Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 59) (1885 07 07)
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Copyrighted, 1885. hy Beanie and Apams, Entered at the Post Office at New York. N. Y., as Second Class Mai’ Matter. July 7, 1888 VoL. V.. $2,50 a Years PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Cs No. 98 William Street, New York, Price, Five Gents: No, OD HE LIFTED THE GIRL IN HIS ARMS, BORE HER TO THE CARRIAGE, SPRUNG IN, AND AWAY THEY JOLTED, _ AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS ; Or, The Romance of a Ruby Ring. BY WM. MASON TURNER, M. D. CHAPTER IT, w BEHIND THE SCENES, HEW! How raw and cold was this bleak _ December night of 1867, This ni : his night, long to b fol mbered y some of those who play event- i ype om the aoe we will tell. j wing sky filled with half-gray, half- leaden clouds lowered ominously Fabs ents ais net » and the keen north-west wind swept “he almost deserted streets, Then a large feathery flake of snow; then another and another, whirled down; and the spectral atmosphere of the winter evening was filled with white-winged, scurrying battalions, grotesque and weird, flying hither, flying thither! The hour was half-past seven; yet, though so early, out in the sparsely-settled districts of the large city, where the lamps were few, the dark- ness was already intense. A female figure wrapped in shawls and other coverings, trod bravely on through the dark- ness of the street—through the gray snow- storm which howled around her. She had just turned from Catharine street into Twelfth, and as she faced the wind she shuddered and crouched closer to the walls of the tall somber houses bordering on the way, a ns:
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Ww =) AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. - the evening. She must hurry, loo, or she wou d late. Come what might she had to be present when the call-bell sounded. . More fiercely drove the wind along the streets, "flinging the snow flakes madly to and fro; more ominous grew the winter sky—more cold and bleak the br.athofthestorm | ; But, the young actress still trod bravely on. The lights from shop-windows were now closer together, and their kindly glare seemed like welcominz bea- cons to her. But, her breath was coming and going fast; her bosom heaved, and her limbs tot- tered beneath her. She staggered on a few yards, and then, clasping her arms around the cold, snow- flecked iron post of a gas-lamp, she paused under | the full glare. i ‘ The beams flared straight down upon her, and re- vealed a pale, yet beautiful face, bordered by a dark “ mass of clustering hair, shadiog it, and gathered away beneath the protection of an age-honored hood tied under the chin. ¢ The eyes standing out of that-wan face were won- drous dark—wondrous mellow—wondrous soft and fascinating. Yet they were not bright and spark- ling this raw winter night; and the thin, half-blue lids were red with weeping. The ‘girl could not have been more than twenty- three—-perhaps not so old, for the checkered lines of care across the broad white forehead—the deep 7 indentations around the mouth, clearly indicating | suffering—the thin, almost cadaverous cheek—the S frail, weak form, may all have added years to her looks, and given her a premature appearance of age and contact with the world. But, despite her coarse wrappings, despite the careworn, grief-stricken face—despite the despairing Jook of the large black eres Agnes Hope was a maid- ' en wondrously beautiful. or ait She is near unto death; I know it—though the otherwise! Suppose mother should die, then I’d be _. left allalone in this'great city, and in the wide, cold -- world, What would hearted wretch who lets us have the two rooms in which we live! Live! Nay! starve were a better word, Would I, insuch an event, be safe from his persecutions, or, would I then—” She paused while.she clung with one hand to the friendly lamp- closely around her shoulders. But, the dread image suddenly arise by her side. “Then,” she murmured, again; ‘‘in that dark : I know my promise and his horrid oath! Would he ? dare do such an outrage? I could not return his é love; but, he loved me, then, earnestly and truly. And—-the other, so noble-hearted—so high-minded! - ITean scarcely realize that he is one of us? There is something so lordly, so lofty, so grand about Frank Hayworth! ; ** And in six months he has risen so rapidly, that he has taken us all*by surprisco. A bright fame awaits him, and Frank deservesit. But, as for me! Alas! alas! ‘And to-night I must play that silly, shallow role _ and laugh, and sing, and Joke and grimace! An my heart sick within me! For mother—poor moth- er—all that is left tome, is almost dying! A wild thought. has sometimes flashed through my brain, and an indefinable fluttering at the heart, which I could not control—a yearning hope—a mad desire, as more than once I have seen Krank Tay worth’s eyes bent kindly upon me! Does he think well of me? Does his heart kindle toward me?—toward me, * | be gone at once, for I _ <“T must go!” she murmured; “I must earn my | ittance, or what will become of us! And mother so | physician tries to cheer me—to make me believe | ecome of me? And that hard- | ;-a shudder swept over her frame; and | _ post, she drew with the otber the old shawl more | | he sudde uickly recovered herself, and glanc- | » -ed around fearfully, as if she expected to see some | hour, God pity and protect me from Willis Wildfern! | apartment, was a tall handsome man twenty-seven yeais of age. He held in his hand a small book cee the curs and his role in the f.iondless, poverty-stricken_Agnes Hope? No, no;_ That woman was Agnes Hop», the actress, and | he pities me; that is all. He knows my sad tale, she was on her dreary tramp to ihe Chestaut Street perhaps! He knows our wretchedness, and in his Theater, to play her part in the thrilling drama of | great heart he feels for me and for my poor mother, 0, no, Frank Hayworth can not love me! Iam not worthy of him, and then the tale he has hinted to me more than once! Oh, God! Have I been un- guarded—have I been careless—have I forgotten myself, my humble position, and lifted my eyes to him? Have I dared to love Frank Hayworth? Good heaven! The answer that comes from my heart— ‘tis unmistakable! God pity me if I have given my heart to Frank! Yet, I couldnothelp it! And heso kind tome! I would die if I thought he did not love me some. To-night we play in the same piece; his eyes will beam so kindly, yet so sadly upon me, and pe will speak tome! Yet that other tale; at which he as hinted? Ha! yes!” At that moment the far-off clangor of the bell on ea oe lg Hall boomed heavily on the thick | nigh air. Breathlessly the girl counted the ringing strokes. | She shuddered again; then drawing her shawl once | more around her, she muttered: ** Good heavens! Kight o’clock! I'm late! I must go on’ soon, myself; I must be there.’ : As she spoke she turned away from the lamp-post, _ and plunged ahead in the thick gloom. By this time ' the pavements were white with spectral drapery of winter, and the jolting hacks and street cars, pass- ing here and there, rumbled with a hollow, deaden- ' ed sound. Onward she hurried—her limbs tottering under her, her person thickly covered with falling snow, her feet freezing, her pinched face shrinking under the cold blasts that roared by, until, at last, before her, its bright lamps glittering in the night-air, and flaring under the flurries of the winter wind, loomed up the Chestnut Street Theater. _ The girl ee cuit as two gentlemen coming up the street confronted her. One of them, a tall, stout, well-clad, bewhiskered man, suddenly stopped, as nis gaze fell upon the white-faced actress. “Ha! it isyou! my pretty Agnes!” he exclaimed, familiarly, chucking her under the chin with his well-gloved hand.“ You need not draw away! Tl not mak you. You're late, though; the overture has just concluded, and the curtain is up; but—” “Then do not detain me, Mr, Wildfern; I must hurry,’ said the girl, endeavoring to push by him. Ny hy, Agnes, although you arein a hurry, yet you might say how-d’-ye-do to your best friend! Come, now, Agnes, one kiss, and, why—I’ll say nothing about the vent!” As he spoke, he stooped quickly over her. But, recoiled; for, like lightning, the little cold hand hadresented the offered indignity by a blow on his face. With a half-muttered oath Willis Wildfern turned away, and joined his companion, who was waiting for him. EN. “Not so easy, Willis, as you thought! Ha! ha!” laughed the other, as the two men hurried on and entered the theater. ; Agnes Hope hastened up Twelfth street, and dis- ae in the little alley leading to the rear of the theater. A moment more, and she was behind the scenes, CHAPTER II. A GREAT SHADOW. AN hour before the events above recorded a dim light burned in the humble lodgings of Frank Hay - \.urth, the actor. These ‘‘ lodgings” were a singie room, and a small one at that, in an unpretending dweling on South Tenth street, below Shippen. _ ; Seated in front of a common table, in vd little of some lay to be performed that night in the Chestnut Street Theater. . Frank Hayworth was a handsome man. His head was large and well-shaped—the forehead broad and
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et — oe | eae: al », A — = > rominent, and shaded by thick clusters of jet-black | - hair, waving and glistening. The eyes were large, ._ dark and dreamy in expression; the mouth was completely hidden from view, by a long, sweeping mustache—darker even than the hair, if possible— which flowed down over the massive, iron-like chin. He wore no other, beard. : In stature he was certainly six feet, and his form, though inclined to the slender, was, nevertheless, sinewy and well-knit. . The young man suddenly started, as a neighbor- ing clock sounded faintly in his room. ~—-“ Seven o’clock already!’ he muttered; “and I have not yet learned my vole. This will not do! I dream too much, and I have je Guin my ONEGREAT serie \ I must be diligent, or I will lose all I have gained, So saying, he bent his gaze on the part before him, and recommenced his “ rege Five, ten, fifteen minutes elapsed, and with a half- impatient, half-triumphant gesture, he cast the lit- tle book on the table before him, and rising to his iets began to walk the narrow limits of the cham- er, “Tis done!” he muttered; “I know the part; and | now will fickle fortune once more favor me? Will I, in my humble part, again win the pleasing plaudits? God grant it! Lam going up. I am making a mark. Success and money will yet be miue! Then, what bar will stand between me and my darling Sadie?” As he spoke he paused and glanced at the photo- graph hanging on the wall; thena soft, yearning ex- pression passed over his features, “Yes, Sadie, you ave my darling! For you aloneL | live! For no other woman has my heart ever puls- ed! And yet—” He suddenly ceased his soliloquy, as a look of pena pain all at once contorted his face. His row wrinkled into a deep, anxious frown. ; “Am I speaking the truth?’ he muttered, in a voice tremulous with emotion. ‘‘CanIsearch my heart fully, and say that i¢ has not warmed for other | woman than Sadie Sayton? Can I lay my hand on | that bounding heart, and answer, truthfully, that | my soul has not yearned somewhat, however little, for poor, poverty-stricken, angel-faced Agnes Hope? | Oh, God! my brain reels as the answer comes back to me—that answer always the same, and ever ring- ing loudly in my ears! Isit true? Can it be possible? ave I ceased to love, as ever, my beautiful, devo- ted, fair-haired Sadie? Oh, no! A thousand times, no! Yet, at the name of Agnes, J can not wee a! - My heart does beat more quickly; the blood does grow warmer in my veins, and Agnes Hope’s image 1S Incased in my inmost soul! as I may, call ever so oudiy: time love! pray asI may, that image is there, and Ican not dethrone it! Why is this? Is it because Sadie is rich, and Agnes poor? Is it that, through | uman sympathy, I naturadly tarn to Agres, and am awakened to her tale of woe and poverty? I am Poor myself, and that fact made Sadie’s father, the proud old Virginian, frown upon me; bid me, with & scowl and a menace, never again to darken his Oors, unless I could come there as one who kepuw ank account |”? he young man ceased his wild talk, and an angry flush swept over his smoothly shaven cheek. .© Strode up and down the limits of his little room Aus eyes bent moodily on the floor, his hands clasped hervously behind him, He seemed to have forgot- en his engagement at the theater, the ro/e assigned ine? and every thing else, in the.reflections crowd- ne upon him, put again he looked up. . thi Agnes Hope loves me! Iknow it; I feelit! Poor sist ! Have I been guilty of encouraging her, or has Shown her, by the few acts 0 ‘ten ded P kindness I have ex- er and her invalid mother? I must heed my ways—must mark well my words, for Agnes Hope fringe Allan—myself—must never be more than AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. Do what I can, strive | on my honor and old. | been brought near to me by the sympathy Ihave | | * At that moment the door-bell jingled sharp and loud below, The actor halted in his restless prome- nade, glancing again at his watch. Instantly he turned, picked up his role, stuffed it in his pocket, and hastily drew on his overcoat. “I must be gone!” he muttered; “I‘come on’in the first act; Agnes! she to play that mocking, giddy” part! Well, well! the world is not always just in dis- tributing its favors, and so with stage-managers in making up the cast! Agnes must play that flippant parrot’s part! But, ha! Come in!’ he said, as a sud- den rap sounded on the panel of his doors : Instantly the door opened, and a, tall, portly gen- - tleman, enveloped in overcoat and furs, his beard flecked with snow, entered the room. ““Exeuse me, Mr. Hayworth,” he said. hurriediy; — ‘“*T come on business, and will not detain you.” tm “Yes, doctor; what is it! Iam ina great hurry, and behind time now.” “Well, sir, knowing you to be a friend to Agnes Hope and to her mother, I have just called in to say to you, that that unfortunate mother is fast passing — aha I don’t. think she will live throvgh the night. “Good heavens, doctor! there?” “Not ten minutes since. I am now forced to go away for an hour or so to see others who need my care. I thought I would call and tell you, for Agnes, oor child, has gone to the theater, and her mother s all alone.” “What can be done, doctor? Agnes is already at the theater, I suppose, and I must go.” “Very little is to be done, Mr. Hayworth. But, que as soon as you can come, do so. And, my friend, if you have an opportunity, break the sad intelligence to Agnes, for her mother is dying.” | “And allalone! Horrible! Oh, God, what an un- charitable world!” The doctor turned toward the door; he had noth- | ing further to say. ier Soe omising, however, to return as soon as possible — to the house of the dying woman, he opened 1 door, hurried out, sprung into his cakriaig drove away. And when were you CHAPTER II. ee: BEFORE THE CURTAIN. Pee For several minutes after the physician had gone, — Frank Hayworth, the actor, leaned his head on the | low. mantle and thought deeply. His head was | throbbing, and his heart was sad and an izing. “Poor, poor Agnes! Now is her cup And | to-night—in ten or twent before an exacting audience in the minutes hence—she comes part of a silly, | Shallow-pated girl! Alas! how few in that throng | will know the trouble Agnes Hope conceals in her | bosom! But, people care not! ey pay for their - amusements, and they will have their ‘money’s worth,’ even if hearts are broken, or are breakin; + eee in the bosom of those who cater to them! Alas, = oa ooae for ‘ Christian charity!” Arare article, = = = raly ‘ ““T must be gone, else the curtain will be up be- = S = & o ® ct be | iS) r= > 2 ® Yes, I'll wear it to- a small Larter diamond pin, in the shape of a fadd—the stone d by the tiny golden . For amo- ment he gaz ed its ligkt several times in his eyes. Then, with a deep-drawn sigh, he unbuttoned overcoat, and fastened the jewel in his shirt-front. : The actor was just three minutes ahead of Agnes Hope in reaching the theater that dreary v'ght, and oo he barely had time to make the necessary changes ar
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cy i) Ab ee i aM: hc Loa ae SelM h at 4 AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. _-- Z ee fn his attire, when the call-bell sounded, and he | Bwaggered through a side-scene, and_ appeared, _ amid loud applause, upon the stage, as Hawkshaw, the Detective, in the thri play of the Ticket-of- - Leave-Man. ' And Frank Hayworth had already seen poor nes Hope, but had no time to speak even a word of greeting to the sad-looking girl, who stood await- ing her turn to appear upon the world’s mimic stage as Hmily St. Hvuermond. In one of the front, second-story rooms of the St. Lawrence Hotel, on this same night of wind and snow, @ bright light gleamed forth in the gray gloom, of the outside air. Within that room a young and radiant girl was walking moodily up and down, her me flashing around her, her lips pressed firmly to- gether. The hour was seven and the maiden had just: re- ek ae from supper, and sent her serving-maid down for hers. ' In stature this queenly woman scarcely reached the medium iy but the loftiness and haughti- ness of port, the erect, dignified form, fully com- pensated for this—if, indeed, it might be deemed a eficiency, Drooping, womanly shoulders, agorge- ous, swelling bosom, indicative of a warm, glorious temperament, a taper, and yet a full waist, and withal a pleasing, decided plumpness of person. These characteristics of jigure marked the girl. A weil-turned, nicely-setting head, covered with waving ringlets of rippling gold—a ro- ay b broad, white forehead, unseamed by line at all— | arching brows of the same auburn hue—long, silken lashes fringing over large, dreamy, og apm eyes of deepest blue—a straight Grecian nose, wit a thin, aristocratic nostril—a ripe Cupid’s mouth, even in its repose bewitching and fascinating—a prominent, rounded chin, sloping gracefully away, without an unsightly fold or crease—to meet the noble neck rising, swan-like, from the swelling bo- _ §om. - _ Such were the points of beauty about the maiden’s - face which caused one to look thrice at her, and then, with a sigh of sadness, turn away; sadness - thag¢ all who looked could not possess! _. Upand down the richly-carpeted room she strode, her step growing more hasty. The longer she walk- ed, the more she thought. t Suddenly she raised her soft left hand, and by an if impatient gesture, flung back the clustering ringlets, which had fallen en masse over her forehead, As she did so, a stone glittered in the light upon the lily-white fore-finger of that small, eachy hand. The flash of the ring-setting glittered in the eyes of the ae She paused in her restless promenade, ‘slowly Jowered her hand just below the level of her eyes, and gazed intently at the ruby, glowing in the f i of light. A softer expression spread over her features—an intense love-light gleamed in her large blue eyes—the stern ape mete which had hovered ‘around the closed lips fled away, and then, quick as Uetibpine, @ pearly tear stole down, stood for an in- 8 nt on the soft, downy cheek and then fell upon | the ruby-sett making, by the reflection of the uid, the: om glow with a Seater ple radiance. Poor Allan! I have followed you hither; for 1 heard that one answering to your description was in this large, bustling city. It must be you; for—for there is only one Allan Hill!” She paused in her low murmuring, brushed the tear-drop gently from the stone in the ring, and then flung herself into a chair, gazing all the time at the little band of gold circling her finger. - “Ten long months of weary waiting, of never- ceasing heart-ache, have passed since that black night, on the lonely wharf, he bade me good-by, saying that he would come again and claim meas his bride, when Monny would be in his pocket. He bade me be of good cheer, that he would certain] come again, But time has ape and not a word! 1] Allan dead? Oh, no—no! The thought would kill me, Is he.false to me and my memory? J have ea PERE a Ce re koe se OY been true to him—true under all circumstances— true, despite the frowns of an wg saa and unjust father—true to him, in following him now blindly hither, just to be near him—to love him, to cheer him—if, indeed, he be here in this great city. “The description of him was so accurate, so life- _ like, that it sust be Allan. And though three weeks | have | maidyhanding the paper to her mistress. assed since Larrived here, and I have not seen him, or learned any tidings of him, yet I can not go now, without knowing something definite, I must— Ha! Fanny is here.” She stopped speaking, as, at that moment, the door was opened, and a trim-looking negro girl, her head bound around gracefully in the proverbial Southern home-maid’s style, entered the room. “What's de matter, Miss Sadie? Been erying “Set cat ely ty, Rani) t deersoticaee “I can’t help it, Fann can elp it when I think that I have been here, in this ermiiee city, pr pect Sa and have heard nothing of poor an “Dat’s bad, I know, Miss Sadie. But, de fact is, I think dat Marse Allan ain’t here; and, to tell you de truth, Miss Sadie, I wants to go back home—back where I was raised. Idon’t feel right in dis great big city. And den, for dat matter, I don’t believe, as I jist said, dat Marse Allan is here, and if he don’t ; care “nuff *bout you to let you know whar he is, why Marse Allan ain’t no great shakes any way, and— “There, there, Fanny! Don’t speak of him in that way. You don’t know what a noble gentleman he is.” “‘Dar you is ag’in, Miss Sadie! Always takin’ his part! Just like you! Why, I sometimes think dat old master, as I calls him yet, was half right in not letting et hea man court you, for—” “Stop, Fanny! Do not let me hear you speak thus again,” and Sadie Sayton’s blue eyes flashed fire, and she stamped her little foot imperiously. Fanny was evidently awed; she did not wish to anger or displease her mistress. She had played with Sadie Sayton, in old-time days, and the girl loved her ‘‘ Miss Sadie,”’ as a dog loved his master. So she quickly said, kindly. Lord bless you, Miss Sadie! Don’t you know me better dan dat? I wouldn’t fend you for five dol- lars—in gold, at dat! No, no, I loves you, Miss Sa- die, and I’ll stay wid you as long as you wants me. And, for dat matter, I’d follow you to old Satan, if we could only find Marse Allan!” Sadie’s face brightened, a happy smile came over her rosy mouth, and, taking the black girl’s hand cordially in hers, she said: “We mustn’t quarrel, Fanny. We have been to- gether too Jong now; and, Fanny, I sometimes think you are the only friend I have in the wide world;” and the maiden broke down, and burst into tears. “Dar! dar! Miss Sadie, don’t cry! I tell you, dar, Miss Sadio! . You make me feel bad, and—now, dar] Iknowed tt! J must cry too!” And the faithful ne- _ gress bowed her swarthy faco over thé glorious, gold- sees head of her young mistress, and sobbed But, woman-like, the emotionin both mistress and maid was soon over, and suddenly Sadie said: Give me the paper there, Fanny, I will look over the announcements, as I may go out.” Go out! and on such a night!" exclaimed the aid; har t “Why Miss Sadie, you'll catch your death o’ cold. I tél you it is snowing orful /” But Sadie Sayton made no answer. She glanced over the amusement column in the newspaper for several moments, bab Pll go, Fanny, to the ‘Chestnut.’ It is only a step from here, end 1 have long wanted to see the Ticket-of-Leave-Man.’” Tn ten minutes from that time the beautiful Sadie ee ee ee in : pings, issued quietly adies’ 5 i the street entrance of the hotel, and stood in 6 girl shuddered, as the driving wind tore vie ciously by her, and’as the scurrying snow-flakeg ¥ ere ON Ske UR again a
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AGNES HOPE, ioe ee ene THE ACTRESS. ° ™” 5 a moment, she gathered hor skirts around her, and strode away up the street bravely, in the face of the storm. Ere long she stood at the box-office of the theater. nc ‘We have only one good seat in the house, miss, which is vacant, and that is in the orchestra, front row,’ said the agent, respectfully. “Give it me,” said the girl. Ina moment she had rea the green doors, and stood in the crowded auditorium of the theater, She heeded not the baslisik eyes of a tall man fas- tened upon her, as she hurried on. 4 se man, however, started violently, and drew ack, As the young lady took her seat, the curtain went up, on the first scene of the thrilling play; and there in the aisle stood the tall man, with his keen eyes still bent on her. Then Sadie saw him / CHAPTER IV. ‘* HAWKSHAW, THE DETECTIVE.” Sapie Sayvron glanced at the tall, fiue-looking man, who, at a sign from the asher, had now seated him- self on one of the steps, only two seats from the young girl. A strange fascination seemed to hang around this stranger; at all events, something seemed to impel Sadie to look at him covertly. His face was one wondrously familiar to her; and with it, there came to the girl a black memory—a memory which time and circumstances had almost blotted out. Sadie started as she saw the burning eyes of the man fastened upon her, and she turned her crimson- ing face away. She could not drive out of her mind those wicked eyes, so lingering, so yearning, nor forget that insinuating smile which played over the bearded face of him who sat so near her; and her mind was still traveling back. Could it be he? But the girl turned resolutely away; and then slowlv the blush which had mantled her cheek faded mt, F $ "Suddenly. Hawkshaw, the detective, in blonde wig and auburn whiskers, entered upon the scene at the tap-room. When he spoke, in a rich, full voice, telling his suspicions of some of the parties before _struck her rudely in the face. But, hesftating only — him, Sadie Sayton started violently, and bent her | | ment, eyes upon the speaker. Her ears seemed to drink in every word that fell | from the actor’s lips. A strange shade of doubt, of | anxiety, spread over her face; and, unheeding ev- | ery thing around her, she leaned her head forward, | ra listened intently. : “4 The play Shroceodad: Then Harkshaw strolled list- lessly off the stage: and, at last, poor Agnes Hope, inthe character of Hmily St. Hvermond, appeared. Then she was gone, and the act-drop went down for _the first time. So inteyse had been Sadie’s interest that, oblivious to all her surroundings, she gazed upon the curtain long after the actors had disappeared. Then, with a long-drawn sigh and a half-sob, she recovered her self-possession, and turned around to find the bas- ilisk eyes of the stranger fixed upon her, For a moment she eyed him steadily, but turned away half in alarm. Then the bell sounded—the whistle echoed behind the scenes, and the act-drop rolled up again. But in this scene neither Hawkshaw nor Lmily St. Evermond appeared. ‘i We will, for a moment, go behind the curtain, and note a Jive-scene enacting there, ; Between two of the shifts, on the left, stood Hawk Shaw and the girl, Emily. They were waiting their turn to “go on,” Robbed of their cast-names, we recognize them as Prank Hayworth and Agnes Hope. Despite the dis- fuise he wore, it was easy to see that the youn man’s face was overclouded by a sorrowful, paint €xpression. But, as yet, he had not spoken. Agnes ‘as looking at him wonderingly, lovingly. and her eyes beamed warmly on him. ‘The actor understood that look, and taking the girl’s hand gelitly in his, while his fine eyes rested pityingly on her face—that face so unnatural—so ghastly to him in the thickly-spread 7ouge of the character she was playing—he said: , “T wanted to see you, es, for ‘a moment, on business—sevious business, Agnes;” and he “Serious business, Frank? And with me eee face, and a perceptible thrill shook her PAu tvame. “Tife is very uncertain, A low voice—scarcely, indeed, above a whisper. ‘What mean you, Frank?” asked the girl sudden- ly, a deadly pallor le rap her painted face, asa hideous thought flashed with the speed of light- ning through her brain, Frank Hayworth did not reply ‘at once; but he gently pressed the thin, cold hand, lying so confid- ingly in his own stronger palm. He knew that the girl’s eyes were fastened eagerly apon him. So, in a tremulous voice, he said: “Your mother is—”’ “What, Frank? Has any thing happened?’ and she clutched him with all her energy, and gazed wildly at him with her great, staring black eyes. “Be calm, Agnes; control yourself, and listen tc me. Time flies, and I must be brief. Your mother is ill, Agnes—very ill. an hour since, and—be brave, Gyeomer es says, she can not live through the night. \The be strong, my poor girl, and~I have to ‘goon now!’ He placed her gently in a seat—there in the silence and gloom between the gandhy pa scenes—and in a moment more, the sauntered Detective. The play went on,increasing in intensity, scene * Well, frank?’ she hee in a low, sweet voice, aused. | Well, ., goon, Frank,” and the poor girl bent her head, as" a crimsoning blush reddened still more her unnatur- » es,” he began, in a re, there, AgDes; c young ran again upon the stage, as Hawkshaw, the — The doctor was to see hernct | by scene, act by act, and Sadie Payson: aes dream- ing than waking, sat still and watc played the part of Hawkshaw. Absorbed in the thrilling play— absorbed especial- ly in the noble fellow who ed him who ayed the detective’s role —Sadie paid but little heed to the man who so per- _ sistently, so impertinently watched her every moye- The climax of the drama was fast approaching— — the act-drop had rolled up for the last time. ; Poor Agnes Hope, now as Mrs. Green Jones, pirou- etted glibly with her stage-struck husband, the ven- der of veal pies; and not one in the house, save Frank Hayworth, who watched her with sad, sym- athizing eyes, knew the terrible sorrow in her osom, Then the slides were shifted for the last time, and its closing scene revealed Jem Dalion and Melter Moss — ‘ “ ‘3 on their burglarious errand, and, following them like a bloodhound Hawkshaw, the Detective. ; Then the final struggle—then the victory of the de- tective; and the house rung with thundering plau- dits, as in the contest, the wig and beard of the gallant Hawkshaw were inadvertently and uninten- tionally torn away, and the face of Frank Hayworth, enthusiastic, triumphant and glowing, stood forth in the full glare of the footlights! But, amid the wild cheers and clapping of hands, there went up from among the orchestra-seats a long, wailing we Sadie Sayton had gazed in the face of Frank Hay- worth; and in the actor’s shirt-bosom, the girl had caught the sparkle and dazzle of a diamond of the first water, : Then the curtain went down. Slowly the theater was pees the lights were being extinguished; but Sadie Sayton, her b: reeling, her limbs faltering, remained. Near her, silent, watchful as a hawk, stood the bearded stran- ger, % The girl leaned down, and searched all around — “Ss
