Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 3) (1884 06 10)
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Qo NS N : SEH 15> Ha eUEee Memo Copyrighted, 1884, by Beanie any Apams. Entered at the Post Offica at New York, N. ¥, as Second Class Mati Matter. June 10, 1884. VOL. I $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, * No 3 wan a Year. No. 98 William Street, New York. _ Five Cents. my pee Scores: —S “ HALLOI—KEEP : : rl 9 STILL—STILL AS THE GRAVE, MYRA} I HEAR—HA! HERE THEY COME! . WAS IT LOVE? Or, Collegians and Sweethearts. BY WM. MASON TURNER, wy. D. CHAPYLER L ‘* JEALOUSY. THE tall young gentleman stamped his smal daintily fitting boot on the broad marble ee of the aristocratic mansion—one of the proudest on Prospect street—and shivered as he drew his wide loose cape around bim. For the raw winter wind cf the declining December after- noon which tossed his long, dark hair so wildly about, was cold and searching, and he had rung twice. "4 Again he.applied his gloved hand to the silver , pull, and again he heard distinctly the far-away tinkle of the warving bell. At length, hasty steps sounded in the hall, the bolt turned, and the. door opened. -** Ab! itis you, Mr. Thorne! Walkin, sir, if you please,” said the girl, respectfully. ‘It is I, certainly, Mary, and rigbt glad am I to get in, for I am half-frozen,” replied the youth, as:he entered the hall, and turned into the elegant, dimly-lit parlor. He was perfectly at bome. : “Tam so sorry, Mr. Thorne, I kept you wait- ing,” said the giil, taking bis cape and light check-silk cap. ‘‘I thought Tom, the lazy
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2 WAS IT LOVE? fellow, had answered the bell. I was up in Miss Myra's roon, fixing her hair for the ball.” o ‘Ah! so soon? I am here to see Miss Hoxley about the same thing. Please tell her so, Mary.” ‘Yes, sir,” and the gitl left the room, while Fen- ton Thorne unbuttoned his closely fitting frock-coat, and strode briskly up and down the thick-carpeted room, rubbing his benumbed fingers the while, to bring back circulation and warmt; ' Yes, yes!” muttered the young man, asif deter- mined upon a certain course of action, “I will go with Myra to this ball! I'll run the risk of being caught out of my room at college; it will be the first time. Tam desirous of seeing this wondrous beauty, Madeleine Fleming, of whom good old Steve speaks so much. She must be pretty and smart, and amia- ble, and all that, if Steve says sol’ And yet, Myra does not seem to like her, if—” At this moment there was a patter of hurryin feet down the broad stairway; then came the crus and rustle of a sweeping dress. The door opened, and the tall, slender torm of Myra Hoxley, the rich manufacturer’s daughter, clad in an elegant after- noon neglige, entered the room. She step at once tithe window, and flung open the half-closed shut- ters, letting in the straggling sunlight, fast disappear- ing behind the heavy snow-racks, scudding across the sky. “You are in the dark, Fenton,” she said, turning toward the ight sare at the same time extend- ing her small, nervous white hand cordially. ‘‘ Be seated, my friend, and don’t be stamping around the room like a soldier on guard. ’T'was too bad in Mary to keep you out until you were so reais frozen!’ she laughed, merrily, as she flung herself on a yield- ing sofa, and beckoned the collegian to her side. ‘enton Thorne obeyed at once. “T am warm enough now, Miss Myra, and—” aimee Myra! Why, Jenion, I thought I had taug Pe be better your a, b, c’s, certainly in_this house,” eee sasbed over him a radiant, yet half- re hful look, yo man colored despite himself; he was butay ond and not well versed in the ways and wiles of womankind. But he quickly recovered him- self, as, smiling sweetly, he bowed his head, with its "Hi ta aloe expression which it at singu ression which came over Fenton Thorne’s face Cais head went down! Was it expressive of distrust, or—contempt? It were a to answer; and then the youth was so open, so innocent and unsuspicious. However, when he raised his head, his face was | frank and friendly, as he said: ‘és m ell, well, Hyra then! And—itis a pretty name, 0 The girl’s face mantled just the slightest; but a look of unmistakable satisfaction, nay of triumph, shot from her dark, lustrous eyes. “That's right, Penton,” she said in_a_low, insinu- ating voice; “call me Myra, and I'll always know \. youas Fenton. Ilike it.” For a few moments there was a silence, which, however, was broken by the student. =e called, Miss—I mean JAfjra—to see about this ball gl geo Fleming’s, and to learn your arrange- ments. “You have determined, then, to go, Fenton?” asked the girl, Seng “Yes; I could not resist the temptation. I am anxious to see Miss Fleming; rumor says she is very handsome,” These words were spoken most artlessly. Myra Hoxley started and glanced at the speaker; but she controlled herself and simply ejaculated: “Ah! And. who said Madeleine Fleming was you, yourself, said that she was magnifi- “ ? cert, Thon, too, Stephen Smith, my chum, swears o— “Stephen Smith! Tut! Theungainly backwoods- man!” ‘the girl’s insinuating manner that made ** No, no, Myra,” and the roung man spoke warm- iy. Steve is no backwoodsman; far from it. Ho is a real gentleman, a perfect cavalier, and a good, whote-souled fellow. But,” he continued, seeing that the lady was evidently eons A vered, at least, ‘ig not the young lady—Miss Fleming—fair an amiable? Z do not know, of course, never having seep her.” The co spoke more softly, more insinuat- in iy: as if inviting a confidence. iT e manufacturer’s daughter paused before she answered; and the half-frown unwrinkled itself, and left the white forehead. “Some people say Madeleine Fleming is pretty; I have thought so, but—” ‘You no longer have the same opinion, eh, Myra?” interrupted the young man, laughing. **T did not say so, Fenton. Buta ce to to this nonsense! You shall see and judge for yourself,” she answered, ‘True, Myra; seeing is believing. But now about our arrangements. You see I have determined to Zo, and run the risk of being discovered out of my room, “Are you not afraid of the risk, Fenton?’ asked the girl, earnestly; “you know the stand you have taken, the fair name you have always won with the professors. Would it be wise to barter it away for a few hours of questionable pleasure at a giddy, empty ball?” 16 girl ke seriously, and her eyes did not for a moment leave the young man’s face. It was plain that a new train of thought was pass- ing in Myra Hoxley’s bosom. yra; Lwillgo. It will be my first offense, and I fancy the Regent will not be ‘hard’ on me, can plead ignorance, too; I am only a Freshman, you know.” He spoke cheerfully. “True; nor had [forgotten it. But, Freshman or Senior, the rules are unmistakably the same. That ye understand them well, I know to my sorrow; for could never induce you, Fenton, to break them, even for a single evening!” ae spoke raters e student felt the truth of her words; his face became beclouded, and a look of disappointment crept over his fine features. But glancing at her, he asked quickly: “ But, Myra, if I do not go with you what will you do for an escort?” “That is easily arranged, Fenton. My cousin, Mr. Ealph Ross, of the Junior class, you know, has al- ready called and notified me of his attention and service. He does not ‘room’ in college, as you are aware, and can come and go as suits him.” “True, Myra; and what did yousay to Mr. Ross?” The student was just a little nervous as he asked the question. , “T told him T had an engagement with you, Ien- ton, and that I would not break it,” replied the girl} frankly, gazing him full in the face, ; Was there, indeed, a witchery about those flashing black eyes of Myra Hoxley—an irresistible charm in oun Thorne look up so quickly, and reply so earnestly and eagerly? “Then I will go, Myra, even if I am expelled from _ college for it!” “The Fates forbid such a result! But,” and she sunk her voice into a low, musical whisper, as her eyes fell languishingly upon the fair, youthful face of the student, ‘‘ does it give you pleusure to go with me, Fenton?” “Certainly, Myra; else I would by all means—” “Enough, Fenton! We'll go, and you shall be my escort,” and again a triumphant fire flashed froin the dark orbs of the girl. Fenton Thorne had answered the best he knew how; in fact, the only way he could. Myra patted the carpet slightly with her slippered foot. he was pondering; but she was a ready thinker, and pondered at nothing lone.
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ale WAS IT LOVE? 8 *“Tornnnge. Wenton.” she safa, slyly, “sou. are er hat iny cousin, Ralph, is Madeleine Fieming’s u , “No, indeed! I didnot know it, Myra,” returned the young man, promptly ;—and, excuse me—Myra, if rumor speaks truly, he is your beau,” and the student blushed up to his eyes. “My beau! Rumor is a wicked falsifier! Certain- ly you did not believe such a report, Fenton?’ she ed. “Why, I did not know, Myra; and Steve said that it was ste a el : ““No more of this Steve tome! He knows nothing of me soever, and I don’t like him! There!” ‘Then the rumor is false, Myra?” asked the colle- gian, not knowing what else to say. “False as ever falsehood was!” was the prompt, impulsive answer. : “Then, Myra, I am indeed glad to hear it.”” The girl started 26 oa “For,” continued the stu- dent, “I donot ph Ross, although he is your cousin,” Shen OE I tell you,” h no’ en ? ou,” he con- tinued, energetically, Te eae wonld be made happy by wedding with such as Ralph Ross. He is a knave—I beg pardon, Myra!” “'There’s no need, Fenton; but do not let Mr. Ross hear you say such a thing of him.” “Well, welt, nore of him, Myra. Iam glad he is not your beau, and sorry he stands in that relation to Miss Fleming. But now Imust go,” and as he spoke he arose, though the girl endeavored, inef- fectually, to stay him. ‘What time shall I call for you, Myra?” “ At nine o'clock, and don’t fail me,” was the an- pwer. “Never fear; I'll be here. Good-by.” ** Good-by, Fenton.” The student flung his long cape over his shoulders, bowed himself out, and left the mansion. Turning to the left, he strode quickly back to the old college este ei xi eenly and d, h yra Hoxley, qu vy proud, stood on the broad step at the front door,where she had said adieu to the collegian. Her nervous left hand clutched at the bell-pull. She did not regard the cutting blast which hurried along the almost deserted street and a —e pnt mcg orm, Ae Raden watching the tall gure of Fenton Thorne, the Freshman, She loved the student. . Then, at last, as she turned slowly about, and re- luctant: y closed the heavy walnut door, a cloud was on her dead-white brow, and a vindictive fire glis- tened in her dark eyes, Hoxley was jealous, CHAPTER I, LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT, Tre mantle of night had fallen upon the good cit of nine sey nes but such a night! Suddely a fresh batch of guests arrived, crowding their way into the densely-packed room. Slow they proceeded, and at last glare of the chandelier, ; Myra Hoxley, arrayed in all the splendor and ter which an almost unlimited command of meee : could give her, stood there, leaning on the Fenton Thorne, the young collegian, ; Fa ee von eae beneath the full
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ee . a ¥ her short under lip moment — 4 WAS IT LOVE? The student’s cheek was aglow with excitement, His rich raven hair was flung back so that it fell back over his shoulders, and his large brown eyes sparkled as he glanced around him, And Myra, her midnight tresses athered away from her pale. e, thin face and forehead, in heavy coils, rd amped with procious stones, her piercing, jet- black eyes flashing around her, looked a very queen of pride and scorn. ta Hoxley knew well the Gaarioy Reniity, of Madeleine Fleming, and she had reason to fear that Fenton Thorne would not prove insensible to it. It behooved her to make a grand a) pearance herself on this particular night; and she did it. As the two stood for a moment, beneath the chan- delier, they were approached by two gentlemen, from different quarters of the room. They were ar- rayed in the hight of fashion, As they drew near they bowed. ..‘‘How fare you, cousin?’ asked Ralph Ross, 9 short, burly man, rather abruptly, and compleiely unconcerned, ; «Well, quite well, thank you, Ralph,” and the manufacturer’s daughter half turned from her cousin to meet, to her, the no less disagreeable, but far _ more respectful greeting of Stephen Smith. A few commonplace remarks were passed, as the oup Pngerpd there for a moment; then they turned ward the fair young creature in whose honor the ball was ren. As Fenton Thorne’s gaze fell on the dazzling face and figure of Madeleine Fleming, he paused involun- Good vens! How beautiful!” he muttered, in a loud w isper of undisguised admiration. _ “Sh! ’sh! Fent., my boy! Not soloud, though Tl not contradict your assertion,” whispered Stephen mith, who stood close bebind. The Freshman started slightly, and, without re- mark, moved on, Myra Hoxley had heard that unguarded expres: sion; she had felt the sudden tremor of the strong arm, on which she was leaning, and she bad heard, too, the Kentuckian’s warning whisper. An angry, envious thrill shot through her bosom, and she bit until the sharp, pearl-like tooth almost found the couising blood, But she controlled herself, and walked steadily on, ; CHAPTER Ml. SHINE AND SHADOW. Fenton THorne’s words had fallen, likewise, on other ears than those of the impetuous, jealous a and Stephen Smith. Iph Ross had recorded each. syllable in his memory, and had already registered in his mind a vow of hate against him who had given such utter- ance to his thoughts. But, in another moment, the.party stood before the old merchant and his daughter. Madeleine lifted her soft hazel eyes to meet the: salutation of the student, she started, her face cok ored, and she cast down her gaze. There was a wild flutter at the maiden’s heart, as the collegian’s ‘nellow tones fell on her ear, She knew not what she said in reply, and she scarcely noticed Ralph Ross at all; though to Ste- ee Smith she cordially held out her ungloved right and; and she kissed the queenly Myra, with a sis- ter’s warmth and freedom, But there was no warmth in return from the lips of the manufacturer’s daughter. t Had Hiyre Baxler searched her own heart, at that [ © would have known that she only wished her lips had been wet with the poison of asps. R Thorne, Thorne! I’ve heard of you, my young sir, and am glad to know you,’ said old Mr, eming, brusguely, but kindly. “I ‘knew your father, sir, neh ago in college, and Iam pleased to welcome is son at my house,’* “Thank you, thank you kindly, Mr, Fleming,” was — Bis ‘ . all the student could say,as an awkward blush spread over ae face, and a telltale tremor crept into hig speach. Ais ae my. young sir! And here, Madeleine—here, my boy; give her vous arm, Take it, I say, Made- leine! This stupi reception BUSINESS 1s now about over, and I am heartily glad of it. Now, Madeleine, show Mr. Thorne over the house—the library—the conservatory, and so on; and mark you well, Made- leine, see that he gets enough to eat—ha! ha! You seo, Mr. Thorne, I have not forgotten old times and college commons—ha! ha!” and the hospitable old Epatienman ended his long talk, with a whole-souled, earty las Fenton Thorne’s face was like a furnace; he felt Myra’s nervous arm tremble in his, as she half with- drew and then replaced it, as if determined to as- sert priority of possession. The young man saw the extreme awkwardness of his position; and Madeleine Sypeared as if she wished the floor would open and D er. R Excuse me, Mr. Fleming,” stammered the young man, ‘‘ you see I—I—am already engaged and—” “Tutl tut! that matters not! Miss Hoxle will readily release you, for a time. Here, Mr. Bchith, or you, Mr. Ross, escort Miss Hoxley, while Made- leine will do the hostess with Mr, Fenton Thorne, the son of my old classmate and friend!” As for Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian, he was at that moment, most intensely busying himself in looking in an entirely different direction; of course he most irreverently unheeded the old gentleman’s command, Mr. Ross, however, stepped promptly forward, and said, half-sneeringly, to young Thorne: “Pl relieve you, sir, me, Myral” and drawing her arm rather rudely in his, he turned abruptly and walked away. In another moment, the round arm of Madeleine Fleming lay in Fenton Thorne’s, and the noble-look- ing couple glided gracefully away amid the throng, __ Stephen Smith had already mingled familiarly in the assembly, and was now in earnest discourse with some fellow-students, who, like himself, having ‘nr favored with invitations to the ball, had run the risk of being demerited, for absence from rooms, in study-hours. - mPa The moments, and the h 1 bed. by. Mirth, hilary, aon hearty good-feeliz pre Zus forth on all sides. ti* $ Once in the course of the evening, when standing near an efagere, and entirely alone, a dark, anxious cloud had passed over old Arthur Fleming’s face. “And neat year !” he , muttered, ‘ Will I then— Xa ; His voice sunk into a whisper, and was inaudible. ** And so old Welcome Hoxley allows his daughter to come to my house, and—stays away himself! Well, well, we were never friends, and he bears faith- ful remembrance of old grudges. Let him do so; J’ am none such! Ah! Mr, Smith, glad to come across you; hope you are enjoying yourself?” “Famously, my good sir, famously!” But there was a shade, too, on the student’s brow. The old man and the young walked away, arm in arm. CHAPTER Iv. HEARTS AND DIAMONDS, yam eg Wh ; la but -: we ball went on. alf- even the doors @ spa- cious diniig-hall were thrown open, and a ma; Tia cent collation was served. Conspicuous at the head of the table stood Madeleine and her father; and near them, proud and triumphant, stood Fenton Thorne, the Freshman. The youth seemed intoxicated with bliss; and his cup of pleasure was in eee hor Beyond a doubt, it was rude and allant in the young man to ig- nore the girl who introduced him at the man- sion, and through whose instrumentality, mainly, . he had gained access there. It was: not ‘exactly in 1
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WAS IT LOVE? 5 accordance with etiquette, and young ‘Thorne knew etre enough, But then he could not exchange pines for discontent—the sweet, silvery tones of adeleine Fleming, breathing innocence, youth, guilelessness and, perhaps, a faint shadow of some- thing else, for the passionate mutterings of Myra Hoxley, breathing anger, vexation and jealousy. Fenton Thorne, though young in years, was yet a man in understanding, and though not an adept in society-craft, yet was not stupid. He could read human nature, at least, to a certain extent, and he saw, and had seen for weeks, that Myra Hoxley was not indifferent to him; that she was jealous of his PN coma cr a too, as concerned her due quota of his time. Perhaps—and he had blushed and trembled as he thought it—perhaps she loved him! He almost knew it. And then, Stephen Smith, the Junior, in his own quaint, independent way, had said: ‘* Yes, Myra, the manufacturer’s daughter, beyond a doubt, was ‘sweet’ on him te Fenton knew well enough the meaning of this Pibee phrase, and he half believed it, as did his friend and chum, the dusky-faced Kentuckian. But, at all events, Fenton Thorne had, as it were, turned my vack on Myra Hoxley, whom he had es- corted to the ball. He had willingly given her over to the tender mercies of whomsoever would take care of her, and he did not mind who that was. During the serving of the refreshments, the Fresh- man, despite the vigorous advances of several abse- a ee young bloods, had managed to keep adeleine to himself. Herevery wish was to him a command, and he attended to her requests with the” alacrity and servility of an ancient knight. The old merchant’s daughter seemed sufficiently pleased with her young knight, though no gay plumes nodded over his locks, and no corslet of steel girded his form, . It was plain to see—ay, the most unobservant could see—that Madeleine was happy; could see, too, that a new train of meditation, of small efforts at a new course of thinking, was going on in that poueee mind, however fragile and yielding the nks which held together that chain of newly-awak- ened thought. . Once, nay, twice, during that eventful evening, pe Mage a a Eo ngewe impudent mann roac elein _ di g 93 pre PR e, and, disregarding rm of the Freshman, save with a cold, contemptuous frown, endeavored to draw the maid- big ey si Pera fenton Thorne noted that frown,the contempt- uous deportment, and the blood boiled in his rats: He knew that Ross presumed on superior class-ship at college; presumed on the ancient, alleged ascen- dency, rightful or otherwise, of a, Junior to a Fresh- man. He fancied, too, that Ralph Ross presumed on the physical superiority of his own bulky frame ie § the slender yet sinewy physique of the Fresh- However, Freshman or not, Fenton Thorne was a 4 ’ manly fellow, and always preserved his self-respect; and as he nervously clenched his right hand, and felt the muscles swelling and contracting under his coat- sleeve, he fancied himself the equal of his weightier ae reels ee ‘ ; nee, while at the refreshment table, Fenton had caught a glance of Myra Hoxley, She was standing alone, still as a statue, her eyes bent fixedly on him, as if they would burn him through, 2 She was pulling slowly, nervously, at one of her ly Fp pe but her eye was stony, her face blood- ess. Stephen Smith was standing’ near her, and had evidently been endeavoring to draw her into a Bay resyegiee Steph Smith , This was true: Stephen was a good-hearted fellow, though he did not like Myra, that was be- ondadoubt. But he was a whole man, a thorough- ed gentleman, and he saw how indiscreetly, rude- ly, in fact, Fenton was acting. He pitied Myra; she Was alone, for Ralph Ross had just left her, abrupt- ly, as usual, to make up a set at whist, Bo the young Kentuckian had drawn near her. with a smile on his lips and respect in his speech. But, while Myra did not smile upon him, she di. not repelhim, She dared not do so, for several reasons; the most cogent of which was, she did not dike to appear in so large a company without an escort. But, between her and Stephen Smith there was no love, not even friendship. She turned her stony stare at last from Fentoit Thorne’s face, and placing her jeweled wrist frankl in Stephen Smith’s arm, walked grandly away wit her new-found escort, who towered loftily and.noble by her side. Fenton was happy; he could not, be jealous of Myra, and hesaw through the policy of his friend Steve. The refreshments were at last abandoned; then the merry sound of music swelled aloud in the large room; then, speedily, setts were formed, and Tm the heavy floors were creaking to the measured tread and swing of the dance. Without knowing it, searce- ly, Fenton Thorne found himself by the side of the blushing Madeleine, and then the dance began. ; Looking up, the young Freshman’s face was again scarlet, when he saw his vis-a-vis, Myra’ Hoxley, her partner being Ralph Ross. One mad glance from her eyes shot at him, and then she turned to the “‘swing- corners.” yore Sreuben Smith, the Kentuckian, stood by, with old Mr Fleming, and looked on. His face was’ sad-and serious. Suddenly he disappeared, and Fenton lost sight of him. — he dance ended. Weariness erept-apace over the company, Furs and muffs, cloaks and shawls were again In requisition, Carriages were again crunch- ing over the snow, and rolling up to the door. The guests were beginning to depart by scores, Away around the large mansion, in gloom and . pv was the conservatory, a large apartment, well Ned with costly exotic and indigenous plants.of every description. Suddenly, two forms: glided slowly into this quiet room, and seated themselves on a rustic bench. “Why, Myra,” said the coarse voice of a man, “you are like a—silly-pated school-girl, to say the kkast! Everybody in the room has noticed your ap- pearance to-night.” FAA! “And have I not occasion to be angry, Ralph Ross?” demanded the other, fiercely. ‘‘Have I not Lr neglected by this brainless boy—ay, insulted by im?’ “Well said, Myra; but the fellow was notso brain- less as impudent, He deserved to haye his ears pulled.” “And his ears should be pulled, had I a brother,” — she snapped out, sinificantly. i “Whew! a broad hint my fair cousin! But you know I’m a Junior, and this boy a Freshman. I can not forget caste/” . “Caste! fudge! However, I would not haye you harm Fenton Thorne; he is misguided, he is capti- vated by—by that minx—that’s all!” “That mina! That's good, by Hercules!—a hea- then celebrity, you know, Myra—” “Tush! fool!” was the sharp answer to this. “Nay, nay, cousin, deal not in such expletives; they 2 A penecoapeaie - I rh eb deserve them. Maybe I'll serve you oxing ‘s ears; you know Madeleine 1s to Be mine.” : he “Yours! why you do not care for her! You are after her money, and—and—I am afraid that Fenton. —loves her!? : “Money!” exclaimed the other, angrily, without noticing the latter of her remark. “ Money! ay! you have said it! And sweet, harmless, inno- cent cousin of mine! you are after money, too! You can not deceive me/ Old Thorne, that boy’s father, is a millionaire; he can buy old Welcome axley, as rich as he is!’” lor amoment there was a silence, Itseemed that — ter was endeavor — the manufacturer's proud dai ane to control herself, so that she might answi calmly. At length she spoke, and her voice, thou; low. was steady and clear, aT
