Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 42) (1885 03 10)
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VoL, LV. Co »pyMghted, 1885, by Bkapix axp Apams, Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matter. Mareh 10,1885, $2,50 a Year, PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, (gi ric No, 98 William Street, New York. Five Cents, “SIFTY WOULDN'T BUY ONE!” CRIED THE GIRL, CONTEMPTUOUSLY, A GLEAM OF ANGER IN HER DARK EYES, THE BOUQUET GIRL; Or, A MILLION OF MONEY. BY AGILE PENNE, CHAPTER IL. FULTON FRANK, “<< Buoxets’ ten cents apiece, and I don’t sell kisses!” volo ferry, in the great metropolis of New York, at ‘‘ nine o’ the night in the heart of June.” The sprase, a Sopereiyh gp ov fifteen years old, apparently—a pretty litile thing, de- ae her coarse dress, ‘which was ver 4 Pica ough,and the ugly red handkerchief tied over her head—enough to disguise the features of beauty’s queen itself; but the face was strangely pretty, cast as it’was in a pure oval mold, deli- . cate features, red, pouting lips, reminding one of ripe strawberries wet with dew; a nose re a little bit turned up at the end, “ tip-tilted, use the poetical expression—retr ousse, as the French have it—pug, to use our plain, homely English, not enough to spoil the prettiness of the girl’s face, but rather to add a charming, rogu- ish grace "to it; the eyes were large, full, and as black as the wild cherry, hanging in shining beauty upon the parent tree, afar off in the pleasant country lanes; the complexion was slightly tinged, just as if the steady old sun-god had taken a fancy to nt ce maiden, and had allowed his beams to ong upon the
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4 ‘hand. Gi THE BOUQUET GIRL. fresh y' transparent that one could plainly see the warm blood circling beneath. From under the ugly handkerchief that disfigured the head a few crispy curls escaped, black as black could be, and as fine as finest silk, The sentence quoted came quite pertly from the | poe lips of the girl, and she tossed her little | , canary-bird fashion, in an extremely captiva- ting manner. At nine o’clock at night the neighborhood of Ful- ton ferry is not a very populous one. All the stores are closed with the exception of the eating and drinking saloons, the fruit-stands aud the cigar sbops. Not very many passengers cross over the ferry about that hour either, when compared to the throng which fill the street in the dayiime, but after — o'clock at night the traffic d rope off. erefore, with the exception of the flower-girl, a couple of old women, eagerly endeavoring to dis- pose of the stock of evening newspapers ieft upon their hands, and the gentleman who stopped to * chaff” the girl, to use the English word, th hardly a soul in the neighborhood. The girl, with her flowers, had accosted the gen- tleman at the edge of the cross-walk. “Buy some flowers, sir, to ape in your button- hole; real nice ones and all fresh, warranted not to wither!’ she had exclaimed, in her common stock- in-trade phrases. And the man, a finely-dressed gentleman, at- tracted by the pretty face of the girl, had halted to talk with her, “How much?” he said, “‘ and what will you sell a couple of kisses for?” 6 girl’s sir reply—she was used to this sort ee thing at this hour of the night—we have already ven, “Buekets, 6h? You mean bouquets, I suppose?” and the man allowed his bold gray eyes to rest ad- miringly on the face of the girl. “By Jove! little pee ae you know that you are just as pretty asa ink “Oh, yes, I know all about that,” replied the girl, in the most matter-of-fact way. “I’m arose, and a pink, and a daisy, and a pansy, and all sorts of posies, just about this time o’ night, particularly to entlemen who have drank more wine than is good ‘or them.” “Why, sis, you’re about as sharp as a razor!” he said, with a laugh. ‘I don’t want your flowers, but Tl give five dollars for a kiss!” “Wifty wouldn’t buy one!” cried the girl, con- temptuously, a gleam of anger in her dark eyes. ‘bo you give them away, then?” “Not for the asking.” There were no witnesses to this little scene. The two newspaper-women were busily engaged holding up the wall of the ferry-house, and bitterly bemoan- ing their ill-luck at being “ stuck ” witli so many un- ble journals, and there was no one else near at reat oaks from little acorns grow; trivial cireum- stances sometimes change the fate of a nation. In this case if Jack Leipper had not indulged so freely in the ‘ rosy ’’—the Davemagy which cheers, and does intoxicate—at an uptown hotel that even- ing, with a party of friends, he would never have stopped to a y words witha flower-girl in the street. He was not drunk; far fromit! Jack Leip- per—“ Captain Jack,” as he was eet called— never got drunk; it was almost a physical impossi- bility; liquor couldn’t do it; but it did excite him and put queer ideas into his head. _ And who was Jack Leipper, this handsome fellow, with his costly diamonds, his elegant attire, anda face formed to make wo1aen fall in love with him at the first glance. _In person he was a very model of a man, tall, } t, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned, reg- ular features, strongly-defined, a head of super jh young face; but the skin was so thin and | ere Was | hair, all glossy. black curls, pure white skin, and magnificent side-whiskers, worn long and flowing in es English style, the rest of his face being cleanly aven, Only one bad feature about the man, and this few people noticed, no matter how close observers they were. The man’s eyes, gray in color, were shifty, restless and uncertain, and at times shone witha greenish hue; but, somehow, there was a glamour about him that hid this prominent feature, or at me softened it down so that it was seldom no- ticed. He was stylish, distinguished-looking, and attract- ed attention wherever he went. “ Who is he?’ strangers would ask. “Why, don’t you know?” the “posted” ones would reply, in astonishment; ‘‘ why that’s Leipper, Captain Jack, the chief of the Modocs!” And why was this dainty gentleman nick-named after the pony Indian chief, who, in the wilds of the lava-beds, in his primitive simplicity, attempted to avenge the wrongs he had suffered at the hands of the thieving Indian-agents, by making war upon the United States Government? In the entrance way to one of the finest buildings on lower Broadway hangs the business card of “ Captain Jack.” *LEIPPER AND LEIPPER, Counselors and Attorneys at Law,” the sign reads, but the second Leipper is a fiction, for only one exists. Captain Jack’s advertisements, constantly before the eye of the public in the columns of the most widely-circulated newspapers, give a better idea of why he was called ‘ the Modoe chief.” “LEIPPER AND LerppHR, Divorce Lawyrers—No.— Broadway. Divorces procured without publicity, in any State, and perfectly legal. No fee until pa- pers are delivered. Consultation free.” And this is why he is called Captain Jack, chief of the Modocs, He was a scalper! Unlucky the client who trusted himself, and cause, to the tender mer- cies of Captain Jack, Bitty ollars wouldn’t buy one, eh?” the lawyer said, retlectively, still gazing with his evil eyes in- tently upon the pretty face of the flower-girl, and then an idea suddenly flashed into his mind, ‘“ How old are you, sis?” “Seventeen.” ; * You don’t look it.” ‘““T’m guessing it, that’s all.” “What's your name?” itd Frank,” *“ Wrank?” “Yes, Fulton Frank; that’s what everybody calls me; but my right name is Francesca.” “By Jove! the very name! Well, this is a piece of luck! Say, Frank, how would you like to come in for about half a million of dollars?” CHAPTER II. A FORTUNE THAT WAITS FOR AN HEIR, ‘‘ A waLra million of dollars!” cried the girl, in as- tonishment. ‘Oh! you must have been drinking a great dealof wine!” 2 “Oh, no, my pretty little Sower-gitts I know ex- actly what I am about, and, if you'll only say the word, I’!l make your fortune for you!” The girl drew back, distrustfully.- “Oh, don’t be afraid, my pink; I mean business; here’s my ecard,” and he drew an elaboratel; ne up business-card from his pocket and presen it to her. “I’malawyer, yousee. Meeting you here to- night is one of those lucky accidents that happen sometimes, for I shouldn’t be surprised if you turn out to be the very person I want. Answer a few questions, sis, and answer them truthfully.” The girl drew her litile, lithe figure up disdain- fully. f ‘““T don’t tell lies!” she replied pertly.
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. 8. “No, of course not; none of us doin this world until we are found out,” the lawyer said, with a sneering laugh. It was plain that he had little faith in human nature. “ But this is rather an awkward place to talk and we're right in people’s way; come up here by the gate. T'll buy all the flowers you've got, so you'll lose nothing by the operation.” Captain Jack proceeded to the ferry-house and leaning lazily against the side of the structure, just a few paces from the gate, toox outa thick memo- randum-book and pencil in hand, prepared for ac- tion, The girl had followed him, a dubious look upon her pretty face. It was plain that she distrusted the good faith oftheman. _ “Now to commence right; your full name?” he said. “Francesca Blakey.” “ How old are you?” | “Bighteen—I believe.” “You are not sure?” ** No, sir.” “ Are your parents living?” **T don’t know, sir.” “ No?” “No, sir; I don’t know anything about them.” “Well, that’s lucky!’ The girl looked astonished. “Tmean for the purpose I hava in view. Now * £ on agi ape ig any relatives? , “None at all—be sure?” “No, sir; not one in the world.” ““Do you know where you where born?” The girl hesitated and looked at the lawyer with a glance full of distrust. “What's the matter, sis?” Leipper understood the meaning of the look in an instant. “What are you afraid of?” “T don’t know whether it willdo me any good to bea xen ornot. Maybe you are—” and she stopped abruptly. - Well, maybe I am what?” he questioned. ‘‘ There is Pmshocy that you are afraid of eh?” “Yes,” the girl admitted. “And you hesitate to sou cause you think that I may The girl nodded, “Well, lam not, Iassure you. lam acting entire- ly on my own account. [ am in search of a certain party, not to injure them, but to make them a pres- ent of about a ¥alfa million of dollars. JZ can’t find the party, and 1 don’t believe that I will ever be able to find her, Meeting you to-night something put it into my head that you would be able to fill the bill. The champagne likely had a good deal to do with it, but that’s neither here nor there. If you are will- ing to trust me—to do as I 9 Oe rong I can give youafortune, Of course I shall take a good slice out of it for my trouble; you can easily afford to pay it; but before I can begin I must be put in pos- session of everything that you know about yourself. If you are an orphan, without father or mother, or any relatives, why you are just the girl ’m looking for. But if there are two or three people in the world who know all about you, who you are, where you were born, the names of your parents, that up- sets the whole thing. The girl shook her head. “There isnot a soul in the world that knows any- bass. Fes all about me,” “ od yr? to m estions be- Bonaeolen: with him?’ “Twas born at Long Branch, New Jersey, in 1859. Captain Jack uttered an exclamation of amaze- n ment. “ By Jove! that’s coming pretty close to it! The T want was born in Long Sranck, New Jersey, in “Well,I am not sure thatI wasn’t born in '58,” the girl added. ‘It was either '58 or 59. I said ’59 because when I tell any one that I am nineteen they always say that I must be mistaken, for I do not look as as that.” “Looks are deceptive; °58' is the best date for you to stick to. What about your early life?” “Twas brought up by a man named Limowell, Lysander Limowell.’ .. Weill, but why did he take care of you? How did it happen that you were with him?” “Twas left at his door one night in a basket, and his wife took pity on me and adopted me. He always called himself my uncle, and not until my sixteenth birthday did he tell me the true story of my childhood.” ‘You are sure that he told you true? Perhaps you may be his daughter?” “Oh, no!” and a quick, vivid blush swept over the pretty face of the flower-girl. ‘“‘He wanted to marry me, and that is the reason I ran away.” “And your name—the name he called you I sup- | eh?” “ yes.’ ‘Well, well! this is an astonishing coincidence!” the lawyer exclaimed. “ Just listen to my memo- randum.” And he read aloud from a page of the book: ‘**Lorenzo Vendotena, retired confectioner, residence 910 Vestry street; died January 18th, 1877, leaving a fortune, estimated to be worth about a half a million, which by will he eathed to his grandchild, Francesca, daughter of his son Antonio, and in the event of the said Francesca being dead the estate to go to her heir or heirs.’ So much for the will, now for the heir.” And ggain he read from a page in the book: ‘‘ Antonfo, a wild and reckless young man, in the year 1857 visited Long Branch, became acquainted with and, under a false name married one Decetra Blakey. The girl’s relatives, however, knew who Antonio was, and it is tolerably plain that the unscrupulous young man in endeavoring to insnare the girl became euaues himself; and that the marriage was arranged with a design upon the wealth of the father. en the news comes to the old man’s ears he swears that not one penny of his money shall ever enrich the wife who entrapped his son into the marriage. He drives his son away and refuses to see the wife; finally in his rage bribes his son to fly to Europe and desert wif and child, which, in the interim, is born—female child named Francesca. Son goes to Europe and is never seen or heard of Ee The wife dies about. a year afterward and child disappears and cannot be ound.’ There’s the case exactly as it stands at present. I have been to Long Branch and devoted considerable time to hunting up this Francesca— have advertised in the newspapers and all without- avail. I have a picture of the wife, an excellent ,ortrait, done in oil, and the child was said to look ike her. Your face resembles that portrait; that resemblance put an idea into my head. Why shouldn't you be ‘his Francesca?” “Perhaps Lam,” the girl replied, a peculiar ex- pression upon her pretty face. “ Weil, that would be-a joke, wouldn’t it?” he ex- claimed, “To stumble on the heiress just by acci- dent and all because I happened to drink afew more i of champagne than I ought to have done, ust keep it up, my pretty pink! that’s the idea, ex- fours you are the heiress to this half a milion, and if there are any doubtful points in regard to your identity that need clearing up so as to make a strong case I will provide a half a dozen excellent witnesses who will swear with stolid fidelity to whatever I tell them. It’s a bargain, then, is it?” =i mo if you choose to regard me as really the eir,”’ “ Oh, V'll risk it, if you'll only stick to your sto! and post yourself upin afew details which I wi give grat. Where do you live?” “No. — Baxter street, near Grand, top floor,” The lawyer made a memorandum of the “ At eight, to-morrow night, expect me.” And so the compact was made and the bou- quet-girl entered as a contestant for the stakes vele ued at half a million! :
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THE BOUQUET GIRL, CHAPTER Ii. DEATH INTERFERES, Or all the evil-smelling localities that the grea% city of New York can boast, that region just south- east of Center Market, running through from Grand street to Chatham, is perhaps the worst. See this gloomy-looking * barracks,” six stories ae within a stone’s throw of Center Market! at a prison-like aspect it presents! It is a tene- ment-house, occupied only by the poorest of am- ilies; not crowded to overflowing, either, as the majority of tenement-houses are in the great m etro- ee where humans live like bees; it is very sparse- ly occupied, Although affording accommodation for some twen- ty families, yet it was rare that more than three or four tenants were to be found within the dwelling, and these three or four invariably the poorest of the r. It was on the might succeeding the one whereon the great divorce lawyer, Captain Jack, had made the bouquet-girl, Fulton Frank, such a brilliant pro- posal, that we invite the reader to accompany us while we look in upon one of those scenes of misery only to be found in a large city. On the very top floor of the tenement-house, ina little front room, about ten feet square, the single window of which looked out upon the dark and dingy roofs of the neighboring houses, lay a fragile girl, dying of starvation.., iz No fiction, gentle reader! In the great metropolis of this, our glorious New World, where we burn our corn for fuel and leave our fish to rot upon the h, because it does not “pay ” to send the arti- cles to market—the middleman's commission eatti up all the profiti—human creatures actually peris sa Reg of food enough to keep body and soul to- gether. We cannot describe the furniture of the room, be- cause there was no furniture in it. Upon the floor was a coarse pallet, a straw mat- tress in the last stages of dilapidation, covered with a single gray blanket. A few old boxes scattered about the room served for tables and chairs, There were also two or three plates, an old saucer, a tin cup and basin, a candlestick, and that was all. ~ young and beautiful girl, too, the sufferer, al- though worn almost to skin and bones by her terri- ble s rugele with the gaunt wolf, Hunger, s Dark hair and eyes, oval face, now white as the face of the dead, a superb form, though sadly wast- ed away—one might travel far and not meet with a maiden more pleasant to look upon. A careful examination of the sufferer, and a close observer would have very little doubt that she was not long for this world. There was no light in the room, the full rays of the moon shining in through the window affording suffi- cient illumination. -There was a low knock at the door. The invalid feebly bade the applicant enter. _And then there came into the apartment a young girl who so strongly resembled the sufferer that even a stranger would have been certain to believe that the two were of the same blood. And yet her -hair was aaah at in hue, curling in little crispy ringlets all over her shapely head; her eyes, though, were dark; her complexion was not so pearly white as the other's, yet still there was a great resemblance between the two. exclamation, surprise and horror blended, came from the lips of the girl as she stood in the doorway and gazed upon the invalid by the clear light of the moon. Yor was the other less surp! ‘Oh, sister!” cried the new-comer, hurrying to the side of the sufferer, ‘do I find youat last, and in such a state?” “*You have come,” the invalid murmured, ‘Oh! how I have been praying that you might come, ed yet I have striven to hide myself away from yo “And why did you so, Francesca? Have I not always been a true sister to you? Could I be nearer if the same blood beat within our veins?” “No, dear one; no!” and the invalid gently c _ ressed the cheek of the other with her thin whic hand. “I have been cruelly—terribly deceived. I am dying, little sister, and I'am thankful forit, I am sick of this world, and I long for the rest and peace of the > grave,”” “But why did you leave home so mysteriously? We all believed that hr were dead—that is, father said that we all ought to believeso, but {did not, I knew how you wished to get to the city about which 7 had heard so much, and I é@up my mind bat you were here somewhere, and for two months now I have been here in New York in search of you, I got a basket of laces and little trimn , and I have es gg myself by peddling from house to house. thought that in time I might be able to find you, yet after all my trouble, it was justa mere accident that led me here to-night.” ‘Father believed me to be dead?” the sufferer said, evidently astonished. fe « Well, that is what he said we all ought to be- eve.’ “Yet I left a letter telling him why I went away.” “And he got it, too!” the girl exclaimed, impul- sively, “I felt sure all the time that he did know something about you although he said that he didn’t, But why did you leave home?” *T ran away to get married.” *'To get married?” “Yes; I made the acquaintance of a gentleman at one of the Saturday-night hops at the Ocgan House; like the weak, foolish girl that I was, I used to steal) out of the house and go down to the beach nearly every pleasant night. You know how terribly romantic I was; I was always dreaming that some prince in ges, bores would come along and marry me some time, Miserable creature that I am, Ihave aid dearly for my wicked folly. Everybody said ‘hat Iwas such a pretty girl. Ah! sister dear, my pretty face has been myruin! But I never hada mother’s careful eye to watch my wayward actions; if Heaven had not taken my mother from me, t should not belying here, dying by inches—a, poor, miserable, sinful creature—this night.” “Oh, don’t talk so! You make me cry, too!” For a few minutes only the loud breathing and the att atpeeeat sobs of the weeping girl could be ear The invalid was the first to recover her composure. “TI must hasten on with my story, for I feel that I am growing weaker and weaker every minute; life is slowly slipping from my caer I was so vain of my beauty, so weary of the dull life of poverty that I was leading, so eager for my prince to come, that T allowed almost any fine-looking gentleman to make my acquaintance, provided he took the trouble to run after me, And in such a way I made the ac- quaintance of this man who has dragged me down to the grave. He was a yery fine-looking gentleman, had plenty of money, and said that he was the son of an English earl, Ijmet him very often; he pro- fessed great admiration for me, and within one month , hand the day I first made his acquaintance we were married. deceived him, too, for I did not tell him who I was. Iwas so crazy to get him, and I thought that if he saw father he would never want to marry me; I told him that I was an orphan without any,relatives. After we were married, he took me to New York. I left a note for father, tell- ing him that I had been married, and that as soon as Ireached England I would write to him. Alas! that day never came! My husband had deceived me; he was an American; not only that, but, after six onths of wedlock, he cast me off, coolly telling me that he was tired of me and wanted a girl with money. That was one month ago, I sought refuge here, and have parted with pad Jo I posaened so that I id procure food, for Soult get no work. I believe have been. mad at times, for I have K
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c > 2 } 4 eeepc ~~ THE BOUQUET GIRL. 6 dreamed of mother, and in the dream she said I must not die, for grandfather had left me all‘his for- ‘ane; but I am going fast—fast.” The girl w closed her eyes. ~s* The name of the base vi !” cried the other, 2ér eyes and her little hands firmly clench- > ed together. “I will revenge you!” “T will not tell a I forgive him!” And with the words the soul of the sufferer glided away from this cold world. She was dead! CHAPTER IV. AN OBSTACLE IN THE WAY. PuNcCTUALLY at cighs o’clock on the evening ap- inted the “Chief of the Modocs” turned from irand street into Baxter, and some thirty steps brought him to the house which bore the number which the bouquet-girl had given to him. With his shrewd and searching eyes the lawyer took a survey of the premises. “A dingy old barracks,” he muttered; ‘there will be quite achange in the fortunes of this pert young miss if I succeed in getting her the haifa million. By Jove! from the way the thing looks I begin to believe that she és the right heir, after all. Now, ifI do get her the estate, and she is as grate- ful as she ought to be, I know a way in which she can show her gratitude and in a very becoming man- ner. But, that isa matter to be attended to here- after; she is a sly little puss and and I must be care- ful not to alarm her. Let me see! she said on the top floor, I believe,” and as the lawyer spoke he took a glance upward, The moonlight came full and strong against the front of the building so that it lainly visible as by day. ‘Something of a climb,” he mused, and then he entered the house. The front door being unfastened afforded an easy access; it is very rarely locked in a tenement-house; but if the street was light the entry was dark enough, there being no illuminating agent at all provided. Being tolerably familiar, though, with the general construction of this style of house, the lawyer soon oper his way to the foot of the stairs and began he ascent. In due time the lawyer reached the top floor and knocked at the first door he came to, He heard the scuffling of a heavy pair of feet, not at all like the tread of the bouquet-girl; then the door opened and a huge, red-faced, middle-aged Trish woman appeared. “Does a young lady who sells flowers at Fulton ferry live here?” the lawyer asked. “Sorra a taste of lie in that!” the old woman re- plied, promptly. ‘Will ye be afther walkin’ in, sorr? Itake it that yees are the gintleman that she ixpected as . a Tam the party.” “Sit down, sorr. It’s proud I am to see yees!” And the old woman brought forward a chair, taking eare to dust it off carefully with her apron before offering it to the visitor. The lawyer, always on the alert, looked carefully around the room. It was evidently the parlor that he had entered, for it was quite neatly furnished and eve! ig was as clean as a new pin. Some of the articles in the m, though, rather surprised the visitor. For i : upon a table in the corner of the room sat a massive Roman helmet with its pponanging comb lined with scarlet plumes. By the side of the helmet was a tremendous two- handed cross-hilt sword, such a weapon as Richard of the Lion Heart might have wielded in the days of the Crusades; then in another corner of the apartment were a — of boots made out of russet- colored leather with. wide flaring tops—such foot- ied as the cavaliers in the days of Charles the second of Merrie England might have worn. A =, monkly pair of sandals kept the boots company. = pat 3 Ape ee — articles had attracted wyer's On the oO; woman vouchsafed an explanation, © Ne Es ~- “Them belongs to me boarder, sorr. It’s a play- actor he is in the theayter, d’ye mind?” “An actor, eh?” “Yes, sorr; an’ a foine wan he too, barrin’ that he doesn’t get the chance that he do ought be hav- in’. His name is Mister Craige; mebbe yees are knowing to him.” “No, I think not.” “Oh, he’s a foine broth of a boy.” “But, where is the young lady?” asked Le per, after having carefully looked around without eing able to perceive any trace of her. “She's out, sorr, but she'll be back immadiately. She axed me to tell you to wait for a bit if ye kem in before she did.” And then, Captain Jack’s eyes fell upon a ve well executéd portrait of the flower-girl done in o} and_ adorning the mantle-piece, Such a piece or work in such a humble home surprised him. “That's a good picture,” he declared. “Yis, sorr; Mister Craige did that. Oh! it’s a janus, he is!” “ A genius, eh?” ; “Yis, sorr, an’ he writes, too, sorr; illigant oetry! Oh! it would make your mouth water to fisten to it!” ; one quite a favorite, I presume, with the young lady?” “Oh, you may well say that!” and the old woman nodded, mysteriously. “Shure! she can’t help it! It’s an illigant gintleman he is, an’ it’s lashin’s of gould he'll make wan of these days.” is “And what does he think of the young lady?” The lawyer didn’t particularly like the appearance of the young actor upon the scene; he was afraid _ some of his little schemes might be interfered with. “Shure! phat should he think but phat iverybody aise thinks, that she is as illigant a gurl as ever walked on tin toes!’ “Then, I suppose they will be making a match of it, one of these days, eh?’ “Yis, sorr; not the l’aste taste of a doubt about that, an’ a foine couple they will make, too. Why, sorr, I'll go bail that ye might look from here to China, or any of thim haythen parts, an’ not find a purtier couple.” x Now this information was anything but agreeable to the chief of the Modocs, for, in fact, Captain Jack had made up his mind that it would be a good specu- lation for him to marry the heiress and thus be en- abled to help her take care of that half-million of dollars which was laying around loose, as it were, waiting for a cl-imant, : ee remuined until about nine o’clock and then, the girl not having returned, and another ap- pointment pressing upon him, he took his depar- ture, having got all the information out cf the old — in regard to the young actor that he could, Leaving word for the young girl that he would call on the next evening, at the same hour, he quit- ted the room. The old woman held the light for him to descend the first flight and then left him te darkness and his own devices. Reflecting upon this obstacle in the way in the person of the young actor, the lawyer did not take any ak se care to count the flights of stairs as he descended; the natural consequence was, that, when he came to the lower entry he did not know it, but instead of proceeding straight to the front door, turned ound and started for the rear entrance, feeling all the way along for the other staircase which he Snipe a he had still to descend. . The result of this movement was that he fetched up at the back door with considerable violence, pot eine: prepared for it; then he turned to retrace is And ashe faced around a wonderful tableau was presented to his astonished vision. f The front door flew open suddenly, and there, on
