al “Hal your own words op hh you; there is spme- thing then between you?” fiercely flung _ the man, “There will be, for I know it is the intention of ones 9° ask me to become his wife, and—Jiniegd a “Good God! Can you he so base, Eve Ainslie?” ** A most moral man art thou to upbraid me with besenaes Yes, I intend to marry Clarence Ers- Mou seem to forget shat ons are already a wife,” sneered the infuriated ma “God knows I mors mor 1 Bay You claim me as your wife, and — gee Ag 4.” “T will prove : erie oe the proof of your ma me, by pat ar ¥ who—”’ Bh ~~ Claude Clinton; you cannot summon up Staggering back, his hand went to his pale fore- head, and he seemed momentarily overcome; but recovering himself ney while her eyes looked triumphantly pos “You know then that h ae dead? operat doubtless urdered—” “It matters not, Eve, that he | “dead nor how he the rec still exist, | Ha, ha, ha, Claude Olinton! i hold that which | you would give your right hand to possess!” “ What eaven's name do you mean? “ Would youknow? I will tell Show it is the stained Second ¢f curate ith the blood of the ld minister who died in —ha—hal” and she smiled he CHAPTER [pR XXX, - and ay eee “T will tell yous and then you will see that I can
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WITHOUT A HEART. 95 prec Clarence Erskine without any interference 6n our part. ; “When you struck down Mark Leslie.and fled for your life t weni to the wounded man, and he told me that he knew my secret, and advised me to leave the University at once. ““ Acting upon his advice, I took a roll of bills from your desk, and left, driving to town that night, for you may remember how brightly shone the moon. “By a strange chance I took the road you had gone on horseback—the one by the Silver Creek church. AsI was passing, a fluttering piece of pa- per attracted my eye. I sprung from the vehicle, py it up, and read thereon the record of our mar- riage. “Great God!” came from the man’s lips, and he leaned heavily against the window for support—his lips were of ashen hue, his eyes glittering wildly and he trembled violently, while his voice seeme powerless to utter a sound, * But that is not all, sir, for I beheld a fresh stain upon the record—a stain of blood! “Then I knew that you had gone that way; but to convince myself of the truth, I entered the sacre edifice alone, and— Shall I tell you what I saw there?’’ He seemed to supplicate her to spare him, yet he spoke no word, and with a cruel smile she went on: “The driver saw me enter the church; the next day the murder was known, and I was tracked, ar- rested, and accused of being the murderer. “ Clarence Erskine saved me from the gallows, and I love him as passionately as I hate you. ‘““Now you can see that there is no f of our marriage, and that I can become the wife of the man whom I love without you raising. one finger to pre- vent, aoa now defy you.” Clinton Clarendon slowly turned away, and with- out a word left the mansion, A moment after Eve saw him spring into his boat and sail away homeward. Then she laughed a laugh that had a certain tri- bar rene ring in its tone, and said, half-aloud: “So far I am ahead of the hounds. He dare not hurt me, for he knows his neck is in the gallows’ noose, and I hold the end of the ca “Well, Ihave risked much, but it is to gain much ~—for I love Clarence Erskine with all my heart. No, I forget: Jam without a heart!” So saying, she tossed her haughty head and ran out to greet Colonel Erskine and his son, who just then drove up to the door, and as they looked the beautiful, joyous face that welcomed them, they little dreamed that it was a mask that hid an abyss of sin beneath. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE GIPSY FORTUNE-TELLER. A rew days after the bitter interview between Eve and Clinton Clarendon the former was seated in the orange-grove arbor one pleasant afternoon, en- ee in sketching a view of the mansion, with the , cliffs and ocean beyond. nly a shadow fell upon her, and, with a ery of alarm, Eve sprurig to her feet, for a strange-look- bo being stood before her, . twas a woman of perhaps sixty years of age, pith long, flowing white hair, a face as dark as an , and shaded beneath a broad felt sombrero. ' e She was dressed in a Seer mixture of male and Pale attire, and around her neck were a number os chains, some of gold, several of silver and others . while her were covered with rings. In her hand she carried a long te me 8 black, contend green, and the glitter of her k eyes was intainly not reassuring to Eve’s nerves, who asked, ith all ue calmness she could ~ pmensaen d: an I do aught to serve you?” Ging bee from neither man Hor woman, gir; Tam a psy queen and my feet track the soil of many ’ds, “The beauty of your home lured me; and I came hither to gaze upon it. Seeing you, I made bold to ea for lam one unto whom power is given.to look into the human heart and read there the hidden mysteries of the future.” The woman spoke with a manner and voice must impressive and almost w ly Eve replied: “T have heard of those who read the fortunes of others, and a year ago I would have been glad to have had you tell mine—but now I feel that I have it in my own hands, to make or mar my future life; be og, Br te be te of ee for you Tenens can of w a y happened if you know that which is to come.” ‘“T ean tell you of the past, maiden—of the mys- — that hangs over your life.” ve shuddered, in spite of herself. “Hold forth your hand, and let me see its lines,” . almost ordered the woman. Eve did as directed, and, glancing alternately into the tiny palm and the beautiful face, the woman be- ganin a low, monotonous voice: “You were born under a lucky star, girl, al- beep we your birth was an unfortunate one for your mother, i ‘She, poor girl, had loved a