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¢ 6 *-You are right, Ralph; I confess it, for I can not conceal it from you. Idolove n oney, and I would have Fenton orne’s f serag inheritance to be added to mine. But, before Heaven, I love him, love him at times madly; I can not deny it!” “T would be ashamed, at least, so openly to admit it,” said the man, with a coarse sneer. “But,” he continued, as if struck with a sudden thought “come, Myra, we'll enter intoa league, offensive an defensive; we'll be allies.” . “ Ah!—go on, Ralph.” “Yes, I must marry Madeleine, though, I confess to you, I do not exactly love her. But I have sown wild oats in my time! The truth is, my exchequer is low, and the old governor’s treasury has a hole in it. In other words, I want Madeleine for her money, though the girl is fair to look upon; and—yes, you want Fenton Thorne, the upstart, for money, too— and, for a little love stirred in,” The girl pondered fora moment. She was a bold os a daring schemer, though but eighteen years © “Tl agree, Ralph,’’ she said; ‘‘T’ll agree; we'll work to; ether, and I'll be governed by you.”’ “Good! Wemust wean him from her, and vice versa. You do the former; I the latter, Poison her to him. I'll blast him to her.” “And your first move, Ralph?” asked the girl, ina dee , interested voice, “{'ll—yes, Pll just thrash that youngster, anyway, ina day or 80; and— Hallo!—keep still—still as the grave, Myra; I[hear— Ha! here they come!” The two plotters sunk down behind a cluster of large e-trees as Madeleine Fleming, leaning trustingly on the arm of Fenton Thorne, the colle- gian, slowly entered the quiet precincts. “Oh, Mr. Thorne, they'll miss us! Come, let us be gone. I—I am afraid—” th id, Madeleine, Miss Madeleine—of me?” eh: _.“No, no, I do not mean—I—I do not know what I oy tna let us go—come!” and she endeavored to force him away. : “Stay one moment, Madeleine; I must eall you such! I implore you, grant me one moment,” he continued, a warm, excited breath, as the girl still endeavored to move on. ‘I have but one word, Madeleine, to speak, and forgive me, my sweet girl, when I speak it! JZ kve you, Madeleine! Oh! turn not away! I knowI am bold, but—but I can not help it! Speak, Madeleine, but say not now, neither yea nor hay; simply tell me you will let me love you, and that you do not hate mé!” e paused for breath and awaited her answer. : Madeleine did not withdraw her hand from his im- passioned grasp. “Why, ie, Thorne,” she said, quite calmly, con- sidering the circumstances, “rumor says that Myra Hoxley, the amiable and beautiful belle, is the chosen of your heart.’’ “Then rumor is—is most strangely at fault! Es eee! I do not even like her as a friend; she “Nay, there, Mr, Thorne; she is my friend. t, but I’ wbdeper a word in your ear,” Bem Pl She leaned over. It was but three words that the maiden spoke, yet they made Fenton Thorne’s hot blood leap like iight- ping rouse dea ug’ eleine, my an May Heaven Lr recatins » my gell May “Then, come now, Fenton, we must be gone!” They turned at once from the conservatory and bent their way toward the parlor, now being fast de- serted. Slowly Myra Hoxley and Ralph Ross arose from their hiding-place, ; piwhat think you now, Myra?” asked Ross, ina whisper. “Much, much, man! But come, call the carriage and see me home; I feel faint.”” In another momen Shey ad left the silent sleeping-chamber of the lowers. Scarcely had they gone, when a tall form slowly . WAS IT LOVE? reared itself from the gloom and stepped out into the middle of the room, through which streamed a broad flash of light from a distant street lamp. That light disclosed the dusky, brown face of Ste- _ gs the Kentuckian. He drew a deep, long whistle. “T did not mean to eavesdrop,” he said. softlv, ‘““when I came here to geta breath of unadulter- on Eabei but—but, methinks I’ve heard se- crets He left the room and sought the parlor. He had but entered, however, when he met Fenton Thorne, Sst abt a perturbed, half-sheepish, half-repentant ook, “Why, Steve, ’min a mess now! Myra has gone without me!” “T do rot blame her, nor can you,” was the blunt reply. “But come, Fent, we must be off to the college. All the carriages are gone, and thanks to your muddling of affairs, we’ll have to foot it all the way—a good mile and a half—a storm in your face, and two feet of snow under your pumps! ugh!” They left the hospitable mansion and bent their way through the wind and snow, up to Benefit street and thence down to the somber-looking college, an Stephen Smith opened his mouth to his friend only once on that long tramp, and then it was to say: “There’s alittle game playing, Fent, my boy, a wump game—between hearts and diamonds!” CHAPTER V. STEPHEN SMITH’S LOVE-SCRAPE, On the night after the great ball in honor of Mad- eleine_ Fleming’s ps pane Fenton Thorne and Ste- phen Smith, his chum, sa late in their cosey room, twenty-four, University Hall. Study hours had passed—that is to say, men had turned resolutely away from whereon lay piles of books, memoranda of : : calculations, torn envelopes, etc. The b Jamp, its rays now free to beam wheresoever they would, aed shade being removed—shone cheerily around the ‘oom, : Tt was certainly very comfortable in old “'Twenty- four, U. H.,” however bleak and raw wailed the winds without. Fenton Thorne’s face wore a disturbed, uneas expression, as if his mind had been grappling with some knotty question, and that the question had gotten the better of the mind. ‘ Stephen Smith sat quietly by, apparently uncon- cerned, his long legs raised high above his head, his slippered feet resting on the edge of the mantle. The Kentuckian jwas lazily puffing away ata genu- ine ‘‘Powhatan,” with a reed-wood stem, then, as now, @ luxury. But, as the good fellow watched the caer festoons of blue smoke, floating above oad hats t was easy to see he was not exactly easy min : The friends had been earnestly conversing, and now, in the lull which ensued, they were thinking. “dome, Fy ent, my boy, draw up by the stove; ‘tis a stingin night outside, and these old sashes are not as tight as they might be.” Fenton drew his. chair nearer, but spoke not a word, The young Kentuckian glanced around at im, the young stable braic * Come, come, Fent, rouse yourself!” ” ; Lam not asleep, Steve.” You had as well be! But, come, don’t let those atters disturb you, though there’s no denying you ave acted a little queer, a little outre, you know, my boy, and Myra Hoxley must think hard of you.’ “Tt don’é care a snap of my finger for her, Steve!” “That’s a step too far, my friend. You should oxley may be, a respect her, Whatever Myra & woman, and occupies the’ position of a Besides that, she and her father have been kind
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WAS IT a ee yi Many a good dinner you have eaten at their able.”’ Stephen Smith spoke quietly and seriously. ~ “Pshaw, Steve! How irrational and silly you talk!” exclaimed Fenton Thorne, somewhat vex- | atiously, 2 | _ “Shades of Euclid! J irrational and silly! And youa Freshy, Fent! By Jove, that’s icy, ay, Arctic!” and the Kentuckian laughed low and good-naturedly. ‘Pardon me, Steve; Idid not mean to be rude, for—” “T know it, my boy, I know it. I liked you, Fen- ton Thorne, from the day I first laid eyes on you. To save you from college tricks and annoyances 1 took you in with me, And, and. Fenty your face | was good, and I wanted you for a friend,” The last words were spoken in a low, soft tone, as | the Junior looked kindly upon his chum, “Yes, yes, Steve, my good old fellow, and you know I love you,” and the young man drew closer to his friend’s side. “I believe it, Fent, and that’s enough for me. But,” and he looked straight at the other, ‘‘you did wrong last night in slighting Myra Hoxley. ’ I tried to warn you. “T was wrong, Steve; Ie nfess L it. But I tell yo my friend, when Lwas under the influence of that ber eyes, when I felt the warm, gushing presence Bf oe Fleming, I could not tear myself away! ere!’ Several moments passed in silence; but Stephen | was in the humor of talking, in fact, he was com- municative, Suddenly he turned toward Fenton. “‘Fent,”’ he said, ina serious tone, his large eyes beaming frankly on his friend, “‘ you love Madeleine | Fleming!” The Freshman started at the suddenness of the accusation ; he colored viciously and stammered: “ 5 no— 7 “Don’t deny it, Fent; your manner owns to the ‘soft impeachment.’ I say you love the maiden!” ‘‘And who made you so smart, Steve?” asked the other, reddening, and attempting an evasion, “Tam not over smart, my boy; but I have eyes, | and—I ean see,” was the significant reply. _“Seel What did you see, Steve?” ‘asked the Freshman, feverishly, evidently fearing and expect- | ing a revelation, : I saw—why I saw you constantly in the young lady’s com pany—I saw yourevery gesture and move- , ment, speaking admiration; I saw—” | Enough, Steve! Istand confessed! Now shrive | me; for I do love Madeleine Fleming with my whole heart and soul; I worship the ground she treads; I would even bottle the air she—’ There, Fent! Enough! I am a Junior, know, and allow some latitude of speech with men}; 80, pout me to say, getting a trifle silly.” The Kentuckian’s words were as pithy as his tone was es é ‘You have no heart, Steve, else you would not speak thus!” exclaimed ‘the youth, poenionately ‘What! I, Stephen Smith, of Kentucky, no heart! Spirit of my departed ancestry! But, joking aside. Vent, I have a heart—a warm heart, a heart filled with love for two—” f “ Two, Steve? Why you deceitful—” ” at I = ey rape moe i said the Junior, uie as he, watche C) ie i nated Te his mouth, : rings of smoke which en you sho © ashamed of yourself, Steve! Your conduct is not honest! 72d indeed! And pes be bold to ask who. they are—these chosen “eo b) »”» C <a and I'll answer. ‘First, my dear old mother in Kentucky—God bless her! Resend Fenton Thorne, the fait God bless him! was the soft, almost inaudible reply. R Bear, dear, Steve!” and the youth crept closer you Fresh- | my boy, that you are _ before you’re cured. | Sixteen, you know—l, I pro LOVE? % still to his friend, and took his hand affectionately, almost reverentially in his own. But, Stephen Smith was himselfagain. ‘‘Go away, Fent,’”? he muttered, “or you'll make me childish. But now, my friend, that you have confessed a secret to me, I suppose you can keep one /7om me?’ 4 “Try me, Steve,” was the quick reply. “Well, Fent, I once had a love-scrape, myself.” The Kentuckian spoke very calmly and carelessly as the blue smoke curled around his head. geen Steve? Why you never told me this fore.’ “T had no‘ oceasion to do so, and why should I tell you? ‘Because J trust you with all my secrets—every thing!” ‘No you don’t,” said the Junior, : “At all events then, Steve, I try to do so,” said Fenton, looking down, an “Keep on trying, Fent, and you will tell me— much more,” Fenton Thorne covertly turned his gaze on his | friend’s face and scanned it hurriedly, though closely. But. Stephen Smith’s swarthy visage was calm and | innocent, and he was still watching the last feathery | ring of smoke that circled above him. “Well, tell me all about it, Steve; I want to hear every thing youknow. Inever dreamed of such a thing! Go on, old fellow; ‘tis just half past ten, and I could sit up all night to hear your love- a : “Could you, indeed? However, it takes but a few moments, and after all it may not interest you. Nevertheless, in view of certain circumstances, I thought I would tell you.” “Go on, good old Steve, and don’t tantalize a % fellow so! F “All right. Listen, Fenton; but sure you would like tohear of this confounded love-scrape of mineyY”’ “Of course, Steve; I am dying to hear it.” , “Exactly. Wi one year ago, on my return to Providence after vacation, I became acquainted with a bewitching young creature, just sixteen—and a blonde, Oh! those soft blue eyes!” “Yes, Steve; your taste was good. Madeleine’s eyes are blue, too,” “Exactly, Fent; but don’t interrupt me; I am getting poe’ Well, I fell in love with this fairy, just as you have fallen in love. Ah! I was in love— then! Atevery opportunity, in and out of place, I waited on the girl. I neglected my studies, just as zor are going to do, wrote poetry—the veriest trash! h! the fool that I was, and ‘you'll be the same And fin y--yes—I—she only “Yes, yes, Steve; and what then?” and Fenton leaned over, anxiously, to get the answer. “What then? Enough, truly, for me; for, thank my stars, I was restored once more to my senses, and managed by a late industry to remain ‘in college, cs = Steve, what are you salking about? Of course the girl said yes, requested you to wait till poe h raduated?” Stephen Smith bent his head and pondered for a moment, Then looking up, he said, very quietly: bor fg ay memory serves me aright, the maiden answered, very distinctly, ‘No.’ ” “Oh! what a pity! what a ity ?? “You cannet mean it, Fent?’ and a bright smil flashed over the Kentuckian’s dusky visage. “Ido! The girl treated you meanly! e did not ow you. Bui, Steve, her name?” pe “You have seen her.” “Well, well, trust me a little further; Steve, her name?” “MADELEINE FLEMING.” Stephen Smith still smoked on, blue rings floating above him, her name, ou are quite o-
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“a 8 WAS IT LOVE? 4 CHAPTER VI. CONSPIRACY. Myra Hoxtry, by some enthusiastic admirers called the belle of Providence, was the only ehild of ’ old Welcome, Hoxley, the owner of one of the largest cotton-mills in the neighboring suburb of Olneyville. __ Myra was very highly educated, having received her tuition at a celebrated seminary on College street, just a stone’s throw from the university on the hill’ She had just graduated, being only eight- een years old. Fenton Thorne, the Freshman, was about nineteen years of age. The young man had entered college only two and a half months prior to his introduction to the reader. When the young man first came to college, he bore letters from his father to old-Mr. Hoxley, the manufacturer; hence his intimacy with the family on Prospect street. Madeleine Fleming, like Myra Hoxley, was mother- less; but she was blessed in having such & father as old Arthur Fleming, the retired tea-merchant. There was no cordiality between Welcome Hoxle and Arthur Fleming, perhaps not the slightest good- will, though their daughters were, seemingly, inti- mate and affectionate. Of Stephen Smith and Ralph Ross the reader will learn more if he continue to theend of this vera- cious life history. Welcome Hoxley, the manufacturer, walked, in an et manner, a and down the limits of his g-room, It elegant sitt was early evening. The gas ha just been lighted, and tea had but now been served, Myra, as usual in an elegant evening dress, sat -* neara sewing-table. She was eian 9 one elbow on e table, gazing abstractedly at the light needle- ri a before her. Occasionally she chewed viciously at ier ip, while a scowl wrinkled her narrow, white ehead, _ “Confound the boy! He was rude and insulting!” exclaimed the old man, suddenly, pausing and a ng himself into a large velvet-cushioned chair. “To be taken by the baby-face of Madeleine Flem- ing! Fleming! Bah! 1 hate the name. I only re- gret, Myra, that I allowed you to attend the ball at s old Sir Absolute Everybody’s house.” FF ‘*I, too, father; then Fenton had not seen this ren.’ “Siren! By Jove, you speak truly! She is a siren or a witch! But, then, Fenton, the booby! I thought he loved you ?” “T do not know, father; I thought the same. But Fenton Thorne is no booby.” “Ah, indeed? Then he is a rascal; you can choose for yourself! I tell you, Myra, this affair, this love- scrape between these two et 3 fools shall go no er; I have gocd reasons that it should stop nvw —at once.” “T say, amen, father,” “Do you love this boy faithfully, Myra? Do you love Fenton Thorne at all?” suddenly asked the old man, looking straight at his daughter. But the girl did not reply at ouee. A slight crim- soning ae flashed for a moment over her marble face, and then she answered: ae Yes, father; I love Fenton Thorne.” The words were calm and earnest. “Do you love him solely for himself? Of course, y ty ag you know that old Thorne is a very sus “T know it, father, and I love Fenton Thorne, first for his poe oge gold, second, and in a less degree, to cheat others, and for himself. ; UAT ejaculated the old man, with a self-satis- fied chuckle, ‘‘that’s right, Myra, that’s right! Always have an eye open to he main chance, And, thy “dae iter,” here voice sunk very low, “we must sécure your aims, must arrange things, so that there can be no failure. Iwill aid you. This princely fortune must not be allowed to slip away ae Ny mn from you; for I—I—need an alliance, just such a ore as Fenton Thorne and his thousands would make. Let us see that no one can approach us unawares re then, Myra, we will have a little confidential talk.’ ‘* Yes, father.” The old man arose, and going to the door, opened it and looked out into the hall. Then he closed the door, turned the key in the lock, and came back, drawing hjs chair, at the same time, close to Myra, who sat by the table, “Myra,” he began, in a low, excited tone, ‘‘ we must spoil this little game at once; and hark you, girl, we must not seruple at the means.” His voice was harsh, almost menacing. But the girl was made of stern stuff; she was not apparently startled at the words of such dark import, or she had nerve enough to conceal it. you for me—that is, indirectly, you know. And, my % fail” “Revenge, father? You astonish me. Revenge: And upon whom?” “Arthur Fleming; may Heaven curse him and his!’ was the flerce answer. Myra Hoxley started violently, and sat upright; her attention was now thoroughly aroused. ane mean you, father?” at length she stam- mer “ You are blind, Myra, to fail to see that between Arthur Fleming and myself there is no love lost.”’ “T have thought it, father.” oe “Now you know it. I eg we the man, the Phat he treads, the air he breathes! But, my aughter, you are old enough to be intrusted with a secret; I will tell you one.” “Yes, father; I am listening.” : “Arthur Fleming and myself grew up together here in Providence. As far back as Ican remember, we were rivals. We entered the same school; Fleming secured the prizes, ay, every one, on en- trance. We went to college, and again Fleming was victorious, while I gained no honors. Time assed on, and, as fortune would have it, I fell in ove with a white, pale-faced girl, a doll baby, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, the ¥ , of Madeleine Fleming. Don’t start. She loved me, so she said; but she falsified, as events proved, Acci- dentally Arthur Fleming—how I hate him—saw the girl, and, well, in a word, he marvied her. More than hat, he secured that which I was mainly after, the girl’s large fortune! We ro Rte ined and my- self—we quarreled. I slapped his face. He chal- lenged me; a duel was fought, and, to-day, in wet — weather, I feel my rival's pistol-ball here,’’ and he placed his trembling, nervous hand on his shoulder. ee “ Nor was this all,” continued the old man, after a pause; “for then came the great battle of life—the auggle for success, for money. Fleming was already rich, by his wife; and I—I—had a scant Retrimony, But, thank Heaven, I did succeed. rthur Fleming and Welcome Hoxley are still secret foes and avowed rivals! Yet, Arthur Fleming is not as rich as heonce was/ There was a time when he owned a dozen as fine ships as ever sailed the seas. But now; and Ih am the owner of the Be mills in Olneyville!’ Co is ut, those last words of the old manufacturer were not spoken triumphantly; there was a shade >
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WAS IT LOVE? of doubt, of sadness, and a tinge of melancholy in the tones of Mr. Hoxley. , ; Myra, after listening to her father’s story, sat still. Then she looked up and said: : “Well, father, our day of triumph must come! I must win Fenton Thorne from Madeleine Fleming— I must marry Fenton Thorne!” “ Tsay, amen, to that!” “Tl fama father; I doubt it not. Ralph Ross is our ally, too, and—” + ud Ross! He’d have been your husband, Myra, but he had no money!” ‘Pshaw, father! Ihate him, and— Ha! there’s the bell.” Old Hoxley strode to the door and turned the key. Then he quietly resumed his seat. A few moments, and the girl tapped on the panel. Thon, without waiting, she opened the door and handed in a card. Myra Hoxley’s lip curled with scorn, as she glanced at the engraved bit of pasteboard. “Tell the gentleman, Mary,” she said, in a voice like ice, ‘that I am engaged, and not in the mood to receive him, of all visitors. Tell him my exact words, and here, give him back his card.” The girl stared, but, taking the card, bowed and left the room, In & moment more, bey 3 the open door of the sitting room, old Hoxley and his daughter heard the pn t door shut, and hasty steps hurrying away. ws Te impudent fellow!’ exclaimed Myra, bitterly, “Who was it, my dau hter?” Be as Thorne, the Freshman,” was the laconic reply. CHAPTER VI, THE WAGER OF BATTLE. Two days after the eventful ball, and the morning . after the occurrences, as related in the fore oing chapter, Fenton Thorne sat in hi; room in co ege. He had ust returned from chapel exercises, and was waiting now for the bell, to summon him to the recitation room, Stephen Smith was strid any. up and down the chamber, book in han , and making a worthy effort to conquer his lesson. As usual, Stephen had postponed studying until the last moment, The Kentuckian was not in good humor, for he had alraady missed more recitations than was ex- ony compatible with an honorable standing in his At length he stopped ae cast the text book, most ap » Upon the table, honda ny Su: Ta Bad 20h he 8 what 1 can not receive, and what it does not more than half believe!’ What’s the matter, Steve?” asked ro know this stupid lesson, and, you are aware, that the old doctor never forgets me!” “Cut the recitati ” suggestivel : on, Steve,” said the Freshman, 0, { thank you, not to-day! This is m last chance, and my ist? is just vi Se one of botify- ing our Governor’ of his hopeful’s colle- giate delinquencies. Thanks to the star, for you and I were both born under it, old ‘ @ax’ found us out as I e on the night of the ball. —— my fall Ist, ‘The snow-storm and Myra Hox —Hallo he exclaimed, as the door was suddenly opened, and a letter flung in, “*Tis for you, Fent, a dropped letter, too,” said Peeensn, casting the sealed missive toward his nd, ae Freshman took the —— —_ ee Pa at the sti superscription. .Then, tearing pe the tes tia spread out the folded sheet, and began to read. . At first, his facc crimsoned: then a deadly pallor , passed over it, as he read on; he bit his lip furi- ously. Really, it required but a nroment to read that note; for, however weighty the contents, they were briefly given. “Tis nothi serious—no dispatch, I hope herai% and the Kentuckian looked anxiously at ig ON it tly seri Steve, but certainly very - “Not exactly serious, ve, annoying. Read the letter yourself,” and he handed the half-crushed missive over, to his friend. oe Smith took it, and without ado read as follows: “Fenton Taornu, Freshman: “‘T do not generally waste my time on puppies, or dirty my boots by kicking a Freshman; butI take this (as. the most convenient) means, to notify you, that unless you make ample apology to me, I dictat- ing that apology—for the insults you have flung at Miss Myra Hoxley, by six p.m. this day, 1 be necessitated to trouble myself to the extent of ad- ministering to you a thrashing; on or before the time mentioned above. ‘A word to the wise, youknow. Think a little and wisely, and be grate- ful for this advice; else expect to hear soon and disagreeably from, “ Yours, Reinga: : “ H Ross.’’ “The cur!” exclaimed Fenton, his face purple with passion; ‘‘if he dare a8 finger on me, Pll—” “Yes, I know you will, Fent; but he must not lay a boy on you. Take my counsel, and do not notice this bully. Should it be necessary, I can take your pait in this little affair, But, you make no apology, that’s certain. fps, I—Hello! there goes the bell, and I know not ten lines in the lesson!” The next moment, the Kentuckian, with an air of reckless determination, left the room and bent his way toward the recitation room. The day wore away ie old weather-stained bell, from the cupola on University Hall, sounded the usual number of its per diem calls, and the hour was drawing near when fhe day’s work would be over. Twice, that day, Fenton Thorne had met his burly rival, Ross; but there had been no salutation be- tween them, It was certain, however, that the Freshman returned the Junior's sneering, menacing glance, unflinchingly. Syadapsed peor was also well established: Fenton made no apol As the reader has seen, he was rudely re ulsed, and Ralph Ross. came; then half-past six. peering into the dusky apartment, ds * Ie arose, but Stephen Smith “No, sir, claim here, tho with my friend, Ross,” he said, quietly. “So I see, m paeemiaatc friend. I led to get your apology by ,» and have d. to ad it direct from your lips. In default of which latter, I will appoint with you a day whereon to administer to you a genteel Let me hear from you, and be quick about it.”
