Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 61) (1885 07 21)
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os Copyrighted, 1885, by BEADLE AND Apams. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matter. July 21, 1885. V V $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 4 Price, . N 61 OL. . a Year. No, 98 William Street, New York. Five Cents. 0. od - “WHAT DO YOU WANT? AND WHY HAVE YOU DARED TO COME HERE?” ; DID it LOVE HER? touches of something much like gold, and light- \ ; H ing up the western windows of Rulloville, until — ihc they blazed red as glowing eae Ones wETT Rulloville was a plain, simple, unp ndi ee sopes: Kaige d village now, but in its youth it had had Tae CHAPTER I ambitious aspirations; chief among which was : to one day climb to the top of Sable Mountain, — JOE AND MABEL. that from thence it might look down upon the es “ otk bright afternoon sunlight was falling in | smiling vale beneath, which was, during all the dint Shower on the picturesque landscape, | future years, it fondly imagined, to yield it Bilding the waters of the Youghiogheny with | golden cereals as tribute, receiving nothing in 5 § . ; ia am : m ‘* “ 7 . > m ° bo ah eee St
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bells, and occasional visits from the three old missioned to preach the Gospel among the moun- tains of Pennsylvania. on ; But, alas! for the mutability of all things earthly, Rulloville never attained the goal of its desires; for, when it had clambered up the mountain-side a short distance, it stopped to rest a bit, and take a whiff of fresh air; and ere it could get a new start, the old National Road—which stretched through its main street Jike a white belt—became deserted and silent! Then. Rulloville heard with dismay that a rail- road. had been built forty miles to the north- ward; and that the locomotive had succeeded the jaded stage-horses; and that long trains of finely-finished cars had put a quietus on the - lumbering Conestoga wagons forever. No one was ‘willing to believe the story at first; but, when days, and weeks, and months ae and the old white-covered wagons rum- took in his sign of the three crimson horse-shoes; then two of the three hotels, put up their shut- ters, and permitted the grass to grow green and rank before their doors; and finally; many of the young men wearied of the monotony of the town, and packing up their worldly goods, jour- -_-_ neyed westward, leaving Rulloville asleep in its He own wrinkles, to doze the years away and | fe dream of its past greatness. 3S36 Adam Dormer, the miller, had, at one time, ‘thought of joining those westward bound; but as his good wife Jane, who had been born in Rullo- 6, shook her head, and quoted something about a rolling stone and its negative qualities, and at last, with a shower of tears washed away every inclination Adam ever entertained for i 7 t the ar West. 5 _» He went resolutely to work, however, and re- aized the mill; built a new race, lengthened 6 dam,.and gave all his attention to grinding the grain of the neighborhood. He managed to ee ‘et a good deal, too, through his hands every x b Bin and what with his percentages, and the ready cash he earned, he was soon able to build a neat stone house, of five rooms, on the hill- side, just above the mill. ; ee Fle was not-burdened with a large family, for at of four children born to him, two boys and hae Oa x Fyne op re ie a girl were lying under the shadow of the little ees ic chapel, their graves covered with blush- _. Yroses and long, tangled skeins of ‘grass, flecked, * here and there, with marigolds which had been ‘e « = we fe he . some woman, bearin _ came to the miller’s i remain over night. Ske said her name was Mabel Lynn, and that she was going to Cumber- nd, Maryland, to join her husband. Of course she was*permitted to remain, and fter a warm supper, retired to bed. The baby ‘ied during the night, and Jane Dormer got up ad took it down-stairs. — “You needn’t stir, madam,” said Jane, ad- n g the -yonug mother, Pm used. to bu- san / = a eta Ben F % DID HE LOVE return but the sweet music of Sabbath church bies; and I like -men, who had, in a very remote past, been com-" led through the town no more, the smithy | C2 RE HER? them so. Yd never tire of a dear ‘little, coosey, oosey, yike this ’ittle dear.” Jane kissed the pink mouth, all puckered w like a purse; pinched the round, fat cheeks, an’ put her finger playfully in the scarlet dimple of the baby’s chin. Then she remembered little Nettie had a dimple just like that, and, while she toasted baby’s togs before the great wood fire, the tears streamed silently down her brown cheeks, and crept into the corners of her twitch- ing mouth. a he strange young woman’s baby, all uncon- scious of the numb pain that was at Jane Dor- mer’s heart, drank*of the warm whey freely. and then doubling up its little fat fists, nestled elose to Jane’s breast, and went fast asleep. After a while, the miller’s wife took the child back to its mother, and receiving the latter’s thanks, went off to bed again, feeling very sad and disconsolate as she did so. But the next morning brought a suprise to the Dormer household, such as it had not experienc- ed for a good many years—the stranger had disappeared—had tramped away in the snow- drifts during the night, leaving her baby girl behind. There was a note\ pinned on its breast, saying that its mother was not able to support the tiny waif, and that, having witnessed ‘3 ane Dormer’s tenderness, she felt that she could not intrust her unhappy offspring to better hands. “Be kind to my precious darling, and, some | day, I will come back and reward you well. Good-by! Kiss my pet night and morning, for its poor, half-crazed mother, and—God bless you all!’ | This was the concluding sentence, and when ' Adam Dormer had read it through, and through | again, he turned to his wife and said: | This is a very strange affair, Jane, and I can’t see why she pitched on us. Seems to me ' there is people in Rulloville better able to provide | for a strange child than we are.” “Td like to keep it, Adam.” ‘Keep it!” he repeated, opening his eyes wide. “We ain’t rich enough to start an orp. asy- lum yet, Jane.” ‘No, not an asylum,” sho answered; “‘ just this little one, Adam; we won’t miss what she’ll | need, and if we do, why—” : ; SOW hy—what q” ze ‘¢She’ll help fill the place of little Nettie.” The woman’s voice was thick as she spoke, and her eyes were swimming in tears. | ri ro Dormer pressed his wife’s hand, and Sala: ! : “ Allright; just as you say.” That settled. the matter, and on the next Sun- day afternoon the waif was carried up to the | chapel and baptized. ' Jane wanted it named after her lost child, but Adam said: | “No; we'll not right to’ at all. | _-- ive her a mame she has no her what her » . 6 | i See Fae ee
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4 ae | * mer, now a lad of sixteen. He loos a good deal the miller—brown and strong, with hazel Ba and a superabundance of black hair. His clothes, unlike the girl’s, are ragged in many places, and his bare feet, now half-covered in the stream, are hacked and hard from expo- sure. Although Joe was fishing, he was not giving piscatorial matters his whole attention, for, every now and then he would dart a furtive glance at Mabel, and finally he stood up and eried out: ‘ ‘¢Come on down here, Mabel.” ‘¢ Where?” the girlasked, bending over to look os down the steep bank. ‘Right down here,” he answered. ‘You needn’t be afraid. Give me your hand.” She gave him her hand without the slightest hesitancy, for she pees great faith in Joe’s fi judgment, and he helped her down the hill, and = made her a seat close to the water’s edge. _ DID HE LOVE HER? << ' and almost Hféléss, to the bottom of the dark as | his coat, and pull him up on the Then he displayed, with pardonable pride, | his finny prizes, and she clapped her hands with delight, as she watched the wee, blackish pikes and larger trout wriggle through the shallow pound in which their captor had placed them. grain, and the boy, ere he bounded off, admon- ished the girl to sit very still on the bowlder he had placed for her, and not to go nearer the water on any consideration. : She promised to obey, but soon forgot the _. -warning, when she saw Joe’s line disappearing in the waters of the river. A huge fish was tugging at the bait, and drag. _. ging her foster-brother’s fishing appurtenances. ‘ abel wrung her hands hopelessly at first, and cried out: | Joe’s father called him te help untoad some | “Joe! Joe! Oh, Joe! You~ fishin’ thing. are goin’!” But, as Joe did not answer, the girl herself leaped forward, and tried to catch the rod which was now afloat. She failed, and before she could recover her balance, toppled headlong into the river. A wild shriek went up, as she felt the cok waters embrace her, and then the rush and buzz a of something in her ears, and a strangling sen Sation followed : : fee 35 CHAPTER II. oe OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH. : JOE was. heaping up sacks of wheat on the Nhe floor of the mill, when he heard that riek from Mabel’s lips, and his heart stood [ with fear. 4 t Tis Mabel,” father, he exclaimed. “She's fels “ in the river.” . b: Then he dashed out of the mill and over the _ Sank in a twinkling. ? Phebe eyes of the poor boy ached when he saw ee the shore was empty, then he uttered a Foc cry: He had caught sight of Mabel’s dress onting with the current, and with that recle peamaag which was a part of Joe’s nature, he Ped into the water, and made for the drown- e) ngs hil Fei a = ae ae" sling girl began to sink, limp the boy, ignoring the compliment altogether. ' away so long.” few strokes, and he caught the flimsy tex- rasp, only to have it come with him. - * river. With one desperate effort the boy clutched her by the arm; then his hand caught in the meshes of her hair, and he lifted her face above the water. He tried to swim now, but the bur- | den was too great for him, and, faint and ex- . hausted, he, too, was sinking. $o let go his hold, and save himself, would havé been easily done; but Joe could not do such a cowardly thing, even to save his own life; and so,, when he realized, as he did very keenly, that Mabel must die, he’ determined to die with her. Down! down into the green depths they sunk, until_Joe’s feet touched the slimy rocks; then setting his teeth close together, he made a fierce plunge se nada and then—they were saved. | Adam ormer, who had run after his brave boy, as fast as his legs would carry him, ar- rived just in time to grab him by the collar of y : Joe was very weakand faintish when he touched the shore, but not too faint or weak te _ exclaim, “Father, is Mabel livin’?—is sho # one? iy Ee ‘‘No, Joe, I think she’s here yet,” replied Adam, ‘Yes, her heart’s a-beatin’, and her ‘ little breast is warm. Thank God! Joe, thas yer both came out right side up.” . ears Joe was very thankful, even after he saw — that Mabel was still unconscious, and that her arm showed, in black and purple, where he had - ita | label Lynn was very sick for many days ; so sick, indeed, that for fully twelve thie Dr Kingsley * could not tell whether or not she would escape death. : Joe watched by her bedside all the time, sometimes helding her feverish hands in hi; — cool palms, and sometimes smoothing back tha _ hair from her burning forehead. eet ‘‘You are so good, Joe,” she said, one day, when the period of convalescence come 5 about; ‘‘on’y for 7 bein’ so good, Joe, 1 wouldn’t cared if I did die, an’ go to Heaven, ORs where my real mamma is.” ; = “How do ye know yer mother’s dead?” asked “Oh, of course she’s dead,” replied Mabel; — “cause if she wasn’t, ye see, she wouldn’t stay ‘Does seem so,” said Joe, after a pause,and then there was nothing more said about Mabel’s real mother. r : . Singularly enough, on the following day, Adam received a letter from the strangewoman, He had never got a scratch ofa penfromher = before—nothing in all those long years, and this was but a mere line. It ran thus: | git You haye been very kind and good, and I will reward you well. Inclosed please find check. I want the girl educated like a lady. MAsen Lynn, A bright, pink check fluttered to the floor, as rat eee ‘s. Dormer hastily 3 the old man read, and picked it up. ; It was drawn on the Atlantic Bank, York, in favor of Adam Dormer, and ca for five hundred dollars. ’ The miller gaped with wonder, and read it): ite overcome, he sat downy. aloud, and then. f and Tcking up at, is smiling wife, said;
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oat. a io ed ee ere es . Fy ee “Well, Jane, what do ye’ think of that—eh? What on earth do you think-of that?” | The r woman could not tell what she thought of it; it had completely upset her thinking faculties, and finally she asked: . “What are you goin’ to do with the money?” | _ Well, it comes kinder handy,” he said, wiping the perspiration from his brow. — . wes ‘What, to fix the house with?’ asked Jane. ‘‘No, not to fix no house with,” he replied, a weet aw little sternly. ‘‘ 1 wouldn’t touch a cent of that money for my own use, for nothing in the | world. It’s Mabel’s money, an’ she'll have the | tnd yenefit of every red cent of it.” : een eat chp cant spend it,” put in the miller’s wife. “No; but I can for her. She must go to school now, and learn something more than _ we've been able to teach her.” - Jt was arranged within the next fortnight that Mabel was to go to a boarding-school \at Crystal Springs, twenty-five miles distant, and that Joe and Adam were to accompany -her there in a covered wagon. After days full of busy :preparation, and -_ gome tears, and much heartache, Mabel was de- | -_ elared ready; the old wagon rolled around to | the door, and then the parting between Jane | Dormer and Mabel followed. | 3 eee “Don’t forget old Rulloville, darling,” said Jane, with a gush of tears; “‘an’ don’t forget them that you leave behind, and who'll always , pray for you, day and night.” _~ ‘The child wound her arms about the woman’s _ neck, and cried as if her heart was breaking. _| Another good-by hug, and Adam lifted Mabel | into the vehicle; then, jumping in himself, he -_ eracked his whip, coughed down his sobs, and drove off. - The boys of Rulloville cheered the wagon | until it crossed the bridge, and Mabel waved her blue gingham bonnet back at them, until a turn in the road hid the town from sight. Then: she coiled herself into Joe’s arms, and wept a little. and finally fell asleep. Sea, CHAPTER UL Sean) 2 _. HOMUE-SICK. ‘Wun tho wagon reached. Crystal Springs, it | was late in the day, and the melancholy twi- | ‘light which hedged the place about made Mabel | fey inexpressibly sad and home-sick; and this _ _ ffeeling was hightened not a little, when a crowd ' r= Ot pitts, ‘at play on the lawn in front of Crystal Springs Institute, giggled and pointed at her ‘sp? a she assed. | oe “She's got boy’s shoes on,” cried one of the group, ‘‘and look at her funny bonnet.” _~ She looked up into Joe’s face, and young as she was, noted how red it had grown, and how his eyes glared at the insult. - ~ Forgetting her own pain, she slipped her hand Joe’s, and said, quietly: ‘‘I don’t care for 5~ a - bit.”? a’ The next morning Mabel was examined by ‘the lady principal and assigned a place in one lasses, Cony pet) PO, a a Why don’t you play, too?” The voice was sweet and kind, and Mabel looked up into Alice Houston’s face. ‘ Because—” she said dropping her eyes. *¢ Because—what?” “They make fun of my dress.” There was something very bitter in Mabel’s voice, as she said this, and Alice noticed it at once, ‘** And you are angry—are ye tak ? en ce spoke There was no answer. again. ; ‘Will you come with me for a walk?” “Yes,” gladly. They strolled along the lawn until they were almost out of sight of the other girls. Then | Alice, who was a dark, beautiful girl of fifteen, said: ‘‘ My name is Alice Houston; my parents live in New York, close to the Hudson. Where do yours live?” ‘In Rulloville,” was the reply. is Mabel Lynn, and my father Dormer.” ‘‘- Your father’s name is Dormer, and yours is Lynn!” exclaimed Alice, ‘“ Why, how do you make that out?” ‘* He is not my real father ** Not your-real father?” “ce No.’ *¢ And who is?” “T don’t know. I was left Dormer’s when I was a a's Alice opened her large, lustrous black eyes ‘*My name sname is Adam by my mother at | wide, and lifted her jeweled hands in wonder, ‘And you never have seen your father or mother?” ‘No, I never did.” * And you have no home?” “Oh, yes; Ihave a nice home, and they are both good to me,” said Mabel. ‘‘ Besides, there is Joe, and he likes me just the same as a ~ brother.” * How old is Joe?” * Joe’s sixteen past.” “Ts he a big boy?” “Most a man. But, Joe’s so good; he never acts like a man—he’s just a boy.” “Do you think I would like Joe?” ‘Oh, ever so much!” exclaimed Mabel, with enthusiasm. ‘But he don’t wear such nice clothes, like some boys,” she added. ‘I don’t care about clothes,” replied Alice. **Do you think he would like me?” “T am sure he would!” was the prompt reply. “Then, maybe, when he comes to see you, I will fallin love with him, and make him fall in love with me?” Alice laughed as she said this, showing her even teeth of pearl as she did so, and nudged Mabel with her elbow playfully. Mabel was about to say that she wished such an event possible, but, all at once, the thought flashed in her mind—“‘ What would J do for . somebody to love, and somebody to love me, if Joe loves somebody else?” And so she hung down her head and said nothing. Alice divined what was passing in her com- panion’s mind, and smilingly—for Alice was all smiles and caresses—said: “You are jealous now. You needn’t blush and try to scorch the grass with your crimson face. I see it, you see! But, come, let us be ~ friends. I have a lover, ice ee ce a, ee Sy eS oe ee
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pe ees ios nk si ae aes ies none a ee Bs: Sere : ee Airs oe as ae + heated in ee DID HE LOVE HER? ee _ 28) AE Aas xy : > ‘iw ‘: jag a Be NE SL ed fellow. I get letters from him every week or two; he’s in Europe now.” “¢ Across the sea?” asked Mabel, with some in- terest. 7 “Yes; across the sea—in England. He’s coming home soon, though, and when he does, I’m going to have a long vacation.” — e hat’s his name?” asked simple little Ma- 1, . “Tt ain’ such a nice name,” replied Alice. “‘ Just John—plain John Nevin. He’s my cousin, though, and papa says I’m going to be his wife in three more years.” Mabel thought that would be so nice, and she said so, in her own frank way, and then listened with breathless interest to Alice’s glowing de- es of her splendid home on the far-off Hudson, After that afternoon these two girls became | fast friends, and every succeeding evening dur- | ing the season they spent together, talking and chatting about themselves, and their homes, and | their boy-lovers. Two days before the annual commencement Alice received a letter from her father, saying that her mother and himself would be in tal Springs on the following day, to take her home. _ Alice prone communicated the glad intel- -ligence to Mabel, and it was arranged that the | two girls should mect the visitors at the pike gate, and so they did. Captain Houston was a tall, silver-haired man» with large, blue eyes, and military bearing. He was, possibly, forty, but looked much older, while his wife was a dark beauty, five years his junior, ‘They folded their only child in their arms, and kissed her tenderly; then Mrs. Houston asked Alice who her companion was, and the latter replied: ‘This is Mabel, my favorite among all the girls,” “What did you say her name is?’ and Mrs. Houston put the tips of her yellow kid gloves on Mabel’s head as she spoke. ‘*Mabel Lynn,” was the reply. Captain Houston was leisurely surveying the Institute through his glasses when that name Sounded in his ears, but, all at once he became deadly pale. He darted a quick, sharp glance ee Mabel, who was talking now to the stately, ady-like Mrs, Houston, and then he said, ina Mines which he could scarce keep from trem- Ing: ak My child, where is your mother—where de ‘Svea sd “ At Rulloville,” the child answered. ‘‘ Sha will be here to-morrow.” _ Your mother will be here to-morrow!” he * ** Are you sure of that—” too. sir. Papa Dormer and Joe are coming, mn? Passed his hand under Mabel’s chin, held pher face, and looked down into the blue depths of her eyes, zed, lay S- | | this, but, before ' with her parents for New York. Perhaps she would; she would like to go ape see New York and the Hudson so well! But she couldn’t go this year, because she wanted to ‘go * ot back to Rulloville so. bad. Alice volunteered the story of Mabel’s youth, as the party walked up to the Institute, and Mrs. : with = Houston said, at the conclusion: ‘“Tt’s such a pity; left among strangers, wit % nobody to take care of her, or see that she is properly trained.” By this time they had reached the reception room of the Institute, and Madam Wayne, smiles and flounces, came forward to greet her patrons, em CHAPTER IV. AT CRYSTAL SPRINGS. Tu Dormers came to the Springs early on the following day, and Mabel met them in the crowded hall. warmth of feeling and it never occurred to Ma- bel that Adam’s boots were patched, and that they made a great noise as he stamped about; or that Jane Dormer was the shabbiest-dressed lady among them all, And she also failed to — notice that Joe had a new jean suit, in which he looked very stiff and awkward. But, many of the visitors did notice all this, — and some smiled, and some stared, and some wondered where those odd-looking creatures had come from. - 5 Joe’s quick eye caught the full iniport of this giggling, and staring, and wonderment, and — after a while he strolled off into the bing te Crystal Springs, in order to get rid of the hard feelings it caused him. When he returned, the commencement exer- cises were over, and the visitors were leaving the Institute in crowds. He met Mabel and his parents on the lawn. “Where did you run off to, Joe?” asked the girl. ‘‘I looked everywhere for you.” “T didn’t like to have them folks of me, and so I went away.” “Make fun of youl” & What on earth would they make fun of you Mabel looked up and down at Joe’s jean suit; — but she didn’t smile like the rest. : what it was to be made fun of, and she said: ‘*T wouldn’t mind them, if used to make fun of me, too. : a “ But, I can’t help but. mind them,” said Joo, guping down his mortification; “and I folks that are poor.” : ae The miller and his wife were astonished at they could say a word, t Houstons came out; Alice kissed Mabel, s Joe’s hand, and that same evening depa Mabel was very glad to get back ville, and was very sarry. when the for her to return to schoof, She had eight weeks of vacation in wanderin; the woods with Joe, in listening to his pla t . The meeting was full of joy and Bip 7 PNR ® making fun : exclaimed Adam. suet he knew 8 I were you. They hate rich people—they are always making fun of
