Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 136) (1882 06 20)
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The Cheapest and Best Library! The Cream of American and Foreign Novels for Five Cents! \ y tees s; Us \ ; Y | ny: , ang : A EE AI BS 7 Se ram O TI ° KG ONGS ° wo? RSS SO Ce eg 2x ARS 5B Ue Ao MCU s9G 16 been fy OCZAL OO FAURE: ESSE ae tE 2c BURRIS on AO Gri beat $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N, Y., at Second Class Mail Rates, Copyrighted in 1882 by BEADLE AND ADAMS. June 2, 1882, No.136. Vou. VI. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST,, N. Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS . A — = —— AAA SS LSS es TTT aT ST } gp ones WAS SHE HIS MEE! Pf RES i Pee, “ PHE MASKED BRIDE,” “ HIS IDOL,” BTC. ~SNYN)_ 7 A/S ~ ~ ta A aw ALANA o REWARE, GERVAISE DE LAURIAN, HOW YOU ACCUSE ME OF FALSEHOODS! REMEMBER WHO I Am!”
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2 —— Was She His Wife ? _—__ BY MRS. MARY REED CROWELL. “CHAPTER I. ‘THE CURSE. between. New. York and the busy, stands a »and the peculiarly romantic appear- thé line of the railroad, and perhaps ten below that level, from which rude wooden bad y hes an immense park, tra- versed by curving drives, tree-shaded promen- ades, n, sunny lawns. A lake, of circular form and rather diminutive size, adorns the center of the park, from which narrow walks diverge toward the railroad—the carriage entrance—where a large iron gate ds hospitably open, and a tiny porter’s lodge corey adds to the style of the grounds; and the dwell- ie Frey ee Chase. t the first glance bestowed upon the fair gray granite pillars and towers of far-famed Chet- wynd Chase, even the most superficial observer is impressed with the mingled beauty and weird- ness, fairy grace, and somber aspect of its exter- nal appearance. Standing upon a slight eminence, with a dense grove for a background, its tall turrets rearing above the highest tree-tops with the sloping ass-grown banks of the Passaic. river, stretch- ing from the ‘high flight of griffin-guarded steps down to the very brink of the river, that at that spot widens and curves into unusual beauty, Chetwynd Chase is exceedingly fair to look up- on, even while among its own admirers it has won the name of the “ Mysterious.” And there was a mystery, a deep and unfa- thomable mystery, that for more than two ces turies defied investigation, thatin later days— our own times—deepened from a ee ef toa fearful curse; an anathema on one of the house of Chetwynd that was well calculated to cast dismalest gloom on the unfortunate family. But the Chetwynds of Chetwynd Chase, who had come to Old_E nd, with William ‘the Conqueror, and lived in almost royalty in their old baronial castle in Gloucestershire, and whose younger son, Rexton Chetwynd, had come to America twenty years before the present time— for our story is one of to-day, in a year we have lately seen (1865)—had ever borne with them, wherever they lived, the same strange mystery, that ever invested their homes with its sepul- chral glare. Rexton Ch who had taken for his home this place, and christened it in true old English style, was one of those fine, courtly gentlemen who are fitted by birth, edu- cation and inclination, to fill the highest posi- tions of honor and trust. He was eget handsome—but the Chetwynds were a splendi race—peerless beauty being one of the clauses sworn ae oe oles igs curse; of | abou eas average hight, possibly a trifle above, erect, bearing, bright, intense hae of jettiest black, over which bh t, bushy eyebrows of purest white, that ma and massiveness his hair and military beard. Such was Rexton pet i in his fifty-sev- enth year. The family at Chetwynd Chase was not large, exclusive of the corps of servants. Mrs. Chetwynd, a queenly, Giaee, inet lady. who had been pretty in her fresher days, and now was just as c ing in manner and tem- perament as ever sho been ; a true wife, who believed her husband the most perfect man on all the earth, whose will was her rigid law whose faintest expressed desire was her greatest pleasure to perform. She never presumed to contradict him in the slightest matter; such a wild idéa had never entered her head ;- and, yielding her graceful, tender, dignified homage, she freel * ake mga what we seldom see—a true, model wife; and perhaps more women would gladly follow her example, were the hus- bands to imitate Rexton Chetwynd in his chiy- alrous devotion and affectionate solicitude for her welfare and happiness. There was & nephew traveling on the conti- nent now, a handsome, high-spirited eee manly man, with the Chetwynds’ bold eauty and hauteur, and winning tendérness of mien. Rex Chetwynd was aeebly attached to his uncle and aunt, but om his only cousin, the dar ling of Chetwynd Chase, his heart was set with strongest affection. , Blanche Chetwynd was a girl whom to see } | Been a Ot tor haat wide ows commanded to rnow, to steadily love. Her charms{of mind were no less than her graces of person, that were made up of a rare and beautiful commi In stature she was less ir ate ee) ikeness to Mr. Chetwynd. her mother’s had been, bright, burnished gold in color, with not a ripple to mar the shining glory, save at the ends, which curled in loose, ck x 3 Her com; on was pale’as marble, without the faintest vestige of color on her cheeks, and yet there was not a suggestion of pallid sickness that sunny whiteness. Fim lips ae _ cma arched a of ate scarlet, ripe and dewy, suggesting all manner 0: pretty sivatlon—-ebene tenis gleaming ivy-ber- ries, cleft pomegranates, Blanche Chetwynd it was, this regal, peerless girl, on whom the curse would descend; to whom the mystery would be unraveled, which for two hundred years had been wrapt in densest gloom, and had an declared never to be ex- lained until the youngest son of the house of Jhetwynd could possess, in their youngest born, a daughter. Heretofore, the youtigest child had invariably n; and until Rexton Chetwynd had seen hig fair Blanche grow up, and. no. other children ‘followingythe no ot ae that on hini and his the curse would But Blanche was nineteen now, and Mr, Chet- ynd had» long since given u hoping for an- other son, whose birth would thus ‘avert the cloud from Blanche’s head; and for years back he had been steeling himself for the blow he knew must come, sooner or later; but of its im- port, or Coming, he was perfectly ignorant. He only knew, as Blanche herself knew, and all the Chetwynds, that, because from a youngest daughter»the blight had proceeded, so to a youngest daughter it must return. Rexton Chetwynd knew there was something awful about it; he had heard his grandfather tell about the “*Scarlet Room” in the old baro- nial castle, where walls were encrimsoned with the blood of young Lady Constanzia, whose pit- iful- story, whose tragic end, was well known to farally, He had heard of her ghost wander- the halls, and of a dark, malignant- : ‘face that followed the figure—that C) id Lenox, the seducer. the murderer of ied Constanzia. Tt been handed down, this weirc legend, from : ither to son, with the accompanying curse on th -youngust daughter, who alone by a pecu- liar sacrifice coduld wipe out the stain of the Chetwynd horror. And sv Blanche, fair, beauteous Blanche, hun- dreds of ‘miles from that oid castle, in a land I f where | ds and superstition go for what they are wo was going on and on, to fight it out for Lady Constanzia’s sake. CHAPTER IL BARBARA’S LOVE. In one of the most luxuriously-appointed apartments of Chetwynd Chase, whose high, far-reaching views over and meadows, a young ; ting, her fair, round arms folded on the window- ledge, her wondrously-splendid face set sternly “toward the sunset , whose vivid hues were reflected in deliciously faint tints on her bru- nette complexion. : : No one could have caught even che slightest oie nd of Barbara Lester’s rare, stranyely- utiful face, without involuntarily - uttering an exclamation of surprise and iration. Swas 8 tape that : Bp th hi of a su ierecing rift of light over a thunder- ahasent Fatal o ibad, or a bright, dead-cold moonbeam shining down over a yawning, black fissure. A mt face, that exactly de- icted the triumph of pride over despair; that enoted a will strong enough to move moun- tains, were they in her way. The eyes were slumbrous, and generally vailed by the long thick lashes—eyes that looked as Barbara Lester willed they should. look, that even Rexton Chetwynd, Sr., found a match for his own sun-bright ones. Her mouth was ect; not yery small, but arched like a Cupid’s bow; full of witching ten- derness and w ess, "whether the ved were or gravely closed i) dem li parted in a de7zling, pearl-di oping aniio, rnoon—a sunny afternoon in late October—Barbara Lester had excused her- year after year, © Ww BS bis ' HIS oie ee SS | was to instantly admire; Ta, a a ety | bgt to ee : e was mn. er eyes, a , ey Hoge ahs Naas ae music-room, where was practicing; she had been in a state of unrest all the day, and now, as she locked her herself into a chair by of relief came from her s that was not all glad- ‘lips that was all con- | tempts « | fair face, her black eyes full of b w8 | tiny hat, on whose aioe. | ee | “J think I willdo. Gervaise me to « thoroughly sick of it all I am!” sho said, as she™ » her head on her hand—so that the long brown tresses covered neck and arms. “Thoroughly tired of it me 7 because i i charity. y ny, - own to baby Blanche—ah! baby though she is, she may yet thwart me! but IF she does!” en a sudden, delightful memory seemed to return to her. ’ “‘ How ridiculous I am! as if, now, she, or mortal woman, has it in her power to win him from me! Let them boast their kindness to r Barbara Lester, the child who was left at heir door, seventeen years ago; let them, I say, and I'd tell them to their faces that Bar- bara Lester’s beauty will balance their money, any day!” h gleam of ee triumph lighted her eyes as she oo vackward into the pier glass. “Tf Blanche is pretty, I am handsome; if she is beautiful, J am more so. And to think she should dream, for a moment, that her childish airs and graces could win Gervaise De Laurian from me!” < ; er lover came in dulcet strains The ‘ig of f : from ; came in a low, swéet key that sent warm blood ‘to herto ead, Ta a gladsome light to her eyes.” | ‘“‘Gervaise, dearest one! Destiny has been good to me in leading you to mé.” Her musing, dreamy voice died away in a meditative murmur as she bowed her head still lower on her hand, gazing earnestly at a picture painted on porcelain that-hung, by a silver hook, beside the windowr" *» She removed it, and looked more closély at it. It was a face, a head, that would have made any woman’s heart beat the quicker at the thought of being beloved by the original. Boldly handsome, intelligent, refined, with a dash of imperiousness, pride and willfulness in the finely-cut features. A blonde complexion shadowed by a heavy amber mustache; a pair of keen, almost fierce violet eyes; dark gold hair, tawny in hue, rare in its beauty, that was brushed low over the forehead, and off the tem- ples, in a style that plainly told the carelessness of the wearer to its arrangement, as well asa proud consciousness of its extreme becoming- ness. Such was the face, so fascinating in i half-smiling, half-frowning u hi a Auntie lavished * os Sole sses. Then she replaced the picture on ‘its silver hook, but not before origi, 3 from its frame a heavy, plain gold ring, that she placed on her tiny finger. “Blanche has never seen that, and little dreams she I am his betrothed bride, If she a I — = his take better care that she not fivsh and tremble hanced to touch h r hand.” sya wr: She had thrown a black lace shawl over her shoulders while she and then adjusted a adie a spray of vel- wear this suit, although it is a strange color for She glanced down at her emerald green suit. pee means ‘forsaken; is it an omen, I won- Then, smiling looked at her watch. ‘‘ Five o’clock so soon! and I promised to be at the chapel ruins at five.” a a Bairen gietabe at the ag cba tn swept across the velvet carpet, opened then locked itafter her. | 7, te nche Che d met her a’ dary ary sunbright curls all windblown about hap- iness. ; ‘Off for & ramble, Barbara?” Barbara laughed as she hoisted her parasol. “To Passaic, I think, if the road is not too dusty. I may be late to dinner, buf you'll make my excuses Agee y. But there is the carriage, Ber- ” “ Tha ; but a walk will be a delightful rarity. oY think you'll meet Mr. De Bar- Laurian, bara, for I passed him at the ehapel ruins e fow | minutes age.” \ at her nervous suggestion, she { a WE Sat: ae
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fi WAS SHE HIS WIFE? Barbara glanced keenly at the sweet, con- scious face, and then a little look of stern re- proof came to her lips. “Mr. De Laurian and you often meet, Blanche.” no! wale heart bs Barbara Sxhitingly, be co) 's ly saw the low deepen on her cheeks, “You are an adept, Blanche,” and Barbara laid her finger on the girl’s hot face. “But, adieu, mia cara,” and, wafting a kiss, she went on, and Blanche returned s owly to ote t a long walk, and in a few minutes was nota a minu Barbara reached toe ruins. True to his tryst, Gervaise De Laurian await- ed her. With a glad smile, in which all her beauty seemed to concentrate itself, she extend- ed her hands, ‘*Gervaise! I was fearful I had kept you waiting too long!” ** As if forever were too long to wait for you, Barbara!” His deep-whispered words sent a flush to her cheeks. “But, nevertheless, ’m glad you've come; I am impatient, after all, for the treasure the next hour will give me. My darling, you do not de- sire to retract your promise? you are as willing to-day to a ia your vow as you were when I gave you that?” is r touched the golden circlet on her hand, and his proud, passionful eyes were look- ing own in her own. ‘Retreat, Geérvaise? Never! Rather do 1 desire to strengthen it by every bond I may.” He smiled bent and kissed her. ** Come,’ then, my darling. Ever g isin readiness; a short five minutes, we will be each other’s forever.” ** But, Blanche Chetwynd?” For the life of her, Barbara could not tell why she asked that. She never knew, until months after, why it was that the words rose spontaneously to her lips, forcing their own ut- terance; or why, for a second, there uprose before her a sweet, girlish face, with love-lighted eyes. Fora moment Gervaise De Laurian looked at her; then his eyes grow wrathful. “What has Blanche Chetwynd to do with me, or you?” ** Forgive me, Gervaise, they were idle words.” It was wonderful, almost pitiful, to see how this proud, eagle-hearted girl flung all her pride, her hauteur at the feet of her love; but Barbara Lester’s was no light, passing emotion, that scarce ruffled the tide of her life. It was a mighty, master current, that bowed all her will to its headlong course, And Gervaise De Laurian knew this. He knew how entirely he was her master, and he was proud of his conquest, so that now, when he listened to her loving voice and saw her beautiful, ceful girlishness, he smiled down in her wistful eyes. “T will forgive you. But I can not have you speak so She accepted his arm, and together they walked slowly to the inner ht. of the onan ) Bexbhse, h begin to ow, my own, here we tread the same life path. Here I shall solemnly swear to love you to the end. Barbara, you will promise to love me, care for me with all your woman’s heart, forever and forever His low, murmurous voice held her in a thrall, delicious as cal. “¢ Forever and oan, Cervelis: till death do w “ne kissed her, and led her through the moss- grown door. oe CHAPTER IIL “T¥ SHE BUT KNEW!” Ir was a spacious place, with old; moth-eaten pery, and a floor where luxuriant grass grew between the interstices of. moldy stones. At one end, it was inclosed by a hedge of pines, at the other the Passaic river flowed. <.bove waved tree-tops, a low, tender music lin- gering in their branches. An elderly gentleman, with pleasant blue eyes, awaited them. “ Barbara, dear, this is a friend of mine from New York, who is empowered by the right of his office to 1 . He is not a clergyman, but you do not ob ject to being married by a justice o f the peace? Barbara did not care. Why should she? was ed marriage j as sacred solemnized With luminous eyes she to!? Ler lov: , and he turned to the gentleman. x eee **Mr. Croyden, this is the lady of whom I spoke, Miss fora We are ready now. Hand in hand, under the roofing of Nature’s Eternal Temple, with the grand forest aisles about them, and the music of the soft summer winds their wedding h the ceremony was Se aC sane ante, hegtiectt ride; officia gentleman C) “Mrs, torraioe ‘ibe Laurian, my wile! my own beautiful bride!” He whispered the words in her ear as they turned to retrace their steps. A smile of perfect happiness answered him. “T am glad it is over, bara. I have some- times feared of losing you. But now, never.” ee laid her hand on his arm in a half-serious sture. ““Gervaise, I have but one request to make, You will grant the first your wife asks? Prom- ise you will not flirt any more with—with—” ‘Blanche Chetwynd, you mean?’ added he, seeing her hesitate. ‘‘I can’t promise; as you know, Barbara, a man can’t help paying court to a pretty girl like little golden-haired B anche, But, Bar can you me? Remember, that as our marriage is to be kept secret—” Barbara uttered a cry. “Secret, Gervaise? Our marriage a secret? ms I Miicciy Sasa of mage a ee pate . é6ér chee then glowed as she spoke, while Gervaise De ‘Laurian’s eyes grew threat- ening. ze Barbara, you must let me dictate, and with- out questioning my motives. I want you to distinctly understand I desire our marriage to be a profound secret, until you have my per- mission to divulge it.’ His imperious tones seemed strangely at va- riance with his impassioned manner a moment before, and as Barbara De Laurian searched earnestly, his handsome, flushed face, and met the light in his willful eyes, she began to realize she had found her equal in her husband; that even as she loved, so must she obey, in the strict- est meaning of the word. Even as Gervaise loved her, would he rule over her. While she had been sosteadily regarding him, her beautiful lips apart in the astonishment she had felt at his language, he had abruptly laid os hand over her mouth, half-saucily, -ten- erly. “There, tiger-lily, do not gaze so reproach- fully atme. I mean to do what is best for us both, and the only course is to retain our secret, for a while at least. You'll promise me, dear- est?” There still lingered a despotism under his af- fectionate words; and what could Barbara do but consent? ‘* Gervaise, I promise.” “IT knew you would. And now I want an- other promise. You asked me not to flirt. with Blanche Chetwynd. It is a hard one to keep Barbara, for, though not so peerless as my royal bride, she is a sweet blossorn, and it is far from ~~ nature to pass such by.” 3arbara grew stately. “But, Gervaise, you've no right to flirt again withany woman. You are my husband, and, as a married man, must not devote yourself to oung ladies’ society as you would have done an our ago.” Her earnest language burst from her eager lips as she laid her fair, warm hands on his arm. He smiled; a quick, lightning-like glance of amusement. “You may be right, Barbara, but don’t forget that only to each other are we married. But will you promise what I was about to ask # never to think of Roy Davenal?” A hot flush shot over her cheeks, as she im- petuously answered: ** Will you never have done with that old-time engapoenet Gervaise, Roy and I were mere children then; we never think of such things now. You know I care for no living being but Toe Codieal tified him, and, as tl er confession gra and, as the came up to the gate, in the gathering dusk, ie kissed her. ‘““Go in now, my darling. Remember your promise.” He bowed, and she smiled her adieus, as she turned down the path to the house. Gervaise De Laurian paused and watched her as she waiked along the narrow path, her green silken skirt rustling against the grass, her flushed face outlined against the gray sky. “* Beautiful temptress! she has ruined herself and me too, I fear! If she but knew; if she but knew, ever so vaguely!” A bitter smile broke over his handsome face, and he turned away. CHAPTER IV. THE SPIDER’S WEB. “BaRBaRa,” said the piazza, an cheeks mos Aye she went on, ‘do you know I am very much afraid I'am allowing myself to think a great deal of Mr. De Laurian?’ Barbara started, but answered pleasantly: “Mr. De Laurian is a gentleman whom few women could dislike.” : She watched Blanche’s face while she spoke. _ “Hecertainly is handsome an ble; I. have heard my father say the De Laurians were renowned for their courtliness and beauty,” “Yes?” and Barbara’s eyes ed the in- terest she naturally experien in her hus- band’s relatives. er inquiries and nts, though Me in a quiet, indifferent nner, were 0 a mask to her eager anxiety. ‘“* And the De Laurians are wealthy too, Bar- bara. Not that money would influence me so far as Gervaise is concerned, but. I think an girl would prefer a husband who possessed both wealth and beauty.” Her cheeks flushed deeper still as she poured out her sweet, girlish confidences. “So you have already decided to marry Mr. De Laurian, it seems, Blanche?’ A half amused smile played on Barbara’s lips as she spoke. Blanche laughed. “Did Isay so? Although, Barbara,” and her eyes grew luminous with tenderness, while her voice mellowed to a low, confiding cadence, ‘I am not ashamed to admit that I love him already.” She raised her eyes to Barbara’s, that were flushing darkly. “You are not angry that ’'ve made you my confidant, Barbara? You're not vexed at my unsolicited secret?” She spoke in deprecating sweetness of man- ner, for a dark, angry cou had settled on Bar- bara’s proud face, ‘*No—not that you’ve honored me with your confidence; for that I thank you, But I am sorry her are so girlish, so childish as to believe the attentions of every gentleman you meet are honest. When you are older you will learn that flirtations are more amusing than lasting. Be- sides, Blanche, there is another reason.” Her voice grew tender as she saw the pained look in Blanche’s eyes. ‘*A reason why I shouldn’t like Gervaise De Laurian, Barbara?’ She asked the question in amazement, ** Not for your simply ‘liking’ him, Blanche. Of course we can all like every one we see, whereas love, particularly such love as you bestow, is not to be frittered away on every one. ‘‘ But the reason, Barbara?” Her clear, questioning eyes were intently re- garding Barbara’s face; and the dark cheeks glowed under that innocent gaze, as she realized what the true reason was. But she returned Blanche’s gaze firmly. ‘““It is a very simple one, Blanche, dear. Mr. De Laurian is a most e; gious flirt, and boasts of his reputation as Sach Slowly the blushes faded off Blanche’s face, “Barbara, no! Gervaise has held my hand many a time; he has whispered to me often; he has—even—kissed me.” Like a molten surge the red tide returned as she leaned nearer Barbara to confide the. pre- cious secret. ‘** Kissed you? When?” Quickly, jealously, came the words. “I can’tsay, Idon’t know. All I remember is that I feel sure he cares for me; that 1 know L love him.” In Barbara’s face were traces of.a conflict, bitterly severe, Should she not. tell this trust- ing young girl the secret she herself despised, and that, while it was heavily binding her down, was as surély building a fearful chasm over which Blanche must fall? She hesitated ; the secret trembled on her lips; the words were ready to be uttered that should save them both from all the misery of their fu- ture lifetime. Then, like some foreshadowing cloud came the memory of her husband’s positive com- mands—and her love leveling all things before it, she decided to allow circumstances to mold themselves, It was a trifling decision, but mighty results depended thereon; and fate—and the Chetwynd Curse sealed the woe of the two fair women. “You have been very imprudent, Blanche; and now that I have placed you on your guard bpm him, you are enabled to cease thinking of him in so tender a manner.”
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Gervaise, Barbara? live!” **Cease lovin can, so long as “T cannot censure you, Blanche, for your de- | our ideal man; for I think | votion to him as myself he is as perfect—setting aside his flirting propensities—as any woman would want.” A smile that would have been mischievous, had her heart been less full, lighted Blanche’s face as she looked at Barbara. “Perhaps you are a wee whit jealous, Bar- bara; you are so warm in your admiration while you reprove me for mine.” Barbara’s haughtiest curl of lip preceded her | answer. ¢ ‘‘As a gentleman, I admire him; as a flirt, I detest him.” Her color deepened, and her heart throbbed | as she spo tame word ‘‘ admire.” Admire Gervaise De Laurian! She, his wife! She drew her trailing skirts up in a handful of . oe rimson, and nodded a pleasant adieu © Blanche. “*] have letters to prepare for the next mail, Blanche. After dinner we will drive to Pater- son for some notions I want.” On the shady piazza she left Blanche, sittin beside the window, where the snowy clematis was tossing its graceful spray. On a rustic chair, her cheeks robbed of their flushes, her eyes full of a sad, wistful light, she leaned, her sun-bright head resting on her hand. A quick tread on the graveled walk aroused her from her transient reverie. She caught a glimpse of a face and form that made her spring in sweet confusion from her reclining position. ‘** Blanche, no, do not rise. I can find myself aseat. Sit still, and tell me if you are glad I have come.” Gervaise De Laurian’s dark eyes, all alight with a dangerous fire, were reading her thoughts that were all too plainly mirro on her pink theeks, in her soft black a hes “Glad? Iam always glad to see you, Mr. De Laurian.” ‘*T shall not believe it if you persist in ad- dressing me so formally. My name is Gervaise, Blanche.” She cast down her eyes under his ardent gaze. ‘* Gervaise, then,” she repeated, almost under her breath, the varying tint on her cheeks pal ing and glowing. * Thank ‘he cherie. Now, where are Mr, and Mrs. Chetwynd, and Miss Barbara?” He drew his chair nearer as he asked the question. ‘‘Mamma and papa are out driving with Rex and Barbara has gone to her room to attend to her correspondence.” “ Leaving you all alone—with me,” he added, =. She did not reply, for there seemed nothin BS ari but her heart was fluttering like a caged prc ‘* Whax do you suppose I came for, this morn- ing, cherie?” “T can easily guess, To Genevieve’ with Barbara, or chess with Rex.” She smiled as she spoke, and looked up in his face as he leaned carelessly back in his chair; and a thrill quivered through her as she saw how handsome ho was. He did not smilo a reply; his eyes were half- vailed by thcir long, golden-brown lashes, under which he was intensely regarding her. : ‘‘ Neither the song nor the game induced me to drive down. I came purposely to see a cer- tain little girl, who is too modest to mention herself in the list of attractions.” Blanche ey up; but only for a second. His face told more than his words. With a sudden gesture, he pushed the chair rl and, extending both arms, went up to the girl. ractice ‘Sweet ave a game of ‘**Can you not tell? do you not know, my dar- | ling, why I have come? It was to hear you say ‘Gervaise, [love you!’ Will you say it, Blanche, even as I say to you, I love you?” He drew her head to his breast, and, with the | his | You little See | she extended her hand. lips that not a month before had greeted bride, he kissed her pure mouth, “Say it, Blanche; say it quickly. know how I am starving for it.” He held his arms tightly around her, while | her hair streamed over his breast, and against | his face. ‘‘Oh, Gervaise, let me go. Please, please! You frighten me, indeed you do!” “Frighten you, my dainty lady bird? Does my love alarm you, whom I would woo as gent- ly as a dove does its mate? Blanche, perhaps | you don’t love me.” % Then she clung closer to him. i never te feared to disclose. ‘‘ But not as I love you, my Blanche, my dar I know you are mine, though, and we ling. will engage ourselves, shall we?” H e drew from his finger a solitaire diamond, too large for Blanche’s taper fingers. ‘‘Never mind; you can wear it on your watch chain, and by that means keep our betrothal secret better. You will not tell any one of it, for a time?” ‘‘ Tf such is your desire, Gervaise, I see no se- rious objection in s0 ry Aenea I prefer that my parents should acquainted with it ” She plead with her eyes, though her lips con- curred with his will. ‘‘ But I insist upon Miss Barbara’s being kept in gs ignorance. I specially insist upon tha 4 ” ‘That shall be exactly as you wish. Barbara shall never hear of our e ment until you tell her. There, Gervaise, does that satisfy ou?” She laid her warm fingers on his hair, while he lay back in kingly grace against the chair, receiving her gentle caresses as naturally as though she bad bees created for that especial purpose and no other. As she spoke, a smile of triumphal pride and tified delight spread over his face. oe That nee faithfully kept, is all I ask. Now, my darling, I am sure I see the Chetwynd carriage entering the drive—yes, it is. Let me kiss you -by, Blanche, darlin, and after lunch I will come for you and Miss Barbara for a ride to the Falls, up at Paterson.” He arose, and took her in his arms, and kissed her again and again. Then he laid one hand on her shoulder, and stood gazing intently on her scarlet face. Neither heard footsteps, or knew of a pre- sence, till Barbara’s high, clear voice broke the delicious stillness. CHAPTER V. PLAYING WITH FATE. ‘‘Wuat does this mean? I pray to be in- formed. Mr. De Laurian, will nod te explain? Blanche Chetwynd, what did I you?” Blanche turned to hide her suffused face, but Gervaise confronted her, his eyes flashing. **And permit me to inquire what you have been telling Miss Chetwynd?” There was awful fury in his voice as he spoke, that betrayed the rage, the fear he felt lest Blanche knew all—yet he was sure she never would have acted as she had, had she dreamed of the true state of affairs. **T told her, sir, that yon were too con- scienceless a flirt to care, really, for her; if you made a pretense of it even, it would end as other flirtations have ended,” Her speech came fluently, and her eyes were steadily fixed on his, while her cheek grew pale as she spoke. De Laurian’s lips parted in a relieved smile, and his eyes lost their steely glitter. “Indeed, Miss Barbara! I am everlastingly indebted to you for such a recommendation to Miss Chetwynd. However, I need hardly say, your words are destined to be proven false.” Barbara sprung to his side in a towering rage. ‘* Beware, Gervaise De Laurian, how you ac- cuse me of falsehoods! Remember who J am!” Her deep, warning tone made Blanche turn her head in quick surprise, but not quickly enough to see the unspoken threat in rian’s eyes, or observe the defiance in Barbara’s. She looked inquiringly at Gervaise, who, with a profound bow to Barbara, laughed as- suringly to Blanche. ‘‘T certainly shall not forget who you are. A most beautiful woman, whom few men can see without loving; whom few women can know without envying.” His eyes, now turned so that Blanche might not see his face, were full of that light shone in them when he murmured to and smiled in the returning tide of confidence, He took it, and pressed it passionately; then raised it to his lips. All this instantaneous tableau had been acted while Blanche had gone to the edge of the pi- azza to watch her parents alight. During that second, Gervaise and Barbara had renewed their vows, and apparently fully comprehended each other. | Blanche came through the window toward | them. ie Lau- | | cent at | is wife | his love assurances; and, as Barbara blushed | To _ TE TO “They have returned, and now that lunch is ready, why not let us all sit down together? Mr. Be Laurian, you surely will stay?” “Tf you will promise to go with Miss Bar- bara and me to the Falls.” Barbara’s face did not portray the joy she felt at the prospect of a ride beside her hus- band, but in her heart she exulted, and secretly pitied Blanche that she, all unconscious, was only invited to allay any suspicions. : lanche, her cheeks flushed with gt gave an assent, wondering if Barbara really di think Gervaise was a flirt, and trying to im- agine what she would say when she heard that, in spite of all her prophetic warnings, Gervaise De Laurian had actually proposed to her, and that the diamond on her watch-chain was the seal of their betrothal. d The lunch-bell rung, and, first greeting Mr. Chetwynd and his wife, afterward shaking hands with Rex, De Laurian insisted upon es- corting both girls to the breakfast vata Laughing and chatting, first to the dark- woman on his right, on whose finger he had laced the wedding-ring, and in whose ears he had spoken the sacred words, ‘‘ my wife;” then to the golden-haired girl, whose maiden heart had 1 forever out of her keeping into his prea heni hands; in whose eyes still dawned the love-light awakened by his earnest protesta- tions of abiding affection, Gervaise Tie Loates went on, his heart beating high with wicked pleasure as he gloried in successful daring; as e Sree of these two peerless women who acknowledged him their heart’s sovereign. Lunch was comfortably over, when Chet- i ba carriage was driven up to the door. rbara and Blanche hastened to change their dresses for others more suitable, and it was when alone together that Barbara reproved Blanche for lack of confidence in her advice. ‘‘But he seems so good, Barbara, and, after all, why should I not receive his attentions as well as you?” Barbara did not tell her why, and a pang of pity for the girl shot through her heart. “He does not flirt with me, Blanche. Be- sides—nothing. Will this dress do?’ She had abruptly chan the topic of con- versation, and took from the wardrobe a maize- colored silk. ‘‘T will wear it, at any rate, and my India shawl,” she said, then thinking how her hus- band admired the dress and shawl. ‘Tt is very becoming, Barbara,” said Blanche, “T shall wear my white cashmere and scarlet wrap.” And Blanche inwardly remembered heari her lover say she looked like a ‘‘ sunset rg 8 in that heavy, richly hanging dress, with the vivid glowing of the scarlet to relieve it. Both dressing for the one they loved best; each striving to appear perfect in his eyes; and he, pacing the piazza, with a fragrant cigar be- tween his lips, planning his afternoon’s work. First, he would acquaint Mr. Chetwynd with his engngenent to Blanche. He found the gentleman in the library; a few words of courteous interchange, and then he made known his errand. “T have come to deliberately rob you of your choicest treasure—if, indeed, 1 have not already taken it. I love Blanche, Mr. Chet- wynd, and have told herso. She returns that love. May I have her?” A sudden graveness overspread the gentle- man’s face. “ Are hs aware of the fate that hangs over her head? The Curse of Chetwynd Chase has been gathering for ears to break on my inno- anche’s head?” De Laurian was impressed by the solemnity of Mr. Chetwynd’s manner. “T have heard of it, but I do not hesitate to say I can shield her from every harm. Whose arm is stronger than a husband’s, or whose heart stouter? I want her, and despite the Curse she shall be mine if you give her to me.” ‘* You must give me time for an answer, You tell me you are sure you love my child? I have often found myself wondering about it, half concluding, at times, that you did; then your attentions to Barbara Lester would become so ' marked, I decided you were trying to win her.” “That is true, Mr. Chetwynd; but, remem- ber, I have been placed between two as lovel women as the sun shone on, and who, thi you, could have acted differently? I have been analyzing my feelings, and have learned it is Blanche hetwynd Tove.” Very proud, imperious and strong he ps3 | standing there, in the full flush of a perf manhood, Logis. omy suit with a noble fervor that became a better man: and courtly Mr.