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= ee a A en ee ee ne Eee fer, An exclamation of veration escaped her lips. faintly upon his bearded face. He suddenly bent “T have lost it! His gift!” In a moment the man drew near her. “Can I assist you, miss? Have you dropped any: : thing?” And he bowed low before her. ae “T have lost a ring, sir; a mibe with a ruby setting. ai I value it highly.” And again she bent down - the search. , = The gentleman at once busied himself, likewise, “ in Jooking for the lost article. ¥ Suddenly a sparkle at his feet caught hiseyg. in -.-—« &@moment he had covered the object lightly with his 255 boot; and then, as the girl was looking in another direction, he stooped, picked up the object, and in the twinkling of an eye, transferred it to his pocket. *Camsorry, miss; but I fear the ring is lost—for | the time, at least,”’ he said; ‘‘ but I will cause search for it, and if found, will see that you get it.” The oo pondered fora moment. She was loth to ove leave the ring; it had never been from her finger 2 since that dark evening long ago, when Allan Hill put it there. But, she saw that almost everybody had gone; so, ee a deep sigh, she turned and attempted to move off. She had miscalculated her strength; for, exhausted | ‘with the constant strain upon her mind, startled at = the loud, strong voice of the man who played Hawk- ae shaw; shocked at the unexpected discovery; : ressed at the loss of the ring; frightened at the ainiliar face of the stranger, with its dark memories, she learned soon enough that her vigor was gone. She tottered and sunk back on a seat. ‘The man Eo her strode forward and took her gently by the ‘Allow me to assist you hence, miss; they are closing the house,” he said. The girl rallied, staggered to her feet, and shrink- ing away from his proffered aid, reeled along the ‘aisle, out through the green doors, into the lobby, The man ee, pertinaciously behind her. Suddenly Sadie paused, and facing him, said, ina low, unsteady voice: "Pardon me, sir; but we have met before, I think?” And she raised her eyes fearingly to his ace. “You are right, Sadie Sayton!”’ he said, promptly. “You and I have met before; and, methinks, you have met that ranting actor, too! But, if it be tid- ings for you, I'll tell "ig that he is to be married to that white-faced, sickly-looking girl who played M/7s. Green Jones to-night. Hal hal” Along, wailing, heart-bursting cry from the poor she tottered and fell backward. But Willis Wildfern, the man-aboxt-town, caught the fainting form of Sadie Sayton in his ready arms. es CHAPTER V. 1 a," THE DAMNING PROOF. Tx cold blast, rudely blowing in from the street, - fanned the throbbing temples of Sadie Sayton; and the blinding snow struck her fullin the face, as she lay. limp and hélpless in the arms of Wildfern. Ihe man gloated over her beauteous face and form; and a devilish luster—a wicked look of tri- _ umph—gleamed in his eye. He and Sadie Sayton— the girl between him and whom was an old-time link of some sort—were alone in that dark, cold entrance, into which the snow-storm was beating. The box- agent was just extinguishing his light, and the night- . watchman was coming up the steps. __ *Fullo! what’s this, mister?” he asked, sternly, as he saw pares the form of a woman, locked in the arms of a tall, bearded man, “No harm, ri ste fellow,” replied Wildfern. “Only a girl fainted from the close air; but she will soon come round, and I'll see her safe home.” The watchman said nothing more, but an a icious glance at Wildfern, passed on into the ooth of the theater. The man-about-town drew the limp form closer to him in his steady grasp; he felt her warm breath =" de- | maiden, and, flinging her arms up wildly in the air, | AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. | his head over her—his lips were almost touching | those of the innocent, unconscious maiden, when | Suddenly a shiver passed over the girl. | Her eyes opened; she staggered to her feet, an Summoning her strength, she uttered alow cry and, | darted into the street. Willis Wildfern strode after her, and both were quickly lost in the stormy night. . | In a half-minute Sadie stood at the corner of Twelfth street. She paused as if shot, for, at that instant, two forms—one a tall man, the other a slen- der woman—the latter clinging to the arm of the ae ee by swiftly, going down Twelfth street. ; And Sadie had heard a well-known voice say: “Be brave, be hopeful, Agnes! We will pray for the best; but if the worst is to be realized, look to me, Agnes—trust me always, and, God be my judge! I will not desert you.” And then the two were across Chestnut street, and out of ear-shot. _ Sadie Sayton gazed after them with a wild, mean- ingless stare, as they crossed Chestnut street. For | an instant she clung to an iN 9 ge for support. “Fate bids me on! I must see the end of this. I must learn if he is true orfalse to me! I must follow on, whithersoever they lead! Oh, God! and he my idol! Imust—” 34 The remainder of this sentence was lost, as the | girl strode away down Twelfth street, keeping in | sight those whom she followed, and who were now | far ahead, | Willis Wildfern chuckled low to himself. “Ha! ha!” he said, in a low tone of triumph, “I’m in luck; and I'll turn this little circumstance to good account! I must own that girl. I must have her money—real stuff! And, Mr. Frank Hayworth, look to yourself, for lam on your track—a firebrand in my hand! And the link between this dazzling beau- ty and the vagrant player? I'll learn it yet, for I have the ring. Saree a may have happened since 1861. Well, we’llsee!_ And shea perfect Hebe still! Ye gods! AndnowT'll hold on to this prize until she consents, by fair means or foul, to be my | wife! Lucky dog that I am, that circumstances should thus befriend me! And I can and will yet win her, or she is iepid to devotion and flattery, and is different from the great majority of her sex. I’ll follow on and see the end of this farce—a proper | conclusion to the evening’s entertainment. By psi the girl is in earnest, and—why, it’ll be the same Speaking thus, the man- hurried along swiftly be- hind Sadie—now a considerable distance ag ad- ‘vance. Frank Say ee and Agnes hastened on their way. They heeded not the wild storm which was raging around them. ‘ At length they reached Catharine street, far away, and turned up at once to the right. Hurrying on a few moments, they paused suddenly before a low dilapidated house, which, from its appearance, had borne the brunt of many storms. A light gleamed from a window near the top of the house; with this exception, the lowly habitation was in gloom. In a moment the door was opened, and the actor and his charge disappeared inside. Sadie Sayton. ee close behind, had watched them keenly. Her feet were cold and numb; her hands almost pulseless. As she saw the two walkers halt before the old habitation, she likewise paused, sh g away in the deep, drifted snow, under the dark shadows of tie house nearest her, And when they whom she watched disappeared from view, the lonely girl heaved a deep sigh, and was about to turn off. Just then she saw, on the vepeate side of the stree the reflection of light from the window of the ol house, In that reflected glimmer she beheld spec- tral shadows ee a Waiting nota moment, she hurried across the street. — =
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= AGNES HOPE, THE his arms, And then Sadie Sayton sunk swooning in the snow. 3 ACTRESS. : ; ae Another moment and the tall form of Willis Wild- | fern towered over her. CHAPTER VI. A LEAF FROM AN OLD BOOK. On the banks of the James river, in the county of Charles City, Virginia, embowered in the midst of a spreading mansion of old Colonel Manton Sayton—the house known for years as Sayton Manor. Colonel Sayton, the possessor of the manor—at the time we have chosen for our story—had well maintained the prestige of his family. And though | j: in his day, too, clouds had lowered over him, yet those clouds had now _ blown away, and he was happy that he again lived in the old mansion— happy in the company of his charming daughter Sadie—the link which bound him tenderly to the memory of his dead wife, sleeping in the quiet sareyord in the Fea happy as he passed his ime on the spreading farm, and in the quiet pre- cincts of the old manor. Sadie, his child, was pretty as a nymph, warm- hearted, whole-souled, well-educated, joyous and light-hearted, devotedly fond of her father, heeding his slightest wish, considering it a heinous sin if sh» failed to please him in the slightest particular. _ Living about a mile from the manor, and further down the river, was another family—one as old and as proud as that of the Saytons; but it was, in one sense, what might be termed a “ broken-down”’ family. Hash Hill, the owner of this farm, dated his an- cestry far back in the dead ages, and found his fami- ly-name in the landed gentry of England. At one time he had been rich; but, fox-hunting, a reckless Then the old man determined to turn over a new leaf—to start life again. But just as his resolves were formed, the hollow tones of the tocsin of war echoed through the land, and the red brand of bat- tle crimsoned the sky. At that time his only child, a son, Allan by name. was absent at William-and-Mary college. The old gentleman was determined that his darling boy should have a good education, already knowing that, were the debts, fast accumulating on the old farm, paid off, he could give Allan nothing else than an education. Between the two families living so near together there was no cordiality—no friendship—as might reasonably have been expected. An old feud, dat- ing back for several generations, divided them, and “made the two representatives of the families scowl at one another, when, by chance, they met. disregard of money, and a lavish hospit@lity, had made a serious inroad into his treasury. The BLACK WAVE was sweeping over the land, and Allan Hill was suddenly summoned home from col- lege. By a great effort his father had raked together an amount sufficient to defray the expenses of the completion of his son's education abroad, and the young man was to go at once. We will not dwell here; we are writing simply a love-story—not a war-chronicle—and we'll hasten on, It cannot be supposed that Sadie Sayton and Allan Hill had never met. This was almost an im- ssibility, taking into consideration the surround- ee estances. : i e two young folks, despite the enmity existing _ between the families, had met, and—long ago; Sadie yton certainly reigned in Allan Hill’s bosom as een of love and beauty. The youth madly wor- Shiped the girl, and it was easy for him to see that ‘1 ove was reciprocated, rove of oaks, stood the storm-stained -| ™san came the impnisive proposal—the mad ap- peal. Then the sudden starting, the vicious crim- soning; then the warm, outers ing woman’s love; then the half-articulate ‘* yzs!” And then the old story of the quarrel. But ‘hey cared not for this. : Allan Hill and Sadie Sayton were engaged to be married in the year 1861—secretly, of course. But then, there grew up between them a high wall—a barrier which seemed to sunder them forever. Colonel Sayton frowned, and his face grew as black as nie when one day Allan Hill boldly erent at the manor and asked to see Sadie. Strange to say, he did see the girl; but when he call- ed again with ‘“‘unblushing front,” as the colonel termed it, he failed to see Sadie. The old gentleman himself met the young man, and told him plainly never again to darken his doors, and that he would not countenance him there, as long as the memory of past events remained with im. With anger swelling in his bosom, and fire fleshin from his eyes, Allan Hill had turned, and withou reply soever, left the mansion, mounted his horse and galloped away. But he had not forgotten Sadie, or turned his back upon her. He still found means of communicatin with her, and they met frequently—clandestinely, o course. Then Allan Hill went to Europe. About this time a stranger made his arate: at Sayton Manor. By education, at least, he was evi. dently a gentleman; and his dress and deportmert also pointed him out as such. The young man—le was young, and a tall, fine-looking fellow, too—had come down, so he said, on_a boat from Kichmond, on a hunting expedition. Having missed the return- ing steamer, he applied at the mansion, late that day, for en ae G He was not refused; his ap- pearance was, with the colonel, a guarantee of re- spectability. This young man and Sadie Sayton met. Jn an in- — stant, as if = instinct, the girl knew that his heart had bounded at her presence. : Women soon learn this. Maybe by magic. if She was not mistaken; for, before the strencer took his departure next day, he had managed to convey to Sadie, most unmistakably, proofs of his admiration. But the girl repelled him with coldness, especially when the stranger made close and imper- bei inquiries into the pecuniary affairs of her fa- er. In a week from that time the young man came again—this time arrayed in all the elegance of fash- ion. As the phates eh serie views agreed with the colonel’s—which had been learned in the former ’ ~ / visit—his visit, though taking the old Virginian by surprise, was nevertheless not distasteful to him. ot so with Sadie; she trembled violently as she saw the man walking up the wharfway toward the house. She had a foreboding of evil—that evil con- nected with this man—and to befall herself. But she met him with an inborn dignity peculiar to her, pp her manner was frigidly distant and re- serve’ ee The stranger remained a week, and in that time—_~ without the colonel’s knowledge or consent—man- aged to pay formal court and address to the girl. Sadie was thunderstruck and shrunk frightened away. But she refused him point-blank, and ex- pressed her indignation at his course, Theman was stung to fury, and used harsh, insulting language. The girl was about to scream for help, but the fel. low placed his hand over her mouth, and put a pis- tol to her head, making her promise to reveal noth- ing until he had gone. . ore dead than alive Sadie Sayton had sunk back into aswoon, Whenshe awoke to consciousness the ee had gone. And then Sadie tremblingly told her father all. The old man’s rage was ungovernable, The very — next day he went to Richmond—taking. especial ——— c > ‘ “aS » i © Bly ee YY Brak |. ee £ PRS eels Ne Cy te eee atta Whe: 5
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; He pin. "Then the steamer’s lights were in sight. Ten minutes later Allan Hill had parted from the girl he A ie % ; ' 4 8 AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. ns before he left home to stick a brace of old-. hioned dueling pistols in his carpet-bag. But the next morning he returned from a fruitless errand, The stranger had left Richmond. At that time Sadie was not quite sixteen. And the name the stranger gave was Willis Wildfern. Then the hideous pLack wave of civil war, which had come so suddenly, finally rolled away, and Colo- nel Sayton was still the owner of his old mansion; he was soon again surrounded by ge Not so, however, with Hugh Hill. He had died suddenly some time before, and his ancient residence had been burned by a band of raiding horsemen, At last, after a long absence abroad, Allan Hill came home, crushed in spirits at the death of his father; and when he reached the old farm, he found _ himself homeless, and almost without a penny. Time passed. Allan and Sadie met again. ce were still true to each other; but, that barrier al- ready erected in the past, had grown broader and higher between them. For Allan Hill had soon sold - the old farm lands, and with the proceeds paid his father’s debts. This left him Ul Rhema Between the young man and Colonel Sayton there was a cold reserve, a tacit declaration of war which was unmistakable. Colonel Sayton was a proud old. man—an unjust oldman. He was not exactly mean, nor can we say that he r worth. Yet, remembering, the way in which Allan arded money as the sole guaranty for | Hill had lost his property, the old gentleman grew , extremely serious as the young man—at last entire- ly disregarding him and his commands—continued his visits to Sadie. Then the father hinted to his 3 daughter that the young fellow’s visits were dis- tasteful to him. But, this time Sadie paid no heed to her father’s words. Then the old gentleman got very angry, and - peremptorily bade the girl discard her lover. Then Sadie Sayton’s eyes flashed fire, as she open- - ly avowed her undying love for Allan Hill. Colonel Sayton was almost dumbfounded at this, though he answered not a word; but, when the oung man came again, the stern old father met | ini ere he alighted from his horse. The words they spoke were few. Colonel Sayton telling Allan, angrily, never again to put foot in_his house, until he could keep a bank account. Young Hit retorted that the day would come when the Colonel would welcome him to his proud old mansion, Then they parted. E The dark night following this altercation, Allan Hill stood on the wharf awaiting the arrival of the ‘John Sylvester.” By his side was Sadie Sayton. piped upon her finger a ring with a ruby-set- ;she pinned in his shirt-front a diamond scarf- loved, mae aboard the steamer, and was gone in- to the world to miike that which would enable him— tokeep a bank account. CHAPTER VII. BY A DEATH-BED. Frank Haywortn’s heart beat fast as, with Agnes Hope hanging on his arm, he paused at the foot of the Here stairway to allow the pest irl time to get her breath. The young man heard the labored breathing struggling from the panting bosom; he felt the thin arm dragging so heavily, so trenulously, on his, and he knew that the maiden was exhausted. So for a moment he lingered at the foot of the Uniade in the pony, unlit passage, and support- ing the fainting form of the girl in his strong grasp, he waited until she had, in a measure, recov from her tedious walk through the snow. As ony stood there silently, in the dark passage, no sound breaking the perfect quiet, save the sad, hollow shriekings of the wind, m around the | but, as soon ag she ceased spealin corners and under the eaves of the old house, sud- “ denly a faint, half-gurgling groan echoed feebly from the room above, en again and again. And then a fluttering voice was heard speaking in tremu- lous tones, And then the half-subdued, 'yet heavy footsteps withal of a man shook the room as he walked across the floor, Agnes Hope rallied herself, and summoning a sud- den energy, said, in a low voice: “Come—come, Frank! We must go! *Tis mother, and—and—we may be too late. Come!” The young man strove not to keep her; but he whispered in her ear: “Again, Agnes, I beg you to be brave, and to re- member that Iam your friend to death! Now, Ag- nes, lean on me, and come along, And be prepared, my poor girl, for the worst. There—there—Agnes, do not tremble so; trust in God, and rely on my friendship!” ‘So speaking, Frank Hayworth, almost lifting the ioe in his arms, commenced the ascent of the stairs. n a& moment the top was reached. And that moment the door of the front room was opened, and the robust form of the kind-hearted physician stood there in the broad flash of light streaming from the apartment. ‘ ere then another gurgling groan echoed in the si- ent air. Agnes Hope trembled as, leaning on the actor’s arm, she panted heavily. “Ts it ou, Agnes?’ asked the doctor, in a low voice, as he peered into the gloom, His voice was subdued—just above a whisper, and, in his tones, there was something of sympathy. “Yes, doctor,” replie the girl; “it is I. I am with Mr. Hayworth.” As she spoke she came for- ward into the light, “T am glad you are here, Agnes, my child,” said the physician in the same kind tone, ‘Be not cast down, my poor girl, but come in and see your mother. You have no time to lose.” So saying, the humane gentleman took Agnes by the hand, and beckoning the young man to follow, leg the cia ret ne gee dg res hs nquishing the hand o nes, the physician stepped lightly to the mantle pe took dhevettom a glass containing a fluid. He leaned over the bed of oe dying woman, and placed his hands gently upon er arm. ** Arouse, Mrs, Hope, and drink this potion; Agnes is here;” and then he lifted her head Santis me kb placed the liquid to her lips. Without hesitating, the sufferer swallowed the in- vigorating Sled ey : namoment the fiery liquid had flashed through her sinking frame —the eyes lost their strong stare— the hands unclinched their grasp, and the panting breath came more regularly. ; Turning her eyes wearily on the physician, the dy- ing woman murmured in a low voice, incoherently— unmeaningly: & “Agnes! Agnes! did you say, doctor? No! Agnes is not here; she is at the play-house, laughing and cre on the boards! She is Hmily St. pepe tnen to-night, And then—ha! ha! She afterward mar- ries Green Jones, you know! She told me all about it, and how her heart would ache, when remembering her old mother all alone at home. She would have to goon the stage, and Jaugh and smirk, and say silly things to please the people! Poor—poor Agnes! But, she is not here, doctor, and—_ Ha! doctor, lam dying, doctor, and Agnes, my child—away!” As she spoke a wild shudder swept over her frame ae with a startled look of sudden fright, she closed r eyes. ; The physician had allowed her to rattle on in her wild, random talk, without attempting to check; g of her own ac- cord, he quickly ee his sensitive finger over the thrilling artery of the neck, Then, as a painful look , Spread over his face, he beckoned Agnes to him, and ‘
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Soe léaning down, half-shouted in the ear of the dying ““Arouse yourself! arouse yourself, for daughter’s sake!..Agnes is here to bid you But the poor woman gave no reply. At the name of Agnes there was a faint quivering about the nos- Then a terrible shiver passed over her frame—then another, and another—then a long, feebly-drawn The physician turned away. : “Dap!” he said, in a voice almost inaudible. reeled back, and fell in the ready arms of Frank Hayworth. a wild laugh rung in the room. Frank Hayworth glanced thitherward and saw a In an instant the face was gone. CHAPTER VIII. woman: ated : are- well!”’ tril, a just perceptible lifting of the thin upper lip, breath. Then came the long, wailing shriek, as poor Agnes At that moment the window-sash was shaken, and hideous face. SOMETHING SERIOUS INTERRUPTED. AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. For a moment Wildfern gazed triumphantly at’ the quarry he had hunted down—the poor girl lying 80 motionless in the snow. ‘ Then he stooped down and page to her nostrils a handkerchief saturated with an ether. Then, call- ing a passing carriage, he lifted the girl in his arms, bore her to the vehicle, and whispering a few words to the driver, sprung in and away they jolted. The carriage dashed on as rapidly as possible over the snow-covered streets. The driver plied his whip vigorously—perhaps he knew the man who had em- ployed ith well enough; this man paid well! The carriage rumbled on. At length Locust street , sight. | Romid ‘tent xoiinites elapsed before the two return- lashed his horses again, and rattled on ata greater | ed was reached, . Turning abruptly around the corner, the driver speed than ever. Proceeding a few squares, the ve- hicle suddenly lee before a large double house on the north side. the dwelling, despite the late hour. The driver did not stir from his box. Willis Wildfern reached out his hand and opened the door. Then, grasping the form of Sadie Sayton In his arms, he sprung out. _. Here, my man,” he said, handing siderable amount to the driver; ‘ Speed, have only been to the Baltimore depot to-nigh Exactly, captain; I know my business.’ _The man_ touched his. horses, and again the car- Yiage jolted away. ‘Turning into a neighboring Cross-street, it was soon out 0: “in and hearing. ildfern, bearing the insensible girl in his arms, Sprung up the broad marble steps, and applying his and to the bell pulled vigorously three times. Instantly the light glowing in the hall and shim- Mering through the transom-light over the door, bg subdued. Then, hurrying feet echoed along ibe orange But, though a hand was placed upon the ob de, yet the door opened not, nor did © knob turn. A faint, peculi however, Sounded on the panel. Willis Wildfern immediately answered this. Then snother rap sounded on the door. The man’s face tinkled into a frown; but he returned the rap. 4 t last the door was opened; but even then it was rs 2 by a short check-chain. «+0 comes?” asked a voice. « itis I, Lady Maud,” replied Wildfern, an 5 en at once and let me in out of the storm. ratt €n the door was closed for a moment; achain ttled. Then the door swung open. Wildfern entered with his burden and glanced around him, “ Ha! what’s this, Willis Wildfern? What dark parpose do you now entertain?” asked the woman » thou 88 she pean she gave way for the man to enter a note of con- this for your rap, / The other made a sudden, gett enh gesture. The woman understood it, for she half-cowered, and then quickly shut the door. Ps “Mind your tongue, Lady Maud!” replied Wild- fern, angrily, as he drew aside the saturated hand- kerchief, and let the light fall on the lovely face of the girl, ‘‘ But, look at this beauty!” he continued. ** Did you ever see one fairer, eh?” : * Wondrously fair!” exclaimed the woman, in- voluntarily. ‘‘But, where did you find the poor thing, captain, and what are you going to do with the child? I hope—” “‘Fnough, Lady Maud; but now, come help me in with her. Then, maybe, Tl tell you all about it. You must keep her here for me.” The woman started, but, meeting the man’s eye, bowed silently, saying nothing. They passed on, and entered a bril antly-lit parlor to the left—the man still carrying the girl in his arms. Then he laid her onasofa. But he did not explain her in- sensible condition. He whispered to the other. ‘““What now, captain?” and “Do as I tell man. i : “T tell you, Wildfern, I do not wish—” “Go, Lady Maud! Do you brave me thus?” and he put his hand menacingly in his bosom. e woman turned at once and left the room. In a few moments she was back, She carried in her hands a large silk handkerchief and a few feet of cord. But, her face was wrinkled she stirred not. ; you—at once, too!” growled the | darkly. A light burned in the hallway of And, mark you well—you know Hee you | ' you had better say, my dear A moment and the handkerchief was tied loose’ though securely over the girl’s head. Then her soft wrists were bound with the cord. Between them, at once, the man and the woman bore the limp form along the dimly-lit hall—thence up stairs, out of ed. Wildfern opened a door to the right of the pass- age, and entered a room as if he was perbeodr at home. The woman followed him. : The apartment into which they entered was fitted up with a tasteful, costly elegance. Full-length mirrors reached from the ceiling to the richly-car- peted floor. Paintings of wondrous tinting and shading—though — pene s rather broad in subject—adorned the walls. e atmosphere of the room was warm and genial, “You certainly have comfort here, Lady Maud, thanks to—me!”’ said the man. “Thanks to our handy way of providing money, Sy em And you know. Jam not altogether unservicea’ thing I endeavor to pay it back by showing that Iam | grateful. Besides that, captain,” and she sunk her voice to a whisper, as a glitter came to her eye, “T am well aware what @ wordfrom me would do! I would have but to breathe a single sentence, in the ear of a certain official about town, and you and Wild Tom would—” % “There! Enough, Lady Maud! you trifle with me —you threaten me, and there’s no necessity,” inter- es the man, starting. ‘‘More than that, m noble lady, if you are err eg bs ahead! You wi be cutting your own throat. Ha! ha! And should ae fail in doing that, you may as well remember hat J am no pigmy, and can do certain things my- self!” These words were enkee flercely and with a deep significance: and, as he uttered the last 6 hee the ti oo ised his right hand into the breas is coat. 4 The Lady Maud shuddered, and her ruddyface blan- ched as the words fell upon her ear. But she rallied and said laughingly: ‘“*T did but joke, captain, and if I meant any thing, it was, that Ido for you what would be a fair equiva- lent for the money. you advance me, But,’ and her voice became serious, as if a sudden remembrance _ had flashed through her brain, “please remember, le. If I owe you any | pocket of — “ae ‘A See 4 Ce om, SON ew