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6 THE BOUQUET GIRL. the stoop, stoed the very image of the woman whose icture he possessed, but who had long ago rested n the quiet tomb, the wife of old Vendotena's son, Decetra, the dead and gone! CHAPTER V. BAFFLED. Tue shrewd and unscrupulous lawyer stood for a moment like a man under the influence of some magic spell. This was no trick of the imagination. There in the doorway, turning half-around and Jooking back into the street, so that the moonbeams shone clearly on her features, was the woman who some fifteen years before had gone down into the silent tomb. Captain Jack was a great admirer of female heauty and the portrait of the young wife of the Sama son had made quite an impression upon And now, lo and behold! here was the same face, the same dark eyes and the red-gold locks, so rare a combination and so seldom seen together. “Am I dreaming or is this a ghost from the other world?” he muttered, in amazement, The figure advanced into the entry; the door elosed and again darkness reigned supreme. The lawyer could hear the rustle of a woman's skirts—the figure was attired in light garments— and it was quite plain that if the face was spiritual, the dress had nothing unearthly about it. Captain Jack determined to solve the mystery at once, and so he sprung forward in the darkness. “Hallo, miss—madam! I wish to speak to you!” he cried. No answer, but from the rustle of the dress he concluded that the figure was fleeing from him, as fast as possible. Of course ip the darkness the lawyer missed the stairs, and so lost some valuable seconds of time and when he reached the first landing and stopped to listen, not a sound did he hear to break the stilk ness that so commonly reigned within the old prison- like barracks. Leipper was of a persevering nature, and as he had come to the conclusion that the figure was decidedly more human than spiritual, he determined to ferret out the mystery, So, he proceeded straight up- stairs to the apartments occupied by the old woman, fn answer to his knock Mrs, O’Hallihan—as the lady was called—opened the door. Excuse my disturbing you, but a lady b gov! pass- ed me in the entry—a lady with golden-red hair and dark eyes,” he said. “Sorra a wan of me knows,” the dame replied. “Does any other family reside on this floor be- sides yourself?” “There’s a wee little woman has a front room be- fortis but it’s not her ye want, I'll go bail! for her air is black and she’s been so sick for the last two ise three days that she hasn’t been out of her m. This satisfied the lawyer so he did not attempt to pursue his investizations further. “Tt cannot be that myeyes are playing tricks upon me!” he muttered, as he stood in the street and gazed wistfully up at the old barracks, “Tl swear I saw the woman! the exact image of that ee which they say is an excellent portrait of he mother of this girl I seek. The flower-girl bears a strong likeness to it, but nothing like this one to- night. Unless my eyes have deceived me, I've seen Francesca Vendotena, but where on earth did she Re, to, and why did she run away when I called her? his is the most mysterious case I ever had any- thing to do with.” And having arrived at this conclusion the lawyer sauntered slowly A if every now and then castin, back a glance at the o d brick house standing so coli and grim in the moonlight. The old pile had just the — of a building wherein a dreadful secret might be hid. That the reader may have a clearer idea of the causes which led to the perplexing predicament in which the half-million of dollars left by Lorenzo Vendotena is placed, waiting anxiously for the heir to come, than the brief statement of the lawyer af- fords, we will briefly tell the story of the past. Asa man of thirty, with a boy of five, (his son, Antonio,) Lorenzo Vendotena had come to this coun- try. _ The father had been concerned in one of those revolutionary plots so common in Italy in_ the days when the Bambas ruled over southern Italy, and had been forced to fly for his life. A confectioner by profession he had worked at his trade until he attained a good knowledge of English, and then had started on his own account, and being not only an excellent artiste in his line, but also a saving, prudent man, prospered exceedingly—so much so that, in twenty years he was accounted quite wealthy. As we have said, the old man was saving and pru- dent, honest as the day, aman whose word was as good as his bond, but something of a miser withal. A hot-tempered, peppery old gentleman, fond of having his own way and impatient of contradiction. Antonio, the son, was in all respects almost exactl the opposite of his father. It was a passion wit! the old man to accumulate money; it was a passion with Antonio to spend it. The father was quick- tempered, brave as a lion, but generally as ready to forgive a toe as to quarrel with him; the son, on the contrary, was not quick to anger, and he was a ve’ coward at heart, but when he did become offended, he never forgot nor forgave; he was trickery per- sonified, and seemed only to take delight in some mean, petty action, not an open, noble_revenge. — ews money the son squandered with a lavish and, The year that Antonio reached his twenty-fifth birthday some chance took him to Long Branch. At the sea-shore the son made the acquaintance of a young and pretty girl. She was poor, the niece of a lawyer, fod Antonio knew well enough that his father would never hear of his marrying the girl, for the old confectioner had high views for his son in that respect, but as Antonio was infatuated with the maid, he determined to win her by foul means since he could not by fair, He had been careful to disguise his identity under a false name, His idea was to marry the girl and then desert her, when he should tire ef her. sae flattered himself that he would never be traced. But the lawyer, the uncle of the girl, and with whom she lived, suspected that the young man, who spent his money so freely, was other than he pre- tended, and took measures to discover who and what he was. Of course, when he quietly found out that he was the son of the rich co ene) he was delighted at the way things were going. He there- fore allowed Antonio to believe he was playing a deep game. & time the young rascal propersd to the girl, was accepted, and the wedding took place, but the law- yer uncle took care to have plenty of witnesses pres- ent, and the moment the ceremony Was over, an- nounced who the bridegroom ly. was, and had the proper name inserted in the certificate. The biter was bit. CHAPTER VL THE STORY OF THE PAST. Antoyro accepted the situation with as a ace as possible. In his weak, foolish way he oved the pretty country girl, and, although he had deliberately plotted to wrong her, when he found that _the po lawyer had proved too smart for him he swallowed the pill with ease and grace. - After a time the lawyer hinted to Antonio the necessity of reveali the marriage to his father, Antonio turned pale, became confused, and attempt- ed to palter with the matter. ; , ORR
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. ” Determining to bring matters to a climax, Limo- Well journeyed to New York, called upon the retired confectioner, and broke the news of the marriage to him. Old Vendotena grew fairly purple with rage as he listened to the lawyer’s story. : The quick-witted parent understood the whole | affair at a glance. His son had been entrapped | into the union because he was the heir to a large fortune. Briefly but firmly the old man spoke his mind. “‘Your niece has married my son for his money—” | The lawyer would fain have controverted this statement, but the old Italian imposed silence by a wave of his hand, “Not one penny of my fortune shall ever come into her hands. My wealth is mine, and I shall dispose of it as I please; and sooner than allow this paley trick to succeed I will throw it all into the sea!’ Limowell attempted to reason with the enraged man, but the effort was useless. Old Vendotena ordered the lawyer to leave the house, and sum- moned the servants to eject him. The intriguer retreated, baffled but not dis- couraged. The storm was an angry one, but storms do not last forever. Time, he thought, would soften the old man’s rage; so Limowell returned to his country home to wait and watch. The lawyer’s income was not large, yet he gra- ciously offered the young couple a home with him until the time should come when the angry confec- tioner would relent. a Antonio, however, knew his sire too well to expect that he would ever change, but he kept the knowl- edge to himself and said eT me passed on. In May, 1558, a daughter was born to the young cougle, whom the crafty lawyer seused to be named Francesca, after Antonio’s mother. And when the child was about six months old Limowell suggested that perhaps a personal apes of Antonio, accompanied by his wife and child, might soften the heart of the old man. Antonio, heartily sick of his ain, for he missed the luxuries to which he had been accustomed, oeeiy caught at the idea. Therefore, with his e and child, he started for New York. Presenting himself at the door of his father's house, he was refused admission; the old man had ted this mode of attack, and had provided peainst it; but the son, not to be baflled, deposited his wife and child in a cheap furnished apartment, and began a regular siege of his father’s residence, It was not long before he met his aged sire face to ace. In the meantime the old confectioner had thought much in regard to the matter. He had shrewdly essed that Limowell had been at the bottom of e affair, and that he had used his niece as a tool, and in his blind anger the Italian had determined to be revenged upon both of them. ~ Therefore, he entered into conversation with his son, and soon perceived that Antonio, utterly un- principled, was willing to do anything, provided he was paid well enough for it. The father and son soon struck a bargain. Fora large sum, cash in hand paid, and an allowance of so much per year, to be paid quarterly, Antonio agreed to desert wife and child, fly to Europe and stay there. ao least bit of a conscience did this rogue ve. The compact was carried out at once. Antonio never returned to the humble apartment where he had placed his little family. The anxious wife waited until the next day in sleepless anxiety, then, unable longer to bear the she took her babe in her arms and sought the residence of the old confectioner. time the door opened readily to receive her. In the old man’s en iggs she told her story, and | incuired for her h Not atrace of pity could she see in the old Italian's dark face, as he briefly made reply: “Your husband, my son, is an utter rascal!’’ he said, bitterly. “He deceived me, and now has de- serted you. I gave him money yesterday. He has probably taken advantage of the money to run away. do not think that you will ever see again, You had better forget him, You have | caused me a great deal of trouble, but I do not wish to see yousuffer. If you will agree to never come near me again, or trouble me in any way, I will give you a thousand dollars.”’ ‘ The young wife agreed, but she intended to use the money to find her husband, for she imagined that the old man was keeping Antonio from her, She sent her child home so that she might devote herself to the search. She wrote to her uncle occa- sionally, but at last three or four months passed without a word from her. Limowell went to New York, and after much diffi- culty discovered that she had been taken ill, died suddenly, and had been buried in a pauper’s grave. But the child was safe, and the lawyer carefully reared her, his eyes were still intent on the fortune of a half a million, CHAPTER VIL. THE QUEEN OF THE BLONDES, In one of the palatial parlors of New York’s grand~ pe Dans oo the Fifth Avenue, sat a young and pretty irl. . She was sumptuously robed in a carria: that a princess might have envied, and the jewels that she wore were rich and rare enough to excite the admiration of an Indian rajah. In person she was about the medium hight; in figure perfection itself. No old-time master, great in silent marble, ever chiseled a womanly form more exquistely modeled. Her face, with its large blue eyes—dark blue, and full of fire and passion—its long, straight nose, splendid lips, red as the flower of the cactus, and yet melting with the dewy tender- ness all their own—for surely no other daughter of Eve ever possessed such a pair—matched well with the perfectly proportioned figure; but the great charm of the girl was her hair, which was as yellow as beaten gcid, fine as silk, and shimmered in the sun as the ripples of the silver moonlight trembled along the surtace of the ever-moving wave. Splendid! glorious! superb! Such were the exclamations which greeted this perfect creature whenever she took her walks abroad, or rather, whenever she displayed her charms from some handsome vehicle, for it was very seldom indeed that Miss Avise Winne ever conde- scended thus to use the fairy-like feet, with which Dame Nature had endowed her. Avise Winne! A strange name!—a strange girl, so wondrously ~ beautiful! . And who was she? One had not far to go to find out. Not a bootblack nor @ Say aes gamin in the street but could have answered the question in a breath. ; No need even to put a question; only to use one’s eyes, and information in regard to the beautiful girl stared from every corner, in letters big and _lit- tle, red and blue and black and parti-colored, Her picture, four times the size of life, and, to use the old saying, twice as natural, ornamented every dead wall; a smaller size was in every window. AVISE WINNE, THE QUEEN OF THE BLONDES. Turn where one would this met the eye. The reader has probably guessed the mystery. This superb creature, so perfect in all outward seeming, was an actress—a blonde burlesquer, to us® the slang of thé theater-going world. Since Avise Winne and her troupe of burlesque artists had commenced their engagement at Wal- lack’s Theater—ever the leading play-house of
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8 THE BOUQUET GIRt. America—Avise’s share of the profits had exceeded a thousand dollars a week. One single remark more and we are through with our description of this brilliant girl, who had taken New jpeg Ha Sab and had made such a “hit” that old its, veterans of the “boards” and “footlights,” rubbed their eyes and wondered what the deuce had got into the public that they should go after dashy English girl. The breath of scandal, which seldom spares the woman who boldly dares a public life, had never yet smirched the good name of Avise Winne. Bouquets she accepted, valuable presents, too—as @ true daughter of Bohemia—as the artist-tribe is ealled—she felt that it was her duty to “ spoil the tians;” but neither flowers nor presents were passports to her favor. “Diamond rings are well enough,” Avise would say, ‘but the only ring that can win me, a parson must put on!” And then, too, there were soft-headed youths of good family, fellows with money, if no brains, who came with honest intent, who dreamed that they could take this footlight flower from the are glare of the stage’s light and transplant her to the quiet of a home, and that there she would bloom and en- chant as of yore. But one and all Avise kept at a distance. “Love! I don’t know the meaning of the word, and never expect to!” she was wont to cry in con- tempt. Hollow boast, full of fiction, or else her passionate eyes deceived the eigiiel The player-folks have keen eyes, that watch one another closely, and Avise had not been two weeks in the theater when the report went round that there was a certain gentleman who had found favor in the beautiful eyes of the imperious young girl. Not a prominent actor, either, but one who held the position of “walking gentleman” as it is called, ne “lover” of the drama, but secondary to the ero. His name was Ronald Craige, and he played in the farce which preceded the burlesque. And now to relate the strangest part of all, a did not seem to be conscious that he was a favorite of the beautiful blonde queen, and went about his duties with almoststolid indifference in regard to T, Avise was not a girl to be turned from her pur- ; and feeling sure that there was some reason or this indifference in the background, she set her gent a shrewd, eiening Bele Englishman, at work to out all he could about the young man. Timoleon Hodkinson the agent was named (very seldom called thing but Tim, though, by any- ). He was a little, undersized man, built exact- “A right for a jockey, with a sharp, weasel-like face, ttle eyes, scanty mutton-chop whiskers, of a sand. hue, hair of like color, always eeoupes tight to his head, and_ altogether an unmistakable English look, Tim had just entered the apartment. “Tt’s all right, Avise!” he exclaimed. “ Blessed if I didn’t know I could doit! Craige has got another » “ Another girl!” and Avise’s great eyes flashed, while her little hands clenched in anger. “Shoot me if he hasn’t, and she’s a nice sort of a jece, too—a bouquet-girl that sells flowers, you jartes at Fulton ferry. Craige is as poor as achurch- mouse, and he lives in a miserable ’ouse with this and he’s ted her portrait, and he’s educat- ow; coming the grand gentleman!” And do you think that I can’t separate him from this girl?” Avise cried. ‘* Wait and see!” The door of the apartment opened suddenly, anda tall, thin stranger, shabbily clad, walked, with a mysterious air, into the room. I your pardon, mademoiselle,” he said, “but I’ve come to aceek to you about a little matter of half a million of dollars.’ CHAPTER VIII. A MYSTERIOUS GENTLEMAN, A ALF a million of dollars! It was quite a stri' picture just at that mo- ment, and any enterp artist would have jump- ed at the chance to transfer the scene either to can- vas or to the sensitive plate of the camera. “A half a miliion Of dollars!” he repeated. ‘So eak land whatI speak I know /" The man hada ecided foreign accent. “Behold me, the Count, Phillipe de Castiglione!” The same thought occurred at the same moment to both the listeners to this odd speech. The man was a lunatic. Avise was as brave as a lion; the girl did not real- ly know what fear was, and soshe gazed with steady eyes upon the stranger, but as for Tim he deftly sidled behind a chair and looked behind him for a weppos in case the man became violent. ‘*Mademoiselle, I have had the honor to see you © on the boards of the theater many times,” the man continued, addressing his conversation with a e- ful bow to Avise. ‘‘Your face so beautiful—so charming! it is imprinted here, upon my heart. see you many times—I do not recognize you at first, for itis long ago. I have had many troubles; mind is not so good as it used to be; but at last it es upon me! Yes, you are the child; the child that in my arms I have held so often, but you do not remember me; no, it is impossible; it is so long ago!” and here the stranger heaved a deep sigh and let his head fall down upon his breast. ‘ae Awfully cracked!” Tim ejaculated in a whisper vise, The girl nodded; in her mind there was no doubt that the man was crazy; but he seemed a harmless sort of madman, and she was really curious to find out why he had wandered into her apartment and what the half-a-million of dollars was that he was raving about. Another deep sigh came from the lips of the stran- ger, and then he raised his head and surveyed the air face of the girl for a moment, in silence, with his glassy, restless eyes. “Ah,” he murmured at last, “the first time I see pa you touch a chord here in my heart. I say, hillipe, mon brave, what does this mean? T' English girl is fair—she is lovely—she is an 1— but passion died long since in your heart, now it is stone! Vwhy seek you to gaze upon this face? I am not rich, mademoiselle. Italy—dear Italy! for her Iam poor. I cannot pay one dollair every night; goin the Lee? cannot—the pride of an Ita’ nobleman forbids it!” and here the speaker patted his breast manfully, ‘‘Vwhat am I to do, since I must look upon your face or die?” “Grab checks,” su; Tim, ina half under- tone, and putting his tongue in his cheek and wink- ing at the burlesque neon 5 e man favored the Englishman with a gracious Ow. “THe or is correct,” he said; “that is what Le Count de Castiglione, am obliged todo. I stan in front of the theater; around me my cloak is wrapped; there is a freemasonry among gentlemen; any Cy with half an eye can gee that 1 am of blue-blood, Between theacts of the play, when the gentlemen come out, I speak to them—I beg their ardon, I tell them that it is nec to my existence hat inside the theater I go. Some laugh, some jeer, all the same to me; Iam a gentleman; it cannot hurt me; Le Count de Castiglione cannot be insult- ed. Some give me their checks and I walk in, others oie me money. I say, ‘I do not ; an Italian no- leman cannot beg, but I will accept your money as a loan; when my property to me is restored, I will repay;’ and so, mademoiselle, without money, with- out price, I see you bgt ieee and last night, at one sacred moment, the th came to me; it was where you strike down the ruffian with your | and cry those lines of beautiful poetry:
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. iD “My name is Norval, I’m an old vet, I’m bound to win or die, you bet!’ \ “In one moment I saw clearly; you are my child; Iam your father!” The burlesque queen was so much amazed that she could only stare in silence at this extremely peculiar speaker, but as for Tim, he fairly roared. “Oh, blast my buttons!" he exclaimed, “‘if this ain’t as good as a play!” The man smiled—the ar, hollow, insincere smile which came so oy, to him—shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his hands as if to protest against the Englishman’s merriment. “You do not believe me when I say that you are my child,” he said, slowly. ‘No; I do not—I know better!” Avise answered, quickly. She was annoyed at the assumption, « And does the heart not speak to you?” the man continued, indifferent, peg , to the effect his words had produced. When I say, Child, I am es father, is there not a chord in your heart that touched?” say a hundred dollairs—if I should ask it; I, your fa- ther—the father whom you have not seen since you were an infant in the cradle?” “Yos, sir I should; I'll give you a dollar to get rid of you,” Avise exclaimed, contemptuously, and as she spoke, she took two half-dollar pieces from her pocket book and cast them upon the floor at the stranger’s feet. Like a hawk he pounced down upon the silver pieces and secured them. It was quite plain that all was fish that came to his net, and that the smallest favors were thankfully received. “From my heart, I thank he my child,” he ex- claimed, bowing with great dignity. ‘You give me a dollair now; you do not know me; you mistrust me! Ah! greatheaven, what agony it is for a fa- ther to be mistrusted by his own child!” —and all this spoken in the most matter-of-fact tone. ‘In one week you will know better; in one week—seven little Gaye —yous eyes will be open; you will come to me then and say, “My hono parent, noble count, here is my purse; 6 what you like—a hundred—a thousand dollairs if you will.’ I help myself; I go to my lawyer; I say to him, here are the proofs that this beautiful is my daughter; here are the proofs that I am my father’s son; here is money to reward your labor; Fe into the courts of this great republic, and cry aloud that justice may be done. He goes; we win; and a half a ion dollairs are ours! Addio,” And then, in his snaky way, the man bowed him- self out of the room, leaving Avise and the English- man staring at each other in intense amazement, ' CHAPTER IX. 4 BRACE OF RASCALS, Crosina the door of the actress's apartment care- fully behind him, the tall, thin biog whose vin nee so forcibly suggested the * Father of All vil’ as he is generally represented by the Italian panes ee , bigh cheek-bones, glittering, -like eyes, and a smile, sarcasm and mi cho. strangely mixed—proceeded along the entry. There was something snake-like about the man, His appearance instinctively produced aversion, Outside, a comrade awaited the signor. An Italian, too, apparently, but quite a contrast to the noble count, being short and thick and fat. He was ina shabby black suit, much too large for pot a adozen years at least behind the prevailing fight? Did she see ze point, ead. His face, like his person, was fat, very dark In color, the chin aon ay ee nef a peaked beard, and the thick-lipped mouth shaded by a huge mustache, the ends carefully waxed. His little, evil-loo eyes were like two jet-black beads, and the smell o: garlic that came from his person was enough to sicken one who detested that pungent vegetable, so dear to the heart of the Latin races. Colonel Anselmo del Frascati, this individual was called, and, as if to give proof that he had a right to the military title, he bore a switch in his hand, which he either flourished, saber-like, in the air, or else beat against the legs of his pantaloons, “ Ha, ha!” he exclaimed, as the tall man emerged from the hotel, ‘you have been long! How goes the ey? ‘he count shook his head. “ And you got notting, diavolo?”’ The count displayed a single half-dollar. “Bah! that is a dinner only; did you tell her of ze half a million, hey?” “ And she nothing make of it, hey?” ct No. ” “T have a-wait for yousome time.” “Be calm, my friend,” and he laid his skinny fin- ger on the greasy coat-sleeve of the other. “I have made the acquaintance of one of the hotel young men. Iam asingerat the opera and come to see the Mademoiselle Winne as a brother artist.” “Ha, ha! it is good—beautiful—divine!” “Come, we will dine?” The two proceeded down the street, and as they went, the snaky Italian unfolded his plan. “Tf we do not succeed—if the heir we do not find, a rize we can make here,” and the speaker nodded ack to the hotel. “Diavolo! that is superb; how?” “ Jewels—real, no paste!” the count explained, mysteriously. “Five thousand dollairs’ worth— more, maybe. I aman opera singer; they will not sus) me in the hotel, for I call upon the Made- moiselle Winne. The lock is nothing—bah! a child could open it; so easy!” “Ten devils, but that is good!” “ We can make no money out of the half a million; we watch our chance and steal the jewels. South America is near; many count m of ours there; we will §. Five thousand dol ; it is a fortune!’ “But I have ze other girl found,” “ ha!” = inaas of ze picture, but hair dark |” “Good! We will have our pickings out of the half million, after all!” CHAPTER X. RONALD ORAIGE, Tre farce with which the evening's performance commenced at Wallack’s was over; the farce was merely to play the audience into their seats so that the burlesque might be displayed to a full house, and to those who did come early the farce was a sort of nee to prepare the mind for the full enjoy- ment of the attractio With the farce Ron raige’s “duties for the evening terminated, as he was not gifted with the talents necessary to the burlesque artist. He could nature; nor could he assume — of the other ence by & coarse owing, + ad foll ——
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. The artist world that knew Ronald Craige called him proud and stuck-up, and resented his holdin, ade : 4 aloof from their gay gatherings. But the young man was not proud; he was simpl a gentleman in his instincts, who chose to pick associates. At nine o’clock Craige had changed his stage costume for his usual street dress, and was on his way home. counter him as he made his way to the back-door of the theater, as she invariably did, every even- ing, so as to be able to exchange a few words with m. The actress’s intent was so apparent that the Fane 3 man could not very well avoid her, but with is cool, easy politeness he never gave her cause to hope that he was being roused to that pitch of pas- sion Which was raging within her fair veins. A few commonplace remarks he would make, then bid her BS 7 ” and depart, leaving the proud young actress ready to flame out in open rage. Straight to his home Craige proceeded, and as he walked along, he mused upon the peculiar position in which he was placed. “Deuce take the girl!” he muttered, thoroughly vexed by Avise Winne’s open and avowed liking, so keenly expressed. _‘‘ She has got everybody talking about us now! What on earth has got into her? 1 should think that she could see with half an eye that I don’t care for her, and that Iam trying to keep away from her alll can. I shall get into trouble, soon. She will get angry, and if she chooses to try, she can have my engagement annulled; women do these mean things sometimes; and then I shall probably be obliged to live idle all summer, and spend the little sum that I’ve put by for a rainy day. I can see no way to avoid the difficulty. Ican’t bear the girl, and I’m not going to lie to her. It will be either love or hate, and as I can’t go the former, I presume the latter will soon come.” ‘And now we willtake advantage of the glare of the gaslight, as the actor passes, to take a good look at him, and we do not wonder at the preference so keenly shown by the blonde burlesque queen for the young man. . In person about the medium hight, well-built and finely proportioned; clearly-cut features, regular and “pleasing; honest brown eyes, chestnut hair, curling slightly, broad forehead, plenty of room for brains there: in fine, a general appearance calculated to.win friends at the first glance. e actor had turned into Broadway, after leaving the theater, the walk down through New York’s great artery being so much more pleasant than the way through the side-streets; then he had gone through Grand street until he arrived at Baxter. Wi: leisurely along, absorbed in his thoughts, which, as we have seen, were not very pleasant ones, Craige had never taken any particular notice of what was going on around him. In fact he had never once looked back, therefore he had no sus- picion at all that, from the time of leaving the theater until he arrived at the corner of Grand street and Baxter, he had been closely followed by two men, who could not have stuck to him betterif they had been his shadow, by some miracle doubled. : And these two men were afraid, too, that the actor would discover that they were following him, for they took particular pains to keep in the shadows as much as possible. ; But as Craige hadn't the slightest idea that any- one would trouble their head about him, in sucha fashion, the precaution of the two men was clearly needless, : As the actor walked up Baxter street toward the old brick barracks, where he had his quarters, he noticed that there were two figures standing upon the stoop, pay in conversation, And as he came nearer he could distinguish that one was a woman and the otheraman. | , And just as he ascertained this, the man raised his | it was the Bouquet Avise, as usual, had taken particular care to en- | because he saw that the stranger wa hat politely, bid the female good-night, a salutation which she returned, and then came down the street area Grand, passing within arm’s-length of the actor. Craige had reccears the voice of the woman; irl, Frank, and a natural curios- ity therefore made him take a good look at the man with whom she had been talking, the more so, s dressed in the hight of style—in fact, a little over-dressed. The man, busy with his own thoughts, earn by the actor without noticing him in the least, but Craige recognized him at once, although not person- ally acquainted with him, for Captain Jack Leipper, the famous divorce lawyer, was one of the notables of New York; few well-informed men who were not acquainted with the dashy figure of the lawyer, al- be so elegantly attired. he actor, upon discovering who the gentleman was, stood still for a moment and looked after him. The girl standing upon the soon of the old bar- racks was surely the Bouquet Girl; he had clearly recognized her voice; but what business had this no- torious divorce lane with her? Determined to solve the riddle at once, the actor epee straight to the house. The two men who ad followed him were snugly hid in a dark doorway on the other side of the street. : ‘““Why, Frank, what did that fellow want?” the actor asked. “Not much,” answered the girl, smiling a glad welcome; ‘the only wants to make me a present of half a million of dollars.” CHAPTER XI. THE EXECUTORS. Carram JAcK’s office was situated in the fourth story of one of the handsomest buildings on lower Broadway; rather high if one ascended by the stairs, but then in this age of luxuries, no one thinks of climbing heavenward_ in that manner when the * elevators ” afford such a ready means of access to the upper chambers, The sanctum of the lawyer was fitted oF in the most luxuriant manner; the ‘‘Modoc” of the bar believed in style and show, for all of which his unlucky clients paid, of course. On jthe morning after the night when his recogni- tion by the actor had excited so much astonishment in the breast of the latter, the lawyer sat in his com- fortable easy-chair enjoying a fragrant cigar, and [oot at the morning journal, which he held in iis hand, every now and then, The daintily ornamented clock upon the wall chimed ten in its silver tones. The lawyer tossed the paper upon the table and looked expectantly at the door, “That’s the hour,” he murmured, “and they are generally very punctual. I think that I have en- ginee! this affair pretty well,” and he rubbed his soft white palms together in a manner that pl evinced great satisfaction, ‘* And to think, too, thatit all proceeded from my indulging in a few more glass- es of champagne than is usual with me! Ifithad not been forthe wine the idea would never have entered my head, It’s a bold scheme, but boldness always suits me,” and he smiled pirey namwe A as he sur- veyed his dashy, handsome face in the “Tax- will I am pretty sure of, and as for Dodson, he hates trouble and will be apt to agree with us in every- thing. Ihave examined the matter thoroughly, and I can’t see a weak spot.” The lawyer's agreeab’e meditations were inter- rupted by the entrance into the office of a fat, mid- dle-aged gentleman. He was short and stout, Eng- lish evidently by the ‘‘cut of his jib,” as a nautical man would say, and dressed in plain, old-fashioned garments. ; This was Mr. Peter Dodson, formerly chief-cook of old Vendotena’s confectionery establishment, _“On time, eh?” exclaimed the easy-going Eng- lishman, glancing at the clock, eo en ae Lea oe
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. Oh, yes, right to the minute; hot, isn’t it?’ “Hot? by Jove, sir, itis! We never have it like this at ’ome, you know.” Like nearly all his tribe, this burly Briton was al- ways talking about ’ome, although he never mani- fested any intention of going there. “Try a glass of wine,” suggested Captain Jack, producing a bottle of Chateau Lafitte from a hand- some sideboard, upon the top of which a pitcher of ice-water and some crystal goblets were standing. “Thank’e; don’t care if I do,” and the English- man smacked his lips as his hand caressed the bot- tle. Dearly this son of Britain loved the creature comforts of this life. ~And as Mr. Dodson proceeded to abioy. the con- tents of the goblet another gentleman bustled into the room—a tall, thin man, well advanced in years, dressed in the hight of fashion, but showing peor by his manner that he was no slave to uxurious ease; in fact, a practiced medical eye would have detected at a glance that the man was | terribly overworked—that his whole nervous system was shattered, and that nothing was more likely than that this driving man cf business might be stricken down at any moment by the grim hand of Death, despite the brisk promise of life that his ner- vous, energetic manner inspired, This was Mortimer Taxwill, esquire, well-known in Wall street as a heavy operator in stocks, and re- puted to be worth a great deal of money. Dodson and Taxwill were the executors of the will of the old confectioner, Lorenzo Vendotena, and oars Jack was the lawyer who had drawn the wil The old confectioner’s illness had been a short one, but he had been fully conscious that he was coming nearer and nearer to the end each day, and so he had prepared his will. The lonely old man in his last moments had re- lented somewhat; he had neither kith nor kin in the world, with the exception of his son and that son’s daughter. When the Jersey vt fe Limowell, had discovered that the mother was dead, he had waited npn old Vendotena with the news, and had inform- him that the child was safe and in his hands. The Italian had received him curtly and dismissed him abruptly. “I take no interest in either the mother or child!” he exclaimed, angrily. “Not one penny of my money shali ever come to either of them.” But in his last hours the confectioner relented. After all, the child was of his blood; she was in- nocent of all wrong; the mother, against whom he had been so bitter, was in her grave; death had canceled the account. Better then that his wealth should go to the innocent child, who was of the Vendotena race, than pass into the hands of strangers, But Antonio, the son, the legal heir? The old man’s rage against the son that had so rudely upset the father’s schemes, had never abated; | on his death-bed he was as bitter as ever against his | unruly son. And so to the luckless Antonio he bequeathed the | sum of one thousand dollars, and the interest of ten | thousand dollars, which was securely invested to him as long as he lived, afd at his death the princi- pal to go to the Little Sisters of the Poor, a Catholic society in which the old man took a great interest. The rest of his fortune, roughly estimated at half a million of dollars, he left, without proviso or con- dition of any kind, to his granddaughter, Francesca, the child of his son, Antonio. Brief and directly to the point was the will. The two executors whom the old Italian had chosen were men whom he believed he could fully * Hortimse Tawi fortimer Taxwill had been his cashier for years, while Peter Dodson had entered his papier. as chief in the cooking department when he had first started his confectionery on Broadway. And when old Ven- dotena had retired from business he had disposed of il his establishment to his cashier and foreman, who were allowed to retain the old sign, excepting that instead of simple “ Vendotena,” the firm was now termed Vendotena & Co. One year had now elapsed between the date of the old man’s death and the period of which we write, and between the birth of the daughter, to whom the half-million had been bequeathed, and the pre- sent time, some seventeen years had passed, so that the child if living would be about eighteen, The Italian had retired from business just after the secret marriage of his son, and in the interval from that time to the present, the two partners in the con- fectionery had made a fortune and sold out, Dodson to retire to a quiet country home and amuse himself with a little amateur Lectin) Taxwill to plunge into the mazes of the stock exchange and there en- deavor to swell the competence he already pos- sessed to a princely sum. And to these two men, so opposite in their natures, yet both equally trusted by the old Italian, was the carrying-out of the will he had made intrusted. To Peter Dodson, easy and slow-going, honest as the day, simple as a child, though not deficient in a sort of natural shrewdness, and Mortimer Taxwill, wily eg yo ae foes said, ‘totally unscrupu- lous,”’ but that was slander, perhaps—and Captain Jack, the “*Modoe of the bar,” the care of the enor- mous fortune had been confided, CHAPTER XII. THE LONG-LOST HEIR. “ Ana! enjoying yourself as usual!” Taxwell ex- claimed, perceiving the occupation of the English- man, “So beastly ’ot, you know; ‘ave a go?” and Dod- son, in the true spirit of hospitality, filled out a glass of wine for the speculator. The lawyer brought him a chair; Taxwill pulled off his gloves and flung himself into the seat, and tossed off the wine at a draught, so different to the leisurely way in which the Englishman was enjoying the vintage of the vine. “ And now we will proceed at once to business,” Captain Jack said, perceiving that his visitors were fully prepared for serious matters. “It is in refer- ence to the Vendotena estate.” “T thought so the moment I saw Dodson here,” Taxwill remarked. “Well, I ’ope you've found the young woman,” Dodson observed. “That is exactly what I have succeeded in do- ni nere was yo a little bit of triumph perceptible in the voice of the lawyer as he spoke. The effect produced by the speech upon the two executors was widely different. The burly Briton drew a long breath; he hated business, and this trust—this enormous fortune con- fided to him—care-worried him; naturally, there- fore, he wa extremely glad that the burden was about to be taken off his shoulders, and in his round, rosy face, joy was plainly indicated. Taxwill, on the contrary, pursed up his mouth, contracted his eyebrows a bit, and Jooked at the law- yer in an extremely suspicious way. Captain Jack did not appear to notice the look, but he did, though, for very few things escaped his keen eyes. _ “You have found the heir?’ Taxwill questioned, in his sharp, direct way. * Yes, sir.” “ Ah—hum—that’s lucky!” Few words, but a deal of suspicion, introduced in the sentence. ** And all by aecident, too.” : “By accident, eh?” Taxwill was watching the bag f 23 as a cat would watch a mouse. “Yes, gentlemen, truth is rage than fiction, ae know; but my meeting with this girl is like a leaf torn out of a romance, I was going toward Vulton Ferry, and stopped to buy a bouquet from 4
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12 THE BOUQUET GIRL. flower-girl just outside the gate. She was a pret “But she fs not the child!” little tb Z i f dik “i ng, and perceiving that she was so erent from the usual run of bouquet girls, entered into conversation with her. There was something about her face that seemed very familiar to me, and yet it did not appear to be the face of anyone whom I have ever known, and while I was talking to her, tryin to account for the impression which her face ha made, all of a sudden the truth flashed upon me. When I first attempted to hunt up this Jost heir, the principal thing that I relied upon was a handsomely painted picture on ivory of the mother. If you re- member, the old gentleman, just before his death, gave it to me, stating at the time that his son, An- tonio, had sent it to him immediately after his se- cret marriage, Bitter as the old man had been in regard to the young girl who he believed had en- bi ed his son into a marriage solely for his money, 8 e had preserved the picture. With this picture as a ars as you may remember, I went to Long Branch to hunt up this Limowell, the uncle of the wife, who had charge of the child. Probably you will recollect that my search was a fruitless one. Limowell had resided there, but had moved away, and no one knew where. The girl had been with him—in fact, two girls, both of whom he called his nieces, and both had gone also. It was a difficult matter to find out anything about this Limowell, for he lived back in what the natives termed ‘the vibes, a barren sandy waste between Long Branch and Branchburg, and kept himself quite secluded,” “You advertised for him pretty extensively, too,” . Taxwill remarked. “Yes, but without avail. Well, to make a long story short, the girl was the very image of the a ture which I possessed, and upon questioning her carefully, without, of course, saying anything in regard to the suspicion which I had as to who she was, I soon knew the story of her life. As I suspect- ed, she was the long-lost heir. Her name was Iran- cesca, Fulton Frank her associates called her. She had been brought up at Branchburg by Lysander Limowell; her mother, Limowell’s niece, had mar- ried the son of a wealthy New Yorker, who had been disowned on account of the marriage; she had been brought up by Mr. Limowell, her mother dying when she was quite small; she had been ill-treated by her uncle and had run away to New York to seek her fortune.” “i suppose you will be able to prove that this girl is the heir—that is, prove her identity?” Tax- will asked, his tone plainly indicating the doubts in his mind, “Oh, yes; no doubt about it at all,” Captain Jack answe in his airy, easy way. “ And now, if you will fix a time, I'll present the girl to you.” “Ow will this afternoon do?’ asked Dodson, in his blunt way. “I’ve got to buy some stuff in town, and I would like to go ’ome by the Mst train “This afternoon will suit me,” Taxwill remarked. “This afternoon, at three, then.” “All right; and nowI must toddle off, for I’ve a lot of things to do. I don't come'to town every be you know.” And then the Briton departed, ‘Taxwill favored the lawyer with a long, suspicious glance after the door had closed on the burly figure of the Englis “What's the matter?” Captain Jack asked, bland- ly. “Come, come! This story may do for Dodson who is as stupid as a child about some things, but I don’t swallow it!” the speculator exclaimed, quickly. “You don’t believe that I have found the heir?” “No, I do not,” “Tt’s a fact.” « Well, she'l pass for the hetr h , she'll pass for the heir anyway; her name is Francesca, and she was brought up by this man Limowell, who did have custody of the child,” _ “That’s a doubtful point; but it will be money in our pockets for us to believe that she is.” “How so?” This was business, and the speculator was quick to appreciate it,. “A half a million of dollars is a pretty large sum to any one; to a girl who has been ma. ng a dollar a day by selling bouquets at the ferries, it seems a fabulous amount. ithout our aid the girl couldn’t touch a penny of the property. I have made a fair bargain with her.” “How much?” “One clear half.” “That will do.” “ And that half, after deducting the necessary ex- penses, I propose to cut into two equal parts,” “One for me, eh?” The speculator was quick to jump to conclusions, ‘ oh es; provided that you believe that she is the eir. “Oh, I guess that there is no doubt about thet,” Taxwill reassured the other, with a knowing laugh. * But will the legal proof be enough?” “Oh, yes, provided Limowell don’t turn up.” “ And if he does?” ““We must buy him up.” And so the compact was made, CHAPTER XI. FRANK’S STORY. “A wALF a million of dollars!” Craige exclaimed, in astonishment. “Yes; it is a large sum, isn't it?” ae Well, Ishould say so, but I don’t understand!” the bewildered actor protested. ‘You know that gentleman is a lawyer?” “Yes; and not a very reputable one, either.” “He met me at Fulton Ferry the other night; he had been drinking, and.I suppose the liquor put the idea into his head, for he asked my name, how old I was, and then told me that I was the heir toa for- tune of half a million of dollars.” “ You had better be on your guard, Frank,” Craige said, seriously, “This fellow is totally unserupu- lous. He has already been concerned insome ugly scrapes, and how he manages to escape from bein ‘thrown over the bars,’ as the lawyers say, whi means expulsion from the legal fraternity, is a mys- tery.’ oe Oh, heintends to pay himself well for the ser- vices which he is to perform; he does not serve me for nothing; he is honest about it. He came to- er og especially to hear the story of my life, and after I had told him all I knew in regard to my birth and early childhood, he said that in his mind there was no doubt that I was the long-lost heir.” ‘*- What is he to receive for his valuable services?’ “One half.” “A quarter of a million, eh?” “Yes; and out of my half are to come all the ex- penses.”” “ He will be paid pretty well; but it is not so bad, considering that without him you would not, prob- ably, be able to get anything.’ “Yes; he is to find all the necessary proofs.” “But can he prove that you aye the heir?” “He says he can.” “But ave you the heir? Do you think you are?” “Well, I don’t know what to think,” the girl an- swered, “I'll tell you the story, and you can decide, The half a million is the fortune left by an old gen- tleman, Vendotena by name, who used to keep a confectionery store on Broadway. “Yes, I know the place; many a dish of ice-cream I’ve had there.” “The son of the old gentleman—an only son—se- cretly married a young country girl at Long Branch, and the father never forgave . The wife was named Decetra Limowell, and about two years after. her marriage she died, leaving a bay girl. That child was brought up by this owell, who was a