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This Was said in the iciest of tones. “You are a blackguard, Ralph Ross! Begone from this room!” retorted the Freshman, trembling with passion, and he made a hasty stride forward. But the tall form of Stephen Smith stood promptly between the belligerents, Ross had ay oe thrown himself on the defensive. “Sh! ’sh! Fent, my boy, none of this here. As for you, Ralph Ross, I thought you were too old a collegian thus to stir up a broil.’ “T care not; I simply desire to chastise that sleek- faced, moral youth. But as I see I can not do so here, Tl say to him, that I'll be by Roger Williams’s Rock at sunset to-morrow afternoon. If he dare show his pehy sage there, I'll slap it well for him!’’ The Kentuckiail’s face was wich anger, as he answered, indignantly: “Compared to you, sir, Fenton Thorne is a stri otis he shall not fight you. But mark you well, Ra! wpe Ross—ZJ will be there.” .The bully was somewhat staggered at this; but he quickly recovered himself, and said with a sneer: “Very good; if you are anxious for the honors of the birch, do me the kindness to make good your promise.’ Without another word, he turned and strode away dow a the hall. “Pil not fail youl’ muttered Stephen Smith, gazing after him. CHAPTER VIII. FEELING THE POSITION. Mr. Fusmine and his pretty daughter, Made- leine, sat together in the library. Breakfast had passed rather quietly, rather sadly, too, for the old pondamey seemed, notexactly morose, but brood- ng, or—a better word—foreboding. © was reading a morning paper, having just fin- ished one and thrown it aside. As the old gentle- man chewed at his cigar, it was not difficult to see that his mind was troubled, that he was cogitating ha and that his thoughts were wandering afar off. Madeleine was sitting quietly. by, sharpening a crayon pencil, romgrrterntil to putting on a few fin- ishing touches to a fancy sketch. Suddenly the father laid aside the paper, with a hal enpstiont gesture. “Madeleine,” he said, quite seriously, “‘ have you seen our young friend, Mr. Thorne, since the ball?” he question was so sudden that the girl blushed deeply. ‘The subject, however, might not have been foreign to Madeleine’s thoughts. € recovered her- self, and answered: _ “ No, papa; I have not.” “Ts it not etiquette, my daughter, that he should have called? It wasin my day; I remember well—” “T don’t know, papa,” was the demure reply, as the girl bent over her ¢rayon pencil and continued most assiduously to sharpen it. “Yes, you do know, Madeleine,” said the old man, in a low voice, looking straight at his daughter. ** But, do you like Mr. ‘horne, my child? here don’t redden so. Iam your father; Madeleine; treat me and trust me as’such, for I love you as my heart’s blood,” The old merchant spoke very warmly; far more ' go than the oceasion seemingly required. Madeleine glanced at him, and in a moment her arms were around her father’s neck. “Yes, papa, dear papa! And I love you, papa, for I have no one else, you know.” The old man gazed kindly at her, ; * No one; Madeleine? I am growing old, my child and the dark shore lies not far beyond me, ‘It will oon be in view. I would not leave you alone, But,” and his tone changed to one lighter and less loomy, ‘‘search your heart, Madeleine, and tell me if ou do not like Fenton Thorne, Speak, my child , —l am anxious to know.” The old man affected atone of levity, but there he a reality, a sternness, a terrible anxiety in that ne, B The daughter noted well and quickly that pre- tended manner, and, as she wondered, a cloud drew apace over her heart, , But she answered, after_a slight hesitancy: “Yes, father, I will be honest with you. Ido like Fent—Mr. Thorne,” and her face crimsoned like a sunset sky, as she bended over her work, endeavor- ing: 2 conceal the tell-tale blood mantling her cheeks. **T am rejoiced to know this,” said the old man hastily and sincerely. ‘‘I like the lad, and I liked his father. We were fellow-students. I, by some hocus-pocus, secured the peedictan: and Dick Thorne, by real brain-work, the salutatory. I won- der ral he did not send his boy to me, instead of to old Welcome Hoxley?” “Tt may have been, papa, that old Mr. Thorne has had dealings with Welcome Hoxley, and of course—" “ You are right, Madeleine, quite right. And you are wondrous apt at bringing forward excuses, but ou_are right.””. ; “Myra Loxley told me what I have said, papa,” put in Madeleine, quietly, “Yes, my daughter, And this white-faced, red- Spee ieee has an eye on young Thorne; depend upon it.’ AC Pehaw, Le Mr. Thorne does not care any i - her ; he told me so!” blurted the maiden, right out, as Ah, indeed,” and the old man arched his brows, while a genial smile broke over his hitherto sad face. “Tam glad, very glad to hear it, Madeleine, for Myra Hoxley would make no man agood wife. But, Mad- eleine, write a note to Fenton Thorne, and request him, in my name, to come here this evening to tea,” The young girl blushed with a badly-concealed joy, and she drew out her portfolio at once, Sud- denly she paused and laid her pen softly down. “Will it look well, papa?’ she asked, in a low voice. ‘ Will it look well to request Mr. Thorne to come, when good manners should have made him call anyway? Iam afraid that—” “Hal ha!” laughed the old man, interrupting her; “then, at last, you have found out that etiquette of old is etiquette to-day! However, Madeleine, we'll wave form and ceremony in this instance. I dare say, the young fellow has been voing penance, by order, of course, for being absent from college the other night, Write the note, Madeleine, and send it by John,”’ “Yes, papa.” t In five minutes the note was written, and John dis- tched with it, with instructions to place it in Mr. Thornes own hands. Fenton Thorne was walking anxiously up and down his reom.in bi aay age Hall; and so absorbed was he in thought that he did not heed the modest rap upon his door. 3 The students had Bee! had an almost angry confer- nce with Stephen Smith in regard to meeting Ralph ss. Stephen had insisted that Fenton should pay no attention to the braggart—not to go near him; but that he, Steve, would see the fellow, and if he needed it, would give him a good whipping. Fenton, of course, would not assent to this. Then the Ken- tuckian had become anery, and, in addition to his pronuped chastisement of Ralph Ross, threatened is friend, the obstinate Freshman, also witha drub- bing. This quarrel between the chums had been termi- nated only by the warning-bell, calling to recitation the class in chemistry, And Stephen Smith, who belonged to that class, in an angry mood, and not knowing the difference—or caring to know it—be- tween a ‘bi-basic salt and double-elective affinity, rushed out, with a final shake of his fist at Fenton, But the rap was repeated. The Freshman stepped to the door, and opened it, “A note for Mr, Fenton Thorne,’’ said John, the -man, : ee
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Ot OT WAS IT LOVE? a ll **T am he; come in,” said the student, receiving the missive. Heopened it quickly, and read the few lines rapidly. A e, almost heavenly, rested on the collegian’s _ face, as hé refolded the note carefully, and placed it tenderly away in his writing-desk, there to be pre- served as the most precious, the most idolized of his Small stock of household gods, ere _ But then, quick as a flash of lightning, an expres- Sion of pain flitted over the fresh young face of the eee and he bit his lip until the.blood trickled own, ° ‘“T am to await an answer, sir,” prompted the man. “T know it, John; wait a moment,” and seating oo by the table, he drew toward him writing atetial “ Confound it! he muttered, bad?” ‘Did you speak, sir?” ‘Of nothing of importance, John.” ‘ The student began to write; but whathe wrote did not satisfy him. He began again, and with like re- sult, Tben again, and yet once more. ‘ ally he succeeded in his efforts, and to his sat- isfaction, Folding the smooth sheet carefully, and with an eye to effect, he gave it reluctantly to John, bee ne a respectful bow, backed out of the room, A half-hour from that time, the Freshman’s note, or rather letter, lay open and half-crushed before Madeleine Fleming, on the table in the library. As a specimen of its class, we will give the com- munication word by word. It ran thus: “Dar Miss MApELErne: “Your sweet little billet, extending to me an inyi- tation to take tea at your father’s hospitable man- sion this evening, has been duly received and read— read, I think, thus far, about eight times. Miss Mad- eleine, it seems to me that all the evil deities of heathen mythology are arrayed, in offensive league against me; for—and it gives me the headache and heart ache (?) to write it—I can not possibly gol You see matters stand thus: My chum, Stepheu—tI call him Steve (you know him)—and myself were caught out of our room on the night of ‘the ball. The old Regent couldn’t be deceived, despite our bright light, open door, and lavishness in display of text-books. So we have not been allowed to leave the collee- crocteidey, except for meals, until to-day. Besidcs hat, we got five demerits apieco—Stev; securing an extra five for being too independent about the mat- ter, You see, then, Miss Madeleine, why I have not called before, I did run arisk a night or so after the ball, but Thad an important duty to attend to, which unluekily I failed to perform. But I am now free with the exception of one engagement for this very. ae made prior to the reception of your note, 7 m: “Was ever luck so can not break it. I will come, however, to-morrow mel, Bit, Duty why ‘you know" Steve oov' ultys come. Yours, with eategin, woe Weonane . granted the ald merdhang, ‘THe Cunning rascal!” ROGER wenn oes SUNSET Tue lengthening shadows of the great old college building, falling in grotesque lines on the ‘‘ Campus,” betokened the quickly closing day. Thesun, red and flaming, had sesnqyne down behind the dark belt of forest in the distance. Fenton Thorne was somewhat nervous and: ex- cited, as he glanced at his watch, and then, out over the snow-covered common and waste land toward the west. “Time to go!” he muttered, ‘and Steve shall not revent me, Thank goodness he is in the labora- ry, and has to stay there a half-hour yet.” ten minutes more the young fellow, with rub- bers over his boots, and closely wrapped in a heavy Overcoat, his ears heing protected ie a fur cap, is- sued from the southern rear-door of University Hail. Cutting straight across the College Campus, he en- tered Waterman street, : : ‘Turning up this: avenue, along which the’ cold. north-west wind was blowing bent his stride toward the subjacent country, To the rear of the city of Providence, or ta the -- © east, lying on a high bluff, is a huge bowlder of gran- itic Yormation. It directly overhangs the romantic little stream of the Seekonk, * There is an old-time history connected with this bare, bold rock, against whose base the tiny, fret- ting waves. of the river are wont tomurmur and break in summer time. es The cliff is called Roger Williams’s Reck, and time- honored tradition has it that this fiinty stone was the first firm place, after his exile from Massachu- setts, which received the footfall of the sturdy evan- gelist, “Tis said that here the Narragansets on the shore greeted the Christian hero with the welcoming salutation of ‘* WHAT cHEER] WHAT CHEER!” Onward hurried Fenton Thorne, his vigorous steps crunching the crusty snow, the fleecy vapor vp back from his steaming mouth and nostrils. A length, his blood leaping in his veins, his face aglow with generous exercise, the young man paused and stood near the rock. “Hal Freshy, you are punctual! I hardly ex- ected you,” and as he spoke, Ralph Ross stepped rom behind a ragged projection of the rock, and advanced toward him. ; “Tam not lacking, sir, when I am needed,” was! the gallant reply, ‘And now, Ralph Ross, what would you have of me?” “Why, nothing from you, boy; but you must ac cept a slight souvenir from me in the shape of a flog ging—something to make your memory green, es- pecially when you are in the company of ladies!” Ashe thus tauntingly spoke, he drew from he-~ neath his overcoat a bundle of rods and advanced at onee upon the Freshman, : “Stand back, Ralph Ross! Stand back, I say, or you'll rue the day you dared attempt such an out- ecm ma back, fellow! 1 can, and will protect myself!’ As he spoke, Fenton Thorne drew a small pistol from the breast-pocket of his overcoat, Ross recoiled, but it was only fora moment. He suddenly dashed forward upon his youthful adver- sary; and, before Fenton Thorne could use his pistol, he was auried backward. were The struggle was a desperate one, for Fenton Thorne quickly rallied and faced his burly foe. Hoe was muscular, too, and courageous; in his own right: he was a lion, But he was no match for the other, andin amoment or so he went down before the powerful fist of his brutal antagonist. But in a minute, flying feet were heard, spurning: the frozen snow, and in the twinkling of ‘an eye, Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian—his dusky face burning with an angry flush, burst like a whirlwind upon the scene, Ina second he hurled his heavy overcoat aside, and then flung himself between his fellow-friend and his foe. “Hold, Ralph Ross!” he hissed, between his clenched tecth. ‘‘Turn to me, you big blackguard, and fight your equal!’’ ° é Out of my way, you western negro-stealer! Get out— » He did not finish the sentence. With the bound of a tiger, Stephen Smith rushed uponhm. Thetwo strong men metin a fierce con- flict. There was no backing out on either side. “The advantage from the outset lay with the Kentuckian. Slowly he pressed his heavy antagonist backward. In a moment the two stood struggling together on the very edge of the tall rock: in another, Ross flung his arms above his head, reeled and el ye backward over the cliff. : But. the frozen bosom of the Seekonk, | ts protecting cushion of snow, received the falling man, and saved him from certain death, * ae lustily, the student — a For a momentithe fellow lay stunned and satel ; Re “" em he is | ty a Ad? © ee
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12 WAS IT LOVE? upon the Beets snow; but then he began to shout 12 lustily for help. . Stephen Smith, panting from exertion, peered over the rock at his fallen adversary, and his noble nature arose within him, Rapidly he descended and soon stood by his foe. ‘: Get u , you bellowing boaster! Take your hat d be off with you!” en he helped the fellow to ascend the steep face of the rock, and turned him toward the city. Js Go, Ralph,” hemuttered. ‘Be wise, and—in a hurry! Bose waited for no second bidding, but left at once, “Come, Fent; "tis time to go.” CHAPTER X. A SOLILOQUY AT MIDNIGHT, months, with the shifting panoramas ‘incident to Heeting time, had passed, since the events narra- ted in the preceding chapter. The affair between Fenton Thorne and Ralph Ross had blown over. Each of the parties engaged in the fracas had been promptly suspended for a month— of course the whole thing leaked out. Ralph Ross had been badly injured by the fall, and that circumstance led to an investigation; the re- sult being a complete discovery of the whole affair. With J’enton Thorne, the month had flown rapidly and pleasantly. He did not consider that any dis- grace was attached to him by his suspension. What leased the young fellow much, was, that Made- eine seemed to think more of him for his conduct in the matter than ‘before: and old Mr, Fleming : onudidix informed him that he admired him for his uck! ie Stephen Smith, during his month of suspension, ad embraced a long-coveted opportunity and_gone off to New Hampshire on a shooting expedition, And so the memorable month had passed. : The Freshman soon made up or lost time, and speedily regained his old class-standing. For many weeks the.young man had kept away from the Hox- ley mansion; he did not venture there again, unin- vited, after his memorable rebuff. The winter, with its frosts and snows, had passed away. Spring, with its outcropping verdure, had come and gone. Summer, with its blue skies and yellow harvest, had likewise vanished; and mellow autumn, with its ripened yields, and dropping'leaves, had come. In the long interim made by the hiatus of ten months, many events had happened in the lives of our characters, worthy, perhaps, of record, but we can not pause in this veracious heart-history further than to make brief reference to them, Several weeks rolled by since Fenton Thorne had called, that evening, at the Hoxley mansion, and the young man was fast becoming a stranger to the old manufacturer and his proud daughter. That Fen- bs sie not love the fascinating Myra was very evi- At length, however, a perfumed billet, written in elegant, chaste pps ee had reached the ecol- legian. It was a cordial ‘ittle letter, expressing much rise at Fenton’s absence, and breathing a warm feeling—too warm, the student thou ht—all re through. It was signed, “ Afectionately, Fenton Thorne, however, went at once, and pai his respeets, On. this oce: d re shine and smiles, and her father Was more than or- dinarily glad to see “ Fenton, my The manufacturer’s daughter was playing a deep pnt Syrag stake was well worth the w ning, houg ee struggle was required to that end, Myra, too, wasa wily diplomat, and she as- siduously attacked young Thorne at his ‘weakest points, She tickled his vanity, and appealed to his nobleness of nature, his scorn of all things low and ean, Then she cautiously threw out, feelers, skirmishers i, a as it were, to learn his position concerning Made- leine. Getting nothing satisfactory in return, the girl un- blushingly attacked Madeleine’s character, This step had awakened in young Thorne a torrent of retort, and Myra, beaten and baftled, had retreat- ed. But she was not as yet entirely defeated, The zirl loved Fenton Thorne, and on more occasions =~ one she,had let him know it most unequivo- cally. At the residence of old Arthur Fleming Fenton had visited regularly and frequently. He knew he was ever welcome, and he liked to go there; for the hours flow rapidly by in the companionship of Madeleine and her father, It is scarcely necessary to state that the collegian Hes per well in love-matters, and hag to say, or not,) at the expiration of two months from the time he laid eyes on Madeleine, he was solemnly Sh to her as her accepted lover; and he a eardless boy! Fenton Thorne and Ralph Ross never recognized each other; though, sin ras it may appear, Ross always spoke to Stephen Smith most cordially. Late one night, and we resume the main thread of our story—that night a raw, moonless one in Octo- ber—a single light burned bright and steady in the library of Arthur Fleming, Esq. This was a rare occurrence; for one of the life- long rules of the old merchant was: **Early to bed, and early torise.” ; It can not be denied that a somewhat singular change bad come over old Mr. Fleming of late. Nor can we say “ of late;” for, as far back as the evening of the great ball, it was noted that ashade of sad- ness rested on the old father’s face. Of late, however—that is for the last three months —Arthur Fleming had been like another man. He was morose, gloomy, taciturn, and—if such a thing were possible with him—ill-natured. But to Madeleine he was ever kind, though he did not evince toward her the warm, yearnin affection, as of old. His mind seemed to wandering—his thoughts eternally going out from him. At first, Madeleine had noted this with wonder; and then with sorrow. The maiden became sad, and longed, more than ever, for the coming of her young lover, Whose presence would cheer up her drooping spirits, and chase her sorrows away. On the raw night, above referred | to, Arthur Flem- ing, in dressing-gown and nr strode nervously, meditatively, up and down the limits of bis library. It was eleven o’clock, and all had retired to rest, save him who most needed it—the old man. On the table in the center of the room lay several large account-books, open, Heayy weighis rested on certain pages, Around lay numerous small slips containing memoranda of Galculations. A single burner from the heavy chandelier shed its rays over the apartment. “I can not avert the impending disaster!” mur- mured the old man, in alow, agonizing voice. “Oh! *tis hard to come down thus, And to think that I have so foolishly squandered away thousands on thousands! My conscience tells me I have striven, earnestly and honestly, to redeem my losses. Da and night have I worked and fyi over this dread- ful enigma; but all in vain} have seen it coming, day by a! hour by hour; and now it is almost up- on me, hen the great, threate: wave breaks, as it most assuredly will, unless, indeed, a miracle should “re it, poor Madeleine and myself will be forever whelmed beneath it! Poor, arling Made- leine; oh! that I could with you—could tell ou my dreadful secret t Fenton Thorne, ay! is father is heey rich! Oh! that such thoughts will come into my mind! _ No, no; I'll be honest still; I'll trust God, and die as I have thus far lived, hon- orable and upright! Jf is my last chance—my last move. -I willdo my utmost. I will raise money by secretly selling—selling—useless finery ; and then the ood old Rover must be my friend again} In her I ie