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Chetwynd, who had seen handsome men before, noticed the kindling of his violet eyes, the roud curving of his lips, under the heavy am- ae mustache, and did not wonder that Blanche loved him. ; Then he extended his hand ee ‘* Mr. De Laurian, I tell you frankly, I would rather you would have my daughter than any man I know. Will you brave this Curse for her sweet sake? will you take her with her dower of inherited vengeance? love her amid what- ever misery may arise, cherish her through any gulfs of trouble, even if you are sacrificed in trying to save her? I say “trying,” because she can not be saved from Lady Constanzia’s Curse; it can not be averted by human hand, and they say fate will lead the youngest daugh- ter of the house of Chetwynd to work out her own anguish with her own hands. I do not pretend to unravel this mystery, I only believe it as I believe I am a living, breathing man. I say, you will do so to her as you will call on your Maker to do to you?” De Laurian bowed his handsome head in rev- erent assent. ““T swear it, Mr. Chet d; and the Curse that lights on my darling’s head shall first break its weight on mine.” 4 “Then I greet you my son, Gervaise, my bo 1”? He grasped De Laurian’s hand, and they ex- chan a warm friendly greeting. ae the while, Blanche and Peshark, up in their room, were wondering at the low current of conversation that came floating indistinctly to their ears, and then Mr. Chetwynd’s voice, ‘clear and ringing, sounded in the below. ** Blanche! will you step down a moment?” CHAPTER VI. LOVE’s HIDE AND SEEK. Se turned almost abruptly away from Bar- bara, in whose hair she was twining a spray of dwarf pink flowers, and hastened down the stairs, ving Barbara alone at the mirror, wondering if Gervaise would find any oppor- tunity for a kiss or a caress, or a whispered love word. Little recked she of the scene transpiring be- low, as Mr. Chetwynd closed the library door after Blanche. At a glance, Blanche comprehended the situa- tion, and her heart beat rapidly as her father led her up to De Laurian. “My daughter, this gentleman has asked for 13 in marriage. done the ou; you love him. ve you, my y daughter, my youngest born daughter, with’ the awful inherited Curse of Chetwynd Chase on your girlish head, to Se ae a ne ie ani and misery, for life, dea and eternity.” He laid her hand in De Laurian’s; her pure , in one so false. With unshed tears lying on her lashes, Mrs. tg Anke had been a silent witness, touched Blanche’s forehead with her lips, then kissed Gervaise. ‘““Remember, my children, this must be sa- credly confidential. I have but the one ie to make, which I am sure will be granted. I would request the engagement retained perfect- ly secret for several months, until Blanche has attained her twentieth birthday. Mr. Chetwynd remembers this to be the custom of our family, if they are betrothed before thatage. Then we will announce it with all eclat. Even from Bar- bara, my dear, I wish you to keep the news. May I age on you to gratify me in this one Chetwind smiled as she spoke, as if she thought it would be a very serious thing for Blanche to withhold her ‘Ab issportant secret from Barbara, with whom she was naturally so very intimate. De Laurian’s heart was fairly throbbing with excessive exultation. What could have been better than that Mrs. Chet d herself should have suggested the secrecy from Barbara? He smiled at Blanche, who gladly eed to keep their vows from Barbara's knowledge till the following June, when, on her twentieth birth- day, both engagement and speedy wedding would be announced. Then she went slowly ores stairs, her hands c over her heart to still, if aon its mad throbs of joy, fearful lest her telltale face should reveal to Dirbaie the sweet secret. Stopping at the wardrobe, she selected a jaun- ty turban with a red cock’s feather; then went on to Barbara. WAS SHE HIS WIFE? ** Are you ready, Blanche? I am, and wait- ing. Here’s your wrap. Is Mr. De Laurain waiting?” Blanche took the garment, with a low “ thank ” and the two descended to the piazza, where aurian awaited them. + Bring them back by dinner-time, Mr, De Laurian.” He promised Mrs, Chetwynd, and the car- riage rolled rapidly along the wide, graveled drive, and out upon the main road. It was a charming afternoon; and, the turn- pike once gained, De Laurian relaxed the strict reins on the horses, and leaned against the cushions of the carriage. ‘Is not the scenery fine in this delicious au- tumn haze?’ It was Barbara’s voice that broke the silence that had intervened since they had left Chet- wynd Chase. ‘“* Perfectly ; and a most fitting time and place for me to entertain my lady guests.” “As if we couldn’t entertain ourselves, Sir Conceit!” Blanche laughed, and Barbara relaxed into a smile. ‘“Doubtless you could, although, you will admit, the subject of edification would be gos- sip m! fashion.” ‘‘ Ora more congenial subject, perhaps—love.” Barbara ke 7 a low, Toadioes voice, glanc- ing at Gervaise. lis eyes sent back an answering light, and Blanche, fearful lest her monrnalling cheeks should reveal her thoughts, looked industriously through the window. ‘Tt does seem strange that love is the only topic ever handled by poet, artist, or author; that is love and its modifications, which are envy, jealousy or reven So far as I am con- cerned, though I am neither painter, poet or ro mancer, I know love to be a most delightful ex- perience.” Blanche’s vail tumbled softly down over her face, and under its filmy folds Gervaise detect- iy brightness of her eyes that she could not e. “Then you have loved, Mr. De Laurian?” Barbara thought how strangely the question sounded as it left her lips, and a smile of amuse- ment was in her eyes as she thought how she and Gervaise m converse thus, under the semblanee of indifference. Blanche would not mistrust how direct the application was of such commonplace remarks while through them she and De Laurian con- veyed their love. “* Have I loved,’ you asked, Miss Barbara? Ihave; I do, most earnestly, most devotedly. I love with a fervor that never can be quenched till my heart be ey eke? death.” His e were flooded with that dangerous siren light that made those two women’s hearts throb so wildly. “ How is it with you? You have questioned me, now let me elicit an answer from you.” * Well,” returned Barbara, her voice coming low and thrilling, ‘‘I love one who returns my affection as warmly as I can ask. I love him as no one else could. I will be true to the death.” She was nervously toying with the lace cover of her parasol, her eyes cast down, the long lashes vailing their light, and Gervaise De Lau- rian was watching her passionate face, triumph- ing that all that beauty was his. ‘ But, supposing he were false, Barbara?” ke almost before he thought, and the flashing black eyes were raised in a second. ‘“‘T would not believe him false. He is not, I know, but admitting the fact that he dare be— ah, I can not express what he would receive at my hands.” Gervaise laughed. “No one could be false to you, Miss Barbara. No one would. Depend upon this one whom you love, and trust him even as you say you do. He were less than man did he not worship you.” A gleam of exquisite joy darted from her eyes as he spoke. Turning to Blanche, who had listened to it all, he laughingly challenged her. “Come, Miss Blanche, tell us if you are ac- quainted with this rosy god?” “You are too personal. I am almost afraid to confess.” “Then there is a confession? To reassure you, Miss Blanche, I am very confident there must be, somewhere on this wide hemisphere, some one who loves you truly, lastingly.” The scarlet flowed in a quick tide to her face and she averted her head, withal so thankful for the delicate avowal he had made; but she strove to laugh it off. Gervaise s 5 ** You must be a wizard, Mr. De Laurain.” “There, that reminds me. Why need we three insist on calling each other by such fool- ishly formal titles? 1 am sure we all are each other’s best friend, and I pro from this mo- ment we be ‘ Barbara,’ ‘ che’ and ‘ Ger- vaise’ to each other.” ¢ The girls were only too delighted. Blanche, that she dared to address him so; Barbara, that his strategy was so admirable, for her heart yearned to call his loved name again, Meanwhile, engrossed in pleasant conversa tion, they had traversed the distance between Chetwynd Chase and Passaic Falls, and as they slowly drove through the shady avenues, De Laurian still contrived that should appear — to both, yet not arouse suspicion in either. “That reminds me, Barbara, of your ven- geance you spoke of an hour -—, See that fis- sure just to the right of us, that extends the whole length of the rock? I can imagine you thrusting your unloyal lover down there, with your star eyes above him, the last light the world should hold for him,” Blanche shivered. “‘Gervaise, don’t talk so.” And Barbaru laughed. ‘“ i might do more than that.” Gervaise laughed it off. He was so brilliant, so fascinating, and Barbara’s eyes grew dark- ly tender as they rode home in the gathering gloom, while his hand clasped hers under the protecting shawl, and he stooped, now and then, under pretext of arranging the affghan, to whisper, in such a heart-stirring tone, “ My beautiful wife!” Silently happy she nestled beside him, caring for naught; knowin La gree was her very life; his love, that glan in his eyes, her more than life. On the other side, her scarlet wrap clinging closely around her white, re face, her sun- bright hair ing in the brisk west wind, Blanche was quietly sitting, with De Laurian’s arm around her shoulder, dreaming over the way he had murmured “my own,” so many times that blissful afternoon. So they rode homeward, with the round yel- low harvest moon slowly coming up from be- hind a low-lying bank of clouds; with the soothing music of the Passaic coming to their ears. hese two women, each bl Ger- vaise De Laurian for the love that he iven her; each thankful that in the fullness of that love, he made them so perpetually conscious of it, and yet preserved it a hidden treasure from the other. And Gervaise De Laurian himself, so hand- some and defiant, with a smile on his lip, that in its beauty and purity belied the laugh of hor- rible triumph in his heart, rode home between these two women, whose happiness he was delib- erately crushing, whose lives he was forever blasting. Well was it for him that the golden light of the harvest moon did not lighten his purposes as it did his faultless face; as it had frozen the smile of serene happiness on the lip of his un- conscious victims as he li them carefully from the carriage, with a caress for both, as they ascended the steps of the piazza. Little did he dream that the Curse of Chet- wynd Chase would culminate through his wick- ness, and that his own was the hand that would pour the vials of wrath on another head than his own. CHAPTER VIL THE SHADOW ON THE PATH. ‘““ Wr’vVE company for you, Barbara, Blanche. It’s fortunate you’ve returned in such one sea- son, cially you, Barbara, for your old friend and irer is extremely anxious to see you.” “Toseeme? Whocanit be? I have nasuch devoted cavalier.” Her glance wandered involuntarily to De Laurian, who with the light in his eyes she had learned to dread, was regarding her intently. ““Who can it be, now, I wonder ?” retorted Mrs. Chetwynd, laughingly. ‘Sure enough, who is the gentleman whose letters lie in a cer- tain casket in Miss Barbara Lester’s room, all tied with blue ?” A sudden conscious flushing of her cheeks, more than Mrs. Chetwynd’s words, aroused a demon in Gervaise De Laurian’s breast, that re- quired more exorcising than could easily be ex- erted. Blanche for the moment, wondered why her lover looked so darkly ; then she dismissed the thought with a chiding to her own heart for a ju nt against him. A brief second Ger- vaise looked sternly at Barbara ; then with a gesture she rightly interpreted as jealousy, he his remarks —
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mee 6 sage to a Ph —_—,,. ne 's voice broke the oppressively aw ort sikens a : “You do not seem desirous of welcoming | him, so I will parlor. Mr. Davenal !” Like lightning De Laurian turned around, and | though bara’s face was purposely averted, she felt the glances of rage he cast on her, as, in answer to the summons, light, quick footsteps approached, - he door Cpened and Roy Davenal entered the library. ith a bow to the party, he went ae to Barbara, who, with wildly throb- bing , as she tried to imagine the effect of this meeting on her husband, awaited his com- | aw ing. “ a Lester! I am so delighted to see you again ; and Blanche, how do I find you ?” He extended a hand to each, but, after cordi- ally clasping her fragile fingers, let her remove them, while he retained Barbara’s, and closed the remaining hand over her palm His admiration was too sincere for iad ag and as with elaborate politeness Gervaise De Laurian acknowledged the introduction, he de- cided that Roy Davenal was in love with his e. He surveyed his rival from head to foot ; and as he acknowledged what a fine-looking man va Roy Davenal was, he also concluded to flank It was a serious business this double affair of his ; and if he unlimited boldness to attempt to carry it through, he also an unmeasurable amount of jealousy that en- abled him to prevent Roy Davenal from court- ing his wife, or paying attention to Blanche emer jo even while he must attend to both himself sub rosa. But, as to think was to act with Gervaise De Laurian, so, while he critical- ly disposed of handsome Roy Davenal, so did he ecide upon the course he himself would pursue. First, he was going to let Roy Davenal a] pose he was in love with Blanche Chetwynd, which, of course, was partly true, but of which Barbara had not the vaguest suspicion. This —: while it left him free to keep good his pro- tations to Blanche, would serve to remind Barbara of the promise they had mutually made, viz. : that if she ever flirted with Roy Davenal, he should not hesitate to do thesame with Blanche Raerernd. He, Davere for a poy te supposed. ra was playing a © as dee py = own ; he only supposed that invinal ci in love with her, and that there was nothing be- tween them. In this he was vastly mistaken, as he learned afterward. His mind made up ea 8, hp seeened all thoughts x cay an gen his part in the trag that darkened from that hour, by turning to Blanche bai a smile “re set her mene, a-flutier. ‘Blanche, if you are not fatigued, suppose we take a promenade? Mrs. about. any she go? IL assure you I will take excellent care of her,” Barbara turned at the words, and was in time to see him plage the scarlet wrap over her shoulders, and clasp the silver fastening. He drew her hand through his arm, and, with a aeece as swift as meaning at Barbara, passed ou the o French window. “Shall we follow, Barbara? I have so much to say.” Roy Davenal bent low over her crimson cheeks, — an instant did she hesitate, as she thought ; ‘‘T will be equal with Gervaise De Laurian. He shall see I can flirt as well as he can.” Then, with a bewitching smile, she answered Davenal, loud enough to be also heard by Ger- vaise and Blanche; and her husband ground his heel on the graveled path as the musical sound reached him. “Thank you, Roy ; I willgo. I know nothing eo prefer to a moonlight walk with you lone. And Roy Davenal, in the fulness of his love, believed what she said |! ** And now my own, tell me every thing that has happened ce we parted, in the spring. Have you been well? and happy, and true ?” They had gone only a little way from the river bank, and it seemed to the girl who leaned feelings to you, my own. so heavily on his arm that his voice was lower, | and more intense than ever she had heard it; and a shiver thrilled her, but she unhesitatingly answered him, ‘* Well, and happy, and true, ” iiloee she ablairet hareall Aur inasdelihareses| lie! but there, in the moonlight, before them walked the two who were B ing her on to it. ‘*T need not have asked it, for my heart is the |Barbara’s heart is so fully Roy's. been Ne ee three years.” AS SHE HIS WIFE? judge of yours, yet I am so happy fo find you are my very own, after all.” e's ry all ?? what do you mean ?” Her heart beat quicker for the moment, and summon him from the | yet she knew her secret was her own. “That gentleman I met—that Mr, De Laurian —has a reputation that has reached all the way | to my estern home. Blanche’s lover, I see now.’ ““ Well 9” Barbara answered calmly, but her eyes glit- tered with a light that told how strongly her heart resented whatever reflection Roy might cast upon her husband. “T heard he was a frequent inmate of Mr. Chetwynd’s mansion, and knowing how beauti- fully bewitching you were, my Barbara, how could I help wondering if he would win you over to him ?” ““You forgot Blanche, Roy. You see for yourself his devotion. Besides, how could I play you false ?” Why did she not tell him, then and there ? Why did her voice, fraught with such liquid tenderness, lead her deeper into anguish at the last, and him further from happiness ? ‘“You could not, I know, and that I have wronged you by the suspicion, let me beg your pardon. Still, you can hardly censure me when ou know it was love that prompted the fond jealousy. To lose you, my Barbara, would be worse than death.” He wound his arms around her waist, and kissed her mouth ; while, just in advance of them, she saw Blanche clinging to her husband’s arm, and his haughty head bowed in tender sol- icitation. Her innate womanliness cried out against this double outrage, but a lurking devil in her heart prompted her to deal as she was dealt by ; not thinking it was Gervaise De Lau- rian she was Ngee umd foul-hearted though he was, but her own self, this guileless Blanche, her noble lover, who, had he known what she could have told him, would have fled from her as from a plague-tainted creature. But, to Roy Davenal, Barbara Lester was the embodiment of all that was xood, pure and womanly ; and, in the might of his love, he had invested her with the qualifications of a goddess, That tableau before her—and little recked she that all was truth that she thought a bit of clev- er, pointed acting—galled her, and with a firm resolution to banish the admonitions of consci- ence while she detected no signs of a discontin- uance on her husband’s of this wretched farce, she turned around toward Roy ; a sigh, that she could not repress, escaping her lips. “Did I hear aright? Barbara, you are not wounded at what I said ?” “JT am not. I happened to recall a memory of the pn that gave me a momentary heart Pe Ba Homo Het know I can truthful * Bar o you know | can 5a I do not regret any of my part that comnerns you? By the by, dearest, I came across the most charming ballad the other day that so fully coincides with my feelings. Shall I singit?” ** Tf you will, yes,” Barbara was gazing at the pair before them, and she spoke in feverish haste. “Mr. De Laurian and Blanche will doubtless be a delighted audience,” responded Roy, gayly. ‘But I am perfectly willing they shall consider the language personal.” His clear tenor notes, mellow amd musical, sounded out on the still autumn night ; ong Barbara oe to his arm, wondering what her husband would think, and smiling bitterly as she thought how much more guilty she was than he, De Laurian and Blanche involuntarily slackened their steps to listen. “Oh, Genevieve, my early iove, he years but make thee dearer far, *, heart shall never, never rove rom thee, my bright, my guiding star ! For me the past brings no regret ; Whate er the years may bring to me. I bless the hour when first we met, The hour that gaye thy love to m=" In a flood of exquisite, pensive melody the words died softly away. “‘Gervaise, is not that lovely ?” ; Blanche Chetwynd, her eyes wet with unshed ag looked up in her lover’s face. _ “ Perfect. So touching, and expressive of my ‘“* As if I did not know that! And while I am so happy in your love, Gervaise, I ——- that ey have “ En He started involuntarily, his eyes lighting up with a dangerous glow. “Why, yes. Did you not know? They will be married in the early spring.” " Married f Barbara Lester He repeated the words in a low, hoarse tone, that Blanche look at him in extreme sur- prise. “Why, Gervaise, what of that ?” Her words recalled him to the actualities of the present, while they warned him of his part to play. PN othing, Blanche, dear. Only it seems so odd, somehow, to associate Barbara and mar- riage. I should as soon have thought of hearing of your marriage with—well with—” “Some old married man /” And Blanche laughingly supplied the most ridiculous comparison she could think of. For a second his cheek burned, and his dark eyes steadily studied her sweet, guileless face. CHAPTER VIIL STEEL TO STEEL. Ir was only for a second, then he laughed. “Not quito as bad as that. Bu y, Mi Lester is a splendid girl, and Mr. secure a prize—when he gets her.” Blanche did not detect the hidden meaning of the remark. ““Indeed he will And she, as well, in him, for Roy is a noble fellow.” Gervaise gently pressed the fingers that lay on nis sleeve. ‘e Be careful, little girl, or I shall grow jeal- ous.’ ** You mustn’t.” She looked into his face with a suddenly- wn serious expression of her own, where t lushes fought for the mastery over the earnest pallor of her cheeks. ‘“-You never will have occasion to be jealous, Gervaise, for I shall be true. When you are false to me—and I know that never will be. even in thought—then you may accuse me of disloyalty.” He never winced as he met her womanly eyes as she spoke in such proud confidence; but there occurred to him the viyid contrast of her purity and truth, and his foulness and the living lie he knew he was personating, At the steps, in a patch of unbroken moon- a hr arty met. ? ‘““You have enjoyed this perfect evening, Blanche?—Mr. De Laurian?” . “For myself I can say I have, very much,” returned Blanche, half timidly, as if aehataad r to confess she cared for the exclusive society of woe ee ‘IT can safely say I never en an evening more. As you remarked. . Davenal, the night is perfect; then, with a most congeni Comiagnoet, who could help having a delightful time It was Gervaise who spoke, and, as he did so, looked meaningly down at Blanche, Then he addressed Barbara, quite Le bg he “T may presume to in of you, Miss Bar- bara, if you feel sepgid or your ble in pre- paring for the walk?” His cool tone, so sarcastic and ironical, but served to increase to further heat the flames of her rege anger. ras, ou may presume quire, as m escort was a near and bory one peteonel eriand, ou will not be surprised to know I tly en- a the opportunity that gave me his exclusive society—which I prize above all privileges.” , “Thank you, my darling.” Roy spo ganda little dreaming the effect of his wor ; With kindling eyes, yet in a voice in which only Barbara datucaad the smothered fury, he retorted: “You are then in a very enviable frame of mind, Miss Lester. Permit me to congratulate be and Mr. Davenal that such choice spirits ve met.” Barbara bowed, frigidly, : Roy Davenal wondered if Mr. De Laurian were always so.crisp in his compliments. Just then Mrs. Chetwynd came in through the window. 43 Come, girls, it is time for your beauty— “ Good-night, then.” Ecsta anagityswith to of an of an empress, she merely bavi omg her head, her fingers on Davenal’s De Laurian bit his tawny mustache in fierce vexation as he went down fe sea in re- membered how another man . darling.’ his wife | re
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arranged his plans of action, In his little pony-phaeton he drove from Pat- erson down to Chetwynd Chase, and found Roy Davenal on the veranda, and a low basket-buggy drawn up by the carriage mount. The two exchanged greetings, and Roy ex- plained he was about to take Barbara for a ride. ‘I beg pardon for interfering in the least, Mr. Davenal, but I fear Miss Chetwynd will think you a little unfriendly in devoting yourself so assiduously to Barbara. You are a guest of her father, you know, and permit me to suggest that you escort her to-day and leave your betrothed to me.” De Lanrian spoke in a half-earnest, half-con- fidential way tot no one could havo taken of- fense at, much less Roy, who instantly appre- ciated the delicate advice. ‘ “You are right, De Laurian ‘i Se make amends, Barbara will oxcuse me desire it, won't you?” He fitted his hat as she came down the steps with Blanche, ‘““Won’t I what:’ she returned, as she: be- stowed a careless nod on him. ‘‘ Accept a seat in Mr. De Laurian’s phaeton, while I improve the opportunity off of pay- ing my regards to Blanche.” arbara looked at Gervaise. He telegraphed her a stern command. Then she smiled triumphantly. ‘T prefer not, Roy. You know I have count- ed so on this ride. Blanche would rather enter- tain Mr. De Laurian, I’m sure.” Blanche blushed. “Tm sure I'll ride wherever it is best. I would like a nice little chat with you, Roy.” Blanche had received an encouraging smile from De Laurian ere she replied. Barbara grew frigid in a moment, “Oh, if it’s a conspiracy, I’m sure I wouldn’t attempt to interfere. It must be a great pity to deprive you of your ‘nice little chat.’ . De waurian, I am at your disposal Do you wish me to ride with you?” Her coldness did not in the least affect his sunny co ‘ a Taball be 400 glad. Let me assist you to the . phaeton.” He would have taken her hand, but shes ver in ager =. a oye glitter in 98 nnn lack e a fever spot burning on either chee Ray had lifted Blanche in and they drove on, De Laurian following, out of hearing distance. Not a word was spoken till they had cleared the ds of Chetwynd Chase; then, with a hottie deliberateness, De Laurian turned to- ward Barbara. “cc Well ? In that one word was concentrated all the pent-up emotions he had nursed since the pre- vious evening. - “What do you mean, Barbara De Laurian, by your conduct? What am I to understand you mean?” : Threatening authority was conveyed in every intonation of his voice as he glared at her. She lifted her eyes boldly to his face. “What am I, your wife, to understand you mean?” Ps: “But, woman, by what right does he say it?’ ew me and loved “To the same Laurian. What did you promise me concerning Blanche Chetwynd?” , : She laughed as she spoke, a low, sneerin, laugh that made him turn fiercely on her, anc snatch her hands as they lay idly, gracefully over each other, “See, here, Barbara De Laurian! I have heard him call you darling; I have seen him view you with eyes of love; I have learned you were betrothed to him. Barbara! Barbara! do you know what you are grey lis voice lost some of its harsh wrathfulness WAS SHE) HIS WIFE? as he repeated her name; he had been seeing how gloriously beautiful she was in this new phase of character, and he feared, lest, through this Roy Davenal, he might lose her, after all. ‘“‘ Barbara, I ask, what are you doing?” “What are you doing?” Their eyes met with the same inquiry in both their depths. A silence followed; then, a mighty effo for she loved him so, and widowed _ Soving word or glance, she spoke his name: “ Gervaise.” Her voice was soft, and it needed but a kind word or a tender look from him to sweep away all the ice barriers. ‘If we have acted wrong there is pardon and repentance.” er siren. tones, tones that he so loved, re. newed the jealousy-dimmed flame of love; he let fall her hands, and wound his arms around her waist, “There is no use—I love you so, I love you so, my wife!” She leaned her head against his shoulder. *“And I, Gervaise, was vexed and jealous that ou would not believe I loved no one but you. do ut care for Roy Davenal, but I fear he loves me. You are my all, and in all, my hus- band.” “Then let us forget the past and begin anew. But, Barbara, I must have you all to myself. We hare been married six weeks now, and made no tour yet, which, of course, seemed ad- visable, considering the secrecy imposed upon us. But, my dearest, although I must compel a continued privacy concerning our marriage, still can we not arrange a trip that will appear ostensible to the Chetwynds? She shook her head negatively. “I fear not.” CHAPTER IX, BEWARE! BEWARE! Dr LavRiANn smiled at her decisive manner. “You are hasty in your conclusion, my Bar- + are you not?’ ‘*] do not see how it can be done, Gervaise. I do so dislike these secret affairs. Do let us tell them and have done with it. I do not anti- cipate any trouble, and if there should arise any, we can go away—to England.” a laid her hand on his sleeve while she spoke. “ Bar my darling, let me tell you a little confidence. Between you and I there are man good reasons why we may not divulge this af- air. First, what think you Roy Davenal will sa’ ? He watched her narrowly, and a satisfied smile betokened the success of his first appeal. ‘* Then—remember this is sacredly confiden- tial—Mr. Chet d- has ken to me about Blanche. You have h them mention the Curse of Che d Chase, haven’t you? That is to fall on Blanche’s head—she being the youngest daughter—in the shape of desertion, dishonor and death. Mr. Chetwynd tells me Blanche loves me; he has asked me to marry her, as in case of a happy marriage dishonor could not ensue, desertion would not—as for death, that will come whether or not.” Barbara uttered a faint cry of pain. “Wait, my darling. He wants me to marry Blanche, as I say, and, if you notice, both he and Mrs. Chetwynd are constantly giving me orpoeseaes of cultivating her society.” _— quivering mouth Barbara waited till he use ** And you love—” “Only my glowing tropical bird, before whose brilliant beauty Blanche pales as the lily before the rose.” He kissed ‘‘the rose” passionately to prove his assertion. daring,” b * “So you see, my ing,” he continu ‘““why I desire to take you away. The Chet- wynds will see me gradually cease my atten- tions to Blanche, which, for friendship’s sake, I have paid, and their minds will be prepared for the news J wish to give them, while you are away. IJ desire to bear the brunt of it myself.” She thanked him for his brave considerateness with her most bewitching smile, while a gleam lighted his eyes as he congratulated himself on the success of his plans. . ‘Then you'll come with me, my darling?” He whispered softly. “ Tell me your arrangements first, please!” “‘Have you no friend in the West—no lady who would invite you for three months or so?” She shook her head; he smiled at her obtuse- ness, “Well, then, if you should receive a letter from avery old school-friend, whom you had forgotten, who begged for a visit, couldn’t you go, think—even if i were the friend who wrote er orn 5 i Z of jradually the force of the stra’ ap to her; she tiuched, then ia ee “Oh, Gervaise, you an adept! combined absence? People will ad “Let them. You will not be here to be ans noyed, and the certificate can be displayed when we return to Chetwynd Chase.” His careless, hopeful enthusiasm inspired her; and re ve her we re ai oat ‘I will prepare for the journey immediat laughable ne it seems for the bride cod Gerxnios De Laurian to steal forth alone on her wedding tour.’ ; An amused smile accompanied her words. Just then the other carriage halted, and they all alighted to rest for a few minutes. It was a charming place, where the fragrant spiciness of the pine grove perfumed the air. “Do you know what this pine odor reminds me of # Or do none of you believe that scents will carry one irresistibly back to old-time memories?” Roy Davenal looked meaningly at Barbara as they walked over the leaf-strewn ground: ‘*T, for one, believe it,” she returned. “I can recollect how, one June night, when I was the merest child, they took me to see the corpse of a friend, the dearest playmate I had; she-was covered, almost, with p yrcteen, and since then, their smell sickens and frightens me.” She shivered as she spoke. . A little silence followed her words; then Roy genily spoke. ‘“* After unfortunately leading your thoughts in so grave a channel, I fear I should not men- tion what I was about to propose.” Barbara laughed—a laugh that. grated on ni Re ear. He was peculiarly sensitive, and until now, Barbara’s voice had never made but music for him. If her ai F annoyed him, the words that fol- lowed ca strange, sad surprise. ‘You needn’t mind. She has been dead years and years, and, heart-broken though I was, I assure you I am perfectly resigned now.” That heartlessness was the first link of the broken chain; that hour the date Roy Davenal remembered in after days, when he had occa- pak i be thankful that ever the chain was sun- @ For a moment the silence was awkward; then De Laurian broke it, ‘*Suppose we walk on until we meet the old fortune-teller whose hut is somewhere among these yarsperieve shades? We can pay her a visit, an awytos icmers meng future unrolled to our eyes by her prophetic sayings. ea I py hy Mir. De Lawtan only I do hope she’ll not tell the truth,” Barbara gave hima look he fully comprehend- ed ; then he addressed Blanche, : ““You also wish she may not speak the truth ?” She laughed, and shook her head gayly. “As it I wanted all my bad qualities ex- . 7 “*T differ from you, ladies,” said Roy, much more gravely than the occasion called for. *‘ For myself, I prefer the entire truth—much as I doubt her ability to speak it. You are notafraid of her witcheries, De Laurian /” “7? Iafraid of a fortune-teller ? She might swear I were a pirate, denounce me as a gam- bler, a murderer ; or me a—a—” ‘‘Gay deceiver; that will finish the. pro- gramme,” Roy interpolated, merrily. ‘‘ Exactly. Nothing she will say can affect me,” He smiled half defiantly, and just then, they came upon the low thatched but, whose sole in- habitant was bending over the pile of light kind- lings she had collected for her evening fire. e looked up as the party approached, and greeted them by a slight nod. ; She was an old woman, scantily dressed, whose face was withered and brown, yet of pleasant expression, Her keen, sunken black eyes were kindly in their scrutiny as they sur- veyed the quartette before her. ‘We haye come to have you inquire of our future, auntie.” De Laurian bowed elaborately. “Tcan doit. Come withi , while I read you But our the hidden secrets you desire.” She pointed to the door, with the authority a duchess might have used, and as they crossed the threshold, Roy and Gervaise removed their hats to permit their ingress, ‘*Gentlemen always do me reverence. It is right. Who can interpret-the music of the wa- terp | ters, or demand of the planets their purposes,
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t prin as is worthy the respect of both men and WAS SHE HIS WIFE? She was beautiful beyond expression, and when her mirror had returned her faithful re- Her ready utterance, her deep-toned, drama- | flection, she had gone from it with a new light tic language, were in her favor. She produced a glass of clear water, and began | peering eagerly into its transparent depths. ‘ oe a ier dalithee survey, she er her ead. “There are Clouds, darkness, winds, storm, and a wrecked ship.” She looked suddenly up at Barbara, and beck- oned her to draw nearer. ‘* Tt is all there,” as she touched the glass. ‘I see it as plainly as you see the veins on that dainty hand. There is a lover ; there is a sweet- heart ; a wife and a husband. I see wrath and anger; I hear deceitful voices and a lying tongue. I see the deceiver betrayed, and the . proud brought low. It is dreadful, dreadful ! h, the anguish, thé weeping, the dying! And it is of you, beautiful woman ! you, whose love brings a blight, whose vows end in a curse !” Barbara’s eyes had a deadly glitter in their brightness, and as the woman’s voice died away to a low, crooning murmur as she repeated over and over—‘‘a curse! a curse!” Her cheeks awd as pale as snow, and she snatched her hand rom the woman’s p. ** You wicked, slandering old witch ! you vile morbid hag ! How dare you, before these gen- tlemen, repeat your Satanic inventions? How dare you, I say ?” Barbara glared in the old woman’s eyes like a very fury. “Barbara, never mind. We do not care at all for what she says. Did we not agree to en- y the sport, and let any unpleasantness pass / m’t, Barbara, don’t look so.” Blanche laid her hand on her arm. The fortune-teller’s face suddenly grew lumi- nous again, and almost reverently she touched Blanche’s floating golden hair. ““Sweet-faced and gazelle-eyed. Oh, the heart aches ; yon thunder-browed one will curse you! Oh, the tears you must weep, till you're drowned in them! But there comes another— he of the tender heart, who, once torn and hurt, as you must be, will know how to offer the balm that will heal. He will strengtlien and sustain.” Blanche looked brightly over at De Laurian, whose eyes sent back a dart of love. She never dreamed the fortuns-teller referred to any one but him. Roy was watching the two, and as he noted the messages telegraphed between them, he knew it was a verity, De Laurian’s love for Blanche Chetwynd. The old woman suddenly threw the water through the door. “*T will see no more. I will tell no more. My eyes are blind ; my heart curdles at the scenes, I will take no money—it would pollute my fin- gers. Go, all of you, andremember the old for- tune-teller’s last words—‘ BEWARE !’” CHAPTER X. THE TEMPTER AND TEMPTED. Ir Barbara had anticipated the rise her announcement would cause, she more than real- ized her expectations. ‘Barbara, what can possess you? It is such a perfectly wild idea, that of your accepting at once an invitation from a schoolmate you have not seen for years.” Mr. Chetwynd seemed quite displeased about it, and even frowned when Barbara displayed her letter, and very matter-of-factly declared her intention of accepting it. ‘* Barbara, either you or Nellie Bruges is crazy. Why, she never seemed so great a friend of yours at college.” Blanche spoke in unfeigned surprise, to which Barbara answered ro gg 3 A ‘Nor will we be now, I thi I hope you're not jealous, Blanche?’ After that Blanche said nothing further. ** Perhaps, as you aver, it is a foolish whim,” Barbara said quietly, to Mr. Chetwynd. ‘ ButI should enjoy the tour, and the change of life, for a while at least.” Her determined manner carried the day, as usual ; and before night her half-dozen trunks stood in the hall, packed, strapped and ticketed. Alone of the party, Roy Davenal had expressed no opinion ; but the expression of his eyes had haunted Barbara all that briny day. On this, the last evening at Sgr terge Chase, she had attired herself in her most becoming toilet, a pale lavender silk. Her splendid hair, so lustrous in its dark brown beauty, was drawn from her forehead a la rk png and then allowed to fall over her shoulders and far below her waist, with only a narrow fillet of ribbon for ornament. | | ] | } in her already sparkling eyes: the conscious power that beauty always gives a woman. Blanche and her parents were still in their | rooms at their toilets, and De Laurian had not yet ridden to Chetwynd Chase ; so that Barbara was alone as she descended the stairs and went | | out upon the starlit piazza. It was a most perfect night ; warm for the monthNovember, and strangely still, with a reddish gold haze intervening between the slend- er gold crescent that was hiding, now and then, among the feathery cumuli, and Barbara, as she leaned against the honeysuckle trellis, could not but feel the influence o And what a time it was! the time and scene, She, a wife, unac- | knowledged by a soul save her husband ; and not only that, but the recognized promised bride of another! Truly there was little wonder that her breath came quicker, and her heart beat faster, when she heard footsteps approaching, and knew it was her lover coming for the parting interview. She saw Roy Davenal coming up the avenue, and a cold, steely expression gathered in her eyes. ‘Shall I mislead him yet this once? Shall I probe him, to see if the blow will be so hard when it comes? He must not know my double game until ery one knows.” She decided hastily as Roy came quickly up the steps, and with passionate ardor, took bot her hands in his own. ‘Barbara, my darling, why are you going from me! Won't you stay? Is it because J am here that you are anxious to be away? If so, let me go, and not you.” His voice was thrillingly entreating, and he spoke hurriedly, impulsively, as one who has much at stake. Barbara saw his meaning, di- vined the suspicion he entertained, and resolved to use it to her own advantage. With a cold little laugh she struggled to withdraw her hands, but he detained them. “Mr. Davenal, since you will not release me, of course your prisoner has no choice but to r¢- main, however unpleasant the situation.” In an instant he Jet her hands fall. ‘‘ What, Barbara! you cease calling me Roy? You affirm it is distasteful to you to be near me? Barbara, tell me what I have done to of: fend you?” “Tt is of no consequence, in the least degree, that I need repeat it. She spoke indifferently as she toyed with 4 spray of the honeysuckle. Roy’s eager eyes were on her impassive face and the look of distress on his own was pitiful to behold. Just then Barbara looked up, and their eyes met. She started at the sight of him. ““T will tell you then that you havo surmised correctly in supposing that your presence drives me from my home. At first, your visit was a source of ceaseless joy to me ; afterward, when I discovered it was not — after all, that was the motive that brought you, I concluded to abandon the field to my fair rival, and dis- pose of myself as best I could.” ‘What! you accuse me of favoring a rival of yours, Barbara? You tell me another = than seeing you b: ht me all the way from St. Louis here? Oh, Barbara, what demon has been poisoning your heart against me?” His voice was freighted with anguish, and Barbara saw him throw his hat on the floor, and pass his hands over his forehead again and again, as if to quell some tumultous pain. A momentary remorseful pang shot through Barbara’s eart, “ Poor fellow, he deserves better than this at "y hands. t was a passing thought, but Davenal was benefited thereby, for, almost involuntarily, she uttered his name, ‘‘ Roy!” It was spoken in a low, tender tone, and_a sudden happiness lighted his features. “ Barbara, darling, you will take back those cruel words? You'll teli me you have other reasons for going away? You'll tell me once more you love me?” He was so impulsive, so ardent, in eo. strong love for this woman, and she smiled at his impetuous way. A smile usually opens the door to a kind word, and it was not the reverse in this case. ** Roy, I admit I am hardly treating you fair- ly. I did say I thought you cared more for lanche Chetwynd, than for me—” He snapped a twig of honeysuckle. **T don’t care that for her! and you know it, Barbara'’”’ ‘You are not over complimentary to your host’s daughter, Roy.” ‘* As a lady, she will always command my es- | teem and honor : asa friend, my best friendship. But as a wife, Barbara, she is a nonentity, com- pared with you. Why, if I bad married her and then met you, I’d not like to say what would have been the consequences. Barbara, don’t you know how I love you?” He laid his hand on her shoulder and looked down into her eyes. ‘“You’d not commit suicide, or sue for a c- vorce, would you?” she laughed, but a cold shiver thrilled her as she hastily framed another question. ‘‘ Suppose the case reversed. Sup- pose J were married, to Mr. De Laurian, for in- stance, what would you do?” As she waited his answer, a sickening dread she could not help, crept numbly over her, that was not alleviated when he spoke, in a painful ly-shrill whisper: “Td not hesitate a moment. When a man loves as I love you, Barbara Lester, he would never permit another to cross his path with im- punity. Do you care for Gervaise De Laurian’” The question came so suddenly it almost took her breath ; she shrugged her shoulders and laughed. J ‘“7T care for Gervaise De Laurian, and engaged to you? Roy, that is absurd.” e did not smile in response. ; “You have gracefully evaded the question. Do you care for him at all? Yes or no.” e regarded her with a scrutiny that took all her indomitable will to meet. en, with her matchless effrontery, she answered : ‘**T do not.” A sigh of relief escaped her as he accepted the deliberate lie. ' ‘be og perhaps you did,” rejoined Roy, caressing her cold fingers. ‘I judged from our coolness toward me, and by the way you just now used his name.” : Barbara trembled as she realized the danger her false lips had averted. “T am going in, Roy; it is getting chilly. Are you coming?” She paused on the threshold and looked over her shoulder. Roy thought he had never seen her so passing fair. “Yes, my dearest one! wherever you go, I follow, even to the death’” Like a funeral knell those words rung in her ears, and, despite her efforts to forget them, they haunted her for weeks and weeks. CHAPTER XI. THE WAY MEN PLOT. Wirain the lighted library, Mr. and Mrs. Chetwynd, Blanche and Gervaise De Laurian were sitting, and Barbara wondered, when she exchan; greetings with him, if he had heard any of her conversation with Roy Davenal. social converse the hours of that last even- ing at Chetwynd Chase passed poe: and, when it was eleven by the cuckoo clock, the party broke up and sought their rooms. Barbara had no chance to see her husband alone that ge ; but, at , when he took her hand and bade r good-night, he left a note in her , The lights all been extinguished at the Chase, save in Barbara’s elegant apartment, where, in her white night-dress, she opened the paper with almost idolatrous affection. It read: “My Sweet WIFE:— “Foreseeing the difficulty there would be of ob- taining a private interview, I thought it best tu write a few last arrangements in case I do not find an opportunity in the morning. ; y First, then, my wt/e, use the inclosed cheque, which you will present at the bank designated—thw address is written in one corner, you see—in New York. I think the amount it represents will suffice until I join you two days after, Think of that, my beautiful darling; I shall come to you in two days never again toleave you. We'll be happy, Barbara, won't we? “ But to the arrangements. When you reach New York, you will only wait long enough to attend to the cheque, and go direct on to Philadelphia in the 2:45 train; engage a suite of rooms at the ‘Conti- nental' or ‘Girard’—they are directly opposite each other—whichever you prefer. haga ee hurs- day, I will come, my own, and together plan for our future tour. “I may have no opportunity, as I said, of so much as a word in the morning; and that is why I desire to renew my assurances of love now; you are so dear, so unspeakably precious to me, my own, myown. How shall I hasten the time when we meet? I wish, my Barbara, forever, you to greet. “Your Lovina Hussanp.” Barbara read and reread this letter, so dear to her; then, when she had ext ed the | light, she ley down to sleep, with the precious | note against her red cheek. cette a we ea