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. 18 lgwyer. When the old gentleman died, about eighteen years after the marriage of his son, he made a will leaving all his Ry erty to his grand- cought, Francesca, the child of Decetra, This Mr, Leipper was the lawyer who drew out the will. He went in search of the child, now a girl of eighteen, but could find no trace of her at all, or of Mr, Limo- well, who had taken care of her. He had lived at Long Branch, or, to speak more correctly, near Long Branch, in a very lonely spot, and had gone away, no one knew where orwhen. That's the story of the heir; now hear mine. Idon’t know who my father or mother was, or anything about them, Ever since I can remember I lived with a Mr, Limo- ell in a lonely house near Long Branch. I was wld that my name was Francesca, but whenever I asked about my father and mother, I was told that they were both dead, long ago, and that I mustn't ask any questions. Mr. Limowell was a harsh, stern man, 80 ugly in temper that I fairly grew to hate the very sight of him. About a year I ge he brought a young man tothe house, introduced him to me, and said that he was to be my husband, That very night Iran away and came to New York. Brown Betty, an old colored woman who took care of the house and had always looked out for me since I was a child, advised me to take the step. I had twenty- five dollars which I had saved up, and I knew that would keep me until I found something to do, Rrown Betty knew Mrs, O’Hoolihan and sent me here, Now compare the two stories; have I not reason to believe that I am the missing heir for whom this for- tune of half a million dollars waits?” Craige was thoroughly astonished. It was more than probable, and his a mind speedily compre- hended how easily a skillful lawyer, particularly one not over scrupulous, could supply the missing links in the chain of evidence. % seu it certainly does look as if you were the eir,’ * Am I not justified, then, in accepting the fortune that chance throws into my lap?” “Most certainly! It would be tempting Provi- dence, to refuse.” * And think, too, of the happiness that such a vast sum of money will bring me. ee does not always bring happiness, you ow. “Ah, yes, but it does if it is rightly used,” the girl cried, eagerly. “It won’t turn my head, or although I have been used to poverty all my e. “That's Figs * And I shall be able to pay the debts I owe.” “Do you owe many?” “Oh, no; you are my gfeatest creditor,” and the pretty girl rested her iittle hand upon the arm of the young man and looked him full in the face with her great dark eyes, now moistened with emotion, Craige was visibly affected, but he was an honest- hearted fellow, and seldom tried to conceal his feel- gS. A moment the young actor gazed earnestly into the ressive face, the dusk of the night ly concea. ing the blushes which flooded throat, cheeks and temples, and then, with a gentle motion, he ex- tended his arms and drew the young girl gently to his manly breast. “Why, little one,” he said, ‘‘do you think that I am the sort of man to take any unfair advantage? Just think of the prospect that lies before you. A half a million of dollars! Why, with such a sum of money as that you can buy your way into the best society in the country, Few circles in this great republic so select as to ask ‘Who or what is she? No; the question generally put is, ‘ wie much is phe worehr Gold is the touch-stone which tries all nd, Iam a poorman, something of a scholar, but, like a fool, I have chosen a pecceninn, the pur- suit of which ——_ no honor, be the eyes of two- the actor is still a vagabond, just considered legally, in the old thirds of the worl as he used to English time, when the stocks and the whipping- post awaited him if he chanced to merit the dis- pleasure of some petty official. You will be a rich young lady, an heiress; do you think that I, really an outcast from the charmed circle called society, would try to hamper you by acne to your memory the old days when we were both poor to- ether? Oh, no, Frank; Iam no such man, Accept e gift that fortune gives and forget that I live.” “Bless you, my children!” cried a hoarse voice, in foreign accents; ‘I, your farder, bless you!” CHAPTER XIV. AN UNEXPECTED ANNOUNCEMENT. ConsIDERABLY astonished at this unexpected in- terruption, both the actor and the girl turned in surprise to gaze upon the speaker. In the gloom of the night, they beheld a tall, thin man, evidently a foreigner, with a hawk-like face, clad oak in black—a very shabby-looking ‘gentleman, indeed. “Bless you, my children!” repens the stranger, waving his thin, talon-like hands majestically in the air. “To the heart it joys me to see such trust and love. From across the stormy seas I come—from the old world, dying by inches—to this fresh young land, all for the purpose of seeing you, my dear mademoiselle. Do not start! Gasp not! Iam your father!” And, as he made this startling announce- ment, the speech uttered in a manner that would have made the fortune of a melodramatic actor, the man struck an attitude, and extended his arms pathetically toward the girl. But Frank didn’t evince the least inclination to rush into his arms, as he evidently had expected. On the contrary, she shrunk from him, con- vinced that he was either under the influence of liquor or else that he was a lunatic. ‘Who are you, and what do you want?” the actor demanded, with scant ceremony. The stranger drew himself up with an air of great ignity. “Soft! Speak low! The very stones have ears!” the stranger cried, mysteriously. ** Eh?” exclaimed Craige, in amazement. “Behold in me the leader of the Carbonari!” the man said,in a loud whisper. ‘With Garibaldi I have stood side by side; kings and emperors tremble when they hear the name of Ceasar Biondella! But I have enemies—the rulers of Europe—who hate me because I preach freedom to all mankind; ee pur- sue me even here in free America; with the dagger of the assassin they would stifle me, because tao the advocate of the people. Ha, hal But Llaugh at my foes; I spit upon them, because in my breast Icarry the heart of a lion!” “But you haven't answered my question, sir?” Craige exclaimed, impatiently. ‘By what right do you address this young lady? You are no acquain- tance!” “Am I not?” cried the Italian—for such he evi- dently was—with great dignity, ‘And I'do_ not know her either!—oh, no! Her father, Antonio Ven- dotena, and myself were not bosom friends! Dia- volo! no! With his dying breath he did not say to me, ‘Cmsar, brother-in-arms, far across the seas, in free America, m, only. daughter dweMs; go to her; bear a dying father’s blessing; be thou to her a fa- ther in my place. A fortune of half-a-million of dollairs waits for her; bring to her aid your great— your cent—brain and your bold heart; se- cure for her the money, and she will reward you with a gift so great that you can return to Italy and fight once again for freedom!’ He did not say this, no! Iam dreaming or mad! And as he emer he drew himself up with stately dignity, and glared theatrically around him. The murder was out now, and Craige fully under- stood the little game of bed ghasgincgee foreigner. In some way he had learned that the girl was sup- posed to be the lost heir to the Vendotena estate, and he was endeavoring to profit by the knowledge, finished the |
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14 “Tlaven’t you made some mistake?’ the actor asked. Are. you quite sure that this lady is the person you take her to be?” “Aha! you are wise! I do not blame you—cau- tious! It is good!” the Italian exclaimed, in the emphatic manner so natural to him. ‘But I know of what I speak: The first time I look upon the face of this dear mademoiselle, I see there the eyes of my brave companion. He tell me before he die, ‘In New York, somewhere, you will find my child; be thou a father to her; and I say, ‘I will.’ Mademoi- selle, perhaps, does not know who she is—she does not know the bright fortune that is in store for her —the bright fortune that this hand can give her.” “Perhaps you had better explain,” Craige sug- ested. . : “«T will,” the stranger said, and then with uplifted fore-finger he began: ‘By name Francesca V endo- tena—that is you; daughter of Antonio Vendotena and his wife, Decetra: grand-daughter of Lorenzo Vendotena, the confectioner, and heir to his fortune of half a million of dollairs. It is a large amount; this hand can give it to you; your second farder am I, therefore come to my heart, my child!’ ; But the girl didn’t manifest any intention of doing anything of the kind. ‘he was astonished at the ex- tent of the stranger’s information; that was all. “Do you mean to assert that you can prove the truth of this statement?’ Craige asked. ; “T can,” replied the Italian, quickly. ‘T have such proof that all the world will admit that I speak nothing but the truth. In my hands I hold the half million of dollairs; of course stp will pay me for my trouble. *Tis not for myself I ask the money but for suffering Italy, my country. Italy! dear Italy! she would be free! No priest nor king should rule from the mountains to the sea, but one great, glorious republic! Of the half million that I shall get for you, you shall give me a half. W ith a quarter of a million I can io much, Money! it is everything in this life. Money! bah! I do not care for it myself put. I will take it for the sake of my dear country.” This speech fully recalled to Craige that his guess as to the motive of the Italian was es correct. This patriotic son of the old Italian land was—to use the common term—a fraud of the first water. “Tam afraid that you are a little late in this mat- ter,” the actor said, taking it upon himself to speak for the girl. ‘This young lady’s affairs are already in the hands of a lawyer, and as he has professed himself able to do all that you say you can accom- ish, it would be hardly worth while for her to waste time upon your offer.” “4 Jawyer—ha!” and the seedy stranger gave one of his melo-dramatic starts. “ Yes.” “His name—how is he called?” “ Leipper.” : The Italianshook his head; it was evident that he did not enjoy the honor of Captain Jack’s acquain- tance. < “+ His office is in Broadway; you'll find the address in the directory.” bee “ And is your dear farder’s dying words nothing? cried the man with pathetic accent, abruptly ad- dressing Frank, ‘Can you look me in the face— hear me pee and resist the impulse to cast your- self upon my bosom?’ The girl shrunk back; instinctively she feared this glassy-eyed stranger. : ’ The Italian heaved a deep aigh i “Aha! blood is nothing! Bah! it is water!” he cried; “well, well, it is fate! I will see this lawyer. He and I will bargain together, aVons/"? And then off the man strode, leaving amazement behind him. CHAPTER XV. ALONE WITH THE DEAD, We must retrace our steps for a while and return to the shabbily furnished chamber in the old tene- ment-house, where, by the bedside of the dead girl, knelt the living one, | stant. ‘ * THE BOUQUET GIRL. Death is always sad, no matter how it cotnes, and yet to this oor stricken deer, the icy touch of the dark angel had brought peace and rest—had ended her Le and given unto her the forgetfulness she croved. One month of happy wedded life and, then, day by day, the man who had persuaded her to leave home and friends cooled in his regard for her. At last she woke to the bitter knowledge that she had been deceived; she complained not but accepted her burden with a patient heart. She loved the smiling, handsome villain who had so cruelly ruined all her young, ife and earnestly she strove by ever: means in her Pwer to win back the affection which had once been so fervently expressed. The task was hopeless; he had no affection to aronse: his heart was coldly callous and indifferent. planet and coarsely one morning he told her that she was his wife no longer, that he had procured a divorce, and then he put into her hand a legal-look- ing paper, informed her that the rent of the furnish- ed apartments, which they occupied, was paid until the Ist of the next month, and that, after that time, she must seek shelter elsewhere, threw a twenty- dollar note upon the table, and then departed, leaving his victim dazed by the awful shock. And the poor child accepted her fate without even a protest! n her ignorance of the world she believed that the man had procured a divorce, and that the decree of the obscure Iowa court, as the legal-looking paper purported to be, was the highest law. And so, she went forth into the howling wilderness of the great city, toearn her bread by the work of her slender fingers. Weak and delicate, the end soon came as we have described, and the patient searcher, who had roamed up and down the streets of the great_ metropolis, knocking at every door, determined to find the lamb who had strayed from the family fold to fall the ee of the devouring wolf, succeeded in her task at ast; but only to lose her again. And at the very last moment, too, even as the body parted with its soul, the faith of t girl was true and she concealed the name of her destroyer. “T will not tell you!” But now that death had come, and with his silent but powerful touch sealed the lips of the loved and lost forever, there was no at of ever learning from her the name of the villain whose hand had so rudely thrust her isto an untimely grave. The patient girl who had so successfully accom- lished the difficult task which she had taken upon erself, did not despair, though. “She must have preserved something belongin; to this man!’ she exclaimed, rising from her posi- tion by the side of the stricken girl. ‘A letter—a scrap of his handwriting; I must learn the name of the villain! Surely, Heaven will some day put it in my power to punish him for this dreadful work!” The womanly iustinct had guessed truly; two written papers she found. The first a certificate of marriage, the contracting parties, James Ronnells and Pauline Montgomery. The second a decree of divorce, the pretext, abandonment, granted to James Ronnells. “So, that is his name!’’ the girl cried, her eyes hve | with anger; and then a sudden thought occurred to her. “Oh! how foolish I am!’’ she cried. ‘Is it likely that is the right name of this villain? Why, the chances are that he has a dozen names, for the man who could coolly ruin the life of a young, loving and innocent girl cannot be any common rascal!" And as she meditated, turning the legal document carelessly in her hands, an indorsement upon the ba org: ed her peo * $ 4 Bei * e indorsement read, “ Benarding an tman, in a bold, clerkly hand. “That is the of lawyers who got thedivorce!” she exclaimed, conviction flashing upon her in an in- They will know who James Ronnells is, and
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. 15 they must tell me. Something within whispers me | that Ishall yet be an instrument in the hands of Heaven to punish this man for the wrong that he has done.” The girl continued her search, and an unfinished letter in the well-known hand of the dead woman re- warded her endeavors. It read as follows: “Dear Sister: I feel thatI have not very many days to live, forlam growing weaker and weaker; my hold on life is so slight that it may slip from my grasp at any moment. I have refrained from writ: ng to you, although I have wished to, very much, because 1 was ashamed to tell you how terri- bly, I have been deceived. * Just twelve months ago to-day at a ball at one of the Long Branch hotels I made the acquaintance of ayoung New York gentleman. You know how I used to steal out of the house after night set in and uncle had retired tohis room. I told you that I went to visit in the village, but I deceived you, for I used to meet a young man attached to one of the hotels. who was keeping company with a lady frien of mine in the village, and we would all drive over to Long Branch together, “On one of these occasions I met with this New York gentleman, He seemed to be rich, spoke of his family and high connections, and I was ashamed to tell him that I was a niece of the man who bore such an evil name as our uncle did; and besides, be- ing so foolishly romantic, I thought that he would not like me unless I pretended to be something better than I really was. So I told him a roman- tie story; I said that my name was Pauline Mont- ‘omery, and that I was an orphan and the heiress toa fange estate which some day I expected to get. If you_ remember, dear, this was the story that uncle used to tell us, sometimes, when his senses were steeped in liquor, I did not do this to make the gen- tleman like me, for I thought him too noble and gen- erous to be influenced by any such considerations. We saw each other frequently; and he professed pont admiration for me, and I, poor, silly girl, loved | vee my heart. He argon me to a secret aay and I consented. I left a note for uncle, telling him what I was going to do, and that, in time, Iwould write to him. I knew that he would be ‘ully enraged, for he always said that I would get him a fortune, some time. “T went away with the gentleman and we were married, I did not tell him of my real name, and up to the present moment he is ignorant of it, for, soon after we were married I discovered that I had been deceived. My husband was an adventurer, if noth- ing worse. I could not find out anything about his business or how he made a living. Even his name ! was an assumed one. Soon he began to tire of me and bluntly he told me so, and then, one day, he handed me a paper which he said was a decree of divorce, and from that day to this I have never seen | him, And now that I know the end is coming near I feela strange desire to seeyou. Come as soon as you can, I—” And here the letter see: ended. The sad story was fully told, though, and the heart of the girl swelled with anger as she reflected upon the cruel outrage. “T will find him, though!” she cried, with angry eyes. ‘“‘ Heaven will lead me to him and then put into my hand a weapon to crush him!” CHAPTER XVI. | A CURIOUS QUEST. Tr was a Sunday night; the heat intense; all the inhabitants of the lower part of New York pees were in the streets; the Bowery was crowded wit. people, the German gardens prerilowing: the suffer- sons of toil, with their wives and little ones, or th their sweeth: , were vainly endeavoring to get a breath of te to the old tenement-house on Baxter now so intimately known to the readers of stree' our story, in the shadows of a doorway, two people were standing. They evidently courtee concealment, for they were snugly ensconced within the doorway, and re- mained as motionless as statues. One was tall and the other short—the tall one a woman, the short one a man. The woman was muffled in a waterproof cloak, which completely concealed both face and figure. The man was attired in a plain black suit. Just before the time when we called the reader's attention to the two, the man had come from the old brick barrack, crossed the street, and joined the wo- man. “ Well?” the female had demanded, in a voice full of question, Little use for the woman to disguise her figure if she used her voice, for any one who had ever heard the sect 4 notes of the blonde burlesque queen would have had no difficulty whatever in a ands the speaker—charming, dashing Avise inne. “They’re hout,” responded the man; and from the unmistakably English tone the energetic Timoleon Hodkinson could easily be recognized. * Both of them?” “Yes, both on ‘em; hout for a walk together,” The ripe red lips of the famous burlesque actress closed tightly and there was an angry, steely glitter in her elear blue eyes. You have seen this girl?” Avise asked, abruptly. * As they say in ‘Frisco, you bet |” “Is she pretty?” “ Well, now, you know—” “*Oh, tell me the truth, Tim!” the actress cried, impatiently. “Don’t stop to think what I would = to hear you say, but say what you think, hon- estly!” ‘Well, now, she is rayther retty.” ‘As pretty as Iam?’ and the young girl drew w her superb figure and swung back her proud hea in the regal manner so becoming to her. “Oh, no; she ain’t got your style, you know; be- sides she ain't got the togs to rig out with,” “Ts she light or dark!’ “Dark, I ‘think,” responded Tim, slowly. ‘“ Bless- ed if I'm sure of it, though!” : #6 There's some one turning the corner now—there's wo! All through the brief conversation Avise had kept a@ watch upon the corner of the street. Tim took a good look with his little, sharp eyes. “That's our birds!” he exclaimed. ‘1i cross over and stop him before he gets to the ’ouse, and you had better walk up the street a little way, and come down on the other side, so as to meet the girl afore she can get into the ’ouse,” “Yes, I will do it,” Tim at once hurried across the street to intercept the couple, who had just turned into Baxter street from Grand, and were strolling along leisurely, | while the blonde burlesque queen hurried up the street and crossed over, so as to be able to meet the girl before she could get into the house. “Hey, Mr. Craige!” Tim exclaimed, accosting the new-comers. The actor and the bouquet-girl—for the couple were the two—halted. “Hello! Is that you, Hodkinson?” Craige asked, somewhat surprised at the encounter. “Yes, I've been waiting for you for some time. Tompkins wants to see you at the Union Square Hote aignt right away.” Tompkins was the potent manager who swayed the destinies of the blonde burlesque troupe. “What's the matter?” ;. : “ There’s got to be a change in the programme for to-morrow night, I believe, and they want to see you ot it, Tompkins told me to bring you up away.” All right; Tl go slong with yen. vee ean a your way to the house resume e actor with a lsugh to Frank,’ us }
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16 “Oh, yes,” she replied, cheerfully. “Tlibe back soon; and then, accompanied by Tim, he hurried away, and as they walked the in- quisitive Englishman proceeded to question Craige regard to the bouquet girl. * “Your sister, eh?” “No,” the actor answered, shortly. ; “Your gal, eh? Well, she ain’t bad-looking!” Craige felt a strong impulse to tell the little En- lishman that he better mind his own business, ut he refrained. “ Blamed if I shouldn’t like such a gal as that my- ey Tim continued. “Say! can’t you introduce me oe “See here, young man!’ cried the actor, halting suddenly “ahd facing h anger me holding Jour tongue about her. ani man a piece of mind; but, that was a luxury which the ga proportions of Craige denied, at the pre- sen’ The august Tompkins, a burly, clumsy man, very —_ — toa laviah display of jewelry, was found at the hotel. In a confidential, friendly sort of Ay for him, for Manager Tompkins really regarded himself as a man of note, he drew Craige to one side, and asked him if he could do certain things, provided certain events happened, and with a rambling conversation, chiefly consisting of abuse directed against the members of the troupe whom he fancied to be about to leave him, he managed to detain Craige about half an hour, Craige said, naturally, that he would do all in his powers and there the matter ended. Much smoke ut no fire. But, the end in view was gained; care had been gotten out of the way, so that Avise could exchange a few words with the bouquet girl. After the departure of her escort, Frank had walked directly to the house, but at the door she found herself confronted by a tall, handsome girl, who gazed at her with eyes wherein no friendly feel- ing was written. CHAPTER XVII. AVISE’S SCHEME. “You are the bouquet girl?” the unknown said.” nk was astonished at the question and rather inclined to resent the manner in which it was asked; the keen wit of the girl pe A detected the latent hostility of the speaker, but with a sense beyond her ears, she repressed the desire to demand ‘to know : ibe are authority she was questioned, and replied we vy: +: oe sell bouquets sometimes, if that is what you an. “You are a rather pretty girl,” the blonde queen said, bluntly, “and yet not so bewitchingly beauti- ful as to be able to take my lover away from me.” Frank was utterly astounded as she lis ened to this strange sentence, the full meaning of which she did not comprehend, in the least. “Your lover!” she exclaimed, her black eyes opening wide in amazement. “Yes, my lover!” the angry, jealous girl repeated, “T don’t understand what you mean,” Yor woman, I have come to save you from a grea - = ! declared Avise, abruptly. es Frank did not feel at all interested; her subtile wom instinct told her that this handsome girl sho was ‘not at all inclined to believe atot sien ve e in- tended to serve her, ~ \ THE BOUQUET GIRL. “A very great peril indeed threatens you, and although you are a stranger to me, though I took pains to find out all about you, I cannot bear to see you trifled with.” “Trifled with!” exclaimed the bouquet girl, her Le 53 eyes glitvering, for the phrase strangely offen- her. “Yes, you area ese) innocent girl, and I should be false to my sex if I permitted you to be blindly led astray without attempting to save you.” A quick, hot blush swept over Frank’s pretty face, and an tears came into her brilliant eyes. She was cut to the quick that the strange girl should dare to talk in such a manner to her. “Oh, Ican take care of myself, thank you!” the girl cried, in ntly. “Yes, that is what every one thinks until it is too late,” retorted the actress. “I came as a friend to warn you, but I perceive already that I shall only have my labor for my pains, for you do not believe me, ““Whence comes the danger?” “From your own silly self!” Avise cried, harshly, “You are not an ugly girl, but the little beauty you possess will be your ruin. You think that this man means honestly by you, but I tell you, girl, that he is deceiving Ned and some day he will tire of your company and then forsake you as he has forsaken better women than you are.” “You are a bold, forward creature, to dare to say this tome!” Frank cried, heatedly; “‘and of what mn a aa 1 ‘h,”’ the blonde respond: ah you know well enough, 6 blonde nd- ed, with bitter accent. “I mean the man who has i ust left eae actor, Ronald Craige. Heis your over, is he not?” be! Aber right do you ask the question? What does it matter to you whether Mr. Craige is my lover or not?” demanded, with burning cheeks and flashing eyes, “Oh, not much; if I were like the majority of the ais of to-da ‘ Dees preg apa he come my 5 te about it at only that he is go: us- band one of these days.” ° xd “Your husband!” For a moment the heart of the bouquet girl seem- ed to stand still, and all around her reeled; the very air became murky. It was only for a moment, though, and then the bold, brave heart of the girl asserted its wonted Sway. ‘Ronald Craige is to be your husband?” Frank asked, in a tone which plainly expressed her doubt, after she had recovered from the effects of the shock produced by the intelligence. “Yes, and that is the reason why I take the trou- ble to seek you out and warn you against the dan- gerous path which you are t , and which can only lead you to destruction. I love the man, and therefore I pardon these tricks; you are not the first girl that he has trifled with, but I made up my mind to save youif I could, for I'm getting tired of having miserable, heart - broken girls come crying tome with their stories of how they have been treated by him. Of course you think that it is a great t for this man to take a fancy to you; you are o @ poor girl; you sell bouquets for a living, and I suppose you Just about starve from one year to another; you have neither mother nor father; without any relativ am rightly informed; no soul in the world to whom you can apply for counsel; there is no brother's friendly hand to prevent you from Ring to destruc- tion, your helpless situation the attentions of such a man as Ronald Craige must seem like a bit of heaven brought down to for your benefit. He is a gentleman, makes plenty of money. so you nati t because he es well an doesn’t seem to have to work hard, ane if the truth were known, you would discover th © gets just_enough to keep alive, and thatis all, It would be madness for him to marry a poor girl, and
