Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 149) (1882 09 19)
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AVE ) © ge WOR: Semen eS em ERY sg (RRS 2 .e.Sacowo Het and Best Library! QB za oH Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. >ameoseoseteon The Cream of American and Foreign Novels for Five Cents! September 19, 1882. $2.50 a year. No.149. Vot. VI. An Ambitious Girl: ’ She Would Be An Actress, BY FRANCES HELEN DAVENPORT. CHAPTER L. ALONE IN THE WORLD. THE blacksmith was dead; old Sabban Kuni- bell had gone to his long home, and his only child—his only living relative, as far as any of his neighbors knew—his daughter, the tall, the queenly, the blonde-haired girl, was all alone in the world. The story of the blacksmith’s life, since he had dwelt in the village; was a plain and uneventful one, for in these little secluded hamlets, where | oe to his past life, for the gossips of Cold Snake | { one day is but the pattern of the preceding one —where not once in a year does anything start- PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. ling happen—what was there in the quiet, hum- drum life of the honest workman worthy to be detailed at length? He had an odd name—one, once heard, not easily forgotten—Sabban Kunibell; he was a stranger, a foreigner, apparently, who bad come to the village and set up his smithy some eighteen years before the time of which we write. ith him came his wife—a dark-eyed, mae terery eeraer ae = woman, but very lady- like—and a little girl of wonderful beauty. There was a mystery about the man; that polpt all agreed Ne He was a pretty good lacksmith, but a far better scholar: his house- hold goods were few, his way of living plain, but be was evidently educated far above his = ap station, and had surely seen better days. is little library was the wonder of the village, had heard of, but had never seen. The man was strangely reserved, too, in re- id not hesitate, when they found he was not tal gn iqtithn THE GIRL LOOKED UP AND GAVE A LITTLE SCREAM WHEN SHE SAW A STRANGER WITH THE LANDLADY. for it contained books that some few of them | PRICE, 5 CENTS inclined to be communicative, to ask him, blunt- ly, who and what he was, where he came from, for they surmised that he was an Englishman, although he never admitted it, nor what were the reasons why he had selected their village as an abiding-place. These questions the black- smith pushed aside with the greatest ease, with- out satisfying the eager curiosity which had prompted them in one single particular, and he accomplished this task so nicely, and in such a gentlemanly way, that even the most persistent gossip could not take offense. And the blacksmith’s wife was 7 mot as re- served as her husband, although she had a proud, imperious way of answering, which did not make friends for her; but, seemingly, she was | far better pleased to keep away from her neigh- | bors than to be on friendly terms with them. Years passed on, and the village curicsity finally died away, as the fire dieth that is not | supplied with fresh fuel. he daughter—who, by the way, was as | strangely named as her father, being called eM PAGKE LS UA hes RG A ka ks Lg i RN AAS ADT | ETE FY ESTAR SIA bl nt TL) CL Ty aaa rtrd 7.
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Years passed on, and the village curiosity finally died away, as the fire dieth that is not su age with fresh fuel. e daughter—who, by the way, was as strangely named as her father, being called Halah—grew to girlhood, freely acknowledged as the belle of the village; but she was, like her rents, shy and not disposed to make friends. be was no favorite among the other village girls, for they declared that she was a stuck-up thing, seeing that her father was only a com- mon blacksmith, She was educated at home, and that tended, too, to keep her away from the rest, and so the girl grew up almost without a companion of her own age. When she was six- teen her mother died suddenly, and the cares of the household falling upon her when other girls were thinking of beaux and pleasuring, tended to withdraw her from the life that ordinarily fal's to the lot of the village girl. As a matter of course, being the prettiest girl for miles around, tall, stately, with a queen-like air, and the most beautiful dark blue eyes and golden hair imaginable, it was quite in the course oc nature for every young fellow in the village to try for her smiles, But, though very polite and ladylike to all, there was only one who could boast that he was even received on friendly terms by the black- smith’s ‘* Jim ” Plumgate, the lawyer. The Plumgates were an old New Jersey fam-,) there to throw any light on the subject; there ily, dating ’way back to the Revolution, and it had always been the boast of old Daniel Plum- gate, Jim’s father, when in his cups, that his an- cestors always had been loyal to the Crown— Tories, in fact. It seems strange, in our time, that a man should glory in such a boast, but the old lawyer did. * The blacksmith was dead, and the blacksmith was buried; and now, two days after “ earth to earth” had been consigned, the young lawyer made bold to call upon the Mloridleas girl in or- der to learn what her plans were for the fu- ture. All the gossips in the village had been pre- | fear—” Sasa daughter, and this was young | private papers, which he kept in an old-fash- AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. **T will; but Irely upon you not to disclose my intentions to any one.” ‘A lawyer never betrays his clients, you know,” ‘In a measure you are acquainted with my father’s secret,” the girl said, lowering her voice as if the subject was a solemn and a sacre one. ‘In a measure, yes; when my father died, he | confided it to me,” Plumgate replied, in the same guarded tone, ‘Por some reason my father lived in constant ‘Yes, fear that his sojourn here would be discovered, and—” “And what?” asked the girl, anxiously. That is all I know,” The girl drew a long breath, and a weary ook came over her face. ‘** And that is all I know, too; I fancied that perhaps you had some clew,.” ** No, ot T know absolutely nothing but that he fled to this secluded spot, selecting it, as being far froma railroad, for a hiding-place, and that he was in daily dread of being discovered.” “And yet I cannot bring myself to think it was for any crime; my father was too gooda man in every way to ever have wronged a hu- man being. Ihave carefully examined all his ioned mahogany box, but there isn’t anything isn’t a paper in the box which dates back of the time when he came to this place.” ‘* But, did he say anything on his deathbed to clear up the mystery? ‘“Not a word; he died in the night, and ab- ruptly; no one was near: I was tired with watching, and had fallen asleep. When I awoke the blow had fallen.” “But the name your father bore; do you think that it was his right one?” “On, yes: Lam sure of it, for it is inscribed on the fly-leaf of all his old books, and some of them are dated twenty-five years ago.” “‘The mystery, then, whatever it was, evi- dicting a match between the two, and now in| dently has died with him; but now, to return the dusk of the evening when one of them, in passing down the street, happened to see the young lawyer knocking at the door of the black- smith’s humble abode, in great glee he hurried off to report the news, The girl received the young man kindly, as was her wont, and the lawyer, with the brisk- ness characteristic of the man, proceeded to the business upon which he had come. “You will pardon this intrusion, Iam sure Miss Halah, when I explain what has brought me here,” he said, as he accepted the proffered chair. take a very great interest in your welfare, and | is. now that this great sorrow has fallen upon you, | for twelve dollars a month, and that will almost I thought it was my duty to come and see what su you eee to do in the future.” ‘*You are very kind, indeed, and I am ey A glad you have come, for I stand in need of ad- vice,” the girl answered. “Tt? that is the case, it is very luck | call,” the young lawyer remarked, his face brightening up; ‘‘but I can assure you it was with fear and trembling I knocked at the door, for—pardon the remark—you have such strange fancies sometimes, offending you.” ust a slight shade of color came into the pale | they are. I feel that I have genius fora stage- face of the girl, and she hesitated a moment be- fore she replied: ; it is true. Ihave discouraged your visits, al-| though [I know you are really and truly a friend, | for I did not wish to_give village gossips a chance to chatter. I amsosick of this miser- gers which wil able place; a young man and woman cannot! s Pp as if there was noother destiny in this world for | a girl but to get m humdrum life!” a curled in pS pee ae t. “Well, it is oe e aim and end of a! young girl’s life,” the lawyer observed, not pleased with the way in which the girl spoke. ‘¢- Yes, but I am not like other girls, and I do not wish the world to talk of me in such a way, The world!” she cried, with a sudden burst of energy. “‘WhatamItalkingabout? This mis- erable little place is not the world, and what does it matter whatis said here? To-morrow I am going away, and I trust I shall never see this place again.” ; “To-morrow?” The lawyer was astonished at the abrupt move. ‘Yes, for good!” ** Tf it is not a secret, will you tell me where rou are going, and what you propose to do?” that I am always afraid of | you in such a life?” |achild. I want but the opportunity, I am sure, “Tam not offended at the remark, for I know to win the laurel crown,” ; — to each other here, without the whole; I have an acquaintance, who has promised ta | ce is alive with reports that they are lovers— | aid me.” ed and settle down to a suddenly remembering a piece of village gossip ‘the proud lip of the girl) —— had come to his ears only a few weeks _ the an actress, and he, like you, warned me of the | promised to do all he could for’ me, to yourself: what do you propose to do?” ‘I shall take the stage to Freehold, to-mor- row, and then the train to New York.” “But you do not know any one there?” **T do not think I do,” the girl answered, just a little trace of hesitation in her manner. ‘*And have you money enough to support you until you get somet ing to do, for pale e ook sume that you are going to New York to for a means of earning your own living?” ‘*-Yes, I have nearly three hundred dollars, | besides this house and lot, and I want you to | ‘Of course, as you are well aware, [| try and let the house for me, all furnished as it Get what you can for it. It ought to rent pport me in the city, I think.” ‘Three dollars a week is very little to live on | in New York. But, what do you think of do- | a om you get there?” am going on the stage; I intend to become | dri I did | an actress.” The young man was decidedly astonished at | the calm reply. “But, at heavens!” he exclaimed, ‘‘ have you any idea of the difficulties that lie before | | ‘No, but I will conquer them, no matter what life—I have always thought so, ever since I was The young lawyer uttered a deep sigh. ‘Oh, Miss Halah, Iam certain you will re- gret this step; Mos haven’t any idea of the dan- beset you.” ‘‘T must meet and conquer them all; besides, ‘“‘T can guess who that is!” asserted Plumgate, ore. aoe the faint plush stole into the cheeks of rl. $ oh, yes, I know; the story was all over the village. I happened to be in Freehold, and I went to a dramatic entertainment at the hall and, after it was over, I became acquain with one of the actors. He took me for a silly girl, and thought I wanted to flirt with him; I allowed him to walk with me; he was a gentle- man, as I had thought, and he soon saw his error. I told him of the wish I had to become dangers and difficulties which attend such a | life; but when he found that I was resolute, he | He saw | | | worl | —took a glass of | thing,” the in tall 'in talking of often substituting w for v, that I was no flighty girl, but a woman deter- mined in my purpose.’ ‘And do you go to him, in New York?” asked the lawyer, ‘No, but to a lady whom he has recom- mended.” ‘*Take care, take care! You have no idea of the many snares that exist to entangle a beau- tiful girl like yourself in the great city. There | are people there, both male and female, worse | and more merciless than wild beasts. **T cannot bring myself to know what fear is,” the girl answered, looking more queenly than ever as she spoke. ; The young man had come with a certain pur- een and although from what the girl had said, e knew that he stood no chance at-all of ac- complishing what he sought, yet he could not help speaking. e ‘** Miss Halah, you are a very strange girl, and therefore one cannot approach you like other young ladies; I have something very important say, and I came this evening expressly to say it, but, hang me! if I know how to say it.” The girl looked at him a moment with her clear, keen eyes; then she rose and extended her | hand to him. ‘““Youhad better leave it unsaid,” she re- plied, frankly. ‘Let me go forth into the d and make my struggle; let me be cheered with the hope that I have at least one friend who will watch my career with _interest—a friend to whom I have. never given pain.” ‘But I may hope—” ‘* Without hope what is there to life?” The decree was given, and Plumgate bowed his head in submission. The next day the girl quitted the village, and in a very few hours New York, the great me- tropolis, swallowed her up. CHAPTER II. TWO ON THE SCENT, Tue full, round harvest moon was high in the heavens and threw its broad bright beams down over the quiet country, and by the aid of its light a well-dressed man with a florid face, bushy side-whiskers, after the English mutton- chop style, rather stout in build, was making his way to the little graveyard where the mor- tal remains of the blacksmith reposed. The man had arrived in Cold Snake only about half an hour before, coming ina buggy drawn by a white horse, which the landlord of the hotel, where he stopped, at once recognized as belonging to one of the Freehold livery stables, * The stranger had a very smooth, persuasive sort of way with him. He alighted, remarked to the landlord that it was quite a chilly night for the time of year—it was early in September apple-jack, at which he made ug awry face, us tho he didn’t like it, and then adued if there was any blacksmith in the neigh- borhood, as he was afraid one of his horse’s shoes was loose and he had quite a distance to vi . The landlord replied that the =f blacksmith there was in the village, Kunibell, had, unfor- tunately, died a few days ago. The stranger was at once struck by the name. “Kunibell—Kunibell? Bless my soul!” he ex- claimed, ‘‘I used to be very well acquainted with a man of that name, long years ago.” The tap-room loungers at once pricked up their ears at this. “Yes, sir; I once knew a man by that name; not in this country, though, but across the water. He was nota blacksmith; his first name was Sabban.” Every soul within the room started and stared at this; was the mystery of the dead man cor- ing out at last? ‘ Well now, sir, this I must say is a wery odd landlord observed: In Southern the inhabitants have the strange Lge: ta after the Cockney style. “‘ What is odd?” the stranger demanded. “Why that is the name of our blacksmith, or he that was our smith.” ““Sabban Kunibell?” “‘The wery same!” - ‘Good heavens! but it can’t be sible! yet T haven't seen him for a great num r of years '—in fact had completely lost sight of him for | the last twenty ' that he came to t and I understood, too, so it may be that He was rather ears, fis country it was my old friend, after all | tall, with light hair and no beard—” “He had light hair, but a big beard,” inter- rupted one of the bystanders, ‘Ay, but he had no beard when he first came here, twenty odd years ago, maybe!” declared the landlord, in a tone of voice that brooked no
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<M AN MBITIOUS .GIRL. questioning. ‘‘Why,I remember just as if it was only yesterday; I had just taken possession of this old house then, and repainted the snake out yonder on the sign. I remember how he came into the village, just as well, he and his daughter—” F ‘Ah, yes, his daughter!” interposed the stranger, in his brisk, bustling way, ‘‘I re- memiber her very well indeed, and a fine strap- ing young woman she must be now; let me see, o name was Hada.” There was a general chorus of dissent at this. ‘*Oh no,” the landlord hastened to say ; * you have got the name wrong; it is Halah.’ The stranger looked puzzled; he appeared to be much surprised. ‘Well, it may be Halah, but I would have bet twenty to one that it was Hada.” ‘*She never was called that, here.” And the rest all. chimed in with the landlord in this, and the host took advantage of the stranger’s surprise to get in a question. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, what business was Mr. Kunibell in when you knew him?’ A well-affected look of surprise the man put on now, but it didn’t deceive the villagers; for they were sure it was assumed. ‘** What business?’ and then he pretended to think. ‘‘Bless my soul! it’s very odd; I ca’n’t for the life of me remember; something in the commercial line, in the city, I believe; but, dash my buttons! if Iremember. By the by, where is this young lady now? I should really like to call upon her, just to see if she is the daughter of my old friend, or not.” ; ‘‘ She’s goneaway—went away this morning.” ‘* Where to?” ‘‘ No one knows; she’s a close-mouthed body, and never tells her business tonobody. To York though, I guess.” house in his care.” ‘*T really feel interested, and I think I should like to see Mr. Plumgate. Where is he to be found?’ / The desired information was volunteered and the stranger proceeded to interview the young lawyer. ow young Plumgate, being a lawyer, was used to men of devious and slippery ways, and mistrusted the stranger from the start, but of course didn’t let the other perceive this; on the contrary, he seemed to be overflowing with a desire to afford bim information; though, un- luckily, he was not possessed of much. iss Halah, not Hada, as he informed the gentle- man in answer to his pointed inquiry on this point, had gone away, but in regard to her des- tination he was ignorant; she had left her oe. erty in his charge and had said that she would write to him in regard to it. “Well, I should very much like to see her,” the stranger declared. ‘‘ Here is my address New York,” and he ciled a few lines on a card, which he took his pocket, ‘If you learn the lady’s address drop nie a line and I will be pleased to call upon her.” ‘<Certainly,” replied the other, but at the same time men arpa the Aas y mind that he wouldn’t do anything of the kind. ‘¢ Where is Mr. Kunibell buried?’ ‘‘Jn our village graveyard.” ‘Tf it is near at band shouldn’t mind taking a look at the grave of my old acquaintance,” and the stranger put on a melancholy expres- sion, but the young lawyer understood the dodge at once. : ‘Thinks that he can getsome information from the tombstone,” Plumgate thought, but he directed the stranger which way to go and the man took his departure. Straight to the graveyard then the seeker after information proceeded. Thanks to the bright light afforded by the moon there was no difticulty in finding the spot, and the plain slab which marked the resting-place of the black- smith was easily discovered. _ It was savage in its simplicity, and bore only we a of the dead man, and the date of his eath, ‘*Sabban Kimibell!” the man muttered. ** Well, there isn’t much information to be got out of that.” ‘* Not much,” responded a hoarse voice, and a medium-sized man, dressed in a rather shabby black suit, and with a decidedly Jewish cast of features, rose from behind a neighboring tomb- stone, where he had evidently been concealed, and leered at the other. ‘Bless my soul!” cried the Englishman, start- ing in astonishment, “if it isn’t Jerry Kinlan!” Yes, gov’nor; your humble servant to com- mand,” and the man ducked his head and grin- nedagain. “But I say, who would have thought it? o would have thought of a cove like yourself coming away across the herring-pond on this ’ere lay?” and the man jerked his thumb, significantly, toward the tombstone that mark- ed the blacksmith’s grave as hespoke. ‘‘ No, sir-ee, you could have knocked me down with a feather when I see’d you a-coming into this ’ere place, and I sed to myself, sed I,if it ain’t Archibald Pasilwaite, I’m a son of a gun!” For a moment the Englishman seemed per- plexed. Had the unexpected appearance of the other disconcterted his plans? * But, I say, gov’nor, the thing has gone up a tree here.” ‘You are in for this, eh?” the other asked, significantly. ‘© You had better believe it!” ‘Of course you know the man is dead.” Sartin. At first I reckoned that it was a ‘plant’ to throw anybody off the track, but there ain’t any doubt of it. The gal is alive, though.” ‘‘Named—?” and Pasilwaite cast an inquiring glance at the other. ‘“‘Halah, they say round here, but Hada as we know it, and that’s another thing that stumps me. ‘** Who are you acting for, in this matter?” ‘‘ Ax me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” ‘Well, good-night to you; I wish you luck if you don’t spoil my game.” ‘*Same to you, gov’nor!” And the two parted —both sleuthhounds, though of different breeds. It was a question which first should run the game to earth. CHAPTER III. THE THEATRICAL BOARDING-HOUSE. THe girl went ht to New York. Al- though she had always been bi ht up in the country, and had not been in the city three times in her life, yet there was nothing about her to denote the rustic, thanks to the excellent education which she had received from her parents, and the peculiar, though natural dig- pe which wasso marked a trait of her nature. he was, as we have said, a very beautiful girl—one who would have attracted attention any where, clad in any garb. The trav- eling-dress which she wore could not have been much more plainly made and yet with her stately carriage she looked like a queen in it; hardly a man who did not turn to take a second look at the charming young woman. She had the direction given her by the youn actor in her ket-book, and when she arriv in New York, after leaving the depdt, she in- quired of the first policeman she saw in regard to the street. The officer directed and then, as she went on her way, took a good look after her. ‘* Bleecker street, near Crosby, eh? Blessed if a gal like that hadn’t ought to go Fifth ave- nue way!” he remarked, sagely. Miss Kunibell found the house easily enough; it was one of those old-fashioned brick man- sions which, some fifty years ago, were all the style and occupied by the aristocracy; this was before the days of shoddy and Fifth avenue; but now, style and wealth have fled A math, and Bleecker street has been surrendered to the vulgar and the ‘‘common” people, and to the demands of trade. The lady ascended the broad stone steps and rung the bell. There was no doubt in her mind that she was at the right place, for a modest tin sign affixed to the side of the house read: “BOARDING. “ S, Mabuory.” A sharp-faced, broad-shouldered woman, well along in years, but still right in her prime, an- swered the bell. ‘“‘Mrs. Mallory, please,” said the girl. The woman favored the visitor with a look as if she would read right through into her heart, and Halah, understanding that she was under inspection, bore it bravely, although a glint in her eyes indicated that she did not relish it. The boarding-house keeper, for the woman | was Mrs. Mallory m person, was somewhat sur- prised at the appearance of the caller, for she was decidedly different from the common run of fish that usually came to her net, but the im- pression made was a decidedly favorable one. “Tam Mrs. Mallory; what do you wish?” 4 ** To see about getting board, if you please. “Well, young | lady, this is not a regular boarding-house— : . ‘“‘T know it, madam; you keep what is termed | a theatrical boarding-house, I believe.” ** yes, but are you on the stage?” and the looz which she cast seemed to express a doubt. ‘‘ No, madam; but I expect to be.” Mrs. Mallory was surprised; she did not un- derstand. “T have come to New York with the idea of learning to be an actress.” The landlady gave a contemptuous sniff. ‘* Indeed, young lady, if you will take my ad- vice you will go straight home to your folks aud give up such a foolish idea,” **T cannot, madam; I have no folks; I am all alone in the world and must fight my own way as best I can.” “Of course you know your own circum- stances best, but if you were a daughter of mine I should do all I could to keep you off the stage. Ihave ason who is an actor—a young man of talent, miss, but he will never make anything on the stage if he stays there until his head is gray.” “T am slightly acquainted with your son madam, and it is through his directions that t came here.” A look, black as night, swept rapidly over the woman’s face. “You are acquainted with my son?” she snapped out. Miss Kunibell realized that the boarding- house mistress was amazed and ruffled at the intelligence, yet couldn’t possibly imagine why she should be. ‘ ** Yes, very slightly; I made his acquaintance this summer when he performed in Freehold— that is the town near which I lived. I inform- ed bim of te Be to become an actress, know- ing that he being on the stage would be able to ord me some useful information.” ‘*Humph!” ejaculated the other, in a tone which clearly indicated her disapproval of all these p ings. ‘* And what did he say? Ad- vised you to go, of course, and turned your head with the silly story of how easy it is to jump on the stage and at one bound win fame and fortune. ou have got a pretty face, and I presume that that pretty face made a fool of him, as a pretty face always does of a man, no eae how great the results may be of his ow this was such very plain speaking that it was impossible for Halah to misunderstand it; i irene she was a country girl, she was quite equal to th8 occasion. She drew herself up proudly, and her face flushed. . You are quite mistaken, madam; your son tried to persuade me not to attempt to become an actress. He said it was a hard, toilsome and disagreeable life, and that not one out of a thousand who followed it achieved distinction.” ‘A lottery with a thousand blanks to every one prize!” the woman added in her decided way. “Yes, madam, so he stated; but, when he found that I was determined upon trying it, he gave me your address and advised me, if I ever id come to the city in pursuit of my Will-c’- the-Wisp, as he termed it, to come directly to your house; ‘for,’ as he said, ‘while under my mother’s roof she will take care that no harm comes to you.’” * That is true enough, either from him or any- body else,” the boarding-house keeper muttered, not at all mollified by the compliment. ‘ Have you any baggage?” ‘A large valise only; I am not very rich in worldly goods, but Ihave a little store of money that I have saved up for this venture, and I have a little property in the country which I rely upon to bring in a smallincome.” Halah made this explanation, for she did not wish the boarding-house keeper to think that she came ay ‘Well, I guess I can make room for you,” Mrs. Mallory said, ‘‘ although, if you take my advice, and as know what is good for your- self, you will get out of this city and go back to your country home as soon as possible.” “T must make the attempt, madam, and, after I have failed, then it will be time enough to think of something else.” The landlady had half-turned upon her heel as if to admit the applicant, and then, a sudden thought occurring to her, she faced around, a stern look upon her keen face. **One question first, young lady, before you enter these doors, and I charge you, as you value your happiness and peace of mind in this world, to answer it truly: Are you in love with vy son?” he question was so abrupt, so entirely unex- pected, that it took Miss Kunibell completely by surprise, and, for the moment, she knew not what tosay, Thequestion irritated her. With her mind ed on the bright goal toward which.
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4A AN AMBITIOUS GIRL her anxious feet _were pressing, what had she to / acting my boy would never have been afflicted do with love? Was the world all mad, that love seemed to run in the thoughts of every one she met? Her face was an expressive one, and the ex- perienced eyes of the woman easily, and cor- rectly, read the thoughts that were passing in her mind, ‘* There, there; never mind answering!” Mrs. Mallory exclaimed. ‘‘I see that I was wrongin my suspicions, and I thank Heaven I was; never a foot inside this door would you have stepped if there had been anything between you two, I am glad of it, for I could hardly believe that Gordon would be base enough to ruin all your life, situated as he is, with a terrible curse hanging over— but, that is neither here nor there; business is his business, and it is none of mine, so long as he keeps his troubles away from me. But, I say, young lady, don’t you mind me,” she added, noticing the look of won- der upon the fine face produced by these strange words. ‘I’ve got an odd way of 5 - some- times, but you mustn’t mind it; my bark is a great deal worse than my bite.” hen the woman led the way into the house and ushered the young lady into the parlor—the par- lor which was furnished as boarding-house par- lors have been furnished from time immemori- | —but there, that’s nobody’s business. Sara is at Niblo’s Theater; she is one of the regular company, not like this little tiger-cat of a Rich- mond; she’s only there for a few weeks, and the quicker she gets out of here the better. If she gets into any of her tantrums here I'll take and put her out neck and heels!” and Mrs. Mal- ‘ory shut her teeth in a very significant way. arp ideas came into the mind. | whom the landlady made such a threat, and what strange associates was she doomed to en- | counter in her desire to become an actress? “By the way, you haven’t told me your | name?” Mrs, Mallory added, in her sharp way, after quite a pause. ‘* Halah Kunibell.” _ landlady knitted her heavy brows to- ther. ‘*What an odd name! That is your own, sure enough; no one by choice would ever adopt such a one, /own name, when you go on the stage?” | This was the first time the idea had ever oc- curred to the girl, and a sudden horror came over her at the bare idea of appearing before the public under her own proper name, Possibly the bor- ror came from the dim, dark secret which had young lady’s | hat sort of a girl was this one against | Are you going to play under your | al: a big-figured Brussels carpet, decidedly the |'for so many years clonded her father’s life. He | worse for wear, four chairs and a sofa covered | had hidden himself away in the obscure village with hair-cloth, a small center-table, a large so that his very existence might remain un- | mirror between the windows, and an old-fash- ioned piano, which had evidently been extreme- ly ill-used; a rocking-chair, too, corresponding with the rest of the furniture, was not missing, and this Mrs, Mallory proceeded to occupy, mo- tioning the girl to one of the other chairs, and the antiquated piece of furniture protested with a series of agonizing squeaks against such usage when the girl sat upon it, for Miss Kunibell was solid flesh and bone, and no airy spirit. ‘*T don't think I can give you aroom to your- self,” Mrs. Mallory now remarked; ‘‘ I am very full. Just now I have got six of the burlesque party who are playing at Niblo’s Garden Thea- , and a deal ¢f trouble, they are, too, the hussies! but they pay well. A room with an- other lady will come cheaper, too, and I suppose you want to save all the money you can.” To Halah, who had always been used to her own neat little room in ber country home, plainly, almost scantily furnished, it is true, but everything as neat as wax, the idea of sharing the apartment of an entire stranger was at first known to all the world; should she, then, now | that he was dead, and in the silent tomb, flaunt |the family name in the face of all creation? | Who could tall what the dark mystery was that | pom 80 porsistontly to him? Might not some | on 0 | port it attach itself to her? |. No! under bis own true name her father had | | hidden himself away in the quiet of the obscure | hamlet; under a false one she would bury her- self and identity in the very midst of the bi | and bustling world, safe from any possibility o: | discovery. “T do not think [ will appear on the stage un- | der my own name,” she responded, after a brief | pause, ‘** You are not ashamed cf the stage, are yout | because if you are, you ought not to go on. |My son plays under his own name, and I have /no patience with these people who think that | they must have some fine, fancy name to act lunder. If anybody’s name is an_ ill-lookin one, and wouldn’t read well on_the bills, then f don’t blame them for changing it, Bridget repugnant; but she had set out upon her pur- | O'Flaherty of course doesn’t sound as well as pose with a resolute mind, and was not one to | Beatrice Kingston, and one would never ima- hesitate at the first obstacle. | gine Timothy Pecksniff playing Richard, Mac- “You don't like the idea?” the mistress of the | Beth, or Romeo. Your name is not a good house hy gr With her penetrating eyes she | stage-name, and it would be better for you to seemed to see everything. | change it. Turn Halah, which is the most out- “No, it is not a. le, because I have al- | landish name I think Il ever heard, into Helen, ways been used to having my own room, but of | and Kunibell into plain Bell—Helen Bell; there’s course I understand that I shail be obliged to | a pretty, simple name for you, and it seems like accustom myself to a great many things that 1|a true name, also, and not an assumed one. am not used to, and the quicker I begin the bet- / Keep it all the time, too, in private life as well ter it will be for me, I suppose.” as public, and then, when you get through with That is the sensible way to look at it,” Mrs. the stage, you can drop it and go back to your Mallory asserted, with one of her peculiar sniffs, own.” which she used indifferently to express either, The advice was good, and the young girl contempt or satisfaction. ‘If you were arich , made up her mind to be guided by it. young lady now, going off to rding-school, | “It is not pride, madam, but there are family you would be obliged to room with some one, and think it no hardship, either. Let me see, there’s two young ladies who bave room for an- other one in their apartments, Nellie Richmond future, I will be known as Helen Bell.” and Sara Pearl. You and Richmond would ne-| ‘Family reasons, eh?” and the landlady in- ver get on in the world, for she’s a high-flyer,and dulged in another sn#ff. ‘‘Humph! you, come a bad egg, too, unless I miss my guess, for she’s of old stock, eh? I thought so when I ‘heard got a temper that will bring her into mischief your queer, outlandish name; rich relations, one of these days; but Sara is a nice, quiet maybe, who may leave you something hand- piece, although she is as brisk as a bee; I think | some one of these days if + bee don’t, disgrace by drag, for me to take the name you suggest, rather than sypeet in public under my own, so, in the you and she will be very good friends after you the old family name, ging it in the get acquainted. I shall charge you five dollars’ mire of the stage. Well, it isn’t any business of a week if you room with Sara, but if you want- mine. Helen Bell is your name, and that is all ed a room to F geal it would be eight.” 'I know about you, and mind, don’t tell your “Oh, I had better save tae three dollars,” true name to anybody, for if you do everybody Halah at once protested, prudent beyond her | will know it.” ; years. The girl kept her own counsel; of what good ‘You are quite right, and Sara, too, will be | was it to tell the lady that, as far as she knew, of great assistance to you if you are determined | she did not possess a single relative in the to become an actress, for she is on the stage her-| world? self. She is very clever, they say i don’t} “ Now come up-stairs and I will introduce you know; I never f° to theaters, althou, ; might say that I get my bread out o them, | indeed; very ively, but not a bit of harm in which I do, at second-hand. The theater pays her; so different from that little fiend of a the actors and actresses, and they pay me. I} Richmond. I shall break that girl’s neck be- keep a theatrical boarding-house, almost strictly, | we ge out of this house, I am afraid. you know; very seldom have any one here) allory then conducted the lad Pa en at the door of the back who is not connected with the stage in some stairs. Up three ee they went, an way, but I hate the whole thing, though!” the | the landlady knock landlady cried, abruptly, with one of those sud- room. Con outbursts of fierceness which sounded so| A young, fresh voice, with just a little sharp- “ sicangely. ‘If ithadn’t been fér the miserable ness in it, responded: reasons, perhaps, which would render it better | igh one | to Miss Sara; you will find her a very nice girl, | | humors before, ** ‘Open locks, whoever knocks!’ ” ‘* Just like her; always full of her mischief!” and the hard face of . Mallory softened in such a way that the girl understood that the in- mate of the room was a most decided favorite of the rather irascible boarding-house keeper. Mrs. Mallory opened the door, and, followed by her companion, entered the room. Right in the center of the apartment, sitting faded, and altogether much the worse for wear, liberally ornamented with gold and silver span- gles, the typical dress always worn by the stage airies, scattered all around her, evidently un- dergoing repairs, sat the inmate of the room. She was a rather tall, well-proportioned girl, with pleasant, regular features, a singularly clear red and white complexion, fine blue eyes and red hair, which curled in little crispy ring- lets all over her shapely head. There was no. mistaking the color of the bair—it was most decidedly and unmistakably red; not even | the greatest flatterer could have called it au- burn without blushing at the falsehood. The girl gave a little scream, and with a peas bound was on her feet, lightand elastic as. India rubber. _ “ Well, well, Iam caught! Ob, Mrs. Mallory, how could you go for to come for to do so?” and | she shook her head, reproachfully. “Oh, this lady will excuse you, and she might. as well pet used to your madcap ways first as. last, as I think of putting her in here to room with you, if you hav’n’t — a This is, Miss Helen Bell, Miss Sara Pearl.” The new Helen simply inclined ber head, but Miss Pearl indulged in the most elaborate cour- tesy. The girl was so full of gay, animal spirits | that she exaggerated everything. ‘ “Tf you will give me your check I will have | your valise sent for, and our rule here is that. board must be paid in advance—” ‘* And no trust!” added the irrepressible Sara, | winking slyly at the landlady. , ** Not with you ; I know you,” responded Mrs. | Mallory, tartly, a smile, hovering around the , corners of her mouth, She received the money from Miss Bell, as we Shall hereafter call her to prevent confusion; | also the check, and then retired. | The other girl had been examining the stran- allay pre A and, when the door closed bebind | Mallory, she advanced to the other and , offered her nd in the frankes' ‘‘T am sure I shall like you; lam the awfulest gil you ever sw for taking likes and dislikes. t is either love like a house a-fire with me, or else I hate like all . Thatis because } have got red hair, you know; all —s and men, too, with red hair, need looking r! But, | sit down, dear, and take your things off.” | And Miss Pearl easisted the new-comer to lay aside her cloak and hat. “‘Qne would never take you for an actress, ‘with that quiet, statue-like face; but you're regular legitimate drama, I suppose—no bur- lesque or kick up your heels in a variety show for you,” — girl rattled on. ‘* en do you ope, dear, and what theater? Maybe you are one of the new-fledged stars that are going to astonish the natives with a combination, this season?” The girl smiled; there was something conta- gious in the brisk, cheery manner of the other. | ‘Tam not an actress yet, but I hope to be one; I have come to New York to see if 1 could not learn to act.” ‘Good gracious! You den’t say so? Well—” But the girl’s speech was abruptly cnt short at this point by the sudden opening of the door, and a rather undersized, black-haired, black- eyed woman came darting into the apartment. e slammed the door to. bebind ber, then whipped out a sha inted, glittering dagger from her breast and flashed it before the face of the country girl. ‘So you have come after him all the way to | New York; but you sha’n’thave him !” she cried. I will cut your very heart out first!” CHAPTER IV. NELL RICHMOND it manner. | | THE er was so sudden, the attack so en- tirely un ted that it seemed to transform / the threatened girl into a statue. | Motionless she stood, and with great eyes, full | Of wonder, looked upon the threatening ges- Be ey ee ot so with the o ; She knew the in- | truder well enough, and had seen her in such erefore she was prompt to act, | Right by her side upon the bed lay one of the _ short policeman’s ¢luhs. snch as are worn by the flat upon the floor, in an old wrapper, terribly ; with a great profusion of white fleecy skirts,,” eh 6UMeweh Ome ad 8 Bm epee fi _—-_ tt BA ad eh fo et 2 lie oe