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Se however, you stu so thoroughly that you’d know by this time that we never express benefit of others.” ——— — In the next room, where the odor of night- sweets was wafted in, Blanche Chetwynd was kneeling by the wide-open window, her sweet face all alight with love and hope. She was too wakeful to think of retiring. The evening had been a most enjoyable one to her, and, though she regretted losing the society of Bar still the love of De Laurian was an all-powerful comforter. e@ had bidden her a most tender good-night when Barbara had re-entered the house, su ing Blanche had preceded her u irs. On the etarlighted veranda they h stood, he holding her hand in lover-like ror gy h ‘* My little pure pearl, wait until the house is iet in; wait until Barbara has gone. en, dearest, the long rides we shall take alone, the ery aon walks, the charming tete- a-tetes with no fear of being rudely interrupted ; and best of all, my little one, the wedding at Christmas.” These ardent words were sounding through Blanche’s ears yet, and, in the solemn stillness of the midnight hour, she communed with her innocent self. “Poor Barbara!” she whispered, ig and ityingly. ‘‘She is so proud, so cold, that I ear she will never condescend to love or be loved. If she only knew how blessed it is to have somebody care so much for her as Ger- vaise does for me, she would be so thankful and contented. As it is, her unrest arises from an unoccupied heart, for I am more than ever sure that she doesn’t care for Roy Davenal. How strange it is Barbara never cared for Gervaise! They are both so grand, so proud! But, if she was to! if he was ever to love her and not me! ae Mt rar yt look of pain shot h sudden ook of pain shot across her face, but a merry little smile chased it away. “ How silly I am! and we to be marriet on Christmas!” A blush overspread her face as she let fall the Jace curtains, and sought her pillow, so trust- ing, so happy. ——— CHAPTER XII. THE CHAIN OF GOLD, Tue earliest birds were caroling a matin to the sunrise when the Chetwynd carriage drove sf to the side entrance, and received its load trunks. Even at this eleventh hour, Mr. and Mrs, Chetwynd were protesting against Barba- ra’s going; and Blanche, standing by De Lau- rian, who had gallo down in the gray dawn from Paterson to bid her adieu, entreated her, yet quite coolly, to reconsider the matter, and ne the visit, if not give it up. De Laurian, to all eyes except her own, evin- ced a gentlemanly regret at losing her society and d she would remember him as a frien and -wisher; then, when she laughed and assured him she would do so, suddenly grew penteuy confused—a rare misfortune to occur , ber—when De Laurian banteringly told her he’d wager a set of opals against the white rose- bud she held, that if Kina ortune favored them with another meeting, they would both be mar- ried. Blanche felt the Mitac of his arm on her hand, and a flush dyed her face. Roy Davenal saw it, and drew a long breath of relief that De Laurian and Blanche were so well in for it. _ Ina second Barbara’s self-command returned. “Doubtless, Mr. Do Laurian, your predic- tions will prove correct, And now, as I have bidden you all a — adieu, I will be off.” She went down the steps and entered the car- riage in her own peculiar independent way, and every eye followed her with admiration. y, Gervaise De Laurian’s heart beat proudly as he gazed on -, 80 radiant, so sty]- ish in her traveling suit of Antwerp silk, and her dainty hat with a Bird of Paradise floating like a ray of sunlight over her dark hair, “Barbara, have you no word forme? Iam sure there need be no further secrecy in this ‘matter. Our friends all know of our engage- ment; why need you leave me without a part- word? oy spoke a little bitterly. 5 Barbara leaned back among the cushions, her face expressive of her displeasure. Why had he acted so foolishly? what made him speak in such @manner? What reply should she make? something that would satisfy Roy, and not dis- De Laurian. satisfy Wwoman’s wit came to the rescue. Her ready ever, You had etutied woeekind w our privatr thoughts for the WAS. SHE HIS WIFE? Roy had full view of her face as she spoke, while no one else had; and, as she concluded, she smiled upon him, and kissed the tip of her fingers to him, at the same time making a mena- cing little gesture toward the rest of the party. De Laurian had laughed outright when Bar- bara spoke. *“Good for you, Miss Lester. Davenal, you acknowledge yourself worsted by that broad- side? Roy could afford ‘to laugh after that look of Barbara’s. ‘ll repay you with interest some day.” Mr. Chetwynd stepped up to the carriage. “You have no more time to spare, Barbara; Oliver will have to drive fast to catch the New- burg express at Paterson. Take care of your- self, and write soon.” With a beaming smile, Barbara nodded them adieu, and, as the carriage turned a curve, she waved her handkerchief toward them. With a sigh, Mrs. Chetwynd turned to re- enter the house; had she known all that would occur before she again looked on willful, beau- tiful Barbara, the sigh would have been ashriek. “Such an idea! and yet, in its impulsiveness so like poor Barbara herself.” Mrs. Chet d remarked it to De Laurian as they entered the house. “TY think it very likely she will return as sud- denly as she left. You will miss her very much, doubtless.” “*TIndeed we will; she seems as near and dear to me as though she were one of my own blood.” De Laurian started, with an exclamation of surprise. “*Ts she not a relative? I always supposed her a cousin, at least.” “Oh, no; there does not exist the slightest tie of relationship. She was a sort of waif, who was left to our kindness when only a babe of very tender age. She and Blanche were just of a size and age then, although Barbara has grown the taller since.” De Laurian listened with eager interest. ** And you have not the remotest idea who or what she is? There was no clue to her parent- ef “Yes, a slight one, that only seemed to highten our interest in her. It isa broken chain, of Florentine gold, joined by an opal stone, that is severed in the middle. On the under side of the jewel is half a letter ‘D’ and a complete one joining, thus.” She drew with her pencil on a card two letter re Fg te and joined. “We suppose the missing half of the stone to supply the rest of the letter, and another also, to correspond with the half I have; thus mak- ing, when complete, three D’s, that doubtless represent her parents’ initials, while to us they sug; the terrible ‘curse ’—Dishonor, Deser- tion, Death, which my poor Blanche seems to inherit as her fatal birthright.” A dense shadow darkened Mrs. Chetwynd’s face, but she strove to throw it off. ‘““We named her ‘ Barbara Lester’ because on her little robe that name was written.” De Laurian was listening with intensest anima- tion to this story of his wife’s early life. “Blanche, bring the necklace for Mr. De Laurian to see; it is of rare workmanship.” As Blanche obeyed, Roy Davenal joined Mr. and Mrs. Chetwynd. ‘‘ Now that Barbara has gone, sir, I candidly admit the charm at Chetwynd Chase is broken. Icame from the West purposely to see her, and, in consequence of her sudden flitting, have not accomplished my object. ““Mr. Chetwynd, it must be useless for me to say Llove Barbara. I have loved her for years. I desire to make her my wife. Can it be so?” He looked every inch the noble lover as he stood there and proudly asked this favor at the hands of the courtly old gentleman. * As you say, . Davenal, it seems almost superfluous to tell us this, so patent has it been for solong a time, I will not stand in your way, believing you to be a man well worthy the hand of my Mster-child. She will give you her answer, and, whatever it is, I will ratify it.” Roy bowed; he had not much fear of Bar- bara s withholding her consent. ° ‘Th if she has returned, I en at i may claim her?” So far as I am concerned, most certainly.” _Roy’s face grew luminous with the preat ha te and he warml d Mr. Chetwynd’s nd, and offered his , and in return re- ceived both his and Mrs, Chetwynd’s congratu- ations. ‘ Then he went across the room to De Laurian, who. his head leaning carelessly against the window, had heard with secret triumph, the mt ye to give his wife’s hand to this over. “You will offer me joy? and a long life to love and cherish her, De Laurian?’ “Most heartily I wish you all you will wish me and my bride. Allow me to announce the future Mrs. Gervaise De Laurian.” Car-emrs had at that moment entered with the chain. Roy took her hand and touched it to his lips. ** Accept my most fervent congratulations, Blanche. And, as your present is bright and sunny, may roan future be fairer and more wo Fe De Laurian, youre a fortunate fel- ow.’ “ As well as yourself, sir.” They shook hands warmly, and then Mrs. Chetwynd touched Davenal on the shoulder. ‘“ When you write to Barbara, Mr. Davenal, — do not intimate the engagement between lanche and Mr. De Laurian. You'll remem- ber? It will be a most delightful surprise when she returns to her own wedding to find there will be another.” “*T will not mention it. And now, my friends, permit me to wish you -by. With your per- mission, Mr. Chetwynd, I will take one of your horses, to be sent directly home.” ‘“ There is no need of that, Mr. Davenal. One of the men can ride over after you and bring back Fire-fly—you’d better take Fire-fly.” ‘‘T may possibly catch the train Barbara took, —I will try for it, at least.” He bade them good-by, gave a hasty order for his trunk to expressed through to St. Louis, and galloped away, followed by De Lau- rian’s dark eyes, that combined a mingled look of mocking triumph and derisive pity. ‘*This is Barbara’s chain, Mr. De Laurian.” Mrs. Chetwynd. handed him the necklace; he took it to the window to examine it. ‘What does Barbara herself think of it?’ he asked. **She does not say; I know she would like to keep it in her own possession, but I think it should remain in my keeping.” ‘Undoubtedly; and you may one day dis- cover she is a duchess in ise.” Blanche wondered at the fire in her lover’s eyes as he critically surveyed the toy. A sudden resolve had entered De Laurian’s brain, and, as usual, he acted immediately in accordance with it. This chain was a link that bound Barbara and—who was at the other end? Was the necklace a stolen bauble, or really the remnant of former riches on her parents’ part? At all events, it must be his; it should be his. With a sudden start of alarm, hesprung from the window. “Mr. Chetwynd—Madame! what have I, in my awkwardness, done! I have dropped the chain outside.” He hastened to the door, and to the lawn, where, under the window, was an iron grating opening into the underground reservoir from whence came the water in the fountain. In consternation Mrs. Chetwynd followed him. ‘“*What can I do to replace it? Any thing you can suggest shall be done,” De Laurian’s face was troubled and anxious as he wanes through the ting, then at the faces of Mrs. Chetwynd and her husband. “*Do not be so grieved. Accidents can not al- were be avoided.” er ladylike manner assured him he was par- doned for his carelessness, and they went back to the drawing-room, while De Laurian, bid- ding them adieu, returned home. Out of sight of Chistwrnd Chase, he checked the speed of hi can de- e broken horse, and with a smile no la scribe, drew from his coat-sleeve chain of Florentine gold! CHAPTER XIIL THE DREAD BLOW, TRUE to his word, De Laurian did not lose any time in making his ‘trip on business, that would necessarily detain him a couple of months at least.” So he explained to trusting Blanche, as they bade adieu on the moonlight piazza at Chet- wynd Chase. ‘“‘ But I will be back in good season for the wedding at Christmas, my little betrothed, and then for a life of love with my own Blanche.” And she, nothing doubting, only grieved at. the inevitable separation, and watched with tearful, yet happy eyes, as he went forth on his mission of direct wrong. - He joined Barbara at the Continental Hotel, and, fearful lest his plans would be thwarted by the chance recognition of any traveling frieyds, ET
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tO suggested a qufet honeymoon in some out-or- the-way pees: where, as he told her, with thrilling love-words, he could have her all to himself for the few short weeks he could remain with her before he returned to New Jersey to arrange for their home. Barbara seemed almost like another person, all those bright, blissful days; she had thrown care and fear to the winds, thankful that Ger- vaise was her husband, trusting implicitly to him, and forgetting the tormenting jealousies that had torn her so, in past days. She seemed to live a year in those seven weeks, so crowded were they with concentrated content and hap- serra! it seemed ages since she had seen the Shetwynds—poor, guileless Blanche—and Roy Davenal. Somehow, whenever she thought of Roy, it hurt her; she was grown so happy and peaceful herself, because of her et love and devotion, that she pitied Davenal with a tenderness very foreign to her passionate na- ture. Gervaise and she would sit for hours and talk over their romance, and then, with all the ardor of her soul, she would tell him how she loved And so the days wore away, and almost be- fore she knew it, the time had come for De Laurian to go back and arrange for her return. She earnestly pleaded to go with him in the first place, but with thoughtful consideration he insisted on her remaining until he had broken the news to the Chetwynds and arranged for her a befitting home-coming. And so, transformed by love into the true trusting wife, she gracefully consented, an thanked him for his kindness. And then he bade her adieu—only a short adieu, he said, as he kissed her again andagain; then he left her. That afternoon, after he was gone, and she sat alone by the window, she wondered why it was she felt so strangely, not physically, for she never had been in better health. But there weighed oa her mind some weight; some cold leaden pressure that would not be raised, and that she attributed, at length, to nervousness, superinduced by her natural regret at her lover- husband’s absence. Little did she know what that oppression was the shadow of, or what was the substance that cast that shadow! She never dreamed, in her trusting love, that he who was all in all to her was a man of black- er soul than any man but a very devil could be; how should she know? So she waited for his return—and then, one bright, wintry day, the one before the sacred, beautiful Christmas, the horrible blow came, that transformed Barbara De Laurian—we never shall call her that again—into the woman whose presence brought a blight, whose hands scattered seeds of Dead Sea fruit, whose heart and brain were the heart and brain of a Medusa —that blasted whatsoever they would. There came a letter and thir is what it told her, word for word: “Barbara, the hour has come when it is meet that you should know all, when it is my disagreea- ble duty, anna can duty, to tell you a truth that I know will bring curses on my head for time and eternity from you. I deserve them; I will say that; I accept them as the punishment of my wickedness, and do not add insult to injury by asking or expect ing you to forgive what I full well know is unpar donable. * Barbara, this letter will reach you, I intend, by the five o’clock mail on Christmas afternoon; at noon of Ohristmas Day I shall be married to Blanche Chetwynd, at Chetwynd Chase, with the full and cordial approval of her parents. “You start, and exy-laim in passionate bewilder- ment, I know; I ans ver by solemnly swearing that Blanche De Lauria . will be my lawful wife, because -God pity you, Barbara, vou are vot, and never were. * You understand how I have sinned? You know now that I permitted you to believe valid a cere- mony performed by a college student who consent- ed, with as wicked a heart as I, to the infamous deed? I will not attempt to gloss over my conduct; I will not remind you how I loved you: you know that, Barbara; neither will I harshly remind you that it will be better for you to conceal this little episode in your life, for your own sake. Blanche shall neyer be eanoyed by you, nor can I permit that any trouh ¢ shall come to my wife's eager therefrom; 1/0 know me, Barbara, and that I will not be trifled with. * Again, you remember the broken opal stone, and the chain of Florentine gold we have talked about and so often examined? I shall retain it in my pos- session, and if ever I find you are working me evil I shall send it to you as a token of vengeance. “And now, Barbara, beautiful, enchanting Bar- bara, I bid you adieu, never expecting our paths will cross again, Lut certainly intending if they do, that we meet as friends, at least. “GervaIseE De LAuRIAN.” igid as a marble statue she had sat, and read the hellish letter through, from date to super- ya WAS SHE HIS WIFE? scription, her fingers clenching the paper with a grip of iron, her eyes lurid and tearless. Phen, with almost a snap, so suddenly did the tense muscles relax, her ds fell lifeless at her side; a quick, choking sob struggled for vent, and then came a torrent of hot, heart- wrung tears. She was a woman, with a woman’s keen capa- sinoe | of suffering, even in proportion as she had loved. Like a scorching simoom the storm of grief, horror and despair burst over her, withering her heart, inflaming her soul, and leaying the soil of her principles barren and waste. ‘“‘ Lost!—lost! ruined, disgraced, deserted, un- loved—and all, all by HIM! Trampled on and then carelessly set aside by him whom I wor- shiped as men never worshiped their God! Ger- vaise!—Gervaise! can it be true? have you given me up?” A moan of heartrending agony followed her words, and she clasped her hands over her beat- ing bosom, while her head fell forward in the abandonment of her awful grief. “For you, for you, eT ee my lost love, would I have dared things—all, save this— this infamy, that, in all my wildest visions of love, I never dreamed of! But you no longer love ME, whom you have betrayed, then spurned and scorned! You have given the love for which I would have bartered my soul, for which I did, all unconscious, sell my honor, to another! I might have borne even this disgrace, Gervaise, had you been true! But to another—to Blanche Otte i ss b defiant gl er soliloquy was bringing a defiant glare to her eyes; the olden-time glare, a hundred-fold intensified, that had lighted her eyes in the days when she had not wholly trusted her lover; and she snatched the ring from her icy fingers—that she had regarded as her wedding-ring—with a gesture of nized rage. Suddenly her mood changed, and, with yearn- ing cries of love and tenderness, she pressed it passionately to her lips. Over and over again she kissed the bright jewels, her tears dropping on their gleaming surfaces, “The de¥cious dreams I have indulged in over his betrothal Fon ; the blissful hopes I have enjoyed—oh, Gervaise! Gervaise! it is so hard! it is so cruel! I will die, all for love and betrayal—love for you, Gervaise De Laurian!” With a low wail of pain, she drooped her head on her breast, clutching the diamond-ring in a tight grip. Quietly, motionless she sat; for an hour she neither moved nor murmured; her heart was accustoming itself to this sudden blow; she was slowly numbing herself to her inevitable des- tiny. Slowly, surely, Barbara Lester was crush- ing, with albnost superhuman power, the love of her trampled heart. CHAPTER XIV. THE BURIED LOVE. PRESENTLY she arose, and walked totteringly across the room to the pier-glass. She smiled scornfully at the reflection, as she addressed it. ‘Barbara Lester, do you know who you are? and what you are? and what your business from to-day is? She paused, and a tremor passed over her. She grew paler, and reeled a step, then stood, wrong and firm again. “That was the last, dying pang! I have buried my love for Gervaise De Laurian—but I have buried it alive.” Her chest heaved irregularly, but only for a moment; then every trace of her agitation had vanished. ‘There, Barbara Lester, wronged, disgraced, contemptible though you know you are, you are strong again. Strong, with a strength born of weakness, proud, with a pride following humil- ity! You will never quiver when you hear his name; you will never falter when you speak it, or blush when you speak to him!” She peered in her beautiful dark eyes, and her lips parted in a gloomy smile. pe tore was sweet, Barbara Lester, was it not? is pleasant to possess, but there remains sweeter than the one, and better than REVENGE! written in letters by a in the blood of a bruised heart and embittered by the of a tarnished honor ! Never shall you from your toils, Barbara Lester; never shall you find lasting for your b head and your weary feet till your task be finished. She raised her hand, and then laughed, to see the gleam of the diamonds, “ He gay it for a love-pledge, hut he will rue Beau somethi the other. pen steeped the day. Sy that ring. T swear to crush every hope, tilight every joy, blast every comfort hg dare imagine!” A very avenging spirit she looked; superbly beautiful, calmly defiant. The wave of passion had passed on its way, leaving her resigned, but desperate. ere was a gicam in her black eyes, that au- gured trouble to some one, and a pitiless smile curving her red lips, that was ominous. And she did not belie her looks. She intended a revenge from the depths of her heart; and from the moment she dated the living burial of her love for Gervaise De Laurian, she dated her first step on her self-appointed mission. And a terrible mission it was: only one that a woman, deceived, betrayed and crushed as she had been, could have attempted; and she un blenchingly went to work that very hour. The fact of De Laurian’s letter having arrived twenty-four hours sooner than he had Sotented or expected, was not overlooked by Barbara; it was an intervention in her favor, in that it gave her ample time to perform the journey between Philadelphia and Chetwynd Chase Before the marriage ceremony occurred. phe beeen her trunks with a precision that deno the high state of nervous excitement she was in; had them labeled ‘‘ Miss Lester, Pat- erson, N. J.,” (the Chase carriage would meet her there, if telegraphed), sent to the Kensing- ton depot, and a through ticket to New Yor brought back. She had no idea of forbidding the banns; she knew too well the utter nothingness of the claim she had upon Gervaise De Laurian, but she did know what to do about it, and the first thing to do was to return to Chetwynd Chase in time for the wedding, and meet the man who had wronged her with a stolid indifference that should mystify him. She dressed herself, with excellent taste, in a pearl-gray silk walking suit, and called a car- riage to take her to the Kensington depot, first pa se ee bills in a queenly, quiet way. she took her seat in the car, already nearly full, a gentleman addressed her. pa ee wat a seat be prio & ‘ ith a thrill of anguish and surprise, she turned to recognize—Roy Davenal. ‘* Barbara! can it be possible? Oh, I am too thankful I have found you. I have been search- a. tog you this two months.” is face was all aglow with delight, and he caressed her hand as warmly as he dared, ‘* Where have you been, my darling? I went as direct to your friend’s house as I could and she was as astonished to think I would dnd you there as I was not to find you. Where have you been, my dearest?” ‘ It was like stabbing a wound afresh for. Bar- bara to listen tothis man’s honest, loving words. He called her “darling” and ‘‘dearest,” this man who believed her to be his betrothed, whom she had grossly deceived, and who, if he had known all, would have recoiled from her side in horror. ' So he had discovered that she had not been to her friend’s ; well, she instantly decided upon two points ; first, to allow him to still —. her his betrothed, and to confess, in th - candid, wholly willful way she had—hundreds of years ago it seemed—that; she had never in- tended going to her friend in the West, but of- fered it as an excuse for a long jaunt she wanted to enjoy alone. } And so she told him, in her sweet, bright way, this strong-hearted woman who was trave on, further than the cars could take her to wreak her revenge. Roy Davenal was so glad to see her: he had been so torn with fearful doubts since Mrs. Chetwynd had promised him Barbara’s hand for Christmas ; now all clouds were lifted as by magic, and he reveled in the beauty of her presence, Naturally, the wedding of De Laurian and Blanche was discussed ; and Barbara spoke of it, — the bridegroom-elect, without a tremor of tone. But when Roy told her of what had been his hopes for the coming day, and urged her with all a lover’s sophistries, to consent to be married, a fierce horrid pain shot through her heart, the existence of which she barely contrived, by her superhuman will, to conceal from Davenal’s eyes. Itwas unexpected, she plead, very —for she could pity him, now, since she f so needed stron sympathy—would not Roy postpone it till later? And in the bitter, anguishful memories that flooded her eyes, Roy Davenal read only plead- ing entreaty. He was obliged to yield a reluc- tant consent, and then Barbara grew silent ag _
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WAS SHE HIS WIFE? sped swiftly on, carrying her nearer At Jersey City they took an accommodation train that made all the stops on the Erie road, between the city and Paterson, so that while her trunks were carried on to Paterson, she and Roy left the train_at Passaic, and walked to Chetwynd Chase. It was a brilliant night, and at nine o’clock the moon was at its full; they walked rapidly along over the frozen, snow- ked road, and Barbara, erebes closely in Per furs though she was, shivered as though she were dying as they hurried the abbey ruins. Ah! The agony was not dead, if the proud will had buried it alive. Chetwynd Chase was all alive with lights that threw their radiance far out on the snow-bound landscape, and Barbara wondered if it meant a welcome for her? / Somehow that still, mild night, with its my- riads of twinkling stars, made her heart ache bitterly ; such a ‘‘home-coming,” after the one she and De Laurian had pictured time and again —now she saw with what consummate skill it re ag done, and she hated him for the mo ment. _ They could hear voices now and then, laugh ing voices, and then—a quick, wild cry burst from Barbara’s lips. De Laurian and “Blanche passed by the window on the inside. _ Blanche leaned on his arm, and he was bend- ing his head with that stately grace that became him so well. _, After that quick, wild ery, half-stifled though it was, Barbara knew she could meet him un- moved, and as she rung the door-bell long and loudly, a flush of conscious pride rose to her ace. The footman admitted her, and she gracefully walked into the drawing-room, among the guests, and went up to Blanche, as she leaning on Gervaise De Laurian’s arm. “Blanche, I’m home again, and just in time. Sir, I offer my congratulations.” She bowed to De Laurian, who, for the moment, was trans- fixed with horror ; then she went coolly on, and ne, Some Chetwynd, who was eagerly talk- oy. “My dear child! and such a goose-chase as you have been leading, Roy tells me. Well, let me go with you to your room, my dear, and see that you are rested for an hour or so, before you come down again.” Ard that was what this womar had looked forward to in her rosiest dreams : this was Bar- bara’s “‘ home-coming!” CHAPTER XV. DRAWING THE NET CLOSER. PasstnG fair was Blanche Chetwynd on the morning of her bridal day, with her sweet brown pe aid alight with tender winsomeness, and a faint pink tinge on her white complexion. The hour was eleven, and she had been dress- ed only a few minutes when her parents and Barbara entered her room te exchange those af- fectionate greetings that seldom occur more b> Se Pa a lifetime. er bridal costume was superlatively elegant, that well became the Paek and me of the Chetwynds no less than the personal grace of the bride, to whom the cloud-like folds of Mech- lin lace over heavy white silk lent new and sylph-like has fp e Chetwynd pearls crowned her proud little head, and lay in cool purity around ‘her throat and wrists, and depended from her ears. She had seated herself on a capacious damask sofa when her parents and Barbara had entered. “ Blanche, dear child, this will be the last levee Miss Che d will ever hold. The next will be pe by Mrs. De Laurian.” Chetwynd spoke tenderly, and the tears sprung to Blanche’s eyes. “What, tears? Not on your wedding-day, Blanche? Surely the bride of Gervaise De Lau- rian should be the ag eae woman living.” It was the ‘eager td o spoke so oS dane one merrily, as ntly r’s white fhe “i E they be tears of joy.” Barbeos's intaiical voice nennoanted the words, ont anche turned toward her, as Bar 2 use, my dear, the time may come when tears of anguish will be shed. y, then, re- saris Cid eas in quick, startled tones. e in quic ; ‘‘ Barbara, do not mention such a thing! You mee cold shiver to my very heart.” looked entreatingly at Barbara’s dark, handsome She laughed in a low, melodious laugh, that implied plainly distrust as to Blanche’s future hap piness, Pm a little surprised, Barbara, that you should introduce so gloomy a topic on this occa- sion. Let the.child be teeabon to all that is beautiful, pleasant and hopeful.” Mr. Chetwynd turned gravely toward Bar- bara. Again the same satirical laugh issued from her coral lips, but a rap at the door, immediate- ly followed by the intruder, prevented a remark. With a blush of delight, Blanche saw De Lau- rian dressed for the ceremony. He went straight up to her and affectionately kissed her, while she retained the hand he had extended, and caressed it fondly, the while looking eagerly up in his handsome face. And Barbara smiled as she gazed on them. “We were bidding adieu to Miss Blanche Chetwynd,” Mr. Chetwynd said to Gervaise, who bowed gayly. ** Because she will be to me the dearest among bens ee is no reason why you should love her ess. “Surely not,” returned Mr. Chetwynd, ‘and yet you must never forget the peculiar dower she brings you—the mysterious, ‘ Curse,” that from ay you must share equally with her.” ‘“* But I fear no old legend, Gervaise; do you?” Her sunny eyes would have inspired any one, and her gallant lover bowed an assent. ‘* Indeed I do not fear it, my Blanche.” “But it will come, Mr. De Laurian, in one form or another, depend upon it,” De Laurian turned haughtily to Barbara, who had spoken ; not a vestige of surprise or fear on his face, that only wore an expression of cool casm. “Indeed, Miss Lester! But as you are not an oracle, we will not depend on any thing you may affirm.” Oh, that covert blow, and his eyes so guarded, his words so aptly chosen. But she was equal to him. **T suppose you have heard it declared by persons more responsible than I that chickens and curses come home to roost? A wronged, betrayed woman, jealous of her honor, would never suffer her words to fall idly. Lady Con- stanzia was such, I take it. Something of my style, was she not?” She had looked De Laurian full in the eyes while she was speaking, her own face perfectly calm and under control; now she turned to Mrs. Chetwynd with the apparently careless in- quiry. ‘In personnel, I should think so; in charac- ter, I hope not.” A.faint mocking smile flitted across De Lau- rian’s lips that stung Barbara to the quick. ‘He shall pay well for that,” she declared, then spoke aloud again, in her sweetest voice. ‘*Mr. De Laurian, if I may venture to ask a boon at the hands of one from whom I should expect nothing, I would request from you to me a personal promise that you will sacredly keep the vows you will take upon you at the altar— to love and cherish Blanche as we, her family, have done.” In surprise they turned to Barbara, as she ut- tered the strange request. Magnificent in her festal dress of jet-black velvet and glowing ribbons, she leaned with careless grace against a marble Ceres, who lift- ed aloft asheaf of golden wheat, from whence flamed the light that illumined the apartment by night. De Laurian bowed frigidly. “At the altar, Miss Lester, I shall swear to cherish and protect her better than parent or sister ever could have done.” A defiant smile lighted his face. “Doubtless, Mr. De Laurian, we all expect you to do that; still, we who are nearest and dearest to her now, would be pleased to hear that personal assurance. J wish it, Mr. De Lau- rian. Her eyes were fixed intently on his face with a magnetic flame that could not but annoy and irritate him ; but he bowed before her. Pee Ce arta u . Che interru im. “Why should” you, Rartarh, demand this strange request of Mr. De Laurian? If the idea strikes you as important, or simply pleasing, why not refer him to my wife or myself? r. Chetwynd’s eyes were piercing vainly through Barbara’s impassive countenance. ** Because, sir, who else beside the sister whose couch she has shared so many years, whose con- fidante she has been since her heart knew a secret ; who else should demand and receive a promise?” She looked around at them a moment, and then again suffered, for a second, the bewilder- ing light of her eyes to fall on De Laurian. Mr. Chet d’s face relaxed into a smile. “Mr. De urian, it rests with you, now, to indulge so harmless a whim.” De Laurian shrugged his shoulders. **T think the lady can wait until the ceremony —then she shall hear me swear ‘ till death do us art.’ ” , A shiver ran over Blanche’s form as her lover uttered the words. “Tt sounds so dismal, Gervaise ; I verily be- lieve I am a coward to-day.” She bravely forced a smile to her a ‘* Blanche, dear, it is my fault for having in- troduced the subject. But you'll forgive me?” Barbara knelt before the girlish bride, ‘* Unreservedly, sister mine. I am ashamed of my own childish weakness.” She smiled lovingly on the upraised face. whose eyes of flashing darkness were vailed an subdued by the long, heavy lashes. She saw the smile that played oene Batters red lip but, in her own purity and innocence, did no read it aright. She little dreamed that the beautiful woman at her feet had been transformed into a verita- ble demoness. A silence fell on the little company that grew momentarily oppressive. Barbara was the first to break it. “Come ; the guests will be disgusted at our tardiness—and I am sure that is Roy’s step on the stair, seeking the recreant bridesmaid. Come, Blanche, take papa’s arm. Mr. De Lau- rian, you will escort Mrs. Chetwynd? Roy— I’m ready.” Her fresh, girlish laugh, as she issued her playful words, broke the spell, and the bridal party went gayly down the stairs. The minister began the impressive service, and a solemn silence fell on the assembly, while all eyes naturally watched the bride, none thinking, at that moment, of the stately, grace- ful bridesmaid. But, Barbara stood there, proud and haughty, in all the consciousness of her regal beauty, and listened to the vows that Blanche so tremblingly promised. A gleam of fearful fire flashed from her eyes as the officiating clergyman turned to Gervaise with the customary inquiry. A gleam of light that darkened rather than illumined; a name- less something, that seemed to scorch, annihi- late; on her bloodless lips there curled a smile, that matched well the sardonic balefulness in her eyes. - Suddenly De Laurian glanced up at her, and met that awful smile, that terrible lurid light! * And then, too late, it came to him, like a re- velation, that this wronged woman would cross oa track, and that, too, in her own way and ime CHAPTER XVI. ONE STEP MORE. BELOow stairs, in the spacious drawing-room of Chetwynd Chase, the music was playing gay- ly and twinkling feet kept time in the merry ance. Above, the guest and dressing chambers were deserted and silence reigned supreme. The servants at the Chase, together with the maids of the visitors, were grouped outside the doors, and on the stairways, regarding the gay scene within. In one of the apartments above the second flight of stairs a chance passer-by might have heard voices in low, cautious conversation. The room was what was called the ‘“ observa- tory,” a small, square apartment, whose walls were of thick plate-glass, whose furniture con- sisted of only two chairs, and a complete set of astronomical instruments. Two persons occupied this room; one, Barbara Lester, who stood carelessly leaning against the large telescope, her brilliant eyes intently fixed on the fair, handsome face of Davenal, that was lifted to her own with a enitls of unuttera- ble love. ts Roy,” yh said, aur , ‘this is kind of ou no orget me amid all the of the bri dal scene yng ” wien! ? “Forget you, Barbara? That I never can do. Do Sa not know it, and how more than thank- ful I am to have you back again once more?” He extended his hand and lifted her round, bare arm to his lips, “Do not stad} Barbara; sit beside me, and let me hear the sound of pend words. Speak love words once more. It has been so long since, dearest.” He was looking yearningly up in her pale