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WAS IT LOVE? will risk my all once more, and I will trust my old captain to the last! If this venture succeed, if the Rover should return to port, I—I—ch, God—I will saved. If she fail to come back, I am forever ruined! No hope then—no—” Atthat moment there was Ey loud, decided rattle at the library window, then a we'd fall, as, if some one had leaped to the ground. In a few seconds hasty*steps, speeding away, echoed in the mer- chant’s ears. The old man sprung to the window, and threw u the sash with a sudden, vigorous effort. The broa aah of light fell, ina long line, far out into the gar- Arthur Fleming started violently and cowered back, as he saw a dim, grotesque figure hurrying to- bee the street, “Hal He here! But he did not hear me; he could not! Oh! no! no!” CHAPTER XI. A LOVE AND LUORE. Fenton Toorne stood again on the broad marble hep of Welcome Hoxley’s mansion; but as yet he had not pulled the bell. The young man aused, as if undecided. His face wore a vexed, distrusting look, as if his visit was prompted by business—Cer- tainly not by pleasure. At last, however, he looked up, and with a quick, nervous jerk, pulled at the bell-knob. This time, as on a former occasion, he did not have to ring twice; for scarcely had the’ bell jingled, before flying feet were racing down-stairs, and then the door was opened by Myra in person. The truth is, Myra Hoxley, for some moments, had been covertly, anxiously, watching the young man, as he stood, undecided, on the steps. She was seated at a front second-story window, the shutters half closed, But outside the window she had adroit- ly arranged two small mirrors, so that they would perfectly reflect all objects up and down the long, straight street, and all passing beneath them. With heaving bosom and straining eyes, the girl had watched the student, and marked his indecision of manner. jWhen he had seized the bell-pull, she Sprung away, and with a half stifled cry of triumph, inuaied down-stairs to m®2t him. en the door opened, Myra was all sweet- ness, languor and smiles. Fenton Thorne started back involuntarily at the radiant, dazzling image before him. Myra Hoxley certainly was there, a beautiful creature, whatever of the se pent she may have concealed beneath her brilliant exterior. Fen- ton Thorne had never denied her a dangerous, fas- cinating beauty, At one time, too, he had felt the pores of M ra’s loveliness; but, since the bright orm of eleine Fleming had flashed before him, the form and face of the manufacturer’s daughter had faded away like a dream. Come in, Fenton; I am delighted to see you,” and the girl extended her soft, white hand co ially. Fenton took that hand, with what feelings he did not exactly know. But he bowed low, and mur- mured some ae and inaudible words. It may as well be mentioned here that the young girls were now strangers to each other, But, gradually, and very adroitly, Myra managed her conversation so as to bring in the name of Ma - éleine, The collegian started: but quickly recover- h , replied by asking: ‘How is it, Myra, bese} hi and Miss Fleming are never seen together nowadays? You were intimate once, you know.”’ ‘ Fenton innocently thought his secret was -not known to Myra, se . : % Te 13 * Why, Fénton,” returned the girl promptly, “I cannot exactly tell. Iwas once fond of Madeleine Fleming, but then—then—” ‘ “ “What then, Myra?” queried the young man, ha impatiently. “Why, people change, Fenton, and J have reasons for changing—reasons for not liking the young lady,” returned Myra, quietly, a red flush passing over her pale face. “You have nothing ayainst Made—Miss Fleming— I hope, Myra? No, you can have nothing! She is so pure—so heayenly—so—” “You are warm in her praises, Fenton,’ inter- rupted Myra, a bitterness evident in her tones, ‘I am ¢ruthful, Myra; that is ail,” replied. tho student, calmly, though a blush mantled his cheeks and forehead, ~ th “Ah! indeed!” and now downright sarcasm spiced out in Myra’s tones. . “Yes, I have known Miss Fleming for nearly twelve months, and I say but the tru h, when I re- peat that she is amiable, sweet, loving —’ “@Granted! all granted!” Hebets a the girl, hastily and nervously. ‘“‘But you have known meé for a longer time, and Fenton, dear Fenton, can you not allow to me the same good characteristics?” As she spoke, Myra Hoxley leaned over, and placed her white, trembling hand on the collegian’s shoulder. Fenton Thorne started, and blushed like a woman. There was no mistaking those words—no misunder- standing that soft, insinuating tone, and what it all meant. The young man's face burned like a coal; but he managed to stammer out: “Of*course, of course, Myra, I think you are the same; but—”’ “But, you do not like me as well as you do Made- leine Fleming! You do not Jove me?’ and she gazed him in the face. At that moment Fenton Thorne would have blessed the power which would have borne him ‘to some lonely island of the seas. But he felt his posi- tion, and he appreciated it. He was under the eye of a curious and a jealous woman. He rallied at length, and with a ghastly attempt at asmile, asked, falteringly: “And who says this of me, Myra? Who says that Tlove Madeleine Pere, i “That question could be readily answered, by any one,” and she gazed pertinaciously, yet softly, at him as she og Nay, nay, Myra,’ responded the yo man half-banteringly, ‘you have not atinweied the ques: tion: Who says I love Madeleine Fleming?” “J do, Fenton Thorne! And I speak the truth! Besides that, I say you are a silly boy, to pay court to such a girl.” i Myra Hoxley’s eyes flashed fire as she spoke, and ag eyes were still fastened on the face of her est. “What mean you, Myra? What mean you? Speak, I say!” exclaimed the student, impulsively. “I mean what I say; I will explain by saying— Madeleine Fleming falls in love with every new face; that her heart is changeable and callous; that her likes and dislikes vary as the wind shifts; that she has trifled already with a half-dozen others, even as she is trifling with you now!” and the girl still kept “her eyes bent on the face of the student. Fenton Thorne felt a rushing torrent dash into his face; his hands clutched nervously at his swayi watch-chain, But the youth controlled himself, aud did not speak, ; “Now, Fenton, dear Fenton!” and the beautiful girl drew still nearer to him; ‘ since I have opened yous eyes to facts—for, I reiterate, Madeleine cannot trusted !—can you not put confidence in me? Na Fenton, do not interrupt me, for I have long aout this opportunity, and must speak. Do you know, Fenton, what the love of a true woman is?—do you know what it means?—the warm beating oF a woman’s bosom fg your own! Oh! Fenton uust me, When I tell you that such a woman is n . an --
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‘Madeleine Meming! But such a woman is—ah! Fenton, forgive me!—is—is—Myra Hoxiey!” As she spoke, she sprung to her feet, and flung her arms impassionedly around the young man’s neck, Stunned, shocked, overwhelmed, aan burning with shame—his emotions of indignation, of loathing and disgust, choking him and denying him utterance— Fenton Thorne—despite the fact that Myra Hoxley’s arms were around neck—staggered to his feet. With an impatient, violent gesture, the high-minded fellow flung the maiden from him. “Shame on you, Myra Hoxley! Shame on you!” he exclaimed, in a deep, angry voice. “Yes, hang your head and weep! Shame on you! You can- not deceive me; I know you and your wiles! You wish my father’s gold ; but you will never touch it, Myra oxley! e are parted now, and forever! Thank Heaven for it! As for your words concerning Madeleine Fleming, I heed them not. I fling them back at you, and brand them as false—false as the wicked woman who spoke them!” Turning at once, be snatched his hat and cape, es the pore I Puy You shalt feel my power yet, proud boy ; J swear itl LU fight rte for that yellow gold, and—and—I you | Myra Hoxley fairly hissed these words, as she reared her splendidly-attired figure, and shook her clenched hand after the retreating form of the collegian. : CHAPTER XI. : THE NEWS RALPH ROSS TOLD, _ __ By this time the shades of night had settled over the city of Providence. The street-lamps were alveady lighted, and were flinging their beams over the lonesome, silent thoroughfare. The hours grew on; twilicht deepened into nig _ten o’clock sounded, and still Myra Hoxley, flashi “in jewels, and rich in flowing drapery, walked wit neryous step, the extended limits of the marision rlor. ‘The light from the glittering chandelier was turned down low, and the mild beams falling on Myra Slane stern, revengeful face, revealed that face Se na distorted, and writhing with passion and ,,42 hour passed; another, and yet another. Still the manufacturer’s daughter continued her restless upon a once did the tightly-compressed open; for the woman’s ver speech, were locked up. sade bay ecb ag At last it seemed that nature was worn out. With a weary, half angry sigh, Myra Hoxl into a chair, and burst into teara 5 Ping pained Ter woman’s nature, hard and stony as it was Bed gisee BY 9 Dab thete-came no relief. ‘The girl was not defeated, nor e of vi burned out in her soul. cys “Oh, God!” she exclaimed bitterly; “and am I _ to be thus cheated out of my prize, my prey? Would to Heaven that Madeleine Fleming were dead and in her grave! But I will haye you yet. Fenton Thorne, and have your gold! Compass and deceive me if, you can, with no boy’s wit! Ihave allies, willing and strong, and I am ‘bold! T’ll sta at nothing, now; I must not fail, for the prize is princely! * I care not for—” At that moment the door of the parlor opened, . and the form of'old Weleome Hoxley appeared. “Ah! Myra; I’m glad I have found you!” he ex- claimed, as he entered, and seated himself near the girl. “| have searched the house for you.” “Well, you have found me, father, found me an angry, a miserable woman; but one who does not despair of gaining her point! For, where revenge, avarice, ae jealousy work together, the combina- nation is strong—wondrous strong!” “Yous stran ely, may child.” : “Do I father? Well, if matters not; you under- atand me, and what is better, I understand my- ‘ ad ‘ af ; a oa \ ¢ . t; n. 14 WAS IT LOYE? SE ie EERE EDS ALN ELIE “Do not talk thus, Myra. I know that fenton oes been here; tell me in a word, what has nappened, P e fellow has been here, indeed! We have quarreled, and the impudent boy has rejected my SS Ned love—spurned it, Oh! Heaven, stand by me!” ¢ “What say you, Myra? rned you? —_” “There, there father; Bi pottiag, and do not perjure yourself ! For you are only too good at making promises; you never keep them!’ and the girl smiled scornfully. oe old man wiregers ‘ties pats aieties ‘You are crue ;. ne, umbly ; ou are unjust. God ie Sa ers “God knows nothing of you, father, save it be to your discredit!” mK “Now, by #leaven!” and old Hoxley’s face grew black with anger, ‘‘ this is too much; even from a petted, pampered vixen as you are! Pl not submit ee ne intolerable impudence; so heed your words etter.’ The girl was abashed before the ominous frown and the Leg tee ee demeanor of the old man. She had gone too far; but she was still a strategist, and had vantage of position. “Do not be angry at me, father,” she said, in a low, repentant tone. ‘tI spoke rashly, I confess; but I haye been goaded beyond endurance this evening. Iwas jealous of our name, of your name, father—your reputation, and—and I forgot myself. But, pardon me, and listen to what I have to ay; I want your counsel, for now, together, we must lay our plans of triumph and revenge!” For nearly an hour, despite the lateness of the night, father and daughter conversed earnestly to- gether in alow tone. Myra’s revelation fell with a stunning force on the old man’s ears, and he nerv- ousl enched his hands together, as a bitter anathema escaped his lips. At last the consultation ended, and father and daughter sat gazing abstractedly at the floor. Suddenly hasty steps were heard echoirg on the flagged sidewalk; they paused at the door of the peers mansion, and instantly the bell jingled. “Who can it be?” muttered Mr, Hoxley, glancing at the clock; “it is after twelve o’clock!’ Again, the bell sounded, as if pulled by an impa- tient hand, Old Hoxley hurried to the door and opened it. “Ah! Ralph! You, my good fellow? ‘Tis late, you know, and it does not look well to—” “Tis not too late to be the bearer of good news / Let ee in, or you'll have the police upon me, for a burglar. yi : He pushed the old man unceremoniously aside, and entered the hall. 44 “Yes, yes, Ralph. News, did you say? Yes, come in, my good fellow; ’tis not so late, after all. But, now, the news, the good news?” “ AN in good time, uncle. Give me just a minute to get some air into my lungs. It is more than a step from here to the end of North Main street, and College street is Sauk oh Ralph Ross was enjoying the impatience of the old man, . . Ah! Myra my cousin; well met!’’ he exclaimed, as he entered the parlor and saw the resplendent form of the manufacturer’s daughter. “But the news, the good news?’ suggested old Hoxley, nervously. “Tye not forgotten it, uncle, and you may spoil it by your impatience. But, listen,” and in a low reath, he proceeded to igh a his information. e effect on Welcome Hoxley and his daughter was magical. The latter was the more demonstra- we i she laughed hysterically, and was almost wild oy. “Tis coming—coming!”. she muttered, ‘and Heaven be thanked! Now, we will see, Fenton Thorne, if your love be so entirely disinterested; we will see if it can not be brought back to ye/”
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a EIST II IE aig ms W 48S {(T LOVE? 15 Old Hoxley walked the room with a buoyant, triumphant stride. “You are right, Myra,” he exclaimed, ‘ But :t has already come, ha! ba! Some peopleare looking far ahead; but, Welcome Hoxley’s day is close at hand. Heaven bless the men who build ships! Ha! | ha y? The old manufacturer tottered toa chair, and sunk in it exhausted. CHAPTER XIil. . THE SCUD OFF VUE DE L’EAU. ) “Yus, Steve, there is something strange going on at the Fleming mansion; Madeleine is not ie ene or ane her father wears a sad, weary face.” ' ave noticed it, Fent, and Ican’t exactly un- ravel the matter. It may be, you know, that the old gentleman has met with a pecuniary difficulty.” _ “*T think not, Steve; Mr. Fleming is wealthy, and, if i ee to do so, he could hardly é/7 ow his money away. Stephen Smith pondered.for awhile, and then he » answered, slowly; “ Perhaps! But, Fenton—excuse me—let me ask you a plain question: suppose Madeleine Fleming were a poor girl, what then, in your eyes, Fent?” Fenton Thorne’s face glowed darkly at first, and he glanced up, half-indignantly, at the calm, impenetrable face of his friend and chum. ‘What then, Steve? Can you doubt me, I would Jove her and esteem her more than ever!” “J thought as mucb, I knew as much, Fent, and— ou are right. What will you do this afternoon! ou_know recitations are suspended, on account of the death of one of the trustees,” “T have invited Madeleine to take a sail with me to Vue del’Eau. She has long desired toshow me a small suburban retreat of her father’s, about four miles down the oe: She hasn’t been there for some vears herself. We will have a delightful time, teve. I have engaged the ‘ Bay State,’ and, Steve. there is room enough for you if you would hkke to 0. P ° “J would like to go, Fent; but Sas are mistaken, my boy; there is not reom for such an interloper as tT!” and Stephen Smith laughed good-naiuredly.. He was living, for the nonce, over the past; he was thinking of the time when Madeleine Fleming was his Queen of Love and Beauty, But then, the half- sad expression passed away from his open, dusky face, and rising to his feet, he said: “Well, Fent, come; let’s take a stroll toward the asylum; I need exercise, and we can talk as we ” Fenton arose from the foot of the tree at which he had been reclining, and taking his friend’s arm, the twostrolled across the “* Campus” and entered Hope street. Searcely had they gone, when Ralph Ross, who had been eee under a tree not ten yards away, arose. He had heard every word. He chuckled to himself and rubbed his hands, “A famous chance for fun! Lama good sailor, and if I mistake not, the ‘Two Boys’ is a heavier boat than the ‘Bay State!’ We'll see, we'll see!” he muttered, as he moved off. He entered Waterman street, and passing Rhode Island Hall, turned into Benefit street and walked rapidly toward the wharves, in the lower part of the city. The sun was about two hours high. A dark cloud- bank in the west had climbed up into the sky; the wind was coming out from over. the land in light, moaning sighs; anon, with a fierce puff, simu- lating a gust. The sun, bright and warm, was just entering the edge of this cloud which was stretching up toward the zenith. ‘About half a mile below the lofty hotel at Vue de 1’Eau, about sixty yards from the moaning, fretting margin of the bay, stood a neat little cottage with porches and a nice large yard around it. This little < ‘blow ing breezes of seaside and country, “ zated on the rustic bench near the porch, fronting on the bay, were Fenton Thorne and Madeleine Fleming. By the side of the little wharf, at the foot of the graveled walk-way, lay the stanch little acht, the ‘ Bay State,” rocking up and down to the creasing swell, her cordage creaking and rattling, as the rising wind payed cheerily through it. Long had the lovers sat there, in that quiet retreat, sanc- tified in its very quietude. Long and sweet, too, had been the convyersation;-and the reader néed: not be told the burden of their talk. Lower sunk the sun, now shining like a huge ball of molten iron, through the dun-colored cloud now coming up from the west. Higher sung the rising wind, and now hollow and y moaned the rolling billows as they chased one another rapidly and angrily in-shore. “‘Hal” exclaimed the youn man, suddenly, as he arose to his feats and hearkened to the ominous moan of wind antl water. Then he glanced toward the threatening sky. ‘‘Come, Madeleine,” he said in an excited manner, though he strove to conceal his agtanon from her; ‘* Come dasling, we must - ut off; we are going to have a little wind,” and taking er hand in his, he ran briskly down to the whar The girl did not heed the signs of the ele- mental storm, for her faith in her lover’s his arti Pela his judgment and tact, were implicit. ‘““Why, Fenton, dear,” she said, cheerfully, as she _ sprung with the aid of his hand to the d of the: tossing yacht, “I care not for a little wind! Let it ean I care not!” “Nor would I, Madeleine, were I alone,” returned the other, seriously, as he cast off the bowline of the boat. ‘Come, Madeleine, quick—be seated— niger ad the boom; duck your head and—there she goes!” __ : The yacht’s head slowly fell off, and then the large gail, catching the wind, filled beautifully, and the “ Bay State’ dashed .way with a foaming bow. On they flew, the wind rising higher and higher, the sea rolling more fearfully as they bore out on the bosom of the white-capped bay. Now, the flying spray struck the sharp bows of Be yacht, and tlew in feathery flakes far astern, Fenton took off his coat and flung it over Madeleine’s shoulders. The girl clung closer to him, and, as shelookedinhis mek GBREC, tremulously: pe be Sa ~ ere—any—danger, Fenton? Can man- age,the boat i? ? you st me, darling,”’ was the prompt reply, though the young, man’s tone was ae bie hag fs fe con tinued: ‘but, Madeleine, the wind is heavy, I must reef the —. the yacht cannot stand it. Seize hold of the tiller aan you can do t—with both hands— | 80! Hold it steady for five minutes and I'll relieve you.” The girl did as directed, and grasped the cracking tiller with a strong, nervous gripe. The aere was low pe along at a fearful speed, burying her bows at every lunge in the seeth- ing waters around her; but she was well handled, and stanch withal, for she readily came up again to her Kare, and spurning the fleeing waters, darted onward, ‘ Fenton Thorne worked like a hero; the bellying sail was reduced to a mere pocket handkerchief in size, as he returned silently and took the tiller again in his own hands. The boat did not now ship so much water, but she still held on her flying 8) . “See! we have company, Madeleine,” suddenly exclaimed Fenton, glancing over his shoulder, as they cleared the near headland; “is the fellow crazy? He is carrying full canvas. By Jove! it’s the ‘Two Roys!’ and standing this way. But, what does the fool mean?” he sndde oa woe risi to his feet and steadying himself by the tiller, Bay State ’’ plowed her greedy way along. the He'll cross our bows—and I cannot jibe or fall off! Lielow. |
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16 WAS IT LOVE? a 2 nae ne ne ern men em Madeleine! Boat ahoy! Luff! or you'll be afoul of me! Luff—luff! I say!” “Can’t doit! My main sheet is adrift—my rudder fo aces came back, in loud tones, from the rap- dly advancing boat. ““ Madeleine—oh! Madeleine—cling to me—quick!” cried the youth, as the other ns Py with bursting sail, bore like lightning down on them, A moment, and they struck. The “Bay State” reeled, shook, rocked fearfully, and in a twinklin lay on her side, the billows making a clean breac over her. But the other yacht immediately tacked, as if handled by @ ready hand, and bore away toward the now dusky city. , CHAPTER XIV. A LIGHT IN SIGHT. Ir was Ralph Ross who sat in the stern sheets of the “Two Boys” that squally afternoon and guided the rushing yacht, with a bold and steady hand. It is true, that, as he came thundering across the fore-foot of the little “Bay State,” his boat did in- deed seem unmanageable; and the long main-sheet was whippingyin the wind. But it would have seemed singular toa disinterested observer to notice how soon after the collision this truant main-sheet was hauled in; how the flying boat came so suddenly up in the wind! It was singular, too, and it cannot be denied, that when Ralph Ross saw the collision inevitable, he did not put his helm a-port, and bring his craft up in the wind. There was nothing to prevent this He might have shi a half-barrel of water in the maneuver, but he would have run no real risk; he would not have carried away a reef-point, or split a seam in his For the sake of humanity, however, we must be- lieve that the young man could not avoid the colli- _. sion, on account of the fugitive rope and the jammed rudder, Especially must we accept this explanation as, after getting control of the whipping sheet, and the mastership, once more, of the rudder, he readily and skillfully wore ship, and commenced beating gallantly back toward the scane of the disaster. He had hardly come about, however, and brought his boat close in the eye of the howling wind, when, suddenly, a white squall darted out from the land, blowing the tumbling snow-caps far and wide, like teeaiph Hoss aap good p was a sailor; he had shown him. self to be such, and, whatever were his intentions in re- turning to the spot where the collision had occurred it is very certain he dared not wait for the squall to strike . He jibed at once, at imminent danger - copeiing, Pap ong ag toward the city, the were now to be seen twinkling bay ay ‘hoa I tt h ; i e man t the unfortunates to their fate: py he oould not do otherwise. It could bot _ Andeed, be expected that he would endeavor to fight ‘his way back in the face of the scurrying squall, - The ght deepened, and still there came no wel- coming light, glancing over the troubled, tossing waters; no limmer to cheer the lonely ones on the wreck, for the gallant “Bay State” was a wreck. held tiie erage flat On bee ree rouse at on her broad-side; pen right Meee or sink, 3s ee is was fortunate; for, besides affording a firm sure support— which it wowad not have dons, had it entirely capsized—it kept the rushing water clear from the hole which the heavy bow of the “Two ie Ld me mane ate. her timbers, en the boats come in contact, and befor the little “ Bay State ” had gone over, Fenton Thorne had sprung to Madeleine’s side, The maiden’s face was white with terror, but she had clung confidingly psec gn sinewy form of him who was to her be In another moment, a huge tvave had struck th in each other's embrace, they sunk encstll the mad waters. Then they afose, and for a time Fenton Thorne was a very Hercules. There tossed the helpless yacht, drifting away from him. With one or two vigorous strokes the oung man was in the midst of the floating rigging; e a moment his right arm was wound around a hal- yard. Then, with the wet fainting form of the girl secured in the encircling grasp of his left arm, the student slowly drew himself and his precious burden to the boat, At last he paused in his efforts; for a time, at least, he had saved Madeleine Fleming’s life. Then he spoke sweet words, encouragingly, in eve! ear, and pressed her dripping form close to his The only utterances Madeleiné made then were: ‘* Fenton—dear Fenton! Heaven be praised!’ There they clung that raw night, in the wind, and amid the waves, which were breaking over them at every surge. But Fenton Thorne was happy; nay, he was cheerful; for he had saved Madeleine from a watery grave, and she was now doubly dear to him. The student was hatless and coatless, but he cared not for that, and he shook his proud head defiant- ly, - the rude wind flung his long hair, wildly, in ‘ace. is Thus they drifted, and still they saw no welcoming ight, no hope! rther and further from shore the helpless yacht was Graig bos them. But just then—yes—a bright red light shot around the jutting spit ahead, and then a, rocket flashed across the black sky; then another. Then eame the heavy scream of a steamer’s whis- tle, booming over the rush of the waves and the roar of the wind. Nearer the or es nearer the darting rockets! nearer the friendly whistle! At last the dark, looming outlines of the steamer came dimly into view, her decks thronged; from those decks loud, anxious murmurs d halloes were borne over the waters. The red lantern at the black bow flashed over the wrecked yacht, and then Fenton Thorne raised high his voice and sent forth a frenzied yell. In a moment a cheer went up from a hundred throats on that dark steamer’s decks, The paddles ceased to move, and the craft forged slowly ahead. Then the letters on her bright, giowing. lantern shone out clear, and Fenton Thorne read the name: “ CHICOPEE,” ‘‘Feaven be praised!’? murmured the young man, and he would have slipped with his burden, from ex- haustion, into the water, had not, at that moment, a sinewy hand grasped him with a vise-like gripe. “ Saved! saved!” echoed from the crowded steam- er, as Madeleine Fleming and Fenton Thorne were lifted aboard, And the hand that did this giant’s task was that of Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian. And old Arthur Fleming, as he once more held his daughter to his bosom, sunk, fainting, on the deck of the steamer, “T did my best to avert the disaster, and to save ou,” said Ralph Ross, advancing from the crowd; ‘but the main-sheet—” “Villain and falsifier! And are claimed the coatless hero, Fenton T toward the other. “Sh! ‘sh! Fent! Better thank Heaven that you and Madeleine aresaved. Whatever this man did he certainly was instrumental in saving your lives,’ and Steven Smith’s strong arm held his friend back. But Myra Hoxley,stern and pale, by the saloon door, on the dark deck of the “‘ Chicopee.”’ said not a word, here?” ex- rhe, rushing CHAPTER XV. LATE LIGHTS. : Two weeks had elapsed since the catastrophe in | the bay. The excitement occasioned by the affair, and = suspicions it had awakened, were alike dy- out, eculiar cireumstances caused Fenton Thorne to let the matter of the carelessness of Raloh Rose—