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wry FST r we «6h oe ms de New York guardians of the peace. This was part of the girl’s stage equipment, and by mis- ‘take had been packed up and sent home with her wardrobe instead of being returned to the -room” of the theater where it be- air in menace. “You, Nell Richmond, get out of my room with your crazy freaks!” she cried, angrily, and, from the expression upon her face, if was plain that she could be resolute when the oc- casion demanded. ‘ You don’t know this lady, and you have no business in here, and if you at- tempt to strike with that knife I wil] knock you down even if the blow does break that crazy head of yours!” There was a crazy look in the woman’s face and eyes, but for all that she had sense enough to know the chances were if she attempted any violence that Sara Pearl would be as good as her word, and as Sara was tall and powerfully built a blow from the stout locust club in her hands would be no light matter. Slowly the black-haired, angry-faced woman be the hand that brandished the glittering ife. “Oh, don’t I know her! But I do, though!” she exclaimed, in a yoice which was singular] low and sweet, though now it should be hars with anger. “T saw her when she passed my room in the entry; the door happened to be ajar and I got a good look at her, and I recog- nized you, you innocent country girl! in a mo- ment. I know what you come here for, but I shouldn’t think you would have the boldness to come here openly. J don’t dare do it and I have got the best right in the wor]d, and yet he has got me tangled up in such a snare that I don’t dare to say who and what I am!” “Who are you talking about, or are you crazy?’ Sara demanded, unable to make any sense out of this disjointed speech, and rightly judging from the expression upon the face of er room-mate that she also was completely ’ tke dark. “Oh, yes, I am crazy, of course, That is what he says, sometimes, and that is one of the ‘threats which he bolds over me. If I don't be- have myself and do exactly as he says, he will ‘put me in the lunatic asylum and keep me there until I learn to behave myself. And that is the way in which he will talk to you after he once gets you and then gets tired of you, as he will, as surely as the sun rises and sets!” she de- elared, with bitter accent, addressing her con- -versation directly to Miss Bell, who listened in utter and complete amazement. ‘“‘But tyou ‘will never have the hold on him that I have, and that was where, for once in my poor, wretched life, [ was smart. I give you fair ‘warning; don’t you attempt to come between him and me! I found your picture in his pos- session, a pany little tin-type, and I smashed it into a hundre ieces, and 4 before his face, too! That is the reason I picture was a,good likeness.” “Tt is false! cried Helen, indignantly, “I never gave my picture to a gentleman in all my fife. I never had it taken but once!” ‘Oh, he stole it, of course!” and the woman jlaughed, bitterly. ‘Of course, stole it—with our mission,” she continued; ‘‘do you hink that you can fool me with any such shal- low trick? What are you doing Lee if you have not come after him?” There was & pause after this question; the country gir! could not have answered it to save her life, for she had no idea what the woman meant, while Sara ran rapidly over in her mind the names.of the male occupants of the house, new you, for the . Seeking to discover which one of them was re- ferred to, but the attempt was fruitless. There ‘were only four gentlemen stopping in the house. Signor Brignoli, the Italian opera-singer, who was a big, fat German, of uncertain age, very much addicted to beer, tohacco and late hours; ‘Thomas Stubbs, Stage Manager of Niblo’s Garden Theater, a very elderly Englishman, as gray as a badger and as fierce as a hawk, and who had been engaged for so many years in blowing up “supes” (as the non-speaking actors are termed) and hectcrin unfortunate ballet-girls, more or less stu id that it had become almost impossible for bim to speak in a civil tone to any one; John Jones, stage-carpenter of the Olympic Theater—-a won- derful mechanic, with a positive genius for de- vising stage machinery, a surly, dark-browed, sullen-faced man, who went about as if he bad the weight of a dreadful secret on his mind, but who, in reality, was one of the most harmless and dullest (his own peculiar specialty excepted) AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. men in the world. Clearly then it wasn’t the stage-carpenter, and the fourth man was just as unlikely to be the object upon whom the girl had placed her young affections as the rest— Jerome Skank, a scenic artist, a tall, thin, elderly entleman—a living illustration of the old pic- fone always used to typify the Bohemian; the man of the world, the child of genius who was not bound by the cold, conventional rules of society. He = long hair, sharp features, a red nose, and was extremely careless in his dress—a man of undoubted ability in his pesto sion, but unfortunately so addicted to the use of strong liquors that he was not at all to be de- pended on, for when he took it into his head to go off on a spree, no considerations in the world restrained him. Clearly no one of these four altogether un- likely men could be the one whom Nell Rich- mond supposed the girl to be in search of, for Sara had seen quite enough of the dark-eyed vixen to understand that the man to take her wayward fancy must be either young and hand- some, or else, lacking these two things, as rich as a Russian prince. ‘**T know absolutely nothing of what you are talking about!” Miss Bell returned, indignantly. “You are a Nea: stranger to me, and why you should attack me in this outrageous way is totally beyond my comprehension. ‘Now, see here, Miss Richmond, this has gone quite far enough!” Sara interposed, her sturdy Vermont blood beginning to tingle in her veins. “I want you to understand dis- tinctly that this 1%: my apartment, and that I consider your room a great deal better than your company. Now, will you kindly retire, or shall I have to follow your example and for- get that lam a lady and put you out by main force?” And the girl, in her anger, drawing her really superb figure up to its full hight, towered over the other. Miss Richmond looked at her for a moment with flaming eyes, but the fire that flashed from the black ones—the wicked black eyes of the in- truder, was fully returned by the gleam that came from the bright blue orbs of the actress. Miss Peartl’s blood was up, and if the intruder had dared to brave her, she would most cer- tainly have forgotten everything but that she had the muscular strength to put the audacious Miss Richmond out of the room by main force, and surely she would have done it. And the other knew it, too, for, after a mo- ment’s steady stare, with a contemptuous laugh, she hal -turned upon ber heel. “You had better not lay your hands on me unless you are anxious to get hurt!” she warn; ed, ‘‘I have no quarrel with you, but if you should attempt to put me out, it would cost you dear, and the chances are that the management. of Niblo’s would have to hunt up a new Stalacta for the ‘Crook’ to-night.” ‘Don’t you flatter yourself!” Sara Pearl cried, with equal spirit. ‘‘ If I did so far for- get myself as to take hold of you, you little nasty thing! I’d fix you so that you wouldn’t pr ge try to hurt anybody’ else, for some me, Again the two exchanged an looks, but the size and strength of Miss Pearl, as well as the temper she displayéd, had a great effect upon the other. “T may be able to pay you for this, some of these days, and until then I am very much afraid I will be obliged to remain your debtor,” Miss Richmond remarked, with mock courtesy. It was astonishing how ladylike and pleasant the spitfire could be when she chose. « ess that debt won’t trouble you any more than the rest which you owe all over the country, if reports speak true,” Sara retorted, with biting sarcasm. The shot struck home, and for a moment Nelly Richmond fairly trembled with passion; her eyes glared, her hands were clenched, and she seemed upon the point of springing upon her antagonist, but Miss Pearl presented a bold front; she was ready for the battle, and would not have been sorry if the other had attacked her, so angry was she, and so ready to teach the vixen the lesson which she so richly deserved, The spasm of anger lasted but for a moment, however: the look in the clear blue eyes of Miss | Pearl acted bs the angry girl as the steady aze of the keeper does upon the half-tamed ts in the circus cages. For once Nell Richmond had met her master and she realized it. “ve no quarrel with you,” again she mut- tered, sullenly. ‘* But as for you, you innocent country girl, I give you fair warning that if you cross my path you had better far have trod- den upon the deadliest snake in this world, for sudden, instant death would be a welcome bless- ing compared to the misery I will inflict upon you. You are warned, remember! and blame me not if in the future I keep my word.” Then, as abruptly as she had entered, she quitted the apartment, closing the door behind = with a bang which ro the echoes of the ouse. CHAPTER V. SARA’S STORY. ‘“ WELL, thank goodness that she is gone!” Sara exclaimed, in a tone of relief, throwing down the heavy locust club whici: she had kept tightly in her hand. ‘‘I didn’t want te crack the skull of the crazy thing, but I would have done it in a moment, though, if she had tried to use that knife, although if s’pose it would have got all of usin the police court. You see, I know her, dear,” she continued, seating her- self in the rocking-chair ;‘‘ I heard all about her capers and tricks a long time ago.” Who is she? Is she an actress?” asked Miss Bell, resuming the chair from which she had arisen. And as she put the question an anxious look appeared upon her face, for to her mind such girls as the intruder were not desirable as- sociates, and if she was an actress, perhaps the stage life was not all her fancy had painted it. *“Oh, no, dear; she is not an actress; she is on the variety stage; what is called a serio- comic—sings a song and dances between the verses,” Sara replied. ‘‘She is at Niblo’s Gar- den now, though, where I am, but only en- gaged for the run of the Black Crook. In the second act there are a lot of extra features in- troduced—dancers, singers and such like, and this girl is one of them. She’s very clever, too te give the Old Boy his due, and her ‘act? takes first rate with the audience. She gets a good salary, fifty dollars a week, and spends every cent of it before she earns it.” The country girl opened her eyes in astonish- ment. Fifty dollars a week seemed to her a bulous sum, almost. Sara noticed the look and understood its meaning at once. “Oh, she gets it!” she remarked, ‘‘ and she is worth it, too, for she is very attractive—to the gentlemen; the ladies in the audience don’t like her; she is too bold and forward. She gets fifty, but she claims to get a hundred; she don’t, though, but there are some serio-comics who do command thatfigure. You know, on the stage, dear, the salary one gets is always kept a pro- found secret, and as a general rule always is augmented one-half. ou get fifty, say, but ou declare that you get a hundred, in order to eep up your value.” iss Bell shook her head; she did not like the idea at all. ‘That don’t suit Pope eh? Bless your inno-+ cent heart! you will find there are a at many things about the stage that will not Seto Co liking. And so you have come to New ork expressly to learn to be an actress?” “Yes, that is my intention.” ‘‘And what did your folks say?” Sara rattled on; ‘‘kicked up a terrible row about it, I su pose. Mine did; said that I was on the straight road to destruction, and all that sort of thing, but, like a willful horse, I took the bit between my teeth and I would have my own way.” ‘I have no folks, not a relative in all the wide world that I know of this moment,” Miss — replied, a little touch of sadness in her ne. Well, you are lucky!” Sara exclaimea, in a very decided way; and than perceiving the look of surprise upon the face of the other, pro- ceeded to explain: ‘‘I have good reason to say 80, as you will own — have heard my story. My father and mother died when I was a little girl. My father was a farmer up in Vermont and owned quite a large farm, but it wasn’t paid for; there was a mortgage on it for quite a large sum of money; but, as the mort- gage was held by my father’s brother, my uncle, everybody thought it was all right, and father, even, when he was dying, confided me to uncle’s care; and uncle was such a good man! He was “e pillar of the church re prayers in his house, morning, noon an p' cr on Sunday he never could get religion enough. I een f to wonder at it, first, little girl as I was, for my father was a g man In ev- ery sense of the word, but he never talked much about religion, either. I soon found out that the reason uncle had so much religion on Sun- | day was because he never had any at all during the week, but could lie and cheat as well as the reatest sinnerin the world. You see his re- | ligion was all a fraud and he didn’t have a bit
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6 of the genuine article, which I believe is gen- erally the case with those who make so much fuss about it. Well, this good uncle of mine | managed to cheat me out of my farm, | When the mortgage came due he fore-| closed it and then his wife bought it in, | and so when I came of age not one single cent of what my father had left was there for me; my uncle had contrived to make away with all of it, and, not content with this, he was | anxious for the whole neighborhood to praise | him for the careful manner in which he had brought up his brother’s child! Mind you, he | had made me work like a negro—worse, for I never knew a negro yet to hurt himself with | hard work, I milked, and I churned; fed the | pigs, cleaned the horses sometimes, and did all | he chores that he could possibly find for me to | do, and I lived on the fat of the land, all the | time too, in a horn!” and the girl’s indignation rose as she reflected upon the way in which she | had been treated. “Oh, my uncle lived good specimen of a kind ether too plentiful. arm all ee for, well stocked, money in the | bank and loaned out on mortgages, but he lived worse than the common day laborer in any of our big cities. It was salt pork from one end | of the year toanother. He sold everything he | could that he raised on the ro fed what he couldn’t sell to the stock, and what he couldn’t sell and the stock wouldn’t eat the family lived on. Oh, it'was a splendid kind of life, and it is such a wonder to me that people run awa from the farm and content themselves wit city life!” The country girl smiled; coming straight from the country herself she realized that the | picture was a true one, for her father had often called her attention to the strange way in which some of their really well-to-do neighbors lived. ‘“‘ Well, at a very early age I had made up my mind that such a life wouldn’t do for me, and when I got to bea good-sized girl I had any quantity of young fellows coming after me, | anxious to give me achance to do housework | for them, and take care of their children all the rest of my life for my board and clothes; but I | had seen too many poor women go into untime. | ly graves in trying to fill such a situation, and | I told them promptly, right out, that it wouldn’t do for Sarah; Sarah is my name, you know, Sdrah Jane Perkins, and if you will go be in Vermont anywheres around the dead-and- alive city of Burlington Per will find plenty of | Perkinses, all relations of mine, and not one of | them would give me.a cent to save me from | starving. I call myself Sara Pearl on the stage, you know, because it sounds a great deal : better. No, I had made up my mind that I would not drudge my life away on a farm, | the slave of some miserable wretch of a man, who would almost grudge me the food | that I put into my mouth, and which I would earn ten times over. I had seen enough to! know that there was a better life than that for a woman, anil was determined such a life to find. I was always an independent sort of a) thing and generally speke my mind prett freely; so uncle and I didn’t get on very well, for when he attempted to impose on me with any of his religious cant—it used to fairly make me sick to hear him talk ches ee knowing what an utter old rascal he was—l generally express- ed my opinion pretty plainly. He never would have stood it in the world, but would have turned me out, neck and crop, but I was saving him the wages of a girl, and, in fact, doing as much work as 7 two hired girls whom ke could have got. We had ten cows, and I milked them regularly, night and morning, and made all the butter, fifty pounds a week about, And then, too, keeping me gave him a fine chance to blow his horn about taking care of his brother’s or-| phan, and that he believed he would receive his) pay for it in heaven as he was doing if out of| pure charity; and all the while I was putting three or four dollars into his pocket every week.” ‘*T can appreciate eur position, for I have lived nearly all my life in a country village.” ‘*T have lived all of my life that Iam ever going to live in the country, unless I make a aeons hah some day as all us stage folks dream of; then if I made a few thousand dollars I might have a country mince down by the sad sea waves to retire to during the hot months when not acting, so as to be in the fashion, but, that is all of the country I care for. ‘* But toreturn to my yarn: I had made up my mind after I came to age and was my own mis- tress that I would avail myself of the first chance which offered to get out of the tread- 2 goes he was a. | of farmer that is alto- He was well off—his | AN mill life I was leading. T had always had an study, idea of the stage, for at school, being naturally full of brass, the speaking, and then there was a little ama- teur dramatic society organized in the neigh- borhood; of course I was one of the bright and shining lights, much to my uncle’s rage, for he said that pit, but laughed at him and he had to grin and bear it, By means of the stage I hoped to escape from the slave’s life which I was lead- ing. The chance which I had been expecting so long eame at last. A regular dramatic troupe came to perform for a week in a village about four miles from our farm. I walked over and back every night, and the manager, who was not only the star of the concern but played the bass drum in the band outside and then took tickets at the door, scraped acquaintance with me, and, asI have said, being always awfully cheeky—you must excuse my plain expressions my dear—I made no bones of telling him that I was dying to get on the stage. The troupe was a wee bit of a one, five men and two women, and he was glad to got & new recruit, particu- larly when he found that I was willing to go for five dollars a week and my expenses. Then, too, the Jack had fallen in love with me, and he thought, seeing that I was a simple, ignorant, innocent country girl—and country girls are always such innocent creatures, you know, my dear—that I would believe all he said. Well, to come to Hecuba, to use our stage saying, I ‘sloped’ by night from my uncle’s hospitable roof and joined the troupe down at Rutland, the next day—no one of course in the neighborhood wnere I had lived having the remotest idea where I had gone, for in the note which I left | behind me I was delightfully forgy. J wrote; | ‘Dear uncle, adieu; I go to seek my fortune in the city,’ aud that of course was my ultimate destination, but the note threw all pursuit off the track, for, thinking that I had gone to cither New York or Boston, no attempt was made to trace me. ‘* Weill, dear, I can’t really say that I made a hit upon my first appearance, although I had |quite a prominent part; in fact, dear, new be- ginners rarely make a success of it in their first attempt, except in novels, where the heroine, after everything else fails, always jumps on the stage and gains wealth galore at the very first bound, and these people that write such trash in regard to the stage generally know as much about it as they do of the interior of Africa or any other unexplored region. In some very rare cases people without experience have been successful, but not one in ten thousand who try it. can boast of any such luck, ‘‘Tt would take up too much time, dear, to tell you how I struggled along; and it wouldn’t be very interesting either; but, one thing helped me as it will help you—I am going to spanks very frankly to you, anos I presume the idea will not be very palatable; I know it wasn’t to me at first, ‘cheeky ’ as I was, and de- termined to succeed; Nature had been kind to me both in form and face, as she has to you; I was an attractive girl, and men ran after me. |The manager would never have dreamed of taking me if I had been an ugly girl; he fell in love with me—would have been glad to have married me if I would have had him; he was clever in his way—a very small way, though. I was not looking for a husband; I was dream- ing of a glorious future on the stage, and so I laughed at his suit. ‘* We only played in the little bits of towns, barn-stormers, as we were termed, because in the old times of the drama the traveling troupes were glad to play in barns or anything else of that sort. Finally we burst up, as all the little troupes do, sooner or later. had held on to my money. I had been with the company six- teen weeks and had saved up fifty dollars; had improved rapidly, too, so that I wasn’t afraid to go on and play almost anything, or play at it, to use our theatrical term, and when. the manager ran off with the ey one night, and left us to our own resources, | came to New York, and I set out to personally interview every manager in the city; I was determined to get on if such a thing was possible. I com- menced with Wallack, who is the leading theatrical manager of America, and I wound up with Joe Berlie, who runs a lager-beer garden with theatrical performances as an adjunct to the beer. And this last man gave me my New York opening at the magnificent salary of five dollars a week. I plexes in what is called a negro sketch; I was the landlady of an inn where some negro tramps, without money, sought accommodation. The part didn’t amount to anything—wasn’t even written out for me to was always put forward to do | was going straight to the bottomless | AMBITIOUS GIRL. | him a chance to say they were a failure; so ' and he wil not but the artists—Heaven save the mark? told me certain things which I must say when they said certain other things, and for the rest, while they were all off the stage two or three times, I could say what I liked, and I did; I ‘made up’ as an old Yankee woman, and with my Ver ont brogue I upset the negroes com- pletely, so that the audience thought I was the star instead of they, and I made a hit. They were frightfully indignant, but the manager was delighted; he had agreed to give the two a hun- dred dollars for the week, but my success sare e discharged them at once and put two ten-dol- lar-men on in their places. Then I got a chance in a burlesque to exhibit my fair proportions. It was awful at first to wear the short peg but. I got used to it, and then my star began to rise; so now, dear, I am the best Stalacta in the Crook in the country, and I am supposed to get. a hundred dollars a week.” ‘*T have never seen but one stage performance: in my life,” the country girl observed. ‘‘ Uncle Tom’s cabin was the play, but I have read a great deal about the stage.’ “My dear, you can’t tell anything about it at all reading. In the first place, during the last ten years the stage has turned upside down:, it isn’t at all as it used to be. Once there was a distinct line between the Variety saloons—as the Music Halls are called—and ‘the theaters, but now it is hard work to tell where one be- gins and the other ends. I suppose Bea! idea is to play tragedy—Juliet, or Lady cbeth, or something of that sort?” ‘Yes, [ have learned the part of Juliet.” ‘‘You will never get a chance to play it un- less you hire a theater and try it at your own expense. You must commence at the foot of the ladder; Ican get you a chance, probably; ou will get about five dollars a week—enough 0 live on and that is all.” ‘* And what will I have to do?” ‘Nothing to speak of—go on and off, that’s all, but you will get used to the footlights, and that is not such an easy matter as some people think; or you can try the managers as I did— then you will be satisfied.” CHAPTER VI. A MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR. Niaut had come, and by this time the coun- try girl had begun to get a little used to her po- sition. She had debated at great length with the lively actress in regard to what was best to do, and the latter, seeing that her head was full of the idea, which she had got from reading about the stage, that it was mat fo procure a chance to show the talent which she believed she had, advised her to consult the different managers at once, and then she would be satis- fied. Sara “knew the ropes,” and she was therefore well enough aware that a single day’s experience would prove to the girl that getting on the stage was not such an easy thing as she had su ed. But ppengent piece of luck had befallen our heroine right at the outset. In making the ac- uaintance of the actress, and enlisting her as @ riend, she had builded better than she was aware. Sara, with that peculiar impulsive ness which was so strongly a part of her na-~ ture, had taken a great liking to the stranger and already in her own mind had determined to help her along all she could. With the keen eyes of experience she had ‘‘taken stock” of the pc “She is f00d-looking—more than good-looking, in fact,” she observed to herself. “She is beautiful, and with a perfectly mag- nificent figure; a lady, too very graceful, and ladylike, and evidently with a good education, There isn’t the slightest reason in the world | why she shouldn’t make something on the stage, although it may not be the fortune she dreams of, and the quicker she commences tq get used to what is before her the better.” And so, acting on this plan, the actress told Miss Bell that if she liked she could accompany her to the theater that evening. course the other eagerly accepted the offer. “Tt isn’t the easiest thing to get a stranger in behind the scenes,” the actress announced, “ for the rules are very strict and our old back-door- keeper is a regular griffin generally, If you were a man it couldn’t be done, but as there are about a hundred girls in the piece, and it has only been running since Monday, it isn’t pos- | sible that the old fellow has got all tho faces down in his mind yet. If you haye a water- proof you can putit on and come in with me, apt to suspect that you are a stranger. I have a dressing-room all to myself, and from the landing you can look down on the
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t ' ; stage and get a pretty good idea of the show— it : all a show nowadays, you know. That term used to be applied to a circus, or some- thing of that kind, but now everything is a show from the grand opera down to the learned ig. And so, glad of the chance to gain admission behind ¢he mystic scenes, the country girl went with the actress, and, as the latter had sur- mised, the old back-door-keeper never suspected that she was a Spy He knew Miss Pearl well enough, for she played at Niblo’s be- fore, and of course supposed that her compan- ion, following her with such perfect composure, was one of the girls of the ballet. Miss Bell passed the guardian of the portal without exciting any particular attention, but if she escaped his searching gaze, she was not so lucky in regard to another person who hap- pened to be passing along the street just at the very moment when she entered the stage door of the theater. A very brilliant gaslight glowed at the stage door, and as one of the stage carpenters was passing out, just as the two ladies came to the door, they were com- pelled to halt fora moment until the man got out of the way; standing as they did right in the full glare of the light, their features were distinctly visible to all the passers-by, generally few and far between, for Crosby steeet is not uch of a thoroughfare. It was just one of those odd things which appen sometimes: A lady was — up the treet—a well-dressed, blonde-haired, blue-eyed oman, bearing a really wonderful resemblance to the country girl. She was older, though—a -tlose observer would have said, considerably Ider; but the difference in ages could only be ‘told by the absence of the youthful bloom which shone on the face of the would-be actress; this apart, she appeared about as young s the other. Indeed, they looked enough alike to be sis- rs, or perhaps mother and daughter, although he stranger was hardly old enough for that. She was richly dressed, looked every inch the lady, yet upon her face wasa strange expres- sion, an almost masculine look, and as she walked up the street she glanced furtively be- » hind her every now and then as though afraid of being followed. This lady came by the back door of Niblo’s Garden theater just as the two | as halted under the gaslight, and thus the aces of both were plainly revealed to her. She started, then stopped and stared, draw- ing her breath hard as though laboring under great excitement. The two girls passed into the building uncon- sscious of the scrutiny. For a moment the stranger remained motionless, staring at the open doorway as though her eyes could pene- trate through the darkness which reigned with- in; then, apparently actuated by a sudden im- ulse, she walked rapidly up to the old back- oor-keeper, who, seated by the open door in his shirt-sleeves, was smoking a Hee in the most calm and serene manner possible. “Who is that lady that just went in?” she demanded, in the quick, imperious tones of one who had been used to command. The old man looked up, astonished at the question as well as by the tone in which it had been put, for this was a visitor something out of the common run—the usual kaunters of the back door being dashing young men about town, anxious to scrape an acquaintance with some fair creature ot the ballet, whom they had ogled with their opera-glasses from the front of the house; or a romantic and foolish school-girl ‘‘dying” to geta glimpse of some favorite actor or actress, And, somehow, the old man felt inclined to answer the question, although, as a rule, he was rough and disagreeable enough. But in this case something seemed to tell him that it was no ordinary motive which impelied the question. ‘That was Miss Pearl,” he said, never think- ing for a moment that the lady referred to the other girl, whom he took to be a member of the ballet—a person of no consequence whatever. _ ‘Miss Pearl?” exclaimed the lady, reflect- ively; ‘‘the name is not familiar to me.” “ Miss Sara Pearl, that is what she calls her- self, but it may not be her true name, though; it’s more than likely it ain’t; these actresses, a good many of ’em, don’t go by their own names.” It was a wonder the old man volunteered this information, for it was not like him to waste words upon any mr “* Actress!” and then the lady looked up at the building in wonder, and the old man under- stood immediately that she had not the slight- est idea of what purpose the building was used for. AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. 7 ‘Yes, ma’am, this is Niblo’s Garden theater and the lady is one of the actresses engaged here.” ‘Tt cannot be, and yet—the resemblance is wonderful; but she is in England,” the woman muttered, her mind evident! in a fog, and never taking the slightest notice of the old door guardian. ‘‘What am I saying? I have for- gotten the lapse of years. The child would be a woman, too, and just about her age. I must see her; a few moments’ conversation with her will solve all doubts.” She made a movement toward the door of the theater, and the old man, understanding that she intended to enter, immediately rose, “‘] beg your pardon, ma’am, but it’s ag’in’ the rules,” he said; ‘‘no one is allowed to go in without a pass, unless they are employed on the premises.” ‘“* Yes, yes, I understand!” the lady cried, im- patiently, ‘‘but you must allow me to break the rules for once!” And out came her ket- book which was completely stuffed with bills, and she attempted to force a two-dollar note into the hand of the door keeper. Now this offended the old Siler, for he prided himself upon his in ity. ‘*No, no, ma’am; that won’t do!” he exclaim- ed, pushing the bill away. ‘I couldn’t let you go in. If you will come at about eleven to- night, you will catch Miss Pearl as she goes home, but you can’t go in!” ‘“‘T will go in, and stop me if you dare!” cried the woman, nangey: She advanced a step, and there was a look in her eyes which fair scared the man, although he wasa pretty pommel and tough customer, old as he was. ‘I will go in!” she repeated, fiercely; ‘‘stand out of the "at or I will do you a mischief.” he door-keeper was astounded; never before in all his experience had he encountered such a woman. “Go ’way, ma’am, or I'll call the police!” and he backed into the doorway. The woman cast a rapid glance around her as if to seeif there was anybody near, and there was—three men were approaching cautiously up the street. She saw them in a moment. ‘‘T am tracked, then,” she cried. A carriage happened to be passing at the mo- ment; it was a common coach, going along uite slowly, and the driver, a stupid-looking little Irishman, seemed half-asleep on the box. With a single bound almost the woman leaped from where she had been standing to the box of the coach, then with a violent push she sent the driver headlong into the street, he being totally unprepared for such a thing, and she caught the reins from his hand as he fell, snatched the whip from the socket and applied it lustily to the backs of the horses who, astonished at the treat- ment, broke at once into a furious gallop, and up the street she went at headlong speed. The three men, who had evidently been dog- ging her, were not altogether unprepared for such a movement, for they had a coach follow- ing behind them, and immediately jumped into it. ‘*Follow that coach! Ten dollars if you keep it in sight!” the leader of the three cried. CHAPTER VII. BEHIND THE SCENES. TOTALLY unconscious of course of the strange seene being enacted on the outside of the thea- ter, Sara conducted her companion to her dress- ing-room, which was an extremely diminutive pe) oe up two flights of stairs. The landing of each flight was so arranged that from it a view of the stage could be obtained—not a very good Mal only a partial one, as the scenery was in e way. *“You see, dear,” the actress expiained, “ you can stand right outside my door and get a pretty good view of what is going on, only it won't present the sight that it does from the front of the house, for you are behind the cur- tain and you can see the wires that move the puppets! Ab! it removes a great deal of the stage glamour to get behind the scenes.” hey had entered the little dressing-room and Sara turned up the gaslights which just showed a glimmer of light only. She noticed the look of surprise which * ¢ nye on Miss Bell’s face as she gazed around her. The dressing-room was most meagerly fur- nished. Two rows of shelving were arranged around the walls; there was just an apology for a carpet upon the floor; in one corner was a common wash-stand with a pitcher and bowl; there were two chairs and a looking-glass, but nothing more. ‘ This doesn’t look like the dressing-rooms you have read about, el, where the actresses ls receive the noble lords who come between the acts to compliment them upon their triumphs?” ara observed, placing a chair for the other and beginning to remove her things. ‘No, not much.” ““Well, this is a pretty fair sample of what dressing-rooms generally are and what they all used to be in this country; England I don’t know anything about. But now, when they build a theater they deign to remember there are some little insignificant things called actors and ac- tresses connected with it, and cg deiner them with apartments that sre a little better than the stall of a well-kept horse. Why,I played in one opera house once, in a flourishing city on the banks of the Mississippi, not a thousand miles from Quincy, Illinois, where the architect actually forgot all about ‘the dressing-rooms until after the building was completed, an then, when it came to be opened, and the com- pany had ee lo, and behold! there wasn’t any place for them to dress! Something had to be done, of course; so some little cubby- holes, about as big as good-sized dog kennels, were arranged up in the flies—that is that plat- form overhead where the ropes are fastened. But they are getting wiser now, and in some of the new opera houses there are actually running water and steam-pipes in the dressing-rooms.”’ And as the actress chatted away she got out her dresses and began to disrobe. The dress that Miss Pearl wore as Stalacta was a very peculiar one—in fact, it might be said to be no dress at all, and the color fairly came into the face of the country girl as she saw with horror what a liberal display of her well-proportioned form the actress made. Her nether limbs were incased in flesh-colored silk tights; her arms, which were reully beautiful, being as white and as round as the arms of a chubby child, were bare nearly to.the shoulders and all the dress she wore was a sort of a short- sleeved jacket-bodice, with a pair of short “trunks ” which came down -way between the thigh and the knee. ‘*Surely, you are not going on the stage be- fore a multitude of people in that way?’ Miss Bell exclaimed. And the question was a natural one, for a dress more calculated to display the beauties of the female form divine the art of man could hardly have devised. A quick flush came over the face of the actress for a moment, for she winced at the uestion; then she laughed, for long ago she had ought the battle with herself. ‘Dear, I don’t wonder at the question, for when I first went on the stage if anybody had even sungented that I would display my le— limbs in this way, I would have been horrified at the very idea, but I have got bravely over it. It has come to be a matter of business, and I think no more of it than the high-toned belles and matrons of society do when they go to pub- lic balls with dresses cut so low in the neck that they might as well, as far as decency is con- cerned, have on no waist at all. It is alla mere matter of custom, I get my bread this way; I cannot get it as well any other. I know it is not very nice, but it doesn’t make any differ- ence in me; when I am off the stage I know that T am just as good and modest a girl as I used to be in my Vermont home, before I ever stepped foot on the public boards. In fact, I am more modest, for then, whenever there were any parties in the neighborhood, kissing mes were always played, and I ave been issed twenty times in a night by twenty dif- ferent boys, and pretty well towzled about, too, in the bargain, and no one thought that there was any harm in it use it was the custom, but I would like to catch anybody trying any- thing of that kind now!” Her eyes flashed, and she drew her tall figure up as She spoke un- til she looked like a very queen. “T know I never could do it!” the country girl declared; “‘and if I mugt do it, I may as aa ai up all thoughts of oming an act- ress “Oh, no; that isn’t necessary, This is only one line; there are three or four others, where you won’t have to exhibit yourself quite so much, But, at the best, remember that to act is to make a show of yourself; you can’t dodge that fact; and any one who pays the money to come in has the right to stare at you all he, or she, pleases. Toa certain degree, the moment @ man or woman steps foot upon the stage, it is to become public pep ale And you must re- member, too, that a certain part of the world— quite a large number of people—believes that ere isn’t such a thing asa good man or wo- man upon the stage. You will find that belief pretty strong, and that is another thing you
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8 AN will have to submit to. I tell you what if is, dear, the woman who wins the laurel crown upon the stage has to pay pretty dearly for it. Bui, you will see intime. Try the regular act- ing; go in for a tragedy queen; you may suc- ceed; others have done it, although I failed. But, there is one thing in regard to this costume which I must explain to you. I don’t suppose Nee will understand it; few do until they have een years in the profession, and have got used to it; and that is, when we are on the stage we are not thinking of the audience at all—we are | thinking of our parts—how soon we will get home—how much money there is in the hous, and, sometimes, whether we are going to get our salary or not. We never think of our dress, | whether the audience are staring at us or not. We take it for granted that they are, of course; that is what they paid their money for. You will understand this feeling when you get be- fore the footlights in good earnest.’ The call-boy’s sbrill yell: **Last music! Overture on, and everybody down to begin!” echoing through the entry without, put a stop to the conversation just then, and Sara, bestowing the last hasty touches to her toilet, prepared to descend to the stave. “You can stand on the landing without,” she said; ‘‘I don’t think anybody will notice you, but, if they do, tell them that you came to dress me; then they will think that I am trying to put on airs like these French and Italian dan- seuses who bring a whole family to wait upon them.” Then Sara descended to the stage, and Miss Bell took a position upon the landing. Every- thing, of course, was new and streage to her. The curtain would soon rise, and all was now bustle and confusion upon the stage. Stubbs, the stage-manager, whom she recognized at once, having been introduced to him at the boarding-house at supper-time, was raging around the stage like a madman. Hewasa fine specimen of the old-time stage-manager, who in order to make his authority respected, thought a necessary to swear at everybody and every- ng. ] The orchestra outside were playing away for dear life, and the hum and bustle of the audience erowding into the house could be distinctly heard above the music—the gallery gods, as the occupants of the upper circle are usually termed, in particuiar, rushing into their places like a herd of buffaloes, The stage was full of carpenters in their shirt sleeves, fairies in short skirts, demons in horrid array, and all the motley characters that go to make up the Black Crook—the greatest spectacu- lar play the stage has ever seen. Suddenly, with a flourish, the overture ended. Then there was the tinkle of a bell. “Clear!” yelled the stage-manager, and, as if by magic, the stage was vacated by all not con- cerned in the beginning, and the curtain rose. Three wonderful hours of sight-seeing our heroine then had. CHAPTER VII. THE NEW YORK MANAGERS, AFTER the performance ended, Sara doffed the ligut, airy robes of the fairy queen, and once more assumed the prosaic garb of civilized life, then the two girls proceeded homeward. “Well, dear, I have commenced to pull the wires for you, already,” Sara announced, as they walked along. to you to-night at the supper-table; it was a wonder, too, for I never knew the crusty old rat to take a fancy to any one before,” The appellation bestowed upon the veteran Stage-director fitted him well, for, with his shaggy gray hair and whiskers, and his sharp, peaked features, he looked more like arat a most than a human. *T am glad to hear it.” ‘*Tie’s a valuable friend to have, for he is one of the oldest men in the business, and managers at- tach a great deal of weight to anything he says, Yes, he wanted to know who t es were, if you were a professional, for he said that you hada 1 face and figure, and Jooked as if you could do something. I rather evaded the question and, although I didn’t tell a syherk | t fib, I came pretty near to it. Isaid that I believed you hadn’t had much practice. He caught sight of you at the theater to-night, and re- marked again that you had a face which would light up well. You see, the stage-managers calculate in regard to our personal attractions | a good deal as if we were a lot of horses or dogs.” . “FSe8, how different from the life which I imagined it to be,” the country girl confessed, with asigh. Already some of the illusion was vanishing. ‘*Old Stubbs took a fancy | / ** And he said, too, that he guessed he could make room for you next week if you didn’t want too much money.” | * What does he want me to do?” | **{ don’t know that; the conversation was in- terrupted just then, but he will probably tell me the next chance he gets.” The golden opportunity which she so earnest- ly desired seemed near at hand now, but the girl rather shrunk from it; from Shakespeare’s Juliet to figuring in the Black Crook was such a terrible fall. But, she was to call upon the manager to- morrow; perhaps there might be something better in store for her. Restless was the night she passed ; ugly dreams / | haunted her pillow, but her companion—who, | after all, with all her intelligence and good | sense, had a great deal of the animal in her— slept like a log, tired out after her night’s work. | fter breakfast in the morning, about nine | o’clock Miss Bell set out upon her mission. Sara | had directed her to call upon one of the up-town | theater managers whose especial pride it was that he had introduced to public notice some actresses who had succeeded in pleasing the yublic. ; ‘*T made them, sir,” he was wont to declare | in the lofty and dignified tone which he thought necessary to his position, ‘‘They had some little talent to begin with, I grant you, but | without the aid and instruction which they re- | ceived from me they wouldn’t have amounted | to anything.” And, to give the actresses due | credit, they spoke of their former manager ex- | actly as he spoke of them; it was their talent | which had made him ; he was “rather clever,” | but without their services what would he have | done? This gentleman received our heroine in the most dignified manner. If he had been Presi- dent of the Republic and she a begging office- | seeker, he could not have been more formally | polite, In a few words she made known her mission. He shook his head, “‘No experience at all?’ She was obliged to confess that she had not. “No chance at all for you, miss; you bad | better give up the idea for the present. Go and | Study; acting is an art which must be acquired. Natural genius is something, of course, but it is | absolutely nothing when compared to years of | careful study, Get a competent teacher ; , | for two or three years, then make a debit somewhere, and if you are successful, and you | think you are destined for the stage, then come to me; I can always make a vacancy for talent, well irstructed. Very low salary of course— ‘in fact, as a rule, all the ladies who enter my theater do not ask any salary for the first sea- | AMBITIOUS GIRL. | | and two matinees. | known shall have an open werx, and I was just specu- lating what I should putin. Now, if you would | like that week I think we can make an arrange- ment. Iwill give you the theater heated and lighted, with the attaches, before and behind the curtain, all complete and ready for business, for a thousand dollars.” The girl looked at him, perplexed; she did not exactly understand this offer, “Then you willhave to find your company, you know, and the music, and ‘the newspaper advertising, the printing, bill-posting, ete.; you can get them all for about two thousand, so you can safely count that your expenses for ‘the week wil not exceed three thousand dollars, My theater will hold about a thousand to twelve hundred dollars, and there are eight performances in the week, you know, six nights l Eight performances, sup- osing that you took a thousand dollars a per- ormance, would amount to eight thousand dol- lars; that would be five thousand dollars profit on the week; but you could hardly hope to do as well as that, being comparatively unknown, unless, indeed, you should succeed in making a great hit the firstnight. Such things have been you know; but, to be on the safe side, we will say that you will play to an average business of one-half the capacity of the house — say five hundred per’ night. That would be — four thousand dollars for the week—a thousand » dollars profit and the glory of an opening in one of the most popular theaters in, the me- tropolis. If you weresuccessful, both fame and fortune would be within your grasp.” It was an alluring picture, truly, but our country girl had entirely too much sense to be" — dazzled by it; besides, where on earth was she? to get the three thousand dollars? and so she immediately replied that she had not that’ amount of money at command. r, that is always paid when the contract is signe then five hundred more for advertising, vier and the rest you can pay out of the receipts of the house when it comes,” Of course the girl was not well enough ac- quainted with the theatrical business—which is one of the strangest and oddest trades in the world—to know that such a thing was possible as to open a New York theater and not take twenty-five dollars a night, instead of five hun- dred, but she was afraid of the venture, and so informed the manager; and when that acute gentleman found there wasn’t A chance of getting a thousand doMars out of his visitor for | a. theater which only stood bim six hundred a week, he proceeded to get rid of her as soon as son, for the stamp of my theater insures their ultimate success. | Our conntry girl was not deceived; she felt | assured that the man was an arrant charlatan, and had a great mind to ask him how a woman was going to live upon nothing for a whole year. She resisted the impulse, though, and | allowed herself to be politely be wed out. The next manager she called upon had a pretty little theater a short distance up the street. He was a rather undersized, sbarp-faced man, , Sharp look common to Hebrews the world over. | He was very civil, and very polite—quite a ‘contrast to the pompous dignity of the other, and being by nature, too, a great iadies’ man, he was at once impressed by the personal appear- ance of his visitor. When she had made known her business, he caressed his chin and meditated for a moment, ‘* Let me see,” he said, reflectively ; ‘I reall don’t see any chance for you at present. I do ‘not run a stock company now; I re let my theater to combinations or play them on shares: but I have an open week now and then and we might arrange something, for I mus /say, miss, from your appearance, and the man- ner in which you speak, you impress me with an idea that you have talent. Are you up in |any character?” ‘“*T have studied Juliet, sir.” Capital!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically; | you couldn’t have done better! Romeo used to be a favorite part of mine, and I should be happy to play Romeo to such a divine Juliet as I am sure you would make.” He intended this for a compliment, out, in- stead of pleasing, it alarmed the girl, for she did not like the way in which it was spoken. ‘‘ But I am out of harness now,” he continued; ‘“‘T haven’t played for years; the cares of man- agement prevent me from giving any attention |to acting. Let me see! in about a menth I with red hair and whiskers, and the peculiar | ssible. Pit is hardly worth while to detail the lady’s | further adventures in her quest for a manager | who was willing to give her a chance to show what she could do. The result was an utter, | total failure. The manager whom she had in | her mind’s eye, eager to discover and encoura; native talent, existed not; or, at all events, was not controlling a city theater at present. Heartsick and uraged, she returned to the boarding-house, and Sara listened with in- terest to her story. ‘“ What did I tell you?’ she exclaimed. ‘I |'knew how it would be before you started. Managers run theaters to make money, and there isn’t much in novices. My dear, you will have to come to Niblo’s.” CHAPTER IX. HARE AND HOUNDS, Ten dollars were not to be picked up at every corner, so the announcement that it would be ten dollars in his ket if he overtook the flee- ing coach inspired the driver of the second ve- hicle to use the lash on his horses; but the wo- | man, having the start of the few moments lost by her pursuers at the outset, whirled around the corner into Houston street. The man who had offered the ten dollars was a tall, stout gentleman, well-advanced in years, et well-preserved—a man of position and stand- ing evidently, for his companions usually ad- dressed him as ‘‘ Professor,” though sometimes they called him Mr. McDonald. e other two differed as widely in their ap nce as the did from their companion. One was as as a coal—a negro, so dark, that the saying that charcoal would make a white mark on him, 'seemed apt. The other was as full-blooded a Paddy-whack, as had ever greased a bro: or twirled a ‘‘nate black-thorn twig” in the Emer- | ald Isle. Julius Oglethorpe the black was call- | ed, and the Irishman answered to the name of Dennis O’Toole.