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< Rr ee ee *s ; as ; ’ 10 : AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. - +, rs Y a —— eee eee eae pee. — - - a ee. f my friend, that I hold more than one secret of yours / e shade of suspicion passed from the physician’s Fern not easily frightened, Wiilis Wildfern, nor am woe and he chteritad: i bag I a child to deal with. I think ts much can be *“You have a good heart, Mn Hayworth, and you matched against yours!” and, as she spoke, she will be rewarded! And, now, please attend to the flexed her right arm, and touched the swelling mus- funeral arrangements, at your earliest convenience. _ cle with the tips of the fingers of her left han | We are the only friends the poor piri has, and we The man drew back. He knew the Lady Maud of must not desert her. And, yes, the funeral had old; he knew that she was not to be trifled with, and etter be as soon as possible.” that when her anger was ag ae aot aroused, she “Exactly, doctor, To-morrow afternoon, under was a dangerous woman to deal with—one who the circumstances, will not be too soon, 1 think. could fake her own part, be it at cut-and-thrust or | What say your’ fisticnf. ‘“oMwill do; and I will be here then. And, Mr. Hay- “We will not Ce Lady Maud! Above all worth,” the physician sunk his voice still lower as he : others, you and I should be friends. But, remember | spoke, “‘if—if—there is any thing in the shape of well: you hold me no tighter than I hold you—for I saw the blow given that Right, late—”’ “Ah! And did Jnot, Willis Wildfern, in this very | house, see other blows given? Did I not see a bleed- | ing, ghastly body carried down those stairs there? AN} | well you may shudder! And can not the old cover- a ed well in the yard tell a secret? Ay! between you | ¥ and Wild Tom—” . “Stop, woman, or by heavens, I’ll make you!” And as he uttered those angry words in a low, hiss- | ing voice, the man sprung to his feet, and drew : _ from his bosom a long, keen knife. In a moment he advanced toward the other. x tT Fe But the Lady Maud was not slow in meeting his ets attack. Like lightning she was upon her feet; and then the blue, iably fercpered arrel of a pistol flashed in the room, and the woman’s finger was F pressing the creaking trigger. 5 ¢ The man paused; then suddenly he stooped for a | E 7% erring, and— | At that moment the door-bell sounded sharp and | clear through the quiet mansion. CHAPTER Ix. A STARTLING SIGHT. But the hideous face disappeared quickly from the window; and then the snow whirled down fu- riously against the filmy panes. The wind roared around the old house, and sighed and moaned along the oe and up the alleys. | Frank Hayworth had started when his eyes fell | upon the dark, scowling, diabolical face at the win- | peer dow. And then a frown wrinkled his brow. | ast Laying the swooning girl gently upon an_ old | coe lounge, the young man sprung to the window, flung up the rickety sash, and, leaning forth, peered out into the thick gloom. Far down the street, dimly Eoin the form of a Rag speeding away. Then it had gone from . . Frank Hayworth looked below. He started as he | j saw the old shutter to a window of a story under | ; ei. : * eee 2 ‘ < him swinging to and fro. In an instant he knew how the bold intruder had clambered up. ‘The young man lowered tthe sash at once, and turned again into the room. The physician, who had been leaning over the girl, now arose, and putting on his overcoat, picked <3 his hat and gloves. Then he drew near to Frank _ Hayworth and said, in an undertone: “Tam of no further use, sir; but, somebody must stay here with the poor girl to-night. How canit be arranged?” tS The actor pondered for a moment; but, then look- “pte ing up suddenly, said, quietly: = _ “1 can arrange it, doctor; I will stay myself.” For an instant the physician glanced at him who spoke; in that glance was something—however faint f ~-of suspicion. ; **Oan you not get some other person too—a zoman Mr. Hayworth? Agnes Hope is a young girl; and oer two all alone in this old house, Why, people “‘Tunderstand you, doctor,” interrupted the other, 2 sternly. ‘‘Let me assure you,I love Agnes Hope only as—as—a sister, and as such would respect and . defend her,” | any thi | in the cham | ed there, and, bending his head, money—why, sir, my purse is—”’ “God bless you, doctor! Ihave some means my- | self, and Agnes has her wages. But, should we need , we will not seruple to take advantage of your kind offer.” “Then, good-night, sir,” replied the physician, shaking the actor’s hand. “I must now going; I will see you to-morrow.” Turning at once, the humane gentleman said a soft, sympathizing geod night to Agnes, and in a moment more had disappeared, ° Frank Hayworth and Agnes Hope were left alone r of death, The young man gazed for a moment at the girl in silence; then, recovering himself, walked to the lounge on which she sat, and taking her hand gently in his, said: “You must sleep, Agnes; you are wearied and faint. Sit in the chair there for a moment, andI will wheel the lounge into the next room and ar- range it for you. Do not object. Ican do it, and you must sleep, or you'll be sick yourself, There, sit down,” he said, as the girl, after feebly object- ing, Lig to her feet, and sat down in the cheit ir near e bed. Frank Hayworth at once pushed the lounge from the chamber into the neighboring room, e was absent but a few moments when he returned softly, Minis ready, Ag in and sleep. I will bai byt) es; now goin and sleep. remain here ail Ene, and watch,” ' Without replying, but with a look of deep grati- tude, Agnes Hope arose, and walked into the next room. : Then Frank Hayworth, his hands behind him, his face serious with thought, began to promenade slowly the limits of the carpetiess floor. The actor paused as.a shudder swept over his frame. A feeling of awe, which he could not drive away, crept apace over Yrank Hayworth as he paus- tened to the wild storm raging without. Involuntarily he turned and glanced at the ghastly object on the bed. , A look of very horror sprung to his face as he saw what was revealed. The young man looked again. Uttering a half-cry of fright, and while his eyes seemed to start from their sockets—his tongue cleaving to his mouth—his forehead bathed in sud- den sweat—his face blanched—his nostrils quiver- ing, Frank Hayworth staggered wildly back, and pitching in the air for support, sunk with a moan upon a chair, CHAPTER X. AT TONY'S. Wiis Winprrrn paused as the startling jingle of the bell rung in the room. Glaring at the an woman who stood before = he placed his fe slowly out of sight, and said: “Tt was very well, Lady Maud, that we were inter- rupted in our little game! Perhaps when we can spare our services to one another, we can take up the battle again; but not now. You are useful to measlamtoyou, So putup your pisicl, and we'll CY Suet 2 a, a eT ae ba ee -Qruene
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Said 2) eS ee ee ern ek ee, ie <i . b ¥ - te IE Se 5, _ be friends. But hark you, Lady Maud! please forget | old things for the future; both of us!” The woman half-sneered, as she replied: “Be it as you say, ou to understand is, that I hold you as tightly by e throat as you do me; and that Iam well able and always prepared to defend myself. But, as you say, we'll be friends now. Wait a moment until I AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. itis best for the health of a crevice in the: planking. He s Captain Willis! But all I wish answer the bell, Ha! there it is again; and whoever | pulls it is in earnest.” As she oe she placed the pisto] back in her bosom, and casting a half-suspicious glance at Wild- fern, turned abruptly and opened the door leading into the passageway. The man gazed after with a scowl; but his face | suddenly lighted up with a smile, and he chuckied low to himself, as he muttered: “T must propitiate the old tigress! For I have game in her keeping! I have a wifein sight! And eater 4 gold! Jt shall pay me infull! Yes, I was orn under a lucky star, and—’’ Just then the door- bolt turned, and the Lady Maud re-entered the apartment, a frown upon her face. “You are wanted, captain; trouble is in the wind!” she said, at once, flinging herself into a chair, and glancing at the man she addressed. Wildfern’s face grew white. “Well, what is it, Lady Maud?” “The presscs are in danger! Wild Tom is at the door; hé brings the news.” “The devil! Let him come in, and—” “Let Wild Tom come in! Are you crazy, Willis Wildfern? I am a match for either of you, singly, but Ill not trust you both together.” , Wildfern did not answer; but turning, he left the room, and hastened to the front door. e was gone several minutes. When he returned, his face was wrinkled into a fresh frown of vexation, and an anxious expression shone in his every feature. _“T must be gone, Lady Maud, and at once,” he hurriedly; ‘‘Tom’s intelligence is important; the ' office’ must be moved, and to-night. Confound the bad luck! 1 thought if there was asafe place in Philadelphia, we had found it.” ; “Where now will you go, captain?” asked the woman. “To oursame old place, I suppose: the vault at Laurel Hill. That is safe at all events; but itis in- conveniently far, and Tom dislikes the place. Heis superstitious, and is fond of seeing a ghost or bogle about every other night in the week! But I'll keep him up to the work, or I'll cut his throat!” Another moment, and; in company with a tall, gi- antic negro, he was hurrying away toward Ship- oe street. Here they paused and glanced around hem in every direction. Nota human being was in ht. The tasty guardians of the night were no- low Tom, we must work to-night! and, if necess with edged tools!” . f oe X So saying he hurried across the street, and, turn- Ibs, proceeded up Shippen for some distance. At ength the men paus' fore a low house, with a loom: , dingy exterior. Nota light was visible, and {r0™ this fact, and the silent, deserted look it bore, tonnes, fair to surmise that the dwelling was un- meuts Willis Wildfern thought otherwise; for, glane- 8 around him, he suddenly stopped, and brushed away the snow at his feet, until he came to some boards, 1 was the cellar-cap, 11 and pe his ear: with a satisfaction as he arose to his feet. ; He had heard sounds coming from the cellar. “Tony is well patronized to-night, Tom; listen,” said Wildfern, Sure enough, in the lulls of the wind faint sounds of tinkling tumblers, and swell of songs and boister- ous laughter could be heard. And the negro smiled, too, as he said in reply: “Yes, cap’n, lhears ’em! °Tis all the better for us, if Tony has a large house. But, what if some of bp pyentianame policemens is down dar by the store! The other started and hesitated, The suggestion set him to thinking. He paused for a moment. “You know, marse cap’n, we’re known to most on ’em in our working-gear; and you knows, too, we can’t go in dat cellar dressed in any thing Se ‘““You’re right, Tom,” said Wildfern, slowly. “But, we musi go in there and fix our plans, for we can not go elsewhere at this time of night. So, come along. If worst comes—why, Tom, we’ve been in eranes before. We'll trust to luck and muscle! ome ‘All right, marse cap’n; go ahead; I can ‘weed row,’ dat’s sure!”’ Vildfern again looked around him; but, as he saw no one, he turned at once and disappeared up a poles alley, leading between the two adjoining ouses. The negro followed close behind him, pautiously they felt their way along the cold, wet walls border ing the narrow passage. Then they stood in an open space—a small yard now covered with snow. - Wildfern, who seemed perfectly at home, did not pause, but crossing over to a back-buuaing, rapped on a door, His rap was a peculiar one. At first it awakened no response; but, on being repeated. the door was opened softly, and a pair of keen black eyes flashed out on those who knocked. G The light from within the room shone through the crevice made by opening the door, and revealed those who stcod without. Then the door was opened wider, and a small, short, thick-set fellow, wi black hair and glittering eyes appeared. “ Ah! "tis ze capitaine/ I am very much please tosee him. Zntrez, entrez, capitaine !” and he gave way for the two to pass. : “Yes, Tony, ’tis Glad to see you. But, Tony, show us to my room—my comrade and I. Then we'll go down to the ‘palace,’’? and Wildfern, fol- lowed by Tom, pushed through the door into the more congenial atmosphere of indoors. The man knelt down at once m jet- In & moment, however, they had passed through the room, and, still escorted by Tony, disappeared in the apartment beyond. Several moments passed ere they came forth again; and when they did no one would have known them—at least, the white man. They hurvied, however, through the room which they had entered, and going on into a passage, dis- appeared down a dark stairway. The “ palace”’ of Tony, so called by Wildfern, was not a palace, as we would an 9 the word. Far from it. It was nothing more than ~ BrogEery. A long counter, and back of it a flashing array of cheap glassware, with a background of solferino pa- per, made that mythical temple—the bar. At t. shrine stood at Jeast a score of rough fellows, in every stage of dilapidation—some q' the four- penny glasses of liquor there dispensed; others bent over the counter, and asleep; others leaning against it for support. The room seemed like a baker’s oven; and, to add to the stench of the prevailing atmosphere, a dozen or so half-drunken creatures, seated around the red- hot stove, were regaling themselves with the pipe. _ Willis Wildfern paid no heed to any one, but, fol- lowed by his stalwart companion, strode through the motley crowd to a table in a further corner of the x tO ome Ek
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y x : 2 a ane i oa = am 3 ; - bra: with affright. The sight which met his gaze was one - But, all at once r H ‘ Then Wildfern be doar: loudly on the table. Ina moment Tony, who had now come down to superin- tend affairs, was at the table. “What will ze capitaine have?” “Sh! ’sh! Tony. Be guarded. No.‘ captain’ here,” and Wildfern looked him sternly in the face. j “Ten thousand pardons, monsicur le capi—I mean, air, “Very good, Tony; don’t forget. But, bring me iy; and, hark you, My man, good brandy, or Vil make you drink it.” “ Certainly—certainement, cap—sir! You are very droll! Ha! bgv!” and with this the man hurried off. He was aed but a few minutes when he returned, bringing the desired liquid. ” * Here it is, sir; real Portuguese—eraiment !”? The man, Wildfern, took the bottle, and without placing any credit in Tony’s words, took out the cork, and passed the vessel knowingly, backward and forward, beneath his nose for a moment. “Good, Tony; for once youare right. Here’s the score.”” As he spoke he drew from his pocket a bank-note and flung it upon the table. The Frenchman picked up the money and glanced suspiciously at it. S ony; good as gold.” ‘Yes, yes, cap—sir! you say so.” : ““T do say so; and, Tony, keep the change,” said Wildfern, as a satisfied look came over his face. Then Tony hurried away again. __ ; Pouring out a huge’ draught, Wildfern gulped it down without breathing; and then, with an ap- proving smack of his lips, he shoved the bottle to- , ward the other. | | The negro helped himself bountifully likewise. “Now, Tom, tell me all about: this bad aaa said Wildfern; ‘‘it has annoye ittle.”” ** Yes, sir. Well, you see, sir, as [ was coming out of the ‘office’ I see’da policeman hanging around iece of me no ~ the place, I tried to git away but the feilow had his eye uponme. Den he was soon up by me, and he said: ‘Do you live in dat house, my man?’ I said no; den he said dat he would—_ Hallo! what doe debbil is dat?” suddenly exclaimed the negro, as the tramping of many feet was heard. Then came a‘crash at the door, | Wildfern and I'om sprung to their feet. CHAPTER XL A REVELATION. Wet might Frank Hayworth shrink and cower fitted to strike terror to his soul. On the bed, sitting ne and leaning u —her eyes staring wild her— n angular, death-struck face showing like a specter’s in the pale light—her mouth contorted into a half- grimace—was the widow Hope! She whom the phy- sician, an hour before, had pronounced dead ! Slowly Frank Hayworth recovered his scattered senses; then he drew near the bedside of the woman, whom all had thought was mohees | wandering in spirit are the misty shadow-land. He paused; but the woman made a : him to @raw nearer. He obeyed. Then she pointed feebly tc a vial on the table by the bedside. ‘The young man brought it to her, and at another sign placed it to her lips. The old woman drank greedily, half-emptying the vial; then sunk back slowly upon the pillow. She lay perfectly still with her eyes shut. ank Hayworth, scarcely knowing what to do, looked wonderingly on. Heseemed to be in adream. estirring himself, he turned from the bed, and was about to hurry into the room where Agnes was sleeping.» he old"woman, however, unclosed her eyes. _~ “Stop, Frank Hayworth!” she said in afaint, hol- low volee. ‘Do not awaken Agnes; let the poor girl sleep on, Come hither, young man, My sands on her elbow esture for rye. Ms ,, Set ee ee A ee gees spent ras 3 y y around her—her shrunken, | _ went hither, for my husband said that, for a time, 12 Se: AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. are fast running away; the potent draught has given me artificial life. Come, sit near me—I will tell you a tale, and intrust you with a commission, Hurry, for time is ebbing; and with me, whose feet are even now onthe boundaries of another world, time is everything. How chilly lam! The draught! Quick, Frank, the draught!” Again the actor, placed the vial to the lips of the dying woman; aan she clutched it and drank eager- ly of the life-sustaining liquid. Once more the effect was apparent; for the old woman drew along breath, and reaching out, grasp- ed the young man with her cold, almost pulseless hand, and drew him down to @ seat beside the bed. “Had I not better call Agnes, Mrs. Hope? She batts t just there, and—” “No, Frank Hayworth; what I have to say must be briefly told, for life is going fast. Agnes, too, would be shocked, for she thinks I am already dead, and with her the worst is over. Let her sleep on. Now, listea, Frank, and, as I know you to bea man of honor and truth, promise me as far as you are able, to see that my dying wishes are observed.” She paused, and fora moment breathed heavily. osing her eyes, she remained perfectly quiet for several minutes. The young man took her gently by her thin hand —so cold, yet so damp and so grave-like! He spoke not a word, but waited for the poor woman to say | what was upon her mind. case 8 a tremor passed over the woman’s frame. She opened her eyes, and then once more reached out for the vial. Again it was placed to her lips, This time she drained it to the bottom, and casting it, empty, aside, she said, in a voice | preternaturally strong: “There! °Tis sone every drop! And now I must speak, Listen, Frank Hayworth, and listen well; for ‘tis my last chance. Do not interrupt me by word or sign; if I fail now, the opportunity will be gone forever, and the sad secret of my bosom will ie with me. I was not born, young man, in the poverty which you now see around me; far from it! I was the spoiled, pampered child of fortune; Thad every thing with which to gratify the wishes of my heart. An elegant home, fond parents wealth in abundance, gay society—I had all! And I had something else, young man! Something more fatal, unless rightly appreciated, than the poison of asps! I had beauty, wondrous, fascinat- ing, captivating beauty. Ah, Frank Hayworth, no wonder you start and gaze at me—an old, dying | Woman, with hollow eyes and a thin, pinched face! But, forty years ago, I was beautiful! Oh, that the virgin splendor with which, alas, Iwas endowed, had been denied me!” sigh _ The old woman paused; her breath was coming and going rapidly; and, strange to say, an unnas tural fire gleamed in her eyes, and a small, round, red spot glowed like a living coal upon each wan, faded cheek. “T was rich, well-educated and handsome. It can not be wondered, then, that suitors flocked around me; they came by scores. But, one by one, I turned them off, At length, however, there came one to whom my yonng heart went out. He was a handsome man, almost God-like in his lofty de- foe He was. well-to-do, and possessed a road, liberal mind, cultivated to the highest de- ree, But, with this, he had an oily deceitful tongue! hat tongue and my beauty—for he loved me for my beauty—destroyed me! ‘Tis an old tale, and one soon told! Iloved him too well, and not with wisdom. “T ran away one wild night, and was secretly married to him! Married? Ah, yes! We return- ed; and on our way home I fancied I saw a shade of regret and alarm in my husband’s manner. And then a sudden, black suspicion flashed through my mind! ButI chased it away. I went to my father —explaining my absence the best way I could. I
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eee dees See ae Bate AGNES HOPE, THE ACT RESS. Bees a8 he wished our marriage kept secret! Iwas! And yet, how I loved that man! “Time passed on, and then another hideous trouble came upon me. You know to what I re- fer. Well, this could not be concealed from my mo- ther and father. They upbraided me, and then my father, on his knees, bescught me to tell him the - man who had dishonored him. I held my peace, for I had promised him to say nothing of our mar- riage; and I knew a day would come when I could prove my purity and innocence. Then my father swore a fierce oath, and bade me in sternest lan- guage to tell him the name of my lover. ~ “Still, I answered not a word; I could not betray the man I loved, though death was staring me in the face! Then, with a storm in his bosom, and a fierce anathema on his lips, my father clutched me by the arm, and leading me from the parental roof, Lurled me out into the bleak street! “J wandered forth into the deserted streets, which, that night, were like it is to-night, swept by driving gusts. I roamed the unfrequented he of this great city all that night; and when the dawn broke, I sat down upon the steps of a lordly mansion, Iknew not where Iwas. AsI sat there, the door suddenly opened, and who should come forth but the man I loved! He was arrayed fora gunning ex; edition. I sprung to my feet, and clung around him. In a few words I told him my tale, and begged him toclaim me as his wife—to re- | move the stigma from my name; but, instead of | sympathizing with me, he gazed at me sternly, ane ad | been ‘very imprudent!’ But, I still clung to. him. | then, with a mocking laugh, told me that I would not thus let him go. A dark frown came over his face; for, at that moment, an open buggy drove og In it sat a young man. And then, be- fore I knew it, this man—this false lover of mine —flung mé rudely aside, and bounding down the steps, sprung into the vehicle and dashed off. “™hen I knew that I had been deceived—that the - marriage was in all probability a sham—a villainous | ruse. Islowy arose and tottered away—any where, I cared not—so that I was moving! stinctively I paused and turned toward the old fa- miliar home; my heart yearned forit. Ina moment despite the early hour, Iwas on the steps and ha rung the bell with anervous hand. ‘The door was soon opened, and my father, stern, indignant and re- pelling, stood there. He gave me one glance of withering scorn, and then hurled the door to. I dis- tinctly heard the lock turn in the bolt, and my fath- er’s heavy steps receding down the hall. J was dis- owned! Oh, God! stand by me now!” For several moments the poor ola woman pansed; ‘she seemed to be husbanding her strength, and en- deavoring to freshen her memory. But, at the pressure of Frank Hayworth’s hand, She rallied: : “Yt cannot tell you the life I led then. I often saw him who had been my ruin; but he never recognized me—never sought mé, his victim, to give me alms! But, the trying t:me of my life was fast approaching. You know what was that time. I de- termined to make one desperate effort in behalf of that unborn innocent, and you can understand the Object of such an effort. sought out the manI stilt loved; I dogged his steps whithersoever he Went, Igave him no peace. At last, on the condi- tion that'l would swear never more to bother him with my presence—that I would not reveal his name as connected with my child—that I would raise no drance to any future marriages he might make, he consented to become my lawful husband before od. and man. ~ = ‘So, one dark night I met him by appointment ata age-office on Second street, and we journeyed away together to a distant village in the interior. And there we were united in the bonds of wedlock by a inister, with a witness present. That minister, _ Whom 1’ well knew, and the witness, are dead long _ 480! But, Ihave the certificate safe yet. -- Oh! fool that | Suddenly, my . father’s aristocratic mansion towered before me. In- | Agnes was born! Ttook the name T now bear, and have never been ashamed of it. The man who blighted all my hopes of life is likewise dead; he died fifteen years ago, a widower. He married aqain, not many monihs after he had deceived me! But, 1 knew it not. Oh, God! But his wife—one of the belles of Philadelphia--did not live long. A son was left, the wicked monster he is! Nay, Frank Hayworth, start not, and do not interrupt me; I have but little else to say, and but a few moments left me in which to say it. Agnes is now nearly twenty-four,and she knows not a word of her history. That sonis twenty-three. Now, young man, search in that trunk—the old one—yonder aby the wall; _— in the tray and you will find a paper. Bring it ere,’ : The actor arose to his feet, and approaching the trunk, knelt down before it. He was earnest and serious, and he knew there was no time to be lost. | In a moment he returned, bringing a folded yellow | Sheet of paper. “Read it, Frank Hayworth,” said the poor wo- man, in a low breath, The actor opened it, and glanced over it. He i es ay Sie Sakae ” his feet. . o is father!’ and reeling ba: k fared over the bed. Satan “Ay! his father, Frank Hayworth. Now, listen to the request of a dying woman—of one whose Spit part will soon stand in the presence of the reat Judge. Guard that paper well, and when the time _comes give it to Agnes, and tell her gently the tale [have told you. My father, her grandfather, is’ still living; he is a very old man, and can not, in any degree, save A nes; she is his grandchild, his ow Jesh and blood. T 5 if SF h es: e old man is very wealthy, His Will you not be her friend, Frank Haywo Will you not protect her from that monster, who un- naturally seeks her ruin? rh I know you will and— Ha! lam growing cold! Iam—dying! Tet —am. larewe—l—l— ie car A rattle sounded in the throat of the dying wo- | man; a convulsive tremor passed over her frame; then a long, sighing expiration fled out from the col- lapsed lungs, and the poor woman was dead! | rank Hayworth placed the yellow, faded sheet carefully in his bosom, and kneeling beside the bed, bent his head reverentially in the presence of the dead, and prayed silently to Him who robs the grave | of popes: si aera 2; nd then, a so and was sudden i Potrero ae ly laid upon his CHAPTER XII. HAND TO HAND. WILLis WILDFERN aes around him like a tiger at bay, as the door of the cellar to the rear was sud- denly hauled open, and a half-dozen policemen sprung in. In an instant all was confusion. Tony suddenly emerged from behind the bar, and uttering a peculiar cry, darted up the secret stairway leading to the house above. The half-drunken wretches lying over the counter, and scattered around upon the bare floor, staggered to their feet and attempted to es- cape. But the brawny policemen barred their way, and advanced, batons in hand, upon them. Suddenly one of the officers cast his eyes toward our two acquaintances, y “Hal boys!” he exclaimed, triumphantly, ‘ we have bagged the old rat, at last! to him, my men, Five hundred dollars is the reward for him! Now, my black beauty, we have met at last!” As the policeman spoke, he clutched his club more EN aos without awaiting for the Others, sprung forward, But Wild Tom did not quail; he did not turn to fly, as Willis Wildfern had done. He simply reared himself, ynti) bis gigantic stature towered so high _ _* V4 “> - at nature, lastmuchlonver! Ze husno living relative of — property must descend to Agnes; and that certifi- cate of marriage will secure it to her. Now you will know when to give that paper to a child. rth? —o 4 PU sige se Cll Ye ee 4 re (+ Fee *