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mee Ce AN WAS IT LOVE! 17 culpable or cBiorrine pees) without futT.cr inves- ti aon and Stephen Smith was the young man’s ser, d Time rolled on, and Pecember had come—the month in which occurred the anniversary of Made- leine’s Ser, Old Arthur Fleming sat alone in his library. The windows were now well secured; forthe old gentle- oe encren the visit of old, of the nocturnal wler, With his head buried in bis hands, the old man sat in his yoy, Seago He uttered no word, but sat there, wrapt in own dark thoughts—thinking, reason- ng dreaming hideous dreams, awake}! € was fighting life’s battles over again, and the conflict was a terrible dne. ‘ The hours sped by unheeded; the clock on its ala- baster pillars, ticked loud, and struck regularly, in But, Arnon gion u ur eming, the retired merchant, thought on—dreamed on. Suddenly the old man looked around him, and then glanced at the clock. Yes, yes,” he muttered, “I must do it! She is sg, Soya bg babe rf cherished idol !”’ over, r a moment’s hesitation, and ulled the bell-cord. Several moments elapsed, when John appeared at the door, in answer to the sun- mous, rubbing his eyes wagorously. ieee John—sleepy ? ell—send my daughter “Why, Miss Madeleine, sir, has been to bed these two hours!” said the domestic, staring at his master. The old man glanced at the clock again; then hé se is ire W. “Ah, yes! Iforgot. Well, it does not matter: tell Martha to awaken her, and bid her come to me here, I must see her; she can sleep late in the morn- Bi es a eee father. lth a look of sleepy wonderment, John ane left the. apartment. ; ian In ten minutes, Madeleine, hastily attired in an evening wrapper, her fair hair, loose and unfettered, falling over her shoulders, entered the room. There was a wondering, puzzled look upon her face, 2: bap cag ; Psa aes bP enpemintt A 3, my ughter; close the door—that to the entry likewise, and stuff a handkerchief in the key ‘ Why, father, what—” “ given to ensiositye® Madeleine; John is somewhat fide to you, 1, love—Fénton e question blushed ~ lag ge and sudden, and the girl :, es father, J do,” was her repl “Do you love him ply. wife?” continued the Pe taertge h to become his— her a beeese face. ? Straight-into “Yes, father, I— eve TI do: but too young yet,” was the reply, in a we are both 3 Prue tue, my child!” ob} eg chant, in a disappointed tone, Thorne’s father is very rich—Fenton wy time!” These words were spoken as if the Bead communing with himself. % Speak “What were you saying, papa?” asked heat asc en, who had but imperfectly heard the words, “Nothing of special importance, my child. But : y. listen, Madeleine,” and his voice suddent assim *bisiness-like tone, Struck the maid & strange, * business ’ but listes _ rshly, ‘*Do not interrupt mo am ~ rich: ’ ik t e seu el a ed. Well, I have been hich; t | hive been worth my hundred thousands. Start not, Madeleine. I have been unfortunate, my daughter; Lhave been unwise in indorsing bad paper, and to- night, though I have been henest to the last, I am BANRKUPY, Speak not, my child; let me tell you all. IL am ruined!—am so poor, indeed, that [I can not celebrate your approaching birthday! This heuse which shelters us, and which is so Fane trae in its apartments, is, in the eyes of law and right, the roperty of others! But listen, Madeleine, yet, more. von remember the old Rover—iny gallant tea-ship of other days, the one I retained o when I ws rich ? Well, she was good-luck ship, and I kept her. Now, by bending every effort, have gathered up a sum of money—not large, it is true— but it will serve. Lintend torisk this money, every cent of it, in the Rover eget Do not interrupt me, Madeleine, I have seen tain Kelson and told him my secret. "Tis safe with him, my child. He con- sents willingly, even gladty, to make the trip for me; he has dinond y secured his mates and a good crew. On the Rover now rests my last, my only hope. If she is suecessful, and in a year hence returns safe to ort with a rich, glorious Lag I—I shall be saved! ut, oh, heavens! should she ail! No, no! She can not, must not, fail!” It was two o’clock in the morning before that read eh conference was ended between father and aughter. The eplcemen on their beats noted and watched the half-hidden light that night, which flashed through the crevices of the shutters of the Flemi mansion, and they shrugged their shoulders an wondere | that the old merchant, now so rich, should thus invade the ‘‘ wee sma’ hours.” . There were other lights, too, burning late that same night in the good city of Providence. One shone from a ‘room—the snug little back sitting- Pata 4 in Welcome Hoxley’s mansion in Prospect street. This light, too, wag half-concealed, though some of its rays managed to struggle out in the dark night ut that light shone more brightly on a singular group which took counsel together in that little back sitting-room of Welcome Hoxley, the manufac- preg than it did on the wondering policemen out- side. t CHAPTER XVI, In the early part of the same evel Nn the early part of the same evening, when sv late lights were Soni the mansione de tic Fleming and Welcome Hoxley, Myra Hox! Ralph ss walked, arm in arm, around the dark waters of the Cove, dence. We need not describe this beautiful sheet water, surrounded by its grateful shade ree on to those who have never seen it, We will sim state that the Cove isa larze, artificial lake, forme of the waters of the upper Narraganset. It is about a mile in circumference, it being an almost perfect circle. It is walled in, all around, by massive ma- sonry, this being studded by an’ ornamental iron railing. In winter the frozen surface of the Cove is jocund with the ringing steel; in summer, its placid bosom, bears many loye-laden barges in joyous, sportive contest, It was early in the evening, the lamps on West- minister street had just heen lighted; the large re- flector in front of the ‘‘ What Cheer ”’ restaurant had but then flashed forth its cheerful rays on the crowd- ed streets; but around the Cove no brilliant gas a its gladsome beams. All was dark and gloomy. Myra Hoxley and Ross had just cleared the shade of the immense depot and were walking witha rapid Stride along the quiet path bordering directly on the ove. Their conversation was earnest and unre- I strained. At length they reached the little bridge. all ee many. Ge The Cove is one of the objects to beseen in Provit y
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18 WAS IT LOVE? half-way around’ the Cove, and directly opposite the depot they halted, : é “Come, Ralph,” said Myra, as if tired and impa- tient, ‘come, let us sit down, We have arranged all well. I only hope the plan will not miscarry.”” She seated herself languidly on the rustic bench, Ralph Ross followed her example, Only a moment passed in silence, “Wor the soul of me, Myra, I can not see how all this is goi - to benefit your cause! Since the revela- tion, you i...ow, J have nolonger any desire in that quarter! Not ii Myra mused before she answered. “You may not see it, Ralph, but—Iecan! And even should I not be benefited by it, why I'll enjoy a brief triumph, anyway. I can smile with satisfaction at the rage and anxiety of Fenton Thorne!” ‘“* But that will not gain him to you, Myra.” “Teare not—yet—I do care! Alas! ‘alas! some- times, Ralph, I wish the ‘‘ Bay State” and her pass- engers had gone to the bottom, both of them! Then this terrible struggle now going on in my breast, would at last be over!” ‘Would that indeed be a satisfaction, Myra? Rather. is if not now « part of vour existence. that eon red win the love of that upstart, Fenton orne?’ “He is no upstart, Ralph, though, I confess, I am a ing—just beginning, mind you!—to hate the fellow. He treats me with such cool contempt. And thea, that forever-intermeddling friend of his, Ste- _ phen Smith—I despise the fellow! and—and, Ralph, — are strong and active; why do you not cane this rown-taced Kentuckian—for—for my sake?” Ralph had good reasons for not caning Stephen Smith, but he simply answered: “Nonsense, nonsense, Myra! Smith has. never -<never harmed me, why should I interfere with i a , “Is that your only reason, Ralph? However, let it pass! We must try our game! Madeleine Flem- ing must—well, you know what—for a time. Whether or not harm befall her, I care not! I have saved enough from my father’s stinted pin-money to pay whatever expenses may be incurred. we can manage this, why, Icau see what may be done to gain Fenton Thorne,~ . “You mean Fenton Thorne’s money, Myra?” said Ross, sero g The girl did not.even ‘wince, “As you Will, Ralph,” she said; “but that matters not. If this fails with the girl, I'll poison her to him, and I'll seruple at no means which promise success. What care I for reputation, veracity, fair-dealing, or else? Once arouse the girl’s jealousy—J an know what itis, Ralph—give her good grounds for woman's this jealousy, and trust me for a love-sic mss se iS prs all ei be well!” avor the other plan, any way, Myra; and Tim Smooth is wondrously like the me “Tn oor thing save all that makes a man. But Tim Smooth, poor fool that he is, will still be useful to us, and we must use him, Fora few paltry dollars he is ours!” ; “Can he act his part?’ “Trust mé for training him! But we will—” her voice sunk to a lower key, as a man’s steps were heard approaching. Then a tall figure walked leisurely ¥: The walker did not observe the quiet sitters; if he did he chose not to notice them. When he had passed, Myra turnéd to Ralph, and _ paid, in alow voice: “That was Stephen Smith, Iam sure! I know his footfall—the meddlesome busybody!”’ - _ “Fortunate thing he did not hear us, Myra!” said Ross, with a Beg Ne relief, a “IT care not for him! Idefy him! But, Ralph, lis- ten well again to your instructions. Remember, if all goes." her voice again sunk into a low, inaudi- ble, confidential whisper. It was Stephen Smith who had walked by s0 leis- parks f but when he was once out of earshot, the ood fellow paused, and gave one of his peculiar ow whistles; and then—yes,it must be confessed—he 1 | and pulled Se a uttered a very forcible exclamation. Polite or other- wise, it seemed to relieve Stephen. That exclama- tion had not the faintest reference to Myra Hoxley or Ross; but then ed al instantly strode on, by the Capen thence across to Westminister street, over the bridge up into College street; and his stride was not slow or halting. Beyond a doubt, the had Ft was Mat serious. Ina few moments he was hid beneath the heavy gloom of the trees bordering the narrow street. ut epson Smith did not ‘enter the college rounds. . ‘ The night wore on. The late lights were still burn- ing in that little back sitting-room of the rich manu- facturer. . Beyond a doubt, that was strange company for Welcome Hoxley, those two rough-looking men who sat with him around a table, engaged in anxious and evidently a very interesting conversation. Welcome Hoxley, his face aglow, it seemed, with anticipated, prayed-for triumph, his hands jinglin nervously the heavy seals of his watch-chain, stooc at one end of the room, near the head of the table. His two visitors were conferring together. At length they looked up; one of them said: “Well, Mr, Hoxley, you can count on us, but first, sir, swear solemnly that whatever comes of this, our names will not be mentioned.” “ . “Tl swear—lI'll swear, my men, of course—of course!” said the old man, hastily. After hunting about for a moment or so, he found a small Testament. “T swear, by the Holy Evangelists, never to impli- cate either of you in the matter!’ and he kissed the book without flinching, ; “Very good, sir. We accept your terms, and we will gain your ends! Once gone, you shall never again hear of—” ‘““ H’sh! ’sh! no names!” interrupted the old man, glancing around him nervously. “You are cautious, sir, but you are wise. But now, sir, we'll sign the agreement, and then would like to handle the gold—the hush-money, sir.” Old Hoxley hesitated; but it was only a momen- tary hesitation, From a drawer in the table he took two papers. . ‘Sign both,” he said, spreading them out on the table; ‘‘ you two will keep one, I the other.” e The men did as directed. Then the old manufac- turer took from a safe a leathern, be! of heavy weight, and slowly counted over the’ glittering pilé, and then, with a half-sigh, oved it toward the men. They quickly secured iue money about their persons, and without a word took their hats and coarse overcoats, stole down the stairs, and noise- lessly out into the street. They hurriedly took their way down Prospect street, toward the southern wharves. Scarcely had they gone twenty paces, when, di- rectly opposite the Hoxley mansion a tall form slowly emerged from the gloom and followed on after. On went the two mysterious men and the one who hung upon their footsteps, At last the wharves were reached, aw Feeling around for awhile in the gloom, one of the men drew in by a painter a ship’s small boat. They lost no time, but, Jumping aboard, let drop the oars ctly out into the bay. A quarter of a mile from shore a stately ship, with talland tapering spars, showed like a giant specter in the night. The man who had so persistently fol- lowed atter the others-paused. “ Strange—very strange!’ he said; “the old—man keeps bad company, I am afraid!’ and he turned to retrace his steps. . As he paused under a solitary lamp-light, the flickering beams revealed the very serious features of Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian, y° , yi
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tin ae eee 5 ee Pe Ae me WAS If LOVE? CHAPTER XVII. : CLOUDS OVER THE HEART, TuaT Arthur Fleming was getting the Rover ready for sea created no especial surprise, The ship was , and his affairs his own; no one had any thing to Say about it. here were those of course who thought this action onthe part of the old man somewhat singular and Strange; that, in his old age, and surrounded by his ee wealth, Arthur Fleming should grow gréedy in, : It was not unusual to send out a tea-ship; though, at the time of which we write, the trade with China and the East from Providence was slack, in fact, almost abandoned. It must not be forgotten, too, that Arthur Fleming had made his fortune thirty years prior to the opening date of our story. ° he Rover was lying in the lower bay, just above Vue del’Eau, She had been hauled on the sands, and her old copper sheathing scrubbed and patched. the gaping seams laid with oakum and pitch; an jen she had been floated off again by an incomin Ms e. Her high, old-fashioned, but well-tried hu oe received a new coat of paint; and her tall masts jad tapering yards, bearing a new suit of sails, had en ee) Scraped. Her provisions and water, dasa hs cargo of commodities, were already pee a iS Lie officers and crew were abeard, and the the craft was ready to try the dangers of _—, Old Captain Kelson the Se n, weather-beaten skipper of ve Rover, was readily admitted to the library of the } “ming mansion, Arthur Fleming was expectin lim; he wanted to have a last talk over matters an old man thought he had retired for ein and that by home comforts and domestic fey, i oe: Nevertheless it was with alacrity and genuine jo a Rn Dm os gs ene to his old employer's *; cB j =— . onge ino. old ship—the Rover—to «sea r. Hicming was seated in his large arm-chair, but arose as the stately old ski ¥ y en- fared the linear ly Skipper unconcernedly en “Glad to see .you, captain, and asI suppose you wish to spend this, your last night, at home, I'll not | kee rou long.” ie Ss ess your so sir!” returned the captain pinay, ie told the old woman, and my satel full o brats—dear brats, Heaven bless ‘em! I've said Seddsby to ’em ali, and I sleep on the Rover to- night I never break an old custom, and this is ones oe the skipper seated himself, as if perfectly “Then, it’s all very good, captain: we can ( L i talk our leisure, But, first, take alittle wine, and on having made out the papers, we'll have a talk.” As he spoke, the merchant drew a decanter toward him, He was about pouring the rich red liquor into a cut-glass wine cup, when a noise was heard out by the rear window; then the eracking snap of a break- ing Lah ; fn eming apg. to the window, hurled open the shutters, and looked out. But the night was inky dark, and the old man could neither see nor hear any thing. He leaned out, and peered around in every direction. Then he took in his head, slowly lowered the sash, and returned to his seat. “Do you fear listeners, sir?” asked the captain. “Yes, no—that is, not oReral ue: I noe my reasons i utious. You, captain, and m dau iter gee id man’s voice trembled—“ are Ww. re ” rr ae sadful secret!” } Mapoeseee my droadt Mr. Fleming, as if I did not | ing; taking his wa 19 know it. Tam aware of your situation, sir, and—I’m sorry for you!” “Thank yout. thank you!” murmured the.poor merchant; ‘“‘I know that you are sincere, captain— that you are an honest man. <A stanch friend is rare nowadays, captain.” ‘As true as my name is Jack Kelson!” , +e There was a pause for some moments—the skipper occasionally sipping the generous wine, and Arthur Fleming, pertur' and uneasy, glancing over a pile of papers. At length the old man looked up, “There they are, captain, all arranged,” he said. “ And now, is the Rover—God bless the old eraft—is she all réady for the voyage, for any emergency? You know my all—my aLL—captain, is staked:on her stanchness, and on your generosity and friendship,” __ and he glanced half pleadingly at the face of Cap- tain Kelson. “The Rover, sir, can stand any gale that ever howled over the ocean; and, as for me, why let it be sufficient that you have trusted me, and that my name is Jack Kelson!”’ “True, captain, true. All will be well, all must be well, all sHatn be well, and my darling Madeleine shall not be poverty-stricken.” “ Heaven grant that may never ine Mr. Flem- and—and, why the truth is, if old Jack Kelson is alive, Miss Madeleine will never be brought to that strait,’”’ and the old tar vigorously brushed a tear drop from his rough, weather-tanned cheek. ; “Bless you, my old and tried friend! May Heaven - be ever kind to you!” and the merchant caught the old oe ey the hand, and wrung it fervently, The two old men spoke together until a late hour of the night. Then they separated—the skipper toward the southern section of the city, in the direction of the wharves; and Arthur Fleming; with aching head and anxious, troubled heart, turning again to his papers on the table. At last the old man arose. “Yes!” he muttered. ‘Tis my all; this mansion and the Rover, and yet, oh, God! they are not mine! .. . Nobirth-night festivities now for poor Mad- eleine! No, no, we must leave this proud mansivn! L foresaw the storm, and strove to avert it; I failed; and now, I am working for Madeleine! On the Rover I have risked my all; the old ship is freighted with all my hopes! Should she fail to return! Should some terrible gale— No, no! Vl not think it, cannot think it! Jack Kelson says she is stanch, pn rag hs ene ay! he will marry Madeleine, 8, wi ave great piles of mon ule shad nt come Ey want!” : 9 J aeeetel ese incoherent mutterings Fleming sunk back in his chair. ee for some moments he was motion i neither hand nor foot. The grad. Gena cros#d over his chest; then thee fe soft stowly, by his side. The aged, aching head dropped forwar and gee oe Ri er, forgetting his sorrows an ubles, which were wei down, s to a deep and dreamless sldmber. peas ie _CHAPTER XVIII, MADELEINE'S © ITY-ERRAND, At eleven o’clock next day, all was bustle—not confusion—on the decks of the Rover, Her anchor was already hove up, and a hawser had just been passed aboard from the “ Canonicus,” the steamer which was to tow the large ship down to the sea. At exactly a quarter past eleven, the wh of the tug revolved, the hawser tuutened, and the good ship Rover followed her small conductor obediently, and glided smoothly away. The tea-ship had fairly started on her long voyage, to LF gh ela prosperously or disastrously, no one co From the cupola of his towering mausion, Arthur Fleming and Madeleine watched Pia glass, the large ship fading away. ; Fenton Thorne, the collegian, stood by them.