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La WAS SHE HIS WIFE? face, and, as he spoke, he drew her face against ‘Then tell Mr. De Laurian, for me, that I his cheek. ‘Tell me you love me as well to-day as ever? —yes, better than you ever did before. Is it not that for which you sent to me? Was not that your reason when you sent the message to meet you here?” A bright smile of hope was on his lips, that | were almost womanly in their fullness and beauty, yet entirely relieved from effeminacy by the defiant curve of the chin and the deter- mined sternness of his dark blue eyes. “ Roy,” she answered, in low, exquisite tones, and, as she heard the sound of her voice, she wondered if it were she or another she were listening to, ‘‘ Roy, I did send for you for a most important purpose—a purpose that needs your assistance toward accomplishing the de- sired result, and whom no one beside yourself | can do. You will help me, Roy, dear?” She respectful silence, _ “To the utmost of my ability, Barbara, dar- pee What is it?” terrible smile swept over her face for a brief second before she replied. “Roy, we both know that Blanche Chetwynd was married, not an hour since, to Gervaise De Laurian; the festivities are this moment cele- brating; but, Roy, Blanche shall nuver be his wife!” She spoke the last words in a thrilling tone, that made him look suddenly, more intensely at er. “What do you mean, Barbara. You mystify me. Again, like a flash of fatal sheet-lightning, - there swept that gleam from her eyes, and she bent nearer him to answer, until her breath flamed over his cheek. “Roy Davenal, that man who has married Blanche, has offered me, your betrothed, the deepest of insults. Shall I, knowing who and what he is, permit him to become the husband of my only sister? Will you, my lover, aid me to avenge myself, and save Blanche from a life that will surely fulfill the curse of her race?” A wrathful smile leaped into Roy’s eyes, and he involuntarily sprung to his feet. _ “Heavens, Barbara! De Laurian has dared insult you? Shall I shoot him down before his bride?” “Oh, no,” and she laughed lightly. “Don’t be hasty—I am not, you see, and to act effect- ually we must both be calm. I have laid my lans out, Roy, deep as the sea, and all I require is your skillful hand.” © kissed her cold fingers as she extended them. **You can depend upon me, to the furthest ex- tent of your need. The villain—how dare he! Barbara, my beautiful betrothed, my blood boils when I think of it.” ‘“*{ thank you, Roy, dearest.” Her siren voice thrilled his very heart, and he kissed again and again those rare red lips, so false, so fair. ; “Barbara, I’d hardly have thought that of De Laurian. Unless your truthful lips had spoken it, not all the oaths that could be taken would have convinced me.” “You cannot be more surprised than I was, to learn his vileness. ‘To me he was the soul of chivalry and honor—but I know better now.” Her lips closed tightly after those words, and Roy saw the shiver that went over her. * And you think it will be right for me to save Blanche from him, Roy, darling?” She caressed his cheek and smoothed his hair with her mesmeric fingers as she smiled in his eyes. “Are you not metas right, my Barbara? I cannot imagine you lending yourself to any- think wrong, dearest, even if you are severe. Therefore, possessing such unbounded confi- dence in you, I say—do your own sweet will.” He looked away from her a second, to consult his watch, and the smile vanished from Bar- bara’s face, the soft light from her eyes. A wish I could describe that countenance as it looked then, in all its baleful malignity, its bit- terness, its despairing (ecner. t was a face that fascina while it frightened, that bewil- dered while it startled. A face on whose bril- jiant features were written danger, revengeful hatred, and a fearful strength of will; and, per- haps, more than all, a proud consciousness of them all. **T must leave you now, Barbara,.dearest, or I will be missed, Kiss‘me before I go.” He wound his arms around her waist, and drew her head to his shoulder. ‘Who could look in those eyes, Barbara, and refuse to obey the command your sweet lips uttered?” lanced keenly at him as he listened in | | only had it been since the message had been de- await him in this room. Let no one hear the message, and do you entertain Blanche until he returns.” An excited flush rose to her cheexss as sho ke, low and rapidly. **T will tell him at once, Barbara.” And she sat calmly down, to await the com- ing of the man who had wronged her beyond hope of reparation. CHAPTER XVIL THE POISONED MISSIVE. Sue had not long to wait, for she had seated herself in one of the chairs that she had drawn to the side of the room that commanded an extended view of the villages around and near Chetwynd Chase, when rapid steps that | brought a cold sneer to her lips as she heard them, came nearer and nearer. A few minutes livered, in the coldest, haughtiest way, to Ger- vaise De Laurian, yet those few minutes had sufficed him to decide on the course he intended to pursue; that of cold indifference that would baffle her passionate accusations; a contemptu- ous disregard of the magnitude of his sin, and a mysterious threatening attitude if she assumed her prerogative tq expose him. So he smiled as he tapped at the door, with as much unconcern as though his valet was await- ing him, and not a wronged, jealous woman, whose all-absorbing love had turned to all-de- vouring hate, and who only awaited his entrance to wreak it upon him. ‘* Enter,” he heard a chill, high voice Pe and very nonchalantly he opened the door and bowed to her on the threshold. “You desire to see me, Miss Lester?” ““T do, very naturally, Mr. De Laurian. You are not astonished?’ **Tt is needless for me to say I am astonished beyond expression; I supposed it was all over between you and I.” Her low, musical laugh started weird echoes in that lonely room. ‘ “Tf you really thought so, Mr. De Laurian, be it my delightful task to correct the mistake; also to inform you that not a soul in Chetwynd Chase, save Royal Davenal, knows of your whereabouts,” De Laurian returned with interest her steady, oa glance; then a hateful smile parted his ps. “Then be so good, Miss Lester, as to tell me for what I am wanted, as Iam anxious to return to my charming bride.” She bowed her head in regal defiance at the words. ** Your bride, yes; but. never—” She suddenly checked the words. ** Sit down, Mr. De Laurian, while I talk with doses on an all-important subject that can scarce- y fail to interest you.” She gracefully pushed him a chair, then glided to the door. ‘**T will close this,” she said, lightly; we do not know who might pass by.” The heavy oaken door swung heavily to, and closed with a sharp snap that sent the blood curdling through De Laurian’s veins, Then she reseated herself opposite him, and her figure arrayed in the ominous black velvet and blood-hued rubies, she seemed a very fiend of vengeance; and, as the cold smile faded from her lips, and a steely glitter gathered in her eyes, Geryaise De Laurian shivered to see her. Deliberately she crossed her small, dark hands on her lap, and coolly surveyed every lineament of his face. ‘* Gervaise De Laurian,” she said, in tones that were low, intense, and fearfully musical. ‘‘Ger- vont urian, perhaps you will tell me who am She paused, awaiting his answer. “J will, certainly, strange and uncalled for though your question is.” e en do so at once. Do you know who I am There was a meaning in her query, and a meaning in the peculiar tones with which she put the words. “You are Miss Barbara Lester, adopted daughter of Rerton Chetwynd, of Chetwynd Chase. Does the answer to so idle a question suit you?” His li each so determined in their expréssion of patien er Partl ” she returned, quietly. “Y k artly,” she re , quietly. ou spea truly when you say I am Rexton Chetwynd’s adopted daughter; but, you lie, false-mouthed son of perdition, when ‘you cali me bara | past and confronted " curled scornfully as their eyes met, . “4 ‘ Lester; you know the name that belongs to me; ou know who I am—your wife, in the sight of od and honest men.” She had had — ne — from the in- tensely deep key in whic e began —— g; and new, when the hissing echo of her wo died away, De Lawrian realized that the smol- dering fires would, ere long, leap forth. ‘* But I am more than that, Gervaise De Lau- rian; [am an avenger.” : She fairly whispered the last words in his ear, as she leaned over to him, while her hot breath scorched his cheek. “An avenger of whom, may I ask?” He was uncommonly superb in this assump- tion of utter forgetfulnuss. **-You poor fool! do you not think I can read our mask as plainly as your viper’s heart? ut, since your role is to feign such blissful ig- norance, be mine the task to explain that I avenge my wrongs—wrongs I receiyed at your hands; that shall be forever nameless between us. ” She toyed gracefully with her glowing ruby bracelet. Then his face clouded over with that darken- ing frown she had so often seen before. “* Barbara—” . ‘Mrs. De Laurian, if you please, since I so kindly explained.” He threw “< his hand impatiently. ‘ ‘‘ Barbara, I say, you had better think twice before you attempt to threaten me; before—” ‘“‘Think ‘ twice!” she retorted, mercilessly. “ Asif I had not thought a thousand times, and each time a hundred-fold less leniently.” ‘* But, Barbara, I repeat, beware how 7 seek to cast this aspersion on my name. member, despite your threats, Blanche is already my bride.” ‘Yes, the r, silly child is Gervaise De Laurian’s bride, but she never shall be his wife. I swear that.” i She raised her hand as if in mute invocation, as the words dropped like hot lead on his ears. He confronted her defiantly, and met boldly the uncanny glare of her eyes. When he spoke, it was in a low, hoarse whis- r. ac This interview shall not be fhe a, an- other moment. I bid you good-afternoon.” He was trying to conceal his anger, she saw, and a light of malicious triumph that she succeeded in affecting him, was plainly visible on her features. He strode toward the door, not stopping te offer the coldest bow, when suddenly glided “Mr. De Laurian?”’ , She spoke his name in a voice exquisitely lovely, but disregardful, he pushed by her, until the second summons, followed by her strange language, abruptly stopped him. ‘“Mr. De Laurian, the door is securely fasten- ed. Noone can gain egress or in except at my pleasure. I alone, of the household, un- derstand the secret spring inthatdoor. I, alone, vaill open it for you. But, before it is opened, you must wait another moment.” He leaned carelessly against the door-post, but, despite his flashing eyes, his lips were quiv- ering under the thick mustache, with a craven fear. ‘You perfectly understand, do you, Mr. De Laurian, that I declare you shall never be more to Blanche than you are this moment?” She spoke harshly now. - ‘“T understand nothing of the kind. I only lnow you are a bad woman—” . She uttered a genuine cry of pain at those cruel words, F “ Beware! remember you are alone with me, our wronged, disgraced wife—at the mercy of Seresnan ose dangerous than a tigress robbed of her young !—powerless in my hands, Gervaise De Laurian !” He forced a contemptuous smile to his lips. “ And you think to te me with your idle threats? Unless you can not possibly tear your- self away from mg society, I would suggest that you condescend to unfasten the door, as the train in which I and my bride leave, will be due in less than half an hour.” " He was playing his hand as boldly as he dare, desperate though he knew the e was. , “The train may be late, Mr. De Laurian,” she said, quietly ; then, a sudden gust of uncontrol- lable ion flooding over her, she said: ‘Do ou think I am going to let you add to sin? | could charge you before the whole world with pour villainy—villainy that would put you in he States Prison for years! Think you J-shall let you goon and not raise a to punish yout. My hand, and not the arm of New Jer- \ i wy a _ 5S
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$ Blanche to her room, WAS SHE HIS WIFE? 4 sey’s laws, will apportion you beg reward.” er eyes were scintillant ; her lips apart in her fury, yet wearing that fearful, mocking smile that so disfigured her. “But before I k further on this subject, I will show you this letter which came to the Chase a fore the ceremony, and which I kindly took in charge till a convenient moment to give you.” © pushed toward him a sealed envelope, that lay on the table. -mechanically he tore it open, and read: “Mr. De Laurian, you will at once remit the amount due on the mortgage, or the foreclosure will at once take place, and your entire estate will be sold at public auction. CLEMENTS.”’ There was no date ; there was nothing so ter- rible in the communication, and yet De Laurian reeled, staggered to a chair, and with a face pale as death, gasped convulsively several times. ‘Demon! devil!” he muttered, in choked ac- cents ; ‘‘curses—ten million curses on you!— ou’ve poisoned me with that infernal forgery! can smell it—horrors! is this death?’ His jaw fell; he writhed a moment in the chair, and bara Lester, with a triumphant smile, unfastened the door, and snapping it after her, went slowly down to the realms of light, mirth and joy. CHAPTER XVIII. WIFE OR WIDOW? At the door of the drawing-room Barbara met Roy Davenal. His inquiring glance was understood by her as fully as words could have been. » “Yes,” she replied. ‘‘He came, obedient to my summons, and, after he departed, I heard his footstep returning to the ‘observatory; if it was to renew our not particularly pet con- versation, he will be disappointed; for I left just as he did.” Not a tremor of her eyelids or a quiver of the lips as she accepted his arm and entered the thro’ rooms. “Roy,” she said, tenderly, “I can depend port ‘ou not to mention the fact that I met ; Laurian alone in the ‘observatory? I bcm al enjoy the petty scandal it might _ “T certainly shall not mention it, my dearest unless it be to De Laurian himself at ine con- venient season after the bridal tour. He must apologize to me, Barbara.” She smiled brightly. “‘T think that would be no more than right.” They had reached the rear end of the draw- ing-room, where Blanche had held her little court since the wedding hour, and who now was rather anxiously consulting a tiny little watch, set in pearls, that depended, like a lock- et, from the necklace at her throat. “Oh, Barbara, I’m so glad you’ve come! I’m worried because Gervaise stays so long, and I’m ashamed to tell any one. I wonder where he went to? We'll surely lose the train.” Barbara laid her hand caressingly on Blanche’s Th ria tful, has \) oom has grown forgetful, he? Probably detained b cae bachelor friends over : parting glass of champagne. Isn’t it cruel She laughed down in the brown eyes, that wore a shadow ’way down in their clear deeps. © cum bm ry he spel have come to es- cort me up-stairs; I oug’ ve changed m at a a, id no oving, ing girl read the foarful secret in those beautiful a that were shining down into her own? Why did she not shrink in utter horror from under that cool, caressing hand? Or why did not some voice whisper in Roy Davenal’s ear the awful truth as the beautiful woman leaned so confidingly on his arm? The hour was still afar off when the mask should fall. ““T am sure mamma Chetwynd is not nervous whatever you are, little bride. I assur Mr. De La . urian is secure, wherever he is.” ‘She only knew the hidden meaning conveyed her own wo! , their brief conversation, the guests had ually left the room, to fill the conser- vatory, music-room and upper chambers; and, as Roy excused himself to accompany @ young tleman to the billiard arbara touch- $i Blanche’s shoulder. “Come, and I will assist you to don your I think very likely Mr. De ph ee Boys MF Laurian | in his room, preparing for the journey So, kindly and thoughtfully, Barbara assisted ‘ if = dttvatlonhiadon her sitting in the easy-chair while she removed the vail, wreath, gloves, jewels and slippers. “Tam shivering dreadfully, Barbara. Is the As ead all open? I wohder what makes me so chilly? Her hands fell wearily to her side as Barbara withdrew the tiny white kids. ‘‘Nothing but nervous excitement, my dear; I suppose all brides feel so.” And her own bridal rose up before her with a vividness that sent a pang shooting through her heart. “eT feel so uneasy about Gervaise, Barbara. Why, I never pened, of such a thing as a bride- groom deserting his bride so soon.” ‘For a couple of hours?” Barbara laughed ; ie added, lightly, “ perhaps it’s the ‘ Curse, ear. A scream fell from Blanche’s lips. ; “Oh, no! I have not dared let myself think of that aloud! Oh, Barbara, what made you speak my own fears?” . a Barbara looked sternly at the frightened girl. “They were idle, playful words, Blanche; and I am thoroughly ashamed of you.” The tears gathered in Blanche’s eyes. ““T know I’m childish ; but something is wrong, Barbara; I feel it here.” She laid her hand on her breast, and then arose from her chair to exchange her white robes for the garnet velvet suit, of which one of her traveling-suits was made. Her toilet was made quickly, and then Bar- bara paused before her in earnest scrutiny. ** How beautiful you are, Blanche! peace be with you!” And then she went out from the dressing- room, swallowing a sob as she closed the heavy walnut door. In the hall she met Mrs. Chetwynd, anxious and somewhat flurried. “Barbara, it is Ng Eien but where can Gervaise possibly be? No one has seen him for an hour or more.” Barbara raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Ts that so? I saw him myself less than an hour ago, and gave him a letter one of the ser- vants had for him,” “You did? And where was he?” “In the dining-room; and when he asked me for the quietest room in the house to read his letter, I mentioned the observatory.” “The observatory!” echoed Mrs. Chetwynd, with almost a sob of relief. ‘“‘Of course the poor fellow has gone there to read his letter and fastened himself in—I’ve heard of the cu- rious spring in the door.” She Nistened off to tell Mr. Chetwynd, and together they went up the stairs that led to the fatal room. Mr. Chetwynd was not a second unfastenin the door; he pressed in, followed by his wife an Barbara, anit then— A horrid scream from Barbara, echoed by Mrs. Chetwynd, resounded through the Chase; with tottering tread, Mr. Chetwynd crossed the intervening space and laid his hand on De Lau- rian’s icy cold forehead. But it needed not that to tell the awful truth; for the plassy, vacant eyes, wide open in a trance of horror, the rigid attitude had reveal- ed the fact that the first ent of the Curse had already fallen on poor Blanche’s innocent head—as she sat below, all unconscious that she was a widowed bride, waiting for him who would never come, to begin the bridal tour they never would take! , And Barbara Lester’s heart thrilled with wild triumph! CHAPTER XIX. * A LOST LOVER. Day after day of that pitiful bridal season wore away, each fraught with new grief and loneliness. The inquest had been held at Chetwynd Chase, and tho verdict, substantiated by the opinions of eminent physicians, was that Ger- vaise De Laurian had come to his death by a sudden attack of heart disease, to which he had been long predisposed, and which was imme- saeealy superinduced by the inopportune arrival] of a ess communication, that at b any time might have illy affected him. ‘eople were loud in the praises they bestowed upon the dead man’s memory; they tenderly Soa, 9 res with the bereaved bride; spoke ly of the blow that had killed him— the npr $e = by that he was a poor man. we e ter of tire house of Chetwynd Chase. nay The paners filled columns with a sensational / version of the story, and everybody from Maine to the Pacific coast was familiar with the sad facts. Then they buried him, in almost royal pomp, in the family vault, that was built in a cypress grove on the De Laurian estate. uater, a new excitement followed; his execu- tor published a card affirming that after a full and searching settlement of deceased’s affairs, it was found that but one mortgage existed— and that only to the trifling amount of eight thousand dollars, which Mr. De Laurian would have readily paid when due, which would not yet occur for several weeks. The estate was otherwise unincumbered. Then what meant that letter the wiseacres declared had been the means of his death? Gradually, vague suspicions began to arise; the letter had been a forgery, then, but for what purpose, and expected Toy whom? And somehow, no one ever knew who started it, came the impression that there had been foul lay; perhaps, after all, Mr. De Laurian had put out of the way; and, as there certainly had been not a mark of violence on his person, the means used had been internal ones—in plain words, people began to believe Mr. De Laurian had been poisoned. Arrangements were made to have his body removed from the vault; the arrangements were con.pleted, and, while the excited public were awaiting further developments, there burst on them like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, the appalling news that Mr. De Laurian’s body had been removed from the vault, and the coffin left untenanted! Nine days of wildfire excitement; days of wonder, suspicion, distrust and indignation; and then, baffled and disappointed, the world settled down with another unsolved mystery hanging to its skirts. Wearily and heavily the days dragged on at Chetwynd Chase; to the pallid girl-bride, whose age grief was extremely touching to see; to stricken parents who plainly saw the skele- ton fingers of Lady Constanzia’s Curse in the great blight that had come upon them. But, coequal with the expressed sentiment of sympathy and ae | for the parents and Blanche, was the one of admiration for beautiful Miss Lester, who had so openly and nobly used ili available means toward clearing the mys- ry. Secretly, while she rejoiced that De Laurian had had his coveted cup dashed from him by her hands, she was worn by the sudden news that had come of the disappearance of his body from its coffin; and, after wakeful nights and nervous days, had taught herself that the mi- nutest examination by the warmest friend— if any such had abducted him in a fit of indig- nant enthusiasm— would fail to detect the faintest trace of the subtle poison he had in- haled. Openly, she was all affection, all sympathy, all attention. Not enough could she seem to do for Blanche, who clung to Barbara in all this trouble like a delicate vine to the sturdy oak. Mr. ewig tet ban was proud, reserved as ever i ying even the fatal legacy that had come to him, to crush him. But to Blanche he was ever most tender, most gentle, and always referred to De Laurian with an affectionate interest that the more won the girl’s broken heart. Mrs. Chetwynd, with her loving, confiding nature, felt the blow almost as keenly as Blanche did. Their tears, lamentations and prayers were daily mingled, and then Barbara, so sym- thizing and pitiful, would clasp her sister ten- erly in her arms and weep silently over her. Thus the days and weeks wore on, and the affair grew unimportant save to the aching hearts that were so slow in the healing. The bright May a came peeping in, and they drove out occasionally, to relieve the sad silent monotony of home, and an old cherish friend or close acquaintance would call oftener - than before. And, as the merciful hands of Time poured the healing balm in their hearts, their faces grew lighter as the glorious summer days wore away, and with the gay-tinted autumn flowers came sweet laughter from Blanche’s lips that told her heart was recovering, with all the olden freshness and exuberance. , All this while, Roy Davenal had been away from Chetwynd Chase; and again, with the au- tumn, he returned for a visit. ; But there was achange in her ersttime ardent lover, Barbara plainly saw. _ His protestations of affection were less fre- quently uttered, and she realized that, for some reason, her power over him—the rare, fascina- ting influence she had so successfully exerted— was gradually growing less.
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— 14 WAS SHE HIS WIFE? ThfS knowTedge terrified her; for, witn tne mysteriously strange influences that had opera- ted upon her, Barbara had discovered that she had learned love this noble, honest-hearted lover, with a devotion, that had she known in earlier days, would have saved many a pang. But, that was over with now; she had loved | De Laurian, and she had hated as well; now for this loyal, patient lover she was pouring out an affection born of great sorrow—of its woman- ly purity, we will not speak. Rna so, this strange, almost imperceptible change fired her with a regretful anguish. Mightier eyen than the quick, hot passion she had entertained for De Laurian—but that would have saved her had he so willed it—was this lov, that had surged up and back, for Roy Davenal: Py ’ she must center her affections on some one: such women are doomed to love—or curse— with their affections in a whole-souled, absorb- ing manner. And Roy—we know how for years he had rushed madly on ; bewildered, infatuated with her glorious beauty. How all this change had come about, he only realized when away from the dazzling light of her eyes, and the witching sound of her voice. When with her, he was so proud that she was all his own—poor, deluded man—and, instead of breaking the meshes of the net that enslaved him, he suffered the cords to grow firmer and stronger. At length—so sudden and sharp the rending asunder came that it terrified himself—his god- dess was dethroned, and he knew, for a fearful truth, that she was a woman whose hands were not the hands he ever should clasp at the altar. _ It had happened very a naturally, quite in the ordinary course of affairs—if that can be called “‘ordinary,” that crushes a confidence of years and uproots a love that has grown with a man’s youth and strengthened with his strength. He had read the papers ; he had learned all the particulars, and then he had grown to specula- ting on the ghastly subject. e plainly recalled the careless lie Barbara had told Blanche as she leaned on his arm ; he had been surprised then ; but now it wore a far different aspect. He remembered of what a willful, passionate nature Barbara had ever been ; he knew De Laurian had had a stormy interview with her ; she admitted he had gross- ly insulted her, and that she should punish him. ll this had annoyed him from the moment he had heard of De Laurian’s death ; but the in- quest had satisfied him—or rather, he had forced himself to be content therewith, and gone back to his Western home with only a sad gravity of mannew that was naturally attributed to the distressful state of affairs. Then had come the suggestions of poison— that had horrified him; then the fact of the forged letter ; and he groaned in very anguish as the ewful suspicion would thrust itself upon him ; and when, later, he learned that the body had been stolen from its sacred resting-place, he knew, for a sickening verity, that Barbara Les- ter had had the deed done to cover her own guilty tracks. It was appalling ; yet what could he do? tell his honest suspicions to the world, and brand her, whom he had so worshiped, a murderess? help with the hands that had so often caressed her, to fasten the hangman’s rope around that dainty throat? He could not; it would not bring De Laurian back, or heal Blanche Chet- wynd’s broken heart—poor, poor Blanche! And then his fingers refused to pen the love- | letters he was so wont to write; ‘a rush of business,” he told Barbara, prevented long let- ters ; when he came in October to Chetwynd Chase he would see her once more. Ah, little did Barbara think, as she dreamed of and waited for his coming, that he, pacing his floor on restless, sleepless nights, was strug- gling and fighting with himself to banish the remnant of love for her. -And then, while she—this jealous and dan- gerous woman—with a heart of living flame, was counting the hours to his return, he had de- cided that when they met again he would return her his plighted troth. CHAPTER XX, THE TIGRESS AROUSED. Upon his return to Chetwynd Chase, early in the fall, Roy Davenal was gratified to find how very much the cloud had lifted off the bereaved family ; he was delighted at the warm, cheerful reception given him, and he thought how charm- pos Seer air Blanche’s S ouiewito eft he rae winning, en girl-widow, whom he not call Mrs, De Laura, but Blanche, as in the olden days. Barbara was radiant, matchlessly brilliant as ever, but Roy knew his days of blind yet blissful slavery were over forever. He had fully come to know that she was the last woman in all the world to be his wife ; and, in the six weeks that followed his return to the Chase—those six weeks in which his devotion to Barbara gradually slackened, and which Bar- bara mite these six breezy, delicious weeks, Roy Davenal had learned a new, strange lesson that he feared to teach Barbara. Yes, he actually dreaded telling her all the truth : he reasoned that the woman who would unhesitatingly and deliberately destroy a fellow- being for a mere personal affront—of course he did not know the depth of Barbara’s injuries ; even had he, he was not the man to justify the murder he solemnly believed to have been com- mitted—would not hesitate at wpier ty equal mercilessness to one who justly would deena her indihnation. It was an extremely delicate affair, and one that, since his sojourn at Chetwynd Chase, had zrown to be of greater magnitude and more ex- Seetis delicacy than ever. But he had fully decided that, come what would, he would kindly tell her bes 2 must part forever; and why? Not because he believed her hands were stained with Gervaise De Lau- rian’s blood, but that another, fair as the lily and pure as the angels, had crept all unawares into his heart ; that, with the holiest, truest, calmest love of which man’s heart is capable, he had learned—first, to pity, then to love— Blanche De Laurian. She had grown very dear to him in those six weeks ; she had come to be a very star of light to his eyes—perhaps because of the mental con- trast_he could not avoid drawing between her and Barbara. He had come to learn to watch for her sweet sresence, and to gaze on her delicate, chastened ace, as the greatest delights earth held for him. Of her own heart he knew almost nothing. True, when she had caught an ardent, eloquent zlance from him, her sweet brown eyes would : roop, and a tell-tale tinge surge over her rare ace. Not a word had he lisped of this—not a hint had he given Blanche, for Roy Davenal was too noble and honorable to stoop to such a deed when his betrothal vows still bound him to Barbara Lester. But one warm, cloudy day in the middle of October, when the air was oppressive and sur- charged with electricity, he resolved to seek Barbara, and end the carking suspense. He walked slowly to and fro on the lawn that sloped down tothe river, and from her room window, Barbara watched him as he walked. She had just made her toilette—a task she could perform so well—and now as she stood be- fore her dressing-bureau to give the last finish- ing touches, she wondered if Roy would admire her in that dress ; and whether she could not win from him a warmer love-protest than she had listened to for so long. Her dress was very elegant—a thin silk gren- adine of intensest black, over whose ground w as embroidered a graceful vine in rose-pink and gold-colored silk, from which at intervals, de- vended a bundle of golden grapes and a leaf of 4 autumn red. is singular and costly dress particularly be- came her, and Roy had before admired the white arms and neck which the sheer folds but half concealed. She fastened the filmy lace collar with a large cluster diamond pin, and hung rings of the same glittering gems in her little pink ears. The folds of the lace curtains draped around her as she sat/down, and looked out upon her lover, wondering at the brightness of his face as he bowed to some one below. Ever jealous of his favor, she leaned out to see who was there ; her brow darkened, and she ig her lips angrily together as she saw, lushing, yet confused and retiring, Blanche De Laurian. Barbara’s quick, jealous eyes perceived how surpassingly fair she was, her unrelieved white dress floating around her and over the hey 2'6? | grass, and her lovely golden hair wigs. d hi over the forehead and in long, thick curls at the back. She saw the costly jet ornaments that lent a beauty of their own to her flushed face, and the anguishful thought thrilled her—would, could Blanche supplant her in Roy Davenal’s affections—she, who had once before blighted every hope she held dear? Jf she should! and the flash of defiance in her eyes denoted the light in which she should re- gard such interference, Just then, she was summoned to the parlor, Mr. Davenal would be pleased to see her. The frown disappeared, and she immediatel went down to the parlor, both hands exten in, and her eyes beaming, a glad welcome. ‘Tam so glad, Roy, you have sent for me to come down. I was just wishing to see you.” He suffered her to lead him to the sofa, and then, when he had seated himself, she drew a hassock to his feet, and seating herself, leaned her elbow on his knee. peat He did not yet speak; he was scrutinizing her varying features. ‘Have you no greeting for me, Roy?’ She murmured his name in tones of liquid ten- derness, as she raised her eyes to his. — “‘T surely neglected my duty if I failed to do so ”» The tones, though courteous, were decidedly distant, and she instantly perceived it. “ Roy—what have you come to tellme? Why do you speak so formally tome? Are you an with me, dearest? Have I offended you? have, you can punish me no more severely than by being so stern.” “*T did not mean—that is, I did not think you would care,” returned Roy, nese or, now that the time had come, he dreaded arous- ing her temper. : c ‘But I do care, Roy, darling. How could it be otherwise when I love word you utter goes strai is never forgotten?” Her voice was low, and under her half-vailed lids, Davenal noted the witching tenderness of her eyes. ‘*-You-will pardon me, Barbara, if I am com- pelled to.speak as I would not speak? I would gladly s ou the emotions you must e rience when tell you what I dare not delay to keep from you. Be ready to hear bad ti which wound me while they wound you.” An amazed expression on her face that gath- ered when he began speaking, gave way to a triumphant smile; and she leaned her head ca- ressingly on his hand. - “Roy, how could you frighten me sof I thought you were going to tell me you had ceased to love me; for that is the only news that would wound me.” He shivered as he heard her words. ‘“But suppose that were the news I had to communicate?” Like a lightning-flash she sprung from her low seat, her eyes glowing with excitement. ‘Then P'd murder ape Roy Davenal!” ‘*Barbara— No! I cannot listen to such lan- guage. I will leave you till you are calm.” He arose and bowed coldly. “ No!—stay, I will be calm. Stay, Roy, and tell me what itis I must hear. For your sake I will be calm.” . As by magic, her anger died away under the swift-returning tide of love. Reluctantly he reseated himself ; and when she laid her w thrilling fingers on his han he wondered how he could tell her. He piti her at that moment from the bottom of his heart. “It is vain to desire to recall the past,” he began, ‘‘ yet I linger before I decide the future. Our future, Barbara, is not what we have both dreamed and hoped it would be. We thought it would be a lifetime together, Barbara, but I have learned it will be better for you, better for me, apart.” ; Apart!” she echoed, striking her hands to- gether and letting them fall heavily to his knee. “ What do you mean, Roy?” “‘T mean we are not suited for each other; not as we should be to — a life together. You anderstand, Barbara?” 7 He looked earnestly, yet kindly at her. Her eyes were shining with a fearful fire. Her bosom rose and fell in i billows; and she clasped and unclasped her hands in nervous agitation. ** Yes. That was all she said, but he heard how husky her voice was. “There is another reason as well, Barbara, why I feel compelled to speak thus plainly. Lan you surmise it?’ “You love another?” Her voice continued husky and low, but there seemed a suffocating agony in her words as they fell from the red lips that neither quivered or faltered. Roy’s face brightened. After all, she must have discovered his love for Blanche. , “Barbara, you have spoken it. I love an- other, and beg you to release me from my vows 2 Who is this other?” t to my heart, and ve roe 80; when every - g
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‘me, your darin WAS SHE HIS WIFE? 15 Her unvarying tono, her scintillant eyes, did not pave the way for the answer; yet he spoke it, bravely. ‘Tf I wound you, Barbara, I be don; but I must tell you she is rian.” She started as if stung by a hornet. Her face paled, her eyes seemed starting from her head, with outstretched arms and motionless form she bearing the first keen agony of a second rejected love. ‘ Blache?” she repeated, in a strange, far- owey tone, then bowed her pale face to her your par- rs. De u- “Barbara, you suffer so? I am not worth it, indeed I am not. Do forgive me, Barbara.” He touched hor hair with his pitying fingers but she sprung like a tigress from under it, an recoiled in contemptuous wrath. “ Never, never, so help me all the powers of Hades! - Forgive you, poor, weak, pitiful fool! Never, while life lasts and memory can perform her office, or revenge do her work!” She stood aloft from him, as if his touch were contamination. Desperate, enraged, mortified that it was not the first time she had been cast aside, and both times for the same woman! 0, Mr. Davenal, and remember I swear to settle this account between us. Iswear to make you rue this day, the hour when you dared set aside the love of Barbara Lester!” : And she swept past him like some destructive tempest. ———- CHAPTER XXL A MASKED HEART. THE sound of Blanche’s light footsteps up the front stairs had not escaped Barbara’s quick ears during that interval with Davenal; and now, as she swept on from the room, it was to seek Blanche. She was sitting alone in her own room, her aes dl hey tinted with a rare, sweet flush that was called there by the ardent look Mr. Davenal had fiven her as he came by; in a half-dreamy wholly delicious state, she sat there, alone an quiet, not caring to inquire of har own heart what it was that thrilled her so. She as she heard Barbara's rap on the door, and half-reluctantly said ‘‘Come in.” ; “* Barbara!” The naime fell from her lips in a scream of fear, and well, it might, for a vision met her eyes that would have alarmed any one. Barbara was in a state of highest excitement. The frenzy of fury caused by Roy Davenal’s announcement was, if possible, augmented by the gant of this fair, guileless girl who had this mn ene time wrought such desolation to her re) Em led with rage, her red lips apart, she strode directly to Blanche, and stooping near her, so that her breath flamed on her fair face, a question in her ear. ‘What have you been doing?” Blanche turned a shade paler for a second, at the threatening face and manner. ‘What have you done, I say? Tell me, or by all the powers of evil, ’I—” A terrified little cry burst from Blanche’s ps. “Oh, Barbara, you frighten me! Don’t, pray don’t.” ‘ She raised her hands deprecatingly as if to ward off a coming blow. ‘ : “Don’t what, you coward, you vile, deceitful Woman! Do you mean I shall not brand you with your infamous treachery yon robbery of duplicity? Blanche De Lau- hetwynd, you shall suffer Yrian—no, Blanche for this! She paced the floor in front of Blanche, ' Whose white hands were nervously wringing. “Yes, Blanche Chetwynd, you have crossed my path the second time! Twice you have ruined every hope I had, and now Satan help qa! I declare, and you shall prove my words, at trouble shall come to you for this! There have those before ay who have learned the unutterable woe of crossing my path.” Bite laugh followed her words, as she lanche’s quivering lips. Am _ noted B ? Barbara, I am sure you are insane to utter such words, and to me, who can answer in the caer st confidence that I have not Mager you. if have done aught to hurt you, 1 know it “ Then you will admit you do not love Roy ee teat flush Mage eeks, over ] “ey oe not vee a Sy ge Dive for him need not make you me, shall take him from you, Bar ara.” — Arsneering smile curled Barbara’s lips. ‘Oh, no, you will not, because he himself has told me he has no further need of my friend- ship. You have not led him on, then?” Her bitingly sarcastic words only made Blanche the firmer in her truthful denial. ‘God knows I have been struggling against this love for weeks, never dreaming it was re- turned. If Mr. Davenal seeks me, that is not me who breaks your heart.” Very calm and unim ioned the fair girl stood before the flushed, jealous woman, who seemed maddened anew as the name of her loved one met her ears. “You lie, a false, Satanic lie, Blanche Chet- wynd! Davenal was true to me, true as steel, till you came, like a snake, gliding between! and another—but for this sin of yours, remem- ber vengeance shall follow, sure and swift-foot- ed as Time itself. Since Roy Davenal chooses you before me, he and his chosen ono shall learn my power, else I shall never open my mouth to 1k the solemn truth again! Then, when you rain to the last dregs your cup, you will know how I have mixed it in an hour of outraged love!” Mr. Davenal had formally requested the hand of Blanche De Laurian from her parents, ex- plaining, as delicately as he could, the change in his views concerning Barbara. The Chet- wynds had, of course, been surprised, but after consideration and consultation with their wid- owed child, bestowed her hand, in engagement, upon him. They. were very happy, those lovers, whoso sole fear was that Barbara would, in some man- ner, destroy thoir happiness. Roy did not fear so much for himself as for Blanche. At times Blanche would be nervous and agitated, and not without cause, for whenever she and Bar- bara were alone, Barbara would grow enraged and passionate, while in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Chetwynd and Roy, she invariably main- tained a subduod mien that won their sympathy, while it was deceptive in the extreme. Blanche had neyer told her parents of Barbara’s threats, for she was constantly hoping this insanity, as she honestly regarded it, would wear off. She would scarcely have mentioned it to Roy, ex- cept that he questioned her so closely that she could not well avoid it. Three weeks more after this stormy interview between Barbara and Roy, and Barbara and Blanche, rolled on, and Roy lingered at Chet- wynd Chase, loth to depart, yet unwilling to longer accept the warm invitations that were keeping him away from his business. Barbara made it her especial duty to endeavor to persuade him to stay; and when, one early winter’s afternoon, he announced his intention of departing by the morning train, Barbara’s heart gave a burst of triumph that the moment had come at Jast when she might crush his sweetheart in the folds of her jealous anger. She hated Blanche with an awful hatred: her marriage with De Laurian had made her thor: oughly dislike her, while her main wrath had lighted on his head. But when, for the second time, this golden-headed, brown-eyed girl had crossed her path, she swore to remove her from it with as little compunction as she had removed De Laurian. But she rete? er to Oa hg nt sping any suspicion Dave ight entertain after her wild threats, md So that same Sootn hee ae sought the lovers, who she knew were in the drawing-room. Their low murmuring voices reached her before she saw them. “‘ Baby! she to win him, who wore the willow for another not a twelve-month ago! And he— yes, he loves her.” She ground her white teeth together; then, by a great effort, smoothed her brow. “This will not do. I must drive this dark cloud from my face, and the scorn from my lips, if not from my heart. I have a ht work to accomplish—yes, two deeds to perform ere long.” : For a single moment footers ressin, hands over her heart to still its loud throbbing; for with all her jealousy, her d rateness, she could not repress those heart-beats that told her she was steeping her already guilty soul still deeper in crime’s abyss. ith gliding, graceful tread she approached the two. Davenal bowed, and Blanche clung closer to his arm as she essa to smile a greeting. - With a soft smile of her own, Barbara ex- teu Slanche—-Roy—I penitent to che—Roy—I am come a i you to ask the forgiveness I know you will her She looked deprecatingly at Roy, whose brow vi you will find me ch ged, Roy, ch b ‘You will find me changed, Roy, chan, Vy trouble,” she said, sweetly and sadly. Whe I learned the truth from your lips that day I was overcome beyond the strength of my will to endure; for that display of passion 1 have come, before you leave us, to beg pardon,” Her eyes were cast down in sorrowing humil- ity, and not the faintest semblance of the she was so consummately playing was Visible on her face. Roy bent a keenly searching look upon her. “You have threatened most fearful things, Barbara, against this innocent girl. You re- member them?” Not a tremor of the inward rage she felt was visible; she listened apparently unmoved, then looked up in a sad, quiet way. *“T do remember to my sorrow and regret, and it is for those very threats, wicked and in- sane as they were, that I ask you for the third time, to forgive me. Blanche, you have a lov- ing heart, you will accord the pardon Mr. Day- enal withholds?” Barbara laid her hand on Blanche’s shoulder. “Gladly, Barbara, and I know Roy will not be proof against our united petitions. She smiled her free forgiveness to Barbara, and then took Roy’s hand in hers. “There, Roy, Barbara, we will all be good friends, true friends again. Although I know Barbara must ever regard me as an intruder be- tween you two, still, as long as Roy desired it, and Barbara will forgive it, I will forget it, and we will all be happy.” Roy pressed her hand; then, though very dis- tantly, accepted Barbara’s hesitatingly offered one. “Roy, while you retain my hand I shall tell ou a secret and claim your congratulations. Ko one but Mr. and Mrs. Chetwynd knows of it, and Blanche will be as surprised as you. It is this: To-day, ina letter from Germany, from Rex Chetwynd to his uncle, there was one in- closed, as usual, for me; but not as usual, a tnere friendly, gossipy letter. It contained, Roy and Blanche, an offer of marriage from Rex Chetwynd, subject to his relatives’ wishes. I cannot say I love your cousin, as I have loved, and I told your parents so; but I know him to be a man who will make me a good husband, and I shall accept. This is the ring he sent me to wear if I consented.” There was no enthusiam in her voice; only a quiet, proud consciousness as she pointed to the heavy golden circlet, over which Blanche ut- tered an exclamation of astonished delight. Roy bowed again, while a genuine smile of joy crossed his face. “You have my sincere congratulations, Bar- bara—as a sister and a cousin! “Yes, indeed!” echoed Blanche, delightedly. “Barbara, dear, you are just the woman to wear the honors of the house of Chetwynd— ou, so regal and beautiful. Iam so glad; may Bod make you as happy in Rex’s love as I am in Roy’s.” Neither of them saw the half-scornful, half- derisive curl of Barbara’s lip as Blanche bent to kiss her fingers, for Roy was too much rejoiced and relieved when he learned of her betrothaL He little knew that at that very moment the cloud was lowering and darkening around him with tenfold intensity; little recked fair Blanche of the tragedy so soon to be enacted. “Then I may consider my pardon sealed?” “Signed, sealed and delivered, Barbara; and in token whereunto—” In an impulse of imprudent enthusiasm he bent and kissed her cheek. Lightly, it is true, but his touch sent the blood bounding through bara’s veins. : But she accepted the caress with a grave bow. At that moment, Mrs. Chetwynd called from the adjoining room for Blanche a moment; and, pe y an impulse he could not control, Roy suddenly laid his hands on Barbara’s arms. “Barbara, this would be the happiest hour of my life, if I only knew that you were as igno- rant as I of Gervaise De Laurian’s whereabouts —his sudden death.” He looked almost beseechingly in her dispas- sionate eyes that suddenly and anexpectedly as a question had come, never biended or trem- “T know? Oh, Roy, can it be possible you ever thought I knew? She was apparently almost stunned by the cruel suspicion. ~ P “How could I help it? your anger with him— your interview in that very room—” “‘T know,” she interrupted; “‘I see now how it looked to you. Roy, I was angry. I did want to be revenged, but I solemnly vow, Roy, » \