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mate - Bat wl; o EA ok ee ys | rue f - : 14 that his bushy head almost touched the ceiling of ibe cellar, en throwing himself in an attitude of defense, he raised his ponderous fist, until the swelling muscles, under the old coat sleeve, seemed as if they would burst th rough, . “Stop dar, whar you is, Mr. Brass-buttons! or you'll git a cold dat’s past curing! Stand back, I say, white man! Iain’t what people thinks me. I never harmed you, and i sha’n’t put your hands onme! Stand back, or Pll smash your bead into a jelly! and J can do it!” The words were scarcely out of the man’s mouth, when at a bound, the stalwart policeman, with- out waiting longer, bowed his head and dashed for- ward, -The shock was fearful; for it was man to man— muscle to muscle—brawn to brawn! _ The movement of the officer was like lightning; for in the twinkling of an eye, his heavy grip was fast upon the negro’s throat, and his whole weight was, at the same time, pressing him back, The others held off; no one interfered. But all, from mere interest and excitement, watched the contest which had been inaugurated between these two giants. . " Slowly the policeman followed up his advantage —the negro giving back dogged Inch by inch, his own heavy hand clutching the officer b der. But, as yet, he made no decided effort, simply opposing his weight to the other, hen, all at once, the policeman thrust his hand in his overcoat pocket for the manacles, which he carried with him. The pieces of steel jingled as they struck against each other. : In the twinkling of an eye, the negro paused in his ‘etreat, and by one powerful effort of strength, wrenched the other’s grasp from his throat, and in- stantly ee the officer by the neck with his left hand. Then the brawny right arm was drawn back, the weighty fist swung over the biack bushy head; and then, with a whiz, that fist shot out, straight from the shoulder, through the air. A dull, sickening thud sounded on the close, still air; and then another. Releasing his hold, the ne- fe grasped the policeman with both hands around | the waist, and by a wondrous display of strength, | - raised him from the floor, and flung him, as a bolt from a caiapult, into the little band of his com- panions, . Without waiting to see the effect of this bold move- ‘ment, the negro raised a wild shout of triumph, and Lidding his own backers on, dashed forward to the fig The half-drunken creatures, raised to a high pn of excitement, and now frenzied with anger, ollowed. Willis Wildfern could not keep back; he was hur- ried along with the surging combatants, and in a moment was in the midst of the fray. An instant later and the contending parties came together. ‘Phe policemen were not dismayed. Hitherto they had not resorted to fire one of them, _ The lights were ae eisng extinguished, and a fear- ful scene was inaugurat Then the sharp ring of a pistol rung in the low room—then the sickenin thud of falling blows, aiid the clicking clash o knives in contact. The fight was desperate, but the odds were fear- ful. Fighting gallantly to the last, the policemen were driven eicwar , and then up-stairs. Then they hastily retreated, defeated but not dismayed, _ through the dark ey into the street. When they returned at dawn, with reinforcements, _- the old house was deserted, the furniture had disap- peared, as if by magic, and on the floor of the cellar, stark in death—his face battered out of shape—a venomous knife-thrust in his throat, lay the gallant policeman, } arms; but now as the infuri- | ated fiends, lieaded by the gigantic black, bore down | upon them, a pistol-barrel gleamed in the hands of | gi AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. ~~ tear Joe ae PO tn oe Map i es a CHAPTER XIIt. A HEART TALE, Frank Hayworts, as he felt that touch upon his shoulder, slowly raised his head and glanced behind him. Although he suspected who it was, he could not help starting violently, as his gaze fell upon the pale, haggard face of Agnes Hope. “T heard you talking, Frank, and I could not stay away,” said the girl, in a low, sweet voice, ‘I have come to share with you your vigils,” “You had better retire, Agnes, to the other room; you need sleep. You have undergone much, and you must take good care of yourself,” and he gazed kindly at her. ‘And you, Frank; you, too, need repose. Go within qoorsels, and sleep. I will sit up, in your lace. am not afraid of her, dead, who, when iving, loved me so tenderly. Alas! that I should live to see such an hour!” “Be comforted; be of good cheer, Agnes. You have friends Mba But, indeed, you had better go now: you will need strength for the day which is _ rapidly coming.” | the shoul- | de spoke very earnestly. The girl shook her head sadly, but decidedly, as she replied: ‘*No, Frank; Ihave already slept an hour. I can not close my eyes again to-night; and if you will | not. go and lie down yourself, I will sit up and watch ' with you.” | The young man could say nothing more; he simply bowed his head in acquiescence. And there they sat, silent and thinking. The coarse coverlet was drawn over the shrunken form on the bed, shutting out to a certain extent the dread presence. Theseconds and minutes flew by; then an hour, ‘ Agnes sat like a statue, staring before her, her dark eyes fixed—her thin, white hands crossed upon _ her lap—motionless. Frank Hayworth’s head leaned to one side—then on his breast. Then his handssunk gradually down; and wearied and at last worn out, a deep slumber crept over the young man, and he slept. How long he slumbered he knew not; but he was suddenly awakened by a soft, hot hand, laid gently upon his brow. That hand was smoothing back the dark, cluster- ing hair, which had fallew over the actor’s brow. The young man started; in a moment he was awake. He glanced around him, and instantly took in his position. But his face first erimsoned, then poet as his eyes fell on Agnes Hope, who had drawn er chair close to his. There was no mistaking the import of the luster burning in the girl’s eyes; there was no mistaking the meaning—told so plainly—in the quivering lip, and the heaving bosom. And the girl did not shrink away. “Well, Agnes?” said the young man, almost be- fore he knew what he was saying. Agnes did not reply; but her waxen cheeks flush- ed faintly, and she covered her face with her hands, and wept. “What is it, Agnes?” asked the young man, in a low, trembling voice. The girl still did not answer; but she slowly raised her tear-bedewed face, and looked at him straight and unflinchingly. Frank Hayworth almost shuddered at what he seemed to dread as a horrid revelation; but he did not speak. “God forgive me, Frank,” began Agnes, in a voice just above a whisper; “and you, too, Frank, forgive me if what I say to you, in this lonely cham- ber, tenanted by death, is wrong and unmaidenly. I have struggled against the mad impulse prompt- ing me to speak! I have prayed against it: but in vain! I must speak, or I would die! am all alone now in the world—no one to whom to look— no one with whom to advise, and, oh, God! Frank, Ican not be separated from you—for—for—I love
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— “AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. 15 ou!’? and she bowed her head upon her thin hands hrough the slender fingers of which the tears force their way, and dropped upon the bare floor, Suddenly she looked up, and, in a wild, enthusias- tic tone, continued: “We are both young, Frank; you have already won your way into the world’s favor, and a bright and successful career is before you. I, too, can be successful; I feel it! Oh, Frank, with my hand in | yours, I could walk peacefully over the broad road of life; for that road would be covered with roses | and beauteous wild flowers; and the bending skies | would smile upon us, and a perennial reign of un- alloyed bliss would ours! Oh, darling, say that your heart beats in unison with mine—say that we can link hands, hearts and fortunes together! Bay, darlings that down in your pure and noble heart, you love me!” and in an irrestrainable mo- ment, the poor girl arose to her feet, and flung her arms around the strong man’s neck. We can not describe the emotions which at that time rioted in Frank Hayworth’s bosom; nor shall we attempt to do so. Slowly, gently, he unlocked the thin arms clasped around his neck—tenderly he placed the maiden in a chair; and then taking her hand in his, he said, in a voice deadened with emotion, yet distinct withal, in that quiet chamber of death: “This can not be, Agnes! for God, ‘who doeth ali things well.’ has pronounced against it. Listen, listen, poor Agnes! Listen to a tale I will tell you, and then judge me.” Closer he drew his chair to hers—more tightly he clasped the trembling hand in his. And then Frank tag eee told Agnes Hope the tale. id a ee passed; and then the heart-story was fin- Then the two—the man and the maiden—knelt cna by the bedside, on which reigned solemn eat They arose to their feet. One glance between them, and the man leaned down, and imprinting a kiss upon the smooth brow of the maiden, said, in a Sweet voice, full of rich music: ae | ee thee, my sister !” An nes murmured: SO gs ‘thee, my brother! God has so willed And then the rosy dawn glinted its pe a light through the broken panes, and shone cheerily in the death-chamber. CHAPTER XIV. MISSING, Tux long, stormy winter night had passed, the day broke, and the glad sunlight shone over the face of he snow-covered earth. The clouds had blown themselves away, and the air, though keen and frosty, was clear and brilliant. But the rising sun brought with it no consolation for poor Fanny, the colored maid of Sadie Sayton. The girl’s eyes were red with eeu: and her face 80 wan and haggard after a wakeful night, wore a rooding, anxious expression, Soon after Sadie had left her room in the hotel °n the night before, the colored girl had dropped ily into an arm-chair, and in her own rude way Set herself to thinking; and -then, before Fanny knew it, she had slid very naturally into a half-doze, then into a sound sleep. The girl was soon in the land of dreams. She slumbered on and was only fwakened by the hoarse Shouting of firemen, and he jingling of their clamorous bells, as a company dash by toward the scene of some i dor geese am a sat up in the chair, and rubbed her eyes. €n she started and glanced at the clock w ace ticking so loudly on the wall, Then the 4st her eyes toward the bed. Tha was smooth and unrumpled. a 1 Ah} Uy end down the room strode the girl, now and | theu—in fact almost momently—pausing and bend- ing her ear, when she thought she had at last caught the welcome sound of steps, which she knew so well. But then, the steps passed on by the door of the chamber, and died away gradually in another di- rection, And then a lgok of disappointment crept over the sable face of the anxious servant, And all night long, from the time she had been awakened by the fire-bells, Fanny walked up and down the room anxiously—fearingly. The day dawned—the sun arose, and still the girl i intently for the coming footsteps of her mistress, which would bring contentment and rest to her wearied, troubled soul. And Sadie had not vet come. a thought had struck her. It was now a bright, clear day, and now, too, there was no danger of being lost. She would go out and search for her mistress, and inquire after her. city spread around her, swallowed her up as it were; she could not comprehend but that some one must have seen ‘‘ Miss Sadie,’ and could give her tidings of the absent one! The girl lost no time in putting her newly-awaken- ed thought into the shape of a resolve, and then this resolve into speedy execution, She was soon arrayed for outside weather. Then carefully locking the door, she left word with a maid on that floor, to tell Miss ton, in case she return- ed soon, that the key was with the clerk, Then she hurried down-stairs, thence through the long hall, out into the cold, KER street, along which cutters — were dashing and sleigh-bells ea ae The girl was at first bewildered; but, after stand- ing still fora moment, recovered herself, and joining the throng walked up Chestnut street. At every female figure which she passed, she gave a quictt, scrutinizing glance; bnt she did not stop. Twelfth and Chestnut, she paused as if ci-ot. Her gore was bent u ‘ just ahead of her. He was hurrying across the street to the opposite—that is, the north side. her stare upon the gentleman, But it was evident he had not seen her; for without looking around, he reached the other side of Chestnut street, turned di- rectly up, and hastening on, entered the Chestnut Street Theater. It was the hour forrehearsalL — Fanny gazed at the door in which she had see the gentleman enter, at least ten minutes after he had disappeared from view. Then shaking her head sagely, she turned away and said: “If dat man warn’t Marse Allan Hill, den ’m blind! dat’s all! He was in a mons’ous big hurry nee to gitin dat big house over dar. Wonder if Miss Sadie knows he’s here by dis time? Wonder, too, if Marse Allan knows anything *bout Mics Sauie? . «.« Well, he’s done gone now, and I must look *round for dat poor gal! Well, well! who'd ever a-thought dat dis—” a2 The rest of Fanny’s soliloquy was lost as she turned at once into the great throng surging along. And then the untutored creature began to ask almost every one she met if they had seen anything of “Miss Sadie.’ Thus engaged we will leave the girl, aud go to — others who claim our attention, the you breakfast for the cena Then in due time the "Sager Norn 2 undertaker ith hic cscistants, , bent by the actor, had come, and w 4 £ strode up and down‘the apartment, listening as ever © Suddenly the girl paused in her restless promenade; Alas! The poor ae did not realize what a large Suddenly, however, as she reached the corner of on the tall form of a man With starting eyes and mouth ajar, the girl riveted Ase
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‘16 silently made his arrangements. Then he had gone and returned again with a wagon containing the neat but plain coffin, And still Agnes was without friend or consoler in the house of death. The actor was compelled to be absent; he had a great deal to attend to. And, after he had seen the undertaker, and left full directions with him, he had hurried on to the theater to be ready at rehearsal; also to inform the management that poor Agnes could not, that night, play the le oy Emily St. Hvermond, and to give the reason there- or. ’ This was his errand, when Fanny saw him and watched him so pepe at Twelfth and Chestnut, and—strange to say, ed him by another name— one with which, to a certain extent, the reader has become acquainted. } As soon as the actor was free from his duties at the theater, he had hurried away back to the hum- ble abode on Catharine street. The day wore itself slowly away; four o’clock AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. came and the solemn hearse drew up in front of the | lonely dwelling on that humble thoroughfare of | **down-town,”” Behind came a single carriage. In that vehicle was a minister. Then the good doctor’s carriage drew up. In a few moments all where within the house. Then a last view was taken of the pinched face of the dead woman lying so calm, so still in the coffin; then the lid was screwed down—then the coffin polemaly borne forth and placed in the hearse wait- or it, 3 ‘ Agnes, leaning on Frank Hayworth’s arm, walked rm. y down, and entered the carriage. The minis- ; ter and then the young actor, followed; and in a moment the little procession was in slow progress. The cemetery—Laurel Hill—was reached, a few words were spoken, in a solemn, hushed tone, by the minister, and then the remains were lowered to their last resting-place. And then the carriage was turned toward home, And what a home now for Agnes Hope! As they were nob? the gate, two men passed ‘by; one was a gigantic black, the other a white man. ank Hayworth started s) tly as he saw them. But then the carriage rattled away. _* * * Late that evening, Willis Wildfern strolled into the office of a morning paper. In amoment or so he came forth, and sauntered down-town. He finally reached Locust. Up this street he turned. That night Frank Hayworth was t Hawkshaw; and the part of the giddy Emily S. Ever- mond was not played by Agnes Hope, the orphan, CHAPTER XV. LOOKING FOR TRAILS. THaT same night when to ee surprise Frank Hayworth played the part of Hawkshaw so tamely—in fact, so tamely that, srg To make use of certain points, he was hissed by the audience— just as soon as the*play was over, the actor hurried out from the theater, and took his way rapidly down Twelfth street. capes: He paused for nothing. He was thinking of Agnes Hope, all alone in that dreary, desolate house on Catharine street—he was thinking of the wintriness, the despairing gloom of her soul! He was thinking of the heart-trials that poor girl had undergone— he was thinking of that trying scene between him and her, when the almost broken-hearted orphan maid had learned beyond a peradventure that be- tween herself and Frank Hayworth a mighty moun- tain reared itself—that a wide gulf, deep and_black, was stretching before her, far away to an unbroken uite tame as | - shore. All this, and more, was filling the young man's bosom he strode on through the cold, cutting , wind. isuv he paused not once. Under such circumstances it was not a matter of wonder that he had failed to render his part in the lay so entirely without pith and point, as, despite bis ‘popularity, to call down hisses, and to elicit from ¥ ear enene Cen eee ery the e-manager the curt advice, to be more care- ful at the next performance. It was now nearly midnight, and the scanty moon, which in the earlier part of the evening had flung its wan light over the ed ity covered by its sheeny drapery, had sunk behind the sseel-blue horizon. Frank Hayworth was now we! down in the lower part of the city. The lamps weve becoming more sparse, the way more desolate and drear. ; _He hurried on. He was near his point of destina- tion, and & thrill of pleasure shot through his system as he knew that in a few noments, he could, by his presence, cheer away the clouds overhanging Agnes Hope, and bring 4 ray of sunshine to the orphan’s face. uddenly, -however, he halted. He had reached an open lot, or rather a lot made open by the burn- ing, long since, of a house. The broken, jagged, blackened walls of that destroyed house, standin. here and there in the gray gloom, looked weird an grotesque enough, But Frank Hayworth had not paused to scan the ruins by the gray gleam of a moonless winter night. He had seen two figures flitting on ahead of him several times. These figures had all at once disap- peared in the gloom and amid the ruins of the old ouse, This movement looked suspicious. Frank Hay- worth paused, and felt anxiously in his pockets. * * * ‘We will return for a while—some hours at least--and follow the fortunes of Fanny. It may be remembered that we left the poor girl wandering in and down Chestnut street. At first the negress war bewildered, as she was swept along al- most against her will, by the flux and reflux of the thronging crowds. But this spirit died away; for Fanny was sick at heart, and she had gone out upon another errand than to look around her or to be mystified. She was seeking her beloved mistress. So she set to work at once making inquiries. _At first people were inclined to laugh at the poor simple-hearted creature, but when they marked how earnest were her words, and when they saw pga standing iv the girl’s eyes, they spoke kindly er. All day long Fanny wandered about. Several times she had been completely lost, but was soon set right again. She did not return to the hotel to Gee rae aa up nes search, and continued to ask all she met if they seen or h i of “ Miss Sadie.” pciaea anit And then the day was Grarring toa close, and the ie a in the street were lengthened and. dis- And Fanny’s search had been fruitless. Slowly the poor girl turned herself about, and with tears in her eyes, and sadness in her heart, com- | menced to retrace her steps toward the hotel. As she passed a policeman, who stood on - ner of a street, she paused. A new idea Nad atenee her. She would speak to him and get his advice. She told the officer all her trouble, and then asked his assistance. The policeman looked very grave and serious when he heard the strange tale told him. At first he did not answer, but scrutinized the girl’s face searchingly, It was evident he did not at first believe her statement; or perhaps he thought that she was crazed; and he bade her tell the story again, watching her keenly all the time, to detect some flaw, some inconsistency. But Fanny did not blunder; she told the same tale again, and, as be- fore, her tears flowed profusely. She begged the policeman piteously to help her friend, her ‘‘ Miss The officer questioned her closely and rapidly for a few moments—learned how long she had been in the city—gained an inkling of the object of her visit, found out about Sadie going to the t eater, and her failure to return to the hotel. Then he paused in his Jockin ns: and pondered for several moments, oking up, however, he bade the girl return to the
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ee mee hotel, and not to go out, and that he would see that | proper search was made for her mistress, Fanny hurried home at once, but as yet she had not acquainted those at the hotel] with the absence of Sadie. fs Late that evening when the officer was relieved at his post, he hastened down Chestnut street, and called at the theater. The lamps were just lit in front of the play-house. The officer waited impatiently a few moments. Then the doors were opened. Upon inquiring he eee nothing more than what the reader already NOWS. i Before eight o’clock that night a special detail of detectives were a, scattering about in the great city, in search of Sadie Sayton. en the policeman had stood that evening in the Chestnut street theater, and spoke with the night- watchman, he had not noticed that a tall man for an instant paused in the shade of one of the large lamps, and glared at the two. Nor had he heard the low, satisfied chuckle of the se man, as he rubbed his hands together and walk- cd away. That man was Willis Wildfern; he had just parted, in a low quarter of Juniper street, from a gigantic nae And as he walked on, he muttered to him- self. In. a few moments he had handed an advertise- ment, in a disguised hand-writing, to one of the clerks in the office of a morning paper CHAPTER XVI. “A FAIR EXCHANGE IS NO ROBBERY.” FranK Haywortu uttered an exclamation of vexa- tion, as he finished his vain search through his pockets. He had no weapon about him, not «ven a pen-knife; nor did he have a cane. He was entirely defenseless. He peered sharply ahead at the gloomy spot where he had seen the two men disappear in the black shadow of the ruined house. Then he glanced behind him, No one was in sight in either direction, back orfront, The darkness to the rear was ominous; that in front, more so still. lights ended in a more brilliant perspective than in front; for in the lstter case the scattered gas-lamps stretched away into absolute darkness. In fact mee ae not extend many squares below Catharine street. The ‘tale J man was not far from this thorough- fare: one block more and he would have been there. Buttoning his overcoat around him, the youn man keeping his eyes well about him, strode forwar along the lonely way. He reached the gloomy shade of the old burnt walls, hanging threateningly over the street, and as yet he had seen no more of the two figures, who had disappeared just there, ; Do what he could, Frank Hayworth trembled slightly, as, at last, he stood full in the black shadow; and then he quickened his pace. He was almost clear of the place--his feet were upon the next side- walk—when in the twinkling of an eye, two forms dashed out silently frona behind a low, scathed wall, and advanced upon him, ~ dat the actor could speak, their intention was evident. = The young man paused and retreated rapidly; but One of those attacking rushed boldly on him. ‘Then suddenly Frank Hayworth again paused, and as the wa layer dashed forward, he met him with a& heavy blow in the face. Nothing human could Stand up under that vengeful stroke, and the man Went down like an ox. But before the actor could follow up his advantage, © other, a perfect giant in stature, rushed upon gen and dealt him a stunning blow with his clinched The stroke fell with a fearful thud. Without a 8roan or a ery, the actor sunk on the snow-covered walkway, ; But, behind him the | | | AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. a ah In an instant the Herculean fellow was above him —his red eyes burning down upon the dead-white face of the prostrate man—his hands in his pockets. In a moment; he had rudely torn open the overcoat, and was about searching the vest-pockets, when suddenly a faint sparkle as from a stone glittered in his eyes. ‘With a low chuckle, the man stooped, unfastened the small diamond-pin, and was about — transferring it to his own pockets, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, ‘*Give me the jewel, my good fellow; I want it as evidence. Besides, I will balance it in gold, and you can keep what else you may find.” dares spoke a voice in a low tone at the other’s elbow. The words came from him who had fallen before Frank Hayworth’s first and only blow. The gigantic fellow hesitated for a moment. ““ All right, of course. Anything to ’commodate you,” and he handed the stone to the other. This man quickly placed it in his vest-pocket, and then said: : “Come him; he'll come to. So don’t looked seared. Now. hurry to the rendezvous; to-night we must move. Ti meet eo at half-past one.” ‘All right; I am off,”’ said the man, turning at once; and he hurried back up Twelfth street. ; Then he who had received the diamond stood still for a moment and gazed about him. “All right!” he muttered. “‘‘Two birds with one — stone!’ Ay! And, yes, the coast is clear. Now, my pretty one, we will see if certain memories—old time pledges, hold good with you! We'll see, too, if a muk can be made! Something! anything to make up for-the other failure!” Fed (coving he hurried away toward Catharine street. And Frank Hayworth lay quiet—apparently life. less, in the chilling snow. CHAPTER XVII. IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES, * * * Agnes Hope walked uneasily up and down the limits of the room, in which we have seen her, A deep shade of anxious thought was upon her face, and her eyes glanced furtively, flaringly, around her, Anon she would pause, and bend her ear, as some chance sound echoed in the quiet room. Agnes felt her lofieliness keenly: she missed the kindly company of her invalid mother; she missed the dim eye flashing forth its faint, but earnest wel- come; she missed the tremulous words of greeting, the warm embrace of a mother’s love. Silently she gazed at the bed; and as she looked, the expression of fear and shrinking passed slowly away. A soft, subdued quiet stole over her palo features—tears bedimmed her large, blaek eyes, and with a gurgling sob, which she strove to repress, the orphan girl sunk down upon her knees—her face buried in the faded, time-worn coverlet. Long she knelt there without sign or motion, in the awe-inspiring silence of the lonely chamber. Agnes Hope was praying! , Suddenly a neigh air. Its echoes flooded the lonely room, andstartled the ears of the orphan maiden, The girl started and raised her face—that face wet with tears; then she slowly arose to her feet. Though her eyes were red, and her face wet with — her f, tears, and marked with lines of agony and suffering which had torn her bosom; yet the ex- pression resting on the sad countenance now, was pikes and resigned, like unto that of a spotless vestal, The girl's ooh a had been answered; she had sought and found, **Surcease of Sorrow.” The echoing clock-bell vibrated in the room, and we must be off— Pshaw! never mind | ring clock sounded on the quiet