young and dashing man, the son of a wealthy neighbor, and he had pro- fessed love for her. . ““Secretly the two were married, and it remained @ secret until your birth. “But they disbelieved the story, for the young couple married by an itinerant preacher— 7*tdo on, woman, I beliove 3 the truth, “Go on, Wo! ve you are near the truth,” pry: said Eve. s “ Well, the certificate was lost, the preacher could not be found, and your mother was turned in dis~ grace from her parents’ home. ; “She was, however, cared for by her husband, and you were. reared up in luxury, and given every advantage of education, until your father tired of- your mother and deserted her. ; ‘With what money she could obtain your mother Isee here, went away, leaving you to the care of misfortune overtook those in whose been left, and again your mother claimed you—" ; *“*You are wrong there, woman; I went to live with a woman who claimed to be my aunt.”’ - “Hal ha! You so believed her; it was your mother, girl, and she had so changed that, girl that others. “At le care you you were, you failed to her. See, [read all that I say here; here are the lines. 2px 7 “ Hating you now, because = were so like the had deserted man she once luved, and w she made your life a very hell—until—” , ‘Until what?” asked Eve, as the Gipsy hesitated. * Until you fled from her home.” “So far, true; now tell me of = father.” ‘*Ah! his was a lifeof crime, for I see it here in your palm. : ; ae we nce went forthin the world as a single man; and with his powers of fascination, and his wealth, won hearts but to destroy them. »*At1 he won the love of a pure young girl, t ng him, became his wife. “Need I say, girl, that it was a false marriage, mother still lived # or . 4 A «Bue blood came between your father and the he so cruelly or he fell by the ha nd of one who had avenged the shame cast upon e “My father is dead, then?” “Yas; buc your mother yet lives.” ests? ““T care not for her,’’ said Eve, impatiently; “and now, here is gold for you, —- story, fal ; is, has certainly been entertai . Itis c and you had better hasten on, for this is not a nele to with @ ght langh, E hered So saying, and with a light laugh, Eve gathered her drawing materials and hastened away, feaving the Gipsy fortune-teller gazing after her. oe ee ey ™
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j the _ lieved him the betr: XS WITHOUT At length a bitter smile crept over the dark face, and she murmured: Go on, my brave beauty; but a day of reckoning comes to all such as thou art.” Without another word, the woman walked rapidly away, and soon disappeared in the forest's gloom. ee CHAPTER XXXV. FORTUNE HER SLAVE. Upon returning to the mansion, Eve, for a whil felt a little disturbed in mind, for the pretend eading of the Gipsy queen had e an un- pleasant impression upon her. , ia _ Notwithstanding her good: sense and her educa- tion, a vein of — ran through her which caused her to put faith in what the woman had told her, especially as she could not contradict her; for of her , orrather of her parents, she was lamentably ignorant. Therefore, even though she endeavored to make the woman believe she had spoken falsely, she gave credit to all that had been told her, For her mother she cared nothing; for her father she had always felt a romantic affection, a longing to know him, when old enough to appreciate the love between .@ mt and his daughter, and it grieved her to feel that she would never meet him, ie ceogne hid him forever from her view. So far Fortune had certainly been the slave of the bold woman who lived for self alone, and, admitted to she was without a heart... _. True, she felt most kindly toward Colonel Erskine, and her manner was that ofa most loving daughter; but.at heart she felt for him. just as she did for the wind that drove her sail-boat over the waves, the horse’ that bounded beneath her weight, the flowers that perfumed the air; if necessary, she could give \ acme? Bedeads thout a heart she was, excepting inone respect —her wild, passionate love for C ce Erskine. _ She remembered him when first she had seen him —that afternoon in the woodland, when he stood face to face with the dark, stern man whom his hand sent tothe grave. | The letter she had found had told why he had sought the life of Colonel Roselle—because he’ be- ! ayer of poor Florice, h's sister, - Then in her heart came pity for Clarence, for she knew that he suffered for having taken the life of a m he afterward found was not guilty of the crime of which he was accused. the devotion to her of the young lawyer, his legal struggle in her defense, his noble nature, splendid bearing, and handsome face, added to his and winning manners, anc trast in her, a waif, all drew her toward him with a love that was immeasurable es; ly in one of her wildly pas- and strong feelings. i fa Though a waif, a deserted wife, a supposed youth, ' a suspected murderer, Fortune had proven her ve slave through all, and she-so int oA cards that it should never fail her. Of Clinton. nlaxaoe she felt no fear; he was a bold, bad man, she knew; but she held.the:end of the rope that would strangle him out of life, and she felt that his lips were sealed as close.as the tomb, As poantityl as adream of womanhood she cer- tainly was, and she was conscious of her power to make.or mar a man’s happiness for life, And so thought Clarence Erskine, as pozing in upon her, as she sat_in the music-room, dly ine her hands over her harp, & present from him to her. , “Oibve, 1 am, ons you are here; for I. have-been- ‘you. : “Tam glad to know it, Glarence. Sit down beside me and I will sing you your favorite song, * Wait- EN, ), Eve, I would rather talk to you now, and yet those sin ‘ Waiting ’~— to play her. he stood’ A HBRART. “* Come, for my arms are