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i WAS IT LOVE? pen Ban RO tn Sar At Ra Silently, turn by turn, father and daughter con- tinued to gaze after the Rover, until the dark smoke from the chimney of the tug, and the towering spars of the great ship, were hid behind the heavily- wooded headland, far away toward Newport. And the prayers of father and danghter went up in a united petition to Him who rules the sto ee ee safety, success and return of the gallant ol a-ship. But Ventort Thorne knew not the earnestness of these prayers. That afternoon, at four o’clock, when just below Newport, the Rover cast off the friendly hawser, then let drop her own snow-white pinions to the rising wind. In an hour afterward, with a green, foaming sea before her, and a ee breeze abaft, the old ship sped by Point Judith, and dashed away over the rolling, white-capped billows, One week after the departure of the tea-ship, Madeleine Fleming received a letter, written in a miserable, scrawling chirography—a letter, whose contents she read and re-read, as she covertly scruti- nized the ragged little urchin who brought the missive. The girl hesitated for a while; her father was not at home, and she was, from necessity, her own counselor, But, though merely a maiden, yet the girl had a warm, tender woman’s heart, and an ear ever open to the cry of the unfortunate, or the _ pleadings of charity. She did not ponder long, but taking a slip of paper hastily scribbled a few lines in pencil, and handed it to the little boy, giving him at the same time a few pennies to make glad his poor, forlorn heart. When the child had gone, Madeleine returned to the et ree , She had not paused to watch the little boy, and did not see the tall man at the neighboring corner, quietly call the messenger aside, and, slipping a bright half dollar in his hand, take the note—quickly read it, and return it to the boy, at the same time ag ig: Pes on his way, But Madeleine spread out that rude scrawl lying on the table, and perused it again. The maiden’s face was troubled, as she folded the letter and placed _it within her portfolio. That communication was brief and touching. It ran thus: “Miss I'Lemine: “A poor woman solicits yourcharity. fam suffer- ne sei yoke mat have sd little children epending upon me for support. I appeal to you Miss Fleming, for aid. I have often pide and ioe ycur sweet face; I know I could appeal to none more willing to help me, I do not ask for youralms, until you have seen me and my wretchedness, and have heard my hungry children erying for bread, Come and see me; you have nothing to fear, for Innocence, coupled with such goodness, is its own safeguard. I have washing to do almost every day. but am at home in the evening. I beg you come and see me, I live on the Seekonk, in the first, little house, a quarter of a mile below the Butler Asylum. Please come ! i netind stin, ours. a Wiha. Mary Spore , Madeline Fleming’s reply to this appeal was wha: might have been enpeeied. of her, ty consisted of only a few lines, and read thus: “DEAR MADAM: “Of course I'll come. I will bring with me some- for your poor little children. Expect me early in the evening—this evening, I would be no Chris- tian if 1 refiised you. “Truly yours, * MADELEINE FLEMING.” The sun had just gone down that evening, when Madeleine Fleming walked hurriedly by the college and turned into Hope street. She continued out this | thoroughfare ata rapid pace, until she had gone a considerable distance beyond the university. Then she struck directly across the common, at that time there, and pushed on her way, toward the dark belt_ of woods, in which, half-bid, lay the Butier Attne ye irl slackened not her step, despite th eyo irl slackened not her step, despite the oulescg aril ht, which was settling’ down, but kept on along the lane, leading into the main high- way. Madeleine, however, was beginning to feel nerv- ous, for the twilight was growing deeper; somber shadows were ying under the trees and in the fence corners, and the place was lonely and out-of-the- way. ~ ‘No wonder that the young girl’s heart beat uicker, as a footstep, rapidly following, fell sud- enly on her ear, Madeleine turned, and saw the tall re of a man striding along after her. She hurried her pace. The man promptly quickened his. Then the girl, in very terror, sprung forward into a run, “Fear not, Miss Madeleine; it is I!” sung out a cheerful voice, Smith!” she continued, as the Kentuckian came up. “Were you alarmed, Miss Madeleine?” asked the stalwart collegian, in his deep but pleasant voice, “To tell the truth—yes; but, I am not now, Mr. Smith. Iam so glad you have come!” The girl spoke frankly, artlessly. For a moment a shade of poignant pain clouded Stephen Smith’sface, but it was gone in a moment, and one of anxiety and suspicion took its place, as he glanced quickly around him. : ‘““And where are you going, Miss Madeleine?” he asked, softly, after a pause. ‘‘ Laden with a Basket, too! Give it me,” and he took the heavy basket. “Tam on a mission of mercy, Mr. Smith. A poor woman is living right bere in the city, and she is starving |” * Are you going to her house?” “Yes; it is not far off now.” “With your permission, Miss Madeleine, I will accompany you,” said the student. “I am some- what charitable myself, if people will let me be! These last words were spoken a little grimly. “Thank you, Mr. Smith; I am so glad you are with me.” Madeleine Fleming was a noble, trusting girl, and her faith in Stephen Smith was implicit. The two had now left the highway and entered, as by directions in Miss Chapman's letter, a small by- path leading below the asylum. Suddenly, but far in front of them, two forms flitted across the road. .One was a female, as could be seen despite the gloom; the other was a man, Further on, up this dark lane, a carriage stood, dimly visible in the evening glamour. As the two persons cleared the road, Stephen Smith coughed aloud. Almost instantly a small jet of flame leaped out ahead from the bushes, a bullet dashed the sand of the path, in the Kentuckian’s face, and a sharp re- rt rung out on the air. But Stephen Smith did not start. He simply ex- claimed: “Look out there, or you'll shoot somebody !”’ As he vt the figures emerged from the orush, and struck rapidly across the conimon. Stephen Smith smiled to himself, but said nothing. “That was a narrow escape, Mr. Smith,” said Madeleine, trembling in every limb. ‘‘ People should be more careful with firearms.” “The truth is, Miss Madeleine,” replied the student, avely, some people don't care; they should be taught tter. But, come, where is the house of this poor woman? Ido not see it.” “Nor I; and, Mr. Smith, I think I'll try again to- morrow, ‘Tis dark now.” “You are wise, Miss Madeleine; we'll return. But you are tired; we'll see if that carriage yonder is engaged.” By this time Madeleine had trustingly hig her arm into Stephen Smith’s. The two walked toward the carriage, “‘ Heaven be thanked! Iam so glad it is you, Mr. : ee
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WAS IT LOVE? 21 “Are you engaged?”’ asked the Kentuckian of the driver, who was haif-dozing on his seat. Bag for the lady and gentleman,” was the short ly. Exh right; we are here,” said the student, promptly. The driver stared at the answer, and the big sket, but simply adjusted his reins and asked: ‘; Where to?” : Mr. Arthur Fleming’s, North Main street,” re- ope Stephen Smith, as he handed in his charge, and ollowed with the basket, himself. es Rass good, sir; I know the house.”? The driver cracked his whip, and they rolled away. Madeleine wondered; her head seemed light—she almost fancied herself in a dream, But she said pte : Stephen Smith was unusually quiet; he was think- ‘ ing. ¢ Fifteen minutes passed, and the carriage which had been driven at a rapid rate, drew up before the entrance of the Fleming mansion. Silently the student assisted the maiden to alight. ak ae perce aa? Ag hvin some coins; the’ man, c -us hat at the unexpected bounty, for he had already been paid, aeovetaway, if Come in, Mr, Smith—do,” pleaded Madeleine. But the collegian excused himself, and after placing the basket within the gate, bowed, and. poche away set Soe euylh. e street. i ou are euche alph Ross! Theld too stron: a hand; though, if the truth must be told, were knave enough for a dozen packs! Strange, ay, very strange! You had better not been born, ‘black- hearted villain, than to have raised your hand against my lifeY” The student strode on. CHAPTER XTX. “WHAT THE STARS SAY,” “WELL, well, my good woman, that matters not! act ee price, and if reasonable, I will pay it.” miss; you're in a hu and—un- rma ox ee ae amen! deal at my wand" bag ped tome to a isicoalent caoat aa nse!” and the closely-vailed lady sta: cd her foot impatiently, “freee te say, and whether ee not _ Sh ale your assistance; I will pay for it.” Se sent “But I tell you again,” interru: i pted the oth decidedly, “that, unless your purposes are boncat’ Mary am t h 7? re they not honest?” exclaim ; bisa ty angrily, : ed the vailed ‘Tis no business of mine, and I know a pies ee old woman, calmly ; “ but L do Spats cat is right. “Tush! tush!” said the other; “you talk idly and not to the purpose. Ill not listen to your nonsense, Nay, do not interrupt me, for time is precious, f{ am here on business. Tell me what you demand for aiding me, and how much, in addition, for keeping a secret, Speak out; remember, business is busi- ness, and that the money will be easily earned.” The old woman'leaned back, and casting her eyes aloft, seemed lost in some abstruse calculation, Her face was a strange one--the old woman’s— and contending passions were battling there, But her visitor was getting impatient. “Speak, madam!” she said, imperiously; “ this can not require much thought. The old woman slowly lowered her head, “You ave business-like, indeed!” she muttered with a low ing laugh; “and I’ll be as much so} Pay me twenty dollars in advance; you have my ” “ Too much! Take ten—it ove ys my take it, door. or I go,” and she turned toward the ie es 0; don’t go. Wait @ moment, and let me think, ’ You're in too great & hurry.” “11 not wait a minute,” and the visitor laid her hand upon the knob. “Tl accept your offer,” gasped the old woman, quickly. : : “Good!” said the other, as if expecting such @ result; “I will come to-morrow, and make my arrangements.” a Without another word, she whisked out of the room into the street, omitting even to say good morning. This singular conversation took place in a small house, standing in the rear of a tenement on North, Main street, near the gates of the cemetery. The | door of thé’ small, retired, rear house, bore a large, old-fashioned brass plate. There was a name on that plate—a Pere. odd name, Several weeks now elapsed since the occur- rence of the events as given in our Jast chapter; and the honored event in the aristocratic Fleming man- sion—the birth-night of Madeleine -had passed un- celebrated. Had it been forgotten? The large house, on that usually auspicious even- ing, was closed; only one or two lights shone out from the huge pile, and they came from the dormi- tory of the servants. : The truth is, a week before the long-looked-for night, Arthur Fleming bad told his daughter, with a sickly smile, a faint attempt at light-heartedness— for tears stood in his eyes—that he was—not exactly tired of celebrating those birth-nights; but he was afraid that his guests might tire of them! Madeleine had bowed her head, and said nothing. _ Her father had gone on to say that, therefore instead of celebrating the occasion as of old, he and Madeleine would take a trip by rail, and have a winter view of Niagara Falls! ; Madeleine had not raised the slightest objection to this plan; for she knew, though he failed to tell her inso many words, her father’s reasons for this dark, midwinter journey. batch The house, then, had been echoless and cheerless on this December ap No flashing diamonds and gorgeous dresses, on this night, had passed be- neath the radiance of the great chandeliers. One week after the evening had passed, Arthur Fleming and his daughter returned—the old man seemingly happy, and Madeleine, too. The maiden, whatever were the clouds above her—somber or purple—was almost always happy. Fenton Thorne was her idol and treasure; and she owned him still, in the face of all adversity. hae hay Since the eventful evening when Stephen Smith had accompanied Madeleine in search of the widow pe ay out-of-the-way and never-found cottage, the Kentuckian had called once. He only made a passing allusion to the circumstance; and he ex- ig: »d no surprise whatever when the girl informed im that she had gone next day to look for the poor baa but had failed again in finding her or her use. Stephen dryly suggested that perhaps the poor woman was too obscure a personage to be known by But the — man did not volunteer to ow pman; and Madeleine thought it a little iby that he failed to do so. ot, a for One morning Madeleine sat in her father’s libra: yee ees peices for Fenton Thorne, for some ponte with him. longer than was customary the girl } rung. letter wert ome ipa eapasic Sage Carelessly the glanced at thesu writing—evidently Madeleine started.
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Pare on, issued recone 4 ® 8 WAS IT LOVE? She hastily tore open the envelope, and, with feel- ings we will not attempt to describe, read as fol- ows: “Miss FLEMING: - Pardon the presumption of which Iam guilty, in addressing you. Though a stranger, yet, believe me, I am actuated solely, in writing to you, by the desire to do you @ service. I know you by reputa- tion and by sight; but have never epakan with you. But I do know him, personally, whom rumor says to be your accepted lover. I know Fenton THorne! . ne re few plain pg rn though I sign no name to this communicatio ou to accept m statements, I will be beef.” rae ae * Fenton Thorne is not true to you; he loves another woman; he has plighted his solemn troth to that woman; that woman is the rich and deautiful Myra Hoxiey, The young man has heard it hinted that your father is not—excuse me, if I give you ae not as rich as report would have him. Of course there is no foundation for such a report; but you will see that it has had some weight with Mr. Fenton Thorne. He has transferred his affections to Myra Hoxley—a fine girl, Miss Fleming, we must all admit, and rich, beyond dispute. Fenton Thorne is rich, too; but he is selfish. From an old acquaintance, I speak asido. He would not wed the prettiest and most amiable girl in Providence, and all agree that you are such, unless she brought him a large fortune. { do not ask you to believe mg; but i. order to satisfy our own mind, as to the falsity of this jseliow’s pro- stations to you, I ask you as you value your future happiness, to go and see a good old woman —a wise woman, living in the rear of No. — North Main street. You may not believe in clairvoyancy or astrology, nor will we argue as to the merits o: either; but go and see this old woman, who pretends “at all events to be a clairvoyant, and a reader of the stars. If you disregard this advice, evil will come of it. Seek the old woman at once, and tell her your errand, She will then tell you what wach g) mlihaon! ‘ The letter fell from Madeleine Fleming’s hands, ~ and a cold shiver passed over her frame. Her face rst flushed, and then grew as pale as death. a it be true?” she moaned, ‘Oh, God! can I believe that Fenton Thorne is so false? Myra Hoxley! Alas! alas! . . . Nonsense! away doubts! Til not distrust him. Oh! Fenton is mine, mine alone! Yet, this letter! Oh! Heaven! I'll go mad! .. . Imustsee this woman—I'll seek her now!” CHAPTER XX, WHAT MADELEINE HEARD AND SAW. Large on the same ree, Madeleine Fleming, rom her father’s man- sion, and took her way up North Main street. She drew her cloak around her, and dropped her vail over her face, ‘ No one paid special attention to the maiden, and no one knew her; for she brushed right against Ste- phen Smith, who was striding independently along, smoking a rather bad-flavored cigar. ‘Madeleine breathed freer; she had confidence in her disguise. She did not halt at all, but hurried along toward the house designated in the letter of w 2. ea She paused at the little dark alley, leading down to the dwelling, cast.a rapid panes around her, and, without hesitating longer, boldly trod along the gloomy way. Ten paces on to the right, on the north side, she suddenly halted; for there on a dingy, | ; Harrog, | Coe OReianos door, was an old-fashion brass-plate. Madeleine leaned over, and by the uncertain, flar-. ing light of an adjacent lamp, she managed to read on that plate: y AMm Ferick Duriicrre, Clairvoyant.” The girl had gone too far now to retreat. Sum- | moning all her resolution, she tapped lightly on the sooty panel. There was no response, No, no! But,: head over the table, Madeleine waited a minute, and rapped again. Still no answer, The girl’s heart fluttered at the strange position in which she was placed; and, frightened at the loneliness of the place, she was about hurrying “Wall *specting y adeleine noticed the ‘‘Miss” in the woman’s words, but without more ado, gathered her skirts closely around her and entered the house, , Down a narrow passage, through .a dingy, un- lighted room, then up a rickety staircase, then straight on, in a still narrower passageway, and at last the woman paused before a door. Madeleine had followed close behind her, In this hall-way a bright light was burning, and Madeleine saw that the door before which she and her guide had paused was entirely covered with queer, cabalistic characters. The woman rapped boldly on the door. Instantly a sharp, querulous voice inside responded: ‘Come in!”’ Then the ears gently cpened the door, and pushed Madeleine forward into the room. Seated before a table, on which lay a human skull, an hour-glass, and a well-thumbed chart of the heavenly bodies, was a thin old woman, with long, gray, elfin locks, and a dark, scarred face. Behind a pair of old-time horn-rimmed spectacles flashed a pair of piercing black eyes. The old woman’s form was bent and bowed. She seemed, at least, seventy years of age. “Well, Madeleine Fleming, what would you have of me—the old clairvoyant?” Madeleine was startled at the sharp, shrill voice, but she answered at once—for where a woman’s heart is interested, she can speak. “Pll tell you in a few words, Madame,” she stam- mered, in low, hesitating tones. ‘I received a letter to-day from some unknown source, telling me—that —that my lover was false to me! It also told me— this letter—that you could tell me more of him. I am come!’ and the poor girl gazed anxiously at the old, wrinkled, tawny face before her, 3 ; “Ah!” ejaculated the old creature, with ames | like a chuckle, “I can tell you of any thing, girl! But before these lips are opened, tell me your age and drop — into my palin; a half-eagle, too, or t speak not!”’ Silently, tremblingly, Madeleine drew a golden coin from her pocket, and let it fall into the woman’s open palm. : The fingers of that hand did not close greedily up- on the precious metal; they Pt shut on it, Then the money was quietly transferred to some recepta- cle beneath the old hag’s girdle, “on Good, my girl! Now interrupt-me not, but lis- m.”? For several moments the old clairvoyant bent her and muttered to herself inco- herent, inaudible sentences, At length she raised her head. “Listen, Madeleine Fleming!”’ she began, in a sol- emn, measured voice. “ Heed wellthe words of one who sees clear! You once had a lover; nay, nay, so soon to interrupt me! His name—Fenton Thorne, a student then and now—” Madeleine started violently, and tottered back- ward; but she recovered herself, oe ee
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WAS IT LOVE? 23 **He Joyes you no longer!” continued the old | Soothsayer. ‘* He heard rumors, trwe rumors, Made- leine Fleming, of your father’s embarrassments. Start not, my child, for all this is locked in my bo- som. ‘The young man has turned his thoughts to the richer, and no less lovely, Myra Hoxley. Nay, nay, 8ive not way; bear up, my child. For, after all, this may be for ou a good riddance. If the youth, for | money, be false to one, will he not be the same to ; the other? Now listen: this night, at nine o’clock, Stand on the opposite. side of the street from the oxley mansion. Look through the blazing win- dow, and you will see Fenton Thorne holding the | hand of Myra Hoxley in a mimic marriage cere- | mony. A mock-marriage, soon to be followed by Senuine bands of wedlock! Go, Madeleine Fleming and see for yourself the perfidy of this man; and Seeing, be a wiser woman. Adieu, my child, for the’ | Stars say no more,” ‘ Blinded, stunned and scarcely breathing, Made- | money, Arthur Fleming feared the result. leine Fleming ps helplessly down-stairs— then out into the cold, desolate, rayless street. light had. long since deepened into night, and | jg, moon had sunk beneath the cumulous clouds | © west, ight o’elock came, half-past eight; and at nine— hidden ander the heavy shades of the trees on the | °pposite side of the street—Madeleine Fleming | ushed back the thick vail which had covered. her | aggard face, and gazed across through the half- Opened shutters of the Hoxley mansion. en of a sudden the shutters were flung open, and the light streamed out into the dark street. The sight which Madeleine Fleming at that mo- ment saw, made the warm blood pulsing through her youthful frame flow back in wil suffocating tor- rents to the heart. Her brain reeled fearfully, and a wild, wailing Scream broke from her bloodless lips. She threw | her nervous hands up in the air and staggered back But a strong arm was suddenly held out to her, and a tall figure sprung to her side. “Come, come with me, my poe girl! Lean on me, | and trust me! Come; I, too, have seen all!” And Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian, with warmth, | tenderness and sympathy in his manner, drew the | maiden’s tre’ arm within his, and as a deep- | beeen aul na escaped his lips, walked awax, thur Flemisc’s Sie ainting form of Ar- CHAPTER XXq. NDER THE BAN, and weeks Madeleine Fleming was circles, ‘betokening’ grief and agony of mind, surrounded iiaeacen eee Her father, over whom, by this time, a continual cloud of despondency seemed to have settled forever, py, as she said. » nes pepe ; : e | ead some time since, regarding his impending ankruptcy. The achia settled deeper on Arthur Fleming, and eyery day he prayed, with increasing earnestness, for the safety and successful return of the Rover. He often thought of his former happiness and con- nbnent, when the glad days slipped by almost un- receive: ‘ But those days had gone by; the mansion in which rthur Fleming lived was simply a gilded. palace, be- longing to others! The food which supplied his © was purchased with the money of his creditors. The cloud, freighted with woe and trouble, had | which made her reel, Madeleine Fleming | Sere in the fate of the old Rover. | betrothed. It is true, long since appeare*, small at first, it is true, but portentous and ominous, and momentarily increas- ing. Sond Arthur Fleming, though he knew the cloud would swell in its proportions, and rise her to-' ward the zenith, as his own fortunes went down in inverse ratio, yet he chose to turn his back on that | ominous bank looming up, He would not face it; . and with eyes closed, and head bent down, he re- fused to see the black shadow at his feet, Now, at last, his whole horizon was covered over, the old man was forced to open his eyes to see is way. In a new battle with life, in a new combat me ) feared, on account of his daughter; in her he was wraptup. He was beyond the middle of life; indeed, his autumn leaves had fallen and his feet were re the dreary confines of the icy winterland 6f e. : The father feared another conflict for gold—feared it for Madeleine’s sake. The stake he was playing for was lofty; but the game was fearfully hazardous, Should his hope be realized—should the gallant old | Rover return in safety—all would be well; but if dis- aster should overtake his venture, he and his daugh- ter would be ingulfed in ruin; the wolf would force his way through the walnut doors of the fine man: sion, and stand, lank and ravenous, in the hall! These terrible calculations between success and failure, told on the old man’s frame; and his speech became a little wild. Madeleine had obseryed the change in her father with anxious eye and fearing spirit. Thishad added to her own heart-trouble, had weighed her down,had given her sleepless hours and nights, cheeks. Since that fatal evening, on which the maiden had consulted the old clairvoyant, and afterward under the gloom of the elms opposite the — mansion, had seen, through the open window, thai Be imei ge been a changed creature, Apart from her father’s troubles, she had her own. Stephen Smith had called seveial times at the Fleming mansion, and was always readily admitted. Between him and Madeleine there had been earnest and soul-deep conversations and interchanges of thought and surmise. On such occasions the maiden was always more cheerful, She hung as confidently on the words of the Kentuckian. as, on more occa- sions than one, she had clung to his stout right arm. Fenton Thorne’s name was seldom mentioned at = these conferences; whenever it w: it was wit trembling by Madeleine; witha scowl and supp: bers ey by Stephen Smith. ae ur Fleming, so enwrapt is own thou which at times were absolutely oe and a a d but little eed to Stephen Smith’s rather tieqoent visits, though the anxious father scanned every. day the white face of his daughter. : For some time, Fenton Thorne—now a Sophomore —had not put in an appearance at the home of his owever, that he had written warm, loving notes to Madeleine; but he had re- pe only d his cht : etween the young man an e strange to say, a decided coolness had sprung mae This, £0 a great extent, was occasioned by Stephen Smith’s persistently rude and snarling demeanor. _ bata & Fenton Thorne, in all frankness, had asked him the - meaning of this, and the reply which he received had sent the blood tingling through his cheeks. - But Stephen Smith had not noticed the wrath of ‘his friend, and had put him gently, yet fi , aside, The chums at once separated—Fenton, indeper dently, seeking "ganna at Hope College, and Ste- phen quietly and unconcernedly remaining im his old roo: 3 : m. The whilom friends frequently came in contact, and always spoke, distantly, it is true, though Fen- and thin, wane ie a *