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18 ‘its solemn quaver recalled the girl to her lonely, cheerless situation, Ee “leven o’clock!” she muttered. ‘*Thank God forit! For—for—Frank will soon be here, and I be- lieve I would die if I had to stay here all. alone! The play will soon be over, and Frank promised to come as soon as the curtain was down. What would peo- ple say—the great, idle, gossiping world—God be thanked that our world is not large—if it were known that Frank Hayworth and myself stayed alone in - this old house to-night!” ; The pure, guileless maiden started as she asked herself the question, and for an instant a apcenite blush crimsoned her cheeks. But this passed ; ett os bees as ane vo tripe lea atid down sne strode. ‘ =a Bane time passed. Still Agnes Hope, with __ thoughtful step, walked the uncarpeted floor of her poverty-stricken home. A half-hour went by+then three quarters; the dreary midnight was fast approaching. te At length Agnes paused. - Prank is—is—late to-night,” she muttered, ‘‘Can and es he have forgotten his promise? Has he simply pro- | -_- mised, indeed, that he eget te get away from me —say pony to me? as—has—oh, God! has os Frank orsaken me? No! no! I wrong Some- thing has delayed him. Can any harm have be- | fallen him? My God! I shudder! ‘The way is one? the night dark and cold, and few are abro Good heavens! Suppose that—” At that moment there was a cautious rattle at the | door down-stairs. Then the rattle was more decid- | ed; and then the door gave way. In a moment We heavy hurried footsteps echoed in the narrow hall =o beneath—then upon the creaking stair-case. “Thank God!’ and a blush came to her face as - ghe spoke; ‘‘he has\come at last! Ha! I forgot I had locked my door. I am coming, Frank!”’ and she ~ bounded forward and opened the door. 4 ay 5 _ back in the room. CHAPTER XVIII, * : UNDER LOCK AND KEY. - We dare say that by this time the reader is anxious to learn something of poor Sadie Sayton, ; AVE PeuipecHiy we -gome time. f When last the reader saw her she was being borne io! ~* ; f 4 . 1, the victim of ‘ t to the poor We will now return Pp evilish—that is a ‘such a peculiar concatenation of good word—circumstances. : z _. ~ 'fhose who bore her unconscious form between them paused not until they reached the lending at - the top of the second flight of stairs. Here they ae aibeped a moment for.breath. But in a moment more they hurried on again, this time turning % - sharply to the left and going down a dim-lit passage- fe . ‘way. eae ‘Then they halted before a door. The woman, in- gerting her hand in her bosom, drew out a key and quickly unlocked the door, is ‘The two at once entered a magnificently furnish- ed room and placed the senseless form of the r girl upon a bed. They then lowered the gas, which ‘was burning in the soft-tinted, rose-colored globes. They then unbound the slender wrists and loosening the hendberchiet which was over her head, silently - withdrew from the room, and locked the door be- _ hind them. An hour 1 Sareea another. _ And all this time the unfortunate girl had remain- ed motionless, and, it seemed, scarcely breathing. But at last a quick, flitting shiver passed over her _ frame; by a sudden movement she sat up on her elbow, and then, with a low ery, she tore the hand- - kerehief from her head and gazed around her. eee Ve ag RO ees Me ne oe een ° > Sia 7 ‘ > AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. A map strode in; and Agnes Hope, glancing quickly | at him, uttered a wild, heart-rending cry and reeled | h have not referred to her for | helpless and unresisting up-stairs by Wildfern and | the Lady Maud. Since then we have told nothing of v= (Mer, 3 ee Se gs. ee Oe x Ee ie a ' At first she could not realize her position; she omy remembered seeing a strange girl lying in a tall man’s arms, and her subsequent gwoonting in the snow. She sprung from the bed, as suddenly her soul was filled with horror, and rushed to the door. It was locked! Then she glanced* around her like a ess. here were no windows to the room—no outlet save the door now locked. A horrible suspicion flashed over the poor virl; her eyes seemed to start from her head. e glanced at her hand. The much-prized ring was absent still! | Then the whole ern with its list of startling events, rushed over her like an avalanche. Again she tried the door, but it yielded not. Then she raised her voice in a jong, wild shriek, But no answer came back to her. She heard cautious steps Onaiees but they passed ly the door and then paused. And then, with despair in her heart, and gloom in her soul, the girl—a prisoner /—tottered back and fell fainting upon the bed. FRoM a swoon Sadie Sayton passed gradually and, _ to herself, imperceptibly into a deep, almost dream- less slumber, We say ‘almost,’ for it was not until nearly day that a vision passed over her brain, A fearful vision it was. Sadie dreamed that she was floating in air over a wild, dark sea. No light in the atmosphere above, no light on the sea below. A terrible silence hung over every thing, and as she hovered in the air, en- deavoring to keep herself bouyed up, she could hear nothing but the labored breath coming from her own bosom, and the ceaseless flapping of her wings, But, despite her efforts, she gradua ly sunk lower and lower! And then she could dimly see the waters Or Ene plencitE, dingy pool, and could hear a | weary, dismal sighing an roaning comi up | from the dark lake like the wailings of lost souls. Desperately she fanned the quiet, sultry air with er wings, endeavoring to soar higher and to speed away from the awe-inspiring place. But her efforts were vain. She sunk lower and lower; and then a terrible mephitic odor arose from the lake, and filled her nostrils with an undefinable stench. A deadening, swooning sensation took possession of her; her wings commeuced to grow weary, and ae breath came and went with a fearful | rapidity. nd now her wings touched the surface of the dark tarn. Then a mighty shudder thrilled her frame.as from the shock of a heavily-charged bat, | tery; and again with her wings she beat the dead, | like air, ina mad endeavor to rise above the pool, | But her wings sunk lower in the shiny waters; and ; now her feet were in the cold flood! ? + Just then two dark-winged figures, terrible to look | upon—too terrible to describe—darted upon her, As they — along, just skimming over the pool, they each gave her a downward push and then glanced on. | _Like lead she sunk in the chilling waters—her | limbs benumbed and helpless, her wings collapsed | and drooping. Down! Down! The black waters groaned in her ears, and unseen | spirits of evil beneath the black waters of the lake were clutching her now in their slimy grasp, and dragging her down slowly—slowly. Oh, fearful moment! Oh, worse than death! But just_then the leaden pecs above was illum- ined, as with the brightness of a shining moon, and a yale-winged angel appeared, hovering just above r er. : Sadie looked, and, with a transport of joy pervad- . ing her frame, she beheld in the angel the noble face and form of one so dear to her heart! Sore wuy. he gazed at her for a moment and then folding th long, sweeping wings about him, preparatory to a swoop, he smiled lovingly upon her. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, the two black-
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Se from the surface of the lake and dashed upon the white angel. They met with a resounding shock. The air was filled with the loud, angry beating of wings, and a terrible conflict was inaugurated. _ Still Sadie was sinking; and the cold, black waters broke against her neck, and washed over her head. And then, like the shifting of a Bdge the air grew brilliant and dazzling as if lit by the splendor of the mid-day sun; and then— But, with a sudden start, Sadie awoke. She had felt a cool hand pressing her hot brow, and had heard low words sounding faintly on her ear. She opened her eyes and looked around her. A faint light was burn in the room, and the ine had just time to catch sight of a female figure igappeartns through the door. Then the door was cer aa a sudden snap, and the key grated in ' the lock, Sadie was again a prisoner. The poor girl raised herself and glanced around her. She felt invigorated and refreshed, despite the terrible dream which had just agonized her bosom. For a moment she could not tell where she was. She rubbed her temples and gazed around her. On the hearth was a round patch of brilliant light, | shimmering down through the chimney. And the | streets without were noisy with the rumble of jolt- ing cars. Sadie thus knew that the dark night had passed, and that day had come again to gladden the earth. pte? slowly arose from the bed and tottered to a shair, We shall not pause to give the varying emotions ywhich flashed in quick succession through the bosom of the girl. She had a deep and well-grounded sus- picion as to the motive prompting her close confine- ment, especially in such a richly-furnished room, Sadie knew the wickedness of the great city in which she was temporarily sto ping erhaps her notions of the dark crimes in Philadelphia were exagger- ated. So there was but little doubt in the girl’s mind as to | the occasion of her imprisonment; yet she was mysti- . fied and confused. And then, at last, she burst into a flood of tears. Nor did these tears, as is generally the case, give relief. Her fears were of great magnitude, and she had too much at stake for a flood of tears to wash fears and doubts all away. An hour went by; and then the door was softly opened, and a large tray, containing a substantial breakfast, was shoved into the room. Sadie sprung to her feet and glanced around, She jsaw nothing, however, but a hand, which sud- denly disappeared. In amoment the girl was by the door, her band | A Whanr se 3 at the bolt. But the door was already . oc bon a stifled cry, the maiden reeled back to a : c The hours passed by, and the day wore itself aways. and the poor gir saw nothing of the bright, glorious weather without, save the small, shifting spot of daylight glimmering down the chimney flue; and she beard nothing, save the jolting cars and the deadened rattle of the lumbering'drays, wagons and carriages. About mid-day, as near as the maiden could judge, the door was again opened, and another tray con g food was half-way protruded; but as he or she who held it saw the contents of the other still untouched, the tray was withdrawn and the door sees closed and locked. is time Sadie paid no heed to the opening and shutting of the door; for she was thinking of her fearful dream—of Allan Hill—of him, too, who had played Hawkshaw—of the tall, bearded, ai he ge Stranger at the theater—of the sight she had seen through the curtainless window o > = a black cloud of despair was settling over her a a ee ae AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. | winged forms, which before had fiitted by, arose | the old house, BO, ee Then the glimmer of daylight in the hearth faded ate then it was entirely gone, $ Sadie gazed fondly at the spot it had occupied, aud as it vanishec she heaved a deep sigh. She missed that small patch of sunlight—rather Yr de, —as she would a friend; for it hud been her friend— the.only link between her and the outside world, 3; ee The day was drawing to a close, and the long ' winter night, with its cold winds and dark shadows ~ was at hand. Sadie shuddered as she thought what that night might bring forth! And then at last she arose from her chair, and bees to walk the room with a nervous, faltering slep; ; fs “J—J-—feel faint and feverish!’ she muttered; — “gnd—and—I must eat. Yet I distrust it. But 1 cannot bear this fearful tax upon me without food. God help me!” As she apghe she arose and approached the tray, which had rested undisturbed since it was placed within the door that morning. She stooped down and, taking it up, carried it to a‘table. She partook - sparingly of the food, and then she drew back and i egan her restless promenade up and down anF3 could not dislodge that dream. There it was,inher brain, before shade, ta The rumbling in the streets had, toa greatextent, died away, and nothing but an occasional jingle o' the car bells echoed faintly in the quiet air of the rcon. 4 Fainting, sickened at heart, her pulse throbbin with fever, Sadie Sayton tottered forward and ne unconscious upon the bed. : ‘ At that moment a hand was placed upon the bolt of Sadie’s room; but no one would bave known him ; in his auburn hair and whiskers, as the dark bearded Willis Wildfern. ants =~ CHAPTER XIX. THE GLITTER OF STEEL, - Tux door yielded to Wildfern’s hand, and inanin- “© — stant he stood within Sadie’s room. For a moment Saat he started and gasped for breath. The air of that room was absolutely poisonous to one like him, who lived so much in the out-door atmosphere, i One greedy, vengeful glance toward the bed on which te the unconscious maiden, and he muttered to himself: : “The ventilation is poisonous! It will kill herl Lady Maud should have fixed the damper.” er. Then he strode hurriedly to the chimney-place. — Again he looked toward the bed, but she who lay there still moved not, t In‘a moment he stooped down, and reachi ye the hand well up into the flue, suddenly turn flanges of a damper concealed there, Almost in- | stantly a change was effected in the atmosphere of the room; : Wildfern’s heart beat tumultuously as he stood over the form of Sadie Sayton. Wild commotions = — were holding a place in his bosom; diabolical dreams were floating through his brain. 3: “Good heavens!” he muttered; ‘a very queen! and mine at last)” In an impulsive moment he leaned over her; the hot breath from his mouth smote her face. Then he laid his hand convulsively upon her round, soft = At that instant a wild shiver crept like lightning through Sadie Sayton’s frame; the fleeting color came again to her lips and cheeks, and then her eyes opened, One glance, and with a piercing shriek, the girl tore herself away from the villain’s clutch, and | sprung from her bed on the further side. Then, ina i moment. more, she had fled to the corner of the room, where she hastily cowered down, “ ‘ ‘ wpa ve nts az es : ae
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LP We =e J4-7 AGNES HOPE, Wildfern, though startled at first, quickly recover- ed himself, and stood composedly gazing at the shrieking maiden. : : “ Be not alarmed, miss,” he said, in a mild, bland voice, in tones, too, entirely different from those he was in the habit of using. ‘Iam sent by the good lady to look after you. She said ile were ill—pick- ed upin the snow and so on. am a physician. Come, come, my dear young lady, and be seated. I will not harm you.” : And as he spoke he advanced toward her, as if to lead her to a chair. _ _ Inaninstant Sadie was upon her feet, her eyes _ flashing fire, her whole frame dilating with indigna- tion, yet trembling with fear. ; “ Siand back, sir,” she said, in as stern a voice as - ghe could command; ‘“‘ renee me not! You are no physician! You are the villain who has entrap- - ¢ me, and brought me here to work out my ruin! I know the place—oh, God, I know you—l know _. Wildfern paused as if shot; a dark, foreboding frown crept to his face, and he gripped his hands viciously together, _ “Hal” he exclaimed in his natural voice, which Sadie at once recognized as that of the man who had _ watched her so keenly at the theater,at times which, years ago, had sounded in her ears. ‘‘ Then you are _-wellinformed. And, my pretty bird, did the woman ck Phe all this news?” and he fazed her directly in e face. _-—- * T Jearned what I have said, for myself; and I am hae DOW convinced from your conduct, sir, that I was - not wrong. Shame on you, sir!” and her eyes flashed _ forth the scorn which was swelling in her bosom. 3% sb rg “ 3 r : ’ flung himself into a chair. awe : a ‘Well, well,” he said, in a low, insinuatin, _ fore him, “granting that you are right in your con- jectures, what then? Does that release you from this hospitable mansion? Ha! ha! my ek one, you are now where few eyes seldom look. et, for all that, you need not be alarmed; in me, my fair miss, 2 you ave nothing to fear. Trust me, and all will be rt wel hd ‘ _ _ “ Jpust you? Never! Oh, sir! I deg you let me go chence; I pray to : ou! Ay, I will kneel to you! I _ have an aged father, sir, who dotes on me—whose life is wrapped upin mine. A breath of suspicion _ against me and he would go down to the grave with is gray hairs dishonored—go down cursing me— - Yl never breathe a word to living soul of my im- _ prisonment here! I will—” = : __ “Wnough! enough! girl!” and his eyes glinted their dark firesas he spoke, “Think you, I could fling away this chance to win you? No, no! Do not kneel to me! Consent to be my lawful wife, and a life of happiness awaits you. Refuse, and, by high hea- vens, you shall die and rot here all alone? I never yield a point, or swerve from a course once marked a. And he emphasized his last words with an oath, Sadie Sayton uttered an agonizing cry, and sunk helpless in a chair, : The man said nothing, but looked at the girl asa _ fowler watches the game he has snared; and in his ~ eyes the while, determined fires were burning bright- _ er, moment by moment. - At length the girl looked up. Her face was as white as a winding sheet, her lips purple and com- < Raepe the broad, smooth brow wrinkled into a _ frown of soul-suffering, the large blue eyes lack-lus- ter and dim, She endeavored.to speak, but, at first, her lips refused to move. ¢ Wildfern gazed at her half-anxiously; but there be E Ee ~ ' above a whisper—spoke the words as if she were _ temporizing: Pe But Willis Wildfern only laughed as he carelessly | THE ACTRESS. "T can love but one man; I am plighted to that man already!” and she buried her face in her hands, as the dark, damning revelation of the night before rushed over her mare with ten-fold strength. ““Ha! ba! plighted to another! Ay! and he asf strolling vagrant! a fourth-rate actor—a man who can neither appreciate you nor your beauty—a man who has déceived you, by toying with you and then giving his real love to one of his kind—a low-born, obscure actress, with no name and nothing else. save a faded childish face and oily tongue! Bah! i can read secrets, and I have already learned yours.”’, Sadie Sayton shook like a leaf, and then a vicious; crimsoning passed over her cheeks; she raised her head and glared like a tigress in the face of the man before her. : ‘Give me the proor of this!” she gasped. “‘ Give me the proof, or ’ll brand you as a coward and a falsifier!” Her eyes fairly blazed with angry lightning as she uttered the words above, nor did she remove her scintillating orbs from Wildfern’s face. The man sat upright at her vyehemence, and the look of brutish admiration on his face grew intenser. But then he smiled again, scornfully, as he said: ‘* Methinks, my pretty one, you do not need much proof after what ae beheld last night through the window of the old house! Ha! ha! You see, my girl, I know everything!” Sadie again shrunk away. She shuddered, and her bosom heaved wildly; but she controlled herself as she said, in a low, decided tone: “‘And yet, I must have other proof. Like me, he | may have been the victim of design. No, no, man! : ! voice, - never removing his eyes from the glowing tace be-: TU not distrust him: I know he is true to me still!” Wildfern paused, and bent his head before he re- plied. When he looked up he asked, in an eager tone: “And so you would have further proof, eh? Let me know it he wore ornaments of value of any kind?” and he gazed her somewhat anxiously in the face. Sadie did not answer at once. She had noted the quick, eager look—the anxious glitter in the man’s eyes. But she was powerfully wrought upon; she was thinking of the diamond pin which she had given her lover, and the thought now rushed over her mind that this man knew something of that lover’s- gift. : : But, with her heart in her mouth, she faltered: ““Yes, yes; he wore a diamond scarf-pin; it was cursing the day when I was born to him) Oh, sir,I! made in the shape of a hand,” and she watched his -_ beg you, for your mother’s sake, to let me go hence! ; face. For an instant Wildfern quailed under that look, and he bent his head to conceal his emotion. When he looked up and replied, his words were very serious. “Then thut ue shall be a proof for you,” he said, decidedly. ‘‘ He has pe it to the girl he loves, and never wears it, himself, save on the stage, I will get that pin from the girl, for she does noi love ihe man; she plays with him, to wheedle him out of his earn- ings. in less than twenty-four hours I will show you the jewel. If that will not be sufficient, I will, under certain conditions on your part, show you other sights. ‘Till then Pll leave you, Ha! by Jove! | "tis later than I thought,” he exclaimed, as he drew was no pity in his look; all was power—remorseless- ness. | But Sadie Sayton at length said, in a voice just out his watch and glanced at it. ‘‘I must be off; but before I go, my sweet cne, I claim just one kiss for keeping you company so long!” As he spoke he sprung to his feet, and darted upon the girl. In the twinkling of av eye Sadie eluded him, and rushed behind the bed, The man was not to be deterred; he advanced upon her, The poor girl plead, but vainly. Then a fixed determination grew upon her face. “Stand back, sir! I am prepared, and will defend myself to the last!” and ina moment a bright blade flashed in her hand. Wiidfern retreated, awed and astounded. Then, with the eyes of a basalisk, he glared at her. Sum- moning his courage, he made ready to dash upon | her again,
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f or ners ok ay am Se oe ad But then there came a decided rap on the door. “CHAPTER XX. THWARTED, Wiis Witpregn paused and stepped back »astily to the door. He opened it and looked out. »Lady Maud was standing there. cet “You are wanted, captain,” she said, in a low voice; “Wild Tom is at the door, As last night, he says his business is urgent.” < Wildfern did not reply. He frowned slightly, and then turning his head, he gave Sadie a significant look, and, without any words, went out. He locked the door securely, and gave a S. the key to Lady Maud. _ The two hurried down-stairs—neither speaking. But when Wildfern had nearly reached the door at the street, he suddenly paused. “By Jove! 1 forgot!” he exclaimed, as he took off the whig and false beard, and flung them aside, With that the man opened the front door and went out. At the bottom of the steps he joined another man, and together they hurried take their way up Locust street, and soon dis the gloom. appeared in That night, just before the performance at the | treet Theater was over, two men emerged | Chestnut from a court in Juniper street, between Chestnut and Market, and took their way stealthily along On reaching Chestnut street they hurried down un- til they were opposite the theater. Here, in the een of the overhanging houses, they paused and ept their eyes bent upon the theater, and on the | corner at the drug-store. They took | smiled satanically in her pale, haggard face. AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. ot mgr’ OO =" Mee : Ce eM a. ~~ 21 ar s ce + maiden, shrinking still further from him, and rais- her hands as if to ward him off. he man laughed. “There is no need to answer that ag A ; seeing that you know me,” he said. ‘ You see I have long promised you a visit, and I thought to- _ night was as good atime as any. Besides that, this Then, at last, the play was ended, and the crowd | began to pews out into the streets; and then Frank | Hayworth appeared in the crowd at the corner, and hurried down Twelfth street. The men had seen him, and after noting the di- rection he had taken, they walked rapidly away down the same street, taking care to keep wellahead of the actor. When Willis Wildfern had gone, Lady Maud leaned breathlessly against the door. ie “ Poor, poor thing—/orced to marry a villain! and Teannot help her! But, I’ll see! I'll see!” She turned at once and went up-stairs. In a mo- ment she was in Sadie’s room again—a moment more Pia had the poor girl in her arms and mur- mured: ‘*Poor child, I pity you! Iwasnot alwaysasIlam; and—and I will help you if T can.” Then Sadie answered, in a low, sweet whisper: “God bless you! God bless you!” and clung to | her the closer. It was a very late hour when the Lady Maud left the room of the prisoner; and, as usual, she locked the door. But, as the woman trod slowly down-stairs, to seek her own secluded room, she muttered: “Pll stand by her! And if no other means pre- sents for rescuing her, may God strike me dead, if Ido not set—” Here her voice sunk lower, and the rest of the words were lost as she suddenly hurried down-stairs. We have left Agnes Hope in,a rather cavalier manner, unnoticed for sometime. It will be re- membered, too, that we left her under rather pecu- liar circumstances. We will now return to her lonely room, where she was so suddenly startled by the entance of a man. One glance at him who had entered thus uncere- moniously, and Agnes uttered a cry, and staggered backward in her room. The man paused for a moment and leered like a demon at her. ; “Hal Agnes Hope, you did not expect me; but you did another! Ha! ha! I am ahead of him!” and he advanced boldly into the room. * You here, Willis Wildfern!” exclaimed tho _ she gasped, ** but is my house, and I suppose I have a right to come into it, eh?’ “This room affliction; are you not man enough to respect me in my sorrow?”’ . or a moment the fellow cast his eyes down, and it really seemed that a shade of remorse flitted over his fate. But he quickly looked up, and cer- oT there was no such shade there then. “Why, Agnes Hope ZI could not prevent your mother from dying. That was the doctor’s business. _ Nor have I—for I must be candid—any extra amount of sorrow at the calamity. All I care for is my rent for the last two months. Have you got it?” and he The poor girl started perceptibly, and her frame shook violently. But her emotion passed off, and she said, in a low voice. ; “Tis a strange time—an unseasonable hour—for you to come for your money.” = “That is not the question, Agnes Hope;I choose __ | my own time for doing what : I please—remember that! Have you the money for the rent, and can ou settle now ?” and he advanced a step nearer to er. The girl looked at him with affright, and retreated still further into the room, ~. “T have always, always, paid you, Mr. Wildfern,” have not the eek now. I do not earn much; and I had to purchase things for my oor mother, sir!” and she broke down from emo- on, ““Then get your lover, Frank Hayworth, to pay it for you!”’ exclaimed the man, rudely. “1 am sure you are not chary with your favors to him!” : ‘Monster! villain! What mean you?” exclaimed the girl, her frail form dilating with*sudden in- dignation, her eyes flashing fire. She half-advanceda upon the man. “T have touched you tenderly, Isee, my charmer,” Say said Wildfern, with a sneer. “But, I will answer your question thus: I mean that you love this actor too much for a sister, that is, some would think so. There, is thatplain enough?” — “Oh, wicked villain! despicable wretch that on é are!” exclaimed the gir], her whole being worked up to an ungovernable degree, ‘I fling back your words! I scorn them! and spit upon you! Begone, sir,and leave me, leave me alone with my sorrow! Begone sir, and respect a friendless woman. Begone! for t loathe the sight of you!”’ and she indignantly waved him from the room. But Wildfern did not move; he stood perfectly — quiet, and smiled wickedly. S No, no, Agnes Hope, I'll not go!” he said, in a low, determined voice. ‘*I came on a double busi- ness}; and not before! Need recall to you an old- time tale, Agnes Hope? Methinks there is no occasion. Need I recall to you a_bargain once made between you and myself? Need I freshen — your memory by telling you that long years bs when I was poor and honest—honest ? ha! ha!—that Tloved you madly? And you, Agnes Hope said that you loved me! How lying were your lips! But, I suspected you; and then you said, solemnly; ‘Jf Z_ do not wed you, Willis, you may cut the mark of @ cross upon my brow, and mar my beauty forever.’ Then we made that bargain; ay! and both of us swore to it! — Now, Agnes, you have not wedded me, you say you willnotwed me! I have come for the forfeit. Ihave spared you thus long; but, now the hour is here, _ and I am prepared and ready for the work)” mae is sacred to me, Willis Wildfern, and 2 ' you know it. You certainly are aware of my recent ‘. Sap when it is eee expect me to go, | = Pare é ? % s.