empty, Come, for the day is long, And turn the darkness into glory,’ are just what I would now ask of. you, Eve, for m arms yearn to infold Yas to my heart; the day is long without you, and you alone can turn the dark- ness of my life into glory, for around my inmost life you have entwined yourself, as does the ivy around even a lightning-blasted tree.” . This allusion to the gloom of his life b of the to the man before her with a look of perfect love. Then, in a voice of wondrous swee , She said: “Clarence, you have made me what I am—and heart, body, ay, soul, I am yours.” CHAPTER XXXVI. A FALSE MARRIAGE. A HALo of joy seemed to have at last fallen upon and Eve made known to Colonel ‘Erskine that they were to become man and wife. **God bless you, my son, and may He always ever greater than the present one, for I have longed. for this hour to come, : “Now, Clarenee, what do you intend to do?” city in about two weeks, and Eve has consented, with your permission, to go with meas my wife. You = also accompany us, sir.”’ “ No, I will son, you must give up the law and come back to ildiale, and we can. be so happy here together.” “T will think of it, sir.” weeks is a very short time. Why, you will not be able to-bave the grand wedding I would like to give you, and a marriage in the church.” ous, and I verily believe that most marriages in churches are more for show than sacredness.’ “Tagree with Clarence, papa Erskine, for 1 wish “Very well;you can be married here quietly, and then drive to town and take the train, the same day if you wish. Thus it was decided, and so quietly were the ar- rangements made for the wedding that the day rolled round without the affair becoming even gene- Only a few persons were invited, the families of the officiating clangyesenend of Dr. Mayhew,so that the other friends 0 It was a bright and glorious day, the weddi morn, and Clarence Erskine’s face had. lost consid- erable of its sternness, and Eve seemed full of quiet Oy, meet with delight, and miserable the next with re- gret, at the thought that the sunshine of his home we oe from him for many days. the minister, and if Eve felt the base crime she was committing, no evidence of such ‘ her brilliantly-beautiful face, for, dressed in a : he looked exquisitely lovely. , , the marri en began, and the deep- toned yoice-of the clergyman, unmindful of wrong- marriage, moncuaee them man and wife. Then followed kind. wishes and congratulations ry those present, all of whom had. some costly the hearts of the trio at Wildidle, when Clarence guard you, my daughter, No joy of my life was “Well, father, my duties will call me back tothe remain here; and, m. “Right, and decide as I wish you to; but two “Father, I detest all that makes.a bride conspicu- to avoid becoming an object of curiosity.” for your trousseau.” rally known in the neighborhood, at being forgotten. . while Colonel ne was almost wild one mo- ngth the young couple took their stand before gray traveling suit, with hat and gloves to match, doing, unknowing that he was performing a f for the uride, and after luncheon, the carriage rought to © Eve, command me for all that you Wildidle could not feel slighted feeling rested Ege ar
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| WITHOUT A HEART. 2T drove round to the door, and entering it Clarence rskine and Eve were driven rapidly away to town. There they took the train for New York w it was their intention to pass a few weeks. hus was Eve guilty of crime in the sight of God; but, in defiance of ali law, she had gained her am- bitious ends. CHAPTER XXXVIL. THE PLOTTERS, A Wuen the Gipsy oo a woe a ran rove arvor, w rap) rough | forest, until she came to a. mse. Be winding baek into the country. _ Here, apparently awaiting her, was a horseman, ~~ switching the leaves from a tree with his whip. e was a. man of good figure, and had a frank, Manly face, the lower part of which was covered With a long, gold-brown, silken His eyes were restless, keen and. fearless, while his hair _was worn long, falling upon his shoulders. Dressed in a suit of dark cloth, with his pants Stuck in his boot~ We and a slouch hat upon his head, anybody would have taken him for a wealthy country planter. Cate ing sight of the woman he said simply: Well?’ “T have seen her; I had a long talk with her in an arbor near the mansion, and I pretended to read to her a leaf of her past life—telling ber the whole truth, but it made no impression upon her.”’ ‘‘T feared so; she is utterly bad. : “She is a woman without a heart; but I could do no more, for she left me, and I have returned to know what to do.” R 2 “T have been thinking; that she inten’s to marry Clarence Erskine, I feel assured, yet it will not be for some time, I hops. “This must be prevented, as you know, and in the ‘ean time. must see Claude Ulinton, alias Clinton Clarendon.” “You.do not fear recognition?” ; “No; none of those who once knew me would recog m2 now. You may go back to the village, for your vehicle has only gone up the road and will Soon return for you. Remain there until you hear from me.” A moment after a wagon came up, with a ne driver; into this the woman sprung and drove off in another direction from that taken by the horsema Who kept on at a rapid pace for several miles, unti he came to a lonely road leading into the swamp. Turning into this he pressed on, until he sudden! Ra rein, for the form of a man lay by the yond e. It wasa negro, worn down by'sickness, and witha Severe wound, not yet healed, upon his head. : .* Well, my man, poe seem to be suffering and in distress,” said the horseman, kindly. ‘Yis, sah, I is in de greatist distress,”’ responded the negro, speaking with difficulty, ‘You have been ‘severely pecsion by your mas- ter, and ran away, I suppose?” t ar’ worse boss, much worse, sah. Be you in a hurry, sah?” I lam going down to Mr. Clarendon’s plantation. 