Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 161) (1882 12 12)
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AHMAR RAL SSCA TSA * S ce we $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rites Copyrighted in 1882 by BEADLE AND ADAMS. December 12, 1882. No161. Vou. VII. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST.,, N.Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS PEARL OF PEARLS; o chomps. AND. SUNBEAMS SAA ARAAA AAA AAA Ayla Atty yyy Ali yy ytd yyy why yyy yy a AEE ES ET IIE Ea PPE TTT tt st tant ale ate? BY INTHONY PX MORRIS, UR. oe VY = = oA o , 0 A a, | Cr AN VEE. G SN ttl nar ANT I INT ATT any are nc | iil Hint Vi | i ay i | ital Hi “DEAD! DEAD, DID YOU SAY, WAMMA! NO!—YOU DON’T MEAN 17!”
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ae Bie a a het : Pearl of Pearls ; CLOUDS AND SUNBEAMS. BY A. P. MORRIS, JR. ‘CHAPTER I. THE DUEL IN THE GARDEN. A surr of roorms in tho English Metropolis— in what particular locality isof no moment to the reader. _ } It was 1 (gale ugly night, of damp, and —— wet, and’ chill; when starving ars shivered and groaned, and the higher class drew near to their warm hearths. : ; A man of muscular build, and aristocratic mien, sat before the glowing ee with elbows on his knees, and chin bowed to his hands, while he fixed an unwavering stare on the burning coals. He was alone; yet not alone, for reverie— that great producer of mystical images, and visions of the past—was conjuring pictures, with human forms in their center, so real, so familiar, that it would seem as if they must have heard his addresses when, at last, low words came slowly from his lips: “ America!—far, far land. Ah! I think I see it, bevond the vast waters—see it as i* left it; like a thing of life, begging me not to go, and whispering of its smiles and joys, while my own conscience was prophesying this after-regret. Cherished friends, familiar scenes—how have I deserted you!—to accept the companionship of strangers, whose looks are chills, whose presence brings no cheer. Wife!—child! Oh, that Pearl were here! Pearl!—sweet little Pearl! with our laughing eyes and winsome chatter; shall ever see you again? No, no; I am dead!— { _ dead!. And'for what? Why did I abandon that - sweetness—and which would have made me happy? Weak, weak man that I am!—knowing of my sin, yet helpless in the coils; pursuing a phantom; chas- ing a gem with wings, that eludes or evades me, ever luring, ever tantalizing—like a boy who will race after a butterfly; hither and thither, till the insect soars beyond his reach, and its would-be possessor falls to the earth ex- hausted. AmlIcrazy? What is this infatua- tion but madness?) One moment she favors me with smiles—the next, she frowns at my pre- sumption. And I am never nearer; she keeps me from her; while I still linger, like a dog, at her heels, or aslave who would die at her com- mand. Estelle! Estelle! would that you were dead! Then, and only then, would this horri- ble spay which is upon me be broken— Who’s re ¢ A rap at the door had cut short his musings, and the servant of the house entered, bearing a note. Bidding the girl retire, he broke the escutch- eoned Scel. Then his face paled, as he read the following: “Mr. Herop Dran: ' “Sm—This will inform you of a fact of which, evidently, you have been ignorant, up to this time. Estelle Berkely is the betrothed of a gentleman. She —whom you have been following so presistently, and annoying in a manner foreign to the acts of an hhon- orable man~has grown tired of your haunting pres- ence, which has, in her opinion, assumed the propor- tion of an insult, The matter has been referred to me; and I, as her Te heated husband, demand that op-| Wolf portunity for satisfaction, ata weapon’s point, which no man, unless he be a cowar will refuse. My rep- resentative will call to co: fer with sour. before noon, to-morrow. For reasons that you will admit, be retained a strict secret. : - . “Hopert WYNNE, “LORD Onauncy.” The note fell fluttering t the carpet. Deed . duel!” He enun- who-can scarce _“ Her affianced hus' ciated the words as one wi believe his senses... “My God!—that t S so beautiful, so fas g—that I have made myself an outcast to follow !—only to follow and) live where.I could look at her; know she recog- nized my presence. It was but a few hours ago} that she bade me good-night—all smiles, all) _ her hand to the passionate ressure of my ; and now ere the tongue of! Pre clock es twelve, I am challenged on her, account—ay} it is at her request—by her affi- anced husband! This is the hardest blow of all —well, am, I fit to live? But, stop; I will fight him! I will wrench ‘his heart out with my sword!—I’ll laugh. at her!—no, no, no}; wait: what Ido? Icannot avoid it—” “Fight! (hic) Fight who? What's the mat- ter here, Dean? I say, (hic) what’s the row! We ‘ { PEARL OF PEARLS. Why, bless my heart! you’re white as a tomb- stone, and look as mad as a bull in the—(hic)— the arena!” The speaker was a man several years the junior of Herod Dean, and who had entered the, room just at the conclusion of the other’s out- burst. His hat was on thé back of his head, hair disheveled, and general pro reece and stagger indicating that he was right from the ‘‘club,” with brain rather the worse for liquor. The two were room-mates, ** Read that,” said Dean, in reply, pointing to the crumpled paper at his feet. The young man picked it up. p' a duel!” he exclaimed. muvee oa Herod Lg was leaning agai e mantle-piece, again looking thought- faily tito the tree's": a “Well, are you going to fight?” “ Am 1?’—suddenly and forcibly. ‘‘ Do Ilook like a coward, Percy Wolfe?” ‘* Aw—n-o; van’t say you do,” with a half- grave, half-comical survey of his ‘‘ chum,” “You will be my second?” continued Dean. “Of course I will.” And Wolfe was slightly familiar with such matters, for he immediately added, in a business manner: “You'd better go to work now—make out your will, and so forth, you know. See, there’s no telling how these things will turn out; and, in case you are unfortunate, why it’s better to prevent trouble among relations by putting law on paper—” ‘*T attended to that some time ago.” **Oh! did you?’ in rise. “Yes.” Then Dean advanced and laid a hand on bis friend’s shoulder. “Percy Wolfe,” he said, very solemnly, ‘‘ you are an American, like myself.’ “T believe lam,” wonderingly. Wolfe appeared to recover, as if by magic, from the influence of bis liquor. ‘You are going back to your native soil next week?” “é Yes. ” “ Wolfe,” eying him steadfastly, and ak- ing with much emotion, ‘‘I have a little girl over there—my child, love her as a father only can love. A short time ago I sent my will, with a letter, to a friend—a man who was my mate at pela IS ae i as dead, and haye others think the same. In that will I provided for my daughter. Her name is Pearl. I believe that Claude Paine, the friend of whom I speak, is honorable. Yet, Percy, I want you to promise me that when you | reach America, you will find my precious Pearl and see if everything is right.” ‘‘ This is news!” exclaimed Wolfe, in astonish- ment. ‘‘ You never told me that you were a father.” +X ‘Tt has been a secret—and you shall learn that secret pray . But, will you promise? will youfind Pearl I yom at Washington, and see that she has ‘her own?” * | The promise was given, — Then the twocat of the night, till the gray shades‘of dawn were creeping in at the windows, discussing the pre- liminaries to the duel; and in that time Herod Dean made known his life seeret to this warm, rd Chauncy’s second was prompt to call be- fore noon, and the affair of meeting wi er uE rah factorily arranged between that worthy and e. -- a ! cs As! Twelve hours later. Pea: When the bell of a distant clock | ail eleven, Herod Déan and his friend lef their rooms, and proceeded toward the spot agreed upon. a. 4 Fhe house by Lord Chauncy was an ancient-looking , standing alone, and sur- rounded by an extensive garden. In this garden were many places admirably adapted to the yap ny but one es ny between three monstrous shrub-bushes, with a semicircle of trees, had been selected by the nobleman. ri , fey . hard and smooth; the situa- The ground was tion was screened. _ There was a moon in the starry sky, that seemed to pour a saddened radiance on the place; and an occasional waft of wind whispered mournfully rorcuee the leafless, spectral and bare-stalked shrubs. 4 Two men were waiting—one engaged in rub- bing a long, sword with a piece of chamois skin; and the other, gloomy and silent, gazing in the d ion of the gate. abs Soon the other parties were on hand; and— | doing away with useless prelude—the enemies were placed, weapon in hand, face to face. him to thinkof me | re, through the remainder | | lavish “Lord Chauncy,” said Dean, ‘ ember | that this quarrel is of your seeking. am no coward; yet to shed blood is a seriovs thing. rani ask if there is no other way to adjust “Guard!” was the answer, sharp and savage, as the speaker ady: ; Lay youre” put quickly. Lenk to ash! rung the snaky : bat opened, $ laky swords, and the com E were good swordsmen; the match, in point of strength, was equal, Circling and darting, ringing and scraping, twisting and twining, whirling, like two supple snakes, whizzed and coiled the dueling swords - ba cog of Haat masters; and nothing was e ut the w ng, strikin: breathing of the deinbetasits Pee His weapon fell Suddenly Dean slipped. slightly. Quick as a flash the Englishman lunged at the exposed breast of his antagonist, and pierced him through and through. The stricken man reeled backward, tossed his arms wildly aloft, and fell into the arms of Perey Wolfe, who sprung to catch him. “Wolfe! Wolfe!” he articulated in a choking re he remember your promise! God! 1 am ying! ‘‘ Horace~ Rochestine, whispered Percy. Lord Chauncy was coolly wiping his sword. Two figures were approaching rapidly from the house—a man and woman, When they came up, the latter asked: “Ts it over?” “Yes,” and the Englishman continued, ad- dressing her companion: ‘‘ There he is, doctor. You had best be quick in removing him.” Wolfe would have preferred to bury his friend; but, as the occurrence might ib] become known, and as there existed suc botide of secrecy, he made no objection when the med- ical gentleman called for assistance, and lifted ac in arms, ' : e motionless form was borne out at the gate, and age behind the cloth screen of a =) that was in waiting, and the doctor drove off with his ghastly charge. Lord Chauncy turned to the woman. who, by his side, was Watching the retreating forms, I will remember!” ‘*Come, Estelle,” he said, ‘let us return to the house. ‘‘ Dany,” to his second, “‘ bring both swords.” | Percy Wolfe embarked for America on a day | of the following week. And on the day after | his departure, there was an officer ’of the law in dialogue with the lady of the house where he cry roomed. The object of bis visit was to ‘“Where is Herod Dean? When did hi ‘chum,’ Percy Wolfe, leave here?” a CHAPTER I. ' NEWS OF A DEATH, Hark! The bells! New Year’s day at the National Capital; her- alded by the Metropolitan chimes—a new greet- ing for the season here, and one of sweet solem- nity. } The weather was dull, damp and sickly. But this mattered. nothing; “society” conquered the wh ngs of discretion, and moved, as it ever will, despite inclement skies, in keeping with the laws of festivity ensuent upon the fist parting sceno of the Old Year’s Christmas. | ae here Fashi Here, where Fashion would seem to center its ca il during the Holidays, and smile | all the charmed radiance of woman’s love- | 'liness, the day was livel h ] ae erecticn ively, and the gloomy i abi by pleasure-bent votaries of so- A-house, not much more than the distance of an arrow-shot from Lafayette Square—an” which escaped mention among the long list that appeared in the Gazette—was glittering in its or; with broad salons arranged in all the lav prencen of wealth and taste, and liyeried sons of Ebon-skin flitting hither and thither, in Fe Pealises tad be Lacy all eles callers | een many a 8 point; and ' yet the shining tables groaned biuath their Libee of delicacies—rich wines and fruits, end all that could intoxicate a guest by sight, scent, or indulgence. trees | But now there wasa calm. The merry voi~-« that had only a few moments previous awi.: of jest, or drawn a companion, in | Seager pr t, through thed ment, through the b Pe frudition, had ceased: and the honeee ae use roundings looked bare without their rece it fore- ground ef grouping humans. had disap- ' peared—all, save one. \
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i . the queenly woman she had. call Seated at the piano,her elbow on the mirrored wood, and faceresting in her jeweled hand, was a woman—a queen, it would appear, well fitted to reign in this modern Temple of Delight. Asher head bowed, and one hand. lay care- lessly on the keys, her attitude was one of thought—full of ce, a subject for an artist. A bratietts, and beautiful. She had been thus ever since she bade adieu to the last es get Mirae with eyelids droop- ing and brilliant orbs dreamily apt behind the silken lash; and strange, strange meditations were Laderrag through her mind. Presently there sounds a light footfall on the carpet. She roused with a start. ‘* Pearl—is it you?” ‘“Yesmamma,. I’m tired playing all by pe self; and I have been alone, for Jessie said she must go see her sick mother.” A fairy it was who spoke; a child of not more than fourteen years, yet with a face that told of intellect almost womanly, and beaming in all the sweetness of a soul of gold. Over her sinooth, white shoulder, that rose like a hill of tinted snow above the costly trim- ming of her low-cut bodice, there fell a misty profusion of flaxen hair; her features like her form—with eyes of blue, brows of jet, lips of red, and teeth as pure as the name she bore—all } these, augmented by the glow of health, made up a picture of heavenly mold. . “T told Jessie she must not leave you,” re- turned the woman to the child’s last speech, “Oh mamma! but her mother was sick. You ‘wouldn’t want her to stay away, would you? And you won’t be angry with her for it? Why if you was sick, ’'d come to you no matter what happened.” a Would you “But you must not stay here, Pearl. There may be visitors at ay moment; and mamma would rather you did not see rude men, and hear how they talk. Go now—” ‘*But it’s so lonely all by myself!” interrupted the child. o rare’s a letter for Mrs. Rochestine,” said aservant, who came in at that juncture, with a missive on a heavy salver. ‘It was got out of the post-office early this morning by the man you sent there.” While Pearl gazed silently into the face of “mamma,” the latter broke the fancy seal of the envelope, and tore it open. F “Why, mamma, how red your cheeks are!” exclaimed the girl. — “ Are they, pet? Ha! ha!” a laugh that was unnatural, even in its music; ‘ well, it’s the heat of the room, and the excitement if have been through. Your cheeks would be red, too, if you had afl to do that I have been doing this morn- ing—” "Oh how I wish I could try and see!” broke in Pearl, while a hopeful light came into her deep blue eyes. ‘Don’t you think I might help you to entertain? I know I’m only a foolish little girl, mamma; but it’s not so very hard to be good-humored, and maybe some one would not think it a hard task to talk with me—” . | ‘There, there, Pearl; go, £° now, child. Hark! some one is coming. Don’t you see I wish to be alone?” the last with a slight show of impatience. a Pearl glanced at her keenly for a second, then, with a little sigh, she turned away. ; When Isabel Rochestine washione, she opened the letter and read it. It was post-marked Baltimore, Dec. 31st. The tinge on her cheeks mantled higher, as shesennnen the lines on the paper, and her full bosom heaved with a warmth occasioned by the words of the perfumed missive. __ At last she placed it to her lips, kissing it passionately, and cried, half-aloud: “He iscoming! coming! will be here to-day! He may enter at any time! .Claude! Claude! would that I were free! would that you knew ‘how madly, madly I love you!” and again and again she pressed the. letter to her lips, imprint- ing kisses on the name at the bottom of the sheét. A tinkle of the door-bell checked her outburst, and she listened, holding her breath te the foot- falls of the comer in the hall. “It is hel—Claude!” . A tall, broad-shouldered man, handsome in figure, attractive in face, with bright, piercing hazel eyes, and curly hair of similar hue; white, even teeth glistening beaeath a luxuriant mus- -. tache; elastic in movement, and with a bearing of comand, 1 ie pe ‘payne! ¥ . This was Claude Paine,the writer of the letter, who entered the saloon parlor, and stood before the woman who expected him. But, her manner was altered. All traces of that eagerness and momentary excitement which, a second previous, ge os gen her, now vanished. She was calm, smiling, courteous perch as she extended a hand in greeting. ‘*Mr. Paine.” ‘“* Ah! Mrs. Rochestine—let me hope you are enjoying all the pleasures of ‘the season? A happy ew Year.’ ‘And for you, I wish the sams. Be seated.” ‘* By the contents of hapers card-basket, Ijudge you have not been lonely to-day,” he said, drawing up a chair. “Oh, no!” laughing lightly. ‘To be candid —with you—I am almost tired of shaking hands, listening to compliments, and taxing my brains to entertain those few bores who seem to have nothing to say when they enter a lady’s parlor. It is fortunate this occurs only once a year.” “ Fortunate for your endurance, perhaps, Mrs. Rochestine; but—but—” “Well? Another piece of flattery, I suppose? You are merciless as the rest.” ‘It is unfortunate for others that New Year’s day does not come around more frequently.” ‘Why, pray?” “Can you ask? Is it not a source of happi- ness to be near one whom we admire?” She arched her brows. ‘‘Even though we must be content oft-times with one-half of that admiration unspoken,” he added; and continued, after, a Eg ont during which his eyes seemed to read her inmost Ponghte: “Once under the influence of your society Mrs. Rochestine, it is severe for a weak mortal to realize, that—” “Your trip, Mr. Paine?’ she interrupted. “Had you a pleasant one?” Her cheeks were dyed in blushes, and a strange, mesmeric sensation crept over her, as, by a mighty effort, she compelled her glance to meet his. . A peculiar expression flitted across his face; but it was gone instantly, when he replied to her question. ‘* Yes, a very pleasant trip, indeed—that is, in one sense.” “se How?” ‘‘ And quite unpleasant in another.” He looked gravely at her, and she saw that he hesitated in communicating something. “‘ What is it, Mr. Paine? “Tregret exceedingly that I should be the bearer—” ; “No matter; tell me, What is it?” ‘Bad news—very bad,” he uttered, slowly, now gazing down, as if to avoid her anxious look. “Tell—me!” two low, breathless words, and the color began to recede from her face. ** Mrs. Rochestine, I Pea. of you receive, as calmly as possible, what I am about to say. Your husband—” ° . al husband?” quickly. s—is— “Mr, Paine will you speak !” ‘He is dead.” : “Dead!” the words came spasmodically, and she gazed in doubt. : Feeling that he had gotten over the greatest difficulty, he went on with more ease: ‘Yes; by a letter from a friend of Ynine, which I received while in New York, I learn that, Horace Rochestine died in London, some months ago, of fever. There was a paper in- closed, too, announcing his decease. ou have my sincerest sympathy and condolence—ha! you are sick, Mrs. Rochestine! Permit me.” He hastily poured a pias full of wine, and proffered it to her; forshe was pale, and swayed izzily in her seat. But, Isabel Rochestine forgot, for the moment, that he was present. . It was not alone this news of the death of her husband that worked upon her, as she stared, in a vacant way, at the carpet; other thoughts were consuming her mind—inevitably aro by the unexpected intelligence. From pale- ness, her face changed back to its dye of crim- son; her veins were heated, her bosom rose and fell with quick, short respirations; and from her dipe issued a scarce audible whisper—one word: : “ Free!” . It was not meant for other ears; but Claude Paine heard it, and a startli him as he drew a step nearer her chair, and fixed a deep, deep glance on the bowed head of this beautifdl woman. g thrill passed over | ~ oO 4? CHAPTER Ill. A MEETING IN THE DARK. NECESSARILY passing over the day, until we reach an hour after nightfall, we turn to the long, low bridge that stretches over the Eastern Branch that leads to quiet Uniontown. Near by the ‘‘ draw,” thickly muffled—not so much on account of cold, as to defy the search- ing damp which lurked, like a eurseful malaria, on the bosom of the dark water—a man was peces restlessly to and fro, at times-straining is eyes in the direction of the north.end of the Reiger and uttering impatient syllables. t is time “g he showed himself!” he exclaimed, ‘at last, pausing and gazing steadfastly along the outline of the white railing. ‘‘ He is behind time; and I have waited till I can be patient no longer.” And then the head of the solitary personage hung forward, and he continued, in a musing strain: ‘What if he should disappoint me? His let- ter told me to.be punctual, and he is the tardy one. In Baltimore, yesterday, eh? Been to New York? I wonder what excuse he will make to Isabel Rochestine, for the unexplained absence and silence of her husband# And I wonder what the deuce is up—that he should be so anxious for me to secure a woman who is willing to go away, with a child? It’s just like Claude Paine—he always was a eee me. But it pays me to hold my tongue, do his bid- ding, and so retain his friendship; and I don’t care beyond that. Ah! that’s him, now.” _A second figure was on the bridge; the rapid sare oy heels told the comer was approaching astily. “Ts that you, Paine?” **'Yes—Derrick?” “Ay. What kept you?” ** Am I late?” ¢ se One ara ‘*What’s been the mat- r! ‘‘Not now; wait until we get to the ren- dezvous. Have you seen the negress?” ‘Yes; and every thing is fixed.” They were walking swiftly, arm in arm, to- ward the drug-store light, that shone like a brilliant beacon at the south end. ‘All fixed, eh? She’s willing to go—and do,” “Yes, for good pay.” ‘‘Pll attend to that portion, never fear,” When they were off the bridge they turned to the left through Uniontown—passing the spectral Willow above the bakery shop, and tak- ing a ‘‘ short cut” across the lots, in the direc- tion of the steep hills that rear at the back of the little burgh. ‘“‘Our precautions are none too soon,” said Paine. , ‘What do you mean? Your letter was very mysterious.” “Hal ha! Was it? Well, you shall be ‘ post- ed, directly. I have made b than l anticipated. But, I say, wait.” Striking a worm-like road which led up the i ascent, they continued briskly on with hardly a word,. As they neared a house that surrounded one of the tree-bared eminenc the music of guitars and violins reached their ears, and they quickened their pace, lest some straggler, drawn thither by the sound, should discover and suspicion them. _- ‘Hurry, Derrick.” “Tm al gp all I vee along this treacher-° ous place. guess nobody’s going to. see us. But, I say, while other,people ‘are having fun, well plo eh?” alluding to the merry company assembled in the house at their right... ' Close to Fort Staunton stands a dil frame building, with a crumbling» pidated. way round it—a signal-office at one time, per haps, but now, with the deserted fort; one of. the lonely monuments ofthe recent Rebellion— a ei of elevation where the distant city’s lights could be seen gleaming: and reflecting like the scintillations from a fairy realm. This was, evidently, the place of rendezvous mentioned by Claude Paine; for, ascending the rickety steps at one side, the two men d. A third party awaited them@here—a woman, \who stepped forward as they came up. ies “Here we are, Cassa,” said the man named Derrick, in a jow tone. : ‘““An’ here J is, too,” returned the woman, briefly; and, by her thick, guttural voice, we discover her to be a negress. ‘“‘Tve brought the gentleman who is to make the ay ape with you,” he pursued. . ” ‘“Who is de gen’"leman? What bis name?” ‘“Mr, Claude Paine.” ‘‘Mr. Claude Paine,” repeated the quickly; and had it not been for the darknesg. ‘ an a foe . on) better progress —
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aes ie we might have noticed a start, a strain of the | , _ eyes, as if to see the features of the one with ‘whom she was about to make a — > nat Has Mr. Derrick told you what I want you dot ne “Tole me come; didn’ say what you’s goin’ to : give me, dough.” “Tf you take the child where it may never be seen by me oe Tll pay you two hundred dollars, And, besides, i ot your whereabouts, Til allow yen sufficient funds monthly, to live comfortably on. But mind, there must be no half-way mana ement about it. I will have to deceive the child, in | order to get her away; and when she finds out the trick she may try to escape you. In that ase, you will, perhaps, have to resort to pretty é stern measures. Are you ready to act?” = tonhis, Bi well. Now, remember: I shall take to the depot, to-morrow afternoon; the child L a ‘will be on hand‘in time for the 5.40 train. See - that you are promptly there. Have you good clothes?” ‘ “ Nothin’ but dese rags.” ‘““Then here is money to begin with. Buy a % decent outfit, and loo ape ene ep when you oes meet me.. Strike a match, Derrick.” : Sate Derrick ignited a lucifer, and held it so that his companion could see to extract some money from his pocket-book. ea Paine drew forth twenty dollars and reached it toward her. But he paused, with hand outstretched, and v eyes riveted on the face of the negress; and something in her black countenance, her peculiar poise, her strange glance—or all three combined rplexed him. : be match sputtered itself out; the spell was ‘at broken. “ Here—take it: You may go now. Be sure ; that you do not en me.” Beier. ‘‘ Where is I to take de chile?” - * Anywhere. The further off the better.” Mumbling some sort of promise to fulfill her part, Cassa, the negress, turned from them, de- -scended the'steps of rotten wood and rickety build, and presently vanished in the Pepe te, “Derrick,” said’ Paine, thoughtfully, when they were alone, ‘‘I’ve seen that woman before =: somewhere,” ” “The deuce you have! "% they all look alike to me, ee taken,” : ‘*No, [’'m not; I’m sure of it.” ‘* Well, I don’t suppose it makes much dif- ference, if you have. Tell me about your visit ae to-day. ou said, in your letter, that you’d ae cali on Isabel Rochestine as soon as you got : **And sol did. Derrick—I can’t get that wo- gees man out of my mind. Did she tell you where she lived?” : ‘ “Over in Howard Town, roan” rate uit en oh your nonsense. What of Horace hestine ?” ‘‘T heard from him,” ‘ re “ Well?” +e ; “ He’s deud.” *Ebt—no?” ia ‘Sh! not so loud. What's that?” (ee There was a ling of leaves and twigs, ie. among the undergrowth, at one side of the little * house, and Paine pointed toward the spot from . whence came the sound. vs “It’s nothing. Perhaps a stray dog—yes; I “Re ru ‘ shrill bark of a cur, not man 3 off, ominous silence which adereqaded them; and Claude Paine, satisfied it was not the of an eavesdropper, which had — Impossible!—why, I guess you’re mis- 3 4 him, ° eae tf oan; “Basson Méchenting is dend—dead to ; he world; at least, he said in his letter to me, iy that he wished me to circulate the rumor, as he et, would never again return to America ” We _“ Phew!” exclaimed Derrick, with a whistle. ‘* He inclosed his too;? 2. 7 _ Paine was still thoughtful in manner, as if his wae mind dwelt simultaneously on other things. _ Don’t say so? Then he is still infatuated with the Englisi woman?” ‘A “Yes, He says be must be considered dead _ by those who knew him in America; and means * to begin life anew in London, under another a ae mame. But this will is the thing, Derrick.” ee “* What about it?” ; “We know that Horace Rochestine never did dove Isabel, his nt wife; that the marriage was made aaa the two families, after the death of his first wife—hence, his easy yield- ing to the fascinating charms of a woman far . more beautiful than Isabel.” : - _¢. Yes; but what has that got to do with the awiil?”? ot aa 3 ' a F se keep me informed | % i PEARL OF PEARLS: ‘A great deal. He has not left Isabel one | penn of his wealth.” ‘H-o! he “Everything goes to the child of his first | wife—everything.” “That’s Pearl?” |; tags ‘« And what do you re aed Are you going to | prove as good a friend. as he thinks i aret™ _ “Am T a fool, Dorsey Derrick! “Of course I love Isabel Rochestine—after my own way— | but if she is not going to bring me anything in tan I would rather let her alone. She has very little of her own; since her father, when ae ee old ae. the bulk of his accumu- ions to charitable purposes. ‘You will marry her, then?” “Certainly I shall. When a man’s. will is made out, and he is believed to be dead, there can hardly be much harm in marrying his widow | at is why I wrote to you, to secure & woman who could serve me, I must get Pearl out of the rm 8 F “‘ That’s it, eh? ell, now, I was wonder- in ye, % As Isaid, L[have made wonderful progress. ‘You and I will soon be sailing in smooth waters, Derrick, with plenty of money. m ss And you won’t ‘shake’ your old friend, now that you are pein along so fine?” *““Shake’ you Derrick? If I do, may I die for it!” The Sa ararped hands, and then, after a few more words, started pip fig pa the spot, pur- suing a different route thi ch the inain road. As they, skulked along the fence, between the two houses on the hills, a of ladies and gentlemen crossed their path; but, soon these were out of sight, and they again moved | forward—ere long reaching the bridge, and crossing over into the city. But, it was not a dog that had. startled the lotters, when they stood on the porch of the ese house. They were no sooner gone than a figure em from the bushes, and moyed down the hill, by an opposite path, Tt was Cassa, the negress, time fo rea CHAPTER IV. BETROTHED IN AN HOUR OF DEATH. FREE!” was the one, strange word that fell from the lips of Isabel Rochestine—followed by a long silence, in which she and the handsome Claude Paine formed a tableaw almost weird in {ts attitude. ‘ “ Did you speak, Mrs. Rochestine?” His question roused her. She started, and looked up into his face. “Did Pi pleas “T scarce know. Dh! this is fearful news, Mr. Paine.” But there were no\tears in her eyes, to make natural the tremor of her voice. ‘“As Isaid: I regret that I have had to be the | bearer of this. I do not wonder that it is all the more severe coming at this hour of gayety and pleasure.” | ‘It isso unexpected! I—Mr. Paine—will you excuse me? You must see that I—I need to be alone—” she arose, and would have left him; but such a time as this, the sympathy mean an old and sincere friend ought to give nearly as much comfort to a wou as the balm of flowing tears. And I know it is because you would weep that ou wish to retire. At least, you will not go faders I have uttered one word “ You are het Ao, Mr. Paine—” * Sit down, I beg.” “Wait.” Shestruck a silver bell that was upon the table, bringing one of the hall servants to her presence. ‘‘Close the house, immediately. To any one who may call again, to-day, say, without ex- ception, that I am unwell, and can receive no visitors.” ‘ The servant withdrew, marveling as he went, to execute her order, ‘€Tt has been long since you saw your husband, Mrs. Rochestine?” said Paine, when they were | | alone. “Over with the watch-charms at her belt. i * And, in that time, you have heard very little ve “ little.” ery little.’ “And what may, or may not, have been his ' thoughts of you?” Ln ; . “Mr, Paine!” She darted a quick glance at ar tse of a friend—I , like myself— | a year,” she answered, slowly, sinking | | back into a large chair, and toying nervously a] lovers, when they marry, | than the single object oe | him—one that, good reader of faces as he was, ' he could not comprehend; for it did not express: , the reproof her words seemed to convey. ', There wasa tong pause. He had something | important to speak of, a subject to touch upon _ which was dangerons, just then, in his opinion; | though he had made this woman a stu Vs thought he knew her well. wae i is, | generally, a rule: fat, when a man : S$ & woman best, i ime: he knows her least. . a Ree | His gaze roamed around the room, as if to make sure of their privacy; then centered on Her head was drooping; her mind was en- gaged—perhaps with thoughts of Horace Roch- estine, her husband. ‘*Mrs. Rochestine—we have known each other h to im- and for many years. Iam conceited en agine that you value me as a friend. T have something very serious to say to you; but, be- | fore T do, I must obtain your promise. of leni- | ency. ‘* What is it?” and the large black orbs turned on him. ‘You are, now, a widow. I think you are a woman whose life is incomplete if passed alone. You are not one to wear the widow’s weeds during the balance of your days. Tell me: do you think you will ever marry again?” “ That isa singular questian: Wie Paine—and wars a time!” ‘ 5 , ot so singular, when considering how great: the import of npes is, to me.” Then, with a fervency he could no longer re- strain, he continued, as he advanced tothe side . of her chair: | “Tsabel Rochestine, let me say much ina few words. When I first met you, years ago, I felt as if there was but one woman on the earth who could make me BeDP Thee one, yourself, But, ere I could tell you of this feeling, Horace Rochestine, through some arrangement between our fami “f and his, snatched you away, as I hen feared, forever. Since the day you be- came his wife, I have been a devoted friend to both; ay, have not my speeches, my actions, my looks told you, that, for you, there was a more than mere friendship in my heart? You are no | longer a wife, but a widow—free! I heard you. | breathe the word, only a moment since. d | all this is to tell you, Isabel, that I love you, worship you—ask you to consider my love. This is why I detained you. Look up at me: have I been too precipitate?—are you angry?” We know that Isabel hestine loved this man. Hers wag a passionate nature, when not bas by the rigid bit of “ pie ae and as he forth his confession, a hot seemed. coursing in her veins, warming her whole frame. Her face was crimson; something inaudible faltered from her lips, “Tsabel?” : ee Paine!—Claude! do you—do you love me “Tf I have not convinced you of it yet, I ask | you to be my wife; and you shall'see that I more han love you, by the attention I will ever pay | to your slightest wish. Your answer, Isabel?” | ith a quick movement, she threw her arms oe? his Bee and her poe pho its blushes, o soft gazing eyes and honeyed li Seem 1 8 rer on atlirs ude !—~yes ave loved vou always. Have you not seen it? Though Horace phd = never say his wife was not all she should be, I have, still, tried in vain to put out the tiny flame that burned in my heart for you. I anr yours, Claudel ! do not say you love me, unless you mean it,” | RC a word too weak, Isabel—idolize were | It was strange to see this beautiful being in the embrace ig a man who, till now, was Rept from her by the holy relation of another—within the same hour that she learmed of that other’s | death. If it was sinful to so easily forget the | husband who, she was told had died abroad, then ; there is but one excuse; the irresistible magnet- | ism of love, and the power of its blisses to expel t &. ou have laid aside your robes of “When mourning, Isabel, you will be my wife?” “Yes. But” she seemed to sriddenly remem- | ber something. ee te But what ” ; “You forget: I have a child. A man m: / love, Claude, but, I know that the truest of hesitate to take mor. eir affection.” “You are right. I am no exception. But, when we marry, I shall want to take you a | long way from here—and, is it n for , Pearl to go with us? She is not your ows ’ ‘ / “ ; os