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416 WAS SHE HIS WIFE? —- that my vengeance was su which I had no control. ate—but not to murder—not to murder! Rows how could you think it?’ he tears were standing in her eyes now, so truthful and clear. _ He drew a long, deep breath of exquisite re- ef. “Thank God! I believe you, and you are her sister!” She accepted both his eagerly by sage a hands, and as she bent over them, a low cry of rage burst from her lips. ** Because I am her sister!” she fairly hissed. ed Dy one over know I was passion- Oh, CHAPTER XXII. THE SIGN. THe next morning Roy Davenal left Chet- wynd Chase, and the f y settled down once more in quiet, until the time should come when ; arrived from Germany, and took up his permanent residence at the Chase. He was expected by spring, and now, since he was to marry Barbara Leste, the Chetwynds seemed to love her more and better than before, pareerly Blanche, between whom and Bar- anew love had sprung up, and new ties been established. Latterly, since her engagement with Rex, Barbara grown mre and thoughtful, and Mrs, Chetwynd attributed it to the fact that she was not in love with her affianced husband, and would tell her the iove would come, must come, when she was the wife of a man so perfect as her nephew Rex. Bar candidly admitted that she had re- ceived a severe blow when Roy Davenal had deliberately given her up; but the keen, sting- ing agony had given place to a dumb pain of resignation, which she thought, in turn, would ive place to her old-time exuberance of spirits. d, although there was ever a quiet air hang- ing over her, it seemed as though those winter days at Chetwynd Chase were fraught with a sweeter peace ind joy than any that had ever preceded them. At times, Mr. Chetwynd would stroke Blanche’s gold-brown hair, and look earnestly in her bright, happy eyes as if to the more as- sure himself that the Curse was in reality ac- eee, and there was nothing more to ead. Mrs. Che d usually coincided with her husband in his opinion on the subject, but the girls would ridicule the idea of it, and Blanche cote denied that De Laurian’s death on her wynd daily developed for the bright, glorious woman who would so soon be all his own. The ceremonies of this double wedding were to be solemnized in a manner worthy the wealth and social position of all parties; after the wed- ding, Rex and Barbara were to pass a month at Washington and further south, while Roy and Blanche were to go West. A life of gayety and brightness seemed open- ing up to the entire party, and of Barbara, es- socialite. were fairest prophecies uttered when she would become the wife of the youngest of the Chetwynds. It was only when alone that Barbara often wondered if the fates would’ smile on her wed- ding morn; and she would spread out her fault- less hands and look at them, and smile as she remembered that ey had been employed in a work that stained them forever in guilt—ay, and would, ere long, be colored deeper still with crime’s red dye. The morning of the wedding-day dawned beautifully clear and bright; one of those rare days in early spring, when capricious April wears her bluest skies and balmiest breezes. The family were scattered about in their rooms, preparing for the event; only the two brides elect were together. Barbara had gone into Blanche’s room, and, ¢lad in a dressing-wrapper, with her jetty-black hair streaming far down over her shoulders, was talking and laughing with Blanche. “You are always done with yout prcking - fore I am, I verily believe, Barbara. Now here are all my laces and kids to be stowed away in their boxes, and I can’t trust Corinna todo them. Barbara, dear, if you only would, so I can rest a minute.” “Pll do them, of course,” returned Barbara, quietly, ‘“Here’s Corinna; fix your hair— where’s the box, Blanche? Ill take them to my room.” She gathered up the delicate trifles and closed the connecting door after her. She laid the filmy collars and gloves on her dressing-bureau, and then, with noiseless tr and cautious hand, locked both the doors—the one hg ote into the hall, the other connecting with Blanche’s room. Almost imperceptibly a smile of repellent poniey crept to her eyes, and a curl of scorn to er lips. She unlocked a tiny drawer in her bureau, and took from it a small crystal vial, with a rubber stopper. Then she hoisted both windows, and delibe- rately tied a folded handkerchief so that her A cold faintness crept over her, and a gray shadow came around her tense lips; her heart seemed rising, rising to her throat, threatening to suffocate her. This fearful token, promised by one who had died under her hand! Heavens! De Laurian was alive, then, and on her track! She sprung wildly from her chair, and paced the floor in intensest agitation. Then she seized a flask of some rare, pungent liquid, and moist- ened her lips, that were blue very deathli- ness. She bathed her clammy forehead and cold wrists, while slowly the color returned to her pallid face, and her heart ceased its dreadful jerking throbs. Perhaps for twenty minutes she sat there, and then she pushed away the aromatic perfume, and rose to her feet. “T will not be threatened by him! I defy hic upptcmenie footsteps of the bridal cortege e approaching foo of the bri were heard. and see wad taxely time to dr the ominous token in her bosom, ere Mrs. Che wynd opened the door, and she saw the party complete save herself, Accepting Rex’s arm, she swept grandly down to the dim parlors, and, amid the quiet and im- ressive solemnity that reigned, the two beauti- ‘ul women were married. It was a moment of happiness, even to Bar- bara—only she felt the j edges of that opal stone pressing against her bosom, like some avengi & stealthy hand, whose ruinous power she could not avert. CHAPTER XXIil. THE STAR THAT WENT OUT. Tue month of absence, passed rapidly to the pairs who were whiling away their time in the enjoyment of travel, and by the last of Mey, Chetwynd Chase was in order to receive the bridal Mr. the second floor entirely refurnished ; one in silver and blue for the use of Mr. and Mrs. Dav- bard 60 d not but see, when she returned, how dear she was to them as wife of Rex, and mis- tress of Chetwynd Chase. She had come — as ape and bein as ever, eyes an Mera f= captive all hearts; while Blanche, dear little brown- bridal day had any thing whatever to do with | mouth and nostrils were covered. Lady Constanzia’s anathema. It had been a Upon each glove, upon each collar, she sprin- | eyed Blanche— Well, iw | said she had not decree of Providence, she said, and though her | Kled several drops of the colorless liquid; her | seemed well since they left home. She was bright eyes would sadden momentarily at the memory, a thought of Roy would dispel it at once. Letters from Rex were dated nearer and nearer Liverpool, to which place of sailing he was slowly traveling by rail from ura ge & Letters from Roy were so hopeful and cheer- ful; he had arranged for a transfer of his busi- ness to New York, so that after their marriage he and Blanche, as well as Barbara and Rex, would all live at the Chase. The future was so bright and beautiful to them all—but one. No one dreamed that sor- row and anguish would yet tear their heart- strings to fragments, but she who would work it all—she to whom a betrothed husband was coming, who was so soon to wear the bridal favors. Already the sf had been appointed— Blanche’s birthday, her twentieth—and on the seventeenth of April the double wedding was to eccur, The trousseau was rapidly preparing; and the entire household had given themselves + the joyous excitement ever incident to wedding preparations, It was still early in March when Roy came _from the West, and was not permitted to make his home away from Chetwynd Chase; a week eyes shining in frightful weirdness as they looked out from between the heavy, clinging masses of hair, and above the ghostly ban around her mouth. This mysterious deed done, she replaced the rubber-stopper, returned the vial to tts drawer, locked it, and replaced the key. She went to the window, and, snatching the handkerchief from her face, leaned far out, and inhaled deeply of the fresh, cool air. When she returned, the drops on the articles had completely dried, and left not the faintest trace Carefully she arran them in the orna- mented box, and closed the lid. ““There, Blanche Chetwynd, is your reward for stealing from me my two lovers! Little will Na think when you wear those dainty gloves, hat their touch is fatal, or that the costly col- lars that look so fair around your white at are no less Seem ceniing, than the hangman’s noose! Yes, my bonny bride, it will be slow, but sure—sure as my hate!” She unlocked the doors, and took the horrible package to the grateful girl, and then com- menced her own oo: vont ge unassisted by any. save her own deft fingers. he was gee , radiantly beautiful in her trailing bridal ro of heavy, lusterless silk; nervous and despondent at intervals, and so easily tired out. Her cheeks had sunk in a little, too, during that month of absence, that made it all the more perceptible to her mother’s anxious eyes. She was. not ill, she said, only she felt so fe- verish, and, as Roy said, so easily fatigned. She ate quite well, and slept well, but there was shee diminution of vitality that could not en. The very choicest port wine was ordered her to drink by her physician, and daily exercise in the open air ; plenty of music and merriment, and othing must worry or annoy. Every dey she and Barbara drove out in their elegant little pony phaeton ; of evenings, there were social parties at the Chase, boating on the river, and moonlight croquet on the lawn. Still, despite her care, her tonics, her cheerful companionship, it was patent to every one _ Mrs. Davenal was going into a decline—one those sure, slow-creeping, insidious diseases that are so common among, and fatal to, Americay ‘women, Then, in the home circle at Chetwynd Chas§ was whispered a precious secret ; perhaps, wheg the first spring flowers came to celebrate th¢ anniversary of the wedding, they would also d¢ to welcome Blanche’s first-born; then, the phy- later, and one blustery, rainy night, when in-| the coronet of orange blooms holding the filmy | sician said, she might strong and w doors seemed like a piece of enchanted ground, | vail over her shining hair. again. t, sweet hope grew up among in walked Rex Chetwynd, bronzed and bearded, | , Her toilette made, she crossed from her room | them; the time was coming, thought they, when ' and as handsome as an Apollo. to one cigs pepe opposite, where the bridal | Blanche would be herself again, when the Although four years h | since Barbara pitts were displayed—a glittering array of cost- | would re-echo with mirth and joy, and a sw had mon ia he walked up to her at once, and | ly love-tokens, : baby voice prattle in glee. All but Barbara took her in his arms, and kissed her on her At the door a maid-seryant was in attend. | thought these thoughts, and these ‘ning Roy Davenal by his frank, blushing cheeks and smiling mouth, and then turned and ted affectionately the other de- lighted cna. oe of the circle, and at once win- winning man- s sped on as if shod with fairy spies, only e save oe by the worshipful adoration Rex C / ance, who handed her a tiny, sealed packa, with the request fromthe donor to open it fore the ceremony. Filled with natural curiosity, she returned to lips—the package contained a broken ee with the mysterious ‘‘ D ” and the semi or hopes, and she knew no mortal "save own could stop the fearful drain that sam was all the while making upon Blanche al’s fair young life. aven- “Twice deserted! by her! That was Barba while her voice was low and soft, her eyes ten: ened Cnet d had had two suites of rooms on. . / ner. her room to examine the contents. ' i ; The family circle was now complete, and the | _ Suddenly a low, agonized cry fell from her| ra d’s talisman that kept the ; : i sore of to fierce heat ; des ™ 4 , he C4" ae ’ ‘ . blest het Ai MOWATT Se
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- até ——— ——_— ow %,. 1) ; der and sympathetic, the hands were stretche: steadily forth in ceaseless, vigilant, unquench- able destruction. It was soul-harrowing—that this guileless woman, who had loved Barbara so, and who now, of all the dear ones, turned to her most naturally for affection and confidence, should be going on, and on, powerless, to her doom ; husband, mother, father, cousin, friends, all un- consciously cherishing the treacherous serpent in their bosoms, never dreaming its Reuith deal: ing fangs were robbing them of what they held nearest, dearest, best. All these days—and even more kindly as the creeping languor strengthened into marked de- bility, and Blanche kept her chair in the most comfortable nook, almost from morning till wight, Barbara was so attentive, so tenderly It was a touching picture—that of Blanche, as she reclined so weariedly in a large, cushioned easy-chair, her face more beautiful than ever in its wan, spirituelle pallor; her bright, sunny brown hair, that had been cut short when the first of those terrible headaches made their ap- nce, curling in loose, wavy rings around er forehead, and just touching the little ears, and the fair throat. Her hands were thin, and she often showed — how loose her wedding-ring was getting Hours and hours the two young married ladies would sit together, talking, generally, about the one subject that engrossed so much of Blanche’s conversation, certainly all her thoughts. Dainty little garments, fashioned with tender fingers and tasteful skill, would be often seen on her lap, and at times, her trembling hands would fall listlessly down among the plumy lace and soft muslins, as if they never could complete their task, sweet though it was. _ So the shadow brooded and brooded; little by little the silver lining faded from the edges of the cloud, and when, cne day, Blanche told Roy she could not go down %o dinner, it seemed as if the fiat had gone forth—Blanche would never ba tree their family circle again. ere Was ever a pensive sadness over Chet- wynd Chase now; the doctors came and went, and chook their heads when Barbara implored, with tears in her eyes and a voice choked with emotion, asked them if they couldn’t, if they wouldn't help Mrs. Davenal. Mrs. Chetwynd was greatly stricken, whila Roy would not ad- mit the probability of her early death. He fought against the knowledge that was creeping over him: he resisted against the slow conviction of his bright, bonny Blanche fading away, away before his eyes. But there came a day early in the blustering spring days when Blanche did not arise from her bed; and then the attending physicians said her life would, in all human probability, go out when the month died. t was an Cxceptional case of decline, agreed, although not entirely rare. Blanche had no cough, no pain, no hectic flushes; only that unbearable sensation of weakness and ebb- ing strength and Vitality. She knew she would die—almost a mother and still never to look in her baby’s eyes; she was bere! calm and peaceful, even to the end, and died one still, starry night, just as the clock in the observatory struck twelve, with her little thin arm around Roy’s neck in a painfully tight embrace, and a hand clasped in her weeping mother’s, Her last smile was on they Barbara, and then, so ’ violent was her grief, that Rex Jed her away from the solemn chamber of death After the first. gust of grief had died away, Barbara insisted upon performing for Mrs, Dav- enal those last sad offices; those little attentions that possess such an unspeakable anguish in the ba as we realize how grateful, how gentle would have been the thanks of the one who now lies so still, so unconscious of our soft touches, all deaf to our passionate cries, and dumb to our prayers. But Barbara brushed the clinging hair, that seemed to caress her fingers; she placed the tube- rose and geranium leaf between the marble fin- gers, and tenderly leaned the beautiful head.on one side on its nr es satin pillow. _ With quiet, refin ceremony, they buried her in the family vault, and then they returned to that _inexpressibly sad place—the home—after the funeral. CHAPTER XXIv. A STRANGE NIGHT’S WORK. Betow stairs darkness and unbroken silence reigned supreme at Chetwynd C ‘ Rhovs, 4 their chamber, Mr. and Mrs. Chet- wynd were alone, suffering together for their irreparable loss. = In the age Log sa been Blanche’s a Davenal wal e floor in a raging agony o sorrow that could find no relief While Rox Chetwynd strove to console him. In her dressing-room Barbara had had the outer shutters tightly closed, and the ‘heavy damask curtains drawn within. Brilliant lamps burned on her dressing-bureau, and Bar- bara herself stood before the mirror arranging | her hair with quiet precision. Presently there came a low, cautious tap on tg that elicited from her a quick, subdued reply. * Yes, Regina. It is you?” “It’s Regina,” was the answer, in the same low, muffled tone; and then Barbara opened the door, and admitted her dressing-maid. She was a@ tall, sallow-skinned, bushy-haired wo- man, with thin, hard lips that looked as if they never could give or take a kiss; eyes that were small and intensely black, with an expression of merciless cruelty and shrewd cunning com- bined in them. Altogether an ill-favored person, but one who had been proved to be an invaluable ser- yen at Chetwynd Chase, particularly to Bar- aTa. Regina came forward with an assured, half- familiar manner that would have insured her dismissal from the room had her mistress been other than Mrs. Rex Chetwynd. But Barbara nodded, then turned again to her task of arranging her hair. “*'You sent for me. Is it about Mrs. Davenal? for I’m all ready for—” ** Hush—’sh— gina; your voice is so loud and shrill. Don’t forget walls have ears.” “That is so; Pll remember,” Barbara hastily wound her hair round her head before she replied. ““Yes, Regina, it’s about Mrs. Davenal. You say every thing is in readiness? then I will go on a tour of inspection.” Regina took from the bureau one of the silver and crystal lamps, and preceded Bar as they silently left the room, Barbara locking her door after her, Regina led the way up three flights of stairs, and into the observatory. Regina set down the lamp on the center-ta- ble, and went across the room to the side near- est ee flight of stairs by which they had as- cended, She carefully felt along the wainscot; then suddenly pressing hard against the spot she had been seeking for and found, the panel sprun, away to the floor, revealing a short flight o steps, leading directly up, apparently to the roof of the observatory. Up these steps the two women went, when, instead of ending upon the roof, they termina- ted at a door that Regina unlocked with a key from her trunk, and admitted them into a room the size of the conservatory below, but of much lower ceiling. It was a room of whose existence at Chet- wynd Chase no soul knew except Barbara and her ally; whose discovery had n made ina remarkably accidental manner by Barbara months before, and who had then resolved what use she should make of it. From the ex- terior of the Chase, the room was supposed to be merely an extension of the observatory roof- ing to give a more imposing hight to the struc- ture. There were no windows in the wall; but a large iron-grated skylight lighted it from the root. The room was comfortably furnished for a bedroom, and as Barbara entered, she cast an approving glance around. A Brussels et, worn, but still whole, covered the floor; a bed- stead, very plain, but as comfortable and neat as hands could make it; a dressing-stand, cov- ered with a linen towel; a chair; a large, well- cushioned rocking-chair, with a foot-rest; a washstand, with a set of white stone china, and a little stand, whgreon lay a ae oh two, and a basket containing sewing implements. Over the skylight a lig. t white curtain had been fastened, to hide the prison-like look its iron grating outside gave the room; and a thick reen damask screen, furnished with rings and rass rolls, was arranged to be drawn at pleasure. “T hope it suits Chetwynd, for I have had my hands well re in getting all these things here without help and unobserved.” “Tt suits admirably, and is much more com- fortable than I thought it would be. It really is quite a pleasant room, Regina.” “You see I could not manage for any fire, Mrs. Chetwynd, as there is no chimney, and a —<) ° stove running through the skylight would at- tract attention. There's my Xi gas-stove, though, that I make my tea with in my own room She might have that here till the weather gets more settled. It’ll be warm enough soon.” *‘ Perhaps you had better bring it in to-night, and then every thing is in perfect readiness. Have you the key with you—the key of the vault? If so, we may as well go now as wait later, and, indeed, an hour may make a great difference. Bring my waterproof and get yours and the other, and let us go out by the servants’ entrance. Regina, you are sure the maids are all to bed?” “T know they are; there is not a soul in the house awake who will leave their rooms to- night—unless Mr. Rex does. : ‘Hardly, as Mr. Davenal wished him to re- main in his room. Come.” Like two restless spirits the two women, clothed in their long black cloaks, glided prof ly and noiselessly through the dimly-lighted, narrow corridor that was only used by the ser- vants to reach their bedrooms. At the end of this silent, gloomy hall, a flight of stairs, equally narrow and gloomy, led down to a small back porch, adjoining the kitchen piazza. It was only a step from this to a thick group of syringa trees; and once behind that, no vigi- lant watcher from Chetwynd Chase could have seen these women as they glided along, toward the river’s edge. It was only a walk of about ten minutes to the low marble vault of the Chetwynds that was built at the extreme edge of the estate. Regina had no difficulty in ve} the iron key in the ponderous lock, while Barbara push- ed against the heavy door. A deathly, dank, chill air rushed out, that sent cold, creeping shivers over them, yet boldly Barbara entered, holding her lantern, that she had carried concealed under her cloak, so that its dull rays illuminated a way for her, and walked u Blanche Davenal’s casket. There she lay, the fair, pale lily, just as they had left her, hours before. With a steady hand, Barbara took the key from Regina and crashed in the glass that cov- ered Blanche, as far down as her waist. “‘ Now, Regina, help me lift her out, and wrap the cloak around her, We have not a moment to spare—for I can detect a slight warm mois- ture upon her face. She will revive fully in Tess than an hour.” ; They had ne trouble in removing from ‘er coffin the slight form, and ping closely around it the heavy, muffling cl Regina and Barbara carried her carefylly out, and, after securing the door again, and concealing the lan- tern, they easily lifted Blanche and ned homeward. It seemed as if the very fates of evil were with them that night, for they reached the Chase in perfect security, and in silence and safety carried their unconscious burden to the secret chamber that had been prepared for its reception. Regina carefully disrobed the resurrected girl of the satin grave-clothes, and removed the still blooming, fragrant flowers ffom the nerve- less hands. A warm suit of flannel was put on her, then one of her own night-dresses, and she was cov- ered up in the bed to await the doom, far worse than death, that the sleepless vengeance of Bar- hara Chetwynd had sted. For a moment afterward, the two women stood ing down on the beautiful, pale face; then ina looked up at Barbara, her small, ae ho full of hidden evil. “If they only knew, down-stairs, Mrs, Chet- wynd. Those drops are magical, are they not?” “Their power is mi ous, and you will oe, gradually recover her ain a, how she will pg vitality, now that I discontinue em. pegted aa with triumphant stoi nnegs. be wishing she was dead, and yet she will live Oh and on, and know what it is hand. It’s a sorry es - M95 for any one en to cross my path There was a hid in her words; and the sewing-woman was not slow to detect the pointed words. “Indeed it is, Mrs. Che d, and you may rest assured J will ¥ I will be fai ‘It will be het Temenos, Ler Dare, fateel . “You may give me the vault-key, Regina. Ti ome. Pea and ae een ts being
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— 418 WAS SHE HIS WIFE? ** But do absence of will discover the you not think the urely some one of ts. Davenal? the family will go there one day again, soon.” | A little look of contemptuous scorn swept | over Barbara’s face. “Do you really imagine, for a moment, Re- gina, that I shall allow any such bunglin marks to betray me after all my successfu work thus far? No, indeed! I shall myself fill Mrs. Davenal’s coffin with a dummy dressed | in her grave-clothes, and made _ sufficiently heavy to correspond to her weight. Then shall cover the face with a thick cloth, and when a strange undertaker from New York, whom I myself shall see, comes to place the permanent wooden lid upon the casket, I my- self shall superintend the operation, and see that he evinces noundue curiosity. Meanwhile, until this can be accomplished—which will bo in a few days—I shall insist that no one visits the vault,, as a fresh sight of Blanche will but renew the first poignancy of grief. I will get all the credit for a most kind, thoughtful inter, est, you see. I will be so disinterested, Regina, ever thinking of others’ sorrow, and not my own.” A note of absolute triumph rung in her voice, and Regina’s eyes looked the admiration sh¢ felt—and a little of the fear. A silence followed Barbara’s words, occupied in their keen watching of the unconscious girl. She had, as yet, given no signs of returning life except by an involuntary moisture that had appeared first on her face, and which had now spread over her whole body. Very gradually the expression of her marble- white countenance was changing from perfect serenity of repose to a half-troubled look. “See,” said Regina, touching Barbara’s arm. ‘She seems to know beforehand the trouble she’s waking to.” *¢ And well she may,” returned Barbara, cold- ly, “for it will be trouble such as no woman | endured before. What do you think, Regina, | of living under the same roof with parents who | mourn their childlessness, with a husband who | is distracted because he is widowed? Under | the very roof, Regina, and breathing the same air, an be as far removed as though Eternity’s ocean rolled between. Oh! I shall punish her! She shall know now how she has twice widow- ed my heart! She shall see him, her husband, her mother, and I will laugh when she prays to me for niercy! Regina, [ will make her look from that loophole yonder, and watch Roy Davrenal as he walks half demented around the g.ounds, yearning for his dead love! And when ner child is born, I will tantalize her with the joy it would give its father to take it in his arms and look into its eyes!” And, in all the intensity of her hate and re- venge, Barbara had raised her hands aloft as if in adjuration of some potent power, while Re- gina, with a deathly shiver of horror and fasci- nated fear, turned toward the bed again, just as a low, quivering sigh came from Blanche Dave- nal’s lips. . CHAPTER XXV. THE TIGRESS CLAWS. A suicGHT shiver thrilled over Blanche’s frame; then she wearily raised her hand and it over her eyes. “Roy, dear.” : It was the dearest name of all she spoke in a low, faint tone, as she had been wont to do when awaking from her troubled dreams. Barbara stepped to her side, motioning Regina out of sight. “Tam with you, Blanche. Roy is not here.” She opened her eyes in sudden apprehension. “ Roy not here! is he ill?—oh, I remember. must have fainted. I thought I was dying. I am better, dear, now.” She smiled in’ Barbara’s face, but there was no answering smile; and the black eyes looked own with a terrible fire smoldering in them. Blanche instantly noticed it. ‘“What is the matter? what—where am I? Why, Barbara, this is not my room!” She had ed idly around at first, then a wild, bewildered expression came to her eyes, hightend by the look in Barbara’s. ‘It is your room, Blanche, and will be for many long days to come.” Blanche struggled to her elbow, and in her weak condition, the exertion called a damp per- spiration to her skin, ‘But I don’t understand you, Barbara, dear. I caw be in my ieee you aa ee A Yor voice was expostulating, an - bara’s came thrilling y back in dreadful con- trast. “Tt is your room, Blanche, or your prison, whichever ae hy gh And Iam your jailer. Do you understand now? do you remember what I promised yous months ago, when you stole Roy Davenal from me? Ah, Blanche Day- enal, Iyhave not forgotten that!” A look of intense horror crept to Blanche’s | eyes. | “QOh, Barbara! Barbara! what do you mean! | | Don’t talk so to me, you frighten me so, and I am so weak!” ‘Yes, you are weak, Blanche Davenal, but J am strong! I have in my heart the accumulated strength of vengeance that will burst on you— you, who have stood in my way not only once, but twice? Blanche, you married Gervaise De Laurian—well, and I killed him!” A scream of terror burst from Blanche’s lips, and she sunk back upon the pillows, trembling like a hunted deer. “Yes, I killed him,” went on Barbara, merci- lessly, ‘‘because he had wronged me, outraged me, deserted me, all for you. J was his wife, Blanche Davenal, but not in name, he coolly told me. J was degraded that you might be lifted to the glorious honor of being called Mrs. De Laurian! But it was an empty honor, was it not?” Cowering among the pillows, Blanche dared not vouchsafe an answer, and again Barbara, | like a relentless doom, went on: ‘*Perhaps you little knew that while I was away on that two months’ visit, it was what I supposed a lawful wedding tour. Yes, Blanche Davenal, I lived with Gervaise De Laurian all those weeks, happier than the angels—and then he spurned me, trampled me under foot, and— married you—you, the creature who crawled across my path. Do you wonder I hated you then with an unquenchable hatred?” ‘Oh, Barbara—Bar—” ** But your time had not come, then; it was on his craven head I would strike, and through him crush you as well. I did strike—I murdered him, your bridegroom, and then wept with you over his loss! Blanche, J robbed you of your husband, and now, now, because you dared take my other lover from me, I have taken you from im! ‘“‘But you can’t! you shall not! Iwill tell him all, every word, and you shall never do it!” “So the pussy has claws! well, they cannot hurt me. Listen to another little romance, Mrs. Davenal, and perhaps when you recall it, you can remember how long you have been ill? ow the last and severest of these ‘faints’ ter- minated in what you supposed was death? Well, Blanche Davenal, every one else but my- self also supposed it terminated in death, and you were dead, to all intents and purposes, to every one but me, the avenger!” ‘Oh, Barbara!” She had no opportunity of saying more, for on swept the tide of unspent hate. “Yes, you were dead; you were BURIED, Blanche Davenal, and this very hour, under this very roof, there is weeping and wailing over your death.” Blanche had sprung from the bed with intense excitement, and now stood with her long, sweeping robe, and strained eyes, as if utterly unable to comprehend. “* Dead? buried? I?” She gasped the words in inarticulate bewil- derment. ‘‘Hiven so—that was your shroud, and those the flowers you carried with you to the Chet- wynd vault.” A shriek of horror came as Barbara’s words fell, coldly and cruelly on her half-demented senses. “That is not all, Blanche Davenal. If you hate and fear me now, you will shrink in utter mortal terror when you learn that all that long, wasting illness, that feigned death and genuine funeral, was the work of my hands—these hands, that, helpless as you are now, are lifted in curses on you and yours! I poisoned you, dainty thief of two lovers! and the decline was only its successful working; the faithful instru- ment did not fail me, and it. has brought you here, from your coffin, to your prison, where you shall live, and live, and live, to feel the re- venge of a disgraced, betrayed woman!” Blanche covered her face with her hands to shut out the baleful light of Barbara’s eyes that glowered down in her own. “God help me! God help me!” she moaned, in utter despair of soul, as she staggered to the chair, and sunk, powerless, into it. “That's nonsense,” rejoined Barbara, sneer- ingly. ‘‘ You will learn in time to endure the punishment I have for you, and until you do your religion will not serve you much. I tell you you are in my hands, woman, and nothing can avail you. ‘Youshallsuffera pain for every pang Ihave endured. Regina.” The woman stepped from the foot of the bed, whither she had stooped; Blanche looked up. and sprung to her side, falling on her knees ai the woman’s feet. “Oh, Regina, you will help me! You will tell me where I am and how to get away? Oh Regina, if you'll only tell my husband I will give youa thousand—yes, five thousand dollars!” Barbara laughed. ‘‘ Bribes are of no avail. This woman is in my employ, and she knows what to expect if she plays me false.” Her low, intense tones were fearful to listen to; and Blanche turned away in pitiful anguish. ‘Iwas about to say, Regina, that you will obey to the tittle the instructions I have given you. You may return to your room now.’ Regina noiselessly departed, leaving the two alone. “T am going myself now, and I shall pass the room where Roy is walking the floor in agony that will not let him sleep. It’s a shame, isn’t it?” A sardonic smile curved her red lips as she spoke. “May God be merciful to you in 0 ete Barbara, and forgive me if ale. ‘Indeed you may well wish you were dead; Hote you will rue the day when you were born,” And when Blanche lifted her agonized face again she was alone. Language seems weak to portray the fee that filled and overpowered her as she w in feeble weakness, the floor of her prison. Utter agony of soul to discover in what cir- cumstances she was placed; utter bewilderment over the fearful disclosures Barbara had made, “Dead and buried” she had been. ‘“ Poi- soned” she had been—De Laurian a victim by Barbara’s hand—Barbara a double-dyed mur- deress and yet Rex Chetwynd’s wife; and Roy —dear, dear Roy—he thought she was dead, and here she was, living, suffering, and under the same roof, Barbara had said. She feared she was going crazy; her head was s0 vague and wild. \ “Under the same roof!” It could not be; this room was so strange, and she knew Chet- d Chase so well. And then Barbara—that was the knowledge that made her wild, frantic. She fell on her knees beside the bed, and, in the darkness of that lone place, Blanche com- mitted her ways unto Him, and an strength and patience to endure what He al- lowed in His inscrutable Providence, and for faith to believe all would come right at last. Her heart bled, and her tears fell thick and fast when she arose from her knees; and yet there was a secret consciousness of a ray of deep, inward peace. Prostrated rein hog was, both by the drug that had so long been sapping the foundations of her life, and the severe mental suffering she had undergone, she arose and groped her way to the wall of the room, wondering, in an uncer- tain sort of way, if she could recognize any fea- tures of it again, now that the light was gone. But there was no window from w hang a signal of distress, and she need not have tried the door, for she well knew it was double- locked. With. 2 fe sling f hful despair, sh ith a feeling of anguis , she leaned against the wall, feeling almost suffo- vated with got Ses “Can I be y dying? I feel so strange!” she murmured. ‘I must live. live for Roy!” Her sudden will-power dispelled the nervous chimeras that had clouded her brain. ses Let om S = ee calmly ‘° i ion- ately,” she thought, an oping her way back to the chair, seated heresit wearlly. ij ‘*Tf I am within Chetwynd Chase, as Barbara said, this is some hitherto unknown room, of whose location no one knows but Barbara and Regina. Barbara hates me,” and, with the thought, her heart sunk in fear and dismay, “and intends I shall be her victim, as poor Ger- vaise was—Heavens! and we never knew—I dare not think of it! “T am su to be dead and buried, and no one but Barbara and Regin a knows I am alive; and here, in my father’s house, a prison- er, I must live in solitude; my babe willbe born—and they will never know it—oh! Roy! mother! the Curse of Chetwynd Chase ha fa deed fallen blightingly upon me!” We pray to » 80 will our last — ch tw a