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ee ee eee iy RSPR SASS ay Fea NPE Bake eo 6 DID HE LOVE HER? make money, and be cal ; ~ ‘But what will mother do, and papa, when » you go away?” 3 “ Must get along without, I guess. No use in me staying here, anyway,” he said, determin- ?. ” edly. ‘m no use, _ “But then, Joe, we would be so lonesome.” “Yes, I know; and so would I; but, such things can’t be helped. Almost all the young * men go away from Rulloville to get a raise. a They know there’s nothing be to got staying er here.” te Young as the girl was, she saw the force of Joe’s words, and said, after a pause: * You know.what’s best, 1 guess, though I wish you wasn’t going ited 4 Thay talked a long while about Joe’s pro- jected pilgrimage in search of Dame Fortune’s shrine, and even after Mabel went back to Crystal Springs, she could not forget the boy’s earnestness and purpose. Before vacation came about again, Mabel was summoned home to attend the eathbed of her _ foster-mother. S - Poor Jane did not last long; the fever did its -' work rapidly, and, on the fifth day of her ill- ness as Joe and Mabel were walking home from the mill in the sunset, Adam met them with «streaming eyes, and said: aes ‘Tig all over now. She’s gone from us for- ever.” : 4‘ What, mother?” exclaimed Joe. “Yes; you have no mother at all now, nor I Mountain and buried with her children. eed a long letter, asking him to permit Mabel fe spend her vacation with them. ae: They were going to the White Mountains, he : wrote, and Alice was so anxious to have Mabel with them. , Now, Adam Dormer had been looking for- ward to Mabel’s return with a yearning fond- _» ness, and to deny himself the ale te of seeing her soon was a severe hards thought—‘‘ Why should she come here to see an old chance to see the world? No, I won't refuse; the trip will do her good.” % -_-\t vexed Joe terribly when he heard that Ma- pel was not coming home, but quickened a pur- pose that had grown somewhat dormant, and he said to his father: Tf the Houstons will take care of Mabel for ee: afew years, why, let them,and you and I will sell out the aalie ere, and go to California.” — Go to California, Joe? What put that in a =i nld prefer remain- your head?” ‘ : i “Its been in my head a good while, and I’m 75 oing to carry ito _Why should we live , hiro all alone, ¥ ing but our mere . verybody is going gr e scheme with any ms is) Three months after Jane’s death, and Mabel’s | return ‘to school, Captain Houston wrote the | p. But then he) rich and proud like other stupid fellow like me, when she’s got such a | | sight. had set his heart to ae SS eee bh Re PER ete Between Joe and Adam, a letter was written | to the captain explanatory of their designs and desires. ; : A week passed, and then an answer came, poe oh Se ea Houston would be glad to have Mabel make her home with them; that she should be treated as one of the family, ang that the captain would be in Rulloville on the first of July to take Mabel away. Adam was both glad and sorry when this let- ter came; glad that Mabel would have a good home, and sorry that nothing promised to inter- fere with his migration. But, finally, the first of July came, and with it came Captain Houston, Alice, and Mabel. A. little ele Se was prepared for the new- comers, and when they were all seated around the board, Adam said: ‘*We haven’t much that is very inviting; not what we’d like to have, nor what we'd had, sure, if poor Jane was a-livin’; but what we have youre welcome to with a hearty good will. This is the last meal which we will all eat together”—and here he looked over at Mabel, whose eyes were begin- ning to fill with tears—“‘for many a year,” he continued, ‘‘and mebbe it’s the last we’ll ever eat together—ever in this world. But all I’ve got to say is, that Mabel’s been a good girl—a mighty good girl—and I'll say, what I never sed before, that I love her just the same asif she was my own flesh and blood, and God knows how this parting hour makes my heart ache.” Mabel burst into tears.now, and so did Joe > ] 7 and Alice: and when they left the table, which _haven’t any wife.” : | Jane Dormer was carried Bp she side of Sable | they did a few minutes after, scarce a thing upon it had been touched. Joe suggested going down and taking a last look at the mill, and they did so. ' When they were about returning to the house, he whispered to Mabel: “Don't forget to answer my letters when I write, and try and don’t forget poor old Joe al- together. bs She pressed his brown hand, and, in a husky voice, answered: “No, Joe Dormer; I never shall.” As the twilight crept up the ru; ps Sable Mountain, the glittering brougham rattled off toward Crystal Springs, and Joe and Adam Dormer stood in the roadway watching it out of stee of A CHAPTER V., JOHN NEVIN, A June sun is setting, round and red, behind the Highlands of the Hudson, and the mighty river, with its majestic sweep, is wrapt in som- ber shadows, only the highest cliffs catching the reflected radiance of the bright-hued clouds which drift everywhere, from horizon to zenith like crimson and gold fantasies through a land of enchantment. Oak Manor, standing as it does on one of the highest knobs, still basks in the light, and Alice Houston and Mabel Lynn are walking up and down the broad piazza, arm in arm. Two years have passed since Mabel first came __ Oak Manor, and these two years have done ~ much for her. Shehas grownround and plump, and, perhaps, three inches taller, giving her — forma lithe, though womanly appearance; and, — “re 5 . ee es ey ee vA a a “at a eae ae Seely
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Ss while Alice is dark and radiantly beautiful, Mabel is all tenderness and sweetness. Her hair is possibly a darker shade of gold, but it is gad still, fine, flossy gold, such as peris might ve tucked up with crystal combs in Oriental caves, ere Tom Moore’s poesy made known their beauty to the world. They are talking now of their projected trip to Newport, and planning little excursions among the hig ands, after they come home. “You have never seen the sea, Mabel?” ex- claimed Alice; ‘‘ but when you do, you will just go wild over it. The white sandy beach, and the great green waves. Oh, if is so beautiful.” “ But not half so beautiful as Mabel’s self,” said a voice close behind the girls, and turning, they met the gaze of Captain Houston. By his side stood a gentleman of thirty-three, or there- abouts. An exceedingly stylish and handsome man he was, although his face was burned with tropic suns, and there was a certain air about him that had a tendency to make him look grave, or sad, or both. Si ( =. Alice, can you guess who this is?” asked the captain. No, sir,” darting a quick glance upward, | and then dropping her eyes again, her face suf- fused with blushes. : “ This, then, is John Nevin,” said the captain, with a chuckle, and evidently enjoying his daughter’s embarrassment. She was about to rush to his arms, but when she looked up into his earnest eyes, she re- strained herself, and said, simply: “Cousin John, you are welcome to Oak Manor.” / : : They shook hands; but, notwithstanding, the reception was a little cool, when it is remem- bered that these two were betrothed to each other. But John Nevin did not seem to expect . anything more, and he simply said in return: ‘Thank you! Tl try and deserve your wel- come.” Mabel was then introduced by Captain Hous. ton to the stranger, and the latter, after looking: at her for a moment, said, in his usual grave way: “Miss Lynn, I have surely seen you some where before, or at least, somebody who resem. es you a great deal. Ah, yes! I remember now; you are the very image of a dear frienc , whom I met and was intimate with in Europe— ! Laura Robsart. Did you ever know a lady o1| t name?” be “*No; I never knew a lady of that name,” an- Swered Mabel, smiling a little. John Nevin did not smile in return, but bit lip, and muttered to himself: “‘ How li she is to Laura—how very like!" .Then he proposed a stroll in the grove; the _ girls accepted, and for the next hour John Ne- vin® regaled them with his European expe- Tiences, sf .. His voice was deep and earnest, and though it was but of the most trivial matter he spoke, _the calm dignity of his words made his auditors all attention. It was at Rheims I first met Laura Rob- Sart,” he said, “whom I have already spoken of t 16 a ounterpart of Miss Mabel here. We in the same diligence for thirty miles, we reached the village of Eviert, her ae | DID HE LOVE HER? Shes Ste nn ET Pe eee 2 father-in-law, who was her solé traveling com- . : ‘ panion, became very ill—in fact, I thought he = would die ere we reached the inn.” 3 “Tt was an awkward position for a lady,” re- a marked Alice; ‘alone, and in a strange coun- F try, with a dying man.” 3 “Yes, very awkward, and Miss Robsart real- ized this keenly,” he replied. ‘‘But,then, Laura was not a weakish woman, nor one easily fright- ened or nonplussed, so she at once ed my — assistance to help the invalid from the creaking old vehicle to the inn, and when I had done so, she said: ‘ You being an American, as we are, I am emboldened to ask 5 Ate if you would please. — secure us seats in the diligence that leaves to- morrow for Cologne. We intend to rest there until my father-in-law recovers sufficiently to — travel further.’ ” ; “Did you do so?” asked Mabel, interested in the story. “Of course I did. Men are not apt to dis- oblige beautiful women, Miss Lynn, especially when they are not seriously inconvenienced by the performance of the gallantry, and Laura was beautiful—very, very beautiful, indeed.” — Mabel blushed as he said this, remembering | what he had said of a resemblance between her / and Laura; and Alice, coloring slightly, asked: “¢ Was she a widow?” “Yes. I afterward learned from her own ae that her husband died in California, in “Did her father-in-law die abroad?’ ques- | tioned Alice. me “No; I went with them to Cologne, andre- mained there for three months. Onseveraloc- casions he was on the brink of the grave,but by tender nursing, on the part of Laura, he was brought through; and.two years ago, when I parted with them at Antwerp, he was as sound | poystoally as I am to-day.” : ; hen the trio returned to the house, the” | lamps were lit in the grand saloon. _ ‘ “Play something for us, Alice, will you?” | asked John Nevin; ‘‘and you, Miss Mabel, sing. — | I know you can sing.” As aes Alice played, with dashing vivaciousness of — A | manner, a sprightly air; then the accompani- ment to a song of welcome, which Mabel sung with fervor and brilliancy, and when the music ceased, John Nevin thanked his entertainers, _ and by ea sung an old, quaint, dreary Ger-- man song himself. pa a Tho lamps were burning low and the moon light was streaming in through the half-open windows, and falling in light, fantastic shapes _ on the velvet carpet, when the two girls _ 3 John good-night, and tripped up-stairs to bed. | pe Tek bak a Nae >. Tare CHAPTER VI. eae ; | LAURA, THE BEAUTIFUL. : ' with guests, and the aglow with beauty. Bright e 2 nds | sparkled in riv: nd the giddy dancers floated around the glittering room to the sweet, __ voluptuous strains of Offenbach, or sauntered. out on the colonn: les, or to the beach, under the star-lit sky. ? es restate Mabel and Alice were delighted. It way } 2 inl
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Cie Say eee, ee ae ete Qe es > yee, he *4 tee Sag + Le ety ,. SS DID HE LOV-HER? Le el a, y their first night at Newport, and they stood by one of the windows, and watched the dancers, while John Nevin pointed out the celebrities to them. Mabel could scarce restrain herself from giving expression to her wonderment and plea ba man addressing another who stood close °. ‘Which one?” . z “That one there, standing at the nie window, in blue silk, with the yellowish hair iv such abundance.” “‘Oh, that’s a new arrival; just got here to- day—a widow. Stylish, ain’t she?” ‘Ve What's her name?” a ge John ‘ nce out by the speaker; then an exclama- sunk, and she said: - “She is very lovely.” son of an old friend, an artist, George Dalby, and after the introductions had been got through with, John Nevin excused himself, and went off in _ of Laura Robsart. J - Mr. Dalby was agreeable, full of compliments and pretty sayings, and he at once endeavored to inter Alice and Mabel, in the gossip of the cy capt but, although the former smiled often, her eyes were wandering everywhere in search : of that cold, silent man—John Nevin—whom she was every day learning to loye more pas sionately. “Will the ladies take a stroll in the open air?” ' asked Mr. Dalby. ‘‘The moon is rising, now, and the beach will be thronged directly.” ; tion, “let us go.” i ‘Grandly the moon arose out of the Atlantic’s vast wilderness of waters, lighting ae the shore, and painting a sheeny path of silv “waves. girl gayety and love-making, of which he had o Ly -of which he knew either one or both of the jes concerned, the li ing?” he asked. es, they saw him distinctly. “Well, you could scarcely believe it; but that man left his wife and two children in London, to follow a young ae with whom he be- ee ented hile spending a season at SS a a -“Tndeed!” said Mabel, shocked at the revela- But what b: ht him-te, America?” an. A can and “Yes,” said Mabel, noticing Alice’s abstrac: | | She did not ask his a sure. * “Who is that lady there, Ansen?” asked a | “She must be a very wicked woman,” said ce, **On the con’ she has the reputation of being a very kin ‘lady. It wasn’t her fault, iration or love. He simply fell; wasn’t knocked down.” “What brought him to Newport?” It was Mabel who spoke, with her eyes riveted on the strange man. ‘““Why, she came here, and he must needs fol- low her, as if she were an ignis fatwus.” “Is that her in black, talking to him now?” _ asked Alice. ‘pegged of him to return to his famil “Oh, no bless your soul! She don’t k to him at all,® 4 artist. Tis said answered the ‘Tis said she , when she first met him here, and on his re she bid him never recognize her again,” A woman’s laugh—rippli g, silvery, joyous, sounded close behind our friends, and then George Dalby whispered: “That’s the lady, now—the beautiful widow.” The two girls glanced to the right, from “whence the peal of laughter had come, and _ Just then, Captain Houston came up with the . | which was beginning to curtain in the scene, 5% . there, in the moonlight, they saw Laura Robsart leaning on the arm of John Nevin! She was looking up into his face, and the moonbeams fell full upon hers, making it look white as marble, and rarely beautiful indeed. Her golden hair fell in waves upon her should- ers, screened now from the falling dew by a heavy shawl of Fees thread lace, and at her white rounded oat a great diamond burned like a coal of fire. John Nevin was talking to her in a low, sub- dued voice—so low that none heard him, save herself, and she answered with occasional merry bursts of laughter. They passed close to Dalby and his com — panions, but so rapt up were they in each other, that, although Alice could have laid her cost on John Nevin’s arm, he did not recognize er. They walked on and on, until the amber mist | them from view, and close behind them, like a — | ‘Do you see that tall gentleman, there, with tish suit,talking to tho lady in mourn- er on the | gray shadow of despair, walked the man whose wife and children waited for him beyond the | ocean, When Mabel saw John Nevin with Laura Robsart, whom she now regarded as a danger- ous woman, she felt her indignation rising against him. a Why should he have come back to awaken a love in Alice Houston’s simple, girlish heart, when he was so completely in ‘ue meshes of this woman; and why had he not the courage’ to ask a release from an engagement made so many years ago, that it could not be considered binding on either? ‘He must be either a weak or a wicked man,” she muttered to herself, These thoughts flashed through her brain in an instant, and then, noticing how very white t and ghostly Alice was, she said: ‘‘ Let’s go back — to the hotel. It’s getting chilly.” “The dew is very are remarked Dalby. “* Are you cold, Miss Alice?” She was all of a shiver now, and she shut her teeth firmly together to prevent them from barrio ld. Let’s go back.” es, very co s go back. . She thanked George Dalby when he folded
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- thought of a ten years’ jaunt through eae 4 an in his fury_he DID HE LOVE HER? her wrap close about her, and thén, casting a lingering, yearning look in the direction John Nevin had cor she took the young , ake arm, and they began to retrace their iy Ps. CHAPTER VIL ROCKLEDGE. /Evton ROBSART occupied the handsomest cottage at Newport. It stood on a ledge of rocks about a oe from the Ocean House, and overlooked the sea. It was called Rockledge, and was splendidly furnished throughout; the floors covered with velvet and rich Brussels, and the windows draped in finest tapestry, even to the floors. There was a wide colonnade in front, up the sno columns of which dark vines clambered, and hung in festoons from the eaves, dotted here and there with red_ berries, which looked very much, when ripe, like drops of blood. In the large airy drawing-room sat Elton Robsart, reading Goldsmith’s “ Animated Nature.” He was apparently sixty years old, although he might have been younger by half a Aloate, Starting out in life with a handsome face, form and fortune, he had led a wild, reck- less, voluptuous life, until at forty he found himself a mere wreck, both morally and physi- cally. His wife, whom he married shortly after reaching his majority, bore him but one child, and then, being a weak woman, folded her hands meekly over her breast, and drifted into eternity. Her memory, and his son Cleve, were all he had to live for, and these he either thought too insignificant to influence him, or else—and this is altogether the most likely—he never em at all, until he returned from to find Cleve a young man of twenty, himself a decrepit, worn-out roue, not far from forty. _ This awakened him to a sense of his situation, and he set about educating. his boy after his . own peculiar ideas, and to building up his shat- tered constitution by a free use of drugs and exercise. He took too much of both, and be- came an invalid, and Cleve, whose moral train- ing amounted to nothing, grew tired of the old gentleman’s exactions and ran off to the V est. is affected old Elton seriously; he believed is son was ungrateful and hard-hearted, and Cored the three letters Cleve Sent him, He knew from the postmarks they were from the West, but that was all. A few years of silence between him and his wayward Child caused him to relent, and when he was thinking about advertising for the absentee, in the western papers, a young woman wrote to im from Baltimore, soying that she was the Widow of Cleve Robsart, and that the latter had ed in the mines of California. : He telegraphed for her to’come to him at once, and the next day the steamer bound for Norfolk landed her within a hundred yards of The old man questioned her about his son Closely, but she answered him frankly, and with ¢,candor that disarmed suspicion. She described | Cleve minutely, agd bore on her index finger a ‘| - epee ee A wile, large gold band which she said was her wedding rin, g. ‘You shall have a home with me here as long as I live,” he said, at length, ‘and when I die, Robsart Place shall be yours.” This was how it came about that Laura Rob- sart became mistress of vast wealth and greater expectations, he did not let her good fortune turn her brain, though, and night and day she pi of nothing else but of devising means to add to the old man’s comfort, and it was partly Nhe to her care, and partly to his own taste, that he always looked so neat and clean—just as if he~— lived in a satin-lined bandbox. On the morning of this introduction to the reader, he was robed in glossless cashmere, with white and gold slippers on his feet, and a pink silk smoking-cap upon his head. The white neckcloth gave him a clerical look which his sensuous face ially belied, and the hand that grasped the volume he read trembled nervously. He was becoming tired of Goldsmith, when Laura Robsart, all pink and white, stole into the room, and creeping up be- hind him, surprised him with a kiss. ‘‘ Ah! sunbeam,” he said, with a smile, “you are late getting down this morning.” ‘* Yes—a little late. Did you miss me?” He did not notice that she was angling for a omens, and said, at once: “Yes, I missed missed you last night. You were out the beach—weren’t you?” “T was home at ten.” “Who was with you?” white arm—so much like ivory—that lay upon his knee “John Nevin.” ‘Indeed! I thought he was in Europe.” The old gentleman’s brow was clouding was jealous of John Nevin, and he feared Li would not always prove faithful to the men of his son. But she saw through him at o had he been made of glass he could not | been more transparent to that woman who at his feet, and looked up, like an inno child, into his face. i “He came back a month ago,” she answere ‘He is coming over this evening te see Yo “T don’t want to see him,” he exc petulantly. ‘‘ He must not,come here.” She opened her big, ood for compan: 7 had better ae it to Rockletge. and gave ii twilight John Nevin came over aura met him on the colonnade, | ma cordial welcome, lovely this evening,” he ou this morni de ring sant He was patting her 4