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peas ; hence, it will not be so hard to part with er. : “Explain ” “Can we not send her to some boarding- school, or private establishment of learning.” ““Trne, I did not think of that.” — “*If you will leave it to me, I can manage it.” The door-bell rung at that juncture; but they heeded it not. The lovers were already rapt in y each other, oblivious to all things save those thrills of joy which seemed to alternate between them, as they stood there, soul in soul, and lip to dip. But Isabel’s quick ear detected a footstep in the rs salon ; and in a moment she es- ca s arms, and seated herself at the piano. one too soon. A card was brought her. It was left by the party who rung the bell, and who failed to gain admittance, through her re- cent order. RE cil Wo Fe,” she read, aloud, from the card. ‘* Who is he?” ‘Pm sure I don’t know. I never met him, or heard of him before,” and the card was carelessly upon the piano. ““Ves, Claude, I will leave it all to you,” Isa- _ bel said, Leng ere i “IT do not think you ever loved Pearl over- much,” ‘ “Oh! how can you say that? Sheis the child of my dead husband. Of course I love her!” “Still you do not hesitate in leaving me to arrange for her future.” “No; for I believe you will see that itis a comfortable arrangement. How soon will you be able to take her away?” ‘¢ At once,” *¢ At once!” in surprise. “‘Yes, You will find that I can fix matters speedily—in fact, Isabel, I ventured a little on the crisis of this hour, and have already taken Pps. “ Indeed?” ‘Pearl can go to-morrow. Had you not better call her in, and acquaint her with the plan?” ~ Pearl was summoned. **Pearl,” said ber stepmother, when she came in, “‘this is Mr. Paine. You remember him, do you not” “Yes, I remember,” shaking hands with bim, and then retiring, shyly, to her mother’s side. “* He has brought us bad news, pet—of your father.” ‘‘ What is it, mamma? Why do you look so soley Ph an thin Fag i saya UE y le ‘aine ve ave ‘you a stont heart?” eat Maori ‘TI don’t know; I’ve never had cause to try it yet. What's it all about, mamma?” parting your father is dead! We are all alone!” e spoke hushedly, and with emotion. Part of this was simulated—much was natural; for she was but a woman, after all, and knew how deep, deep to the child’s soul must cut those dread words, The large blue eyes widened, as they turned from one to the other of the two: but Paine’s glance, if anything, was stern, and her mother’s head was bowed. “Dead! Dead, did you say, mamma? no!— you don’t mean it!” bere was no answer. Like a lily that has been smitten by the storm, pees Lyd fais pe De ph Her head droo e uivered, as she struggled to keep down the Fixsenening tears. ‘¥ Young as she was, she knew the inestimable value of a father’s love, and how hard to lose it: she had worshiped bim as only a child could “worship that one who, inevery way, wasa kind, Sey oi tad ER ‘Dead!’ she repeated, as if still dcubting that ~ ghe heard origi. and then she stood ne. statue-like and silent, her bosom agonized with grief, her tongue powerless to speak more. ' But a quick change came over her, Suddenly she started forward, and winding ‘her arms around her mother’s neck, cried; _ ‘Don’t let us be too sad, mamma! We can’t help it. Papa is happier in heaven than he would ere, P’mnot crying now.” . ; As Pearl had said, she was never before made to test the true strength of her nature: and now, in the moment of the ordeal, Claude Paine saw that it was one of iron. “Tam not weeping, pet: my heart is too full ‘of woe, even for that. But I feel for you.” “Never mind me,mamma. Perhaps when I get by myself I shall have a sad time; but I’m ine. Per r. Paine and I have been talking of your future, child,” said Isabel, rather arate: “ My future!” ’ 4 PEARL OF PEARLS. i Yes. Would you not like to go to boarding- “To boarding-school! Why, mamma, I have. my ae here; can’t she teach me well y “But I ct en away.” | ‘* Where to?” asked Pearl, surprisedly. “To California, where my uncle lives. And while I am gone, Thad much rather see you at boarding school, where you will be tenderly eared for.’ se ? “But why can’t I go with you?” ‘Impossible. Now, you must not be disobe- dient, Pearl, dear. Remember it is mamma’s wish; and gyeey thine ts for your g ‘When am I to go?” ‘¢ To-morrow.” “*So.soon! And when are you going?” “Very shortly.” “Oh, mamma, don’t you go! It will be so lonesome for me. Why, I won’t have anybody. Please don’t go.” And the two dimpled arms clung tighter to her neck, as the child pleaded. “There, there, Pearl; I'm sad enough as it is. Don’t make me more miserable by acting this ay. You'll do as I want you to? . or a second Pearl hesitated. : “Yes,” came at last from the trembling lips. Paine arose. “T must bid you -day now, Mrs. Ro- chestine. If Pearl will be ready by four P.m. to-morrow, 1 will call for her.” Fs a She will be ready. Let me see you to the oor. At the door of the next salon the lovers part- ed. A passionate embrace, a kiss, and Claude Paine went out. When he met his worthy associate that night on the Eastern Branch bridge, he had pod cause for saying that he had progressed finely. Pearl was standing where they had left her when her stepmother returned, with her fair head hung in sorrow, and onesmall hand resting on her bosom, as if to still the throbbings of a pained heart. Y She did-not notice Isabel; seemed oblivious to everything but this great cloud which encom- passed her—the first to darken her hitherto sunny life. Isabel Rochestine pig! past her, bestowing a side glance upon her, then stop to repeat that glance ere she disappeared beyond the door. way. CHAPTER V. DID SHE MURDER HIM? Wr must, in order to develop an essential portion of our narrative, take the reader back a space, to London, to the house of Lord Chaunc > to that date when Herod Dean fell beneath the sword of the man who had org himself the affianced husband of Estelle Berkely, and her thirsty champion. f The nobleman’s second, in the fatal duel, was his valet; and when his employer retired to an apartment in the upper story of the house, ac- canspaniee by the woman who retained hisarm, ho (the valet) discreetly withdrew from their presence, Our two characters were soon seated in a luxuriously-furnished room, where brilliant lights blazed, and cast. brilliant scintillations from the chandelier of quivering prisms. e Englishman-was = Romane 6 calculated to attract and repel, simultaneously—sufliciently handsome. to engage attention, and hold the same by a peculiar power which lurked in his hard, piercing eyes; while his general appear- ance, once studied, was less than common. Of his companion, little can be said: save that, when she had thrown aside her shawl, and drawn a chair near to him, we see that she is glittering, from head to waist, in jewels; and, in form and feature, was rather stout, not what good taste admits to be beautiful—yet peculiarly voluptuous and attractive. *“T am rejoiced, my lord, to know that you escaped without even a scratch,” she said; ‘‘I really feared for you, because I knew Herod Dean was no child in the use of the sword.” , “True; he was no child, When I crossed weapons with him, I found a dangerous match. Iam favored by fortune. Had it not been for his slipping, no doubt J would have fallen.” “Then I should now be miserable, Lord uncy.” _‘“ Why do you persist. in addressing me with title? me had never even kissed—to say nothing of the fact that we are to be married soon!” oc Hu see in me, wife.” - at youshould wish to make me your , nou got’a jewel! Hurry up and marry Till now, his eyes were bent upon the eae: eee with a a eT pa ony of ness, was. g him covertly. He looked up quickly—to meet a face express- ing the er inquiry, and of studied calmness. “Everything!” he exclai impulsively ; everything that a man, who is not cold to pas- sion, must be attracted by! I know that. your blood is as good as mine; I know that few wo- men possess an intellect such as yours—and an educated woman is the rarest gem of earth!— and, more than all, Estelle, your mirror must have told you how beautiful these enough?” ““T believe you do love me, Hubert.” ‘And you are not mistaken in that belief. Why should I offer to marry you?+—why be- queath the most part. of my wealth to youi— peti Ba 2 be always with you, if I did not love you “Have you made such a will, Hubert?—when — are others, of your own kin, more desery- ig.” “T am the judge of that, my queen.” ** And, I suppose, the mysterious document is deposited in some wonderful hiding-place, etc., like what we read about, to be discovered in a romantic manner, eh?” ~~ It was artfully put, and the blinded lover did not suspect that the low, careless laugh which followed, was a piece of able acting. ‘Oh, no; I cmb had it witnes: this after- noon. It isin my desk, in the library.” She arose with an affected'sigh. ** Ayhot—well—I must bid you good-night, Hubert; I am weary.” ‘Going without a kiss!” and he stepped to- ward her with outstretched arms, . She presented her ripe, red mouth; and then, when he had held her to him for a second, she left him in solitude. Alone in her boudoir, Estelle Berkely was an altered woman. Her brown, flashing eyes lighted ominously, and a half-loud musing broke from her false, hypocritical lips. “*S-o! be has made ont his will? I must secure it;,and mayhap fate will, sometime, give me its benefits. But, I must not remain here, I haye removed gpe éYesore, by skillful management; now i fi ee from the ouher, 1 fever! I could no morét my im marry his cross-eyed valet! t wae secure the will-—-and then, adieu to England!” ‘‘ Madame is late retiring to-night.” Her little maid, a French girl with twinkliny eyes and merry voice, had entered from the next ‘“* Will madame disrobe?” : as *“Yes, Fifine; and hurry, for I am tired to death.” “ Ah, ciel! it is awful to be tired to death. If will make haste,” and she continued to chatter in a lively strain while she aided her mistress. The following day was a marvel of beauty, with sunshine and warmth, and an atmosphere as clear and pure as a draught from the “starry goblets” of the Immortals. Singer Notwithstanding the small amount of repose he had obtained, Lord Chauncy was astir at ten o’ the clock, and sent a message to his affianced, inviting her to a drive in an open barouche. She accepted, and they were soon speeding gayly over one of the fashionable courses, where others before them were enjoying tlie baliny air and invigorating scene. i “Ho, there! Lord Chauncy—hold!” ¢alled ‘a voice, from a barouche that was whirling pa The nobleman recognized one of his tobe fa age friends, and instantly ordered his driver. to . ‘ “ t The other barouche turned, and was soon be- side his. = ‘Lord Chauncy, delighted to see you!” *“The delight is mutual!”) cried Chauncy, grasping the extended hand. ‘t When did you return?’ : “Only last night. I have invitations out for dinner this afternoon, at five. 1 was, this mo- _ment, on my way to your house, and—ah! par- | don my rudeness, Miss Berkely,” raising his hat _in a profound bow. se, not mie us of your presence at the party?” “You, of course, venture she will accompany me,” said Lord Chauncy, as he turned inquiringly to her. ‘Tt is always a pleasure to me, to think that I can add to the harmony of a company, or | make myself agreeable to those around me.” . ubert. One would think we was Estelle’s reply, with a gracious smile. “Rest as d, we can not enjoy ourselves ssure | without you!” he declared, gallantly. ‘Then, “\ then—I cannot imagine what you 40 undertone: “A splendid woman, Chauncy! her, she slips away ”—adding, aloud: “ Am revoir ! I sha!] expect you both,” ; Pe } \ you are. Are not . ye hime— . ran I could “4p
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Ta er a | ‘eipients of more gallant praise. With her speeding swiftly away. . Tistelle Berk une: full to overwhelm her in a way. words cannot ex- ee - Bowing again, he ordered his driver forward; while Chauncy, as he and Estelle were again moving along the smooth drive—watched by | many who admired the flash livery and shining | equipage—sat thinking, in a splendid humor, of | — ah ape his friend h elect. Among all the ladies who graced the parlors at the house of Lord Chauncy’s friend, that | afternoon, none were as lovely as Estelle Berke- | paid to the bride- si ly=none drew more attention, nor were the re- beauty, she captivated; with her conversation, she doubled: that captivation; and Lord Chauncy, not of a jealous nature, marked this exhibition of favor with growing a i ah ee also, the | y envious glances d at his betrothed by those less beautiful than she. But the nobleman withdrew at an early hour, pleading fatigue; and—as in all things— was seconded by the voice of ‘Estelle. They bade adieu to ‘the assembled company, and were soon returning to their home. Lord Chauncy’s plea of fatigue was a truth- ful one; and, not long after reaching his house, he sought his couch to sleep. The dark occur- rence of the night previous did not interfere ‘with his rest. ; The building was, in a short time, still as a tomb. ~The hours slowly counted by. It was eleven. Then the door of Estelle Berkely’s boudoir might have been seen to open, and she, herself, issued noiselessly forth. She was dressed in a complete traveling-suit, and carried a long, waxen candle, which she waved before and around her as she advanced along the hall. Anon she paused, and listened intently, as though in fear of some one lurking near to spy upon her movements. But no suspicious sound was audiblein the household surrounding, and again she started forward on tip-toe, clutching the burnished holder with a firm, hard grip. The library door was reach ‘+ Now to secure the will.” She disappeared within, closing the door after er. : It ‘was a.long while ere she came out; and when she did come, she carried a large, signifi- cant document. It was Lord Chauncy’s will. She did not retrace her steps in the direction of her rooms, but turned to the broad stairway ‘and began to descend. Suddenly she paused, as suddenly the light fell from her hand and was extinguished; for something struck upon her ears that made her “ Murder! Help!—help here! Murder!” rung, echoingly, through the house It was the voice of Lord Chauncy’s valet. The alarm came from that portion of the building where the nobleman slept; the words— terrible in import—roused the slumbering ser- vants with a start of terror, here all was still and deserted was now life, noise and excitement; Lights flashed from room to room; men and women hurried forward to their employers’ apartments, where the valet on his knees, beside a bed, was weeping cn sar Sp wringing his hands in Lc Lord Chauncy lay stark and stiff—to all ap- ATADCES, A CO) . A thin, bluish line around is throat told the tale. He had been strangled! And out ae the street a close carrigge was tremble, guiltily. : : ely ni like a statue, amid the deep cushions of the vehicle, her hands clenched » together, and teeth hard set—the sounds of alarm a beck ied oad srl was pr on- ward, a ce ra catch the midnight train for Liverpool. : CHAPTER VI. PEARL’S TRUE FRIEND, aN PRARLAWas alone in the parlor—a statue of beauty clothed in tears. Poor child! It was hard for her to realize the news; and when, ually, the Force of her grief Rasartac’ Tessie, t was A hallowed air seemed to close around her; a silence broken only by alow painful sobbing~ which, at last, she could no longer keep back— reigned inthe gorgeous salon. Then, after a long spell of weeping, her wet - eyes raised to look ata rae Madge, on the wall. One moment she chec the hot tears, that sbe might gaze upon the features of one who, she felt, she should’ see no more; and she Li to her knees, burying her face in her nds, ' fluence from the skies was PEARL OF PEARLS. “Papa! Papa!” she wailed, tremulously, “Oh! why did you ever go away? Why have you a me all alone? Come back—come back me ie Pearl, my child,” spoke a soft yoice at her e She started, and looked up. It was her governness who stood there—a young, sad-looking lady, with a calm, sweet expression of countenance, that had, long ago, brought Pearl to love her. ‘‘What isit, Pearl? Tell me.” : ‘*Oh, Miss Byrne, I am so sad!—so sad!” ‘* What has happened?” = pte you heard? Didn’t mamma’ tell ou ‘ “*T have not heard anything.” ‘*Papal—dear, dear papa!—he—he’s dead!” and afresh burst of tears followed the speech from the quivering ae “Your father dead!” exclaimed Miss Byrne, and the accent was low and full of astonishment, ‘When did he die?” Pearl had sprung to her feet, and pillowed her head on the other’s bosom, “T don’t know; they only told me he was dead, That Mr. Paine told mamma. And, Miss Byrne—oh! Miss Byrne, they are going to send me off to boarding-school! I’ve got to leave you!” ‘Going to send you away? How sudden all this is!” The last. was muttered more to herself. * Yes—yes,” sobbed ‘Pearl; ‘it’s sudden, and it’s unkind. Mamma is going to California; and ngw, when I want somebody to talk to, and comfort me, I'll be by myself, among strangers. I wish you could go with me!” “When are you to leave?” ‘'T'o-morrow.”” ‘‘To-morrow! I wonder why there is so much haste in getting you off?’ The last again to herself. eet “JT don’t know—I don’t know. Oh! Miss Byrne, what shall I do?” Pearl’s face, ppaned to hers with its page of sorrow, touched a sympathetic chord in the soul of the kind governess, and awoke all. the tenderest feelings in her womanly heart. She too, began to weep, but it was in silence; and folding Pearl closer, she mingled her grief with the child’s. ! She had learned to love the young girl during the time she had been beneath Mrs. Roches- tine’s roof; and the affection was mutual. No wonder, then, that both were unhappy at the prospect of being separated; and it doubly argumented Pearl’s woe, for, with father, mo- ther, kind governess, all gone, and she taken from those scenes so endeared to her youthful fancy, life did, indeed, look desolate and bleak. “ What, what shall Tdo” repeated the child, a question that was almost involuntary. he had always looked to Miss Byrne for ad- vice on those little matters which perplex the young; and it was but natural that she should do so now; upon a subject that was crushing her spirit to the earth. ‘ : “Be strong, Pearl,” said Miss Pg bie in re- ly; “be strong as you can. once lost a Pater who, I think, was kind to me as yours was to you. And when he died, I had none to yo to, no one td shelter me from the world—for we were poor, and almost friendless. But I knew there was a wise Being in Heaven who had ordained it, and to Him I turned for com- fort. God must have given me strength, Pearl; for, whenever I pray to Him, I felt less sad. And I began to hew out my own life, bearin my cross of trials with humility, and sustain by an unwavering faith in Jesus. Look up to eaven, Pearl—the only true balm comes from there! In one accord, they sunk down to their knees. And there, in the midst of pao d fl and pom- pous eed coke it sound strangely solemn to hear a voice in Ha be BI Ae 's truest earthly friend prayed to their invisible Media- tor—and to ! j ‘ A beautiful tableau! A picture’as rare, in the palaces of the rich, as splendor is'in chaos! It was not long. ‘But, for many seconds after the last whi —~ ee oe vai atg th ined motionless—as ~ ey rema: ’ ae tte, their hearts. The rustle of a dress recalled them to a sense of their surroundin uM Mrs. Rochestine had entered the parlor, and, as the two arose, she exclaimed: “Miss Byrne!—you here?” “ Yes. T wad seeking Pearl, and found her in such sorrow, that, as a teacher of Truth, as well as other things, [ felt it mily duty to strive to comfort her.’ “You forget; when you came here, I ex- | pressly stated that you were not to frequent this portion of the house.” ‘‘Nor have I broken the rule, Mrs, Roche- stine,” returned the govern quietly; this is ; . ot y the first time, I believe, that I have intruded. I promised to read to your daughter a hi and it was to keep my promise that I sought | her. The servants seemed to have all gone off | somewhere—” “Mamma, don’t look so cross!” broke in Pearl, as she clung closer to Miss Byrne. ““Very well—say no more, You may retire now.” * And I am going with her, mamma.” Miss Byrne withdrew in silence, and Pearl ac- companied her. The stepmother gazed after the pair until Se disappeared. Then she uttered, half- aloud: “T don’t want to be toosevere with the child. She is nothing to me, it is true; yet she never did me harm. d they were praying together? Ab, me! it has been a Jong time since J prayed; I believe I have almost forgotten how.” With a sigh, she crossed over to close the piano. The card of her recent would-be visitor lay where she had thrown it, She picked it up and read the name again. “¢ Percy WOLFE.’ Who can he be#—a per- fect stranger.” ‘ Miss Byrne was with Pearl constantly during the day; and at night she busied herself with arranging for the child’s departure on the mor- row. There were two small trunks to be packed. Pearl carefully discriminated in the selection of their contents, while the governness placed everything nicely to itself. There was no bustle, excitement, hurrying to- and fro, or noisy discussion upon what was most necessary to be taken ; all was done in si- lence, with hardly an occasional whisper of in- quiry or answer. At bedtime the two knelt again. Another prayer went up to Heaven from the stillness of the room where Pearl was to sleep for the last time, and then came the good-night kiss. The calm, sweet voice of the governess had done much to soothe the aching wound of her charge, and, under the mild influence of her | comforters’s words, Pearl soon went to sleep. It was a blessed respite, for the morrow was to bring a renewal of that stern realization of her utter loneliness, which had changed her from a buoyant, sunny fairy, to a sadden child whose sensibilities were womanly. CHAPTER VII. ‘* goop-BY!—GOOD-BY!”” PEARL awoke at ah early hour next morn- ing. : fi was rather a sad beginning for the New Year; and while she dressed for breakfast, she moved mechanically about—scarce daring to | glance at her mirror, lest her own expression of | face might bring the tears again to her eyes. She did not descend when her simple toilet was finished. The prayer Miss Byrne had ut- tered there, the night before, seemed to have | left a strange, enticmg calin in the atmosphere, | imparted a soothing weirdness to her surround- ings. Ks she sat by her window, and gazed out upon the far hills to the north, with their capping of bare trees that looked so cheerless—with here — and there an evergreen that pee forth as a rack of ote the midst of winter's deathlike { renness—there was a great struggle going on in her bleeding heart; a feelin or diter y’ | Jone ‘as the picture which met her View was. preying on her tender nature. | n the bell rung, she left her room, and | started toward the breakfast-hall with a slow | step—as unlike the gay, laughing Pearl of twen- ty-four hours ago as shade A to sunlight. ** Pearl!” called a voice behind her. Miss Byrne had been standing at the entry window, apparently waiting for her. ;, G00d-morning, Miss Byrne.” ; Did you have a good sleep?” inquired the governess, forcing a smile to wreathe her lips, as'she stooped to we piesa 4 as | seve very nicely. But I couldn't have done it if it hadn’t been for you,” said Pearl, as she paused for @ moment in the em- brace of her friend, ‘Keep up a stout heart, my child. All is for he best.” Isabel Rochestine swept past them before they could say more. vs -morning, Miss Byrne.” ** Good-morning, Mrs. Rochestine,” | ‘I would like to see you,” Isabel continued,
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PROPEL MEPS Un sites LRT ‘in half an hour, In the parlor. Come, Pearl, breakfast is ready.” Miss Byrne bowed as Isabel corn her, and Pearl followed after her stepmother. The news of the death of Horace Rochestine had been imparted to the servants. Several among them were of old connection witb the house—slaves who, when the proclamation of pony wnt, tam was promulgated, had preferred rather to stay with an indulgent master than to seek situations elsewhere. The gloom was generally felt; and the dark- skinned waiter who was in attendance at table et, wore a complete suit of black, and = about with an air of extraordinary grav- ty. ““Where am I going to, mamma?’ asked Pearl, after nearly the whole meal was partaken of in silence, “TI really cannot say, pet; Mr. Paine has kindly offered to arrange everything.” ang didn’t he tell you?” No. Another silence. Both were occupied with pen ce of their own. “ Mamma”—at length, ‘can’t Miss Byrne go with me?’ , Why, Pearl, how ridicu- “Go with you! lous!” ‘‘ 7 don’t think it’s ridiculous, mamma. Ilove Miss Byrne dearly, and it would almost break my heart to part with her.” ‘How absurd! No, pet—they have teachers enough where you will go. Miss Byrne is going to leave me this afternoon.” “ Are you going to discharge her?” “Certainly. I are gone.” \ _ “Andshe can’t go with me?” “Of course not !” . It seemed to Pearl that everything was against her; at every turn there was something to increase her sadness. Once she wished that the New Year had never come—or that she had died before its ad- vent, But this feeling was quickly overcome; she remembered the words of the govemmess, and she resolved to imitate her, to bear her cross of trials with humility. After breakfast, Pearl retired to her room. She sat down again by the window. But it was not to contemplate all that looked so deso- late without; a new train of thoughts had sr: possession of her—thoughts wholly of her ather. . She was idea those days, not so far in the past, when that kind father was with her, to contribute to her pleasure, or see, in person, that his child was enabled to appreciate the value of studies destined to refine, without wearying the intellect, and fit her for mingling in that society where she belonged. — It was a bright dream to look back upon, and contrasted, mockingly, with her present situation. She recalled his fond caresses, his encouraging smiles, his concessions to her childish bumors, his promises of a brilliant future in store for her this flitted like a panorama, in her reveries; and when she ended with asking herself if she had done anything in return for his care, shean- _wered the question, half aloud: “Tam sure I’ve beena good girl! I never peye him cause to scold me;I never disobeyed im; I always tried my best to please him. If the can look down from Heaven and see me, | know he must weep for me. And papa is in MoT nen Seca Pia alte wp 6 fa orw and the was finished with words she could not witb- old. “T wish I was with him!’—a low, whispering beste that melted from her lips in a long, ‘fone one tapped at the door. a3 Come in.” It was the governess. Pearl ran to meet her. ‘‘Oh, Miss Byrne!—I have more bad news; I asked Used to let you go with me to board- ing-school, and she refused.” zs Did you learn where it is they are going to send you “No. Mr. Paine is going to fix it all; and he didn’t tell mamma wkat his plans were.” “‘And I have some bad nevrs, too, Pearl,” said Miss Bryne, smiling faintly. ‘““Whatisitt I don’t want you to be unhap- py,” inquired and said the child. “It is bad for me, I have to look up another situation now.” ‘Has mamma discharged you?” “oe Yes,” “She told me she was going todoit. I’m sorry.” Pearl spoke low, and nestled closer to the governess. ve no use for her after you | ~? mee L ee 25°00 ny ree. da > a, * PS see PEARL OF PEARLS, © **Come,” said Miss Byrne, softly, ‘‘ there are only a few bours er and I want to give youall the courage I can. 1 cannot let you go until I feel that I have done you some good; for I love ou, Pearl, as much as if ycu were my own dear ittle sister. Sit down by me.” “You don’t know how much I love you, Miss Byrne!” hey sat there a long while, talking lowly to- gether—the hours went by unheeded, and the sun passed its meridian. Even the lunch-bell did not disturb them, so happy . was this com- mune of sympathetic spirits. It was when the afternoon had well advanced, that_a knock at the door aroused them. ‘Mrs. Rochestine says for Miss Pearl to get ready right away. The carriage is waiting for er. ‘‘ Be a strong little woman, Pearl,” said the overness, after the servant had reluctantly de- ivered his message and wasgone, ‘‘If you can conquer your sorrow now, it will not be so hard after a while,” And Pear] set her white teeth firmly together as she proceeded to dress for her departure. Down-stairs Isabel Rochestine was seated with her lover, Claude Paine, on one of the lux- urious sofas. He had come in only a few min- utes before, and, at his request, the message was sent up to Pearl, to prepare without delay. oe ere are you going to take, her to, Claude?” ““To Ingleside—a charming place,where every attention will be paid her, and where with so many girls of her own age, she cannot fail to find pleasant companions.” “ But where is it?” “ About six miles from Baltimore.” Then their conversation turned upon their own future. Each had much tosay to the other; there was much to be planned out; and while thé moments passed rapidly, they made good use of the opportunity. They were interrupted by the entrance of Miss Byrne, with Pearl close beside her, “ Ahl” exclaimed Paine, arising, ‘‘are you ready?” “Yes, she is ready,” replied the governess. Paine’s eyes were at first fixed upon the child. But they turned quickly upon the speaker. He started i gael then gazed steadfast at her, and uttered something inaudible. She returned his glance with a look equally as hard and steady, while the slightest of frowns contracted her brows. ¥ Isabel did not notice what was going on; she was wd with Pearl, adjusting a careless ribbon and asking the child if she was prepared to say good-by, and obey mamma like a good girl. Paine advanced to the side of the governess, still regarding her with deepest scrutiny. ‘‘We have met before!” he whispered. ‘‘- Yes, Claude Paine, we have met before— and may meet again,” she answered,in a tone as low as his, and full of ice. One second he stood still; then he impatiently wheeled around. * Is Pearl ready?” ‘* Yes,” said Pearl, quietly 5 but, in the samo breath, she sprung toward Miss Byrne, with a low, pained cry—-to be caught in those shelter- ing arms, to received the last warm kiss of a friend she thought she was about to lose forever. When they reached the hall, the final, touching scene was enacted. Two or three of the old, tried servitors were gathered there, watching for her, to bid fare- well to one whom they almost worshiped. ‘*Good-by, Missey Pearl!” “God bless you, chile!—good-by!” “Good-by !|—good-by!” wept Pearl, as she shook hands with them; and they, devoted be- ings, cried like children as she was led away from them. It was soon over. She wasgone. She waved her handkerchief to them till the house was lost to view, and then sunk back on the seat of the carriage, to cry bitterly. “ Mrs. hestine!” exclaimed the governess, when the door was closed, “ you have forgotten her trunks!” “No, I have not. aad, are to be sent to her in a day or two. And, iss Byrne, let me say, the sooner your own trunk is packed the better I shall be pleased. I will pay you an extra month’s salary, in order that you may not be inconvenienced, iarily, while seeking a new home.” Miss Byrne after her, as she re-entered the parlor, and said to herself: “I see how it is with you, Isabel Rochestine— I know why the death of Horace Rochestine does not weigh you down with grief, Itis be- cause you love Claude Paine—because he loves you, and has told you so, But, oh! you will learn your error when it is too late, too late fo escape the fate you are weaving for yourself. If you knew Claude Paine as I know him! you 7 shudder in spite of your blind love for CHAPTER VIII. A VISIT OF INQUIRY. IsaneL RocHESTINE was not unaware of the fact that Miss Byrne was looking after her. She discovered it by one quick, momentary lance nay toward the vestibule as she entered e or. ‘Why is it this woman’s presence is so dis- tasteful to me?’ she asked herself, pausing, pea Prien near the center of tho room. “What makes her look at me so hard, with those large, gray eyes? Whenever we meet it is the same look—deep and mysterious, until, sometimes, I almost think she is a mosmerizer, or something of the kind!”—she was interrupted by a ring at the door-bell—a loud, determined ring, as if the comer was one of authority, and Ko Be be refused admittance. ‘‘Who can it ¢ i A card was brought her by one of the ser- vants. It bore the same name as that which had caused the wonderment on the day pre- vious, “<¢Prroy Wore.’ Strange; what can he want? He is certainly persistent. Admit him!” the last to the man who waited. In a few moments Herod Dean’s friend, Percy Wolfe, was ushered imto her presence, He bowed low before the queenly beauty. ‘* Mrs. Rochestine.” She inclined her head; then said: “I believe you called to see me yesterday, Mr. Wolfe? ill you be seated?” When he had drawn up a chair, and she sunk back upon one of the rich sofas, he said: ‘‘ Nodoubt you are somewhat surprised at my visit—I being an entire stranger.” ; Another bow of the regal head; but she mere- ly listened. ‘*T come from England.” ‘*England!’—she was instantly attentive, “cc Yes.” ** What part?’ “London.” ** Indeed?” “ And, during my sojourn there, I enjoyed the friendship and confidence of Horace Roches- tine. ‘‘T am always pleased to meet my husband’s friends. Have you been long in this country?” ** Not long.” ; «Perhaps you bring me news of him—of Mr. Rochestine?’ ‘Yes, madam, I—a—” he hesitated. es ‘ have heard of his death,” she said, reliev- . im. “Yes?” mya. “Tt was some months ago, was it not!~of fever?” nee ‘It was--both,” he replied; adding, mentally: “Then this friend, Paine, has ied, out Hor- ace’s instructions.’ “Very sad intelligence to me, Mr. Wolfe; for I cannot but realize that while I was enjoy- ing all the pleasures of society, he—he was—no more, } ‘Let me couple my sympathy with that of wer Bat the chief bjectiof my visit was to speak ‘But the chief objectof my was to you regarding the will.” “The will?” in surprise, ““Yes—-Mr. Rochestine’s will.” “Why—1 know nothing about his will! Did _ y he send it ou?” He ater: at her blankly. “Mrs. Rochestine—” et ‘Please explain, Mr. Wolfe.” : “Ts it possibly that his will has not yet reached you?” “You astonish me! J have seen no will. I did not know he had made any.” . Young Wolfe was thinking very deeply, while he looked her steadily in the face ‘Mrs. Rochestine, the last hour of my friend’s life were spent with me. Ere he died he told me he had Poe out a will, in which a child of his, named Pearl, was to receive the bulk of all he possessed in America. And you are ignorant of tks ae ‘Utterly. “He said that will had been forwarded to America, and placed in the hands of a responsi- ble y, who would see that the child received its benefits.” “This is all new to me, all very strange!” commented Isabel, in unaffected astonishment. _ Deeper grew the studying glance of ag? 4 Wolfe, deeper grew his inw thoughts, mee others, Mrs. Rochestine,” and, after a pause, he |