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. 1? he knows that as well as any one, Tsuppose that this is a terrible blow to you, but I feel sorry for you and will help you, for I am rich and don't grudge the money. Come right away with me; on’t say any thing to anybody, but come; I'll give you money pte td to keep you for a year and hide you away somewhere, 80 that this man will never be able to find you—” Frank drew herseJf up proudly, and stopped the speech of the other with a gesture of disdain. “Oh, no, I understand your plan!” she cried; ‘ it must a fair fight between us. If you can win a ae me you are welcome, but I defy you to oO it Avise stared at her rival for*a moment, but she ea. it only an idle boast. “We shall see,” she said, and then hurried away, while Frank entered the house. And then from the recesses of the doorway of the next house came the tall, dark figure of a man, and with noiseiess steps he followed after the blonde burlesque queen. CHAPTER XVIIL AN ASTOUNDING STATEMENT, Tue chief of the Modocs sat in his office. Captain Jack felt entirely at_ ease with himself and all the world, for thus far his plans had progressed splen- didly. Already, “‘in my mind’s eye, Horatio,” he had the fingering of the half a million of dollars left by the old confectioner. All was smooth sailing; he saw no ahead, no frowning line of breakers giving timely warning of the dangerous reef beneath. e had prepared the pence necessary to prove the identity of the long-lost heir; had even made a list of the witnesses likely to be of use, and, as he glanced over the names, a satisfied smile play- ed over his ve face. “Tip-top ones, all of them,” he murmured. “ Not - $c rp oar mong = =i likely to give e thing away!’ e lawyer ed into the slan, of the streets Snce ina Site. id ns me i the wily lawyer fell into a deep train of ought. “A quarter of the sum only to me for all m trouble,” he muttered at last, eA then he shook his head inamanner which plainly betrayed that he was not at all satisfied. “It isnot enough! Taxwill gets the same amount merely for shutting his eyes and letting the matter go Syough without opposi- tion. I must have more, but how?” The lawyer closed his eyes reflectively for a moment, a fashion he had when engaged in studying out some abtruse puzzle. , *I have it!” he cried, suddenly unclosing his eyes, and bringing down his much-bejeweled hand with a vigorous slap upon his knee. * First, to get everything in proper order and then make proposi- tions to the girl. ait until the bright vista opens fairly before her and the moment arrives when my hand can toss the half a million into her lap, or else tumble her back to the gutter from whence she sprung, then I'll talk to her. She will acce rt, sure! Indeed, she would be mad to refuse! It’s porate og os i reser fg ae me,” fe mS lawyer surv. with great complacency his handsome face and figure in the glass, “‘ but for the sake of the money I'll swallow the pill. After a time, and I get ly in my S, if the dose gets too strong —why, I can easily get rid of it.” At this point the meditations of the lawyer were suddenly interrupted, There were two ground-glass doors to the office, one at each end of the room. The one nearest the the sign, “ Leipper and Leipper,” and the other was ornamented with the inscription of Stine entai ee Counselors and Attorneys not only * Lei Leipper,” but he was also “Be at oa Brit. man.” It was handy, sometimes, in particularly Sah hes chs Bias cae ie WS, [s) papers, as ‘they The door usually used by visitors, being the one nearest the stairs, although furthest from the ele-° vator, opened suddenly and a man stuck his head into the apartment—a peculiar head, surmounted by a well-worn felt hat, Alpine style, the pattern so much affected by foreigners of uncertain habits; the face, thin, dark, hawl-like. r ’ The man nodded, grinned, displaying long, point- ed, white teeth, animal in their shape; then he ad- vanced into the room, first closing the door caro- pally, behind him, and moving with soft and stealthy tread. Captain Jack took the man’s measure at once; he knew the class so well—the broken-down foreigner, teacher, dancing-master, etc., always of noble birth, always very dignified and gentlemanly, always in want of a small sum—* Just a tempo: loan, un- til the delayed remittance ”—which, so! Ww, is al- ways delayed—“ arrives.” ‘ “Pardon me,” exclaimed the man, drawing him- self up and executing a stately bow; “if I do nota mistake make, I have ze honor to address ze famous Leipper and Leipper, ze magnificent lawyer.” The man spoke with a strong Italian accent, and the lawyer, an excellent judge of character, looking him carelessly in the face, instantly came to the conclusion that he was as evil-looking a rascal as he had encountered for many a long day, sid Paces eign my name; what do you want?” the captain asked, not over-politely. * You will a-pardon me if a chair I take,” the man said, sweetly, never taking the slightest notice of the repelling manner of the lawyer, and then, without more se 0, he helped himself to one of the cushioned rm-chairs, ot Now, we will a-speak on business,” the stranger continued, after he had got comfortably settled, “You are Leip per. and Leipper? Yes; goot! You are zemanIseek. You are ze lawyer who drew out ze will of Lorenzo Vendotena?” | Captain Jack stared in astonishment; it was not often that the ate and te eae lawyer was surpris- 2d. but he certainly was this time, , rYoU are ze lawyer! It is not necessary for you to a-speak, forI read ze truth in your ressive face, You are zo lawyer who drew out ze last will and testament of Lorenzo Vendotene. He a-died; zo will lives; it is goot! in that will is a half a raillion of dollairs, and that half a million of dollairs is left to ze granddaughter of ze old man, Francesca, child of Antonio, son of Vendotena, Am I not a-right, ha?’ = “Yes; what you have stated is quite correct, Leipper replied, unable for the life of him to guess whot the fellow was driving at. Vendotena to his fathers go some long time now, hey? and you look high, low, up and down ze earth, and nowhere can you find ze heir. Tranquilize your mind, my goot ger oe isg bd to you,” the Italian exclaimed, with s' y dig: j “The re fothoes eo niges Jack exclaimed, rather startle the speech, — The Italian sintled, nappen his right forefinger thrice in the open palm of his other hand. “Aha! behold in me a man who always keeps his words. What I say I do, diavolo! ten thousand devils in my path would not turn me from ze way one leetle inch; that is ze manLam! You behold me!” and — the Italian leaned back in his chair as if to invite the af in: tion. The lawyer was a little mystified; as yet he had not penetrated the game of the other, ““Pxeuse the question, but what reason have to take any antetoas in this Vendotena affair, at i estioned. via single bound the man was on his feet, gesticu- — ey eh not a-guess? Look! behold!” he eried. “I am ze farder of ze heir—I am Antonio Lae =e out TOW, gad Captain Jack saw 2 what the man was up to. ; * Oho} ‘you are Antonio Vendotena, eh?” zt
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18 THE BOUQUET GIRL. 53 “Tam my farder’s son!" cried the Italian, quickly; can you not a-see it in my face? When you a-look oe me does not Lorenzo Vendotena rise before The lawyer favored the man with a searching lance, and the Italian, folding his arms across his reast, drew himself up with dignity, as if to invite the inspection. ‘Well, you do look something like the old man,” Leipper admitted, carelessly, as if the resemblance was a matter of small moment. Aha! you do not doubt that I am my farder’s son!” cried the Italian, in triumph. Oh, p= Ttalians all look like one another; there’s a sort of family resemblance between all of you,” the lawyer replied, carelessly. is ‘The man was disappointed and he plainly betrayed it in the restless glances of his sunken eyes. He had expected to produce a great impression when he had roclaimed himself to be the almost forgotten An- nio, who had been lost to sight for so many years, Pus the lawyer didn’t seem to heed the matter at “*You doubt, eh, sare? You do not think am Antonio Vendotena?” eae acee “Well, the fact is, old fellow, I don’t trouble m head about the matter at all,” Captain Jack replied in the most matter-of-fact tone. : Were { But you have a-charge of the estate—of the half a million of dollairs!"’ the Italian cried, anxiously, No, not exactly; the executors have charge of the estate, but Iam their legal adviser though.” Then why are you nat interested in me?” the man queried. *‘* Understand I can not.” Simply because you are not at all interested in the matter, even if you are Antonio Vendotena, and in regard to that fact I have considerable doubt, al- though the matter doesn’t possess interest enough for me to trouble my head about it, one way or the other, If you are Antonio Vendotena you know the Lard Rt ik eps well shough, and must certainly and that you can have no possible interest i this half million of dollars.” ates “Tet us talk togedder!” said the Italian, soothing- ly, and with an expression of great cunning written upon his face; then he resumed his chair and pulled it up close to the lawyer. “To me listen awhile,” he continued; “you area man of ze world, goot! SoamI! Yesterday I was not born, you comprehend? Goot! You have no interest inme, but in my child, you have much in- terest—that is true, hey?” The lawyer nodded. “What better witness to prove the identity of ze chil t can you have than ze loving farder, eh?” “Yes, but suppose I have found the heir already?” “‘So much ze better!” cried the adventurer, with a true Latin shrug of the shoulders; “that will save me trouble.” “ And you can identify the heir I present without any trouble, eh?” “What can deceive a farder’s eyes?_ Diavolo! I should pick my child out of ten thousand!” -‘Of course for such a service you expect noth- in: ” fam Inot human? Is a farder’s feelings worth nothing?” the Italian demanded, “ About how much?” 7 “Oh, I will be moderate—to grasp is hot my na- ture—say one hundred thousand dollairs!” The lawyer indulged in a prolonged whistle. __ “ Aha! you t’ink it too much, eh?’ the man cried, anxio' . Consider a farder’s feelings! By rights it should al be mine.” = no, you misunderstand me,” the lawyer ex- plained, not a shadow of a smile upon his face. “ I was amazed at the smallness of your offer. “AmTnota reasonable man? You accept, eh?” He was anxious. “Well, I don’t know avout that.” | ** Aha! cried the Italian, starting to his feet again in “Tamnotatallin- | | the peculiar jerky, manner which seemed so natural tohim. “if you refuse you turn me trom a friend into a foe. I will appear in the a-court; I will say behold in me, Antonio Vendotena, the farder of ze heir! Zis girl—bah! she is ome grand impostor; I know her not; she is not my child! You lose your case, you comprehend?” The door at the further end of the room—Benard- ing and Britman’s door—opening suddenly imter- rupted the conversation. Both of the men turned, and there, framed in the doorway, was the girl who like a specter had appeared to the lawyer in the entryway of the old tenement house. An appalling ery camé from the lips of the Ital- ian. “Saints in heaven! It is Decetra!”’ he exclaimed. CHAPTER XTX. COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. TrHorovGHLY astonished were the two men at the unexpected appearance of the girl in the doorway, and che, on her part, appeared to be surprised. The Italian, at the first glance, had detected the wonderful resemblance which she bore to the dead Decetra Limowell, the country girl, who had wedded in secret Antonio Vendotena, and Captain Jack, while perceiving also the wonderful resemblance which the face bore to the picture of the mother of the heiress, now in his possession, at the same time was forcibly struck with the likeness which the face bore to the features of another woman, now sudden- ly recalled to his memory. Almost involuntarily the words had burst from the lips of the Italian: “ Saints in heaven! it is Decetral” The exclamation had seemed to wake the stran, from the stupor into which she had fallen upon holding the two men. It was quite evident that neither one was a stranger to her, Quickly she acted; she slammed the door to in- stantly, but with a common impulse the two men rushed forward toward it. And as they extended their hands to open it they heard the xey without, which ha Leger to have been cerclaeare. on the outside oft the door, turn in the lock. Ye girl, with rare presence of mind, had thus checked pursuit, “The other door!” the lawyer exclaimed. They hurried to it, opened it, and rushed out into the entry. Noone was there! The woman had dis- appeared! “Diavolo! she has been too quick for us!” the Italian : eried; “but we can overtake her on the stairs. ‘More likely to have taken the elevator!” Captain Jack replied; “she could not possibly have got out of sight so soon if she had gone down the stairs!” And with the 4 ae the lawyer rushed to the grated doorway, which afforded an entrance to that modern triumph of ingenuity known as the elevator, Sure enough, the machine was rapidly descending; already it was at least two stories below. ss ae. to the stairs!’ Captain Jack cried, ne nough there isn't much chance of overtaking ery" The odds were decidedly against the success of the attempt, but they tried it nevertheless. Down the stairs they raced at_break-neck speed, both men strangely excited. They halted not until they reached the main hall. The elevator car was in its accustomed place waiting for customers, but no woman in sight. The lawyer took one look at the crowd surging by the door on Broadway, and f how hope- less would be the attempt to pursue the mysterious woman, now that she had fairly escaped from the building. “She has given us the slip.” “Diavolo! yes!” the Italian cried, with a int. “Come up to the office again and we'll finish our talk, and, perhaps, come toan understanding.” The Italian nodded.
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=. THE BOUQUET GIRL. 19 By the aid of the elevator, the two speedily re- sumed their former quarters. “A mysterious affair!” the lawyer -observed, thoughtfully. ‘The girl, or woman, whatever she is, evidently recognized us. . “« ‘And do. you not know her?” the Italian asked, shrewdly. : Wel Ican’t say that I do, or that:I do not,” Captain Jack replied, evasively. ‘‘The face is fa- miliar to me, and yet itis not. It looks like the pic- ture of Decetra Limowell, which I have, and also reminds me of another person.” ’ “Connected with the Limowell family?” “Oh, no.” It was plain that the remembrance was not a pleasant one, that is, if one could judge | from the expression upon the face of the lawyer. “T told you that ze leetle girl, that you think is ze heir is not; behold! specter-like zis one comes to confirm my words!" the Italian exclaimed in tri- umph. The lawyer favored his visitor with a long, search- ing glance from under his bushy eyebrows. Rie thought had suddenly occurred to the Modoe that perhaps this sudden appearance of the light- haired girl was all a cunningly arranged trick de- vised by the Italian, and so he determined to probe the matter to the bottom. 1 “Who do you think this girl is?” he asked, quiet- 1 74 Ze heir!” replied the Italian, promptly. ‘It is Francesca Vendotena, my child! A farder’s eyes cannot be deceived!”’ “Well, that ends the little arrangement, then, that you were proposing,” the lawyer observed. ‘Of coursé now you would not be willing to back up the claim of this other girl whom I believe to be the missing heir.’’ “Oh, what does it matter to meso long asI get ze money?” the Italian cried, with great frankness, “One girl or ze odder, it does not matter to me at all. You pay me ze hundred thousand dollairs and I will swear that ze odder girl is my child; it is all ze same!” tain Jack demanded abruptly. ‘Suppose I go ahead my own way without your aid?” . ‘** Aha! then I shall be compelled, my noble friend, to block-ah ze wheels of your game!” was the Ital- ian’s menacing response. **4 hundred thousand dollars is a large sum,” ‘* Not one penny less!" cried the Italian, violently. “Bab! it is moderate! One hundred thousand dol- laris out of half a million! It is a flee-bite!” “Tam not alone inthis matter, I must consult another party—if you could say fifty thousand now— “No, no, no!” cried the adventurer, vehemently; “nota cope: less! I will not have it!” “ Come here to-morrow, at this time, and I'll have the other party here; but the sum is too la ye “Oh, let me a-talk to him; he will agree!” the Italian confidently protested. A few more words of small import and the inter- view ended. CHAPTER XX. THE PRIVATE INQUIRY OFFICE. On John street between Nassau and William in the at city of New York stands a modest-looking three-story brick house—a dwelling of ancient date erected in the days when trade centered ‘around Bowling Green and the yor eb of the town lived in 6 adjoining streets. eatght hoe the heavy moldings that ornament the walls now remain to — of the ancient glories of i 26 sumptuous abode. : ects the directory sign of No. 52, the house we have described, a female form was standing. A plainly attired woman, but still very neatly dressed; a heavy vail concealed her features, yet, in spite of this hali-disguise one could see that she was young and pretty, with great dark eyes and light yellow hair, . rhe as I don’t accept this offer of yours?’ Cap- | A miscellaneous lot of people occupied offices in No. 52. There were artists, wood-engravers, pocket- book manufacturers, stencil-plate makers, obscure publishers of still more obscure journals, and one modest tin sign bore the inscription: “PRIVATE INQUIRY OFFICE. “* JEHIAL PENDALMOCK.”’ Noting the number, she ascended to the office, The lady knocked, was Didden to enter, and turn- ing the handle of the door found herself in the pre- sence of Jehial Pendalmock, the chief of this semi- secret bureau. The private detective was a short, thick-set man, with a bushy brown beard and a pleasant face, wherein shone a pair of shrewd gray eyes. He was well in years and possessed that peculiar manner Lamas wins the good opinion of a stranger at a glance. The room was plainly furnished, a stove, a desk, a sofa and three or four chairs. The detective was perusing one of the afternoon ournals, but rose at once when he perceived that is visitor was a lady and offered her a chair. “You are the head of this office?” the lady asked, evidently a little embarrassed by the novelty of the situation, “Yes, ma’am.” The detective was quite accus- tomed to receive lady visitors. Many a jealous wife had sought his aid, anxious to detect and punish a recreant husband. “T have a little business which I wish you to attend to for me; what are your terms?” “Tt depends entirely upon the nature of the busi- ness, ma’am, and the trouble it gives me. My fees range all the way from five dollars per day upward, and my expenses besides.” The lady drew a legal-looking paper from her cket and handed it to the detective. ** You perceive what that document is?” “Yes, ma’am.”” The detective examined it at a lance, ‘A decree of divorce, James Ronnells fron auline Montgomery, got in an Iowa court, humyph! one of those suspicious documents! It may be all right, and then again it may not be worth the paper it is written on.” The detective then glanced at the indorsement upon the back. ‘ Ben: and Brit- man, Oho! I know that party!” * Are they a responsible firm?” “ Well, ma’am, to tell the honest truth, there is no such firm,” r “No?” “No such firm,” the detective repeated, with a quiet laugh. “They have an office on Broad- way, and they do a good deal of advertising in the newspapers. Perhaps you may have noticed their advertisements. ‘Divorces procured without failin any court and from any cause. No money required in advance.’ That's the way they put out. “And what is the name of the person whom one would see calling upon this firm?” “Jack Leipper, the shrewdest and most unsern- pulous lawyer that there is to-day in New York.” I wish to find out all about this James Ronnells— who he is, where he is now.” ‘Oh, that will be easy enough.” id, furthermore, I wish information in regard toa child brought to the village of Long Branch by a colored woman, one Elizabeth Johnson, commonly called Brown Betty, about seventeen years ago.” The detective jotted down the name in his mem- orandum-book, “What name did the child bear?” “Ido not know what the colored woman called the child, but the man who brought her up called her Frances Blakely.” Again the detective made an entry in his memo- rege if th at “Brown Betty lives on the road leading from Lo: Branch to Branchburg; any of the inhabitants ieee will be able to point out the house to you. You re- quire money, T presume?” Well, a slight advance for expenses will be ac
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$0 THE BOUQUET GIRL. peranle I don’t think that this will be a very cost- ly job.” The lady eounted out twenty dollars into the de- tective’s hand, and then took her departure, first making an appointment for that day week. Twenty minutes later the detective walked into Captain Jack’s office. CHAPTER XXL. AFTER INFORMATION, CapraIn JAck was busy with his papers, but look- ed up as the detective entered. The head of the Private pgeny, Office was well known to the lawyer, as he had had business deal- ings with him, but there was no love lost between the two, as the detective in two or three cases had succeeded in bothering the lawyer's plans con- siderably. But Leipper always received either friend or foe with a smiling face, and therefore he greeted the bats detective quite cordially. “How are you? Help yourself toa chair, Warm, isn’t it?” “Yoes, quite warm.” : The detective seated himself comfortably in an arm-chair and prepared for action. “What's up?” gers Jack questioned. He understood that this was no mere visit of ceremony, but that the detective had come on busi- ness, “T want to get a little information from you.” “Certainly; happy to oblige you; what is it?’ and the lawyer, wheeling around in his chair, faced the detective with a pleasant smile upon his handsome ‘ace. The detective took out his memorandum-book in the peculiar, methodical way so natural to him, opened it and glanced at one of the pages. “T want you to give me the correct address of Mr. James Ronnells,”’ The lawyer was playing carelessly with a little ivory paper-knife, but as the name reached his ears, with a — convulsive movement the strong hands ane the fragile toy in twain. The detective, with his nose down in the memo- randum-book—he was rather short-sighted, or pre- tended to be, so his detractors said—apparently was not watching the face of the lawyer, but in reality not the slightest expression of the features escaped him, \ And over the expressive face of the lawyer a look of blank astonishment had rapidly passed. It was but momentary, though; in a second he had recov- ered his composure, “James Ronnells,” he said, slowly and_reflective- ly. “James Ronnells—I don’t think that I know any one by that name.” “Quite sure?’ Pendalmock asked in his quiet way; and the lawyer, well acquainted with the de- tective’s manner, understood at once that Pendal- mock knew that he was not speaking the truth. “Well, yes; but I say!” exclaimed the lawyer, ale rs “will you allow me to ask you a few ques- ions? ‘“* Of course.” “Why do you wish to know anything about ee James Ronnells? Do you ‘want’ him for any- Inn? “Oh, no; nothing of that kind, at all,” Pendalmock hastened to explain, ‘“‘A party came to my office, left the name, and desired me to procure any infor- mation I could in regard to the party.” ‘““And was my naine mentioned in the matter?” ie Captain Jack, apparently very much aston- “Oh, no.” # Why, then, do you come to me in regard to the “Because I know that you know something about him,” the detective answered, bluntly, much to the astonishment of the lawyer, A peculiar expressfon shot across the face of the lawyer; it did not escape the sharp eyes of the de- tective, but for the life of him he couldn't detect what caused it or what it purported. For once the keen wits of the acute blood hound-of-the-law were at fault, “See, Pendalmock, you place me in a peculiar sit- uation,” he said, abruptly, and apparently with great frankness, ‘This man may be a client of mine, and how can I tell, if I give you his address— ye | T have it—that I shall not be doing him a mischief?” id detective shook his head. It was a knotty | point. The lawyer cast his eyes down to the floor and re- mained silent for a few moments, evidently in deep thought. “T don’t understand this matter, at all,” he said at last, after quite a long pause. “I suppose it is of no use to ask who the person was?” “To betray one of my patrons would ruin my busi- ness,” the detective quietly rejoined. “Tf Ronnells is the man I think he is, he would be apt to give a trifie to know who itis that is so anx- ious about him,” Captain Jack suggested, careless- ly. Jehial understood the hint, but he was the soul of honor where a client was concerned, so he quietly shook his head, “You can’t see it?” “ Couldn’t do it, you know,” Pendalmock replied. “ Well, I can’t give ihe any information about the party,” Captain Jack announced in an off-hand, careless way, ‘‘except that I have a vague remem- brance of such a man, and that I transacted some business for him; what it was I don’t remember, but I don’t think it amounted to much,” “You can’t give the address, then?” and the de- | tective rose as he spoke, “No, but if I knew what he was wanted for—if the _ object of the inquiry was revealed to me, it is possi- ble I might be able to obtain some information in Be cite oe ee out it,” and th ‘Tl see wha e Pp says abou! the detective retreated to the “oon “By the way!” cried the lawyer, abruptly, halt- ing endalmock with his.hand on the door-knob. “Supposing that you don’t succeed in getting any information in regard to this Mr. Ronnells—and greatly doubt your being able to obtain any—and you get through with the party who wishes to pro- secute the search, I suppose you would have no ob- jection to taking a retaining fee from me to find out why this party wants Mr, Ronnells?” “Oh, no; not the least objection,” the detective replied, readily. _‘“‘When I get through with the ar on am entirely at your service.” ss right; come round and let me know.” The detective nodded and departed. “Well,” he mused, descending the stairs slowly, “this affair looked all plain and straightforward, but it is quite evident, now, that itis going to give me some trouble, I never saw Leipper taken so b; surprise before, for he is about as cool a hand as know of, anywhere, but he snapped eel ee as though it was made of pasteboard. There’s something beneath the surface in all this, and Iam beginning to get interested. This Ronnells is a val- eens client, or Leipper would never have betrayed so much interest inthe matter. I wonder if the lad is the party from whom the divorce was obtained? He don’t think I will be able to procure any informa- tion in regard to the pay eh?” and the detective ae ee quietly to himself. ‘ Well, well, we can tell that better after I have been at work on the case for a week or so. I must try what effect a five-dollar bill will have upon Mr, Leipper’s office-boy; and these lads have sharp eyes and ears, sometimes,” The bloodhound was eager on the scent! ’ ' Sun tost rt stro of 1 of | ——