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oes eng 24 WAS IT LOVE? ton Thorne’s large, expressive eyes often affection- ately watched the form of his dear old chum, and once or twice, those eyes had filled with tears. _ Fenton Thorne was ambitious; he knew his own powers, and some time before he had privately made an application to the Faculty for a premature examination, to allow hlm to enter the Junior class, He studied diligently, scarcely taking time for meals, and almost entirely disregarding exercise. Stephen Smith had noted the young fellow’s in- dustry, though he knew not the occasion; for Fen- ton had studiously kept it back, intending it as a gy id if he succeeded, as a secret if he failed. The eaaty, had readily granted the application. At length the young man bethought him, not that he had forgotten her, of Madeleine, Then he re- membered his neglect, Then Madeleine’s strange silence recurred, with double force, to him, and a sickening feeling grew over his heart. s That same evening he went to the Fleming man- sion, and rung the bell. His summons was soon an- swered; but John, who- went to the door, looked somewhat embarrassed as he saw who it was. - The young man noticed this, and produced his car at once, Without inviting him to enter, John took the card and entered the parlor, which was brilliantly lighted, leaving the young man standing at the door, In a half-minute the servant returned, and return- ing the card to the student, said: ; ‘Miss Fleming is,engaged, and she directs me to Bay that she does not wish to see Mr, Thorne.” . tg she say that, John?” asked Fenton, starting ack. “Those were her words, sir,”’ returned the domes- tic, closing the door at the same time, CHAPTER XXII. A RIFT IN THE SKY. Ta a Tue collegian’s frame shook, the -blood boiled in his veins, and the color faded from his cheeks. Reeling like a drunken man, he staggered away to- ward ae iron gate which was hanging ajar, as if inviti 4 his departure. As the young man reached the street, he turned and gazed back at the familiar mansion. He started violently and gasped for breath, as his gaze shot through the brilliantly-lighted window and rested on two persons within. In that parlor, Madeleine Fleming and Stephen Smith were seated on a sofa. The latter held the ‘small hand of the former in his own strong palm, and Madeleine was looking trustingly, fearlessly into the handsome, dusky face of the Kentuckian. They had already forgotten him, who but now had called. Sick. at heart, his brain reeling, Fenton Thorne turned away, and clenching his gloved hands to- zether, staggered rather than walked toward the Gaxtant college on the hill, When he and Stephen Smith met again, there was no recognition between them. As was customary, the Kentuckian nodded his head; but Fenton Thorne noticed not the salutation, He simply fixed a dark, scowling look i the other and passed on. Stephen Smith started at the insulting deport- ment of his old chum, and for a moment a red flush swept over his swarthy face. But, as if recollecting himself, he bowed his head, while a contemptuous smile lighted the corners of his mouth, and strode on. '- Several weeks passed thus—IFenton Thorne, almost every day, writing loving, Lg verry letters to Ma- deleine Fleming, ending at last in accusing the ta of transferring her “affections to the éraitor en Smii en the young man received an answer—the first _. for many a long, weary day of heart and soul- _ Suffering: sive read thus: “Mr. THORNE : . | do not love Stephen Smith; I esteem him highly as a steadfast, untlinching friend. 1 will be en _," fen 4 / at home this evening. Oblige me by Pe te and be so kind as to bring with you all of my foolish letters; also my racisree rt fw aaa ii Fiemine.” Clouds rushed over Fenton Thorne’s brain, and a storm sued in his heart that oe: as he hur- riedly walked up the graveled way. nae from the street-gate, to the hall door of the eming mansion. He hesitated not a moment, but pulled the bell. In a moment he was admited by John, who simply, ae it seemed impertinently, pointed to the parlor- oor. Fenton Thorne, his anger almost choking him— entered the room, Madeleine was seated on the sofa; by her side, ate it contemptuous and imperturbable, sat Stephen mth, ““Good-evening, Madeleine—Miss Fleming,” said the student, as he stood within the room, at the same time frankly reaching out his hand. "He did not notice Stephen Smith at all. Madeleine drew proudl proffered hand. Fenton Thorne colored viciously, and e eyes snapped fire. He drew himself up grandly. “TI am here, Miss Fleming, in accordance with your request,” he said, with creme “and I have a package for you.”’ His voice slightly trembled. He laid a small parcel on the piano, and taking up his hat and gloves, which he had placed on a table, he bowed and turned toward the door. Madeleine saw the movement. “Please be seated for a moment, Mr. Thorne,” she said, hastily—her voice shaking, despite her efforts to the contrary. The ee man turned obediently, and seated himself, at some distance from the maiden. __. Stephen Smith left his seat, and strolled uncon- cernedly toward the window—then back to the request you tocome, Mr. Thorne; my object was, that we should have a clear understanding be- fore we part forever.”’ She paused, “Part! And what is all this mystery, I ask, Ma- deleine?- What have I done that you thus treat me —thus cast me off?’ demanded the young man, with fire in his eyes, and fame in his tongue. ° The maiden recoiled from that imperious voice. At three strides Stephen Smith drew near. “Shall I remove this impulsive youth? Speak but the word, Miss Madeleine!”’ and he gazed with a low- ering brow at the visitor. Fenton Thorne kept his eye upon the other, but said nothing. There was decision and determination upon his face, however, “No, no, Mr. Smith; 1 beg you to be seated. You ask me, Mr. Thorne,” she continued, turn- ing to her old lover, “ ba T have cast you off? I have not cast you off! Nay, do not interrupt me, for our interview must be brief. I have not cast you off; but, Fenton Thorne, you have been false tome, have cast MB OFF! Oh! Heaven!” and the girl hid her face in her han Stephen Smith was now drumming fiercely—at the imminent risk of breaking it—on the glass shade over the wax-work on the mantle. ‘Madeleine, what mean you?” again thundered the student. “ Are you a dissembler to my very face, as well as behind my back? Shame on you, Fenton Thorne!” “ Ay! shame on all hissed the Kentuckian, un- able longer to hold oF eager ae Heaven! is is too much!” groaned Fenton. “I beg you, Madeleine, by the love you once professed for me—I beg eben Stephen Smith, by the memory of our old-time friendship, to explain this hideous affair— this black dream to me! Or, for Heaven’s sake, kill me at once!” * Slowly Madeleine Fleming raised her eyes, suffused with tears, to his face, and asked in trembling tones: back and refused the
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WAS IT LOVE ? 25 ** And do you not love—M. Hoxley?”” would not admit fo her bosom the sorrows and “Waar! “J love Myra Hoxley? I loathe her, I ate her, and the ground she walks upon!” almost thundered the young man, ‘Is this true, Fenton? Ah! for merey‘s sake, 2 ne “Ss , Speak, speak on, Fent!’?. and Stephen Smith, his long hair falling around his dusky face, lean over to get the answer. ‘I tell ae nay, I swear it! that I HATE Myra Hoxley! eaven forgive me if I sin in so doing!” One word more, Fenton Thorne,” and Stephen Smith scarcely breathed, as he almost sunk on his knees, to face his former friend, ‘ where were you on the evening of the 26th of December 2” ; Tn my room in the college —no, I forgot: I was in Professor Lincoln’s study, passing my examina- tion for entrance into the Junior class.” And now, Fenton,” and the words were scarcely audible, “read this etter, and then tell me if you know the hand which ees the words,” Pires maiden scarcely breathed, and her eyes stared, almost unmeaningly, in the face of the collegian, A hurried glanca’ over the letter, and a dark, meaning frown settled on Fenton Thorne’s face. He baton the sheet in his nervous rasp. he mn fy do not see through this wicked trick?” a a in a husky whisper. ‘Where are your i, ye biped that you do not detect in every Worse ae word, a forgery—Ratpu Ross, THE “Ay! ay! Fool that I was! Pl brea’ es pe hs a res boca emi eters ee pee i » 48 he gathered his long-estr: i jos tee, g is long-estr anged friend And Madeleine around that dear f “Take back the leti ‘ my darling!” ters—keep the daguerreotype, CHAPTER XXII, TIDINGS OF THE ROVER. b bie Bsbcee es choc day: ee and months sped ; ame NO news Oo e - the gallant old tea-sihi 5 piss ave ger ag any a sleepless night, and many a weary watch- ing day had gone by with Arthur Vietning| The old man was haggard ‘under the fearful anxiety, reg! ad had sailed in, from over the distant seas; but they brought to the anxious merchant no information of his old ship. It was a terrible tax on the poor father, and in sadness and silence he groped about his splendid mansion. _ But Madeleine was rosy again; a joyous smile was now ever upon her lip, and the rich tints of health bloomed again in her cheeks, The maiden was now ‘satisfied in the abiding love of Fenton Thorne; of course she was happy. She scarcely, for a moment, weighed her father’s troubles; for she was rich again in the love of a noble, trusting soul. For fear we may forget it, it may be remarked here, that soon after the joyous reconciliation be- tween the lovers, and Stephen Smith as an interested third party, on that memorable night in the Flem- ing mansion, the Kentuckian had studiously sought out Ralph Ross. 5 Once the men had met; it was in front of the chapel, and Stephen Smith, with angry, impatient steps, had. advanced upon the other. But before even words could pass, the venerable President of the University—the old man well beloved—had drawn near. When he had passed, Ralph Ross had disappeared. A coe that, months sped by before the students again encountered one another; for Ross had, for a time, withdrawn from college on the plea of il- health. ‘ ' tilings At this report, Stephen Smith smiled grimly. | Six months afterward Ralph Ross made his ap- pracnos once again at college; but the Kentuckian’s ood had cooled, and now he sought no conflict with the man. ; Madeleine Fleming, happy in her own heart, troubles of others. She feared no more the omi- ‘nous revelations of soothsayers and clairvoyants, and thought not again of Madame Felice Duplicite, who, by the by, in the mean time, had Jeft for parts unknown. : Madeleine was very happy, and by dint of many entreaties, had persuaded her father to celebrate her birth-night, now again rapidly appreaching. » The. struggle in the old man’s bosom was severe. He would not willingly incur such an expense; and then the Rover! she was not yet in! and there was no tidings of her. But he could not refuse the earnest pleading of his daughter, and her powerful point that in case he had no celebration, “it would look so strange!” had wondrous weight with the oldman. He could not well go again to Niagara for another winter view of the “ Falls!” He had fondly expected the Rover in, before this trying time. owever, he determined to make the effort, come what would. He would, to the last, keep up ap- pearances—for Madeleine’s sake}! Invitations were duly issued, in the same elegant style, and not one of the former friends and ac- quaintances were omitted. Old Weleome Hoxley and Myra, as well as Ralph Ross, received the per- fumed cards, requesting their company. Madeleine te was forgiving, there was no cloud now on her heart, and she could afford to overlook the shortcoming and treachery of her most inveterate foes—those foes merely suspected. ; The time rolled around; the eyentful evening again settled down over the city. Again the Flem- ing mansion was all aglow from attic to basement; again flashing equipages swept up to the stately en- trance; again the brilliant chandelier gleamed down on crumpling folds of rich silks: and satins, on glossy. broadcloth, on flashing diamonds and burning rubies. Again all was happiness and glow. ven old Welcome Hoxley, clad in the extreme of richness and fashion, was at the mansion. This was singular, and Arthur eming, the host, felt a cold tremor flit over his person, as his old ene- my and rival came forward to greet him and wish him and his daughter the compliments of the occasion, : The old manufacturer had come late; but, as if eo make amends for his tardiness, his face was wreathed in smiles, and his voice was silvery in yee : a “ a ha yra, too, was there, a arkle and ndor; her escort was Ralph Ross. O course tha eee 4 ufacturer’s daughter was amiable; but we dare not analyze the feelings which rioted in her bosom. / Stephen Smith, sober, staid and dignified. there, all politeness, gallantry and good-humor arm-in-arm with his old chum, Fen ton Thorne elbowed his way, as if perfectly at home, through the crowded rooms. pie os wea) Gayly fled the festive ari and amid the infec- | tious joy of the hour, eyen the morose and ous host—-his dark, dreary thoughts ever wandering far away after the missing Rover—felt his sad heart grow lighter, and the sluggish life-current beat and ow faster, as he hearkened to the jocund laughter —the merry cut-and-thrust of jest and repartee. But in the midst of the hilarity, all of a sudden, - the hall-bell sounded loud and warningly. Tn an instant an ominous, deathlike Eflanod erept— no one knew why—over the oe assembly, ‘Then confused murmurs were heard without; and in a moment, John, the serving man, hastily entered the arlor and crowded his way \toward old Arthur. rleming. He handed asealed note to his employer. — Reckless of the presence of the company, re; less of etiquette, the old merchant, with greed trembling fingers, tore open the frail Then, on the unfolded half-sheet his eyes fell. One glance, and a low, heart-piercing wail broke wildly in the air, sunk into the strong arms Stephen Smith, from his lips. He staggered back, and meses alee envelope.” e “-
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Poe 26 WAS IT LOVE? The fatal sheet fluttered softly away, and settled ‘upon the rich carpet, Thenthe old man, with a sud- den. effort, tottered to his feet, and as a wild, mad- dening fire flashed from his eyes, he exclaimed, with oD Hal hal she 2 down! a as gone ! And I~ha! ha! The cloud is black, and shows no silvery lining! Ha! hal ha! Who said it? Yet—yes—yes!° I am a beg- pant. ome on, ye fiends, for THE RovER HAS GONE Stepen Smith’s arms closed again, firmly, about the fainting form of the old man, and the Patton: ian bore him gently and softly away. Slowly, gloatingly, Welcome Hoxley stooped and picked up the crushed sheet. Then, amid an awful silence, he read, aloud: 4K Py "New York, December 18, 1855, A. J. Fiemine, Providence, R. L: “ Brig ‘Rattler’ just in. When rounding the Horn, reports picking up small boat—‘ Rover’ painted on the stern, The Rover has gone down ina gale. | “THOMAS Enwarvs, Agent,” CHAPTER XXIV. OUT IN THE COLD, Wor and desolation had indeed settled over the lordly Fleming mansion. No rattling carriage now rolled a to the broad entrance; no sympathizing friends by scores, as on the festive birth-night, crowded there to speak words of comfort an cheer. The dreadful secret had been divulged; it had been torn forth from the anguished bosom of a poor. gibbering maniac, Friends, falsely so called, had already turned their backs upon him around whom “they had lately fawned. The mansion was closed—its windows sadly shut. as if death had entered there. The crazy father an _ stricken daughter were alone in their misfortune aud misery. : Even John, the domestic, and old Martha, the housekeeper, had already turned o their comtemp- tuous noses; and having received their wages—paid from Madeleine’s scant pin-money— shaken afte dust of the disreputable mansion from their re- pi shoes, and gone to seek employment where. _And old Arthur Fleming, oe up and down the limits of the library—not his any longer—cried and laughed by times, tore his white locks from his aged head, and knelt down devoutly before a miniature model of his lost tea-ship, and prayed, with stream- ing eyes and piteous, pleading words, for the Rover to come back! to bring home to him her sunken car- £0, lying beneath the black waves. And ¥ adeleine, cowering there as she watched the old, broken form, prayed, too! But her prayer was that the Night would come—that the Grave would swallow ey sorrow and every heart-ache. _ Yet the inmates of the Fleming mansion were not forgotten by ail. On the very next morning, after the fatal birth- night festival, two poung ees sober and dig- | so ified oo cope red ly entered the great hall- door without rin 5 They were For m Thorne and co op Smith, and their mission was a delicate one, but they were firm in fulfilling that mission, for they came the bearers of consolation and sympathy. We will not linger on this sad epoch in this heart- history; we must hasten on and detail the events which followed the denouement of Madeleine’s last birth-night fete. Fenton Thorne and Stephen Smith called often at the mansion; but they had never held conversation with the poor, broken-hearted lunatic. - At last the young men had olfered a purse con- taining re to eleine. It must not be sup- posed that this was done in the plain, blunt manner as we have recorded it. It was a matter requiring he could pay diligent.study and rehearsal af the hands of* thesé noble-hearted young men, They knew the extreme delicacy of the act; but that act was prompted by the most sublime of motives—esteem and sympathy. | By lots, it fell to Stephen Smith to offer the money. To have seen the tall, brown-faced Kentuckian begin the subject—his nervousness as he proceeded— his trembling hands, as he held out to the maiden the silken purse containing the gold; to have seen the big tears flow down his face, and to have heard the irrestrainable sob,,.as the swarthy-faced student dropped the money into the lap of the girl, was to have looked upon a brave picture, There was a sharp, agonizing struggle in Made- leine Fleming’s bosom, but it was not protracted. The girlsaw the nobleness of the gift, and with the alternative of want and before her—thinking of her poor, dear, demented old father, she bowed her head over the friendly gold, and wept sweet tears of gratitude. In ten days from the reception of the news of the loss of the Rover, a placard was posted on the large door of the Fleming mansion, That placard an- nounced, in displayed type, that the house and grounds were for sale at an early day. The day of the sale rolled around, and with it came crowds of curiosity-seekers, idle ones, wishin, to get a glimpse of poor, impoverished Arthur Fleming, now stark mad! The house was sold; and then an hour of long- looked-for, undisguised triumph, came for Welcome Hoxley; for he was the purchaser. The old manufacturer’s chuckle of satisfaction had nearly gained for him, despite his gray hairs, a chastisement at the hands of Stephen Smith, Late on the afternoon of the day of sale, a close Ch drove away from the 7ear gate of the man- sion. It took the unfrequented streets, until it reached the spreading, wooded country; then it dashed rapidly over the Bay Road, skirting the ky Loma and leading down toward Vue de "Han. Within that carriage sat Madeleine Fleming, mute and in tears—her heart bowed down. By her side cowered her old father, moaning to himself, and gibbering about the sunken Rover. Opposite, elo-- quent in bis silence, sat Fenton Thorné, the colle- rian, On the box outside, mate bee the driver, as if de- fying the jeers of the world, and to show his perfect independence, sat Stephen Smith. | At half-past eight o’clock that night the carriage halted before the rustic gate of the little cottage, nestled under the bluff near Vue de ’Eau, and to which we have before referred. Thither the two stricken ones had retreated. The cottage had been nicely fitted up for their reception; and Madeleine’s eyes filled with tears of titude as she observed here further evidences of Frendship from a source she knew full well Alas! that we should be called upon to record it! The creditors of Arthur Fleming were not satisfied with the sale of the fine mansion. They ferreted him out in his humble home. Again a placard was posted, again a sale was held, and once more, as if his triumph was not complete, Welcome Hoxley purchased the cottage. What cared he for expense, so that he gained thereby a conquest over his ancient rival? His. fac- tories—though nee were not insured—brought him | we of porte ith the income of asingle month, or both mansion and cottage. This time it required all the stern counsel of Fenton Thorne to prevent Stephen Smith from thrashing the hard-hearted purchaser, Madeleine and her }relpless father were, at last, out in the cold, uncharitable world. Still, however, they were not forsaken; for the heroism with which Fenton Thorne and his friend, the Kentuckian, clung to the outcasts was grand, A month had elapsed. and we find father and