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10 _ s ee “And you,” sho answered, smiling, “are as sad-faced as ever. Do you know that you re- mind me of but one person in the world, and t a tor whom I 6 saw play ‘Hamlet’ rageee gs r whom I one play ) “You, on the other hand, remind mo of two other persons,” he replied. She aughed—that old, joyous, rippling laugh —and asked: “‘ And who are those two?” “A friend of my cousin Alice is one, and Goethe’s ‘ Marguerite’ the other.” She curled her lip in disbelief, and they walked down the path toward the sea. hen they tired of rambling about, John found a seat for her on a mossy stone. They could see the sea from where they sat, looking tan ae at Th de) al wan and y in the gloaming, and hear the. ; ei “COOL aoa ot the waves, as they lapped the ? sandy shore, or thumped themselves white against the rocks, ‘Presently a boat hove in sight, and, as it ap- cet they saw a man sitting in the stern. e was thrumming on a itar, and singing, in fete clear voice, ‘HER BricHt SMILE Haunts TILL: It was too dark to discern the features of the — man, but both of them recognized the voice. Laura turned deathly pale, and trembled like an phe: ; ‘‘ It’s Gilbert Rook,” she said. j _ “Yes, and the fellow’s as crazy as ever,” said > Jo “Tt was very unfortunate for you that f you ever met him.” : _ “J wish I never had,” she said, rising. “TI can never tell the reason why, but I have a _ gloomy, undefined dread of that man.”. : “* His persistent attentions to you have caused this,” said John, endeavoring fo free her from | _ apprehension, ‘‘and the knowledge that he has _ awife and family in England doubtless gives a wets tinge to this vague fear.” “No; it may be fn that, but it is not wholly so; from the first moment I set eyes upon him at Bath, I felt as if he was to be _ notion, it clings to me yet.” she Mt euldn’t mind,” said John, after a mo- _ ment of silence, “The fellow was, possibly, _ erazy before you met him, and, but for his ad- -_-tuivation of you, fiis malady would doubtless - shave assumed a more vidlent form.” ~__ She sighed, and gave John Nevin her hand. fe pressed it warmly, and they turned away from the sobbing sea, walking silently toward Rockledge, while.the sad song of Gilbert Rook rung in their ears: ‘Many dangers I have known That a reckless life can fil— - ; But her presence has not flown— ) Her bright smile haunts me still!” Ho parted with her at the colonnade, and she | watched him out of sight. . : 4 en is all this misery to end?” the mut- tered, aloud. : 4 When women are not falso as fair,” -.. The answer came ‘in a deep, solemn. voice, and Laura only lifted her eyes to let them fail on a weird, haggard woman, who stood like a pic- , ~ s . — F my evil , genius, and hard as I have tried to get rid of the shrugged her pretty shoulders and shiy- | _ DID HE LOVE HER? F | ture of déspair almost within arm’s length of r. Laura Robsart was chilled through and throu a wih 6 nee 0 are you?” she manag say. “Don’t you know me?” The strange woman’s voice was hard and “You are devitd of memory, I see, as well as conscience.” There was something familiar, even in that chilling tone, and Laura now, determined te solve the mystery at once, said: ‘““Why have you come here—what do you want of me?” ; “Tam playing the role of Nemesis, was the answer. ‘‘I want vengeance, or my own!” “What have I of yours? Are you crazy, wero, only deaperdte.” ** No, 0 esperate. “What dp vor mean by asking me ‘for your own, then, in ee ae way? I have ing belonging ou or yours. ne you have.” vthe efomia's breath was coming quick and hard now. : “What is it?” and as Laura put the question, she shrunk away in terror. ‘“My husband’s heart.” * His name?” cane Laura. ‘Gilbert Rook!” : Laura shrieked as if a knife had penetrated her heart, and fell in a heap at the woman’s feet. CHAPTER VIU. ALL ABOUT LOVE. Wuen John Nevin reached the hotel, he found Mabel and Alice talking to George Dalby on the veranda, ‘ ‘“‘ Here’s Nevin,” said the latter, as John ap- proached. ‘ Now, to use Outtle’s words, he can give us ‘an opinion as is an opinion.’ ” “On what?” asked John. “We were talking about Mrs. Browning’s oem, ‘ Loved Once,’ and while the young ladies ere have clung to the poet’s assertion, that true love never passes away, I have maintained that aman may madly love a woman to-day, and to- morrow view her charms with indifference, or even, in extreme cases, with aversion.” Nevin thought of Laura, and said: John “‘T hardly agree with you, Dalby. Love is a sort of infatuation—it is hard to cure, no matter how unreasonable it may be, or how disagreeable the consequences.” : __ “But should Mie discover the object of your | devotion to be wholly unworthy, you don’t mean | to say that love outlives respect}? , Alice had her black, glowing eyes fixed full on John Nevin’s face, as he answered: S “‘ Most assuredly not; — and admiration are the source of love. these be dried up, the tender plant perishes for lack of nourish- ment,” ‘Then you agree with Mr. Dalby that Mrs. Browning is in error, when she says, ‘hemever loved who says ‘I loved once,” ?” 5 It was Alice who spoke, and she addressed herself to John, “ He replied; ‘Yes, I take sides against the * Ni eet y
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DID HE LOVE HER? * ” : - ad Il _ when he says: ‘Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all,’”’ The conversation was interrupted, at this oint, by the arrival of Mr. and Mrs, Houston. The. former brought a letter for Mabel, from Joe Dormer, and excusing herself, she ran ups stairs to her room, to read the precious missive. It was a lengthy epistle, covering eight pages of large-sized letter-paper, and it was full of tender words, prettily put. “T ‘work all day in the mines,” he wrote, “and at night I study hard, and think of my _ dear little girl in the States, whom I am trying, ever so hard, to make myself worthy of.” He concluded by asking her for her picture, by return mail, and mentioned that Adam spoke of her every day, and hoped soon to see her again. eShe kissed the letter, and tele in her rapture all the fine speeches of George Dalby. poet, but I agree with the other poet, Tennyson, “the whole story, dnd he Gan inform John of the _ cution. She was sitting by’an open window, looking | out into the night, with Joe’s letter open in her | lap, when Alice came up-stairs. What does Joe say?” she asked. “That he is doing grandly; and that he is going to the Legislature; an better still, he is coming home soon!” Alice did not seem to hear the meray for threw herself at full length upon the bed, broke out into a fit of sobbing. “Why, Alice, dear, what is the matter?” “Oh; I don’t know; everybody seems to be happy, but me.” “What has happened?” “Nothing.” . oe anybody say any thing to you?” 0. “Was it John?” Alice almost screamed, and Mabel knew now she and Yau she had guessed all along—that it was ohn. She did not attempt to console her at once; she knew tears were a good panacea for an aching heart; but after the first gust had blown | ? 4 age | window, and wondered what had brought ‘ by; she said: «John is very queer in his ways; still, 1 be- | lieve he loves you,” “ But there is that woman—Laura. He is not cold to her,”—with a sob—‘‘ and Mabel, every- body knows she can wrap him around her fin- gers. Dalby said as much, a while ago.” “ Dalby says so many things that he is scarce | worth the minding. I believe John Nevin is a man of honor, and whatever influence this wicked woman may have upon him now, I don’t | think he will refuse to f with you.” Alice put up her hands deprecatingly. “Oh, Mabel! how can you talk so?” “Talk so! What do you mean?” “You don’t think I would have John Nevin’s hand, if his heart belonged tothat woman? You his engagement surely could not think'so meanly of me,” Mabel did not reply. She felt that she was wholly unfit for a counselor in such a desperate strait. But, after a moment’s silence, she re- . plied . . . “If I were you, I would tell Captain Houston | | trivial a matter, but itscared me terribly. You, ‘ man’s neck, and he bent over and kissed her, as down to breakfast. She had not yet finished | ing-room. effect of his conduct; perhaps that will bring matters to a crisis.” “No; I could never do that, either,” sighed Alice. ‘Better let events shape their own course; we must not do anything—can not do #29 pee! thing, but wait. oung as Mabel was, she felt she could not sit idly by, and see her dearest friend suffer. and whilé she loosened the silken braids of Alice’s hair, that re ge she thought out a plan, which only required daylight to put it into exe- Long after Alice had sobbed herself to eee Mabel lay wide awake, thinking out what she should say to Laura Ro in the morning. CHAPTER [{IX, A MEETING. , Lavra’s shriek rung through Rockledge, sharp, wild, piercing, and brought the servants ell-mell to the colonnade, closely followed by ton Robsart, he asked, ‘““What’s wrong?” ‘What's wrong here?” ‘« The young Missus has fainted,” replied Price, the steward. ‘‘Somethin’s scared her.” They carried her into the drawing-room, and bathed her temples and wrists with water. With the first gleam of returning conscious- ness she realized the situation, and with her ready wit and iron will, prepared to meet it bold Wi “What was it, Laura, darling? What fright- ened you?” She smiled up into the old man’s face, “CA nasty ugly bat flew right in my eyes. It was very weak and absurd to faint about so excitedly. ae know, Papa. Robsart, I’m such a baby.’ She wound her white arms about the old he would a petted child. That night Laura Robsart sat at her chamber _ Wie le ao Pir a Gee oe bert Rook’s wife to America, and wondered ae why she should be blamed for stealing Gilbert Rook’s heart. gestae It was late the next morning when she came he her meal, when a servant came to her: “Tf madam pleases, there’s a young lac the drawin’ room who wishes to see you when are at leisure.” i ee She got up at once. Her 1 od was not a craving one, and, after smoothing her hair, and shaking out the ample folds of her morning- wrapper, she tripped into the long, cool draw- Roos oa! { ; eee pc herself growing faintish and weak. Clutching ° <r St ss i ea" Rare”
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3 a ns he ae aes ~ * - ae the iceberg was beginning to _ that you have heard of his engagement to his to another.” wicked; more sinned against tha. s 12 DID HE LOVE HER? Ses : aR St AE | ing resemblance to each other; indeed, so much ‘so, that’ the owners of both were considerably abashed, Mabel was the first to recover. “You will excuse me, madam, for intruding on your privacy; but when you learn my mo- tive, I trust you will not consider my mission either unladylike or obtrusive.” Laura bowed. ‘Go on—speak freely.” » Mabel hung down her head. She did not know how to begin. Finally she managed to say: % You know John Nevin?” “Yes, very well.” » Laura was calm, now, as a summer sea; she had control of every nerve and muscle again. “He met you in Europe?” “Yes,” with a smile. ‘* And fell in love with you? Laura lifted her brows in affected surprise. “ Really, I could not say you are correct. The gentleman has not been so frank as you, miss.” “But it’s true; and you, madam—you must ‘know it.” “* Must I?” “Yes, you must!” Mabel was getting angry at this fencing and banter. ‘‘ Ife was here last evening, and the night before.” ©You seem to keep a strict watch on Mr. Nevitit comings and goings. Is he anything to | you?” ‘No; nothing in the world.” ‘“‘Then why are you so interested in where he spends his evenings?” ‘Because John Nevin is already engaged to his cousin Alice.” Laura bit her lip, and, after a pause, said: “Well, what have I got to do with all this? | I’m not John Nevin’s keeper.” “No; but you could make a good, pure girl ‘supremely happy, if you only will.” abel spoke pleadingly, and ue noticed that melt. ‘What would you have me do?” “Discard John Nevin,” replied Mabel, promptly. ‘Tell him, when he comes again, cousin; that you do not love him a bit, and that, | if he cannot be true to one woman he cannot be “ And why should I do this?” “Why should you do this? Because, if you Bx ont, between you and him, you'll break Alice yuston’s heart.” — @And suppose I do this for you—will you think well of me for it?” - “Tf you do this, you deserve to be thought well of, and I will ray for you as long as I live, night and morning.” Tears were gathering in-Laura’s eyes. as she added: “I will do this thing—this thing you ask of me. For your sake—mind, fo ee “God bless you!” exclaimed Mabel, catching Laura’s hand and kissing it. ‘‘ You are nota d woman—you are an angel.” uaura Robsart wound her arms tightly about Mabel, and replied, through blinding tears: “Think of me always as ol ese but not ” and slimy, and b cally. | As the sun went down that evening, Gilbert _ Rook was buried. . They parted fhen, but, ere Mabel left the room, Laura asked her her name: ‘Mabel Lynn,” was thereply. ‘‘ Not hard to remember.” 4 ‘ “No, not hard.” Laura bowed and smiled, and when the re- treating footfalls died away, she for a moment stood like a statue of whitest marble, beer ‘where they had parted, her great blue eyes f of a yearning, agonizing light. “ ““Oh, come back to me, Mabel Lynn,” she cried, at length, through ashen lips. ‘t Come back to me, vision of youth and beauty! Come ; back to me!” She fell upon her face on the carpet, and showered kisses on the spot where Mabel Lynn had stood but a moment since! CHAPTER X, ; DROWNED. Ar noon, on that same day, Gilbert Rook’s | body was washed ashore, about a quarter of a mile south of Rockledge. It was found, with the wreck of his boat, and, naturally enough, everybody supposed that there had been a cap- size, and this was the result—a liteiess body, with matted hair, leering eyes, and open mou The news spread like wildfire, far and near, ee finally reached the ears of Sarah Rook—his wife. She came down the shore, beating her hands together like cymbals, and shrieking: ‘I knew it would come to this! I knew it | would—I knew it would!” But when she had elbowed her ney through the dense throng, and caught sight of the ruin death had made, she turned black in the face, and, shaking her fist at Rockledge, cried: ‘OTwas all her doings—the painted, beautiful _ devil; ’twas all her doings!” Then she fell A ie the ugly heap—all wet, oated, and sobbed hysteri- Only a few curious people stood at the grave | heside Sarah Rook. The yellow clods rattled noisily upon the coflin-lid; the woman stared into the yawnin, ave; the: sun dropped lower and lower, an he spectators, awe-struck, stole silently, one by one, away. : When the sexton had finished his work, Sarah Roox turned away, too; with a dumb, tearless agony in her face, that made her look actually frightful. “Mrs. Rook. Say, Mrs. Rook!” She looked around, and met the gaze of a coarse, middle-aged man. “Well, what do you want!” He was unprepared for the query; it was so cold and blunt, if confused him. “‘'m sorry for your trouble,” he said, She scanned his face closely ; it was not a very syropathetic face. ‘“Well,” she said, ‘what good does that do?” . “T thought mebbe—” Toy She interrupted him— “Tt would bring him to life, eh? No, sorrow won't do that; it’s a very weakish thing, sorrow { a ¢ aT
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DID HE LOVE HER? 18 is; it will neither restoré life nor give revenge.” “But mine may,” he said, quickly, ‘““What? Restore life?” ‘No, give revenge.” She grasped him by the arm, never noticing that he was a rough, uncouth, unshaven man, whom she would have avoided once, as if his ugliness and roughness was contagious. “What do you know that will give me re- venge on her? Speak out! You have a tongue, have you not?” ” he said. ‘You act ate ne on that way like a bedlamite, and if Rig: mad, I don’t o with you.” want to have anything to “T’m as sane as you are; I hear every word Pia say; but my blood is on fire, and you tan- ize ype with Wire cool words and ambiguous re! expressi hy don’t you speak?” H distiands on her ions. © looked down at the fingers. “My information cost me a goad deal, and it?s worth something, I suppose; leastwiso, it ought to be.” » ei “You want money,” she said, divining the fellow’s meaning at once. ‘‘ How much?” ‘Oh, I don’t know; whatever you think is right. er lips curled at this shallow appeal to her generosity. “‘It is not a question of right,” she replied. ‘‘You know. something that can be used against this weman; I am willing to buy the secret. Do I understand the case?” “ Perfectly.” “Then, as I said before, what is your price?” “Well, one of them diamond rings to start on, and say five hundred dollars when she’s convicted.” Sarah Rook’s eyes fairly blazed as she asked, “Convicted of what?” “Murder!” he hoarsely whispered, She sped off the largest diamond and placed it in his hand. ee “Tt’s a bargain,” she said with her white lips. ‘6 When will 1 see you again?” * To-night.” ‘¢ Where?” «‘On the beach where he was found.” “ At what hour?” “ ; ht.’ It was Agreed upon, CHAPTER ‘XL. ILL TIDINGS. - Laura Ropsarr was sitting in the reception- room of Rockledge, when Clowes, the waiting- Woman, came to with a wild look, exclaim- | ing: % Oh, my lady! the dreadfulest thing has hap- Pened down at the beach.” ‘** Down at the ag ag t “Yes, my lady; the tall gentleman’s drowned washed ashore, my lady, stiff and stark.” . “What tall gentleman? Not Mr. Nevin, is it?” Laura was flushed and excited as she spoke. “No, not Mr. Nevin; he is a deal too sharp to _ 80 paddling god La pee ina leaky boat, and set u set in ul way.” please, Clowes, do tell me who it is e “Gilbert they have found?” | Th Englishman, my Jady—Me. Rook!” , | eling. Laura stared at the woman, as if she was determined to look her out of this fearful news, but poor Clowes only held her mouth wide open, and panted with the excitement of the oc- casion. “Give me water—a drink,” demanded the mistress, and mechanically the maid obeyed. _ The water ‘had a good effect, and Laura said, quite coolly: “This is very unpleasant news, Clowes; but please don’t trouble yourself with carrying such stories in the future—to me, at least, They are very disagreeable; they make me nervous. Where is your master?” ‘Tn the library, my lady.” “Thank you.’ She swept out of the room, along the hall and surprised Elton, who had tried to read, but had given up the task, and fell to dozing. “* Papa ‘Robsart!” He opened his eyes. ‘Sleeping, eh? Pardon me. I thought you were dies up.’ e ; She was turning away again, but hestretched out his hand, and caught her dress. “Don’t go,”, he said. and look at you than sleep.” “ Would you?” She bent over and kissed him. “You are et complimentary. I don’t know really what I’d do without you.” She was purring about like a cat—all soft, downy fur, and without claws. ‘Cleve must have been very happy with you, Laura. He was kind, I hope?” The woman’s gaze sought the floor. - “Very kind!” “You never quarreled, love?” She hesitated an instant; then she responded ~ with a little laugh: “Oh, how silly!” He was satisfied with the reply, and pressed the hand that lay in his so confiding] We ‘‘There-was something very hot-headed about Cleve,” he remarked, after a while, “that was hard to put up with at all times, but he could not fight with an angel. Poor boy!” lton Robsart heaved a deep sigh; and then | Laura, anxious to change the conversation, said abruptly: ; “ec are we going back to Maryland?” ““When you please!” a a “Then let us go back to-morrow.morning, better still, we can go to-night, on the ter train.” ; “But thdt’s so sudden, and running awe the night, too!” ; “Tt will give us an opportunity to sleop the miles away,” she urged. ‘I prefer night-trav- Sitting all day in a car is so stupid.” He looked up, surprised. “You seem to be in a great hurry, Laura. | Has John Nevin been less devout, or— “‘T wish to geb away from him,” she inter- rupted. ‘‘You said you didn’t like him, and didn’t want him to come here any more, Now, the only way to get rid of persistently-polite people, is to run away from them.” : “Do you think so?’ He was pleased with her more than ever. : 4 “JT would rather talk m sick and tired of a papa. When