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- 8 agent _ by reg co ntomenatte mentee was a shrewd, suspicious man, and, in his na- Fr ture, instantly experienced the feeling tuat all _ was not right. pi Herod Dean—or, rather, Horace Rochestine— had told him, in conversation held on the night preceding the duel, that the will was inclosed with the letter he had sent to his American friend, Claude Paine, If Claude Paine had followed out the instruc- tions of the letter, so far as to inform the wife that her husband had died, months ago, of fever also delivered the will over to Mrs. Rochestine? 4 Thus Percy Wolfe interrogated himself, during : the mutual silence which ensued. “Oh, well, madam, I presume itis all right,” | ‘ he said, at last, king the exact opposite of his feelings. ‘‘ The will is safe, no doubt, and you will get it shortly.” ‘“T hope so. Do you know the person’s name, towhom my husband intrusted it?” “No,” he answered promptly—the answer of : @ man whose suspicions were aroused, and who, under this feeling, felt himself justified in the . evasion. “Where is this child—Pearl—if I may ask?” _ T have just sent her to boarding-school.” Z “Indeed? When?” ; N “Only a few minutes ago. As youcame in so soon after her going you must have seen the ae carriage depart.” ee “And where did you send her?—pardon, if I nil, assume too much,” ; “To Ingleside, Near Baltimore.” a“ Ah?’ s _ ** Have you ever heard of it?” ' “Oh, frequently.” 4 “T understand there is no better institution in 7 the Comat for the mental, moral and physical _ training of girls.” ‘* A most excellent place,” he acquiesced. Then he adroitly led her off into a conversa- . tiou upon trivial matters, until uader the influ- ence of his lively manner, engaging speech, and lowing descriptions that aro ever ready at the mgue’s end of one who has toured through a urope, she nig for the time, what had been — said regarding Horace Rochestine’s will. It was not until Wolfe had bid her good-day, and she was once more alone, that the object of 4 his visit flashed back into her mind; and as she returned from the door of the parlor, she halted abruptly, with the exclamation: : Are I dreaming? What was it he said about os Horace’s will? That the bulk was to go to Pearl? 5 Tam, then, only to receive the widow’s portion! > But where is this will? Itis all very mysteri- at ous. I wish I had had my senses about me, and Bae is learned more from him!—well, Miss Byrne?” ate The governess had entered almost noiselessly, _ aud Tsabel started at the sudden intrusion. “T have come to say that my trunk is packed, ; ‘Mrs. Rochestine—” ce “What! Why,I really did not mean that _ -youshould go as soon as this.” ae '“ Burther,” continued Miss Byrne, without --—s noticing the interruption, “ you promised me aaa an extra month’s salary. I regret that I must i ask you to fulfill that promise, but—” Re os: hatha wait a moment.” Bao Tsabel advanced to a writing-desk, on a small ; table that stood in one corner, and hurriedly ae wrote off a check for fifty dollars. ‘ sae This she handed to the governess, gee ; “You have been very attentive to Pearl, Miss a ‘ rne. Iknowshe has improved wonderfully — ander your instructions. In procuring another Pl situation, you may refer to me, if you desire.” bie Nie “Tha: rou. here shall 1 say you may be Bes found?’ T — was put in a meaning Pade — and the large gray eyes watched her : eenly. Tenet bit her lip. y—I—in fact, Miss Byrne, I had saad not thought. re may be a long Sewer taint here Tai." when you get another position. I will write ae you a recommendation,” and she turned again | to the desk. 9 Sa “No—do not trouble yourself, Mrs, Roches- nee tine: it is unnecessary. I am well recommended _-—-.._ hy letters T already possess. I bid you farewell oes —I think I hear the carriage at the door.” > a A “Stay, Miss Byrne. I would domore for you, | = ' Per you have not saved much money while here, Shall I writea check for another fifty? I —have you made up your mind where you are ay ; ; : weal scarce knew why she put this question. , ae it was a fate which prompted her to it, He? \ vig Byrne might make the significant reply ae e did, gut “Tam going, first, to are Mrs. Roches- | _.. tine—to see if Pearl is comfortable.” | eee | She was gone. _ PS “ Well—real contracted in London, then why had he not ; a f “3 _ . | ‘Phe dull sound of the carriage-wheels came to Isabel’s ears,as she stood there, with newly- perplexing thoughts tangling in her mind. ‘** To Ingleside?—to see if Pearl iscomfortable? , What can she mean?” “ s CHAPTER IX.. THE PLAN WORKING. enh THE carriage containing Claude Paine and his young companion sped onward at a rapid rate, or there was no time for delay. Pearl could not check the tears of her more _ than grief; her feelings,at this prospect of exile, | were such that her nature could not then over- | come them. : He watched her for some time, listening to the sobs. _ “Don’t ery so, little Pearl,” he said, at last, in a voice meant to soothe her. ue ‘apr help it, Mr. Paine!—oh! indeed I ‘You must think of what a nice time you will have at school. There will be girls of your own age, who will love you; thére will be all kinds of recreation to make your studies light. | There isa gymnasium; a beautiful lawn; flow- ‘ers; fresh air—why, you will soon be happy under the influence that will surround you. You will, besides, get a thorough education, and, in the end, thank mamma Rochestine for send- ing you—” ‘I don’t care for all these things!” she broke in, half-impatiently, as she wept on. “Don’t care for them! Why, Pearl, do you not wish to be perfect in your studies?” ‘Yes, yes, Mr, Paine, I do, But—” and the tear-wet eyes raised quickly to his face, ‘‘ what , is allthis compared to what I am losing? Ive lost a father—nothing can make up for that! And then, all the dear nooks and corners in our old house—I shall never see them again !—I feel Isha’1’t! As for flowers—why, one little bud out of my own garden, when everything looks so pretty in bloom, is worth more to me than all the roses in the world! I want to be an edu- cated woman, Mr. Paine, and maybe I will be; but, oh! see what it is going to cost—not in money: Iam miserable!” He did not interrupt the child: her speech an sro, pe passionate, so ig oe whut he might ex m one so young, that it held him till sho had finished.” “But, Pearl, you will have such a great variety of interesting objects around you—” ‘Then they will be all the harder to choose from!” sobbed the voice in the handkerchief. ‘ But, so many nice companions—” “JT don’t want them. I only want one good friend, and I would rather have Miss Byrne than all the others you talk of.” At mention of the governess’s name he started. It reminded him of the brief scene in the parlor, There was, evidently, an old acquaintance ex- isting between Claude Paineand Pearl’s friend, and that it was significant tho reader has, no doubt, inferred. The young girl’s last words had thrown him mto a state of meditation: and tho thoughts that began chasing through his mind could not havo been ot pleasant, for, as he sat silent, his gaze riveted on the floor of the cerriage, he was ee When he shook off the moody feeling that had come upon him, Pearl had ceased crying. She was looking out through the window at the houses they were passing by so quickly; but her gaze was vacant, it did not note what she saw. She was in that peculiar framé, for which it is hard to find a name—thoughtful, yet upon noth- ing; sad, «yet scarce aware of it; oblivious, almost, to her own presence, yet, to an observer, reflecting deeply, and fully awoke. Silence prevailed during the rest of the drive. They soon reached the depot. ** Come, Pearl.” She roused, with a half-frightened start, at sound of his voice. ‘ *** Are we there?” pa <3 : He assisted her out, and they entered the building. Almost immediately his alert eyes discovered anegress standing near the door of the ladies waiting-room. AGS Bes. | bee As they approached her, he said, inquiringly: “* Cassa?” “ T's here,” answered the negress. Turning to Pearl, he said: _ - “Here is the woman who will take you, Pearl.” “Take me?’ she exclaimed, surprisingly. ‘““Yes, She will take you to !ngleside—to school.” i Ane Mr. Paine? | ‘Oh, no; that is impossible—” “Does mamma know this?” | “Certainly—” | ‘It’s queer she didn’t tell me!” Pare Perhaps she forgot it—or hardly thought it | BECHER oy But °P Fs Bement, wate { t our tickets,” and he turned away as he spoke. 4 Pearl gazed after him, z ne ‘* Didn’ he tole you I’s goin’ to take you “long?” | asked Cassa, “No,” still looking, incredulously, toward at the window. Suddenly Pearl bent a close scrutiny on the woman who was soon to be her companion. * Cassa’s face was as if cut from wood; nothing there to intimidate the child, nothing suspicions, yet nothing to make her presence agreeable— ' simply a black, immobile face, with a pair of | eyes that betrayed naught of their owner. ‘* Where are my trunks?” interrogated Pearl. “ Done gone in by dis time, guess,” ‘* When are we going to Ingleside?—to-night?” | questioned the young girl again, after a pause. ‘* Be dark when we gets to Baltimo’,” replied Cassa; “so ’t we can’t go out dar till mornin’,” Paine just then rejoined them, He had net been absent long. Pearl would have asked more questions but for the interruption; and Cassa was already a little uneasy in answering the child. ‘Now, Pearl, be a good, stout-hearted girl. We shall expect a long letter from you soon, telling us whata nice time you are having ”— handing the tickets to Cassa while speaking. *““ Have my trunks come in, Mr. Pattie?” She had not noticed that the trunks ‘were not on the carriage. 7, ‘* You will find them at Ingleside “hen you get there,” he evaded, adding: “ Hex!" is some- — from mamma.” Sein t was anew portemonnaie of ri ct aterial, and Pearl put it carefully away in vies en ‘‘ Don’t open it until you get on t})oad,” he said, forging a mysterious smilé!? “There's | uite a surprise in it for you. Auf remember this: on one side you'll find some, fing rolled up, and marked with an X—that ie for Cassa | here,” nodding toward tie negress,/ d,.at the same time, giving her a significant gence, ‘‘T’ll remember, Mr, Paine.” : “And now Jet me see you to your Vet, all safe. The train will start cmeant me As they moved toward the gate, Painé und an opportunity to lean over and hiss into “7 sa’g ! ear: e | ‘Mark, now: see that.she does not e thipe | youl! Keep her safe out of my way, an., as oe TOUAOs FPS shall have plenty of mon 4.1” She answered merely by a knowing look, d they hurried on. “rs They were hardly seated when the god’ sounded, : Paine, bidding Pearl adicu, took, his depar ” ure. He did not leave the depot, however, ti. " he saw the rumbling train far out on the cury; | ing track: and then, with a clenched fist, and a | dark gleam in his eyes, he hastened out to the, waiting carriage. ¢ viter “Hat! ha! ha!” he chuckled, as he was borne ‘away, now the plot works! If Cassa serves | meas she has promised, all is well. Iam in ' the full tide of success, Isabel is mine—and so will be the wealth of Horace Rocbestine ere ‘long. The only obstacle in my path is removed for the present; and for the future, if need be, Lean plot anew. Dorsey Derrick, we are two fortunate men. _ You shall come in for a good share of the spoils. Ha! ha! ha!” _ CHAPTER X, A MIND IN A MAZE. _ _WuEN Percy Wolfe whispered in the ear of his unlucky friend, on the night of the duel, the | pronuse to find the child,-and see that she obtained the benefits of her father’s will, the ut- terance was an oath, as it were, So sincere was the heart from which it welled. | The young man had even neglected other | pressing duties, after his arrival in New York, in order to make his conscience clear on the , Subject of his pledge. | During the voyage across the Atlantic, he had iven many moments to picturings of a bright ttle spot in the West—a cottage, where in summer time he had dso many happy | hours in the cool shade of oaks and maples, 'communing with Nature; a father and mother whom he had not seen for years; two sisters, ; One scarce free from the nurse’s arms—the other | a child of beauty, with a disposition ever ready | to sacrifice bor own desires for those of others, “Why, I, thought you were going with me, a 4 | Claude Paine, who was purchasing the tickets. ay a
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a uature as sweet and mild as ever swayed the | actions of a human. - He often wondered if the old charms were waiting to welcome him— then trembled while he thought, for two long years had rolled around since he had heard from ‘‘ home.” Fifteen years ago he had started out to make himself a man among men; and Fortune had not shut her portals to his energy for he had prospered. In the time gone, what had transpired round his birthplace? Of father, mother, sisters—how many were left! Why had letter after letter. which he sent brought no reply, no tidings of eed to relieve him of his su q ith such feelings consuming him, it was but natural that his whole soul should: be ‘tor- tured with yearning to once more stand amid the scenes of his childhood, and rest in the em- brace of those precious ones who, alone, of all man’s friends, love with an unwavering affee- tion—father, mother, sister! But ‘the promise he had given Horace Ro- chestine, in that fatal hour of the past, must be yor first: &. ‘a WPeoiba eecchiceth e went straightway ‘ashin z we have seen, called at the house 0: deceased. Ard when Perey Wolfe left the: née of Isabel Rochestine, it was with the firm convic- tion that Horace Rochestine’s friend, Claude Paine, needed looking after. sadn arenes Wolfe bad been made aware of his friend’s desire to be considered dead by those who knew him in’ America; knew that Claude Paine had received instructions to that effect; and, in bis conversation with Isabel, had dis- covered . .at this much had been attended to. But ho knew, also, that the will for Pearl's benefit w:'s inclosed in with the letter to Paine. Then, wi had it not-come to light? When reached his room at the National Hotel, h©™:rew himself into a chair, and looked thoughtfi'!!+ down at the carpet. ; ““Theré! ‘some mystery here,” he mused, in an underid e, “ Hither this Claude Paine is a rascal, orse I am too hasty in ete my opinions. |’ asty?’ and his brow knit. ‘No, I ani not toasty; Paine must have got the let- terand th: vill some sere a 4 se ; tw i. ample “o eet o the ing. I pe Ti natrs. Hochestine was only ‘acting,’ when she Sofessed ignorance? What if she is in ler’ 80 rob the child? Let me think: what is to i ‘done?” B Wh: he sat there, meditating deeply, nu- merc: footsteps sounded in the entry. Ses one was about to occupy the next room. “hat time shall I knock?” inquired some on’? ‘fuffly, outside. ‘all me in time for the 12:45 train to Balti- me 4,” answered a low pleasant voice. “I will br! ikfast in ‘my room,” and the door closed as th. waiter withdrew. ‘*erey Wolfe did not notice what was tran- s(iring; he was too much absorbed with the “Inplexity occasioned by his visit to Isabel ‘“ochestine. Had be but caught the servitor’s juestions and the answer of the female, he vould have been saved much uneasiness, ‘nxiety and trouble that was in store for him. Arousing at last from his unsatisfactory state he went out again, and sought the theater, as a possible relief of his over-tried brain. But when he retired, at a late hour, the same strain of thoughts came back upon him. He began to feel that some strong, inex- plicable influence was chaining him to this one thing. It seemed to him he must dwell solely on the fact of Claude Paine holding back the will ; and not once, or twice, nor thrice, but a - dozen times he asked himself the questions: -. “QOan it be Mrs. Rochestine would rob the child? Is Claude Paine a villain? How am I to untangle it all?” and after a while, he would half answer: 5 ‘¢] will see this Claude Paine. Let him ex- plain to me. By Heaven! if there is an evil pot afoot, I will prove its ruin, as sure as there is a just God!” ' In the darkness of the room, he lay with his eyes open, staring upward, till his mind became s0 wrought upon that sleep was impossible, In vain he closed his eyelids—they would start open again, and his lips would utter, in spite of him: _ : {shall see Mrs. Rochestine again, to-mor- row, She can tell me where to find this Paine. Yes; there’s something wrong—there must he, I—” He stopped short, with a half-choking ex- clamation, The sound of a woman’s voice had interrupted him. ; Between the two apartments was a door. It, was closed and locked, but in the solemn still- — ness, he heard words of prayer. ; ee inne SAE A EE a L 2 PEARL OF PEARLS. The accents were so earnest, the tone so trem- ulous, thatinstantly he became riveted. The new occupant of the adjoining room was praying for some one—not for herself, as he quickly discovered, and involuntarily he lis- i tened.* ned. ‘ Soon the speaker ceased, and the struggling | i that shone atthe cracks of the door, van- | He was slowly gliding back to the subject of | his unrest, when again he heard the tremulous | voice in the next room. ra “ Poor—poor little Pearl! Ah, how unhappy | = must be, so far away from every one to | ove you. But I will see youonce more, Peari, | before Iam compelled to say good-by forever.’ Perey Wolfe sat upright in bed, and a nervous sensation darted through him. Sleep for that night was now out of the ques- tion. He had heard enough to doubly augment the turbulent condition of bis faculties. He arose, lighted the gas, and filling his meer- schaum pipe. walked rapidly to and fro, with the tobaéco smoke curling in thick clouds around him, as he puffed at a furious rate. ‘* Pearl! Pearl!” he muttered, between whiffs. |, ‘**I wonder if the’Pearl she means is the Pearl I am after? Singular—singular—singular; I’m afraid | won’t: get home at all, it 1 don’t make haste and bring this to a— Now, I wonder if that party has gone to bed in there?” He paused and listened. All was still in the room adjoining. ** Yes, she’s gone to bed, I guess” —resuming his striding; ‘‘Tll see her in the morning, though. ot a clew must be lost—not one, What’s the matter with Pearl? If her Pear} is my Pearl! then'why is she ‘poor little Pear,’ eh? But, Pilseeher in the morning. I'll see Mrs. Rochestiné, too. VIl see Paine—I’ll see everybody! Confound my nervousness!” He refilled the pipe several times, and smoked and smoked till the bow] burnt his fingers; and - his. tongue was sore. But sleep conquered, finally. He never knew how if happened, ’but when the hands of the clock were indicating the hour of two, he sat upon. the sofa, sound asleep, with a confused jumble of incomprehensive matter, flitting and | vortexing in his ‘dreams—causing his hands to | twitch in slumber, and his lips to utter unintel- ligible somethings. / t was an unlucky sleep. CHAPTER XI. PAINE MAKES A DISCOVERY, CLAUDE PAINE wasin excellent spirits when he arrived at his rooms on E street, after re- | turning from the depot. : He dispatched the small colored boy of the house to the restaurant at the corner, to procure. | a bottle of wine; and, sitting’ before the wartno | stove, with limbs elevated to a triangular hori- | zontal on a conyenient chair, be sipped tke | sparkling, contents of his glass; smiled jubi- lantly, and finally broke forth: ’ “*Drink and smile, and learn to think That we were born to smile and drink.' { —Ha! ha! ha! Yes—yes, the plots works well. | The child is out of my way; Isabel Rochestine | will be mine as soon as I can persuade her to | throw aside the infernal ‘black.’ That will | now!-—ah! here it is”—drawing a long, thin | document from his pocket, and setting the wine | glass on the table—'‘ now, I wonder if it is safe | for me to be carrying such a thing? In my | trunk would be better—a deal better. What if | I destroy it?—make an end of itat.once?. Would | that not be safest of all!” | He turned the MS. over and over in his | hands, as if trying to decide what course he | should adopt concerning it, ) While thus engaged, footsteps sounded in the | hail without. Some one was approaching his room. ‘* It's Derrick,” he said to himself, looking ‘up. “Well, Dorsey?” ‘* What luck?” interrogated Derrick, panieg his hat. aside, turning on more gaslight, an then drawing up a chair. , ‘Best in the world—” aa “Everything work off smooth?’ “Couldn’t be better. Cassa was on hand; I purchased their tickets for New York—the child | will be asleep by the time they reach Baltimore; and if she is not, it will make no matter, as she has never been out of Washington, and will : nie ig ed he differnet ee: So, you 28) By d.1s Clear. ve; i oes well. Isa) Rochestine—? } _ “Never mind her. just now; you're all right in that direction, too.” I want pees money."F a i y) , * a ae | knife at one corner, and began o _ Velope with ease. | checked him, The comer was his intimate friend, Dorsey | pal Derrick. He entered without knocking. | had. Det a ae ; 9 You shall have it. How much?’ “ A hundred,” : Paine went to his trunk, and counted outa hundred dollars... Giving it to the other he re sumed his seat with: ‘* What's the matter?, You look as sour.as old milk.” < ‘‘T feel better, now, tapping the money sig- nificantly. ‘‘ Fact is, nvy funds all run out some’ time ago. I got in debt. It’s a principle of mine never to.cheat a man who does mea good : | turn in apinch, sol don’t want to go away with-, out leav , “Yes, I shali leave as soon as possible—with Isabel. I gave Cassa an envelope, star pand directed to a place in Sacramento. Wherever she stops, she’ll get somebodv-to write down her directions, send it to me, and I can supply -her with money. For I must keep her well hushed up, Derrick.” “Yes,” and after a pause, he continued: “Seems to me I’m going to-have rather a bare time of it, following you and ber around. Why, I won't hardly see you.” ° nN 4 ‘Yes you will... Just wait: till we're jnar- squaring up; and as you're going — to cant? ; ' vied, Derrick, and then for sport=lots of yoney,, - and nothing to do!” ; “Mighty lucky for us that you chanced afoul of this. opportunity. - We couldn't have held up much longer on cards—”. ; ‘Don’t mention ity: Derrick.’ Ive sworn: never to stake another cent on curds as Jong as I live.” * ‘‘So've L.” , ; ‘* Stick to it—yes, help yourself.” pigs ‘Derrick had discovered the wine, and ins stantly made a movement. toward it, d “What's thats? be inquired. when he» re- sumed bis seat, iudicating the document which Paine still-held in bis hand, i . ** That’s the will,” ** Rochestine’s?” * Yess? “ Bu’st, her open.” ‘What?’ ’ ‘ Bu’st:- her open,” repeated Derrick. ‘“Why, we never could put it together again! See—it’s got Rochestine’s seal.ou it,” ‘Let me bave it. (mi curious (0 see what the thing says—” ‘You'll spoil it.” ‘No, 1 won’t.”* Derrick took out his pen- knife, |. . . The fire in the stove was roaring: the urn on top, half full of water, was steaming. He held the iarge envelope over the latter, while Paine | watched him in silence. In a few minutes he inserted the blude of the ing the en- But the sealing-wax would. not yield. He eut close and carefully around’ this, and—the will was before them. 4 “Youve rnined it!” 4 * No, | haven’t. When we fix it up again, we can paste the outside onto the inside. T 7H be sume trouble when they open it, that’s all— | why, I thought you didn’t want anybody to see it?” the last suddenly. ‘Neither do I; but—here, what's! this? By Jove! he has incloseda letter to his wife.” There was a smail envelope, direct: to Mrs, Horace Rochestine. Paine immediately appropriated this, wiile Derrick settled himself back in his chair to read _ the will. The letter purported to have bee written by Horace Rochestine, with the last efforts of his expiring strength-——was full of endearing words, unsteadily traced; said that the writer on he had not many. moments to live, ete., ete. Paine siniled as he glanced over the lines, and | muttered: “The infernal h rite! And heis now, no doubt, as lively as fam!” But suddenly he came to a paragraph which held him, caused him to start and @ Simultaneously there came an exclamation _ from Dorsey Derrick. He, too, bad made a dis- coyery of some kind. ‘What's up, Paine?, Found anything?” ‘Found anything? Well, I should think {| é So’ve [—~” , : : _ * Listen to this,” continued Paine, interrunt- ing him. ‘ Here’s trouble in prospect,” and ‘hea read aloud as follows from the letter that wus! now being crunched in his hold: “* * * * * In this will, dear wife, fhavegiven, | nearly all to Pearl. You will have enough—your own j Jee earn and your portion from this, are ample.’ friend ‘of mine, Percy Wolfe by ianle, America, his native home, in a A very intends returning to short time. Iwill acquaint him with what I have ~ *