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—<ia “Upon me wourd!” the Irishman exclaimed, as the carriage jolted so violently over the stones as to render it no easy matter for the men to keep their seats, “‘ there will be a spill presently if this baste of a driver isn’t careful.” The negro also looked anxious and was hold- ing on for dear life, but the Professor, being ponderous and heavy, had braced himself and was not very much annoyed, by the violent mo- tion of the.carriage, “Take it easy, boys!” he exclaimed, “it can’t last long.” . “No, sah, de carriage won’t stand it,” the negro observed, solemnly. ““That’s so! a truer wourd than that was niver spoken, bedad!” the Irishman chimed in; “off will come a wheel nixt; and into the gutter we'll go, and if we don’t break our necks it will be bekase we are lucky.” ““ Never mind the risk; the pay is good, boys, and if we once succeed in getting our game, it will be a hundred dollars in each of your pockets.” ., tf we break our necks beforehand mighty little good it will do us, I’m thinking,” the Irish- man grumbled. “T’'ze more afeard, boss, dat we will git in trouble wid de police,” the black observed ; “‘dat critter is gwine to fight like a tiger-cat, when we puts our claws on her.” “* Oh, don’t trouble your head about that; the lice will not bother us when they understand he matter,” the Professor answered; “but I want to avoid a scene if possible. It is import- ant that the affair should not get into the news- pers. If we can get hold of her, gag her, get ser into the coach and then take her down to the steamer without attracting attention I Should like it; and the party that. employs us would like it, also; and, although I fete no right to promise such a thing, yet I feel sure chat, it would be money in our pockets.” wrongly, HAIG? aes the ae eee ate , hain e negro, abruptly. t “Yes; but the {0 oe and in this matter wouldn’t grudge a thousand ollars or two.” The carriage came to a sudden halt, and the Professor, expecting that the prey was hunted down, at once sprung from the coach, followed by the other two. "Sure enough; there was the other coach, at a standstill; a little knot of people was gathered around it, while one man gras the reins by the horses’ heads; but the woman was not to be sen. The Professor, a shrewd man, understood the game at once. The moment the coach had turned the corner the woman had quitted it, and the horses had kept on in their wild career until popped by the venturesome fellow who had thought it was 2 runaway and had dashed out into the street and stopped the steeds in their ote But, after she had left the coach, whither had she gone? and by what miracle had the woman, incumbered with her skirts, succeeded in mak- Pg 8 So og leap and escaped unhurt? ® Professor mingled with the crowd; he was after information, but none could he gain; nota bas het rng seen the phen 'Yy wentin at the first o door!” cried the Professor as, having aped from his carriage, he turned back to the corner. “It was 4 cunning trick, but we will have her yet!” The ~~ house from the corner was unoccu- pied, Be ing tightly locked it was impossible that the woman could have found shelter there. The second house was the theatrical boarding mansion kept by Mrs. Mallory, and the Pro- fessor at once pitched upon this as the probable place of refuge. ‘The main door would be apt to be fastened, ment one might be un- of gay) but ae locke e-remar as he h 3 = ~ inh entrance, urried down un And, sure enough, the basement doo fastened, so the three entered whusae en mony. A £e led into the yard beyond and the men traversed it, their idea being that the woman would not attempt to hide within the house, but would proceed through to the yard a endeavor to make her escape in that direc- ion, In the yard was a small wood-shed with a di- Japidated door and through the chinks in this door the’ black dress of the woman was seen. With a cry the three pursuers precipitated themselves against the door. CHAPTER X. A SURPRISE. Trey had fairly “treed” the game; and ex- party who pays has got plenty, AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. pecting a stout resistance they had thrown themselves against the door with all their force, and as the door was not fastened tee conse- quence was that all fell headlong into the wood- shed, in a heap. Again the woman had tricked them! Antici- pating that she would be followed, she had stripped off her dress and hung it up just with- in the shed as a decoy! The hare had bafiled the hounds. The three picked themselves up, rubbing their | bruised limbs ruefully. ‘*Weshall have to begin the chase all over again!’ the Professor exclaimed, in disgust. ‘She must have a disguise on underneath her dress, and the chances now are that we will have a hard time in getting upon her track again.” Evidently she had scaled the fence, got into the next yard and had then made her way into the next street through the house to which the yard belonged. The Professor mounted an ash-barrel and took a survey of the rm ny premises, but | not the slightest sign di tive. Dennis now suggested: “Shure, don’t ye think, Mister McDonald, that we had better be afther callin’ in the police to help us?” ‘Oh, no!” demurred the Professor, ‘this is no case for the police. We want to keep the thing quiet. All the fat would be in the fire if we let the authorities know anything about it. And, to think that I wrote to the madam yes- terday that I had got’a certain clew to her whereabouts and that by to-night we should robably have her on board of the steamer and be on our way to the South.” ‘‘She’s a born imp, sah, for sure!” the negro exclaimed, with a sagacious shake of the head. ‘*She’s beat us all to nuffin’, I guess.” ** All is not lost yet, boys,” declared the Pro- fessor; ‘‘we have got a sort of a clew. That man in the doorway whom she was talking with when she caught me of us may know something about her. ell go after him at once. ‘*How about the dress—shall we l’ave it?” asked the Irishman, with a covetous look at the well-made garment. “Yes, I will speak to the folks in the hotise about it; she may come back to claim it and so afford us aclew. We mustn’t leave a stone un- turned to accomplish our object,” the Professor announced. As the three turned to reénter the house they encountered Mrs. Mallory who had noticed the he see of the fugi- strangers acting in such a suspicious manner on her premises and had come down to see what they wanted. e Professor proceeded to explain. He and his companions were in search of a lady who was unhappily a little affected in the head, not exactly crazy, and yet not really sane, except at intervals. And when one of her peculiar moods came on it was her fancy to imagine that she was pursued by enemies and she would adopt any means of escape that offered. eshowed the emf the dress which his pa- tient, as he described the fugitive to be, had worn, “Ttis very evident,” he explained, “ that her malady has come on worse than usual this time for it is plain by her leaving this dress behind that she has provided herself with another one under it; that shows that her mind is stron ly set on this delusion that she is pursued, else She would not have adopted this ingenious plan of throwing her pursuers off the track. §o, madam, if she returns for the dress, as she probably will, if you will have the kindness to detain herif possible, by gentle means of course, and send word to me, you will greatly oblige me, and will be doing a service to this deeply cted woman;” and as he finished the Profes- sor banded Mrs. Mallory a card upon which he had penned his address. The Professor had a very plausiblé, easy wa with him, and the boarding-house keeper, al- though a keen woman of the world and much th to suspicion, never for an instant doubted 6 truth of the story. *“Well, I will do all I can for you,” she re- lied, putting the card away carefully. “ What : «0 ie - ~ ay Th Ogleth is her ‘Oglethorpe, Mrs. Thomas etho is right name, but when these fits are tous her, she ay seldom owns to it, but calls herself by half-a-dozen odd appellations.” “I will try and detain her if she comes for the dress until I can send for you,” Mrs. Mal- re promised. | he Professor was profuse with bis thenks, eo | ness, they are not anxious to buy a pig ina small bl and‘ then, with his companions, took his de- ture. Bidding the hack follow them the Professor and his satellites proceeded directly to the bavk door of Niblo’s Garden Theater. | By this time about all the people engaged in | the evenin rformance were in the house, and the o! ck-door-keeper, seated upon his } chair and pulling away at his pipe, was yet cogitating over his peculiar interview with the mysterious woman. | ** Blessed if I can make head or tail of it,” he | muttered. ‘‘Guess she must be a circus-rider | or else she never could make that leap onto the | hack. I never see’d anything like it since I was: born.” With the mind of the old man in this state the Professor had no trouble in getting from | him allthat he knew in regard to the woman, | which was little enough. She appeared to know Miss Sara Pear] and had insisted upon going into the theater after her, al- | though warned that it was against the rules, and then she had made the sudden rush, ending | with the leap on the hack, and that was all that the old doorkeeper knew about the affair. The Professor did not reveal who he was, or that he had any particular interest in her do- ings, but merely spake as if he was a bystande | who had become interested in the affair. He was careful, though, to make a note of Mis Sara Pearl’s name, for if the woman did know Pearl, through the actress he might be able to find the fugitive. Two wires had the Professor laid, but, after all, he trusted more to chance or accident than to anything else. By accident he had got upon the track in the first place, and though the woman had been clever enough to throw him off-yet he trusted that he might be lucky enough to strike the trail a second time. CHAPTER XI. AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL, THE country girl returned home completely discouraged, but Sara cheered her up by excit- ing her self-assertion. ‘My dear, if you listen to the cry of the world, you will believe that all the theater- managers in the country are’on the alert to se- cure talent—to encourage rising genius, and all that sort of thing; but, it isn’t so; they don't yer ae, HHA a but to make money; that is what they are after, and why should any one blame them? It isn’t their business to establish an art-school. When the genius is made apparent—when all the world is ready to | rush to see, it, and ready to pay their money for the privilege, then the managers will glad] come to terms; but, like men in any other busi- poke; they want to see the animal, ame to them! and know what they are paying their money for.” “I begin to despair,” and the novice’s trou- bled face did not gainsay her words. “Oh, good gracious, you mustn’t despair: that will never do!” the lively Sara protested. “Never despair is the motto to win with in this world. But, there; I never thought of it be- fore! There is another chance—there are the dramatic agents.” : Miss Bell looked at the actress, inquiringly ; she did not understand the meaning of the term. “The dramatic agents are the brokers who deal in goods theatrical—living goods—actors and actresses. A mani wants a company; he goes to the dramatic agent and makes known to him his desire. and at once the agent proceeds to supply it. You are an actress out of employ- ment; you go to the agent, and he puts your name down in his book: Miss Helen Bell, lead- ing lady, chambermaid, or whatever line?it is that you profess to play, your residence, etc., and then, when a manager comes in, searching for talent, the agent submits your name among the rest; in fact, not to puta fine point on it, a regular intelligence office.” ‘But, I am not an actress, zn know,” the other demurred, with a meget eart. ‘That doesn’t make any difference; amateurs as well as re fessionals put their names down. Mind, dear, I don’t say that there is much of any chance for you, for honestly, I don’t believe there is, but it is just as well you should it, then you will .be satisfied. I know old Stubbs has made up his mind to get you in at Niblo’s, for he was talking about you again to-day, but until you are there isn’t ay cee chance for you, I me you won't willing to make your débtit in the Black Crook?” , “Oh, no; I would rather not!” the girl ex- claimed, impulsively. The very thought was odious to her.
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410 Sara shrugged her shoulders, and hed. “ Woll, well, the descent from Juliet to the Black Crook is rather startling, but if you are really in earnest about becoming an actress, [ am afraid you will have to get used to it. But, try the agents this afternoon, and see what you can do with them, I will go with you, if you like *—an offer which Helen eagerly accepted. ‘*Oh, if you will be so kind!” she cried, grate- fully. Sara sniffed scornfully at the idea of kind- mess in the matter, and so it was settled that, after Cinner, the two should visit the dramatic agency. ext the table, that day, the veteran stage- manager, the rat-like Stubbs, was unusually cious, much to the general surprise, for Stubbs was a crusty old customer, and seldom wasted words upon anybody. But, on this oc- casion he was quite genial, entered into conver- sation with Miss Bell, and remarked that he had noticed her presence at the theater, and added that he presumed she would like to see the per- formance from the front of the house, and, if so, [ger ‘actresses, eh?’ she observed. | Kendleton he would be happy to get her a “‘ pass” at any time; not that she wasn’t welcome behind the scenes, for she was at liberty to come there at her pleasure. } This was Sara’s opportunity to put in a word, as she perceived the tyrant of the stage was in an unusual good-humor. So she proceeded to explain that she had taken the liberty to bring | m Miss Bell in behind the scenes, although she knew it was against the rules. The stage-manager replied that it was all right, and that if the guardian of the back- door said weer | to refer to him; Miss Bell was quite welcome at any time. This was a point gained, but Sara, with all her shrewdness, was puzzled to account for this | no kindness in the usually cross-grained Stubbs. The meal ended, the two girls robed them- selves for the street, and departed upon their mission. The dramatic —- was located in Union Square—merely a large store upon the ground floor divided by partitions into three little of- fices. Quite a number of well-dressed gentlemen were lounging about in front of the agency and | m some few were in the offices; they were gather- ed in little groups of three and four, the ma- jority of them either flourishing light canes or else industriously engaged in sucking the heads of their sticks. They looked like a lot of spruce oung clerks, only they didn’t stare at the two adies as they passed into the office half as un- blushingly as the average clerk would have done. ‘ ‘All actors waiting for a job,” Sara ex- plained, as they passed through the crowd. Quite a number knew Miss Pearl and they hastened to bow in the most elaborate man- ner, Within the inner office sat the dramatic agent; he was a short, thick-set gentleman with a very insinuating way with him, and. when Miss Bell was introduced he received her in a manner which seemed to ee that he was really hungry for the pleasure of her acquaint- ance. Miss Sara explained what her friend desired, and the agent promptly answered that there wasn’t the least doubt in regard to an engage- ment, for, as he explained in a confidential way, there was a dearth of talented young ac- tresses and he had daily applications from man- agers that he could not wnint elen was much cheered by this assurance, notwithstanding she detected the incredulous look upon the face of her companion. The agent, taking down a large book, pro- ceeded to register the name and address of the young lady. Just as he had completed this for- mality,a gentleman in the outer office stuck his head in at the door and begged for a few min-! utes’ conversation with the agent. He at once excused himself to the two ladies and withdrew to the outer apartment where he and his caller were soon en in a busy conversation, both with note-books in hand, apparently settling some weighty matter. The register was left open upon the desk and as the two girls were seated directly in front of , the desk, and the dramatic agent wrote a re- markably large and plain hand, it was only natural that they should glance at the page to note what was written thereon. It was headed: 3 ** NovicES—WOULD-BE ACTRESSES.” Then came a long list of names, twenty-five | or ry at the least, and opposite some of the | names the genial intermediary man had aa siled a few remarks. lip curled as she noted this and she commented audibly upon the fact. ‘* Looks as if there was a dearth of amateur ‘This list..of names proves that, conclusively; and, see what bs Pag has written opposite some of them. ‘Miss Belle McKeene; awfully green; splendid diamonds though. Minnie Partridge; weighs |about 200; fine for fat woman. for a museum; wants to play Juliet, oh, heavens! Pauline Hyester; ugly as sin; got stamps; might back a troupe on the road if talked to sweet. Clara Peacock; high-toned but soft as mush. Lizzie ; red-headed and crazy as a bedbug. Mary Blackie; r and proud, a Bowery shop- girl, maybe. Etta Codrinton; too smart for anything.’ And now, dear, I wonder what he will put after your name?’ The hot flush of shame swept over the young girl’s face. : ‘‘Tsn’t it disgraceful?’ she murmured. “Ah, you see you have got a great deal to learn yet about fhe stage,” Sara replied. ‘‘The amateur who desires to go upon the stage is thought to be fair game for Le pa A almost every one. This oily scamp undoubtedly talked just as fair and smooth to all these girls, against whose names he has penned these insult- ing remarks, as he did just now to you. The man can’t help it; it comes natural to him. To use slang, he must give ‘taffy ’ to every one he eets.’ ‘Then there isn’t any chance for me?” Helen asked, despairingly. “Yes, a chance to be struck by lightning, as they say in the negro farce; but, come; you ne wane to see any more of this octopus, do you?’ “No; let us go!” Hope was at dead low tide iW. “Old Stubbs is going to do something for you,” Sara assured, confidently, as they rose to their feet. ‘‘ And, after all, what erence does it make whether you get on the stage in the Black Crook, so long as you do get on, or in one of Shakespeare’s tragedies?” ‘‘ Very true; and since I am determined to become an actress, why, I would be foolish to refuse the only chance that seems to be open to e ‘* That is the right way to look at the matter; itis just like washing your face on a cold win- ter’s morning; the water is terribly chilly, and makes you shiver to look at it, but, after the first plunge, you get used to the cold and think nothing of it.” r The agent intercepted the two ladies as they epa having been obliged to leave them, and he ear- nestly desired Miss Bell to call again, as he felt sure he could soon procure an engagement for | her when once the managers became acquainted with her a ance; and then, as the two irls walked out of the office, Sara remarked to er companion: rw yf “He wants, you to come and sit in his office so that the managers can get a look at you and note your fine points like the girls in the intelli- gence offices. On thestage we must.make mer- chandise of our figures and our faces. That is the disagreeable part of the profession, but to stand upon the stage and ges tr thousand peo- ple at our own sweet will, making them laugh or cry at our bidding, that is where the glory of the art comes in,’ Helen sighed; stage life, she already saw was not all that. her fancy had painted it, and a question that many an anxious mind had de- bated before was beginning to trouble her: Did the glory of the art compensate for the discom- | | forts of the life? Sara, from the fund of her experience, could have answered the question easily enough. Yes, it did compensate, if you were a star, If you won one of the great prizes in the lottery, all well and good; but if, instead of a rize, you drew but a blank, then it was more han an open question, Dark and dismal indeed appeared the pros- pect, and the adventuring gin quite des ; ut, to prove the old saying that the darkest hour is siax® are the dawn, that very eve ning a gleam of light suddenly shone upon Helen’s life path. She accom mu Sara to the theater; old Stubbs met them as they came in, and in the most gracious manner possible in- vited Miss Bell to come down and in the proses place, where, as he said, she would ave some chance to see what was going on. Something entirely out of the common was this invitation, for the promips lace at Niblo’s—the first entrance on the right-hand side—is always sacred to the prompter and his assistants. The prompter is the stage official who attends to the AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. and was profuse in his apologies, for | ; Sara’s practiced care she made @ ringing up and down or tne curtain, the changes of the scenes, and assists the actors when one | happens to forget his part, by whispering the _ words to him, the , whispers sometimes loud | enough for everybody in the audience to hear. | And of all the s emeng: due that anybody | had ever seen, Stubbs was the most particular about the prompt entrance, and usually raged like a mad bull when any one dared to disre- gard his mandate and stand there; therefore, | great was Sara’s wonder at Stubbs’s invita- | tion. |. ** What on earth is the man up to?” she mut- tered to herself, but she did not say anything | to her companion. Miss Bell, totally ignorant | of course of stage matters, thought the old gen- | tleman was very kind, and thanked him as po- litely as she could, without being in the least aware that,in order to favor her, Ba had broken through one of his most stringent rules, But there were more and greater surprises in store for Sara that evening. Among the ladies who were employed in the iece, a half-dozen represented village girls riends of the heroine, and with the principal one of these girls—a tall, dark-eyed, queenly | beauty, about as handsome a girl as there was on the stage—old Stubbs took occasion to kick up a most ridiculous row at the end of one of the | acts. No sooner was the curtain down than he ' bounded onto the stage in a frightful state of anger. ** Miss Lane—Miss Lane!” he cried. The girl turned in astonishment, for the tone foreboded danger. “ How d you laugh at the audience in | such a manner?” he continued, angrily. ‘‘It is really disgraceful! I won’t have any such go- in A ‘“*T didn’t laugh, sir!” exclaimed the girl, in- dignant at the accusation, which really was al- | most anti sty unfounded, for she had only smiled slightly at seeing a gentleman in the front row of the orchestra with a large bouquet in his hand which she knew very well was in- tended for her. “You did! Isaw you! Do you think I have lost the use of my eyes?” Stubbs retorted, an- grily. ‘‘If I catch you doing such a thing again I will discharge you on the spot.” **Oh, you needn’t trouble youraelt £6 do tha sir,” cried the girl, “firing” up. ‘If you don’ like the way I behave all you have to do is to say SO and I will go.” Well, I don’t like it; and, what’s more, I | won’t have it; and since you are so independ- ent, suppose you quit after next Saturday | ni hte” | “‘ That suits me,” the girl replied, haughtily ) grove with a toss of Pog yy fnarched off | . | _ “She has been putting on airs for some time,” Stubbs observed, turning to Sara Pearl, who was at his elbow, and had witnessed the scene: | “and now there is a chance for your friend ponder. She can commence oat AU pe dol- a week,” and with a very self-satisfied look Stubbs proceeded to his duties. | Pearl, with all her stage experience, wag as- tounded. It was all clear to her now, Stubbs had picked a quarrel with Miss Lane in order to get an opportunity. to discharge her, and so make a vacancy for Miss Bell, At first Sara /was inclined to tell her friend gli about the | matter, and warn her that Stubbs evidently had some deep purpose in view or he would never haye taken somuch trouble about the matter; but, upon second thought, she resolved to re- frain. ‘No; let the play go on,” she muttered. ‘The irl is no fool F she ‘OWS enough to take care of Forself, and if she didn’t I do, and no one shall make a victim of her while I am around. Miss Bell of course was delighted at her good fortune. The dress of the peasant girl was a modest one, and she had no objection to wear- | ing it. And so it came to pass that the novice made ‘her first appearance upon the stage. Aided by beautiful ap- | pearance, and old Stubbs went out of his way to . we pliment her, aa hs his e @ man made w min that abe ad rise ae das he was th rd rm command of the stage, if aN opportunity did not exist he made one. After Miss Bell had been on the stage for a couple of weeks, and so in @ measure got used to the novel ition, Stubbs took occasion one —_ to find fault with one of the girls who had a few words to speak inascene. He complained that she didn’t speak loud enough; the =~ at t hear turning to the young the front of the house that they coul her, and then abruptly | girl he exclaimed:
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‘‘ Here, Miss Bell, you try that speech next week,” This capped the climax, Already Stubbs’s at- tention. to the girl had been noticed, but now she began to feel the influence of that jealousy which is so erongy a part of the artist’s life, Sneering remarks were openly made, so that Miss Bell could hear about ‘‘ Stubbs’s favor- ite,” ‘the stage manager’s pet,” and had it not been for Sara’s friendship, the would;be actress would have had ah time of it, for the mo- ment that Stubbs singled her out as a favorite, the rest almost unanimously united against her, and nearly all protested that she would never be able to speak the lines which had peen in- trusted to her. But, she did, and spoke them well, for she possessed a beautiful voice, very clear, very sweet, and very strong. Stubbs, n the hom. er’s box, watched her anxiously, and when he y. saw that she had succeeded, he rubbed his hands together gleefully and exclaimed to the prompt- er; ‘I knew that girl would do—l knew that she had stuff in her.” The débitante was one girl picked out of ten thousand, for she faced the footlights undaunt- edly, without displaying the least tremor, and even her jealous rivals were compelled to admit that, undoubtedly, she had the making of an actress in her. Two weeks more and, thanks to Stubbs, at a single bound Miss ascended half a dozen rounds of that extremely steep and uncertain ladder that leads to the temple of fame. The lady who played the heroine in the Crook was out of sorts one night; it was whispered that she had quarreled with her husband, sepa- rated from him, and that a suit for divorce was in the near future; anyway, she did not act with her accustomed skill. Stubbs, as watchful as a terrier after a rat, proceeded to take her to task for not attending to her business. She wasn’t in any humor to be scolded, and so a “‘ flare-up ” took place, ending with the lady in- dignantly declarin that she would never act another night under Stubbs’s stage manage- ment, This was precisely what the crafty old fellow wanted; so Miss Gracie Plantagnet got her walking-papers, and Miss Helen ll was put in for the part. It was very short; no chance for acting, and about all that one had to do was to look pretty and the lines, which the débiitante did fully as well as the other lady. . The managers in front were content, for lady No. 1 had received thirty dollars per week, while Miss Bell was glad to take eight, This was Stubbs’s strategy, for if he had not saved the box-office twenty-two dollars per week, the managers might have objected to the change. So the country girl had become an actress, not a good one by any means, for all she yet knew how to do was look pretty and pro- nounce her speeches intelligently. A month longer the play ran and then the end came; a new ‘‘spectacle,” as the play which relies for its, attractiveness upon scenes, cos- tumes, etc,, rather than upon acting, is called, was about to be Rretnet and Stubbs had al- ready spoken to Miss Bell about playing a part in it,, was not to remain, having engaged to go with a traveling troupe who were about to astonish the small cities with the glories of the Black Crook. Our ambitious girl was in a dilemma, for she was also offered an engage- ment at a good salary with the traveling troupe and she did, not like the idea of separating from her friend, but Sara advised her to remain at Niblo’s. ‘You have got a good position; hold onto it, but demand more Y; you don’t get enough to live on now, to say nothing about dressing your parts properly.” But Miss Bell was. not fated to remain at Niblo’s Theater. At,last old Stubbs showed his hand. He requested the pleasure of Miss Bell’s company inthe parlor at the boarding-house, one day, and then, in the most formal manner, made her an offer of his heart and hand. The girl was completely surprised; and Stubbs, per- ceiving that she hesitated to answer, proceeded to explain that in part his offer was made ina urely business light; he was satisfied fhat she fad great talentsfor the stage, pe aided by his influence and knowledge, he could make a star out of her and.a fortune could be won, . . This was the secret of Stubbs’s interest in the irl. He was getting old; work was beginning e be oppressive, and he wanted some ane to support and care for him in his decline, ith a sinking heart Helen declined the offer. At.one fell blow her tand airy fabric was shattered. She. had believed that Stubbs’s in- terest in her had arisen because with the eyes of experience he saw that she was going to AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. make a great actress and wished to be the first to encourage rising genius, after the fashion of the kind gentlemen of whom she had read in novels; but, alas! those gentlemen seemed to exist in novels only, Stubbs was earages and said bluntly that she was an idiot, and that without his aid she would never get on. The discussion was. be- coming unpleasant; so Helen ended it by with- drawing from the apartment. Sara laughed when with sorrow the girl re- lated to her the particulars of the interview. -**T could have told you that he had some scheme in his head a long time ago!” she pro- tested. ‘‘ Mighty few men have I found in this world who will assist a friendless girl just for the pleasure of doing a gocd deed—that is, as far as my experience goes. So it is, to be the Black Crook and the ‘road’ after all. Well sit down, dear; write to the manager and te him that you will accept his offer. I don’t like to travel, for it is an awful hard life, but itis a solid party, the money is sure, and we are likely to have a long season. Anyway,I am glad that we are not to be se arated, for something seems to tell me that I am going to be of a great deal of use to you one of these days.” CHAPTER XII. ON THE ROAD. AFTER a week of rehearsing in New York, De Silvio’s Mammoth Black Crook Party—so the organization was termed—“ took the road,” to use the theatrical phrase. New Haven had been fixed upon as the open- ing city, and the entire troupe left New York by the Sunday evening boat. There were twenty-four le in the company, so that there was quite a poi: The managers and proprietors were the De Silvio brothers, the Well-known dancers, but the moneyed man who found the wealth which was to sustain the show was a De Silvio from private life, of whom no one had ever heard before, as he was not a pro- fessional, The two De Bilvios, the dancers, were tall, Frenchy-locking fellows, but the third was apparently the BP pops ho of the three, and was slight in build, very dark in complexion and looked a great deal like a Cu- ban. He was a very quiet, retired sort of fel- bed and rarely joined in the general conversa- on. As it was a beautiful moonlight night, nearly all of the troupe were on deck, enjoying the sail up the Sound. Sara and Miss Bell kept to- gether, and had rather withdrawn from the rest of the party, selecting a retired spot by the wheel-house. Miss Nellie Richmond formed one of the party, and as was usual with that erratic dam- sel, she had contrived to get herself into hot water at the very beginning of the tri No state-room had been secured for her, an en she ascertained this fact she at once took the managers to task about it, but the De Silvio brothers were old stagers and laughed the irate **serio-comic ” to scorn. “You can hire the whole boat if you like!’ one of them exclaimed. ‘* We only agree to ordinary accommodations, no sleeping-cars, no state-rooms, and if you don’t like it, you can get off and walk.” Ina fit of rage Miss Richmond departed to interview the clerk in regard to a state-room, and so it pappeped that she was not on deck when a tall, handsome fellow made his appear- ance in the midstof thetroupse. He was a ve distinguished-looking man, with curling blac hair, which he wore quite long, finely-cut fea- tures, and a generally aristocratic look about hi : m. He was at once accosted for he was widely known amon bade preys * Hello, Mallory!” was the cry. And it was indeed the young actor of whom the reader has already heard considerable— Gordon Mallory, the son of the boarding-house- keeper. With that careless air of easy grace which be- came him so well, the actor acknowledged the salutation. “ Where are you going?” was asked. “To New ven; I’m a member: of your = now,” he replied. ‘‘T am going to do Ru- olph. Your other man sent word at the last minute that he couldn’t join, and so they came hot-foot after me.” , “Glad of it!” exclaimed one of the perform- ers, heartily. ‘* You will find that you are in good company, “ By the way, we have one of your cular friends alon Pearl.” ‘* Yes?” and the young man smiled; he under- stood the obiect of the remark. It had once = been widely. reported that he and Miss Pearl were likely to make a match. ' ‘She is forward, by the wheel-house,” added another of the party. ‘*T must go and see her then,” and nodding to the up.he proceeded in the direction indi- cated. The moon was so bright that the deck was al- most as light as by day so Mallory had ‘no trouble in findin iss Pearl, but, great was is surprise when he beheld her companion, “Can it be possible?” he cried, in amaze- ment. ‘*Mr. Mallory!” and Miss Bell, rising, tender- ed him her hand, while a soft blush crept. over her cheeks, The keen eyes of Sara Pearl were upon the = of the two, and she read what was written there. “So, so!” she thought to herself; ‘sits the wind in that quarter? You are in love with each other, eh? Well,.you will make a nice couple!” And Sara Pearl was right, for a better match- ed, or a handsomer .pair, it would have been hard to find. ** This isan unexpected pleasure, Miss—” *‘ Bell—Helen Bell, that is my name,” the girl hastened to say. " : Keen-wi Sara noted this h at once. ‘*Oh,” she murmured, “the i — has only ae me a half-confidence, elen Bell isn’t er sight name, after all.” pressed the tiny out- extended And as Gordon Mallo stretched gloved hand which had been to. him, the sagacious Miss Pear] noticed a pe- culiar look stealing over his face—a look that — her clever as she was. He was evident- y glad to see the girl, and yet he was troubled in his mind by the unexpected event. He enced about him ina nervous sort of way ag f i feared Poy some one be watching him, ‘**T am on the stage now, e girl ‘* With this party ?”’ ~ “cc Yes. ” ** Well, this is strange; I have just joined.” a edalyle concluded not to come, then?” Sara ed. “Yes, at the last minute, and they hunted me up to take his place; I only arrived in town this evening, too.” ‘Well, this lady plays your sweetheart. pind ay you glad?’ Sara demanded, mischiev- ously. The words and the manner in which they were spoken alike confused Helen, and again the faint pink blush tinged her chedhes “Qh, yes,” and Mallory essayed to smile, but he was strangely disturbed; there was an awk- ward moment of silence and then the young man in a nervous way went on with his speech. ‘*Miss Pearl, as you are now aware, this lady and myself have met before, and although it was just a chance acquaintance, and I presume that neither of us ever expected to be fortunate enough to see the other again, yet that chance acquaintanceship will, I am sorely ry en procayete of much evil to both of usif it is nown to the world at large.” It was a strange speech, and it wasn’t a won- der that it made the two girls open their eyes. “‘T cannot, explain why I speak in this man- ner,” he hastened to say; “‘it is im: ible for me to exp, but what I have stated is the truth. It must not be known to any one that we have ever met before; I do not ask you, Miss Bell ”—he hesitated a moment on the name—‘‘ to tell an untruth. No one is likely to ‘question you, and yet, if you were questioned, and I were questioned also, both of us could re- ply. with honest candor. that Gordon Mallory and Helen Bell never met until this night Is not that so, Miss Bell?” l’s lips. A faint smile appeared wu the “ It is a juggle with mer an old-time min- ister, deep'in the trickery of state-craft, might consider it truth.” ‘It harms no one, and may save both of us from a great deal of trouble—misery, . haps!” the young man exclaimed, with ol earnestness. Sara, though she could not understand it, saw that Mallory was very much interested in the matter, and thought that it was only right for her to aid him to the extent of her power. Well, for my part, I don’t see why you shouldn’t keep the eA mr ey / a secret if you want to,” she remarked. ‘It isn’t any one’s business but your. as far as I can see, and if you choose to keep the matter to your- selves, you surely do not wrong any one else.” But, Helen was troubled; upon her woman's mind the shadow of danger lowered; but from