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14 a a " Pa. | “Ves, I think so, because it saves talk, and worry, and explanation. I hate explanations!” She said this with force, and none within - hearitig could question that she meant it. on riage sinking slowly into the waters of the ay Aen “You are right, Laura,” he answered; ‘‘ and matters shall be arranged just as you wish. We wil leave to-night, at ten, if possible; if we can’) be ready in time, we'll get off at five in the morning, sure.” At ten o’clock on that same evening, Laura and Elton Robsart departed from Rockledge, in a close carriage. The old gentleman was drowsy, and leaned back on the soft cushions as the vehicle whirled along, past rows of cottages, and knots of strollers; past laughing ladies, and gay gallants, But Laura leaned out of tho open window, and listened eagerly for every sound, The carriage had to pause in front of the Ocean House, to allow a cluster of vehicles to discharge their burdens, and then Lavira leaned | back into the shadows, out of reach of the searching light. George Dalby and Mabel were walking on the veranda of the hotel, talking about the sensa- DID HE LOVE HER? tion of the hour—Gilbert Rook’s death—and the | former said, all unconscious of Laura’s near proximity: : ; “Most people condemn her, notwithstanding the prevalent belief that she gave him no en- couragement. It’s the way of the world, though; first the murdered man receives all the sympa- | thy, and the populace demand blood on the old | Jewish plea, which gives an eye for an eye, and | _a tooth for a tooth; but, when the accused comes | before the tribunal for trial—presto change! the tide turns in favor of the murderer; every ex- tenuating circumstance is made the most of, and, if a court and jury withstand the current, ‘and erect a scaffold, the culprit goes off the © before a weeping auditory.” “But, I don’t think she ever gave him an encouragement,” said Mabel, warmly; “I thi she 1s too good, too tender, to wound any per son’s feelings knowingly.” ; The driver’ cracked his whip, and the car- rolled away out of sound of the voices, Laura Robsart thanked God that Mabel Lynn—above all other persons in the world —thought well of her. CHAPTER XII. BENT ON VENGEANCE. THE moon, a was yh a fost old vas hiding itself in misty, hazy wrea an was hiding misty, hazy Sree lantic, as Sarah Reok, her form Sie Fh in a heavy black cloak, the cowl of which was drawn ey over her head, stole out of a beautiful cottage to the west of the Ocean House, and hurried along the beach. Before leaving her apartment, she had consult- ed her tiny jeweled time-piece, and found sho had but a quarter of an hour to reach the place *‘ How do you fix the date so of. assi cm and now she feared that she was eying him closely. would too late, and that the strangeman/ ‘How do I fix it—eh? would not care for waiting, and would go off nearer handiug in my chips with the precious secret and her diamonds. “He will surely wait,” she muttered, as sho | — ee ae +. a iil I cruel, after filling me with such hope... No, no; he will wait.” On, on, she flew; now sinking ankle deep in the sand, now stumbling along on the loose shingle; now falling heavily among the jagged rocks; now staggering to her feet again, and hurrying forward. Presently she came in sight of the place of meeting. Her heart sunk within her, There was no rough man, nor, for that matter, no man of any sort, in view. She slackened her pace and rubbed her hands on her dress, ' ‘Perhaps he is a little late as well as myself,” she muttered. ‘‘If I could not be punctual, who have so much at stake, why should he be?” She was standing now on the very spot vere twelve hours before, Gilbert k lay ead. “This is the stone that they put under his head,” she said, kicking a small, round pebble with her gaiter; ‘‘and there is the mark of his head yet in the sand.” She smiled; but it was not a smile of joy, it was asmile that made her dark face look hide- ous in the sickly moonlight. It would havo been less appalling, less terrible, to have heard her shriek out the bitterness and gall that were in her heart. There was a crackle as of crunching sand, and the rough man stood. beside her. She started when she saw him; he had come so suddenly upon her. ‘‘T thought you would never come,” she said. “Tm tired waiting on you.” ‘“‘T have been here this half-hour,” he replied, “sitting behind the rocks there. I’m soaked with dew.” ‘‘ Never mind the dew and the cold; this will be a good night’s work for you. But, your name, man. hat’s your name?” * Well, different names.” ‘What do you mean by’ different names?” “T mean that I am sometimes called one thing, and sometimes another. In Texas they called me Sam Blaize, and in California they called me Texas.” * But, your real name?” “Ts Blaize. Samuel B. Blaize.” “Very well, Mr. Blaize. You know this woman—Laura Robsart?” ‘“ Well, yes; I reckon I know her pretty well; that is, I did know her in California.” ‘¢ How many years ago!” The man took off his hat and scratched his head meditatively. “Can’t you remember?” “Hold up a little; just keep cool,” he said, pans ae bis hand as if to ward off interrup- ion, “‘My memory’s got a little rusty of late. Let me see, I was at Red Gulch in 55, and that was three years before. Ah! I remember now, | the last time I seen her was on the night of the | 18th of November, 1852.” precisely?” She a Mighty easy. I came that day, than ever — I did before or since. f ; She had never heard the phrase, “ handing in hurried along, panting and almost breathless; my chips,” but sho understood him, never (ihe - “he will not, disappoint me—he could not be so Jegs, eh a,
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q 4 and peepe “Well, well—go on. What did you see?” DID HE LOVE HER? ~ -® You came near dying—eh?” “Mighty near it. The vigilantes were going to try me at daylight, and a hanging mostly followed fast on the heels of one of their short trials, I can tell you. But my time hadn’t come yet, 4 suppose, and Fate in the shape of an In- dian squaw, cut me loose from the tree where they had tied me, and I took to the mountains for my life.” : e But Laura?’ she interrupted; ‘* what about er? ‘“‘T was coming to her,” he said. Then he paused. “There'll be no trouble about the five hun- dred?” he questioned, : ‘* You shall have double the sum—go on.” | She was all eagerness. ‘Well, as I was making my way over Klam- ath mountain—you see, this was in Syskyou county—and keeping Ovo Fino well to my left, I heard a woman scream.” ‘A woman scream!” : ‘Then I saw that there was a ranch kind of nestling against the rough mountain side, and that the yell had come from there.” ““T see—well?” “‘T was curious, and, forgetting that | was poe) al myself from danger and death, I sneaked up to the only window the ranch had, | in.” “T seen that woman that’s called Laura Rob- sart, and that was not the first time I seen her’ either; but, it was the last time until I chanced to meet her here, a day or two ago.” “But, what made her scream?—what was she doing? Oh, man, you’re driving me frantic with this rambling rigmarole. Why don’t you come to the matter at once? What did you see?” There were two men coming along the beach, walking arm in arm, and wuging a duo from “Martha.” | He glanced at them only; then he stooped over and whispered something in Sarah Rook’s ear. She clutched bis arm. “You can prove this?” “T saw it with my own eyes.” “ And you will—you will, swear to it, for money?” “But I don’t know about going back to the Pacific. They might ask me to settle my old ac- count, you see.” “You needn’t be afraid of that,” she said. “Seventeen years brings about a good many prange: the witnesses in your case are possi- bl dead, or have forgotten the deed. Here, | take this,” She gave him another diamond, which flashed in his eyes, and drove the fear from his heart. “Tl swear to what I saw with my own eyes,” he said, determinedly. —— for— i CHAPTER XIII. *, ‘ DESERTED. JouNn NEvty was shocked when he came over to Rockledge the next morning, and found no one but Price there, The latter had been left be- hind: to close the house and see that every thing was properly secured. a er 15 He pushed by path to the house. When he had reached the colonnade he heard Price shouting: “There’s no one at home—all gone to Mary- land,” I tell you.” John Nevin paused. The truth burst upon him now. = John Nevin felt very lonely. He would have the man and walked up the given a great deal to have heard that ge ; step and rippling laugh echo in his ears at moment; But, no; that was impossible; and so he beat the vine-leaves with his cane, and fell to wondering why Laura had gone off so suddenly, poe even so much as leaving him a parting word, He sighed; cast a lingering, yearning look about him; thought of the few pleasant hours he had spent there with her, and walked slowly down..the avenue, by the bowed form of the old servant, and out onto the open beach. Roaming aimlessly up and down the shore, with no companion but his thoughts, and all the time brooding over his disappointment, made John Nevin look sadder, graver than ever. “Hello, John! what’s up? You look like the ' front entrance to an undertaker’s shop.” It was Dalby, as gay, dashing, laughing as ever. John was in no mood now to entertain one so lively; and desirous of getting rid of the artist, he said, simply: ‘ sc Do 1?” " Yes, indeed, you do. you didn’t. But, the cause—my soul, the cause of all this?” Nevin smiled, but said nothing. : “There must be a cause,” added Dalby, ‘ or there would not, in fact, could not, be an effect. uals that’s cogent reasoning, ain’t it?’ with a augh. “ce Ve ; Rd : te Well, now, I propose to trace the effect to | its source, and, if possible, lift this hideous lum- bago from your back. May I?” adh “Tf you have nothing else to do,” replied John. ‘But I’d advise you to seek more ie itable employment. I’m a very dull fellow, at as you will discover on investigation.” ~ e was beginning to like George Dalby, de- spite himself. ; *¢ Assertions are worth nothing, when unsup- orted, and especially when arrayed against acts,” said the artist, in reply. are dull; the facts prove you are sharp. | never talk at random, as I do; never tread tender people’s corns; never make an effort to please the nd Sex} Sere yet, a uit va all this, you are quietly sm g hearts as ey were empty champagne bottles, and making: drionds in every quarter.” fee Nevin put up his hand: ‘A truce—I beg a truce, ou talk nonsense so fast that I can’t keep up with you.” ‘““You deny the charges, then?” “In toto—from Alpha to Omega.” “The charge of heart-breaking as well?” ‘“That, more than any.” ; Dalby drew a long breath and heaved a mock sigh. ‘It’s very strange.” ‘What is strange?” wef I wouldn’t say so if — oe 3 “ % | ai 4 ay’ . Fee, es are? * E: “You say you — ou « De
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him; he thought it very maidenly—very woman- 16 a = DID HE LOVE HER? : ‘That a man can, without his knowledge, fall | in love with one woman, and have two crazy ? * after him.’ John Nevin started. Dalby was treading on unpleasant—ay, even dangerous ground, but the latter’s curiosity compelled him to ask: ‘““Who are these two women? and who amI ‘ * s Qn” oo to be in love with? ll,” said Dalby, ‘‘ just to freshen your memory, I will mention names, though I didn’t think if was necessary. The woman whom you love is Laura Robsart, sometimes called the beautiful widow, and the women who love you | are this self-same beauty, and your charming sin, Miss Alice Houston.” eek do you know this—that Alice cares for me ‘‘ Ah! I see you confess to the first count m the indictment. That is very frank, indeed, and I shall be equally frank with you. The truth is, I guessed a part, and Miss Lynn—Mabel, un- wittingly dropped a hint. This guess and hint I added together, and by a simple yet ingenious trick, known only to myself, and for which I claim the sole credit of invention, I arrived at the result—or fact, whichever you like to call it. . John Nevin smiled, a dry, peculiar smile, and after a pause, added: ‘And so, Mabel Lynn Alice loved me, eh?” = ; “Well, no; not exactly that. Shesaid some- thing about an old engagement between you and Alice, and that she knew Alice liked you better than she did any one else. But see—- there goes old Col. Rowley, and his niece, Miss Pollock. Let’s join them. Tl introduce you; nice le; live out West.” No, Dhaak you,” replied John; ‘‘some other e ” } told you that cousin “ All right—sorry—good-by.” , He was gone, and John Nevin thanked his stars to be rid of him. * “The rattle-brained fellow is clever, after all,” he said to himself, as he saw him offer his arm to the stylish Miss Pollock, and saunter “Takes the world as he finds it; that’s in it, and mana- gayly” away. ollars, to be excessively oves art. for the mone es, on a few hundred ” Phen John .Nevin fell to thinking of that old engagement to Alice, and to wondering if she really cared for him, or desired to have that ancient promise fulfilled. “When he reached the Ocean House he met Alice and Mabel. They were waiting for the phaeton to go out for a drive. | ‘Will you come with us, John?’ asked Mabel. Alice looked up at the sky. That modest blush, and shy manner, pleased | ly, and replied, promptly:’ “Tl be very appy to go.” ‘Mabel sat up with the | Alice crowded into the back seat. He was very | attentive, and she was, of course, very happy. © : Pre : | ae | bent on the floor. that id not te but colored a little, and | P | | let old Elton Robsart know her secret. This ‘will keep her at Robsart Place until we want driver, and John and her.” . ble while CHAPTER XIV. ON THE TRAIL. Tam steamer Daisy, from Baltimore, bound for Norfolk, was sweeping down the Chesa- peake, leaving a foamy path behind her, and staining the beautiful July sky with curling smoke. ‘ In-the cabin of the Daisy sat Sarah Rook and Sam Blaize. The woman’s face wore a deter- mined look, and the man appeared considerably annoyed. ‘Now, what’s the use of this?” he broke out, She did not answer him, and so he answered ~ | himself: ‘‘No use at all—not a bit!” he contin- ued, looking at Sarah Rook, whose eyes were “Tf there was any thing to be gained by it, I wouldn’t care.” ‘“There is something to be gained,” she re- plied—“ a great deal to be gained.” “Td like to know what it is?’ he demanded. ‘“‘There’s no use in telling you; you couldn’t understand itifI did. It takes a woman to un- derstand a woman, and you—why you are not even a sharp man.” Blaize felt this depreciation, and it caused him to flare up a little. ‘‘ Well, if I ain’t sharp, ‘then I’m no use to you, and we'd better quit at once, and for good.” Her face expressed her contempt for the ; speech and the speaker. ‘You are a bigger fool than I took you for, Sam Blaize. ‘Suppose, now, you go from me, where will you make as much money, and as easily?” “ But what's the use in losing time this way?” He was more humble now. “We are not losing time, I tell you. When that old attorney Holland said that we would have to go to California, and have a warrant issued there before we could have her arrested. the idea of delay made me almost sick; for it was granting her six or nine months of respite, of pleasure, and I was so eager to precipitate the avalanche, to let the sree fall at once.” “‘But there was no help for it,” interrupted Blaize. ‘‘That’s the law, and we can’t change it, nohow we try.” “But, there is a way of making her misera- we're abroad, and my woman’s wit discovered it at once.” ‘What way is that?” “‘ By telling her that I know of her crime, and intend to haunt her into her grave.” Sarah Rook’s eyes seed as she spoke, with a fierce light, and she clenched her hands tightly. But for fear of the law she would bury them in Laura Robsart’s round, white throat. ‘But what if she should run away?” queried am, ‘* She won’t do that. Where would she run to? Besides, she would as soon die herself as to ‘““Yes, Isuppose you areright,” replied Blaize. She arose, went to the cabin window, and ooked out on the bay; while Blaize strode leisurely into the gentlemen’s cabin, picked up a copy of the Baltimore Sun, and was soon deeply absorbed in the details of a wrestling
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% DID HE LOVE HER? ! match which had taken place the day before at Old Point Comfort. The Daisy reached Sydneytown at six o’clock mstead of five, and the sun was setting when Mrs. Rook and Sam Blaize turned their backs on the port, and walked a8 the only street the town could boast of, although now, when I come to think of it, it’s badly possible that such a forlorn old town as this ever boasted of any thing. ‘“Tt’s a rum old hole,” remarked Blaize, as he gazed up at the frame church, the open steeple of which disclosed a rusty bell. ‘‘ Seems to me if I wanted the world to forget I was alive I’d come to Sydneytown.” ‘Yes, it’s a very ancient-looking settlement,” answered Mrs. Rook. ‘‘ But, where is the hotel?” ‘*Can’t say for that. Better go ahead till we find one.” They came to it at last. It was called the Calvert House, and had a great swinging sign before the door representing the founder of Maryland, in a cocked hat, trimmed with a poor imitation of real lace, a profusion of powdered hair, and a rather damaged-looking crimson coat. The building was a two-storied affair, with a long porch in front and a battalion of dormer windows on'the mossy roof. There were ‘two doors; one wide, the other narrow. The former led into the bar-room; the latter, through courtesy, was called the ‘‘ Ladies’ Entrance,” and opened intoa dim, plainly-furnished sitting- room. , Calvert Pittock, the proprietor of this estab- lishment, was a little round man, with a Fal- staffian physique and a bald head. He was a pleasant person; always had asmile for a cus- tomer, and was shrewd enough to charge just ‘as much as his guests would pay, without grumbling. He was all in a flutter of delight when he ush- ered the travelers into the parlor and ordered the black servant to prepare a room for the | y: , ‘‘ How long do you intend stopping at Syd- neytown?” he asked, ‘As to that I could not say yet,” answered Sarah Rook. ‘‘ Probably a day or two.” “Ah! yes; not ona long visit, then; merely a flying trip from—” He paused and looked inquiringly at Blaize. “From Baltimore,” added Mrs. Rook: ‘‘Just so! just so! From Baltimore, eh? Beautiful citys delightful trip down the bay.” He was straightening the table-cloth, and dusting the stiff-backed wooden chairs, as he made these remarks, ““Do you know where Robsart Place is?” questioned Mrs. Rook, after a moment’s silence. “Qh, bless your soul and body, yes; of course Ido. I have lived here in Sydneytown these eee ewenty years. Come down from An- napolis here. Used to live in Washington ; saw ackson inaugurated. Yes, ma’m; I’ve seen a 00d deal of the ups and downs of this world.” Mrs. Rook smiled at the boastful words, “I presume you have; but how far is it from here fo Enid ge de stop ust at the floor a mupaté while he drew a very ot the chairs, looked down , ursed up his lips, and | lid over a very watery | 1? blue eye, replied: ‘‘ Well, let me see. Go in a hack?” “ce No.” **On horseback?” “No; Dll walk.” ‘*Ah! afoot—eh? Then your best way is through the woods. There’s a path from my back door leads directly there. The roadway is almost a half-mile fair measurement, but the path cuts it down to a quarter and a fraction.” ou.” ‘“*Youw’re perfectly welcome,” answered Cal- vert Pittock. ‘‘I always tries to oblige my cus- — tomers; it makes things pleasanter all round.” He smiled blandly, bowed, and left the room: ‘‘ When are you going over?” asked Blaize. “ After dark,” was the reply. CHAPTER XV. FACE TO FACE. — On-that same evening on which Sarah Rook came to Sydneytown, there was a sort of fete at Robsart Place. A half-dozen planters, with their wives and daughters; were there in re- sponse to an invitation from old Elton, who de- sired to compensate his pet Laura for the loss | of Newport's pleasures by a little home gayety. ‘Doctor Foster, who has just returned from a trip to South America, will be here with his sister, Mrs. Judge Placide,” said Elton, as Laura whisked into the room in a cloud of snowy swiss, ‘“‘and as he is said to be a lover of music, on my little girl to do her best to charm im Laura laughed. ‘Perhaps he is as critical as ardent; and remember, your opinion to | contrary notwithstanding, I’m not a burnin pare a by any means.” % “But you must sing for him.” ‘““Why must I?” “T want you to please him.” “Tndeed!” She raised her pretty arched eye- brows. ‘And why should I, pray? You don’t want to make a match, do you?” “No, no; I want him to praiseyou. Itdoes -_ me good to hear people praise you—to know they feel the power of your beauty and accom- plishments, and—” : “But that is very dangerous work, papa Rob- sart,” she interrupted. ‘“‘ It’s playing with fire, ou know, and what if I should fall a victim 2 Doctor Foster’s powers at the same time he falls a captive to mine? Would not that be a dilemma, now?” Yes; he confessed it would, but he thought there was no danger. ‘‘You’re a woman of good sense, Laura, and of course you don’t need a husband—and—” ; She put her arms around his neck, and kissed him playfully. ‘Certainly Idon’t.” , Then she went to the piano and played a sweet, doleful melody, the last notes of which were dying away as the carriage, containing the first of her guests, bowled up the avenue. “That’s the Perrys, exclaimed the old man, rising and giving his cravat a twist. “I know . by the a they came at. They alwaysdrive — at a gallop.” ed “It was the Perrys; two daughters and ason, . with a colored servant on horseback, !