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yt ’ Paine, Mr. Wolfe will ask after Pearl, and how she enjoys her wealth.” There was much more, such as a dying man would write with his feeble abilities; but Claude Paine went no further. He tore the letter into a hundred pieces, sprung forward, and grasped his companion roughly by | the wrist. * Derrick !|—” ‘* Well, I don’t see anything so extraordinary in that.” ‘*You don’t! Then you lack brain. This man has reached America—is now, this very hour, in Washington—” ‘§ How do you know?” “Because he called yesterday to see Isabel Rochestine! I saw his card. This won’t do— * pever!” | He snatched up his hat and coat, and strode to — the door. : “Hold on, now—” began Derrick. ‘But Claude Paine was gone, He was keenly alive to the danger that menaced him, in the _ presence of Percy Wolfe. Whether Horace Rochestine was dead or not, no difference. He had made Wolfe ac- quainted with the substance of his will—his visit (to the house of Mrs. Rochestine satisfied Paine ' ‘of that—and the latter’s plans were liable to overthrow, at any moment, unless he tock im- ; mediate steps to elude the man who, he judged Ad his fortunate discovery in the letter, was on track. ‘He hurried down Seventh street to Pennsyl- 4 vania avenue, Securing one of the cabs that stood in front of the Reservation, he gave the ; driver his directions, and was soon speeding to- \ ward the house of Isabel Rochestine. 4 And during the ride, his fertile brain was hard at work for the object of his visit was to per- suade Isabel to depart with him, at once, and at every sacrifice. Only one thought, one intent, was uppermost y in his exci mind, and that was, to escape from Percy Wolfe! \ _ After the departure of his associate, Dorsey Derrick reassumed his comfortable ye in chair, and vented an illucid grunt, ‘« He’s wild!” he exclaimed, as he ran his eyes again over tho will; and, after a while, he went on, ina musing strain: ~ ; “Now, the question is: shall I let him know what this important document says? He’s to t ten thousand dollars, eh? for carrying out orace Rochestine’s instructions. If he marries / bel Rochestine, he ’ll get about two hundred = : d fifty thousand, in all—provided that the eta. child, Pearl, doesn’t put in an appearance. But ; he might take it into his head ta act honest and be satisfied with ten? What’s ten thousand dollars among one—much less two! And then / wouldn’t get so much, either. I ¢ better be kept in ignorance, friend marry the widow, by all means. I’m _. widows, I am!” ‘ CHAPTER XII. , OFF ON THE MORROW. tome ROCHESTINE was seated before the owing fireplace, in the gorgeous parlor of her ome—her attitude one of captivating grace, her a ce that of a lovely, almost unearth- ly being, absorbed in random reverie, uncon- scious of all around her—the dart of Cupid pin- . ning in her heart a mystic fire, and weaving heavens of delight within her waking dream. — One elbow rested on the arm of the rich chair; - a - Sot pressed against her crimsoned cheek; and her eyes—those large, lustrous orbs of je eamily into the mass of coals, ; She was attired in plain black, devoid of every i wpe ornament; yet even in this, when nothing ._. simplicity engaged the eye, there were new charms to be discovered by the betrayals of the close-falling dress, in the white neck that out- lined so ; _ throat, in the pure arm, half-e by the — ” sleove, as it supported her beautiful 4 ead. - A strange calm pervaded the atmosphere of the house. : : There was no blaze of light, such as had, here- tofore, made Mrs. Rochestine’s house prominent in that locality during the winter; but a dim, oes uncertain glimmer here and there, or a solemn- teem flame in the large kitchen, where ben) ‘signed even more susceptible to the gloom ae of the hour than she who was alone up-stairs, Mie kPa together and speaking only in an und a ‘ . Presently there was a dull rumble of carriage- wheels on the outside; a vehicle stopped before ; ; . t - ’ one hand—now stripped of its flashing jewels—: gracefully above the sable circle at the | PEARL OF PEARLS: | at tho bell, awakeniug Isabel from | tions, - ‘“ Why, who can that be?’ she asked herself. | IT am expecting no one to-night.” | Ina few moments, a servant entered. “Who is it?” ‘*Mr. Paine, ma’am, is in the other parlor—” **Mr. Paine!—here? I thou— Admit him,” quickly, : | Claude Paine was ushered in. ‘‘Claude! I thought you were in Baltimore | with Pearl?’ He had her in his arms ere she er m “cc Tsabel y? could say more, and was raining kisses on her See lips. e occurred to eatly embarrass me. depot I meta friend. It seems it was a provi- dential meeting, too; for he had been looking for me here, in vain, and was just about to return to New York despairing of being able to find me, Iam called to Sacramento immediately—” “‘ Sacramento!” “ Yes—rather strange that I must goso hastily to the — city you intended visiting, isn’t it? If I could catch the very next train, it would ardly delay an hour. be none too soon, I can Several thousand dollars are involved—so much, in truth, that I could not afford to be the loser, We can go together—” “* Pearl? at did you do with Pearl?’ she asked, breaking in upon his rapid utterances. ‘This friend of mine will take her to the In- stitution. They are long since on their way. He has time, and kindly volunteered the favor. As ores ing: 7 a arranged for her reception beforehand, there will be no difficulty. Now, there isa train going at 6:45 4. m. to-morrow, connecting at the Relay House for the West—” “ Are sure Pearl will have no trouble?) Isabel interrupted, again. _ “Of course Lam! Now, can’ you be ready to 5° with me on the early train, in the morn- ing “This is sudden, Claude. And the hour is so early! I will scarce have time to—” ‘‘ But consider, dearest, how delightful for us to be in each other’s company on the trip. Can’ you possibly arrange matters?” “I might,” hesitatingly, while she still lingered in the embrace of this man who controlled the very pulsations of her heart. “Say that you will, Isabel? Evenif you have to let one or more of the servants remain in charge of the house until you can come back—” ‘‘That I shall never do, Claude. I hate this section, and shall never return to it.” He did not expect this. But his eyes glistened | with a secret satisfaction when he heard it, ed he shifted his ae in order to conceal, a the movement, the effect her speech had on m, “Then, discharge all the servants, pack your trunks, close the house—and I will come back at some time and sell the property for you. De- cide, Isabel; for I have hardly a moment to spare—even for the blisses I find in your face, | form, voice and lips! My carriage is waiting for me at the door, and I must be off.” ~ “T will go, Cla make a many sacrifices it will be so incon: venient. * “ T will try and pay you for the sacrifices, fg “T know you will, dear Claude!” and, after a |second, she added, inquiringly: “Do you re- member there was a gentleman called to see - — after I ordered the house to be clos swered: ** Well, he came again to-day.” “Ho did.” His teeth clinched, and his fingers worked; but she did not notice that her words had made him suddenly and newly nervous. | “He had avery singular object in calling: said Horace had left a will for Pearl’s benefit— it had been intrusted to some party in America. | Did you know anything about it? rs i Why, no!” His exclamation of surprise was well affected; she failed to see how great an effort it cost him to smother the true feelings of his breast, and check the malediction upon Percy Wolfe, that was at his tongue’s end. “It is very singular,” he said. ‘‘Have you gone of it before?” se oO. “ Be assured, if there is such a will, it will ap- pear soon—” ; “That is precisely what he said.” “Let us quietly await the issue of a prophecy, and meantime, think of other things.” And then, though the carriage waited, though ae ted to be, Isabel; but, something has | At the! ude. But I will have te’ Yes.” He looked at her keenly as he an- | one; and, though I have every confidence fn Claude | the house. Then came: a quick, impatient pull | he had declared the short limit of time at his dis- ta- | posal, he lingered awhile with the woman who was worshiping him with a mad, wild love— whose soft lips would seem so full of sweets that, unless dead to thesubtler passions which give to | nature its soul, he could notlive a moment away | from their magnetic pressure—whose arms clung round his neck: when, at last, he started to ie until it would seem impossible to sunder em. As the carriage rolled away from the house of Isabel Rochestine, bearing Claude Paine back to his rooms on E street, the villain sat u right on his seat, struck his knee a blow with his hard- shut fist, and exclaimed: ‘Capital! Capital! None too soon! He is after me!—and will miss me. Hal ha! ha! Stir yourself, Mr, Perey Wolfe!—for you are hunting a wane whose wits have been its suste- ae or the last ten years. Beat me if you can But his uneasiness of a short time before had away. It was a new excitement that red him now-—a feeling of triumph, in the knowledgo that he was about to escape Percy Wolfe; he had allayed any suspicions that might have arisen in Isabel’s mind; he would soon defy the pursuit of the man he ¢onsidered his sworn foe, from that hour; all this tending to the mature development of his plans, and a con- summation of his desires. CHAPTER XIII. WHY DO THEY WANT PEROY WOLFE? We have said that Percy Wolfe’s sleep was an unlucky one. It. was broad daylight when he awoke—any thing but early—when, witha jerk and a spring, he started from the lounge, and stood rubbing eyes. Such a sleep as his had been was worse than none at all; for he was .tired, -like, weak, and suffering with a dull pain in the head, which,. now and then, almost made him cross- eyed, and strained the nerves of the tasked orbs, until they seemed ner to break. Yawning. and sour looking, he made a.care- less toilet; though while engaged at it, he was thinking none the less of the mysterious occu- pent of the adjoining room, her significant ut- rances, his resolution to see her and ascertain exactly who she meant when she made use of the name that was just then implicated in the perplexities of his own bewildered mind, - e felt that he was about to tread upon the most delicate limits to eee: perhaps would meet with a reception which the seeming impu- dence of his action would merit; but, e circumstances, he did not hesitate. He was resolved upon sifting the matter which troubled him, was determined to look after the interests of Pearl Rochestine—the child of his beloved friend who, he shuddered to be- lieve, had long ago been a subject for dissection in some medi institute in London; and, to carry out his resolution, he deemed it necessary to find out whether the party in the next room, in her allusions to ‘‘ Pear],” meant Pearl Roches bots if so, why Pearl should be an object to pity. 5 e made a hasty meal at the breakfast tabl and returned to his apartment. Then he selled bn rena and began walking, uneasily, to and fro. “Come in,” he answered to the knock of the servant who attended his summons; And he added: “ Will hey take my card to the lady who occupies the first room to the left of this, on the same side? ‘Tell her I desire an interview. Tell her it is very important. Tell her that much i, on her granting it, ‘There—hurry!” 6 handed his card to the man. But the servant stood still and looked at him. © Well, what are you staring at? Hurry, I say! “Dar ain’t nobody in dar, boss.” “What?” ‘** Nobody dar.” ) ‘“Nobody there! What do you mean?” be- ginning to grow excited. Py heat “De young lady’s done left.” \ “Left? Gone? You—” “Yes, sar; lef’ ten minutes ago—while you’s at breakfas’, I thinks.” Wolfe groaned. The sensation that seized upon him at this announcement is impossible to describe. For a second he gazed blankly into the ebon countenance before’ him; then he wheeled around, and strode up and down, while the-as- tonished looker-on wondered what ailed him. “Waiter!—you may go—stop: tell them to
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make out my bill at the office. Tl be down to pay it-in five minutes—” ‘‘ Yes, sar,” slightly partaking of the other’s excitement. ; : ‘Stop: order me a cab—” grasping him by the arm. ‘“Yes, sar!” while his short wool actually seemed to untwist and straighten, and the whites of his eyes expanded. pStap; then come back and carry down my “ Yes, sar!” “ Fly y? “Yes, sar—I flies !” The waiter vanished. Wolfe hastened to pack his trunk, throwing - boots, boot-jack, comb and brush, dressing-gown, blacking-box—all these into a confused mass, eareless of consequences, meanwhile running his nervous fingers through his hair till each fiber stood distinctly onend. - ‘ When the waiter returned, the trunk was ready. Wolfe preceded him, paid his bill at the office, and rushed out to the waiting cab. To the driver’s surprise, he was ordered up- town, instead of to the depot. ‘ Paying the servant who had assisted him, he was soon speeding toward the residence of Mrs. Rochestine. To his utter astonishment, he found the house closed. Everything about it looked gloomy and deserted. it oy In vain he pulled the bell, glanced up at the windows, up and down the street, descended the steps, reascended them, me the bell again —no use: that it was unoccupied he was forced, at last, to realize. : And the driver of the cab, easily perceiving his excitement, was half inclined to consider him a lunatic. , It had been Wolfe’s intention to first see Isabel Rochestine, and ascertain the whereabouts of Claude Paine. This settled so that he could find |. the man, he would next go to see Pearl. Mrs. Rochestine had told him that Pearl was at Ingleside, He knew the place well—both by letters he had received from friends in America, d by having heard Horace Rochestine wen- ion it as the very place he would have liked to send his child, had he but thought of it before engaging a governess. anting to know if the words uttered by the Btn occupied the room next to’ him at the otel involved Pearl Rochestine, he would go to Ingieside, and, if their object of interest was identical, he would, perhaps, see her there—for he had heard her say she would see Pearl once more—-and might have additional reason for facing Claude Paine, to demand an tion of the latter’s behavior. But Mrs. Rochestine had disappeared. Claude Paine’s directions could not be learned. The quandary was rather overwhelming. There was but one course remaining: To Ingleside! He re-entered the vehicle, and ordered the driver straight to the depot, bidding him “go like mad;” for he hoped he might catch the Reap train : When he glanced at his watch, though, he gave up this hope. He did not, however, desire the man to slacken his speed. The sudden disa rance of Isabel Rochestine furnished fresh food for troublesome wonderment, and greatly increased his nervous- ness. The rattling of the windows, rumble of the wheels, and swaying, jolting motion of the eab, as the horses were urged on ata swift pace, rather enlivened his condition. Let us state here that the occupant of the room adjoining Percy Wolfe’s at the hotel, was no other than Pearl’s foverpess Miss Byrne. When she left Mrs. Rochestine’s house, she searce knew where to go for the night and ac- eepted the first thing which suggested to her mind—to take a room at ‘The National,” and go over to Ingleside on the morrow, She had purchased a ticket for Baltimore on the 12:45 train, and when Percy Wolfe reached the depot that train had gone. He must then wait until three o’clock. And while Wolfe had been riding toward the house of Isabel Rochestine, two men were over- hauling the ‘‘ Book of Arrwals” on the National Hotel counter. 5 They were sober-looking, muscularly-built, heavily-whiskered men, with keen eyes, obsery- ant glance, and business-like apDERTAAD, One was short, the other was tall; both were busy reading the names in the list. F “Told you so!” exclaimed one, presently, in tone. , ‘ Right.” Bs “Here heis. He might have made better use i ef his week's start of us.” * ‘*Prercy WoLFE,” read off the taller of the two from the page, hey ‘‘ Shall we come down on him!” ‘“Right-away!” «- : The short individual turned to the clerk: “Will you please haveus shown up to No. —?” The clerk stared a moment. “There’s nobody up there, sir, _He’s just this minute left, trunks and all.” ~ The two exchanged disappointed glances. ‘Perhaps he’s gone on the 12:45 train—there’s twenty minutes yet'to catch it, if it’s important, and you know him when you see him?” ‘“No ’e: didn’,” said the waiter, who had as- sisted Perey, who happened, just then, to ‘be near the counter, ‘‘I hear ’im tell the drivah to go to No. —, —— street, N. w.” Another interchange of looks between the two men. And, evidently, they were accustomed to act upon the mere expression of the eye, for ee simultaneously and hurried out. h hailed acab. The tall man gave his | driver the directions he had received from the hotel waiter, and was whirled off. The short man ordered “To the depot,” and offered a five-dollar bill if he could catch the 12:45 train. But they missed their game, And, within half an hour, Perey Wolfe was walking the platform, puffing vigorously at his meerschaum, swaying calm himself, and ut- terly unconscious of the fact, that two men were following his trail for a mysterious purpose, CHAPTER XIV. THE FIRST SCENT OF DANGER, WHEN the cars wound out around the broad eurve, and the locomotive sounded its loud, hoarse, shrieking whistle, Pearl felt as if she had, indeed, been torn away from everything | dear which the earth contained for her, The child had mastered her emotion so far as toconceal it from those around her—it would not do to ery, when so many pairs of strange | ed upon her; but the woe, the | eyes. were agony in her heart, was only redoubled by this fearful strain; for when the nature is crushed by sorrow, tears are the dewy liquid that balms the aching wound. It cost a superhuman effort; but the heaven- ly blue eyes were clear, and the face, though pale, was even more angelic in its mild, sweet outline of appearance. Cassa was silent as she. The negress sat next the window, gazing out at the open scene now fast vanishing under the mantle of night; and Pearl was busy trying to read the half-averted, stoic face, and wondering who its owner was. . Cassa had made good use of the funds given her by Claude Paine, She was plainly but substantially dressed, and looked very nice and clean. When the conductor came along, the tickets passed through Pearl’s hands to him, As she handed them back to Cassa, she gazed t the latter in surprise. ““What’s de matter?” demanded Cassa, blunt- ly, putting the tickets in her pocket. “Why, those tickets are for New, York! I thought we were going to Baltimore?” “So we is,” y 3 saa what do we want tickets to New York ‘or “Dunno. Guess he doné made mistake.” The young girl thought it strange that Mr. Paine should make such a very great mistake, and she bogny questioning herself mentally. ‘“Open de pocket-book,” said Cassa, present- ly. Tirus reminded of what Paine had given her at the depot, Pearl drew forth the portemonnaie and opened it. It was filled with greenbacks. The eyes of the negress glistened as she beheld the contents. aries ed roll mnrwed with an ‘ X’,” said earl, extracting a portion. “Dat’s mine — gimme,” exclainted Cassa snatching it quickly. ; at remained was counted over, and found to amount to fifty dollars, with a few one-dollar bills for convenient change. . ie lemme keep it,” advised Cassa, ou “Yes, Keep it safe for you, honey.” | ““Why,-don’t you suppose J know how to take care of money? I sha’n’t do any thing of the kind,” and she added, as she restored the portemonnaie to_her pocket: ““T dont know ou, except that Mr. Paine said that you would ke me to Ingleside. And if we are going out there in the aoa I guess no one will rob me between now and then.” . Pa: ys = ae _ vie We :* i eri | in g at her heart-strings. She did not eit oe. ‘Cassa said no more. The whole of the re- maining journey was gone over in silence. As Paine had promised. himself, Pear] went to sleep ere they reached Baltimore. But, it was only because of the gloom which enshrouded her, aided a the unsociable presenee of her companion, that she did so. Paine’s idea, however, that Cassa would go straight through to New York—as he had bid- ane errick to instruct her—was a wrong one. hen they arrived at the Camden station, she roused her charge, and the two left the cars — with other Baltimore passengers. “Where are we going for to-night?” asked Pearl, as they hurried along the platform to- ward the entrance, But Cassa evaded the question, by uttering an unintelligible something, and Pearl did not re- peat her a ae hi They proceeded a long distance after leaving the depot; were entering the lower sections of South Baltimore. Pearl saw no'signs of a hotel—nothing but an occasional gr0g-shop, a dim street light, rickety- looking buildings; and, at last, they were moving in an atmosphere whose odor suggested filth and disease. ‘““Where are we going?’ she demanded, be- ginning to feel uneasy as well as tired. ‘* Be dar presen’ly,” replied Cassa. She turned into a.dark, narrow, treacherous- ly-paved alley as she spoke, while Pearl kept close beside her, as if the surroundings’ had already wrought a fear Within her, when the protection of her unsociable, blunt-spoken com- panion was better than none at all. square further. Something was pull- é ike Cassa’s brief, unsatisfactory speeches; and even her limited knowledge of a community told her that there could be no fit place in this deserted, pauseous-aired vicinity for a young girl to stop over night. Suddenly, Cassa halted before what was, cer- tainly, the best house in the row—a two-story brick; though even this was dingy and unin. Half a | viting on the exterior. In answer to Cassa’s summons, the door was eee by a negress of about her own age, and the two spoke simultaneously. “ Sis’ Chlo!” “Cassa—dat you? De Lor’ bless my soul! Come in!” i . Cassa took hold of Pearl’s hand, and the child —astonished, awed, wondering—permitted her- self to be led in. : F It was a small room, scantily furnished, car- petless, with smeared walls, and a dilapidated stove in one corner, whose pipe had more joints than a supple-jack. “Who dat?’ asked Chlo, “Sh!” Cassa made a significant motion; and the other female turned to gaze on Pearl, with rolling eyes. ; The young girl scarce knew why, but asudden . realization of something wrong burst w an inward monitor awoke a preying her bosom. For one second she looked at them; then, with her heart in her throat, she turned to flee. . Both the women tried to intercept her. But she was too quick. At one wrench, her small hands tore open the door, and she darted out, With an angry ery, Cassa sprung forward in sents. She saw the small figure only a short istance ahead of her, flying at its utmost speed; but she smiled grimly as she saw, also, she could overtake it in a few seconds. ; At the corner was a liquor den, As the ne- ess dashed up, a number of men came out of is. “ Hello, here, you hag! What are you chas- ing that ‘girl “a the arm. ‘* Le’ go me!” she snarled. Quick as a flash, she dealt hima blow between the eyes, and he reeled backward. Ere the others could act, she was gone round the corner, whither she bud seen the child turn. hoy But Pearl had escaped her pursuer. Gliding into an alley on the opposite side of the street, she turned again into another that crossed it, running with unabated speed—turning finally, when she came out on another of the principal streets—and on, still on. She looked around her, in vain, for a police- man. She had not met a wage soul during her flight. Then she looked back, to see if was near, and a sigh of relief and joy eseaped her lips, as she thought she had escaped the Tess, py i jingling bell attracted her. »A car of the Blue Line was coming toward her, and. re- solved to enter it. But it was a full square off, and she yet felt herself indanger. — her, rror in : \ . “as tea es Die) Mies aes a ~ Pm ‘et ede @ me _ a. orf’ cried one, grasping her by
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+ P freer; for she knew she must be - Iv had been a good é i ec: Running across the street, She waited, in the deep shadow of a high stone step; and when the carcame up, she got into it. Atter she bad ridden along way, she breathed safe. She asked herself what she should do, Anda long time passed, as she sat there in one corner, after paying her fare, trying to decide upon a course. “Tl go to some hotel,” she resolved, at dena ‘and ra go back to mamma to-morrow. I’m sure there’s something wrong—that colored woman isn’t what she seemstobe. I’m sure I’ve escaped from something awful.” She stopped the car, and got out. ; But the locality in which she found herself wasa good distance north of Baltimore street, and was almost as deserted as that from which she had come; though some of. the houses were ‘ imposing, and she knew it was a respect- very able neighborhood. ; ‘Why didn’t I ask the man on the car to di- rect me?’ she exclaimed, as she stood, irresolute, on one of the corners. She was utterly at a loss what to do. And even as she gave vent to the words, a hand fell upon her shoulder, CHAPTER XV. THE FLIGHT—THE SURPRISE. To keep her promise to be ready to depart with Claude Paine, in the early morning train Isabel must needs make the most of her limi aT time, As soon as her lover was gone, she set to work —retiring to her room; and summoning her, waiting-maid, who gazed in astonishment, when her mistress said: “Work fast with me, now, Jane; I am going away to-morrow morning ;” proceeding to throw open the tops of her trunks as she spoke, and setting the example of her order. “Going away!” exclaimed Jane, amazedly. “Yes—at five or six’o’clock. Hurry, now. Don’t stand there !—assist me.” The two worked diligently, and slowly the trunks began to fill. “Law! why, what are you going to do about the house, Mrs. Rochestine?” ‘Shut it up,” half-panted Isabel, as she con- tired to pack and pack. “Shut itup! My!—and what about the serv- ants, ma’am?” “Discharge them,” briefly. shawls, Jane!” “Yes, ’m.” Jane’s face became very sober when she Jearned that she was about to lose her situation. | place to her, and she realized | how difficult would be the task to find another | like it. She was gravely silent as she aided her | ‘*Those lace | mistress. — The hours passed. It was one o’clock, when Ysabel drew along breath, and sat down, ex- hausted. The last trunk was buckled and zt “One!” tolled a bell, on the still night-air, “There! Now, Jane, go wake up the servants. T ought to have thought sooner, and told thera not to ite bed.” _ “Wake up the servants, ’m?” “Yes—hurry.” Jane departed on her errand, and Isabel ob- tained a few moments of rest. ' Then she arose and went to her bureau-drawer. From this she took out’a number of notes, and counted them over. - “ Not enough,” she said to herself. “I must _ give the poor creatures sufficient to keep them until they can get new places.” jae Descending to the parlor, where the Meron was still burning dimly, she went to the little _ desk on the table in the corner, and obtained | go close therefrom an additional amount. ‘Returning to her room, she found Jane await- ing her, with the five servants of the house, all staring, gaping, wondering. “ Come my side, Jane;” and while Jane handed out the portions of money which her mistress counted to each servant, Isabel worked and talked at once—telling them of her pre their posed d ure, complimenting them on faithfulness in the past, and expressing hopes that they might not be long without employ- ment, The money was received with many thanks, but all wore sorrowful countenances at pros- pect of losing a mistress who had ever treated vhem kindly. a te ernie areapt npn cn s, m PEARL’ OF PEARLS. did; and after lingering awhile, they withdrew to make ready for their going. ‘* Now, Jane, my traveling snit—and sachel.” While engaged in the last task of dressing ' for the journey, she gave Jane funds to dis- burse in payment of sundry little bills. By 4 A. M. she was in the parlor, tired, worn, sleepy, nervous, waiting for a cup of hot coffee, which Jane was preparing for her. When the maid returned with a waiter of tempting refreshments, which her spry hands | had gotten up in an incredibly brief space, they conversed upon final matters. “You will lock up the house, Jane, after I am gone—I have confidence in you.” “ Yes, mm.” ‘* And take the key to your home.” “ Yes, ’m.” ‘*T will write:to you, and tell you where to send the key.” ‘“‘ Yes, ’m; you can depend on me, m’am.” The servants were in the hall, bag and bag- gage. oe feet and a bumping, dragging sound, told that they were bringing down Isa- bel’s trunks. r ; The door was closed, and their voices mur- mured discordantly in the ears of the one who had, with such consummate skill—though not without a cost of strength—accomplished sq much in so short a time. The express wagon came for the trunks in due time; and soon afterward the cart for the servants’ baggage was secured. There were final adieux between mistress and menials; and there would have been a ‘‘ scene,” had not Isabel, forced to it by her already over- strained nerves, abruptly left them, after once more wishing them a prosperous future. Claude Paine was promptly on hand at the ap- inted hour. By 6:50 4. M. the lovers were in he cars, steaming over the road. — , But, to Isabel’s surprise, they did not alight for a change at the Relay House. \ And, in answer to her inquiry, he said: * | Wt have concluded to take the 8:50 Pp. M. train for St. Louis, from Baltimore. It will prove pe A plan, in the end.” “And I have had all my hurry and flu rry; then, for nothing! That’s unkind, Claude!” — “Perhaps I can atone, in some way.” But she did not dream that his only object in hurrying her away from Washington at that unseemly hour was bo escape Percy Wolfe, the man he feared and hated as the friend of Horace Rochestine, When they reached Baltimore, they took the coach for Barnum’s. While Paine went to register, and secure two rooms, and Isabel waited in the reception-room, she noticed a man pass the door, look in at her, | then repass, looking in again. : When Paine returned, she said to him. ‘Claude, what have we done, that we should be watched?” ‘ ‘Watched?’ “Yes. We have been under surveillance | ever since leaving Washington.” **Tmpossible!” “No, it is true. Iam sure of it. There was a man had his eyes on us at the depot; in the | cars he sat near us, and now and then would | glance at us slyly; and, not five minutes ago, | he that door twice, looking in both times, | as if to be sure I. was here. What can it | mean?” ‘ “T will see, if I can.” Paine when out into the hall. Dorsey Derrick was standing near the balus- | trade. ‘Keep further off, man!” he exclaimed, go- ing up to him. |‘ Confound it! she suspects that we are dogged by somebody. Don’t come “ All right,” said Derrick! ‘‘I won't.” Paine re-entered the apartment. ‘ ‘“‘T saw no one, Isabel— Ah! here’s the ser- vant, to show you to your room, Your trunks will be sent up, if you wish—” “Oh, itis hardly necessary, if we are to start away again to-night. I will dine inmy room— with you.” . ; “With me,” he repeated, acquiescingly; and added, as she followed the waiter: “Try and get/a little nap before dinner. You need it.” , When. she had gone, Paine sought out Der- | rick, and the two, lighting cigars, walked down - Baltimore street, to converse upon the situa- tion of their affairs. As they were about to enter Barnard’s wine- _Now, more than ever, did they grieve over | store, for a sociable drink, Paine suddenly felt the death of Mr. Rochestine, for the uences. hev, were to he ready to leave’ when she | : \ looked | “upon this sudden breaking-up as one of the con- | some one plucking at bis sleeve. P He turned to encounter—the black face of Cassa, the negress; and at sight of her, could not suppress an exclamation of astonishinent. —— i an ae | back to the hotel, where ~ ‘' CHAPTER XVI.’ t NOW YOUVE GOT HIM—NOW YOU HAVEN'T! 1 tall man and the short man, who were in pursuit of Percy Wolfe, had been thrown off the scent by the latter’s very unconsciousness of — 5 qecomntons, 2 erhaps, own of what was rogress ing—that the two were so closely and signifi- cantly pursuing him—he would have ‘gone straight to the depot from the hotel to elude them—whoever they were, or whatever they wanted—for, under the existing state of affairs, he would not be detained by any thing in his resolution to go at once to Ingleside, where he would probably meet the party whose utter- ances had accidentally ¢aused hi/; much excite- . ment. The short man caught the 12:45 train, after a hard run, just as it was going out. For some time he remained on the rear plat- form of the last car, to recover his breath. Then he adjusted his collar, shook himself and prepared for “‘ business ;” for, notwithstand- ing the words of the servant at the National, he believed that the person he sought was on that train. ‘ Hirst, he drew forth a long, slim pocketbook. From this hé extracted a card photograph; and at the latter he gazed hard for several seconds. Restoring the articles to his breast et, he nodded his head in a satisfied way, entered the car, and began walking slowly along the aisle. Every passenger was subjected to a momen- tary serutiny by those small, sharp, piercing eyes.. But he did not find the one he wanted. The next car was gone through in the same way; and soon, until he reached the baggage- car. Then he retraced his steps, darting those keen, searching glances on every side, When he again stood on the platform, be frowned, disappointedly. ‘* Not here, sure,” he ted. “Its too bad if we've lost him, after all the trouble we’ve had following him up! Just as we were about clap hands on bim, too. Bah!” .! At the first opportunity, he found.time to tel- egraph to the office of {the National Hotel, in ashington; after which he took a seat in the smoking-car, to cogitate. The, tall man was soon before the door of Mrs. Rochestine’s house, But he saw that it was un- occupied, and concluded that he had either re- ceived the wrong direction, or the ‘bird had fown:”” |... After lingering awhile, he ordered’ the driver he walked, uneasily, back and. forth, before the telegraph window, awaiting to hear from his partner ; tor he knew that the latter, if he caught the train, would send word here of his success. “Ts there any thing here for Neal Hardress?” he a&kked, at length. : “Neal Hardress?” repeated the man. “Neal —yes; there’s something coming in now.” ‘Ah!” His face brightened, > “Wait a moment, please.” And, when the message was received, he asked: “ Are you the gentleman?” ‘*Yes. Let me hear it.” / The message was brief, disappointing, inter- rogative, as follows: “* Smoking-car, 12:45 ; tof Ou thia train. Shall Leake 9 oar os back, | or wait at depot? Telegraph to Ty: ? “Kirk BRanp.”’ The tall man immediately telegraphed to. th Relay House, to intercept aa a ow meio = “Goon. Meetme at depot.” — For something whispered to him that the man they wanted was no longer in Washington. hen he ordered a cab, and was driven to the depot, intending to take the 8 o'clock train, As he loitered on the platform, he noticed a party who was walking rapidly to and fro, puff- ing clouds of smoke from a meerschaum pipe, At first he paid him no particular attention; but, at one time, the smoker came quite close, befors he turned, and, by force of habit, the tall man bestowed a scrutinizing glance upon him: Instantly he started, looked again and. closer; then he drew a photograph out of bis pocket, wet cipro his glances between this and—Perey V olfe. Tn a moment his k eye caught sight of a ic | faint scar halt-hidden by a newly encouraged | beard; and in another ' smile settled on his face, as he muttered: moment a complacent ‘* May I never cage a rescal as Jong as'I live, if here isn’t the very bird I’m after! That’s Percy Wolfe, (ii swear it! And I’m Neal Har: dress, detective. Um!—’m! If Kirk was only here now !> But, P guess : he gees on the rext