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42 = could not guess. “Well, be it so,” she said, after quite a pause; “the past is dead and gone, and now, Sara, please introduce me to this gentleman,” and she smiled through the troubled look which had overspread her face. : With all due gravity Sara introduced the wo. ‘* And now sit down!” she cried, ‘‘ and tell me where you have been for such a long time, what parties have you been with, how was business, and did you get your money ?”’ Miss Pearl was nothing if not practical. — » Nothing loth, the young actor sat down by the two ladies, and soon they were all busy in conversation, the cloud which had at first fallen upon them having passed away. Fifteen or twenty minutes were spent in con- versation, Mallory improving the opportunity to watch the face of the country girl, and never did this rare beauty_look more rarely beautiful than under the soft light of the moon, The hum of the conversation of the parties upon the stern of the boat came quite distinctly to the ears of the trio who were enjoying them- selves.so well, and every now and then a burst of laughter would break out on the air, And then, just as the conversation between the three flagged for a moment, a sbriller laugh than usual—evidently from a womani’s throat—came out elear on the night air. This laugh seemed to affect Mallory unplea- santly, for a perceptible shiver shook his frame and a shade came over his handsome face, “What a disagreeable laugh!” he exclaimed; “it seems to go right to the marrow of one’s bones.” Miss Pearl turned up her nose in scorn. She knew the laugh well enough. “Don’t you know who that is?” she asked; “‘but perhaps you are not acquainted with the —the fa . It’s Nellie Richmond!” Then there was a dead silence. Mallory sat with his eyes fixed upon the deck as if he had not heard the name. r Miss Pear] looked at him in astonishment; had the man suddenly become deaf? ‘Nellie Richmond, the serio-comic singer,” she repeated. ““Yes, I know her. I must go and see about my state-room now, if you ladies will excuse me,” and he rose and precipitately retreated, a poy Ae upon his face. “ hat on earth has got into the man?” Sara | demanded, } But, Mallory did not go to see about his state- room; no! He sought the other side of the boat, found a chair in the shadow, and seating him- self in it, bowed his head upon the rail and groaned in anguish. But not crn, ett for a light form had fol- lowed him, seated itself by his side and then laid a hand upon his shoulder. Mallory started and raised his head; a glit- tering, keen-edged knife flashed before his face, and an angry pair of eyes looked into his dark CHAPTER XIII. A MYSTERY. “You miserable wretch, why shouldn’t I drive this steel home to your heart?’ It was Nell Richmond who spoke. Basen, ene tiger-cat, you haven’t the courage,” ory replied, sternly, confronting the woman with eyes as angry as her own. “Hav'n’t I the courage? ’t you dare to try me too far!” she retorted. ‘Put up your knife and don’t make a fool of yourself; you will attract people’s attention in a moment.” “ What do I care if I do?” rejoined the wo- man, defiantly. ‘* What do I care if I do?” she repeated. ‘* What do I care if the whole world knows what is between you and I?” ‘ ‘Will you stop your noise?” he exclaimed, hoarsely, and with a face white with passion. “You Apes been drinking, and the liquor has upset what little sense there is in that crazy head of yours. i “T have only hada mm or two of champagne, and, my heavens! if I am not to drink, how can lever get through this terrible life of mine?” the woman exclaimed, wildly, yet obeying the injunctions of the other, and sinking her voice so as not to attract observation. “Tt is the wine that puts you up to these in- fernal tricks,” he went on, bitterly. ‘‘ But, put up your knife, or I will take and toss it over- ” . 44 You won’t dare!” ¢ ‘‘Won't I?” he cried through his firm-set AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. _ i ; x } { é TET ES . : vr; ‘ whom, or how, or where the evil threatened sie teeth—‘ not only the knife, but you after it, if ground, know that can upset the whole affair you provoke me!” | Oh, yes, I don’t doubt that you would like 'to do it,” and she replaced tke knife in her bosom, ana smiled mockingly in the face of the ‘man. ‘No doubt you would like to put me out | ‘of the way, so that you would be free to enjoy your new beauty.” | “*What are you talking about?” “Oh, I know all about it! | your love-affair with this country girl, and how shé came to your mother’s house in New York |after you. I was thereat the time. I boarded |at your mother’s house all the time I was play- ing at Niblo’s.” ““T would not have thought you would have | dared to do that.” “And wy not?” » “She would have killed you if she had known who you really were.” ‘* Yes, but she did not know, and who was to tell her,eh? Instinct? Not much! Oh! it was rare good fun for me to sit at the table and | watch her face, trace there the likeness to your | to me.” ‘*You are a devil, if ever there was one in this world!” and young Mallory clenched his | hands with a savage impulse in his heart to throttle her. ‘*But she hated me, though; take that for | yourconsolation. She hated me without know- |ing who and what I was—without for an. in- stant suspecting that I was the woman who Kad wreck’d all the ambitious hopes which she had once formed for her son,” ‘See here! Lam getting tired of this sort of thing!” and Mailory’s voice quivered with pas- | sion as he spoke. ‘* How fnuch longer is this to | goon? Do you think for one moment that I am going to submit all the rest of my life to this?” ae pes what hope of erate is there for me?” she demanded, bitterly. ‘‘ You are selfish, like all men; you think only of yourself, and you never give a thought to my position.” ‘*-You promised to let me alone and not trou- ble me, if I would agree to act likewise with you. ““Do you suppose I have water in my veins instead of blood?’ she demanded, Mascely “Do you think I am going to submit to your love-af- | fair with this country girl? You would be mar- | rying her next, I suppose, if I didn’t put a stop- per on the match.” “That is beyond your power,” he replied, | coldly. ‘i What is beyond my power?” she asked in heat, her manner a strange contrast to his. ‘To stop me from marrying any one, if I choose so to do.” ““T can stop you.” ** You cannot,” ** Oh, perhaps I don’t man, and all women, ti : she retorted, with bitter scorn. ell, we will say that yeu can marry—that I cannot stop you—but, can’t I make the woman that weds a it right, I am a wo- you wish that she was in Heaven, or the other | bd lace, if I choose to speak? Pn No, you cannot—not if she is a sensible wo- ” man it, and then we will see.” h Well, you just try “You are with party, then?’ Mallory ‘Yes, and so are you, and so is she!” and then again Nell Richmond's sbrill long ten floated out on the clear, still air of the night. ‘* How lucky it is that we are all here, together! I feel Haaren find as if J ought to kill the girl for coming between you and me—oh, don’t attempt to deny it; I know all about it; I heard how ou made her acquaintance in some country own, and you made quick work of it, too, didn’t you? Only one day’s acquaintance, and she vowed to be yours, and gave you her pic- ture— ““No, you are wrong; your informant lied this time. She mever gare me her picture.” “ Didn’t she? Well, I found it in your nevertheless!” she cried, with an air umph, ‘Do you remember when you came to New York after that country trip you and told you that I wanted some money; you brought it to me, and I saw the picture in your _breast- et, and, when I Iissed you good-by, I stole it!” Again the woman laughed sbrilly, while a look of inexpressible disgust came over the face of the young man. ‘Oh, you would like to kill me now, wouldn’t you?” she went on, tauntingly, as she noticed the look upon his face. ‘It will be rare fun for me. I will just watch the play; you are after | this girl and she is agreeable, but 1. in the back- I know all about | own, and wonder to myself how many of the | lines of care upon your mother’s face were due | ey say, are illogical!” | I sent for | at any moment by coming forward, so I shall ' let the puppets dance on.” : “Nell, this has got to come to an end,” the oung actor declared, a strange, hard look upon is face as he bent forward and plaved a hand ' that was cold as ice upon the girl’s wrist. The | cold touch sent a chill through her frame—ugly, passionate vixen that she was. “What do you mean?” she asked, a touch of/ apprehension in her voice. “Exactly what I say:—this cannot go on—it | must come toa stop. Your life is not a happy one, is it?” “No, and you wrecked it.” : “God help me! It was not all my fault!” he exclaimed, bitterly. ‘‘ You were as much to blame as I—perhaps a little more, for you were a woman while I was nothing but a boy.” ‘Pm no older than you are!” she retorted, sullenly. “Yes, you are, fully ten years older: it isn’t of any use for you to deny the truth for I know it, I was not twenty, wild and headstrong, the slave of passion, and like all boys at that age I believed I knew everything, and prided myself upon the knowledge. You came in my way; hea did your best to fascinate me; you tried all he arts dear to the heart of a wily, beautiful woman; you succeeded, and you know the rest. That was a good ten years ago, and the dark | cloud that arose out of our folly now hangs over us. Iam more merciful than you; I bear | you no hatred for the ills that are past. If you | Should find a good man whom you believed you could love, I should rejoice at it, and I would rather that my tongue should be torn from its roots than have it utter one single word to in- terfere with your happiness.” “Oh, you are so good—you are so generous!” with bitter scorn. ‘“ You wouldn't interfere in my happiness—oh, no! You are like the child who ye Nps gives toa playmate the broken toy for which it has no longer any use. You | are tired of me—you would to get rid | of me—the love ‘you once bore me has turned | into indifference—into hatred perhaps, and so | you make a virtue of that which in your heart | you are eagerly sighing for. But, I won’t give you up! It doesn’t matter whether I love or | hate you; no other woman shail call you hus- | band while I have the power to prevent it, and I will prevent, even at the risk of life What ‘do I care for life? Iam tired of it, and would eagerly welenwe death.” “So I feel sometimes—so I feel now!” he cried, abruptly. ‘‘Come, let us lock arms to- ‘gether and jump overboard; the dark waters willsoon give us our quietus!” But the woman was a coward with all her bravado; and she shrunk in horror from the offer. “Oh, who is crazy now?’ and she trembled she shrunk from him, “Am I to believe for a single instant that ' there is any truth, virtue or courage jn you?” he reto fiercely. ** But, £ your ways; and, mark! cross me not or I shall have your blood upon my soul!” Completely awed the woman glided por actually appalled at the young actor’s a ul, | mood. ; CHAPTER XIV. THE BLOODHOUNDS, On the forward deck of the steamboat, in a dark and secluded nook by the wheel-house, sat- three men busily engaged in conversation—no common conversation,. either, apparently, for they seemed apprehensive of being overheard, spoke in low and guarded tones, and whenever any one came near they stopped talking until the person, whoever it was, had passed ont of ear-shot. Sey these eg when mney came upon the t, apparently were strangers to ech other, although all had lounged around | the gang-plank of the boat. until the very last minute. ; | One wasa tall, rather portly man, dressed in a good serviceable suit of clothes, decidedly un- fashionable in cut, with gray hair and a full | gray beard, carry a small black portman- u—evidently, to judge by his dress, s. coun- | try merchant, or farmer, who had been paying a visit to the city. No 2 was a short, thick-set man all wrapped up in a big “ulster,” which covered him from neck to heels. He had shaggy red hair and a bristling red beard, and that peculiar ‘“‘horsey” ecpoarence which seems to cling to men who have much to do with the noble animal. No, 8 was a negro, a burly, well-fed gentleman of color, en- tirely in black with a white ‘“‘choker,” green spectacles and an umbrella, rather the worse for —
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¥ rt btge PRESO SS CF . ee od, ee ee ¥ wwe CV eae PS See ww cre VY O Phe "~ Tt YW Oe lod me 8S Se ew ory Ft AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. 13 ‘wear, a preacher, judging by his outward ap- arance. Perhose men had not come upon the boat to- ether, nor even upon the dock in company. The ay-haired, cm tes oon man had been the first to make his appearance, and had ar- rived about eight o’clock—the boat left at nine; ‘he had gone on , and, apparently actuated by a sentiment of intense curiosity, had gone all ’ over the boat from stem to stern, from the hur- ricane deck to the lower cabin. Very few of the passengers indeed had arrived and the man had the boat almost to himself. After heihad finished his examination he took up his position amid a pile of freight, a short distance from the gangway, and where he could have a good view of everybody who went on or off the steamer. The “‘horsey” man had been the next to make his appearance, and he had marched on the boat a procured his ticket at once, pass- ‘ing close to the first man, but no sign of recog- nition was exchanged between the two; and af- ter he got his ticket he sat down in a chair, twenty feet or so from the gangway and amused himself by watching. the passengers come on board. No, 3 some twenty minutes dater, made his a rance, and neither of the first two noticed , nor he them. He got his ticket and sauntered out on the dock and sat ‘down on a barrel on the other side of the gang- way from where No. 1 had taken his station. And so it was that not a passenger came on board without being closely scrutinized by all of the three, although the inspection was so carefully and skillfully performed that not a soul suspected it. The traveling troupe had come, all in a bunch as it were, and had passed on the boat in little squads of five and six, all busily engaged in conversation, and all full of talk and glee. _ The minutes passed rapidly away; the warn- ing bell was rung; ‘ All on shore!” was called out; the passengers who were standing on the dock hurried on board; the gang-plank was drawn in; the boat moved slowly away from the pier and the journey began. The three men manifested a strange restless- ness after the boat got under way; they were almost continually on the move, Wherever a » group of passengers collected one of the three would take pains to bover near for a few mo- ments, evidently listening to the conversation yet exciting no suspicion. And all the time no one of the three took the slightest notice of the others. ut, after this had gone on for about an hour, and the passengers had_finally settled down for the trip, the three found their way to the shel- ‘tered nook which we have spoken of and entered into an earnest conversation, Not wishing to make a mystery of the mat- ter we will say at once that they were no stran- gers to the reader. The tall portly man was the Professor, the other two his assistants, ‘O'Toole, the Irishman, and Oglethorpe, the ne- gro. No signs of her, yet,” McDonald remarked, expressing his disgust in his looks. ; ge she’s. not on board,” O’Toole de- clared. ““Dat’s de bressed trufe!” the negro admit- “Well, I am not fessor demurred, ‘Faix! we didn’t see her come on board, and she is not on the boat if my two eyes are good for anything,” the Irishman protested, stoutly. “Deed, honey, I jess stared at ebbary soul dere is on de boat and I didn’t find her!” Ogle- thorpe asserted. hnd no more would she have discovered us - if she is on board and was looking for us. We are disguised, and so completely, that our own mothers wouldn’t know us, Now if we disguise ourselves so as to catch the girl isn’t it likely she will disguise herself so as to escape our ‘serutiny ?” } The others nodded in assent. “There it is—there is the whole matter in a so’sure of that,” the Pro- nutshell,” McDonald continued. “ We disguise ourselves so as to capture her; she disguises herself so as to escape from us. Now, then, the question is—are we any cleverer than she The three looked at each other, doubt plainly expressed upon their faces. “IT see you agree with me,” the Professor wenton. “If deeds go to prove anything she is the cleverest, for in this little trial of skill, so far, she has beaten us; she has even destroyed all clews, excepting the extremely slight one of her relations to this actress, Miss Pearl. She attempted to see her and appeared determined so to do—why, [ haven’t the slightest idea, but my instinct told me that she would. not be con- tent until she had interviewed this actress, so, since that night, we, have kept.a close watch upon Miss Pearl, but so far without the slight- est benefit; when I learned of this projected tour I made up my mind that if my guess was right, our bird would be on board this boat,” ‘* But she ain’t!” ejaculated the Irishman, as- suredly. ‘‘ Not in her own proper person apparently, | | but she may be here, disguised. There are fif- teen women in the party, and some of them are in vails and not wearing their own hair either. But for another reason I took this trip. The madaw’s instinct says that there is a cer- tain place near to this town of New, Haven where, sooner or later, our game will be sure to come. It isa little summer cottage down on the ‘south shore,’ or the ‘south cove’—the madam has forgotten which, where a certain arty carried our lady when they came from urope, some. years ago. To that cottage the madam is sure she will come, and she wrote me that, failing any clew in New York to go to the neighborhood of the cottage and wait. So you see in this case this trip covers both. the madam’s guess and my own. We will keep on the heels of this troupe until we are satisfied she is not in the party or following it; then we will shadow the cottage and wait for events.” The others shook their heads; they had no faith that success would wait upon either one of these theories, but they were mere hands not heads, and so obeyed. Time wore on; one by one the passengers de- parte to their berths, until, finally, the Pro- essor and one of the Silvio brothers—one of the proprietors of the troupe—were left upon the deck, The asking of a light for a cigar led the two into conversation; and, as the Professor was a genial gentleman, with fine conversa- tional powers, which he exerted to their utmost in this case, having a purpose in view, he and the ‘‘showman ” got on quite intimate terms. Silvio, despite his name, was an Englishman —a man with very little education, but with much natural shrewdness, and with an intense longing for the society of men whose station he | considered above his own. The Professor per- ceiving this was quick to improve the advan- tage. In a careless way he talked about his “bank” at Richmond, Virginia, and so from speaking of his own private affairs led the showinan to talk of his, particularly as with all a lawyer’s skill he led directly up to it. He said that he had always had a great wish to take an active pert in theatrical affairs, and had often thought of buying an interest in some good ¢roupe. . ¢ The showman, —_ his shrewdness, jumped at the bait and swallowed it, hook oni all, im- mediately. An ‘‘angel,” to use the cant term, with plenty of money to “‘back a show,” is what all am- bitious professionals hunger after. So, with an e to the future, the man confided to the Pro- essor that he and his brother did not find the means to run the present troupe, but that the third brother—the young, dark, Cuban-like fel- low—did, and this third brother was no brother at all, but an outsider, who didn’t want his real name known, and so called himself one of the De Silvios. a ‘* Very common thing, you know,” De Silvio explained, ‘‘ for these rich young fellows, who come of good families, to keep their names se- cret, particularly when they are mixed up with a Black Crook kind of a show.” “Well, how did it happen that this young fel- low should take a fancy to be connected with such an entertainment?” the Professor askéd: | larly, neither had his satellites; all their atten- tion had been directed to the female part of the troupe. He had noticed a slender boyish figure, foreign-looking in the ey bepe all wrapped wu in a large ulster, but had hardly cast a secon lance at the person, although at the time the Sion ht had occurred to him that the face was familiar. ** And he is sweet upon Miss Pearl; eh?’ he asked; determined to push the matter to the bottom. ‘Oh, yes; I felt ated sure of it at first, and T noticed to-night that he sat a little ways from her in the cabin and fairly ate her with his eyes. Me And, which is Miss Pearl?” The Professor asked the question because he was puzzled at the interest his prey took in the actress. “She is the tall, handsome girl with the blonde hair and the bright blue eyes, who sat with another girl, Miss Bell, right at the head of the stairs before the boat started; then they went out onto the deck.” **Yes: I think I noticed her.” . -. “T will introduce you te the gentleman, if you like.” “‘Thank yoa; I shall be delighted.” But the Professor didn’t intend that anything of the kind should occur. It was his game to keep out of sight until he was ready to spring upon his prey. < Their further conversation was of little im- portanre, and soon they retired to rest, But, fore he sought his couch the woman-hunter sought his two assistants and detailed to them his suspicions. _ ‘Keep an eye upon this party!” was his part- ing injunction, ‘for it isa hundred to one that it is our bird!’ CHAPTER XY. THE FIRST NIGHT. Now that he had a clew the Professor deter- mined to pursue it diligently, so bribed the steward with a dollar to call him in the morn- | ing before the boat gotintothe dock. He would watch the disembarking passengers; if the young man who has assumed to be one of the De Silvio brothers was the woman in disguise he would be able to detect it now that he was on his guard. McDonald fell asleép with a mind at ease, but if he had overheard a whispered conversation between the steward and one of the passengers which occurred right after his own interview with that official he would not have felt quite so comfortable. ~The passenger occupied a state-room next to the Professor’s. Through the open transom he had overheard their conversation, and the mo- ment the Professor shut the door the passenger hastened to recall the steward, but took to ask the negro into the state-room so that no one could overhear what was said. ‘IT want to have a little joke on the old gen- tleman,” the passenger explained, with a smile. “He is always boasting about getting up so early, and rather crowing over the rest of us; eon you could forget to call him in the morn- | ing | the young man jingled the silver pieces in his will give you a couple of dollars,” and hand. The eyes of the negro grin came over his face; t night was indeed a windfall. “Yes, sah; ‘deed I kin!” “You can say that you forgot to call him.” ** Yes, sah; or I kin sw’ar dat I did call him, and dat he told me to go ’way and luff him sleep.’ ; “Just as you please ” And the steward departed, rattling the silver arkled and a broad ee dollars in one The showman laughed, then he whispered | dvllars gleefully in his pocket, while the passen- confidentially: ‘Struck after one of the girls.” Yes” “Fact! He beard somewheres that she wa going with us, and he came to me and offered ) to take an interest in the trip. Of course he | dida’t say a word about being after the girl, | but he mentioned her, and said that he under- stood she was going and that he thought she was a very excellent actress. I saw how the cat jumped at once, and as he talked bpaines, put up.a couple of hundred dollars and ha plonby more back of it, we sold him a one-tenth — interest.’ A. light suddenly flashed upon McDonald’s brain; cunning as he thought himself it was more than probable that t) woman was more cunning still. He had lookeu for her among the ; women; but was it not possible that she bad ise of a particu- | outgeneraled him by assuming the di man? The men he bad not notice | face. | edge of the affair ger threw f upon his bunk. “Oho, Professor! You ought to have puta beard over your mouth as well as your chin!” was the muttered scornful exclamation; “you needed to disguise your voice as well as your So it happened in the morning that McDonald | was not awakened before the boat was made | fast to the dock, but on the contrary, not until the passengers had disembarked. e Professor was wrathy, and demanded to know why he had not been called, but the stew- ard, with all innocence, disclaimed all knowl- and protested that it must have been “de odder colored man, sah;” and, although McDonald felt certain that he had got hold of the right chap, yot there was no help for it, so, ina very angry mood, he quitted the boat to,go immediately to the hotel, where the troupe proceeded ; so, confident in the se- curity of his disguise, he walked into the hotel
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44 AN AMBITIOUS GIRL office and registered, but no sight could he catch of the y man. After breakfast he encountered the manager, whose acquaintance he had made on the boat, and took occasion to mention, in a careless way, that he had not had the pleasure of seeing the young Matt “‘He is not stopping here,” De Silvio ex- Paine, ‘although his name is on the register. e always register all the party, and generally ut in five or six dummy names besides, so as make the country beaux, who come in to stare at the register, think that we have got an immense company. That is one of the tricks of the trade,” he added, with a laugh. i And where is he stopping?’ McDonald ed. ‘“With some friends or relatives, I believe; from what he said, I understood he has some folks here who wouldn’t be pleased if they knew he had anything to do with the show business; so he is going to keep quiet about it until we get to the next town,” : ‘*T thought I hadn’t seen him this morning,” “Oh, he was here, and helped me to secure the rooms, and then he went pyrey. “‘I was looking forward to the pleasure of making his acquaintance. From what you said about him last night my curiosity was excited.” **Come up to the hall, to-night; he will pro- bably be there, although he may not show up at Mi All right; I will be there,” and then the two separa A lurking icion had the Professor that there was more tham accident in this, but how was it possible the bird could have learned of the spies upon his track? The day passed, but neither McDonald nor his assistants found the slightest trace, though they searched high and low. Night came; the spies were earl crowd 0 Silvio. The performance passed off well, but, despite pleasure-seekers, but no young De the enjoyable nature of the entertainment, the | Professor sat, figuratively speaking, on thorns. | Had the prey again slipped through his fingers? Wus he dooenele like t 4 Irishman renowned in story, to be forever clutching at the bird to find that it wasn’t a bird at al The play ended, the audience dispersed, but no young Silvio putin an appearance, so the i returned to the hotel, and at last, after all | .é troupe had retired, the doctor and his satel- lices retreated from the field. As the troupe were to stay two nights in New Haven, the Professor still hoped the young man might make his appearance; but this hope was a vain one. and he came not. That night the Professor re- tired, a beaten and disgusted man. His only chance, now, was in the little, almost forgotten seaside cottage down by the murmuring waves of the Sound. A great surprise awaited him in the morning, though. He was up betimes, as was his habit, and was sitting in the office, reading a morn- ing newspaper, when the elder De Silvio came own. ‘*Letter for you,” said the clerk, giving him one, and the showman, as he tore it open, crossed to the window where McDonald was sitting, and nodded to bim. ‘““Well, blast it! If this ain’t a rum go!” cried De Silvio, as he perused the letter, unable to restrain his astonishment. “Eh?” and the Professor looked up from, his newspaper as if not understanding whether the remark was intended for his ears or not. “Well, sir, it beats anything that I ever heard! You remember our ‘angel,’ the Cuban, that I was telling you about? Yes? Well, he has eloped with Miss Pearl; here’s his letter ex- plaining about it, but keep it dark, you know; it won’t do to have it get out; but they have sloped, by thunder!” ——_~ CHAPTER XYVI.' TANGLING IT Ur. Tue Professor was not half so astonished at the affair as the manager of the troupe, for the elopement confirmed his suspicions. The Cubav was a woman disguised as a man; the girl was the magnet which had attracted his prey after the troupe, but—and now the Professor’s able mind became confused—what bond of union ‘was there between the actress and this mysteri- ous woman? McDonald knew her life for twenty years back, and in that twenty years there appeared no clew to connect theone with the other. And now, in the name of reason and of common sense, how was it that she had in- duced the gifl to fly with her? The next day and evening passed | | } And, while the Professor was wrestling with these iblems, the manager on his was struge with another. Sara Pearl wes the bi particular star of the troupe, and now that she was gone what would he do for another Stalacta? True, he had a plenty of good-look- ing well-formed girls in the troupe, but not one of them was Sara Pearl with a metropolitan reputation. ‘ ‘Dash the luck!” he cried, sevegey) the Boston managers will never stand it I don’t ve them another Stalacta, just as gocd as earl-but where on earth am I to find her?” At this moment the other brother came into the office, when the first one hastened to show him the letter, but he wouldn’t believe it. “Tt’s a hoax!” he declared; ‘‘Sara Pear! is no such girl. I know her of old. She wouldn’t do such a thing as to run off without giving us notice. We have treated her well; she has no cause of complaint and she wouldn’t leave us in the lurch without a moment’s warning; she is too honest for that.” The other brother looked doubtful; he hadn’t much faith in women’s honesty, particularly as far as the capricious ladies of the stege were concerned. ‘‘Have you been up to her. room yet, to see if she is really gone?” the younger one con- tinued. ‘No; Inever thought of that. When I read the note written by our ‘angel’ I took it for ted thatshe had gone, of course.” ** Take nothing for granted!” cried the other, impetuously, ‘‘ and, as for that fellow, I never liked the looks of him; there was something snealy and womanish about him, to my appre- hension. Sara Pearl would never take up with such a fellow or else she ain’t the kind of a girl I have always thought she was.” Then up-stairs, in hot haste to Miss Pearl’s on the ground, as were alsoa large room, the two proceeded, and the Professor, as fully interested as the brothers, followed them. Miss Pearl and Miss Rell roomed together—a blessing, as the elder De Silvio had remarked wher be ascertained that the girls were not peri willing but anxious so to do, for, as a rule wi a troupes, every woman wants a room to herself; consequently there is a row at every hotel where such a thing is almost always an impossibility. The younger brother knocked loudly at the door, but no one within the room stirred er an- swered, ‘“‘There; she has gone, sure enough!” the other brother exclaimed. ‘*Don’t you be too sure of that; Miss Bell at least would be here.” ‘* Perhaps she has gone with her,” the other suggested; ‘‘ they were thick as sisters.” ‘* No, there’s a key in the lock, inside, and the door is fastened,” the other responded, trying the handle, and then he began a ferocious at- tack upon the door. The noise this time succeeded in arousin some one within the room; footsteps were hea: coming to the door, the key was turned in the lock, the door slightly opened, and the face of Sara Pearl ap , but looking so dull and heavy that it could scarcely be recognized. She seemed like one laboring under the influence of a narcotic, for her eyes were dull and heavy, and her whole bearing listless and feeble. ‘““Eh, what’s the matter—what is it?’ she asked, evidently not recognizing the brothers outside. “There, you see!” said the younger brother, winking to the elder: ‘‘Oh, it’s all right, Miss Pearl; we only came to wake you up, that is all. We feared you would oversleep yourself.” “You are very kind. Ob, is it you, Mr. De Silfio?” she asked, suddenly recognizing the manager. ‘TI don’t know what has got into me this morning; I feel as sick as death—I can hardly stand up and ny bye aches so terribly ; I = t know what + ity matter.” pa a e managers expre their sym , ani one of them suggested that she had Mettor call ring Bell, for possibly she could do something or her. “Yes, I will,” she said, languidly, and she turned from the door. The next moment those without were startled by a cry of amazement from Sara’s lips, and she flung open the door, widely; she had slipped on a loose morning- wrapper when she had been called, so that she was fit to be seen, though her glorious mass of | | beautiful blonde "pale ond all hanging down loose over her shoulders. : “My God! she is not here!” she cried. And the three upon the threshold, pressing nearer, looked into the room. ‘As she had said—Helen Bell was not there! The only trace of her was the impress of her head a the pillow where she had lain. by Sara’s side. A terrible conviction flashed instantly upon the brain of the bewildered girl. ‘Oh, Lunderstand it now!” she cried; ‘‘I have been dru —drugged in my sleep, so that Helen could be stolen away! you not smell the odor of the drug, gentlemen, still lingering | in the room?” They did smell it; the scent was plain; the sickening perfume that comes from the sense- entrancing narcotic told its own story: Stalacta had been drugged—the Cuban fled with Helen Bell instead of Sara Pearl! Helen evi- dently had drugged her friend so that she might be able to escape unobserved. But, what was the meaning of the wrong name in the Cuban’s note? Was it possible that he did not know the difference between the two? An open sheet of ete oe laced conspicu- ously upon the table attrac Rara’s attention, Upon it were a few lines of writing. Miss Pear caught it up and read it aloud: “*Good-by, dear; tell the landlord to kee trunk until I send for it.” vedi And that was all. ‘There, yousee; it’s thesame old story. She has eloped with our angel; here is his letter, but. he wrote that it was you who was going,” said the elder De Silvio. In amazement Sara half-read the note, not noticing her own name therein. ‘““{¢ is some deep and dark plot!” she ex- claimed, full of excitement. ‘‘ This looks some- thing like her handwriting, but Iam sure that itis not, I will not believe it!” CHAPTER XVIL A SELF-WILLEB WOMAN. Miss PEARL would not believe that Helen had eloped. Pre is impossible!” she kept on repeating. “Tt can’t be! She would surely have confided |in me. Why should she want to act secretly about the matter? There wasn’t the least need of it. I wouldn’t have thrown any obstacles in the way.” mad the De Silvio brothers only laughed at t “How do you get over her letter?” asked the elder one. “I do not believe she ever wrote it; it is an | imitation of her hand, but it is not her writing.” ‘“‘ Well, that is an easy way of getting out of its but how about this letter from the gentle- And then man to us—is this a forgery, too?” he read the letter aloud. “Miss Pearl!” the girl exclaimed, in amaze- ment; ‘‘ why, what on earth does he mean by saying Miss Pearl? Inever even spoke to the . mien, I don’t believe I would know him if I saw im. . “ A mistake made in the hurry of writing, I suppose, or this young lady has been deceiving him for some purpose, and has made him be- lieve that her name is Pearl. “But, why on earth should she do such a thing?’ asked Sara. ‘People don’t do such things without reason.” ary a “And now I think of it,” chimed in the elder De Silvio, “‘ when he proposed to take an inter- | est in the show, he was Very anxious that Miss Pear! should be engaged.’ “Well, it’s very funny that your brother should act so strangely,” Sara observed, in wonder, The two showmen laughed. “He was no brother of ours,” the younger _ one explaine’ That was just a gag to keep | people from finding out his réal name. How do ou know what has been going on in New York tween these two? Wares don’t always. trust each other. This fellow has evidently got plenty of money, and it is a big thing for the “But, why didn’t she stay in New York then? | What did she want to p brag out on this trip for, | and then run away in this manner?” “Oh, you must ask me some easier question,” the man answered, shrugging his shoulders, “Perhaps he didn’t come to time in the right | way—perhaps he wasn’t willing to do what the lady wanted; she may have demanded certain | things, a settlement of so much money upon er, or— P ‘*For shame!” the actress cried, indignantly. “ Helen Bell was no such girl and besides, there | Was a very good reason why she would not have run away with this fellow.” p ‘* What reason?” asked the elder brother, his curiosity excited. : Sara felt that she had said too much; her | reason, too, was but a suspicion, although, | woman-like, she was certain that it was cor~ | rect,
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AN AMBITIOUS: GIRL. 15 “Tt doesn’t matter; I know,” she replied, evasively. st Well, we'll have to put one of the other girls in for her part, and you had better get dressed. We leave at ten-thirty, you know.” “But, ain’t you going to do anything about this matter?’ demanded Miss Pearl, in amaze- ment. ‘* Do anything about it—how?” asked the elder De Silvio. Lo en police on the track! I have “ Why, been d ‘Well, I shouldn’t be surprised if you are right, but I guess youcan thank your friend for that; she tried a little chloroform on you so that she could get away without trouble; per- haps she had an idea that you might objeet.” And closing the door, the two walked off, fol- lowed by the Professor, who now believed that he held the clews to this mystery. “Oh, I’m only a woman, and f don’t know what I am talki about, of course!” cried Sara, ionately. ‘That r child has been chuiacted b y somebody. She ina always been so quiet about her past life that I hada sus- picion there might be something mysterious about it. Ill dress and then co t the chief of police, at once.” And the girl was as good as her word; she ourried on her things, and without a word to anybody hurried out. She proceeded directly to the principal street and accosting the first liceman she saw was directed to the office of he chief of the police, and in five minutes more was in the office. The official was a pleasant- mannered gentleman, and knowing the ac- tress, having witnessed the performance on the previous evening, at once asked how he could oblige her. : Sara gave a history of the whole affair; the Chief looked grave, asked a few questions, and then shook his head. The girl’s heart sunk within her. By his face she guessed that he did not see any way to act in the matter. ** What is to be done?” she asked, almost in despair, as she concluded, “Well, really, miss, I don’t exactly see; of course there are some suspicious circumstances . about the affair;” in his own mind he didn’t think there were. He had not the best possible opinion of actresses, particularly those who traveled with entertainments of the Black Crook order, and as he believed the managers of such shows knew a great deal more about their ac- tresses than he possibly could know, if they were convinced thatit was an elopement, pure and simple, and nothing else, why, the chances were great they were correct in their suppo- sition. “Yes, yes,” Sara cried, eagerly, ‘and do you not think if you put your detectives upon the case they might be able to find out the perpe-~ trator oF this outrage, for I am sure it isnot an elopement, but an abduction. She was drugged —i was drugged, and then she was taken away!” h Now this view of the matter was entirely too much for the official. To his acute mind it seemed like a leaf torn out of one of the ‘‘ blood and thunder” novels, for the average man be- lieves that fiction always surpasses truth, blind to the fact that police and law courts daily re- veal glimpses of tragedies, far excelling in won- derful strangeness all the tales that human mind can invent. Truth is stranger than fiction despite the current belief that it is not. An then, too, his visitor talked about his detectives as if he was the police chief of the metropolis with a small army of spies at his beck and call. So again he shook his head, but in order to smooth the matter over said, blandly: ‘+ } don’t really see how I can interfere in the case. You see, miss, according to your state- ment there is nothing for us to work on—I mean, officially, but privately, to oblige you I will put one of our best men on quietly, an see what he can 3 ~~ he gains any informa- tion I will let you know. t The actress thanked the chief, although in her heart she did not believe the search would be productive of any good results. It did not re- quire the skill of a prophet to see that the official believed it was an elopement and not an abduc- tion. The chief inquired in regard to where the troupe would be durin g the next week _ put down' _ sores and the dates, and then pol ly bowed the out. “ And now, i ects on earth shall I do?’ mut- tered Sara, as she walked slowly back to the hotel. ‘‘If I can’t interest the chief in my who can I interest?” Then, suddenly, } thought of Gordon Mallory! There was a love affair between the yo actor; and the missing girl, she was sure, although both con- cealed it well. But, Sara had a woman’s eyein matters of this kind, and was confident she was not mis . ‘And this, if for no other.reason, was why Helen had not eloped. She felt sure from what she had known of the country girl that money would have no weight with herat all where matters of the heart were concerned. If any one would take an interest in the matter Gordon Mallory was the man, and so, when she arrived at the hotel she at once asked fer the young actor. She found him, and he was already in - sion of the full details, but when she asked what he was going to do about it, he simply replied by asking what he could do? This question was a difficult one to answer, and Sara was obliged to confess that she really didn’t know, but she thought that something ought to be done. allory fully with her, but, as he said, he did not see any way in which he could do anything. ’ Sara wept—tears born of rage, commingled with vexation and pity. : “Oh, if I was ro aman!” she cried, as the train moved eut of the New Haven depdt; but, what she would have done if she had been cf the masculine gender she neglected to state. CHAPTER XVIII HOW IT WAS DONE. Ir was about three o’clock in the morning, the hour when sleep is deepest. The Black Crook troupe reposed dreamlessly, tired out after their night’s exertions. Only one person was astir— and he moved, like a specter, silently through the halls, as if anxious not to disturb the sleep- ers. The leok upon his face, the features otf which were dimly visible by the misty light of the down-turned gas, revealed murderous thoughts if ever a face did. There were two staircases in the hotel, the main one used by the guests and a small rear one leading to the back ard for the convenience of the servants of the ouse, Down this back way the figure stole. The staircase ended in a broad entry, at the end of which was a door leading into the yard in the rear of the hotel. To unlock and unbolt the door was but a moment’s work. Through the door the man glided, then from the yard into the street. A short distance up the street a doctor resided. Quite a large gar- den surrounded his residence, and at its rear was the physician’s stable, Opening the carriage gate the night-prowler proceeded directly to the stable. The door, secured by a common padlock, was onetly opened by one of a large bunch of keys wit which the silent visitor was provided. Soon the doctor’s nag, a sober gray beast, was care- fully led from its stall to be deftly harnessed, and then attached to the buggy. This aecom- plished, the horse was led through the yard into the street and then around into the hotel yard, halting it at the back door. ; Then again into the hotel the slight figure pane to steal softly up the stairs and halt at he door of the room occupied by the two girls. There he listened attentively. The breathing of ae eeepere within could plainly be distin- guished. The transom over the door was quite large enough to admit the body of the night-prowler. Mounting upon the knob of the door he was quickly inside the room, and with steps as noise- less as the footfalls of a cat, he stole to the bed wherein the two girls slept side by side. From his pocket he drew a vial and a couple of sponges, and a strong, pungent odor stole out upon the air as he poured some of the liquid of the vial upon the sponges, first taking the pre- caution, however, to unlock the door, evidently with the idea of being able to mi a without detection in case the girl should happen to wake while he was applying the narcotic. Then the sponges were held close to the nos- trils of the sleepers. | iat Bound as they were in slumber’s chain it was impossible for them to resist, and, although | sleeping nature struggled for a few moments against the outrage, the subtle power of the drug revailed, and soon both of them relapsed into sensibility. The dark water-proof cloak of Miss Bell lay | upon a chair near at hand; this the intruder wrapped around the form of the sleeping girl; then with dextrous hands-he gathered the wear- ing apparel upon the sofa and rolled it up into a bundle, not even neglecting to put in the stock- ings and shoes. en and ink and a few sheets of paper were iy the table, where they had been left by iss Pearl, after writing to a friend in New York, the evening before. Evidently the visitor had calculated upon everything, for without a moment’s hesitation he sat_ down to the table and hurriedly penned Se note, }ehis-il the So Marken ad so willingly ac as proof that the girl had elo with their “an ok oF is task completed, then with a strength that none would have believed dwelt within the slender form of the stripling, the intruder — swung the senseless form of the dragged rl over his shoulder, took up the bundle in hi hand and made his be & from the house into the ard. Depositing the bundle on the floor of the uggy he propped the girl up in the seat, so that she looked as if she was ‘sleeping; then he returned to the hotel, ascended again to the room whose privacy he had violated, locked the door upon the inside, and, agile as a cat, gained the entry again by way of the transom. Never had an enterprise been more skillfully or suc- cessfully carried out. But, like all cunning toomuch. If the girl the night, as he intended every one should be- lieve, she could not possibly have locked the door from the inside, and, woman though she was, Miss Pearl had not neglected to notice and mention this fact, which a shrewd and skillful detective would have seized upon as & sure preof that no elopement but a cunning-planned abduction had taken place, but the girl’s asser- tions were not believed. Every one thoughtshe was mistaken, and that the door was unlocked, but, in her agitation and bewilderment, that she herself had relocked it when she had been summoned, Taking his place in the buggy beside his un- conscious victim, the perpetrator of this re- markable outrage drove off. Between the hours of three and fourin the morning there is Very little life in the streets of a quiet, provincial city. It was quite dark and the carriage passed out of the town without at- tracting any notice whatever. The moment he was without the city limits, the driver applied the whip, furiously, and after a sharp drive of about three-quarters of an hour halted in front of a little cottage, only a short distance from the waters of Long Island Sound, much to the relief of the doctor’s nag, who was not at all used to such rapid work, for its owner, though a medical man, and often ina hurry, was one of the most careful of drivers. The cottage was situated in an isolated posi- tion, not another house being within sight. It was all overgrown with creeping vines, and the little garden in front resembled a jungle in its wildness, for bushes and briers, and young pine trees had sprung up and were all struggling for the mastery. Nature, protesting against the encroachment of civilization, had almost won her own again, and had about destroyed all vestiges of the once trim little garden. The blinds o€ the house were tightly closed. The spiders had festooned the porch and door- way with their filmy snares, and all appear- ances, around and about the place, told of deso- lation and. decay. The abductor halted the carriage in the middle of the road, and then assuming the weight of the girl upon his shoulder, passed around the house, through iS Bt ground which sur- rounded it, and en the rear yard, through a gap in the fence, to make his way into the house through the back-door, which was un- locked. The house was completely furnished; every- thing was in its place, and in order; but there was that almost indescribable musty smell about the place, inseparable from unused houses, par- ticularly those completely furnished. As said, the blinds were all closed, thus shut- ting out the blessed le of the sun, so the in- terior was plunged in tian darkness. But, that did not seem to make any difference with the bearer of the helpless girl. With confident steps he ascended to the second story and en- tered one of the back rooms, a sleeping apart- ment, which was fitted up in iuxurious style; it Was a woman’s boudoir, evidently, for a hun- dred little knick-knacks were scattered around | it, and the cut-glass cologne bottles were even still on the.dressing-stand. Upon the luxurious bed, all completely made up, seeming to invite repose, the abductor de- posited his lovely burden; then he returned to the carriage and brought in the bundle; and, locking all the doors meurey behind him, the mysterious abductor returned to the buggy, got in and drove back to the city. | An hour later horse and buggy were in the | doctor’s stable. The deed was done. people, the intruder did ad fled with a lover in