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_ no for an answer. - further. , ‘Yes, milady.” 18 DID HE LOVE HER Laura kissed the girls, and bowed to the young man as she welcomed them in the receiving- room. By this time guest after guest began to ar- rive, and finally the Placides’ carriage, with young Doctor Foster in it, came whirling along. The Pe girls, who had met the youthful disciple of Esculapius before, buzzed and flut tered about him like moths in the lamp-light while Laura, after being introduced, turne away to entertain his sister, Mrs. Judge Pla- cid however, and the fete was scarce an hour old ere he managed to free himself from the witch ery of the Perry girls, and seek out Laura. The old folks were playing whist and back- gammon in the reception-room, while the young ee were waltzing in the brilliant salon. here was no Aoreaaey anywhere; everybody had come to enjoy themselves, and judging from the animation of the scene, they were do- ing so. ‘ hen Doctor Foster came across Laura, she was leaning over Elton Robsart’s chair, looking into his handful of cards. “Interested in the game?” he asked, **Not particularly. “Have you any objections to a stroll?” None; where shall we go?” “Into the garden.” “Very well.” She placed her little dimpled hand on his arm, ever so lightly, and they turned away from the | _ players. “If milady pleases,” said Rebecca, the En- lish maid, plucking Laura’s skirt, ‘“there’s a ady wishes tosee you on some business in the garden,” “Business!” exclaimed Laura. “Yes, milady; private business, she says.” “Then tell her to come to-morrow; I’m en- gaged now.” “T told her so myself, but she wouldn’t take No, milady; pardon me; but she says it’s better for yourself that you see her to-night.” Laura was frightened at these words, but controlled herself admirably, and said, turning to Doctor Foster: “You will have to excuse me, doctor, until I see what this person wants.” * Alms, I presume,” he said, a little nettled at the interruption. “Very likely,” was the reply; and then laughing lightly, Laura Robsart tripped down be short flight of stairs, and out into the gar- en. ““ Where is this person, Rebecca?” she said, in ' - acalm, earnest voice. “* At the foot of the red oak, ae ; ‘**Then, Rebecca, you needn’t trouble yourself Tl go alone.” The servant walked back to the house, and Laura hurried along down the shell-paved walk, 6, : The eyes of the young physician followed her, | ’ Deep as this was, however, and dark as was the night, she managed to desery the figure of a woman leaning carelessly against the trunk of the tree. , ‘‘What can this person want with me?” she muttered; ‘‘and then to send me such a peremp- tory message; to order me here as if I was her menial!” By this time she had reached the place of ge and the dark figure advanced toward er. Laura <a back anickly: “What do you want?” she demanded. ‘Who are you?” The woman threw up her vail that had, up to this time, concealed her features, and revealed . the face of Sarah Rook! Laura started, but she did not scream nor cry out, but said: : ‘“What do you want? and why have you dared to come here?” ‘“You should know that, by this time,” an- swered the English woman. ‘I have been wronged by you, Laura Robsart, and. did you think for a moment that I would fold my hands ' quietly, and let you off, while you owed me re- venge for that wrong? If you did, you are a preg deal more innocent than I took you to have no time to waste here, Mrs. Rook; no time to listen to what is to me a very old and tedious story; and I want you to understand this, that if you don’t leave me alone, cease to intrude upon me in this way, TU have you arrested. Yes, madam, arrested.” “ou will—eh?” “Yes, I will!’ Laura had gathered up her skirts, and was about to hurry off. ° “Hold a bit!” Sarah Rook. laid her hand heavily upon Laura’sarm. “Since you talk about arrests I may as well tell you what you may expect in that line yourself.’ “ Me?” : “Yes, you, my pretty devil,” answered Mrs. Rook. ‘Ah, you tremble now; the guilty aro always in terror of the law; but, before I’m done with you, trembling will be a thing of the past so far as you are concerned.” Laura was sick with fright now, and while her breath came in hard gasps, her checks blanched with dread. “Speak, tell me what—what do you mean?” “T mean what I say.” “But you talk in riddles. I -don’t compre- | hend. JI—’ “ That’s a pity—you don’t understand. You who are usually so keen andsharp. Well, what if I were to say that I was once in Syskyou county, California, on a certain November night, inthe Klamath mountain; that I heard | ascream in a cabin, and saw a murder com- mitted—” ‘‘Hush, woman!” exclaimed Laura, leaping forward and placing her hand over the speaker’s until she came in sight of the red oak, which | stood in a little clearing apart from the rest of the trees, and was so huge and leafy that, under “9 wide-spread branches, there was a perpetual . gloom. mouth. ‘Don’t speak another word, or PU—” ‘‘Murder mein cold blood, as you did your husband!” rejoined the other. ‘““That’s a lie! I did not do it in cold blood. If you were there, you know I did not. I loved him too dearly for that—idolized him; yes, he was my idol.” i Laura tossed her golden curls impatiently. “Tf —— =
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~ piD HE LOVE HER: 19 _ “And yet you destroyed him.” This with irony. : “You needn’t sneer. You never loved Gil- . you needn’t fear that he is going there on pur- bert Rock half so passionately, half so madly, — as I did Cleve Robsart—as Ido yet. ’Tis true I killed him, but ho was mad with drink, and I only struck at him in self-defense. I did not expect to do what I did. I would have died sooner than have done what I did.” She was almost frantic as she spoke, and pale as death. Sarah Rook was a trifle cowed, but she re- ed: “Well, well, it don’t matter what your in- tentions were; it is enough for you to know mine. To-night I leave for California.” “You do?” *“Yes, I do; and I go there for the purpose of having a warrant issued for your arrest. You needn in that sep ae ie will immediately a’ prehended, and t YAP. t try to escape, for if Ae make one step | old man, whom you have , imposed on aii these years, will then learn what | a viper he has nurtured in his bosom.” Laura fell upon her knees, there among the wet leaves and grass, and, raising her hands im- ploringly, exclaimed; ~ ‘*Oh, for God’s sake! woman, have mercy— have mercy! I never injured you inbentianalty, and now | beg of you, for God’s sake, to have pity om me—have pity on me!” » Sarah Rook shook off the hand that grasped her dress, and answered: “T leave you now to gloat over your brilliant ee head to enjoy pleasant dreams; to smile and blush and deceive, as is your wont. Good- by, Laura Robsart; when we meet again, it will be in the crowded court-room. -by.” She rushed off, and Laura fell forwar the trees, CHAPTER XVI. DID HE LOVE HER? | It was the last night of the Houstons at New- pert. In the morning at eight o’clock they in- nded to start for Oak Manor, and John Nevin Was to accompany them as far as New York. Mabel had grown tired of the dissipation, and | Alice, who stood by her side on the beach on this last evening, was half glad, half sorry, that | = ike oa ‘ised Mabel to visit her during the coming win- _ ter. | Nevin “You must not waste your time here, in this the season was over. If she had suffered dur- ing the first few days, from the knowledge that John Nevin was enamored of Laura Robksart his devotion since the departure of the beautiful Widow more than made amends for the suffer- = a those days; and now, had John been 5 g to Oak Manor in the morning, instead of New York, she would have hailed the coming day with a gladsome heart. But, as it was, those two weeks of absence marred her pleasure Hot a little. 5 bi “I do wonder what is taking John te New York,” she said. “T don’t know,” Mabel answered. ‘Never told me, I’m sure.” ork?” ““Of course she does!” replied Mabel, “ but My ‘on her | face with a moan that echoed dismally among | se to meet her.” ; “ Why not?” ‘‘ Because, John would be manly enough to tell you if be Was; there is nothing of the sneak about John Nevin, and I know his passion for Laura Robsart is fading away every day.” ‘Did he tell you so?” eagerly. ‘No; men are not so communicative as girls about such matters, but I can see it in his devo- tion to you. Besides, I don’t think Laura gives him the slightest encouragement. I think she discovered, ere she went away, the relationship existing between you and him, and, bad as she is, heartless as she is represented, I don’t think she would encourage his attentions after that.” The young ladies were interrupted at this juncture by the arrival of George Dalby, who proposed a sail. . : “This is your last night with us;” he urged, “and,-as we OR hes meet again, why not have a parting sail.” . They consented. ‘‘But, where is ¥ohn? Let’s have John with us,” said Mabel. ‘T left him writing letters,” answered Dalby. “He Sao to be through by this time, though.” “T will run and see,” said Mabel, and she apes off. she found John Nevin in the reception-room, his hands crossed idly, and his gaze fixed upon in the drapery of the window, before which a ce of blue sky, which showed through a a e sat, “Well, John, we’re going for a sail with George Dalby,” said Mabel. ‘ Will you come?” “Certainly, Mabel; I’m much obliged for the | invitation.” He leaped to his feet, and a letter fluttered to the floor. He stooped down, and picked it up hastily, but not before Mabel’s quick eye caught the superscription; it was addressed to Laura Robsart, Sydneytown, Maryland. Mabel did not speak, but she felt very bitter toward John Nevin for the remainder of the evening. Early on the following morning the trunks were packed, and, after an hour or so of bustle BEET Newport was left far to the east- | ., Alice was silent a moment, then she spoke: | me wonder if Mrs. Robsart ever goes to New | wi George Dalby accompanied our friends to the depot, and, ere the train rattled off, he prom- When they reached New York, John with them. big ugly city,” cried Captain Houston, ‘‘ We'll look for you in a fortnight, remember.” “Tn a fortnight,” he replied, waving his hand gayly from the window of the Astor House coach. Alice watched the vehicle until it was lost in the throngs; then she’ closed her eyes and wish- ed these two weeks were ae and gone, One week after, John Nevin approached the “He clerk’s desk at the Astor. ‘Any letters?” he asked. “The name, please?” “‘Nevin—John Nevin.” “Yes, sir. Here you are—two.” One was a large, yellow-enveloped affair; the
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ad gation eae ST VT) ORS oe Oe ee AP ee - 4 20 DID HE LOVE HER? as Sa ee ee ee other a white, square missive, scented with rose- leaves! The handwriting was not familar but the ost-mark was Sydneytown, Maryland, and aura Robsart’s monogram was on tho envel- ope. We would not trust himself to read it there; its contents were too sacred—too precious, to be. unvailed among the matter-of-fact crowd. And so he placed it in his breast-pocket and went up stairs to his room. John Nevin was not what most persons would call a sentimental man; indeed, he enjoyed the reputation of being of an exceedingly practical turn; yet, when he found himself entirely alone, hatodk out her letter and kissed it. Then he sat down. took out his penknife, and opened the envelope without spoiling the mono- Sara The aroma from the leaves, the straight egibility of the lines, struck him as being de- cidedly characteristic, ‘*Liker herself,” he muttered, ‘‘all neatness and sweetness.” Now he began toread. His cheek blanched at the first words, and he could scarce believe the evidence of his senses. The letter ran*as follows: ‘*RoBsaRT PLACE, July 26,18—. “Mr. Joon NEVIN: **Srr—Your kind favor of the 23d has just come to hand, and while I acknowledge that its contents flattered me, I must assure you that it has aston- ished and grieved me a,great deal—more than I can write now. Believe me when I say that you were regarded by me as afriend—nothing more, I never loved but one man—Cleve Robsart—and since his death I have never for a moment thought of marry- | ingagain. From what has passed between us, itis better for both parties that we never meet again, and I trust you will avoid mein the future. Thank- . ing you sincerely for your past friendship, believe me, Yours, “Laura Ropsart.” He crushed the unoffending paper in his hand as he read the last sentence, and then let the cold words flutter down on the carpet. -. “T could never have believed it of her,” he cried. ‘‘Cold, unfeeling, treacherous. All these fine phrases of astonishment and regret are but the shallow coating to her deception. Avoid you, Laura Robsart! Yes, I trust fate will never suffer us to meet again. These lies, these words, have broken the spell, and I will not. permit myself to suffer much.” He threw himself back upon the bed, and his moans belied his words. He was suffering, and keenly too; suffering from disappointment, from | regret, from pique. : : The next day be spent in wandering aimlessly about the city, and when night came it found | him with a burning fever, caused, the physician informed him, by mental excitement. “You have heard some bad news, or have) been studying too much, and the chances are that you are going to have a very bad spell Have you any friends.iin New York?’ “No, sir; but I have some a short distance up the Hudson.” hs 4c You had better go to them, directly,” re plied the doctor. ‘‘ Country air and good nurs ing are necessary.” But John shook his head; he could not think of entailing so much trouble upon those who had tried so much to make him happy, On the third day, however, he changed his¢ | mind. It was so hot, so sultry, so close in tha city, and the hired nurse was so careless and unsympathetic, “Yes, Pll go to the Maner,” he said, in reply to the old doctor’s query. “ Telegraph Captain Houston of my condition and desire.’ That same evening he was helped into a car- riage to the boat. CHAPTER XVII. PREPARING FOR JOHN, WHEN the telegram announcing the illness of John Nevin reached Oak Manor, it threw the family into an excitement which they had not experienced for many a day. Alice helped her father to get ready to go to ' the city, while the servants prepared a room for the reception of the invalid, and Mabel sought | for bouquets of fresh flowers in the garden. sick room she thought ought never to be without flowers. ‘“‘Tt?s so gloomy,” she said, to Mrs, Houston | “and flowers are so bright; it is so stale, and flowers are so fresh; it has the smell of drugs, | and bouquets are so delightfully aromiatic.” When Alice paid her first visit to the scene of preparations, she found the soft muslin curtains drawn aside, flowers wreathed about the statue of Psyche on the mantel, and a bouquet on the | little marble table at the head of the bed. “ “ Ain’t it nice, and cool and inviting?’ asked aa ‘I’m sure he can’t help but get well ere. Yes, Alice thom it very nice indeed; but the curtains needed just the slightest attention; they hung too limp, and were not quite ful enough; Psyche ought to present a profile in: stead of a full front, and the moss basket which hung in the open window was too dry and ought to be sprinkled. All this she remedied with her own hands, while Mabel smiled quietly, knowing all the time the necessity for this labor laid in the fact ' that Alice could not be happy, were other hands Sm her own to provide for the comfort of John evin. When every thing had been arranged, Alice took a long survey of the apartment, and then it was locked up and the two girls went down- stairs. Mabel nad received a letter from Joe Dormer that morning, and now she went off to the library to answer it, while Alice strolled into the garden to think and dream of John’s coming. Presently she grew tired of the landscape, and began to wonder if every thing in John’s room was just as she had left it. The more she won- dered the more anxious she became, and finally she determined to satisfy herself. There was no person in the hall or on the stairs as she groped her way back, in the uncertain twilight and blushing red, stepped into the vacant chamber. | The delicate fragrance of the flowers Mabel had brought met her on the threshold, and the snewy curtains that drifted away from the windows and lay in folds upon the floor, were just as beautiful and neat as she could have wished them, Still, her fastidious taste, or her desire to be employed, I am not sure which, 7
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———— © aaa] ee Pate oak, | ee DID HE LOVE HER? 21 whispered to her the propriety of looping up the curtains a trifle more, and of rearranging the pillows on the bedin the corner. This she did on tip-toe, gliding like a spirit of order and sympathy every- where. : - When all had been done, when there was not the slightest excuse for her remaining longer, she paused and looked regretfully about her. All at once a sudden desire to press her head on that pillow where his was to lay, took Foe apewin of her, and im- pares as indeed she did everything, she fell upon er knees by the bedside, burying her face in the down and ruffles, and crying out: “Oh, John, John Nevin, you can never know —never guess, how much—how dearly—I love you.”’ There was a tramping of heavy feet—a staggering, shuffling, heavy tread in the hall below, and Alice leaped to her feet and rushed out on the landing at the head of the wide stairs. ‘Who is that—ts that John?” No one answered, but she saw her father lean- ing over a form that two of the hired-men were car- rying, and then she caught sight of a pale face and drifts of black hair, which she knew too well. Her first impulse was to rush down and kiss the sick man, but, on second thought, she grew scarlet at the bare idea of doing anything so unmaidenly, and so contented herself with crowding back into . corner to permit the men to pass with their bur- en, Then she heard her father say that the journey had made him much worse. She could not go into John’s room now; not while all those people were there, and stealing down-stairs unnoticed, she went off to the bluff overlooking the river. There she sat down and cried; cried because John was worse; cried because society hedged in women so, and prevented her from telling him how much she loved him, how Sorry she was that he was sick; and cried, too, that she was nothing but an ignorant girl, who could do naught but watch and wait for death or convalescence. ** Alice, dear, John wants you.” It was Mabel who spoke—kind, gentle Mabel—and Alice grasped her hand and asked, eagerly: “Does he really want me, Mabel—did he ask for me?” sé Yes.”’ ‘Is there—is there anybody with him?” This with some hesitation. “No; not one.” Alice drew a long breath of relief and started for the house. When she reached the door of the sick room, however, she grew strangely timid. She stopped an instant and glancedin. Thegreat round lamp of frosted glass, which depended from the ceiling, was turned down to a glimmer, making objects in the chamber appear very vague and indis- tinct, but there was light enough to show her where John Nevin lay with his face turned to the wall. Quietly she tripped in, without making the faintest ’ noise, and stood vy the bedside. “John!” He turned quickly; his face looked whiter than marble in the dim light, and his eyes had a glassy glare in them, ‘** Alice—child!”” he exclaimed, reaching out his feverish hand, and resting it upon her head, She fell upon her knees. ‘*Oh, John, I’m so sorry. you’re sick.” There was something very honest in that assertion, and the quivering of the girl’s voice thrilled John Nevin through and through. ““T knew you would be sorry, Alice, and believe me. I’m grateful.” he answered. ; ‘“Oh, don’t talk that way—of gratitude,” she in- _ terrupted. “I don’t want you to be grateful.” Then, not knowing what else to say, she added: ‘“ Just please toll me. John, what you want—and don’t ask se eody: else for anything—will you?” e promised he would not, and then a silence fell upon them, At length, John said; “ Alice, I think we had better change the pro- gramme; there may be danger in coming here, even.” “Danger?” , ““Yes; thig fever may be, probably is, contagious, and I’d sooner die than have you suffer as I am suf- fering now.” ‘ ‘‘And f would rather die, John, than leave you to suffer alone.’’ She spoke calmly. He reached out his hand and drew hers to him. “God bless you, darling,”’ he exclaimed, and then he kissed it’ passionately with his burning lips, while she bowed her head and cried secretly, for’ joy. : Tho next morning John was a great deal worse, and on the evening of the fifth day he was raving with delirium. : “Tt will bea hard matter to bring him around,” said the attending physician. ‘*But, doctor, don’t you think we had better have a consultation?” asked Captain Houston. The grizzly old doctor smiled. . “fAS “— please,” he said; “Twill bring Doctor Ahl with me, in the morning.” He bowed gravely, at the door, leaped on his horse, and was gone, ’ CHAPTER XVIIL IN CALIFORNIA. Jon and Adam Dormer sat in the office of the dry- goods house of Dormer & Co., in Sacramento, to- ward the close of an August day. It was a splendid establishment, filled with goods, some of the finest texture, others more useful than ornamental. “Well, Joe,” remarked Adam, ‘‘ who’d have ever thought when we left Rulloville, that we’d ever have such a place as this?” “TI knew,” exclaimed Joe, “if we had good luck, and that we have had, in abundance, that we could- n’t be long kept down in this country, where brain and muscle are always recognized and liberally re- warded.” , “True! true!” answered Adam, glancing admir- ingl at his handsome son; ‘‘ but, Joe?” ‘ . ell?” 2 “JT was thinkin for Mabel now. selves.” Yes, Joe acknowledged that, and he would like to have Mabel with them, better than anything else in the world; but then he thought it would be asking too much of a girl to make such a long sea-voyage alone; and besides, Mabel had a better home where she was. : ‘But you don’t intend her to stay there all the time—do you?” asked Adam, a little impatiently. “No; not all the time. For that ma'ter, another year will do her,” replied Joe, ‘‘Then I'll havea good start—twenty-five thousand, at least, and are Rey Vll try to give her a pleasant home my- self.’ ‘ The old man was astonished at the younger man’s confident tone, and after a moment he asked: ‘Joe, you never asked her—did you?” ‘No, never did.” “Then how do you know?” ‘“‘ How do I know what?” “That she'll have you?” “‘Oh, I guessed,”’ was the rather jocular reply “A package for Mr. Joseph Dormer, by Wells, Fargo & Co.’s express,” said a clerk, putting his head in at the door. “from San Francisco, Brown?” ‘No, sir; from New York. Will I have the porter carry it back here, sir?” “VYos—right away,” replied Joe. Then, turning to his father, he said: ‘Ten to one Mabel.”’ ; He was correct; it was from Mabel; for under the directions was written in a chirograph he knew well: “* Ror Joe, from Maba.” - It was a great flat package, and nimbly flew Joe it would be well enough to send t’s kinder lonely, here, by our two tis from.