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a sittin: . furnis 2 CHAPTER XXVI. AT THE DEAD VAULT. “Rex, dear, I find it necessary to go to New York to-day. You can spare me?” Youn Mas. Chetwynd looked down in her husband’s eyes as she came up beside him while he sat reading the morning paper. “Spare you? Wenever can spare you, dar- ing; so good a daughter and so fond a wife is in ispensable tous. But I guess I can let you 0. He reached his hand to caress hers, that lay lightly on his shoulder, and smiled at her. “ And you will be so kind and attentive to Mrs. Chetwynd, dear? She needs constant sympathy, you know, Rex; and, above all, don’t let her and. Roy talk over their griefs, It will be more than she can stand.” “So kind, so womanly, my own sweet wife,” was the husband’s tender, complimentary re- ly. PY. Then let me kiss you good-by till luncheon +I will be back by then.” And, with tenderest caresses and kisses, Bar- bara started on the errand that, had he known its import, and more particularly all connected with it, would have frozen those kisses into curses on his lips. Barbara made a plain, elegant traveling toilet, and reached the depot in ample time for the train that took her to New York. Arrived at the Chambers street ferry, she Steep a cab, and was driven to the dull, shop of an undertaker in Second avenue, to whom she communicated her errand, and made all the arrangements she had intended. A few purchases of muslins and flannels, a light lunch at Currier’s, and then to the depot again in time to catch the train home by luncheon. Her package she carried to her own room at once, and then changed her black velvet walk- ing-suit for an afternoon home dress—a trailing ilk of richest black. The family were gathered in the dining-room around the table, on which a light lunch of oyster patties, cold boned turkey and dry-but- tered toast was spread; with coffee for the la- dies, and Port for the gentlemen. It was partaken of almost in silence, and add- ed tothe gloom of their somber black garments, was the moaning of the March winds outside, and the cold, cheerless gray sky that was slowly covering up the last traces of the blue. As usual, after luncheon, while Mr. Chetwynd, Rex and Roy remained for their’ cigars, Mrs. Chetwynd and Barbara retired to the family ing-room—a large, well-lighted, elegantly ed apartment, opposite the parlor, at the front of the house. It wore a remarkably homelike look, even on that cloudy, cheerless March afternoon. A bright sea-coal fire was snapping and crack- ing in the grate, its ruddy glow reflected on the gilt bunches of ae that ornamented the wall paper several low, cozy chairs were drawn up y the velvet drugget, near the grate; footstools stood before higher chairs, and a crimson broca- telle lounge was wheeled up to the ebony center- bases, whereon lay books, magazines and the popular weeklies. ; nd still, delightfully pleasant as this room ap , With all these appliances of luxury and taste, its long, bright crimson damask cur- tains, looped away by gold bands, its costly landscape paintings, in their massive frames, its dainty nicknacks and tall necked Sevres vases, it reminded them more of their dead than any other room in the mansion, excepting Blanche's own sleeping apartment. On one table lay a splendidly embroidered mat, of gold and crystal beads on crimson vel- vet, that Blanche had made for the stereoscope to rest upon. . On the marble mantel was a magnificent drapery of crimson velvet, embroidered with a braid and edged with a wide, heavy gold inge; there were ottomans, worked in Affehan stitch, and a gorgeous-hued blanket of the same le thrown over the back of the sofa, that che had made ‘‘to throw over mamma when she lay down,” and a pillow to match. Little wonder was it then that Mrs. Chet- d’s heart: bled afresh whenever she entered this roo and saw over and over again the mute reminders of her daughter's love. As she entered this apartment, leaning on Barbara’s strong, firm arm, her loss came Nisa upon her, and her tears fell thick and ast “Tf I could only look at her again, Barbara if I could kiss her once more, and touck those dear, thin hands!” “Tt could do you no good,” answered Barba WAS SHE HIS WIFE? ra, softly, bending down to caress the cold fin- gers she held. it always seems to me @ sacri- lege to disturb the dead after they are once laid away.” “But it wouldn’t hurt her, Barbara! Td be so careful not to burt her—my own, own Blanche!” “Of course you’d not hurt her; I did not mean that, for we both know our dear Blanche is beyond all suffering forever; but I do most certainly think, dear Mrs. Chetwynd, that in your state of mind, and consequent physical weakness, you could do nothing more impru- dent. AsTI said at first, it can do you no possi- ble good, and I am confident the satisfaction of once more looking upon her unconscious face would not repay for the consequent harrowing of your feelings anew.” Mrs. Chetwynd’s tears were falling like glis- tening crystals on her heavily creped dress, and Barbara, with her contemptuous, pitiless smile as she stood over her, was smoothing back the faintly streaked hair—streaked with pale silver since Blanche had died; and her fingers were cool and mesmeric in their touch, so that Mrs. Chetwynd, even amid all the grief that was consuming her, realized what a comfort her adopted daughter was. Later, the gentlemen, their wine and cigars finished, rejoined them, and a general conversa- tion anand, while Barbara, after an hour, ex- cused herself, and retired to her own room. There was a sufficiency of work for her to do, and, securing her doors from possible intruders, she sat down, with a calmly-triumphant face, and nimbly deft fingers, to her task. With creditable skill she stuffed a dummy, that would about answer to Blanche’s size. This she dressed in Blanche’s satin grave- clothes, and around the head she pinned a damask napkin. This done, she wrapped a waterproof around it, and laid it on a shelf of her wardrobe; she carefully collected all shreds and litter from the carpet, and burned them. By this time it was half-past five—a half-hour of the dinner-time of Chetwynd Chase; and in- tensely dark. She rung for Regina to light the lamps, and then, with all the graceful precision that char. acterized her movements, began some slight al- terations in her toilet. ‘She removed the plain linen collar, and sub- stituted one of filmy lace; for the jet jewelry she wore heavy Etruscan gold, and wound a string of gold beads in her hair. She had decided from the first, and communi- cated her will to all the family, that she would not put on strict mourning for Blanche. She would wear black dresses and mantles, but wished to reserve the right of her usual orna- ments. She was satisfied they all were con- vineed how deeply she lamented dear Blanche’s loss, and would permit her to consult her own wishes in this respect. And they accorded her a meed of praise for her sound good sense. And barter, radiant in her elegant mourn- ing dresses, laughed at her beautiful reflection, and thought how admirably black became her! To-night she was potelens fair, and Regina’s eyes lighted up with a half-jealous admiration as she watched her mistress clasp the wide golden bracelets and adjust the sparkling ruby ring—it had been a wedding gift for Blanche. “While we are at dinner, Regina, you may take this bundle to Mrs. Davenal—she will at once know their use. Then, while the servants are at their table, you may carry this,” and she opened the wardrobe door and showed the lay figure. ‘‘ You know where to place it, Regina, re sure you give me the key when you come ack. At dinner that night, Barbara was unusually ony ie and quiet. Once or twice she rai 1er hand to her forehead, and pressed it there, as if to ease some distress. Her husband was not slow to note all this, and anxiously inquired if she was ill. No, she was not ill, but she believed she had a headache. If she could be excused, she would retire to her room after dessert, and lay down. Rex attended her to her room, and insisted upon bathing her temples with the fragrant, aromatic toilet-vinegar, until she assu him she felt so much better, thanks to his affection- ate solicitude, that she only required to retire early to bed, in order to awake as well as usual in the alee. Rex kissed her good-night, and for Re- gina, bidding her take excellent care of her mis- tress, and directing her to knock at his dressing~ room door if Chetwynd were restless dur ing the night. 5 ‘ ‘And now, Regina, tell me quickly, for I have wasted too much time iivety in trying to elude any suspicion as to our work to-night. Is the coffin ready for the undertaker? Does the dummy look at all natural?” “You will be perfectly satisfied with every- thing when you see, Mrs. Chet d. Here is your waterproof and vail; do I go with you or— “You remain here and tell any one who in- quires that I am sleeping and must not be dis- turbed. Give me the key.” Out in the windy darkness Barbara went, fearless and alone. At the vault, she called in a low whisper, and received as cautious an answer; while from the shadow of the building emer, aman, bearing a dark-lantern and a polished walnut coffin-lid. Scarcely a word was interchanged while the two book side by side and the man screwed down the lid. Then Barbara paid him a large roll of bills, and he departed as he came. She stood there, alone, in that damp, uncann place, her eyes blazi like stars, and her tee gleaming in a smile of fearful joy. “* Safe—so far!” she murm , “Yes?” a voice answered. With a little cry she looked up—and faced ! Gervaise De Laurian CHAPTER XXVIL THE PRISONER’S GUEST. For a moment Barbara was ger degen with horror and fear; her lips turned ashen, and a blur came suddenly before her eyes. * You—you!” ms ada ling She gasped out the words in a struggling wa: that was altogether unusual for her. Fe “Tt is certainly myself, Mrs. Chetwynd—but no thanks to you for the fact. I presume you have no difficulty in remembering that?” A cold chill was shivering over her; she put both her hands before her eyes as if to shut out the smiling, fiendish face opposite her. ‘““T am aware I am not the most agreeable sight you could wish to see, Mrs. Che d— both on account of the story I might tell of a certain affair in which J played rather conspi- cuously, and the fact of the mystery that hangs over this little incident.” ‘«' Then you’ve come to betray me, have you?” Her voice was hoarse and husky as she asked the question. ‘Well, Mrs. Che d, that depends. I would like, however, know what all this means!” He laid his hand on what had been Blanche’s coffin, and stared at Barbara with a terrible earnestness of meaning in his eyes. What was she to do? That ion went thundering ti h her brain, demanding an answer; it c her very heart as she real- ized, in all its frightful truthfulness, what this man could bring her to—this man whom she had tried to murder. Oh! the terrific forms her ex- cited imagination took in those few seconds while she strove to think rationally. He had escaped her—how, how had she blundered?—but she knew she had missed her aim, and that he was on her track—an avenger as she had been. Would he betray her—who had no mercy on him? Would his hand hurl her down to de- struction as her own had sought to do with him, and was even now seeking to do another? Should she cry him mercy? Should she hum- ble herself before him—she who was so brave before? His voice scattered the lightning train of thought. “Mrs. Chetwynd, this plate bears the name of my wife—my lawful wife. I see it reads, ‘Blanche C. Davenal, aged twenty-two.’ ” She did not answer; and he went on, watch- ing her closely: ‘I have a fancy to see how she looks; she was so beautiful on our Pegs Pe He He deliberately opened his stout-bladed knife, and began unscrewing the lid. “No! no! you shall not touch it! She is not your wiite—you have not the right!” She jerked his arm in a powerful ; he wrenched it free with scarce an eff smiling that same smile of conscious power. “T have not the right—I, her lawful husband, Mrs. Chetwynd? Besides, if I had not the au- thority, who could prevent me? surely not a woman’s arm; and it would scarcely do for you to shriek for help.” How true his words were! how completely he was impaling her. A little curse was on her lips for pon Rew “‘T shall see how my wife looks. Please stand further back, Mrs. d.” A tense white line gathered around Barbara’
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BU lips, and she quietly stepped aside, conscious now, with the consciousness of despair, that it would avail her nothing to interfere. : She watched him as he rapidly removed the screws, and before the last one was taken out, she had left—or, the gallows! : De Laurian lifted the lid and laid it down, omg eg nee at the satin shroud and the ips of t napkin, and then Barbara stepped closely up to him, so that her hot breath damned against his cheeks, and her eyes glared almost in his own as he turned with an ejaculation of surprise and fury. nO What does it mean?) Woman—fiend, explain this mystery, or by all the memories of the time when J laid, as dead, in a vault like this—I’) lock you alive in this place!” “TL said it was not your wife. believe me now?” The intense calm in her voice was ominous and abi De Laurian only bent his face the nearer to her. ‘“Where’s Blanche? What do you mean to do with her—or it, if she is dead? Barbara, I demand: the answer—is she dead? where is Perhaps you she?” “And if I refuse to answer?’ She smiled mag 5 nag “You dare not, you vile witch you! Ill put = in that coffin, and screw down that lid un- ess you answer me!” She shuddered, but still smiled on, silently. ““You refuse? Then by the powers cf dark- ness, you shall feel my revenge!” He jerked the dummy from its coffin, and threw it upon the damp floor and seized Barba- ra by the slender throat. “Come, I'll do it! it'll be better than being hanged!” His eyes blazed like a madman’s, and a scream of awful horror came from Barbara’s lips. “Take your hands off me, you monster! My att sweet to me, and to save it, I'll tell you He smiled coolly —— but retained his hold, though loosened, on he throat. ** You'll swear to tell me all—aLu without re- servation?” She met his eyes boldly. “T swear to tell all without reservation, on two conditions.” **Name them,” he answered. “You will take your oath not to betray me. You will agree to aid me in my plans.” *‘ Twill swear anything,” he answered, lightly, and a strange glitter came to his dark eyes. ‘‘ Now we have signed the compact, and I am ready for your revelation.” : He li up the dummy ashe spoke, and laid it in the coffin again; he screwed down the lid, and all the while Barbara was telling him the story of Blanche Davenal. He evinced no sur- prise, no sorrow; and Barbara wondered at the re. change that had come over this man. ere was, in place of the gay easiness of air, a ated sarcastic indifference, a something she eared to trust, a something she was forced to confide in, and—horror of horrors, a something from whose power she knew she would never again be free! A weight had come, crushing over head and heart; and Barbara Chetwyn began to think, there was an end to her tether. Did Gervaise De Laurian hold that end in his hands? Her very soul was sick and faint. Who had scorned to suffer remorse now felt the keenest pangs of a fear only such natures can feel. De Laurian knew all this; she knew he knew it, and with that unbearable thought came the resolve to watch him with a vigilance that should exceed his own; and if he attempted gg: Sop Sared false—! e thought lent courage, and there came to her cheek, as the two walked silent] along through the wind and darkness, a flush of re- newed hope. “T am going to Chetwynd Chase,” she said, at length, to Laurian, as they reached the side entrance. ‘*So am I,” he returned, quietly. She turned around in quick surprise and aiarm, ** You go to Chetwynd Chase?” ¥ Certainly. Why not? Did I not say I wished to see how my wife looked?” His cool, ready answer bewildered her. * You see Blanche? It is im i! — her, laying his hand heavily er. : _ “See here, Mrs. Chetwynd. I intend to see Blanche within the hour. You show me to her. Refusesand you know the compact be- decided that there was but one course | e slippers. He carefully unpinned the | after all, that she had sold her soul for? WAS SHE HIS WIFE? tween us will be broken. If it is broken, it can not damage me, for I know your secret, and the knowledge can not be wrested from me. But you, Mrs. Chetwynd, might not fare so well.” How her heart sunk again; she was in his power as completely as ever mortal was in hu- man power. fter all her scheming, her suc- cessful accomplishment, it would end in—this! After all, where was the use? what was it, Only a paltry revenge, that now, in the searching light of fear, seemed so miserable, so poor. But it can not be undone; she must answer to this man, and he must use her as he chose, or else— She involuntarily put her hand to her throat. Not that! oh, any thing rather than that! “Come, then,” she said, briefly, and, with that deliberate, conscious smile, he bowed assent. Silently they passed around the little lake, and up to the gloomy side entrance. Not a light was visible on that side of the house, nor a sound to be heard save the pitiful wailing of the storm-charged wind as it swept bleakly up from the Passaic. Up the dark, deserted stairs she led him, to the observatory. A grim smile parted his lips as he waited there a moment, in obedience to her words; he remembered it well, Up the upper flight of stairs she went, closely followed by De Laurian. “You, will wait while I see if Blanche is dressed.” She opened the door; a faint light was burning, and Blanche sat sewing by the fittle stand. As Barbara entered she turned wearily around, but said nothing. She had learned how useless was entreaty, how futile were prayers for mer- oy. Other words she had no desire to speak. arbara went up to her, a cold, steely glitter in her eyes. . &- have brought you a visitor—your husband is— A scream burst from Blanche’s lips at the words. “My husband? my Roy? Oh, Barbara, I am so thankful, so thankful! I knew you would not always be so obstinate. Roy, dear Roy! come right in. I’m here, alive and well!” Ter beautiful eyes were all alight with sudden joy, and Barbara’s heart throbbed with malicious glee, as she watched for the tableau. The door opened widely ; a footstep was heard, and with a cry of exquisite joy, Blanche ex- tended her arms Gervaise De Laurian! CHAPTER XXVIIL THE OPAL-STONE MYSTERY. THE cry of exultant delight suddenly froze on Blanche’s lips; her extended arms fell to her side, and, still leaning forward, she seemed transfixed by the Medusa sight that met her staring eyes. Barbara could see the suddenly-accelerated heaving of her chest, and the stony rigidity her figure assumed. De Laurian advanced in a graceful, half-de- precating way, and. still speechless, motionless, and with intense bewilderment, as though she were regarding a ghostly visitant, Blanche awaited his nearer approach. Then his voice, low, not untender, broke the weird spell. ** Blanche—my wife!” At the ominous words, a low, horrified cry burst from her lips; and she staggered back, beating at the air with her hands as if to keep off some frightful demon, “Do not be afraid of me—I assure you I am no arisen dead; no restless spirit come to haunt ou. Blanche had gained the chair, and leaned back among its cushions, her face covered with her hands, and uttering low, pitiful moans. “Indeed I have no wish to alarm you Blanche! I only desired, very naturally, if think, to see my wife, whom I have not seen since the wedding-day. Blanche, dearest, you have no welcome for your husband?” His affectionate epithet, and the fearful memo- ries it recalled, lent speech to her half-paralyzed lips. “Don’t! don’t talk so to me! Oh, why did you come? What have I done to be thus tor- mented? If I were only dead!” There was infinite agony in her low, trem- bling voice, and she looked up at De Laurian, pees from him to Barbara, with imploring, unted eyes, that would haye melted the stom: est heathen. | But Barbara, whose heart was fire, whose veins were filled with vilest blood, only curled her lips in ineffable disdain. De Laurian Pr ag nearer her, and bended his handsome head. “It is passing strange, my Blanche, that you should endure such torment —you, so pure, so ileless. I, your husband, oave come to re- ease you.” ‘“Never, traitor!” and Barbara sprung be- tween them in wild alarm. ‘‘Never mind, Mrs. Chetwynd, please,” re- torted De Laurian, coolly, and then went on speaking to Blanche. ‘*'You know how I always loved you, dear- est; and you know I am naturally as anxious to have you for my wife as I was the day I was— Well, the day we’ were 1 rried Blanche, my darling, come to me, and be m: own, as once you were, I will lead you f from this prison this moment, and we will for- get all the past that has clouded us both. 1 anche, dear, you will forget him, and let me _ be all-in-all?” All the old-time be wormed was quivering in his voice, and his dark, lu beaming in her own tearful, rae ones as they had done in those bygone, happy days. But a thrill of repellent horror curdled her heart; involuntarily she shrunk away. ‘* How can you ask it? How can an bid me forget Roy—my own, own Roy? Oh, Mr. De Laurian, have I not enough anguish without adding this bitter drop to the overflowing cup?’ “Then Iam nothing to you—I, your only le- gal husband? You will take Royal Davenal in preference to me?” He spoke calmly and dispassionately, but Blanche saw the steely glitter coming in his eyes. Barbara remembered a time when he more heartlessly cast her off for this very woman he now was suing to; and an exultant thrill of proud veg es shot from her eyes. For a moment Blanche made no answer; then she arose from her chair, agg and as if the act caused her a severe effort. She er che up to De Laurian, and laid her cold, trembling hand on his sleeve, and lifted her sad, haunting eyes to his dark face. ‘*T will answer you in all truth, and in all solemnity; as I would if my mother heard me, and Roy Davenal stood by my side; as I am willing—and believe they do—that God and His angels hear me.” n impressive silence followed; then she went on. : “*T loved you, Mr. De Laurian, with all the love of my heart. Had you not met with the terrible misfortune that caused me, and all others, to regard myself your widow, I would have beena true, loving wife, until death parted us, for [loved you, Mr. De Laurian.” : Her voice, so pathetic and sweet, was — fied and slightly distant; De Laurian and - bara listened attentively. “But I thought you were dead; I learned to regard you as gone from us forever, and I mourned truly for you. Then, Mr. De Laurian, when gentile-fingered Time had healed my heart, I learned to love Mr. Davenal, as I love him to- . day, as I always must love him—as my good, affortionate husband. I think there requires no additional explanation.” : She turned back to her seat, as though dis- missing the subject forever, followed y De Laurian’s gleaming eyes. , ; “I do require further explanation. I desire to know if a lifetime of confinement in this de- lightful apartment is to your taste? Would you rather remain here, allowing your family to think you dead, and knowing that Roy will certainly marry again some time, than re- stored to them all as my wife, what you really are? : Her lips quivered at the cold words; then she bowed her head ate § **T can do no more than suffer, and be true to Ro ud VAs you please, madam. I admire your principles.” \ 4 She noted the sarcasm in his voice, and Bar- bara, as she stood there like a statue, smiled grimly as she observed his scarce-concealed cha- n. on I will come again—perhaps I will find you less romantic. In the interim, can I serve you in any way?” She turned her eyes on him in dumb anguish. “T want nothing but to be released from this rison—you will not do that; why should I suf- er the indignity of a denial?” “You know the conditions upon which you - walk forth. There are none other.” _ He motioned to Barbara to precede him down; and locking the door of the room, the two, who were playing such a desperate game at cross- ed went silently down to the outer en- ance. strous eyes were ; wt
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WAS SHE HIS WIFE? 214 ° De Laurian raised his hat in elaborate cour- “T have the honor to both bid you good-night —and—beware! igmember the broken opal stone. It has a sry you little suspect.” Before her wondering lips could frame a ques- tion orretort, he was gone through the darkness. As she stood there, where he left her, the great clock in the stable struck twelve; and it sounded to Barbara like as many knells of doom, so slow, distinct and echoing they were as they fairly thundered on the night-wind. Her fiery eyes peered out into the dense dark- ness like demon’s eyes, and a tinge of passionate red purned in either cheek. Was she to be baffled, after all? had one false ’ step led into this pitfall over which she knew De Laurian’s hand was suspending her? She knew him well; and she knew that, fired by the memory of her futile attempt to murder him, he would follow her on to the death. “To the death!” Often as she had contemplated the death of others, never had it fully come home to her be- fore that there would come a time in her expe- rience when she would be drifting away herself from all human help; when all the horrors of an unrepented life would stare her, with stony eyes, full in the face. But to-night, somehow, such gloomy thoughts would come; try though she would, she could not banish them. She vainly strove to assure herself that she was ‘‘ nervous,” but it did not lessen the knowl- edge that was crushing her, that Gervaise De Laurian was, of a verity, ‘‘on her track,” and that too with a hangman’s noose in his hand. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. How could she suffer for his death when he “was not dead? She laughed because she had not thought of that before—a weird, strange music it was that re-echoed on the air. “Wool that he is to think he can baffle me/ Let him beware, or the next blow I aim at him will hurl him deeper than he would cast me.” She noiselessly re-entered the house, and re- turned to her room. Regina was dozing in the chair by the grate, but aroused as Barbara suddenly raised the flame of the lamp, almost exclaiming as she caught a glance from Mrs. Chetwynd’s lurid eyes. ‘Go at once to Mrs. Davenal’s room, Regina,” she commanded, ina whisper. ‘‘She has been fearfully excited the last few hours, and may need your care and skill before morning.” Regina had gone, and Barbara had exchanged her garments for her night-wrapper, when there came a low tap on her door. ** 'Yes—who is it?” “Tt is I, dearest. ‘You are better then?” She crossed the room and unfastened the door. Rex met her with a kiss as he wound his arm around her slender waist. ‘You have rested well, Barbara? Regina guarded you faithfully, for twice I inquired and was refused admittance.” ‘It was by my order, dear,” she said, tender- ly, ‘and I am very much relieved, thank you.” i I have been with Roy all the evening, Bar- bara. I fear he will lose his reason under this shock—I never dreamed he loved Blanche so pa arson A However, I have persuaded him to consent to a three months’ trip to the Conti- nent—perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Chetwynd will ac- com him—the change may be beneficial.” Be isd you will remain?” “If you will not go—unless you are willing I should leave you. It shall be as you decide, darling.” CHAPTER XXIX. DE LAURIAN AGAIN. _ BARBARA could not sleep that night; restless and — eful, she passed the hours in busy 0 in , She must thwart De Laurian, no matter what he did; again, a new and unexpected aid to her, was this sudden decision of the Chet- wynds to go to Europe. Of course Rex must a) and equally itive was it, that she must Y- Some one would be obliged to look after Chetwynd Chase, and she was ~ bs. vas no persuasions or arguments sho eter from her kind sacrifice. the coast cleared, she would measure lances with Gervaise De Laurian, and then throw his defeat in his face. She grew bold and brave with the morning t, and though her eyes were somewhat heavy and her cheeks pale when she went down , She was strong at heart, and was perfectly content to be commiserated on her ap- .] J “ pearance as the inevitable results of the head- ache she had undergone. Naturally, the question of the European trip —to be a short one, obviously—was discussed thoroughly, and the decision was made that Mr. and Mrs. Chetwynd, Sr., Roy and Rex should go in the first steamer that sailed in which they could procure the necessary accommodations. There were to be no preparations of packing beyond the simplest needs; nothing new to be bought or made, so that all bustle was obviated, and the Continental tour was as er begun as an ordinary run down to New York. Of course, as Barbara had expected, she was hardly allowed to immolate herself at the Chase, while all the household were away. Mr. Chet- wynd urged her to complete their party, and she gracefully explained her reasons. Mrs. Chetwynd asked her why she would in- sist on remaining home alone—and Barbara whispered, in a loving, tear-laden voice, it was not to leave Blanche dearest quite alone; and when her words touched the sorest spot of the mother heart, Barbara wondered what that mother would think if she knew how very liter- ally she spoke. She pressed Roy’s hands in silent sympathy, and he blessed her for it, while Rex was equally loud in praises and severe in expressions of dis- appointment, So she had the ‘upper hand,” and sent the bereaved family off with smiles—saddened, yet cheerful—and then reeurned to the deserted mansion in heart-swelling triumph. She rung for Regina, when she had sat for an hour in meditative reverie. There was an unusual flush on the woman’s face, and a suspicion of moisture in her snaky, bright eyes. ‘* Well?” Barbara said, as the woman entered, ‘Tt is well, indeed. Mrs. Davenal gave birth to a daughter this morning at five.” Barbara started. ‘‘T am glad it’s over. And she is well?’ ** As can be expected—but, oh! so stricken in soul, and so —— under it all.” “That will do,” returned Barbara, curtly. ‘* Sentiment does not become you, at all. As I have not seen Mrs, Davenal for a fortnight— since the night of my headache, you remember, I will pay her a call later in the day. I sent for you, Regina, to give notice to the servants that they can take a holiday of a month—be- ginning with Monday week next. Their wages will go on as usual.” ‘And if I might ask, who is to do all the work?” Barbara frowned at the flippant, question. ‘*-You—or I, if you are not able,” Regina was silenced, and Barbara dismissed her with a gesture. After she had gone Barbara sat several mo- ments longer. ‘The house will be empty, excepting Regi and I—I do not count any others. It shall be securely fastened on all sides, and we will see if De Laurian gains ingress to my lady’s chamber; and when the Chetwynds return, Blanche will not be atthe Chase. I have a better hiding- place than this, which he shall never learn.” The week that intervened between that day and the hegira of the five servants passed in usual routine to Barbara. She drove out, and sewed, and read; made a call or so, and took good care to inform her hostess, every time, that the Chase was,to be closed for a month while she made a little visit to Philadelphia. The servants gone, the shutters were closed, and blinds on the ground floor drawn. The rear entrance not only locked, to keep De Lau- rian out, but double-barred, and Barbara smiled when she saw how secure they were from any possible intruder. It was not until then--when Blanche’s baby was nearly three weeks old—that Barbara kept her word of seeing her. : There was not a heart in the world, except Barbara Chetwynd’s, that would not have melted into infinite pity and compassion toward that fair, pale young mother, as she lifted her eyes, in mute, Seeking entreaty, to Barbara’s face, when she came in and stood, half-frown- ing, half-smiling, at the infant that lay on Blanche’s bosom, its tiny pink fists doubled up as if to protect its mother from this sworn foe, For a moment neither of the two spoke, though Blanche’s trembling lips, and dumbly anguish- ful eyes were more eloquent than language could have been. bs Well,” ne ors pod ete oe moment nat expired, e baby loo ¢ Roy—very mu indeed. Wouldn't he like to see her?” oe A moan of pain the tantalizing words called forth was Blanche’s only answer. * “What shall you call her, Mrs, Davenal? You remember the old promise to name the first daughter after me?” A perceptible shiver thrilled Blanche’s frame, and Barbara laughed. ““You would not want to curse her so, would you? But Mrs. Davenal, if you will tell me what the name is to be, I will do you any,;small favor you will name.” ¢ A flush of excitement sprung to Blanche’s cheeks. “Oh, will you, will you let me go down and see them? Barbara! Barbara! I will go down on my knees in the humblest entreaty! I will pray to you as I never prayed to mortal before! hb, a 1 will forgive you _, ee bape ine every thing if you will only, only, for mercy’s sake, for my callalens baby’s sake, let me be re- leased from this living tomb.” She was kneeling before Barbara now, with an arm clasped around her baby, the other reached to Barbara’s hand that she was pressing with an agony of persuasion.’ An expression of extremest surprise crept into Barbara’s eyes. vs - That is an unprecedented favor to ask; yet, i a, Her half hesitating manner implied that she was not as invulnerabk to Blanche’s eecings as she had been hitherto, And the hea age rem was strengthened with a new, wildly elicious hope. ‘Say you will, Barbara, for Heaven’s sake! I promise you you shall not be punished; I solemnly vow to shield you from all harm, for they will be so glad to get me back, that they will pardon you I am certain.” Barbara looked thoughtfully a moment. “ And if I allow you to go down to your own room, or the lower floor—whichever you prefer —you promise to—” ‘I will promise blindly whatever you ask. Oh, Barbara, I am _ so glad, so ecstatically thankful. Come, right away, Barbara. I am all ready.” She trembled with the reaction that had so suddenly come to her, and her brown eyes wore a glitter of intense feverish excitement. “‘ Barbara, Iam all ready—see, I have wrapped a blanket about the baby, and J am not at all chilly. Do come, I am so impatient.” A strange smile crossed Barbara’s lips as she walked over to the door. ‘‘Come, then, I will trust to your ward.” A shriek of joy she could not control burst from her lips, and shivering from head to foot, in the exquisite anticipations that crowded be- fore her, she followed closely upon Barbara’s steps, through the observatory, down the stairs, through which she went in silent astonishment that their existence had never been known to her, to the dear old familiar floors below. She seemed walking on air; what would she do she thought when she entered their presence Would they be alarmed, and shrink from her, thinking her a de spirit? or would. her own excess of Joy at the meeting, overcome her, and break the heart-strings that trouble had so nearly snapped asunder? In such ieames as these, Blanche walked ag to the light and joy she knew would greet er. ‘*Barbara,” she said, lowly, “it must be as late as eleven o’clock; do you not think the will all be sleeping? Do. you not think I wi frighten them by appearing so suddenly?” arbara smiled—one of her olden-time smiles, so kindly and heartfelt, Blanche thought—poor, innocent child! ‘“ Ever thoughtful, Blanche, for others, rather than self. Suppose you to Roy’s room—he would hail your spirit with rapture, I am sure— and explain as rationally as you can, without implicating any one until later.” lanche pressed Barbara’s hand ardently. “‘T know my husband will not be alarmed, for he knows how truly I love him. And will you break the news to my mother?” ‘“‘T will, and we may well anticipate the most joyous re-union the world evet saw, in a very few minutes.” Trembling in every limb, and her heart palpt- tating so fearfully that if threatened to suffo- eate her, Blanche crossed the corridor to the door of the old-time room, while in the shadowy corner, Barbara sneeyed at her in mocking, laughing silence. Blanche almost flew across the darkened room--to find the bed unoccupied. A cry of disappointment fell from her lips, fol- lowed by another, of sudden thought. “Of course he is smoking in the library—I will go down, Barbara.” _ ‘ pp glided ews the wind, Chaely Sane as y the vengeful, silently-smiling w: @ ht Bb. or'g Non that was aily of
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22 vealing the brilliantly-lighted room, and dis- closing the unmistakable odor of a cigar. The glory in her eyes deepened and darkened as she glided through the door, while at the same second a startled, half-fearful look ban- ished the mocking light from Barbara’s eyes. Then, simultaneous with the intense anguished ery of disappointment from Blanche, came a hissing noise of rage from Barbara, as they both involuntarily uttered—‘ Gervaise De Laurian!” CHAPTER XXX, THE FOE IN THE HOUSE. WITH an easy, graceful courtesy, Mr. De Laurian threw his cigar into the fireless grate, and bowed to the ladies, at once noticing the white heat and chagrin of Barbara’s face, and the nee grief in Blanche’s. ‘** Blanche, my dear, my delight at seeing you is only equaled by my aston.shment. me to offer you an easy-chair, and, at the same time, my Seren Mrs. Chetwynd, your most o ent.” It was wonderful, the cool, indifferent air he assumed, ‘“* How did you gain access to this house?” Barbara ke hoarsely, and her black eyes flamed maledictions on his head as he easily and quietly stood to listen. “Tn a vag Bene and legitimate way, dear ands, Through the front entrance.” ‘“‘ The front entrance!” she repeated, in aston- ishment. ‘‘ Has Regina dared—” “Not so fast, m, if you please. Regina has nothing whatever to do with it; indeed, I doubt if she knows I am in the house. , Of course I should not have ventured, by using the sonra my revered father-in-law gave me unless been assured the family were all off for Europe, and—” ‘*Kurope!” and Blanche sprung from the chair, pale as death. ‘‘Oh, Barbara, then you have deceived me again? How can I bear it? How can I live?” The hot tears, forced from a doubly-bruised heart, fell on her baby’s face, making it move trestlessly in its slumber. ‘My tears scorch you, don’t they little one? Oh, I would to God we were both sleeping the sleep that tears could not disturb, nor any trouble awaken,” She spoke in passionate earnestness, such as aeither Barbara nor De Laurian had ever seen her evince before. “You must not wish such a terrible calamity Blanche, for who knows what good fortune will yet dissipate the cloud that seems so dense?” He glanced at Barbara as he spoke, with an expression of challenging power. It’s not at all probable that Mrs. Davenal will ever find her condition bettered, sir,” she etorted, coldly; ‘“‘at least, not while i am alive.” “But you may die,” he returned, carelessly, “or, be baffled.” “Mr. De Laurian”—and by a mighty effort she forced herself to be calm outwardly, while a fearful fire was raging within—‘ you have intruded yourself upon me to-night as no gen- aanen would; will you be so good as to re- e “Tf my presence annoys you, madam, per haps you be rejoiced to learn that I did not come to Chetwynd Chase to see you. I came P ly to see Blanche, and for a cause that will not annoy her, I am sure.” His brows wore a gathering frown as he ad- dressed Barbara, and then, not waiting for any answer she might give, turned awxy as if utter- ly apne ng her, and leaned respe:tfully on the ‘back of the tall Gothic chair Blanche occupied. “Tf you will promise to forget and forgive the thoughtless words I used to you the last time I saw you, Blanche, I will promise to forget that I have lost_ you forever, and, to prove how sin- cere I am, [am going to save you.” Barbara across the floor like a tigress and confron m. Poti Blanche had arisen from her chair in painful Suspense as he addressed her. ; ‘You will take me away where I will be safe until Roy returns? Oh, . De Laurian, you deserve more kindness me than I have been giving you since I saw you last! But do not tell me, unless you will, Another disap- pointment will kill me, I know,” “T will not fail you, Blanche. hour you leave Che Chage in that waits at the gate.”, ~ . Permit | WAS SHE HIS WI sion of Barbara’s face, that rapidly changed to one of desperate alarm. ‘€T will kill her where she stands first! You shall not thwart me after all these montis and years.” “Twill thwart you, Barbara Chetwynd. I have a memory that can never die of the hours I hovered over death’s chasms, and by that memory I swear to baffle you and deliver Blanche.” He spoke with awfully stern quiet, and Bar- bara knew he was no mean adversary with which to measure lances. ‘And I,” she retorted, in an equally intense tone,” ‘‘am ever haunted by the memory of an hour wherein I learned what you had made me! and by that memory I repeat my oath of sleep- less vengeance if you dare do this thing. An- other time, Gervaise De Laurian, success will crown my efforts.” “* Perhaps,” he answered, meaningly. you ring for Regina to bring Slegicks infant’s clothes?” “‘T will—I will, myself,” answered the ner- vous girl, and she sped to the bell-rope and rung a peal that awoke weird echoes in that gloomy house. Several seconds a deathly silence reigned; Blanche jerked the tassel again and again, but there was no answer, and she turned, half-de- spairingly to De Laurian. He smiled assuringly. ‘Never mind; it is as I expected. I merely wished Regina to be summoned to demonstrate to Mrs. Chetwynd how utterly powerless she is to prevent this step.” fear crept into Barbara’s eyes. Was there a conspiracy ? : ‘* For the sake of filthy lucre, Mrs. Chetwynd, Regina has left your service and entered mine. She awaits in the carriage, with all the neces- sary arments.” ar seemed stunned. “So, you see,” he went on, relentlessly, ‘you can’t depend upon what anybody says; for in- stance, when I vowed to aid and abet you in kee ing Blanche a prisoner under her father’s © Will e’s and her Little flecks of foam gathered in the corners of Barbara’s lips, and her eyes glowered like an infuriated beast brought suddenly to bay. Her livid mouth essayed to speak, but language seemed to have left her. ‘Blanche, I am going to watch Mrs. Chet- wynd, with this loaded revolver in my hand, that | shall direct at her temple. Do you take the Affghan off the sofa and wrap it around you and the little one, and hasten to the gate where the bronze fawn is. I will rejoin you in a moment, and drive you to a place of safety.” He never once moved his eyes off Barbara’s face; while Blanche, with almost superhuman speed, wrapped the sofa blanket about her and her babe, and flew out of the house and through the darkness to the appointed spot. At the gate stood a close carriage, and by it waited Regina, who lifted Blanche in, and then seated herself, talking in tender, pitying and withal cheerful tones, explaining how Mr. De Laurian had met her in the grounds that very evening and won her over to his side. In the drawing-room the two still stood, si- lent and motionless, a terrible tableau to look upon. Step by step De Laurian retraced his way to the door, his eyes never roaming from that rigid, stony face, to which the revolver was re- lentlessly pointed. At the door he bowed, geyly. “ Au revoir, madam. 5 I wish you pleas- ant dreams?” She made an effort to speak, and De Laurian heard her swallow, as if a lump were in her She advanced a pace, then slowly raised her hand, and pointed her rat him. “*Go—but, remember, I have not done with you yet.” He smiled, mockingly, and closed the door. She heard the snap of the dead latch, and knew she was alone, at the witching midnight, in the house where she had wrought such dire misery. She heard the crunching of the carria: wheels as they rolled rapidly away; and she knew, as ina dream, that Blanche Davenal was safe from her jealous wrath and hate, but—and a fervent hope arose in her breast that De Lau- rian would prove a more terrible foe to her than ever she n! That De Laurian intended to restore Blanche to her parents, husband and home she had not the remotest idea. She knew him far too well to give him any credit for such nobility of FE? He turned around to enjoy the blank expres- | spixTt. She knew he only used this method to get Blanche into his own power. Now, as she sat there all alone by the fireless grate, cursing De Laurian from the depths of her foul heart, and hurling anathemas on the head of the woman who had played her so false, she wondered what she had better do? Remain, as usual, at Chetwynd Chase? Unless De Laurian chose to expose her, there was no reason why she should leave it. But she had no confidence in De Laurian’s not e i her. At any moment he might brand her wi her guilt, and secure her a reward she did not crave. There was not much to attach her to Chet- wynd Chase, now that the object of her sweet revenge was, indeed, beyond her power. She did not care for her husband, nor for the Chetwynds; and if she had, the fear of expo- sure would drive her away. Yes, she would go away. No human being should know where, and only De Laurian, why. Afterward—a wild, unnatural glitter in her eyes alone denoted the current of her thoughts as she ascended the stairs to pack a hand-satchel. At sunrise next morning she was gone, and the Chase was deserted and gloomy. CHAPTER XXXII. BEATING AGAINST THE BARS. THE carriage containing the party from Chet- wynd Chase drove ieee y along the star-lighted road, the silence within unbroken by conversa- tion. A short distance only had been traversed, when Blanche fell asleep, overcome by the ex- citement she had undergone, and assisted by the easy motion of the carriage. It was early daybreak when she awoke, and * found the carriage had drawn up before the door of a large, handsome building of brick so marble trimmings; one of a row precisely ike it, She looked anxiously from the window, and saw De Laurian gathering up the parcels. “Why, Regina, this is repr York!” ‘ She spoke in some suspicion. all ‘*New York, ma’am, and a great deal better than Chetwynd Chase. Let me take the baby, while you alight.” De Laurian gravely and kindly assisted her from the carriage and up the marble steps to the entrance. ** You will be obliged toremain here, Blanche, until I can procure the address of your in Europe, which I can do at Mr. Chetwynd’s banker’s, when I will telegraph. I hope you will be comfortable; Regina has my strict or- ders to do everything for your comfort.” He was so grave, so kind and considerate that Blanche’s heart ached for him. He must have suffered terribly when he learned she was the wife of another, and yet, with all that orion he was aiding her to a reunion with Roy. Her eyes were bright with tears as she seated herself in the chair he drew up to the window. “Oh, Mr. De Laurian, how can I ever thank rou? It seems so strange to think you should be doing all this.” / He turned his head away for a second, as if to hide some emotion. **T only desire to secure your truest friend- ship in the place of the dearer sentiment I lost, Regina, will you see that the cook has break- fast up?” Blanche was so grateful to him. Every thing was arranged with such perfect good taste; a furnished house, a competent housekeeper, and Regina. What could be nicer! And she shud- dered as she contrasted this delightfully cozy home with her cheerless room at Che Chase. She asked Regina on what street they were, but Regina didn’t know. Blanche did not much care, so happy was she with her baby, her personal liberty, and the assurance of Laurian that he had telegraphed to her father at Liverpool, where his permanent address wag left. It might be several days before an answer came, De Laurian said, for the y might be traveling through some quiet little town where mail communication was infrequent. But he bade Blanche cheer up and wait pa- tiently. A ede rolled by, and there came no answer. Ing telegram; Blanche wondered a little at then grew nervous and - par and finally sent Regina to ask Mr. De Laurian to come up to the parlor, she must see him. : finishing He was a cigar when the message was delivered. y : ;