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f CHAPTER XIX. A STRANGE STORY, As the potent tumes of the chloroform at length spent their power the abducted girl awoke to aknowledge of her position. Slowly and feoblP she opened her eyes, for the dose which had been administered wasa ter- rible one, almost enough to conquer life itself, and it was only by a violent struggle that nature won the victory. In astonishment the girl looked around her; though half-stupefied she could not help at once noticing the difference between the plainly-fur- nished room which she had occupied at the hotel I s ai in common with Sara Pearl, and the elegantly q fitted-up sleeping apartment in which she now a reposed, i rue, the pels musty, sickening smell, i- which reminded one so much of a charnel-house, was plainly perceptible, despite the fact that pastilles had been burnt until their aromatic : perfume hung in cloudlike rings of blue smoke in the air, and a cheerful fire burnt in the open f grate stove which sat in the fire-place, { “What did it mean?’ the girl asked. By \ what magic had the faded carpet, the old hair- a cloth chairs, the dingy ‘window curtains, and i the general forlorn look of the hotel sleeping apartment been changed for Brussels c t, silk-covered chairs, a bed fit for a queen and an air of luxury that would not have been amiss in an emperor’s palace? hee At first the girl could hardly believe that she was awake; it seemed so like the fantasy of a dream. , She was not alone; a female sat by the win- dow, nestled in the embraces of an elaborately- cushioned rocking-chair; a book was in her hands, but her eyes were not upon the printed page but wandering restlessly out upon the fair view cf the swelling waters of the Sound that the window commanded. Naturally at the first glance, the actress took : the form to be that of Sara Pearl, her room- { mate, although how she and Sara had come into \ this splendid apartment was a mystery, but, as ‘ |she moved uneasily in the bed to get a better : view of her surroundings, the other rose and at once advanced to the side of the couch. Then Helen saw that it was not Sara but a stranger—a tall, stately woman, dressed com- pletely in black, with a really beautiful face although it bore evident marks of care an anxiety; but one strange thing about the wo- man was ‘the fact that her hair, which was a rich golden Poca in color, was cut off quite short, cut fully as short as a boy’s is usually worn, ‘Are you better, dear?’ the woman asked, kindly, standing by the bedside and gazing down upon the girl with a very strange, pecu- liar look upon her face. And then, as Helen looked up into the face of the woman an odd idea came into her mind. The woman was a stranger; she knew that she never had seen her before, and yet it seemed as if she had. A conflict was going onin her mind. Reason said, ‘‘ You have never seen this face before!” Fancy replied, ‘‘Oh, yes, I have, often!” The girl closed her eyes for a moment; it was as if she was wrestling with the influence of a horrid dream; never before had she experi- enced such a strange feeling. Of course the in- fluence of the drug still clung to her, although she was ignorant of the strange events which had occurred. ‘What is the matter? demanded, sitting upright in the bed. “You have received a severe shock, dear, and you have been ill for quite a time. ou rose in your sleep in the hotel in New Haven and wan- dered out into the hall, and then, in the dark- ness, you fell down the be rghibee € My room—I happened to be stopping at the hotel that night on the way to my forse here—was right at the foot of the stairs and your fall awoke me, I rushed out to find you insensible in the hall. The doctor who was called said that you were threatened with brain-fever—as you had re- ceived the whole shock upon your head—so i, when I found that you were a member of the ; troupe and that you would be left behind until you got well, I concluded not to trust you to the mercies of the hotel folks but had you I could nurse you into health again.” : **Oh, you are very kind, madam!” the girl } exclaimed, gratefully, never for a single in- | stant doubting the truth of the story, “Do not attempt to sit up too long,” the lady ‘a said, busying herself by arranging the pillows so that the girl could repose more comfort- ably in a half-reclining position. ‘here am I?’ Helen | Helen Bell t d that your righ | Be , you cannot den right | : : elen Bell, y y wnat 'y : | but fate had willed it otherwise,” AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. *“How long have I beén here Three days.” ‘* And I have not been sensible all that time?” **'No, dear.” | “How strange ft is,” the girl murmured, Proven te bh ‘“‘for it seems as if it was only | last night that I retired to rest.” ‘*When the brain is disordered we do not take account of time.” “Very true.” | Never was there an imposture more com- ee not a single doubt did the girl have. | Her head ached from the effects of the drug, and naturally she felt faint and ill. “You are very kind,” she continuéd, slowly. ‘*T fear that I never shall be able to repay you | for this goodness to a stranger.” ‘Not exactly a stranger, my dear,” replied | the other, with a pleasant smile, and then she |moved the rocking-chair over and sat down by ithe bedside, | Helen looked at her for a thoment in a puz- | zled sort of be ‘‘Not exactly a_ stranger,” the other re- | peated. | ‘* Your face does seem familiar to me, and yet the remembrance is more like the fantasy of ajdream than anything elsé,” the girl re- marked, thoroughly puzzled. ‘Tt knew your family in England a great |many years—more years ey should care |to own to, for to do so would be to make myself out quite an old woman,” and the speaker smiled; but to the girl, despite the pleasant face of the woman, there was some- thing cdd and uncanny about the smile, and a restless eam 00d perhaps, and perhaps evil ‘eure to be lurking in the depths of the full ue eyes, As the fumes of the drug were more com- | pletely neutralized the mind of the girl began | to work with its accustomed clearness, The statement of the lady seemed to her won- | derful, for, how on earth was it possible that jany one—a stranger, too—could” know any- | thing about her or her family? But the pre- jsumption came at once to her mind that the lady was laboring under a mistake, misled by her false stage name—a doubt which the other seemed to fathom. ‘*You question the correctness of my state- ment,” she observed, the same peculiar smile fected the young girl before. ‘“‘T think you must have made some mistake, | madam,” Helen admitted. | “Oh, no; I recognized you by your resem- blance to your family. I was not deceived b | your stage name. ‘of the theatrical life, yet I am aware that a great many of the player-people assume false | names; of course there is no particular harm in \it. Those brave enough to dare the glare of a / public life can hardly blamed for wishing to /in part hide themselves behind a mask. I know what your true name is; it isa good old English family appellation, and although not as pretty | perhaps as your fanciful stage name, yet to my /mind is far better. I recognized you the in- | stant you appeared on the stage as Miss Sara , Pearl.” | “Sara Pearl!” the girl exclaimed, in amaze- |ment; ‘why, that is not my name, [am not Sara Pearl; my name is Helen Bell!” | The lady contracted the pupils of her eyes iv avery peculiar way for a moment, and then she laughed outright. ‘Well, that isa blunder; but, Sara Pearl or ‘name is neither the one nor the other, but Halah Kunibell.” CHAPTER XxX. A BIT OF FAMILY HISTORY. Her true name coming from the lips of the | strange lady astounded the girl. And, too, she that she was acquainted with her family. “You are willing to acknowledge then that | your name 1s Halah Kunibell?” the woman re- | marked, after a pause. “Oh, yes; Why should I deny it? I am not ashamed of the life that 1 have chosen, although by advice of one who was well ac- me. The lady, although her eyes were fixed nee the face of the girl was evidently paying but little attention to what she was saying. “1 knew your sister, once—your sister Hada; where is she? Is she living? W hat has become of her?” she cried, abruptly, her naturally sweet voice suddenly becoming barsh and mechanical. jupon her face which had so unpleasantly af- | an : | she wrote to them. The letters were never an- | swered, I presume because they were never re- Although I know very little | must be speaking the truth when she bad said | quainted with the stage I assumed another brought down here to my country-house, where | name.” “My sister Hada!” the actress cried. in| | rectly to the girl. | tween them; not all Hada’s fault, either, for amazement. ‘‘Why; I never had a sister by that name!” ‘*No sister Hada?” and the lady bent her brows and almost scowled at the girl; so fierce was the expression upon her face, and so wild the look, that a slight sentiment of fear crept over Helen. **No, not to my knowledge.” “* How strange that they should deceive you and keep all knowledge of the unfortunate Hada from you!” the woman muttered, her tone angry and her mind evidently full of bitter thoughts. ‘“Did I really have a sister named Hada?” asked the girl; her curiosity excited. ‘Yes, a sister about twenty years older than you are, I should judge; you are about twenty, are you not?’ : “ Yes.” ‘* And where are your father and mother?” ** Both dead,” replied Helen, “Judge not; lest ye be judged!” exclaimed the lady, in a strange, mechanical sort of way. ‘* They judged—judged harshly, not wisely; and now—well, the great book of mysteries is open to them, and they can tell whether they judged wellor ill, But, how came you to come to this country? Surely it was a long journey for a young girl all alone—that is, if you came alone.” ‘‘T came with my father and mother when I was a child,” ‘What?’ cried the woman, with startling earnestness, ‘‘ did Sabban Kunibell and his wife come to America?” a“ Yes.” ** And they died here?” “ Yes » ‘*How long ago was it when they came, and when did they die?” ““'They came when I was a child, seventeen or eighteen years ago; mother died first, and father only a few months ago.” ‘¢ That accounts for it,” the lady muttered, in her strange ep ‘*Hada was your father’s daughter, but she displeased him and they parted,” she continued, addressing herself di- “There was bad blood be- though she was wild and 1 and loved ber own way, yet she was good at heart and dearly loved her parents. She came to this country, and-when years passed on her heart softened to the parents with whom she had quarreled, and ceived, for the father, by your statement, was in America at the time: but evidently it mat- tered not, for since Sabban Kunibell suffered you to grow up in ignorance of your elder sister the angry feeling which he had for his willful child did not die out with the lapse of years. The quarrel between the father and daughter wasa bitter one. She had chosen acertain path in life and was determined to walk init; he, on the contrary, was determined that she should not, and with bitter em is he told her that if she persisted in her determination, from the time she quitted his house she would cease to be his daughter, and that as long as he lived he would never acknowledge her as a child. The daughter fully asproud, as haughty and as stub- born as the father, answered bim in kind. She had chosen her way and she would walk in it, regardless of con ences. And she was as as her word. But when years passed, and the hot blood of youth became cooled by age and experienc’ better feelings prevailed, and the disobedient daughter, repentantof her folly, would have become reconciled to her parents, The woman bent down her head and fell into a fit of musing, while the young actress watched with wondering eyes. Strange thoughts were in her mind. Who was this woman, who, seem- ingly, was so well acquainted with her family history? and was it really true that she had had an elder sister, Hada? e pame was an odd Biblical one like her own. Her father had a strange fancy for such names, too» His name was Sabban, her mother’s Rachel; so Biblical names seemed to run in the family. There seemed to be truth in her story, for she had described her father’s character exactly; although one of the kindest of men yet he was implacably stubborn when his mind was made up; and now as she recalled events there came to her recollection strange speeches which had escaped from her mother at tim ches which had puzzled her since, for she could not comprehend what they meant; but now that she had gained a knowledge of the existence of an elder sister, it was evident the speeches re- ferred to her. The heart of the mother sor- rowed for her first born and refused to be com-
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4 AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. forted. Other strange thoughts, too, were in the girl’s mind. If this stranger knewso much about her family was it not likely that she might know the reason why her father had so carefully secluded himself from all the world? The young actress hesitated to put the ques- tion; she shrunk from revealing, even to this well-informed stranger, that there was a mys- tery in her family which baffled her efforts to penetrate. ‘ Second thoughts told her, too, that, if the lady did not know that her father had come to America it would ‘not be likely she would know anything about the causes which led him to take the step, for the girl was sure that the mystery which surrounded her parents’ life had its rise in England and not in this country. One question, eae she burned to ask, and she took advantage o her companion’s waking from her reverie to propound it. “Ts my sister Hada alive?” she asked, slowly and with a timidair, It was the most natural question in the world under the circumstances, and yet, there was a subtle instinct in the girl’s nature which warned her that the question would not be a pleasant one, * Alive?” cried the woman, in a loud voice, a baleful light shining in her eyes; ‘‘no, no! . She could not live! She died long years ago, and that is what has wrecked all my life. If Hada Kunibell had lived I would be a far different woman to-day from what I now am; but, I do not blame you, girl, although you are of her race,” she hastened to add, perceiving a look of apprehensive wonder upon Helen’s face. ‘‘ You knew nothing about it; you had not made your appearance in this world then. _ Oh, girl, girl! if you only knew the misery that your sister caused me! It is enough to make a statue weep tears of blood—rich, warm, red blood!” © face of the woman became convulsed, and she wrung her hands together as if torn by fearful agony. Helen. was really alarmed for it seemed as if she was about to go into hysterics. But, to the scene came a sudden interrup- ! tion. The door opened quickly, without the slight- est warning, disclosing three men, who im- mediately advanced into the room. The wo- man sprung to her feet and cast a rapid glance at the window, as if she meditated an escape, but the foremost intruder held up his finger, warningly. “Do not try that, madam!” he exclaimed; ‘¢it is useless.” For moment the woman eee defiantly into his face, but the firm and steady look of his " eyes seemed to quell her rebellious spirit, for slowly she dropped her gaze to the floor. What is the mraning this? Why have you brought this young lady here?” he asked, after the victory was won, and he cast an in- quisitive glance at the young girl. The reader has probably suspected who the hree men were. Like bloodhounds on the scent the Professor and his followers had tracked the prey; but, like the hunter, who, knowing the den of the fox, hies straightway there without troubling himself to follow the animal through all his devious windings, after the chase begins, so the Professor, satisfied that his game would seek the secluded cottage, came there and surprised the inmates as we have de- scribed, ‘ *One of my whims, that is all,” the woman replied, sullenly. ‘Are you acquainted with this lady?” he asked, addressing the actress, “No, sir; I never saw her until this morn- ing,” Helen answered, wondering what it all meant, : “Well, you have sustained no harm, so there isn’t much mischief done. I will send a ecar- riage for you to take you to the depét. The troupe have gone on to Meriden, and as there has been no real injury done I trust you will not mention the affair any more than You can hel 7 And then the three men and the lady de- parted, leaving the young actress a prey to the greatest wonderment. —_— CHAPTER XXL THE RELEASE. Tn vain did Helen rack her brains for some solution of this strange affair; none came; and when the carriage arrived to take her awa some two hours later, exactly as the stranger had said, she was still completely in the dark. She had dressed herself and was sitting by the window when the vehicle drove up, ea- gerly awaiting its arrival. She had been al- most afraid to attempt to get up, her head felt so strangely, and she was apprehensive that her strength would fail her, but, to her aston- ishment, upon getting up, she found that, in- stead of being weak, she was fully as strong as ever. This was a source of great amazement to her, for, of course, she fully beliéved the story in regard to her illness, The carriage sent was a buggy drawn by a single horse, and driven by the [rishman. he actress recognized the man immediately as being one of the three who had departed only a little while before with the lady who had talked and acted so m adh ‘**From this person I shall probably be able to find out what all this means,” she murmured, as she descended the stairs. And, asshe made her way from the house, it occurred to her that it was very singular she did not encounter any one; the house seemed deserted. “Jum in, miss!” the Irishman exclaimed, as she. made her ap arance at the open door. ‘Jump in, and I i tnve yees to the depdt in mighty quick time.” he girl obeyed the injunction; the driver ap- plied the whip, and off went the horse at a brisk trot. Helen was amazed when she looked around her and saw that she was in the country. She had no idea, of course, that she had been car- ried from the city. ‘* How sick I must have been,” she remarked, ‘to have been carried all this distance, and yet not to know anything about it.” he driver pursed up his lips, but did not speak. The actress looked at him for a moment; she was meditating how to frame the questions which she intended to put, but the Irishman was not deficient in shrewdness, and, by the expression upon the girl’s face, he guessed what was pass- ing in her mind. “You mustn’t ask nfe any questions, miss, if you pl’ase,” he hastened to say, thus anticipat- ing the girl’s purpose. “It is my business to dhrive yees to the depdt, but not to answer any questions. The gintleman what hires me tould me to be afther kaping a still tongue in me head, and as he remarked, miss, ‘ least said the soonest mended.’ If yees do be afther wanting to talk about the country, or the illigant weather, or this beautiful baste of a horse, I’m your man, but no questions, do ye mind!” and the speaker, as he finished, shook his head as much as to indicate that he was granite itself as far as this resolution was concerned. ‘There is only one question that I am anxious to ask,” the girl replied. ‘*Bedad! perhaps that wan may be as bad as ten!” “T am sure it cannot displease or give offense to any one, if you answer it.” ‘* Paix! whether that is to beso or not I kin tell better when I hear the question.” **Undoubtedly; but it is a very simple one, and you need not answer it if you do not choose, or if you think by answering you will displease your employer.” “That is fair enough, anyhow; so fire away wid it!” ** What day of the week is this?” The Irishman looked at his companion in per- fect astonishment. ‘“*Oh, come, now, miss; it’s making game of me, ye are!” “Indeed, 1am not; Iam in sober earnest,” the girl protested. “And don’t ye know?” “*No, sir. Ido not!” “Why, it’s Wednesday.” “Wednesday!” the actress cried, in amaze- ment; “and have I been sick and out of my head for a whole week?” ‘What in the name of goodness are you talk- ing about? Shure! I saw you play on the stage in the Black Crook last night.’ “Last night!” Helen was amazed. “ Why, that lady said I had been sick and out of my mind for some time.” ‘ The Irishman indulged in a low whistle, which was clearly indicative of great astonish- ment. “Oh, the born divil!” he muttered, under his breath, “Then she deceived me, and I have not been ill long, and it was last night that I played at the New Haven Opera House?” ““Yis; I was there meself.” “But why was this deceit practiced upon me?” demanded Helen, in amazement not un- mixed with indignation. “* Aha, miss, now you come to the questions you see, and I gave you warning, fair and aisy, that I couldn’t answer. But if 1 can’t answer the questions I can give you a bit of advice, and if ye are the sinsible lady that I think ye are, yees may be afther taking it!” the driver re- marked, impressively. “Don’t say a word about this affair to anybody. Take the advice of the ould gintleman, at master, and )’ave the matter drop jist where it is; it will do ye n¢ good to be curious, and maybe it may bring arm to some wan else.” ** But, all this is very mysterious, and I do not understand it at all!” the girl could not help exclaiming. “True for yees, miss! Shure! there’s a hape of queer things in this world, but the best way to get along quiet and aisy is never to mind them the l’ast bit, at all, at all,” _The more the young actress pondered the more D sare she became, but knowing that she would not edi a, more explanation from her companion she held her peace. It did not take long to reach the depot, and - it happened the Meriden train was in wait- ng. ‘“There’s your train now, miss,” exclaimed the driver, after they had alighted from the carriage; “you had better hurry right on board, miss, for it will be off in a minute, I have the ticket for yees.” And so, almost before she knew it, she found herself seated in the car. ~ The bell rung, the conductor’s ‘‘All aboard!” was shouted, and then the Irishman placed a sealed envelope in the girl’s hand. ‘* Your ticket’s inside, miss: good-by, ma’am!” and he hurried from the car, jumping off just as the train moved away, Decidedly bewildere by all these strange circumstances our country girl opened the en- velope, which was addressed to Miss Helen Bell. As the man had said, there was a rail- road ticket inside, and with nev ticket there was anote. She opened it and a twenty-dollar bill dropped out into her lap. The note, short and very much to the point, read as follows: “Miss Beri: Inclosed please find twenty dollars as a slight recompense for the trouble to which you have been put, and the writer of these lines will take it asa favor if you will keep the matter a pro- found secret, as the publication of your adventure cannot possibly do you any good, and vill most cer- tainly do harm both to yourself and others.” There was no signature to this note, which was written in a firm, clerkly hand. . Altogether the whole affair was a most aston- ishing one, and the more the girl reflectea~spon it the more bewildered she became. ‘The twenty dollars she would not have accepted if she could have helped herself, but she couldrt very well return it at present, yet she made up her mind that she would do so at some future time if she ever had the chance, Her train was only an hour later than the one on which the troupe had traveled, and being an ‘‘express,” while the other was an “‘accom- modation,” she arrived in Meriden while the troupe were still at the depdt, There had been a mistake in regard to the hotels. The one which had contracted to take the party discovered that it would not be able to spare rooms enough to entertain them all; so the managers were torced to skirmish round to’ provide abiding for those members who could not be kept at the principal house, and pending | i negotiations all the party remained at the epot , the first persons Miss Bell encountered upon descending from the cars were Pearl and Gordon Mallory. “I knew you would come!” Sara cried, eagerly, rushing forward to take her friend by the hand. ‘Yes, I came as soon as I could; but, on, Sara, I have had such an adventure!” Helen exclaimed. ** And you didn’t go off with that fellow?” **Go off with who?” The young actress was amazed. Sara produced both of the letters, the one written to the manager by the false De Silvio, and the few lines left in the sleeping apart- ment. ‘‘Come into the waiting-room where they can’t stare at us so,” Sara said, drawing her friend toward the door. 4 In the waiting-room, which was compara- tively free from people, there was a full and free explanation ween the two girls; and Sara, better acquainted with the world than the other, s ily guessed the truth. ‘* We were both chloroformed; then you were abducted, andif it hadn’t been for those men | coming as they did, you can depend upon it that that rascal of a Cuban would soon have made his appearance!” Sara exclaimed. Shrewd of wit as the actress certainly was.
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AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. 48 yet it was not within the range of human wis- ** An angel! my kingdom for an angel!” dom for her to guess that the lady and the | went “spouting” around at odd times. Cuban were one and the same, nor could she in| But before the wo, made his appearance the the least explain the mystery of the three men, | actress was destined to encounter a gentleman but her com:sel in regard to the twenty-dollar who much more resembled a denizen of the bill was pian gs ractical. |lower world than the $997 “Return it? No by a good sight, my dear!| A party of gentlemen had occupied the lower iven to you freely; you keep it, or if right-hand box from the stage, on the opening Sane compunctions about so eung hand | night of the troupe, and one of them, a stout, I haven’t received anyt ing to | florid-faced person of middle age, evidently | had been impressed with Miss Bell, and had taken a great deal of pains to let the lady know | it. He had, too, improved the opportunity af- forded by the box being near the stage to re- mark to his companions, when Miss Bell came upon the stage, that she was the prettiest girl he had seen for a long time, and he took care to It was you fee it over to me. pay me for what 1 had to suffer.” 2 ‘Ana this was the end of the incomprehensible adventure, but stranger ones yet were in store for the ambitious country girl. CHAPTER XXIL Sara | that, with a double-barreled poate ‘ser she hatt slain the man who had killed her husbaud and helped to beat off the gang. And now, after this wild and wandering life, she had settled down as the proprietor of this Cincinnati opera house. She was extremely blunt and outspoken in her manner, the result of the wild life which she had Jed; but, for all that, was a kindly- hearted, honest woman, with a heart—as her circus boys used to express it—as big as a bul- ' fock’s. She was behind the scenes, and standing in the wing, when Helen came off, and her eyes | opened widely as she beheld the young actress toss the costly flowers so contemptuously away. ““Well, well, young lady, you don’t care much for ‘buckets,’ do you? and them kind cost five “WESTWARD, HO!’’ Tux De Silvio troupe had prospered, and from the Eastern circuit, as it is called, had ssed down into the South as far as Texas; hen it had come up into the West, and in the springtime, when we again take up the thread of our story, the party had reached the city of Cincinnati, Ohio, for a week’s sojourn. f Cincinnati, ‘ the Paris of America,” as it is roudly termed by its inbabitants, is an excel- ae theatrical city, especially for attractions of the Black Crook order, and all of the troupe looked forward to a prosperous week’s business. The Eastern members oi the company, though, who were not used to the way in which thea- tricals are served up in some of the Western cities in certain opera-houses, were somewhat astonished at the s ght which ant beheld when the curtain rose on their first performance. As the disgusted low comedian of the party re- marked—by the way, he looked exactly like a minister, having a p ing always in complete black, and seldom being seen to smile—‘'tHang me! if every man-Jack out in front ain’t anchored to a beer-mug!” And it was true: nearly all the audience were drinking beer, and those who were not drinkin were smoking, and so, when the curtain wen up, there was still another curtain of blue smoke betwean the audience and the actors. Ail this wasn’t a very pleasant thing for the Eastern artists, and they were naturally dis- gusted ; but the house was crowded with people who were enthusiastic in their applause, an after the actors got used to the smoke and the beer it didn’t seem so bad. It was the German beer-garden system over again—husband and wifs and all the children, drinking beer and enjeyi the performance. ut, it was a terrible blow to our ambitious girl; and in the solitude of her apartment, a‘ter the performance was over that night, Helen freed her mind of the load which had been weighing upon it. ‘Sara, do you think I have improved any since we started from New York?” she asked. “Oh, yes; improved wonderfully ; your voice, face fi were always good, of course, but you didn’t know how to get on or olf the stage properly, or how to use your arms; all that is changed now, and though you have only been on the stage five months you have pro- gressed as far as most people do in fiwe years.” ‘*Our season ends next week in Chicago, and as far as I am concerned I will never have any- thing more to do with such a troupe as this one. You get a large salary 1 could probably get in regular lines, but I have received a very small one, and now that I have made a name, and am known as an actress, I @ not see why I cannot do better than I am doing now.” “T tell you what it is, dear, start a combina- tion; go out asa star, with a company to sup- pott you; take the bull right by the horns! You want to play Juliet, and such parts, and you are fit to them, too; who knows but what you oo make a success right from the ning’ But, I hav’n’t money enough; besides, I don’t understand how to manage a combination, and I shrink from the responsibility.” ‘*Oh, that is easily enough arranged. Adver- tise for a manager with money to take you out. I don’t see why you can’t find an ‘angel’ to supply the funds as well as any one else. Iwill go with you, and I’m a pretty good_ business woman; twill see that you are treated right.” The prospect did look feasible; and oh, what a vision it opened to the girl’s eyes! “T will do it!” she exclaimed, coming to a sudden determination. ‘If 1 sueceed I will realize my ambitious hopes, and if I fail—” ‘**In the bright exicon of youth which fate reserves for a glorious manhood, there is no such word as fail,’” Sara quoted. So the attempt was determined upon and the advertisement relating to it was sent to one of the dramatic newspapers. oomy, solemn face, dress- | , Sara, more than you | dollars a lick, too! Is’ you don’t know me; I’m Madam Pond, and I own this shanty, but ou’ve gota chance now to own one twice as ig, if you want to, for one of the richest men in this town is struck after you. He wants an introduction—Major Clutterbuck; that’s him in the box, yonder.” CHAPTER XXIII. THE MAJOR. “T po not care to make any acquaintance, madam,” Helen answered, politely, for she was impressed favorably by the face of the woman | despite her harsh tone and rough way of talk- ing. i Now, little gal, don’t you be foolish! You annoying. don't know what you are talking about. The ‘Keep the flowers and send back the pres- | major is one of the big-bugs of this town; why, ents,” she said. “Although in regard to the | he’s worth a million, if he’s worth a cent; been latter part of the advice, perhaps lam a little | @ big contractor, you know, and a big politician, too particular. I know quite a number who | too; got more irons in the fire all the time don’t return the presents. If the fellows are | than ten ordinary men could attend to; and stupid enough to send them, why then the | he’s struck after you—struck awful bad, I | quicker they learn that there is a. great deal of | don’t think that 1 ever saw a man so clean-gone, truth in the old adage, ‘A fool and his money | I only wish that he would come after me! I | are soon parted,’ tle better.” tell you what—I’d throw myself right at him | “But, surely, they would not wear jewelry | the moment he said the word. I ain’t been | so obtained!” Helen’ had exclaimed, in horror. much on the marry since Poor Pond died, but I “Oh, no; for, if they did, that wouid give think the major’s money would fetch me.’ the maker of the gift a chance to improve the | The two were standing a little apart from the opportunity. No, they quietly sell the trash rest in the scene entrance so that the conversa- and put the money in their pockets.” tion was not overheard by any one. Our young actress wrt hot do this; but, ‘He wants to give you a nice little wine sup- even returning the presente did not damp the | per to-night after the show is out,” the man- ardor of some foolish young men, and she had | ageress continued; “give him a chance, you been followed home from the theater more know, to make your acquaintance, . | times than she had fingers and toes, and even “‘T never accept such invitations,” Helen re- spoken to, but no man ever had tried this twice, | plied, coldly. : for the manner in which the young girl had re- Oh, it’s all right! - You needn’t be alarmed. pelled the impudent advance was something | The major has invited me, too, to play pro- grand, priety, you know, and youcan bring Pearl with And go, as we have said, grown used to this | you, too, if you want to. I knew that you two sort of persecution, which all actresses are were m1 hty thick, and I told the Inajor that I ‘doomed to encounter, more or less, Helen paid | reckoned you wouldn’t come without her, I no more attention to the remark or to the | tell you! we'll have an elegant spread!” and man who made it than if he had never existed. the woman smacked her lips in anticipation. But the next night the man was in the box | ‘* When the major goes at anything he makes again, this time alone, but with a profusion of | the cash fly! : ; literally pel ‘Madam, I cannot say that I feel honored by ser A tegaa ag naa! Narada bite > the invitation for I do not!” the oung actress Of course eve exclaimed, spiritedly. ‘I do not know the gen- | speak in a tone plainly audible to the actress’s | ears. But five months of the stage life had made Helen pretty well used to this sort of | thing. She had learned that, when a woman | dares the glare of the footlights, she exposes herself to the attentions of all the fools who | frequent theaters. In New York, at Niblo’s, | she had received notes by the score, some of | them couched in polite terms, some impudent, |and some verging upon insult. Flowers and | jewelry, too, accompanied the letters. Sara’s counsel was invaluable in these mat- ters, for every day she wus suvjecicu Lo se such attentions, which were seldom agreeable— in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred were de- cidedly disagreeable, and sometimes extremely time a bouquet was flung the audience applauded; the girl with her splendid tleman, and I am not anxious to make his ac- : : her | quaintance, and, least of all, do I like the wa beauty had become quite a favorite nee a | ios whieh he sabe to vacethe dtiate th first appearance, and although ised the man who had thrown the flowers— | me.” ; pa ised him without knowing him on account | ‘My dear little gal, don’t be an idiot!” the ‘of his insolent speech, which she knew well | Woman protested; “ how on earth is the man to get acquainted with you unless you give him a chance? and, to my thinking, it is a mighty nice delicate way of fixing the thing. I tell you, the man is clean gone on you! you can become Mrs. Major Clutterbuck as easily as turning your hand over, if you like.” “But, I do not like!” Helen replied, her eyes flashing, and the color mounting into her cheeks. * And if doesn’t make a bit of difference to me about the man’s money. Ido not wish to make his acquaintance. I will not go to his supper; you may tell him so from me; and, further- more, you may tell him that he will oblige me | greatly if he will discontinue his flowers. I do not appreciate his bouquets; the moment I get off the stage I fling them away as fast as possi- | ble, and if it were not for offending the audi- | ence, from whom comes the money by means of which I live, I would not pick up his flowers at enough was intended to reach her ears—yet it was stage etiquette to pick up the bouquet, and |the audience would have risen en masse to re- sent the affront if the actress had neglected to possess herself of the flowers and then smile her thanks to the audience; but the moment she got off the stage, in the “‘ wings”—as the side- scenes which mask in the stage are called— | with a contemptuous toss she flung down the costly flowers, much to the astonishment of the rest of the company, although they regarded |the girl as an odd fish, re Br fe for she was ver quiet and seldom mingled with the rest. e manager of this particular opera house | Was a manageress—a woman ;something rare in | theatrical life, for there are not many lady ‘managers. And this woman was a character too; she was pretty well along in years, was ta ‘and ly, | with a deep, hoarse voice like a | il n man, and, in fact, a very masculine way about | 9. Why, what on earth bas the mian done to ’ her. Her life would have made a volume of | See * | most entertaining reading. As a child she had | You that you have taken such a dislike to him?” cried Madam Pond, in wonder. | been brought up as a circus rider; as a young Cin snaihe Gh thadtnix Semndsk: Wteee a4 woman had been one of the great stars of the | c | arena; she had married the proprietor of a cir- on the ol ee night,” the girl answered, _cusand with him had traveled over almost the her cheeks hot with anger, “and made it so loudly that I overheard it, as he intended I should.” ‘*Good gracious! and is that what this fuss is about?” and the madam showed her surprise, ‘* Well, if you ain’t the most thin-skinned young four quarters of the globe; had been sbip- wrecked half a dozen times; had seen her hus- band shot down before her eyes in a Texan country town when the canvas had been at- tacked bya gang of roughs, and report said ,