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- Boe ? P: re ae i; x ee et! ‘but jest! and you ‘man!’ she cried, in piteous, wailing tones, and you are a dead woman! Swear to me, Hope, that you will not reveal me to living soul, as having _ the keen knife venomousl _ done, and done to suit them. - but then suddenly there was as street... He started suddenly as if 22 _t was a terrible earnestness his tone, a fearful, -snake-like glitter in his eye. He continued to ad- vance upon the poor girl, who had now retreated into the extreme corner of the room. “Back! back, Willis Wildfern! in those days T did know it was but a jest,”’ Agnes exclaimed, in a desperate, agonizing voice. ‘* Back! or Tl ery for help. Oh, God! spare me, spare ame as the villain darted upon her. = “Cry for help, my pretty Agnes! Cry away and as loud as you please; but ’tis of no avail. And, re- member that away, but at last you are in my hands:” ‘As he uttered the last words he drew a keen knife and threw himself upon her at abound. The girl struggled wildly; and then the old house rung with shriek after shriek. But Agnes was a baby in that strong man’s arms. Then h her mouth. AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. SE FE | As he spoke he advanced pon her at once. There e hour is late, and no_one passing]! , is broad palm covered - At that instant there was a furious clatter and banging at the street door down-stairs, Wildfern paused, and a dark frown came over his face. He bent his head and listened. The knocks | were momently increasing, and the door was shaken violently. The inan, still holding his hand over the girl’s mouth, glanced quickly around him. Then, in the ‘twinkling of an eye, he hurled the maiden rudely to the floor, and the long knife was pointed to her throat, as the man whispered, fiercely: “Tam going now! But, dare breathe my name, es been here to-night! Swear! or, by heavens the knife into your throat!” and he pushed forward. ' There was no time for the girl to think—the man was in terrible earnest, and death stared her in the Til drive “face, “T—I swear,” she said in a low voice. The man at once released her, and darted to the front window. In an instant he had flung up the sash, sprung out, and, holding by the sill, found with his feet the shutter below, and swung himself to the pavement, He was not a moment too soon; for at that mo- ment the front door gave way with a crash, flying feet echoed in the hall and up the stair-case, and in a few seconds Frank Hayworth burst like a tornado, into the room. aes CHAPTER XAIL READING ADVERTISEMENTS. Tnx reader will remember that Frank Hayworth was left ail alone, lying senseless and motionless Thon the/ snow-covered pavement of the street. Those who had so murderously assailed him, as we know, hurried off, at once, as if their work was rfectly quiet; of returning con- sciousness. A shiver passed through his frame, then another, and in a moment he sat up in the snow, and gazed around him, In an instant every thing flashed over him; and there around him were the marks of the recent! struggle. Then a terrible thought went like a racing wind through his brain, and by a quick effort he sprung to his feet. Frank Hayworth did not pause, but ‘around him in every direction he buttoned For fifteen minutes the actor lay is coa about him, and strode on down Twelfth street. Just | _ before he reached Catharine street he fancied he saw before him a flittin oy babe He paused to examine it. This occasioned a delay of some minutes. But then, all at once, whatever it was, the figure disappeared. And then the actor stood in Catharine jerced with a knife; for just then a long, wailing shriek, and then | the two. He was gone ah for hi rung out frorn the old ce lp ew so well, and echoed e sleeping air. an agonizin house just above, which he with startling effect upon Frank Hayworth knew that shriek—that cry. He waited not a moment but dashed on. When he reached the house he found the door not only locked, but evidently barred. 2 And still the cries came forth from that upper ‘oom, _ Putting his shoulder against the panel, and exert- ing his whole strength, the actor was gratified in seeing the door give way with a crash; and-in a mo- ment the young man had bounded up-stairs, arid then stood in the room of Agnes Hope, the actress. He glanced around him like a tiger; but he saw no object upon which to wreak his vengeance. He glanced at the window pane which the night- wind was sweeping raw and chill; then he shrugged his shoulders. Hurrying to the window, he closed the sash, and returned at once to Agnes. The poor girl was ly ng on the floor, her face to — the bare boards, her long black hair in wild disarray falling over her head in disordered profusion. She did not move a limb. In an instant the actor knelt by her side, and raised the girl in his strong arms. She still made no sign, and gave no motion. Frank Hayworth turned the sweet white face so that the light fell upon it. Oh, how haggard—how anguished —how stricken that face! he actor started. “ Arouse, Agnes, my sister!” he whispered in her = in a tone full of yearning sympathy; ‘J am ~ ere. As the warm, earnest words fell upon her slum- bering ear, Agnes started. The blood flowed to her cheeks and she opened her eyes. As her anne flash- ed upon Frank Hayworth, she uttered a low cry of joy, and staggering to her feet clutched her arms pros his neck, and buried her head in his broad osom. “Oh, Frank!” murmuréd the girl, “I am so glad you have come! Oh! what a hideous phantom!” she paused all at once. \ “Phantom, Agnes? I am_sure I heard flying feet, and—and—a man’s voice. Tell me that man’s name, Agnes, that 1 may chastise him,” and the young fellow leaned down to catch the answer. © But the girl still hesitated. _ a 3 es! tell me the name of him who dared invade the a 6 of your chamber!” The girl shivered; and straightenin up she drew away, as, for an instant, a faint blush glowed over her cheek. She stood 5 a Then in a voice almost inaudi- ble, she said: : **T can not reveal his name, Frank.” “Can not! Why, Agnes, what mean you iy “T mean that Iam oath-bound! But’tis over now, Frank, and I think—the—thav is—# will never be re- eated, Let it pass. But, I am so glad you are ere,” Frank Hayworth did not reply. After some moments he bade the girl go to bed and rest in peace—that he would sleep in the little room adjoining, and would keep a wakeful eye. Then, after a soft good-night, the young man re- tired to the room which he had mentioned. The night passed and the dawn of another day broke; but the sun was high in the heavens, and broad flashes of his reflected light glittered in the room of Agnes Hope before the girl opened her Frank Hayworth had Jong been up. After dressing that morning, and while poor Agnes still slept, he ‘crept softly down-stairs, and hurried out from the old house, in quest of a breakfast for e tw -hour, when he returned bringing a basket well-filled. Then Agnes awoke, and was soon dressed. Then the two sat around the little table on which the nice breakfast was spread; and the time passed happily, | eyes. i
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AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. An hour from then Agnes accompanied Frank to the boardiug-house at which he lodged. The actor had already obtained a nice room for her. He dared not trust her to remain exposed all alone in the old house on Catharine street. Agnes had hinted to him gently, and with a blushing face, that the rent for two months was due, and that, at resent, she had not the money to meet the claim. he also let the young man infer that the owner of the property, Mr. Wildfern, had asked for the rent. Frank Hayworth had replied soothingly in a few words to all this; and then when Agnes was out of the room, he hastily wrote a note in pencil and | Bent it away in his pocket. When down-stairs, he astened it on the front door, knowing well that Wildfern would be there;soon to look after his vic- tim. Of course the reader must know that Frank Hay- worth suspected that Wildfern was the man who had forced his way into the chamber of Agnes Hope. That man was known to the actor, and the reputa- tion he bore was none of the best. The contents of that note, which Frank Hayworth pinned to the door, were brief. They simply inform- ed Wildfern. that he, the actor, would be at his room—mentioning the street and number of the house—at certain hours, and that he would be pre- eos to liquidate any claims he had against Miss ee So id : rank Hayworth got ready to go torehearsal, He started with amazement when he saw that lady’s gift—the diamond pin—was missing from his bosom, At rehearsal the young man went through his part mechanically, missi.g his cues here and there, and making the stage manager frown. When again he was free to go, tae manager called Frank Hayworth aside, axd told him firmly that he must be more heedful of his 7o/e, or he would lose the part assigned him. The actor apologized, and promising to do better, yet not caring to tell the manager the cause of his remissness, left the theater and hurried down-town, In a few moments he entered the Lzdger office, and left an advertisement to appear for one week. The advertisement was for the lost pin. Frank Hayworth was very busy that day; he lock- ed himself in his room, and seemed determined to arouse himself from the state of lethargy into which he bad fallen. So he strode up and down the room, endeavoring to bring back the old fire, which,m a measure, he had lost. He partiy succeeded, and a glow of satis- oF spread over his face and thrilled through his eing. It jacked yet two hours or more before it was time to. go to the theater. Frank Hayworth glanced around him. A daily paper caught his eye. He drew it toward him, and spreading it open looked leisurely through its teeming columns. Suddenly his eye rested a little longer than usual ona paragraph. He read it again: and then again more intently. He laid the paper aside, and leaned his head on his hands, a grave shade growing over his face—a wild, yearning look coming to his eyes. For some moments he sat thus. At length he looked up, and once.again taking the aper, drew near the dim light. Bending down close, ne read aloud in alow but distinct voice: “‘Kovnp—At the Chestnut Street Theater, last night, a lady’s ring—fine gold with a ruby setting. The owner can have it by applying at No, i1 Locust street, proving property and paying for this adver- tisement,” Frank Hayworth paused and looked down. He did not speak, but he was thinking—thinking of a ruby ring which he had once lipped upon a tapering, lily-white finger; thinking and dreaming over the old memories lying so quiet, so dead-like below the sur- face of the sea of time. Arousing himself, however, the actor looked again ¥ o 490 oe aw» over the paper, half-smiling to himself, as he dis- missed a strange thought which had crept apace through his brain.. But scarcely had his eyes 1 upon the sheet again, when once more he started, ne time as though an arrow had darted into his osom, 5 - With a wild cry—one-half of joy, half of agony, the young man clutched the paper in his trembling grasp and heldit almost in the flame itself Then he read this other advertisement, letter by letter, word by word. : “My God! Sadie! Sadie! And the ring! T'lgo | and see! yes—now !” ; Without another word he snatched his hat and | overcoat, and then walked swiftly down-stairs = and strode rapidly away. At last he reach- ed Locust street. In afew moments he stood before : the door of the mansion in which we haveseen Wild- fern enter. He rung the bell, and presently the summons was answered. f Frank Hayworth staggered back.as he received to his inquiry this answer from Lady Maud: “The ring has already been claimed, sir.” And then the actor, with an agonized bosom, reel- ed away. The reader can imagine how Hawkshaw was ren- dered that night. CHAPTER XXII. GOD SPEED YOU, FROM AN ENEMY. , eee Tuat night, when the actor leftthetheater,hedid not return straight home, but strode away downthe street. Reaching the Continental Hotel, he entered and examined the book of guests at the clerk’sdesk. He did not find the name he was seeking. ‘ He walked forth into the street, and as he reached the curb, he paused and pondered for a moment. Then he turned at once and hurried up the street. In a few moments he was at the St. Lawrence Hotel. He entered, and going to the clerk’s desk glanced carefully over the leaves of the register. But still, he did not find the name he was seeking. we Sa As he was about closing the large bock, he started slightly, when the leaves fell open at a certain point, and his eyes rested on an entry made some weeks before. : That entry read: ‘*Miss Davis AND Marp, VIRGINIA.” The young man gazed ai the name for a moment; ee the word Vira nia was familiar to the sight, but he _ knew of no Miss Davis. And then the entry was © evidently in a man’s handwriting. -¢ With a sigh, Frank Hayworth turned and took his’ way toward home. eae But be had not despaired of pr what he was secking—that something suggested by the last ad- vertisement be had read in the LepGErR. ; He hurried on however, for the hour was late, and then he was almost certain that Agnes was sitting up waiting for him, We mignt as well in this place tell the reader the advertisement which had sw startled Frank Hay- worth. ; It read thus: me “Ppery THOUSAND DoLLARS Rewarp for specific information as regards the whereabouts of my be- loved daughter, Sadie Sayton. She left my home clandestinely a little over three weeks ago, and from what I can learn, and from what I suspect, she — has gone to Philadelphia. Should this meet her eye, I eq her tor her old love of me to return to her poor distracted father. “Any one giving reliable information of my dear daughter can obtain the above reward, besides a father’s undying gratitude, by addressing ‘**COLONEL SAYTON, “ Charles City ©. H., Va.” Late this same night, two men in an open furni- « ture-wagon drove up to the entrance of a small squalid alley below Fitzwater street and alighted, =» $9 a es i
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Tee a a Swe ia oe Ne Sere aes, os 63 tin ab é3 “ ee . P : = 24 _AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. = : _No word was spoken, and the men disappeared in the alley. They were gone a few moments, when they returned bearing between them a large, heavy frame-work, which resembled rudely a printing- ; press. This they hurriedly yet softly deposited in , the wagon, and at once returned up the alley. iz A few moments elapsed when they pengpente a second time, bringing between them another simi- lar apparatus, which they likewise deposited in the wagon. Leaping into the wagon they drove away—not hastily, but slowly, guardedly At length they reached Fifteenth street. Into this they turned. A As soon us they had well entered Fifteenth street, the driver struck the horse a smart blow and away : the wagon rattled. , : The men cid not draw rein until they had reached Coates street, far away Here they paused for a moment in their headlong career and looked cau- tiously about them. ; Still there was no one in sight. ‘The wagon clattered on straight out Coates street. The thickly-inhabited portion of the thoroughfare was left behind; and then, at length they entered the limits of the park. lit le bridge toward Lemon Hill. At the base of the hill they turned sharply, keeping the broad road leading around the cliffs and skirting the river. we: All at once they drew rein.. They had reached a , oint around the bend above the Bachelors’ Barge- ie ouse. : pm There, tied to the bank, was a large row-boat lying motionless in the river. iy In ten minutes they had transferred the singular . wagon-load, they had hauled, to the boat, and ‘jeap- ing in shoved off the skiff, bent to the oars and were soon urging the craft against the freezing current, ‘up-river, aes ‘he men rowed on—not pausing once for breath, _ The Girard avenue bridge was passed; then Colum- t bia bridge; still the men urged the boat onward. ? At length they drew near the silent suades of Lau- re rel Hill Cemetery. Suddenly turning the head in- shore, they drove the crait rapidly through the thickly forming ice, until it grated on the pebbles of the beach. The men leaped ashore and at once set to work to unload the boat. Lading themselves this time with =; both of the singular-looking pieces of frame-work at once, they began the ascent of the sharp hill. They were men of brawn, and they did not even ! as: 4 once though the load they bore was enormous, and the hill they were ascending almost like a wall. _ Atlast they reached the summit, and even here they did not stop. They plunged ahead amid the snow, and amid the dense trees and ee marbles, as if they e€ were at home in th ity. Suddenly, however, they paused at the entrance of an old, decayed vauit, built into a shelving hill in the “> ‘cemetery. 3 ake The men laid aside their load, and kicked away the thick snow before the door. Then one of them ap- e plied a key to the rusted lock, and the door of the charnel-house swung back. : _ The men waited not, but immediately lugged in = pieces of framework, and closed the door behind em. The dawn was just breaking when two men enter- ed the wagon, away by the boat-house, and drove off toward the city. And in this early light it was easy to see that a sheet of ice covered the bosom of the Schuylkill. The sun could not have been an hour high the next morning when the Lady Maud, having nicely arrang- eda large waiter, containing a bountiful breakfast, made her way up-stairs to Sadie’s room. Placing the waiter on the table, she gazed at the silent form of her who lay so motionless upon the bed. ~ z On they dashed, taking the 10ad leading over the } Several moments elasped, and still the Lady Maud | ‘bent her eyes on the helpless form and childlike face of Sadie Sayton. The girl turned in her sleep and murmured ccoe a few inaudible words, so faint indeed, that the ay broke the silence of the apartment. sweet, heavenly smile, like the changes of a fading sunset, flitted over her face. But as quick as lightning, and asif by magic, the smile fled frightened-away—the lips contracted—the blood in them disappeared, leaving them almost colorless—a deadly pallor routed the rose from her ad and a frown darkly wrinkled the sweet, sad ace. Then, suddénly, the nervous right hand—which had Jain extended by the girl’s side—darted out into life. It tightly griped the flashing dirk-knife. With a slight cry of alarm and astonishment, Lady Maud drew back; but instantly approached nearer and said in a low tone to herself: “Thank God! She vas defended herself. She oe him yet, and God willing, shall continue to do so!’ These were strange words coming from one of whom, we doubt not, the reader has formed a dam- aging estimate. But the low, earnest tone, the uivering lip, told that Lady Maud had spoken from the heart. She waited a moment or so; and then. as the armed right hand sunk slowly to its resting place again, Lady Maud leaned down and whi-pered gent- ly in the sleeper’s ear. The maiden started, her eyes suddenly opened, a shiver shot over her frame, and then, with a wild cry, Sadie covered her eyes and shrunk away, ‘There, my poor chilé! be not alarmed—for I tell you [4m your friend—your friend in any extremity!” The Lady Maud spoke very decidedly, very ear- nestly—almost_enthusiastice lly. Sadie opened her eyes anc glanced at her. At one look she saw that the woman had spoken truth- full «May God bless you!” she murmured. Then Lady Maud seated herself by the bedside of the girl, and took the small, bot hand gently in ers. Along conversation ensued—one in which there was acommunion of heart with heart—one which proved that deep down in the fashionable worldly woman’s bosom there was a well-spring of sympa- thy whose waters had been reached. vhen that conversation was ended, the Lady Maud arose, leaned over the girl. ki sed her softly. and bade her be of good cheer. Then she went out soft- ly, closing the door behind her. As she left the room she inadvertently dropped from her bosom a morning paper which she had read and put there. Sadie glanced around her, and then suddenly sat up in bed. Shehad heard the rustle of the paper; she was now looking for it. She started as her eyes fell upon it. Leaping lightly to the floor. she stooped, picked up the newspaper, and drew a chair directly under the Vent. Pe micas | spreading open the paper she began o read. : Up and down the closely-printed columns she glanced. Everything was read with avidity. Suddenly, as she accidently gazed over one of the advertising pages, she paused. Her eye burned down into the sheet before her—her bosom heaved, and she gasped for breath. a She had found and read her father’s advertisement concerning herself ! : The poor girl’s brain reeled. and dropping the pa- r to the floor, she clapped her hands to her burn- ing head. And then, asa copious flow of tears came to her relief, the maiden knelt down and prayed to God to give her strength. CHAPTER XXIII. A QUARTER-GRAIN OF MORPHINE. TuE day passed slowly away. About four o’clock in the afternoon, Willis Wild- ‘ ai ee ee ek 3 wre ‘