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PEARL OF PEARLS. = | 4g train—and if he does, we'll nab him in Balti- }° wee his ept near to his spo’ movement made by Percy ‘the watchful detective. _When Wolfe bought his ticket the other was right bebind him... And Neal Hardress felt: re- beg 8 a Sniem uneasiness that had come upon when he saw that the young man was a no further than Raltlenaees game, Not a olfe was lost by ultantly, as he dogged the motions of his-man. ‘* Just wait till we reach, Baltimore, my fino fel- low, and you'll see something to astonish you.” When olfe took a seat, Neal. Hardress oc- cupied the next one in his rear. hen the young man sought the smoking-car, to relight his pipe, and find comfort in its fumes, the detective followed, produced a Havana, and from an 9 ae seat, calmly watched and waited, while he. puffed the scented clouds of bluish white around his head, On one finger Wolfe wore a magnificent clus- ter-diamond ring. This was the final argument to convince Ni that he was not mis- taken; for, the moment, its wearer drew off his glove, the detective exclaimed, mentally: “The very ring Herod Dean was seen to wear a hundred times!” : But Percy Wolfe never once dreamed of the surveillance being putupon him. As the reader knows, his whole mind was absorbed witb the entanglements that were crossing his mission in that. vicinity. When the train arrived at the Camden station “Got him, sure!” thought the detective, ex- the first thing Neal ress saw was his part- ner, Kirk Brand. _ He signaled him at once. ‘‘ What’s up?’ asked Brand, as he joined him, for he saw that ssmeant caution, by the motion he made. “We've got him!” was the whispered reply, as he hurried his companion along. **Bh¢ No! here is he?” “There!” Percy Wolfe wore a heavy, dark-blue over- coat, with a velvet collar; a pe of light cloth pants;a black, low-crowned hat; and carried a small leather sachel. To such a personage, just ahead of them, Hardress pointed. ‘*Ts that him?” interrogated Brand. “For certain! I’ve had my eyes on bim ever since I reached the depot, where I went after answering your telegram.” “Sol What now, then?” ‘“* Gobble him!” ** Now ?here?” : é “Right away! You ne one side, and Ill grab the other. After him!” The two stepped briskly forward. Suddenly the individual with the satchel was startled by the fall-of a heavy hand on each shoulder, while Hardress growled in his ear: “Halt! You are a prisoner!” With a cry of astonishment the party turned. And the two detectives echoed that ery, with a simultaneous exclamation—for the man was not Percy Wolfe ! They were baffled again. CHAPTER XVII. BROTHER AND SISTER, PERcy Woxrs, on leaving the cars, hastened out at the main entrance of the cept where he was immediately secured for the Fountain Ho- tel, faders = ara negro who My — by the we as ief. Jus- tice of a the Porteral® ne g : Any one who has traveled to any extent in the South knows the ‘‘ Chief”—the man who has lifted more trunks, knows more of depot life, is a better hand at drawing custom, can talk londer and longer, is more polite, and has more friends than any other member of hisown race connected with R. R. affairs. But Wolfe didnot remain long in his room at the Fountain, - The best part of the afternoon was before him, and much could be accomplished in that time. After a hearty meal he set out for Catonsville to visit. Ingleside; and in due time, he reached that admirable institution. ; Imagine his astonishment when be learned that Pearl Rochestine was not there, never had _ been, nor was such a pupil expected at all. But his heart gave a bound when he heard that there was another, at that moment, in the building, who had come upon an errand similar to his own. ’ } * A lady ?—~a—” “ Yes,” was the reply. } . her to him, and This must be the mysterious party whom he sought, the one whose utterances, on the night previous, contained so great an import to him. He could hardly be patient. He must see her at once—and requ: this. Then, when the ‘messenger came back with the announcement that the lady had left for the station, just as he came in, his anxiety to be off was such that he stuttered and stammered the necessary apologies, and finally ran from the reception room to his conveyance, which was waiting outside, ‘* Back !—back to the station!” he cried. “ Ply your whip, boy! Go!” , And the horses started at a tearing pace, while Percy Wolfe fidgeted nervously from side to side on his seat. ; Three-quarters of the distance had been gone over when the boy asked, ‘‘ do you want tocateh the next car to town, Mister?” sc Yes. ” “Then we haven’t got much time.” “ Goitar eaiea therboy ‘ Percy displayed is!” ye e as Pere an additional dollar. ms f i! The whip was laid on till the horses broke in- to a gallop. Among several passengers who were waiting, there was one female. She seemed anxious to avoid observation stcod to one side, and he marked that her head was hung in thought. S “That's her!” fell involuntarily from his lips. But now that the i ot party was before him, half his fiery impulse deserted him. He stopped short within a few feet — hart he \ The young lady was Miss Byrne. been to Ingleside, and, like Perey Wolfe had been, was astounded when she learned that Pear] was not there, and was not expected. She knew not what to make of it. And this was the enigma which absorbed her as she mused on, unconscious of the form that was near her. After awhile, and just as Wolfe liad made up his mind to address her, she raised her eyes. Some magnetic power drew her Are directly to him, and their glances met. was not a momentary glance—they looked fully at each other, as if mutually held by a strange, inex- plicable influence. \ He was first to speak. With a slightly flushed face, he advanced. ‘* Madam, or miss, I hope you will pardon me, but I—I—” he broke short. : That influence was weird and overwhelming. As he gazed into the expressive gray eyes, that were fastened on his face, there was a fas- cination weaving its network through his senses, a something warm and nameless thrilled in his veins, and he could say no more. _ , Suddenly she saw the scar which had been Neal Hacdresta clew. Her eyes widened; her re Y moved—there was a faint articulation which he could not hear. He never experienced such sensations, in all his life, as shot through him then, while some- thing tugged at his brain as if to unlock the sleep of a half- buried memory. In this woman there was a familiari struck, puzzled him; a magnetism whic his efforts at sélf-control, and he began to trem- which ble. “Who are you?—tell me,” gasped Miss’ Byrne. e could not answer. His tongue refused its office. He couldonly gaze into her eyes, as if chained by a mesmeric spell. ‘Where did you get “That ?’ pointing to the sear. ‘‘ Won’t you speak?” She seemed regardless of the curious glances leveled on her from the crowd of bystanders. Her lips were quivering, her bosom heaved, one hand clenched convulsively, and while her body bent slightly forward, bn ahi was a soulful ex- pectancy written in her face, ‘“‘Where—where did you get that?” “ Miss, I—it is an old mark—I got it when I was a boy,” he stammered, hardly knowing what he said. 7 “And your name? Tell me your name?’ she whispered, quickly, her breath coming in short, panting jerks, asshe took a step nearer, with her dilated eyes niveted burningly into his. ‘*My—my name is Wolfe—” on Percy? Percy?” she screamed. ‘Yes. : There was asharp'cry, and she reeled dizzily. But ere she fell upon the support of the strong arm that was outstretched to save her, she ‘re- covered herself, and threw herself wildly on his breast—while he, bewildered, amazed, yet still with that strange feeling in his heart, caught Aooked down into the excited, eager face, , defied. *Percy! Percy! don’t ae know me? oh! don't you know who I am “Know you#—I—” “Dear, dear Percy!—don’t you know! oh! have you SY be me?—forgotten Nellie!— your little Nellie!” . “ NELLIE!” He uttered the one word with a gasping, chok- ing breath, and his whole frame quivered in an overwhelming joy—for he recogn her now. Fifteen years went from his mind, quick as an electric flash. ; He saw a sister, nearly ten years old, with whom,he used to romp the lawn, soir in the old- fashioned swing, go a- fishing, cull flowers, roam the woods, and love with the ardor of his honest nature, And that very scar upon his face was the re- sult of a fall from an apple tree, in the well-re- membered orchard, while plucking the fruit to throw into the apron of the merry girl be- neath him. It all came back to him—those halcyon days of youth, when every hour of life was painted like a dream. | “Sister! sister Nellie!” he burst forth, while it would have done you’ good to see the tears — Sak in his handsome brown eyes as he folded er ea in his embrace; “‘Is it, is it you, Nellie “Percy! Percy!” she sobbed. name arose to her lips as she had been wont to utter if when a child; and Jaughing and crying, almost hysterical in this unexpected joy, she nestled elose to the brother who come back to her after so many long, long years. CHAPTER XVIII. IN PERIL. WHEN the heavy hand fell on Pearl’s shoul- der, as she stood at the vow | corner, glanc right and left, and undecided what to do, her first feeling was that she had been traced there by the negress,and a cry of fear arose to her lips, while she sprung backward to escape the dreaded hold, , : But it was not Cassa. She saw a rough-look- ing. man, with hat ve wa down. over ee I nothing was distinguishable but a littering eyes, and an indistinct outline of a ristling-bearded countenance. a “What’s the matter, sis? Did 1 skeer yer?” ‘* Yes,” said Pearl, timidly. ““Who are. you? What made you catch hold of me in that way? I don’t know you.” ; “Well, I tho’t I mout do. y’a favor, that’s all,” explained the man. “I see ye’re a wid lonesome-lookin’ gal like, an’ yer was p in’ roundjer ’s if ye’d lost yersel’—” “gt ‘** And so [ have,” interrupted Pearl. ‘Have, eh? That’ere’s a pity.” “Can’t you help me, sir?” a“ Me qr? : “Yes. Lama stranger here, and I do not know which way toturn. I want to go to aho- tel—some good hotel.” . “A hotel?” i. “Yes, Won't you show me the way?’ _ “Will I? Why, bless yer heart! yes—’l—if ver Areal a ry : ie val ted Pearl «Why? ‘ aid of you?” repea earl, “Cause Pri 60 dirty lookin’—” ‘Oh, that don’t make any difference. If you'll just show me, that’s all I ask; and—and—if you want money, [ can pay you.” Unseen by Pearl, for his face was half avert- ed, he rolled his tongue against one cheek, and her steadfastly from under the shadow of the broad-brimmed hat. ‘““Why, bless yer heart, little ‘un! JZ don’t wen ea o Pied eee nm You oi toit. Now, © ¢e on, me, V’ll take yer ftile-faes oper in vo ima FH Ee Pearl believed that the man spoke honestly, and she followed at his side, when_he started off. “What's yer name, little gal!” when they had traversed a whoie square in silence. “Pearl,” she answered. “Pearl? Well, now, that ere isa purty name. Any other?’ ‘**Pearl Roch— Never mind my other name.” ae hardly knew why it was she checked her- self, , The man asked no more questions. uare after square was gone over, and still no signs of stopping. Her conductor strode si- lently on. 1 phe was very, very tired; and at last she said: “T puess we must be pretty near there. [ - hope so.” Yes—be there purty soon, now,” returned a the man. “But it struck her that the locality in which as the loved ~ re -
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: + 4 the y re they were was as evil looking as fhe one to which Cassa had taken her—no sign of the promised hotel, and, instead, again the occa- sional dram-shop, with dimly-lighted window, and sounds of coarse revelry within. |. Having experienced this kind of thing so re- cently, and stillin a natural fear for her safety, her suspicions were not long in being aroused. Had she but known that she was on the no. torious Douglass street, with its pits of vice, its brothels, gaming-bells, and all that accumulates in filth and wickedness where the lost beings and outlawed offal of a community seek refuge in airs of shame! Poor, misled child! had she but dreamed of ‘the loathsome section to which this man had brought her, and realized what imminent dan- ger there was for her in its accursed surround- ings, her heart would have sunk in sheer fright. ‘There’s no hotel here!” she exclaimed, halt- ing abruptly, “* Yes ther’ is. Come on,” said the man. They were beneath a flickering lamp-light, and, for asecond, she caught sight of a pair of burning eyes staring down at her, and read in her conductor’s face a something that told her she had been deceived. Alas for her! this warning came too late. Without another thought than to escape, she turned to fly. “No yer don’t, purty one!” snarled the rough voice, and her arm was caught in a gfip of on. Ere she could vent the loud shriek for help that was upon her lips, his large, coarse hand spread across her mouth; and lifting the strug- £ ing form in his arms, he bore her away ,chuck- ing lowly as he went. Kits one of the grim-fronted dens that are common in that locality we haye named he car- ried his captive—entering at a back door, whieh he reached after passing through a black, slushy-bottomed alley. When he closed the door, he glanced around the room. There were three children, each about Pearl’s own age, lying upon the floor—one of them a girl. ey appeared half-starved, were miser ably clothed, and as they looked up at the man who had so unceremoniously entered, their emaciated faces were woeful to gaze on. ; And the man himself—now that we can view him by the uncertain glimmer of a sputtering tallow candle: a ragged, devil-featured human, with bloated countenance, tobacco-stained lips, and eyes of villainous glare; in all, a perfect Satan, when ‘contrasted with the angelic girl who, now unconscious, lay limp in his arms. There was an old woman seated by a smoky stove, trying to warm her shriveled hands over the smoldering fire. ' « Ho!’ she = ‘* what’s that you’ve got there, Rover, eh?” ean gal. Get some water, Mum, she’s faint- “ The three children gazed sorrowfully on Pearl, and exchanged glances among them- selves, as the young girl began to return to con- sciousness under the effect of the cool water, with which the woman laved her forehead. “Eh, Rover? Where did you get this prize?” “Bless er innercence! she took me fer jest the kindest man in the world, I was slicw in’’er the way toa hotel. when she -~° s’picioned me, an’ started to run. So I jest grabbed holt on ’er—an’here she is.” “‘Isn’t she pretty, though! She'll make a dat thief—ha! ha! ha! nobody would suspect er, if she stole any thing! Good! Good!” ‘Yes, she’ll make a yi “A prize! A prize!” croaked the old she’ wolf, while her eyes glistened like daggers, as xed on the Beautiful face of their captive. earl’s eyelids slowly opened, and she gazed bewilderedly about her. _ “Don’t you make no noise now!” hissed the ruffian, ‘‘ or [ll wring yer neck!” ‘Yes, we'll wring your neck for you!” echoed the female, in her cracked, h voice. The young girl’s heart was almost standing “What are you going to do with me?” she faltered, rising to a sitting posture on the creaky | settee where they had placed her. “How do you like the hotel?” mocked Rover. | “You have deceived me! You have brought me here for no good—I know you have!—” ‘ ‘*That ere de tig ke “Oh! let me go—let me go, please!” cried : Pearl, making a movement-to rise, as she But he forced her back to the settee, while the hag screamed: ““Hol—let her go!” Hear! How’s that. | Ssh eee saad, > . PEARL OF) PEARLS. Rover?—hear!” . As she Jaughed, she displayed her toothless gums; and she rubbed her skinny hands together till every knuckle cracked. Pearl was acutely terrified.. She saw that the beings before her were hardly human; she comprehended that they meant long against. them in case they attempted to do her an injury. This latter thought made her shudder, for she could not foresee what terrible fate was in store for her. ‘So, yer want to know what’s a-goin’ to be lone to yer, eh? © be done, providin’ yer behave yersel’.” “But, I never harmed you, I am sure!” wail- | ed Fearl. ‘‘ Oh, please let me go.” ““Hesh »p thet recket!” growled the villain. ‘* Nobody’s goin’ to hurt yer. As to lettin’ yer go: yes, we'll let yer go when ye’re ready to swear.” “Swear? Swear what?’ exclaimed the trem- bling girl, gazing from one to the other. The man and woman exchanged glances; then they looked toward the three half-starved children who cowered awayin a far corner; then they fastened their devilish eyes on Pear), **See here, now,” said the man leveling a fore-finger at her, ‘“‘ye’re a girl’at I believes hes got some learnin’. Yer can see ’t once what we mean, when we say ’t yer must come to be one 0’ us.” “One of you? I don’t understand—ivdeed I don’t} What do you mean?” “Don’t yer want yer liberty?” ‘*Oh! yes, peat. cried Pearl, hopefv'cy, while she clasped her small white hands against her bosom, and leaned eagerly forward, ‘¢ Well, if you prozises to do what them ’ere children over there does, every day, why, then er kin go. But, mind; they hev to come back bel every night; an’ if they was to try to get away, I’d find ’em, an’ I’d cut their hearts out! Understan’, now?” ; ‘*No, I don’t—I don’t! I don’t know what you mean!” and her fear of the two wretches inereased ee lege / ‘Ho! you don’t, e faa pyed the female, staring at her. ‘‘ Then I'll tell you; you’ve got to steal for us—” ‘*Steal!” the one word fell from Pearl’s lips in a quick, startled accent. “ Yes, steal—steal! And bring us what you steal. And we'll feed you. And we'll take care of you. And if you try to run away, Rover ’ll find you out, and he’ll kill you! Hear? —he’ll kill you! Now, then, swear it! Down on your knees and swear—or you'll never go out of here alive! Hear me? Down!—down, I say!” “TI won’t steal!” cried Pearl, panting for breath. ’ ‘““You’ll never go out of here, if you don’t!” screamed the she-wolf. “T don’t care what youdo! Iwon’t steal!” and her whole frame began to quiver ina strange excitement, as the object of her captors dawned upon her, and the iron in her nature roused her to fearless resentment. ‘ ‘Look ’e here, gal”—the man stretched forth a hand to grasp her. Butshe started to her feet, and sprung beyond reach. “Keep off! Don’t you dare to touch me! Oh, you cow !— you wicked, wicked wretches—” “D—n yer, 'Il— Down on_ yer. knees, an’ swear what we want yer to, or PU—Tll—” “Twont! Iwowt! Ill never be a thief—if you kill me! I won’r!” and she confronted them defiantly, with her little fists clinched her face aglow, and the blue eyes bright an stern, fixed upon them unflinchingly. CHAPTER XIX. ANOTHER SURPRISE FOR PAINE. We cannot faithfully describe the expression which came into Claude Paine’s face, as he turned to discover who it was that plucked at | his sleeve, on the corner of Baltimore and North | streets. To simply say that he was astonished would scarcely portray his condition—for that aston- ishment contorted his face into a dark, scowl- ing, incredulous-fronted visage, very much like the handsome features of a few moments before. Derrick, too, stared in wonderment. But Paine’s uneasy surprise was not yet com- ete. “! Fgpaitiom! woman!—what are you doing e The exclamation was so sudden, hissing, pen- | etrating that Cassa recoiled. _ “The deuce!” muttered Derrick, ‘I thought you were in New York, by this time.” fi 4 : er no good; | and she, a frail, helpless girl, could. not battle | Well, ther ain’t nothin’ goin’ | un- | _ Then Paine perceived that Cassa looked wor- _Yied. There was a restlessness in her eyes that | betokened a mind ill at ease; and he saw, fur- | ther, that she wished to speak, but hesitated. | The little scene had already drawn the gaze of numerous bystanders, who were early at their favorite loitering-place; and he motioned her to follow him, as he wheeled abruptly and started toward Fayette street. ‘What in thunder do you su e is the mat- ter?’ questioned Derricy, as he kept by the other’s side. ‘‘Matter? Confound the fates! I believe she | has bad news to communicate,” ‘* Bad news?’ ““ Yes, ” HA ote — Aaya a so?? id you not tell her to go straight through to New York?” Rr 4 = ‘“*T certainly did.” ‘“‘And I bought tickets for that city. Then how came she here? Why did she leave the train? I feel the bad news coming!” When Paine reached vty te street, he crossed over to the unfinished City-Hall side, where there were fewer pedestrians, and would be more of an opportunity to speak with Cassa without attracting attention. The negress was close behind them, When she came up, Paine demanded again: ‘““Why are you in Baltimoré? Didn’t Derrick tell you to go to New York?” ss Yes,” answered Cassa; ‘‘ but mus’ keep de chile, an’ dat’s w ‘* What do you mean?” sharply. ‘* When we kem to destation place, she go get up a’ ter drink o’ water, down t’oder en’ de car; an’ when I looks fo’ her, bress goodness! she done one. ’, Fool ! why did you permit her to leave you?” I see’d ’er runnin’ along on de outside, an’ makes ater ’er; but she fool me, somehow, an’— “* And has escaped ** Yes—she ’scaped. sae exciting news immediately worked upon ou tole me J shere—now.” your” im. First, he cursed the negress—then he cursed what he called his bad hoes ‘‘ Confound the nigger!” grunted Derrick. “‘T’s been lookin’ all roun’ town, de whole o° | las’ night, an’ dis mornin’—’fo’ de Lo’d I has! But she’s gone for shuah.” For several moments Paine could not utter a word. ‘He looked down at the pavement, with parts eyes; his hands olinched, his face red- | ened. S He scented danger in this accident. Would not Pearl, with the money she had, repair straightway back to Washington; learn of her stepmother’s departure; perhaps, by some means, follow them up—trace tiem to Balti- more, to St. Louis; eventually make known to Isabel what had transpired, and thus, possi- bly. ruin all his well-laid schemes? @ saw plainly the child must have suspect- ed that all was not right. But, if so, what had henpemed to arouse. such distrust? Why had she fled from the negress? He did not stop then to answer the question. He reasoned that Pearl would make direct for her home—if she was to be secured at all, the ie to catch her was at the vacant house in ashington. Cassa must return, then, at once. Derrick must accompany her. The two might be suc- cessful, if they acted in ine concert, All this passed like telegraphy through his brain—the decision was reached with the rapidity of an electric spark, : errick stood quietly to one side, with hands rammed into the full depth of his “Woman! I’m afraid you’ve made more mis- Sore than —- —— by = ene area e exclaimed, su ee is chi back to her mother—” - : wore ‘ Your tin pan’s busted!” inserted Derrick. _ ‘Iam utterly ruined!” finished Paine; adding, hissingly: ‘and if she does, you will soon be as: poor as you ever were. Did I not tell you you should have all the money you wanted, if you you served me faithfully?’ admitted Cassa, ‘*Yes, you tole me dat,” It sorry enough at meekly, for she already fe prospect of losing the regular salary upon. “‘T knows you tole medat. But what’s I goin’ to do?” ig go back to Washington—and, vie 4 want you to go with acing : of ** Yes, you. Both. Go op to Mrs. Rochestine’s _ house, and wait there, and watch. I feel sure sg Pearl will hasten there. You must secure | her. ; ‘You must Derrick ‘ | | i a) DS TO RL eae) ade ee i f “> a - + ae eee - a yee
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“But what if she resists?’ suggested Derrick, inquiringly. : Threaten her! You can terrify her. But TI would not do her any real harm, if I were you. She must be secured, at any cost;” and headded, to the negress: “If you are successful, I’ll give you another. hundred.” ‘ tg am I going to find you again?” Derrick asked. “T will wait for you at the Southern Hotel, in St. Louis—a week, if necessary.” * All right—” “Now go. Bo off, without delay. Watch at the house, and you will catch her. ‘I know she will go straight there. Don’t natural it would be for her to do so?” “Yes. Come on, nig,” the last to Cassa. Derrick started down North street, and the negress followed. hey took the first train for Washington. Claude Paine drank several times at the counter of Barnard’s wine-store before return- me his hotel. ° e did not seek the society of Isabel. He felt that his mind was in no state to permit of calm- ness then; and it was not until the dinner hour came around that he had sufficiently quieted himself to venttfre into her presence. They dined pleasantly together, and the meal. was followed by a long tete-a-tete, teeming with ssionate interchanges of sentiment and af- Fectionste caresses. Late in tlie afternoon he was pacing slowly to and fro before the office counter, a cigar be- tween his lips, hands folded behind him, and leeply wrapt in thought. There were several new arrivals; and, as he the large book that lay open on the counter, he involuntarily glanced at the hiero- glyphicked page. As he looked, he paused. Then he drew closer. A new excitement came upon him. Something had startled him—a name; and that name was: Prrcy WOLFE. “ He here!” flashed through his mind, with a force that gave him a shock; “‘ curse the fates! I wonder if he has tracked me?’ He strode rapidly away up the stairs to his room, From his room, he sent a message to Isabel, as follows: “If convenient, I would like to see you. Shall 1 come?” And the waiter brought back, in answer: * Always at leisure for you, Claude.” He was shortly with her, But she’did not imagine that his object was to be sure that she did not show herself by any possible chance, to any one in the hotel—for that very one might be Percy Wolfe, his dreaded appr. ‘ An SoC, Ga was an hour to him, that from the must ela fore he could flee again man he feared. CHAPTER XX. THE ARREST, Preroy Wo.urs, when he returned to the city with his sister, securéd rooms for himself and her at Barnum’s. He went to the Fountain Hotel, and removed his trunk; then repaired to the depot after Nellie’s trunk, which she, in her haste to get to Ingleside, had left at the former place. Kttor they were finally seated alone in Nellie’s’ room, their mutual poy, was renewed—such a joy as can only*exist between brother and sister, after so many long, long years of separation. Their hearts were full; lips could not speak _ fast encugh the countless things they had to say. It was the picture of childhood rewrought, in which they almost reassumed the sunny garb of yerith, in their very smiles and tears, and fool- ish yet happy utterances. : “ At last, however, young Wolfe sobered in his amet ‘“ Where's father, Nellie?” He read his answer in the downcast eyes and corrowful face. ‘ ‘€Dead,” she whispered, tremulously, The air was hushed around them. “And mother?” in a suppressed, hesitating voire. * Dead, Percy—dead !” hs i A strange, hallowed calm prevailed. Hedrew her close to him. ‘Then you have been lonely. And I so far _ away, that you really had no one to—but where’s Diamond? She must have grown to be a beautiful, beautiful girl by this time! Tell me: where is she?” For a. second, she was struggling with some you see how transports, checked the gossip of his tongue, to PEARL OF PEARLS. powerful emotion; then she threw her arms around bis neck, up at him—her eyes dimmed with tears that were just ready to trickle from the lid. ‘¢ Percy |—she, too, is dead!” “ All dead?’ he murmured, looking absently down at the carpét. “ All!—all!” she breathed, tremblingly. ‘‘ But, oh! Diamond is far happier than she would have been, had she lived.” “ What do you mean, Nellie?” “She died of a broken heart!” The words were spoken so low, that he could scarcely hear what she said. ‘\ broken heart, Nellie? How? Explain.” “T will, It was when she was sixteen years old. But, she was a woman then—and oh! so lovely. A ae? ag earthly angel, Perey; and it seemed as if she loved everybody, for she was only happy when doing something to please others—” “Just like your own sweet self,” he broke in, earnestly. ‘* And she was loved by every one,” went on Nellie. ‘*One man, who was visiting at our little village, became infatuated with her—wor- shiped her, as he said; and she pe child, was won by his pretty speeches and. handsome face. He flirted with her, and she believed him sin- cere. ThoughI heard him myself promise to return, at a day not then far off, and make her his bride. But he never came, Percy—never !” ‘Go on, Nellie! And our dear little: sister ?— Diamond?” “She waited long for him, sorrowing more and more, as the weary months rolled by; until —at length, she—” Nellie covered her face with her handsand sobbed aloud. ‘Tell me the rest.” His own cheeks were wet with grieving tears; but he was prepared for austin now, since he had learned that father and mother had both passed away forever from this life. ‘‘T watched her tenderly; Idid all I could. But she died, Percy—she died in my arms. I shall never forget the sweet smile in her face, when she looked up at me, and said Uhm 4 ood-by, Nellie—sister.’ ‘And the. last breat ed the name of the man who had dealt her this blow! Oh! Percy—and I so dearly, dearly loved her!” , She wept bitterly. She was not, at this mo- ment, the calm, self- Miss Byrne that she had been while in Mrs. Rochestine’s employ, for, now the woe that she had so heroically con- cealed from the eyes of strangers, overwhelmed her as she drew under the sympathetic fold of a brother’s arm. Z ““Don’t weep 80,” he said, soothingly. ‘‘ What was this villain’s name?” “ Claude Paine.” “CLAUDE Pains!” He stared in amazement; he hardly believed his ears. ““ Yes. ? " “What! thought the young man, ‘‘can it be, that the Claude Paine I am pursuing, is the de- stroyer of my sister’s life? By Heaven! if ’tis so, I will rend him limb from limb!” and then aloud: ‘Nellie, Iam hunting for a Claude Paine!” ; ‘‘ No?” looking at him incredulously through her tears. “But, I tell you, Lam. Can it be, that this same villain is the man I am after? London, LI had a friend named Horace Rochestine—” “Ah!” She leaned forward quickly. ‘‘This friend died—” Sa ee “He died of fever, did he not?—months ‘How did you hear it?’ in wonder. ‘ yet?” ‘No, I haven’t.. I don’t believe she’s in this city after all, I was on, the point of coming over to see you, in Washington, for a consulta- tion. ‘ ‘* Well, it’s the same luck all around.” “ Haven’t you got him yet? — ‘“‘ Nary got—” ; “ Come over to the hotel, and let’s talk there,” said Hardress, ‘Within a short space, the three detectives were in the office of a hotel—and that hotel was | the Fountain. It was blind fate. “Might as well put up here, anyhow, fer to- night i guess, or till we can look Neonat! sug- gested Hardress, niger ‘* Yes,” acquiesced Brand, and the two turned to the counter, to register, To their utter amazement and delight, the very first name they saw on the book, was that of Percy Wolfe. : “ Hooray!” chuckled Brand; and ‘By thunder!” blurted Hardress. They were on the track again, *y ., The hotel coach at Barnum’s was waiting for its passengers, Nellio was inside the conveyance, awaiting her brother, when a lady and gentleman got in whom, to. her astonishment, she immediately recognized as Claude Paine and Isabel Roches- tine. z - Here was a discovery. She drew her vail ir round her face, while her heart palpitated ‘aster. ; Presently Wolfe approached, 2