8 it far from here? If not, I ean pause awhile.” it he negro shrunk back at the name, and cried, as in mortal terror: 8 we ye You ain’t a friend o’ his’n, is yer boss?”’ replace by the manner of the negro, the horseman “No, I wished to see him on business only; do you know him?” longed to iim, aly or you se my own. good juessa set me free when he die; but Massa Clarendon he buy my old massa’s place, and I jist © lib wid him, sah, for I didn’t have no home. But, 08s, dis ain’t de road to Cliffside.’ | L was told to turn to the right; by a 8entleman, when I asked the way.” “ Yes, here is & of brandy; help yourself.” The took ® long pull at the flask, and invig- gorated — peer a 4 youisag man is r nigga, and, sab, I wouid like to tell ae how it Bri is hidin’ here in e swamp like a wolf,and Massa Clarendon am. de cause. Struck by the earnest manner of the negro, the horseman replied: i “Twill hear all you have to say, and if you are useful to me, my man, you Shall not need a friend; ) . but may not some one here?” a “ Dey don’t many folkses cum dis way, sah, but * s’pose you go wid de ole nigga to he home in de ar ie 5 tere Without a word the horseman acquiesced, and - the negro led the way into the dense swamp, until he came to a small hill, or mound, out of which were growing several trees. ' Among these was located a small hut, made of logs and brush, and inside there was evidence of its being rr ee Dismounting, the stranger entered the humble » ly around him. i Upon the wall hung a side of bacon and two! S; one containing meal, the other ground coffee, ee 4 ‘Yes, you seem to have indeed had a hard time of it; now take another pull at my brandy flask, and tell me all you know about Mr. Clinton é1 i” As an hour passed ere the horseman came out of the hut, he doubtless found the negro’s story a most interesting one, and there was an expression on his © face that showed he had gained important news. ~~ iS) hands with his new-found nd, and leaving him his flask, tie horseman mou and» rode away, while the negro chuckled expression of joy upon his emaciated face: : “T guess as how Massa Clarendon done got de debble on he track now, sure, and dis eee ain’t berry sorry ef he hab, noways you kin fixit.” CHAPTER XXXVIII. DRAWING THE WEB, y Tue day after the false marriage at Wildidle horseman rode up to the door of that mansion, and handed his bridle-rein to a negro in waiting, It was the same personage who had met the Gipsy | Queen in the forest, and afterward the negro in the “wo i) by gt ij nding the steps he asked to see Clarence Ers~ ne. ; tu An Te | “Massa Clarence ee Norf, sah, but de colonel am in,” replied the bi % 4 “ Asie him if I can see him, please—say Mr. Mark- » The stranger was asked into. the library, by the. lite butler, and a few moments after Colonel Ers- ne entered the room. : “You, would see my son, sir, I believe; pray be s. .. L ealled upon Mr. Erskine, and regret his absence. Will he soon return?” " teed “He has gone off on a bridal tour—" “ “Good God! I am too late. Did Clarence Erskine me ae ‘ er. Le ve ‘but w cei et manner, can I - ” and Colonel med greatly surprised at the manner of the man. sae “Colonel Erskine, I owe to you a full explanation, cane ae forth, with an. eR Be) i ag ol
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28 WITHOUT A HEART. sir, and I will tell you all, and you must prepare to hear some most.inpleasant news. 7 ** Believe me, | regret euedingin tat I was not here to prevent the marriage. ld, please, and hear me; but 1 was called North on important busi- ness two weeks ago, and expected to have returned ere Mr. Erskine was insnared into a false alliance.” ‘* What! do you dare to come here to insult me in my own home?”’ **No, sir, | have come here to tell you the truth, and let me here say, sir, that I am a detective, work- ing ii one of the most remarkable cases of mis- placed confidence, fraud and crime ever known.” In a frank, earnest tone Mr. Markham began a. re- cital, which, as he proceeded, blanched the face of Colonel Erskine as white as his hair, and caused him to tremble with emotion. already been summoned by their master, three stalwart negro boatmen, and in a little while more the pretty craft was dashing swiftly through the waters. The wind was fresh, and a run of three hours brought them to the Cliffside pier, the home of Clinton Claren ion. oe seen the yacht standing in toward his pier, and recognizing it as the Wildidle yacht, Clin- ton Claredon had gone down to meet his guests, and as — stepped ashore said, pleasantly: “Colonel, I am glad to see you, sir; Mr, Mark- ham, I believe we met some two weeks since, when you called to see if I would sell Cliffside.” Colonel Erskine seemed so glad to see the young planter that he extended both Mands, which were at pp or age by Clinton Clarendon. — Markham stepped forward, and in the twinkling of an eye a pair of spring handeuffs encircled the wrists of Clinton Clarendon, As pallid as a human face can turn, surprised, en- ta — Clinton Clarendon staggered back, rt . What mean you, sir, by this outrage?” and the manacled hands endeavored to draw a weapon from the breast pocket. “Simply, that you are my prisoner, Clinton Claren- don, alias Claude Clinton, for.I arrest you in the name of the law,’’ said Mr. Markham, calmly. “And why?” was all the enraged man could say. “For, crimes too numerous to enumerate now, Hold! move one inch, and 1'll cheat the gallows of your life!’’ and the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed the temple of the entrapped man. “Into that yacht, sir; and, mind you, no resist- ance ”’ Claude Clinton, as he was now known to be, glanced nervously around, as if longing to call his slaves to his