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WAS SHE HIS. WIFE? 28 - J ghall be with her at once, Regina,” and he _ owered his voice to one of confidential mean- \ ng. “I depend upon you. You will not fail?” She bowed her assurance, and alloweu ve - Laurian to precede her from the room. ‘As he up the basement stairs, with a curi smile on his face, he looked back a mo- ment. j a You may as well secure the doors, as I ex- f Then he ascended leisurely, and entered the drawing-room, shutting the door as he passed through. “Well, Blanche?” : Qh, Mr. De Laurian, what do you think can be the reason we get no word? Can anything have happened to Roy or mother?” “T think nothing has happened to them to ' make you uneasy.’ * “Then, why don’t they answer? De Laurian looked across the room at Blanche’s sweet, girlish face, all aglow with the returning spirits that lent such radiant beauty to her. He moved his chair nearer to her before he ke. Bar think I know the reason, Blanche. Do you wish it?” “nt There was something in his peculiar tone of voice, no less than language, that made her in- stantly raise her eyes to his own in a vague un- easin « Certainly, Mr. De Laurian, if you know _ why.” ; He deliberately rose from his chair and crossed the narrow space that intervened between him- self and Blanche. Laying his hand lightly on the back of her chair, he bent his head’ to her . face, and very quietly, very meaningly, told it = oe Blancho, I did not telegraph.” She sprung affri rhtedly from her chair, and ~ confronted him with dilated eyes. “You did not telograph? Mr. De Laurian, You have assured mo time after time that you ; ” ho was alarmed, and he saw that such was the caso. 2 Sit down again, Blanche, and let me ex- plain.” “No, I would rather stand. But, Mr. De Laurian, you can go at once and send a dis- patch. Will you not? or I will.” He compressed his lips more sternly, and Blanche, with a sinking heart, wondered what _ new calamity was about to overtake her. Oh, that dreadful, dreadful Curse of ‘Chet- wyn Chase! ; ‘] will be explicit and candid, Blanche. I did not telegraph, and I shall not telegraph for ' the same reason. Do you suppose for one mo- ment that I am going to surrender my wife to another?” - Then her heart indeed almost broke with the - ominous words, and> she shrunk away, into the - furthest corner of the room, her startled eyes fixed on his smiling, handsome face. “You are not repulsed by my truthfulness Blanche?” “Mrs. Davenal, in the future, whenever you dare address me!’ _ Her indi, t tones made no difference to his stern, mocking smile, “You speak treason, Blanche. Did I not, with my own hands, place the marriage-ring on your finger? Am I not alive before you to- \ : : ) There was crowing triumph in his voice. “You havo done all you claim, Mr. De Lau- rian, yet when I solem: ; om that I am, by every right, the wife of Royal Davenal, you cannot but secretly confirm the truth.” “Your reasoning is tea f @& woman,” ho re- _ joined, pleasantly, ‘still if 1 choose to assume y legal authority, you cannot well help it. This is my house; you have lived here as its os- tensible mistress a week I have mentioned you fi * as my wife, and the child is pupposed to be ours. , Wha do, anche - \" Sad int bright with the insult, and she the door. » movi Twill this moment leave se sags 1 regard. lum in my distress. Better, far fetter the prison room ES _— Chase than u for a jailer, eae kaariast toterpoecd between her and the door. ; “No, no, Blanche! do you think I shall allow ) any such shallow excuses to blind me? No, in- ; deed. You are my wife, and as such shall I ‘ claim ‘you before the world. Asm yarn, you and Be reasona- for. my oath upon it vou shall have no need to leave your husband's roo . tection in this romantic style. Bios Blanche, hao? ‘ remain here with me so long as I choose to remain.” “Mr. De Laurian,” and Blanche replied ‘in low, thrilling tones, and as she moved from the shadow to the light her pale face and intensely bright eyes almost startled him, ‘‘ do you desire mé to understand that I am a prisoner here, in New York, with a dozen policemen in call from any window in the house?” He bowed politely. “You are perfectly correct in your surmises. Of what avail are a whole squad of police if you do not summon them? And suppose the win- dows are so well guarded that it is decidedly impossible to raise them, the shutters so ar- ranged that you cannot gesture through them, and the walls so thick no voice or combination of voices can be heard beyond them?” The hot color rushed to her face. ‘*Monster! how ever could I have trusted you?” An amused laugh fell from his lips. “*T have asked myself that question more than once. It is rather singular, to say the least.” Suddenly she hastened up to itm, with ex- tended hand and agonized face, as if the horror of the position had unnerved her. “Mr. De Laurian, surely, surely you do not mean all you say?” “*T do mean alt, and more than I say.” His even, dispassionate tones fell like a death- knell on her ears. A dusky paleness overspread her face, and a chilling terror crept into her sweet, hunted eyes. of Mr. De Laurian, the day will come when, in sackcloth and ashes, you will repent this deed. I, who never have wronged you in word or deed, do not regard you we, 4 jailer, or this house my prison. I am in, the hands of an all-wise God, and this dense cloud through which I am groping is a Providential dispensation, which, though I cannot comprehend, I do not presume to question, and accept, as submissively as I can, and trying to believe that there is light ahead for me even yet.” Her reverent, half-pitiful words elicited but a stately bend of his hardened neck as he passed through the door, and assuring himself as he went that the entrances were all secured beyond the possibility of mistake. CHAPTER XXXII. A STRANGE, STRANGE STORY. As soon as De Laurian had returned to the basement, Blanche instantly left the drawing- room and ascended to her private bedroom where her little one lay asleep. She locked and bolted the door, and without a moment’s hesita- tion, commenced to fold neatly together the entiful supply of —— Regina’s careful orethought had supplied when they left Chet- wynd Chase. his done she rung for Regina, and sat down by the bedside, where her baby slept, with a nervous glitter in her eyes and a trembling of her pallid lips. Very shortly Regina’s footsteps came sound- ing through the hall, and paused at her door; then when Blanche had unlocked the door, she entered, while the door was again secured. “Sit down, Regina, I want to talk to you; not as a servant, but as a friend who has a woman’s heart. I have no friends left, Regina, unless you will be one.” _ Her low, sad voice brought a sudden twitch- ing to Regina’s lips, and she drew her handker- chief across her mouth as if anxious to hide the weakness of which she was ashamed. *T hope I never have been unkind to you, Mrs. Davenal.” “Oh, no; I know that. Indeed you have been most kind in your attention and services. But, Regina, we have both been most cruelly deceived by Mr. De Laurian, who has only res- cued me from Barbara Chetwynd’s power to use hisown. Regina, when did you learn that he was not dead?” A dull red flush crept slowly over the woman’s cheek before she answered. ‘“‘T cannot remember the exact day when I first knew of it.” Sw Her evasive answer elicited surprise from lanche, “Why, Regina, surely you must know? Why do you blush ‘so? Is there any mystery that you are connected with? Regina, dear Regina, tell me all, and let us be friends that can counsel each other, on Whom each can de- pend.” Blanche wound her arm in sweet persuasion around the woman’s neck, and felt that strong, masculine frame shivering under the touch. ‘Mrs. Davenal, you never can know the bur- den I am bearing, and have borne so long, so long! Oh, if I only might tell you!” It came out in a sudden and almost unac- countable burst of impulsive thos, these strange words of Regina’s, and Blanche’s eyes dilated as she looked upon the quivering mouth and moist eyes of the woman, who, until this moment, had always been the impersonation of repellent sternness and disagreeableness, al- though, as she herself averred, and Blanche ad- mitted, her action had been marked with a ten- der kindness and delicacy of attention strangely at variance with her appearance. “You know all my sorrow, Regina, and that I can appreciate all yours. You know I have endured enough to dethrone my reason, and yet a merciful God has spared me until now; and I will believe He will lead me yet to the light. Tell me your troubles, Regina, and let me at least condole with you.” : Regina bent her head a moment as if qecieanne a vexed question; when she raised it and smil at Blanche, she looked like a new being, so com- dletely had Blanche’s womanliness worked upon rough spirit, and aroused the softer sensibili- ties of a nature blunted by circumstances. ‘Mrs. Davenal, do you remember when I first entered service at Chet d Chase?” “Distinctly; it was just previous to my mar- riage to Mr. De Laurian.” She involuntarily shivered as she spoke of it, and at its mention, Regina’s round, bead-like eyes fairly snapped. “You are right. I came unrecommended, just when you were short of help, offering to forfeit a month’s wages if my services were not satisfactory. Miss bara was not at home then.” There was strange significance in her voice; a mingled anger and sorrow. ““No, she was—you know where she was, Regina, those weeks we all supposed her on a visit?” ““T do; and I knew long before I heard her tell you the story that nig t in the observatory chamber. I knew it and knew her, and knew Mr. De Laurian long before I ever saw Chet- nd Chase. I knew you, too, Mrs. Davenal, when yor were a baby no bigger than the little one yonder.” There was calm truthfulness in her eyes and voice, and manner, although Blanche stared in- credulously at her. “ y; ina!” “Tt is true; Iam poing back to the beginning, Mrs. Davenal, and I am not going to keep any thing back. When you’ve heard all my story, if you'll take me for your friend, I will swear allegiance afresh to you and yours.” Again that same significance of language, and Blanche looked back in those ugly, truthful eyes with a glance of bewildered test shonpuenans ““T am so mystified, Regina, and yet I am so sure I can trust you. Did you y say you would swear fealty afresh? Have you ever done so before? en, Regina?” She was nervous; her white hands and unclasped in a tremulous, unconsolable ex- citement as she waited for a solution to this mystery. “* First of all, Mrs. Davenal, I have to tell you that when te were born J was the nurse who took care of your mother and yourself, There is nothing wonderful in that, is there?” ‘“No; it is simply a coincidence. Go on.” Blanche — in a low, intense voice that be- trayed her deep interest. “Yes, it was an incident that has molded my life, more or less, ever since—that, for the ear, has affected it entirely.. Had T never hired Mrs. Chetwynd, I would have been a happier woman to-day, with a less horrible load eternal- ly crushing me down.” Rng paused and gazed dreamily at her lis- ner. * Oh, do go on,” said Blanche, almost in a whisper. '“ Mrs, Davenal, are you afraid of Mr. De Lau- rian?” § She asked the question abruptly. “ Afraid! Oh, Regina, I do not know howl regard him. He terrifies me so; heabused Bar- bara so—” ‘“ Well, I am more afraid of him than any- body in this wide world.” ' Blanche interrupted her in a low, stern tone. soere yet you deliberately act in his em- plo re Not deliberately, Mrs. Davenal, but con- scientiously. I followed him because I —— be near you; that I might serve you, though in- directly, and, if needs be, save'you as I would in time haye e from Barbara Chetwynd, to
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‘troubles, that I used to 24 whom I promised allegiance as I have promised | “Then it was, Mrs. Daven Gervaise De Laurian; with whom I broke my er I shall break it with him.” A little sob of joy broke from Blanche’s lips. “You will save me, dear Regina? You will let me go out of this house, free as the air?” ‘*Before the night-shades fall, Mrs. Davenal, I solemnly swear you shall be out of that front door, with your baby in your arms free to go wherever you please, back to Chetwynd Chase, to a hotel to await the answer of a telegram you will of course send—or anywhere you choose,” : Blanche rapturously kissed the brown, horny hand that she moistened with her glad tears, “‘God ever bless you, Regina! And now for the rest of your strange story.” “A year ago, while Barbara—you will learn directly why I call her so informally—and De Laurian were on their pleasure tour, I first made his acquaintance. I wasina second-hand jew- eler’s store, el fd to dispose of a ring I had had. given me, for a I preferred its value in money, as I was ost desperate in my pov- erty. Mr. De Laurian was looking inpanet some old-fashioned curiosities for a priceless bauble I heard him offer a hundred dollars for. *“T looked up at him, wondering why he was so lavish of money and J so poor, when I sud- denly caught sight of a broken gold chain and an opal stone—the other half of the ornament na had offered so great a sum for, ‘* My heart gave a bound—ZJ possessed the re- maining portion of that chain and opal, and my cheeks crimsoned as I was thus suddenly re- minded of how I came by it. “TI offered to show him the gem; he accom: panied me home, and paid me the money for my treasure, and as much more for the informa- tion I gave him; and as it startled him, so will it e you, Mrs, Davenal.” Blanche was listening intently, and Regina went slowly on. “T told him there was a legend connected with that broken opal stone, that was marked as though the entire stone had borne three perfect letters, ‘D D D,’ ‘Sure enough, when he compared the half he had and thé half J had, the surmise was correct. He told me then how he had stolen the chain— you will remember he pretended it fell into a grating? He let it fall up his coat-sleeve.” Blanche started with rise. possible? It surp “T remember it well. Can it be was our only relic of Barbara’s identity, if ever it should be traced out.” “Tt was traced out, Mrs. Davenal. I held the key to unlock that secret, and Gervaise De Lau- rian’s money bought the key. He knew then, before he dese Barbara, who she was; he knows, to-day who she is. Would you like to ow Regina asked the question almost pityingly. ‘*Tndeed, I would.” “Mrs, Davenal, do not hate her for what she has done, when I tell you it is she, and not you who justly inherits the ‘ Curse of Chetwynd Chase,’ because, Mrs. Davenal, Barbara is your sister—your younger, twin-sister, born an hour after yourself.” : Blanche jumped from her chair in a transport of astonishment. “ Regina, what do you mean to tell me? She —she My sister? the child of my ae ingest And ie never know it? Regina, how can I be- lieve this strange, incredible story?” ‘“Tncredible as it may seem, I can prove it and show you why your nts never knew it —why the mother never knew she gave birth to a second daughter. * For the months I was in attendance upon her eee to her illness, my heart used to ache to hear her lament over that fatal Curse she feared would yet fall on a child of hers. She has often fallen on her knees and prayed that God would give her sons and no daughters. “She was so gentle and patient amid all her I could die to gain her her wish. , ‘But, when the trial came, you, her daugh- ter was born, and, overcome by the fear that ou would never be followed by a brother, and ‘us the fatal he ac be turned aside, Mrs. Chet- d was se with fearful convulsions that in the room; Mrs. Chetwynd | ‘ he followed the al- most fainting gentleman to render some encour- assistance. e E o = 5 5 5 5 ‘He was gone half an hour, leavin; orders with me him if there ‘was the | slightest change. | WAS SHE HIS WIFE? > al, that Barbara ee bent a smil6é of encouraging sympath: er. was born, with only myself to officiate. ‘‘T remembered all your poor mother’s pray- ers; I knew you would not inherit t!« then, and it would be a Christian murvy, I thought, to conceal this birth from everybody, and allow Mrs. Chetwynd, if she recovered, to learn, little by little, t you. She might attribute it to whatever cause she pleased. ‘““So I took the babe away; I — her, named her Barbara Lester, and, when she was older, left her at her father’s door, knowing your mo- ther’s great-heartedness and kindness.” Blanche had listened in rapt attention. “ But, the severed opal and broken chain that was on her person? I have so often heard my mother wonder what it could mean. We de- cided, one day, that it had meant her initials, and marveled at its similarity to the legendary three D’s, that denoted the ‘ Dishonor, Desertion and Death’ of the formed Curse. Later, when a letter came, telling us her name was ‘ Barbara Lester,’ we only thought we had been mistaken, and ceased calling her ‘ Della.’” ** Whether I did right or wrong, I leave you to decide, Whether my after course was right or wrong, I leave you to judge; but when I sent the child to her rightful home, I sent that half- jewel, and kept the rest for two reasons: one, that { might claim her in the future by it—the proof would be itive. The other, a vague earning to somehow or other identify her with er family legacy. It seems that I succeeded partially. ou saw De Laurian?” Blanche “Then, when suggested. orgotten. Yes, when I saw him, and had told him all this story, and he, in turn, told me his, I hated him, despised him, and feared him; yet, according to his directions, sought an engagement at e d Chase, resolved, though I ostensibly went in his interest to learn, if I could, what Barbara would do when she returned, as he felt sure she would, to renew my watchful care over both the babies I once had soloved. But, when Barbara made me her con- ante, and I learned the infernal blackness of er soul, I loathed her in Fed grab as I pitied you. How I felt when I knew she intended oisoning De Laurian, deeply though J disliked and censured him! It was J, Mrs. Davenal, who mana to dilute the drug with which she saturated t forged letter; it was I who watched over him in his coffin in the vault, knowing death was but simulated. He doesn’t know, though, that he owes his escape to me who left unlocked the door of the vault, and with my own hands unscrewed the coflin face. I could not see murder done.” Blanche was shivering from head to foot with this weird, strange recital; and yet, inspired by the fascination, urged Regina to go on. ‘‘There is little else to tell, Mrs. Davenal. I used to think at times I would lose my senses when I saw her pour the daily drop of liquid poison in your wine, your medicine or your soup. I used to wonder if I should not expose it all, regardless of the reckless punishment she would not have hesitated giving me, But I was a craven, a coward, and I let you go on and on down to hed grave, goes | however, that you would be rescued from it, and swearing then to save you some time, when her cat-like vigilance was removed.” ‘We will forget it all, dear Regina! You will be my helper now? you will save me from De Laurian, who swears I am his wife, and threatens such terrible things?” ‘‘T will save you, Mrs. Davenal, And when ou are safe in your mother’s arms, you will less me with a blessing that perhaps will sweep all this burden away. The woman’s hard eyes filled with tears, and her voice was husky and hoarse. ‘** Indeed, you s never be censured—never! But where Igo? Yow will go too?” ‘Tf Imay: when De Laurian goes out after dinner, and leaves you in my care, we will go. Once on the street, we can fly to wherever you “Tt must not be to Chetwynd Chase! I must Salonen at once to Roy, and wait at a hotel until he comes. I can readily prove my iden- tity to Braxton and Drayton, our solicitors, and they will see that my cheque is honored for the amount we need,” Her cheeks were glowing with vivid joy, and her eyes overfio with nervous th ess as she arose to take her babe, that, awakened, smiled in her face, “Tt seems as if my little girl appreciated my pes a doesn’t it, Regina? If nail, ard mother could but see her! my precious little one!” Curse | t no fatal curse fell on | upon her. ‘Have patience, Mrs. Davenal. It will only be a fortnight at the furthest before they arrive « home; for, of course, they will not delay a mo- ment. And I think the meeting will repay you for all you have undergone.” ' ‘Tt almost takes away my breath to think of it! Regina, if you will, I prefer lunch here in my room; and then, how lI the three long hours between now and liberty?” CHAPTER XXXII AN OLD FRIEND. INsTEAD of waiting the three hours that in- tervened between her luncheon hour and the dinner-time, Regina told Blanche a better = portunity presented itself for their immedia’ removal. Mr. De Laurian had left word that he was called out of the city and desired dinner de- layed about an hour. e had left no special message for Blanche’s security, doubtless feeling perfect confidence in _ woman he had obtained to take charge of er. It was not yet four o’clock, when, attired in a plain black alpaca dress and shawl, a vail » draped over her straw bonnet, and her baby a in a Marseilles circular, Blanche walk- —- the front door, that Regina unlocked or her. Once outside, on the top of the marble flight of steps, her head grew giddy with the sudden, new sense of freedom. Never before had she * shine and the air as she did m4 August afternoon; her: whole soul was filled with such an overpowering sense of thank- ful, triumphant joy, that she seemed treading on air. Regina put down the dead latch, and followed Blanche’s rapid footsteps. At the first corner she glanced up, and learn- ed, for the first time, in what street she had been staying; without a moment’s hesitation she turned toward Broadway, and walked until _ she reached the City Hall Park. Here she summoned a neat little cowpe, an reciated the sun- at warm, pleasant d she, her babe and Regina were driven direct to — the office of Braxton and Drayton. ; She did not alight, but sent Regina in to tell the startling truth to either of the partners that Mrs. Royal Davenal was alive and desired only a moment’s interview. ' Regina evidently told the whole of the wild story, for she was closeted in the private office nearly an hour; and then, bewildered and in- credulous, a white-headed old gentleman came out to the door of the coupe. He just glanced in, and clasped his hands in stricken astonishment, as though the proof were more strange than the story. “God bless me! Can it be possible? Is it really you, my dear child?” — soft smile—Blanche’s very own—answered im. ‘ ‘‘Tam more than happy tosay thatit really is I. Mr. Drayton, I am sure = congratulate me?” And then she told him she needed money and advice; both of which he gave her, and even ° accompanied her to the office, and himself sént the dispatch by cable. Asoo Most assuredly he did not advise her to go to a hotel; she must rgn a Bia home with Mrs. Drayton would onl too delighted and thankful to see her. She would be safe and well cared for until her returned. And nothing loath, Blanche made her abode at the hospitable home of her father’s stanch friend, to await the arrival of those who would greet her as from the dead. . They were very quiet, happy days to her; al- beit darkened at times by scorching memories, It really was worse to her, all those remem- hes ge that a sister’s hand had done the eed. But was Barbara her sister, her mother’s child? How could Mrs. Chetwynd have lived with her so many, many years, and never have ee by natural instinct, that she was her own Blanche was sorely puzzled about it. Over and over again she questioned Regina, always eliciting the same unvarying story. Mr. Drayton, towhom Blanche confided every thing, questioned and cross-questioned the tient, stolid woman, and he was satisfied of perfect truth of her story. ; Blanche had asked him if it would be lawful for Gervaise De Laurian to hold her as his wife. He assured her that, married as she had been to Roy Davenal after so long a time of suitable waiting, and under such unquestionable circum- ‘ | i i SeSe Ree) es OS halos oy see ode y bes ag) os
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Ss Vi are = Be ea 2." cin “ie ee eT een Se ee & = @6B s'8e See of BRR stances, she was legally Royal Davenal’s wife, ov whom Mr. De Laurian had not the stightest lawful or moral claim. Moreover, it did not look well for De Laurian to have kept himself hidden so long. He must have nothing at all for Blanche, or he would have hastened to her at once and ex- lained every thing. That waiting, until Bianche was married again, and then coming m, Again, why had he not had a charge of at- tempted murder brought against Barbara Chet- wynd? Why had he permitted her to go on in her evil way, and then revenge himself upon her in so peculiar a manner? Mr. Drayton carefully examined the case in all its aspects, and decided upon three points: First, to render assurance doubly sure, Blanche should secure a legal divorce from Gervaise De Laurian. : Second, since De Laurian had survived the attempt upon his life made by Mrs. Barbara Chetwynd—then Barbara Lester—she could not be made to suffer for it unless De Laurian him- self should be the prosecutor. Third, it remained at Blanche’s own option to arrest her on acharge of attempted murder, if she was still at Chetwynd Chase, which he very much questioned. The first of Mr. Drayton’s suggestions was immediately attended i. so that before the family sat down to dinner Mr. Drayton and Blanche had made all necessary pee ar rangements with an influential lawyer, who promised, under the uliar circumstances, to obtain a decree very s — F The second suggestion she had nothing to do with; the last affected her most painfully. How could she, even after all she had under ne at Barbara’s hands, deliberately deliver er up to justice? Had she been a stranger, lanche’s tender, mercy would have prevailed; but her sister—as she now fully believed—no, she could not ever do that. So, her mind freed from its burdens, Blanche passed happily the days that intervened be- ween her departure from De Laurian’s house and the e sted arrival of the steamer that ty bring father, mother, cousin and hus- ae to harass her, was extremely against d. Mr. Drayton had received no reply to his telegram, and, indeed, he had not expected it. e knew well that the miraculous news he had sent with the summons—‘‘ The dead is risen —Blanche is alive—come at once ”’—would s them on their way at the first available oppor- tunity. ‘However, because he thought Blanche would pleased, he had also telegraphed to the office of the Cunard Line in rms ae for the list of Cabin passengers that should sail by the first home-bound vessel. days after had come a reply; a list of Seventy names was sent, and among them those of Mr. Rexton Chetwynd, wife and servant, Royal Davenal, Rex Chetwynd, Jr., per steam- er * Pacific.” Anxiously had Blanche watched the sunris- ings and sunsettings, and now, a fortnight and three days after she had joined the Draytons’ family circle, the kind-hearted old man came rushing down from his office at the unseasona- ble hour of twelve. | “Blanche, dear child! the Pacific’s in!” CHAPTER XXXIV. THE VACANT CRIB. Very cozily indeed looked the dining-room of Mr. De Laurian’s house that evening as he en- Seed it from the glare and racket , outa in the y streets. His business comple is sat- isfaction, he felt in a very delightful mood as he Sauntered into the library, and from thence to the elegant dining-room. h The i e du cwisine was all attention, and he sat down to the delicious dinner in solitary state. He leaned back in his chair, carelessly toying with his silver 9on as he glanced over the ®vening papers, while the stately eboa statue Poured the coffee. The cloth was laid for two, Which was unusual, Blanche preferring ber Meals in her Own room. — ey so sure was he that she would had left the Lows La jlemands, that before he ouse . . @econd plate, given orders for The table was richly decorated with massive plate, gleaming crystal and rose and gold-band- ed Sevres China, and it had been the thought of how Blanche’s sweet face would look behind the coffee-urn that had sped him home that even- ing. — the orange-silk curtains the last sun- setting rays were falling, and yet Blanche had not come, or sent. Where was she then, he wondered? At first, _WAS. SHE HIS WIFE? he had believed her repulse was genuine, and he | had bit his lips in disappointment; but, as he thought of it, it seemed to him that she could not but reconsider her indignant denial. He grew impatient, and rung for Regina. Receiving no answer to his imperative sum- | mons, and not daring to think anything cowd be the matter, he himself went up-stairs direct to iow front chamber which Blanche had occu- pied. To his horror and consternation it was empty! She and Regina were gone; Blanche had es- caped him! ith a muttered curse on his lips he sat down to consider what to do. There was but one explanation to the disap- rance. Regina had played him false, and, ; — with Blanche, had sought safety and ibert y. e old witch! the treacherous cat!” The words hissed from his lips as he paced to and fro in the elegant room, his eyes bloodshot with anger, his lips trembling with passion un- der his amber mustache. She had not returned to Chetwynd Chase he felt almost certain; in New York, who was there to whom she could fly? He bit his lips as he thought of Braxton and Drayton. ‘Tt is to them she has appealed, and I doubt not that by this very moment that long-delayed message is on its way! Perdition seize me for trusting to any woman’s word!” His delicate dinner was untouched that night, and the man had his orders to take it away; while De Laurian, too restless to remain seated, too angry to enjoy a cigar, wandered aim- lessly Grout the house. He had been at great expense in furnishing it, as he believed Blanche would approve. Everything had been done with an eye her taste, and she had cordially admired, little knowing it was intended for a gilded cage for her. He would be obliged to go to work very cau- tiously to gain the clue of her whereabouts; and as he had but lately mingled among men as he used to do, he rather dreaded any notoriety when it became known that not he alone, but Blanche Davenal also, had, as it were, arisen from their graves. He knew, as well as old Mr. Drayton, that he could not compel Blanche to render him obedi- ence; and he also knew that Blanche would be approved by all the world in her allegiance to = Davenal. he sat and walked all that night, laying his lans. And when morning came he had decided hat ‘‘the game was not worth the candle.” In other words, his love for Blanche was secondary to the desire he had felt to humble her—and baffle Barbara Chetwynd. But, although he decided to let Roy have Blanche without any trouble on his part, he was not at all so willing that Blanche should escape so easily from his hands. She had defied him in word and deed; she had thwarted him when all things seemed most aus- picious. He had rescued her, and now he was very much disposed to hunt her down on an- other track, just to show her she could not, with impunity, afford to baffle him. 6 immediate neighbors might have won- dered where the lady, her nurse and baby had gone so suddenly; but no questions were pre- sumed upon. The next morning after Blanche’s escape a red flag was hung out the window; the furni- ture sold at a ‘‘ tremendous sacrifice,” and No. —— street, left alone in &s glory. Mr. De Laurian had driven away in a coupe, and that was the end of the little episode in that direction. But, during the two weeks that Blanche was at Drayton’s, awaiting her husband’s and pa- rents’ coming, De Laurian was not idle. He had taken a room at the Astor House, from which place he pursued his investigations as to Blanche’s whereabouts. A private detec- tive was acquainted with the leading facts, and Be to discover her present abode, Not only within a week did De Laurian learn she was sojourning at Mr. Drayton’s, on West Twenty-eighth street, but that a divorce was filed against him in King’s office, that news had “ ; | been sent across the Atlantic of Mrs. Davenal’s safety, that the ‘‘ Pacific” mail steamship would bring the party, and that Regina was in con- stant, devoted seep onnce upon her young mis- tress. = To all this ar of facts, De Laurian listened —_ earnestly ; paid the detective and dismissed im. So, then, all was fair weather, with Mrs. Roy Davenal. She had weathered the storms and was anchored fast in the harbor. He smiled as he thought that, then coolly | lighted a cigar and commenced smoking it, as ~ slowly promenaded the apartment he calle:l is. A week of the time since Blanche had escape him had passed, and he had been nursing in his heart the suggestions it had given him. It mat- tered not that Blanche had suffered so that she was all unsinning herself in the matter; his own heart, as base as ever beat, was still revengeful, if not jealous, and the novelty of being baffled by her lent strength to his determination to reach her yet. His thoughts were intensely occupied now by a Villainous scheme he had arranged for her. Barbara Chetwynd was out of the way; Re- gina should not suspect; Blanche believed her- self perfectly secure ; hence, it was the time to strike, if ever. The only difficulty he experienced was, whether it would “pay” him all the trouble he would be obliged to take. With his cigar in his mouth he walked out into Broadway to decide. The entire family of the Draytons had driven in their barouche down to the Cunard landi to welcome the returning party, whose arriv was the occasion of so strange and ecstatic a joy. Blanche, almost faint from her r impa- tience, remained at the house, where she might meet them and be greeted by the solemn privacy of home. Above-stairs, Regina watched the little Con- stanzia, as she slept among her laces and ruffles —the little one of whose existence its father did not know, or dparents dream. Blanche had dressed the baby with infinite care, in a robe worthy its name and relation- — A wide azure silk sash was tied around it, and elegant pearl and ruby armlets looped its sleeves. The yo mother had kissed it and given it to Regina while she went down to the parlor. Slowly as the minutes passed, it was not Jong before a cab rattled up to the door, and, throug’ the hot, blinding tears that hung like mist over her strained eyes, Blanche saw first Roy leap therefrom, in impatient haste, followed by Mrs. Chetwynd and her father. There was one second of agonized waiting, and then, with sobs of rapturous joy, too intense for words, Roy rushed into the room and clasped her in his arms. It was a wild, fearful embrace; that his loved from the grave, as it were; while the mother, in an agony of tears, so keen were her emotions, ¢ a hand, and Mr. Chetwynd another. Searcely a word was spoken: a solemn, holy joy, too deep for utterance, bound them in si- ence. Then Roy led her away to the window, and in her soft, sweet eyes, as tho his po never again could be filled with the sight 0 er. Later, when their tongues were unloosened, and questions could be asked and answered, the whole pitifully-sad story was told, from begin- ning to end. At first Mr. and Mrs, Chetwynd could not credit the truth; but when Regina was called down from the slumbering babe, and Mr. Dray- ton added his belief, they, too, were constrained to accept the unwelcome truth. It was a great shock to them, and Rex, as he listened in dumb silence, grew pitiful to behold, as all his love ~ confidence, was swept away at one fe ow. ‘*And yet I will refuse to credit all,” he sai — . “I will see her first, and then then—” His face w stony with the anguish sug- gested, and he turned away to hide it. And all this while Blanche was keeping her sweet gn then, when aoe = meee earnestly questioning Regina, 7 ayton engaging her father in conversation, she sli from the room, with beating ym wa tadtewhe J er little Constanzia down. But Roy’s eyes saw her depart, and immediately he followed her, overtaking her at the foot of the stairs. ce 8 jd +3