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. myneant by saying she had “‘ found them already,” - pared herself to > y ' Fe a4 e native, she would never be that. savagely: — Ay “ook ’e here, gal, yer’d better mind out! settle it! ee Just as the young man. had his foot. step, two men laid hold upon him. “Halt there, Percy Wolfe! we want * Arrest me! For what?” you!” ‘“* Puen there isno mistake. Come.” He was at first bewildered. But He soon comprehended. ; ‘* Nellie!” he cried, turning to his sister, ‘Hush !* she cautioned. A scream had arisen to her lips, when she heard the words of the man who detained .her brotber, yet, with admirable presence of mind, she, not only smothered that scream, but ut- tered the timely caution—for the very parties she and her brother were in search of, sat there, in front of her, and she did not wish to arouse their suspicions as to her identity. _ “ Nellie!” he continued, in an undertone, for he too, saw that there were others in the coach, ‘t this charge can not keep me long, I am sure, There’s something. wrong, but it will soon be case, never fear. You goon, Here—take handed her his pocket-book. nm she leaned close to his ear, and whis- pered, rapidly: ‘«T will send a letter for you, to the ofice of the Planter’s hotel, in St: Louis. You can fol- low its directions, and you will either find me, or further directions—and so you can trace me up. LT have found them already |” Bre he could speak again, or ask her what she “ h@ was forced away by Neal Hardress and Kirk Brand, Nellie’s wits were keen. “Before her sat the pair they were in pursuit of. They were going to St. Louis, like herself, and she reasoned that they might make a stop.there. Hence the shrewdhess of her quick words to her brother. And asthe coach moved off, and Nellie pre- watch the couple into whose presence a ae fate had thrown her, she saw a half-angry, half-triumphant gleam in Claude Paine’s dark eyes, as he gazed out at the pris- oner who was being led away. oe et CHAPTER XXI. PEARL AND HER CAPTORS. Peart RocuEstine faced the ruffian and the crone with a fearlessness that, for several seconds, balked their comprehension. __ Nothing could induce her to comply with the evil demand they had made—nothing could terrify her so far as to cause her to swerve golden precepts that had been in- stilled into her heart. A thief? Never! No matter what the alter- , Ova The man glared upon her; the erone, taken aback-by the une action of the child, craned her neck, an hb em her small, sharp eyes to their greatest ca) y: ‘The three children Watched the tableau in panion and the girl whispered to her com- jons, “# Rover Il kill her!” Then Rover uttered a loud curse, and snarled, . Ain’t yer goin’ to do what we wants?” ; “No, Lam not!” panted Pearl. “Yer won't?” ; ‘No, I won't!” ‘ ‘He was growing red with rave. “Wait, Rover; wait! Vil fi, her!” gibbered the woman, ‘*Let me ee diabolically. 0! we'll soon take the starch out of you—you little fool! 1’'ll fix you!—I will.” ‘he sionped quickly to one side, and took a tong, thin strap from a peg in the wall, the three children knew what this meant, ot and they oA sympebhistiely on cea tuna i ey had fe at strap, till their a es wait bruised and scarred. oi sho ‘“What are you going to do with that? de. -manded Pearl, compressing her lips tightly. “Ho! you'll find out! We'll show you—we'll show you!” “Yer'd better mind, now!’ said Rover, threateningly. “Will you swear?’ mocked the wolfish fe. male, as she advanced, menacingly, and flour- ished the significant strap in the air. “No, I won’t!” cried Pearl, to C4 strike me with that!—don’t you dare!” The woman shuffled nearer. - Pearl’s teeth clinched together, and she as- | above, pullin gumed a threatening attitude. on ‘the See eee ee SS SSS a ae a ee ee “Don’t you dare ‘ 2 PEARL © ] a ae / the woman, with another of her malicious grins. a. ° 5, ct S 2 5 s a 5 ® é & a ° “ as = Ss +] “Take care!” bove her head. ‘Cut ’er!” growled Rover. pe children gasped simultaneously, and re- coiled. Down came the strap, with a hiss and a pone merciless stroke that might have drawn ood, x But Pearl was fully aroused—her whole na- ‘ture was fired—she was blind to all bodily danger for the moment. ' With a quick, sharp cry, she caught the de- | scending strap—though the contact. blistered | her hand—and, with all her little strength, she one Se bat: the psf a : nm, with lightning rapidity, she struck—a blow that coiled the strap Aonasd the woman’s heck, and wrung a shriek of pain and rage from her shriveled lips. . But she had not time to repeat the chastise- ment. Rover aed her in his powerful arms, and pinioned her struggling form, as if in a vise. ; The woman tore away the strap, that was nearly strangling her, and with every outline of feature hideously distorted ‘and writhing, sprung forward, screaming: ‘* Let her go, Rover!—let her go! J'll teach her, the scratch cat! Let her go! Let me get at her!’ Pil kill-her!” “Hold on,” cofmanded Rover, internosin~ | an arm between the struggling child aud the upraised strap. ‘‘Let me get at her I say!” screamed the wo- man. “1 kill her for that blow!—I’ll kill her!” “No, yer won't, neither. We ain’t a-goin’ to have no killin’ around here, ’cause I ain’t just ready to be hung yet. Now, hold on—” “ But she had no business to strike me!” The hag circled the strap a sa 5 ‘‘Never mind now; you jest hold on. Le’ me fix ’er.” ‘* What’ll you do? Eh?—what’ll you do?” “Put ’er down the hole,” with a devilish n. : erThe female seemed suddenly pleased. She immediately acquiesced in the man’s sugges- tion, “Yes, yes, yes; put her down the hole! Ho! my little stratch-cat, that'll bring you to your senses |” . She restored the strap to its place on the wall. | “Let me go!” cried Pearl, as she fought in vain to release herself. ‘‘ Fetch that ’ere light,” said Rover. She caught up the candle and brought it to- werd him. Rover cla a hand over his captive’s | mouth, and drew her toward one corner. ‘The woman gripped a ring in the floor, and raised a large trap-door, discovering a hole be- neath that was black and ag ‘Will yer keep yer mouth shet, if I take my hand away?” be asked. Pearl nodded her head affirmatively. She was | almost suffocated. Eby The moment she could speak, she wailed: “Oh! don’t—don’t put me down in that awful © 1 place!” { | | “Hush up! Yer sed yer’d keep yer mouth | shet.” “But you won't fps me down there, will you? | Oh, don’t—please don’t!” ° | « Down with her!” snapped tke woman. | “Will yer swear what we wants yer fot ow, it’s yer last chance. a Y won't!” suddenly and defiantly: “ Go ym, you cowards!—do whatever, you will! never be a thief!” 5 “‘ Down with her!” yelped the woman again. | Rover took Pearl up, and stepped to the edge | e. : ot tind: if yer make any more noise, I’ll let | you fall!” he threatened. i | There was a rude ladder leaning against one | side of the opening, and he began a cautious de- | scent of this, for it creaked and bent when his | bulky weight rested upon it. But Pear! made no further resistance—she saw it would be useless. |” Rover set her down on the damp earth floor returned to the room , of the cellar, and then c r ‘the ladder up after him. >. chuckled the woman, waving the | “sl | ‘Now then, _ condition. ‘“‘Oh! papa—papa! ' She sunk to her knees, and bowed her head to her hay get amg fae : pity me!” she moaned, sobbing] her poor heart felt the full hopelessness os va ri : wish I was with Pep. _ It it is wrong to wish for death, I cannot elp it, for I do, I do wish Leould die, and come to you in heaven!” hen, groping about her, she discovered a pile of planks in one corner, on which she sat down. while the realization of her terrible situation continued to prey and prey upon her mind, un- til she could have cried out inagony. At last she laid down, She was so tired that, even had her troubles been doubly augmented, she could not have forced off the drowsy fecling that compe aS pes ; : e slept. On that rough, hard couch he body found rest, and the Weaty eyelids Gleaad in slumber. The damp air of the place made no difference; even the starved rats taat ran noiselessly around did not disturb her: and at one time her Jips moved, as, in a sweet dream, she thought. her- self once more in the dear old. home roaming through its apartments and halls—and with the loved voice of her governess speaking, as. she had so lately done, those warm. encouragements e bear up under trial, and look to Heayen for ope. pa Almost night again. During the day following Pearl’s imprisou- ment, she scarcely heard a footstep. overhead. AlJl was ominously still. ‘x About noon the woman had let down a piece of stale bread and a bottle of water, by means of a rope; but she did not utter a word. At first the young girl could not: touch the miserable food; it was repulsive to her, But ere compelled her to it at last, and she ate oy Terce., All day long she had been silent—thinking,. When daylight came, it, had disclosed a littl, papare hole at one side, on a level with the pave-. ment, A faint hope arose inher bosom; but it was doomed to dispelment when she saw, also, that ! she could not. escape in this way, for it was by two stout iron bars. i Why not call for help, and attract the atten- tion of some passer-by‘ “No,” she thought, with sad resignation: “if . _ | I do these. wretched beings may kill me, for they look wicked enough to do any thing. And I do not wish them to stain their ds with the crime of murder.” Then, when the blue eyes filled with tears, she added, lowly: “But Iam notafraid to die! No—I would see papa, then; I would be: free from all my sorrow. For I can’t believe I’ve done anythin to keep me out of heaven. I have tried so har to be good; and I arm sure God is too merciful to count my little shortcomings when I have done my best: ; And the moments passed, as she sat there dreaming of what heaven might be to those who gained it, and reviewing her young life with an earnestness that few girls, even of older age, Pee nee thins ay ep grew er and darker as night deepened, until she was enveloped in a weird, uncertain gloom, Presently she detected alight, catlike step in the room above. In a few seconds the door was noiselessly raised and laid back on its hinges, admitting a dim stream of light. en, to her rise, she saw one end of the ladder ap e at the edge; ‘and this began to lower and lower—all as quiet as if an invistb agency was working with bodiless things, When the ladder touched the ground, and Pearl looked up to see what was coming. next, discove nt a boy’s face gazing down at r. ; “Hush!” he admonished, in a low tone. “Come on.” f . res ‘* Come on?” repeated Pearl, inquiringly. ‘’'Yeg—come on. Come quick, Don’t make any noise.” -bewildered, she arose. and went to the ladder. t The boy, who had been on his knees, now stood up and beckoned to her, She ascended. “Be quiet. Be very quiet,” ‘he cautioned,
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————————S = she reached the top. ‘Now come on— urry. He led the way out at the side door, and she, ‘with wild, joyous sensations, followed him, ‘ She was free! ; “Oh! thank you—thank you!” she cried, ‘pressing his brown, dirty hand in her own white .. m ““We ain’t safe yet,” said the boy, uneasily, as he quickened his pace, and glanced, half htened, around him. | “ How could you do what you did?” she asked. sg that fierce woman?—and that ugly a y “Why, Sal—that’s the gal ou saw last night —she’s. been arrested, and old Mum—that’s the woman—she’s had to go and get her out. Rover goes out always at daylight, and never comes ome till twelve o’clock at nian, So, you see, there ain’t anybody home. felt real sorr for you, down thers in the cellar—indeed I did; and as I’d made up my mind to run off to-night whether Rover caught me again or not, I though I'd help you, too.” “ God will reward you for it!” she exclaimed, fervently. “But we ain’t safe yet. We'd better hurry some more,” They were fleeing eastward. Soon they reached Aisquith street, and turned to the rig. hen they were on Baltimore street, they went slower—going west. ‘““Where did you live?” asked Pearl, as they continued along. ‘My home’s in Richmond. Rover stole me away from there three years ago.” ** And are you going right straight there?” ‘No, miss, I—” he hesitated. “I can’t go right off. I must hide about Baltimore till I can steal some money—or something to sell for mone Pr ‘ “You mustn’t steal,” said Pearl, taking hold of his arm and looking earnestly into bis face. “T know it’s wrong,” he murmured, “ but I can’t do any thing else here in this city without being in dona from Rover. If I was to go to work, it would take so long to save up money to get away, and live all the time besides, that he’d be sure to find me, I know yow’re one of the good kind of girls—I think you're one of the rich sort. I don’t blame you for being careful. But I’m uabedye-it don’t make any difference whether I steal or work, for I won't beg. No- body cares forme. Why, if I was to find my father and mother dead when I. get back to Richmond, I—I wouldn’t have a friend in the world,” and he had to utter the last speech ra- pidly, for his voice was failing. ‘Yes, you have got a friend,” whispered Pearl. here is somebody who cares for ou. * Who?” he asked, in rise. *““Tam your friend. I'll always remember ou; and I'll never forget to pray for you, that bod may reward you, as I cannot, for what you’ve done for me to-night.” He gazed at her, half-incredulously, though his eyes were Snes and glistening. It was some new for the ragged street child to hear av like Pearl’s; and as he Jooked into her lovely face, his heart was thumping wildly. “Now, you must not steal,” she continued. ‘Promise me you won’t.” ‘ Pert I believe I’d promise you anything!” he cried, emotionally. ‘But itil take me a long time to raise the money I need; and maybe Rover ‘Il find me out, too. But, I don’t care— Vl promise you; I will, indeed!” ‘“You need not waitaday. I'll give you the “money to go home with.” “You? “e id “Why, didn’t Rover take everything awa: from you?” he asked, in cape iy . . It did seem strange that the ruffian had not robbed her of all she possessed; but there was \the pocketbook, with its contents all safe,’ - Under the first lamplight they came to they alted. Pearl handed him three ten-dollar bills. “Why, Miss—you—you ain’t going to-give me all this?” he stammered, while the hand that held the notes fairly trembled, and refused to close over them. : “Yes, Put it in your pocket. It isn’t safe to show every one what you’ve got. Now, let’s go to the depot—the Waibinaion depot.” . **Do you live in Washington?” “| Yea,” “Well, here comes a car that'll take us to Howard street, and then wewon’t have far to walk to the depot.” “ Let us get in.” © - Ge! -halted | | | ‘favor she had done him. PEARL OF PEARLS. They entered the a aching car, and Pearl pad? fares, with: the air of a woman who eels that she has much depending upon her | maintenance of a dignified yet gentile mien. During the ride, the boy was feasting himself on the beauty of her face, and mentally blessin its owner, over and over again, for the grea They reached the depot; but there was no train till 8:30. Both were hungry, and they ate plenteously from the tempting dainties that were on the stand near the ladies’ waiting-room. When, at last, the brides pair procured their tickets, and took their seats in the car,they had not been gone from the waiting-room five minutes, when Claude Paine and Isabel Roches- tine entered, and the latter sat down on the ba cushion Pearl had just vacated. ad the young girl lingered only a few mo- ments, she would have met her stepmother, would have met the man who was acting so treacherously toward her, would have met her governess, Nellie Wolfe. But the programme was otherwise ordained by—the blind variance of human action. When they arrived at the Washington depot, Pearl stopped near the entrance to bid ber companion. farewell, and thank him anew for the services he had rendered her. “Can you find your way over to the other depot?” she asked. ‘Oh, yes,” he answered, quickly, ‘‘I’ve been here before,” adding: ‘“‘and I’m ever so much obliged to you, miss. Good-by. Think of me sometimes, please.” ; He raised her hand to his lips with a grace that would have become a true knight. But Pearl partially anticipated him. Ere he knew what she intended, she leaned forward, and gave him a quick, warm kiss with those ripe, sweet lips; and while his senses whirled, she whispered: “Yes, I will always think of you. Good-by. And whenever_you are te Se to do wrong, ou think of Pearl—that’s my name—and the iss she gave you.” “JT willl I will! Good-by !” he cried, and tore himself away from her ere she could see the tears of joy that were welling in his eyes. As he ran along the street, he murmured: “God bless Pearl!—God bless her! Tl never forget that kiss!” ey never met again. Pearl looked after him, till he was gone from sight, and then she thought of herself. here were the familiar cars before her—the bright blue sides she had seen so often on the Avenue—and an indescribable thrill pervaded her frame as she thought how near she must be to the house she len for. It was with a glad feeling that she entered one of the cars, and retired to one of the upver corners, where she could avoid the gaze of the other passengers, and be undisturbed in her half- sad, eee thoughts. : When she alighted at —th street, her heart fluttered as she started, almost on a run, toward her home. . But the gloomy, deserted look that had come over this home, caused her to pause abruptly. Not a light was visible—not a sound to be heard, and a premonition of somethin wrong. made her breath come fast, as she looked up.at the darkened windows. ‘‘Oh! what can it mean? Has mamma gone anne What has happened?” ile she hesita’ and wondered, a sound fell upon her ears that, for a second, chilled her veins. It was a low, chuckling, triumphant laugh. ‘By Jove! here she is!” exclaimed a voic Two shadowy forms darted out of an alley, not ten paces distant from her—a man and a woman, and the latter caught her roughly by the arm. : One terrified glance sufficed to show her who it was, but ere she could utter the despairing ery | that was on her lips, Cassa, the megress, had | checked the alarm, by DIAGinE A hand over her | mouth, and Dorsey Derrick hissed forth: “So, we’ve caught you, Miss Flyaway! Si- lence, now, or it’ll be the worse for you. Don’t you yelp, now, else we'll have to do a little chok- ing! Understand me, eh?’ CHAPTER XXII. A PENDING CRISIS. ; NELLIE WoLre was untiring, unrelaxing in her close watch of the couple who, she believed with her brother, were plotting to cheat Peari Rochestine out of her lawful inheritance, by spiriting the child away, through some evil, in- human means, with the intention of entirely deserting her, ; For, that Pearl was detained by some wicked power, in some obscure place, she now felt con- vineed, both by the fact of the deceit with re- es to sending the young girl to Ingleside, and y Percy’s suggestion that Claude Paine had an interest in keeping Pearl out of the way, if he was to wed the widow of Horace Rochestine. When the train started, and she had time to reflect, while she continued her im t vigil, the late startling scene at the hotel came back to her vividly, and caused her a deep, painful, wondering anxiety. What had her brother done? . What did those - men mean, when they said he must answer for the disa; ce of some one whose name was Herod oan? She could not imagine, The name was new to her. She felt, Percy was in some great danger, and she shuddered to think what that danger might be, and whence its rise. But he had seemed confident.. He said there could be nothing to detain him long; and, re- membering this, she partially consoled herself, by forcing the belief into her mind, that he was innocent of any crime, and would, in keeping with his promise, follow after her almost im- mediately. ; Still, her mental uneasiness was by no means thoroughly subdued, and throughout the entire trip, there sb a Ms ue train of thought within er, upon the possible peril menacing him. Claude Paine and Isabel, upon arriving in St. Louis, took rooms at the Soythern—that finest of all hotels in the Mississippi valley. Nellie had examined the pocket-book given | her by Percy, and found that itcontained ample funds to carry out her plan of pursuit, even had the pursued parties led her a long chase before heading for Sacramento. She, too, engaged a room at the Souwthern— and, by merest chance, it was the very next apartment to that occupied by Claude Paine, with locked folding-doors between. This she did not discover, however, until she had been several days at the hotel. . Among her first acts, she addressed a note to the office of the Planter’s hotel, for Percy Wolfe —to be delivered to the person who should claim the letter, by that name. When Paine availed himself of the first clear day, to invite Isabel to ride, and view the city, Nellie did not lose sight of them for a moment. While they were being driven along the great twelve-mile Avenue that is destined to become the boulevard this contin she, in a car- riage, was following close behind, ordering her driver as they ordered theirs; when Reena ened their speed, to gaze on the par the cathedrals, the fair grounds, the handsome residences or, again, glided swiftly alo Fourth street, and lly returned to the hote —wherever they went, she was there, with her watchful eyes noting every movement, évery turn, and, sometimes she was near, enough to, hear the melodious laugh that was Isabel’s subt- lest charm, ‘ : _ In the evening, when Paine and Isabel went to the theater, Nellie was on hand, occupying a seat in the opposite box, and, with the aid of glasses, she spied upon their every action. Isabel had wondered at her lover’s so game long in St. Louis, after expressing such eager- ness to traverse the Continent at once; but he quieted her surprise and curiosity, by informing her, that he had met a party at the office of the hotel, who had only recently come from Sacra- mento, and who brought such news reer : the business crisis, as entirely served to y his fears. ; ‘Now that we have plenty of time,” he said, one day, as they were ascending from dinner, ‘Jet us get a good rest here, and enjoy ourselves wi anything Claude,” she answered, g you say, 6," 8) ; ? with: her wonted ‘smile, and it’ would seem by" the zest with which she entered into his little plans for amusement, that the dead busband was long ago forgotten—as completely erased from her memory, as if he had never held a. place there. . But Claude Paine, with all his omg gis of gayety and vivacious humor, was, in bis heart, terribly uneasy. : He had not yet heard from Derrick. Somany days had elapsed without the expected arrival of his confidential associate—and no message, either—that he i the stability of his schemes. Why had not Derrick written?—or telo- graphed? Why was he not there in n? tt is very singular!” he mused, aloud, one evening, as he sat, in dressing-gown and slippers, before the warm grate—with elbo chair-arms, forefingers pointed togéther, and eves fixed steadily on the glowing fire; “ Der- vegan to fear and surmise as to - on the ~ eee = * 4°¢ Igy ag ln a Aa ty ols ; a ED ae (OS 55 NE og
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es ee ee 4 : rick never acted in this way before. Can any- thing have happened? Can it be that the child is eluding them?—and is searching for Isabel? Still Derrick ought to send me word of some kind; this suspense is growing unbearable.” He shifted his position, was silent and thought- ful for some time; then he broke forth again, | while his lips writhed in po das wa “Tf it was not for this i Pearl, now, I would certainly think I had man- aged things with unprecedented cleverness. If I don’t hear from or see Derrick here by to-mor- row, [shall move, and hemay— But, by Jove!”— suddenly remembering—‘‘ Dorsey Derrick has got the will! He never handed it back to me; and I have had so much to attend to that I for- got # upto this moment! What if he should lay me false?—use the document against me? Fre could ruin me! But he has nothing to gain by it—why should he do it? If he does ”—and he dcoWied. as the dark resolve came into his heart—‘‘ by the Eternal! Pll track him over the whole world, till I find him—and then T’ll have his life|—” * Oh, villain !” ‘¢Hal who spoke?” It was a sharp, penetrating whisper, a half- hiss, that interrupted him, and the source seemed to be directly behind his chair. He sprung from the chair, and glanced quickly round the room. But he was alone, . “Surely, I heard a voice!” He looked into the closet, under the bed, in the wardrobe, behind the rich folds of the win- dow in—and discovered nothing. “Tt was not fancy,” he miustercd as he re- sumed his seat, still gazing dubiously about him; ‘I cannot have imagined so distinctly. And yet I believe I am sate slightly nerv- ous. The words— Perdition! the words came from there!” and his eyes rested on the folding- doors. h ‘ : 2 : . He heard a faint rustling in the adjoining room. Then all was stiil. A fierce scowl] settled on his face. . “J have been spied upon. I have, perhaps, betrayed myself by my cursed forgetfulness. [ll find out who you are—eavesdropper!” nod- ding significantly toward the door. _ But Claude Paine was destined to learn more than he wished, when morning came. While arranging his toilet for breakfast, with his usual care and precision, there was a rapid | ' thumping at his door. ‘In considerable surprise, he answered the sum- mons; and he half-believed that Derrick had arrived at last. Then, with a cry of astonishment, a feeling of ‘dread, recoiled a step, for the waiter who stood there handed him ‘a card, the name on which caused the color to recede from his face, and his eyes to start and stare. _ *Pproy Woure!’” he exclaimed, with a choking 5 A low voice echoed the name, and the servant |e it saw the pang lady of thenext room issue forth quickly into the hall, and approach them, CHAPTER XXIII. AGAIN IN THE TOILS. sudden appearance of Cassa; the rough ~~ Ta grip in which the negress caught her; the low- | ering expression on the black countenance— where the whites oh the eyes stood out, and the ning teeth gritted, as she grinned in Derri tunate object of Claude Paine’s persecution; all this f the child with a eeelene, agonizing terror, and sh nonely. sunk down at their feet. s { there was a quick reaction. Seeming to be g with a strength remark- _ able for one so young, she tore away the rude hands that pressed over her mouth, and, at one desperate wrench, freed her arm. In breaking the hold the-negress had fastened “upon be she so bruised her tender flesh, that she could not suppress a cry of pain. _ But that cry swelled to a wild scream; and as she darted away from them— “Help! Help!” rung from her lips, in ac- “But the fight and But the flight and cry were useless. ‘ ane she Bae gee? : gene’ leaps, her exmasiice w er, 8 and angry—presen _eatching her; and Derrick Goeed his ele -oand, like a contaminating coil, throat. ro’ ness. But there was a window ‘thrown up on the opposite side, from which issued a stream of light, and a hei.d was thrust out, whose owner gazed up and down the street. ‘ , ~ \ Ca n difficulty about | sa 16 savage threat made by Dorse | c File he leered down upon the unfor around her fair tongue in!” 4 PEARL OF PEARLS. | The three *-ere out of sight, however, in the | : \ _ building of unique shabbiness. Its front is bat- | tered and | knots in surrounding »uadow, andthe window was pre- ere closed. ‘‘Now will you be quiet—or shall I choke you ‘to death?” hissed Derrick, as he partially loosened his half-deadly grip. Pearl could not recover her breath for some. time; when she could speak, she wailed: ‘Oh! what—what are you going to do with me? I never gave you any cause to hunt me down like this! on’t you let me go—to mamma, please?” ‘*Whar’s you ther ain’t dar,” said Cassa, bluntly, with a nod in the direction of th: house. “Not there!” cried Pearl, in a pitiful tone. | ** Where is she, then?” ** Done gone away an’ lef? you to de keer of ime,” the negress replied. “Your mother has gone a long way from here,” indorsed Derrick, ‘‘and you have no real friends but us.” ‘* You—my friends?” *“Yes, weare. And I'll tell If you go — quietly and we'll do you no harm, at.all, I promise you. | you make a fuss, I'll have to choke you |and we'll take you anyhow. Where you do go | we'll take good care of you; and when your mother comes back you may return to her,” the last persuasively. “You don’t mean that,” demurred Pearl. “You'll never let me go back.” ‘* Yes, we will. Come, now, make up your mind which way it shall be. You are all by yourself, and we could do whatever wé wanted to with you. But we don’t want to hurt you if we can help it. Will you go?” “Take me,” said Pearl, in a low, subdued voice, and she hung her head and clasped her hands before her, and they led her away. The threat and the promise combined had | made her submissive; but there was a hopeless, miserable feeling in her tertured bosom, as,she walked silently along between the two, ‘* Where’s we goin’?” asked Cassa. “We can’t go over to Baltimore, to-night,” he replied. ‘ Where’s we goin’, den?’ she repeated. ‘““T wonder if the child will behave herself? ‘he said, inquiringly, ignoring her question, and | looking down at Pear). ‘*'Yes—I don’t care,” Pearl muttered, absent- bn why we are. have yourself if ain, | ly. ‘JT ax you where’s we goin’ at?’ persisted the negress. We will go to the house of a man I know of, on L street, who will give ‘us shelter for to- night; and in the morning we'll go to New York. Now, see bere”—he put the question |very abruptly—‘‘ was that. story true, about the child getting away from you at the depot in Baltimore, by going after a drink of water?” * At the depot!” exclaimed Pear], raising her es quickly. ‘‘ Why, didshe tell you it was at e depot that I got away from her?” “You chile—shut you mouf, now!” snapped Cassa. | ‘“Humph!” grunted Derrick. ‘I thought as ayo ~ es nes tell me the true ‘cause why’ of the c etting away, from you. C 'make a clean manors of re . bates | ‘* Well den I tell ou. Dare am no use fo’ to » to ee York wi’ de chile—” “Cause I’s got a sister in Baltimo’, what ilives "way out of de way of everybody, an’ thar’s where I went at; an’ de ebile would be us’ as safe from doin’ of de gen’leman trouble, \as if she war in New York. now.” “That's it, eh?” ‘“ Yes, is.” - ‘“« And you think the child could be as safely ‘kept out of the way in Baltimore as she coul in New York?” “T does,” emphatically. Derrick reflected a moment. **Now,” he said, bckenare fe “if you are sure ‘she could be safely kept—” ; ‘¢‘] is shuah,” interrupted Cassa. “Then I don’t see any necessity for your go- ‘ing to New York.” _ * Pere ain’t no necess’ty.” “ Well, we'll talk it over in the morning.” Cassa glanced down at the child, with an ex- ‘pression of feature that conveyed, in a sort of | spiteful triumph. nee | “Now den—what you get by stickin’ you But Pearl did not see the evil look, nor feel ie ee for help wasted it:clf on the sur- the malignant mi of the dark eyes; she was ‘again silent and pensive—continuing on between ‘them, as if she had no will of her own, but | : 4 ra obeyed in a sort of wakeful insensibili | voices of her two captors. ty, the ae j 4 bh chsh es Cee PRLS ey es hardly tenantable, and of in’ to find her? Your mo- | ee EE ee Near to the West d Market stands a ne stained by rain and wind, till the the planks stand out like so many ugly warts of monstrous size; and the frames of windows and door have long since sunken from the exactness given them by the carpen- | ter’s ‘‘spirit-level,” : is a miserable hovel, taken altogether, skeleton-like appear- ance; yet over the door of many cracks and seams hangs a scarce legible sign— “BOOTS AND SHOES MADE AND REPAIRED.” To this uncouth establishment Dorsey Derrick conducted the negress and their captive, Before the door he paused,'and rapped loudly ; and a voice on the inside answered with: ‘ “Come in then, an’ shtop the racket on me door, before ye thump a hole through ’t,” They entered a room that was bare and dingy, with an atmosphere of leather and dirt. At one side a stove was hot and red; over the floor, whose planks tilted and groaned beneath the weight of the comers, the usual litter of a shoemaker-shop was strewn; and on a bench, by a crooked candle—with hammer and aw] in hand, and the stump of an oil-soaked pipe in his mouth—sat a short, shout, red-faced man, with spectacles hung on his nose, and a bristling beard on check and chin. The eyes in the 7 ae ogled and turned, and his broad mouth twisted downward at the corners, as he looked up at them. , im Hello, Connaught!” saluted Derrick, imme- diately, as he closed the door after him. “The divil ye say!” exclaimed the puller of wax-ends. ‘It’s yerself, Dorsey Derrick!” “Yes—me. Get up, Connaught, and listen to me. Pa come on business,” ‘“* Business is it? ’Av’ ye a sh —’ “Bah! no. Get wpa atari ‘Well, then, d’ye go on now, an’ divil the bother ’a’ me gittin’ up when I’ve shtuck to the bench all day, till me legs is bent to the fit 0° - a the divil’s that?—an’ what the divil’s a CHAPTER XXIV. | CASSA TELLS WHAT SHE KNOWS, AND DERRIOK , THINKS ON IT. Tue Irishman looked at Cassa, over the top of his spectacles; then toward Pearl; and finally d at Derrick, as he added, in a high key: “Ts it to Heaven ye’ve been, an’ shtolea angel —then been to the other place, an’ marri’d the gran’mother of ould Beelzebub? Did I iver see the likes?—look a’ the nagur! Bless me sowl ! but she’s wan of the blackest!” “Cease your nonsense, Connaught—” “Tt’s ceasin’ Iam. What the divil d’ye want? —ow! look a’ the swate bit of a gurl!—for all the world a picture, sure.” **T tell you to listen to me—” ‘Sure me ears is bigger thana jackass’s, with pop for what ye ’ave to say! Why don’ ye go on Pearl had drawn near to the stove, for she felt chilly; and though she heard all that was assing, she scarce heeded it. Her mind was wildered and dreamy, as if she hardly cared to think upon et thing, save the unsettled, miserable feeling that worked its enervating in- cette Br 5 han 'the Isteh —except when the Irishman m uncomplimentary allusion, and caused een toturn, for a moment upon him, with a corus- cant gleam in their dark depths—was watchin the child closely. She was determined that Pearl should not have an opportunity to escape a second time. She at ady, come very near losing the prize that was to accrue her a and comfortable salary, and, a8 such chances for obtainig money were of rare occur- rence, she would not, by lack of vigilance, run another risk—particularly as the Mpecs girl would be more apt than ever’, now, to to fe . rat since she knew she was being detained pu i But Pearl had no idea, then, of escape, She was et, CS ae aia nna said Derrick, witha mysterious ait, OF wails a room for this girl,” polating to the child. “A room?” repeated Connaught, in a tone of sary, surprise and inquiry. “Yes; and it must be a strong one,” ‘* A strong wan, is it?” 7 “ Yes ” ‘An’ did ye expec’ to find the same in this ould shanty? Why didn’ ye go to a fash’nable © ag Pr Ee plenty money, J know.” ‘And some of that money is for you, Gon- naught,” with a nod and a significant winix, ——-