rescue; but, fearing that it would: but seal his doom, he sneered gloomily, and obeyed the stern order by taking a seat upon the cushioned seat of the yacht, while his lips moved, and Colonel rode searcely less pale than the prisoner, cought e words: r “She has betrayed me: I did not believe it of her." Arun up the coast of several hours, and Claude Clinton found himself an inmate of the same prison in which Howard Moulton was awaiting his doom of an inious death. F y Aas CHAPTER XXXIX. AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. Ix.the luxuriously-furnished home, where had ed his youthful years in v¢" ness, with his er, mother, and , sat Clarence Erskine and his lovely bride. . : Nearly a month had gone by since their marriage, and not a shadow had med their joy. there came a ring at the door-bell, and a card was brought in, the visitor desiring to see Mr. and Mrs, Erskine, “Mr. Markham, his eard reads; I. do not know him, but ask him in, Jason,” said Clarence. The next moment Mr. kham entered, and bow- ing to Clarence and his wife, said, calmly: * Mr. Erskine, I have called upon a matter most eens is there any fear of outside interrup- on 99 ‘None, sir. Be seated.” The man remained standing, and while his keen eyes flashed from one face to the other, he said: “Tt is a most painful duty I have to perform, sir, but I will not flinch from ie and I beg yon to r me ently and be brave under the blow which—”’ ‘“My father!” cried Clarence, in alarm, while Eve turned deadly pale. _.““Is well, sir; I saw him a few days since at Wild- idle. He knows of what I would make known to you, and asked me to hand you this letter. Clarence almost jerked the letter from the speak- er’s hand, broke the seal, and read: “My Son: “May God give you strength to hear all that I have heard. It is true, as you will find to your cost. “Your sympathizing FAraer.” ‘* Perhaps I had better retire,” said Eve, rising. “No, you will remain here, madam; it is of you that I would speak," sternly said Mr. Markham, and with seared face the guilt-accused woman sunk back into a chair, while Clarence said sternly, through his set teeth: > “T am ready to hear all you would say, sir.”’ “Mr. Erskine,’’ commenced Mr. Sartkan: calmly, and in an exceedingly distinct voice, *‘two years soos was a student at a well-known university in this State—your wife may remember me when I say that my name is—Markham Leslie.” ‘*Mark Leslie—yes, I remember,” slowly said Eve, and then the beauty of her face became marred by a eold, stony look; but in the same distinct voice Mark Leslie continued: “One of my fellow-students—one who had been my best friend in our boyhood—when at college be- gan to lead a wild and dissipated life, and. pres athe engaged to my only sister, 1 remonstrated with him, but all to no avail, for daily his escapades increased, until at last I felt convinced that he had lured to ruin a young and beautiful girl. * Gradual on whole truth dawned upon me, un- till was at last convinced, and then I sought out that fellow student, Claude Clinton—” ‘‘Ha! that was the name of your friend, Eve?” said Clarence Erskine, hoarsely, ; It was all that she said; her lips could not articu- late more. es “Tsought out Claude Clinton and made known a suspicions, and—to conceal one crime, he com- mitted another, and struck a blow at my life, “Then he fled from the college, and no one knew what had become of him, *T lingered for weeks between life and death, and at length arose from my bed to learn with horror that my darling sister had fled from her home and her friends, none knew whither. ‘ <“F ae yore I rey eg pan a. day I devoted myse. e one of m e—revenge upon Claude Clinton. 4 “Obtaining the authority of a United States de- tective, I started forth upon my work—to track Claude Clinton to his death. Now 1 will go on to tell, Mr. Erskine, the whole story of my discoveries: will ah listen to me?”’ Sul stand al fully against th standing, and leaning grace a e mantle, his arms folded upon his breast, Mark Les- lie resumed his story: - “To begin at the g, I had to trace Claude Clinton m the time of his university life, and having ample means at my command, I set parties to work on his track, until 1 learned that he had, five months before he struck at my life, rescued from
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Raat en = ee drowning a young girl, the supposed niece of a wo- man who lived upon the pepe bank of the river from that on which the college stood. “This woman I at once sought, and, gaining ber confidence, I learned that the girl was not her niece, but her daughter, and that hers was a story of wo- man’s love and trust, and man’s inhumanity and perfidy. Li | need not tell pony it was that the woman hid the secret of the girl's birth from her, and her near kindred to herself; but she hated the maiden be- cause in her was an image of her father, the man who had so cruelly treated the mother. “Such was the girl whose life Claude Clinton had saved, and my inquiries and search soon discovered that the mai en had itt yp left her home, an un- happy one, I admit, with Claude Clinton, and with hi had entered into one of the boldest games at deception ever practiced. %y From her home the thoughtless maiden went with her lover to a lonely country church on Silver Creek, and was there wedded, by the old clergyman, to the man for whom she had given up all.” Clarence Erskine groaned aloud, and leaning for- ward buried his face in his hands, while Eve sat like @ marble statue, so cold, so woite she looked. But the merciless detective went on with his story, his face growing more stern as he proceeded: “From the Silver Creek church the young couple went to town, and there the maiden was metamor- hosed into a fine-looking youth, for her wealth of beaatitl hair