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AN AMBITIOUS GIR 19 lady Tever run across! I was at the back of the box; I heard what he said, and all the rest of the men were newspaper fellows, critics, and the major said it on purpose to start them a-go- ing. Ineverheard of a woman — affronted before by being told that she was handsome. And didn’t the newspapers ring the changes on it, to-day, too? Did you see the notices? Why, there isn’t one of them that doesn’t say you are the handsomest woman that ever came to Cin- cinnati, and the major put it up for you, too. He stood the champagne for the bull gang in the saloon in front of the theater, after the show was out, and I heard him say, with my own ears—‘ Gentlemen, I tell you what it is, she is the handsomest woman that ever struck this here town; and don’t you forget it! Here’s her health, boys, and if any one of you snoozers neglects to jest put in the big licks for that gal, in to-morrow’s papers, he’ll have mein his wool, that’s all!’” A look of disgust appeared on the handsome face of the actress. nd this was the glorious life of which she had dreamed ever since she wasagirl! This was the laurel crown which a was to clutch and wear! Oh, it was too ter- rible! “ A hundred dollar bill couldn’t have done be as much good in this town as the major, t night,” the manageress continued, “and it would only be the fair thing to go and drink his wine, and eat his supper, considering how he fixed it with the gang for you.” By this gentle term did the lady refer to the et ia critics of the goodly city of Cincin- nati. ‘I shall not go, madam, nor will I make the man’s acquaintance; and it makes me feel really ashamed, now that I know how my news- paper notices were obtained. I thought they were fair and honest notices, and had no idea they wore really bought and paid for.” ghty few newspaper notices in this coun- try that ain’t bought and paid for, in some way,” the madam retorted. ‘ Well, it is to be no, then?” ‘No, it most certainly is!” ‘The major will be tearing.” The look upon the face of the actress signified more eae than words that the major might “tear” all he liked, as far as she cane CHAPTER XXIV. A BOLD STROKE. MapAM PonpD, somewhat annoyed that she had been so completely unsuccessful in her mis- sion, returned to the box, wherein sat the ma- jor, in a decidedly bad bumor. And that gentleman, who prided himself, and with reason, too, upon his astuteness, gue that she had not been successful. That the girl would decline the proffered in- vitation never once entered the woman’s head. On the contrary she had thought that the beau- tiful blonde would be delighted at the op- ortunity and she was both annoyed and mys- ied ae refusal. Well, she wouldn’t have it, eh?” the major queried, as the madam reéntered the box. “Indeed you are ‘right; she would not,” re- plied the woman, her manner betraying that she considered herself an injured party. What’s the matter? hat is the trouble with my beauty?” and the major laughed as if he considered the refusal a good joke. The ray say tec the way, was a tall, portly man with a little round head; almost A ved pity bald, only a Hy 3 of red hair remaining. Red also was the elaborately curled endiwaxed mustache, bane the pointed imperial which adorned his fat ace. Everything but an Adonis, he yet himself that he was a regular lad ss mage ugly men do take such notions into their heads, wr well he doesn’t t “Well, she doesn’t care to make ‘ quaintance,” curtly. > Sh The manageress was nettled and angry with herself that she had conveyed the invitation see- ing that the major had looked upon it as q joke. The girl was an impudent, upstart hussy to re- fuse such a polite invitation; the major was a fool Thee tendered it; but she herself was a still bigger fool for mixing herself up in the matter at all, **She doesn’t care to make my acquaintance, eh?’ and again the astute politician laughed as if it was a page oe jest, ‘Oh, well, she will get over that in time when she finds out what a nice fellow I am,” and the major leaned back in his chair and winked knowingly at the man- ageress, but she didn’t enjoy the pleasan bad? be she has got anything to say about i , she won’t make Ags acquaintance!” the madam spoke decidedly. ‘‘She heard that remark you made when she came on the stage the first night, about her being a handsome girl, and in- stead of taking it as a compliment, as any sensi- ble woman would, it made her angry.” ‘‘Heard it!” and the major chuckled; “of course she heard it; I intended that she should. It was merely a neat way, you know, of letting her see that she had mads an impression upon me ‘Tt was a neat way of making her take a bi dislike to you!” the woman retorted. ‘‘I te you that > en are just wasting your time and money. She don’t want to have anything to do with you.” ‘Gh, 1 have seen women before this one,” the other replied, complacently. “I know how to take ’em, I know all their little tricks. This girl only wants coaxing; that’s all.” **Oh, you think so, do you?” and there was a very perceptible sneer both on the woman’s face and in her voice. ‘ Well, you just go ahead, and if you succeed in getting on good terms with this haughty minx—” “What then?’ and the major laughed in the other’s face, “Why, her are a smarter man than I think you are, that’s all,” and with this parting shot the madam retreated. mm oF the gentleman laughed and rubbed his fat, ese ag Bye hands softly together as he re- markeu: ‘That woman thinks that she knows every- — She ar a thee? other woman in this world by herself. She knows very well that if a man threw diamonds and sich trash at her she would jump at them like a cat at a mouse. She hasn’t any idea that, by holding back and playing shy, a girlincreases her value. It was a sudden fancy I took to this beauty, but I be- lieve I was in the right about it; she is a deuced fine critter, and is worth the winning. ‘What is the good of a girl who is ready to throw herself into your arms the moment you look at her? That ain’t the kind of gal I like. I ain’t no Turkish sultan to go ’round flinging handker- chiefs at women!” the major continued, with more energy than grammar. ‘TI like a critter who puts a value on herself like this hyer one does, She’s the queen for my money, I reckon!” Atthis point the girl came on the stage again, and although from the position in which he sat the box being on the level of the stage, be could almost have reached out his hand and touched her, yet with the utmost coolness, he raised his heavy opera-glasses—more like a pair of field- glasses than their smaller kindred, and < ing them to his eyes kept them persistently fixed upon the face of the actress all the time she was upon the stage, much to her annoyance, for, though she absolutely ignored the presence of the inquisitor, yet she was conscious of the scrutiny, and it made the angry blood rise in r veins, nthe excitement caused an unwonted color to appear upon her cheeks, and never in all her life had sie looked so superbly beautiful. “ By George! she is a ‘darling!’” exclaimed the politician, dropping as was his habit, into the slang of the “CF f Yes, sir, she is a darling and a daisy, and lam going to have her if it costs a small fortune. How she would make ’em open their eyes at Washington, rigged out in silk and satin and with about twenty thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds on! Wouldn’t they stare when the word went ’round, ‘ That’s old Clutterbuck’s property, Clutterbuck of Ohio!’ and I reckon that when I sent out invitations for a ‘spread’ there wouldn’t be many men in Washington who would ‘hesitate to accept if they knew that this gorgeous queen was a-going to preside over the ceremonies. Oh, decidedly she is just the kind of woman I have been look- ing after for a deuced long time!” The actress passed from the stage, and the major, lowering his opera-glass, tilted back his chair against the wall and fell into a brown study. Not a whit did. be care for the per- formance excepting when the woman who had fascinated him was upon the stage. We say fascinated, and yet the word is not exactly the right one to usé, for the wily speculator and politician was not the kind of a man to be fas- cinated by anybody. He was of too cold and selfish a nature to ever yield to “love's delicious thrill.” He wanted the girl fora certain pur- pose—a purpose for which she was exactly suited; he had been looking for a tool for quite a long time, but, as he would have expressed i i. he had never found any one to “ fill the bill until this actress made her appearance, and then, when she had finished her first speech he had slapped bis fat hand upon his fat knee in | her, deligtt. His companions thought that he was admiring the lady, and so he was, and at the same time exclaiming to himself: ‘‘She’ll do; she’s the very woman—young, beautiful, a regular lady with an air like a queen ; wouldn't she look stunning in diamonds!’ From that moment the major had followed as rsistently in the woman-chase as a blood- ound upon the trail of the flying fugitive. Now deep a he cogitated; he was planning how to lay the wires to accomplish the object in view. Suddenly a sly, cunning smile crept over his face. He had hit upon a plan! Just then Helen Bell came upon the stage again, and once more the schemer gave him- self up to the enjoyment of Eater over her “points,” just as if she had been a horse ora dog which he thought of buying. he studied indifference which the girl dis- played in regard to his presence did not annoy the major in the least; on the contrary, he was nignly pleased. ‘Hang me if she won’t do the honors like an empress!” he exclaimed. ‘ Can’t she give the cold shoulder to the fellows who don’t a tothe mark as they oughter?# Oh, she’s the E for my money!” The rest of the week off uneventfully enough until Saturday night came. It had been threatening a storm all day long, and finally, just about dusk, the rain commenced ina kind of drizzle, that kept on falling steadily. ‘* We shall get wet through,” Sara exclaimed in dismay to Helen, always her constant com- erga as they emerged from the shelter of the tel. 0 ‘*Yes; had we not better take a carriage?” the otherasked. “Itis a long way to the thea- ter, and we are sure to get our feet wet.” “*These hackmen always charge so much,” — grumbled. She was always of a frugal min A hackman, standing by, espying the two ladies, swooped down upon them. “Coach, ladies?” ‘Well, I don’t know,” replied Miss Peari, doubtfully,. ‘How much will you charge to take us to the opera house across the Rhine?” An -extremely unsavory canal which runs through the center of the city of Cincinnati is dignified by this classic title, from the fact that for a great many years, about all the people who lived in the upper part of the city, across the canal, were , and to cross the canal, the Rhine, was at once to enter upon this Ger- man land. “Oh, blessed if I knew 4 ladies, wrapped up in yer waterproofs,” the hackman exclaimed, with the easy familiarity of hisclass. ‘I was in Monday night and see’d the show. Well, seeing as how it is you, and we allers makesa discount to the perfession, I will take you to the opera house, and fetch you home the show, for three dollars.” “We may not need the coach coming home; the rain may stop,” Sara remarked. “Oh, bless you! this rain is for to-mor- row,” the driver assured, ‘*‘ When it sets in at this hyer time of the year it never rains less nor two or three days; but, if the rain holds up, I won’t charge you but two dollars.” ‘““That is too much; make it two dollars for the whole thing and then we will ride home, anyway.” J ‘Well, durned if I don’t, seeing that it is ou! So jumpin!” And when the two ot in the carriage, ara could not forbear remarking: ‘You see, dear, it never does to give these men what they ask. You can always beat them down about one-half.” . At the theater the two girls alighted. ‘¢- You will be sure to be here at the close of the performance?’ Sara asked. ‘Oh, yes; you can depend upon me, and if I ain’t hyer you won’t have to pay nobody noth- ing, you know,” and the hackman winked as he drove off. The entertainment Fre off as usual. The curtain descended and the last performance of thé Black Crook, as far as this company were concerned, in Cincinnati, was over. id heart- ily glad, tuo, were all the members of the troupe, for being all rather “‘high-toned” in their ideas they didn’t relish playing to this lager-beer-drinking, cigar-smoking audience, no matter how appreciative they might be, and re- gardless of the fact that their money was just as good as Ln oe 4 else’s. As Sara had a very difficult dress to take off and was naturally very slow about it, being al- ways tired after her hard work, it followed that she was generally about the last one to leave the theater. Helen, of course, waited for —
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20 ———— When the two girls came out they found the bexperienced old stagers said, worth twenty-five AN’ AMBITIOUS GIRL. hack in waiting, and very glad indeed were or thirty dollars a week, not a large sal they that — had engaged it, for the rain had increased rather than diminished. The driver jumped down and opened the door, and as he did so a man who had been ——« in the shadow of the theater doorway advancec and addressed Miss Pearl. ‘Miss Sara Pearl, I believe?” he said. 1 Yes, sir,” responded the actress, surveying the person, to perceive that he was not known to her. “ Will you have the kindness to favor me with a few minutes’ conversation in private upon a matter which is of great importance to you? I will detain you but a few moments,” he hasten- ed to add, perceiving that the girl was not dis- posed to grant the request. ‘‘ We can step into the theater; it won’t take but a moment.” There was something very earnest and per- suasive about the man, and Sara wondered, al- though she did not believe that what he had to say was of any particular importance. ‘It is raining and my friend will get wet,” she said. “* Get right into the coach, ma’am,” suggested the hackman, who was holding the door open. ‘Tt is really a matter of almost life and death importance, miss!’ the man pleaded. “Very well; get in the carriage, Helen; I -won’t be long,” and Sara followed the man into the theater again while her companion entered the coach. ‘*Vll just shut -the door, miss, while I look arter the horses, and it will keep the rain out,” the driver said, after the girl had entered the carriage; then he closed the door and disap- peared from Helen’s sight. In the back lobby the stranger told Sara quite a long story, much to her disgust, but it was almost impossible to get away from the man. He was a writer, one of the struggling, nmsuccessful fellows who never seem able to make their mark in this world. He had a play —a grand play, and Miss Pearl was exactly suited for the heroine. If she would only cen- descend to take and play his piece both of their fortunes would be made at once. It was the same old story ho a had listened to twenty times at least. Finally to get rid of the fellow, as he said that he was utterly with- out money, and knew not where to sleep that night, she gave him a dollar. He clutched it with much emotion, protested that he would re- pay it at the first convenient opportunity, and vanished into the street. Sara put up her purse and shook her head du- ‘biously. ‘‘T will never see that dollar again,” she mut- tered, then she passed through the door into the rain, The street was deserted! Sara stared; she looked up and down, but, look where she would no coach met her eyes. ‘“Where on earth have they gone? What does the fellow mean by driving off in this way?’ Then she hurried down to the street, thinking perhaps that the coach was around the corner, but not a sign of one could she dis- cover! She knew not what to make of it, and in ut- ter bewilderment made her way to the hotel, thinking that it was just possible the man had driven Helen home; but no Helen could she find! In despair she hunted up Gordon Mal- Jory ana told him the story. © young actor knitted his brows; strange | it seemed to him that so many perils encircled | the young actress. ‘ bo to bed,” he said, at last, ‘‘I will not rest until I find her!” And Sara had faith that he would be as good as his word, CHAPTER XXV. A MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR. AFTER entering the coach, Miss Bell. sunk back on the seat and gave herself up to reflec- tions which were of a decidedly gloomy cast. | So far her sta, pleasant one. experience had not been a n her day-dreams of the ac- tress’s glorious life, she had not counted upon | certain drawbacks which actual experience had now taught her most certainly existed. The rose | of dramatic glory was not without its thorns, and, brief as had been her career u the stage, some of the thorns had wounded her se- verely. Unlike the heroines of the many stories she had read, wherein the lucky girl, by going upon the stage, either operatic or dramatic, at | asingle bound gains both fame and fortune, she had not won her laurel crown or the glitter- ing dross which the empty-headed world tosses atthe feet of its idols. She was ‘‘ very good,” | when the cost of an actress’s board and ward- | robe is considered; but, where, oh, where were the countless thousands which she had been so | sure of gaining? It was a hard life; a great many discomforts were attached to it, and every dollar she earned |she felt that she bad worked for; it was not | play, but toi/—the general idea to the contrary notwithstanding. Although buried in these gloomy thoughts, / the girl could not help noticing that the driver | was having a great deal of trouble with his horses, which seemed to be very restive; they | were prancing up and down, and the driver was endeavoring to restrain them, but, apparently, | unsuccessfully. |. Finally, theanimals gavea plunge andstarted. /Away they went at a full gallop, the driver shouting at them, but the beasts were evidently very fractious; down the street they tore, and | whirled around the corner into the next avenue, | evidently at the top of their speed. The girl began to get alarmed ; the beasts were evidently entirely beyend control, and there | seemed to be danger of an upset. The thought tempt to get out, although from the speed at which the vehicle was going, there was great danger in the effort, She attempted to open the door, but the door- knob was evidently out of order and it would | not work; the other door was equally obstinate, and so, perforce, she was obliged to remain in the carriage, although she expected that every | moment it would be upset and dashed in pieces. | For a good twenty minutes the coach kept on in its wild career; then the horses began to tire of their wild pranks, and the driver sueceededin | getting them under control. They subsided into halt. Turning in his seat he addressed the oung lady through the glass window in the ront, ‘**Did you ever see sich contrary beasts?” he exclaimed, hoarsely. It was so dark that the girl could hardly see his face, but from his voice it was evident that | he was greatly excited. ‘Where are we?’ was Helen’s natural ques- | tion, ‘“"Way on the edge of the town; it will take a good half-hour to git back ag’in, blast their | Pictur’s!” growled the driver. ‘‘ But, don’t be | alarmed, miss; thar ain’t any danger of their | trying that trick ag’in. They have got all the running they want for one while. Jest keep quiet and I will have you back in no time if the beasts ain’t hurt themselves with their fool- ishness.” ‘*Oh, I am not afraid.” ; The driver drove on again, and Helen, sink- Sara would think. that the coach is gone, and will no doubt imagine all kinds of dreadful things. Thank Heaven that it isn’t any worse. I have been pretty well frigbtened, but I might bave been seriously hurt if the coach had been over- turned,” she murmured. The coach rattled on, and Helen took little heed of the surroundings, nor even of how the time was passing, until at last, beginning to that it was surely time they were at the hotel, when the coach suddenly stopped; the driver with bis strong hands, he hada great deal of difficulty in opening. *..‘‘ Miss, one of these ’ere horses has gone dead his foot. Would you mind gettin’ out and waiting here in this doorway while I drive u to the saloon yonder and see about it? wouldn’t like to have you go up thar in the coach, miss, for thar’s always a hard crowd of boys a-hanging round thar at this time of night, and it might not be pleasant for you. It won’t take me long, and I'll come right back as soon as I find out what is the matter.” Helen thought the driver was very kind and | considerate, and she thanked bim for it; from | such a rough fellow she would not have ex- | pected such thoughtfulness. F The driver mounted to the box and away he | drove. The girl looked around her, and, as the rain | was falling quite heavily, she sought shelter in | the ample door of the mansion before which the coach bad halted. t The night was so dark that the girl could not | passed through her mind that she had better at- | | a trot, and finally the driver pulled them toa | w sleepy, the thought came into her head | . ats ime tthe het | aware she was fast locked in slumber’s bonds! even distinguish the houses on the opposite side | of the street, or, in fact, any other house at all | in | / the neighborhood. **How lonely it seems in the darkness,” she muttered ; ‘‘one would think there wasn’t another house within sight.” Then there was the sound of a key turning in the lock and of bolts being drawn; some one was about to open the door behind her! It was rather an unpleasant position, but the actress must either encounter the new-comer, whoever it was, or else go out into the storm, and surely, she thought, in such a driving rain, shelter within the porch, /no one would deny her the poor privilege of © : The door opened and a woman bearingalight — appeared—a stout, rathe: hard-featured wo- man, a coal-oil lamp in her hand. She sur- veyed the girl with a look of curiosity. **Did you want to see any one, miss?’ she | asked, respectfully. ‘* No, ma’am; one of the horses of the coach in which I was riding suddenly became lame, and the driver requested me to remain here while he went to the saloon yonder, which he said was not a fit place for a lady to visit,” ‘** Well, I should say not; but, won’t you come in, miss? [ will leave the door open and the lamp on the table in the entry, so that the driver will know you are in the house and can call you when he returns.” 4 + would not think of troubling you, ma- am,’ “Oh, no trouble at all, but you will catch your death of cold standing out here,” and in truth the girl was shivering, for the night air was growing chill and keen. ‘‘Come in, and you are heartily welcome. Ihavea good warm room up-stairs. I was sitting there reading when the coach drove up. I heard it stop at the door and drive away, and then I thought that I heard somebody knock; that is the rea- son why I came down, but I aepone it was you moving about on the porch. ou needn’t be alarmed, miss; there ain’t a soul in the house except myself; the family are all away, and I am left to take care of the property.” The girl was cold—in fact, rapidly becoming © chilled to the bone, and the thought occurred to her that it was possible the driver might not be inclined to be in a hurry to leave the comforts of a warm saloon; this induced her to accept | the woman’s invitation. ing back upon the seat, reflected upon what | ** She will be terribly alarmed when she finds | and she was just about to speak to the driver | dismounted and came to the door, which, even | lame, and I’m afeard that he has got a hurt in | “ All right; follow me right up-stairs, Stand- ing in the porch on such a night as this is enough to give you your death of cold.” he woman proces the lamp upon a table in the hall, then led the way up the stairs, The house was elegantly furnished and evyi- dently the dwelling of a man of means. At the head of the stairs a long passage ex- tended through the house, and at the further end of the passage the guide ushered the actress into a large room most magnificently furnished, and heated evidently by hot air from a fur- nace, ‘*Sit down, miss, and I will go and see if I can’t get you some refreshment. The actress begged the woman not toput her- | self to the trouble, but she would do it, and after placing a comfortable easy-chair for her © guest by the registerin the wall, departed. The fatigue which she felt, the warm air of the room and the seductive influence of the ex- tremely comfortable chair all combined to pro- duce drowsiness and ost before she was And she slept on, undisturbed, until the gray © - light. of the morning stole in at the heavily-cur-. tained windows; then, with a sudden start, she awoke and looked around in vast amazement. For a moment she was puzzled and then all at once the events of the past night flashed upon her. But what did it all mean? Why had not the driver come forher? Why hadshe been allowed to sleep all night in the chair? She sprang to her feef and went to the door. It was fastened; then she hurried to the win- dows, pulled aside the curtains and lo!—each window was guarded by iron bars! The truth hed upon her; she had been en- trapped! CHAPTER XXVI. MORE MYSTERY. YeEs, Helen had been entrapped most surely! She began to ponder over the strange affair; was it all a cunningly-contrived plot from the beginning? It seemed like it, and yet, why should it be so? committal of such an act of high-handed vio- lence? But the more she pondered the more be- wildered she became, : . | . ) } 1 What reason was there for the ©
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She was standing in the center of the apart- ment, having started back from the window in utter amazement and horror upon discovering that the casement was protec by strong iron rs. Another door opposite to the one by which she had entered attracted her attention. Possibly this second door might not be fastened, and it was not, as she discovered upon trying it, but to her disappointment the door only led into another apartment, a most luxuriously- furnished sleeping-room, and the girl, although one of those peculiar natures slow to manifest feeling, could not repress an exclamation of surprise as she looked upon the superb apart- ment. All that taste could devise and wealth afford was there; the bride of an Eastern king could not have asked for a more sumptuously- furnished chamber. Even adressing-table with all the little notions so necessary to the toilet of a beautiful woman was provided, and the various articles were spread out upon the top in full view, just_as if the inmate of the room had been occupied with them but a moment be- fore; In fact, so complete was the illusion that the apartment had been occupied only a little while ago, that Helen looked anxiously around as though she expected to see the occupant hiding away in some corner. The expectation, though, was not realized; not a soul was within the room; the bed was smoothly made up and showed nv signs of having been occupied during the previous night. But, extravagant as was the luxury of the apartment, the window-curtains, being partly drawn aside, revealed that these easements, like those in the other room, were securely guarded by stout iron bars. In all her experience Helen Bell had never seen or read of anything like this; a mansion furnished as this one was, and yet with all the windows guarded by iron bars like a prison, was really something most strange. But, as she pondered over this mysterious af- fair, a sudden thought flashed into her mind. Was it possible that, either by accident or de- The’, she had been brought to a lunatic asylum! ‘a © girl had never been inside any such institu- on, and her natural good sense told her that sabre cn in an asylum would not, as a rule, tted up in this sumptuous manner, and the » more she puzzled her brain to explain the mys- = the more bewildered she became. a uddenly a peculiar grating noise reached er ears coming from the other apartment; quickly she turned and returned to the other room, thinking tbat some one was entering. The sound, though, came not frem the door, but from a small closet, the door of which was closed and which she had not noticed before. © noise stopping as she approached the closet, she hastened to open the ttle door, and the moment she did this the cause was at once made apparent. Within the closet was a dumb waiter, quite a nals one, and its ascension from the floor be- ow had caused the noise. Upon one of the shelves of the waiter was a hand-bell and a sheet of paper upon which, in a very coarse hand, though evidently penned by a woman, some lines were written. Eagerly the girl snatched up the brief note, . g that she might discover some explana- re wen ye 8 but in this she was » for upon the r appeared the petite Getanination: eat en you get hungry and want your breakfast ring the bell; fr the adjoining apartment you will fd all the necessary Soci or rd toilet” P Iam not only to be well housed but well fed also, it would seem,” the girl remarked. It is quite evident, even if 1 am a prisoner, it is not intended Ishall starveto death. In time Some one will come and then this mystery will be explained, and until my jailer makes his ap- pearance, the best thing I can do is to make myself as Sm a as possible.” uring her brief career u the stage the actress had grown to be ap eare tag the World, and she took this odd adventure as see as though it was a mere everyday occur- She rung the bell upon the dumb-wait: d hardly had she replaced it upon the shbet when down sunk the whole pena h . en a voice rung through the roo coming evidently from a speaking-tube Fg where in the foal: In twenty minutes the meal will be read ‘ everything will be cooked fresh for you, so do not be inpatient. # said the Voice, and the girl recognized the tones on the instant. It was theyvoice of the woman who had pressed the hospitaiity of the mansion upon her—the spider who had tempted AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. 00 OoO091e sss OS her, the innocent, unwary fly, ts walk into the web which had so completely insnared her. “This is no accident, but alla deep-laid de- sign!” the girl exclaimed, and then to her mind came Sonat of the mysterious woman who had caused her to be abducted in New Haven. Of course when she had rejoined Miss Pearl, and they had exchanged confidences, all the events of that night of mystery became clear to her. Both she and her companion had been chloroformed; then she had been carried off bodily; but, what reason there was for the strange proceeding, what end was to be gained, and who the unknown lady was, who knew so much of her family affairs—more than she know herself, or had ever suspected—she could not guess, Now that she was again a prisoner, so cun- ningly entrapped, and so closely, though luxu- riously confined, thoughts of the unknown lady at once flashed upon her. Who else but the person who had once ab- ducted her would be likely to play the same trick? Time would reveal the mystery, of course; and so, with a calmness which was quite won- derful she proceeded to make her toilet, an operation which did not consume much time, for such a beautiful girl as the actress truly wee ae not require artificial aids to enhance her auty. In twenty minutes promptly the dumb-waiter ascended, bearing a breakfast upon its shelves | which would haye added a luster to the crown of the best Parisian cook. A round dozen of rare and dainty dishes, all exquisitely garnished, and tempting - looking enough even to attract the attention of one who had just risen from a hearty meal, The table | equi eee bottle of breakfast wine flanked the seni coffee-pot. Of course the girl was no judge of any such thing, but if she had been, and had examined the label, she would have known that the wine was one of the rarest vin- tages known to the epicure, and worth a good twenty dollars a bottle! Helen, with her characteristic rare good sense, determined to enjoy the feast and wait pa- tiently for the explanation which she felt sure soon must come, But neither coffee nor wine did she touch. She had become suspicious, and feared that one or both might contain a narcotic. A small pitcher of ice-water was also upon the table, and of this she drank. The repast finished she replaced the dishes upon the waiter, and the woman below, evi- dently upon the watch, called out through the king-tube—the lccation of which however e girl could not discover, despite her careful search: ‘Please place all the things upon the waiter and ring the bell when you are through.” With this ee the girl complied, and when the tinkle of the bell ceased, again the voice spoke: “ Keep the bell and when you wish anything please to ring.” The girl took the bell and down the waiter descended. The moment it disappeared from | | | leau sight Helen rung the bell violently. ‘What is it, please?” called out the voice. “Speak down through the waiter-well and I can hear you.” ‘T wish to know what is the meaning of this mystery—why am I detained here?” the young | actress asked. ‘I do not know,” the woman replied. hired to wait upon that you do not want for anything.” ** And who is your employer?” ‘Miss, I cannot answer, I am forbidden.” “But you are running a great risk—you are rendering yourself liable to the law by taking a | part in this outrage!” the girl cried, indig- nantly. ‘* You are ie a Me me of my liberty and the law will punish you severely for taking part in such a crime.” **T don’t know anything about it, miss,” the voice answered, the tone calm and respectful. ‘*T did not bring you here. You came of your own free will, as far as I know, and I am not opposing any obstacles to your departure. I have nothing at all to do with it.” “This is evasion!” replied Helen. ‘“‘ All you have to do to set me at liberty is to come up and unlock this door, I am. very far from being rich, but out of my limited means I will pay you any sum I can for the service.” “Tt is impossible,” said the voice, still calm still very re ful. ‘‘In the first place, it have not the key, and therefore I cannot unlock the door, even’ if | would. In the second, I e was all of solid silver, and a long- | am forbidden by thé person who pays me my wages to ascend to your floor. When I accepted the position I phe tom to obey his orders, and I cannot break my word.” “His orders!” Helen repeated, mechanically , to herself. Her guess then was wrong. It was not the mysterious woman, the contriver of the first abduction, who was the promoter of this. second one. And yet the man referred to might: be the agent in charge of the affair, employed by tke woman, for of course she could not very well carry thrvegh such an affair in her own proper person. ** When can I see this person who has dared to commit this outrage—dared to deprive me of my liberty?’ cried the actress. ** As soon as you like; I expect him here every moment.” “Tell him then that I wish to see him the moment he arrives.” ‘* Yes, miss; I will;’ then there was quite a pause, broken at last by the woman’s exclaim- ing: ‘‘ He has just come in, miss, and I will tel} him to wait upon you at once.” Soon, then, the mystery of this odd affair would be solved. CHAPTER XXVII. THE EXPLANATION. THE young actress now became intensely ex- cited. The color began to rise in her usually pale cheeks and her eyes to sparkle with an un- wonted brilliancy. She sat down in the easy-chair by the center- table and fixed her eyes upon the door, think- ing each moment to hear the tread of footsteps and the sound of the key turning in the lock. Five—ten minutes she waited, every vein within her body thrilling with excitement, but not the slightest sound from without reached her ears; another minute and then a slight noise right at her side attracted her attention, a noise almost imperceptible, but, slight as it was, it caused her to turn to see what had occa- sioned it. A man dressed in a full evening suit, got up regardless of expense, with great diamond studs irkling, in his snowy shirt-bosom, and ap elaborate diamond breast pis. shaped in the form of a cross, worth a king’s ransom, was. standing within a yard of her! So complete was the surprise that Helen's breath came short and quick for a moment, and then, trembling all over with excitement, she sprung to her feet. There was a secret door to the room in the side-wall by the dumb-waiter, evidently, and the man had stolen through whiie the ygirl’s at- tention had been fixed upon the door. The thick pilefof the t had muffled the sound of his footsteps and so he had been able to reach the side of the table, almost within arm’s- length of the girl, without exciting her no- ti ice. For a good three minutes he had stood there, gloating upon the beauty of the charming wo- man whom he had so dextrously entrapped within his power. A long-drawn breath which he unconscious! allowed to escape him, as the demon of trium swelled within his heart, put an end to the ta The actress recognized the man at once and he knew it well enough, the a of utter scorn which upon the utiful face. The man was Major Clutterbuck! And as she looked at that gross, gloating face, “Tam | she nee that hae bea se on ou and inst | carefully planned by creature ore her. instructed to see The us had afforded the opportunity which the politician had been qui to im- prove. The hackman had been hired to lie in wait for herself and at the hotel and coax them to ride. The fellow who had so urgently for a private interview with Miss Pearl at the back-door of the theater was a tool, em- ployed for the express purpose of separating her from her companion; the runaway horses the driver’s story about the lameness.of one o the animals, his getting her to seek the shelter | of the porch while he went to the saloon for as- sistance, woman’s invitation to enter the house—all were but of a plot framed with fiendish cunning. Her falling asleep, though, in the luxurious apartment, was an accident, but it helped the Reith scoundrel to complete re design and threw completely into the nare, And now, as she comprehended all the details of this cunningly-devised scheme, and under- stood how suc it had been carried. out, how completely she was in the power of this man, at whom her verv soul revolted, she tow-
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—e-- 22 AN AMBITIOUS IRL. ered aloft, drawing her figure up to its fullest bight, absolutely looking down upon the rather squatty-figured politician, and glared at him so with her oy yg eyes that, despite the strength of his impudence, and the great amount of his unblushing assurance, the man really. felt a little uncomfortable. However, as he had often boasted, he was not the man to turn back when he had once put his ‘hand to the wheel, and although for the first time he realized the full extent of the task which he had so wantonly taken upon bimself, and foresaw that he had the most difficult job of his life before him, yet, bull-dog like, he was de- termined to go ahead. Smooth words and bland civility he intended to oppose to angry looks and _ threatening words. And so he bowed as lowly before the girl upon whom he had put such an insult as though she was a queen—more than a queen, the em- ress of some Eastern land, and he one of the umblest of her slaves. “*T humbly beg your perdae, miss, for thelib- erty I bave taken, and I trust you will not re- fuse to listen to my excuse, although I am aware that there can hardly be any excuse for such an outrageous act as this one that I have been guilty of, but when a man is blind with passion —drunk with love, then ‘the wits fly and mad- ness rules the hour.’ ” The major was roi an able stump-speaker, and had often prided himself upon his extem- pore orations, But not the slightest effect did his words pro- duce upon the girl; in lofty scorn she looked at him as though her eyes were daggers to pierce him to the heart, He was quick to comprehend that he had not made the slightest impression, so he tried gain. ‘*T repeat I know there isn’t any excuse for what I have done, and that words only increase the enormity of the act, but when a man loses ‘icil . ‘* Why, then, do you trouble both your- | self and me? I do not wish to hear anything Hoe may have to say; in this transaction you |have madea mistake. You are too sensible, I ‘trust, not to have discovered by this time that [oe have acted’ both foolishly and wickedly. | You haye committed a crime which cannot benefit you in the least. At‘present itis only 'known to ourselves and to the wretched crea- tures whom you used as tools. Allow me to ‘return to my hotel, avoid me for the future, /and I will believe that you are sincerely sorry | for the error into which you have been led.” “Certainly, that is my intention,” the major hastened to say, although he hadn’t the slight- est intention of doing anything of the kind; so he continued: ‘‘ Will you not have the kindness to be seated?” and*he waved his fat hand, jew- eled heavily with diamond rings, toward the easy-chair. ‘‘You”have no idea how much it distresses me to see you stand.” ‘‘Not more than it does me to know that I am here and compelled to listen to you,” the girl ers: replied. ‘* Well, a willful woman must have her way, says the proverb,” he returned. “I do not blame you for being particular; of course I know enough of your professional life to be aware that there are a great many trials and temptations connected with it, and that a woman upon the stage cannot be too careful, but I beg to assure you that my intentions are strictly honorable.” ‘*One would judge otherwise from this high- handed attempt upon my liberty,” the girl re- plied, bitterly. The major bowed low as if smarting under the reproof. ‘What could I do?’ he exclaimed. “ Put yourself in my place, I beseech you! You were a lady with whom it seemed impossible to be- come og in the usual way. Madam Pond in the kindest manner possible volunteered to procure me an introduction, when she heard his reason he ought not, by good rights, to be| me expross a wish to make De acquaintance blamed for what he does. I tried my best to rocure an introduction to you—an honorable introduction, such as any lady might grant to any respectable gentleman without fear of com- —— herself. Of course, I know that adies who are in public life like yourself, can- not be too careful, and I have been informed that I incurred your displeasure by the exclamation which escaped from me in the box the first night you appeared in the opera-house, here, but I could not have helped uttering it Miss Bell, any more than I could have helpe breathing; it was an honest, genuine opinion, and you must really blame yourself and na- ture for that. I could no more help exclaiming that you were beautiful, than you can help be- ing the woman yoware. Baffled in all my ef- forts, then, to gain an honorable introduction to you, desperate at the goth that you were going away, and that I should no more behold you, an evil genius, I believe, suggested to me the plan by means of which you were brought here. The historic incident which comes back to me from my boyhood’s days suggested it— the rape ofthe Sardine women by the Roman youths; I mean the Sabine,” The major was a little rusty in his history. Helen never moved a muscle; she might have been a statue as far as showing signs of life was concerned, excepting, of course, the quick heav- ing of her bosom, and the expressive flashes of her great, glorious eyes. She was waiting for the man to finish, and then she had a few words to say. , % Fair means would not avail, and so I was obli to try foul; and dare I hope that this frank confession will, in part, excuse the of- fense?” ‘Please to open the door, sir, and allow me to depart,” the girl replied, coldly. The major’ perceived thet that ‘ tack” wouldn’t work, so he was ready for another, ‘**Miss Bell, in all things you will find me our most obedient slave!” with another low w. “In all things but that your slightest wish would be as law to me, but | trust youwill pardon me even this one disobedient act when I explain that if I decline to release you it is sim- ply to allow me time to define my position. If you will have the kindness to be seated—” ‘No, not in your house, sir.” The words and the lady’s manner ought to have convinced the major that he was only wasting time, but he | ‘wouldn’t be convinced. ‘It will be so much more comfortable and agreeable to us both,” he urged. ‘‘ [have quite an explanation to make, and I am afraid that ; » will tire. ndoubtedly I shall,” the gir) answered, ou “pn but you wouldn’t have it! hat on earth coul I do, except to give up the attempt or else pro- cure the introduction in some other way. To give up, I may say, candidly and without ting, is not in my nature. I am what is called a self-made man; what I am 1 owe to my- self; mighty little assistance have I hadin m battle of life and now that I am where I am, confess I look back with peculiar pride upon the up-hill fight which I have made, and won.” The major swelled out pompously with his boast, but a wearied look appeared upon the features of the girl. Beyond all power of ex- pression she loathed this man. ‘But now allow me to introduce myself,” he continued. ‘‘Of course by sight you are well acquainted with me, but my name and fame, such as it is, no doubt are foreign to your ears. Major Leander Clutterbuckisa name that counts for something in this town of Cincinnati. Iam wealthy—rich enough to purchase anything in this world which can be bought. Thisis my coun- try mansion which I occupy in the summer time; as you will perceive it is furnished with theutmostcare. When [fitted up this establish- ment I had in my mind’s eye the probability that one of these days I might be fortunate enough to find a lady who would suit the boyhood I have had in my mind’s eye, but | until I saw you no woman has ever reached the | but you—you are my very ideal! I am satisfied that with you I should be supremely happy. This is my excuse for this bold action. You would not allow me to make your acquaintance; I could not woo you in the usual fashion, an only by some bold stroke could I hope to gain speech with you atall. Will you overlook the |act and forget the rashness of the deed in con- |sideration of the motive? As my wife, I may say without exaggeration or flattery that few women in the country will be better situated. | It is my intention to run for Congress this next ‘election. The wires are all laid now to. secure , nomination by my party is just about the same as an election; we always carry the district Oy |four to six thousand majority, so that al- most anybody is sure to be elected if nomi- ae -even an unpopular man would be re hat [ am very far from being unpopular, in fact, I reckon that any one would have to hunt | round right smart all through this State to find aman as 6 as Iam. Of course, after I 'am elected I shall have to go to Washington. Now, as I have plenty of money, it is my am- high standard which I had set up in my mind; | in the puddle. I calculate to have as handsome a house as money can buy. None of your rent- | ed concerns for me! I will buy it out and out | and then I will furnish it up in a style that will | make people open their eyes—yes, the best of | them, From the President downward there | won't bea man in the capital who will put on the style that I will; Ill have a French cook, lay in my wines across the water, and give a spread that will astonish even the foreign em- bassadors, and I tell you what, those foreign fellows know how to live! All that I lack is a woman like yourself to do the honors of the mansion. Just consider for a moment—reflect and think of the difference between the position you now occupy—the vagabond life of a stroll- ing peas and the wealth, ease and luxury that I offer. Now you exhibit yourself nightly to any one who can raise the money to pay the admittance fee; you are exposed to humilia- tions and insults, and you can’t avoid them, for the stage-player is more or less public property, while as my wife you will occupy a position second to no woman in this land, clear from the stormy Atlantic to the golden shores of the Pacific; you will be the envy of all your ac- quaintances, 1 sha’n’t restrict you in your ne ee ob you shall have all you want; and all I want is to have you dressed better than any woman you will meet’anywheres. I want people to turn around and look after you | not to keep ideal which since the struggling days of my | the nomination for me, and in my district a | | while I have only wealth and bition when I get there to be the biggest toad | as you roll by ’em in your carriage and say, ‘That’s Mrs. Major Clutterbuck— oo Clutterbuck from Ohio; she’s got the finest dia- monds of any woman in the country.’ That is my little game! that is what I am after; so now, what do you say? Come! I don’t pretend that I’m over head and ears in love with you because Iam too old a man for such oy Aha nonsense, but I have taken a very strong liking for you, and I am willing to put up my money on you, Cana man say more?” CHAPTER XXVIII. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL, One thing puzzled the politician; the actress had listened to his explanation without betray- ing approval or dissent. The face of @ marble statue could not have been less expressive, and therefore he waited for her answer with feverish impatience. * You have said all that you have to say?” she observed, her rich voice round and full but utterly devoid of emotion. “Yes, all; it would be folly even for an ex- perienced orator to attempt to persuade such a woman as you are against her convictions. I am too wise toattempt such a thing,” the major replied, with a very gallant bow. ‘‘I have stated my case as strongly as I could and am ie rary to leave the rest to your excellent judg- ment. “It is a weighty step, and one that eneeetes deliberation,” impassively and mechanically. ‘*Of course; certainly; take all the time you like. A month if you choose, but I od you me in suspense any longer than you can help,” the major rejoined, yet far from feeling really pleased. ‘‘This house and all it contains are yours. You have but to command to be obeyed, and your most willing servant will be my humble self. I am not fitted ote to play the réle of the anxious lover, but assure you I shall be on thorns until you come to a decision, which I hope and trust will be a favorable one.” ; ‘Such an offer should not be either lightly declined or accepted,” the girl returned. *' For such a woman as Iam to be favored with an offer to become the wife of such a man as you are, is, of course, an honor for which one can- not be too grateful.” 9 The gentleman certainly was obtuse as far as women were concerned, but, bull-headed as he was, it struck him that there was a double meaning to the girl’s words—a scornful ring in her voice. , He concealed his apprehension, though, and hastened to reply: ‘*Oh, don’t look at it in that way; you have beauty, grace, intelligence, style, a hundred things that go to make the perfect woman, ition to offer, and if you accept I shall consider that I have by far the best of the bargain.” ‘“‘T shall not require a month to make up my ; ” : certain to go in, and I flatter myself mind “Tam glad of it.” ‘¢ A single week will do.” ‘Miss Bell, Iam really delighted to hear you say so!” : } ‘Come to me in seven days from now aiid you shall be answered.” **I shall count the very minutes!” Fr a