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aa ** I couldn’t lose the sight of you so soon, even for a moment. Oh, my darling, my own dar- wife!” , lanche nestle. in his perfect peace shining from eyes. ‘* You never can know, m Roy, all the terrible angui through. But I am more than repaid, dearest, by this hour; and when you learn what I have been holding in reserve, you will be aaEaee, yet. toy”—and she lifted her mouth to his ear— “we've a baby daughter, alive and well, Little Constanzia.” His face lighted up with a luminous pride. ““My darling Blanche! indeed I am doubly | blest! Take me to her, that I may give her her father’s blessing—this other little treasure snatched from the grave,” With light steps and happy hearts, that left impress on their expectant faces, they entered the room, and tiptoed across to the lace-canopied crib. Blanche tenderly removed the linen sheet— and a piercing scream burst from her. 2 o has taken her out? Roy—where is my baby?’ Her loud, agonized scream brought Regina in breathless h Her countenance turned fair- ly green with fear as she gazed, half bewildered, at the em ity crib. **May God help you—but I solemnly believe your bay. has been stolen by Gervaise De Lau- rian! I le and no one in this house has come up-stairs.” With a fearful, heart-curdling cry, Blanche sunk insensible beside the little vacant crib. CHAPTER XXXV. THE ‘‘STAR” OF THE BOARDS. stantly began their reign in Mr. Drayton’s man- sion. His family, who, after ting the returned tourists at the Cunard wharf, had, with com- mendable discretion, prolonged their drive home in order that the meeting might be private, drove up to learn the pitiful news just as it be- came known. Words seemed so powerless to depict the terrible anguish that came upon that household when the fact became undisputed that Mrs. Davenal’s baby had been kidnapped. yen love me, | ve pas ft her sleeping fifteen minutes ago, | WAS SHE HIS WI Little by little all hope of recovering baby Constanzia was abandoned, and the weeks |changed to months on their leaden pinioned | lad arms with | wings, while a sad, mute sorrow, seemed ever brooding over the unfortunate family. And all this while not a word had ever come of Barbara. Columns of personals had been rinted in the Herald, in all imaginable forms Put had failed to elicit a word from her. Rex, restless and miserable, when the first Chase ona tour of investigation, and the imme- diate family settled down in a quiet, retired way, seeing visitors, of course, when they came, and paying a few calls that courtesy impera- not be allowed to meddle with. And all these days Blanche Davenal’s heart was sinking, sinking with despair; her whole nature crying out against the awful, inhuman sin that had been committed against her; while Gervaise De Laurian— He had not remained in New York after the day of the Chetwynds arrival; it was very | warm, and, in obedience to all his impulses, he | gave up his room at the Astor, and stented off on an aimless pleasure tour. Long Branch, Saratoga, Newport, were in | turn patronized; then, ennuied, and pleasure- surfeited, he resolved to run over to England, and if he enjoyed himself, tour it all over the continent. As with Gervaise De Laurian to will was to do, in a fortnight after—while Blanche Davenal sat moaning and weeping amid the October brightness that glowed around Chetwynd Chase | —he smoked his ci in a fashionable restau- rant in London, and wondered how he should | pass the first evening of his arrival. Conspicu- | ous among the placards on the wall of the bar- THe intensest confusion and excitement in- , haps 9: the ae : | that night appeared in the famous role o | viel, the Avenger,” in ‘‘ Hunted Down.” It seemed so much harder to be borne, under | the peculiar circumstances that had reunited them, and ge a Laws wrent, SOE Ae tp spreading like e, sympathy an ers of assistance came po g ina flood u them. Immense rewards were offered for the return of the child, or information that would lead to its recovery. Detectives were sent out on Gervaise De Lau- rian’s track, for there was not the slightest ane but he had done, or instigated, the But success was not to be now, Various false rumors reached them from day to day, but these all proved as such, and when a fortnight had gone, there was less clue than ever. Through all these trials, Blanche, the long- tried, sore-afflicted mother, lay in a delirium of fever; and in the terrific struggle between life and death, they feared, if life were at last saved, her reason never could stand the shock. But when, the fever-light fled, she opened those sad, sad eyes that should never smile again, that would ever bear that brooding, eter- nal shadow in their brown deeps, they knew she was sane, and for it thanked the inscrutable Mercy that had mixed so bitter a cup for them | to drink. | Pallid, trembling, and heartbroken, she de- sired to be taken home to Che ble house of the Draytons, and returned to their silent, long-deserted home, just as the first Sep- tember days began, and there another surprise awaited them. They found the servants had returned from a holiday Mrs. Rex had given them—Regina hay- ; ; / ing prepared them for that news—and finding | the mansion deserted by Barbara, had taken upon themselves to force an entrance into the | servants’ wing, beyond which they had not ins truded, Much as Mr. Chetwynd and his wife, and Roy, expected to find hardly pre for the grief and anguish that fell upon when he could no longer doubt the fact of his wife’s foul perfidy and guilt. aecuae the halls | with Blanche’s | ’ ; The poor fellow wandered like one pan we re = yee A oe crushing grief, it seemed as if a Curse, in Hall cuirincnel them ail in tte boniber folds. | house, as Miss W room, Was an announcement that Miss Ethel actress and songstress, “ee Mu- Her beauty was extolled in warmest terms, and her | wondrous talent was too —— to express. A | fledgling in her art, she ad already had half London at her feet. So De Laurian strolled through the streets to the Prince of Wales Theater, where this star of the highest magnitude condescended to shine, se- cured a seat in the parquetitte, and, as usual with — of his style, began looking around or pretty women’s , To the preceding farce he paid no attention, nor was it until thunders of applause shook the i yndham came gracefully to the footlights, that he turned his eyes to the © © saw a magnificent-looking woman, cold as an iceberg, haughty as an empress, bowing to the admiring crowd. He saw the darkly flash- ing eyes, the streaming raven black hair, the perfect form, all as ina oy 4 maze, Cowld it be possible? Was he in a trance, or were all these a around him living beings? Was he really himself, and was that brilliant woman on the boards of the Prince of Wales Theater she whom he had betrayed, who had vada bine remember she ‘‘ was not yet done with im? His eyes were riveted eagerly on her, watch- | ing every motion as she moved about the stage. Gradually he decided that the resemblance was not so great as he at first thought. Miss Wynd- ham’s voice, though mellow and pleasant, had not that rich redundancy of musical tone that “hers” had. Again, and with a curse on his stupidity, he remembered ‘‘her” hair was brown, deeply, darkly brown, ’tis true, but very unlike Miss Wyndham’s ebon tresses that curled in loose twynd ;| masses from forehead to waist, while “hers” and, with sad good-byes, they left the hospita- | had fallen one heavy, arrowy tress, almost to her knees. But this Miss Wyndham was vig icmp f lovely; she was the *‘ rage,” and more than all, to Gervaise De Laurian, she was ‘‘ new.” So, weary of the same old faces, this bright, sunny-e one impressed him keenly, and he inquired quite earnestly about her. é learned she was only ‘‘ Miss ” on the yen she really was a widow, with one child, who had come to London at the death of her hus- | band, to earn her fortune by her art. arbara gone, they were | Not a word that she uttered escaped him; his admiration increased, his interest deepened; and when a shower of bouquets and wreaths fell at her feet, at the conclusion of ‘‘ Hunted Down,” ,_| there was one tiny offering of a tuberose and jessamine leaves, to which was attached a card fearing tis name of the giver—‘ Gervaise De Laurian. ‘ KE? poignancy of his grief wore off, left Chetwynd tively demanded, and which their sorrows could | CHAPTER XXXVI VENGHANOE AT LAST. Iv was a delightful apartment in which Ethel | Wyndham, the popular actress, was sitting, late | that night. A little distance off stood a beautiful walnut cradle, with a high canopy of azure silk under | white lace; in the cozy nest slept the actress’ | babe; and watching it, with an expression on | her face that you never would have dreamed could have saddened its ripe, rare beauty. She had not removed her dress of amber satin in which she had performed the last act, and on her white arms and. neck still gleamed the dia- monds that had flashed with every turn of her body. And her darkly-pale face, where it seemed a smile never again could come, was bent in ear- nest attention over the sleeping child. ““Grace,” she said, in those low, pleasant tones, to a colored nurse who dozed in her chair, ‘“Zelia has not awakened since I went outt Bring me those smaller bouquets from the table, and take these boots off for me.” She leaned wearily back in the cushioned chair, watching the woman, as she deftly se lected the desired articles, with that listless, calm, unambitious air so strangely at variance with the piquant brilliancy she assumed on the stage. One by one she lifted the flowers and in- haled their fragrance; then, removing from the rest the tiny spray of geranium and tuberose, glanced casu y at the card attached. As if stung by a scorpion, she sprung from her chair, dashing her lapful of blossoms right and. left. ; ** Leave me alone, Grace, at once,” Her voice was husky, and had a far-away, unnatural sound, that made the babe in its slum- bers start, as if affrighted. Then, when the ser- vant had obeyed, she sunk down again in her chair, a vivid, glowing spot of crimson on either cheek, and a bright intensity of light in her eyes. Several minutes she sat there, patting her foot against the plushy pink carpet, the carmine on her cheeks fading to ashen pallor. ‘‘And has it come to this, to this? Has he crossed my path again, just when I deemed my past life so nearly forgotten amid the excite- ment of the present? I am doomed, doomed to measure lances with this man—and why should I hesitate? J, who never shrunk from—” A shiver ran over her at some memory. “‘[ll do it—the fates are leading me on, sure- ly if slowly! Grace! my writing-desk!” Calm, haughty, ectly at ease as ever, she summoned the waiting attendant, and when her writing-desk was brought, hastily penned a message, “Tf Mr. De Laurian desires the acquaintance of Miss Ethel Wyndham, he can learn her address of the manager. Miss Wyndham receives few calls. but will admit Mr. De Laurian upon one condition: that he consents to see her en masque.”’ , “Take this to Manager Robbe, Grace, in the morning, early; now, assist me to undress,” She retired to her bed, but sleep would not | visit her eyes; she tossed restlessly to and fro, | on the downy pillows, and then, in sheer de- spair of ing the drowsy god, arose, threw around her a white cashmere wrapper, and, in her bare, oe ge feet, commenced a long, rest- less promenade, through the early hours of that cold, gray autumn morning, she paced the floor; at times wrapped in deepest depression of spirits, and | then the sad, worried look in her eyes chased suddenly away by one of bitter wrath and in- tensest agitation. “Tt. is impossible, woop | impossible! I thought, in this new, strange life, I effectu- ally overcome all the evil-heartedness of those other days, but it arises like a mighty avalanche when I think upon him! I hate him with an unearthly ha ! I fled from the Mae te ne and the temptation has followed me! e very finger of Fate has led him to me!” She clasped her hands tightly together; the rings cutting into the throbbing flesh. ‘*T will do it! his very name has fired the worst passions of my heart! I dare declare I will do it, with that innocent, guileless babe sleeping’ under my very eyes! that kidnapped Blanche’s baby—that have never touched it but in tenderest care, shall seize on Gervaise De Laurian, who has followed me on to his doom!” p And then, when the brilliant eyes gleamed seraugai dere emiin ae torvible, agpired nclage rare @, 80 e, on her coral-red lips, you knew it was Barbara Chet- | wynd to whom Gervaise De Laurian was being
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led, as she said, by the inscrutable hand of mys- terious aay When the flushing morning broke, she had made her breakfast toilet; later, drove out in her brougham with Grace and little ‘‘ Zella,” as she called baby Constanzia; and when the air- ing was over, and she returned to her rooms, a note awaited that, when she read, paled her cheeks for a second. Then the proud light returned to her eyes. “Grace, bring my crepe mask, and leave Zelia in her cradle. When Mr. De Laurian rings, show him in, and retire.” She had scarcely given the directions when . the summons came from the door. She hastily adjusted the mask, threw a glow- ing searlet opera cloak on her gray silk carriage costume, and, bowed a cold, graceful greeting to Gervaise De Laurian. “I can not tell you how grateful I am to you, Mrs. Wyndham, for your condescension in al- lowing me to pay my respects to you in person.” She bowed gracefully in returu for the im- plied compliment. ‘‘Tam a trifle surprised that you addressed me as ‘Mrs.’ How did you learn I was married?” “Rumor said so. I beg pardon most humbly if I was mistaken, I can but envy the memory of the husband you were such a treasure to.” A little low.laugh rippled behind the mask. “ All husbands are not appreciative.” “JT cannot imagine yours being otherwise. He would be a very brute.” “So I thought; will you close the window, please? I really think I am chilly.” De Laurian sprung to obey the languidly-ut- tered request, and when he returned, drew his chair closer to her side. She did-not repulse the movement, and De Laurian; emboldened, took «a3 of her hands in his. e felt it tremble slightly: had he:known why! but he did not, and attributing # to reasons flattering to his conceit, hé felt a thrill of joy in his veins, as he leaned nearer her. ‘I regret you desire to hide your face from me, dear lady. Why not let me look and adore, as I did last night?” ‘“A nearer acquaintance might disenehant you, you know,” “‘Tmpossible! the memory of your beautiful face will haunt me forever, Can I not persuade you to unmask?” His low, eager tones were almost whispered against herear,. 4, - “Did ‘you nof know that everybody wears masques, Mr. De Laurian? Not of crepe, like this, to sure, or perhaps not at all visible to human-eyes. How am I to know you are what you wc saci Although her words were earnest, her man- ner was light and jesting ; but he could not see the terrible, momentarily kindling fires in her eyes. “For instance,” she went on, “when I am on the stage, [am as a masked woman.. Beneath my smiles and gayety I hide more sorrow and shame than people dream of, Mine has been a bitter cup to drink; I have been through many deep. waters, and, Mr, De Laurian, you may not believe me, but I'am thirsiin for revenge! But what high tragedy am I ulging in? Come, see my baby.” , She arose from her chair and went across the floor to the cradle, where the child lay, awake and smiling. ; m4 De Laurian gave a casual look preparatory to the flattery he supposed expected from him, Then he star ; stared at the child, and turned abruptly back toward— There she stood, in all her awful beauty— Barbara Chetwynd ! Transfixed with.the suddenness of the shock, he could only stare wildly, and: essay to gasp her name. But the thunder of her voice rolled in his ears. “We meet again, face to face, for the last time, Gervaise De Laurian! Look ‘at me, for I am she ! look at the child, for it is Blanche Da- venal’s!” — For a moment only he recoiled in horror; then, his lips curling with contempt, would have left the room without another word. But Barbara sprung before him with a high, shrill laugh, “ No, Gervaise De Laurian, I have sworn by all the powers of Hades that you do not esca me again! Once, twice you baffled me, and the memory rankles still. Then, when I had en- tered the house where that sleeping baby lay, while all was confusion and glad excitement below, and stole it to punish its mother, I vain- ly thought to expiate my sins by goodness and kindness to it. But when you unsought, came to my very door, all the devils in my soul clam- ored hungrily for vengeance. I will have my gp BEE LES oi h T dread pe I ir APE 7 vengeance, Gervaise De Laurian, and you shall The officer inquired if there was any package know what it is to be hunted down by the wo- man you have disgraced, deserted!” Her majestic form seemed to tower above bim. He saw her eyes, flashing like a madwo- man’s. He heard the quick, low breathing; and then some bright object flashed from her bosom; a noise, a deathly horror— And Gervaise De Laurian was launched on the Sea of Eternity! He lay as he fell, graceful even in the rigidity of death, while Barbara looked grimly down at her work, reckless of the crowd surging up the stairs who had heard the shot; reckless of the terrified wailing of the baby in the cradle. The door burst open; the excited crowd rushed in, and then Barbara started in affright. She cast one look at the foremost figure, and with a cry of infinite agony, spoke his name. ‘*No! no! not Rex Chetwynd!” Then, with the speed of a lightning flash, she snatched the tiny revolver, placed it against her temple, drew the trigger, and fell a corpse across Gervaise De Laurian’s body! CHAPTER XXXVIIL. THE MYSTERY NO MORE. STRANGE as they seemed, Barbara Chetwynd’s last words were true; it was indeed her husband, Rex Cheer: who had gone on his loving, hopeful task of finding, somewhere in the wide, wide world, the wife of his bosom whom he so worshiped, and, though against whom such awful calamnies had been hurled, he could not believe so vile, so fiendish a creature, From Chetwynd Chase he had wandered aim- lessly westward; while in Chicago, he had picked up a London paper, and casually read the advertisement of the ‘‘charming Miss Wyndham.” ith peculiar force, the similarity of a part of the name had occurred to him. His one ob- ject in life was to learn from Barbara’s own i s her innocence or guilt, by which he would abide; this might be she; at any rate she was as likely to be in England as America, and he might as well follow this imaginary thread in the dreadful tangle as any. So~he sailed for Liverpool, and arrived in London several hours previous to the tragedy. He had at once gone to the manager of the Prince of. Wales theater, and learned the ad- dress of Mrs. Ethel Wyndham, and was wonder- ing as he mingled with the crowd that was con- stantly surging past her windows, how he would obtain an interview, in consequence of her not ap ing for a fortnight on the boards, t the very moment he passed her door, with slow steps and scanning eyes, had come the pistol-shot, and the heavy fall, and the infant’s shrill scream that alarmed the passers-by. Foremost with the crowd, and side by side with a policeman, he entered the room, in time to see, but powerless to prevent, the terrible closing of the tragedy. It needed but a glance to recognize Gervaise De Laurian, and there came to him the awful suspicion that Barbara had added to her long’ catalogue of sins the heinous one of disloyalty to him. His heart was bursting with anguish as he knelt beside the ill-starred pair; little did he dream how fearfully their vow had been kept, although made in omeg | by the one, and earnest by the other that “Death alone should part them!” The crowd stood back a moment, awed by his ‘stony scrrow, as he softly smoothed her bright hair, aud closed her heavily-lashed eye- lids. Then, when the officer had kindly sug- gested him to retire, he mechanically walked to the cradle, where little Constanzia lay, in terri- fied silence, her brown eyes raised in piteous, wistful entreaty, her tiny lips quivering with read. A fresh pang of anguish thrilled his very heart- strings. Barbara’s child—and perhaps No, he would not harbor the thought. She was dead now, as well past any more sinning as repenting. As he stood there, looking at the baby and hardly seeing it, came the passing thought of how. different the home at Chetwynd Chase would be if this were Blanche’s—and the thought suddenly suffocated him. Blanche’s child! “Might it not be Blanche’s of a verity? De Laurian was supposed to have abducted it— and'there lay De Laurian, dead. n his feverish excitement, he called for the nurse of the child, and communicated. his sus- cions to the officer. Grace said the.child was rs. Wyndham’s as far as she knew, and that she never had heard it called by any other name than Zella. of clothes anywhere that the a took special care of? Y Grace said there was; a bundle locked up in a drawer that ver was allowed to open. She had seen Mrs. Wyndham often have it, but beyond the glimpse of something blue she did not know what it contained. ~* The drawer was broken open, under the officer’s directions, and the package given to Mr. Chetwynd. “Before I open it, asa proof that I am sure that child is my cousin’s, 1 will describe its con- tents as advertised. There will be a blue silk sash, fringed at the ends; an embroidered suit of underclothing; a lace ruffled robe; a pair of armlets, and a blanket, all marked C. C. D., the initials for Constanzia Chetwynd Davenal.’ The package was opened, and Mr, Chetwynd’: list found complete, while, as though the “‘ finger of Fate ” had been as determined about this affair as Barbara had averred it was in another, there was a letter unsigned, undated, but unmistakably written in Barbara’s hand. “ Constanzia’s clothes, August 31st.” It was the very day of the event that had well-nigh killed Blanche, the day the “ Pacific ” arrived; the day Blanche had received her decree of divorce from Gervaise De Laurian. Further proofs were not deemed necessary, and in a very few days the little one was given to Rex Chetwynd to take to his mother. He secured the services of the colored woman, Grace, and took immediate passage home, having seen the last rites performed over the remains of the beautiful woman, who, with her headlong passions, her fiery temper, had inher- ited, to a terrible fatality, first, ‘‘ dishonor,” then desertion, and finaJly death, the Curse of Chetwynd Chase. The first gathering shades of Christmas Eve were falling over Chetwynd Chase; the lights were gleaming from window and hall as Rex Chetwynd drove up the leafless avenue to the home he was going to bless, but from which the light and brightness was forever fled for him. Rapidly the carriage containing its precious freight hove up, and reined in at the front entrance. Bidding Grace remain where she was until he beckoned, Rex sprung out and went up the steps. The doors were not fastened at that early hour, and without any trouble he made his way to the dining-room, where he supposed the family were at dinner. He was. not mistaken; they were at dinner, poe he was in their midst before any one saw im. The greetings were quiet, but full of love and tenderness; and when each in turn had been embraced, he turned to Blanche. ““T have brought you a Christmas present; you will accept it?” A wan little smile hovered for a moment on her lips. ‘‘ Most assuredly, Rex; yet I would ask no better present than to know you were happy once more.” ~ crossed his face as he answered very gently: ‘“‘T have but one request to make, for my Christmas gift. I will tell you once for all, that Barbara is dead, and Gervaise De Laurian also sleeps his last sleep. I saw them both. When, or where, never shall cross my lips, God will- ing. All I ask is, never mention it to me again.” A solemn awe-struck silence fell on them: and God only knows the feeling of their hearts as they sat there. ‘« But let us cast aside — thoughts. The past can not be recalled; md I am going to give Blanche her Christmas present.” He went to the window and beckoned to Grace, whom be met at the door, and divested of her burden. With rapid, irregular steps he crossed the room to Blanche, who, with sudden, excited manner, had risen from her chair. “Oh, Rex!—Rex!—” Her eager question, prompted by some won- derful instinct, died on her lips as crossed the room to her, and laid the smiling, beautiful baby in her arms—her own, her yery own! We leave them to their rapturous sy on that never-to-be-forgotten Christrtias ve, when by the same Hand that led Blanche through such raging waters, she was brought toa great glorious light that never was dimmed in by the shadow even of “ The Curse of Cheteyee Chase.” THE END.
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“A Bright Particular Star of Popular Weeklies |” “A First-Class Family Paper!” pe Unrivaled Among Popular Pa In the good repute of its large corps of Contributors; In the variety, scope and interest of its contents; hy, and order of its * make-up.” ~-+- In the beauty of illustration, typograp A FIRST-CLASS POPULAR WEEKLY, aiming at what is Best, FRESHEST AND Most ATTRACTIVE in Fiction, Romance and Novel—in' Sketch, Story, and Narrative—in City Life Revelations—in History, Biography and Events—in Wit and Humor—in Poetry and Essay—in! Special Departments of the Useful and Practical—in Answers to Correspondents—Topics of the Times—in Taiks with Our Girls— in Fashion Notes and Social Chit-chat, etc., etc., etc. Entertaining, Instructive and Amusing, it meets the tastes, wants and demands of old and young alike, and is the Congenial Companion, the Welcome Guest at Firssides, in Houses, Shops and Offices IN ALL PARTS OF THE UNION! No paper now published in this country having a wider circulation, and none being received with so much favor by that class of people who are solicitous that what they read shall be both pure and good. The following brilliant and powerful stories will be among —._The Serials for 1882: —— THE LADY OF THE LONE ISLE; or, More Sinned| ONLY A FARMER’S DAUGHTER; or, Marrying a Against Than Sinning. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. Fortune. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. MAN OR WOMAN; or, A Midnight Mystery. By Albert} A POOR GIRL; or, High and Low Life in New York. W. Aiken. By Albert W. Aiken. HER AWFUL DANGER; or, The Secret of Silver | CLOUDED IN MYSTERY; or, A Heart Bowed Down. Willows. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. : LOVE’S TALONS? or, The Claw ’Neath the Velvet. By |THE LOST LOVE LETTER; or, The Postmaster’s Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. Daughter. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. And Serials, Sketches, Home and City Life Romances, Essays, Poems, etc., etc. by the following well-known popular writers: LUCILLE HOLLIS, CAPT. MAYNE REID, FRANK E. HAMILTON, MRS. JENNIE DAVIS BURTON, FANNIE MAY WITT, MRS, MARY H. FIELD, ANNABEL DWIGHT, CAPT. FRED. WHITTAKER, T. C. HARBAUGH, EBEN E. REXFORD, FRED. T. FOSTER, PAUL PASTNOR, MATTIE DYER BRITTS, CORINNE CUSHMAN, FRANK COREY, HARRIET M. SPALDING, EDWARD WILLETT, CARL COURTENAY, CHARLES MORRIS, ABBIE C. McKEEVER, HARRIET E. WARNER, FRANK M. IMBRIE, MRS. MARK PEABODY, WM. R, EYSTER, ROGER STARBUCK, JNO, H. WHITSON, JNO. W. SNYDER, JOSIE C. MALOTT, RETT WINWOOD, BELLA D. HIXON, EMILIE CLARE, GARRY GAINES, as well as the special contributions of the inimitable wits and humorists WASHINGTON WHITEHORN, JOE JOT, Jr., and BEAT TIME, and the sparkling essayists and pen-preachers, THE PARSON’S DAUGHTER and EVE LAWLESS—all of whom cater exclusively for the Sarcrnpay JouRNAL, while in its department of ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS, those who are conversant with such literature Proncunce it the best and most interesting column of the day. Taken all in all the Satunpay JouRNAL is the 3 — Journal Par Excellence for the Lovers of a Wholesome Popular Literature, amd those seekting for what is best and most enjoyable in that line should become its readers. The Saturday Journal is Published Weekly at the Following Rates: Por Four Months...................... Rccesies meas hea $1.00 Two Copies for One Year...... oseeecccccesses esse OOO ety t_ -_ a aavaeters -.-. 3.00 Single Copies.... ioe tetteeeteeeceeseseseeresess 8 Comte BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK.
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ee Firesid Each issue a complete novel and sold at the uniform price of TEN CENTS. 1. Was Sux His Wore? Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 2 FLEEING From Love, By Harriet Irving. 3 Dip He Love Her? By Bartley T. Campbe 4 A STRANGE Woman. By Rett Winwood. 6 Two Giris’ Lives. By Mrs. M. R. Crowell. 9 THe War or Hearts. By Corinne Cushman, 11 THe FAuse Winow. Mrs. J. D. Burton, 12-13 Lost ror Love. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 1415 TorerRsior rox Ska, By Victor Hugo. 16 Tue QvapRoon. By Catharine A. Warfiold. 17-18 Uncie Sinas. By J. S. Le Fanu. 19-20 Deav-Saa Frort. 21-22 LirrLe Kate Kigsy, 23 Sowrna Tite Winn. 24-25 Birps or Prey. By Miss M:),W Braddon 26 Tuar Boy or Norcorr’s. Chavles Lever. By F. W. Robinsor 27-23 CHARLOTTE’s INHERIPANCESBy Migs Braddon. 29 A Gret’s Heart. By Rett Winwood. 30-31 Rep As A RosE is Sug. BY Rhoda Brought 32 Tre Liy or St. Erne, By Mrs. Crow. 33 STRANGELY WED. By Mrs. J. D. Burton. 34 THe Gipsy Brive. By aL FE. O. Malen. 35 ANNIE TemMPLE. By Rey. J. H. Ingraham. 36 WirHovur Mercy: By Bartley T. Campbell. 37 Buack Eyxs anp Bivur. By Vorinne Cushma 38 Brave Barsara. By Corinne Cushman 39 A DANGEROUS WomMAN. 40 Ourpa’s. Love. By Henrietta EB. DeConde.. 41 Lost: A Wire. By Cdbinne Cushman. 42 WINNING Ways,..By Margaret Blount 43 A’ Woman's Heart. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. 44 THe DEAD LETTER. Seeley Regester. re Lorp Lisie’s Davert By C. M. braeme, » 47 VIALS or Wratu. By Mis. MaryReCrowells 48 A Wiip Girt. By Corinne Cushman. 49 THe Mappgst MARRIAGE VER WAS, By Burt 50 Lovz InA Mazu. By Mrs. E. F, Billet. 51 CarHotina.. Byy Dr. J... Robison. 52 A Romance or A Poor Yoona Giru. E. F. El 53 Tae.Lockep Heart. By Corinne Cushman, 54 Tur Prive or THE DoWnNes. By M, Blount. 55 A Strange Ginn. By es W. Aiken. 56 THe Pretty Puriran. By 57 Dip Sue Sin? By MrspiMary Reed Crowell 58 Dovusiy Drvorcen. By Jenny Davis Burton. 59 A Wickep Woman, By Lillie D.U; Blake: 60 BLIND Barsara’s Storer.” Mary Halpine. * AN AMERICAN QuEEN. By Grace Mortimer. By Miss M. E. Braddon. | Mrs, Mary R. Crowell. | By Margaret Blount, | A Parson’s Daughter. LLL LLL ALLL LLL 62 / 68 “ll. / 64 | 65 | 66 | 67 | 68 69 70 lea ‘ 3, ~J =} =) pee 3 Love-Map. } A BRAVE Grr. } Tae Exon Mask. 59 A Wipow’s Wises. B RLSSSSSSRER™ LSSLS Two Young Girus. By Alice Fleming. THe WINGED MessenGer. By Mrs. Crowell. Aaners Hops, tHE Actress. By W. M. Turner. One WomAn’s Heart. By George S. Kaime, Sa: Dip Nor Love Hm. By A. Southworth. 3y William Mason ‘Turner, M. D. 5 Alice Fleming. 3y Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell By Rachel Bernhardt. 3y Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton. By Sara Claxton. By Margaret Blount. By Anna FE. Porter. Cecru’s Drecert. A WickEep HEART. Tae MANIAC BRIDE. THe CREOLE SISTERS. WHat Jeavousy Dip. By Alice Fleming. THe Wire’s Secret. By Col. Juan Lewis. A Broramr’s Srv. By Rachel Bernhardt. FORBIDDEN Bans. By Arabella Southworth. WEAVERS AND Wert. By Miss M. E. Braddon. Camitir. By Alexander Dumas. THs Two Orprans. By D’Ennery. My Youne Wire. By My Young Wife's Husband THe Two Wipows. By Annie Thomas. Rose Micnet. By Maude Hilton. CrectL CASTLEMAINE’s Gace. By Ouida. THe Biack Lapy or Duna. By J. S. Le Fanu. CHARLOTTE TEMPLE. By Mrs. Rowson. CHRISTIAN OAKtry’s Mistake. By the author of ‘* John Halifax, Gentleman.” My Youne Huspanp. By Myself. A Quen Amonest Women. Her Lorp AND Master. By Florence Marryat. Lucy. TEMPLE, A Lone Time Aco. By Meta Orred. | 125 | 1296 Wen THE Sup PLAYING For HicH Stakes. By Annie Thomas. | THe Laure, Buss. By the author of “John Halifax, Gentleman.’ Lep Astray. By Octave Feuillet. JANET’S REPENTANCE. By Geo: Lliot, RoMANCE OF A Poor Youna Man. By Feuillet, A TrerrisLe Dezp. By Emma Garrison Jones, A GILpEp SIN. THe AuTHoR’s DaucuTeR. By Mary Howitt. THe Jit. By Charles Reade. ErLeen ALANNA, By Dennis O'Sullivan. Lover's Victory. By B. L. $e Tue Quiet Heart. By Mrs. Oliphant, Lettice Arnoitp. By Mrs. Marsh. Havuntep Hearts. By Rachel Bernhardt. | 183 Lorp Rora’s Sm. | 102 | 106 99 MarJorre Bruce’s Lover. ss Mary Patrick. 100 TuRovuGH Fire AND Water. By Fred. Talbot. 101 Hannan. By Miss Mulock, Pea Worrrneton. By Charles Reade. A Desperate Deep.. By Erskine Boyd, SHADOWS ON THE SyNow, By B. L. Farjeon. THe Great Hoqaarty Dramonp, Thackeray. From Dreams TO WakING. By EvL. Linton. Poor ZepH. By F. W. Robinson. THe Sap Fortunes oF THE Rev. Amos Banr- 103 104 105 107 108 Ton. By George Elliot. 109 Brirap-ANp-CHEESE AND Kisses, By B. L. Farjeon. 110 Tok WANDERING Here. By Charles Reade: 111 THe Brotrner’s Ber. By Emilie F. Carlen. 112 A Hero. By Miss Mulock. 113 Pac. and Virermta. From the French of Bernardin de St. Pierre, "TWAS IN TRAFALGAR’B Bay. Besant and James Rice, 114 By Walter 115 Tae Marv or Kriierwa. William Black. 116 Herry. By Henry Kingsley. 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 Tue Waysmpr Cross. Capt. E. A. Milman. Tue VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. Oliver Goldsmith. Maup Monan.. By Annie Thomas, THADDEUS. oy Warsaw. By Miss Jane Porter Tre Kina or No-Lano. By B. Li Parjeon. LoVEL, THE Wipower. By W. M. Thackeray, An Istanp Peart. By B. L. Farjeon: Cousin Parinis. Lema; or, Tar ‘Steer or Grenapa. By Ed- ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton.) Comes Home. By Walter Besant and James Rice. 127 One OF THE-FAMILY. By James Payn. 128 The BmrHRicur. By Mrs. Gore. 129 Moruertess. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 130 Homeness. By Albert W. Aiken. 131 Pera atom Sister. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 132 Sopp For Gop. By Mrs. M_ V. Victor. 3y Mrs.Georgiana Di -kens, A new issue every week. Newsdealers, five cents per “copy. or sen THE WAVERLEY Liprary is for sale by all . ve pel by mail on receipt of six cents each. Se ee Hueu Meron. By Catharine King. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, AniGe"LeARMonT. By Miss Mulock 98 William: street, New York. _ Sy a Oe na IO I, fe POR On, ayy 7 ~ ~— —_ ! — wares I ee
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TRUTH SBAaA A New Library Expressly Designed for “Our Boys”. WHO LOVE True Stories of Stirring Lives! Tales of Actual Perils and Adventure! Romance of Sport’ on Field and Flood! Daring Deeds and Great Achievements. On the oceans and seas—in the deep, silent forests—on the boundless plains—in the mountain fastnesses and the untrailed hillsa— ever the wild game ranges and the cattle ranches—on lakes, rivers and lonely lagoons—over the world, everywhere; thus being something Wholly New and Novel, and giving a literature which in quality, kind, and. exciting interest is PECULIARLY THE AMERICAN BOY’S OWN! NOW READY AND IN. PRESS. No. 1. Adventures of Buffalo Bill. From Boyhood to | No. 17. Plaza and Plain; or, Wild Adventures of ‘ Buekskin ood. Deeds of Daring, and Romantic Incidents in the | Sam,” (Major Sam S. Hall.) By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. early life of William F. Cody. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. | No, 18, Rifle and Revolver; or, The Littleton Gun Club on the No, 2. The Ocean Hunters; or, The Chase of the Leviathan. | Buffalo Range. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. A Romance of Perilous Adventure. By Captain Mayne Reid. | Wo, 19, Wide-Awake George, the Boy Pioneer; or, Life iu (3 An extra large number. 0 a Log Cabin. Incidents and Adventures in the Backwoods. No. 3. Adventures of haa — “aed oa Pissed Re- By Edward Willett. markable career of J. B. Hikok, (known to the world as | am : . \ “Wild Bill”), giving the true story of bis adventures and acts. | ee gyn Dpahing Praise Point to alae line Senta’ “Dy By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. | Captain Frederick Whittaker. No. 4, The Prairie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle Herders. | Wo, 21, Deadwood Dick as a Boy; or, Why Wild Ned Harris, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. the New England Farm-lad, became the Western Prinee No. 5. po mage are —. ater n J cam trims Adven- | of the Road. By E. L. Wheeler, Solonel Prentiss Incrnbens SxS Jack.” BY | No, 22. The Boy Exiles of Siberia; of, The Watch-Dog of vee Prentiss Ingraham. 2 Rustia Be T, C. Harbaugh. Dog No. 6. Cruise of the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys in Ceylon. | No. 23. Paul De Lacy, the French Beast Charmer; or By G. Dunning Clark, ) New York Boys in the Jungles. A Story of Adventure, Peril No. 7. Roving Joe: The History of a Young “ Border Ruffian.” | and Sport in Africa. By C. Dunning Clark. Brief Scenes from the Life of Joseph E. Badger, Jr. | No. 24. The Sword Prince: The Romantic Life of Colonel By A. H. Post. Monstery, (American Champion-at-arms.) By Captain Fred. No. 8. The Flyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys "Round the World, | Whittaker. By C. Dunning Clark. . | No. 25. Round the Camp Fire; or, Snow-Bound at “ Freeze- No. 9. Bruin Adams, Old Grizly Adams’ Boy Pard. | out Camp.” A Tale of Roving Joe and his Hunter Pards. By Scenes of Wild Adventure in the Life of the Boy Ranger of | Joseph E. Badger, Jr. the Rocky Mountains. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. No. 26. Snow-Shoe Tom; or, New York Boys in the Wilderness. No. 10. The Snow Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of Fur-Land. A Narrative of Sport and Peril in Maine. By 'T. C. Harbangh. A Narrative of Sport and Life around Lake Winnipeg. | No. 2%. Yellow Hair, the Boy Chief of the Pawnees. By T. C. Harbaugh. The Adventurous Career of Eddie Burgess of Nebraska. By No. 11. Old Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tamer; or, The | Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. Monarch of the Mountain. By Dr. Frank Powell. | No. 28. The Chase of the Great White Stag and Camp No. 12. Woods and Waters; or, The Exploits of the Littleton and Canoe. By C. Dunning Clark. Gun Club. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. No. 29. The Fortune-Hunter ; or, Roving Joe as \Miner, Cow- No. 13. A Rolling Stone: Incidents in the Career on Sea and Boy, Trapper and Hunter. By A. H. Post... Ready June 28. Land as Boy and Man, of Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. By | No, 30. Walt Ferguson's Cruise. A Tale of the Antaretic Sea. Professor William R. Eyster. By C. Dunning Clark. Ready July 5th. No. 14. Adrift on the Prairie, and Ar. ateur Hunters on A New Issue Every Week. } the Buffalo Range. By (ll Co: No. 15. Kit Carson, King of the “ ‘ides; or, Mountain BEADLE’S Boy's Library is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents Paths and Prairie Trails, By Alber . Aiken. per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. No. 16. Red River Rovers; or, Lif 2d Adventures in the BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pustas HERS, Northwest. By ©. Dunning Clark. ' 98 William Street, New York.
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1 The Masked B ide; or, Will She Marry Him? By Mrs, Mary Reed Crowell. 2 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet- hearts. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 3 The Girl Wife ; or, The True and the False. By Bartley T. Campbell. 4A Brave Heart; or, Start! y Strange. By Arabella Southworth’ nf Bessie Hay The Quicksan Turner, M. D. The Secret Marriage; or, A Duchess in | Spite of Herself. By Sara Claxton. A Daughter of Eve; or, Blinded by Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed well. Heart to Heart; or, Fair Phyllis’ Love. | By Arabella Southworth. Alone in the World; or, The Young Man's | Ward. By the author of “Clifton,” ‘‘Pride and Passion,” etc. A Pair of Gray Eyes Necklace. is the Work Girl}; or, f Life. By William Mason or, The Emerald ' 46 The Little Heiress; or, Under a Cloud. | 96 Haunted Hearts; or, The Broken Be- By Rose Kennedy. 11 Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. B Henrietta Thackeray. ij 12 His Lawful Wife}; or, Myra, the Child of Adoption. By Mrs. Ann 8, Stephens. Madcap, the Little Quakeress} or, The Naval et's Wooing. By Corinne Cushman. Why I Married Him; or, The Woman in Gray. By Sara Claxton. A Fair Pace} or, Out in the World. By Bartley T. Cam 1. Trust Her Not; or, A True Knight. Margaret Leicester. A Loyal Lover}; or, The Last of the Grims- peths. By Arabella Southworth. His Edol; or, The lll-Starred Marriage. Mrs. Mary Crowell, The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus | Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine. Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, The Lost Heir. By Agile Penne. Now and Forever; or, Why Did She Mar- | ry Him’ By Henrietta Thackeray. The Bride of an Actor} or, Driven from | Home. By the author of “ Alone in the World,” By By | “ Clifton,” etc. 23 Leap Year; or, Why She Proposed. By Sara Claxton. } 9 . 24 Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Elea- nor Blaine. 25 Only a Schoolmistress; or, Her Untold | Secret. By Arabella Southworth. 26 Without a Heart; or, Walking on the | Brink. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. Was She a Coquette? or, A Strange Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray. Sybil Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. . Ann 8. Stephens. For Her Dear Sake; or, Saved From Him- self. By Sara Claxton. i The Bouquet Girl; or, A Million of Money. By Agile Penne. © A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By | Mary A. Denison. j Mariana, the Prima Donna; or, Roses | and Lilies. By Arabella Southworth. The Three Sisters; or, The Mystery of | Lord Chalfont. By Alice Fleming. | A_ Marriage of Convenience; or, Was | Hea Count? By Sara n. 35 Sinned Against; or, The Winthrop Pride. By Clara Angusta. 36 Sir Archer’s Bride; or, Tes Queen of His | 28 By | 32 Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 37 The Country _Cousin; or, All is not Gold that Glitters. By Rose Kennedy. 38 His Own Again} or, Trust Her Not. By Arabella Southworth. 39 Flirtation; or, A Young Girl's Geod Name. | By Jacob Abarbanell, (Ra/ph Royal.) 40 Pledged to Marry; or, In Love's Bonds. | By Sara Claxton. 41 Blind Devotion; or, Love Against the | World. By Alice Fleming. 42 Beatrice, the Beautiful; o Love. By Arabella Southworth, 43 The Baronet’s Secret; or, The Rival Half- ) Bisters, By Sara Claxton. 44 The Only Daughter}; or, Brother against | Lover. By Alice Fleming. 45 Wer Hidden Foe}; or, Love At All Odds. | By Arabella Southworth, ) r, His Second | | 77 Christian By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. | 47 Because She Loved Him; or, How Will It End? By Alice Fleming. 48 In Spite of Herself; or, Jeannette’s Repa- ration. By 8S. R. Sherwood. 49 His Hearts Mistress; or, Love at First Sight. By Arabella Southworth. 560 The Cuban Heiress La Vintresse. By Mrs. ry A. Denison, | 51 Two Young Girls; or, The Bride of an Karl. By Alice Fleming. 52 The Winged Messenger; or, Risking All fora Heart, By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 53 Agnes Hope, the Actress; or, The Ro- mance of a Ruby Ring. By William Mason Turner, M. D. 54 One Woman’s Heart; or, Saved from the Street. By George 8. Kaime. 55 She Did Not Love Him; or, Stooping to Conquer. By Arabella Southworth. 56 Love-Mad} or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced ‘and —, By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 57 A Brave Girl; or, Sunshine at Last. By Alice Fleming. 58 The Ebon Mask; or, The Mysterious Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 59 A_Widow’s Wiles; or, A Bitter Vengeance. By Rachel Bernhardt. 60 CeciPs Deceit; or, The Diamond Legacy. Burton. By Mrs. Jennie Davis 61 A Wicked Heart; or, The False and the True. By Sara Claxton. 62 The Maniac Bride; or, The Dead Secret of Hollow Ash Hall. By Margaret Blount. 63 The Creole Sisters; or, The Mystery of the Perrys. By Mrs. Anna E. Porter. 64 What Jealousy Did; or, The Heir of Worsley Grange. By Alice Fleming. 65 The Wife's Secret; or, 'Twixt Cup and Lip. -By Col. Juan Lewis, 66 A Brother’s Sin; or, Flora's Forgiveness. By Rachel Bernhardt. 67 Forbidden Bans; or, Alma’s Disguised Prince, By Arabella Southworth. 68 Weavers and Weft; or, ‘‘ Love That Hath Us In His Net.” By Miss M. E. Braddon. 69 Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette. By Alexandre Dumas. 70 The Two Orphans, 71 My VWoung Wife, usband. 72 The Two Widows, By D’Enery. By My Young Wife’s By Annie Thomas. | 73 Rose Michel; or, The Trials of a Factory Girl. By Maud Hilton. 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gages or, The Story of a Broidered Shield. By Ouida. 75 Whe Black Lady of Duna, Fanu. 76 Charlotte Temple. By J. 8. Le By Mrs. Rowson. Oakley’s Mistake. By the author of “‘ John Halifax, Gentleman,” etc. 78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in the Family, By Myself. ee the ilded T9 A ueen Amongst Women. author of ‘* The Cost of Her Love,” ‘ Sin,” “Dora Thorne,” “From Gloom to Sun- light,”’ ete. 80 Her Lord and Master. Marryat. 81 Lucy Temple, Sister of Charlotte. 82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred. 838 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thomas, 84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of “John Halifax, Gentleman.” 85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot. 87 The Romance ofa Poor Young Man, By Octave Feuillet. 88 A. Terrible Deeds or, All for Gold. Emma Garrison Jones. By Florence '89 A Gilded Sin. Thorn,” etc. 90 The Author’s Daughter. By Mary Howitt. 91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade. 92 Eileen Alanna; or, the Dawning of the Day. By Dennis O’Sullivan. | 93 Love’s Victory. By B: L. Farjeon. 94 The Quiet Heart. By Mrs. Oliphant. 95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh, : By By the author of ‘Dora | or, The Prisoner of | | American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS! The Cheapest Library Ever Published! trothal. By Racbel Bernharat. 97 Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont. By Miss Mulock. 99 Marjorie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary Patrick. 100 Through Fire and Water. ¥red- erick Tatbot, bef Hannah, By Miss Mulock. Peg Wofflington. By Charles Reade, A Desperate Deed, By Erskine Boyd. Shadows on the Snow. By B. L. Far- jeon. The W.M 101 102 103 104 105 Great Hoggarty Diamond. By Thack eray. 106 From Dreams By E, Lynn Linton. Poor Zeph! By F. W. Robinson. The Sad Fortunes of the Rev. Amos Barton. By George Eliot. By Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses, The Wandering Heir. By Charies Reade. to Waking. 107 108 109 B. L. Farjeon. 110 111 The Brother's Bet; oar wee Six Weeks. By Emilie Flygare Car A Hero. By Miss Mulock. Paul and Vi mia. From the French of Bernardin De St. Pierre. Twas In ayataigey Bay. By Wal- ter Besant & James Rice. The Maid of Killeena. By William Black. Hetty. By Henry Kingsley. The Wayside Cross; or, The Raid of Gomez. By Captain E. A. Milman. 118 The Vicar of Wakefield. Goldsmith. 119 Maud Mohan. 112 113 114 115 116 117 By Oliver By Annie Thomas, 120 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss Jane Porter. : 121 The King of No-Land, By B.L. Far- jeon. 122 Lovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack- eray. 123 Amn Island Pearl, By B. L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin. Phillis, 125 Leila; or, The Si of Grenada. By Ed- ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton). When the Ship Comes Home, Walter Besant and James Rice. One of the Family. By James Payn. The Birthright. By Mrs. Gore. Motherless or, The Farmer's Sweetheart. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, 126 By 127 128 129 130 Homeless ; or, Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert W. Aiken. 131 Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry of Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 132 Sold for Gold; or, Almost Lost. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. | 133 Lord Roth’s Sinj or, Betrothed at the Cradle. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens. 134 | | 1386 — He Love Her? By Bartley T. Camp- 135 Sinned Against; or, Almost in His Power. By Lillian Lovejoy. Was She His Wife? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. | 137 The Village on the Cliff. By Miss Thackeray. ly June 27th. 188 Poor Valeria; or, The Broken Troth. By Margaret Blount. Ready July 4th, | 139 Margaret Graham. By G.P. R. James. Ready July 1th. A new issue every week. Tae Wavertey Lisrary is for sale by all News- dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on re- ceipt ef six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William street, New York