was sacrificed, aud she stepped into a full suit of male attire, and, with an addition to her name, entered thg university as a student. “$5 wonderfully well-conceived was the deception Hee ee al the professors nor students suspected e fraud. “Watching Claude Clinton as closely as I did, on account of his connection with my sister, I soon had my suspicions aroused, and suspicion ripened into certainty; so I sought him and told him what I had discovered—that the youth was a maiden in dis- guise. “Then I did not know they were married; but I nearly lost my life by my accusation, and when I arose from my sick bed Claude Clinton and his com- panion had gone—the latter at my advice I believed for, wishing to save her from shame, I to!d her knew her as she was. “Tracking Claude Clinton from the start, I found that he an to leave a bloody trail behind him, for his first act was to take the life of the clergyman who had married him—determined to wipe out all proof of his marriage, for, intending to desert bis young wife, he wished no record to exist against m “In securing the leaf from the church register, on which was recorded his marriage, I suppose the clergyman resisted, and lost his life. ‘*T believed, until a short time ago, that Claude Clinton destroyed that record—but he had not; he had lost it in ‘bis flight, and the one who found it was his wife, following along the same road a few hours after. “That wife, still believed to be a youth, was ar- rested for the miter of the clergyman, tried, and cleared by your a’)! argument, Mr. Erskine—” ‘God have m>r:v!"’ groaned the crushed man. Eve yet remained silent, ' ‘Saved from the gallows, her career you know. 80 I will go on to relate what followed in the ma course pursued by Claude Clinton, “As was my poor sister Louise fled from her home with the man she so wildly loved, and, lieving the story he told her. of his having to fly for killing a fellow-student if a duel, and little know- ing that it was her own brother he had struck down, she went with. him to the Far West, and there he settled dowr, : hance ¢41152d him to save an old miner, @ man of considerable means, anda bachelor. ‘To his home Claude Clinton took this old man, ee tn a a “ - WITHOUT A HEART. 20 and, with no friends or relatives in the world, the te made Clinton the heir to his fortune, and ied. : “ Again provided with funds, Claude Clinton and his wife—tor so Louise believed herself, as a mock ceremony had been performed, I forgot to say —left for San Francisco. 1 ‘ There the evil man led a fast life for awhile, and then tiring of poor Louise, as he had of bis deserted wife, he fled from her, leaving her there to starve. “But, thank God! Louise wrote to me, and I at once went to her, for up to that time I was at a loss to find Claude Clinton’s whereabouts. ee “I took poor Louise back to her cliildhood’s bome and most kindly ‘our parents received her, for they saw that she was sinking into her grave, her heart broken by the severe blow dealt her. : ** Anxious to do all they could for her, and prolong her life, our parents took her to moe a but, alas! in sunny Italy she found a grave, and Claude Clin- ton was her murd_rer. “Once upon the trail of the man I so longed, to meet, I tracked him until, by a strange chain of cir- cumstances, I learned that a person answering description had purchased a small plantation on the southern coast. 3 - “Thither I went, and found not only Claude Clin- ton, but his deserted wife, living not twentf miles apart, and more did I discover—that each had _ be- come aware of the other’s presence in the neighbor- hood, and with an utter disregard of honor the wo- man had deter nined to marry one who had proven her noblest benefactor, “T needed some one to aid me then in working up | the case against the two, so I wrote to her mother to come on at once. “She obeyed, and became my ally, disguising her- self as a Gipsy queen, and in other ways, finding out all the internal workings of the home where her - daughter resided. . : “he death of my father, just at the time Twas rawing in my net to entrap Claude Clinton and his designing wife, called me North for a short while, and upon my return, I learned, with horror, Mr. Erskine, that Eve Ainslie had, in defiance of God and man, become, as you believe, your wife. “Then I sought out your father, and to him I told all, as I have told es and our at act together was to go to Cliffside, and put Claude Clinton in irons, and in prison ; “Then I started North after you, and in a bundle of private i a taken from the desk of Eve Clin- ton, I found the secret of her control over her hus- © band; it was the blood-stained record.” CHAPTER XL. AT LAST. Arrer a long pause, in which Clarence Erskine did not raise his bowed head from his hands, and Eve never ckanged her stony stare upon Mark Leslie, he continued: - “Now let me tell you more of Claude Clinton, for there is much to say of his evil, inhuman course, “By a strange accident. I met, on Ly to Cliff- side, to satisfy miygelt fully regarding the identity of its master, an old negro, Buck, by mame. “He was wounded, suffering, and had hidden for weeks in the swamp, afraid to come out for fear of his life. ““¥rom him I heard the startling story of how his master, Claude Clinton, had sailed from home one afternoon, intending to run down the coast to the city, and that bo had i into the pier at Wildidle, where Claude Clinton had landed. meeting there Miss Eve Erskine, as she was called. “Though standing off and on in his boat, Buck said that a stormy interview took place between Claude Clinton and his fair companion, which ended upon the Spon of Colonel Erskine. “That night his master stayed to tea at Wildidle, and sailing off late, the wind freshened and they: hove to, to take a reef in the sail.