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Sg ; : ~ ‘The Trishman winked also; then he screwed up ove corner of his mouth, as he glanced cov- ertly at Pearl. In the same moment he arose from his bench, and, leaning close to Derrick’s ear, ft oe Sage ‘ at’s it all mane, anyhow?. Who's the rl?—what are ye goin’ to do ’id her?’ ‘<T tell you, I want a room—up-stairs, to keep her in till morning. Here’s a chance to make ten dollars.” “ Me, is it?” | “You—if you do what I want, and ask na questions.” “Tin dollars!” “Yes.” ** An’ I must hould me tongue?” Derrick nodded. “Hist, then! Bring the gurl, an’ Pll do that same—though the cracks in the boards is a’most big enough for the bird to slip out. Tin dollars? —an’ hould me tongue? Come on, then.” He took up the crooked candle and moved toward the back room. ’ , Come, child,” said Derrick, touching the child on the arm. She followed him, without a word. : A creaky stairway led to an apartment in the second story; and in this apartment was a mat- tress, with several ragged blankets on it, while, at one side, a broken pitcher and a dirty basin made up the chamber furniture of the poverty- stricken shoemaker. ; ri “ There’s water for yey. said Connaught, in- dicating the pitcher. ‘ Ye’ll find more s ape on thet ould mattress than ye dream of—an’ a jewel’s as good in the dirt.as a gem on the finger. ill I Pave ye the light?” “No,” answered Pearl, absently. She stood near the center of the cheerless room her fair head drooping, and her mind absorbed ina state that has no name, They left her alone; and as they withdrew she heard the key turn loosely in the lock, an realized, more thoroughly then, how much of a captive she was. , ora long time after being left to herself, Pearl remained motionless in the dark surround- ing; and as her eyes gazed strainingly down- ward, strange luminous visions seemed to rise before her—pictures of the past, amid golden sheens and brilliant flashes; familiar scenes and faces, until she almost believed she heard the voices of those who had been her dear compan- ions and playmates at a time when she Little dreamed aed soon and abruptly she was to be separated from them, never—as her heart felt now—-to see them or s with them more. . Again, in the solitude of her imprisonment— as when she had sat dreaming on the planks in the cellar of the house in Baltimore—she thought of her father, till her heart beat faster and faster; and, at last, bis face appeared in the center of her imaginary seeing; and her lips moved in a tremulous whisper. - Papal—Papa!” she breathed, involuntarily. But the sound et her own voice broke the spell that was upon her. Witha sae deep sigh, she groped toward the rude mattress. When she laid down on the comfortless couch, an overwhelming grief asserted itself, and she eried in a low, hysterical way. Derrick and the Irishman returned to the shop, The first named drew a frail stool for- ward, and bade Cassa sit down. . When the negress was seated, she rested her elbows on her by sunk her chin to her hands, and od stoically at the fire, which Connaught had just given a severe poking. Derrick threw himsell carelessly pon a large ehest, at one side of the stove, and lighted a | f¢ eigar, , Soins ‘ht refilled his fips, end resumed his work, and, for a long while, there reigned a si- lence that was only broken by the rapping of the hammer, as it drove the pegs, and the indef- inite, drawling strain of an incomprehensible hum which the Irishman indulged in. “I wonder where Claude Paine is, by this time? at last spoke Derrick, putting the ques- tion to paris as he fag out a ring of smoke and wate ts ascent. Cassa looked up quickly; then she fixed her gaze again en the fire. anne srt fall she aie wee wasn’t speaking to y ‘ “I say you knows—you knows where he is,” she ie ae : “ ‘«-Yes—you knows, jes’ well’s I does.” ** And do you know?’ For a second she glanced at him. ‘Yes, I knows.” “The deuce What do vou know?— rou do! how much?—where did you learn” PEARL OF PEARLS. ‘‘Mis’r Paine, he done gone wi’ de chile’s mother, who he goin’ to marry.” : “Thunder!” he exclaimed, with surprise. Connaught pricked up his ears, but went on with his work and his humming. ‘*T knows—de gen’leman, he goin’ to marry de mother of de chile, ’cause de money b’long to de chile, ’cordin’ to de will ’at’s done been gi’n to Mis’r Paine, by de chile’s father—an’ dat’s why Mis’r Paine he don’ want de chile in his way, an’ gi’s her to me; ’cause, den de chile don’t get de money, an’ de mother she do, an’ he get de widder—an’ she, I guesses, done gone dead in love wid him. An’ dey run off together. So, now. He stared at her in astonishment. ““D’ye mind the plot av ’em!” exclaimed Con- naught, inwardly, as he hummed the louder gpa drove in a peg with a whack of unusua oree. ** Where did you get all this, woman?” Derrick demanded. “Hil Done hear him tell you all about it, de night of de bargain, up on ’Costia Ridge.” “*O-h! then it was you who eavesdropped in the bushes—and not a dog, eh?” She nodded her woolly head. “ And,” he continued, “if Claude Paine had caught you at it, do you know what he’d have done?” . “‘ What he’d done?” ) “Knocked your head off, probably.” “Sho! I’s seen him befo’, J has. I could tole de madam what he’s in love with a tale ’at wouldn’ be nice. So.” “What do you mean?” ‘“‘T means dis: Ciaude Paine, he am a vilyun. He make love to a little gal out West, long time ago, an’ den run off an’ broke her heart, be did. I was dar—I wo’ked fo’ de fam’ly. Knowin’ he’s a vilyun, I wanted to jes’ see de more vil- unny he was drivin’ at. An’I foun’ out, too. b’lieves de mother of dis chile ain’t so much better’n he is neither—dey bofe am plottin’, e f magines, to rob de gal outen de money. ““What was the name of the family out west that you say you worked for?” ‘‘Where de gal was dat Claude Paine he broke her heart?” . “ Yes. ” “Dey was name’ Wolfe—an’ if de gal’s brother, he ever come back from over de ocean, where he went when he’s a boy, den let Mis’r Claude Paine look out, fo’ he kill *im shuah!” “Wolfe!” Derrick repeated, quickly, several times. “‘ What was the other name of this brother? Do you know?” é “Dey call him young Mars’r Percy, when J see him las’—long time ago.” “Percy Wolfe!” thought Derrick; ‘‘ the brother of the : whose heart Paine broke! And be is here!— on Paine’s track, for other causes. By Jove! Aere’s a regular mess,” Silence again prevailed, When the Irishman signified his intention of retiring, he gave Cassa a couple of old blankets, and the negress curled herself up, in a sitting ere in one corner, where she soon went to sleep. ’ Derrick remained seated on the chest, after Connaught went up-stairs, still puffing at his cigar-stump. And, in the dim light afforded by the red stove, he was watching the smoke-clouds that arose from his lips, and pondering upon some- pase momentously important which had en- tered his mind—that something aroused by the words of Cassa, the negress. An hour passed. Then he seemed to have ramed a resolution of some kind which hg him satisfaction, for be muttered inaudibly, smiled in a uliar manner, cast aside bis r, and lying down on the chest, managed to fall asleep. - , In the morning, at an early hour, Connaught br up, and preparing his usual scant breakfast are, A pot of coffee bubbled and hissed on the stove, and an odor of stale fish frying was the unpleasant eause of Derrick’s awakening. Here’s your ten dollars,” he said, when he handed the trishman the promised amount. “Thank ye for a gintleman.” Connaught pocketed the money, and gave the fish a scien- tific turn in the : Derrick started wp-atatrs, to look after Pearl. Cassa was standing near the stove, with her eyes fixed hungrily on the solitary fish, “*Is it hungry ye are?” burst forth ‘the Irish- man, suddenly, as he noticed ber wistful stare. But, ere she could answer, there came a cry from the room above, j Cassa hurried to the stairway, half-fearing what that cry meant. | . that of you—it’s too unkind!” t. Derrick appeared at the upper landing, and wled down: 1 “By Jove! nig, the gal’s gone!” CHAPTER XXV.. PEARL’S ESCAPE. PEARL—poor suffering child—was crying her- self to sleep. Lower and slower came the painful sobs, and the face that was buried in the coarse ticking of the pillow, was gradually calming and drying, as the mild influence of slumber be to weave its blisses of forgetfulness around her sorely- tested heart. , Slowly, slowly’a ig gen formed within her chafed spirits—as if a guardian angel were smoothing all the ruffled tides of thought, and pouring balm upon her soul-deep wounds. Slowly to sleep—and yet, not so; for the jetty, silken lash had not ceased its tremor, the breath- ing was not of that gentle regularity char- acteristic of the repose of one so young in years. Nor was the somnolent god to light her visions then, with the gilded beauty streaming from the portals of his mystic rea)m. Suddenly the eyes started open—the head, with its wealth of hair, half-raised u pillow; and eyes and ears were strained in the darkness of the room, as she listened to the mur- mur of voices beneath her. - The flooring of the apartment was thin and worn, making audible the dialogue between Derrick and Cassa, that was in progress in the shop below. 2 ** I mean dis: Claudé Paine, he am a vilyun!” These were the words that had ‘aroused her— 80 distinct, so significant, so impressive. Then she bent forward attentively, as the negress went on to explain how Claude Paine had broken the heart of a confiding girl in the far West, and sent thedeceived one to the grave, while he lived on in gayety and carelessness, as though his act had merited no’censure. And there was more. She crawled noiselessly forward to a crack in the treacherous planks— through which came the faint glimmer of ‘the candle—and looked downupon the two who wers , conversing. Her bosom heaved with pent-up excitement as she drank in Cassa’s words—heard the latter de- clare a belief that Paine and Isabel were striv- Se te rob her (Pearl) of the benefits of a father’s wi She could scarce smother the exclamation of pain and surprise that arose to her lips, when — she heard the negress utter her ii nem a it was with a strange, inexplicable feeling that she drew back, breathing fast, and pressing her hands to her throbbing heart, to think upon what had been suggested to her mind. It was a brief period of thought. She was quick at framing conclusions, and, in a few seconds, she forced herself to believe that Cassa must have spoken the truth, that Claude Paine was her enemy, and to him she owed all that she had suffered since the hour in which she learned of her father’s death. ; With the conclusion, she asked herself if she should be submissive, if she should meekly bear the trials being Bus upon her; and with the on again did the iron in the nature of the child-woman assert itself, for she clinched her little fists, and whispered firmly, through her set teeth: “Never! I would bear a good deal, but I will not be trampled upon—for I do not believe that God means that, when he tells us to be humble before our enemies!” Heaven was guiding the y infusing strength into her system, and. —besides the fire of stern purpose into her veins—fcr she — turned inv tarily to one side of her prison, and discovered a board shutter swinging; bolt- less, on its leather a before a window that 88. had neither sash nor ar To steal across and open this, without the | slightest sound to betray her, was but the work of a moment, as her intentions formed rapidly in her brain—and, jo sill, the roof of an ast oining shed, that slanted toward the surrounding fence, met her eager — aZze, ‘ With cautious movement she stepped out— soon she reached the fence. The jump to the ground was not high; and, in a few more seconds, she was fleeing swift as a hunted bird, and thanking Heaven for her un- ag ee deliverance. y ’ ut there was a thought preying upon her— one that she could not ran, she murmured, tremulously: . “Oh! mamma—mamma! Can you—can you ) my enemy, toof No, no! / 19 n the’ girl’s instincts — ! not five feet beneaththe banish; and, while sbe I won’t believe — / ¢
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ee es __As she the black aisle of the West End Market, the form of a man emerged, shadow- like, from the screening darkness surrounding, and hurried after her, uttering a low chuckle as he went. He must have worn gum shoes, for the swift pace of his pursuit was noiseless, as he glided over the pavement, : Atthe corner of Nineteenthand I streets, Pearl halted to recover her breath and glance about Xher. All was deserted and still. “‘Where—oh! where shall [ go?” she asked herself, in her indecision. The words died in a choking exclamation, a ‘half-suppressed cry; she turnéd to find herself in the grasp of a powerful man. ; And that man was Rover. It was with a thrill of horror that Pearl recognized her old enemy and persecutor. Depait, dread, a feeling of a soul oppressed —all these preyed overwhelmingly upon her, / as she with a terrified expression into the e sneering, triumphant visage of the erg from whose clutches she had thought her- free. He transferred his hold, in a painful grip, to her wrist, and half-hissed, half-growled, as he eyed her frowningly: “So, yer tho’t yer’d get away, eh? Yer tho’t ‘yer’'d beat -me, eh? But yer was wrong, gal; yer couldn’t get away from Rover, yer scouldn’t—” “ How—how did you find me?” she panted, ~while her heart was nearly standing still, and her face turning pale as death. For she knew the man was a brutal wretch, a character to hesitate at nothing that crossed _ ‘the desires of his evil nature. She trembled for herself; her tongue nigh refused to mold the ‘utterance of her lips. and he marked the fear his presence inspired, . for he grinned devilishly, and squeezed his hard ‘hand tighter round her wrist; while she strug- ‘gled heroically to keep down the outcry the pain of his rude grasp threatened to force up. ‘“‘How did I find yer, gal? Why, Id ’a’ found yer if ye’d gone to the other end of the world, One 0’ my boys seen yer goin’ off with “the other boy, an’’e tracked yer. He met my ole woman, an’ told’er what was up, an’ told “er to tell me to come over to Washington, that he’d meet me at the depot when I got here. So’e did. He’s a bright ’un, he is. He follered er up here, an’ when I come over on the next rain I saw ’im an’’e told.me where yer was, ‘ .an’ I come here to watch for yer, an’ I’ve caught _yer, an’ ll teach yer—” _ ; “Oh! let go of me—let me go!” she cried, making a frantic effort to release herself. ‘Hold on here. No, yer don’t, my chick. \ 7 ’ vs the harder. : bates “Tet me go!” she wailed, fighting him with her disengaged hand. _ -. Rover saw that this thing would not do. Her -cries and the noise might attract the attention ofa agama “Shet up thet racket,” he snapped, “‘or Ill _ kill yer!” ig Eot me go! Let me go!” she screamed. “D—n yer! Til—” ‘‘Help! Help!” rung piercingly on the still night a ;, and— ‘ Help it is!” echoed a voice, close at hand. Succor was near. - . Rover vented a blasphemous oath, and at- tempted to take her up in his arms. But her struggles defeated him. There was a quick footstep beside them; a third party dashed upon the scene. ‘* Scoundrel!” uttered a deep voice. Thud! fell a blow on the villain’s head that sent him reeling across thé curb. Pearl leaped to the protecting arms of her rescuer, with a joyous cry. ae, eee recovered himself, and, snarling a malediction on the head of him who had so op “iaguengtaey Resch he strode forward to Te te, with his huge fists doubled, and evil - face red with rage. “He'll kill you!” whispered Pearl, uneasily. _ 4* Kill who?—me? ‘ Guess not,” was the brief re ; and he added, addressing Rover: “Now—rascal!—you come within two feet of me, and I'll riddle your head off, by thunder!” . The street lamp shone full upon the faces of the two men. Of all the weapons with which to fight a coward, the human eye is the keenest—for a coward fears the glance of a brave and honest man. Poarite ee, eyed = a ee fully repared to meet any attack; an yer paused betore him, hesitating, =| é 7a a aa ’ MN ? % ingl d only | None o’ that now,” threateningly, and only eee ee tina | papa was dead. } | spirit. “PEARL. OF PEARLS. | ‘Now, you’d better be off, or I'll give you ‘some more of the.same sort!” with a meaning ‘ing back at them, and shaking his clinched fist, while he muttered: “Tl fix yer yet for this!—mind!” “Well, girl, who is that vulture?’ asked Pearl’s new friend, when Rover had disappear- Fe in the direction of the Friends’ meeting- | house. ‘*Oh, he’s & wicked, wicked man!” she ex- claimed with a shudder. ‘Umph! Should say he was. But who is **T don’t know, except that his name is Rover. i escaped from him, in Baltimore, only to- ay— “ Escaped from him, eh?” “Yes, sir. He had me confined in a damp, dirty cellar, and said he would keep me there until I promised to—to—steal,”’ and her head bowed, and the last words came whisperingly from her li ‘Steal, eh? I got pea ‘He had other children there, and one of them helped me out. I would have been in his power again, though, if it hadn’t been for you, and he’s so wicked, I don’t know what he might have done to me,” “Torn you to pieces, perha ruffian! But, come now, you’d Do you live in Washington? “Yes, sir, I did—” “Do, eh? So. - Well, you’d better run home now—run along. Ill watch you till you’re. out of sight. Guess there’s no r, and—” But Pearl did not move. . “ Well, why don’t you She looked pleadingly up into his not unkind | face, and there were tears gathering in her eyes. : ‘Oh, sir! 1 have no home to goto. Iam all alone in the world—all alone!” —the tigerly tter run ho— “Eh? Why, you said you lived here, in Washington!” | “So I did, at one time; but that’s past. And ' happy home, until they told me Fromthat hour all that could | make a young life like mine miserable came to fill my heart with sorrow. Iam not a beggar, sir; time was—and it’s only a short week when all that mind could wish for, or wealth furnish, was given me. But papa—papa—died; | and—and—mamma—she’s gone far away—may- be I’ll neyer see her again. When I came back to the dear old house to-night, it-was all desert- ed and dark—not one sign to weleome me. All it was a happy, \‘my dear friends are gone; no one of them knows | how unfortunate I have been; and I have thought that God would be merciful, if he called She buried her face in her hands, and the tears that were ready to start now coursed down her cheeks, as she sobbed out her bitterness of He looked at her with widened eyes, as he lis’ tened to this utterance of woe, and was aston- ished at the language—so correct and soulful— | with which the (to him) mere child made known so much of her trouble. y ; ““ Bless my heart!” he exclaimed, still staring, | and he added, immediately, in his blunt way, though a little softer: | | now, ‘‘Well, now, this won’t do—never in the world! Here, come along with me. I'll soon fix things right. Come— ; | ‘*Where to?” she asked, looking up through her tears, while a sweet hope arose in her bo- | som. “Where to? Why, to. my house, of course! | Come along.” | “Oh, sir! Do you mean it?—wwill you take | meé to your house‘—for I believe you are kind- | hearted—you look so.” ‘‘ Mean it? Gad! of course I meanit. I feel wonderfully interested in you. So, come along | Come.” : Pearl’s heart beat with joy as she started off with him, for she felt sure’ she could not be mis- taken in believing him to be a man of generous heart and sincere nature. __ ‘‘What’s your name, my girl?” ‘* Pearl.” “Pearl? What else?” ‘Never mind my other name, please.” For, abrupt as had been the question, as sud- denly it had flashed upon her, that, to, tel] her name might make a “scandal” in that so- ciety where her stepmother was so extensively — known; and she resolved that nothing should be | said against “‘mamma,” even if Cassa had been | right, when she said that Paine and her stepmo- | ther were plotting in commun against her, | | nod. | | Rover wheeled abruptly from the spot, look- | | we last saw her | And though he insisted, she was firm. Her last name was held sacred and unuttered. She had, indeed, at Jast found a friend. At his house he ordered the servants to suppl her every want, and attended to all that oul make her comfortable and contented. On the staircase he bade her good-night, and | aig he Le — re a moment: 3 ; a eep. I wan in the mdraing,” Wf chews ree: 3 bse | oe — him, and followed the ser- vant-maid up to her room, he x; and uttered % himself: ’ ‘oe “By George! 'm wonderfully interested in that girl. I must know more about her. Won- der who she is, anyhow?” . | CHAPTER XXVI. INNOCENT OR GUILTY? 3 It aged a blessed haven that had opened to earl, Cyrus Cruffold, her new-found friend, was a blunt-spoken man of some forty odd years, yet sincere of nature, generous of heart, and not the one to refuse that aid which it was in his power to render the unhappy child. His residence was not far from Pearl’s recent home; but, as he had not been at the Capital much over a month, he had not, as yet, heard much of Mrs. Rochestine, though the name was familiar to him. He was from New York—himself and family. of wife and servants, with an intimate friend 0: his wife’s who had not been long in America. It was a cosey, comfortable room to which Pearl was conducted, after exchanging “ good- night” with her friend, and the young girl slept soundly—a feeling of safety and rest within her, that she had not known for three weary s . When she awoke next morning, and pre to descend, she was glad to see bya glattce at the mirror, that she could “look rosy "—as Cy- rus Cruffold had ogg it. At sound of the bell, she went down-stairs, Cruffold was at the foot of the balustrade, evi- dently waiting for her, and, on her a he extended Soth hands in a wath choca greeting. ‘‘Good-morning,” he said, in his blunt wa: “Ah! you’ve got the roses on your % "Um! ood, You slept well?” a Pott Oh, yes "—taking the outstretched hands and smiling as she looked into’his kind face; “} did sleep very nicely. You are very kind to me, Mr.—” not till then did it strike her that “~ Lge Tele or nea ie name of him to whom she felt so te and she’ ie hesitated, gra ; blushed as “ Cruffold’s my name—Crvffold,” he prompt- ed: then added: “and Craffold is a friend of yours, Come, now, we in to ‘ Dept 4 fimid atall” ao ut Pearl was a little timid, notwithstanding as he led the way fg the breakfast-hall; and she kept close by his side, as ifshe feared that she might still further need his protection, wo ladies were seated at the table, : One of these was Mrs. Cruffold. The other was Estelle Berkely, The latter was not so fleshy a woman as when ; her face had lost much of its natural color, the balf-imperious, queenly car- riage of the head was Missing; and the eyes that were once so brilliant and piercing, were now a little heavy, and, at times, res’ ess their expression, something was gnawing at the! woman’s heart; mind and were suffering, vl id Cyr ra se gat patel rus Cruffo ‘g earl forward, celeb ii iosigt aioe They gazed in astonishment. ore hy, Cyrus, what does this mean? Whois Estelle was looking hard at the child, a strange, bewildered Feht in her eyes, as she scanned the features of the unex comer, “* It means,” replied Cruffold, ‘‘ that this is Miss Pearl, a dear young friend of mine—sto : explanations in due time, Mrs. Cruffold, 0 more at present. Pearl, sit down—here, along- side of me.” : Mrs. Cruffold was mystified. But she asked no further questions; for, when her husband said ‘‘no more at present,” she knew that im- portunities would be useless. As Pearl’s name was uttered, Estelle started slightly, and there was a scarce perceptible — arching of her brows. A look of recognition swept, for a second, over her face, Pearl deported herself in a way that delighted Cyrus Cruffold. He soon discovered that she
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ae Ye TF, RS tare) ae ara Tie o4 was educated far beyond her years—in short, that she was a woman in all but age, Each moment that passed found him more and more interested, until, in his enthusiastic at- tentions, his habits of bluntness almost entirely vanished, and smiles that Were rarely seen on his face, were following his speeches in rapid succession. j Mrs. Cruffold marked the scene with half- jealous eyes. /, : After breakfast, Cyrus Cruffold escorted his protege into the parlor. In‘one'corner stood a guitar of rare workmanship, and, as Pear! caught sight of it, she could have leaped toward it and grasped it in her eager hands. She had one at her old ‘home, and had been carefully instructed in its use. ny @ pleas- ant hour had been poe in poROPAnY: with it, playing or singing, too, ‘the little tunes or songs, she knew her father liked so well. It was one of her favorites, ; “What a beautiful guitar!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and gazing longingly at the instrument. ‘Eh? Can you play on it?” “Oh, yes; I’m very, very fond of it.” In a trice, he had seated her on a sofa, and ‘placed the guitar in her lap. “Now then, play—go on,” and his eyes danced as he watched her intently. “Shall I sing, too?” she asked. child “Sing? Of course—by all means! Sing.” It was a sweet, stirring song that the young girl rendered—accompanying herself on the guitar with clear, mellow, liquid chords, He listened raptly. ; f The ladies, who had retired to a window, ceased their conversation as the child’s voice— _ which was cultured beyond belief—awoke soft, murmuring strains of music such as had never before been heard in the broad parlors of that fashion-draped edifice. ‘“‘ Bravo! Bravo!’ he exclaimed, ee, bese clapping his hands when she had finished. ‘‘ La- dies, did you hear? There’s music in that, I—” ‘“*Oh, yes,” interrupted Mrs. Cruffold, care- lessly; ‘“‘ we often hear a melodious ditty on the curbstone of the street—by children who never knew who their parents were, But—ayho!” i. half sigh and yawn)—‘‘I suppose music is a the more enchanting from the lips of an artful siren,” and with a curl of her aristocratic lip, ae turned again to look out through the win- ow. The guitar nigh fell from Pearl’slap. The in sinuation cut her tothe heart, and there was an expression of acute pain in her lovely face, as ihe deep blue eyes turned quickly on the speaker. Cyrus Cruffold reddened to the temples, He wheeled upon his wife with a suddenness that was alarming. And, for the first time since his marriage, he spoke harshly. “Madam, understand me; this is no mere street child—no common waif—no offspring of shame—no escaped straw from a of vice! She is a good, pure, beautiful girl, whom I love —do you hear me, madam? ‘whom I love!’ And we will do well to hope that our children may be as finely cultured as she is. say again, madam, do you understand me?” t was the outburst of an honest anger—the justified resentment of a true champion. ominous stillness fell upon them. earl went to the side of the woman who had spoken the unkind words. “y pete she said, in her low, aiyeeh oles, LB ery, very sorry that you think any thin wrong of me. Toaeed: fa hame is as g as yours—untainted and as high in stand- ng. But if my presence is unpleasant to you, Pl go away, at once. Shall] T?" And Estelle Berkely, looking out through the window-pane, thought to herself: _ “Yes, little one, if anything, your name is better than hers. know you, earl Roches- tine, and I am wondering what all this mystery means,” But almost before Pearl had ceased speaking _ Cyrus pulled her away, with: “*No you won’t do anything of the kind! you'll stay right here in this house, just as long as you please, and those who don’t like the arrangement can make the best of it—” “T-cannot intrude,” protested Pearl. “But you shall ! you don’t stay of your ewn accord, T'll lock you up! Madam ”—to Mrs. Cruffold— pro ly you imagine that I am mad—but I am not; I am angry—I am sul hear? Don’t let this thing happen aga one this far—but this child worships the same God I do, and, by her purity and golden attri- putes, demands protection!” and he drew Pearl in my house. I regret that it has ever’ to him affectionately, while she could have fallen on her knees before ness of heart. . an He was indeed a protector. He was angered almost to spitefulness; for in his generous heurt the friendless child-had already won a place of affection that no out- side influence could disturb except to strengthen. sg Come,” he said, ‘play another tune—for me, ‘*No, Mr, Cruffold, I cannot play again.” He saw what she meant, ty chafed the him, in her grateful- ore, ‘“‘On the piano, then—can you play on the | piano?” ‘* Yes, a little—” “Play for me, then. Isay, for me.” ‘“‘Don’t.ask me, Mr. Cruffold. I would be glad to do anything to please you, but—I’ll never touch another instrument in your house agaih— never,” He took her gently by the wrist and strode out into the hall. “*Go to your room now, Pearl, and don’t give any Dey a chance to hurt your feelings. [ve go go out, I'll be back soon, and we’ll take a ride together—and go bhopping, too. Remem- ber- if 2 Pi run awe ys.2 5 send detectives after you and bring you ” and ere Pearl knew what he intended, he snatched a quick kiss from | her lips—then slapped on his hat and went out, banging the door after him. Mrs. Cruffold did not learn anything from her husband, in regard to the child, as a conse- sense of this little domestic explosion;- the { ays went by, without an explanation of the mystery, and her curiosity augumented in pro- portion, with no prospects of its satiation. Estelle Berkely made friends with Pearl. She sought out the young girl, every day—was kind and affectionate toward her. The child did not dream that the woman who was gradually winning her love had encom- me the destruction of her father. A sort of remorse had seized upon Estelle Berkely; and, in that feeling, she was strivin to atone, by forcing herself to love the child o the man whose infatuation with her had led him to the point of a rival’s sword. She knew well enough who Pearl was, but kept the knowledge to herself, while she assist- ed Cyrus Cruffold in making her happy. But she wondered, all the time, how it was that Pearl happened in such circumstances. Cruffold told her all he had learned from the young girl’s lips; but Pearl would not dis- close more than what she had uttered on the night she first met the generous friend who was doing so much for her, and who, by his acts of kindness, was sowing sunbeams through the clouds of her eventful life. To their repeated questions she was firm, yet gently reticent. 2 So the first week went by. The second had near slipped round, when one day, while Peart and Estelle were seated in the parlor, glancing over some drawings, the latter asked, suddenly: 2 What are you thinking about, Pearl? Tell me, “I will, Miss Berkely. mind to go away.” “What! Oh, no—quit jesting. Those are serious words, Pearl.” “And I feel serious when I speak go, Miss Berkely.” j I’ve made up my She saw that the child was deeply in earnest. | side of his gig. | The was lone, and silent, and though | every object was distinctly visible in the moon- | here, she has kept away from me, wherever I move; and I can see that Mr. Cruffold is worried about it. I don’t want to make their lives unhappy—I know too well what sorrow is, to bring it on any one; so I've made up my mind to go away—though it will nearly—break —my—heart.” “She has a soul of gold’ thought Estelle pies § as her bosom warmed anew toward the child. Ere they could speak further, a servant an- nounced two visitors without cards. ‘Estelle glanced up in surprise; then a startled look came into her face. “Visitors? to see me?” **'Yes’m.” ‘* Admit them.” : { The comers were Kirk Brand and Neal Hard- ress. “Is this Miss Estelle Berkely?” he asked, po- a 2 Ne it was only poreedens, for he knew er . : Tt is,” she answered, age 5 2 ‘Then, madam, we have rather an unpleasant saa perform.” “Yes — very unpleasant,” supplemented Brand. ‘Well, what is it?” she demanded. The startled look in her face was more per- ceptible, the hand.that Pearl held began to tremble. : “We are detectives, madam, of the London force. Itis seldom our. duties compel us to such a case as this; but business is business, you know, and when the law commands we must obey. Iam very sorry, but—” “You are here, then, to arrest me!” she near- | ly screamed, in a sudden desperation. ; “Yes, madam, to arrest you,” said Hardress, as quietly as possible. ‘‘ Let me hope that you Mis obey the summons. of the law, without: oree. ““O-h, God! I have been expecting this, day after day. It has come at last!” She buried her face in her hands and her head bowed hopelessly down. “Why, Miss Berkely,” cried Pearl, winding her arms around her, ‘‘what do they mean? What have you done to be arrested?” © ‘Pearl! Pearl Rochestine, they are going’ to arrest me for murder! But I am innocent /—I swear I am innocent of the horrible crime!” \ : CHAPTER X XVII. THE PHYSICIAN’S GREAT LOSS. AGAIN we take the reader back to the eity. of | London, and to the night of the duel fought in the quiet retreat of Lord Chauncy’s spacious grounds, |. The worthy physician who had been called. in | asa party to the affair rode off ih high glee, | after carefully covering up all sign of the pre- | sence of his ghastly charge. : | ‘‘Ahal” he broke forth, giving the reins a | jerk, and smiling complacently, ‘a good ar- rangement this—very good! lucky affair— very lucky! .Ahem—m—m!” (with another jerk) “‘a fine CONDE BEY, fine! A good sub- ject—an admirable dissection—ahem! a valu- | able skeleton, Theopholus Thump—you vaga- bond !—you’re a fortunate man!” . ~~ : And as he drove on, avon the byway, he thought and muttered, smiled and chuckled, and congratulated himself pn being called in and favored: by the nobleman: ‘ The bargain had been that Doctor Theopho- lus Thump should have a dead body to carry rita from the dueling ground—no matter who ell. | Turning into a narrow road that led 9 to the gateway of his residence, he gave bis thoughts vent for a second time, as he saw the glimmer of a light from a window in the up ae | “Aha! Theopholus Thump, you're a remark- { air fortunate man. Now, what would my fat | little wife say, if she only knew what a soci- able companion I’ve got in here, eh? Ha! ha! lock the door on me, no doubt. Yes, my dear | —sleep on; let the light burn; I’ve business to | perform, No sleep for me—oh, no! Eh? what's. | that, now?” He started and listened. | heard a sound, something like a groan, a strained sigh, though it was very faint. He leaned forward, and glanced out at the \ \ i nor h ‘Wonder what it was? Eh?—bless my heart! fe iciously at the white posts of the fence and listened anew. i Suddenly bis jaws fell. His face paled, and the fingers that held the reins clutched the lat- _terrigidly. His eyes stared widely, and he sat ‘like one petrified. . Another low, half-smothered groan. There was a frantic scrami-le, ana and Theopholus Mabie dy pping the reins, landed on the “ dash” of the zig, with hair on , end, and whole appearance that of a man amazed, terrified, mcredulous| and, anxious to escape the clutch of an imaginary ghost. _ The horse stopped ohanarely, nearly pitchin , Thump headlong out, and while the medi Worthy struggled to recover his balance, he “Hello, here! Lord bless my heart!.. Aren't EAD!” LE bs you, D: : | Horace Rochestine’s eyes were ing at him with a bewildered, vacant stare; and their.owner le leap, _ asked. faintly: He was sure he ve . a ee x = roy tae * bias RS St Pe eee te