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AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. rough and tough man of the world the major was detene bravely—in fact, playing the lover tion, ORT saves days,” Miss Bell repeated, and then she looked towar we door by which she had the apartment. rite panies eyes followed the glance, but he did not exactly understand what she meant. ‘* Be pleased to open the door, then, so that I depart.” The pone fairly took the breath from the wooer, for the ugly suspicion at once came over him that the actress was not quite the marble statue he had taken her to be, and that, as he had tricked her in his way, she had made up her mind to trick him in return. “Oh, no; that isn’t the understanding!” he cried, when he had in a measure recovered him- self, “What understanding?” and the young ac- tress looked at the man with an inscrutable expression. ** Why, you are to remain here until you come to a decision.” ‘7Yes, and when the decision is made?” “Why, we will be married, of course, and go at once on our wedding tour. We will have a private wedding, because I don’t like a fuss kicked up about such things. We ean do our displaying afterward.” “Very true; but you assume that I will con- sent, Ati on the contrary, with the will- fulness of women, I should refuse?” Obtuse as was the politician, he eould not help noticing the scorn now fully apparent in the girl’s voice. He was oS erie fact, now that he realized the girl had been laying with him. She had not refused his of- For at once because she wished to escape from her present unpleasant position. A spirit of revenge came u bis heart, and he men said: ‘““Whether you consent or refuse, I w you here for a while, my beauty, and see if cannot tame this devil that is in you.” His face, though, did not betray the rage which was gnawing at his heart. “Ah, yes, of course; that is only natural, you know,” e replied. *‘A man always believes that will occur which he wishes to come to pass, and that is the reason why I am wating to give you 4 month to makeup yourmind. You may refuse my suit to-day, reject it a week hence, two wash and your mind may not change, three weeks and you still hold fast to ee first opinion, but, on the fourth, you may alter—you may conclude to accept what you have steadily refused before.” ‘*You will keep me here a month, then, whether I will or no?’ and the eolor began to rise in the girl’s face, and her eyes to flash as she put the question. : The abductor saw that a storm was at hend, but he dared not now yield. “Miss Bell, I know you will probably be an- y, but I am a truthful man, and since you ave asked me a plain question, it is but right that I should give you a plain answer,” and the major swelled out quite pompously as he spoke, ‘‘I feel sure that in a month, if you are not guided or swayed by bad advisers, you will be willing to accept the p sal which I have the honor to make. You be as com- fostable here as you could possibly be in an spot in the wide world: your very lightest wis will be as potent as thestrongest command; you will be secure from all interruption; I myself will not intrude upon you, unless you request my presence; you will be free to make up your po, without being biased by any one, and I am confident that in a month you will consent to be mine.” ‘‘Not in one month—not in ten thousand months!” cried the girl, her anger at last flam- ing forth, ‘Man, have you no fear of the law that you dare to outrage it in this manner? Think of the punishment that will overtake you when the truth becomes known, as it soon will be, for I have friends who will not flag in their search for me!” , “My dear girl, there isn’t the slightest, dan- of an y overing you here. I have faid my p altogether too cautiously for any one to get upon my track, and it has cost a pretty Sindy, too rf assure you; not that, I grudge he money if it succeeds in winning you, which I am sure it will.” - “You are wrong; it will not!” Helen retorted. “7 am not a dog to be bought and amid by any man! No matter how rich you &re, or what ou are, Ph cannot buy me, soon my iends will come to the rescue. “My dear child, I repeat—there isn’t the slightest danger of that!” moment, the * But, even at that ver opening of the secret door gave the lie to his word: The rescuer had come! CHAPTER XXTX, TRICK FOR TRICK, Trrovuaen the secret door two persons had en- tered the apartment—the housekeeper, and be- hind her came the young actor, Gordon Mal- ory. A scream of joy escaped from the girl’s li when she beheld the handsome face of the young man; she understood that her peril was now at an end; but, as for the politician, ‘his rage knew no bounds. Although asa rule self- possessed and rarely losing control of himself, yet on the present occasion, so surprised and en- raged was he at the unexpected intrusion, that he flew into the most violent passion, growing almost scarlet in the face. ‘Well, sir, what is the meaning of this?” he cried. ‘Who in blazes invited you.to enter this house? Do you know where you are, you impudent puppy! This is my house, do you un- derstand! and [ am not in the habit of enter- atining uninvited guests; so the quicker you get out the better. And you’’—and he turned, fiercely, to the housekeeper—‘‘ what om earth do you mean by letting this rasca} into the house?” “It wasn’t my fault; I couldn’t help it,” re- sponded the woman, angrily, and looking dag- gers at the other as she spoke, ; “Not your fault!” roared Clutterbuck, in a fearful rage—‘‘ the blazes it wasn’t! You ought not to have let him in.” “How could I hel myself?—how could I Seow hey he was hi outside the kitchen oor? * Why didn’t you call for assistance?’ and as he spoke the major giared at the intruder in such a way as to infer that if she had called out he would have come and made it particularly warm for him, ** How could I call out when he put a knife at my throat and threatened to stab me if I ut- tered a word, and if you don’t believe me just look at my throat. You can see with your own eyes where the skin is cut.” And the woman pointed to her neck where, sure enough, there was quite an ugly scratch. “The blame should rast_on my shoulders, sir,” Mallory remarked; “1 must give this woman credit for doing her best to keap me out and to refuse me information after L got in.” “And now, sir, that you are in, you will oblige me by walking out!” the major cried, roughly, “Certainly, sir, that is exactly what I am ing to do,’ ‘Mallory rejoined, very politely. “Miss Bell, oblige me by putting on your things and we will depart.” “Oh, no, you will not!” the politician cried, hotly, his rage breaking out afresh. ‘‘ You can get out yourself, dnd the quicker the better, but as for this lady she will remain here.” ‘No, I will not!” the girl exclaimed upon the instant. ‘I will not remain a single moment longer in this house than I can help, Ihave been the victim of a terrible plot, and this wretch here is to blame. Take me away at once, I implore you.” . “You hear what the lady says; she does not desire to remain, and now you have the kindness to unlock the door yonder—I presume under the circumstances that it is locked—so that we can depart by the front door? Although I made my entrance through the garden, yet it is not exactly the way fora mip Se take.’ “You scaled the wall and broke into my ee like a robber and a thief as you are, you villain!’ s*T always told you that you ought to have a couple of good dogs, and then they would have made mince-meat out of this fellow,” snarled the woman. ‘Dogs wouldn’t have kept me out if you had a dozen!” Mallory assured. ‘“ And, as the mat- ter is, = may thank your lucky stars that I have chosen to come quietly, all by myself, to settle this matter instead of calling upon the police authorities,” “Well, I really admire your impudence! Do you think the word of a man like yourself, a vagabond actor, would for a single instant have any weight inst a gentleman of my station in goslets d the foajor swelled out like a turkey-cock, “Give me no more of ag airs and inso- r, in a sudden out- lence!” cried the yo ac burst of passion, (or ele I will be apt to forget the difference in our years, and you by the throat I will shake some of your ange out of you!” And as he spoke, ory ad- vanced in such a threatening way that, despite his assurance, the major retreated in consider- able alarm. —E— ie 0 violence, Gordon, for my sake!” the girl pleaded ‘*Shall I call for the police?” cried the woman. The politician winced at the suggestion; he had no use for policemen under the present eir- cumstances, **Oh, yes, send for the police instantly,” Gor- don hastened to add. ‘You can give me in charge, you know, for daring to enter your house without —— permission, and at the same time this lady can have you arrested on the charge of abduction—a State’s Prison of- fense. “That accusation is easily tee disposed of, young man!” the major rejoined, with a great deal of ey 5 . “Tam ready to swear under oath that [had nothing to do with the lady’s visit here. I did not bring her, nor did she even come by invitation of mine. She entered this house of her own free will, as this lady will tes- tify,” and he waved his fat hand, pompously, toward the housekeeper. ““T¢ is as true as Gospel!” the woman de- clared. ‘(And yet, altogether, it is as false as false can be!” the actress cri **T am the victim of a deep-laid and poy Beg I was decoyed to this house and have been detained here as a prisoner against my will by this man, as I can force the scoundrel to admit,” ‘‘We are only wasting time in tal Yo Mallory observ ** You see, sir, that the lady does not wish to remain under your roof, and as for myself—” “You can go to the devil!” cried the major, inarage. - ‘Tam very much obliged for your kind per- mission even if I do not avail myself of it, but I should really hesitate to trouble any of your friends even at your invitation; and now the key of the door, if you please.” ‘**T will see you hanged first!” growled the baffled man. ‘Well, we will descend by this secret stair- way then, and I have no doubt that we will be able to find our way out.” ‘One moment!” cried the major, abruptly, “No, no!” cried the girl. ‘I do not wish you to leave me; I do not wish to have a private in- terview with this man. ‘With my own free will I care not to speak a word to him, either in Fema or private. I am sure he is a base- earted, coarse-minded villain.” The contemptuous scorn so pleinly apparent in both the girl’s face and voice stung the poli- tician to the quick, even more than her words. “ Very well! very well!” he remarked, en- deavoring to appear indifferent. “Ifthe lad has tired of my protection after a single night, well and good; I stppose I have no right to complain; women are notoriously fickle, but I am sure you will be sorry for it, Miss Heien. Just think over what I have said—the brilliant prospect I unfolded before you, and reflect upon the golden future which you are turning your baek upon.” “ Your words are useless, sir: I gave you my answer; I scorn, I hate, I despise you! o take time to consider—” he ‘you allow me,” interrupted Mallory, “to observe, sir, that’ your detaining the lady in captivity here so that she may have time to think the matter over isa highly criminal act? If you had a grain of sense would under- stand that you are taking the precise wrong way to ean ng if you really wish to win her regard, “Your wavicd was not asked!” “Under the circumstances I tender it all the same, though, but if you are weary of my pres- ence, as I have no doubt you are, by simply un- locking that door both myself and this lady will depart.” ‘Remember, Helen, it is your last chance!” the major exclaimed, utterly a the young actor; “ you will not get another as far as I am concerned. When you quit this house all is ended between us,” ‘You are an ignorant brute, sir, and all your wealth cannot cover up the grossness of your character. Unlock the door and allow me to depart!” cried the actress, in fiery indignation. ‘Oh, you are a regular tragedy queen, but I will find a way to be avenged for all this,” the politician retorted, scarlet with passion, and
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2 4 then he drew the key from his pocket and threw it down upon. the floor., .‘‘ There’s the key,” he cried, ‘ but I tell you what it is—I will find a way to make both of you repent the hour when you dared to brave me!” ‘* You infernal old villain! I’ve half a mind to hammer, you within am inch of your life!’ flamed out the young actor, all the manhood in his veins roused into action by the insulting words... ‘‘ Pick up that key and hand it to me like a gentleman.” “No, hang me if I will!” Ina moment the strong hands of the actor clutched the politician by the throat; the house- keeper screamed for help, and the actress beg- ged the angry man to desist. The major ‘‘ weakened,” however, the instant he found himself in the steel like grasp of the other. ‘‘ For Heaven’s sake don’t choke me!” he beg- ged, humbly. the key.” ‘*Do so and on the instant!” the actor com- He removed his hands, and get out!’ exclaimed the con- ningly. CHAPTER XXX, TURNING THE TABLES, Wir8 a very ill grace, indeed, the major and the housekeeper, bis willing tool, retreated through the secret door, and left the young actor in ssion of the field. Never had a rescuer come more opportunely and never bad the insolent man of. money and ‘*influence ” been more thoroughly discomfited, and as he descended the secret stairs he swore in a manner which was really sbocking. Beaten and bfflaed he thirsted for vengeance and he swore by all that was bad in this worl that he would not rest until he had full measure of revenge, no matter how great the cost. Al- ready bis mind was at work, anxiously seeking a plan by means of which he might vent his hatred, and before he had reached the end of the short flight of stairs an idea had come into his mind which, if carried owt in the proper manner, seemed likely to give him most sweet and ample revenge. “It will do!” he cried, gleefully, much to the astonishment of the mystified and frightened woman, who had been forced, despite herself, -to prove false to her trust, to reveal the secrets of the house, to conduct the assailant up the stairs, and thus at one fells woop upset the fabric of her master’s carefully-laid plans. She had not yielded until she had felt the very point of the steel actually scratching ber throat, and firmly believed that her life would have been sacrificed by the desperate man in his blind fury if she had not consented to do as he wished—to lead him to the room occupied by the actress. “Yes, yes, it will do!” the major repeated. “And it will be a terrible revenge, too, al- though it will cost me a deuced sight of money, but it will stab this proud and haughty hussy where she will feel the blow the keenest—in her reputation, and she will leave this house with such a stain upon her character that she will never dare to hold up ber head in in the so- ciety of decent people. Even the women of uncertain character will point the finger of shame at her, for I will blazon her dishonor to all the world; as far abroad will it fly as the pene press on its mighty wings can carry The housekeeper looked at her master in as- tonishment; he seemed to her to be raving, for never before had she seen him so terribly ex- cited, but it was anger and not madness which ruled the hour. 7 ‘Quick! lock all the doors in the house and bring me the keys, so that it will be a difficult ob for them to get. out!” he commanded. ‘If can only succeed in detaining them here a brief quarter of an hour, I shall triumph oyer the girl after all, though not exactly in the way that I intended, but since I cannot attain suc- cess, I will be content with vengeance!” The woman hastened to obey the command, andin a vey few minutes all the keys of the lower part of the house were in the politician’s on, and all means of escape by the doors were cut off; the windows were ded .b stout blinds, well secured on the ipside wit padlocks. The poruainy eames being only oecu- pied by the male in the summer-time was now all shut up and prepared for the winter, and these extra fastenings were designed to prevent any felonious entry by evil-minded persons on plunder intent. “Release me and I will pick up | eee ES PAS | stairs the rescued and the rescuer | chang$ he ha L et out of here inside of twenty be smarter than I think they | ‘Now if they F minutes they. wi ' are!” the house-owner exclaimed, as he and his | companion passed through the hack door and /he carefully locked it after them. ‘And in | twenty minutes’ time I will explode a mine be- | neath their feet, the result of which will make both of them curse the hour when they ran across my track.” . Then, away through the garden and out upon | the road in hot haste hurried the pair. No time | | was to be lost, for the two would be sure to en- | | deavor to get out as soon as possible. And while this had been ey la down- ad been ex- confidences in the upper apartment. Briefly the young actor explained how it was pened to come so timely to her aid, and, as He strumeént, Mallory loved the young actress, although cer- tain circumstances prevented him from press- ing his suit; he loved the girl, whom he had helped to place upon the stage, and like all lov- ers he kept a jealous eye upon her. | i | }such an unpleasant experience. The open and undisguised attentions of the old politician had not escaped his watchful eyes; hence when Helen’s unaccountable disappear- ance was made known to him by Sara Pearl he suspected the major’s interest in the matter, since common report made the politician more unscrupulous and regardless of consequences than he really was, From the police officer in front of. the opera- house Malloryhad procured the most of his in- formation, and learned of the politician’s coun- try house out on thoe’pike, and such a_ house, shut up and isolated, Mallory naturally sur- mised would be the most likely place for the major to carry his prize if he had planned the abduction, for that the girl had been abducted the young actor had little doubt. So he set out for the retired mansion, taking the precaution to arm himself beforehand. He found the house without difficulty, and scaling the back garden wall gained admittance to the grounds, Cautiously he tried the back doors of the house only to find them fastened. He had proceeded with extreme care for he had no doubt that the rascals desperate enough to carry off the girl, would not hesitate to fire at him, under the ex- cuse that they supposed he was a midnight marauder. Finding all the doors fastened, he camped down for the night in one of the numerous sum- mer-houses which adorned the elaborately laid- out grounds, ake In the poening be laid in ambush close to the kitchen-door, rightly thinking that if any one came from the house that would be the most beyond his expectations, for, instead of a man he had captured the housekeeper—with what success the reader has seen. And while explanations were progressing, the actress was hurrying on her thimgs, anxious to leave the place where she had passed through Ina few mo- ments she announced herself ready to depart. “Ttisal walk to the city,” Mallory said, as he esco ber from the apartment. The means of egress were easy enough now, thanks te the key which he had compelled the major to surrender, ‘Tam so glad to escape from this dreadful place that I would face a ten-mile walk with gladness,” she replied. Mahesh ad not bargained with the old scoun- drel for the key of the front-door, for, of course, he had supposed that it would be in the lock, and was astonished upon reaching the door to discover that the key was gone. A suspicion that the struggle was not yet ended hed upon the young actor’s mind, and when he came to examitie the other doors which led from the mansion, and made the unwelcome discovery that every one of them was fastened against egress, he began to believe that mischief really was intended. A hurried examination then disclosed the fact that all the windows were padlocked—showing, conclusively, that the design was to force them both to remain, for a while at least, in the house, But Mallory, quick to act, announced that he would force off one of the window padlocks, but was not allowed to put his plan in opera- tion, for, just as he was about to do so, the gratin sound of a key being inserted in the ock of the front-door and turning in the wards fell upon bis ears. Then the door swinging open, revealed the major, flanked on both sides by a stalwart policeman. 4 en suspected, Sara Pearl had been the in- | | CHAPTER XXXII. A SURPRISING ACCUSATION, It was a tableau of astonishment; genuine on the part of the actor and actress and the two policemen, and well affected by the major. Mallory could not, for the moment, compre- hend what the scoundrel was up to—what he meant by calling upon the authority of the law in the shape of the two officers, for, of all men in the world, after his rascally exploit on the preceding night, he should have been the last person to introduce the guardians of the law. A moment the parties stared at each other; then the major spoke: ““My information was corre¢t then it seems; I have had the honor of visitors without know- ing an viding eyont it,” he remarked—a speech which gave Mallory a clew to the situation, and the shrewdness of the dodge rather amused him, for not the least idea did he have that it would work. One of the policemen thought it necessary to. putin a remark at this point: * Upon me worrud,” he observed, with a fine rich ‘‘ brogue” almost thick enough to be cut. with a knife, “it’s the bouldest thing that I iver heerd tell on, and I’ve been on the force for ” tin years. | ‘Mighty cheeky thing, young man,” said the other, Frith a knowing shake of the head, ad- dressing the remark to Mallory. ‘What do you mean, sirs?’ demanded the young actor, hotly. “ Asa fri’nd, I warn ye not to say too much or it may be used ag’inst yees,” replied the | Irishman. “* Yes, keep a still tongue in your head, you will find that it is always best in such cases as this iu the long run,” observed the other orna- ment to the ‘‘ force,” **The proof of their guilt is clear and I make a charge against them; do your duty, officers!” exclaimed the major, sternly. The two men advanced a step; Gordon drew back and assumed such a threatening attitude that. the doughty policemen instantly drew their clubs, while the major ehuckled. 1t would have done his heart good to have seen the | young actor offer resistance and the two of- |ficers batter him with their “locusts” in | presence of the woman before whom he had | been humiliated. | The girl, however, who had looked upon this _ strange scene with wondering eyes, hastened to | interfere. ‘For my sake, Mr. Mallory, do not attempt to offer any resistance to these men; they are | probably acting in the line of their duty, al- | though evidently laboring some mis- take.” “Right ye are, miss! doo , miss, that is | likely portal for them to use. And he succeeded | phat we are afther doing all the time!’’ ex- claimed the Irishman, ducking his head in a sort of a clumsy attempt at a bow, for, though | a low, dull fellow he could not he}: being im- | pressed by the beauty of the girl. ‘“ But not the Past taste of a mistake is it; it is yees that do be afther making a mistake, whin ze take this gin-. tleman’s house for a hotel, ‘and do be making erselves at home in it, widout taking the ouble to ask his lafe or license.” Gordon now understood the nature of the charge which was to be brought against them and he smiled, eonbearnbaonely, as he though how quickly such an outr us accusation could be disposed of if the or was crazy en- ough to attempt to push it. nd for the first time, too, Helen understood what it all meant, and smiled, scornfully, when she reflected how easily she could sweep the ac- cusation away when brought before the povrer | authorities, although she really did not lieve that the politician would dare to go as far as that. ‘Do I understand correctly?’ Gordon asked; ‘‘has thisman madea charge against me, and | do you intend to take me into igo Ae : ‘Both of yees, young fellow; it’s the pair of yee that we are afther.” ‘“‘L regret, miss, that I am obliged to put a lady in pee but I must protect. my property against depredation,” the major observed. She irl never took the slightest notice of the remar “We have a coach outside and we kin all go nice and quiet to the police-office and nobody be the wiser,” the other officer remarked; ‘so if you wilt. be so perlite as to come along with us we'll be obliged to you.” P Five minutes after the whole were in, or om the coach, and being driven rapidly to the _ policw-office,
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CHAPTER XXXII. A REPUTATION BLASTED. Or course the coach rolling through the streets attracted no icular attention, al- though a few people who were acquainted with the politician were somewhat astonished at be- holding him ched up upon the box of the hack alongside of the driver. At the police court the party were ushered into the presence of the presiding judge who had just taken his seat to proc with the morning work. 5 : The entrance of the party created a little rip- ple of excitement, for the major was about as well known as any man in the town, and the young actress, during her brief stay in Porko- polis, had managed to create quite a sensation, and therefore, when she and her male compan- ion entered the court-room in the custody of of- ficers, myer yo as prisoners charged with some offense, and the major followed in the rear with the look of an are upon his face, ex- ctation was upon tip-toe. : PeThe officers conducted their prisoners to the prison-pen, where a herd of ragged, dirty, un- savory wretches were already gathered—the vile fish who had been scooped in by the police nets on the previous evening. But, although a hot flush swept over the face of the young actor as he and his companion were placed in the same comp ent oe these wretched pariahs of society, the Dei natural dignity never deserted her, and she seemed totally oblivious of the disgusting fon ture of her surreundings, and when a miserable, blear-eyed old man, still laboring under the in- fluence of his last night’s debauch, moved along on the rude bench so as to give her room, she thanked him as politely as though he had been the greatest gentleman in the land and she the poorest and humblest beggar. ‘ : The presiding judge betrayed considerable as- tonishment when this unexpected pair of cul- prits made their appearance, and looked curi- ously at the major as if to ask what it all meant. Upon entering the court the politician had nodded to the presiding official with the air of an old friend. * (This judge, as the major well knew, was a disgrace to the court wherein he sat—a api contemptible partisan, who as a lawyer wo d not have been able to earn ten dollars a week, but, thanks to our peculiar system, which dra the judicial ermine through the mire of out: tics, his ascent to a judgeship had been easy. And no man had a better hold on him than Major Clutterbuck, therefore, in deference to his ‘“‘ patron,” he called the case atonce. A plain, nye gia story the politician told, and though both the accused knew full well how utterly false was the tale, Ne am were really astonished at the air of truth whic he contrived to impart to it. He had a country-house out on the “ pike,” the major said, very sumptuously fi and with a great many valuable articles in it. The house he had closed for the winter and it was unoccupied. During the previous week he had been warned by a certain party that he had better keep his eyes upon his property“as one of the actors attached to the opera house across the Rhine h d said that it would be a deuced good joke to get into bis—the major’s—house, and raid the wine-celJar, it being a well-known fact that he had about the finest stock of wines of any man in the country. Of course he had not taken any particnlar ‘notice of this, thinking that it was merely an idle joke, only he had made up his mind to warn the officer in charge of the district, and request him to keep a vigi- lant eye upon the premises. He had attended the performance at this same opera house where the young man was playing who had suggested tlie raid upon his wine-cellar, the pre- vious night, and after the entertainment had been driven to his hotel. He had gone to bed, but at an early hour in the morning hac been awakened by one of the hotel servants with the intelligence that a heckennes Gositet = om him u mportant business and mus an in- carvan once. He had granted the request and upon meeting the man was informed by him that he had driven a lady to a lonely house out on the pike, and after she bad got out she had paid him and said she did not need his ser- vices any longer. At first he had not thought much about the matter, but as he drove off he noticed that the lady remained upon the stoop and did not attempt to enter the mansion; the place, too, was all closed up, not a gleam o light showing—looking as if it was totally de- gerted. As be had driven back to the city in the rain he had reflected upon the singular mat- ter, and then it flashed uvon him that he had AN AMBITIOUS GIRL. once heard that the house belonged to Major Clutterbuck, and that nobody ever lived there except in tue summer time. course there might not be anything in it, but he thought it wouldn’t be ie og to come and speak about the matter. e major then went on to say that his suspicions were excited, for the driver had informed bim that he had taken the lady from the back door of the opera house across the Rhine, the.same theater where the youn man was employed who had thought it woul be a good idea to raid his wine-cellar. He had proceeded instantly to ascertain if the raid him, and the result was that, when the front door was opened, this man and woman were discovered in the hall, reparing to go out and evidently having passed the night there in com- pany. Boldly and broadly the major made this | statement, and now for the first time both Mal- lory and the young actress understood the ter- rible nature of the revenge which the man had planned. He desired to blast the reputation of the girl forever, for, of course, all the details of the trial would be publisbed, for your “local reporter” is a ghoul who licks hungry lips at bare thoughts of such a feast as this would be. The very walls seemed to swim before the outraged girl’s glazed eyes; her lips were rched; the breath came hot and heavy, and if she did not swoon upon the instant it was be- cause her firm, indomitable will was stronger than her weak nature, and kept ber up. As for the young actor, the veins upon his temple swelled out near to bursting as he com- er the full force of the foul accusation. ith great difficulty he restrained himself from springing up and denouncing the fiendish lie, but he knew that his turn would come next to tell the story, and that would put rather a dif- ferent face upon the matter. But the major wound up by sayin hackman, who had driven ‘the lady in the coach, was in court, and was prepared to tes- tify, also, that the young man who had warned him that a raid was to be made upon his wine- cellar; would give his evidence, Then came the hackman—the very same who had helped to play the shameful trick upon the girl; she recognized him in an instant—and he smacked his lips on the Bible, and swore to the outrageous lie as though it had been all gospel truth. And the man who followed him the gir! re- cognized immediately, also; it was the shabby- genteel fellow, who had waylaid them when she and Sara Pearl had emerged from the back door of the theater, and had requested the favor of a private interview with Sara, thus giving the hackman a chance to drive off with her without detection. And this fellow swore as fluently to the con- versation which he said had occurred between himself and the young actor, Gordon Mallory— he called him by name as if he had known him as well as a brother, although Mallory was cer- tain that he had never set eyes on the rascal be- fore. He described how t Bay 3s met in the saloon, in tho front of the theater, and how, casually, he bad mentioned Major Clutterbuck’s country-seat, and had remarked that he would like to be turned loose in the wine-cellar for a little while. The actor at once had manifested a great interest in the subject, and had ques- tioned him closely regarding the mansion. He was well posted on the subject, for he had been employed for a time as the major’s private sec- retary, and, at great length, he had explained to the other all about the house, neve thinking that he wanted to know for any other reason than pure curiosity; but, upon recalling the conversation, and impression had come to him that somethin more than mere curiosity was at the bottom o that the | ad taken place, taking two officers with | inking the matter over, the | gTave, 25 —_—— and here the rascal beamed smilingly upon the unhappy couple who were angry enough to have strangled him where he stood, ‘ why, I would not have called in the aid of the law, but, on the contrary, would have forgiven the trespass.” Here a very audible snicker went round the court-room, and even the grave face of his honor, the judge, showed traces of a smile, while the young actor grew scarlet with rage and the young girl white with shame. ** And so if you please, your honor,” said the major, in conclusion, ‘‘ 1 have no desire to press the complaint.” The judge bowed with becoming gravity; as, though he was, he yet »erceived that there was something back of all this; but he wanted to stand well with the major, who was such a wer in local politics, and he understood that, or reasons of his own, the politician wanted tha matter dropped. “Very well, just as you say; if you do not cate to press the matter I will end the case right here,” and then he turned to the prison- ers. ‘You have got off very easily indeed; this gentleman might have made it very serious for you if he had chosen to push this thing; and the next time that you makea love appoint- ment take my advice and don’t break into a gentleman's house. You are discharged. Next case!” But, Mallory was on his feet in an instant. He comprehended the major’s game. He had oe his side of the story; at one fell stroke he ad blackened the girl’s reputation, and by this clever disposal of the case had cut off all oppor- tunity for them to tell their tale. **Your honor, will you allow me to protest most respectfully against this disposal of the case? We deny this man’s story, and these two witnesses who have testified are nothing but per- aren liars which we will prove if we are al- owed a chance.” ‘*What more do you want, young man? You are discharged!” cried the judge, impatiently. ‘That is just the same as being declared inno- cent, isn’t it? You are discharged, free to de- rt, sir. Your case in this court is ended. me, bring up the next case!” The court-officers hustled a poor, unfortunate wretch of a drunkard forward, and Mallory, perceiving that the fates were against them w the arm of the girl within his own, an they left the court-room—the temple of justice, so-called ; but what a horrid mockery that appel- lation had been that duy! They had found only the most shocking perversion of justice within its precincts! They proceeded straight to the hotel, the girl morelike a statue than # living woman. Sara received them with open arms, but hardly had the young actress entered the room than she fainted dead away. The excitement had been too much even for her brave will. Sara raised her in her strong arms and her upon the sofa, and while she was endeavor- ing to revive the fainting girl, Mallory related all that had taken place. ‘Well, there is only one thing to be done now,” Sara cried, with that determination which was so strong a part of her nature; ‘her char- acter is utterly ruined, for this terrible affair will be in all the newspapers, sure, and the world is always ready enough to believe evil of an actress—only one thing to be done, sir, and that is for you todo. You must marry her! CHAPTER XXXII. NELL RICHMOND AGAIN. THE f the young actor became very och looked at him with an anxious mn her features. Ron tect not hesitate about the matter, the matter, and he thought it was only right to | Gordon,” she said; ‘1 know that you love the go to the major and explain the whole affair, | girl ls which he did. By the time this fellow got through with his testimony, the actor began to see that, thanks to the unblushing manner in which the hack- man and the other rascal had sworn to their story, the major had made out a pretty strong case, and against it heand Miss Bell had nothing but their bare word. The instant the fellow left the stand the major was on his feet again. ‘‘ Your honor,” he began, ‘‘I begin to think that I have been a little basty in this matter. but I didn’t renitelty understand tke affair. su of course that the design of the tres- | pears was to damage my property, but if I ad ‘sup that, as it now a , it was only a little love-affair and nothing more”— | \ da Heaven knows she loves you, although as never breathed a word in regard to that love to me, but I suspected it from the first;—in fact, I do not believe she ever admitted that such a os.) existed even to herself, but the love is in her heart all the same; I know it is; and, Gordon Mallory, if you are the man | think you are, you will restore to this pure soul the good name that this evil-minded villain has contrived to tarnish. And, Gordon, she needsa rotector, she is not fit for thislifeof ours. She is a beautiful girl, but she has not got the ‘act’ in her, and she will never make anything on the stage, despite her face, figure and voice, if she stays on the boards until she is gray. I felt sure of that, long ago, but I hated tosayso. I¢ is the truth, though; take her then, and with a man’s strong arm guard her from the evils