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eT nee eee a eS ee ee Sep. 0 ote , A eae” eee ere eo! bk te Be SS eee 80 WITHOUT A HEART. eee ————__ — — a erage ‘“*While thus engages @ small boat passed, in »which was Captain Lambert, of the Eaglet, who spoke to his master. “Shortly after a larger boat, following in the wake of the BiB, went by, having in it but a single occupant; but it did not stand on into the shore to- war ildidle, but ran down the lee coast as if ‘merely for pleasure. “Then his master put back again to the Wildidle a and landing, toid him to await him there ready start at a moment’s notice. “ Claude Clinton was gone about fifteen minutes, s0 the negro said, and returned hurriedly, shouting: ‘* + Get out of this, sir; quick! do you hear?’ “Buck obeyed quickly, for he knew what his mas- ter was in anger ‘““As they stood out of the bay, Claude Clinton came aft to where Buck sat, and the negro said, as he caught sight of his right hand, still grasping a knife, stained fromAilt to point: “Massa, am you killed anybody, ‘ka’se your knife an’ han’ be all bloody? j “4That discovery seals yor. doom, my man!’ cried Claude Clinton, and he made a blow at the negro’s head, which cut a terrible gash and stunned im, “When he recovered consciousness he was in the water and nearly strangled; but, being a bold swim- mer, he took his bearings, and managed to reach shallow water a mile distant, ‘Wrom here he dragged himself to a loncly hut he knew of in the swamp, a retreat for deer-hunters, and in that place he spent weeks, for the next night he crawled to the plantation and lay in wait until he saw a fellow-negro, bis best fri s end. “This man ee re poor Buck with edibles, and though they plotted together they knew not how to go about having Claude Clitton arrested, and they ‘stood in deadly fear of him.” “Thank God that Howard Moulton is acquitted of murder!” said Clarence Erskine, without raising his head, : i “But this was not all that I learned from 4A Buck. He it was who sailed his master one night to a point of the coast near Wildidle, and awaited for him one hour, when he returned hastily and put “nd home, arriving at Cliffside just before day- “ That night Claude Clinton was dressed as an army officer ; and, hence, the man who killed Paul Launce- lot in a duel is found at last.” “* Yes, at last,” echoed Eve; but it was all that she said, and she sat still like a marble statue. Clarence Erskine still remained bowed in grief. CHAPTER XLi. DRIFTED APART, _ Tu silence that followed the story of Mark Leslie was one that was «age ty to all, and each heart was sorrowing deeply; the brain of each of those three was busy. At length Eve, with a mighty fort, at self-control, ne. arose and approached Clarence » Softly the tiny hand was placed upon the bowed ‘head, and sweetly-toned was the voice that said: “Tam going away.” ; “Ive,” and the man arose to his feet, his face pallid, his lips trembling, ‘‘ Eve, for love. of me oa ve done this sin, and I forgive you. From this day our lives must drift apart, and yet you must not come to want—no, I will provide for you.” “Clarence Erskine, were I dying of want this mo- ment, I would not save my life at your expense. No, no, no; I have loved you with all my heart; this moment you are the very idol of all my life— but we must t apart, and forever.” “It is hard, Eve, very hard; but it must be so—”* “Permit me to break in upon this sad scene,” said the deep, stern voice of Mark Leslie. her agi now in this city awaiting the result of my t here. “ Also, neither you nor your mother need know want, for your father, Colonel Roslyn Roselle—” “God in heaven! what do I hear? Was Roslyn Roselle the father of Eve?” cried. Clarence Erskine, his whole form trembling with emotion, sir, little above a whisper: ‘Clarence, I witnessed the duel between you and the man I now know to have been my father. I kept it from you, but I saw him fall; I beheld God’s rebuke upon the taking of human life, and I fainted, or ‘gm stunned by the lightning—which, I know not, ‘“When I recovered consciousness you had gone; but.a blood-stain—my father’s blood—yet stained the ioceer aa and upap the grass I found a letter ad- ressed to Colonel Roslyn Roselle, and signed Flo- rice. As this gentleman has my private papers, found at Wildidle, he can produce it. Now you know 1, Clarence; but, sir,’’ and she turned to Mark Les- ter, “I cannot go to her who calls herself my mo- ther, and I will not; let her go her way, and let her revel in Colonel Roselle’s fortune, for not one cent of it will I take; it would burn my very soul, for I ab- _ m unnatural parent. No, I will go my way alone. ‘Pardon me, but I must remind you that there is a charge against you which the law of the land will not overlook.’ said Mark Leslie. “ And that is—” “ Bigamy y”? Instantly a prison-cell flashed across the mind of Eve, and she tottered back as though about to fall; but recovering herself, she said, harshly: ‘‘T am your prisoner, then?” “Tregret that it is so; but Ido not desire to perse- cute you, and IJ feel that Mr. Erskine will not prose- cute; so I will give you your freedom—upon one con- dition,” “Name it.” » : sig That, you appear as a witness against Claude Clinton, With a bound Eve faced Mark Leslie, her eyes blazing, her form trembling, and her lips nervously twitching. : “ Gladly, oh, gladly will I do so, for to Claude Clin- ton I owe all that I am—a vile, dishonored woman, ane with joy inexpressible, I will see him on the gal- ows.” ; Then, with a stifled cry, Eve fell back upon a divan in a deep swoon. An instant Clarence Erskine gazed upon her, and then turning to Mark Leslie, he said: “Tt is better so; when she recovers she will be calm. Lwill send her maid to her; but, sir, please be kind to her, and if you can prevail upon her to take a papers from me, please do so. “Now let me thank you for opening my eyes,even if I see only a grave in my heart,” , Clarence Erskine turned toward Eve, ig | for- ward, as though about to press his lips to hers, and then waving his hand, as though pushing off a h ous phantom, he left the room, and the twain had parted forever. , |