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a, of the 16 de- letect e the were ir sit- : with nt of ess— ima 10tty d re- deep said it is busi- l be nx- BSS- of tly d. he nd, m- me THE BOUQUET GIRL, 21 CHAPTER XXIL A COOL PROPOSAL. Arter parting with the Bouquet Girl Avise had hurried along, her blood at fever-heat; her plan had ailed; she had been repulsed with scorn and con- mpt. Tho Queen of the Blondes walked rapidly down Grand street toward Broadway. Close behind her came the tall, dark man with stealthy tread, and as the enraged and baffled girl turned into New York’s great artery, now dark and almost deserted, as it usually is at such an hour on Sunday evening, the man rere the opportunity to step forward and address her. / “*Good-evening, mademoiselle,” he said, and the strong foreign accent as well as the peculiar tone of the voice at once betrayed to the quick ears of the actress that it was the seedy foreigner who had sought an interview with her, a few days before, at her hotel. “ Well, sir, what do you want?” Avise demanded. “To your hotel you will proceed now?” the Italian eee: with another low bow. “Yes,” oe Mademoiselle, permit your humble slave the dis- Poeed honor of accompanying your steps to ze otel.’ h “Thank you, but I don’t desire any company,” the actress replied, hacer “Ah, mademoiselle, but I have something very important to say to you; as we walk along, my plans I can unfold; you comprehend, eh?” “Oh, you’re wasting your time, sir; you can have nothing to say to me that I care to hear!” was Avise’s impatient response. She was in no mood to listen to what at some other time might have amused her, “If itis money that you are after spare your- self the trouble of talking; nere’s a dollar for you; so get out!” The actress opened her purse and ten- dered a bank-note. With a stately bow the Italian declined the gift, although it must be recorded that his eyes glare hungrily as he looked upon the bit of paper which represented a good dollar. ‘No, mademoiselle, no; it is not your money I seek!” he returned, with dignity. “I do not come to beg. It is to do you a service that I seek you this night!” " The Italian had one ep peculiarity; some- times he spoke extremely 00 English with hardly a trace of a foreign accent, and then again his dis- course smacked strongly of the forei Exe. “You do me a service?” asked Avise, evidently doubtful of the man. ; “Si, signora!” replied he, promptly. “ Listen to a-me. Concealed in ze next doorway was I to-night; my ears did hear all that passed between you and that young woman.” The actress crimsoned for a moment from neck to bg more through anger than from shame, ough, ‘ “Listen, be tranquil, and you will a-comprehend me,” he began, marching along by the side of the tall, beautiful girl, and like a gigantic cat a in herear, ‘“ Zis girl! ah! she is an imp of Satan!” he cried, with an expression of well-assumed horror upon his face. “She has insnered that noble young man, He has given his word—oh! he is a noble young man! His word he would a-keep although the sky fall! But if she were away taken, he would be free; his word released, he would be your slave!’ Avise caught eagerly at the idea, and a hard, strange look came over her fair young face. She was mad with love—fierce with love's passion, and to accomplish her desire few obstacles in this world were too great for hér to surmount. “Take her away—what do you meant” the actress asked, in a low, hard voice, strangely harsh for her silver throat, “ Exactly what I the Italian replied in ; in riddles I do not speak!” © most matter-of-fact way. “Away she must be taken; the spell removed, ze noble young man will be all your own.” “You do not mean to kill her?’ Avise asked in a wee er, her face growing deadly pale at the horri- le idea. “Oh, no, there is no need of that,” the Italian re- plied, lightly. ‘‘ Although, were there no other way, for your sake, my child, I would not hesitate for a moment. Bah! what is her miserable life compared to your happiness?” “Oh, no; not, not that!” the actress cried with a shudder. “Rest yourself tranquil, my child; ze matter can be easily arranged. Ze girl can be carried off. There is a friend of mine, a noble gentleman, al- though like myself he and hard fortune have shaken hand lately very hard, but he is a noble youth; of the best blood of fair Italy he comes; my friend —imy brother, ze Colonel ‘Anselmo del Frascati, Glance over your shoulder, signora, and you will behold him.” The actress did so, and beheld a fat, greasy and decidedly bgp Italian jogging along with downcast head about half a block behind them. “You behold! a noble youth!’ the Italian contin- ued; “with love he does be consumed for that young girl; he hangs upon her footsteps and grows thin with sighs of love! It is heaven’s mercy to bring them cegetier: All I need is ze money for ze enterprise. We carry ze girl off! Bah! itis as easy as turning over your hand! In New York I know plenty of men—countrymen of mine—who will be glad to earn five dollars and never question what is the oe Ze street is lonely, ze hall very dark; we wait for her some night inside ze hall, and have a carriage a leetle way down ze street. When she come in ze entry we seize her; put ze leetle cloth with ze medicine to her nose, her senses swim and she faint. Then we carry her to ze carriage and we drive off, nice as can be. Ze bridegroom, my noble friend, ze colonel, is ready, ze priest waiting—I know @ man who will oat ze ceremony and never trouble his head about questions, provided he is well Sea for it. She become ze wife of my friend and er spell over your lover is broken.” It was in truth a diabolical plan, but so mad with passion was the willful blonde that she caught eagerly at the idea. But if she escapes afterward?” she asked. “ Will Mistair Craige want ze wife of another man, eh?” the Italian asked, with a fiendish grin. A fearful fate indeed they had planned for the oes girl. = a pels bead foe bd A hundred doars will be enough now; ‘hay I shall not need any more,” 4 sig Avise nore him the money at once, “ Anything to rid me of that girl!” she cried, in desperation. \ CHAPTER XXIIi. ws A LEAF FROM HISTORY, By the time that the desperate, love-stricken ac tress and the reckless Italian adventurer had ar rived at an understanding, they were"pretty near to the hotel which the Queen of the Blondes honored with her presence. ¢ With an imperious gesture Avise dismissed the ad- venturer. . “ You need not mp ena & me further,” she said; “we understand each other now. If you need more money come for it, and as an incentive to successful action I hereby promise you that within an hour after the marriage of this girl to your friend I will make you a present of five hundred dollars.” The girl was liberal; but what was money to her? She was making a thousand dollars a week and never dreamed that the time could come when her gains would be less. “Oh, rely upon me, signora!” the Italian, re- plied, promptly. “ Within a week, at the most, you
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22 THE BOUQUET GIRL. thall rest tranquil. Believe me! I know what I a-speak.”” Avise hurried on, leaving the adventurer stand- | ing upon the corner, waiting for his seedy friend to come up. : A smile of satisfaction played around the thin lips of the Italian as he watched the graceful figure of the actress hurrying along in the gloom. “She is superb!’ he murmured. “Her mother was @ grand woman, but she no hold a candle to zis girl! I have made my point! Zis lawyer, bah! imbecile! he wants time to reflect! Oh, no! I un- derstand him perfect. I rest tranquil. He wants time to see if he cannot beat me insome way, Let him goon; I am prepared. In strategy lam Napo- leonic!”’ The approach of the fat Italian cut short the med- itations of the scheming rogue. “Aha! well?” grunted the noble colonel, his little eyes gazing anxiously after the actress. “My friend, I have succeeded!” the adventurer re- sponded to the interrogation. ‘Fifty dollars have I received from her, and when you are married to ze girl Iam to have a hundred more.” The fat rogue shook his head. “Tt is not enough, I am afraid.” “Why not enough? It isa great plenty.” “We'shall need a coach to carry her off; a man | to drive—” “Oh, no!” the tall Italian cried, quickly. “‘ You must drive ze coach. Diavolo! do we need a dozen? No; you will drive ze coach, I will attend to ze girl. We two will be all; there is nothing to pay but for ze coach.” The other grunted assent. “To-morrow I am to see ze lawyer again; after ze interview is over, I can tell when to strike ze blow. | Tf I do not a-miss my guess ze time will soon come, We will get home now, allons.” And chatting together, coolly arranging the details of the plan as if the carrying off of a young and help- less girl was a common, everyday af ‘air, the two ad- venturers proceeded down Broadway. So busy were they in their conversation, so intent upon the scheme which was, if successful, to bring enormous wealth to them, that neither of the two noticed, in passing, a couple of swarthy-faced, poor- ly-dressed men standing, engaged in conversation, in a doorway. : The men were partly concealed in the shadow of the doorway, not intentionally seeking to avoid con- versation though, but had merely stepped aside from the general promenade to enjoy their conversation without interruption. And asthe brace of rascals passed, a single sen- tence coming from the lips of the tall adventurer fell distinctly upon the ears of the two within the doorway. *Diavolo! I tell you we cannot fail! the idea is grand! it is Napoleonic! A half a million of dollairs! aha! we can return to Italy and live like princes!” and the two passed on; the listeners heard no more. But one of them had heard quite enough. Witha violent moyement he grasped the other by the arm, “Oh, saints in @eaven! fortune is good to me at last!” he cried. The speaker was a stout, brawny fellow, well on in years, as his grizzled beard and the sprinkling of silver hairs among his otherwise black and curlin, locks betrayed. His companion was younger an more slender. “What is the matter, Pietro?” the second man asked, astonished at the manner and words of the other. Both men spoke in Italian, and from the parity. = their accent, it was plain they were men of ucation. “That man!” he cried, with angry gesture, but in suppressed tones, pointing after the brace of plot- | fer Ee pe “Which one?” “The tall one—the fiend in face and heart!” * Well, what of him? -_———-— “Por seventeen years have I sought him—the mis- erable villain—but all in vain!” “Ts that possible?” the other cried, in amazement. “Yes; seventeen years ago.in Naples, he ruined all my life. It’s a long story and a bitter one, To- maso, my friend!”’ and the speaker ground his teeth in rage. “Why, Pietro, I never heard you speak of this matter before.” “The Vilarni are a silent race; they bear and suf- fer without acry. You know thax I was a patriot at et and suffered for my opinions.” “Yes,” “That man is the cause of all!” “What, Castiglioni?” * Aha! you know him!” the swarthy Neapolitan cried, eagerly. ‘**Yes, he lodges in the same house with me.” *“ Aha! no need to track him to-night, then, since I know where to find him to-morrow. And how calls he himself?” ** Phillipe de Castiglione. And he once wronged you? “Yes, most foully!’ the other replied, bitterly; “and by the blood of all the saints, I swear, my vengeance shall be as fearful and as complete as the ruin which he wrought!” “You excite my curiosity; explain.” : “You know the brotherhood in the old land to which we both belonged?” “The Carbonari? yes!” “You were at Milan, Tat Naples; you remember how, seventeen years ago, all Italy, that still felt the weight of the tyrant’s foot, was ripening to revolt. In wep les our brotherhood was very strong. At that time lL was divided between two passions —a desire to free my native land and love for a fair girl, the daughter of a goldsmith whose shop was in the Grand Square. The goldsmith himself a worthy man, Alphonso Cellini, was one of the chiefs of our brotherhood ;_his daughter looked with favor on me, and all seemed bright and fair. Then to Naples came a messenger from the Grand Circle of our brotherhood at Paris; he found shelter in Cellini’s house; he'was a tall, dashy fellow, a man of wealth, it was said, who, for the sake of freeing Ttaly. had resolved to sacrifice every thing. Some- how I took a dislike to the man, at first sight, and never trusted him; but Cellini, honest soul, always accepted men at their own estimate, and his daughter, too, my heart's idol, seemed strangely interested in this fluent stranger. I suspected that he was trying to displace me, but I resolved to bide my time, although ever on my guard against a blow from the malice of this French Italian, for I could plainly see that he hated me. The blow came at last, but in a different manner from what I had expected. There was a traitor in our brotherhood, and we were all denounced to the police—the gold- smith alone excepted. For six long Tomiie I languished in a dungeon, a miserable hole not fit even for a dog; then came the hour when the pow- ers of Europe bade Italy rise and take its place once again among the nations of the earth. From my dark cell I came forth into the world. I found that Cellini was dead, his daughter had married _ the stranger; he had robbed her of the wealth left by her father and had deserted her. I found her dying of a broken heart, and with her latest breath she revealed to me that the traitor who had be- trayed us was her husband—this man who has just passed,” CHAPTER XXIV. ENTRAPPED, Promptry on the day appointed the Italian walked down Broadway to the lawyer's office. A peculiar look of distrust was upon his dark face; he was not at all easy in his mind; he did not put complete confidence in the lawyer and was very much.in- clined to think that Captain Jack would overreach him if he possibly could, :
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. 23 Captain Jack, as usual, was at leisure; the man never seemed to have anything else to do but to read newspapers. The Modoc of the law always did his work during the night hours; like the beasts of prey, whom he resembled so much, by day he rested and by night he thrived. He glanced up carelessly from his newspaper as the Italian entered, nodded and waved his hand to- ward a chair, “Help yourself to a seat,” he said; “the part hasn’t arrived yet, but I expect him every minute.” The Italian had bowed in the dignified and elabo- rate manner peculiar to him upon entering the room, and after gathering the purport of the law- | yer’s speech, had bowed again, and proceeded to 0@ cupy the chair. aptain Jack resumed the perusal of his paper and the Italian sat in silence, watching the gradual progress of the sunbeams advancing over the car- pet, and ever and anon turning his eyes impatiently upon the face of the oe ae upon the mantle. Twenty minutes passed—twenty minutes which seemed to the reper Italian almost like so many hours. No sound broke the stillness which reigned within the apartment but the ticking of the clock and the rustling of the lawyer’s newnpener The Italian fidgeted nervously in his chair. To his sus: picious mind this delay beded no good. At last he could stand the suspense no longer.” “How think you?” he exclaimed, abruptly; “ will he no come soon?” “Oh, phe he ought to have been here an hour ago,” Captain Jack responded, just glancing uy from his paper and immediately again resuming his The ‘Stalian drummed upon his knee for a few minutes with his long, skinny fingers, his dark face darker than ever; hé was more uneasy in mind than even his nervous manner expressed. : Ten minutes more passed; the lawyer, busy with his newspaper, never even so much as cast a glance | at his visitor. His visitor could restrain his impa- tience no longer. ‘ “This gentleman—how do you a-call him? He will not come, I fear.” ' “Oh, yess he’ll come,” the lawyer replied, care- lessly; “no fear of that, although he ought to have been here an hour ago. He must have been detain- ed. He is generally full of business and probably something of importance has occurred to delay | him.” And again Captain Jack turned to the news- Paper, but the Italian could keep quiet no longer. “Hah!” he exclaimed, abruptly; “how you call this gentleman you expect, eh?” “axwill—Mortimer Taxwill; he is one of the executors of the estate.” * And why must I see him, eh?’ The adventurer was suspicious. “Simply because he holds the purse-strings; I couldn’t give you a cent in the premises, without he was willing, no matter how important I thought the matter was.” : The Italian stared blankly at the wall before him | for a few moments; it was plain that he did not like the idea of conferring with this stranger; who, ap- parently, set little importance upon he appoint- ment. “Hah! I do not like it!” he cried, abruptly, for the suspicious soul of the adventurer now scented danger. “ Wh should Iw ee for this man who no urries himself to see me, eh?”’ ¥ Well, you need not wait if you don’t wish to,” owas the decidedly caustic reminder, “Does he know the business upon which I come?” “Oh, yes, I wrote him that you scid you had some important evidence in regard to this lost heir.” “ And yet he no come?” the adventurer demand- mder, - = ac Why a fact of the matter is, he don’t care two cents about the heir either one way or the other,” the captain explained. “ He'd be glad to get the hin matter off his mind; it’s only a bother to} m,’ “T shall not wait!” the Italian cried, jumping to his ag “Diavolo! what have I to do with this man at all? ** Haven't I told you that he has the entire control of the estate?” “Yes, yes, but what is that to me? It is not with ze estate that I would deal; itis with ze heir; itis she that must pay me my hundred thousand dollairs; with me she will get ze property; without me she will get nothing: do you not see?" and the Italian’s energetic manner was peculiarly fierce. “Yes, but this gentleman has a most decided in- terest in the heir,” the lawyer explained. “He is very anxious to have her get:"possession of the pro- erty, for then his responsibility will be ended. He is fully convinced that she is Francesca Vendotena, and will leave no means untried to prove it.” “JT will not wait longer!” hissed thé Italian, who now felt that he was in danger; some subtile in- stinct within his frame warned him that he was about to lose the game, “Oh, you had better wait.” “No, no, I will not!” “Well, write what you will do, then,” the lawyer suggested. “Oh! no! retorted the adventurer, ‘‘ me no write! me know better. You write—write what you like! You no catch me in a trap!” “Aha! you're a cool hand—an old bird, eh?” laughed Captain Jack. “I fancy thata man must get up precious early to catch you napping!” a The Italian grinned; even a rogue is not averse to jattery. si Wall, I'll just make a memorandum; that won't commit you, you know.” ““ Oh, yes, I know,” assented the schemer. The lawyer produced memoraudum-book and pencil, and proceeded to write: “For the sum of one hundred thousand dollars to you cash in hand paid, you will agree to come for- Ward and swear that this Bcuquet Girl is the lost heiress, Francesca Vendotena. “Yes, that is correct; for one hundred thousand dollairs I will swear that she is the heir.” “But if the one hundred thousand dollars is re- fused?’ “Tf ze money is refused, then in ze open court will I rise up when you present ze girl and I will say, *‘ Most noble judge, you are a-deceived; this girl is an impostor!’ ” “ That is, if we pay you the money, you will swear on our side, and if we don’t, you will go against us.¥ “That is it! You pay me, Iam for you; you n pay, I am against you!” The lawyer had apparently been noting this all down, but in reality not a stroke had he made. When the Italian finished, Captain Jack raised his head and called out: ~ “Have you got it all down, Mr. Thomas?” And then the glass door behind the lawyer swun; open and revealed that there had been two wit, nesses to this scene. Wirs distended eyes the Italian gazed upon the ae sight; here was a surprise with a ven- yeance, The glass door led into a litile inner office; in the pach ee were two men, one of them evidently a short-hand writer, as the note-book and pencil be- eee : ou are quite sure that you have got it all d Mr. Thomas?" the lawyer repeated: . — “Oh, yes,” replied the scribe, briskly, advancing into the room as he yp “every word, sir.” “ This is Mr. Taxwill, one of the executors of the estate,” Captain Jack said, with a smile that was “childlike and bland,” and he waved his hand to- © ward the other gentleman who had shared the a bush of the stenographer. “You perceive, Mr, ase. will, how this gentleman stands in the matter, He is quite prepared to swear that black is white and hat cite is no color at all, provided he is well paid