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ep 3 7 ae ak ae aK, ae oy Dex Sel ES tnd Ge) aaa 4 } Pitre hr. Horace Rochestine was far from being a dead | man. Lord Chauncy’s sword had penetrated the right side, glanced upon a rib, and emerged at the back, beneath the shoulder-blade, ucing # wound, severe but not necessarily dangerous; and the shock to the system had caused a tem- po insensibility that was mistaken for death, considering the circumstances under which it was occasioned. . 4 But the physician’s disappointment quickly re itself out, and he applied himself, now, to e important task of preserving a human life. Teste of a subject for dissection, he had se- ‘cured a rich patient. Horace Rochestine was carefully nursed at the house of Theopholus Thump, who, when he had ascertained the nature of the wound, saw ' that the patient, who possessed a strong .con- stitution, would soon recover. And as he lay upon the couch, he had oppor- . tunity to review all that had happened. Under affliction, our improper courses in life are mountained before us; and it is then, if ever, that our conscience manufactures its own censure, and discovers the hitherto smothered voice of our better nature. . In the silence of the bedroom, he thought of that wife in America, toward whom he had acted so basely, for it cannot be called other- wise; and of his child—of Pearl, who, unknown to him then, was to suffer so much through his faithlessness and sheer desertion. t Golden resolves formed within him during those lone hours; and from the bottom of his now changed heart, he cursed the infatuation which had led him to deviate from the path of ight and honor, and which had wrought his present condition of helplessness. “Tve news for Bh ” exclaimed Thump, a ty da, fe the duel, mf a sat by the side of rapidly-improving patien ae What is it? “Your rival, Lord Chauncy, has had a very marrow escape.” «« Protty had his life stamped out, that’ ,* Pretty near ife stam’ ou at’s all!” said Thump, with a long breath. “ Explain.” “ Aha! that’s just it—‘explain.’ Do it if you can. That’s what we'ré after. We want an explanation—if we can get it. Lord Chauncy was found by his valet, lying in bed, almost strangled to death—at first it was thought that he was dead. But—lucky vagabond!—he still lives, Poor fellow! he’s been terribly deceived, too “ Deceived? How? Doctor, you are excit- wi t g Tae. 7S ‘Am I? "Um! Keep cool—keep cool. You know Estelle Berkely? ' “*T believe I do,” with a bitter curl of the Ip. 1 ““Well, Lord Chauncy was to have married soon. He made a Sag eaves vibe ebne to her, in it, On the nigh attempted murder, stairw: vay between the library and the lower hall: arid Estelle Berkely, she—” ““'Yes—Hstelle Berkely.” ° ‘She had disappeared.” “She gone!” “That’s the rub. Lord Chauncy -nearl of the EARL OF PEARLS. ‘* Me neither,” broke in Thump. “‘T must set the suspicions at rest, immedi- | ately. Wolfe is a good, tried friend, and he |must not suffer on my account, I’m off to- morrow, doctor.” ; ‘* To-morrow?” “Yes. I have no time to "Ne ’ And on the day following, in company with Thump, he made his existence and safety known to the authorities; aftér which, he shook hands in farewell with the medical gentleman—then bade adieu to the scenes that were distasteful nearly | } | this will was found on the | to his sight, and renounced the associations that had ever been unpleasant, even though je had striven to make them otherwise. In due time he was on the deck of a steam- ship destined to his native shore; and soon he was speeding forward on that eager trip that was to reunite him with the loved things his | heart so yearned for. As he stood looking over the bulwark, into the rippling, waving dept-s of green, he murmured to himself: ‘England! farewell forever. America! my home! wife! child! I am coming to you for forgiveness!” ‘CHAPTER XXVIII. THE LONG TRAIL. Percy WOLF, instead of leaving Baltimore for the West, with his sister, on their errand of justice, went out on the 10:40 P. Mm. train for ew York, under close guard. “Gentlemen,” he said, protestingly, as the cars moved away from the city, “ + tell you there is some great mistake here. I am not ilty of anything wrong toward Hora—toward erod Dean.” “*Never knew a rascal ready to swear himsel grunted Brand. The young man flushed. “T am no rascal!’ he exclaimed with ve- hemence. Brand looked at him in a peculiar w: et, but what he was innocent as a baby,” ay. ‘Suspicion is rather a stubborn thing,” said | Hardress, dryly. ‘*Tell me—what can it all mean?” ‘¢ Plain as astump speech,” answered Brand. “ Herod Dean disappeared from the city of London. He was a man too well known not to be missed! and as there couldn’t be found any | cause for his voluntary departure, without a word of warning to even his most intimate friends, why, the authorities suspected foul play—and I don’t blame ’em.” “Taman American, and an honest man—” began Percy, with warmth; but Brand inter- ru im, K Can’t help itif you’re a Hong Kong ewer —nor if you’re .twice as honest as you think you are. Biz is biz all the world over. But, mind, I didn’t say it was believed that you’d done anything to the man who was your roow- mate, I only said you were wanted, And as I’m not judge or jury on the pay chins a deputy—I don’t care to argue it one way or the other,” the last in a tone that plainly meant, ‘* There’s no use in saying any more about it.” Wolfe relapsed into silence. He fully com- killed—Estelle Berkely missing—the will fount prehended the unfortunate state of affairs. on the stairway—see, eh, see?’ Should he make known the fact of his partici- ’ “Very suspicious,” said Rochestine, thought- Epona in the duel, in which he believed his fully. ‘Rather, and the authorities are after her.” ‘ ! j . “They traced her to Liverpool—found that she’d gone to America. Detectives are now on the See?” “ Deceitful, treacherous woman!” he ex- claimed, and his words’ meant more than the other imagined. us } ' Horace Rochestine recovered in a remark- ably short time, and with his returning strength, he determined to return at once to his native land, and communicated that determina- tion to the physician. _“ More news!” exclaimed Thump, coming in one day, while Horace was in the parlor, con- versing with the estimable wife of the f. ‘ ‘end to have been killed? But, what use? these men, who were simply obeying the. law, would not credit his story; or, if they did, they could not release him, And, besides, he had sworn not to reveal what he knew. ‘‘If the worst comes, though,” he reasoned, inwardly. “T must violate my oath of secrecy. rd Chauncy must be made to testify—and_.the bysician also. But, in the meantime, I will be ken to London—there is no help for it. And what will become of Nellie? Pearl? Ab! how unfortunate.” These thoughts were torturous beyond ex- on, © i Open their arrival in New York the detec- tives re at once to head. rs, te re- port on ther success and telegraph to London. ue LM Imagine their rise when a telegram from London was handed them which read: A ‘Herod Dean found. No case. He left here yesterday for New York.”’ Brand and Hardress congratulated their i 4 on the happy turn, and quickly re- eased him. ‘Herod Dean found !” exclaimed the young man, as he stared in blank amazement at the | words of the telegram. He could scarce believe his eyes. Had he not seen Horace Rochestine fall dead beneath the sword-blade of Lord Chauncy? It was strange, very strange, to him. But the telegram was dated a good way back. It had lain there a long time waiting for the parties to whom it was addressed. The officials in New York had télegraphed to Brand and Hardress, at several points, after its receipt, but through some fate the detectives never received the notice—never’ being at the dif. ferent points when tho successive messages came. | More, the telegram said that the missing man was on his way to America. Glancing again at the date, Wolfe saw that his friend—7/ all this was true—was, ai that moment, due in New York. It is impossible to describe his feelings as he waited the arrival of the overdue steam- ship. And when Horace Rochestine did come, and the two faithful friends met, it was a meeting easier to be imagined than depicted in words, Explanations were many. In a short space the husband was made aware of the plot that was progressing round his home, and then, like two thirsty hounds loosed from the leash, they sprung to| pursuit of the man who was so treacherous Piso ton: the confidence that had re im. Wolfe wanted Brand and Hardress to accom- pany and aid him. But these worthy gentle- men had received orders to join Sales—the de- tective they had met in Baltimore—in his search after Estelle Berkely. They said they had “‘a piece of new work on hand;” but Wolfe engaged them to search for Pearl Rochestine after they had finished up what was then demanding their attention. Then, with hearts eager and beating in stern purpose, the two reunited friends started west- ward on the track of Claude Paine, CHAPTER XXIX. THE BIRTA OF THE SUNBEAMS. We return to Claude Paine, whom we left standing in the doorway of his apartment, at the Southern Hotel, St. Louis, scowling in an ry astonishment as he read, froin the card just handed him, that name whose owner he hated and feared simultaneously. — ’ The rustle of Nellie’s dress, as she approached him, drew his attention from the oan ** You here!” he cried, amazedly. ; “Yes, Claude Paine, Iam here. WhenIsaw hai last, I told you we might meet again, We ave met, you see.” “What do you mean by that tone?” he de- amanded, catching a significance in her words. '“Thave followed you, Claude Paine, all the way from Baltimore,” Nellie said, quickly, eh anys been upon your track, wheteve vou went— ‘Bor what purpose?” he interru é The servant bad drawn back a cy. ee staring with mouth agape, , “To wreak the punishment two causes: first for attempting to rob Pearl Rochestine of her inheritance; second — oh! monstrous villain that you are!—for sending ‘of justice, in | my sister, Diamond, broken-hearted to her ave— “Why, Miss Byrne!—you here? Claude?—, and frowning? bis is strange; what does it mean? The voice was Isabel Rochestiine’s,” Madam,” said Nellie, with an assumption of graceful haughtiness, “‘I am about to expose eS es you have'seen fit to bestow your thre mn. i gs: Neri Cisnige going smiled sneer- gly, and displayed his white, regular teeth bi fine miustache, as he weeds nd pray, madam, or miss, how do you expect to ieee all this foul slander upon me?” ‘T believe the girl is crazy!” whispered Isabel, clinging to his arm. l ‘* Undoubtedly !” he indorsed, with emphasis, “No, madam, I va not crazy!” exclaimed. Nellie; and she added, fixing her eyes pierc- ingly on Paine: ‘‘ You ask me how I will prove this? You 1 learn soon enough, Now, if
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ve, eee from the perpetration of a crim Poy Ji, - - ws ni o wee” ) e~" a - “ you’re not a coward, such as your past actions would seem to stamp you, then answer the summons of that card you hold in your hand. Go, sir—face him if you dare. He is my bro- ther, and the brother of that trusting girl whose love you won that you migit throw it away. Ab! you turn pale! Go, sir—see him if you have the courage; you'll find him an honest man, and one who knows how to deal with a scoundrel!” One fierce, momentary glance, that burned with all the savage hate capable to his evil heart, Claude Paine bestowed upon the girl who so defiantly, confronted bim. Never till then had it struck him that the Percy Wolfe who was on his track was the brother of Diamond Wolfe, she who had fallen victim to his passions in past years. This realization, added to his already perilous situation, was sufficient. to effectually frighten any ordinary man from the dangerous ground. But Claude Paine was bold as well as bazard- ‘ous by nature, and far from being terrified by the gripings of that cowardice, characteristic of the meaner class of his kind, when suddenly met by obstacles and fearful odds. fed Nellie, after the delivery of her stinging speech, turned and hurried in the direction of the parlor. : “ Claude, this is all very strange; who is it wishes to see you?” ‘ “That mysterious individual who called to see you in Washington—Percy Wolfe.” , ot the slightest evidence of a disturbed mind ; he was calm as the air of a tomb. “Is it possible? What can he want?—that he should follow us about? I am inclined to believe he is some stray lunatic, after what he said to me about Horace’s having sent his will over so long ago, and no sign of it yet.” He bowed acquiescingly. “T’ve a notion not to see him,” he said. “Oh, yes; for mercy’s sake grant him an interview. Let us find out his errand and be rid of him. Come, I will accompany you.” ‘But bis errand may be dangerous to our love, Isabel.” ** How?” she inquired, unsuspectingly. “He may have some li pa story pre- red for your ears—one intended to ruin your ove for me. Whatever it may be, I assure you it is all a vile plot against my honor. In fact, Iam partially aware of such a plot being in existence.” “Come, let us go and see him. Depend upon it, Claude, if he touches upon anything reflecting wrong. upon you, I will order him from my presence—and so we will be rid of him for all time hereafter,” Again Claude Paine bowed, and there was*a peculiar triumphant twitching of the mouth’s corners, as they proceeded toward the parlor. He felt sure in imagining that nothing could affect this proud, beautiful woman’s love for him. But at the parlor door they paused. A tab- leau, unexpected as it was startling, met their gaze—and its center was Horace Rochestine. Isabel was as if turned to stone. All color fled from her face, and her large, lustrous eyes di- lated in a half-wild, incredulous stare. ; Upon Claude Paine the effect was electrical. A single sharp, hissing oath burst from his lips, and he dashed off along the corridor, running at the top of his speed. As he bounded down the stairway, he collided with a man who was just then being ‘‘shown up” by one of the waiters.” It was Derrick. : “Hello, Paine! What’s. up? Satan after you?” z ““ Worse!” cried the chagrined villain. ‘The cake’s dough! \Rochestine is up-stairs, and there’s the very Old Harry to pay!” “ P-h-e-w!” i at The two left in quick time, The first train going out—we forget which way—took the two plotters among other passengers, and they have not been seen since. : We will not attempt to describe the scene of reunion between husband and wife; nor to de- pict Isabel’s astonishment when she learned the.true character of the man to whom she had pn up her heart in her supposed widow- ‘But all was explained, all was for ied, and to-day, once more in their old home at Wash- ington, with many of the tried servants re- stored to their familiar places, she is less a woman of the world, and loves her husband as she might never have loved bim, had it not been for the lesson taught her by her narrow escape The old house in Washington hoks, as it was a - bee we, yr a } ‘ . : ‘ sy, y — 7 -3 ever wont—for Pearl, too, was there—Pearl, the bright, sunny fairy of old, around whose life there hovered for a time the somber clouds of woe. She is happy as in those days before the first fall of sorrow came. The meeting between father and child is an- other subject for the reader’s imagination, and let it be one of the brightest pictures of joy that | ever warmed the bosom or made wet the eye! Miss Byrne (Nellie Wolfe) is with her former upil—no louger a mere governess, for Horace | I | and otherwise.) i ; of 1882—as far as now issu ochestine, when he learned that Percy really had no definite home in view, would not hear of any thing but that his tried, faithful friend should live with him. The two men have grown to be brothers. Nellie, with her disposition of sweet gentle- ness, was quick to forgive all the unkind thrusts she had endured from Isabel, and the two women are like loving sisters. Pearl had been restored to her father and rgd by Brand and Hardress, the two detec- ives. : When they had arrested’ Estelle Berkely, the had distinctly heard the name she used in ad- dressing Pearl. It was enough. In due time the child was brought to those who loved her, and whom she so dearly loved. Estelle Berkely had not been taken away fur- ther than New York. A second dispatch, just received, was handed to the detectives, order- * weap pm t he strangling aff e guilty party in the strangling affair was Lord Glance *’s valet—and the grees was rob- bery, which he accomplished. The fellow had just died, and had made a confession ere his life went out. But Estelle Berkely has disappeared from society —perhaps is living in obscurity, or is dead without our knowledge. Fhe sunbeams are pouring through the clouds! And now tw Pearl, the child of beauty with a heart of gold, we say farewell—wishing for her all the blisses that gem a life of happiness whose brimming pleasures may not fade, whose earth- ly future may be bright, and feastful in the noble attributes of glorious womanhood! THE END. Half-Dime Singer’s Library 1 Waoa, Emma! and 59 other Songs. 2 Caprain Curr and 57 other Songs. 8 Tue Garnsporo’ Hart and 62 other Songs. 4 Jonnny Morcan and 60 other Songs. 5 uu Srare You Wir A FEaTuEr and 62 others. 6 GrorGE THE CHARMER and 56 other Songs. 7 Tae BeLLe or Rockaway and 52 other Songs. 8 Youne Friuay, You'Re Too Fresx and 60 others. 9 Say Youne Giri and 65 other cena 10 I’m THE GoveRNoR’s ONLY Son and 58 other Songs. 1i My Fawn and 65 other Songs. - 12 Comin’ THRO’ Tur Rye and 55 other Songs. 13 Toe Rotiickine IrRJsHmMAw and 59:other Songs. 14 Oty Doe Tray and 62 other Songs, 15 WuHoaA, CHAntie and 59 other Songs. , : 16 In tH1s WHeEaT By anp By and 62 other Songs. 17 Nancy Ler and 58 other Songs. 18 I'm THE Boy THAT’s Bounp To BLAzE and 57 others. 19 THe Two Orpxans and 59 other Songs. 20 WHAT ARE THE Wi~p Waves Savina, SIsTER? and 59 other Songs. 21 Inpienant Ponty Woe and 59 other Songs. 22 THE OLD ARM-CHarr and 58 other Songs. 23 On Conry IsLanp Bracu and 58 other Songs, 24 Op Smron, Toe Hor-Corn Man and 60 others. 25 I'm In Love and 56 other Songs. 25 PARADE oF THE GuarpDs and56 other Songs. 2? Yo, Hrave, Ho! and 60 other Songs. 23 ‘Twit Never vo ro Giz ir up So and 60 others. 29 Buve Bonnets Over Ter Borppr. and 54 others 30 Tae Merry Lavenine Man and 56 other Songs. 81 Sweet For@at-mMe-Nor and 55 other Songs. 82 LertLtE Bany Mine and 53 other Songs. 83 Du Banso AM DE INSTRUMENT FOR Mr and 53 others 34 TArry and 50 other Songs. 865 Just To PLease THE Boys and 52 other Songs. 36 SKATING ON ONE IN THE GUTTER and 52 others, 37 KotorEep Kranxs and 59 other Songs. 88 Nit DesprRanpum and 58 other Songs. 39 Tue Grau I Lerr Brxinp Mx and 50 other Songs. 40 "Tis sut « Lirrte Fapep Fiower and 50 others 41 Prerry WaiLneimta and 60 other Songs. 42 Dancine IN THE BARN and 63 other Songs. 43H. M.S. Prvarorr. compiers, and 17 other Songs Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five cents per copy, or sent post-peid, to any address, on re- ceipt of Sia cents per number. a BEADLE AND ADAMS, PrsusHers, 98 WiiwiaM Street, New Yor«, ‘ : s 93 _ BEADLE AND ADAMS’ STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS. 4, Secemmepealo BrapLe AND ApAMs have now on their lists the fol- lowing highly desirable and attractive text-books, prepared sri ag for schools, families, ete. volume contains 100 large pages, printed from clear, open type, comprising the best collection of Dia- logues, Dramas and sitations, (burlesque, comic The Dime Speakers for the season —embrace twenty-four volumes, viz, : 1. American Speaker. | 13. School Speaker. 2. National Speaker. 14. Tudicrons Speaker. 3. Patriotic Speaker. 15. Komikal Speaker. 4, Comic Speaker. 16. Youth’s Speaker, 5. Elocutionist. 17. Eloquent Speaker. 6. Humorous Speaker. | 18, Hail Columbia Speak- 7. Standard Speaker. er. 8, Stump Speaker. 19. Serio-Comic Speaker. 9. 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Dialogues No. Twenty-five, Dialogues No. Twelve. Dialogues No. Twenty-six. Dialogues No. Thirteen. DialoguesNo. Twenty-seve Dialogues No. reference to their availabili ar fh ail school-rooms, They are adapted to schools with or without the fur- + 1a niture of a stage, and introduce.a sates of charac- . ters suited to scholars of every grade, both male and female. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet offered to schools, at any price, contain so many availabe and useful dialogues and , serious and comic. ; Dramas and Readings. | 164 12mo Pages. 20 Cents. > For Schools, Parlo s, Entertainments and the Am- ateur Stage, eee phe 8 Original Minor Dramas, Comedy, Farce, D ess Pieces, Humorous Dialogue and Burlesque, by :cted writers; and Recitations and Ss, new :nd standard, of the test celebrity and interest. ‘Edited by Prof. A. M. Russell. DIME HAND-BOOKS, le’s Series. ah “ eed nae — cover a @ range of subjects, and are 2spec adapted to their end. They constitute at once the cheapest and most useful works yet put into the market for popular circulation. Ts Ladies’ Letter-Writer. Book of Games. Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller. * Yo Peo BRADLE'S Dane. HaAnp- Book of Etiquette. Lovers’ Casket. Book of Verses. -room Companion. Book of Dreams. - Book of Beauty. pecially adapted to their end. andbook ef Summer Sports, Book of Croquet. Yachting and Rowing C ket and Football Book eet ede 1: ricket and Foo . ‘ook 0 unis Guide to Swimming, Fedgs is Handbook of Winter § orts—Skating, etc. Manuals for Hotibew!van, Brapue’s, Dimz Famny Srrizs aims to supp class of text-books and manuals fitted for ev son's use—the old and the young, the teamed. the unlearned. They are of conceded value. per: and 1, Cook Book, 4, Family Physician. 2. Recipe Book, 5. Dressmaki ud Mil. 8. Housekeeper’s Guide, —e re Lives of Great Americans Are presented complete and authentic biographies of many of the men who have added Juster to the epi c by their lives and deeds. The. series em- I.—George Washington. | VI.—David Crockett, Il.--Jobn Paul oman VIlI.—Israel Puthiaing Jil.—Mad Anthony Wayne X.—Tecumseh, : TV,—Ethan Allen. . «| .XL—-Abraham Lineoln. ~ ie a de Lafay- I; Fegan ette. -—Ulysses 8, ViMediel Boga tt seo4@ Dirge He eee ‘The above publications for sale by all newsdealers or will be s aid, on re t of | ; LE & ADAMS $8 Wrun oe ween rs ly a \ ’
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ak 53 Agnes Ho the Aetress; or, The Ro- Bs 7 mance of a Ruby Ring. By William Mascon | Turner, y i ~ a eS Pa ns a Pe) a ad —" —— Y ‘American Copyright Novets and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS! bing Cheapest ideal Ever PMbisheg! a on I The asked cast or, Will She Macy Him? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 2 Was It paye ss or, Collégiatis and Sweet- hearts. By on Turner, 3 The Girt Swites or, The True "and the False. By Bartley T. Campbell. 4A Brave Heart; or, Startlingly Strange. By Arabella Southworth. 5 Bessie Raynor, the Work Girls or, sige a of Life. “By William Mason rne M 6 The Secret Marriage; or, A Duchess ‘in | Spite of Herself. By Sara Claxton. 7 A Daughter of Eve; or, Blinded by Love. | By Mrs. Reéd Crowell. $ Heart to Heart; - Fair Phyllis’ Love. , By Arabella Southwort 9 Alone in the World; or; The Young Man’s Ward. By the author "of ‘Clifton,’ “ Pride and Passion,”’ etc. 10A Pair of Gray Eyes; or, The Emerald Necklace. By Rose ean, 11 Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. By Henrietta Thackeray, 12 His Lawtul W or or, irre, the Child of Adoption. By Mrs. Ann §. Ste tephens. 13 Madeap, the Little eye or, The mg ladet’s Wooi Corinne Cushman. it Why I Married im} or, The Woman in Gray. By Sara Claxton. i5 A Fair Face; ry Out in the World. By Bartley T. Campbe eae or, A True Knight. By {6 Trust Her >t Leicester, 17 A ea Lover; or, The Last of the Grims- ths. Arabella Southworth. 0 iao or, The lll-Starred Marriage. By pind, Ma d Crowell. i9 whe Broken Betrothal 5 or, Love versus | Hate. B Mary Grace Halpine. Y | 20 Orphan Nell, tae Orange Girl; or, The | Lost Heir. By Agile Penne. 21 Now and Forever; or, Why Did She Mar- Him? By Henrietta Thackeray. 22 The Bride of an Actor 3 or, Driven from | Home. By the author of ‘ Alonein the World,” "= Clifton,” etc. 23 ay te Wear; or, Why She Proposed. By Sara 24 Her Bmce Was Her Fortune. By Elea- nor Blaine. 25 Only a Schoolmistress 3 or Her Untold Secret. By Arabella Southwort 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 yy oi Chase} or, The Gambler’s Wife. By Ann §. Stephens. 29 For Her Dear Bate 3 or, Saved From Him- self. By Sara Claxto 30 The Bou uet Girl;. or, A Million of Money. By Agile Penne.- 31 A Mud Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By iorlama, the } 32 ee a the Prima Donna; or, Roses | lies. By Arabella Southworth. 33 he ‘Three Sisters; or, The Mystery of Lord Chalfont. Alice Fl B44 eye of Convenience ; or, Was | Hea Count? By Sara C 35 aN auctnns mers or, The Winthrop Pride. 36 Sir y a rcher’s Er #8 Brido; or, The “eetea yn of His Heart. By Arabella Southwort 37 The ARR Y Co URiey 6 or, ‘Ai is not Gold rs that 38 et a Again or, Trust Her Not. By | ‘ worth, 98 Alice Learmont. 39 Flirtation; or, A Youn Girl's Good Name. | 99 oe oh Bruce’s Lovers, By Jacob Abarbanell, (Ralph Row [ary 5 or, ia i oe Bonds. | 41 Blind Devotion; or, Love Against the | 40 Pledgcd to Sara hice World, By Alice Flemi as a. in By i ae Pl Sout e Baronet’s Secret; or, The Rival Half- Siste Sara Claxton. ; dgieugs A bie Onl Daughter y 4 Lath tag’ § Alice tletat #) or, Brother against ; 103 A 42 a 5 seg 2 the Beaut ful, or, His Second | ‘on atau on the Snow. 45 Her Hidden N xary e4 Love At All Odds. By Arabella Southworth. 46 The Little ee or, Under a Cloud. or. Mary A. Deniso: By ws tule ‘Loved i many or, How Will ? By Ali 48 In Spite { Flerself; or, Jeannette’s Repa- | re 4 7 R. Sherwood. -* en. ByS. e | 49 His Heart's Wiietreaes or, Love at First | worth. By Arabella, South Sight. | 50 re Cuban for itors = pei Se at yg 2 of Vintresse. By Mrs. 51 a b Arsen Girls; pa the aaa “of an Earl. By Alice Fleming. 52 The Winged Messenger; or, Risking All for a Heart. By Mrs. Mary Reed Cro well, Emma, Garrison Jones. i 89 A Gilded Sin. By the author of ‘Dora | orn,’ ete. | 90 mee. "Auther’s Daughter. By Mary j | | 95 Lettice Arnold. by 1 | | om Fromm p Mreames to Waking. rton. 109 resdtadeChcees and Kisses. B 4 | 64 Ome 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. 56 Love-Miad ; and ——. m, Mason Turner, | 57 A Brave Girl; Alice Fleming. '58 Khe Ebon Maskj or, The Mysterious j Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. | 59 A Widow's ee or, A Bitter Vengeance. By Rachel Bernhardt. 60 bh eh Deceit; or, The Diamond Legacy. | y Mrs, Jennie Davis Burton. | 61 Fy Wicked HMieart; 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. Wea © Mystery of the Perrys. By Mrs. Annd E. Porter. 64 What Jealousy Did; or, The Heir of Worsley Grange. By Alice Fleming. 65 The ife’s Seeret; or, “Twixt Cup and Lip. By Col. Juan Lewis, 66 A Brother’s Sin; 4% Flora’s Forgiveness. By Rachel Bernhar 67 Forbidden Das: or, Alma’s Disguised Prince, By Arabella Southworth. Us In His Net.”’. By Miss M. E. Breddo: 69 Camille; or, The Fate of a Consens, By Alexandre Dumas. | 70 The Two Orphans. By D’Enery. 71 My Young ife. usband. 72 The Two Widows. By Annie Thomas. 73 Rose Michel; or, The Trials of a Factory Girl. By Maud "Hilton. 74 Mec cil Castiemaine’s Ma oh Of, The Story f a Broidered Shield. ui 75 inna Black Lady of denne? " By J.S. Le ‘anu. 76 Charlotte Temple. Mrs. Rowson. 77 Christian Oakicy® istake. By the author of *‘ John Halifax, Gentleman,” ete. 78 My Young Husband}; or, A Confusion in the Family. By Myself. TOA ueen Amongst Women. By the author of ‘‘ The Cost of Her Love,” ‘A Gilded Sin,” ‘‘ Dora Thorne,” etc., etc. 80 Her Lord and Master, Marryat. 81 rey Temple, Sister of Charlotte. | $2 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred. By Florence | $3 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie 10M AS. | 84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of | “John Halifax, Gentleman.”’ | 85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot. | 87 The Romance ofa Poor omar Man. By Octave Feuillet. 88 A Terrible Deed; or, All for Gold. By 91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade. .92 Eileen Alanna; ae Ory the Dawning of the Day. By Dennis O’Sulli 93 Love's Tistary. “By B. L, Farjeon. 94 The Quict Heart, ee Seaman Hearts; or, Rachel Bernhardt. elton. By Katharine King. 96 Haunted wus of ee By Miss Mulock. By Mary rick. 100 Through Fire and Water. By Fred- Talbot. rick 0 i nnah. By Mss Mullock. 102 Per Wodincion, By po iad ab gana Pesperate Deed. By Erskine Rope By B. L. Far- 105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By M, Thackeray. By E. Zeph! ¥. W. Robinson. a Boor Z a Lectite of the Rev. Amos Sad 108 The By Not. * , ‘arjeon. ‘110 Leak Wandering Heir. By Charles or, Within Six il ‘Brother’s Bet; cata Phe By Os Fly; aA Carlen. 2 113 Fant and Virgt bates From the French a n De St. ars By’ Wal. ent and James 115 ter Bose of Killeena, _ By William '116 Hetty. By ones Kingsley... mh ie yside Cross; or, o uae Conlon By Captain E. A. ‘Milman oe -_ - ef) a ae <S i} as 8: a aR S i) Ae or, Betrothed, Married ene or, Sunshine at Last. By | 68 Weavers and Weft; or, ‘‘ Love aa Hath | | 133 Lord Roth’s Sin; By My Young Wife’s | E | | 126 When the Shi 118 The By Oliver Golds 119 Maud Mohan, By Annie Thomas. 120 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss Jane Porter. 121 The King of NosLand, jeon. 122 Lovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack eray. 123 An Island Pearl. » Vicar of Wakefield, By B. L. Far- By B. L. Farjeon., | 124 Cousin Phillis. 125 Weilas -or, The Siege of Grenada. By Ed- ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton). Comes Home. By Walter Besant and James Rice. 127 One of the Family. By James Payn. 128 whe Birthright. By Mrs. Gore. 129 Mfotherless 3; or, The Farmer's Sweetheart. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 130 Homeless; or, 270 Orphan Girls in New ork. By Albert WwW. A 131 Sister against atateny or, The Rivalry cf Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 132 Sold for Gold; or, Almost Lost. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. or, Betrothed at the Cradle. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens. 134 tit He Love Mer? By Bartley T. Camp- 135 ante Against; or, Almost in His Power. By Lillian Lovejoy. 3 136 Was She His Wife? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 137 The Village on the olm Thackeray.” 138 Poor VWaleria! or, The Broken Troth. By Margaret Blount. 139 Margaret Graham. By G. P. R. James. 140 Without Mercy. By Bartley T.Campbei!. 141 Honor Bound; or, Sealed to Secrecy. By Lillian Lovejoy. 142 ehobinng from Love. Irving. 143 Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman's Work. By Rett Winwood. 144 A Strange Marriage; or, Join Foster's Heiress. By Lillian Lovejoy. 145 Fatal F waitin Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed 146 A Desperate Venture; or, For Love's Own Sake. By Arabella Southworth. 147 ane War of Hearts, By Corinne Cush- By Miss By Mrs. Harriet 148 Which Was the Woman ? or, Strangely Misjudged. By Sara Claxton. 149 An Ambitious Girl; or, She Would Be An Actress. By Frances Helen Davenport. 150 Love Lord of Alls or, In Her Own at Last. By Alice May Fleming. 151 A Wild Girl; or, Love’s Glamour, By Corinne Cushman, 152 A Man’s Sacrifice ; Himself. By Harriet Irving. 153 om She Sin? or, A tenet 4 Despe Game. By Mrs. Reed Crow _ 154 He Loves Me _aeet or, A hood., By:Lillian Lovejoy.’ al False- 155 Winning Ways; or, * Double Troth. By "Horgan mateee ee 156 bdr gars She Cost ed D krabelle Soutien ae or, Crooked Paths. 157 ry Girl’s Heart. ~ Rett Winwood. 158 A mg ot Mining +a Pg A Young Girl's Folly. By Agnes 159 Lady Helen’s Vow; ge i Mother's By the Late Mrs. b. F i160 Buying a Heart; or, A Sarancan: By an Lovejoy. 161 Pear] of Pearls; or, Cloudsand Sunbeams. By A. P. Morris, Jr. ; , 162 A Fateful Game}; or, Wedded and Parted. or, At War With By Sara Claxton. 163 The Creole Cousins; or, False as Fair. By Philip S. Warne. 164 A. Scathing Ordeal; or, May Langley’s Mad Marriage. By Mrs. Georgiana Dic Baw 5. ies e Girl. A New land Love a &. ry. By Albert W. Aiken. Hngl A new issue every week. Tar Wavertey Lisrry is for sale by all News- five Leva per copy, or sent by mail on re- ceipt of six cents each. BEA Tefal AND ADAMS, Publishers 98 William street, New York. +