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AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. « a fern rung the bell at the mansion in Locust street. | eyes were fixed upon him, and he was compelled to He was quickly admitted by Lady Maud. A long and earnest conversation took place be- tween the two. Wildfern smiled grimly, yet in a satisfied manner, when he learncd that a person had called for the ring the night before, and that that person was our aga gale Frank Hayworth, the actor. he man had laid his plans well, and he now knew that he had his game at advantage. While sitting in the parlor this afternoon, he sud- denly drew from his pocket a small parcel. Opening it, he let fall its contents into a glass half full of water. Then he handed the glass to Lady Maud, at the same time glancing at her ea ipigmik The woman started, and looked at him fearingly. “What is it, cee) she asked. ‘* Morphine, Lady Maud.” “Morphine! And for whom, Willis Wildfern?”’ and the woman did not take the glass. The man frowned, and an oath was upon his lips; but he kept it back. He had keenly noted the change in deportment in Lady Maud, and he dared not offend her. Hewas afraid of the woman since sae stormy night of the altercation, a few evenings yefore, **“Morphine! ‘Yes, dear Lady Maud,” he said. “The dose is not large; the powder contains a large amount of sugar. My object simply is to stupefy and bewilder the girl, that when she awakens she will the more readily consent to be my wife There is only a quarter-grain of the opiate, Lady Maud.” “ Are you telling me the truth—the truth, before God and man?” asked the woman, sternly. ** What do you know about God ?” asked the man, with a sneer. ‘ “‘ Little enough, Captain Willis, but enough to /var Him!” was the quiet reply. “Hal ha!” laughed Wildfern., moralist, Lady Maud! Ha! ha’ Despite his laugh and mocking tone, however, there was a deep seriousness in the man’s meaning ;. he did indeed fear that this woman who had been so long his tool was turning ‘‘moralist,”’ as he phrased it. But Lady Maud was in earnest. She kept her eyes bent on the man, as she said firmly: “You may laugh as you wish, captain; but I can tell le one thing: I'll not give this draught to Sa- die Sayton unless you sear solemnly to me thatit cane no more than a quarter-grain of mor- phine.” “Sadie Sayton! Ha! You know, then, hername, my dear Lady Maud?” and Wildfern gazed furious- ly ather. ‘“*‘ Whence did you derive.your knowledge?” and his gaze deepened into icy-like sternness. Wildfern was thinking of the money—the large sum which stood at the head of old Colonel Sayton‘s advertisement. Was Lady Maud aiming, too, for the reward-money ? All this revolved in his mind as he asked the wo- man the question he did. Then, as his eyes were riveted on her face, he awaited her answer. This was not slow in coming. “Where did I get my knowledge? Ha! ha! Ihope you have not forgotten that T can read and that 1 sometimes peruse the pap-rs! More than that, the girl answers to the name of Sadie; I have tried her.” “You have? Indeed! You have an inquiring mind, Lady Maud; and a dispieasing mind, too! What did you tell the girl of me?” “Nothing to your detrimant, Willis Wildfern; though, had I been inclined to use it, I had ample material at hand,’’ said the woman, in response. *“ You speak well—oldly, Lady Maud!” muttered the man, still endeavoring to keep down his anger, To this the woman did not reply, but fixing her eyes on him, said: “This is nonsense, captain! Answer me—nay, “You are turning swear to ms that that water contains only a single | lowed on softly behind him. He ha | figure, which hung upon his track li quarter-grain of a is aa The man winced, but he knew that the other’s <p y reply: R side to you, then, that what I have told you is the truth,” he said, ‘* But, why are you so particu- lar about this matter? Methinks from your frequent administrations of the same remedy, wnder other circumstances, you had grown used to it, and to watching its wondrous effect.” **T will be frank with you, Wildfern,” said the wo- man, after a slight pause, ‘I am tired of your rule, and—nay, do not interrupt me so soon—and I will be glad when the day comes that you will find no more ~™ villainy todo! More than that, I will be doubly re- joiced when the hour comes for ws to part. Now in this particular case, I will not administir a power- ful drug, because the girl is already weak and faint, and a large dose would assuredly kill her., J will no longer be accessory to murder !” Willis Wildfern bent his head,.and pondered for several minutes. We cannot, or rather shall not, attempt to tell what was passing in his mind. However, when he looked up, his face, if net smil- ing, was certainly not frowning. He said, calmly: “Very good. As 10w say, Lady Maud! We will fiot quarrel. Administer the small dose this time, and, the hour for our separation may be nearer than you think |” There was a world of latent meaning in Willis Wildfern’s words. ates the Lady Maud did not fathom deep enough for that meaning; perhaps she did. And in a few moments Wildfern arose to his feet. He placed his hand in his pocket, and drew out a large roll of new money—in paper. Reaching it oe to Lady Maud, he said, in a low, significant one: “‘Here, Lady Maud, is a present. The notes are from our old mint in the cemetery—the jist series of the new issue, struck off there, Take the notes; they will purchase as much as OLD SAyToN’s FIFTY THOU- SAND iN GREENBACKS. But nowI must go. Expect me late to-night, and be surprised at nothing.” Then he left the house. CHAPTER XXIV. ON THE SCENT. As soon as Willis Wildfern was gone—and the night had then fallen—Lady Maud hurried up-stairs with the goblet in hand. Only a-moment or so elapsed before she stood in Sadie’s room. She waited not to answer the girl’s curiosity, but leaning down, whispered some words in her ear. axe then she placed the goblet of water by her side. : Rising to her full hight she turned to go, butas | she neared the door, she paused and said: “ Be brave, Sadie: be true to yourself, and—do not Sorget your dagger !” And then she was gone. j * * * Tt must have been near twelve o’clock that same night, when Willis Wildfern, disguised as we have sven him on former occasions, stood at the door of Sadie Sayton’s room. He hesitated but a moment. Turning the bolt he entered. He glanced like lightning around him. Sadie was seated quietly in a chair by the bed. T he goblet was empty ! * * * We must go story, for the sake of having an even and unbroken thread—our aim thus far. 4 When Wildfern left the mansion of Lady Maud, early that evening, he hurried into Walnut street. There paused and glanced around him. A car was in sight coming along slowly. The man walked ‘down to meet it, and then sprung aboard. He had not observed a tall, brawny man, who had emerged from the gloom on the shady side of the street opposite the Locust street mansion, and fol- not seen this ung j a phantom. As soon as Wildfern was in the cars the person y back a little way in our oT AT op TEMS + ot ———e
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away toward the Market street bridge. 26 AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. — who had stepped into the shade of a house at the corner, shrugged his shoulders, and turning at once retraced his steps toward the Locust street mansion. This man seemed to court obscurity—walking on the thin, unlit side of the street; but as he reset near a lamp, the reflection of the light struck for an instant, full upon his person. As quick and fleeting as was the flash from the lamp, it revealed abright row of brass buttons, and astar glittering on the breast of the man’s coat; also a heavy baton belted in a sling around the waist. j Then the person was inthe shade again, and he “was still hurrying on toward Locust street. In a few moments he turned into this latter thor- oughfare, still keeping the shady side, And then he joined a companion, who stooc motionless in the gloom directly opposite the residence of Lady Maud. ; The men were policemen. * * * Willis Wildfern did not get out of the ear until it had reached the Schuylkill. Here he sprung out, and hurrying along ‘'wenty-third street, at last reached Market. Here he paused for a mo- ment, and for the time, seemed lost in reflection, He did not consume many moments then; for suddenly he turned abruptly to the left, and nurode ome moments elapsed before he stood on the opposite side. ; kirting along the river-bank, he was speedily swallowed up in the gloom. ; On he went, winding around the tall, frowning bluffs which bordered the banks of the river, At one time his figure could be seen by the faint star- light of the night; at another it would be wholly ob- secured in the deep gloom of the lonely road—or more properly speaking—path. : At length he reached the rear of Laurel Hill ceme- tery. Above him, on the hights, slept in almost ab- solute quiet the lone city of the dead. The mournful sighing of the night-wind through the leafless branches of the trees, made a sad, melan- - choly music, which echoed down the bluff, that cold night, and fellon Wildfern’s ear. the man paused, and an involuntary shudder crept over his frame. He glanced quickly around him, as if he expected bs see arise at hiselbow some rim and ghast antom. : The ered hook: Pr every limb, and clung closer to the rock, : Suddenly, however, he drew from his breast- seket a flask, and placing it to his lips, took a long, dee pauent. , ae en he plunged on again, Suddenl Fe Batised and stood as still as a statue; - for at his feet, erie.’ distinctly in the gloom, was the impression of footprints in the snow. A tremor passed over the man’s frame, a pallor, : though it could not be seen, sprung to his face. He Z leaned down and examincd the tracks closely; they were made by a large boot, and they were deeply indented, as if he who walked was a heavy man and trod boldly. And they led in the same direction that he was going! Wildfern slowly’ arose to an erect posture, and glanced again cautiously around him. Despite the bitter cold, despite the strong drenght he had swallowed, he trembled like a leaf, and a sweat broke out profusely on his face. ire Once more he drew out the flask, and applying it to his lips, drank deeply, almost draining the con- tents before he breathed. “T must begone!” he muttered, “T Sfeel a deep gloom hanging over me! I feel a rope around my neck. But—but—first, Sadie shall be mine! Then for a final settlement of the old scores with certain : pence, and I'll be off! Philadelphia, nay, the broad and itself, will be too hot for me, and that in a Rety tow says Once this ravishingly-beautiful girl conquered, i, my Lady Maud, we may measure our hatred and our knives! but I must begone.” ‘| tonight we must change quarters. .. So saying. he turned at right-angles to the direc- tion in which he was first proceeding and strode away quickly. After walking dn for some two hundred yards, he again turned to the left, virtually resuming the old course he had left. 1 at once, however, he stopped, as a small, ro light flashed out from a gloomy pile before im “ Ha!’? he muttered, in ananxioustone. ‘‘ Tomis careless! and there are visitors on the hill!”’ So speaking, he hurried on, and ina moment had entered the vault and closed the door. In an instant, then, the light ceased to shine. Scarcely had Wildfern entered the vault, when a noiseless band, consisting of at least twenty men, suddenly emerged from the gloom, and drew silently around the vault. CHAPTER XXV. THE BACK TRACK. Winiis WILDFERN glanced around him as he enter- ed the vault. Tom, with his coat off, was working vigorously at a press. The result of his work was piled in a large heap on a table. The pile consisted of bank-notes, so nicely and accurately engraved from photographic blocks, that the closest inspec- tion failed to detect in them any defect whatsoever. The negro paused as Wildfern entered. “ Glad to see you, cap’n,” he said, cordially. But Wildfern did not say a word, but, walking straight to the glowing lamp, he drew a sereen over it, thus confining the rays tothe gloomy vault. Then he said, in a half-scared, half-angry tone: “You should be more careful, Tom! 1 saw the re- flection of that vere plainly, twenty yards from the door. You should have screened the lamp, or cov- ered the slot; and I tell you we can not be too care- ful. There are visitors on the ‘ Hill’ to-night!” ‘*De debbil! How you know dat?” and Tom glane- ed quickly at the other, ‘*f'rom the best of proofs; T have seen tracks, and they were not made by a lad y’s slipper! But, put up the press, and tie up the money—we have enough, Tom, to last us afew years anyway—this will do. Now I want to talk a little with you.” Then a low conversation ensued, lasting nearly an nat When it had ended, the men arose to their eet.” “You must not fail me, Tom,” said Wildfern; “you can get the carriage and horses at the same place, you know. Be mum and be discreet! After Now, we'll go.”’ As he spoke he drew near the door to reeonnoiter. Then he put his eye to a long, narrow, perpen- dicular slot in the door, and peered around outside. Then he started violently; his limbs shook be- neath him, and turning softly, he said, in a low, agi- tated voice: ‘We're caged, Tom! Look—but be ca‘eful.” He gave way for the other as he uttered these words. The black instantly took his place, and placing his red eyes to the opening, looked out. He ground his teeth together, and then, with a threatening gesture, quickly felt under his coat- bosom for his knife. No wonder these men were startled; for, standing around the vault, were numbers of silent, stalwart figures. The pale, ghastly glimmer from the snow, twinkling on the brass buttons of their coats, told that they were policemen. They were almost as mo- tionless as statues, and their gaze was bent upon the door of the vault, A Silently, even as they who stood without. did the two within draw away from the entrance toward the rear of the vault. ; “ Yes, cap’n, we’s caged sure enough!” said the negro. ‘*But we can double on ’em by de back track, and teach ’em a trick yet,” and he smiled grimly. ‘Yes, Tom,” replied Wildfern, in an excited un * 5 y’ re ‘ Ne eC. Mie ist - areal oe Sa, ae
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Sc A . aie na é, ves Wa se 7 at ES ee te eee, Vem fei: : * ate. "same pe. > re * AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. | : ov dertone. ‘‘I understand you; the Rat Hole and the key of powder, eh?” “Exactly so, cap’n,”’ said the negro, himself be- ginning to partake of the excitement. “Then we'll pack the money, and lay the train, for time is precious,”’ As Wildfern spoke he strode to the table, and began to pack tightly the counterfeit notes. n a few moments the task was done, and the several bulky parcels were placed in a bag. Then, Wild Tom going into the rees of the vault brought back a keg of medium size. He unscrewed a wooden plug from the bottom of the keg, and then begin- ning at the table, laid a train of powder all the way to the door of the vault. Connecting with this ter- minus of the train, Wild Tom placed the keg itself, Then Wildfern, taking the oe off from the jamp, tied a twine to the handle of the latter. and placed the flaming light just beyond, but in « line with, the powder, and then quickly attached the cord to the vault door, When the door should be opened, the result can easily be imagined. -Glancing around them once more, the men witha a low laugh disappeared in the rear of the vault. A half-hour elapsed, when suddenly they appear- ed again, working their way slowly out of the side of the loamy, frosty hill, back of Laurel Hill. Ina few moments they stood in the broad, snow-covered pleasure road below, and then they burried off and were soon out of sight. CHAPTER XXVI.° IN THE HANDS OF THE FOWLER. WILDFERN and his singular companion paused for nothing, but kept up a vigorous stride, bending their steps toward the city. ; As they reached Spring Garden street, the clock on the hall-tower at the corner above, struck eleven. “Come, come, Tom—we must hurry,’’ muttered Wildfern. ‘‘’Tis later than I thought.” Just before they reached Chestnut street, they saw the large outpouring streams of people flowing in different directions. They knew that the play was over. But they paused not, Just, however, as they stood by the little back «ley running up to the rear of the Chestnut Street Theater, a man and a woman—the latter hanging on the arm of the other—emerged from the dark pas- sageway. , Wildfern and Tom were close behind them, and Wildfern knew both the man and the woman. “Tam sorry, Agnes,” said the man, ina low voice, ‘that I consented for you to come and witness the performance. Iavas fearful of the effect it might exert upon your nerves. And—and Agnes, I wanted to speak with you to-night in my room—to tell you a tale—to draw from you your sisterly sympathy. Now, I am afraid that—”’ ‘ Ba afraid of nothing, Frank. my brother,” inter- rupted the girl in a sweet, confiding voice. ‘‘ Now, that I am in the purer atmosphere, I feel better, ae Frank, I will listen to any thing you may have O Say.” ; hpen the two hurried on down toward Twelfth street. Willis Wildfern and Tom had heard this ccnversa- tion—word for word. The latter paid no heed to it; the former drank in every syllable, And then a strange revolution took place in Willis Wildfern’s bosom—a weird, sinister and yet trium- phant gleam flashed in his eye, and he lauzhed a low laugh all to himself. When the two reached Chestnut street, they took the shady side of Twelfth and hurried to Locust. Then down this avenue. é As they reached Eleventh street Wildfern sudden- ly paused, and drew Tom quickly in the shade of a large house. : ; .“°Sht’sh! Tom! See yonder!’ and he pointed down the street, Bec > ‘“Blas-eoats again, e-p’n! Yes—I sees ’em. They’ve ot their peepers on Lady M.uud’s shanty now! Ha! a!” and the negro laughed guarde iy. ““Yes—yes—and trouble is brewing—I feel it! Now, Tom, you must change the programme. Bring the carriage to the alley, between Locust and Spruce, in Twelfth. That alley leads to the yard of the house. “Twill be all right. Now be off, Tom. Ina half-hour h=nce [ shall look for you at that alley.” Tom did not reply, but turning about walked up to Thirteenth street and disappeared jn the darkness Wildfern waited a few minutes, and then followed efter him. He paused, however, at the street abov : mentioned, and then returning toward Chestnut stopped at Walnut. Down the street he strode. un il he reached Tenth. Here he again turned, going tl.is time toward the south. He walked rapidly on, not halting once again. On he went, and now he was near Fitzwater street. He slackened his pace and glanced over at the opposite row of houses. Then, all at once, he stopped, as suddenly a lig*t streamed from a window in one-of these houses. Ha glanced thitherward, and as a low ery of exultation eh from his lips he turned at once and hurried ack, Verily Willis Wildfern was a man of iron to endure such exercise as he had taken this night! We will now return to the time he entered the room of Sadie Sayton, and looked maliciously yet triumphantly around him. ; His eyes, after flashing over the maiden, sourhé the goblet. Then again he looked toward the girl. **My God?!’ he muttered to himself, ‘* the dose was enough to stupefy an elephant. But—but—as mat- ters are, ’tis all right after all.’ He turned familiarly into the room and seated himself, The girl drew away, and covered her face with her hands. : : ‘Be not alarmed,” said the man ¢omposedly; ‘* I come on business. When last here I told you that {could show you a proof of this actor’s perfidy. To-night I have broughtit. Hereis the diamond-pin he wore, and which | think you quve him. received it from the woman he now loves. Take it, and ex- amine it; you will recognize it,” and taking the jewel from his pocket he handed it to Sadie. The girl shuddered, and then raising her head, reached out her hand and took the pin. One glance at it, and with a wild, agonizing cry, she tottered to her feet, and fell half-swooning upon the bed. : In her agony of mind she let fall the pin. Wild- fern stooped and picked it up, transferring it to his pocker, as he thought. But he did not thus transfer it. In the eagerness with which he watched the girl, he did not notice that he failed to find the pocket. The diamond rolled noiselessly to the floor. '*Oh, God! False—false! blindly—loved him so tenderly! And thus for my dream to end! Oh, God! I cannot live! Crush me to the earth—blot out my memory!”’ and heedles of the presence of the man, she buried her face in the bed-covering and sobbed aloud. : Willis Wildfern arose to his feet and softly ep- pragenes the bed. Then he laid his hand upon the girl’s, Sadie started as if bitten by an asp. Ina moment . e she had escaped him and stood on cppoale si of the room, a gleaming knifein her hand. — . ‘Stand back, monster!—stand back, or advance» at your ‘aa I am desperate!’ and she warningly brandished the dagger. The man paused. ‘‘I do not mean to harm you,” hesaid., ‘I simply wish to tell you, my pretty one, that I have got one more proof to show vou—one which will convice you beyond a peradventure that Frank Hayworth cares nothing for you. Would you, my fair girl, see that other proof?” and he gazed at her eagerly. ; : A strange calnaness suddenly came over Sadie—a, Pow ee aN And J trusted Jim so- ¥ & a 4
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= Pal 28 : AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. something within her which she could not define urged her to listen and to ponder. moment or so elapsed, when she looked up and said, in a voice preternaturally composed and quiet: “YVes—I would see this other proof! For only then can I—will I—believe in /is faithlessness!”’ ‘Be it so!’ said Wiidfern, promptly; “you shail see this proof; but on these conditions: you will agree to be blindfolded, and will accompany me hence in a carriage, placing yourself wholly under charge.”’ Tabiyite Baytén started—her face was pale as ashes. “And how can I trust you?” she asked, witha gesture of loathing. } “7 will swear solemnly any oath which you may dictate, that I will not harm you,” was the reply. Sadie pondered. Something seemed to impel her on, A maddening desire to se the perfidy’ of the man whom she had loved so devotedly, drove her /o do—what an hour before she would have shrunk from even entertaining for an instant. “T accept your terms,” she said, in an ice-like tone. “But I warn youthat I can and will defend myself, if occasion demand it.” *1 do not object; butcome. Thehour is late, and the show I am to unvai!lto your eyes is now ready. The performance may be over-unless we hurry!” and he laughed satirically, The girl answered not a word. She at once set about making her preparations. ‘Wildfern did not leave the room. In ten minutes Sadie was ready. Ina few moments then--her hand grasping the dagger in her dress-pocket—she allow- ed her.eyes to be blindfolded. Then taking the man’s hand in hers, she left the room, and followed him who had held her a prisoner so one _ At the foot of the stairs Lady Maud, looking stern and determined, suddenly appeared. _ “Twill go along for a change of air,” she said, giving Wilfern a deep, significant look. Ina moment more the three were out in the yard. Then the gate in the wall was found, and they en- tered the alley—Sadie being between Lady Maud and Wildfern. . At last they reached the street. ae ..* *9 ~~ _ And again her agonizing cry wailed out distinctly in the air. “Sh! ’sh! By Heavens! this must be stopped)’’ ex- claimed Wildfern, fiercely, at the same time cover- ing her face with a handkerchief saturated with chloroform. : ** Deal gently with her, Willis Wildfern! Gently, I tell you!” hissed the Lady Maud, as her bosom heaved with contending emotions. But in a moment the girl's struggles ceased. Then the carriage drove off. Suddenly, as the vehicle moved away at a rapid rate, the poor girl, freeing herself from the hand- ee again uttered a long wailing ery—this time elp. In a moment the window of that house was sud- denly hurled up, and Frank Hayworth peered forth. But the carriage was uow under full headway and dashed up the s'reet. Then it was out of sight. 4 A short time thereafter Sadie Sayton was again in her prison-room, seated on the edge of her bed and buried deep in thought. The gas, as ever, was burning low. Suddenly Sadie paused, as if stricken by a rifle- ball. She glanced down on the carpet at her feet. Her eyes bad caught the sparkle and flashof a brilliant stone. She stooped like a hawk on its quarry, and, in a second, had grasped the diamond-pin Jet fall by Wil- lis Wildfern. She held it ina grip ofiron. Thenshe slowly raised it on high, and gazed at it with a steady, strong stare. As she gazed, gradually the meaningless stare left her eyes, the stern expression of her face faded away, and as a soft, old time yearring look came again to the girlish countenance, she tottered for- ward and fell on her knees by the bedside. Seconds, minutes, and then an hour passed, Then Sadie arose from her knees. Her face was as calm as that of a marble Dian, as sweet and as holy as a Madonna’s, She gently kissed the little jewel, which she still held in her hand, and murmured: “Oh, God! I love him still! I trust him still! CHAPTER XXVIII. : SETTLING A BILL. Tuer carriage in which Sidie was taken down to see the terrible sight wiich had unnerved her, drove rapidly away. Wildfern was seated with the driver—Wild Tom, the negro, They Shaped their course toward Fairmount. Sud- denly, when the carriage was descending the sharp hill at the further end of Coates street, a bright lare, away toward Laurel Hill Cemetery, flashed ar up into the black sky. Then in an instant all was darkness again, as there came along, rumbling, deadened report. Then all was still. ‘“‘Hal ha!” laughed Wildfern, maliciously. ‘I had entirely forgotten our blue-coated friends, who have just now sprung the mine! Well—joy to them.” And then the vehicle disappeared. * * * We cannot wonder at the effect produced upon Sadie Sayton, by the sight revealed to her through the curtainless window of the boarding- house on South Tenth street. What she saw was this: Frank Hayworth—as we know him—was seated at u table, his head bowed down upon his breast. Standing partly above him, and grasping one of his hands in hers—the other laid tenderly upon his head—was Agnes Hope. And they were in the full glare of the light! But those who sat in the carriage had not heard the gentle, sympathizing words of Agnes as she smoothed back the actor’s tangled hair, and said: “Cheer up, my brother. you; and I will bless the day when Sadie’s hand shall rest in yours.” The dawn of the next day glowed over the world. Frank Hayworth was seated moodily in his room. Gloom was still upon his brow, the shadows were y heart warms for.