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24 THE BOUQUET GIRL. “Ah, yes, but I don’t really think that we shall need his assistance at all,” the executor replied, shortly. The Italian fully realized the extent and com- pleteness of the trap into which he had fallen, and yet so blind of vision was he, so angry in his impotent rage, that he attempted to bully and threaten. *“ Aha! it is all very well, signors!’’ he cried, brist- ling up. “I would be friends with you, but since you will not have it so, goot! Lam yourfoe! In ze court I will rise and and speak some things which may make the most honorable judge open his eyes! Am I a worm to be trodden upon and no turn to bite the foot which crushes me?” : “T don’t think that your testimony would be worth : much,” Taxwill observed, dryly, ** considering that f $ we hold in our hands your statement that for a cer- tain sum of money you would be quite willing to swear to anything.’ rm “Diavolo! it is all a lie!” the adventurer fairly : shouted. ‘ Behind the closed door you did not hear g { a-right—you misunderstood me! 1 will swear to it { on my oath! An honest man am I! plenty people | . will witness that I always a-speak ze truth!” : “Too thin!” remarked Captain Jack, quietly. i “The fact is, old fellow, you might as well own up; ou've played a pretty sharp game, ut we got the best of it; so haul in your horns and draw off for repairs.” | - “Oh, yes, my man, that’s correct; no use of at- tempting to frighten us,’’ Taxwill observed, in his brisk, business-like way. ‘‘ You tried to play a sharp f game, but we have got the best of you, so you might { as well own we. Any testimony that you might offer j in a court of law in regard to this case, after your ' offer here, this morning, to Mr. Leipper, to testify q q | oe beaten; either way, provided you were well paid for it, would % be instantly rejected.” “Oho! I have a-lose ze game, eh?” cried the Ital- ian, moving toward the door, a dark scowl upon his swarthy face and his eyes flashing angrily. “Most decidedly!’ the executor responded. “* Not a doubt of it!” added the lawyer. And even the short-hand writer could not repress - an affirmative nod, so cunningly had the Italian been zz entrapped. i? “Aha!” and the adventurer paused in the open doorway and turned his angry face upon the chuck- ar trio; ‘we have a saying in my countree—Italy —‘It is not wise to ery aloud until you are out of ze | wood.’ Another saying, too—‘ He laughs best who f laughs last.’ Ze game is not over yet, signors; keep 4 your eyes open for my next play!” And with the threat, for such it clearly was, the Italian disappeared. CHAPTER XXV. IMPORTANT INFORMATION. Dreary enough is the approach to the little New Jersey settlement known as Branchburg, coming at it from Long Branch. And the worthy private detective, tramping along through the hot sand in the full glare of the noon- day sun mentally wondered what could induce any one to live in such a region who could possibly live anywhere else. " ‘he road grew narrower and narrower, becoming at last only a cow-track through the scrubby fir trees, and the wild vines, the sole product of the barren soil. “T must have taken a wrong turning somewhere,” the detective muttered, “although they told me to go straight on, and straight on I've come, turning fi neither to the right nor left, to the best of my know- ime. fust ashe had made up his mind to go back to the last house which he had passed—for during the last half-hour houses had been few and far between ho heard a dog barking in the wood before him, “That signifles a human habitation,” he muttered and so pushed on briskly. Just around a turn in the road was a little clear- ing, and in its center a rude, unpainted house, more hut than cottage—stood. One “ native and to the manor born” would have instantly detected from the outward appearances that the owner of the place was no white ** trucker,” as the small New Jersey farmer generally is, and to the wandering stranger a small sign-board, rudely painted, stuck up on a tree by the roadside, bearing the inscription: “Wasnina & IRONING DONE HERE,” no two of the letters alike, would have instantly sug- gested a descendant of Africa’s burning clime. ‘By Jove! I believe I’ve struck the place after all!” Seen eions, exclaimed, as he marched up to the ouse, A sneaking “yaller”’ dog, with open mouth, came rushing out from behind the shanty, seemingly on war intent, but the brandished cane of the detective awed the brute, while the noise attracted the atten- tion of the owner of the shanty and a big, fat colored dame stuck her head out of the door, “Wat's de matter wid you, boss?” she queried, and then, catching sight of the portly figure of the well-dressed gentleman advancing toward the house, she was quick to define the situation. “We don’t want anyt’ing, boss!” she cried with a shake of the head; ‘*fore de Lord, we ain’t got no money; we got all we want; we don’t know nuffin’ *bout sewing machines, an’ we can’t read, an’ you can’t sell us nuffin’, nohow!’’ The detective laughed; he saw that the woman was a character. “You mistake the nature of my business, madam,” he repiied, bowing as politely as though he were ad- dressing a duchess, “I haven't anything to sell, but Iamin search of a certain party. Can you direct me to the house of Mrs. Elizabeth Johnson?” The old woman looked astonished and for a mo- ment she stared, nee Sry ae at the stranger; then suspicion took the place of astonishment, “Wat's de matter—w’at does yer want wid her?” she asked. “JT merely wished to procure some information from her, that is all,” the detective replied, urbane- ly; he had a suspicion that the colored dame was the party. for she exactly answered the description that e had received. “Tnformation—’bout what, boss? "Fore de Lord! she dunno anyt’ing "bout anybody.” i “Oh, yes, she knows about this feu: It’s a oe ‘a earl who used to live with Mr. Limowell, Miss rank,” ‘““ By golly! I dunno whar she’s gone!” the negress declared, a Meg “Oh, youare Mrs. Johnson, then?” “How did you know dat, white man?” demanded | the dame, rather inclined to be offended. “Oh, I merely guessed it, that’s all, But don’t be alarmed about this inquhy. I don’t wish to know where the lady now is; I know. all aboutthat. I come on behalf of friends of hers, who wish to learn some of the particulars of her early life.” “And you don’t mean nuffin’ bad to her?” the colored woman demanded, suspiciously, **Oh, no; quite the contrary.” “ An’ you ain’t got nuffin’ to do wid dat ole scamp, Limowell?” . “ Nothing at all.” **Well den, boss, I guess I kin tell you- «qo ahead, and with your permission I'll just jot the facts down in my book as you relate them, Pendalmock said, producing his memorandum-book and pencil. ” BS day, boss!” cried the old woman, suddenly, ‘‘ dis hyer Ging ain't gwine to get me into any trouble, is it?” * Oh, no, not at all.” “By golly! I'm yer chicken, den.” Se “eh }
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8 ao ake * Italian angrily, as he listened to the sounds of the THE BOUQUET GIRL. 25 “Who brought the child herer’* r- “ An Trish woman, Biddy Hoolihan, “Didshe say that it was her child? ‘“‘No, boss: she said dat it belonged to her sister. She kem an’ stopped wid me, kase I knowed her in de city where we were boff servants in de same house. Arter a time she said she had to go back to New York, an’ wanted me for to keep de chile, an’ said she’d pay for it, an’ she did, for a while, an’ den stopped. Wau jest bout dat time I had a fuss wid a neighbor; she kem b’ling drunk an’ trespassed upon my premises, an’ called me names, an’ I jest frowed har out an’ she went an’ swore out a warrant *g’in me to de squire for murderin’ her, an’ I jest had to trabble, an’ I couldn’t bodder wid de chile, an’.1 knowed Mrs. Limowell liked children an’ hadn’t any—she was alive den—so I jest put de chile in a basket an’ luff it on dere stoop. Well, boss, I was away some time, an’ when I kem back de chile was growin’ up right smart. I used fur to wash fur de owells, an’ so I allers see’d de chile pretty often, an’ when de leetle t’ing growed up she allers ’spicioned dat I knowed something "bout her; but dat’s all I*do know, an’ dat’s de bressed se Bridget Hoolihan—where can I find her?” “At No. — Baxter street; dar’s whar I sent de leetle gal when she run away from de ole debble.” “Oh, yes, Isee."” But the detective did not see, and_he was rather perplexed. “Yes, sah; boff de gals, when dey cut dar lucky come right to dere old aunty.” “There was another girl, then?” “Yes, sah, and she was called Frank, too; she run off with a Mister Ronnells. I used to wash for him in de city.”” nN The detective almost started. Here was a surprise with a vengeance. ‘““And do you know who Mr. Ronnells—James Ronnells really was?’ “Oh, I bet you, honey!” cried the negress, confi- dently. CH. ER XXVI. A FOUL OUTRAGE, “Nv o’clock, diavalo!’”’ cried the adventurous bells. ‘‘Is it so late, then?” “Tt is nine,” the colonel assented, in his stolid way. 0; And ze young man—ze actor, Craige, comes soon after nine; we have no time to lose; we must be uick or else we shall have our labor for our pains, i ivad eens our ye at once.” e@ carriage was drawn up to the curbstone just below the “od tenement-house, the horses’ heads ing toward Hester street. The colonel was on the box all muffled up and rung to nae much like a regular driver as Dow nm he adventurer had descended to the ew: “JT will proceed at once,” he said; “turn you ze horses around and drive right up in front of ze door; then jump down and be ready to assist me— ready to place yourself between us and ze corner, so that no one can see me place ze girl in ze coach. Be tranquil! keep you your head and we shall not ’ Then the Italian marched into the old brick bar- racks, while the colonel proceeded to carry out his instructions, : Straight up the stairs walked the Italian until he arrived at the door of the apartments occupied by the old Irishwoman with whom the Bouquet Girl had found refuge. pon his ela the adventurer carried a heavy gray traveling shawl, and in his hand was a small sponge, The Italian seemed to possess the catlike faculty of seeing in the dark, fre loom iad. malgned t not appear - a bie G tietes When he ened at the door, he paused, listened for a moment, then took a small | “i / bottle from his pocket and poured the contents upon the sponge. A strong, subtile odor filled the damp and murky atmosphere, at which the Italian shook his head. * She will smell this—she cannot help it; ah! but will she suspect? Oh, no! it is not probable.” It was a bold game the adventurer was playing. and now at the eleventh hour his heart began to fai pe he felt a doubt of success, so hesitated to cock, With a desperate effort he screwed his courage to the sticking point and knocked at the door. In obedience to his summons the door opened and the Bouquet Girl appeared in person, “Hush, signora!” cried the Italian, mysteriously; “ betray A no sign of surprise! To serve you i come. That noble young man, ze Signor Craige— he is in great danger; you can save him, but no one else in ze wide world must know that in ze matter I have a hand, as it may cost a-me my life! Please step you outside and then to you I will explain; ze lady inside must not hear.” Frank dreamed of no danger—had no thought of evil. “The lady is out at present, so speak crests no one can overhear you,” she said, at once. The name of Craige was the open-sesame to her con- fidence. And then, in the heart of the scheming Italian, came a great thrill of joy. Success seemed certain. * Ah, signora, if you will have ze kindness to per- mit me to enter,” he said, bowing humbly. “ Certainly.” And as the Bouquet Girl turned half around, he the villain’s opportunity. He seized the unsusp: ing girl in his vise-like grasp. One broad hand he placed upon her mouth, thus stifling any attempt to alarm the house; with the other hand he ag the sponge, saturated with the potent drug, to her nos- trils. - £ He held her against his breast, so that it was al- most impossible for her to move. In vain she strove to resist the effects of the pow- erful drug, for now, too late, she fully realized that she was the victim of a terrible outrage, but the firm hand pressed over her mouth, and the sponge a plied directly to her nostrils cut off the supply of air, and, resist as she might, nature was yielding. Her senses began to reel; her breath came thick and heavy; allaround her grew suddenly dark, and then a great wheel, throwing a vast shower of prill- iant sparks, seemed to revolve within her brain; the wheel burst and all was darkness, No time was to be lost, for the old Irishwoman might return at any moment; then, too, it was near- ly time for Craige to make his appearance, Sustaining the unconscious form with one of. his strong arms, he folded the shaw] carefully around her, and then, raising the girlin his arms, her iden- tity almost com Nefele concealed by the heavy muf- fler, he prepared to descend. : First he carefully closed the door of the apart- ment, so that the entryway was again wrapped a utter darkness, and then rapidly turned down the stairs. “ Diavolo!” he muttered; “it will not be well for any one to attempt to stop me now,forI am des- perate! I play for a great stake, and Tmean to win ae py cost i P - " ‘ortune—fickle jade! favors the brave, they say; and also the desperate, too, for in this cae the Italian succeeded admirably in his risky attempt. pe ——s the street door without encountering a In obedience to orders, the colonel had: the cdach- door open, and stood ready to assist his leader. ‘Up to ze box and drive off!” the leader ex- claimed, as he advanced with his burden. Not a soul was within sight, excepting the peo} Bator passing by on Grand street, at the corner; course, at such a distance, in the darkness, no dan- ger was to be sporehandce from them, The colonel ¢! bed to the driver's seat as fast ag
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3 fe ; 26 THE BOUQUET GIRL. his clumsy limbs would permit, but, before he had s helpless burden, was safely ensconced within the coach with the door snugly closed. The colonel started the horses, and the brutes, ugly, clumsy animals, struck into a lumbering trot. own the street they went, and turned into Grand, and as the coach rolled past Center Market, the keen-eyed Italian, ever on the watch, detected the tall, manly figure of the young actor, Craige, evi- dently proceeding to his home, * By all the devils below!” cried the Italian, draw- ing a long breath, “but this has been a narrow shave. Five minutes more—three minutes even— and he would have caught me coming out of ze house. And what then?” he cried, sinking back up@n the seat and clutching at the air with his ner- vous fingers. ‘‘ Would I have a-let him rob me of ze rize? No, no, no! not while this hand can wield a jagger!" Tur carriage did not proceed directly to the lair of the Italians, but took a roundabout course. This was done in order to baffle pursuit if any prying eye had been attracted to the coach. Through Grand street to Broadway they went, up Broadway to Spring street, through Spring to Crosby, directly past the dingy, two-storied brick house where the abductor occupied apartments, but did not stop, The route had been carefully arrang- ed beforehand, and the object of nol. past the house was to see if the coast was clear. The street was dark, almost deserted; fortune indeed seemed to favor the vile, Straight around the block they drove until they came again in front of the house; then the colonel halted the horses; the man within descended from the coach with the insensible girl in his arms and entered the house, The two men occupied the basement fidor, en- trance to which was gained by a passage under the front stoop. The moment the Italian and his precious burden disappeared under the stoop, the colonel drove off 80 as not to excite suspicion. So far the plot had succeeded admirably; the Bouquet Girl was in their power, and the abduction had excited no suspicion. Neat eae had been carefully arranged, the door to the basement was unlocked, also the door leading from the entry to the front basement. Within the room a coal-oil lamp, the wick turned down, afforded a dim light. The two rooms were scantily furnished; a couple of chairs, an old table, two rude bunks arranged up- on the floor, some dilapidated dishes, and that was Rather en insecure prison-house for the captive girl, one would be tempted to exclaim, considering that the two front windows although closely barred by heavy shutters, looked right out upon the street, and that a single cry—a woman’s shrill scream— would be certain to alarm the neighborhood. But the Italian had thought of all this; he was playing for a heavy stake and had arranged to win. Below the basement was a cellar—a dark, deep, unwholesome pit, never used by the occupants of the a for the landlord had not any locked and nailed up the door which led to it, but had absolute- ly taken the stairs away, thus cutting off all access to the underground region. Acquainted with all the particulars regarding the vaults below, all access to which had been so care- fully cut off, the busy mind of the Italian at once perceived how suitable a place it would be to keep the girl securely, Once she was safe in the cellar, little danger that she could either escape or succeed in fn an alarm, ‘he thing was to gain access to'the cellar. The two men had formerly occupied a room in the garret, but when the adventurer formed-the plan to abduct the girl, he thought of the haunted excava- tion, so securely closed to all the world; no better - es eS SS! place to hide the girl away could possibly be found. oy the reins fairly in his hand, the principal, with | A Be “4 i 4 nd, as luck would have it, the two basements over the cellar were unoccupied. He at once set to work promptly; he hired the front basement and the colonel the back one; this | was done so as not to excite suspicion, which might have been raised if one man had taken both rooms. The basements secured, the next thing was to cut a trap-door in the floor and construct a rude ladder, so as to get into the vault. This was not a har task, and was soon accomplished. At the back of the subterranean apartment a par- tition had been run across, and inside of that, at right angles, another partition, thus forming two small rooms, formerly devoted to coal and wood. One of the little rooms had a good strong door to it, and the wily Italian at once pitched upon this apartment as the prison-pen for the girl. Removed as it were trom the noise of the street, and with only about six inches of the top of the back wall abutting on the yard, and that wall a good solid one, it would be almost impossible for the girl to uess that she was still in the midst of busy, bustling New York, Upon the floor of the wood-room a rude bed had been spread. A chair and a table comprised the rest of the furniture, To render the door secure, the Italian had affixed two stout bolts to the outside, one at the ey the other at the bottom. A lantern, tco, he had pro- vided, and a hook, attached toa beam in about the center of the cellar, whereon to swing it, The door which led from the entry-way into the basement he had provided with strong locks and stout bolts; in fine, no measure of precaution had been neglected, Straight into the front basement the adventurer bore the girl, locked the door eee. behind him, Paced her upon one of the rude pallets spread upon he floor, and then turned up the other, revealing the line of the trap-door beneath, Thus he had con- cealed the trap from any prying eyes. The trap open, the gloomy vault below, illuminated only by the single light of the lantern, was revealed. Raising the light re of the girl carefully in his strong arms, the Italian descended the ladder, and then, when he had gained the floor below, he pro- ceeded to deposit his precious burden in the narrow room which his craft had provided for her. He Face her upon the rude couch, removed the shawl which had been carefully wrapped around her head, and then, fetching the lantern, which he stood upon the table, he proceeded to carefully examine the condition of the unconscious prisoner. Quiet as the inmate of a tomb, the Bouquet Girl lay. At the first glance the Italian believed that she was dead, ‘*Diavolo!” he cried, in consternation; “if I have killed her all ze fat is in ze fire! Was ze drug too strong? Oh, no! Ihave used more than that before; but perhaps she is weaker than I thought. She may have been afflicted with heart-disease; if so, ze drug might produce a fatal effect. If she is dead, then am 1a cheated man.” No word of Piz for the girl—no regret for the Peenaion of the foul outrage; only an oath and a itter thought that the half a million of ‘ dollairs” would escape him, after all his trouble. But his apprehension was unfounded; the girl was not dead, and slowly, little by little, the color came back to her face. CHAPTER XXVIL THE ITALIAN’S SCHEMES. Tue potent effects of the powerful drug were gradually passing away, and the Italian gloating over the Penge form of his victim—as the malig- nant-eyed Faust might have gloated over the help- less soul, lost to virtue and destined for fires eternal —saw that she would soon wake to consciousness, “It is gooti”” be murmured, ‘I was a-sure that IT did not make ze dose too strong. To kill her now—
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2 ia garde yeeet ema 13 a to see her die at ze very moment of victory—oh, no! that would be too terrible a blow! She must live— live to give me my share of that half million of dollairs, f The pale lips of the girl moved convulsively, and a low sigh escaped from between the pearly teeth, Slowly the dark eyes opened and stared in aston- ishment about. The effect of the subtile drug still lingered, and for a few moments the girl’s mind refused to work with its usual clearness; but, little by little the truth flashed upon her; back to her mind came the memory of what had transpired in the old tenement-house. She remembered the message of the Italian, the violent assault, and the application of the potent drug to her nostrils. he Bouquet Girl was quick-witted, and now that | her mind had regained its customary clearness she fully comprehended all that had happened. She glanced around her; the dim light cast by the lantern fully revealed the narrow compass of her prison-house; and the lank figure of the Italian, gazing down upon her with the hollow, insincere ov esdegaaien to his face, betrayed the pitiless jailer, “You have recovered from your illness—ah! m dear child! in my heart I ery aloud with gladness!” exclaimed the abductor, perceiving that the girl was in full possession of her senses, “*Permit me to assist you to a-rise!” He advanced to her side; the girl accepted the roffered arm, although she shuddered at the con- aot. He assisted the girl to the chair placed by the table upon which the canteen stood. “Rest you there, my own stricken deer; rest tranquil; do not fear; your farder will protect you against all ze world.” “Why have yon brought me here, and where am 1?” Frank asked, gazing fearfully at the dark, damp walls that surrounded her. “Tf you remember, my child, I came to tell you of Mistar Craige; no sooner did his name my lips pace than it seemed like one great cannon-ball to strike you to ze heart; you turned pale—you tottered—you cried in accents wild, ‘I die, I die!’ and upon your rentle fraine delirium did seize. What was I to do? ou was my child! Was I to stand there like aman | of marble and see you a-suffer? Oh, no! the feel- ings of a farder that throb here in my heart forbid it! I determined to bear you away; I had this shel- ter to offer you, miles away from ze great city where you were in danger, Ah, my child—my dear child, here is one ect | plot against you.” Z “ Against me?” The sentence came mechanically from the lips of the girl, for she did not believe a single word that came from the lips of the adventur- er. one statement alone excepted. “Yes, my dear child, against you,” the Italian re- peated. ‘But do not fear; with my life will I pro- tect you. This Mistar Craige, he do a-love you much, but he is like all ze Americans; he love money more. That stage woman, ze actress, who did a-come to see you ze other night; she is beautiful, rich; Mistar Craige cannot resist ze temptation; to her he is about to be married. He would deceive you, my child; he would not let. you know this; he would swear great oaths that he loves you and you alone, and all ze time he would be ze husband of ze other woman; and she is jealous—as jealous as ze tiger cat; she know that while you live her husband will always love you; she make up her mind that she must kill you; she hire bravoes; they are to watch your steps and some time in ze dark stab you to ze heart. But do not fear, my child—my angel daughter; rest tranquil! your farder will pro- tect you. Here you will be safe; no one can find you, and as soon as you are a-ready, I, your farder, will give you a protector whose very look will make all ze world stand off.” : The girl stared at this strange speech; she neither believed nor understood it, The Italian had only paused to take breath and to | | THE BOUQUET GIRL, 27 note the effect of his speech, and perceiving that the girl, in her bewilderment, did not interpose any ob- pegs he at once fell into the belief that she would e@ as Wax in his hand. “You are a great heiress, my child,” he contin- ued; “‘ze rogues of lawyers, ze thieves of executors. all would a-rob you; but pose farder—that man am I—he stand by and he will not see you robbed. Per- haps_you do not believe: me, my child, when I say that lam your farder; but it is ze truth. “ When you a-look into my face does not your heart bound to throw yourself into my arms?” And as he spoke, the adventurer struck an atti- tude, and opened his arms, theatrically, But the girl did not rush into them; her heart did not respond; no secret spring of love within her breast was touched by the appeal, and so she mere- ly shook her head. The Italian was disappointed, but he took it all as a matter of course, * Ah, well, in time ze love will come,” he said, with a shrug of the shoulders, “ You know that you are a great heiress?” “Yes, so they say but I do not know it; Ido not | know anything at all about my birth or perentage-”’ “But 1 know it, my child; I know all ze facts, Look well at me, ehold! Iam ze farder of ze heir —Iam Antonio Vendotena.” The girl was surprised et this declaration, for of course she was now well acquainted with the par- ticulars of the life of the wayward son of the old confectioner, The man fully answered the description; but, like all the rest to whom the Italian had declared him- self. she was incredulous. “Rest tranquil!” the Ttalian exclaimed, turning to depart, and taking the lantern in his hand; “we will win ze half a million of dollairs, after all.’ “Oh, do not leave me in this dreadful place!” the girl cried, imploringly. “Do not fear! No one will harm you here. TI will hang ze lantern up outside, so that you will have light, and so that no one will get into trouble you, my child; Iwill lock ze door securely.” And’ the Italian at once proceeded to do so, The girl listened to the grating of the key in the lock and the shooting home of the heavy’ bolts, in silence, but with a despairing heart. She felt that words were useless, ——_—. CHAPTER XXVITI. A VALUABLE WITNESS. Durine the morning which succeeded the one whereon the interview between Captain Jack and the ItaJian had taken place, with the result ot send- ing the adventurer away completely beaten at all points, a tall, gaunt, elderly man, shabbily dressed, and bearing quite plainly upon his face tie marks of dissipation, waiked into the lawyer's room, The lawyer, imagining the new-comer to be one of the seekers after assistance who pester the business men so much in our great cities, tia aside his paper with a gesture of impatience. Leipper and Leipper?” asked the stranger, in a husky voice, “ eS. ” yi reg of the firm?” “You're the man I want to see, then,” an stranger coolly helped himself to a chair, ea red close to where the lawyer sat, and laid his nervous, | shaking finger on the knee of the other, is a danger of being overheard?” NO. “Well, I’m the man you want to see, T You advertised for me in the Herald some’ time ago, Twas obliged to keep shady just then, on account of a little trouble I got into—stuck a knife ina man when I had too much apple jeck aboard; they thought he would die, so T had to keep out of sight for we hang murderers over in Jersey; but now the man is out of danger, and I concluded to risk a visit toyou, My name is Lysander Limowell,”” ea abe.