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22 DID HE LOVE HER? and Adam’s fingers until the wrappings were alltorn aside, and then Joe gave a shout of so It was Mabel’s picture, painted by George Dalby, almost life-size. E The eyes were blue, tho skin soft and peachy- ekg. the shoulders, which were bare, white as the baldric of the skies, and skeins of golden hair seemed to float out from the well-shaped head, “-Tis her image!” exclaimed Adam, wiping the tears from his eyes; ‘‘ her very image!” “Could not be more like her,” responded Joe, all the sweet memories of the past stealing over him as he gazed. “Seems as if Icould run my fingers through her ihir as I used to do,’’ said Adam, after a while. To this Joe made no answer; he was kneeling on the floor before the counterfeit presentment, and was reedily devouring the face before him, when a Maud was laid upon his shoulder. Looking up, he met the gaze of Cleve Standish, one of his best cus- tomers. “Ah! Mr. Standish, that you?” said Joe, without moving, but reaching his hand. “Yes; I myself,” replied the tall, sun-browned, handsome man. “When did you come down from Marysville, Mr. Standish?’ asked Adam, rising and brushing the dust from his knees. “This morning’s boat,” was the reply. ‘‘ But what’s Dormer, Jr., doing in that posture? Praying, “eb?” Cleve Standish was smiling as he spoke, and Joe smiled, too, as he said; ‘* Yes, worshiping at the shrine of innocence and beauty. What do you think of hat for a picture?” « He turned the portrait around, and Cleve Stan- dish’s eyes fell upon it, There must have been something terrible in the painting, or in the gray light that fell upon it, for ‘leve Standish’s face became white as snow, and he staggered back a pace, clasping his hands in sur- prise. ae Who—who is this?”’ he managed to ask. ‘ Well,” said Adam, not noticing the other’s con- fusion, “ that’s the picture of our little Mabel.” an Mabel—Mabel Dormer? Did you say Mabel Dor- mer?’ “No, sir, I did not; seeing as I couldn’t say so without telling a lie. Her name isn’t Dormer, at all, sir.” “Then she is not your own?”’ “No, not my own flesh and blood, but, God bless her pretty face! she’s dearer to me than,many a man’s daughter to him.” “ But her name!” exclaimed Standish. “Ts simply Mabel Lynn,” answered Joe, turning from his earnest perusal of the portrait. Cleve shut his eyes an instant, and to himself he repeated that name which had been dead to him for nineteen years. Then he said: “This picture was taken a great many years ago, when she was quite young.” : “Quite young?” repeated Joe; ‘why, Mr. ftan- dish, what are you talking about? he is quite young yet—eighteen past, only, She don't look old- er, does she?” : ‘No, no, not older.”” Then Cleve Standish passed his hands over his eyes, and added: ‘ Where did you become acquainted with this girl?—the original of the picture?’ ¢ Joe was a little taken aback by the abruptness of the query, but he answered, promptly. “We were raised together. She was left at our house one night whenshe was but a baby. F ‘Who left her there—how did it come about?’ “Well, to tell you the truth—” Joe hesitated. ‘Go on, Mr. Dormer. Do not think my manner or uestions impertinent. I have a reason for asking them—a good and sufficient reason.” ; His words were very earnest. and Joe continued: “Her mother left*her there. She was going to Maryland, she said, to join her husband, and passing through Rulloville, where we lived, asked permission to remain over night. Mother of course con- sented, and the next morning Mabel’s mother was missing.” q ‘Run away—eh? In the night, too?” “Yes, walked off.’’ : “ And this woman—the girl’s mother—called her- self Mabel Lynn, did she?’ ¥Og,?" ‘But where is the young lady now?” i At Captain Houston’s, Oak Manor, on the Hud- son.” ‘“‘ Ah! yes, Captain Houston. I met bim in the West once.”’ Standish paused, and knitting his brows, looked down on the floor a moment, then he continued: “Pardon me, my good friend. I’ve been very stu- Fo and ugly, but I have learned something that may elp. to compensate me for a reckless, misspent youth. 1 will go home now, and rest a bit; to-mor- row I’ll come over and tell you the story of my life, It will repay you for the trouble I’ve given you, for itis a narrative full of fearful events.” ‘I'll be glad to have you come at any time, Cleve.” He thanked him, and was gone. When Cleve Standish reached his lodgings, he threw himself into a large arm-chair and muttered: “Yes, yes, it must be so—my child—and Mabel, she is not dead, I'll find her yet; 1°] beg her par- don; Viltry and make amends to her for the past. Oh, the past, the bitter, bitter past!” He covered his face with his hands, and, after a while, the tears trickled through his fingers and fel] upon the carpet. The next morning, at daylight, Cleve Standish left for Marysville, to fix up his affairs preparatory to an early return to the States. On the third day he found acustomer for his store, and the next saw him on his way to San Francisco. It was Friday now; on. Saturday evening the steamer would sail for New York, and Cleve Stand- ish, who, a week before, never expected to see the Atlantic coast again, was feverishly eager to be off. CHAPTER XTX, HUNTING THE GAME DOWN. Towarp the close of a hazy September day, the steamer Golden Gate steamed into the harbor of San Francisco. Among the passengers gathered on the deck were Lknew him—that is, Sarah Rook and Samuel Blaize. These two stood a little apart, and while the remainder of the passen- gers indulged in all sorts of comments upon the sur- rounding objects—the scenery and the city—they were silent. A half an hour after, Mrs. Rook and Sam stood upon the dock, amid a wilderness of bales and boxes, and a maelstrom of cries and shouts. “Cab, sir?—Occidental Hotel. Cab, sir, for lady, sir?’ The cabman addressed Blaize and the latter said, turning to his companion: _‘“The distance is not far, but mebbe we had better ride—for the sake of appearances.” “Yes, certainly,’ was the reply. ‘Give the man the baggage checks.”’ Sam did as requested, and then the driver opened the door of the shiny vehicle and handed Mrs. Rook in, while he and Blaize went in quest of the trunks. They returned presently, and the Jehu mounted his box, cracked his whip and off they rattled. Their mission was not referred to that night, but the next morning, after breakfast, Mrs. Rook said: ‘* Blaize, we had better have an attorney now to advise us. Do you know any person?” “Let me see; I used to know an old fellow named able, but mebbe he’s dead afore this—most like- y is. ‘*Ts his office far from here?” “No; on Washington street, five minutes’ walk.” “‘ Well, now, Mr. Blaize, I want. you to call on Mr, Lambie at once, and tell him I would like to see him, this evening, if convenient,”
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ern DID HE LOVE HER? 23 Sam assented and departed, About noon he re- turned. ; : ; “T found him in the same old dingy den,” he said, ‘sitting in the same chair in which I saw him last, and, I believe, with the same identical book in his hand. It’s an odd conceit, but,” with a smile, ‘‘blame me if-I didn’t think he’s never stirred since that spring morning I left him last.’ ‘Mrs. Rook smiled, too, the first smile Sam had seen upon her face for many a long day. That evening Mrs. Rook and Sam Blaize were in their private parlor, awaiting the entrance of Mr, Lambie, Tbe woman was becoming impatient, when a hasty, tripping tread was heard in the corridor, and the next moment an obsequious servant ap- Bead at the door and presented a card on a silver salver. ; “The gentleman wishes to see Mrs. Rook,” said the servant, as the latter scanned the clumsy card on which was printed, in poor script, the name and profession of the person she was most anxious to see. “Please tell him to walk up.’? The servant with- drew, and Mrs. Rook was about to resume her seat, when a dapper little man, of forty-five or there- abouts, witha pair of extremely large glasses on his nose, and very little hair on his head, entered. After a profound bow from the little lawyer, and a slightinclination of the head, on the part of Mrs. Rook, Blaize came forward, and client and attorney passed through the awkward formula of an intro- duction, When. Mr. Lambie had been relieved of hit hat by Sam, and had dropped into a chair, Mrs. Rook opened the conversation at once. . “Mr. Lambie, I wish to make it known to you, sir, that in this matter, about to be disclosed, lam not to figure.” The attorney put his tongue between his teeth, opened his mouth wide enough to expose a double row of teeth, and, although he did not utter a word, his manner said very plainly—‘‘ Certainly, madam, if itis your wish, certainly.” : “T will see to it, however, that you are well paid for your trouble. And here,” she said, rising and presenting him with two fifty-dollar notes, which she took from a tortoise-shell portemonnaie, ‘‘is a retaining fee.” “But, what does this matter involve?’ asked Lambie, quietly pocket’ the bills with a studied air of ease, as if such fees were picked up every day, and were not worthy of especial remark. ‘I trust there is nothing in it that could compromise the dignity of my profession.”’ “Nothing, sir,” replied Mrs. Rook, oa tae ao the lawyer’s mock scruples with her big black eyes. “TI ' only ask you to vindicate the law, to have a male- factor brought to justice, to have a murderess punished,”’ The bland smile that was playing about the mouth of Mr. Lambie, faded away instantly, and there was surprise in his voice when he said: “That’s @ grave charge, madam. I hope the evidence will bear it out. We must exercise both care and judgment, however, or we may overstep the mark.” “Hxactly,” rejoined Mrs. Rook; “ but we must not be so chary of handling the matter, or the game, which we have now driven to cover, may escape, after all,” “Very true, madame, very true,’ was the re- sponte: ‘** But the facts: what am I expected to 5 “ Mr. Blaize, there, witnessed a murder in 2855, in Syskyou county—the murder of a husband by his wife. The guilty one fled the country and escaped the hangman.” : ** Well, and now?” “And now we have discovered her whereabouts. She is in Maryland. and I have a reason for wishing her brought to trial, This must be done by Mr, Blaize and yourself, and I will pay all necessary ex- pense, and give you a fair fee.’ “‘T’m to understand, then, from all this, that I am retained for the Commonwealth, in the case of the Commonwealth vs,—” ‘*Laura Robsart.’’ ““Ah, yes; Commonwealth vs. Laura Robsart. Evidence circumstantial or otherwise?” ‘“The evidence is positive,” replied Mrs. Rock. “Mr. Blaize saw the deed perpetrated.” ‘Ah, indeed! Clear case, then. We must first go to Yreka, sue out a warrant, cp a requisition from the Governor of the State, and bring defendant to this State for trial.” : “T suppose that is what will have to be done.” “Yes, madam, that is the mode of procedure, Rather roundabout; going to cost something.”’ “‘T don’t care for that, This woman must be brought to trial.” “Ah, yes; certainly she must. *Twould be a great pity to fet her roam at large. The community is not safe while she is outside of prisen walls,’”’ ejaculated Lambie. ‘‘But when do you propose starting for “Yreka?”’ “To-morrow morning.”’ ““No boat until evening,’’ putin Blaize. ‘‘Well, then, to-morrow evening,’ said Mrs. Rock, “Very good,” replied Lambie; ‘* I'll be ready.”’ They shook hands. ‘‘This must remain a secret for the present,” she enjoined. ’ “You can rely on my discretion,’? was Mr, Lam- bie’s reply. CHAPTER XX. IN DEEP WATERS. Wuen Laura fell at the feet of Sarah Rook, on — that night, when the two women met at Robsart Place, it will be remembered she uttered a sort of — moan or wail. That moan reached the ear of Dr. Foster, who had sauntered into the garden after Laura, and he ran forward and picked her up. b He knew from the rigidity of her features, from — the half-parted lips, from the wide-staring eyes, that she had fainted, and, stooping down, he Spatied his hands in the dewy grass and pressed them on her torehead. ‘*Laura—Mrs. Robsart!” he exclaimed. ‘What has happened—what’s wrong? Lookup.” erg sighed heavily, then her lips moved, and she said: “T loved him—if T did kill him—T loved him.” These words shocked Dr. Foster terribly at first, but the next instant he smiled. ‘“’Tis but theraving of an unconscious woman,” he said. ‘No more to be relied on, nor a whit more accurate than a dream.”’ He said this quite loud, and Laura’s quick ear caught it faintly. : * “A dream!’ she murmured. “a dream! Was ita dream? Only a horrible, fearful, terrible dream!” ‘*Y-s,”’ he replied, *‘ only a dream.” “And TI did not do it at alli—my hands are free from blood-stains! He was my husband—he is not dead—I did not kill him!” She stood up and glanced into Dr. Foster’s face as she uttered this series of exclamations. He was now thoroughly frightened i ‘*Hush-’sh! for God’s sake, Mrs. Robsart. Some- body may overhear you.’ She was in possession of her senses again. That ‘“somebody may overhear you”’ served as an elec- tric shock. % ‘*Where is she?” she asked, pale as death, “Who?” “That woman—that terrible woman!” “T saw no woman.,”” Laura paused an instant, passed her small white hand over her eyes, as if she would rub out the pain i lurked in them, and then, with a light laugh Sala; ; ay! th ie os ." tp Peek Cree ee Ss a a fos
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* Oh, of course, there was’ no woman. I am such a little coward, and that nasty Clowes tells me such frightful stories, Doctor, and they work on my im- agination so. The scream of a bird is sufficient to drive me into a fainting fit.”’ : He saw through this shallow trick; she could not deceive him with her flimsy tales, but he felt it was best for both that he should appear, at least, to be blinded; therefore he said: ““Yes, [know how these stories act on sensitive nerves. I have met such cases in my practice.” ; ee fobs was alight of triumph in her eyes, as she re- plied: ; “T dare say, although I was not aware that many were afflicted as I am. But, Doctor, I am really ashamed of my weakness,” this witha laugh, ‘‘and I wouldn’t bave the folks at the house know it for the world.” ‘* Be sure they shall learn nothing from me.”’ i. Nothing further was said until they reached the ouse. She made an excuse to leave him fora few mo- ments and hurried up-stairs to her chamber. Once there, she set about rearranging her toilet, which had suffered considerably from contact with the dai soil in the garden. Bathing her face in cold water had the effect of re- ‘moving alltraces of tears, and the crimson flush that ae had burned in either cheek, while, without the aid on of Rebecca, she managed to replace her soiled swiss : with a light gauzy fabric, in which she appeared, if ' possible, more charming than ever. ss She left her chamber by a side-door, stole along ¢ a corridor which led to a flight of stairs in the rear of the house, and then she found herself in the gar- den again. The music came to her in fitful waves of melody; the night wind fanned her brow, and feigning a gladsome smile, she tripped up the broad stone steps and fluttered in among the guests again. _ “Why, Laura, dear,” said Mrs. Placide, ‘‘ we were becoming actually dull without you.” “Yes,” chimed in Miss Nannie Parry, ‘‘ we would ; be lost without the music of your merry laugh.” ist 4 sae bowed, smiled, shook her head, as she re- Seer =< Spas: « S “Pardon me if I have neglected my duty as “ hostess. I’m sure I would not be missed much where Miss Parry is; and really, it is so long since I have attempted the role of entertainer that i’ve lost all grace for the part.” : Mrs. Placide proposed music, and Miss Parry be- Pic gan to sing. : It was an artistic performance. but the voice lacked certain elements, in the absence of which vocalism can not charm the sensitive or educated ear, Laura next took the stool. She rattled over a ortion of ‘‘The Storm,” from ‘‘ William Tell,” then Rropped into a sweet, soothing English air, which drew a crowd about the piano, and calmed a half- dozen talking groups. % Miss Parry’s performance had been unquestion- ably more artistic, but Laura’s more sympathetic, and, withal, more pleasing. Dr. Foster congratulated her on her success, and Mrs. Placide whispered into Miss Parry’s ear: i “A sweet voice, but affected—very affected.” . -*¥es, very affected,” replied Miss Parry, whose : ey. had been somewhat aroused by Dr. Fos- er’s compliments and attentions to the heiress of Robsart Place. : It was midnight when the party separated, and the last to leave was Dr. Foster. “You must callon us often,” said Laura, as he rsons of requently bai her good-night. nee all be very rgd to do so,’’ was the reply. “When will I find Mrs. Robsart at leisure?” ‘Whenever it pleases Dr. Foster to call.” P He pressed her hand, and leaping into the carriage rolled away. J : DID HE LOVE HER? CHAPTER XXII. SUFERING, Tue next evening Dr. Foster came over to Rob- sart Place, and met Laura on the colonnade. “You are looking a trifle fatigued,” he said, after the exchanges of a few commonplaces. ‘‘ Dissipa- tion, even in its mildest forms, does not seem to agree with you, Mrs. Robsart.” ‘“No,”’ she answered, ‘‘I’m not used to parties and company.” ““T dare say; and yet, since the death of Mr. Rob- sart you’ve seen a great deal of pleasure, too.” She shook her head. ‘I’ve seen a great deal of sights; have traveled many miles; have been in Par- is, London, Baden and Vienna; yet, after all, I have had but very little pleasure.” ‘* Indeed! I should think that to a person of your impulsive temperament, and with your love of gay- ety, the continent of Europe would afford a great deal of pleasure ”’ Again she shook her head. ‘‘The heart must be eh wing Mr. Foster, before anything can be en- joyed.’ if True, but your grief has had ample time to spend itself in eighteen years. Besides, when you were married to Cleve Robsart you could not have been ~ much more than a child.” “Twas sixteen in October—we were married in December; but, I think I was a woman—that is, there was nothing of the silliness of girlhood about me when I was married.”’ “And yet at times you appear very girlish, even now,” he replied, with a smile. ‘‘I can hardly be- lieve sometimes that you are Cleve Robsart’s widow —or that Cleve, poor fellow, is dead, at all.” A shadow flitted into her face, and she asked eagerly: 23 pe you knew my husband— Cleve Robsart, did you?’ “Very well; we were college chums at Yale, and many a day we romped around this place as boys do romp, you know.” “Yes, I know,” she said, ‘‘ and Cleve—he was older than you—eh?” ‘““Yas, three years; but I always looked older than 1 really was; while the reverse was the case with him,” Her eyes were sparkling as she rejoined: ‘‘ He was very handsome, and manly, Cleve was,” — ** Yes! I suppose you loved him at first sight.” “No; I don’t believe in suc’ things,” she said, a little seriously; ‘‘I did admire him though, as soon as I set eyes upon him, and when he showed a pre- ference for me over all the rest of the girls in Bloomington, why, I believe I worsbiped him. ina see Iwas an orphan, and had no one else to ove. “ But you’ve had plenty of opportunities to love since, I venture to say, and it is almost a matter of wonder to me that you have not fallen a victim to a second passion.” She was pulling a blush rose to pieces as she an- swered, ‘*T have no desire to fill the vacancy in my heart that Cleve’s death occasioned. ‘* And you will never marry again—you mean to say that?” ‘Yes, sir,’ with great earnestness; ‘I mean to say, that I will never. never, marry again.” A silence fell upon them now; the last of the rose leaves fluttered to her feet, and he was beating his boots with his slender switch-like cane. ‘You are an enigma,” he said, finally. . Do you think so?” “And why?” She was watching him closely. ‘*Because your manner and your words are so different.” ‘“‘T don’t understand you.” “ When I say different, I mean that your manner would indicate that some one to love was a neces- © sity with you: that your spiritual nature craved ie : re ee ~