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QS ee + "Sy" ~ rai = a - =. ay ’ if 3 : AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. ae a oO ee ee a 7 Z : te if [NS a eR Ne eae ea cet ata 0 LE eae SNS ye a ae ie EE hata eS Es Swarming around him, despite the brilliant splendor of the ae Suddenly there came a ring at the bell; and then steps were heard ascending the stairs. They paused at the actor’s door. Then camea decisive rap. ‘*Come in!” said Hayworth. The door was at once opened and Willis Wildfern, attired in the “‘tip”’ of fashion, entered the room. The actor arose to his feet—his face growing darker and hls brow contracting. But Wildfern did not wait for the other to speak. He drew a small strip of paper from his pocket and handed it toward the occupant of the room. ‘**Ts that your writing, sir?’ he asked. Frank Hayworth glanced over the paper. It was the strip he had tacked to the door of the old tenement-house in Catharine street, in which had lived the Widow Hope. “Yes, sir; that ¢s my writing,’ replied the actor, quietly. ‘‘ Not knowing your address, and, for good reasons, thinking that you occasionally looked after your tenants, I took that, as the best method. to convey to you the information thereon scribbled.” “Thank you for your information, sir, however conveyed; I have called for the rent.” ‘You shall have it at once. Please write a re- ceipt.”? pointing to pen, ink and paper on the table, and Frank Hayworth drew fror= his pocket-book several notes. Wildfern leisurely approached the table, and, with a languid air, wrote the required receipt. Then the actor handed him the money. Some change was due, and Wildfern felt in his vest-pocket for it. As he drew outa handful of cur- rency, a ring with a ruby setting fell from among the notes and rolled on the table. In an instant Frank Hayworth’s eyes had flashed upon the ring, and he reached to grasp it. But Wildfern was too quick for him—for he clutched the jewel and transferred it to his pocket. “Where did you get that ring, Willis Wildfern?”’ asked the actor, in a low stern voice. _* An impudent and an unwarrantable question, Sir! But, to satisfy your womanish curiosity, I will reply: From a pretty Virginia girl—Sadie Sayton!” At a bound Hayworth dashed madly toward him. Villain and falsifier! You lie!” Wildfern quickly retreated behind the table, and drawing a revolver, aimed it at the other. “Stand back!’? he exclaimed in a low, hissing voice: ‘for I'll shoot you through the heart! An- other time, and I'll make you ‘eat your words, my fine fellow!” : With this he turned suddenly, opened the door and burried down-stairs. ; About four o’clock that afternoon, Willis Wildfern covertly entered the little alley—opening into Twelfth street—and hurried down Eleventh. — - In a moment he had reached the gate in the wall, through which entrance was had into the yard of ady Maud’s mansion, Then he was in the house. ‘Lady Maud was standing at the bottom of the Stairs; but she did not speak to her visitor. Wildfern noted her manner, and he read its mean- ing. But he pretended to observe nothing. ‘Thave just dropped in, Lady Maud, to say that it will be late to-night before I can visit this girl— My wife to be. So don’t lock up; I'll come the back Way. Be sure to have everything ready.” Yhen Wildfern hurried away again from the house. CHAPTER XXIX. A GLIMMER OF LIGHT, _. Once again night had come, and with it duties qaich doula not be postponed by Frank Hayworth, b © actor. At the usual hour he bade Agnes good- Y and hurried away toward Chestnut street. hi en the play was over. How Frank got through q = part, he did not know. But when the curtain ‘pas down he hurried away toward his lodging on *€nth street, and soon stood again in his room, ~ minutes the two were on their way homéward, He turned the light on. As he did so he perceived a note lying on the table. He opened it and read: “Dear FRANK:—I felt lonesome to-night all alone, and having nothing to do to while away the time I have determined to pay a visit to the old house on Catharine street. I wish to get a few articles I for- got to bring away with me. I write this that you may go to bed and not be uneasy about me, for it may be late before I return. ‘Your sister, “ Half-past nine o’clock. AGNES.” Frank Hayworth glanced at his watch. It was now after eleven. ‘*Good heavens!” he exclaimed; ‘‘ howimprudent! And all alone! I will go for her at once.” A few moments from that time Frank Hayworth strode down toward Catharine street, up which he turned, and hurried on. Suddenly he paused as a long, piercing ery for help rung out on the still air. And then another and another cry; and then the shrieks struggled forth ina gurgling sound. Then all was quiet. Frank Hayworth knew that cry. His blood al- most congealed within him, and then it boiled! With an imprecation, which he could not restrain, upon his lips, he sprung forward at a run. Only a moment elapsed before he stood at the — door of the old house. which the reader knows well. He sprung into the dark hall, and in a moment his feet were spurning the creaking staircase. Then he reached the top, and ina moment had burst like a whirlwind into the front room, in which a light was gleaming. The sight which fell on the actor's vision filled his soul with horror, and stung him to vengeance. Lying on the bed, her hair disheveled, her gar- ments torn and in disarray, her face bloodless and deathlike, her hands nerveless and hanging by her side, lay Agnes Hope, limp and motionless. Standing over her and clutching her in a wicked grasp—his eyes burning and his breast heaving, was Willis Wildfern, the man about t»wn. In his hand was a bloody knife, and the ruby gore was welling from Agnes Hope’s forehead. But the in- cision was slight. The scoundrel raised his head as Frank Hayworth rushed into the room, and in an instant he thrust his other hand in his bosom. But the actor heeded not the menacing’ gesture. Striding fearlessly into the room, he exclaimed in a > oe indignant voice: * Villain! monster! And would you thus disfgure YOUR OWN SISTER?” Wildfern straightened up, staggered away and flung his hands to his head. His face paled, and his eyes seemed to start from their sockets. He clutch- ed at a chair for support and gasped out: ‘What mean you—what say you?” “That Agnes Hope is your half-sister—that your ag was hers—that she is your own flesh and ood.”’ “My God! How know you this?” is I ae the proof—a marriage-certificate,” was the reply. Wildfern uttered no further word; but with his face like a dead man’s, he staggered away, he reeled out of the room and tottered down-stairs.— - The actor did not endeavor to prevent him; he — stood to one side and allowed the mantopass. = The actor turned toward the bed on which lay the girl. . Agnes had swooned; she had not heard a word of what bad passed between the men. Frank Hayworth suddenly paused as he saw the glitter of something bright and sparkling at his feet. He stooped and wrekee it up. 3 He started, and a ery of joy broke from him ashe saw that he held in his hand a ring with a ruby set-- ting! Inan instant he had placed it in his pocket. Then he approached the unconscious girl. He succeeded readily in arousing her, and in ten
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4 > ~S ‘Ss BOL abies hateT ya. AG rent. Ay are et ee eee he any f a! a ‘ Ec Mereay eee. NE Puy, ay 4 ¢ ii " as _ dashed away at full speed. As he was - = A a™ *y : - =: They bad not gona two squares before, sud- den'y. the fire-bells rung out a wild, startling alarm. Then a bright, up-reaching glow flashed in the dark night. The fire was in the direction of Eleventh and Locust streets. CHAPTER XXX. A HERO AND HIS REWARD. - Turre were others than Frank Hayworth and Ag- nes Hope who saw the sudden crimsoning of the sky that cold_winter night. ; Willis Wildfern, his head reeling, his feet tottering beneath him, his ears ringing out the words of the actor: “AND WILL YOU THUS DISFIGURE YOUR OWN sister!’ heard the clanging bells and the cry of fire and saw the sky suddenly grow red with the glim- mer of the up-licking flames. The man paused and gazed far down the street to- wardthe bright, spreading reflection. Then a rat- tling fire-engine with its noisy band of red-shirted _ heroes, dashed by with its clatter and clangor. Wildfern hailed one of the firemen. ‘* Where is the fire, my man?” he asked. “Locust, *bove “leventh;’? was the reply, as the _ fireman hurried 6n with his shouting company. * Locust avove Eleventh |? muttered Wildfern, lean- ing for an instant against a tree-box. He buttoned his coat tightly around him, and Frank veg Shiga half-carrying the fainting form of Agnes in his arms, hastened along as rapidly as he could toward his lodgings. 2 At last he stood on the steps of the lodging-house. Whispering (o Agnes to go in and seek her bed, he turned at once and dashed away toward the fire. _ Willis page ats at length reached Locust street, shing around the corner, he suddenly felt some one touch him on the shoulder, Glancin, gay about him, be saw the tall form of Wil “om “*Gome along, Tom!’’ he exclaimed in a deep, “The thing’s up! Lady Maud has hauled down her colors. The old hag bas gold! Help yourself to it, while I attend to other mat- ters!” “Dat’s what I’m here for, Marse Cap’n!”’ replied the negro. : Then they dashed on through the surging crowd, and in a moment had entered the burning house. The fire seemed to be at the rear of the mansion; the flames were burstihg forth there. The long hall ef the front building was filled with smoke. Fire- men were on the first floor; but they dared not face the fiery element raging above. Willis Wildfern knew a back way to reach the sec- ond story. Followed by Tom, the man dashed through the smoke-curtained hail until he reached the door leadiug to the yard. — Here was the small back staircase. Wildfern had scarcely set foot on the first step, when, suddenly, he was confronted by Lady Maud, who rose like a giant from the half-lurid gloom. “Stand. back, man!” she hissed in his face, at the same time jerking a lorg. keen knife from her bosom, and baring her stalwart right arm. ‘Stand back, Willis Wildfern! I know your hellish purpose! ~ Tknow that blood is on your soul, and I tell you / Ul die before you enter the room of Sadie Sayton! Now, villain, stand back, or—come on and cross knives with me!’? and the brawny woman flung herself full on bis way. : : Wildfern did not hesitate long. In an instant his knife, too, was in his hand; and then, witn a cry of vengeance, he flung himself upon his adversary. At that instant a tall; athletic figure, coatless, hat- iby ak Jess, ax in hand, rushed with flying feet into the pas age. The glimmer of the lurid light to the rear shone in his face, - Lady Maud turned and saw that face, AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. —— On with you, Frank Hayworth! Up-stairs—sec- ond room to right!” And with a loud ery Frank Hayworth sprung up, and disappeared amid the flame and smoke. ; iInamoment he was up-stairs, at the designated door. Theax circled around his head, and the panel was shivered to atoms, Another blow, and the door fell with a crash! : Hayworth bounded in. Kneeling by the bedside, her long, golden-hued hair falling in disordered masses over her half-bare shoulders, her hands clasped tremblingly together, her eyes cast aloft, was Sadie Sayton. She was praying to the God of heaven and earth! “ SapIE!’ * ALLAN!” And the two confronted each other. * Art true to ME still, Allan ?”’ whispered the gi:1. * As the necdle to the star |” No other words were spoken bythem. There was no time—no need. In a moment the actor had grasped the tender woman’s form in his arms. Nerving himself for the mighty effort—the trying ordeal—he whispered: ‘* Be brave, Sadie, and trust me.” Then he darted from the room, around which now the flames were licking; then down-stairs—then through the stagnant curtains of hot smoke, out into the air of ths night. Then a wild shout swelled forth from the swaying crowd without, and Frank Hayworth, with his Lur- den, sunk swooning amid the enthusiastic throng. CHAPTER XXXII, A LITTLE RETRIBUTION. “*Savep! . Thank God!’’ muttered the Lady Maud, as she heard the ringing cheer. ‘“ Now, Willis Wi'd- fern, we’ll settle accounts forever!” and she dashed with the ne. of a tiger upon him. They had fought their way to the little back wey, and at last stood directly over the concealed well. In their mad, furious efforts, the lid which covered the chasm was hurled aside. At that moment Lady Maud drove her knife full into the neck of Wildfern just as iis dagger sheathed itself deep in her bosom. 3 They sunk to the ground with acry and a groan. Then from the gloom of the overhanging wall sud- denly emerged atall, gigantic figure. It was Wild Tom, Stooping down, after patens about him,he seized both of the writhing forms in his powerful grasp and hurled them headlong down the gaping well. There came up one wild, gurgling, spluttering cry. and Tom was about tostep away,but he paused—fcor at that moment three brawny policemen darti.d through the smoke into the yard. ‘ Tom hesitated not. but sprung to the gate in the woll, and dashed out into the alley. Two of the policemen rushed after him but the third one paused as he stood on the very brink of the well and chanc- ed to glance down. 3 The sight revealed made the sturdy officer stand back and exclaim: “ Great God!” But, hesitating no longer, he likewise sprung through the gate and followed onto join his com- panions in the chase. . He had not gone a moment before the walls of the backbuilding fell with a terrible crash—debris filling the yard and choking up the well. a Then the flames communicated to the front porticen of the house, and despite the heroic efforts of the firemen. it was, in a few moments, enveloped in swaying billows of flame. ; Tom fled away like wind. At first he distanced his pursuers; but those men. like himself, were men cf iron, nor once lost sight of him. On he dashed, and at length he reached the river. He was peal with exertion. He glanced around him. There, not a hundred pacesbebind him,came __ the policemen, Then suddenly a flash spitted out Se .c. PS. T=
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—————————— AGNES HOPE, THE ACTRESS. ~~ ~ “st = pbs gloom, and a whizzing bullet sung over Tom’s ead. : ; ; The negro hesitated no longer; he darted to the river-bank, and, without pausing a moment, sprung out upon the ice, which was now a half-foot thick. Ou—on! And now Girard avenue bridge showed dimly in the gloom. Tom was already within its huge shadow. : Then suddenly he disappeared from sight; and a moment after a heavy, sullen splash reverberated beneath the long span, and echoed in the night-air. Tne policemen, who had followed, hastened on, and in a few minutes they stood by a large hole in the black ics. For a moment they silently gazed on. Tuaev one of them said in a low voice: ‘Well, it’s all right! The black rascal hag gone down in the air-hole, and the gallows is cheated, that’s all. Come, let's go back!’ Without another word, the officers hurried away. They had not been gone two minutes when, sud- denly, a dark object Appeared above the water in the air-hole. Then the body of a man showed. Placing his hands on the broken edge of the ice, the man slowly drew himself out of the freezing water, and crawling carefully away from the treach- erous spot, he straightened himself up, “Ha! ha!’’ he chuckled, ‘a mons’rous close shave, dat! But dat *fernal air-hole dar give me a lift after all! . Till change dese rags, and den— wer I think it’s *hout time to git!” hus epeaieing, Tom shook himself like a water- dog, and hurrying away, disappeared up the ice- covered river. CHAPTER XXXVII. L’ENVot! Tue morning after the great fire on Locust street, Frank Hayworth (or Allen Hill), seated in the little arlor of the boarding-house, suddenly started as his eyes fell upon a certain notice in the paper. He read that notice several times. Then, asa sin- gular expression came to his face—an expression of sadness and sunlight mingled—he rose to his feet, and walked slowly from the room. . He ascended the stairs and reaching his own room, rapped gently on the panel. Agnes answered the summons. “Is Sadie awake. my sister?’ asked the young man, in a low, trembling voice. “ Yes, Frank, and dressed. Come in,” and Agnes made way for him to enter. The actor, paper in hand, walked into the room, He passed no salutations with the maid he loves, but, drawing near her, knelt by her side, took her hand in his, and said, feelingly: ‘‘ Nerve yourself, Sadie, and read that paragraph,” -and without further word, he gave her the paper. Sadie did as directed. One glance and her face paled, and the blood fled away from her lips. Then dropping the paper, she raised her eves aloft. and murmured: " Thy will, oh Lord. be done!”’ Then she drew Agnes to her side and pillowed her head on her sympathizing bosom. That notice read tersely thus: “Tf this should meet the eye of Miss Sadie Sayton, of Sayton Manor, Charles City County, Va., she is earnestly requested to return at'once to her home. It is our sad duty thus to announce the death of her fatier, who passed away praying for her presence, and blessizg Ler name. ; ARTHUR GORDON, “ (Signed), *‘ JAMES CLARK, “ Baxecutors cf the Sajton Bstute.’’ We will not lingerhere. There isnoneed. Suffice it to state that Allan Hill never appeared on the stage again. e shall not attempt to describe the meeting be- tween Fanny and her long-lost mistress. which took place this same day—tne one after the fire. c S In one week—during which time Allan Hill had transferred his ns pac to the St. Lawrence Hotel taking along with him the shrinking, pale-faced, yet happy-hearted Agnes—the party left for New York. There they took passage for Virginia. And the gentle Agnes, whom Sadie already loved devotedly, went with the party. Six months from that time, in the grand old man- sion of Sayton Manor, Allan Hill and Sadie, the heir- ess, stood up in the face of a large company, and plighted their faith, the one to the other. When the ceremony was over, Sadie, in a quiet moment, archly drew from beneath the glove of her left hand a small jewel, and holding it up to Allan, said in his ear: “Here, darling husband; I give you again the diamond-pin, which you di not bestow upon another fair one!’ Allan Hill bowed bis fine head; ‘and then drawing fram his pocket a parcel, he handed it to Sadie, say- ing: “And I restore to you, my sweet wife, the ring which you did not bestow upon a treacherous man!” And at that marriage ceremony Agnes Hope officiated as bridemaid. Nor did any one in that vast company which thronged Sayton Manor, save Allan Hill and herself, know the great sacrifice which the noble girl had mace! Months after the conflagration at the mansion of the unfortunate, misguided, and to-be-pitied Lady Maud, when the bricks had cooled, workmen gath- ered there to clear away the rubbisb, preparatory to erect on the spot a more lordly eles In clearing away the ruins from the little back yard, the well was exposed to view. Down this well one of the workmen chanced to glance. The terrible sight then revealed, led to an investi-* gation, and two half-charred, half-decayed bodies were discovered. They were readily recognized, however, as those of Wildfern and Lady Maud. Several yea's passed, and one morning Allan Hili paused as he read a death-notice, : That day, in the presence of his wife, he read the notice to the sweet-faced, pensive Agnes; and then, showing her an old, faded _marriage-certificate, told her the secret of her birth, her relationship to the wicked Willis Wildfern, and then informed her of her wealth. 2 Allan and his wife accompanied Agnes Hope to Philadelp dia. There was no trouble in getting possession of her property. But Agnes returred,after making suitable arrange- ments with a lawyer in regard to her riches, back _to Virginia with Allan Hill and Sadie. i There she lives to-day, quiet and happy. And Allan and his darling wife are happy, too— — happy as the parents of two lovely twin daughters, one of whom answers to the name of ‘‘ Agnes,”’ the other, the fair-haired, to that of ‘* Ruby.” THE END. The Dime Dialogues No. 32. — Containing eighteen Minor Dramas, Extravaganzas, Burlesques, Farces, Dress and Humorous Pieces, for the Amateur Stage, Parlors. Schools and Exhibitions, All original and by.favorite authors, professors, teachers and amateurs, For sale by all newsdeaiers, or sent, post-paid, on receipt of price—ten cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PvsuisHers, 98 William Street, New York. /
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—PPA API LS SOS 1A Bride of a Day; or, The Mystery of Winifred Leigh. By Mary Reed Crowell. ‘2 The Girl Wife; or, The True and the False. Bartley T. Campbell. 8 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweethearts. By ; Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 4 Marricd in Haste; or, A Young Girl’s Temptation. ' By Rett Winwoud. 6b Will She Marry Wim? or, The Masked Bride. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 6 Wis Lawful Wife; or, Myra, the Child of Adop- _ tion. By Mrs, Ann 8, Stephens. @ A Falr Face; or, Out inthe World. By Bartley T. Campbell. “8 A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By Mary A, Denison. 9 A Daughter of Eve; or, Blinded by Love. By Mrs. acne Reed Crowell. 10 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus Hate. reg By Mary Grace Halpine. 11 The Bride of an Actor}; or, Driven from Home. By the Author of “ Aloue in the World,” etc., etc. “2 A Pair of Gray Eyes; or, The Emerald Necklace. By Rose Kennedy. 18 Without adfleart; or, Walking on the Brink. Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 14 Alone in the World; or, The Young Man’s Ward. By the Author of The Bride of an Actor,” etc.; ete. 15 Motherless; or, The Furmer’s Sweetheart. By Col. ~ Prentiss Ingraham. “16 The Secret Marriage; or, A Duchess in Spite of Herselt. By Sara Claxton. 17 Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry of Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Croweil. 18 Meart to Weart; or, Fair Phyliis’s Love. Arabella Southworth. 19 Sold for Gold}; or, Almost Lost. By Mrs. M. V. : Victor. : 20 Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. ‘Thackeray. 21 Sybil Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By Mrs. Ann §. Stephens, | 22 Trust Wer Not; or, A True Knight. By Margaret Leicester. | | 28 Sinned Agatnst; or, The Winthrop Pride. By Clara Augusta 24 A Loyal Lover: or, The Last of the Grimspeths _ By Arabella Southworth. 25 The Country Cousin; or, All is not Gold that ; Glitters. By Rose Kennedy. x 26 Wis Idol; or, The Ill-Starred Marriage. Mary Reed Crowell. 27 Flirtation; or, A Young Girl’s Good Name. By Jacob Abarbunell (Ralph Royal). 28 Now and Forevers or, Why Did She Marry Him! By Henrietta Thackeray. 29 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, the Lost Heir. : By Agile Penne. 80 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. By By By By Henrietta By Mrs. sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. LO PPL ALAA LA PRL A LLL A OLA ee PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY. averley Library. THIRTY-TWO OCTAVO PAGES. The Waverley Library is for sale by all newsdealers, five cents per copy, or Beadle and Adams, Pablishers, : ; ~ No. 88 William street, New York. ; 81 The Little Metress ; or, Under a Cloud. By Mrs, Mary A, Denison. 82 -ean Year} or, Why She Proposed. By Sara C'ax- On. 8&8 Lt ae of Herself’; or, Jeanette’s Reparation, y S. R. Sherwood. 84 Mer Face Was Wer Fortune. By Eleanor Blaine. | 85 The Cuban Heiress; or, The Pr'soner of La Vin- tresse. By Mrs. Mary a. Denison. 86 Only a Schoolmistress; or, Her Untold Secret. By Arabella Southworth. 87 The Winged Messenger; or, Risking All for a Heart. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 88 Was She a Coquette? or, A Strange Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray. 89 One Woman’s Heart; or, Saved from the Street. By George S. Kaine. 40 Love-Mad; or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced and— By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 41 For Her Dear Sake; or, Saved From Himself, By Sara Claxton. 42 The Bouquet Girl; or, A Million of Money. By Agile Penne, 48 SER ARD, the: Prima Donna, By Arabella South- worth, 44. The Ebon Marky} or, The Mysterious Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, 45 Lucy Temple. Daughter of Charlotte. 46 The Three Sisters; or, The Mystery of Lord * Chalfont. By Alice Fleming. —. 4? The Creole Sisters; or, The Mystery of the Perrys. By Mrs, Anna E. Porter. 48 A Marriage of Convenience. By Sara Claxton. 49 The Wite’s Secret; or, ’Twixt Cup and Lip. By Col. Juan Lewis. : 50 Sir Archer's: Bride; or; The Queen -of Hearts. By Arabella Southworth, —_ 5 51 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 52 Homeless; or, Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert W. Aiken, 58 The Maniac Rride; or, The Dead Secret of Hollow Asti Hall. By Margaret Blount. Rie 54 Pledged to Marry; or, In Love’s Bonds. By Sura Claxton. (OFF II OO 80 OOOO I nr rr 55 Cecil’s Deceit; or, The Diamond Legacy. By Mra. Jennie Davis Burton. o } 56 Beatrice, the Beautiful 3 or, His Sec ' By Arabella Southworth. Cee Boe 57 Without Merey. By Bartley T. Campbell. 58 The Baronet’s Secret; or, The Rival Hal “Sisters. By Sara Claxton. : } ; | t 1 | § _.- aa 59 Agnes Hope, the Actress; or, the Romance of a Kuby Ring. By Win. Mason lurser, M. D. 60 A Widow’s Wiles; or, A Bitter V re Rachel Bernhardt. % Bee a z PAPAL AA LA PLA OL