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~ 28 THE BOUQUET GIRL. The lawyer stared; he was taken completely by surprise, for he had_ concluded that the scheming old Jerseyman, who had plotted so shrewdly to bring old Vendotena’s half a million into his family, had gone the way of all flesh, long ago. The old man comprehended the cause of the law- yer’s astonishment at once. “Oh, I’m the man, and I know what you want; it’s about the Vendotena affair.” “Yes, but why didn’t you come forward before?” “Don’t I tell you that it would have been risking my neck?” the old man responded, gruffly. ‘And what dol care about the matter, anyway? I can’t make anything out of it unless you choose to pay me for my information, that is if I can give you any, and I’m not sure that I can.” “Oh, yes, there’s no doubt but what you can as- sist me a great deal, and of course I will pay liber- ally for information.” Go ahead; what do you want to know?” “In regard to the heir, Francesca Vendotena; she was born in your house?” Yes, and brought up by me; no difficulty te prove that.” “Where is she now?” “That’s more than I can tell you. When she was seventeen years old she ran away one night, leav- ing a note behind saying that she had gone to be married.” “ And whom did she marry?” “Don’t know anything about it. I always had an idea, though, that the other girl who lived with me—a beggar’s brat that I took in out of charity— knew all about it, but she would never own up to it,” ** And what was the name of this girl?” “Francesca Blakey,” and the attered-up old scamp chuckled, as he uttered the name. “Another Francesca!” said the lawyer, slowly and just a little regretfully. “Oh, yes; it was all a little game of mine,” the aged Lysander remarked, “You see, I entrapped Antonio Vendotena into a marriage with my daugh- ter—you perceive I speak frankly about the matter, for deceit will do no good now. The scamp hadn’t the slightest idea of marrying her, but, she was a little fool for all her pretty face, and believed every word that the fellow said. I expected the old man would be reconciled, in time, and after the birth of the daughter I felt sure of it. The child was weak and sickly; I was afraid that it was going to die, and then I knew that would end the whole ee. This was when the infant was about a year-and-a-half old, just after the mother’s death. And just at this time, when I was sorely afraid that the child would die, this other girl, then an ivfant six or eight months old, was left in a basket at the door of my house. A bright idea flashed upon me; the new baby—a girl, too—was a strong, robust, little thing, and so near like my daughter’s baby in looks that the two could hardly be told aj . omer by the size. I took the baby to my wife and told her my idea, which was to keep the fact of the baby bein left at the door a secret from every one, and then, the heiress died, we could substitute the other. ’It was a capital idea, but as it bappened it wasn’t need- ad to make mnvaelt scarce,” An idea occurred to the lawyer during this recital; ' the Jerseyman was evidently not over and above scrupulous and he might be bought, “Well, I’ve got hold of the heiress.” “ Yes. ) “Only from her story I gather that she is Frances- ca No. 1.”” “ Aha!” “You’re a man of business; how much money would induce you to go “go the witness stand and swear that girl No. 2 is girl No, 1?” The old man chuckled; this was a device right after his own style. “Five thousand dollars, and I'll put the evidence so strong that there isn’t a criminal lawyer in the world who can shake it on a cross-examination.” “All right; you shall have the money.” “And so that little spit-fire has turned up again, and she’s going to win the big stake after all?” the old man soliloquized. ‘* Well, she looks enough like the mother with her dark eyes and light hair.’ “Light hair!” cried Leipper in astonishment; “why she hasn’t got light hair.” “Yes she has; guess I ought to know! It’sa sort of a golden-red!"’ the old scamp cried stoutly. “The girl’s hair is jet-black |” “By the jumping jingo! you're swindled then, fer neither one of the girls had dark hair.” And then, to the mind of Leipper came the fave nt the girl whom, like a spirit, he had twice encounyr- ed. She was the true Francesca after all! CHAPTER XXIX. THE BARRIER BETWEEN. CraIcr, upon returning to the tenement-hov was somewhat astonished to find the rooms nun.oam” ed and tenantless, but, concluding that the womea folks had gone out on some errand, and had neg- sae to lock the door, he sat down to wait their return, In about half an hour Mrs, Hoolihan came in, and was considerably amazed upon hearing from Craige that he had found the door unlocked and the Bou- quet Girl missing; but of course, though both of the two thought it strange that Frank should go out without leaving word, neither one suspec' that anything had happened to her. ut as the hours passed slowly away and the Bouquet Girl came not, apprehension began to take possession of them. No steps to ascertain the truth could be taken that night, of course; and so, until the morning, both the old woman and the young taan were doomed to be the prey of anxiety. As soon as CP peerss in the morning, as the laws of business would permit, Craige sallied down town to the office of Captain Jack and asked the lawyer if he could give him the address of the Bouquet Girl. Leipper, although somewhat surprised that his acting on the lady’s behalf should be known so soon, at once gave the young actor the number of the old house in Baxter street, snd Craige, a keen observer, instantly saw that the lawyer was not con- cerned in the girl's absence, but believed that she was still a resident of the Baxter street house. Business called the actor to the theater at twelve, noon; it was salary-day, and he resolved after visit- ing the theater to callin at the police headquarters in Mulberry street, and ask advice of the sage con- servators of the public peace. He reached the theater about a quarter before twelve, and having occasion to visit his _ room, having left his penknife carelessly on the shelf of his dressing place, he entered the back door or the theater, and sing down the passage-way, running parallel with the stage, came face to face — the person A least aoe to see—the blonde urlesque queen, Avise Winne. = An. is hat you, Mr. Craige?”’ she exclaimed. “ Have you received your salary yet? It’s ready for ou. I’ve just come from the front of the house; *ve been after my ‘reward of merit!’ ”
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THE BOUQUET GIRL, 29 And as she spoke Avise displayed a huge roll of bills crumpled up in her white and jeweled hand. The blonde queen felt in unusual good spirits, The hawk-like Italian had hovered around the front of the theater until he had managed to gain speech with Avise, and he had impa: to her the agree. able information that her rival, the hated yet feared Bouquet Girl, was safely renroved from her path and would never again trouble her. Little wonder, then, that reckless Avise Winne’s spirits were at fever heat. “Tm much obliged; I'll go round presently,” Craige replied. He always treated this blonde beauty with the ut- most politeness, and so succeeded in keeping her at distance * “epy the way, Mr. Craige,” she said, keeping her position right in the center of the narrow passage- way so that it was impossible for the young man to get through until she moved, “‘how long does your engagement here last?” “Until the end of the summer season, I suppose; there was no definite time fixed; I am subject to a week’s notice at any time, I presume,”’ “They don’t give you the chance here that you ought to have—a man of your talent!’’ she said, ab- ruptly, her eyes sparkling, and every nerve within her frame quivering with excitement. | * Oh, I can’t complain,” e replied, strangely embarrassed, and yet not know! how to withdraw from the awkward situation. * And the salary, too!” she continued, ‘a paltry twenty dollars fora man like you, a good dresser, ‘ood figure, good face, as good @ voice as I ever feard-Sana I've been on the stage ever since I was a baby—and you can act, too; I know what acting is, “Twenty dollars a week for you, and that ugly, cast-iron traud at the Vitth Avenue gets a hundre they say. I tell you what itis, Craige, I'll give you a chance to show what you can do; you shall go with me as ‘leading man,’ I'll give you a hundred a week and pay all your expenses; they say that I can’t act, but Vil show them that whether I can or not, I can draw money in Skakspeare as well as in the bur- lesques.” ere was a tempting offer indeed, and yet the face of the young actor crimsoned as he listened to it; happily the gloom concealed his confusion. Fu well he knew the price that he must pay for the osition; the blonde burlesque queen was trying to uy the love that she despaired of winning freely. ; “Come, you'll accept, won’t you?” and Avise’s clear voice trembled as she spoke. *T cannot,” Craige replied, finding that he must speak. “I am going to seat, the Stage and the s life altogether as soon as I can. : ston, you des pise_ us,” the actress observed, with bitter accent. ‘I heard that you did, but I did not believe it!” R “T do not despise any honest laborer in any voca- tion,” the young man replied, gently, ‘‘ but thestage life is not the life for me.” ; “ And when you marry you will be too proud to marry an actress, eh?” exclaimed Avise, her pride to her aid. Spi No, not too proud; but I will frankly own that there are few women on the stage, that T have met with, whom I would like to se The stage is not the school to train a wife properly. After the glare and glitter of the footlights, and the intoxication of popular applause, the quiet home life will seem dull v an z “ obliged for the information!” and Fe hin with the air of a tragedy queen. > > Thai e received his discharge. Oh, ing peer s0 mean sometimes in their revenge! CHAPTER Xxx VENGEANCE HAS A LONG ARM. Siow y passed the long hours away, and the hap- less girl immured in the gloomy vault waz the prey of the most terrible Ge teas One visit only had the Italian made; then he had brought food and drink, spoken smoothly, bidding the girl to be of good cheer, In vain she entreated him to let her go free; he shook his head, told her she did not know what she asked—not for worlds would he expose her to the danger which threatened her, then complimented his friend the colonel; told what a noble man he was; dilated upon his many good qualities; assumed a confidential tone and informed her that the noble son of the house of Frascati had long admired her in secret, and that nothing in this world would give him more pleasure than to see her united to his worthy friend. The girl had barely made reply to this; her mind was dazed by the strangeness of her position, and she paid but little heed to the words of the Italian. Like the caged bird, she thought only of escaping from her terrible plight. The Italian withdrew after a few minutes’ conver- sation, when, for quite a long time, the unfortunate prisoner was left to her own sad thoughts, Not the least trust did she put in the words of the adventurer; she believed him to be a. bold, bad man, who would not stop at any evil. One thought alone kept the girl from utterly de- spairing; she was convinced that he would leave no stone unturned to rescue her from the power of this dark adventurer and impostor. At last the Italian came again, accompanied this time by three others, With careful steps the four descended the ladder into the cellar, closing the trap-door after them. First the wily adventurer; fol- lowing him the fat and greasy colone!, and then two strangers, muffled up asif they wished to disguise their persons, brought up the rear, The Italian opened the door of the girl’s prison-pen and tne heart of Frank sunk within her as she look- ed upon the dark figure; she fully realized that a crisis in her life was at hand. The italian took the lantern from its hook and placed it upon the table, “This is my dear child,” he said, pathetically, “my long-lost daughter, my Francesca! who from me a long time has been separated. But what of that? We are together at last, and we are happy! And what joy it is to my heart, too, when I find that she and my beloved, my noble friend, ze Colonel Frascati—love one another with all ze tenderness of their young hearts. Ze colonel, he say to me, ‘No- ble friend, Tt your fair child love! give her to me that in my heart she may bloom and flourish like ze green bay tree!’ I say, ‘ With all my soul! there is no man on ze top of this earth to whom I would rather give my child! and so ze matter is settled. Francesca, my child, this is ze priest, good Parder Michael; he will perform ze ceremony that will give you to my noble friend forever: and this gentleman is kindly come to witness that ze affair is all correct and legal according to ze law. You are one great heiress, my child, and we must not have any doubt in regard to your marriage. Farder,’’ and be turned to the taller of the two strangers, ‘be you a-pleased to com, mence when you are ready; colonel, my son, stand forward.” ‘ The fat Italian advanced with a smirk upon his fat ‘ace. The girl had listened to all this like one under tha influence of some horrible spell. But when the fat and ruffianly Italian advanced toward her, evidently intending ‘to take her hand, with a sudden thrill she recovered the use of het voice. “ 8, se + do you intend to do with me?” she demand-
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80 THE BOUQUET GIRL. The eyes of the Italian flashed; he saw that the girl intended to resist. “Unite you in marriage to this noble gentleman, my child,” he answered, smoothly. ‘No, no! I will not consent. He is a stranger to me; I do not know anything about him; the law will never sanction snch a terrible outrage! Oh, gentle- men! I ap to you!” and she extended her hands wildly toward the strangers. “Bah, bah! hush oe up your tongue!" cried the Italian, sternly. ‘‘ You are my child; I know what is best for you. These gentlemen understand all about it. It is my right to marry you to whoever [ lease; it does not matter whether youlike it or not. 'ake her hand, colonel, and we will proceed with ze ceremony.” But at this critical moment within the heart of the weak girl was infused the courage of despair. “*T will not consent!” she cried, wildly. ‘I do not believe that you are my father! ard, even if you were, there is no law, human or divine, that gives you the right to force me into a marriage from which my soul recoils. I will not submit; and you, sir, if you are a priest, you surely will not take part in this outrage! Iam a prisoner here, forcibly ab- aucted by this man, and the law will yet punish him for the crime!” “Bah, bah!” cried the adventurer in contempt, “you talk too much with your mouth, I am your farder and have ze right to do with you as I like. Both these gentlemen understand all about that. You are a foolish little child! you do not know what is good for you, but I, your farder, do. It doesnot matter whether you consent, or not; we can get alon without that; you had best submit quietly, else shall be obliged to tie up your pretty hands and mouth. You need not say one single word; we can bere you and you can keep your mouth shut!” “Oh, gentlemen, for heaven’s sake save me from this dreadful aethx | ino the girl in agony. But, what were e words and tears weighed against the heavy stake for which the unscrupulous Italian played? “Come, come! we do lose much time!’ he ex- claimed, pnpettents ~ “Colonel, my noble friend, step you a-forward and take ze lady’s hand, and, ood farder, out with your book and proceed with the ceremony. It is all right! I give my consent, and that is all that is needed.” A second step forward the Italian colonel took. The girl recoiled in horror; the dark-bearded priest roduced his book, the adventurer, his eyes spark- Tin joyfully in anticipation, rubbed his hands glee- ly together. At last hesaw success about to crown his efforts. . And then, at this very moment of victory, there came a sudden change in the current of affairs. A powerful blow, deftly given, knocked the lan- tern off the table, breaking the glass into fifty pieces, instantly extinguishing the light; then came a sud- den yell that told only too well of mortal agony, fol- lowed by the sound of a violent struggle, and all this in the black Egyptian-like darkness. The girl had shrunk back against the wall at the commencement of this fearful scene, horror-strick- en. Only a few seconds did the struggle last; and then it was followed by the sound of hurried footsteps ing from the little room, girl, every sense on the alert, heard the foot- steps upon the rude ladder and saw the gleam of light which came from the room’ above as the trap-door opened; she saw the Jight obscured for a moment as the men ciambered into the room above; then all was still. '. Frank felt that she was alone—alone with the dead; some terrible tragedy had transpired in the dark, but the way of escape was open to her and she at once hastened to avail herself of it. No hand was outstretched to detain her as she hurried from her prison-cell, ascended the ladder, passed through the room above into the entry—the door was unlocked—and out into the street. The sign upon the lamp-post at the corner told her where she was. and within fifteen minutes she was again safe at home, CHAPTER XXXL THE TRUE HEIR. conversation with the old lady and Mr, Craige, Frank found the head of the private inquiry office, Pendalmock, and after the Bouquet Girl had told the strange story of her abduction and wonder- ful escane, Pendaimock proceeded to business, He had shrewdly guessed that the lady who had em- ployed him to gain information about the birth and early history of the baby girl left to the care of the Jersey lawyer, Lysander Limowell, was the party in question herself, and therefore was not surprised at encountering her in the old tenement-house, This was his second visit to Mrs. O'Hoolihan, From that lady, on his first visit, he had extorted but little information, simply because the woman knew but very little about the matter, and she was completely astonished when she found that t*~ Bouquet Girl was the baby whom she had lett to tue care of the old colored woman in New Jersey, years before, When Frank had fied from Limowell’s per- secutions, she had two objects in view, the first, to escape from the attentions of the drunken old scamp; second, to find her childhood’s companion Francesca, the daughter of Decetra, who had fled from home to be married to James Ronnells, and who would, she felt sure, in time have cause to re- gret her secret union. And now to recall the mystery of the dark hair and light which had perplexed both the lawyers and Limowell. 7 Frank, flying in haste from the old scamp'’s perse- cution, felt sure that he would leawe no stone un- turned to find her, as he had often threatened, and so, when she reached the city she had had her own a locks cut short and purchased a black wig, which, as she was careful, to always cover with a handkerchief when engaged in her avocation as a flower-girl, defied detection. Two separate lives the girl led; in the daytime with her own hair, carrying a basket of laces, she diligently traversed the streets of the great city, fons from house to house, intent upon finding the ost girl. At night, as the flower-girl, disguised by the wig, she haunted the ferries. And so she earned her breac and at the same time kept up her search; but as in this world we often, stumble by chance upon the thing we search for in vain, so Frank, learning that there was a sick girl living upon the upper floor of the house, in need of assistance, and zoing thither to tender it, discovered that the suf- erer was the companion of her childhood. And thus she had happened to twice encounter the lawyer, Captain Jack; the first time in the entry of the old house, the second time when she had gone to the office of Benarding and Britman with the intention of discovering who James, Ronnells was, little thinking that she should walk into Leipper'’s presence. ‘ We have stated that Mrs. O’Hoolihan was aston- ished, and so she was when she discovered that Frank was the child whom she had given to the old colored woman, long ago. The aged dame had believed that Mrs. O’Hoolihan would recognize her at once, but the rather dull-witted Irishwoman had never thought of it. But all was clear now; Francesca, the heir, was dead, and James Ronnells, the man who had betray- ed her, was Jack Leipper, the lawyer: Time in its flight had avenged the wrong; had the villain cherished the flower he had won, the old con- fectioner’s fortune would have come to him beyond a doubt, through his wife. But Frank, with a wonderful likeness to the Ven- dotena family—who was she? Mrs. O’Hoolihan could not tell; her husband had brought home the baby one night and had given it In bu
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— EE RARE eRe SO THE BOUQUET GIRL, nD | into her charge, telling her that the infant would bring them in a deal of money some day, and had instantly packed them both off to the country as if he feared pursuit. Mrs. O'Hoolihan’s husband was not as honest a man as he might have been, From the country Mrs. O’Hoolihan was hurriedly summoned back to New York to attend to her hus- band, he having received a severe wound in a night brawl. From the effects of the wound he died, and his last words were—‘‘See Pat Casey about that baby; it will be money in your pocket!” But Mr. Patrick Casey, a great chum of O’Hooli- han’s, and a gentleman well known to the police was not to be seen just then, as he had been oblige¢ to flee to 3 crnteg unknown on account of a certain af- fray resulting in the loss of lite,in which he had layed a prominent part; and so, Mr. Casey never yappening to come across Mrs. O’Hoolihan’s. track, the whole affair had slipped from her mind. In possession of these facts, added to the knowl- edge that Mr. Casey was at present sojourning at Sing Sing under a life sentence for murder, the way was clear to the detective. He visited Sing Sing and interviewed Casey. “Yes,” that worthy did remember something about the affair. “ at, wife lived in the same house with the mother of the child; she was sick—the mother I mean—and my wife nursed her a bit, and she told my wife that she must take care of the baby if she— the baby’s mother, you know—should happen to die suddenly, for that her father-in-law would give a good deal of money for it, some time. Well, she did die, and my woman snatched the kid, thinking as how we'd make a strike outen it, but, bless you! we never heerd nothing about it.” : ae the name of the mother?” Pendalmock asked. “A furren name, Ven—something.” “Vendotena?’ ‘ “ Oo-reck, governor; Deceiver Vendotena, or some- thing like that.” All was plain now; asecond child had been born to the deserted mother, and by a strange chapter of accidents fate had carried it to the house of its rela- tive to be reared. And so, in the death of the direct heir, the Bou- a was likely to come in for the property, af- ter But “riches have wings,” they say, and in this case of the half a million it proved to be the truth, - for the morning newspapers the next day in startling “head-lines’ told of the failure and flight of the | daring speculator, Mortimer Taxwill, esquire; and in his fall the unscrupulous seeker after wealth had dragged down many innocent victims, id Vendotena’'s fortune had been nearly all in- vested in government bonds, and Taxwill, skillful and Suraver atta fully trusted by his brother-executor, had contrived to lose about half of the estate in his gigantic speculations, and finding that there was a Hixalihood of the heir appearing, and his executor- | ship being called into question, coolly helped himself to the rest and fled beyond the seas, never to re- turn. Like the monkey in the fable, in order to settle the dispute he had eaten the oyster himself and left the shells for the contending parties. Little, though, did either the Bouquet Girl or her lover, Craige, care; they had never set their minds upon the vast sum, and so they bore their disappoint- ment cheerfully. Abandoning the stage life, the young man sought again the quiet country home, the little farm, where his mother resided, and which be had forsaken to win the laurel crown of fame. z The Bouquet Girl he carried with him as his happ wife. He had learned the lesson that contentment is better than riches, and that the certain gains, though small, of the tiller of the soil, are often to be pre- ferred to the golden prospects of a professional life. When the people of the Italian house, attracted by the open doors, penetrated to the cellar, they found the noble colonel bound hand and foot, and the ad- venturer, Antonio Vendotena, stone dead, with a dagger through his heart. The brothers of the Carbonari, with theirlong arm of vengeance, had reached clear across the ocean and stricken the traitor who had betrayed the cause of liberty. Avise Winne still bewitches the public eyes and charms the dollars from the public pockets, but great as are her gains, she would give them all for one little hour of the peaceful joy which dwells for- ever in the heart of the Bouquet Girl, THE END.
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£. : tee WPL ya dian aS See BeBe Sel titel ai San eA Cntr Te Tae i! ae POCKET DITION. THIRTY-TWO OCTAVO PAGES. PUBLISH ED EVERY TUESDAY. 1 A Bride of a Day; or, The Mystery of Winifred Leigh. By Mary Reed Crowell. The Girl Wife; or, The True and the False. By Hartley T. Campbell. Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweethearts. By Wm. Mason Turner, M.D. Married in Haste 3 or; A Young Girl's: ‘Te mptation- By Rett Winwood. Will She Marry Him? or, The Masked Bride. Ey Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. His Lawtui Wife; or, Myra, the Child of Adoption. By Mrs. Ann 8. Stephens, A Fair Face; or, Out inthe World, _By Bartley T. Campbell, A Mad Marriage ; or, The Iron Will, By Mary A. Denison. A Daughter of Eves, or, Blinded by Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus Hate, By Mary Grace Halpine. The Bride of an Actor; or, Driven from Home. By the Auibor of *‘ Alone in the World,’” ete., ete. A Pair ot Gray Kye #3 or, The Emerald Necklace. By Rose Kennedy. Without a Hearts; or, Walking on the Brink. By Cel, Prentiss Ingraham. Alone iu the World; 3 or, The Young Man’s Ward. Ly the Author of "The Bride of an Actor,” éte., etc. MWotherless; or, The Farmer’s Sweetheart. By Col. Prentiss Ingrakam. Whe Sceret Marri: tee 3. or, ‘A a he ss in Spit e of Herself. By Sara Claxton. Sister against Sister ” or, The ; -y"of. Hearts. By Mis. Mary ReedsCrowell. Heart to Heart; or. "Pair Ss 'svLove _ By Arabella Southworth. Sold for Gold; or, Almos 7} . V. Victor. Entangleds or, A Dangerous Gat , By ie Sa a Thackeray. Sybil Chase; or, fhe Gambler's Wife. By Mrs..Ann 8. Stephens. ‘Trust Her Not: or, A True E it. .By Margaret] «icester. inned Against; =. The. Winthrop Pride. By Clara Augusta. A Loyal Lover; The Last of thé Grimspeths. ly Arabella Southworth. The Country Cogan: or. All is not Gold that Glitters. By Rose Kennedy, His del; or, The Ml Starred Marriage. By Mis. Mary Reed Crowell. Flirtation; 3 or, A Young Girl’s Good Name. By Jacob Abarbaneli (Ralph Royal); Now end Forever; or, Why Did She Marry Him? By Hénrictta Thackeray. Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl} or, The Lost Heir. By Agile Penne: Charlotte Temple. _By Mrs. Rowson. The Littie Heiress; or, Under a Cloud. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. Leap Wear}; or, Why *She Proposed, Ps 1 Claxton, In Spite of” Flerselfs or, Jeanette’s Re ation... By’ S, R. Sherwocd. Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Tie anor Blaine, The Cuban Meiress; or, The Prisoner of La V intresse, Ty Mrs. M. A. Denison. Only a Se hoolmistress$ or, Her Untold Secret. “By Arabella Southworth, The Winged. Messenger or. Risking All fora Heart. By Mary Reed Crowell. Was She a Coquette? or, A Strange Courtship. By jetta Thackeray. One Woman's Heart: or, Saved from the Street. By George 5. Kuime. Love-Mad 3 or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced and— By Wm, Mason Turner, M. D, For Her Dear Sake’; or, Sayed From Himself. By Sara Claxton. The Bouquet Girl; or. A Million of Money. By Agile P. nne, Mariana, the Prima Donna, © By Arabella Southworth. The Ebon Wasik : or, The Mysterious Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. Lucy Tempie. Daug ghter of Charlotte. The Three Sisters; or, The Mystery of Lord Chalfont. By Alice Fleming. The Creole Sisters; or, The Mystery_of the Perrys. By Mrs. Anna E. Porter. A Marriage of Convenience. By Sara C laxton. The Wite’s Secre 3 or, "Twixt Cup and Lip. By Col, Juan Lewis. Sir Archer's Bride; or, The Queen of Hearts... By Arabella Southworth. The Waverley Library is for sale by all newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each, Beadle and Adams, Pablishers, No, 98 William street, New York. mere ROC RWAcm we mt ee eked et 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 CU ee i COMMA HW