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DID HE LOVE HER? love, admiration, attention, just as your animal na- ture craves food; but your words seem to belie this altogether. You are quite content to live on the memory of a past affection.” “Quite content,” she replied. “And yet, I presume, you and Cleve were not Without your little difficulties too; you quarreled sometimes, didn’t you?” She answered with a gayety that was well as- sumed; ; ‘Oh, yes; that is, we differed about trivial things, of course.” “Sometimes,” he said, half-musingly, ‘‘ those tri- vial affairs grew into great difficulties, where both are impetuous and fiery.” “Yes,” she admitted. “T have even known a case where a murder re- sulted from a quarrel too insignificant to speak of.”’ She darted a quick glance at him, her heart stand- ing still for the nonce, but he was jooking up at the sky, with a listless air, and did not notice either the allor that overspread her cheek or the fire that lazed in her eyes. “The master, Mr. Elton, is very sick, milady, and he wants you to come to him rizht away.” It was Rebecca who spoke, and Laura, glad of the interruption, said: “T trust you will excuse me, Mr. Foster.” “Certainly, oh, certainly; if it’s anything serious, send over for me, Good-by!” : He lifted his hat to her, bowed, placed his cane under his arm, and sauntered off. She watched him from the hall door until he dis- appeared from sight in a clump of dense shrubbery, then she muttered half-aloud: “What could he mean by a trivial quarrel, and a murder? Perhaps, after all, he is Sarah Rook’s spy!” 5 4 Phe bare suggestion made her almost faint, and it was some time before she could gain sufficient strength to totter into the chamber where Elton Robsart was lying. CHAPTER XXII. “ FROM TIME TO ETERNITY. Price was sitting at the head of the bed, fanning the old man, and Clowes at the foot, watching him. Laur@ saw at a glance that he was very ill: ‘* This is very sudden, Price,’’ exclaimed Laura, “Yes ma’m, it’s very sudden. He was complain- ing a bit after supper, and when I comes back here he was all of a heat, with pains in his back, ma’m.”’ Price resigned his seat, and Laura bent over the invalid like a ministering angel. He opened his eyes languidly. “Is that you, Laura, pet?’’ ’ ‘““ Yes, papa; are you sick?” He nodded his head, and the answer came back, feebly: “‘ Yes, very—very.” She pressed her lips to his burning forehead, and answered, in his ear: “Why didn’t you send for me before! Iwas only out on the colonnade,” “*T know, but I had Price and Clowes, and—and I thought you wanted to talk with the doctor.” “I’m sure Pd have come to you, no matter who ‘was there,’ she said, with a pout, and he, thinking - she was jealous of the servants, said, patting her _ bowed head gently: “TI know you would, darling, You are too kind, altogether too kind.” cee she kissed him, and turning to Clowes, said: ‘* What’s best to be done now?” “ His limbs are a-cold, milady,” answered the wo- man, ‘‘an’ his head’s a-burnin’ up.” ‘* Yes, I know—well?’’ ‘Well, milady, in such a case @ mustard-water foot-bath an’ ice on the head is the proper thing.” “Yes! yes!" said Laura, ‘‘I have heard before of a such remedies. Here, Price, you get the foot-bath, and Clowes, dear, get the ice.” ‘“We have no ice, ma’m,’’ said Price, moving off, - “unless somebody goes into town for it,” f ¥. “To Sydneytown?” +s tare “Yes, ma’m.” ; a ‘Somebody. must go for it then. We can’t do ‘ without ice. Clowes, you had better get the bath, : and let Price go to town.” ‘ in “Yes, milady,’’ replied the servant, ‘but, hadn’t ; Price better bring the doctor as he’s a-goin’ that at i *Twould be killin’ two birds, you know, mi- ady. Laura hesitated an instant. She was afraid to have Doctor Foster prying about, and she dare not call old Doctor Peebles, in whom Elton had not the slightest confidence, fee Price stood on the threshold, awaiting a reply. ; “No; we won’t have a doctor just now,”’ she said re at last. . “We'll try first w at virtue lies in good the morning we'll nursing. If he is not better in have a physician.”’ d * All right,’’ and Price darted out. ~ After the bathing. and the application of ice to the burning temples Elton appeared to grow much bet- ter. The chills were less frequent, and he gave up all apprehension of cramps. His head, however, was very painful, and it was almost sunrise ere he dropped into an uneasy slumber. Laura, who had never left the sick bed for an in- — stant, fell into a doze, too, her head resting on the © little stand at the window. , She had a troubled dream, about trials, and court- rooms, and stiff judges, disputing attorneys, mixed up with allof which was the calm, Sphinx-like eoun- tenance of Doctor Foster, who throughout, and un- der every circumstance, was acting the partof a spy upon her actions, and trying to obtain possession of her secret. ; She awoke with a start and cry from a terrible situation, and beheld Doctor Foster standing by the bedside, talking to Elton. ; “You have had an unpleasant dream, Mrs. Rob- sart,’’ he said. : ‘' Ves—terrible!” * You should never sleepin that way. When your neck is strained, the pain of it causes you to dream of a a and such things.” She started. How knew he the import of her re and why should she dream of strangula- tion Although these were the queries that were in her mind, they did not prevent her from smiling up into the doctor’s face, and saying: “T will be more careful in the future, thank you,” Then, turning to the invalid, she asked how he felt, — “ Better—a trifle,” was the faint response. me. ‘What do you think of his case, doctor?” asked =. | Laura in a low tone. es “To be candid, Mrs. Robsart, I fear the ole gentle- man has his death on him.” ‘ She burst into tears, and fell upon her knees by the bedside. : Elton heard her crying, and in a whisper barely audible, said; ‘Don’t ery, precious—don’t cry for me! ; She did ery, however, fora whole hour, and in- Guilned in violent fits of weeping during the rest of e day. ; He was her best friend on earth; he had been indul- gent, patient, self-denying, and now he was about to be taken away. a Only one thing afforded her anything like consola- __ tion, and that was the prospect of Elton’s being dead and gone before Sarah Rook could carry out her — threat of vengeance. Still, she had a hope that — + ™ thing would turn up to prevent Sarah Rook’s retur from California; that she would tire of the journey, or of the hard task she had marked out for herself, and that Elton’s recovery would bring no woe either to her or him. 5 For the next fortnight the old man grew gradually
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ae pe Ke ge Pe 90) ob eke de lice’ X Cm ag or ee tena Mey ct *, ee eee i a Fo ° rs * Bib wors?, and -finaliy, on the thirteenth day of his fil- ness, Doctor Foster standing close by his bedside in the darkened room, whispered into Laura’s ear: ‘He's going now, Laura—speak to him.” 22d , bent over. ‘‘Papa! oh, papa, say some- ing! - His eyes were glazing, and his breath was coming in quick, short gasps; still, that voice reached his senses, and instinctively, he put his wasted hand in hers, ‘*God bless you, Laura, ay pet, my darling! You have been my guardian angel!” Her tears fell faster than ever. and her sobs shook her whole frame, “Put your face down, close, close to mine. There!’ with an effort he pressed his lips to the round cheek. , sate growing dark—let in the light—let in the ight On tip-toe Dr. Foster approached the window and drew back the curtains. The light flashed in, in a great flood of radiance, but the invalid saw it not; 6 was passing through the dark waters that girdle the earth about—going from time to eternity. CHAPTER XX II. A NEW LOVE. Joun Nevin slowly recovered. He bad been very close to the boundaries of another world; in fact, for a time, his life was despaired of, but, thanks to the tender nursing he received from Alice, a sound constitution, and the old physician’s skill, be im- proved until everybody could see that the danger was past; and there only remained a little careful attention on his own part to make him what he once was, As he grew better, however, Alice became shy and retiring—more like her old self, and never went to the sick chamber unless on an errand, and on such occasions remained’ no longer than was necessary for the completion of her task. John noticed this. It was very tantalizing to him to have her come in, speak a word or two, and steal out again, as if she were afraid of, or did not care for him; but, it made him look for her coming more eagerly, and, I think, added not a little to his love for her.. But John kept his peace until he was able to leave his room; then he determined to settle the matter forever. About this time, George Dalby came to Oak Manor, and Mabel and he were everlastingly intrud- ing themselves upon John and Alice, at the very moment the former was thinking about words to ex- press his thoughts, ‘The whole affair was very aggravating to a sensi- tive man who had long passed the period of brass and boyhood, and he was growing desperate when, ‘cone evening—a beautiful October evening—he found | himself alone with Alice in the drawing-room. The ety was still bright with the pale light of day. but the shadows were densein the apartment where the lovers sat. ; “It’s getting quite dark,” said Alice, interrupting one of John’s stories of the old world. “Excuse le ta we had better have some light, had we an bo He caught her dress'as she was rising. ‘‘ No, please; there is plenty of light. I prefer the dim- ness. “Indeed.” ' “Yes;my eyes are not quite ag strong as they used to be.” : “Oh, very well. he I thought you preferred the ight,’ ~ “So I do,” he Spy hog “but not at all times, and g. not every kind of light. Thereis a garish blaze that dazes the sight; it is very brilliant, but it is bad in its effect; it ruins the eye it delights.” She did not speak, and he continued: “It is like a certain kind of beauty that intoxicates —makes one, as it were, drunk with passion, and we recover from its effects only to loathe it.” HE LOVE HER} So Senn ER Se ee SENG kt, es She knew why he spoke so earnestly, and this knowledge made her say: ‘‘ And like liquor again, the inebriate often returns to the delicious poison. Disgust may only last while opportunity to indulge is ipcente 8 “But this shall not be so in my case,’’ he said, abruptly. ‘Ihave tasted of the maddening bow) but from henceforth, if you consent, dearest, rl bask in a purer light.” ' She put up her hand deprecatingly. ‘“‘How do I know that this is not intoxication ina milderform? No, Jobn,I will not permit you to fall into new meshes; you have suffered enough already.” , “ Then you do not love me—you do not respect—”’ She interrupted him: ‘* Yes,1do. I love and re- spect you; have done so for many a day; but, after all that has happened, I think it only right—and this, remember, is for your security as well as mine —that we do nothing rashly.” “ Nothing rashly |” He was astonished at the girl’s wisdom. ‘What I mean by doing newine rashly is this: you have traveled a great deal—have seen many faces—have been charmed by one; whatever came between you, I know not: but this I do know, that eer came here without any affection for me; your eart was wholly hers. You have been very ill; you are yet little better than an invalid: you doubtless feel grateful to me for my attention to you duing your illness; this has moved you to speak.” She paused for a reply, and John answered: “You are partly correct, Alice, but only partly so. I came here, ‘tis true. ignorant of ee worth, of your nobility of roul, of the inestimable goodness of your heart, but these®I have learned to appreciate; and now, Alice Houston, I love you—with my whole heart and soul.”’ ae tears were coursing down her cheeks as she said: ‘And I have loved you this many a day.”’ His arms were about her; her head nestled for a moment upon his breast, then she continued, with an effort: ‘* John, [am not satisfied with this; I am not con- fident, as I should be, that I have your entire affec- tion, and I therefore have a suggestion to offer.” se Speak out,’ he replied—‘‘ speak cn Mi : ‘T propose that, as soon as you are able, Fou will return to New York; then mingle with society, toxget that we are se appa to each other, end if, at the end of six months, you find that you really love me—and this is not the dream of an invalid— we then—”’ Pra e interrupted her. sts, ‘You will be my own little wife?” “Yes,” F ‘*This, Alice, believe me, is an idle test—a roman- tic freak; but as you desire it, why then, of course, I consent.”’ She forgot, and I dare say he did, too, that they were on probation, for the next hour was spent in talking as only lovers can talk. CHAPTER XXIV. A RECOGNITION. Captain Houston was sitting in his own room, | quietly smoking a cigar and watching through the open casement the early autumn leaves rustle in great red showers to the earth, when a se; vant en- tered and announced the fact that there was a gen- tleman in the recgpnion cor who desired a few moments’ conversation with Mr. Houston, ‘ “Well, go down and tell him that I will be there directly.” The servant withdrew, and Captain Houston a glanced into the mirror over the mantel, re-arrang- — ed his necktie, gave a settling twist to his vest, an followed her, In the reception-room he met Cleve Standish, The =i 7*, latter came forward to greet the old soldier, but he iy oe
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ae _. Stopped short when he saw ; ognition in the captain’s face. ; ‘“‘T see you don't know me, captain?” There was a moment’s silence, and then Captain Houston said: : : “Really, you have me at a disadvantage, but—” He was looking under his eyebrows at him now. “You were once in command of a body of troops at Peoria, and afterward at Leavenworth?” “Yes, yes—over nineteen years ago.” “Do you not remember seeing in those places a wild, harum-scarum youth, named Cleve Rob- sart? ‘ ‘Cleve Robsart, who married pretty Mabel Lynn —the minister’s daughter?” ““The very same.”’ “* And you?” ‘*Tam Cleve Robsart.’’ ~ Captain Houston grabbed him by the hand. ‘‘Ay! I remember now. You have changed a great deal, have grown stout, but I recognize you now, “I thought you would,” replied Cleve. ‘‘ But cap- tain, I have just returned from California, and T’ve come here to ask you a single question.” Captain Houston knew what was coming, but he restrained himself, and said: ** Go on.” ‘““Have you ever seen Mabel Lynn since we left Leavenworth for California?” His voice was full of eagerness. ‘‘ No, I never have.”’ “And you know nothing of her?” “Nothing of herself—but her child—I know she is her child because she bears the same name, and is the very counterpart of your Mabel—is in this hpuse now. “T know that,” replied Cleve; ‘at least, it was the pe et of this circumstance that brought me ack.’? ; i: “Indeed! how came you to know this?” *‘T met the Dormers in California—in Sacramento —and saw her picture there, and heard her name.” “Strange enough!”’ ; ‘Very strange; but where is little Mabel? You know I never saw my child.” ‘Never saw her?’ repeated the captain. “No, never, Her mother and I were separated “fore the child was born. For years I have thought er mother dead.” _ “But how came you to be separated?” ; “Tam almost ashamed, captain, to tell you the Story,” began Cleve, blushing red. ‘You know how _ Wild I was?” Ta oe Yes.” “* Well, when wo BOt to the Pacific coast, I got in With a lot of YS a and roughs, and what with drinking all day, and playing all night, in six months Was almost crazy.” ,, Lknow—go on.” E ve ‘Mabel tried to win me away from my evil habits, SS peed to lecture me on their sinfulness. and beg of me Oreturn to the States. I would not listen to her; of a Course, her counsel made me, if anything, more des- ’ Perate, and one night when possessed of a mania, I ‘ruck at her. with a bowie-knife. She threw up her 3 se Ms to ward off the blow, and, somehow or other, ny hand received a twist, and the blade of my knife $e Paitrated my own neck,’ ? j $ o 4 t errible, God! exclaimed Captain Houston; ‘‘ how ey ares, You may guess how terrible, but you cannot "4 mane faintly imagine my feelings on returning to a: msciousness. There I lay ina cabin in the moun- prog 80 weak from loss of blood that I was unable Le tsh surrounded only by a party of rough miners, é Ly ii little or no sympathy for such a wretch as as Say soy. ashe. te nit = ed, after awhile, that my wife was no- ee, goers to be found, and the supposition was that she ‘math itted suicide by drowning herself in the Kla- DID HE LOVE HER? oe as shere was no sign of rec- {| Ce ae. —. Pee le ee lee “Fearful!” exclaimed the captain. Z “ Ah, it was, indeed, sir! but from that hour I re- “f solved to lead a better life,and when I gotwell ~ enough to be about again, 1 tramped all over the Pacific coast, sir, from San Diego tothe Oregon line, _-- in search of poor Mabel. Finally,I gave up the | chase, and God knows how I mourned for my dar- ling wife; night and day, sir, she was ever In my thoughts; yes, sir, night and day.” He paused a moment. ‘When I left Syskyou county, I etanged my name to Standish, my mo- ther’s name, and have borne it ever since.”’ “But, you have some friends living—a father, have you not?” : “Yes; I havea father in Maryland; but he. disin- herited me years ago, and I’m not sure now whether he is dead or living.” He buried his face iu his hands and something like @ moan nag = tik him. Captain Houston was touched by the misery be- fore him, and going forward, he laid his hand upon his head. ; .. “There, Robsart, don’t take it soto heart, Your wife may still be living.” “1 ‘Yes, I think she is living,” he said, with anima- tion. ‘You see, this child Mabel, whom the Dor-— mers got from my Mabelin Pennsylvania, must have been born four months after her mother and I quar- — ; reled in California,” ie es “Ah! indeed! Thenshe must b*living yet. Yes! ~ yes! You should advertise for her in the Herald or Times. Don’t you think so?” There was a merry peal of laughter in the parlor, across the hall, and the two men looked into each other’s faces. ~ “ Tt’s she,” said the captain—‘it’s Mabel.” __ Cleve Robsart made a quick step forward, as if he would rush in at once and repeat his whole story to the owner of that merry laugh, but the captain’s hand was upon his arm, holding him fast. “No, no, that won’t do, You would frighten the poor child-to death. I'll have to pave the way a little; step into this room, and I’ll send for her.” ‘* You'll not keep me waiting long?” F **No, no, but a moment.” : Cleve stepped into a little room to the right; it was filled with books, and he saw at a glance it was a eae sae ge Dropping into a chair, he listened eagerly. — CHAPTER XXV. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. ‘ Wuen Captain Houston entered the drawi room, he found Mabel and George Dalby, examining a lot of sketches which the latter had made during his stay at Newport. poe a ‘“‘ Will you excuse Mabel a moment, Mr. Dalby?” ‘*Oh, yes—certainly.” ; Mabel hastily laid down the sketch she was cx- a Well, - - ““ Well, captain, do you want me?”’ ‘Yes; I want to speak to you a few moments, in © oS phi! te Attia e was looking very solemn, and for the nonce _ she thought him the bearer of ill-tidings. ie - “There is no bad news,” she asked, following him, “ig there? Nothing has bappened Joe or Adam?” — “No, nothing. Sit down there, in this chair. There.’’ He placed it so that Cleve could feasthis eves on her face. “I have good news for you, — Mabel.” ; v8 Her face lit.up like a flash. ~ ‘Oh, captain, do tell me; is—is Joe come back?” _ He shook his head. - **No, it’s not about Joe, or the Dormers, but about a nearer friend.” ¢ iss The girl began to tremble. “T have heard to-day from yourfather!’ = ‘“My father!” she gasped. ‘My realfather?” — ‘- Yes, Mabel dear; but don’t get excited. Keep cool, and T will te'l you all.” “tee ‘‘Oh, Captain Houston,” and here the tears be- — i) we 38 ; ; E 2 ’
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Sf Ri get ey bag ee ES ea ee OR ar) ae ye — = fe eC, eo PPPS eee We can ed <2. — if t ae gan to fall; ‘‘ youare not trifling with me—you—you, ¢ arein earnest?” =. * “Tam, most assuredly.” : “ And I have a father living after all?” ‘Yes, Mabel, you have a father.” ‘© And a mother, too! Oh, captain, pray do say I : per bare a mother, too!” } ee’ There, there; don’t lose your reason, my good girl. --_——“* Possibly your mother is still living, but your father certainly is, and is—” “In this house?” she interrupted, house! I know heis here!” She leaped to her feet,and her eyes wandered about the room. Guided, asif by instinct, she rushed to -_—s'the:-reading-room door. On the threshold she met Cleve Robsart. 4 “My darling!’ he exclaimed, with outstretched ‘““Heis in this arms. _~—~———s She glanced up, heaved a deep sigh, uttered a lit- tle scream, and fell fainting on his breast. i “Took up, my darling, my own precious one, look up! ‘Tis ig father calls on you, your Own poor Z half-crazed fatber.” -* He strained her to his bosom, in a passionate .em- - ‘brace, and kissed her parted lips, and cheek, and -\ + brow, while the hot tears fell upon her face in a » «shower. 2 “I feared I would never know this joy. My life hes been so miserable, and bare—so very bare.” “ Cleve—Mr. Robsart, she has fainted,” said Mr. Houston, coming forward. ‘See, how pale she is.” Yes: she had fainted, but she was returning to - eonsciousness again. He brushed the golden hair— go very like that other Mabel Lynn’s—and held -__ the glass of water, which the captain had brought, to her lips. ~ “Oh, Tam only dreaming,” she*murmured, at length. ‘Only dreaming; l/ave no father—I’m all 4 alone in the world.” es “No, no, Mabel, my little Mabel,” exclaimed Cleve; Bey “vou are wide awake and neither of us are alone in ; the world any. more.” 5 hay ek oe After a while Cleve told her the whole story he aaa “had previously related to Captain Houston, except that portion concerning the scene in the ranch on fe" Klamath Mountain, which he deemed it fitting that _ she should never learn. e - _ Captain Houston had slipped away, early in the a: interview, and they were now alone. They talked at... a long while together, and finally Mabel said: 4 “But is—of course your name is Lynn.” “No, that was your mother’s name.” Scaee “ And my name is not Lynn, after all?” = ‘No, darling, your name is Robsart.” “Robsart!” she repeated—a new_ intelligence ak: n upon her. ‘Robsart! Why, I knew a like me; and, oh, dear, it may be she is—” Your mother? Yes, darling, if she looks like you she may be.” He was all eagerness now. Boys re ig she—where did you see her?” —s- ** At Newport; but this" woman was young and . beautiful, and her husband was dead.” a ag fe did not mind this last remark. ta » Where ig snow?” he asked. ‘‘ Who was she s bl _ © She was with her husband’s father, old Mr. Rob- - gart. and 1 believe, yes, I’m quite sure, they live in Maryland.” =e _ Cleve Robsart felt himself grow weak and faintish. _ “Mabel, that lady is your mother. She is at Rob- _- gart Place now,” he said. ‘The play is over at last; the clouds are breaking away, and glad sunshine -iscoming. It is almost too mu . hope for, but _we willall be reunited again.” en) ——-s-‘ Tt was late when they parted for the night. Mabel had so much to tell him concerning Laura Robsart’s stay at Newport; of her interview with her; of how she looked; of what_she said; of her beauty, her manner, her voice, while he pictured her as she ap- peared to-him when quite a child, when she won his admiration and affection, ; ‘ : » meth en tae HAnadite --DID HE LOVE HER? ‘| the trust reposed in him. eee Pas named Robsart, and everybody says she looks | lat Ae & Ping ae Ss oe Sn . 4 = ehh Be e ; pe ee he See oe * The next morning all at Oak Manor knew that Mabel’s father had—like Micawber’s fortune—turned up at last, and there was a great deal of hand-shak- ing and congratulations over the event. When, however, it became known that Laura Robsart was Mabel’s mother, John Nevin felt shock- ed, and was incredulous for a time; but when Alice told him the whole story, word for word, as Mabel had given it to her, he was convinced. He thought he could now see why it was that Laura Robsart had declined all offers of marriage, and from that moment he thought better of her. “She had every opportunity to be untrue to her _ husband,” he said to Alice, “but she resisted the temptation, and has come out of the fire—pure gold.” That same afternoon Cleve Robsart left Oak Manor for Maryland. / “Tl be back in a week,”’ he said to Mabel, ‘‘ and then I'll take you with me.” She watched him out of sight, and then went up to her chamber, and prayed that his mission might prove successful. . CHAPTER XXVI. RUNNING AWAY. Exton Ropsart had been buried three days, and Laura was just recovering from the shock conse- quent on his sudden demise. She was very pale and exhausted, indeed, scarce able to be out of bed, but the terror with which Sarah Rook’s threat filled her, nerved her to make one great effort to escape the toils. ““Tean’t stay here and wait for the avalanche to crush me. Every hour seems to fly, as if Time was hurrying my doom. No, no, I will go far. far from here, where that woman will never be able to find Wigs She called Clowes and Price ‘to the library, and after they had drepped into the seats she pointed cut to them, began: : “Tm going away,” shesaid, abruptly; “this place is hateful to me. There is no reason why I should remain now that papa Robsart is dead.” Clowes nodded, and said: ‘‘ No reason at all.” * And Price, my good man, I will intrust you with the care of this place; you will take care of it, and if T determine to sell, I’ll do so through my attorney, and—and then you can rejoinme.” “Yes, ma’m,”’ replied Price, complimented with’ “Abroad, ma’m?”’ “T don’t know whether I'll go abroad or not just yet. I haven’t made up my gpind quite on that head. I’ll keep you advised, however, and Clowes—” “Ves, milady.” ‘You are to accompany me. But not at once, for I go to-night and alone.” * Alone. milady?” “Yes, Clowes, [have a reason for going alone, and you must not question me, or tel) anybody in the world that I’m going.”’ : The servants exchanged glances, and Price an- swered: : : ‘We will do whatever your ladyship asks us to do that’s right and proper.” “Thank you; you shall not go unrewarded. Here is three months’ salary in advance ’—she handed each a roll of bills—‘‘and to-morrow, or next day, you will discharge the servants and pay them out of the money you will find in my bureau drawer. Re- becca, whom we brought from England with us, must have her passage paid back if she wants to re- turn_to her native land.” ‘ ‘Yes, ma’m,”’ said Price; “anything else?” _ “Nothing. 1 leave at eight o’clock this evening, and, as it is now six, and I have some few prepara- tions to make, the adieux may as well be spoken now. : rita Laura arose and shook: hands with them both Pie again and again, then they left her, E i = Gey os. Ue Spe ar