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CHAPTER XLII, ] ~~~ SENTENCED. CLaupE Ciinton paced to and fro in the same lonely cell from which; a few weeks ee 1 re t Moulton, condemned to death, from ci évidence, had gone forth a free man turn to his sailor life. rot the Eaglet, the inhe of a h.y Pacing to and froth nely ceil, Claude on’s brow was as black as gloomy thoughts could. make. it, for the day before he had been condemned afte afair trial by a jury of his peers, to die upon th gallows—the same death, to save himself, he had in- tended for poor Howard Moulton. Gradually the damning evilence accumulated around him, until it was proven, by Eve and the stained record, that he had slain the’ old clergyman of Silver Creek church—by Mark Leslie that he had attempted his life, and.then, .as m. the very dead, from the bottom of ‘the sea, arose Buck the old boatman, who told bis simple and truthful story, which cleared up the Lo fp atl of Paul Lam- bert.’s death in the masked duel, and proved that the storm had not swept him from the boat, but that e had beer struck down by his cruel master, to Hp the secret of his assassination of Captain Lam- ert. m 'The evidence was too truthful, too damning for an avenue of escape by any technicality of the law, and Claude Clinton went to his Ploohay bella Teun, | amurderer, condemned to death. Bitterly through his busy brain, mushed all these damning memories, and he ground his teeth to- EE as he felt that a few more suns and his sands life must run out in ignominy. Presently steps resounded down the corridor, and a key grated in the iron door. The prisoner stopped in his walk and eyed sav- agely the opening door. the ; lady and gentleman to see you,” harshly said e jailer. ' The next moment in stepped Mark Leslie and Eve. “Hal you, who have sworn my Afe away, now come to mock me?”’ he said, sneeringly. ‘No, Claude, I have come to say fo you farewell. You it was who made me a woman without a heart, and now Lam avenged. ‘But, Claude, I was brought upin the Roman Cath- olic church, and now | turn in my despair to my religion, for within the walls of a convent I will pass the remaining days of my life—for I gladly give up the world and all its sorrows. ; ** And yet I would ask you to forgive me for all I said to bring you here—I would not have you die cursing me as your murderess.”’ “Ha, ha! There is some joy left for me yet, for I do curse you now, and I shall curse you with my last breath. Begone, woman! Begone, I say!” and the maddened man clinched his fists most threateningly. The beautiful eyes filled with tears, the graceful form shroneey and the iron door shut Eve for- ever from the sight of Claude Clinton. At last the day of execution rolled round; the town was all excitement, for common natures always love to satiate their gaze upon human suffering. The gallows had been erected in. an open field, out- side the corporation limits, and thither rushed the |. mob of that Southern town, awaiting in breathless eagerness the rising of the curtain upon the “ death Scene,” the lowering of it upon the fivale, len a rumor gained ground that Claude Clinton Was not to become a spectacle for the eyes of the orror-hungry populace; it was said he was dead. Mark Leslie came out of his hotel pale, stern and cold, and the rumor reached bis ears. Instantly he hastened away toward the jail. annere was congregated an excited crowd of officials, Fy throurh them Mark Leslie forced his way into p ae 8loomy corridor, for, being recognized as a Gov- nment detective, he was permitted to pass, WITHOUT A HEART. | 81 “Dear i ‘am Leslie dropped the s:% ttle containing poison, d this note, to you, sir, I took fromi'his hand.”’ . - pencil: a ; \““Mark ‘Leslie, you are avenged, for you have driven me to my death. Brstpobiron. A wild of triumph, and then he turned and walked away, for his duty had ended; his sister Louise and were avenged. ; ; * to the ho rp his way, and Eve Jear’ oa fro s ‘that Claude Clinton had di Dy his own b $98 Gee : ‘or awhile her head drooped in grief, and th phe Bone held forth her hand to Mark Leslie a sai my heart. ‘Now the end has come, and henceforth our paths in life divide. Farewell.” iv SMOoslLiIcsw : CHAPTER XLII. . CONCLUSION, } Years have passed away since Claude Clinton's death, and those characters of my story are drifted ee ide with his } j idolized ide by side wi is lov 6, and ido daughter, Florice, sleeps ecional Woche Witsoe last days of life were closed with bitter memories of t past. ee is ss ‘: ‘ In shoddy magnificence, still clinging to life wi tenacious grasp, is ap old woman, living upon wealth of Rosi Roselle, wid won gitlish heast to afterward: ive and desert hersthat pitia skeleton .of womanhood is. Matil Roselle, t mother of the heroine of this ae & Flitting hither and thither through the Tength a1 breadth of the land, ever restless, is Mark Leslie, old bachelor, and still in the detective.serwice of the United States, for though possessing wealth he could never be prevailed upon to settle down to the enjoy- ment of the pleasures of life. ™ .<«» | + In Cliffside, onee the home of Claude Clinton, which. he purchased when offe r .sale, liv Captain Howard Moulton, with a lovely wife, the daughter of the Jawyer who aided Clareneé Erski in his defense, an phe pompous diver Demo of the ci pan Hotwites gathering years, is the ‘man, 7 A lonely, wretched mati, alternately roaming ov: the world, and then resting in his grand old home - ‘the summons t Mi eall him ae, Hy ea Mi ne more, reader, an G) \ he a, ii ay y jon through the r mantic realities of herlife.» =. bios 7) thern Sta’ = come reat Nihing op nb oe call ve Ainsli it pow known as Sisterd ine. With the dead past buried, the world cast behi her, she has devoted her life to God, and those of her sisterhood who have felt the light touch of h fingers soothing the fevered brow, gazed upon h spirituelle beauty, and know not her past life, wo never dream that Sister Evangeline, the Nun, h ever been a woman without a heart. : THE END. el” @ Mark grasped the note and read, written in Jead- ht flashed into Mark Leslie’s eyes, a flash — “For at you have done for meT thank you from. \ 4 salir
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