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26 GIRL. iaeiinscnemtma which will be sure to follow close upon her foot- | steps if she keeps upon the stage.” _Tbe young actor’s head had sunk down upon his breast, but now he raised it slowly, and look- ing Sara full in the eye made answer with a voice trembling with emotion: “Sara, I believe you are right—I believe the rirl does care for me; but, there is an obstacle between us—not one which will prevent us from being married, but which may rise up and try to separate us after we are married.” _ “Strike it down!” cried the actress, with an imperious gesture; “strike it down and put your foot upon it! Thatis the way to triumph over obstacles. Ifyou can honestly marry this poor | child—if you are free to wed her, do so in Heaven’s name! Let the ceremony take place at once; everything can be easily arranged, if you will attend to it, and then a report of your | marriage and a card signed by you, denouncing this rascal as a liar anda villain will appear in the very same newspapers, to-morrow morning, | which will contain an account of the dreadful | affair, so that the poison and the antidote will | be taken together.” ‘*T will, by Heaven! I will, despite all conse- quences, no matter what they may be!” he ex- claimed. With all the ardor born of a pure and fervent | love the young man told his passion, and, as | Sara had anticipated, at first Helen hesitated; she feared the offer was prompted by generosity, | not love—that, in a aobie spirit, Mallory wished | to remove the stain the wily major trived to fix upon her fair fame. Earnestly the young lover combated this idea, and he told the maid how he had fallen in | love with her in the little New Jersey village, | and had loved her ever since, his passion in- | creasing with each new day. / At last she consented:—what maiden so coy as not to yield to love’s soft summons, when the | right man speaks? | And when Sara came back, she perceived that the young actor had told his “‘ soft tale and | was a thriving wooer.” Gordon acquainted her with the news, and with characteristic decision Miss Pearl declared that the sooner the union took place the better, | and urged the necessity of haste with so much fervor that Helen was fain to consent. The minister was sent for, and then, in the presence of Sara, and another witness only, the pair were married. But hardly had the clerical gentleman depart- ed, when, with a scornful, forbidding smile upon her features, Nell Richmond opened the door and | came stalking into the room. Mallory sprung at once to his feet, his face white, and a threat- ening look in his eyes, Helen looked up in amazement, but Sara un- derstood that the obstacle of which the young actor had spoken had already arisen, and now she asked herself the question—would Mallory follow her advice, strike it down, put his foot upon and crush it, and if he attempted, would he be able to accomplish the feat? Pausing before Helen, Nell Richmond made her a low courtesy, but it was plainly in mock- d con- e . Mire you ee miss, I have come after my ,” she said, in the most impudent man- ner ible. ‘* Your husband!” and Helen, starting to her feet, confronted the other like a tragedy queen. >i Yes, my husband, whom you have just had the pleasure of marrying—that man, Gordon Mallory !” and she shook her outstretched finger at that gentleman, but he did not quail in the least. He had at last made up his mind to adopt the course which he ought to have taken years ago; now he was about to follow Sara’s advice, confront and beat down the evil spirit which had troubled him for so long. The young actress turned her beautiful eyes upon her newly-made husband; she had perfect faith that he could explain matters. **My husband!” repeated the woman, in the most spiteful manner possible; ‘‘let him deny it if he dares!” « Well, T dodare,” the young actor answered, calmly. ‘‘Ilam not your husband; you are not my wife; you have not the slightest legal claim on me and never had.” ‘““ Were you not married to me, married by a minister in Chicago just the same as you have been married to this woman to-day?” “A marriage ceremony was performed be- | tween us; as a boy I was entrapped by you an old and artful woman of the world, but, hardly had the ceremony been performed when I was informed by a woman who was once your bosom friend, but with whom you had quar- reled, that you had a husband in England, and she showed mea letter from him, in which he | upbraided you for your cruel desertion, but | different lawyer, eager to find t winaing up by saying that he was glad that you | were gone and that he hoped never to see you again.” “A lying forgery!” almost shrieked the wo- man; ‘‘you cannot produce that letter, and — if you could, you have no proof that it was rue. ‘*Do you challenge me to the contest, then? Although I have not the letter the name signed to it is still fresh in my memory. The letter came from London, England. It will be easy enough to write to London and see if a man still resides in that city by the name of Jeremiah Kinlan.” ‘Hallo, hallo, who is that a-using my name so freely?” cried a voice, as a man pushed open the only partially closed door and came into the room. With a cry of anger Nell Richmond clinched her hands together until the nails fairly cut | into the flesh. What strange accident had brought this man clear across the stormy ocean? CHAPTER XXXIV. HADA AND HALAH. BEHIND this first man came a second. The attentive reader will probably remember the two men who, in an early chapter of our tale, | tracked the blacksmith to his last resting- place and then, like baffled sleuth-hounds, nose around the grave, eager to hit on a fresh trail— Archibald Posilwaite and Jeremiah Kinlan. And they had found a fresh trail, after a time— | a trail which led them from the frozen North to | the sunny South; but it was broken again by a second grave. This time, however, there was a well-defined clew left, su that they could follow their pursuit rapidly. The recognition between the woman, Nell Richmond, and the man, Jeremiah Kinlan, was mutual. The blood left her face, the fire her eyes, and she staggered back, astounded. And he cried out, loudly: “Why, Sal! If it ain’t Sal, blow my but- | tons!” Gordon Mallory was quick to improve the op- | portunity. “This is your wife, Mr. Kinlan, I believe?” he said. ‘““Well, I don’t want her, sir; I ain’t making any claim to her; if any other fool has got his hooks onto her, he can just hold fast for all that I care,” the man replied. “She cut her lucky and hooked it across the herring-pond a good many years ago, and I have enjoyed peace and comfort ever since, so I ain’t saying anything if anybody else wants her.” . “You brute! I wouldn’t live with you again if you were made of diamonds!” and with an indig- nant face, and eyes flashing fire, Nell Richmond swept from the room, and no one therein ever saw her again. ‘“There’s a catamaran for you!” the English detective muttered. «I don’t wonder you joined the force,” the other one exclaimed, ‘A woman like that is enough to make any man desperate. And, now that this distur me element was one, the two detectives, for both of them were amous Scotland Yard men, explained their | business. ‘ | They sought a certain Halah Kunibell, daugh- ter of Sabban and Rachel Kunibell. / With a smile the young actress acknowledged that that was her name. ) And now, not to weary the patience of the | reader, but to ‘‘come at once to Hecuba,” as the dashing Miss Pearl would have said, we will not give the tiresome explanation of the | detectives, each of whom was nape eg by a i e heir and | enjoy the fat pickings which would attend the care of the vast property left by old Ronald | Kunibell, Halah’s grandfather; a few words tell | the strange story of the Kunibell family. Ronald Kunibell, the father of Sabban, had | risen by his own exertion from a poor man to | the possession of one of the finest estates in the north oF England. He was in the iron trade, and his vast works covered acres of ground. Like many another man who has risen from the ranks, this self-made iron-merchant was te? | times as aes as though he had inherited bis | wealth. Sabban was his only son, and he had set his heart upon a marriage between him and the | | daughter of a rather decayed nobleman, who essed an estate in the neighborhood but the son had also a mind of his own, and, to his father’s rage, he married a pretty, but penniless rl, the daughter of a small shop-keeper who welt in the village near by. This, of mare terribly enraged the father; a quarrel ensue between the two; asa result the son was driven | out into the world to seek his own fortune. Yeurs passed on; two children were born to the son, but some sixteen years separated the twos. and when the elder girl was about eighteen, she with all the willfulness which her father had displayed, chose to fall in love with an Ameri- can tourist, who chanced to be passing some time in the neighborhood, despite her father’s urgent commands never to dare to speak to him, for her sire had, in some unaccountable manner, taken a great dislike to the American. But, the willfulness was in the blood, and the girl one night fled from home, married the American, and journeyed with him to his home | across the sea. The angry father discarded his erring daugh- ter as thoroughly and utterly as his father, years before, had discarded him. The name of the disobedient girl was never spoken again in that household. And, as misfortunes never come singly, just about that time a strange fit seized upon old Kunibell; if he had been a poor man people would have called him mad, and shut him up in a lunatic asylum, but, as he was so rich, the world said he was “eccentric,” and he did as he liked. The peculiar form of his madness lay in a most violent hatred to his son, and with almost diabolical cunning he con- trived all sorts of devices to annoy him, until at last the persecution became so great that the son was obliged to fly with his family and house- hold goods; he put the sea between him and his mad parent, but, even when buried, as it were, in the little country hamlet, he feared lest the | madman should seek him out; and this was the secret of Kunibell. But, just before the blacksmith died, the great iron merchant passed away. In his last mo- ments sanity returned, and he strove to repair his cruelinjustice by leaving all his vast prop- | erty to the son whose life he bad imbittered. The agents, thongh, who came across the sea, _ found that the son had only survived his father | by a few days, and then they set out to find the daughter, Hada. But, to get upon ber track, | they had to seek back again to England. There they discovered the name of the tourist who _had won the g'rl; and in the new world they easily ran him down; but he was dead, too, and his widow, the hapless Hada, a madwoman; the insanity was in the family, and would come out at times. Mrs. Thomas Beaufort Ogle- thorpe, she was, her husband the only son of the late Judge Oglethorpe, a descendant of one of the oldest Southern families, The judge’s widow was still living, and being devotedly at- tached to the unfortunate Hada, fitted up @ suit ' of apartments in her mansion, and employed | suitable attendants to care for her. And it was this unfortunate being, apparently perfectly sane at times, who had. played such | strange tricks as related in the first part of our story. Shortly after her capture by the Professor and his assistants, just as wey reached the old family mansion in the South, Hada suddenly sickened, and, despite all that care and money could do, died. The detectives reached the place just after the funeral; and now, since the elder sister was dead, they turned their attention to the younger one, and upon questioning the Professor he sud- denly remembered the young actress and the likeness which there was between her and Mrs, Oglethorpe. The strange interest which the madwoman had taken in her, too, was now lain to the Professor. The young actress was he sister. F ; And this clew the detectives followed up With ‘happy results. Grand good news they brought to the young girl; she was one of the richest ioinemeee in England, and her brave struggle against poverty was at an end. ; «Well, Mr. Gordon Mallory, you can just thank me for your good luck!” the outspoken Sara exclaimed, after congratulations were over. ‘‘If it hadn’t been = my advice you would never have dared to opea YOur Mouth to ask for your wife, and by the same token, Mrs, Mallory, you can thank me for him. “T will try and repay the service by getting you a good husband, dear,” the young girl re- plied, archly, “Thank you; but when my time comes I wil _ know it quick enough.” Our story i - the career Of the actress is over: the vealiie tae made the dream pass away, and she 10 longer hungered for the empty glories of the § . ’ the, seat is plain ;—no matter how great the ambition, the laurel crown of the actress is hard to gain, and half the time when it is won it ig not worth the os
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“\ Bright Particular Star of Popular Weeklies |” “A First-Class Family Paper!” Unrivaled Among Popular Papers In the good repute of its large corps of Contributors; In the variety, scope and interest of its contents: In the beauty of illustration, typography, and order of its “ make-up.” ——_——__ oo -—-—-—- — A FIRST-CLASS POPULAR WEEKLY, aiming at what is Brest, FresHest AND Most AT.RAcTIVE 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 Talks 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 Firesides, 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 4 Against Than Sinning. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. Fortune. By Mrs. M. Y. 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 | C™®UDED IN MYSTERY; or, A Heart Bowed Down. Willows. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. By Mrs. Mary Reed Croweil. 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, ete., 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, BDWARD WILLETT, CARL COURTENAY, ' CHARLES MORRIS, ABBIE C. McKEEVER, HARRIET FE. WAR} ER, FRANK M. IMBRIE, MRS. MARK PHARODY, WM. R. EYSTER, ROGUR STARBUC X, JNO. 4. WHITSON, JNO, W. SNYDER, JOSIE C. MALOTT, | ReLT WINWOOD, BELLA D. HIXON, EMILIE CLARE, GARRY GAINES, as « “1 as the special contribut ons of . he inimitable wits and humorists WASHINGTON WHITEHORN, JOE JOT, Jr., and BEAT TIME and ti. sparkiing essayists and pen-pre .chers, THE PARSON'S DAUGHTER and EVE LAWLESS--all of whom cater exclusively for the Saturpay Journa}, while in its deputment of ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS, those who are conversant with such literature ‘pronounce it the bet and most interesting column of the day. Taken all in all the SarurDay Journal is the — _ Journal Par Excellence for the Lovers of a Wholesome Popular Literature. and those seeking for what is best and most enjoyable in that line should become its readers, \ The Saturday Journal is Published Weekly at the Following Rates: ee TTT Terr ee $1.00 Two Copies for One Year....,..... ese eeeeeeeeeees $5.00 Pew Cee We ae resets ioc So ak ons coccesatupedsbues 3.00 Single Copies...-...-........ cece nett tet tte 6 cents BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, "R WILLIAM STREPT. NEW vore -
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FoR schoo’ es. 1 to 28 inclusive. 15 to 25 Popular Dialogues and Dramas in each book. Each volume 100 12mo pages, sept post-paid, on receipt of price, TEN CENTS. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St., N. Y. These volumes have been prepared with especial reference to their availability for Exhibitions, being adapted to schools and parlors with or without the furniture of a stage, and suited to SCHOLARS AND YOUNG PEOPLE of every age, both male and female. It is fair to assume —— that no other books in the market, at any price, contain so many useful and available dialogues and dramas of wit, pathos, humor and sentiment. t Dime Dialogues, No. 1. Young America. For three males and two females, | The Golden Rule. For two males and two females, i Josephine’s Destiny. For four females, One male, The Gift of the F. Queen. For several females, Meeting of the Muses. For nine youn ladies, The olly of the Duel. For three male speakers. Taken in and Done for. For two characters. Baiting a Live Englishman. For three boys. Dogmatism. For three male speakers, Country Aunt’s Visit to the City. Several characters : Tasso’s Coronation. For male and female. The Ignorant Confounded. For two boys. The Two Romans. For two males. ; Fashion. For two ladies. The Fast Young Man. For two males, T the Characters. For three males, ; Therehearsal, For six boys: The Year's Reckoning: Twelve females, one male. | The Happy Family. For several “‘ animals,” Which will you Choose? For two boys. The Village with One Gentleman, Foreight females | The Rainbow. For several characters. The Queen of my. For two little girls. and one male, How to write “‘ Popular ” Stories, For two males, The ea-Party. ‘or four ladies. The New and the Old. For two males. Three Scenes in Wedded Life. For male and female, Dime Dialogues, No. 2. A Sensation at Last. For two ; \ The Greenhorn. For two males. / The Mission of the Spirits. For five young ladies. | The Genius of Liberty. Two males and one female. Hobnobbing. For five ers. Cinderella’, or, the Little Glass Slipper. Tee Secret of Success, For three speakers. Doing Good and Saying Bad. For several characters, BEADLE ASD ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM STREET, UN, Y. General Dime Book Publishers, The Three Men of Science. For four males, The Old Lady’s Will. For four males. The Little Philosophers. For two little girls, How to Find an Heir. For five males. The Virtues. For six young ladies. A Connubial Eclogue. The Public 1 . For five males and one female, The English veler. For two males. Dime Dialogues, No. 3. The May Queen. For an entire school. Dress Reform Convention. For ten females. Keeping Bad vag? meh A Farce. For five males. Under Difficulties. Two males, one female, ate a ABurlesque. Four males, ‘or numerous The Soom Be Cook. For two males. Masterpiece. Fortwo males and two females. e Two Romans. For two males. e Same. Second Scene. For two males. Showing “he White Feather. Four males, one female, The le-Call. A Recitative. For one male. The Frost . For ten or more persons. cnering tl e. For three males und two females. Fait, mo i and Charity. For three little girls. - z= Joan. For two males and one Female. e May. A Floral Fancy. For six little girts. The Enchanted Princess, 2 males, several females. Honor to Whom Honor is Due. 7 males and 1 femala The Gentle Client. Several males and one female. The Crimes ress. : The Reward of Benevolence. For four males. The Letter. For two males. Dime Dialogues, No. 5. The Three Guesses. For school or or. . A hree Persons’ . cai. Curtaf. For males and femak«. Behind the The Eta Pi Society. For five boys and a teacker. m Day. For several female characters, in “Traps.”’ For several males. The Schoolboys’ Tribunal. For tem boys,
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i TS HS ET ee TH DIME SPEAKERS.— Dime Humorous Speaker, No. 6. A Sad Btory, A String of Onions, A Tragic Story, Cats ats, Courtship, Debt Devils Dow, Jr.'s Lectures, Wgo and Echo. Fashionable Women, ern Thistles, Good-Nature, Gottlieb Klebcyergoss. Schlackenlichter’s snake, Hosea wy sted Opinions, w the Money Goes un-ki-do-ri’s Fourth of July Oration. ou Mean No, Say No, Jo Bows on Leap Year, Lay of the Henpecked, Lot Skinner’s Elegy, Matrimony, Nothing to Do Old Caudle’s Umbrella, Old Grimes’s Son, Paddle Your Own Canoe, Parody on “ Araby’s Daughter,” if Poetry Run Mad, Right Names, Scientific Lectures, The Ager, The Cockney, The Codfish, Fate of Sergeant Thin, The Features’ Quarrel, Hamerican Voodechuck, The Harp of a Thousand Strings, The Last of the Sarpints, The March to Moscow, The Mysterious Guest, The Pump, The Sea-Serpent, The Secret, The Shoemaker, The Useful Doctor, The Waterfall, To the Bachelors’ Union ue, United States Presidents, Vagaries of Popping the Question, What I Wouldn't Be, Yankee Doodle Aladcin, Ze Moskeetare, 19383. Dime Standard Speaker, No. 7. The World We Live In, Woman’s Claims, Authors of our Liberty, The Real Conqueror, — eritage, y: ta. The Mechanic, . Nature and Nature’s God The Modern Good, [Sun, Ossian’s Address to the Independence Bell—1777, a JUST PUBLISHED, CONTAINING 17 NEW DIALOGUES. | ag 'DI John ene eT eee No Sect in Heaven Miss Prude’s Tea-Party, The Power of an Idea, The Beneficence of the Suffrage, Sea, Dream of the Revelers, HowCyrus Laid the Cable The Prettiest Hand, Paradoxical, Little Jerry, the Miller, oggy Thoughts, The Ladies’ Man, Life, The Idler, The Unbeliever, The Two Lives, The True Scholar, Judges not Infallible, Fanaticism, Instability of Successful Agriculture, [Crime, Ireland, The People Always Con- Music of Labor, © {quer, Prussia and Austria, | Wishing, | The Blarney Stone, ! The Student of Bonn, The Broken Household, The Bible, The Purse and the Sword My pte 26 True Moral Courage, What is War? | Butter, My Deborah Lee, The Race, | Te Pin and Needle, The Modern Puritan, Immortality of the Soul, ‘Occupation, Heroism and Daring, A Shot at the Decanter. Dime Stump Speaker, No. 8. Hon. J, M. Stubbs’ Views on the Situation, Hans Schwackheimer on Woman's Suffrage, All for a Nomination Old Ocean, Sea, The Sea,the Sea, the open Star Bangled Spanner, Stay Where You Belong, Life’s What You Make It, Where’s My Money, See from Conscience, Man’s Relation to Society The Limits to Hep Good-nature a Blessing, Sermon from Hard-shell Tail-enders, [Baptist, The Value of Money, Meteorie Disquisition, Be Sure You are Right, Be of Good Cheer. Crabbed Folks, _[Shrew, Taming a _ Masculine Farmers, [Our Country, The True Greatness of New England and Union, The Unseen Battlefield, Plea for the Republic, America, [Fallacy, ‘*Right of Secession” a Life’s Sunset, Human Nature, Lawyers, Wrongs of the Indians, Miseries of War, (Liberty, A Lay Sermon, A Dream, Astronomical, The Moon, Duties of American Citi- e Man Temptations of Cities, Broken Resolutions, There is no Death, Races, A Fruitful Discourse, A Frenchman’s Dinner, Unjust National Acqui’n, The Amateur Coachman, —_— z — ALOGUES No. 29. BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y. General Dime Book Publishers, | Continued. The Cold-water Man, | Permanency of ‘States, Liberty of Speech, John Thompson’s Dan'r, House Le mem 4 Itvis Not Your Business, Dime Juvenile Speaker, No. 9. A Boy’s Philosophy, Hoe Out Your Row, Six-Year-Old’s Protest, The Suicidal Cat, A Valediction, Popping Corn, The Editor, The Same, in rhyme, The Fairy Shoemaker, What Was Learned, Press On, The Horse, The Snage-in the Grass, Tale of t emeonicn Bromley’s Speech, How the Raven Became Black, | A Mother’s Work, The Same, | Who Rules, | A Sheep Story, A Little Correspondent, One Good Turn Deserves My Dream, [Another, Rain, I'll Never Use Tobacco, A Mosaic, The Old Bachelor, Prayer.to Light, Little Jim, The Same, second extract | Angelina’s Lament, The Fisher’s Child, ye oor Sere Scholar, A Maiden’s Psalm of Life, | Choice of Hours A Mixture, Plea for Skates, | Playing Ball, Why (zens, | Ah, Appeal in behalf of Am, | Live for Something Lay of the Hen-Pecked, Sick Lion, Country and Town Mice, | Man and Woman, Home, The Lotus-Planter, Little Things. A Baby’s Soliloquy, Repentance. A Plea for Eg; Humbu Patriotism, Night After Christmas, Short Legs, Shrimps on Amusements, Johnny Shrimps on Boots Mercy, Poor Richard's Sayings, Who Killed Tom Roper, Nothing to Do, Honesty Best Policy, Heaven, Ho for the Fields, On Shanghais, |) A Smile, Casabianca Homeopathic Soup, Nose and Ey: alt, [Come, A Hundred Years to The Madman and his | Little Sermons, [Razor, Snuffles on Electricity, | The Two Cradles, | The Ocean Storm, | Do Thy Little—Do it Well | Little Puss, : | Base-Ba ll [Fever. / Prescription for Spring Dime Spread-Eagle Speaker, No. 10. Beh Buster’s Oration, Hans Von Spiegel’s 4th, Josh Billi 8 Advice, A Hard-shell Sermon, The Boots, The Squeezer Noah and the Devil, Hitatutin Adolphs utin G) Digestion and Paradise, Smporens Disadyant- mith, [ Gushalina Befidibus, A Stock of Notions, — Speaking for the Sheriff, Daking a Shweat, Then and Now, : Josh Bil 's ‘Leécturing, Doctor De Blister’s Ann’t, Consi ents, Hard Lives, Dan Bryant’s Speech, A Colored View, Original Maud Muller, Nobody Train of Circumstances, Good Advice, The Itching Palm, Drum-head Sermons, Schnitzerl's Philosopede, “Woman's Rights,’ Luke Lather, The Hog, oe | a ew England Traged The Ancient Bachelor, : Jacob Whittle’s Speec Jerks Prognosticates, A Word with Snooks, ‘Sut Lovengood, A Mule Ride, Josh Billings on Buzzers, Il Trovatore, Kissing in the Street, Scandalous, Slightly Mixed, The Office-seeker, | Old Bachelors, Woman, i | The Niam Niams, People Will Talk, Swackhamer’s Ball, | Who Woukin’t be Fire’n, | Don’t Depend on Dadda, Music of Labor | The American Ensign. Debater and Chairman’s Guide No. 11, 1.—DEBATING SOCIETY. Its Office and Usefulness, Formation of, Constitution of, By-Laws of, Laval Rules Of Order, eS 0: ’ Local Rules of Debate, Subjects of Discussion. 1.—How To DEBATE. Why there are few good baters, uisites to Oratori- De “7 1 Success cal Su The Logic of Debate, The Rhetoric of Debate, Maxims to Observe, The Preliminary Premise, Order of Argument, Summary. 11.—CHAIRMAN’s GuIDE. Ordinary Meetings and | Assemblies, The Organization, Order of Business and Proceedings, The “ Question.”” How it can be Treated. The “ Question,’ How to be Considered, Rights to the Floor, Rights of a § Against the Chair, Calling Yeas and Nays, Interrupting a Vote Organization of Del tive Bodies, eral Assenablies saker as ibera- Conven- tions, Annnal or Gen- Preliminary Organization Permanent Organization, e Order of Business Considering Reports, Pa- Pas, etc., Of Subsidiary Motions, e@ Due Order of Con- sidering Questions, Committees, Objects of a Committee, eir Powers, How Named, When Not to Sit, Rules of Order and Pro- cedure How to Report, The Committee of the Whole, Miscellaneous, Treatment of Petitions, The Decorum of Debate, Hints to a Chairman. 1v.—D£EBATEs, Debate in full: wales tt me Greatest ene © his C ti —the Warrior, States. pebatis apse e In Brief: L Is States thé Reading of Works of Fiction to be Condemned? Il. Are Lawyers a Bens fit or a Curse to Bo Ciety? V.—QUOTATIONS AND . PHRASES, Latin.
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vi THE DIME SPEAKERS—Continued. Dime Exhibition Speaker, No, 12. The Orator of the Day, | Gravelotte, he Heathen Chinee, All Hail! : The Land we Love, ee rp on of Science, im Bludso, pirit of Forgivensss, True to Yourself, Amnesty and Love, Ah Sin’s Re ly Beauty A Plea for Smiles, _ | Song of Labor, The Stanislaus Scientific | Manifest Destiny, Free Italy, (Society, | Let It Alone! Ttaly’s Alien Ruler, Disconcerted Candidate, t'urse of One Man Power, Maud Muller After Hans Treaty of Peace (1814), Breitman, ‘he Critical Moment, What Is True Happiness? The East and the West, | The Irish of lt. A eres is There any Money. it? | What We See in the Sky. Are we a Nation? | What I Wish, Social Science Good Manners, Influence of Liberty, A Ballad of Lake Erie, The Patriot’s Choice, Suffrage, The Right or the People, | The Caucasian Race, he Crowning Glory, A Review of Situation, The Pumpkin, Little Breeches, i [ding, When You're Down, Hans Donderbeck’s Wed. What England Has Done | A Victim of Toothache, The Right of Neutrality, (Story of the Twins, The National Flag, | A Cold in the Nose, Our True Future, My Uncel:; Adolphus, Dime School Speaker, No. 13. PoPULAR ORATOR. | The True Gentleman, Fanny Butterfly’s Ball, | The Tragic Pa, Topics Uncongenial to |. SappaTH-scHOOL PIECES. reatness, A Cry for Life, Live for Some’ The Sabbath, Civil & Reli oe Pibert Gnarled Lives Second Revlon of the A Good ea Life. ponoos ae To Whom Shall We Give nesty 0 Politics, Thanks? The Great Commoner, Resolution Character and Achieve- | Never Min «San Chrietatliy Our Bul “Tt Might Have Been,” wark, ny Don't Strike a Man When | The Want of the Hour, Down, The Midnight Train, On Keeping at I e Better View, Treasures of the DP, © Thy Little—Do it Well Kee) , Jesus Forever, The ous Freight, e Heart, The W Bword the True Arbiter, eautifal Tho hts, ’ A Picture of Life. Baron Grimalkin’s Death True to Yourself, Obed Snipkins, Young Man, A Catastrophe, Time is Passing, Cheerfulness, The Gospel of Autumn, Mountains, ot ys Last La Dime Ludicrous Speaker, No, 14. Courting, nlucky, Higher, eer People The Closing Year, Bitier One's Nose Of, e Maniac’s Defense, Golden The Hen Scratches, The Singular Man, Ass and the Violinist, Fourth of July Oration, Views of Married Life, Cheer Up, Bachelors and Flirts, -Esteem, Job's Turke ‘Buckwheat Cakes, ‘A Hardshell | Sermon, Twain's Little Boy, My First Knife, A Word with You, Der Loddery Dicket, A Chemical Lament, A Canni-Ballad, The Candy-Pulling, Woman’s hts, Contentment, What's the Matter, On Courting, Mrs. Jones’s Pirate, On Lang: e Goose, The Tanner a Touch of the Sublime, . | On Wimmen’s Rights, Blooded Van Snoozle, | The Healer, Blast Against Tobacco, | The Criminal Lawyer, Tobacco Boys, Ballad of Matilda Jane, Big Geniuses, Water, My First Cigar, The Ballad of a Baker, Terrible T’-tale, Good for Something, Silver Wed A Moving Sermon, Prohebishon, Karl Pretzel’s Komikal SpeakerNo.15 Schan y Sorrowful Tale, Bonet pean Afraid, The Loafer's Society, Gamboling, It’s the Early Bird, etc., Indemberan : Musie, Gretchen und phen On Lager Beer, Hope. Das ish vat it ish, | Caudle’s Wedding Day, * Dot Musquiter,” Dot Young Viddow, Leedle Gal-child’s Dream | The Best Cow in Peril, Dhere Vas no Crying, Frequent Critters, Leedle ches, In for the Railroad, P ‘ Song ) the 3 ‘he Puzzled Dutchman, | Case of young Ba Address to a School, The Mlinois Aseombly, _ His Sphere, The Cannibal Man, Trandlations from Esop, | Boss Bagshaw. The Hin ry Ae Jones, | Pretzel as a , Don’t Calla a Liar, | The Raccoo Man. A ~ Childh Bu'st. A “Dialect,” Schneider’s Ride, aimon Short’s Son Sam, | Boy Suffrage, Nebaral Himory Viewer” | dio cas Diintcin’ i ry @ Vas , The Cart before the Horse Abner Jones’ Testimony, To See Ourselves, By a Money 8. Dime Youth’s Speaker, No. 16. Cal +o the Field, uration to Outy, * Th Crusader’s Appeal, ‘oy, War to the Death, | A Boy's Testimony, I Have Drank My Last, The Spirit-Siren, Rum’s Maniac, Life is What we Make it, Taste Not, The Evil Beast, Help The Hardest Lot of All, The Curse of Rum, The Two Dogs. A fable, The Source of Retorm, The Rum Fiend, True Law and False, In Bad Geupeny, The Only True Nobility, The Inebriate’s End, A Drunken Soliloquy, The Work to Do, To Labor is to Pray, 1 The Successful Lif | Better Than Gold, e, Seed-Time and Harvest, ow, The Great Lesson to | | The To | God’s | Value of Life Work, | * Accept the Situation,” er's Lament, uar,_. Died of Whisky A Story with a Meral, | Breakers Ahead, | Ichabod sly, | Effects of Intemperance, | The Whisky Why is It, | Local Option, | Be Good to the Body, | Worth Makes the Han. Dime Eloquent Speaker, No. 17. An Adjuration The Kings of Business, Purity of Speech, Parson Caldwell, Value of Reputation, Hand that ks World, Swelling Manhood, Summer, Woman's Love, The Bricklayers, Words of Silver, Drive on! Drive on! Anatomical Lecture, Minnetunkee, The Printing Press, The Sabbath, Busy bodies, Anatomical Lecture 2, gaya in me: Dark, e ter Caravan, The True Saviors, True Fame, Something to Shun, Plea for Ireland, The Eherny Smile Whene’er you Can, The State Immortal, The Wood of Stars, The Moral Factor, A Thought, Walking with the World, | The Housemaid, The only Safety, The Goblin Cat, Knowl Aristocrats, Be Careful what you Say | The Knightly Newsboy, Stand x) the Constit’n, A Call to Vote, A True Frien The Modern Fraud. The Mocking-Bird Running for Legislature, The Want of the Country To a Young Man, The Value of Virtue, Heads, She Would be a Mason, The New Dispensation, of Ignorance, Turning the Grindstone, The Use of Time, Short Sermon. Come Down, Hail Columbia S er, No. 18. aml, ink or Swim, as. The Buff and Blue, Appeal Yor Liberty, The Union, The American Hero, The Martyr Spy, Resistance to Oppression, | Lexin Patriotism, Our Only Hope Green Mountain Boys, Declaration of Independ- Eloquence of Otis, The Liberty Bell, [ence, Was ni, 9 (3 Washington’s Attributes, America Must be Free, What We Are, Freedom the Only Hope, | Our Great Trust, Day of Disint ent, | God Bless our States, No Alternative but Liber- | Looking 4 Carmen Bellicosum, [ty, | Marion and His Men, Sword of Bunker Hill, Liberty and Union, The Fourth of July, A Noble ae Warren’s Address, al Yankee Doodle, A Call to Liberty, Wolfe's Address, Good Faith, Watching for Montgom- Revolutionary Soldiers, | The National Ensign, [ery Our nsibility, God Save the Union, British barity, Our Natal Day, How Freedom is Won, The 22d of February Adams and Liberty, ew d’s Dead, Our Duties, Repeal! al | Our Destiny, The True Hero, The American Flag, Old Ironsides. The True Union, Our Gifts to tory, American ndepener Uncle Sam’s a Hun Washington and Franklin | Centennial Oration, Serio-Comic Speaker, No. 19. The American Phalanx, |The Little Orator, The Same. The Old Canoe, Room at the Top, New England Weather, Uggs, Leedle Yawcob Strauss, A Fable, The Tramp’s Views, oe — eness, awcob Hoffeltegobbl The Settin Sachem, we yer ae Sermon, dress to Yo Ladies A Little Bi Man : The Test of Friendship, The Price of Pleasure, Sour Grape 8, The Unwritten “Claws,” od Ager, Fish, Judge Not Thy Brother, The-Dox St. Bernard, The Liberal Candidate, A Boy’s Opinion of Hens, sg g Alene. are “i e Grea The Two Lives, 1 The Present Age, Save the Repubtic Watches of the Night, The Closing Yeaz, Pompey Squash, Mr. Lo’s New Version, The Midnight Express, Morality’s Worst Enemy, The Silent Teacher The Working People, The Moneyless Man Strike Through the Knot, An Agricultural Address, The New Scriptures, The Trombone, Don’t Despond, The Mill Cannot Grind, What Became of a Lie, Now and Then, wow Ub vos Dot for High, iy ’ Smart Boy’s Opinion, The Venomous Worm, Corns, Up Early, Not So icy, Dead Beat in Politics, War and Dueling, cca xcelsior, Paddy’s Version of Ex The Close, Hard Man, rs les and Application e Man, Generic: Consid A Chemical Wedding {celsior, Intellectual and Moral Power, Thana Invocation to Cold Water | New Era of Labor, Learn, | Work of Faith, A Dream, | La Dame Aux Camelias, Penalty of Selfishness, Lights Out, Clothes Don’t Make the Man, The Last Man, Mind Your Own Business My Fourth of July Senti- Mo eo Friend y uimaux Frien Storgot the Little Rid Hin My Castle in Spain, Shonny Schwartz, The Indian’s Wron; Address to Young Beautiful Snow, Now is the Time. Exhortation to Patriots, He Is Eve here, A Dream of Darkness, en, pe ~ Religion the Keystone, Scorn of Office, Who are the Free The City on the Hill, How to Save the Repu lic, The Good Old Times, Monmouth, Hope. Moral Desolation a ect ig ¥ on't you let m ‘a Work, . ee Conscience the Bess Guide, Whom to Honor, The Lords of Labor, Early Rising, Pumpernicke) and Pep- schikoff, i, Day, be A Mit Ter Sthars und} New Mythology (Vulcan), Sthripes Terence Lotism,| The New es by (Pan, G’Dowd’s Patri-| New Mytho ony Bacchus) od Trink To-Nighd, e, The Fiddler, [Foo ’s Watermillion, The Regular Season, J Axtell’s Oration, The School ~ Lament,| Parson Barebones’s An Dot Baby Off Mine, athema, Bluggs Once More, Ceesar on Heat, Views on Agriculture, . | Fritz Vi er is Made a One Hundred Years Ago, De ’S Gane on Reb’-| Joan of Arc, Lite rep ‘o Strong, ‘arm , A Dollar or Two e People, On Some More Hash, Thermopyle, Life, Konsentrated Wisdum Joseph Brown and the Mince Pie, John Jenkins’s Sermon A Parody on “Tell Me ¥e WwW Winds,” A Catastrophic Ditty, The Maniac’s Defénse, Woman, God Bless Hert Be Mise rable, Dodds versus Daubs, The Cadi’s Judgment, That Calf. Dime Jolly Speaker, No. 22, Grandfather’s Clock, A Weak Case. The XIXth Century, ow | May Be Happy Yet, Mary's Von Little Ram, Orpheus, A Side View, A Familar Lecture on | Perseus. A “ ald Science, Rigid Reformation, Cle roots 3 Se Don Give It Av Ss n't Give way, The Village Schoo A Dark Warning’ A Sermon for the Sisters, | “Colored” Dissertation De Filosofy ob Fun, An Awful Warning. An Disappointed Discoverer, Effective Ap A Heathen’s Score, | De Parson Sowed de Seed, Der Dog und der Lobster, | Pompey’s Thanksgiving The Young Tramp, rkey, Delights of the Season, The New Essay On Man, The Delights of Spring, A New Declaration of Josh Billings’s Views, How tew Pik out a Watermelion, How tew Pik out a Dog, ~ How tew Pik out a Kat, How tew Pik out a Wife This Side and That, . Nocturnal Mewsings, righ eg Reverie, thetic Ballad, The Ear, Backbone, Independence, | 'The Jo y Old Fellow. A | Christmas Welcome, | My t Coat, | A Patri ote Sparge, atriotic N “deed! A Congratulatory to) ory Remin Stealing the Sacred Fire, The Story of Prome theus Modernized Owl and the. Pussy-Cat. Dime Dialect Speaker, No. 23. Dat’s W’at’s De Matter, . The Mississippi Miracle, The Manifest Destiny of the Irishman, Ven Te Tide Cooms In, Peggy McCann, Dose Lams Vot Haf | Sprays from Josh Billin Go man’s Rights, | De Circumstances ob de Pat rty On Wo-| _ Sitiwation, The Home Rulers, Dar’s Nuffin New Under Hezekiah —— On ae So aligt . Mothers-In-Law, ry ious Poem, He Didn't Sell The Farm, | That Violin, The True Story of Frank- | Picnie Delights, lin’s Kite, n, | Our Candidate's Views, I} Would I Were a Boy | Dundreary’s Wisdom, A Pathetic Story, Plain Language All About a Bee, My Neighbor’s Dog yao Condensed Mytho' e A Dark Side View, Pictus, Te Pesser Vay The egy n rman, Legends of Attica, ~~ ShmallVite Lamb, | The ve fag A Healthy Discourse, A Doketor's bbles, Tobias,So To Speak, The Man, Old Mrs, Grimes, The Iigant Affair at Mul. A Parody, doon’s, [the Corner, Mars and Cats, That Little Baby Around Bill Underwood, Pilot, A ome Inference. Old Granley, AnInvitation to the Bird The Pill Peddler’s Oration | _ of * WidderGreen’s last words | The Crow, Latest Chinese Outrage, | Out West. For sale by all newsdeale dress, on receipt of price, ten cents, any ad or sent, post-paid, t® BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 William st., N. &.
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s 4 ey hi Pary. American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS! : The Cheapest Library Ever Published! 6 The Secret Marriage; or, A Duchess in | 5 Spite of Herself. By Sara Claxton. 7 A Daughter of Eve; or, Blinded by Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 8 Heart to Heart; or, Fair Phyllis’ Love. By Arabella Southworth. 9 Alone in the World; or, The Young Man’s Ward. By the author of “Clifton,” “ Pride and Passion,” ete. 10 A Pair of Gray Eyes: or, The Emerald Necklace. By Rose Kennedy. 11 Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. -By Henrietta Thackeray. 12 His Lawful Wife; or, Myra, the Child of Adoption. By Mrs. Ann §S. Stephens. 13 Madcap, the Little Quakeress 3 or, The Naval Cadet’s Wooing. By Corinne Cushman. 14 Why 1f Married Him or, The Woman in Gray. By Sara Claxton. 15 A Fair Pate’ Out in the World. By Lape of T, Campbell. 16 Trast Her Not; or, A True Knight. By Margaret Leicester. : 17 A Loyal overs or, The Last of the Grims- a ths. By Arabella Southworth. 18 His Idol} or, The Ill-Starred Marriage. By Mrs. Mary 4d Crowell. 19 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine. 20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, The Lost Heir. By Agile Penne. 21 Now and Forever; or, Why Did She Mar- Him? By Henrietta Thackeray. 22 © Bride of an Actor} or, Driven from Home. By the author of “ Alonein the World,” 93 ¥ ag oF ’ ete. Whe. @he ¥ eap Year; or, y She Proposed. By Sara Claxto . . mn, 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, 27 Was She a Coquette? or, A Strange Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray. 28 Sybil Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By | . Anh 8. Stephens. 29 For Her Dear Sake; or, Saved From Him- | self. By Sara Claxton. 30 The Bouquet Girl; or, A Million of Money. By Agile Penne. 31 A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By | 83 Playing for High Stakes, Mary A. Denison. 32 Mariana, the Prima Donna; or, Roses and Lilies. By Arabella Southworth. 33 The Three Sisters; or, The Mystery of Lord Chalfont. By Alice Fleming. 34 A Marriage of Convenience; or, Was Hea Count? By Sara Claxton. 35 All Against Mer; or, The Winthrop Pride. By Clara Augusta. 36 Sir Archer’s Bride; or, The Queen of His 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 3 or, A Young Girl’s Good Name. By Jacob Abarbanell, (Ralph Royal.) 40 Pledged to Marry}; or, In Love's Bonds. By Sara Claxton. 41 Blind Devotion; or ve Against the World, By Alice Fléming. at ; 42 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Second Love. By Arabella Southworth. 43 The Baronet’s Secret} or, The Rival Half- Sisters. By Sara Claxton. 44 The Only Daughter ; or, Brother against Lover. Alice Fleming. 45 Mer Hidden Foe; or, Love At All Odds, By Arabella Southworth. 46 The Little Heiress; or, Under a Cloud. 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 8. R. Sherwood. 49 His Heart's Tijatreas} or, Love at First Sight, By Arabella Southworth. 50 The Cuban Heiress; or, The Prisoner of La Vintresse. By Mrs, y A. Denison, | 53 Agnes Hope, the = tye eg or, The Ro- 52 The Winged Messenger; or, Risking All Villiam Mason 54 One Woman’s Heart; or, Saved from the Street. By George S. Kaime. 55 She Did Not Love Him; or, Stooping to Conquer. By Arabella Southworth. 6 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 Ceeil’s Deceit; or, The Diamond Legacy. By Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton. 61 A Wicked Meart; 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 ife’s Secret; or, "Twixt Cup and | i i. Cae Juan Lewis. 66 ! rother’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, By D’Enery. 71 my Young ife. By My Young Wife's usband 72 The Two Widows. By Annie Thomas. 73 Rose Michel; or, The Trials of a Factory Girl. By Maud Hilton. 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage } or, The Story of a Broidered Shield. By a. 75 = Black Lady of By J. 8. Le anu, 76 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 77 Christian Oakley’s Mistake. By the author of “ John Halifax, Gentleman,”’ etc. 78 my Young Husband; or, A Confusion in | the Family. By Myself. una, TOD A By the author of ‘‘ The Cost of Her Love,” ‘‘ A Gilded 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. By Annie ucen Amongst Women, | Thomas, |. 84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of By Florence “ 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 Deed; or, All for Gold. By Emma Garrison Jones, 89 A Gilded Sin. By the author of -“‘ Dora 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 BL. Farjeon. 94 The Quiet Heart, By Mrs. Oliphant. 95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs, Marsh. 96 Haunted Hearts; or, The Broken Be- trothal. By Rachel Bernhardt. 97 Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont. By Miss Mulock. 99 Marjerie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary | Patrick. 100 Throngh Fire and Water. By Fred- erick Talbot. 101 Hannah. By, Miss Mulock. 102 Peg Woffington. By Charles Reade. 103 A Desperate Deed. By Erskine Boyd. 104 Shadows on the Snow. By B. L. Far- jeon. 105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By W. M. Thackeray. 106 From Dreams to Waking. By E. Lynn Linton. 107 Poor Zeph! By F. W. Robinson, | 130 Homeless 109 Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. By B. L, Farjeon. 110 The Wandering Heir. Reade. 111 The Brother’s Bet; or, Within Six Weeks. By Emilie Flygare Carlen. 112 A Hero, By Miss Mulock. 113 Paul and Virginia. From the French of Bernardin De St. Pierre. 114 °Twas In Trafalgar’s Bay. ter Besant & James Rice. 115 aa Maid of Killeena. By Wiliam By | Charles By Wal- 116 Hetty. By Henry Kingsley, 117 The Wayside Cross; or, The Raid of Gomez. By Captain E. A. an. 118 The Vicar of Wakefield. Goldsmith. 119 Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas. « 120 Thaddeus of Warsaw, By Miss Jane Porter. By Oliver | 121 The King of No-Land. By B. L, Far- jeon. 122 Lovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack- eray. 123 An Island Pearl. By B. L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin Phillis. 125 Leilas or, The op of Grenada. By Ed- ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton). 126 When the Ship Comes Home, By Walter Besant and James Rice. 127 One of the Family. By James Payn. 128 Whe Birthright. By Mrs. Gore. 129 Motherless; or, The Farmer's Sweetheart. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. or, Two Orphan Girls in New bert W. Aiken. 131 Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry c* Hearts. Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 182 Sold for Gold} or, Almost Lost. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. a 133 Lord Roth’s Sin; or, Betrothed at the Cradle. By Mrs. Georgiana Digcens: 134 mma Mle Love Her? By Bartley T. Camp- 135 Sinned Against; or, Almost in His Power. By Lillian Lovejoy. 136 Was She His Wife? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. : ; 137 The Village on the Cliff] By Miss Thackeray. 138 Poor Valeria! or, The Broken Troth, By Margaret Blount. 139 Margaret Graham. By G. P. R. James. York. By 140 Without Merey. By Bartley T.Campbell. 141 Honor Bound; Or, Sealed to Secrecy. By Lillian Lovejoy. 142 Fleeing from Love, By Mrs. Harriet Irving. 143 Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman’s Work. By Rett Winwood. A Strange Marriage; or, Jokn Foster's sor Heiress. fy Lillian Lowjon. 145 Two Girls Lives, By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 146 A Desperate Venture; or, For Love's 146 Own Sake. By Arabella Southworth, 147 The War of Hearts. By Corinne Cush- man. 148 Which Was the Woman ? or, Strangely Misjudged. By Sara Claxton. 149 An Ambitious pot § or, She Would Be An Actress. By Frances Helen Davenport. 150 Love Lord of Ali; or, Iv Her Own ar Last. By Alice May Fleming. 151 A Wild Girl; or, Love's Guamour, By Corinne Cushman. 152 A Man’s Sacrifice; or, AT War Wirt Hiwsevr. By Harriet Irving. 153 Did She Sin? or, A Man’s DespgratY ”” Game. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, _ Ready October 17th, A new issue every week. Tae Waverter Liprary is for sale by all News: dealers, five cents per Copy, or sent by mail on re- ceipt of six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William street, New York.