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DID HE LOVE HER? When they had gone she glanced around the apartment, letting her gaze rest longingly, lovingly, on every familiar object. ““Robsart Place, you’ve been my home,” she broke out. ‘When huhted down by the world; when foot- sore and weary; when I could find no rest any- where, you welcomed me; and when terrors vop- pressed on all sides, you gave me rest. And now, old home, sweet, kind old friend ”’—she stretched out her arms as if she would embrace everything about her—“ farewell!” She set her teeth hard together, to prevent herself from wailing out the anguish that was in her heart, and began preparing for exile. In her own room she shook out her many dresses slowly, folded them neatly, and, after wetting them all with tears, laid them away, as she thought, never to see them again. Oh, the thoughts that were in her mind as she turned away atlast. It was quite dark now; she had but an hour in which to reach Sydneytown, if she would be in time to catch the evening boat down the bay. ; At first she thought of going up to Baltimore, thence to New York, and then to Europe, and per- haps even to Asia; but, she changed her route after a moment’s reflection. In case of pursuit, that would be the most likely route followed; it seemed the most natural, and there were lines of telegraph and sharp detectives at the depots in all those big cities who would find ete difficulty in tracing a woman who traveled alone. ‘*No, I will go down the bay,” she said, ‘‘ to Nor- folk, and I can take shipping from Wilmi or Charleston just as well.’ & : She stole out in the garden by a side door, aes down the sloping hillside, re a! the hedge of sweetbrier between her and the house, until at Jength she reached the red oak. Here she paused a moment for breath, Then she ~ sped on faster than ever. 5 She had just reached a little willow copse on the outskirts of Robsart Place, when a heavy hand was laid upon her arm, “Running away, eh?” cried a hoarse voice in her ear. ‘‘ Trying to get off with your neck.” _ It was’ Sarah Rook’s voice, and Sarah Rook's _ hand, the former full of triumph, the latter heavy, authoritative. “‘ Mrs. Rook!” gasped Laura. “Yes, Mrs. Rook, indeed, lady beautiful, and in the nick of time, too.” Laura felt at first @s if she must fall at the wo- man’s. feet, as she had done before, and beg for mercy but, remembering how vindictive, how flint- like, she had been on that former occasion, she de- termined to brave it out to the last. _ _ “Tet me pass,” she cried, hoarsely. “If you : eR will be worse for you; mind what I say ow. She.raised up her little blue-veined fist, like a ercules in miniature, and Sarah Rook, astonished at this show of spirit, retreated a pace and suffered her to pass. She had only gained a rod or two, however, when She was caught again; this time in a vise-like grip. P “You needn’t try toscare mein that way. You re not going to get off. There af a guard at the boat-landing, and another at the Calvert House. I Merely run ahead of the officers to have the pleasure _ Of telling you that you have played your last antic— that my hour of triumph has come at last.” ,, Laura scope at the woman an instant like a lioness at bay; then, with a low cry, darted into the § oY of dense timber, which stretched between the ‘Path she had been pursuing and the town, and was Soon lost in the darkness. Sarah Rook stood 8nd then taking et and carrying it by for pe as if spell-bound; bedside.” Pe : “His last’ illness,” repeated Cleve. ‘Gan it be | that heisdead?” FBT sie : aire. * # Seis « e ae eS Nee piste “wie 8 CHAPTER XXVII. ‘THEY MEET AGAIN, 2 c ‘* Yes, sir,” a little curtly. = 3 ‘*Sometimes called W. 8. Foster, I presume?” be Cleve said this in a free and easy way that nettled rad the practitioner, who concluded at once that his : visitor was a very impertinent fellow, and deter- mined to make short work of himj“he arose and said: r ‘Sometimes called one thing and sometimes an- — other. But, what’s your business, please?” ie ‘‘Oh! my business. Certainly—my business is to find out whether you ever stood next in classat ~ school, went out fishing with, or tumbled somer- =a saults on the college en with a lazy, worthless =. vagabond named Cleveland Robsart, some odd thir- ty years ago?” : “Cleve, old boy!” cried the doctor. ‘* Winn, my dear, good fellow!” ; tee The two men were locked in each other’s arms, ‘ _ blubbering like boys. =. After the first gush of welcome had subsided, ~~ — Doctor Foster said: , ““ Why, how does this come, that you are walking beneath the glimpses of the moon again, oe night hideous, and all that sort of stuff? I though you were dead. and buried these many years.” ‘*Indeed! who told you so?” ‘ * Well, common report at first, but afterward firmed by your wife.” : “My wife! where did you meet her?” ‘* At Robsart Place, to be sure!” ‘“* How long has she been at Robsart Place?” “Well, ever since your reputed death.” “4 “There is a long story here, Winn, and tell it all, after you have answered mea few tions.’” j 5 ““Go on; I have long suspected there was a 1 tery or romance connected with your wife.” ‘“* Indeed!”” : “Yes, indeed! But I’m interrupting you, Go on,’ Cleve paused a while, and then asked: ae ‘* What do you think of Mabel?”’ ‘* Mabel! Laura, you mean?” I oS os “No, I mean Mabel; that is her right name. IT never liked it, though, and I called her Laura in ~ hi came finally to adopt it, Whatdoyou iful as a picture.” j > How has she acted since her Ps - I can’t say,” replied Foster. e ay a great deal; bu can say, that she he reputation of be angel,and since I have known her she has wel ed this title. Your poor father doted upon her and 5 sbe upon him; in his last illness she never left his _
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Doctor Foster told him, then and there, the whole story of Elton’s last hours. He was pained when he learned of his father’s death, and a silence fell upon the two, which was at length broken:by Cleve, who said: _ “And so she refused to marry again, and declared her love for me?” x *Yes:”? 4 Here the conversation was interrupted by a quick double rap at the front door. ‘*Tt’s a call, I presume,” said the doctor. ‘ Here, Cleve, step into this room. I[’ll not keep you wait- a ing long.’ ; Lf Cleve passed into a room in the ‘rear, and closed the door after him. ~ He had scarcely done so when, without waiting for the doctor, the street door was flung open, and Fee, bie into the apartment panting, flushed, excited. : * Oh, doctor,” she broke out, “‘don’t give me up— ~ do not let them take me! I have come here to throw myself upon your mercy. Ob, don’t let them take me away! Hide me! have pity!” She held him fast by the arm, and looked appeal- my up into his face. ‘Be calm,” he said, ‘‘be calm, and pray tell me _.—s what’s wrong with you—what’s bappened?” : ““They’ve come for me, Sarah Rook and the rest,” 2 she a ered, hurriedly, ‘‘and they’re going to take \ me back to California and hang me!” re = Hang you, Mrs. Robsart?” Dcctor Foster ejacu- —-Jated. “You are surely demented. Why should they hang you?” ay aan “They accuse mo of killing my husband, Cleve Robsart, I thought you knew.” “No, I don’t know,” he said, very calmly, “ that you did any such thing.” “Phen you are not in league with my enemies?” _**No: be calm; sit down. No one shall harm -_- you, You say they charge you with killing your ; I was try- have killed her hands now. * he said, laying his hand upon e news for you—good news! not dead |” “ie Oh, “But he recovered. he eon and well, and is coming here soon a ; yped to her feet. “ not jesting doctor? you have heard from ave heard from him; but you must be ow; excitements are dangerous.” ‘am calm,” she cried, excitedly—‘t very calm; now tell me how you came to hear from him. m1 see, there is not the slightest danger; ’m not kcited at,all.” ; “Yes; but’ you are excited,” he said, “and Pil not a word ‘more until you sit down. There now that’s better.” She had dropped into_a chair. : “Nou thought your tisband was kille¢ you ran away?” “Yes; I was quite sure ains for my life. I left bh : , jhe moun- sons,” he jo be one of oat No med, rising. ‘I know he is here; something*tells me he is here. Oh, doctor, let me see him but for one moment, and I ill die content.” ‘ he physician put u s hand to command si- ad fer ak i = ea a a ote lence. She took no notice whatever of the move- ment, but cried out, with all her force: : “Cleve Robsart!—Cleve, my husband! Why don’t you come to me?” There was a shuffling of feet; the door of the back office flew wide open, and with a scream of recogni- tion, she fell forward, fainting in her husband’s arms. He smoothed back the drifts of golden hair, and kissed her brow and cheek rapturously. “ Again!—again!—again!’’ was all he could say, and his hot tears fell on her upturned face. “Take her into the back room, Cleve,’’ said Doc- tor Foster, considerately. ‘I presume you two will have a great deal to say that will not be especially interesting to third parties.” Cleve thanked him, and half led, half carried his beautiful but still unconscious wife into the apart- ment designated. —EE CHAPTER XXVIII. FOILED. Wuen the door had been closed_ behind the reunit- ed Ped the physician sat down, drew a long breath, and exclaimed: “Well! well! well! This beats the most exciting of Ainsworth’s fictions, and is fully equaltoa French play. First, an old friend; then a mystery; and then, ‘Oh, heaven and earth, but this is wondrous strange,’ a long-lost. wife, reconciliation, and, if we had a little red fire—what an effective tableau!” While he was thus solilcquizing, the front door was unceremoniously opened, and in stalked three men, ‘The first was our old friend, Sam Blaize. “T say,” he blurted out, approaching Dector Fos- ter, who had arisen to his feet, ‘‘ where is she—the woman?” “Tf you mean Mrs, Robsart,’’ the doctor said, but Blaize interrupted him. “Yes, we mean Mrs. Robsart, and you know it, too. We don’t want no cla Rat fa about it, either; we come after the woman a long way, and now we want her.” ‘* And what for, pray?” : One of the two men who had entered with Blaize, and had been silent up to this time, came forward now and said, in a respectful manner: ‘‘Pardon, sir; but there’s no need of any hard words. We're officers of the law; we’ve come here to do our duty; our simple duty, sir, and it will be better for all parties to have no trov ble.” ‘¢T understand that, perfectly,” cnswered the doc- tor; ‘‘and I’m sure I have no disposition to inter- fere with you in the discharge of your duty.” The officer nodded complacently, and the other | went ontosay: ‘‘Youareinsearch of Mrs. Laura Robsart, whom somebcdy charges with killing her husband?” “Pm that somebody,” interrupted Blaize, again, “You saw the murdered man, I suppose?” . “Saw him! I saw her do it!” “Indeed!” Then, after. some hesitation—* You knew the murdered man?”’ “ Well ” > wk fee You could identify him easily?” of course, . ‘*T never forget a face.” so “You will have an opporturity of testing your — memory in a moment.” ‘““What do you mean?” “‘T mean simply this—Cleve Robsart was not killed —neither by his wife nor any one else.” Nor ‘Oh, my friend. that won’t do,” said the officer, — with agrin; ‘that’s too thin; it won’t work.”’ ‘‘ But, I’m prepared to prove my words good.” re- plied the Doctor. Then. going to the door of the — inner room, he rapped gently. and called out: Bed “Cleve! Cleve! Come here,I want you—alone, if — you please.” ; s 1 The next instant Sam Blaize was startled by the qe the ‘ =. oe Hot ‘ 3 i i ne ge ees % SL —* A ed
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appearance of one whom he would have taken his oath a moment before had been dead for many a ear. . “Are you Cleve Robsart,”’ gasped Blaize, ‘‘ of skyou county?’ me Yes, as ar as you are Texas, of Klamath Bar,” was the reply. 3 Blaize was dumfounded. —s_— “Well,” said the officer, ‘is this your murdered man?” turning to Blaize. : * Yes, I think so. I’m quite sure it is,” he said, in answer. “ But I saw him fall and the blood spurt out of his neck. I’m positive of that.” : ““And there is the mark yet,’ said Cleve, pulling aside his beard and disclosing a red scar. “Yes! yes!” said Blaize.- “So, you're the man supposed to have been dead —eh?” and the officer addressed Cleve. “Yes, sir; I’m the man!”’ “ Well, there seems to have been a pretty mess made of this business, anyway. But however, you are not to blame, and to be candid, I’m glad the dead man’s alive. Come on,” he said, speaking to his companion. : The door opened and closed, and the two police- men and Blaize trotted ‘own the street together. ‘In the little parlor of the Calvert House, Sarah Rook encountered the trio. ‘‘ You’ve come back soon, Where is she? Whereis your prisoner?” she demanded.” “Ain’t got any prisoner,” returned one of the offi- - cers. ‘The man’s alive and well; we’ve just had a mighty interesting talk with him.” “Why, yes, of course,” put in Blaize. ‘ You see Cleve Robsart recovered from the wound he got that hight, and he is nowin this town!” ‘In this town?” she repeated, ‘“‘In this very town. I saw him but a moment Since.”’ She saw it all then; it broke upon her like a bright light, all at once, and she muttered: ‘tI have been ~ Madea fool and dupe of, and I am not avenged after all. Iam to be laughed at, jeered at! Oh, this is ‘0 much, it’s driving me mad.”’ a “But, Mrs. Rook,” ventured Blaize, timidly. __ “Goaway!” she exclaimed. .‘‘ You area fool and _ &knave. You have aided my enemies to drive me _ Mad. Go away. Isay—go away!” '$ _ ,, She almost shrieked the last words, and Blaizeand _ the two officers withdrew. That night Sam left Sydnevtown forever, and _ the next morning old Calvert Pittock found Sarah ray lying on the floor of his best chamber— She died from heart disease, the doctors said, and Perhaps sho did. - » CHAPTER XXIX. THE END. 4 Tim next morning, bright and early, Cleve Robsart out his wife, whom he still called Laura, started for ; whi anor, and on the second day, as the boat Ich carried them up the Hudson neared the land- by} Cleve whispered to the beautiful, happy woman Y his side: re you.not getting anxious to see our daughter "OUP Mabe tg o . a , . “ «it e8, very; but— a ,, But what?” vs | ek. all appears so strange, and I fear she will not ane at first—like—like a daughter,” and oe she will,” he replied. ‘Mabel is all Jovy. aS ASti eueness, and I've told her the whole story, ela ying you fully.” Me 2 are so good, Cleve.” ay lowe boat touched the shore, and while Price and eo “looked after the few trunks they had brought To €m, Cleve and Laura walked up the stee ‘Ou"ay toward the house, vif the lawn they met Captain Houston and his Shou Sean - Os eae ae .| wits by walking He gave Laura a warm Pian ea as, indeed his, wife did, as well, and when the bustle of hand-shak- ing was over, Laura asked: na ‘“*And where is Mabel?” ee “In the drawing-room,” answered Mrs. Houston. Sab ‘Will I call -her?’ 5 } 7 “Ob, no, please,” said Laura, growing excited. “Let me go alone; I want to meet her all alone.” aes She picked up the skirts of her traveling-dress as she spoke, and hurried up the walk. : Mabel was seated on a divan, by one of the win- dows, reading a letter just received from Joe Dor- eae mer, telling her that he would be in New Yorkin two weeks, and that she might expect him at Oak Manor immediately after his arrival. ee She kissed the missive over and over, and then a settled herself to read it through again. ; eet Laura watched her a moment through a chink * a in the doorway; then, pushing the door back softly, ~. she glided into the large, splendidly furnishe - apartment. AS **Mabel!” she exclaimed, and then she screamed — as if a knife was piercing her heart. : ' ‘““My mother!’ shrieked Mabel. ns Possibly there never was such a meeting before, — such kissing, such crying, such clasping of forms. Two weeks after that day there was another arrival at Oak Manor: Joe Dormer returned from California. : I will not attempt to describe the scene that fol- lowed; I could not paint Mabel’s surprise and joy to find her old boy lover in the dark, handsome, stylish young merchant, nor the pleasure he experienced to find her even more winsome than of old, and a thousand times more beautiful than Dalby had painted her. : Of course he was astonished at the new 7ole he found Cleve: playing, and he could just remember that Laura bore a striking resemblance to the wo- man whom he met when quite a Loy at his own fire- side in Rulloville. i At first_Laura wanted to return immediately to. Robsart Place, but Alice and John Nevin coaxed them to remain another week. ““ We are to be married, on Thursday evening, you gz know,” she said to Mabel, “quietly at home, and we want you all to be present. There will be no - = strangers.” . . = They remained, and when Thursday evening t) a5, round, a erage ceremony was performed in the req drawing-room at Oak Manor, and Miss Alice Hous- } ton became the wife of John Nevin. 3 ; The next morning, the newly-wedded pair started for a tour of Europe. Robsart Place was decked in snow-wreaths, and the Christmas bells were ringing right merrily f the steeples of the two faded churches in Sy town, when Joe Dormer wed Mabel Robsart. ceremony, as in the former case, wis performed i the drawing-room. As might be expected, Mabel looked charmingly and when Joe caught a glimpse of her, asshecamo modestly in, leaning on the arm of her father. he could scarcely keep back an exclamation of wonder, Fx The ceremony over, the happy pair. accompanied by Laura and Cleve, set out for California, aud in — due season they startled Adam almost cut of his imto the back office where ho was busy at work. : After the first s had subsided, and after Adam had cried over Mabel & while, he said, gayly: ‘And you wasn’t afraid to come back with to tell you something. He did so, The prompter may as well ring down the curtain. Papel a, iz ‘* No, not a bit,” she added. “Stoopdown; I a 3 ; “Dm Joes uifel” Bow -
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ied 20 Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. Sa Jacob Abarbanell (Ralph Royal). 1A Bride of a Day; of, The Mystery of Winifred Leigh, By Mary Reed Crowell. 2 The Girl Wife; or, The True and the False. By ~ Bartley T. Campbell. 8 Was li Love? or, Collegians and Sweethearts. By - Wm. Mason Turner, M, D. ? 4 Married in Haste ; or, A Young Girl’s Temptation. By Rett Winwood, . & Will She Marry Wim? or, The Masked Bride, By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 6 Wis Lawful Wife; or, Myra, the Child! Adop- tion. By Mrs. Ann 5S. Stephens. Y A Falr Face; or, Out in the World. By Bartley T. Campbell. é 8 A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By Mary A, Denison. 11 The Bride of an Actor 3 or, Driven from Home. By the Author of “ Alone in the World,” etc., etc. 12 A Pair of Gray Eyes or, The Emerald Necklace. * By Rose Kennedy. 18 Without a Weart; or, Walking on the Brink. By 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 Farmer’s Sweetheart. By Col. Prentiss Lngrabam. 16 The Secret Marriage ; or, A Duchess in Spite of Herself By Sara Claxton, : 17 Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry of Hearts, By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. . 18 Wenrt to Heart; or, Fair Phyllis’s Love. By , Arabella Southworth. 19 Sold: for Goldy or, Almost Lost. By Mrs. M. V. ietor. By Henrietta Thackeray. F 21 Sybil Chase 3 or, The Gamblers Wife. By Mrs. ‘ Aun S. Steyhens, 22 Trust er Not; or, A True Knight. Leicester, 28 Sinned Against; or, The Winthrop Pride. By . Clara Augusta 24 A Loyal Lover: or, The Last of the Grimapeths By Arabella Southworth. 25 The Country Cousin; or, All is net Gold that Glitters. By Rose Kennedy, 26 His Idol; or, The Il-Starred Marriage, Mary Reed Crowell. 27 Flirtation; or, A Young Giyi’s Good Name. By Margaret By Mrs. By 28 Now: orever; or, Why Did She Marry Him? A By nn ¥ ckeray. : 29 Orphan ell, the Orange Girl; or, the Lost Heir. By Agile Peune. 80 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 81 The Little Metress 3 or, Under a Cloud. By Mrs. Mary 4, Denison, 82 Leap Year; or, Why She Proposed. By Sara Clax- ton. 88 In Spite of Herself; or, Jeanette’s Reparation. __ By 8. R. Sherwood. BA 1 r Face Was Her Bo ne. By Eleanor :* ot Msline. Pig Pen % ey “9 mei mail on receipt of six cents each, hea? THIRTY-TWO OCTAVO PAGES. '46 The Three Sisters; or, The «= Beadle and Adams, Publishers, No. 98 William street, New York. 85 The Cuban Heiress; or, The Prisoner of La Vin- tresse. By Mrs. Mary A, Denison. 86 Only a Schoolmistress; or, Her Untold Secret. By Arabella Southworth. 87 The Winged Messenger 3 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. Kaime. 40 Love-Mad; or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced ‘and— By Wm. Mason Turner, M, D. yt 41 For Her Dear Sake; or, Saved From Himself. By Sara Claxton. | - 7 ; 42 The Bouquet Girl; or, A Million of Money. By Agile Penne, } 48 Mariana, the Prima Donna. worth, 44 The Ebon Maak; or, The Mysterious Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 45 Lucy Temple. By Arabella. South- Daughter of Charlotte. 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 Wife’s Secret; or, "Twixt Cup and Lip. By Col, Juan Lewis. > 560 Sir Archer’s Bride { or, The Queen of Hearts. By Arabella Southworth. 51 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 6&2 Homeless or, Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert W, Aiken. ‘ 58 The Maniac Bride 3 or, The Dead Secret of Hollow Ash Hall, By Margaret Blount. 54 Pledged to Marry 3 or, In Love’s Bonds. By Sura Claxton. : 55 Ceeil’s Deceit; or, The Diamond Legacy. Jennie Davis Burton. By Mrs. 56 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Second Love. © By Arabella Southworth. f 567 Without Merey. By Bartley T.Campbell. 568 The Baroncet’s Secret; or, The Rival Hal.-Sisters, By Sara Claxton. > 569 anes Hope, the Actress; or, thé Romance of a tuby Ring, By Wm. Mason iurcer, M.D, 60 A Widow’s Wiles; or, A Bitter Vengeance. By Rachel Bernhardt. ‘ : 61 Did He Love Her? By Ba-tley T. Campb 1. Ready July 21. 62 Almost in His Power; or, More Sinned Against than Sinning. By Lillian Lovejoy. Ready July 28, 68 She Did Not Love Him. By Arabella South- worth. Ready August 4. 64 Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl’ By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. Ready August 11, 65 A Brave Girl; or, Sunshine at Last. By Alice Fleming. Ready August 18, ‘©The Waverley Library is for sale by all newsdealers, five cents per copy, or _PRALL ALLA AO * 4 , ee 5 ; \ § vy 5 § a : q 5 > 2 § 5 N { | , § “5 \ § + , . { , t { , § r ¢ ( | . ¢ q > j 5 § § , é y