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WAS IT LOVE? —_ - daughter domiciled tn a small, retired dwelling on | Broad street. . Fenton and Stephen, to the extent of their ability, still aided them; but Madeleine had long since : battle for herself. Nor could arguments dissuade her from her undertaking. And the girl did go out into the world; but she was everywhere turned exer In her distress, she applied to Welcome Hoxley for employment in his mills, That cold-hearted man had reptieed her with scorn, At last she succeeded in getting needle-work; and all day long the maiden bowed over her work, and pra, for strength and contentment, as the tears trickled silently through her thin fingers, And Arthur Fleming, broken, and wasting away,’ passed long hours moaning and groaning, and talk- ing foolishly about the long-missing Rover, CHAPTER XXV. THE SPECTRAL SHIP, A year of suffering Madeleine working making a small Pas ee es come Hoxley ve usiness, and was con- tent with his triumph over his old rival. But, as e he had not paid for the mansion or cottage, both of which were lying unoccupied. He and his creditors in the matter were satisfied about the payment, which of course was good. Another year had passed, with its sorrows and joys, its troubles and triumphs. The memorable birth-night of Madeleine Fleming had at last arrived. The a t was cool, not cold; for the winter had been mild, and neithws thé cove nor the bay had been covered withice. A bx illiant moon shone down calm and clear; but the glittering orb was fast sinking to- ward the far horizon, Hales Hoge nee aay! eared ead pretending to ractice law. phen Smith still lingered, simply to Fi icin ne ut this was eleind’s -night again, and th humble home of Arthur Fleming was iit up from fop _ ncatants as of old, in honor of the occasion; noth- re. small table of refreshments stood unpretendine- ly in a corner of the little parlor, chin a0 se and Stephen Smith were there—the only company— each hay y deposited his present on the ta- ble, and spoken heartfelt congratulations with the daughter, and soothed the old man, tenderly, in his dreamings of the Rover, Ten o'clock was near, and still the festive eve was celebrated, uietly and happily. Suddenly there came a distant, murmuring sound, It grew louder, and came nearer and nearer. Then oo of ome syelied over the city, clamor oe t i Y Fleming, the poreneey, he little parlor of Arthur Then a ruddy flare glinted red and ghastly through the fibers of the thin cheap curtains po glows dull and meniacing_on the bare walls of the humble apartment. “Come! come!eried Madeleine, “let us ascend to the roof, and see where the conflagration is.” They quickly mounted to the top of the house, through the sky-light. The old man went too. Childishly, he wanted to see the fire, and hear the uproar in the streets. Stephen Smith guided the old father’s tottering feet. They cast their eyes about them, The whole sky was red and glowing: but the bril- ant crimson toward the west made the party look cae direct ion of the little manufacturing town of e. wiladeleine started, as she turned her gaze thither- “Good heavens!” she exclaimed: “a factory is on and heart-woe passed thus— ; diligently and constantly, and ittance day by day; her father etermined to go out into the world and | : | will be made homeless ee ae 4 poor ones who, The cries and shouts of the firemen, and the roe vi and rumble of the engines rose higher and higher, _. : tephen Smith, steadying himself, leaned down over the eaves of the house and shouted: ‘Where is the fire?” fire! a large one, too! God pity the “At Olmeyville! The Hoxley mills are burning!” roared back the fireman as he Shaken along. But, hark! In the midst of the cries of the red-shirted. braves, and the turbulent shouting of the fire-mob, there came another ery It came from the shores of the distant bay. First it seemed like a shout; then it became louder and , more distinet; then a wild, out-welling cheer came booming over the city. A weird, singular sight was then presented, one not soon forgotten by the group on the housetop, as they looked over the intervening roofs toward the Narraganset, whose bosom, in the reflected light, looked like a sea of blood. There, slowly sailing along, her tall spars looming high toward the paling stars in the red sky, her spectral fore and main-top-sails bellying to the cool winter breeze, glided a gallant ship, And there, in the red fight of the far-away burning mills, she suddenly wore around. In an instant her sails were furled, and a heavy anchor, rattling with oa Je seg fell with a loud splash in the glowing And Arthur Fleming, erect as an oak, proud and sturdy, his left hand resting on the shoulder of Stephen Smith, tiene to that stately ship, lookin a like a phantom bark in the red light, and cried, wit a loud and pony. voice: = ae God! Thank God!« For—rar Rover was COME!’ i 5 ——— CHAPTER XXVI, THE SILVER LINING, From a lofty window, in the rear of his royal man- sion, Welcome Hoxley and his imperious daughter watched the raging fire in the distance. The man’s face was fearful to look upon; it was wild with anx-© | iety and suspense, and his teeth were sunk deep in- to the white, bloodless a, Still he gazed, and still he drew his labored breath. ess of the night-wind, now cold and raw, which swept in from over the bay, the old man ieaned, nervously, dangerously out from that tall window, and then he spoke: “Myra, my daughter, if that factory is mine; I~ am ruined—and—¥FOREVER! I am not insured, ani Hallo! there!” The red-shirted fireman paused “What factory is that?’ thundered the old man. “The Hoxley mills, sir! They are destroyed!” re- turned the unrecking fireman, we red ec gr oo A Fab cheers _—_ the ; the e sta we spars of a noble ahh i are ed along in the red light; then the rattling anchor-chain; then the wild, indistinct, meaningless shout, shaping itself finally into: “Te ROVER! 'THe Rover!” . With one startling shriek, Welcome Hoxley threw his hands up; another moment, failing to recover ae pore ee he ome fell ong forth from e a window re Bea oxley sunk down on the floor of that. lonely garret-room, and gibbered wildly, for reason had fled from her forever! There was dark gloom settling that night over some in the good old city of Providence, but the somber cloud which had so long hovered over Arthur Fleming, had, at last, showed its silver lining, / a
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Ng ™~™ 7° ‘of this story: “dark evening, on CHAPTER XXVII. THE TALE OF THE ROVER, THat night, the 18th of December, Madeleine's birth-nigbt, was one long to be remembered in the good city of Providence, one long to be remembered with gratitude by the humble dwellers in the little tenement-house in the rearof Broad street, one which certain actors in that scene and participators in the events of that occasion have not yet forgotten. No one in Arthur Fleming’s unpretending abode closed an eye in sleep that night; for, gathered ina close circle in the little parlor, every voice was hushed, as old Jack Kelson, who had by dint of in- quiring here and there, in his own blunt manner found his old employer, told the thrilling story of the missing Rover. Long after daylight, when the rumbling drays were rattling in the street, betokening the battle of business begun again, old Jack Kelson finished his recital with these words: . “And now, Mr. Fleming, I must go and see the old woman and my houseful of brats, dear brats, Heaven help them!.. . But—but—thank Heav- en! my old friend, the Rover is in, safe and sound! and my naine is not Jack Kelson, if she has not be- neath her hatches, a cargo, worth in the market to- day, three hundred thousand dollars!” It may be well for us, at this point, in order to have the reader thoroughly understand the hingings to retrace our steps somewhat, to throw some light on certain dark portions of this life-history, to connect a sundered link, to tie a broken thread. To do this, we must go back to that which certain late lights were burning in the gloom-enshrouded city of Providence, It may be remembered that on this somber night, as givenin a preceding chapter, Welcome Hoxley, the manufacturer, entertained certain company in his cosy little back sitting-room. __ They were two men, very rough-looking fellows. They were habited as seamen, and their bard, bony hands and bronzed visages confirmed them as such. Those two men were the first and second mates of the good ship Rover, then lying at anchor in the lower bay, ready for sea, Their errand at the Hox- ley mansion was to answer a summons from the wealthy manufacturer; to hearken to a proposition from him, which, in case they accepted, would prove very beneficial to them, These +5 had been to sounded for some days by means of letters over a ctitious signature; and when once they had com- mitted themselves, old Hoxley had written to them boldly, requesting, almost demanding, that they come to his house on that certain evening. Myra had been the letter post between them; ae knew every thing that was going on. That night old Hox- ley hesitated not, but made an offer to those rough ‘men, of a large sum of money in gold, and eternal secrecy besides, should they pledge th emselves to gal the return of the Rover and her rich cargo 0 Providence: and he partly gave his. reasons. In addition to this, he pledged them as much more gold when they returned and told him that their work had been well done. Weleame Hoxley had hard work to raise those many golden dollars; at that time he was much em- barrassed and the tide of luck seemed to have set against. him. We have seen that afterward, by some strange freak of fortune, the tide had risen with him and floated high on its proud current; and, we have seen, too, when that same ebb-and-flow of ill-luck had set against him—forever! Such was the treacherous compact made that dark night in old Hoxley’s back sitting-room, and the men who issued so noiselessly forth into the quiet street, late that night, were the two mates, the two myste- | rious peneons whom Stephen Sraith, the Kentuck- ian, followed to the southern wharves of the city, To resume: the Rover had gone to sea with a WAS IT LOVE? spanking breeze. After months of storm and tide- calm and blow, she had reached her far-away port in the Orient. The voyag*> had been successful, and oid eaptain Kelson, who was strangely, to a disin- terested observer, interested in the trip, breathed freer as the heavy anchors rattled down in that far- away haven. Z The ship was quickly stowed, packed with her precious cargo, and once again put to sea, on her re- turn voyage. Jack Kelson was anxious to get back to his strait- ened employer and he was wise enough to endeayor to catch the trade-winds. The voyage home was prosperous, to a certain ex- tent, But one dark night, it came on to blow heavily: all hands were called to shorten sail and the skipper himself walked the deck, trumpet in hand. Sudden- ly he was felled by a heavy blow, struck from be- hind. Before he could recover himself, he was bound hand and foot, hurried aft, and flung into one of the ship’s boats, hanging half-suspended from the davits, over the boiling sea. The rude shock recalled the old man to partial consciousness, and as he cast his eyes about him he saw in the boat with himself six of his crew, bound in the same manner, He could not speak, tor a piece of sail-cloth was stretched roughly over his mouth; but he saw that the ship’s long-boat was also being lowered, and that in her sat the two mates and four men. Another moment and the boa in which he lay was dropped hurriedly into the sea, and then the old man saw that the Rover was sinking! The horrible truth flashed over him in a moment; the ship had been scuttled! And then the long-boat and her crew was lowered into the seething sea and in a moment was swept far away. h It was evident that the traitors had miscalculated the severity of the storm, for the last Captain Kelson saw of them they were bending to their oars in a - mighty but vain endeavor to reach the ship again. Then they were lost in the gloom. But the small boat, in which lay the old man and his bound shipmates, hugged ¢lose to the fast-set- tling ship, which, indeed, served asa breakwater and a it from being hurled away.’ f ld Jack Kelson was aman of nerve and action, and, withal, gifted with’ a lion’s strength. At a glance he comprehended his perilous situation, and making one mighty effort, he Ex iee like pack- thread, the lashing which bound his hands. alf a minute only elapsed before his feet were free. ‘Then, in an instant, he seized the painter of the boat, which the mutineers, in their hurry, had left uncut, and flung it, at random, high on the ship’s bulwarks. Heaven was with him in the effort, for the stout line caught. In a moment, by a dextrous hitch, the skipper had secured the rope, thus fastening secure ly his boat to the ship. ‘ Not two minutes elapsed before he had severed the cords of his companions, and then, with a shout of triumph, the lion-hearted skipper ascended, hand- over-hand, to the ship’s rail, Panting, but not dis- mayed, he reached the deck, and then his men, one by one, scrambled up. There was still work to be done. The ship was broaching to fearfully, in the lon: troughs; her sails flapping like thunder in the how. ng wind; the rud- der—the wheel being unmanned—was thumping hor- ribly on the coppered bottom, and the ship was still sinking—sinking |! Those men who stood by skipper Jack Kelson, on the decks of the Rover, on that wild night of flying — and shrieking wind, were tried and true; for they had resisted the temptation in its most seduc- tive form, and it was by treachery that they had been overcome and bound. . \ Old Jack Kelson’s words were as calm as if his old ship was lying at anchor in her far-away home port, and his words were clear as a clarion. The men worked like heroes; the wheel was manned, the flapping canvas furled to every thing
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WAS IT LOVE! 29 eae a small storm stay-Sail, and then the real work an. The cargo was stowed well; but it had to be shif- ted or naught but destruction was before them, WY canvas was prepared with heavy weights and slings, and then, piece by piece, the heavy chests were, as sailors phrase it, ‘ broken out,” and stowed to the port-side of the vessel. 4 The Rover felt the change, for slowly she listed, slowly her phos rail sunk, slowly her’ starboaré. rose higher and higher in the dark air, and then the scuttle-hole was found. Then the tarred canvas was ieee over that gaping orifice, into which the water had nm pouring furiously. Heaven be praised! went up from every heart; and then, overboard again into the little boat, still towing and surging alongside, went two brave fel- lows with hammers and heavy nails; and, under the tall, careening hull of the big ship, they nailed home the friendly cloth over the awful scuttle-hole! Again they were + ion on deck, and the friendly small boat hoisted in. A loud hurrah of triumph burst from the throats of that little band of men, who were so _ bravely fighting death; and then, each one bowed his head to Him who had given them the victory! Now Jack Kelson was master of the situation. Not one drop of water could force its way through the tarred canvas! and what had already leaked in amounted to nothing more than ballast, ‘The cargo was uninjured, the victory complete. The battle with the gale was child’s play, for old Jack, the skipper; he heeded it not—he cared not how it roared and raged; the good old Rover, stiff and stanch, was under his feet; she obeyed her helm, and the old man could laugh defiance at the storm. ; . ‘That night, at two bells, when the gale was at its hight—when the Rover was burying her bows at every lunge beneath the wildly moaning billows, a small, dark object, just perceptible, was seen by the watch on the forecastle. Another moment, and it was under the bows of the Rover; then, a faint crush and feeble, shrieking cries were borne above the blast, as the heay ship thundered on! All on board knew that ery to be the wail of drowning men, and all knew who those men were. The storm blew itself away, but the Rover was un- harmed, and then, dropping sail after sail to the wel Captain Kelson stood away for a friendly port. That port was reached; the old Rover’s scuttled hull securely patched, and then, with a light heart the gallant old skipper loosed his broad sails to the lively breeze and bore aw y on a long stretch, across the white-capped seas, toward his distant haven in the West, That he reached that haven—that he came into ort, under his fore and mainsail, by the red light of elcome Hoxley’s burning mills, we already know. CHAPTER XXVIII ; ALL’S WELL. Wirs the glorious dawn of such intelligenceas the safe arrival of the Rover, suddenly bursting Kae him, reason and coherence, which for a year had forsaken Arthur Fleming, returned to him; he was well again—sane in mind as ever. He no longer moaned and chattered over the lost tea-ship; the ee craft and her noble captain had returned, ringing health, reason and happiness. . Not roe fis oy before the precious “ein wae sold, an ur Fleming was once again a ric man, and what was better with him, be was free and untrammeled. . But the old merchant did not forget the gallant skipper and his noble crew. _A substantial remem- brance that gladdened their hearts, was presented to each one. Nor was the old Rover forgotten, for, on the day of sale of her tempest-tossed cargo, a princely banquet was held aboard of her, her gayest Madang was flung to the breeze, and her old, time-hono docks were joyous with congratulations, song and jest. ’ - To that banquet, besides Fenton Thorne and Stephen Smith, none were invited, save Captain Jack Kelson, his family and hero-crew of six. A notable event of the occasion, a most hilarious one! was agrand pas de deuw executed by Stephen’ Smith and old Jak, the skipper. Yes, for once in his life, and only once, wine had gotten the better of the old man’s reason, and he sung and danced, » and shouted and roared like a very Bacchus, Of course, pretty, blushing, happy Madeleine was there, and nearly all the time the banquet she sat holding Fenton Thorne’s hand in hers, and silently murmuring her thanks to Heaven, Welcome Hoxley’s death created some surprise in Providence, but no regrets. How it poke meat. was only surmised; for poor Myra was a raving maniac and could not tell. % The manufacturer’s crushed remains were borne quietly out to Swan Point, and there laid away to rest. But few mourners followed in the seant; train; and to-day, no chiseled marble indicates his grave, The unfortunate Myre Hoxley, in a few days, was conveyed by sympathizing neighbors to the Butler Asylum, where she was once admitted. here was no mistaking her malady. : Ralph Ross disappeared from Providence, and our friends were never again troubled with his resence, though Stephen Smith searched high and low for him, and actually spoke of offering a reward for him, through the medium of the newspapers, __ ’ Another year yet passed, and Madeleine’s birth- night had again come around, In that year many events had taken place, By a little judicious management, Mr. Fleming had recovered his splendid mansion, as well as the little cottage by the Vue de ’Eau. Old Hoxley had never Pte an installment upon either. In the meantime, Myra Hoxley haa died a sad, weary death in the asylum, ahs J no message to any one, no parting words betokening reason. But a friend was raised up to her then, one who re- membered bes despite the dark circumstances of the t which linked them together. Madelns Fleming remembered her; and over the pone ar ‘s humble resting-place in the country, she ca to be erected a plain but beatiful shaft. That marble column, Madeleine, herself, decked with immortal wreaths. John, the domestic, we must not forget to record after the change had taken place in his ol eenpipyer’s fortune, had duly presented himself, and applied for restoration. The very impudence of the act, coupled with the indisputable fact that John was a good servant, secured him his old posi- tion. : Fenton Thorne had graduated with distinguished honor, and Stephen Smith was still with him. We must not omit to state that Tim Smooth, <P had so well impersonsted young Thorne in the mock-marriage ceremony with Myra Ho: the clairvoyant, had been duly and severely thras by Stephen Smith; the affair netting the latter just $58.87 1-2, and costs, And now Madeleine’s birth-night had again rolled around. This time, as in the olden Sap be the splendid mansion was aglow from top to ut there were not many there this night to witness the happy scene; for Arthur Fleming had not for- otten how ae geen dans friends deserted him in the our of his adversity. : The special scene which was witnessed, and to which we had reference, was the wedding of Fenton Thorne and Madeleine Tomine: Stephen Smith, his dusky face radiant yet sad, clad in ball-room attire, stood close by een as the clergyman read the solemn troth-words. Qld ottom. | 4 4 i a | ed
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* denly rolled up and stopp 80 WAS IT LOVE? Mr. Thorne, Fenton’s father, too was there; and peony Jack Kelson, and the poor, doting father, Arthur nt aoe They were all. It was a quiet, solemn scene; but oe matriage- tells were chiming cheerily in every heart. Years pees and Arthur Fleming was gathered to his fathers. Then Fenton Thorne, with his young wife, went westward, and dwelt in his father’s splendid mansion = peter. Old Mr. Thorne had died some years sfore. : The Fleming mansion was again sold out of the family—this time for en Stephen Smith ha ae since been separated from his bosom-friend, They often wrote to each other, and Stephen, who was Sagi law in Louis- -ville—or pretending to practice, for, half the time, he was gunning or fishing—had come on twice to see “Fent, my boy.” Then, as time rolled on, the ominous war-cloud of 1860 spread over the great American Republic, and the sound of drum and the clash of arms echoed over hill and plain. Then the peip of eG emerged safe from the gale, and the old flag of our fathea: floated from the mast-head, Late one cool evening in the month of September, 1855—a year memorable in our annals—as Fenton ' Thorne and his still lovely and youthful wife were sitting in the front porch of their inks ga mansion, looking, musingly, out over the purple hills and the red tinted forest—dreaming old-time, happy dreams, and living over other days again—a carriage sud- at the gate. Then, promptly and unhesitatingly, a person in- side opened the carriage door and sprung out. After having his trunk, a large one, set down, the gentle- a settled with the driver, and turned toward the couse. ‘Fenton Thorne had already descended to meet his Buest, whoever he might be. The stranger was a tall, finely shaped, elegantly dressed man; but, one coat-sleeve was pinned across - the broad chest; the sleeve was—empty. Long, dark locks fell behind the stranger’s ears and a heavy, raven mustache, sprinkled here and there with silvery threads, swept over the mouth, even down ee the prominent chin, The com- plexion of that Indian-like face, was like bronze. Slowly he drew near. Fenton Thorne paused and held his breath, and then suddenly he dashed forward with a wild ery of joy. and flung his arms around that tall form. hen from the stranger came the same familiar words and tones of old: **God bless you, Fent, my boy!” Then Madeleine, the matron, rushed down to meet: and aed the old friend; and following her, came two bouncing boys, the one Stephen, the other Smith Thorne, . Stephen Smith, dear reader, has never left his old friends. He is with them now, a confirmed old bach- elor, with his snug pile of money. There he will remain till his days of “sere and yellow leaf” have gone. The good feliow has never breathed a word as to the side on which he fought during the civil conflict; but he points to his empty sleeve, and says in a low, earnest voice: “ Thave had enough of it, Fent! and thank God! we ail have the old flag again!” ¢ One piece of war news Stephen imparted: On a distant battle-field, at the set of sun, he had seen the dead body of—Ratpa Ross; and—yes, Stephen vowed it—the fellow was shot in the bacl-* And now, we have reached: THE END.